A Reflection of Himself

Autumn. Clear, star-spotted skies blanketed the cooling earth as the brisk wind blew, uttering its song older than time itself, sending a chill down the spines of those passing through the lone streets and tickling the senses to life. It was harvest time when the October moon rested upon the velvet night, quietly and calmly reflecting its dim glown off the serene waters of the lake. Ripples slowed and softened, for it would seem that Mother Earth was croning, preparing herself for the winter's rest that may come upon the world. Fires crackling within stone cottages lining the cobbled streets, releasing their smoky essence into the atmosphere above the roof tops, giving the smell of pine logs turning to ash to join their earth - the very feeling penetrated into the middle of the soul of humanity, and how that soul longed for sweet release, yet blissful respose.

Golden embers, like the goldening leaves, portrayed the warmth of the blessed season of the turning of time, and though no person could quite grasp the meaning of its beauty, no doubt mankind knew from a force within all the living, a force as old as the oldest of stone hidden among the dust and dirt, that to stand in awe of nature's wonders is a deliverance from the tangled, tortured world which was so foolishly created by humanity and into a world where everyone is simply asked to embrace it.

If nothing else is true in the world, there is truth in such beauty, such that what is given to people is precious, for as each solitary leaf shed its lifeful green and turned into its dying orange, gold, or red, so humanity must prepare to shed its mortal coil so firmly held and evolve into something more beautiful...the soul's essence of love. Such was the season of autumn brilliance.

But such thoughts were intangible and beyond what most people pondered on a day to day basis, for they had work to do, people to see, tasks to perform, and lives to live. Where they truly living, though? As Harry sat on the chilled ground on a particularly frosty morning in mid-October, regarding the still lake, he wondered if in stopping to reflect on the way of things as they were and as they should be, that weeks had passed already, slipping through his fingers like sand, and he had become preoccupied with living his life day by day.

Worrying was a bothersome and needless thing, yet as he looked out at the lake and saw how placid and marvelous the scene was, the peace was an illusion. Somewhere, near or far, he knew Voldemort was plotting his next murderous move, and Harry could not feel a thing of the Dark Lord's emotions. All he had was a sinking feeling within his own heart that the tide would very soon be changing, and a great rift would break forth through the seemingly firm foundation everyone had placed their hopes upon. Harry had seen for himself the foundation beginning to crack when he had spoken with Dumbledore weeks ago.

The day he had fallen asleep during Binns's class and had that very disturbing dream flashed back into Harry's mind for the thousandth time. Was it just a dream, or was it something more? His scar had always bothered him in times past whenever Voldemort had been inside his head, so something didn't add up now. Maybe he had just been worried about Voldemort and the horrible crimes he was possible of commiting. Harry didn't know. Not knowing was the way of things these past few weeks.

Finally, Harry drew one last sigh and stood up, returning to the castle. His friends would be wondering where he had gone.

Later that day, Harry was visiting Sirius in Lupin's office. While Lupin graded essays, Sirius told Harry about how he wanted to be able to move freely throughout the portraits in the castle. This was the first good news Harry had heard all day.

Smiling, Harry said, "That would be great! Then you won't have to be confined to this one lonely picture all the time. Maybe you could come visit Gryffindor Tower?"

"That's the general idea," Sirius replied. "Dumbledore said he would be stopping by some time this evening to take care of things."

"Great," Harry conceded, glancing over in Lupin's direction, looking for his reaction.

Sirius had already informed Lupin regarding his wishes to move freely, and it had been Lupin who had asked Dumbledore if he could do the favor for Sirius. The benevolent Headmaster of course complied immediately. Since this was the case, Harry wondered, then, why there was a look of consternation on Lupin's face. Surely grading parchments wasn't that horrible?

Lupin was squinting at the paper in front of him, as if straining to see the writing.

"You all right, Remus?" Harry ventured.

Lupin placed the quill down for a moment and looked up at Harry. Smiling weakly, he replied, "Yes, I'm all right, Harry... just worn out, I guess. I'm having a hard time focusing."

"You've been acting like this for weeks, Moony," Sirius remarked. "And it's only getting worse. I'd say it's more a matter of you having a hard time focusing with your eyes than with your mind."

Sighing, Lupin rubbed at his eyes. "I know. Even though I haven't had a transformation in several months, I'm afraid years and years of them have really taken a toll on me. My eyes are just one of the things affected."

"Maybe you need glasses... like me," Harry suggested. "It's not so bad, really. Lots of people wear them."

"It's not getting glasses that bothers me, Harry, so much as the fact that my body feels like a seventy-year-old man's."

Sirius was about to protest when Dumbledore strolled into the room. Seeing the Headmaster made Lupin realize that he hardly had reason to complain about feeling old. What was a mere thirty-eight years to over a hundred and fifty?

"Good evening, gentlemen," Dumbledore politely greeted them, with a slight incline of the head. Despite however many times Dumbledore addressed those he was meeting, there was a constant, comforting air to his way of doing things. His very presence instilled a regal, powerful feeling.

The younger men said their good evenings, and Dumbledore proceeded to stand in front of the portrait of Sirius. "So, am I to understand that you would like free domain of the castle, Sirius?"

"Yes, sir, that's correct."

"Wonderful. I must ask you to practice caution when necessary and vigilance when it is needed. The paintings in this castle have an understanding amongst themselves, and whenever a new one is added to them, there is, of course, a period of adjustment. Do not be surprised if you are not welcomed by all of them at first, but give it some time, and you will see that there are many who will become something like friends to you. Also, as you probably know, the portraits pose as a sort of lookout for me. They are the eyes and ears of Hogwarts, so to speak, so if you ever witness something that you feel needs attention, you know to come get me immediately," Dumbledore explained at length.

"Of course," Sirius said, noting the pressing tone in which the Headmaster spoke.

"Very well, then," Dumbledore said with a nod. Bringing his wand's tip to the portrait of Sirius, Dumbledore closed his eyes, concentrated, and drew his wand along the edges of the painting. "Imago actus," he murmured. After the glow of the magic dimmed, Dumbledore opened his eyes again.

"It is finished," he confirmed. "Now, focus and try moving to the painting of the pasture on the wall across from you."

Sirius pictured himself moving into the other painting, willing himself to physically perform the mental image. Harry, Lupin, and Dumbledore watched as Sirius miraculously stepped out of his portrait, disappeared for a moment, and then reappeared in the painting of the green pasture. An excited smile spreading across his face, Sirius ran through the grass, laughing like a child.

"This is fantastic!" he exclaimed. "I feel more alive now than I have in years, even when I was in your world. For the first time in years, I feel like a free man."

Smiles spread across all faces in the room. After a little while, Dumbledore returned to his office, leaving Harry and Lupin to watch their friend. Harry's heart felt for Sirius, for he wanted this for Sirius just as much as Sirius wanted it for himself. A tinge of sadness tugged at Lupin's heart, though, for he wondered why it had to take losing his friend through the veil for him to finally be free. What kind of justice was that, after all?

In spite of feeling like his years were passing by too quickly and the whole unfairness of the plight of events that had taken place over the years to the Marauders, Lupin knew that he should count his blessings.

After about an hour, Harry wished his friends good night and headed back to Gryffindor Tower. Sirius said he would join him there in a little while, but first, he had something else on his mind that he wanted to do.

"And just what might that be, hmmm?" Lupin inquired, raising a suspicious eyebrow at Sirius.

"Aw, Moony, don't you go worryin' your pretty, little head off," Sirius remarked in mock concern.

"Well, whatever it is you're up to, Padfoot, it'll be your 'pretty, little head' if you get in trouble," Lupin said, clearly amused. "Just make sure to fill me in on the details later."

"Aye, aye!" Sirius exclaimed, saluting Lupin, who shooed him away.

Sirius, still trying to suppress his laughter, left his portrait and moved from painting to painting throughout the castle. Several of the portraits' people were shocked or annoyed, some even angered, that this suddenly overly excited young man was literally jumping in and out of their paintings. As they made their protests, Sirius apologized half-heartedly, "Sorry... Oh, sorry... Sorry about that." He kept going, though, clearly on a mission that he wanted very much to see through to the end.

Finally, he arrived. Very quietly and sneakily, Sirius appeared in a painting (a very small one) of a castle tower in the midst of a rainstorm.

Truly typical of him. Dark, gloomy, and downright depressing. Also very cold.

As the rain in the painting pelted on him, Sirius visibly shivered. He wondered how a painting could invoke such real impressions, but all that was ignored when his eyes came to focus on his victim.

The room was quite dark, with the exception of a couple of candles burning on the table near where the room's inhabitant was seated. He had his face buried in a book, his nose practically touching the pages.

His nose is so big, it gives a whole new meaning to sticking your nose in a book.

Sirius sniggered and said very smoothly, "Enjoying yourself?"

The figure in the chair jumped, lashing out his wand immediately. He began scanning the room.

"Paranoid, are we?" Sirius asked.

Then, those black eyes locked on Sirius.

"You!" came the man's enraged voice. Snape lunged toward the painting, pointing his wand directly at Sirius. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, Black?!"

"Just having a bit of fun at your expense, Snape," Sirius said coyly.

"How did you get down here?" Snape demanded harshly.

"Ah, well... that. You have Dumbledore to thank for that," Sirius said with a smirk. "I think I'll be on my way now. Good night, Sniv-"

"Black!" Snape yelled. "You have two seconds to get the hell out of my room before I hex you into oblivion!"

Sirius wasn't sure how serious Snape was, so with a sudden movement - pop! - he disappeared out of the painting.

The next day, Harry was sitting on the bank of the lake again, silently peering out over the calm waters. He had eaten an early breakfast so he could watch the sun as it rose in the east, and as the sun elevated higher and higher, its warmth covered Harry. He closed his eyes and sighed contentedly.

While his eyes were still shut, he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, which only startled him slightly. The touch was soft and delicate, which went along perfectly with the voice that accompanied it. "Hello, Harry."

Harry could feel her presence next at him, her warmth radiating all around him, a very welcoming presence indeed. A smile forming across his lips, his eyes opened, and he turned his head to face her. "Hello, Ginny."

"Mind if I sit down?"

Quite the silly question. "Of course not."

Harry patted the ground next to him, and Ginny sat down. "We missed you at breakfast."

Her simple observation spoke volumes. The meaning behind what remained unspoken was far greater than whatever was said. With a short nod, Harry said, "Yes."

Ginny edged closer to Harry, and he found himself wrapping his arms around her, whether protectively or lovingly or both, he couldn't be entirely sure. In the midst of the warmth, a chill ran down Harry's spine, and he shuddered. Ginny, noticing this, looked up at him.

"Harry, are you all right?" In the depths of her cinnamon eyes, Harry saw her concern etched in every line of her irises.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Harry replied quietly.

Ginny seemed to hesitate before she spoke again. "Sometimes... I don't know if I'm going to make any sense... but sometimes, Harry, you seem... I don't know... distant. Is there something you would like to tell me?"

Harry swallowed. Was there something he wanted to tell her? Oh, there were many thoughts, memories, and emotions that played relentlessly through his mind that he could tell her. All his concerns regarding Voldemort, the secrecy of his plans, the frailty of Dumbledore... but why burden Ginny with his problems? In the middle of everything, Harry wanted more than anything to try to live as normal a life as was possible, despite whatever was going on in the world around him. Over the past few weeks, he had come to understand Hagrid's words as to why the professors at Hogwarts were going on teaching and living their lives as if nothing had changed. Harry would not allow the fear of Voldemort drive his life.

"What can I tell you?" Harry finally asked, trying to sound like he was contemplating a deep and profond statement. "How about this?"

He paused, and she drew in a deep, anticipating breath.

"I love you."

Then, leaning down toward her face, Harry's lips found hers. To say the kiss was passionate would be an understatement. Savoring every moment of this high, Harry closed his eyes to the world yet again, embracing something that transcended the physical. Sparks of elation flowed through both of them, and if this was what heaven was like, then Harry never wanted to leave. If he could have stayed in this moment for an eternity, he would have.