A Reflection of Himself

The first Quidditch match was held in mid-October, and it was Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw. With Cho Chang graduated, the Ravenclaw team had a new Seeker. In comparison to the Gryffindor team, the Ravenclaw team was inexperienced. Half of their team were brand new players, and so, Harry felt confident when he led the Gryffindor team onto the pitch.

Surprisingly, the game lasted longer than Harry had expected. Ron's ability as Keeper was comparable to that of the Ravenclaw Keeper, so scoring was happening on both sides. Flying high above the rest of the players, Harry scanned the skies for the Golden Snitch. Quidditch always gave him a feeling of freedom, as did flying in general, and it was a great distraction from what was going on in the real world.

Finally, after what could have been several minutes or several hours, Harry spotted the Snitch zipping around on the end near the goals for Ravenclaw. He took off in that direction, and it was far too late by the time the Ravenclaw Seeker saw Harry zooming across the pitch. In a matter of seconds, Harry held the Golden Snitch in his hand, his strong fist clenched firmly around it. The Gryffindor part of the stands errupted in applause. The game was over.

The general consensus was that there was a lot more teamwork this year so far than had been displayed during the previous playing season. Harry remembered how downhearted his team members seemed after the first match during his sixth year, how they attributed their win merely to his having caught the Snitch. In the locker rooms, they high-fived and exchanged their congratulations. Ginny surprised Harry with a long kiss in front of the rest of the team.

Laughing and conversing as they left the room to head back to the castle, Harry was the last one to leave. Ginny was caught up in conversation with Natalie McDonald, one of the other Chasers, and Harry had told her that he would see her later in the common room. Harry didn't see Draco Malfoy as he stepped out of the shadows from the stands.

"Potter," said an even voice.

Harry stopped and turned to see how his pursuer was. When he saw that it was none other than Draco, Harry frowned in vexation.

"Malfoy?" he asked.

Draco took a few steps toward Harry. Harry wasn't sure whether he should continue standing there or begin walking away. He did not know what Draco's intentions were.

"I bet you thought you were really something," Draco sneered. "Of course, what else is new? Every year the famous Harry Potter struts about on his broom, showing off to the world what a great Quidditch player he is. It's not enough he is the wizarding world's savior. Oh, no..."

"What?" Harry stuttered. "Malfoy, what are you playing at?" Harry refrained from rolling his eyes. "You do this again and again... this taunting. What do you hope to gain from it?"

"Maybe just that you would step out of the spotlight just long enough for someone else to be in it," Draco spat.

"What? Are you jealous?" Harry asked incredulously. "Is this really about Quidditch, Malfoy? You know you've never beaten me, and you probably won't, but I don't think that's the issue here."

"Maybe it is and maybe it isn't, Potter. The fact of the matter remains that you are practically worshipped and glorified. Everyone thinks you are the golden boy. You... What did you do to deserve all that? You weren't the one born into a noble, wealthy family. My family had influence, prestige, power, money... and now look at me, Potter. A lowly spy."

"Do you think I ever wanted any of that?!" Harry yelled, finally losing his temper.

"Do you think I did?!" Draco shot back.

Their breathing was heavy. It was like they were carefully trying to control themselves, keeping themselves from charging full-force, headlong at the other. Teeth bared, fists clenched, the air tense, they both stood like that for several long moments, perhaps daring the other to back down. Then, oddly enough, Harry and Draco each sighed, visibly relaxed, and turned and left. Without ever saying so, it would seem they had come to a sort of understanding.

By the time late October rolled around, the weather had turned unusually cold. It was true that cooler temperatures were to be expected, but on the day before the Halloween Feast, a blanket of snow coated the ground. Normally the students would have been excited to see the first snow, but more than half the castle had taken ill with influenza. Despite the fact that wizards had magical means of healing themselves and potions they could take to help ease the pain and suffering, there was nothing that could completely eradicate even the simple flu. Like with Muggles, the awful disease simply had to take its course.

Even Dumbledore was feeling none too well, and as he nursed a cup of weak tea, he smiled wearily over at Professor McGonagall, who was seated across from him in his office. She was on the verge of recovery, having been one of the first to become sick, and was trying her best to keep the old man company.

"Who would have thought something like this would happen," she said, shaking her head, "and just before the feast, no less?"

"I know, Minerva," Dumbledore agreed, his voice rather quiet and weak. "Many won't have appetites to even be able to enjoy the wonderful meal that house elves will have worked so hard to prepare." He paused, took a sip of tea, then ventured, "How have classes been?"

"Well, as you know, I had to cancel earlier in the week, but even now, there are so many missing students, it almost seems pointless. Perhaps you should have just cancelled all classes for the week. Merlin knows we'll only have to go over everything again."

"That would have been a wise idea," Dumbledore said with a solemn nod, "especially had I known earlier that things would get this bad. I cannot remember the last time Hogwarts saw such an epidemic as this."

McGonagall nodded with understanding, and both of them were thinking the same thing: What would happen if Voldemort chose a time like this to attack?

Meanwhile, back in the Gryffindor common room, Harry was the only one of his friends who was feeling all right. Ron had not even removed himself from his bed yet that day, and despite how sick she really was, Hermione was sitting up in the common room, trying to read. She leaned over the book that she had opened on the table, and every ten minutes or so, she would cast a warming charm on herself and pull a blanket up around her shoulders again. Ginny had tried to fight the inevitable, but perhaps due to how she was raised by her mother, she, like Ron, returned to bed and stayed there.

"You know, Hermione," Harry pointed out matter-of-factly, "you're probably doing yourself more harm than good."

"Rubbish," Hermione muttered. "Reading doesn't take that much out of me, and besides, when we do all return to our normal schedules, we'll still be expected to keep up in class."

"Yeah, but a lot of the teachers are sick, too," Harry remarked. "I honestly don't think-"

Hermione sneezed, causing the blanket that she had drapped haphazardly over her shoulders to slip down. Very aggravated, Hermione groaned, pulled the blanket back around her, and complained, "It's not fair. You're not sick. I'm the one who's trying to do all the studying, and I have to be sick. You, on the other hand, Harry, are quite well, and you're doing nothing but wasting your time." Hermione's face turned red, and Harry could tell she was working herself up over nothing.

He sighed. "Hermione, really. Calm down, okay? Why d'you always feel the need to run yourself into the ground like this? You've been wearing yourself thin and bare ever since the school year started. Especially now that you're sick, you really ought to get some rest."

Harry wasn't sure what he had said to trigger the tears that sprung up in Hermione's eyes, but right in front of him, she started sobbing. "Oh, it's no use," she choked in between sobs. "It's our last year, Harry, and you know what that means... N.E.W.T.s. It's the real world after this. I still don't know what I want to do. Ron's been pressuring me, asking me... I don't know what he expects. And then... then he gets angry at me for spending more time with my books than with him, yet he keeps asking me what I want to do with my life. Maybe if I had the time to properly prepare, I would know."

Whoa. That's a lot more than I expected to hear. Shocked by the level of emotion coming from Hermione, Harry wasn't sure what to say. Taking a tentative step toward her, Harry knelt on the floor in front of her and regarded her closely. Finally, he surprised both himself and her by bringing his arms around her and hugging her.

"It's all right, Hermione," he said gently. "If there's anyone who doesn't have to prove themselves, it's you. You're overworked and overwhelmed right now, plus you're not feeling well. When you feel better and your concentration is back, I'm sure you'll be telling Ron and me to get ourselves in gear and study."

Hermione looked at Harry and smiled a little, hiccoughing. She wiped at her eyes, sniffled, and said, "I'm sorry, Harry. You're right. I'm just not feeling too well... Maybe I ought to head up to bed."

Harry nodded. "I think that's the most sensical thing I've heard you say all day." He paused, still surprised by her outburst. "Hermione, what d'you mean about Ron pressuring you? It really doesn't sound like him."

Hermione sighed. "All right, so I was exaggerating. He's asked me a couple of times, probably out of mere curiosity more than anything, what I want to do after Hogwarts. He seems pretty indecisive himself, though, so I don't know what his problem is."

"I think," Harry began carefully, "that because you are the overachiever, he probably expects you to have everything all figured out... like you always do."

"But I don't always have everything 'all figured out,' Harry," Hermione protested. "I told you both two years ago that I wasn't sure what career I wanted to pursue."

Harry, noticing that Hermione was working herself up again, said in a lightly joking manner, "You're just good at too many things, 'Mione. That's the problem."

Hermione was about to argue further, but then she realized that Harry was just teasing. He did have a point, though. "Oh, all right," she gave in. "Well, I suppose I had best take your advice and try and relax."

"Yes, you do that," Harry smiled.

Hermione released a single giggle and stood to leave. When she reached the stairs, she turned to face Harry one last time, saying softly, "Thank you, Harry."

With Hermione gone, the common room sat quiet and empty. Of the four houses, Gryffindor had the most sick students, and Harry wondered if more of them had taken ill since the day before. The day was a Friday, and it was already late afternoon. The shortening of the days was all too evident as Harry peered out of the window. Walking over to where Hermione had left her things, he glanced down at the book she had been reading - or more like trying to read.

It was a book on advanced Transfiguration. To Harry, it seemed blatantly obvious that Hermione had an extreme love for Transfiguration. He imagined his friend approaching McGonagall about it and expressing her desire to do something in that field, and he could see the older witch's face beaming favorably. Hermione had nothing to worry about.

Harry made sure the proper page was marked, and closing the book, Harry carefully stacked her books and put her ink and quill away. He sighed, growing quite bored, and slumped into one of the comfortable armchairs. His eyelids growing heavy, he eventually slipped into sleep.

By Halloween Day, even more people were sick at Hogwarts. Dumbledore insisted that the festivities go on as planned, though, for there were a few people who would still be able to fully enjoy them. During the feast, Dumbledore managed to make his way to the Great Hall and take his place at the head table. He was feeling slightly better, but for the most part, the food on his plate remained untouched.

As Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, it was mostly empty, just as it had been most of the week. Of his friends, Ron had gotten the flu the worst, and so, the usual ferver he had for food was completely non-existent. He had remained in his bed. So had all of Harry's other friends. He glumly picked at the food, not really in the mood to even pretend that he was having a good time. Then, from the Ravenclaw table, he heard Luna's voice call his name.

Harry turned to face her and found that she was dressed like a pumpkin from head to toe, and she had a ridiculous smile on her face. Smiling in spite of himself, Harry replied, "Hey, Luna."

"Why don't you come over here and join me?" she invited.

"Oh, all right," he easily gave in. Harry grabbed his plate and sat down next to Luna.

"Do you like my costume?" she asked, her large eyes probing right into his.

"Very festive," Harry murmured, clearly not impressed.

"Oh, come on, Harry," Luna prodded. "Just because your friends are sick doesn't mean you have to be all down in the dumps."

"Heh, easy for you to say, Luna... This has gotta be the worst Halloween Feast ever."

"Look on the bright side, Harry," Luna exclaimed brightly. "There's more food to go around."

Harry looked at her incredulously, yet again perplexed beyond words at how Luna was able to make some good come out of anything. Realizing that he should be grateful to still have his health in the midst of all the illness, some optimism sparked alive inside him. Luna had a way with words and a way of making people feel better even in the most dire of circumstances, as Harry recalled at the end of his fifth year when he thought he would never see Sirius again. He remembered that she had been the only person he didn't mind talking with at the time.

"You're right," Harry conceded. "Thanks, Luna."

Luna merely shrugged, but it was not clear whether or not she was aware of the power she had to bring hope to people. As Harry thought of the year ahead, he wondered if Luna would be the only one who would be able to bring hope to even the most dire situation.

That Halloween night marked sixteen years to the day when Voldemort had been nearly destroyed by the infant Harry Potter. While his near-destruction had left the wizarding world in somewhat of a chaotic mess with the aftermath of his seeming-downfall, a chaotic mess was in the midst of brewing now that was unparalleled by anything the modern wizarding world had seen. In one particular house in Great Britain, where had lived a witch and her Muggle husband, a great cry went up into the night sky. The Dark Mark hung over the house, proclaiming yet another victory for the Dark Lord.