Indulgence of Grief

Indulgence of Grief

Grief is the agony of an instant, the indulgence of grief the blunder of a life.

Benjamin Disraeli (1804 - 1881)

Ron Weasley studied his board before making his move. He'd been studying it for a while so much so that, in any other time, his opponent would lose their patience. This was unusual in that Ron often had a strategy down pat even before the first move. Even his chess pieces seemed to notice something was amiss, since they'd been whispering and muttering to themselves throughout the match. Ron prided himself in being to discern a definitive strategy when it came to chess. He only wished his skill included being able to discern his opponents' emotion; particularly when the opponent was his best friend.

Risking a glance, Ron could immediately tell that Harry Potter was not in the game at all. Throughout the match, Ron would make intentional mistakes to see if Harry would catch him, proving to Ron that he had at least some enthusiasm for the game. Unfortunately, it appeared that Harry had little, if any, enthusiasm for anything these days.

Inwardly, Ron sighed.

He knew from the start that things were not going well for Harry, especially what happened their previous year with the disastrous TriWizard Tournament. From the moment Ron had returned to the Burrow, he (along with Hermione) began to send letters to Harry to let him know that his friends were still there for him. His responses were few and distressingly sparse in content.

Ron knew that he was usually the slowest one on the uptake, but even he knew that Harry had gone through so much in the time he'd known him. The question was: how much more could he take? Although he was never one to try and 'talk' with someone, it was Hermione who impressed on him how important it was for people to get things off their chests.

Harry, they all knew, had a lot on his.

Ron thought this was as good as time as any since the rest of the family was going to bed. He was about to open his mouth when he heard a muffled curse coming from a corner of the living room. Arthur Weasley, who'd been reading The Daily Prophet, rose out of his chair and glaring at something in it. Molly Weasley, who had take off her shawl and reading glasses in preparation for bed, walked over to her husband.

"What is it, Arthur?" Instead of answering, he handed the paper over and pointed. Mrs. Weasley's eyes widened as she read. "I can't BELIEVE it!" she huffed.

"What?" Harry and Ron asked. The Weasley's looked at each other, as if unsure what to do, then Arthur Weasley cleared his throat.

"It's....Cedric Diggory's death notice." Arthur shook the paper. "They're saying it was an accident during the TriWizard Tournament!" he said heatedly. "And that's not the worst of it! The article doesn't out and write how it happened! They say Harry was present when the accident happened and that he survived under mysterious circumstances!"

Molly Weasley was livid. "But that's not true, Arthur! We know what really happened! We know it was...." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You-Know-Who!"

Mr. Weasley slumped back on his chair and gazed up at his wife. "Yes, Molly dear, we know what happened because we know Harry. But a lot of people in the Wizarding Community are going to be very confused if not downright suspicious in Harry's involvement, and I can give you several reasons why." He held up a finger. "First, everyone knew how dangerous the Tournament was. It hasn't been around for 700 years, for Merlin's sake!"

Ron looked at Harry thoughtfully. "Dumbledore did say the death toll was getting high when they first cancelled the Tournament." Arthur Weasley nodded at his son.

"Exactly," he said. "So naturally, everyone will assume that even with all the precautions and all the safeguards taken...." He threw his hands up. "Second," and here he glanced at Harry. "A lot of people read all those articles put out by Rita Skeeter throughout the school year---especially the ones about you, Harry."

Harry looked away in embarrassment. There were a good many things that Rita Skeeter had blown way out of proportion in those articles (how he'd love to break that quill of hers), but some of them held some truths that he wished hadn't gotten out to the public.

Mr. Weasley looked sympathetically at Harry while shaking his head. "Many people in the Ministry were stunned when they read that Harry's a Parseltongue. They looked like they were splinched! Then there were the articles about you being 'mentally unbalanced', and the one about 'Harry Potter's Secret Heartache'!'

Harry, whose face turned red at the mention of this, glanced quickly at Ron, who was also turning crimson and shifting slightly from foot to foot. He remembered how Ron was very interested in finding out whether Hermione had taken Viktor Krum on his offer to visit his family in his native Bulgaria. He'd seen Ron tease Hermione before over the past few years, but this had bordered on.....well, jealousy. Harry turned and was about to ask something when he was surprised to see that Mrs. Weasley wore the same embarrassed look and posture. Then he remembered: Mrs. Weasley had acted coolly towards Hermione when she and Bill had shown up as Harry's 'family' just prior to the Third Task. As Ron had said, Mrs. Weasley found Hermione's supposed behavior akin to that of a 'scarlet woman'. It took Harry's proclamation that Hermione was not his girlfriend for her to warm up.

Strange, thought Harry, we can do so much with magic, and yet it can take only a few words in an article to affect us in the worst way possible.

Ron shook his own head and looked up at his father. "So what, dad? People think Harry belongs in St. Mungos? Just because he has a curse scar and can carry a conversation with snakes?" He snorted. "It's none of their bloody business if you ask me."

Mr. Weasley smiled at his son's loyalty to his friend, not bothering to rebuke him on his wording, but his face hardened again. "Which brings me to the third reason." He looked around at everyone. " I wasn't there when Dumbledore confronted Fudge with the evidence that You-Know-Who was on the rise again, but I can tell you this: he won't be the alone in his reaction to the news. A lot of people out there won't want to hear or don't want to know that the Dark Lord had returned."

Harry and Ron were stunned. "Why?" Ron asked, incredulous.

"Because too many of them have spent the last 13 years rebuilding what they lost," Mr. Weasley replied. "You two are too young to remember, but it was a bad time: The Ministry in chaos, no one trusting anyone, people disappearing. There aren't many people living now, who weren't affected in some way back in those dark times. The public doesn't want to hear that it might be starting all over again," Arthur said quietly.

For a long moment no one spoke, each lost in his or her own thoughts. Finally, Mrs. Weasley spoke:

"It surprises me that we haven't heard about any of this from Rita Skeeter, of all people."

Ron tried hard not to smirk. He and Harry both knew why Skeeter had been unusually quiet: Hermione had been the one to figure out that the reporter was in fact an unregistered Animagus, which is how she'd been able to get information for all those embarrassing articles. She'd also given Skeeter an ultimatum: no writing for a year, or the Ministry would get a quick owl. Ron turned to share a look with Harry but started when he wasn't there.

"Harry?" He asked looking around. All the Weasley's looked around then stopped as they heard the creaking and the slam of the porch door.

****

Harry stepped out on to the porch and looked up into the night sky, putting his hands into his pockets. Countless stars glittered in the night sky, and for a moment, he envied them. So many stars, you could hardly tell one from another. He wished he could be just as indistinguishable as the next boy....but this was not the case. His 'star' had to shine brighter than any other; attracting the like of Rita Skeeter...or Lord Voldemort. Unfortunately, such attention came at a price: Anyone close to him would be an obvious target.

He shuddered when he recalled Ron's scream of fright at seeing a haggard and psychotic-looking Sirius Black over his head wielding a knife. He knew, now, that Sirius had been after Peter Pettigrew, who for years had disguised himself as Ron's pet rat, Scabbers. He knew and understood the truth now, but back then?

Then there was Hermione.

She was the one who had discovered the identity of the monster that lurked in the Chamber of Secrets back in their second year. She had the foresight to use a mirror to check all corners, but was still unfortunate to catch a glimpse of the Basilisk. Harry could still picture her, lying on the hospital bed, petrified with fright. At the moment, he knew she was to be cured eventually with the Mandrake draught, but it still unnerved Harry to see her glassy eyes staring into nothing.

Even Hagrid hadn't walked away unscathed. He had been the primary suspect when the Chamber was opened for a second time, and for that, was forced to spend time in Azkaban. Harry could still see the shaking of Hagrid's hands as he took a long sip of tea, while he talked, however briefly, about what he went through in the prison.

Lastly, there was Cedric....

Cedric's surprised face, just after he died, haunted him. Harry's fists clenched as he shut his eyes so tightly he saw stars.

It's not fair! Everyone I know and care about gets hurt because of me. And even after all that, they still tell me.....

"It's not your fault, Harry," A gentle voice said from behind him. Startled, Harry turned around to face a concerned-looking Mrs. Weasley, who had that same piercing gaze that felt too much like Prof. Dumbledore's.

For her part, Molly Weasley could see that Harry was carrying a lot of emotional baggage. She could see that he needed to get it out of his system, or else he would never be able to move on. She laid a calming hand on his shoulder.

"Harry, you're too young to be doing this to yourself."

Harry turned and looked at her, with a mildly incredulous look in his eye. "Me? Put myself through this?" Mrs. Weasley was dismayed to see Harry's eyes begin to glisten in the moonlight.

"I was too young for the TriWizard Tournament, but I had to compete in it, anyway. I was too young to have my parents taken from me, but I had to live with it, anyway. I was too young for this," his hand went up to his scar, "but I have to bear it always." He paused, looked away and swallowed. "Seems like these things always happen to me, whether I have a say in it or not." Harry looked back up the sky, but after a moment bowed his head.

"Cedric won, you know. He was only feet away from the trophy and you know what he did? He wanted me to take it because he believed I helped him more with the tasks that he did for me." Mrs. Weasley nodded, but held her tongue. She understood that Harry had to bring himself to a point if he was ever to find any peace with himself.

Harry chuckled a bit sadly to himself. "I told him to stop being to noble, that either way it would be a Hogwarts victory; but he was too stubborn. So, I told him we'd both take it. So that we could both," he snorted, "share in the glory...that both houses could come up on top."

Mrs. Weasley held her breath at what came next.

"Do.....do you know what Voldemort called Cedric?" Harry asked, his voice barely a whisper. Mrs. Weasley didn't even wince at the name, so engrossed was she at Harry's account. He looked directly into her eyes as he said, "He called Cedric, 'The Spare'....'Kill The Spare!' he said. As if Diggory was some old tire to be done away with." Molly Weasley was now close enough where she could see a single tear run down his cheek. Unconsciously, her hand came up and gently wiped it away, feeling Harry tremble underneath.

"And then," he choked. "And then...." His face screwed up and stinging eyes threatened to release the torrent of emotions that seethed underneath.

Mrs. Weasley, who had seven children of her own, reached out and hugged Harry. Harry, feeling light-headed, limply hugged her back. But slowly, almost hesitantly, he started to shudder as an emotional dam (built out of necessity over the years) finally cracked inside him. This time, no relatives were there to tell him to shut up; no errant reporter getting caught in a hospital ward was going to stop what Molly Weasley from being there for someone who desperately needed it.

With his head buried in the crook of her neck, Harry began to wail with 14 years worth of sorrow, frustration and anger. Sorrow for never having known his real parents, and having been brought up by unsympathetic relatives. Frustration for the abuse he had to tolerate at the hands of Petunia, Vernon and Dudley. Finally, anger for knowing that however much he wished for a normal life, he might never get it, all because of who he was, what he had done and what he was also (to his dismay) expected to do.

Mrs. Weasley slowly rocked Harry back and forth, murmuring words of comfort to him as he clutched her, afraid that he'd have to let go for some reason. She ached to feel and hear so much grief pour out from any one person, but she understood and empathized Harry's position. She didn't even notice tears running down her cheeks.

She looked up at the evening sky, wondering what Harry, who she considered one of her own, would be facing in the next year. The stars, unfortunately, gave no answer.

It didn't matter, for at that brief moment in time, all that could be heard under the twinkling stars, was a sobbing boy comforted by a mother.