The Temple of Le Fay

Chapter Twenty: The Announcement

Harry was in bed before eight on Sunday evening. After the forty-five minutes of sleep he'd managed after writing to Remus, he'd taken a group of Hufflepuff first years through their Dark Arts work. The younger students were dueling with quarter staffs, and Harry, who hadn't attended that lesson, was really only there to supervise. After that he had seen Hermione and let her know the latest on Sirius, walking off before she could attempt any other conversation.

Harry had arrived at dinner forty minutes early, and stretched out on a bench, which earned him half an hour of rest and a stern telling off from Professor Sprout, who was a close friend of Madam Pomfrey. He weathered the lecture and spent dinner picking listlessly at the little food he wanted. He found that, along with the waves of tiredness, his appetite was unpredictable as well.

He had planned Sunday evening as the time he would do his own work, but by half-past seven, his eyelids had grown heavy and he knew that it would be pointless. He stood up and packed his books, nodding to Dean, who was sitting next to him, and headed for the dormitory stairs. He paused briefly, very aware that someone in the room was watching him, but he pushed onwards towards his dormitory and his bed, where he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

In fact, two people had been watching him as he left. Hermione, Ron and Ginny had all noticed his rising, and while Ron had looked away, his expression unreadable, Ginny and Hermione had exchanged frustrated looks, before going back to their work.

*

Harry awoke before six on Monday morning. He yawned and stretched, feeling refreshed for the ten hours of sleep that he had managed. Rising quietly, he dressed and made his way downstairs, picking up where he had left off the night before.

By eight o'clock he had polished off his Transfiguration assignments and was making a start on Colin Creevey's third year Arithmancy. He barely noticed the other Gryffindors as they passed him by, and only looked up when the common room's grandfather clock chimed eight, coinciding with his stomach growing loudly. For a moment he considered missing breakfast, but a second, even louder stomach growl, made up his mind for him.

He made his way to the Great Hall and listened quietly to Josh, Seamus and Dean discussing the upcoming Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. It would be the last game for the Gryffindors until they played Ravenclaw in April, so everyone was keen to put in a good performance. Harry, who hadn't been up on his Firebolt in over a month, was particularly eager to get flying again. Ron had instilled a tough regime of physical training for the team that Harry was under strict orders to not take part in. He was somewhat grateful for not having to take part in Ron's already legendary 'Three times around the lake then start lifting weights' programme, but a part of him missed the camaraderie it instilled.

What I'm doing is more important than Quidditch, he reassured himself. Next year I probably won't even play.

But a big win would help Gryffindor morale.

Harry was so caught up in planning the match that he barely noticed Dumbledore rising to his feet. Only when the Headmaster tapped his knife against his crystal goblet did Harry look up.

"Now, I believe one or two of you have been anticipating this announcement for quite some time."

Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, sitting across the table from Harry, exchanged knowing smiles. Glancing around, Harry noticed that a lot of the girls had the same knowing looks on their faces. He groaned inwardly as he realised what the announcement would be.

"The annual Hogwarts Ball will be held this year on December the 31st, Hogmanay, and will once again automatically be open to all students of fourth year and above, although you may certainly invite a younger student if you wish.

"The Hogwarts Express will run from Kings Cross station on the thirtieth of December and, as was, ah, eventually announced yesterday, this Saturday will be a Hogsmeade Saturday. Will everyone intending to attend the Ball please give their name to their head of house by the Wednesday before term ends? Thank you."

Dumbledore sat down, and the Great Hall was immediately filled with excited chatter as people debated who would ask who would go with whom and, from a few very brave or very sure students, public approaches to their intended dates. Harry noticed Ron making sure of Hermione as his date while Eloise Midgen strode up to Justin Finch-Fletchley and asked him to the Ball in front of all the Hufflepuffs. Harry's attention was distracted before he could find out Justin's answer, however, as Dean grabbed his sleeve.

"Harry, I just remembered, have you got time to help me with something?"

"Sure, what is it?"

"Er, the Patronus charm."

"Ah, Dean, I wish I could but..." Harry paused. He probably could do it, one on one. Maybe they wouldn't have a Dementor, but he hadn't used a Dementor when he was teaching Ginny, and she had learned it well enough.

"You know what, let's do it," Harry said, grinning. "Is Wednesday night okay?"

"Great," Dean said.

Harry nodded, and added 'Dean Thomas - Patronus - Wednesday night' to the organiser he'd taken to carrying around with him. It hadn't escaped Harry's attention that it was very similar to the one that Uncle Vernon used to keep the times of his business meetings straight.

Looking back up, his gaze met Ginny's. The two stared at one another for a long moment before Ginny turned abruptly away and began talking to Dean about the next day's practise.

When breakfast was finished, Harry made his way up to the staff table.

"Alright, Harry?" Hagrid boomed. "Yer back in classes today, is that right?"

"Yeah" Harry said. "Sorry, Hagrid, I need to talk to Professor McGonagall."

"Oh, right, fair enough," Hagrid said, looking a little hurt. "Well, okay. Guess I'll see you in class on Wednesday, then."

"Yeah, see you then," Harry said. He turned away, quashing any feeling of guilt before it could take hold.

I'm going to be seeing a lot of my old friends. I can't start feeling guilty every time I see them. I'll never get anything done.

"You wanted to see me, Potter?" McGonagall asked, interrupting Harry's chain of thought. "Come to put your name down for the Ball."

"Er, not quite," Harry said. "I mean, I always stay over Christmas, so..."

"Well? How can I help?"

"I want to help with the Ball," Harry said.

"In what way?"

"Well, whatever you can think of. I mean, I'll be here anyway, and I won't be going to the Ball, so I may as well help."

"I see," McGonagall said. She pursed her lips together tightly, and regarded Harry critically. "No, Potter, you may not help us. What you may do, however, is find yourself a date for the evening, and enjoy yourself. I am aware of your desire to take on still more responsibility, and also of the apparent dissolution of your friendship with Miss Granger and the Weasleys - Oh, don't look so surprised. We teachers can hardly fail to hear the latest gossip when it is discussed so often in our classes - but I am adamant that you shall all enjoy this Ball, and that includes you, Potter. Find yourself a date and take one night off from the worries of the world. I assure you that everyone else will, including the Headmaster."

Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower. He tried to make use of his free period by reading Colin's Arithmancy notes, but didn't make much headway. His mind kept going back to the announcement of the Ball. He couldn't shake the memory of the long look he had shared with Ginny. It had triggered a turmoil of emotions in him that he had sought to escape by volunteering for still more work.

In the end, he gave up on Arithmancy - he was beginning to suspect that it was beyond him - and instead went up to his room, collected his Firebolt, and made his way to the Quidditch pitch.

He climbed up into the stands, and sat down, luxuriating in the late-autumn sunshine. After fifteen minutes, he picked up his Firebolt and walked to the edge of the stands. He hadn't flown since before the incident at Halloween, and it was only dawning on him now how much he had missed it. Now, he thought, he would be able to soar through the air, his studies and extra-curricular commitments left behind on the ground. He swung one foot over the broom and prepared to kick off.

"Not working, Harry?"

Harry jumped, and nearly fell off his broom. He swung around, and found himself facing Cho Chang, who had apparently had the same idea that he had had. She was perched sidesaddle on her Nimbus 2001, one foot dangling beneath her, the other perched on her knee, her hands clasped on her ankle.

"Cho!" Harry barked. "Do you know how lucky you are I don't have my wand on me?"

"Could you have cast a spell anyway?" she asked, picking at a bit of fluff on her skirt.

Harry scowled. "That's not the point. Why'd you sneak up on me?"

"I tried not to," she said. "I called out a couple of times, and it's not like I came out of nowhere. It's hard to fly fast when you're sitting like this," she added.

"Still," Harry said. "Some other time I might have hexed you off your broom."

"Some other time I'll remember that," she said. "Not that you really need to tutor any Ravenclaw seventh years, Professor Potter."

Harry scowled again.

"So, which subject will you teach when you get your NEWTs, Harry?"

"I'm not going to be a teacher," Harry said.

"So why get in all of this practise now?"

"It's not practise. Someone needs to make sure people can handle themselves."

"And the professors aren't doing that?"

"I don't have a problem with the way the professors are teaching. I can just help out a bit outside of the classroom."

Cho looked at Harry unmovingly.

"Is that a bad thing?" Harry asked coldly.

"No. I'm just wondering why you decided you should do it? You were already running the Dueling Club. Why take even more time out of your life?"

"Because I'm me," Harry said, frustrated at having to go through all this again. "Because people expect me to act a certain way, to do certain things. And part of that is having to lead. Having to set an example."

"An example?"

"Yes."

"That other people will follow?"

"Yes."

"So, you're encouraging your students to teach other people what they're learning?"

"I... What?" Harry asked.

"Well, if you're setting an example, it's only fair that other people follow it. So they should be teaching what they've learnt from you. Everyone could have a specialty. Your friend Josh Cochran could teach people how to speak American."

"I'm taking this seriously," Harry said, glaring at her. "Now, if you're just going to try and wind me up-"

"Why should I do that?" she asked, opening her arms wide. "I mean, that's not something you'd ever do, is it?"

"I suppose we're talking about my friends again, aren't we?" Harry asked, through gritted teeth.

"We can't be," Cho said. "Harry Potter doesn't have friends. He doesn't need friends. Friends would just slow him down. Friends would want him to explain everything."

"Yeah, you're right, they would," Harry snapped. "And I don't have time for that. Don't you get it? I'm learning how to fight Voldemort here. And I'm trying to help people along the way, too. Where do friends fit into that?"

"Your friends are the reason you're fighting," Cho snapped back, her voice suddenly as cold as ice. "You think I don't want Voldemort dead? He killed the man I loved. I can never have Cedric back. Never. Am I just supposed to sit here and watch you throw away what you have with your friends? Should I let Voldemort kill someone else as well? Because that's what he's doing, Harry. If you turn yourself into a machine, what life will you have left when Voldemort's gone?"

"What life do I have while he's still here?" Harry yelled. "Always worrying, never able to sleep properly in case I dream about him, always wondering who-"

Harry stopped cold, as though he'd run into a brick wall.

"I'm sorry about Cedric," he said quietly. "I'd do anything if it meant you could have him back, I really would. But I can stop other people going through what you went through. And that's what's important."

With that, he spun on his heel and stalked off through the stands, disappearing down the stairs and leaving Cho to glare after him.

"One of these days, I'm going to make you see sense," she said to Harry's back.

*

Defence Against the Dark Arts kept Harry's mind busy. He squared off with Dean, Godric Gryffindor's sword in one hand as his roommate advanced slowly. Suddenly, Dean's heavy broadsword flicked out, and batted Harry's blade easily to one side. Harry found himself staring down the point of the sword less than five seconds after the duel had begun.

"Again?" Dean asked. It was the third time he had beaten Harry that lesson, and each fight had been progressively shorter than the one before.

"Yeah," Harry said firmly, bringing his sword back into a defensive stance. "I have to learn this."

"You have to focus, Harry," Dean said. "I went through the same thing when I started learning self-defence. I was all set to go out and try and nail those kids who beat up my brother. My sensei got it through to me eventually that what I was learning, well, I couldn't use it in anger."

"It must have been hard for you," Harry said distantly. "Seeing your brother hurt like that."

"Yeah, it was weird," Dean said, his eyes losing their focus and his movements becoming automatic as he began another round of sparring. "After about two months of training with sensei, I went to see my brother, because he came out of his coma, and he said he was sorry for getting me into that. Said it was his fault for putting me in that position and that it'd never happen again. But even after that, I kept training. I mean, you never know when it might come in useful, right?"

He stepped forward, his mind returning to the fight. He swung several times, and grunted in surprise as Harry blocked each one. Finally, he lashed out with a roundhouse kick that caught Harry's wrist, making him drop the sword in surprise.

"Still, your opponent might cheat," Dean said reflectively. "Doesn't hurt to learn how to do that, either."

"You'll have to teach me, teach me everything," Harry said, picking up the sword once more.

"Nah, I dunno about everything," Dean said. "I need to keep a few things in reserve."

"Everything, Dean," Harry said firmly. "I'll do anything, but I need to learn how to fight without my wand."

Dean looked at his friend carefully, then nodded.

"Okay," he said. "I'll teach you everything I can," he said. "Er..."

"Yes?"

"Oh, nothing," Dean said, looking away. "It'll wait. Again?"

Harry nodded, and brought his sword up once more.

*

Transfiguration was almost impossible. Goyle and Blaise Zabini joined Harry, and even the brutish Goyle manage to make Harry look bad. Nearly six weeks after his encounter with the Boggart, Harry was still unable to do more than make his wand shoot a few sparks. Grimacing, he shoved his wand back into his robes, and concentrated on what Goyle and Blaise were doing, transforming their Siamese kitten into a fully grown cat, and then changing its fur colour, ear size, tail length and other characteristics.

A bit left, lots right, left again back to the start and then "Tempus Accelerus" with a snap of the wrist, Harry scribbled as Blaise confidently aged the kitten by seven years and four months. Professor McGonagall nodded approvingly after checking the age change with an instrument that looked similar to some of the many items scattered around Dumbledore's office.

"Not practising, Potter?" she asked.

"I don't really want to set anything on fire, Professor," Harry said.

"I'm sure that the kittens appreciate your restraint," McGonagall said. "However, it is imperative that you are able to perform the spell. Please take out your wand once more, and do try not to burn our subjects."

Harry reluctantly drew his wand, and flicked it left-right-left, before snapping his wrist and saying "Tempus Accelerus."

Nothing happened. To Harry's relief, there were no sparks, but neither was there any other reaction. Goyle sniggered openly as McGonagall waved her magical measuring device over the cat.

"No change," she announced to the now fully attentive class. Harry tried to ignore the scattered laughter as he flushed red. "Well, keep it up Potter," she continued. "I know that your condition isn't permanent. You will be able to cast the spells required in this class by the end of this year. If not, then I shall have no choice but to fail you."

*

Harry had suspected that his passing his sixth year was dependent on regaining his magic, but to hear it spelt out to him so bluntly by Professor McGonagall had truly driven the point home.

Hours after Transfiguration finished, he sat silently in the Common Room. He had worked with Seamus on the Shield Charm, gone over his homework, and was now half hidden in one of the plush armchairs, idly stroking Crookshanks as the huge ginger cat purred contentedly in his lap.

Crookshanks still likes me. The others probably would as well, if I wasn't being so horrible to them. I could almost believe-

Harry looked up as the Fat Lady's portrait swung open. His expression froze as Dean came through, extending his hand backward to help-

...Ginny...

-through after him. He said something Harry didn't hear, and Ginny giggled. Harry's stomach lurched at the sound, and he looked quickly away as Ginny turned towards him.

I could almost believe. But I can't. Not for my own sake, or for anyone else's.

*

Ginny's face fell as she saw Harry turn hurriedly away from her, Dean noticed. He felt badly for his friend as she tried to cover what she was thinking. He'd overheard Daniella Spinnet saying that Ginny had given up on Harry, had taken a vow between herself and her friends that she wouldn't chase after him, wouldn't pine for him. If he wanted her out of his life, that's what he would have.

And suddenly Dean was privy to Ginny's secret.

It wasn't working.

She loves him, he thought, staring at his friend intently for a moment. And he's broken her heart, and she can't stop loving him. That's amazing.

Dean suddenly found a new respect for Harry and Ginny. Harry, for inspiring such a deep and unquestioning love in Ginny. Ginny, for being brave enough to show that love as unquestioningly as she felt it.

It's hell for her, he realised.

"Dean?"

He blinked, forcing a smile onto his face as he looked at Ginny.

"Sorry, just remembered a piece of homework I need to do this week," he said.

"Oh, that's nice," she grinned. "Glad to know you'd rather think about homework then the conversation you're having with me."

"What conversation? You're trying to get me to believe that Quidditch is better than football. It ain't gonna happen! Nothing can match seeing your star striker hitting an overhead volley into the top corner. Not," he admitted, "that that sort of thing happens very often with West Ham."

"Striker? Overhead kick? Dean, can we go back to talking about normal things like Bludgers and Nimbuses please?"

Dean grinned. "Sure. Snob."

"Snob?"

"Yeah. You won't give football a chance."

"That doesn't make me a snob. I didn't even like Quidditch that much when I was younger. Sports are boring."

Dean looked at her in amusement.

"Now I know you're lying."

"What? They are. Try growing up in a house where your brothers talk about Quidditch all the time. See what happens to you."

"My brothers talked about West Ham all the time. I love sport."

"Well, you're..." She frowned. "You're a boy!"

"Oh, I see, not just a snob, but a sexist snob as well," Dean laughed. He dropped into a chair, and laughed still louder at the look on Ginny's face as she glared at him.

"Idiot," she said simply, before breaking into a giggle as she walked over to where Josh and Seamus were sat discussing the upcoming match against Hufflepuff. Still smiling, Dean got up to follow her.

It's nice to see her smiling. I'm going to make sure she does more of that.

*

Dean and Harry faced off. They had agreed to split the session between sword fighting and Patronus casting, so that each would teach for half the lesson and learn for half the lesson.

"Try not to think of it as a weapon," Dean said. "It's just that you have a longer arm than normal. I know you've got good reflexes, and that sword isn't exactly heavy. Now, come on."

Harry approached cautiously, pacing himself, not eager to attack Dean and have him take offence. Dean's prowess with a sword had become almost legendary among the Gryffindors thanks to his regular demolition of almost everyone during Defence Against the Dark Arts and the Dueling Club. Only Professor Skeeter seemed able to best him, and she readily admitted that she had been learning fencing almost before Dean was able to talk.

So Harry was very careful as he approached his friend. A feint to his right was followed by him sweeping his sword in low and from his left. Dean brought his broadsword down in a deceptively quick block, and Harry felt Godric Gryffindor's sword shudder in his grip. Dean grinned in a way that brought Harry no comfort at all. But still he moved forward, flicking out his lighter sword at different, random angles, making Dean do a lot of work to try and tire him out.

"Good, good," Dean said, barely breathing hard. "That's the way. Keep me guessing. Come on!"

Harry came forward once more, growing in confidence as he lashed out at Dean over and over.

"I know you can do better than that!" Dean barked. "Come on, Harry. Show me what you did to that bloody Basilisk!"

Harry lunged forwards, thrusting with his sword, aiming to miss Dean cleanly, but still get past his guard. Dean had other ideas, batting Harry's blade with his own and knocking Harry off balance. Harry stumbled and tumbled, before crashing face first to the ground as Dean danced backwards out of range.

Harry felt the tip of Dean's sword resting lightly on the back of his neck. He grimaced, and slowly climbed upright. Dean watched him carefully.

"Lesson one: Ignore anything that your opponent says to you. Chances are, they're just trying to put you off."

"Right."

"Now, come at me again."

An hour later, they collapsed onto the floor, sweating and panting.

"Patronus, then?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah," he gasped. "Just... Just a minute. Blimey, Harry, I thought you were still recovering?"

"I am," Harry said.

"Then you're in pretty good shape for a man just off his sick bed. Fancy sharing your secret?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. There was no secret. He'd just been pushing himself hard, far harder than Madam Pomfrey would have wanted. He felt ready to fall asleep as it was, and now he had an hour of hard spellwork ahead of him.

He stood up, his joints protesting as he rose shakily to his feet.

The Prefect's bathroom, he decided, as Dean turned his Gladius sword back into his wand. After this, I'm going to go and soak for hours. Maybe longer.

"So," Dean said, grinning a little nervously. "The Patronus charm?"

"Yeah," Harry said, sheathing Godric Gryffindor's sword in the scabbard that Professor Skeeter had supplied.

"Right, so, what's your problem with the charm?"

"Er, I dunno," Dean admitted, sighing. "I've never been able to do anything with it."

"Well, saying the spell isn't hard," Harry said. "Usually people struggle with finding the right thought to focus on. What about you?"

"I..." This time it was Dean who shifted uncomfortably. "I mean, you always say that we need to focus on one single, shiningly happy moment, but it's hard."

"Really?" Harry was surprised. He had any number of truly happy moments since coming to Hogwarts, and now when he cast a Patronus, he didn't have to think at all hard to come with a memory strong enough to power the spell.

"Don't get me wrong," Dean said. "I'm happy here, life is good, my family is great, but it ain't like there's that many of us who can cast Patronuses. Why d'you reckon some people can do it?"

Harry thought of the other students who could cast Patronuses. They were mostly Gryffindors, although Ernie and Hannah from Hufflepuff could cast the spell, as could Cho, a Ravenclaw.

"Ron, Hermione, Seamus, Lavender, Ginny and Neville," Harry said. "And Ernie, Hannah and Cho."

Dean pulled a face. "Hannah and Ernie? Well, I'm not surprised, I suppose."

"You think it has to do with going out with someone?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Nah, not that, not really," Dean said. "Think about it though. Seamus and Lavender have been together a long time. So have Neville and Daniella. Ron and Hermione, well, we all knew how they felt before they did."

"Ernie and Hannah are perfect for each other," he went on, with only a slight hint of bitterness in his voice. "Cho... well, she's a Ravenclaw, probably better suited to controlling her emotions. She can remember Cedric for the good things, not just the bad things."

"You think that being in love helps with casting the Patronus?" Harry asked, unable to keep a dubious tone from his words.

"I just think that it probably helps, you know? It's the one thing that's supposed to bring unconditional happiness. Don't get me wrong, I go mad when Gryffindor wins the House Cup or the Quidditch Cup or whatever, but a few days later, everything's back to normal. Maybe you need that moment of life changing happiness to get you moving. I mean, what were you thinking about the first time you cast your Patronus?"

Harry thought back to his third year.

"First time I got anything, er, I was thinking about... oh, I remember. It was when Hagrid showed up and told me I was coming to Hogwarts. I didn't care about anything else. Just knowing that I was going to get away from the Dursleys. That was a good memory."

"I don't have anything like that to draw on," Dean said. "I love my family. I was pretty miserable leaving them that first time, even if I was excited about coming here."

"Do you come from a big family?" Harry asked. He couldn't remember ever having asked Dean that before.

"Yeah, me, my four older brothers, Mum and Dad," Dean said.

"That must be nice," Harry said. "There's got to be a lot of good memories there."

Dean shrugged. "It was just pretty typical, really. You know what it's like. Mum was always yelling at one of us, Dad was always working, one of my brothers was usually in trouble over something, but we were always loved, you know?"

Harry didn't, but he didn't say anything.

"What about birthdays? Christmases? Sports day? Did you ever put any of your art in for a competition?"

"Yeah, sure. I mean, all that stuff is nice, you know?" Dean said. "But it's just ordinary. Nothing major ever seems to happen to me, you know? I'm just in the background. I don't do anything important or vital, never have any major highs or lows. Just ordinary, boring Dean."

"No, you're not," Harry said fiercely. "You're a good friend, you make people laugh and everyone loves your art. Don't put yourself down, Dean. Start doing that and you might as well just hand yourself over to Voldemort now."

Dean stared at the floor for a time, and then nodded once, sharply.

"You're right," he said. "I do let myself dwell on the bad things a bit too much."

"So do I," Harry said. "But it's a lot nicer to think about all the good things. Look at it this way, your brother is never going to be in a coma again."

Dean laughed, and shrugged.

"I guess not. I can't believe I told everyone that."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of. Look at me and Neville," Harry said. "We don't exactly have perfect families."

"No, I suppose not. I think Neville'll be a lot happier when he moves out of home for good."

"Yeah, maybe. Now, what makes you happy? We're staying here until you put out a Patronus."

"Sure you want to wait that long?" Dean asked.

"I promised I'd help you with your Patronus. That's what I'll do," Harry said, his eyelids suddenly feeling very heavy. He leant against the wall, bracing himself for another wave of exhaustion.

"Okay, er, I can think of one thing that would make me happy."

"What is it?" Harry asked, stifling a yawn.

"Well, er, I know it's not been very long," Dean said. "Thing is, I think it'd really help, and it's not like I'm going to push it. We're friends, that's all."

He stopped, and looked at Harry as though expecting him to say something.

"Er... come again?" Harry asked.

Dean sighed, and then: "Do you mind if I ask Ginny to the ball?"

To be continued...