Nox

Chapter 5 - Time Goes By

A month and a half went by. Harry could have sworn it was just a couple of days. He had spent that month drowning in his schoolwork, and practicing for the upcoming Quidditch Season. As always, he was so tired at the end of the day that he didn't have time to worry about all that was bothering him. This was the perfect Harry Potter system for dealing with things.

The new captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team was George Weasley, who wasn't as irresponsible as one might think. Basically he just enjoyed abusing his teammates in various ways with his new authority. Ron went to the Quidditch tryouts that Thursday, and Harry cheered for him from the stands, but eventually he didn't make it. Instead, some third year by the name of Kevin De'luka was the new Keeper. Ron was really upset, but a week later he seemed over it, though he still wouldn't talk to his brothers. Harry really wanted Ron to be the Keeper, because it meant so much to him, but there was nothing he could do.

Hermione didn't do anything about 'the Benton Problem', as she called it, but Harry and Ron knew she was up to something, she had that determined spark in her eye that she had when organizing S.P.E.W. (Harry shuddered at the memory). She would sit and sulk in Benton's classes, but do whatever he had the girls do. Harry once tried to convince him to let the girls do some work too, but Professor Benton instead, explained to him that the men should fight the war, and protect the women, while they stayed at home with the children. "War is a man's business," he'd said. Harry still argued - "But there are a lot of female Aurors!" He didn't know much about Aurors, but hoped it was true, it must have been. "Poor souls," was what Professor Benton responded before urging Harry back to work.

The headlines only got worse and worse - "A wizard, his wife and their two daughters all found dead, no traces of the weapon, spell or poison. Aurors suspect it to be the Killing Curse." "The Dark Mark appears in the sky; is it a sign of what is coming?" "Witches and wizards fear for their lives, are their fears justified?" "A shop on Diagon Alley, owned by a Muggle-born was burned to the ground." But the Ministry of Magic just kept on denying Voldemort's return. They repeated all the time that it was "just kids playing, and there is nothing to worry about. Of course we have our best Aurors tracing these kids, but it is definitely nothing like the nonsense rumor of He Who Must Not Be Named returning from the dead. Don't be ridiculous."

Harry wondered if Fudge really believed all this bullocks he was saying. He didn't understand how he could act so blind. It was like him, Harry, saying that Ron didn't exist, when here he was, sitting right in front of him at the Gryffindor House Table. It was like saying there was no such thing as Hogwarts. It was ridiculous. It was, in fact, like Muggles not believing in Magic when it lied right in front of their eyes. He remembered Mr. Weasley saying once about Muggles - "They'll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if it's staring them in the face." Well, it's staring them right in the face.

~*~*~

Harry and Hermione were sitting in the Library, surrounded by books about the Werewolf Code of Conduct for History of Magic. Hermione was scribbling furiously on her parchment with her clear script, while Harry was having a hard time not falling asleep. He was in the process of writing "register", but didn't seem to get anywhere after the "reg". Taking off his glasses, he rubbed his tired eyes.

"All right," said Hermione, yawning herself. "We should go to bed. Let's finish this tomorrow."

Harry nodded in agreement, and they both gathered the books and their things, and went back to Gryffindor Tower. Ron was sitting by the fire at the Common Room speaking to Neville when they returned.

"What were you two doing in the Library for so long?" he demanded.

Harry decided it would be better for him to leave before his friends start to fight, and immediately excused himself to bed, rubbing his eyes again, and yawning all the way.

"We were studying, Ron," Hermione said fiercely. "That's what people do at the Library. It wouldn't hurt you to do so, either."

"Well, then," Ron defended, by attacking, "how come you only take Harry to study with you?"

"Because Harry needs to study, or he'll fail. And how dare you blame me for not taking you with us? We asked you a thousand times to come and study with us and you always said 'no', what do you expect me to do - drag you by your feet?"

"Well--no. But you didn't ask me this time!" he answered lamely. "And--and you didn't ask the time before, and the time before that--"

"I did too ask you the time before that, I remember because you were complaining about that Potions class, and I said that if you don't want Snape to fail you, you should study, and you said you didn't want to study--"

"Well, I was too upset to study that day! And if you're so smart why do you have to study so much?"

"Ooch!" she shrieked. "Grow up already, Ron," with that she stormed out of the Common Room.

~*~*~

Halloween had finally arrived. As usual, thousands of live bats fluttered from the ceiling, and around the tables in the Great Hall. Curved pumpkins with candles in them were placed around the halls instead of the usual torches, and pumpkins as large as garden sheds were assorted in the Great Hall.

The food appeared on the golden plates, like it usually did on Halloween, and everyone began to eat. The food was positively delicious. Harry loved the Halloweens at Hogwarts. Halfway through the feast he was laughing about something Ron said when his eyes reached the staff table, and he noticed Professor Dumbledore was absent. He eyed Hermione, who was sitting in front of him, talking to Fred, and then elbowed Ron in the ribs. They both looked at the staff table and saw what he saw.

"What do you think?" he whispered.

Ron shrugged and looked puzzled, while Hermione looked thoughtful; she was obviously running all possible reasons Dumbledore had to leave in the middle of the feast.

"Well, maybe," she said quite sheepishly, after a minute, "he had to go to lavatory?"

Ron laughed, and Harry threw her a dirty look.

"Whatever it is, Harry, you should give it a rest. It is none of our business."

'It is too our business,' Harry thought gloomily, but he was quickly distracted by a new course's appearance.

By the end of dinner Dumbledore had yet to appear. Harry was sipping from his pumpkin juice and listening to a conversation between Seamus, Neville, Ron and Lee Jordan about poisonous toads, while they were waiting for this year's entertainment. Suddenly, he felt tapping on his shoulder - it was Seamus, sitting beside him, he pointed behind Harry, and so he turned around and saw a severe-looking Professor McGonagall, standing with her arms crossed.

"Mr. Potter," she said quietly. "A word with you?"

Harry got up quickly and followed her out of the Great Hall.

"Potter, Professor Dumbledore would like to see you," she said to him, eyeing two Ravenclaws passing by them in the Entrance hall, "right now in his office." Harry felt a bit triumphed over Hermione's words. He nodded his head quietly, and proceeded to follow the Professor around the halls. When they reached the gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office, she leaned in and whispered the password. The gargoyle, in return, moved aside to let Harry pass. He walked through, up the moving staircase, and into the familiar office.

Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, reading a large sheet of parchment.

"Good evening, Harry," he said kindly as Harry stepped in.

"Hello, Professor."

~*~*~

Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, he had just sent off Minerva to call Harry Potter. He had to leave the feast, when he was informed of an emergency. He didn't even get to taste the pumpkin pie.

He was reading over a letter from the Ministry, when a knocking was heard, and the door opened by itself.

"Good evening, Harry," he said to the nervous boy standing in the doorway.

"Hello, Professor."

"Why don't you come in and sit?" he offered, smiling.

The boy sat down in front of him, he looked so young and out of place.

"Harry," he took a more serious tone. "I have been informed of an attack made by Voldemort and his Death Eaters on a village north of London."

Harry just looked at him curiously.

"Five Muggles were killed, and two witches; one of them was Willow Austin."

"I'm sorry, sir, but why are you telling me this?"

He sighed. He was hoping that Harry would have guessed what he was about to tell him. The boy had a knack for finding those things out, at least some part of them.

He sighed again, smiling somewhat suggestively.

"Would you like a cup of hot chocolate?"

~*~*~

Once there were four friends, four of the greatest wizards and witches of their time, and I'll go as far as to say ever. Their names were Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin. All being great minds, they saw the need of forming a school: a place in which young wizards and witches will be able to learn magic. And so, the four of them established Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, all wished to teach those with the qualities they each regarded the most: bravery and courage went with Gryffindor, the clever and witted with Ravenclaw, the warm and kind with Hufflepuff, and those with ambition and a cunning mind went with Slytherin. Together, they all completed each other and the school could perform with unity.

The years went by - as years usually do - the founders grew older, each having an offspring to follow in their wake. For Gryffindor - a son by the name of Alfonso. Benedict was the son of Helga Hufflepuff. Rowena Ravenclaw gave birth to both boy and girl - Fabian and Ariana. Salazar Slytherin had a son called Proteus, and another called Darius.

"And then Slytherin betrayed Gryffindor," Harry said, "I've heard this story before...."

"Not quite, Harry. The story went this way:

The unity of Hogwarts School didn't last for long - fights broke between the students, the four friends couldn't agree. It was a few years later when Gryffindor heard of Slytherin plotting against him. He decided to act, and killed Proteus, Slytherin's first-born. That day Slytherin declared revenge, and ever since then the Slytherins and Gryffindors were on constant rivalry, as you can see now.

Alfonso was killed, and Gryffindor had another child to follow his way. And when the time came, the founding fathers came to rest, but the war was still on - for the generations to come the Gryffindors fought the Slytherins. This war between them made it hard for both bloodlines to survive. It went on for ages, and finally a bound was made, five generations previous to this one, that on this generation the war will end, on this generation one side will be victorious, of both honour and power. One ancestry will last, and the other will end.

"On this generation there were only two Gryffindor decedents left, and only one Slytherin--"

"Voldemort," Harry said.

"That is correct," Dumbledore replied. "Willow Austin was a direct decedent of Godric Gryffindor. And you, Harry, are now both the last Potter, and--"

"The last Gryffindor?" Harry's voice was a mere whisper, full of awe.

"Yes, Harry." He couldn't help but smile at the boy. "Josephine Gryffindor married Linus Potter, creating a Potter-Gryffindor bloodline."

"But, sir," Harry started; he was having a hard time digesting this. "Sir.... How can I be the... heir of Gryffindor?"

Dumbledore was smiling at him, his eyes twinkling.

Harry was quite for a moment. 'This is impossible,' he thought. 'The heir of Gryffindor.... The heir of Gryffindor - me?'

~*~*~

Darkness. Cold. A scream is heard. And suddenly a lot of green light. And it is over. But someone still screams; little, terrified screams, muffled by a hand covering the mouth. It's a little girl amidst the darkness. She is crying. She screams. She kicks the man holding her. He whispers, "Crucio!". She screams harder, a bone-chilling scream. A scream full of all the pain in the world. The man smiles satisfied. Then she stops screaming, she doesn't make a sound anymore. A cold voice says, "We leave." The man walks away. The girl is on the floor. Her eyes are closed shut; her face is tear-stained. And in the darkness someone is still screaming.

Harry woke up screaming. He had to bite his lip to stop. His scar was burning; his head was about to explode.

~*~*~

His stomach was filled with fluttering butterflies, as he was pacing in front of the fireplace the next night, telling Ron and Hermione the more important parts of the talk with Dumbledore. All the while he was thinking, 'Me, the heir of Gryffindor! I can't believe it!'

"So," he concluded quietly, looking hopefully at his friends. "I'm the heir of Gryffindor."

The Common Room was silent except for the cracking fire in the fireplace. Everyone else was at dinner in the Great hall, and they took the opportunity to have this conversation.

Harry stopped pacing. He was now standing in front of Ron and Hermione nervously.

"That's brilliant, Harry!" said Hermione excitedly, jumping up and hugging him tightly.

Ron, though, stayed in his seat. He had a weird look on his face. At last, he said quietly, "Yeah, that's great, Harry," and cracked a halfhearted smile.

Harry just looked from his one friend to the other. He didn't know what he expected from them, but that wasn't it.

"Well..." Ron said. "I'm hungry. You think we could still make it to dinner?"

~*~*~

The first Quidditch game was near. George had the team practice every day: they were trying out some new strategies. On this afternoon it started raining about halfway through the practice, yet George insisted they will continue as planned; though an hour or so into it and he decided they practiced enough. They landed and strode, thoroughly exhausted into the locker room, where Katie and Alicia fetched everyone steaming cups of hot chocolate.

"--Overall," George was saying, seeping from his cup, "it was a good practice. Chasers, I want you to work--"

"Doesn't he sound just like Wood?" interrupted Fred, earning himself a shoe to the head from his twin.

"As I was saying," George said, mock-glaring at his brother, and he turned to the girls, "Angelina, Katie, Alicia, try and work on that diversion maneuver."

"You mean the Cerdachescu Hot Potato Spin-off?" asked Katie sweetly.

"Yes, that is what I meant." George was having a very hard time pronouncing the name of the maneuver and the team didn't miss a chance to make fun of him. "Finally," he said formally, turning to the new Keeper, "Kevin, I want you to practice an extra hour every day with one of the Chasers." He eyed Angelina.

"Aye aye, Captain," Angelina said. "I'll train the youngster."

"Thank you, Angelina. Than I think we're through. The Slytherins don't stand a chance."

They walked out of the locker room to the dripping rain. The sky was dark and full of clouds. Cold wind was blowing at their clocks and tossing their hair.

"HARRY!" George called out to the boy who was soaring through the rainy sky. Harry stopped mid air, and looked at them. "Aren't you coming inside?"

"Later," Harry dismissed them, and returned to his flying.

"You sure?" asked Alicia, but wasn't sure if he heard her or not, either way he didn't react.

"Come on, Alicia," said Fred, lacing his hand around her shoulders. "He'll be ok."

Harry decided to stay in the air. He felt free; he was a mere dot in the infinity of the sky, without a care in the world. He had no boundaries, not even those of Quidditch. It was just him and the sky, and the wind rush in his ears.

He closed his eyes, maneuvering his broomstick as expertly as if it was a part of him. He barely noticed the cold raindrops falling on him. He flew up in wide circles, letting the sky devour him, opening his eyes and then closing them again because the wind penetrated the defense of his glasses and made them water. He dropped down as fast as he could holding tightly to the Firebolt, just so he could feel the rush. The wind was blowing at his hair, his heart drumming fast against his ribcage.

When he finally decided he'd had enough of flying, Harry gracefully touched down, and as his feet landed on the ground, all the freedom he had, drifted away, leaving him bound by gravity, by obligations and by destiny.

It had stopped raining, he didn't know when. His breath, accelerated, came out as small puffs of frost. It was past curfew, he regarded, and he should get back to the castle.

~*~*~

Ron was sitting in one of the stuffed armchairs in the Gryffindor Common Room, right near the cozy fire. His eyes stared at the figure of Crookshanks, curled on the hearthrug. All around him people were laughing and shouting, doing their schoolwork, or talking to each other. Usually he would be one of them, but lately he couldn't avoid this deep feeling that invaded him. It was always there, in some form or another, actually, but now he couldn't push it away, or pretend it wasn't there, maybe he just got tired of it.

Harry was at Quidditch practice; he usually was. How Ron would have given everything just to play for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, not that he had much to give. Harry got to play; it was so unfair. He's been playing since their first year, the youngest seeker in a century, and before he came to Hogwarts he didn't even know what Quidditch was! Not like Ron, he had been playing since he was five years old, and if he could say so himself, he wasn't half bad. But they wouldn't let him play. His own brother didn't think he was good enough.

But Harry played. He wasn't even that good anyway; Ron could probably beat him. Everyone could play good with a Firebolt. Yet they let him play. They always let him do things. He was so sick of Harry getting special treatment, just because his... no, he couldn't let himself think that. Besides, it wasn't Harry's bloody fault. But... he was so sick of being Harry Potter's best friend. If anyone even spared him a glance it was just because he was blocking their view of Harry, or because he was standing beside Harry and their eyes accidentally fell on him.

Harry was the Quidditch player, just like Charlie, Harry was the hero, Harry was the one battling You-Know-Who, and killing monsters, and attending the Triwizard Tournament, he was the fucking heir of Gryffindor! Why couldn't he be the heir of Gryffindor? His entire family was a Gryffindor. What are the chances that it would be Harry - his mom was a Muggle-born, after all. Mom... funny that he would think of that; his own mom treated Harry better than she did him.

A hand moved in front of his eyes. Ron blinked, and then focused his eyes on the person who was trying to get his attention. Hermione. He gave he a questioning look.

"Are you alright, Ron?" she said, looking concerned.

"Fine, why should you ask?"

"You look bothered. What's on your mind?"

He knew that she meant well, but he didn't care to tell her what he was thinking about. He was rather embarrassed by thinking all that. "It's nothing, I'm fine," he told her.

"Are you sure?" she said, picking Crookshanks up from the hearthrug and sitting down beside him. "You know you can tell me."

He looked at her, then opened his mouth, not sure was he was going to say. Then he closed his mouth again, because he didn't have anything to say. He studied her face for a minute, she had really beautiful eyes, he always wanted to tell her that. Then he said, "It's nothing really."

She smiled and said, "If you ever want to talk, though...."

He nodded at her. He should tell her she had nice eyes.

They set in silence for a while: Hermione petting Crookshanks, and Ron thinking about things very different from his previous line of thought.

"Hermione?" he said quietly.

"What?" she turned to look at him.

"You have really nice eyes."

She giggled.