Book of Memories

Chapter 14: FOUR-WAY FIGHT

"I think she's jealous!" Ron shouted, making sure Ginny could hear as he strode onto the field, late, with Harry and Hermione.

Not wanting to find out what kind of arguments two girls who fancied him could get into, Harry quickly kicked off from the ground and enjoyed the wind whipping his hair instead of the thought whipping his nerves. Ginny didn't have any objections.

She mounted her broom, a Nimbus 2000 Fred and George had bought as a birthday present by selling their old brooms and pitching in some profits from their shop. A bit dated (five years) but it provided better handling and speed than a Cleansweep Seven. Ginny shot Cho a dirty look when Harry wasn't watching and then kicked off into the air. One could not help but notice that Ginny, who had been wanting Harry to like her since they first met, was becoming slightly... how to say... irrational.

On many occasions did Harry find her in his way while flying around. He didn't take notice that she did this on purpose and in fact took no notice of what she was doing until they had an accident involving a Bludger, the Quaffle and the Golden Snitch...

"Another month or two and we're gonna have to pit you three against our old Chasers!" Ron shouted encouragingly at Ginny, James and Connie. "Great work there, James!"

Harry continually pictured his father the first time he heard James Griffith's first name each day. He was becoming quite sick of it (or was he?). A quick rise into the air, out of sight and a quick few-second hold of the Order of Merlin plaque and he could get back to looking for the Snitch.

"Ginny, heads up!"

Ginny shrieked. Harry wasn't watching, but from the sound of it, she had a Bludger on her tail but just then, down at the base of one of the giant hoops, was the Snitch.

Harry dived straight towards it, hearing Ginny shriek again, a dull look in his eye. Chasing the Snitch without someone tailing him, or rather, the Snitch not having sharp blades on it and no red-hot Bludgers, was much too easy.

Ron's clapping assured Harry that Ginny had scored just as he was an inch away from the Snitch, but at the same instant -

CRASH.

Someone plunged sidelong into him just as he was a few feet from the ground. Not having seen it coming, his grip on the Dragonback was lost and he -- and Ginny, he saw, having turned to see who -- tumbled as a single, tangled mess onto the grass. They rolled a few feet before coming to a stop and it was a most embarrassing situation. Everyone came running over and Cho sprang to her feet to make sure they were both okay as well.

Harry, back against the grass, looked her in the eye and said simply and quickly, "Ginny, get off me."

She was sprawled on top of him, her chin digging into Harry's upper ribs. Ginny got to her feet like there was nothing wrong and when Harry got up, he glanced at Cho just to make sure she felt the same as Ginny. She, thankfully, didn't have any out of the ordinary look on her face.

Maybe it was just in his head, maybe it was nothing to think about. Both Cho and Ginny, along with everyone else, weren't fussing over it. After all, it was just an accident and only by chance did Ginny land on top of Harry.

He knew, of course, it wasn't that simple. Indeed, he got a flurry of words from Cho as they headed, alone, towards the Great Hall for breakfast.

"That girl just won't leave you alone will she?" Cho asked exasperatedly.

"She Ron's sister," Harry replied, slightly upset at Cho's apparent jealousy.

"I know who she is," Cho said sharply, not taking her eyes off the side of Harry's head.

"Why are you so upset?" Harry said. "Are you jealous?"

"Jealous?" Cho repeated blankly. "Of - of course not!"

"Then stop acting it, alright?"

"I'm not acting it."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not."

"Yes... you are."

"No... I'm not."

"Stop saying that because I know you are."

"Saying what?"

"Look," said Harry, having quite a bit enough of it. He stopped walking, still not looking at Cho. Harry sighed, his shoulders dropping, and held his broom vertically. His hands loosened, letting off some steam and he almost dropped it. "Ginny's liked me ever since we first met. I thought her cheeks were going to slide off she was crying so much when I pulled her out of the Chamber of Secrets," he said sarcastically. Harry turned to look at Cho. She still wore that stern look. "But we're just friends, okay? Just friends..." He curled his face into a shape he hoped looked cute and innocent and added, grinning, "Do you still hate me?"

"No, I... can't hate you just yet," she replied, her face curling into a smiling, to Harry's great relief.

"Good, now can we go eat? I've been up since four-thirty and my Dragonback is starting to look tasty."

They started to walk again and within a few seconds, Cho's hand reached Harry's. All seemed well again... until Ginny got her words in.

"Why don't you like me!" she shouted. It was a very blatant question to say the least and it had the very effect Ginny wished: Harry was again lost for words to respond.

"Ginny, what kind of question is that?" Ron said, unnerved, turning to Ginny. There was an awkward silence in which Harry managed to find his voice.

"What d'you mean 'don't like you?'" he asked. "We talk, don't we? I don't run away screaming about basilisks when I see you, do I?"

Harry knew perfectly well that was not what Ginny had in mind but... what else could he say? Perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned basilisks because Ginny's previous state of being that didn't involve watering at the eyes abruptly changed. He looked at Ron, looking for help but Ron didn't have any to offer. Hermione was just as non-helpful. Harry quickly formed a small speech in his head he hoped would offer Ginny some comfort.

"Ginny," he said, sticking his index finger under her chin, pushing her head up and trying to look and sound sincere, "look at me. Cho... I mean, I'll talk to you whenever you want but... Cho, she - she means a lot to me. I'm -- er -- Sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but..."

Ginny dropped her fork with a clang, sprang up from the Gryffindor table and stormed out of the Great Hall. There was a bit of clapping behind Harry and he turned to see Cho and a few of her friends wave at him. He looked at Ron, who merely held a neutral look. Harry was quite afraid Ron might be angry that he just sent his little sister running off crying.

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said gratefully.

"For what? I think she took it rather well!"

"For not being mad at me."

"Mad? Honestly, she's been talking so much about you ever since our second year during each summer, I don't care anymore. She once told me she's starting to like Neville. She'll get over it. Besides, what good will getting mad at you do. Pettigrew, remember?"

Harry nodded weakly and went back to eating. Ron was right, he did have far more to worry about than Ginny but there was something he had been keeping from Ron and Hermione. This something had been bothering him every Quidditch practice and every Quidditch game and it was far too personal to mention. He hadn't told anyone what he sees when he hears James Griffith's name for the first time each day. That black hair, those glasses...

Harry felt slightly guilty at the fact that he would picture James Potter at all when just hearing the name. Causing further guilt was his promise to Sirius about telling someone anything that was bothering him. How was he going to say it?

Hello, James. I just wanted to tell you that every time I hear your name, I picture my dad. It's quite disturbing. Thank you. Good bye.

No, he wanted to hit himself for having even thought of it. What would anyone think when he told them that? World War III went on inside his head with the East saying tell and the West saying don't tell. Currently wanting to just escape his problems, he sided with the west. And further adding to the guilt were all the personal things that were spilled during many Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. If he could withstand that, why couldn't he withstand telling anyone his latest personal thing?

When he had been able to speak to his parents for a few short hours only a year ago, a powerful and uncontrollable urge to just let out his frustrations came out in the form of a cry. Staring up at the top of his four-post bed that Sunday night, dreading Defense Against the Dark Arts the next morning, that urge had come back in full. He fought it but only suppressed any noise and it took a full tissue to stop the waterworks. Wormtail, Dumbledore trusting him, Cho's jealousy, Ginny's impossible attitude and Voldemort threatening to gain power again was just too much.

Clearly, he needed someone he could spill his heart out to. Many times before he had done that with Sirius, and Sirius let him talk uninterrupted until Harry had even said what the color of his excretions were. Someone else would have to take up the job, but who?

He was being stupid. Dumbledore had had enough of his antics and it would take a lot of persuasion beside the fact to get Harry to talk to Dumbledore. Harry didn't hold Dumbledore in such high regards since Wormtail. Snape certainly wouldn't want to listen and Harry would be the laughing stock of the school for telling Malfoy, or anyone else outside of Ron and Hermione for that matter.

Harry knew why he couldn't bring himself to spill his latest personal thing. It was because he was hanging on a few simple words Dumbledore had once said. "You will see them again when you are older." Except he was older... and he hadn't seem them yet.

Harry flipped himself over and pulled the curtains back so he could gaze at the Order of Merlin plaque resting on his bedside table. He scrunched the tissue up, which looked like it had been held under a faucet and tossed it into his trash can. It didn't make him feel any better that, while staring at the necklace, he felt like reaching out to grab it.

What was the harm? He felt rotten and certainly wasn't going to get any sleep with so much hanging over his head. As much as he disliked Dumbledore, a few more of his words crept into Harry's mind.

"...you will have to find the distinction between feelings battling each other and knowing when you are content with yourself on your own."

Against his better judgement, he reached out and seized the necklace's plaque. He held it for a few seconds before coming to the conclusion that it was not helping. Harry certainly didn't feel content with himself so he came to another conclusion that this is what it's like to have feelings battling each other. It was not a very good feeling and, in fact, it was rather upsetting.

"Holding that plaque reminds you nothing you have done is a waste and it is that feeling of self-confidence that you have been hanging over since you moved into Privet Drive."

That was another thing Dumbledore had said, only Harry still agreed with himself that pulling Sirius from Azkaban was a waste of time. It might be a good idea, he thought, to decipher the rest of that speech but now was not the time. Harry's head was pounding and he was very tired. He put the necklace back on the table and glanced at his watch, also on the table, the urge to hold the necklace leaving him. Nothing could explain how much he wanted to fall asleep and his eyelids agreed. After finding out it was almost two thirty in the morning, that was another thing to add to the battlefield.

Harry turned to lay on his back and folded his arms under his covers. His eyes moved towards everyone else's bed. Ron, Dean, Neville, Seamus... They were all sleeping, not tortured by neither the most powerful Dark wizard for a century still wanting to kill them nor their school headmaster trusting the one who saw to having their parents killed. Wormtail proved he could lie to and backstab anyone. What's preventing him from stabbing Dumbledore in the back... literally?

A silly... no... ridiculous... no... outrageous -- yes, that was the word for it -- solution -- or was it a solution -- came to him. Cho? Would he dare to see if she would listen to him? Harry turned on his side again to look at his necklace. Just the thought of Cho released a small amount of tension and the urge to grab the plaque came back. She had not had such a grandeur life either so maybe she would see things his way.

"You feel something whenever you hold it because that necklace is the result of everything you've ever done, every life you've ever saved, every hardship you've ever endured and every life you've ever touched."

The urge to hold the plaque rose higher. Dumbledore was right, Harry had saved many lives and he had certainly touched Ginny's life. He paused for a moment, eyeing his name written in white gold. Harry blinked but the name Harry James Potter didn't disappear yet. This could certainly count as one of those hardships. Feeling more guilty still, Harry reached his hand out and seized the plaque once more, this time very much so against his better judgement.

That did the trick.

A feeling of contentedness washed over him like a wave of cool water. It bordered on ecstasy. He turned on his back again and smiled to himself, taking a deep breath. As Harry let it out, he closed his eyes and his stomach quivered from chuckling softly to himself, the air coming out in broken pieces. He put the back of a hand to his forehead, the hand holding the plaque dangling off the edge of the bed, amused and satisfied with his idea, still smiling to himself. Harry reopened his eyes when he let all the air out. The solution to all of that was easy. Why didn't he think of Cho sooner?

Now his only question was, as he finally felt calm enough to drift off into sleep, when would he have the time to talk to her? Hopefully there was going to be another Hogsmeade visit the coming Wednesday before the Halloween Feast. A more pressing matter (and Harry was very relieved for it to seem so important) was that of sleep. He would have to wake up in about five hours.

For only having gotten so few hours of sleep, he awoke feeling remarkably refreshed, though not fully awake. Hermione, attentive as ever, noticed the bags under his eyes.

"I haven't been getting much sleep lately," Harry told her in a tone he hoped sounded innocent.

"I can see that. You almost fell asleep in your porridge."

"Rough night."

"Something's bothering you again, isn't it?"

Ron, who had been tending solely to his pancakes, looked up at Harry at Hermione's words. It was then Harry realized that he hadn't mentioned Dumbledore's speech to anyone. That would also make for some great conversation.

"Sorry, I forgot to mention that Dumbledore once gave me this really long speech on why I feel better when I hold this plaque," he would say. "He said it had to do with self-confidence and understanding a buttload of feelings that have been confusing me senseless."

It made Harry sick to his stomach at having to spill that to anyone other than Sirius.

"Harry?"

He didn't notice that he had been dozing off again.

"I'm okay, really," he lied

"No you're not," Hermione said sternly.

"I'm fine."

"You're not," she said sharply. "And I know you're not because every few days lately you've been coming to breakfast looking dead on your feet and I know from plenty personal experience it means you've been up all night. Come off it, Harry, and tell us."

Harry appreciated the concern, and yet... he would have to spill something because he promised Sirius he would. He put his spoon down and stared into his porridge like it was a Pensieve. Okay then, he thought, I'm just going to say what I need to make myself feel a little better. Hermione looked at him with an air of superiority, like he was an infant and she was reprimanding him.

"Dumbledore gave me a really big speech on this thing," he said, holding up he Order of Merlin plaque. "About why holding it makes me feel better. It's not magical, it's all in my head... and I feel guilty whenever I grab it."

"What d'you mean 'it's all in your head?'" Ron asked.

Should he tell or should he not tell?

"I'll save that part of the talk for Sirius," Harry said without thinking. Only after he said it did he realize what he said and it sounded like he believed there was still a prayer to be had for Sirius. Harry immediately felt stupid for saying it.

"Face it, he's a goner," Ron said with a face of utmost sorrow.

That wasn't quite how Ron wanted to say it but as much as Harry wanted to deny it, he couldn't. Sirius' rogue soul had tried to suck out the remnants and the Soul-Saver Potion had worked against them instead of for them. Harry grunted something that resembled "yeah" and, feeling almost as bad as he had a few short hours ago, went back to dully sipping his porridge. Ron and Hermione seemed to be sharing in his gloom, although they really weren't upset. They only knew half of what was bugging him... (hadn't he thought that once before?).

"You better keep your promise to Sirius and tell someone," Hermione said, staring at Harry's hair (he was too busy trying to eat in silence).

He didn't look up, he just nodded. Hermione was satisfied. That decided it, then. He was going to try to bring personal things up with Cho and then talk about it.

"When's our next Hogsmeade visit?" he asked suddenly.

"Wednesday," Ron said. "Why?"

Harry grinned.

He waited, very impatiently, for Monday and Tuesday to pass. As usual, all classes were canceled for Halloween and the Great Hall was decorated. Pumpkins floated overhead instead of candles, a particularly smug one sitting atop the center of the staff table.

Nearly Headless Nick was in boisterous spirits. Peeves had been attempting to smash the pumpkins but the Bloody Baron put his foot down -- right on Peeves' head. Professor McGonagall screamed something about poltergeists at the sound of Peeves' deafening cry of pain and it took her in a minute to remember that Peeves was a poltergeist...

Professor Delacour didn't approve of the bats that fluttered inside the Great Hall, especially after one confused a bit of her hair as food. Harry didn't care much for the decorations that breakfast, he was much interested in speeding time up. It had a bad habit of going slower than a flobberworm when you wanted it to speed up. Monday morning, Harry asked Cho if they could have some more alone-time and she quickly agreed.

Unfortunately, Ginny was around when Harry asked Cho this and the last he heard of Ginny was stomping and a door slamming. Ginny still couldn't accept it. Harry tried to not feel guilty. It wasn't his fault, really...

Odd as it was, Harry didn't see Cho at all for the rest of Monday and all of Tuesday. She wasn't hiding from him, was she?

Hogsmeade was it's quiet self that night with not as many people running around the streets. It looked rather like a ghost town. A steady, moderately light rain cascaded over the rooftops but Harry, Ron and Hermione had succeeded in becoming substantially wet, their clothing adding a few pounds to their weight.

The sun had come out by the evening and when Harry stepped into the Three Broomsticks at three just to get warm, there she sat, chatting to a bunch of Ravenclaws, a Hufflepuff and --

"Hey, Ginny," said Harry brightly.

Ginny's head whipped in his direction but she turned it back even faster towards the Hufflepuff she had been talking to.

Harry, Ron and Hermione wrung as much water out of their cloaks as possible and shouldered them. They took a seat near the fire in a feeble attempt to get drier and warmer. Hermione had suggested Harry bring along his dad's cloak but in his mad rushing to get ready, he had forgotten to take it.

Ginny scuttled over to their table as soon as they sat and plopped down between Ron and Hermione (which, incidentally, allowed her sit across from Harry).

"You're acting very strange these days, Ginny," Ron said looking at her like she had suddenly grown a lightning-shaped scar on her forehead.

"Stranger than usual, you mean?" asked Harry, not looking at Ginny. She scuttled back to the other table. "Honestly, I give up," he said, watching Ginny engage in conversation again.

"You just make sure you tell Cho what you won't tell us and keep your promise to Sirius," said Hermione sternly.

"Right, right..." Harry muttered.

Suddenly, now that it was safe to consider Sirius dead, keeping all his promises to Sirius was very important to Harry. Though he still had a tough time accepting this...

Within a half hour, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws all left Cho and Harry to themselves. Cho signaled him over, a sparkle in her eye, and Harry took a seat next to her, the happiness he experienced in Cho's presence slowly coming back.

"Sorry about not being around Monday or Tuesday," Cho said. "Had to stay after class in Arithmancy."

"So how you been?" Harry asked.

Cho was suddenly very interested in her fingernails. Harry noticed a very tiny picture of the scar on his forehead on each one of them.

"Bad?" Harry asked.

"I gave a lot of thought to what you said last time, you know, about... not hating them. I didn't need to do anything though," she added, laughing airily. "As soon as I told my dad you and I had become great friends, the next day he started to act a little more normal."

She looked up and smiled. Harry grinned back.

"Anything new with you?" Cho asked.

Yes, Harry said to himself, there was a lot that was new and none of it was pleasant.

"Two things," he began slowly. "I haven't told anyone because... they're really personal... It's really bothering me and I just have to tell someone... D'you... really wanna hear it?" he asked, unable to stop his face from looking like she would say no.

"Sure!" she said, sounding strangely enthusiastic. "What's up?"

Harry took a deep, calming breath before continuing.

"I don't know why, maybe it's dumb but when I hear James Griffith's first name sometimes I... picture my dad. The black hair, his glasses..."

To his great surprise, Cho's smile widened.

"You miss them!" she said, hugging him lightly. "Anything that's going to remind you of them will bring a memory back, Harry. Nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Just don't tell him, okay?"

"Promise," she said, beaming.

"Well, and then there's this thing," Harry said, holding up the Order of Merlin plaque. As usual, holding it brought a small wave of calmness. "Dumbledore gave me a long speech after I told him that whenever I hold it, it makes me feel better. Thing is, it's not magical or anything."

Cho raised an eyebrow.

"I know," he said, letting go of it so it dangled in the air.

He laughed airily and nervously. It was going to take a Herculean effort to tell without stopping. Harry remembered back to how it felt to tell about the third task in the Triwizard Tournament: it felt like a poison leaving him. Yes, he agreed with himself, if he was going to tell her this, tell her everything and leave out nothing. With that in mind (and grabbing the plaque again for comfort), he continued. Cho put the eyebrow down.

"I feel guilty when I hold it," he started, dully. "Dumbledore said it was because..." -- and he paused to think for a moment -- "because he said that after all I've done, all I ever wanted was a house with... with people I could talk to and... not have to worry about getting killed each year."

Cho continued to listen, not asking any questions, letting Harry continue. It was much easier to talk about it now that he had started.

"You have no idea how shocked I was when Mr. Fudge called me up to get it. Sometimes I look at it and still need to stare at my name for a minute to believe it's mine. Dumbledore said that when I hold it, it's like real proof it's mine... and the necklace... his words were 'Holding that plaque reminds you nothing you have done is a waste and it is that feeling of self-confidence that you have been hanging over since you moved into Privet Drive.'"

Harry kept staring at his thumbs. He continued unabated, spilling everything as it came, talking himself dry, not taking much notice to what he was saying as it was all coming up from his heart and out through his mouth.

"I... don't know what to think. Sunday night I was up for three hours going over a lot of things in my head -- Pettigrew sneaking in, Dumbledore actually trusting him, both James' -- and had a really big urge to hold the necklace because I couldn't fall asleep.

"Dumbledore also told me that '...you will have to find the distinction between feelings battling each other and knowing when you are content with yourself on your own.' Been getting a lot of that. I hated that night, I felt like crap. Finally grabbed this thing... didn't help -- just felt too bad. I had and still have this itchy feeling Pettigrew is gonna end up killing someone and then there's Sirius.

"I'd love to talk to him -- and I usually do when I'm upset like this -- but... So that night I tried to think of someone else who might want to listen to me and... well..."

Harry finally looked up. The poison that was supposed to be leaving him had not drained at all -- talking to Cho just wasn't the same as talking to Sirius. It was possibly because there was something not right about the way she was looking at him. He finished up the last of it anyway.

"I've been having more feelings battle each other the past few days than I think since in the past few years. It... really bothers me and I just want to feel content with myself for at least a few months..."

There was an uneasy pause in which Harry became aware of his surroundings again, trying to decide whether it was a good idea or not at having said all of that. There, in front of him, was the very pretty Cho, whom he liked a lot. He was sitting in the Three Broomsticks and according to his very nice looking, gold watch, it was about a quarter after four.

"I-I'm sorry," Cho said suddenly and nervously, avoiding Harry's eyes.

"What?"

Maybe it was because Harry had said too much... that must be it.

"I can't," she said, standing up very abruptly, almost knocking the chair backwards. "I'm sorry, Harry. Good bye." Cho started to quickly walk towards the exit.

"What?" Harry repeated blankly. "What d'you mean 'good bye'? Cho?" he added, with a heavy note of desperacy in his voice. "Cho!"

She didn't respond. She didn't look back. Harry let go of the plaque, stood up and watched Cho leave the Three Broomsticks without a backwards glance with a desperate look on his own face, mouth wide open. He couldn't believe what had just happened. She walked out on him, just like that.

He had done it. Harry had calmed himself down too much and said too much. Some things were just best kept to yourself... Nevermind what Sirius had said. Harry was going to do what kept people friends with him: keep it to himself. Without friends, there was no hope at all. He stood dumbstruck, staring at the empty door.

"Harry?"

Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around.

"Girl trouble?" said Madam Rosmerta. Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes?"

"I told her what was bothering me and she walked out," Harry said, feeling depressed. "So much for getting something off my chest."

"Best not to keep things bottled up. It's just a shame she responded the way she did. You did the right thing for yourself. If she really loves you, she wouldn't have left without a good reason and she'll be willing to make a second try."

"Love?" asked Harry quickly. "We're just... really good friends."

Madam Rosmerta smiled.

"Have a butterbeer on the house. You can use it."

She walked to the bar and brought back a large glass of butterbeer.

"Sit down already," she said, pointing at his chair. Harry didn't seem to notice that he was still standing. Madam Rosmerta took Cho's seat.

Harry drank the entire glass in one gulp. It wasn't the least bit warming and soothing as usual. A quick grab of the Order of Merlin plaque again didn't do anything (he put it back under his robes so it looked like he wasn't just holding it).

"Thirsty, are you?"

"Gotta get back to Hogwarts," said Harry shortly. "Halloween Feast."

"Okay then," said Madam Rosmerta cheerfully. "Say hello to Hagrid, Minerva and Albus for me, will you?"

"Okay," said Harry, standing up and exiting.

He had felt lonely and miserable before but at the very least, when he had explained something to someone, they hadn't coldly walked out on him. With Sirius and the girl (whom Madam Rosmerta saw fit to use the 'L' word) now so clearly out of the picture, nothing would bring Harry back to earth and stop him from feeling like there was a dementor in his presence wherever he went. It was that cold, terrible sadness with no hope of recovery that pervaded his thoughts the rest of that night. Ron and Hermione had to pull him by the arms to make Harry sit with them during the Halloween Feast.

"She walked out," said Harry. "Just like that. Didn't look back. Just said 'I'm sorry, good bye' and that was it."

"What about Sirius?" said Hermione, trying to sound comforting.

"What about him?" Harry asked hotly. "He's dead."

"No he's not -"

"Well he might as well be. He's not getting up out of that death bed and running around any time soon. Voldemort will send us all Christmas presents before that happens. We ought to just arrange a funeral for him."

Hermione's mouth opened in horror.

Ron blinked and then when his mouth would finally move, he asked, "A funeral?"

"It's bad enough I know where he is everyday. Better off having a service so I can get him out of my head. Wormtail, remember? And close your mouth, I don't want to look at that because it reminds me of blood," he added, noting the very red cranberries that Ron was chewing on.