The Heart of Gryffindor
by SJR0301
Chapter Nineteen
They managed to get on the Knight Bus, however, without any real difficulty, and Tonks only bumped into one person's lounge chair as she chivied them up to the second deck. Stan Shunpike, the bus conductor, got one look at Harry and said,"Hey, Ernie, it's 'im. The Boy What Lived, You Know."
Harry waved at Ernie, the wizened old driver and said, "Hi."
"Where you goin' then?" Ernie asked, seeingly completely unfazed by Harry's latest bit of celebrity.
"Hogwarts School," Tonks said. "And don't say his name again, not even his nickname."
She raised her wand threateningly and Harry said, "Come on, Tonks, Voldemort's not going to attack the bus just because you say my name."
Everyone, including Tonks, shivered slightly at the mention of Voldemort's name. He added in annoyance, "And I'd rather you called me Harry. It makes me feel too much like him when people call me THE BOY instead of by my name."
Stan's eyes popped open very wide and he said, "You 'ear that Ernie! 'e says we can use 'is name. 'arry Potter says we can use 'is name!"
"Jus' ignore 'im, guvnor," Ernie said. " 'e's a bit excitable Stan, but 'e's a good lad."
Tonks poked Harry and said, "Go on up, then. I want to get out of here quick." He nodded politely at Ernie and Stan and climbed the stairs up to the second deck where the others were already settled. Mrs. Weasley joined them, planted herself firmly in one of the lounge chairs and took out her knitting needles and began to knit. More precisely, she waved her wand, and the needles commenced to knit by themselves at a furious pace, making a large woolen afghan or blanket of red wool with little lions scattered across the field of red.
"That's terrific," Hermione said admiringly. "How do you get them to go so fast without dropping any stitches."
"Practice, my dear," Mrs. Weasley answered. "I'm sure you'll be just as good when you get to be my age."
The Knight bus took off, sliding through traffic with strangely sickening jolts. Streetlamps jumped out of the way, and on one occasion, Harry saw a huge tractor-trailer move three lanes at once to let in the bus. Their first stop was at the dingy street on which St. Mungo's was located. A tall old wizard with his face wrapped in a balaclava came down from the third deck and continued down the stairs to the first deck exit. As he passed, Harry saw that his face up to his eyes was covered in feathers and he supposed the wizard must have been trying some sort of transfiguration with only partial success.
"And that," Mrs. Weasley said quietly after, "is why you should never do spells untaught and on your own."
"Looks like he was trying to do the animagus spell without knowing how," Tonks said brightly. Harry shuddered and thought, too bad it's so difficult. He would have really liked to learn the animagus spell. The idea of being able to transform into a bird at will and fly away at need had tremendous appeal. McGonagall and Dumbledore would never let him learn it though, he thought broodingly. They were too worried that Harry would use the spell to take off without supervision or assistance.
He would, too, if the circumstances demanded it, he admitted to himself. It was amazing that his Dad and Sirius and even Wormtail had learned the spell on their own. But then, his Dad and Sirius had been top students: Two of the smartest and most talented ever, according to Professor McGonagall, and Harry could hardly suppose that he was one of the top students, even in his own class.
The bus gave a tremendous shudder and with a loud bang that unsettled the contents of his breakfast that were still in his stomach, they had arrived at the front gate of the school. Harry had managed to stay in his seat, although he had to wait a moment for his stomach to calm down before rising to leave the bus. Mrs. Weasley was also still seated and so was Hermione, but Ginny, Ron and Tonks had ended up on the floor in a tangle.
With a considerable amount of noise and the occasional swear word from Ron, followed by a muttered, "Sorry, Mum," they untangled themselves and collected their various belongings.
Mrs. Weasley stopped them, however, before they could descend to the first deck and handed out four woolen blankets, one for each of them. "There," she said, "something extra to keep you warm. This winter has been so nasty and cold and there's more to come, I'm thinking."
Harry's was the one she had been finishing on the bus. One of the little golden lions gave a muted purr and went to sleep. "It matches your sweater, dear," Mrs. Weasley said fondly. Then she hugged each of them in turn and when it was Harry's turn, she said quietly, "Please listen to Professor Dumbledore and don't do anything rash."
Harry nodded. He had no urge to defend himself or say that it was Voldemort's fault, not his. He had begun to understand the nightmares that prompted Mrs. Weasley's boggart all too well.
He simply said, "Yes, and thanks," and he hugged her back before turning to go down to the exit. Ginny waved at the departing bus even as it disappeared again with a loud bang. Harry picked up his trunk and then realized that Tonks had managed to miss the bus.
"It's gone without you," he said. "Did you want to call it back?"
"Oh, no," Tonks," answered beaming at him. "I'll be doing my bit for the Order here for a while."
"Well, I don't need a guard here at Hogwarts," Harry said with outrage. "I might as well hang it up altogether if I've got to have an auror watching me night and day."
Tonks gave him a surprisingly stern look and replied, "You could do with watching night and day, Harry. But as it happens, I'm doing a different job for Dumbledore than guard duty."
"You're the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor then," Hermione said inquiringly.
Tonks nodded and the tall gates opened to them. Harry gawped after her. Tonks was certainly the youngest professor they'd ever had. But at least, he thought, they had gotten out of having Snape for Defense for another term.
"So what are you teaching then?" Harry asked.
"Disguise and concealment, for one thing," Tonks answered. "That’ll be fun. And I'm supposed to be teaching Stealth and Tracking. That was Dumbledore's plan for this term and I've got to stick to it."
Harry closed his mouth with a snap. Stealth and Tracking, from Tonks? They might as well just wear bells and go about ringing them to announce their presence if they were going to do that subject with Tonks for the teacher. But then again, she was a fully qualified auror which was sure to be a vast improvement on the likes of Lockhart and Umbridge. They were halfway to the doors of the Castle when Tonks stopped abruptly and nearly fell when Ginny walked right into her.
"I think," she said worriedly, "that I need a new look if I'm going to be teaching. Something more serious, don't you think?" She screwed up her face with that look of concentration she got when she was altering her appearance, and in seconds, her bubble-gum pink hair was back to black. "Better?" she asked. It was certainly somewhat Harry thought, if you wanted to look less like a Muggle teen and more like a Hogwarts teacher. Of course, after Umbridge, anything was good, and he noticed that without the shokcing pink hair, Tonks had a very pretty face indeed.
"A little more, erm, teacher-like?" Hermione ventured gently. Tonks considered them and smiled. Her dark hair, which had been quite short and had stuck up in a funny, rather rock'n'roll style, grew out to her shoulder, making her look prettier than ever. She thought again and said, "Not quite severe enough," and with a wave of her wand, she conjured up hairpins and pinned her hair up in one of those buns exactly like Professor McGonagall's.
"That's good," Hermione, said enthusiatically. "And mind you be very strict to begin with. We've got a few really bad ones in our class. Crabbe and Goyle and Malfoy, who'll be just looking for an opportunity to make you look stupid."
"Death Eaters' kids," Tonks said. "I know our little Draco from the time he was a spoiled whining little brat as his Mum's my relation and he's a cousin of mine. I shall enjoy taking our little Draco down a peg or two." Harry brightened up. Another term without Snape for the Defense teacher and someone who would give Malfoy a hard time. Things, he thought, were looking up.
They stowed their belongings back in their dormitories. Harry laid his new blanket on his bed for later. It was made of a very soft, fine wool and he thought how nice it would be to have that extra layer of warmth. Even though the constant sleet had let up for the day, the air was still frigid, and if you got a few feet away from a fireplace, it was cold enough to cut through to the very bone. He reminded himself to have Hermione teach him that handy little spell that warmed the air around you as if you were in your own little bubble. He looked around the room affectionately and felt that he was back at home. It was odd, really, but no matter how much he did to Sirius's house, it didn't feel like home; it didn't feel like his own. Only at Hogwarts did he feel as close to being at home as thought most people did when they were in their own home. Ron had laid his blanket on his bed as well.
"It's maroon again," he said. "She always makes mine maroon."
Harry looked at Ron's and said, "Well, it's quite nice really. And look, she's put in silver hippogriffs, too. She must have used Buckbeak for a model. And anyway," he added, "everyone else will be quite envious as they'll be wanting extra covers too if the winter keeps up the way it's been going." Ron shivered and stopped with a look of wild speculation.
"I've never seen anything like the weather this year. Cold, yeah. Snow, yeah. But all this sleet and ice and snow and cold all at once and constantly? I wonder if Voldemort's bewitched the weather."
"Why would he want to?" Harry asked.
"I dunno," Ron said slowly. "Maybe it's just one more thing to disrupt everything. And one more thing to make trouble for the Muggles as well. Dad was talking about how the Ministry had been sending wizards in surreptitiously to fix the Muggle power lines. They were breaking so often from the ice that they kept losing their eklectric and couldn't heat their homes."
Harry frowned and said, "I dunno, Ron. The weather can be strange any time without wizard interference. It sounds like Luna Lovegood, really, and one of her goofy theories."
"It does, doesn't it?" Ron said with chagrin. "Well, let's go get lunch then. I'm starving."
It wasn't until dinnertime, though, when the full body of students had returned from the holidays that Harry had his first taste of the effect of Rita Skeeter's latest article.
Malfoy, naturally, came by and said, "I'm surprised to see you out of the hospital wing, Potter. You'd better have a private nurse about to catch you in case you faint from weakness in the corridors tomorrow."
Harry wasn't too bothered by that and he didn't even respond. He was too used to Malfoy's digs to have expected anything else. But the other students' reactions were a different story. Many of the students passed by and gaped openly at him and then went to their places whispering furiously. Others ducked past him quickly and looked away if he caught their eye, as if they feared he might hex them just by looking at him. And even many of his Gryffindor friends and acquaintances from his class said hello in hushed, awkward tones, as though they were afraid he might crack right in front of them.
Parvati, however, came straight up to him and said, "Are you really all right, Harry?"
As she had asked him in quite the nicest tones she had ever used, he answered firmly and pleasantly, "I'm really quite fine." He added, just for good measure, "Did you have a good holiday then?"
Neville came up next to Parvati and said, "Are you sure you're okay? We can help you with your work and stuff if you need it."
Harry was once again reminded what a good friend Neville was and he said, "I'm fine, Neville." Then he grimaced and said dryly, "You can't believe everything you read in the Daily Prophet, you know."
"I don't read the Daily Prophet anymore," Neville answered. "I was there," he added in a low voice.
Harry said quietly, "Neville, I think you were in worse shape than I was, after that awful woman hit you with that curse. I'm the one that should have been asking after you."
Neville looked astonished and answered, "Well, I'm all right. Gran kept me in bed for days, even though I was fine and she insisted on feeding me soup and potions until I thought I'd turn into a giant pot of revitalizing soup."
"You were very brave," Parvati said to Neville. Then she waved to Lavender and sat at the other end of the table leaving Neville staring after her with his mouth hanging open.
Harry smiled at him and said, "You were."
After dinner, they went up to the common room, where Harry finished his holiday homework for Potions while Hermione and Ron sat speculating on what Tonks' first lesson might be like. He was relieved to see that Ginny was occupied with her fourth year friends as he was certain that the less anyone knew about their present relationship, the better.
He stared gloomily at the Potions essay, barely seeing the words, as he tried to shore up the wall in his mind that separated him from Voldemort. He could hardly admit it to his friends, but since Voldemort's last attack, he had felt as though the separation between them had thinned and if he allowed himself to ponder the consequences, fear ate at him. In the furthest reaches of his mind, he was afraid that Voldemort would do as he had promised in the end: simply consume Harry, until there was no separation, until they were one.
And the worst fear of all-- the one that he had shield away from since his fifth year, when he had felt himself inside of Voldemort as Voldemort possessed the snake that bit Mr. Weasley--was that he would be Voldemort's instrument of war against his own friends, against Dumbledore, against the Order.
A faint hissing sound, like a snake talking, drew his attention to the lead glass window. It was sleeting again, and despite the warm fire, the cold slithered in and wrapped itself around him, constricting his muscles, his bones, and his very heart. In another faint hiss, the embers of the waning fire jumped and flared and Harry saw that only he and Ron remained in the chilly common room.
Ron yawned widely and said, "We ought to go up else we'll be late for Potions in the morning and the last thing we need is another detention from Snape."
Harry shrugged and scooped up his less than satisfactory essay. He followed Ron up to their dormitory and slid under the covers without bothering to look for pajamas. He shivered underneath the blankets until he remembered the new afghan Mrs. Weasley had given him. He sat up and wrapped himself in the soft wool and found it helped to chase away the cold. He even managed a small curl of the mouth when one of the golden lions yawned and purred as it turned around in circles and then curled itself up and fell asleep. With a yawn of his own, Harry curled up in the smallest ball possible and slept.
In Potions class, Snape taught with exactly the same icy attitude he'd always had. He made no concessions for Harry's recent encounter with Voldemort and of all the holiday essays he collected, Harry's was the one he chose to review and comment on to the class. "What did you do, Potter," he asked, "write this without your glasses on? This is the messiest and worst written work that's ever been handed in to me, and that includes the previous worst of your own."
On the other side of the room, several of the Slytherins were snickering loudly, and Pansy Parkinson could be heard to comment snidely, "It's not his fault. He's just wasting away, isn't he? He'll be having a note from Madam Pomfrey next to get him out of every assignment we have."
Snape acted as though he hadn't heard, though he must have, and handed the paper back to Harry. "I'll expect that to be re-written and an extra half-a foot of parchment as well, since you couldn't complete the original assignment properly."
Ron's face had turned nearly the same shade of maroon as his Weasley sweater, and Harry had to kick him under the desk to stop him from saying anything and getting them both detentions on top of everything. Harry picked up the parchment, which had slipped to the floor when Snape had dropped it in the vicinity of his desk, and crumpled it up in a ball. The crackling of the parchment did nothing to relieve his surge of anger though. He ought to be used to Snape's loathing by now, but the very routine quality of it struck him just then, and couldn't say what was more repulsive, its pure nastiness, or the fact that everyone accepted it as normal. Indeed, the only unusual event of the class was Draco Malfoy's late arrival to class and his occupancy of a seat next to Parvati Patil instead of Crabbe and Goyle.
In Transfiguration, they had begun advanced conjuring, which required a very high level of concentration. Professor McGonagall demonstrated the spell for conjuring socks. "You simply say "socks" but the spell itself is anything but simple. Complete concentration is required, as well as a genuine desire for the conjured article." To no one's surprise, Hermione was the first to be called on and the only one to succeed on her first try. Neville was the second. By the end of the class, Harry was the only one who had not succeeded, though he really could have used an extra pair of socks to keep his frozen feet warm.
As the rest of the class departed, Professor McGonagall called Harry over and he supposed he was about to receive his second additional assignment for the day. Instead, Professor McGonagall reached out and felt his forehead and inspected him closely out of anxious eyes.
"Perhaps you ought to go to the infirmary and have Madam Pomfrey take a look at you," she said.
Harry shook his head firmly thinking with horror that everyone in the school would be just waiting for him to collapse if he went near the hospital wing for the next month. "I'm fine, Professor," he said. "I just need to concentrate better. That's all."
McGonagall looked as though she would insist, so Harry tried to think of something that would divert her from his health. What he hit on was a subject that made her look more anxious, if anything, and he almost wished he had accepted her suggestion and gone to the hospital wing when he saw her reaction. "Erm, Professor," he asked, "I've been thinking...and I think that I ought not to go on the rest of the career tours. For security, you know."
He had thought this a perfectly rational decision and was sure that McGonagall, as the Head of his House and his career advisor, would agree it was the best course to take after Voldemort's last attack. However, the Professor's beady black eyes turned supsicously watery and she said, "That won't be necessary. There is no reason you should be deprived of the same opportunities as other students, just because...well. In any case," she sniffed, "Professor Dumbledore will accompany your group on your remaining outings and we will make sure that the right parties are aware he will be present."
She looked as though she had smelled something highly offensive as she spoke the words, "the right parties," and her face pursed disapprovingly in a manner reminiscent to Aunt Petunia when she noticed an offending spot on the carpet. Harry's inital reaction was relief and pleasure. He had been looking forward particularly to seeing the department where the aurors worked again. But on second thought, he decided, he had better take the matter up with Dumbledore before the next tour was to take place. He was really not sure that Voldemort would stay away just because Dumbledore was to be there.
Voldemort, he brooded, had been discarding caution more and more as the year progressed. It was only a matter of time before he lost his fear even of Dumbledore. And that, Harry feared, would be the end of any constraints the dark wizard felt at all.
Hermione lingered until after Harry left and she managed to catch Professor McGonagall as she was about to leave for her office. "Professor," she started to say, but McGonagall cut her off. She put her finger to her lips and then said, "Quietly girl, I don't want to be overheard."
Hermione gaped at her for a second. If there was one person in the world who was unlikely to sneak around, it was McGonagall. The Transfiguration professor, however, immediately proceeded to quiz Hermione on what Harry was doing and whether he was eating and whether he seemed weak or fit.
"I think he's all right," Hermione had said at first, feeling it would almost disloyal to say otherwise. Then some other part of her brought all of her fears boiling up to the surface and she proceeded to tell the Transfiguration teacher every detail she could think of, particularly how tired Harry always was and how he always seemed to be cold when no one else was, and how badly she thought he was sleeping, and how poorly he ate. The only thing she could not bring herself to voice was Ginny's observation about Harry and Voldemort. It was a thing she could not bring herself to put into words again; and it must be something Dumbledore knew or suspected might be true.
"I want you to keep an eye on him," McGonagall said anxiously. "And do try to make him behave sensibly."
"Ron and I keep track of him already," Hermione said. She hesitated and then asked, "Does Professor Dumbledore think...?" But she didn't get to finish her sentence.
Professor McGonagall said very softly, "Professor Dumbledore is a brilliant wizard. Perhaps the most brilliant Hogwarts has ever seen. He is brave and true and has the well being of the wizarding community at heart.... But he is a man, my dear, and sometimes suffers from the failings of his sex. There are times when a woman's insight is required. So keep watch, and take care of that boy." Hermione nodded and was gravely tempted to ask McGoangall more questions.
The professor, however, said more loudly, "I'll expect you Wednesday night for your extra lessons, Miss Granger. And mind you, I won't see your other work slipping either."
Hermione nodded and jumped slightly when Professor Snape swooped into the room, his black robes billowing about him.
"Go on, then," Professor McGonagall said, and though Hermione stopped to listen outside the door, the two Professors conferred in tones too low for Hermione to hear. She gave up then and hurried to lunch. She would have little time to eat and then collect herself for their first Defense class with Tonks.
***
Harry was so distracted that he kept mixing up his utensils, trying to eat the Scotch broth with his fork and butter his bread with his spoon. He worried at the question the entire time he ate: ought he to go to on the next tour or not? However he looked at it, the likelihood was that his attendance on the tour would get out, and he was not sure that even Dumbledore’s presence would be enough to keep Voldemort away.
“It’s about time you showed up,” Ron remarked to Hermione. Diverted from his thoughts, Harry watched as Hermione slid into a seat between him and Ron and hurriedly gulped down a roll and some salad.
“You haven’t started some new liberation group, have you?” Ron asked suspiciously. “Like Giving Goblins Their Rights?” Hermione shook her head and continued eating, though a faint pink colored her cheeks.
“Guess that wouldn’t sound right,” Ron added. “Doesn’t have the same ringing sound as spew. Like, how would you pronounce it, GRR?”
Harry repressed a desire to laugh. After seeing the goblins in armor and brandishing swords, he had gained respect for the potential danger they represented should they actually revolt. But he had also seen how capricious the Ministry’s attempted take-over was, fueled by Umbridge’s foul prejudices and the general fear that everyone felt about Voldemort’s return, A fear that had proven entirely founded in reality, as Voldemort’s opportune appearance at the Bank demonstrated.
Hermione, finished eating in record time, and stood up saying, “I think we should get to class early. I want to get a good seat for Tonks’ first class.” Harry swallowed the dregs of his coffee, which had grown cold as he had forgot it in his distraction and stood to follow Hermione to class.
The class was full early as everyone, no doubt, had the same idea that they had. Still, Harry almost didn’t recognize Tonks when she came in. She had changed her hair color again. It was now silver gray, and done up in a bun that was an exact duplicate of Professor McGonagall’s. Her robes were also a steely gray and they were the most conservative garbs he had ever seen her wear. And for some reason, she had felt it necessary to wear a pair of glasses, which had silver rims and were shaped like half-moons, just like Professor Dumbledore’s.
The rest of the class, being unacquainted with the friendly, informal, authority- baiting Tonks, they knew, sat up extra straight and ceased speaking immediately. Only Draco Malfoy opened his mouth with a little “oh” and looked at Tonks out of narrowed eyes as pale and gray as her suit.
Harry suspected that she had consulted Professor Lupin about how to conduct the class, for she tapped the blackboard with her wand, so that her name, Professor Tonks, scrolled across the blackboard, together with the homework for the day. (Write an essay explaining four uses of Disguise and Concealment for avoiding detection by Dark Wizards.) Everybody, including Harry and Ron and Hermione, pulled out quills and parchment and jotted down the assignment. Tonks then called roll, and again, she sounded as calm and competent as any of their professors had ever been; certainly more so than Quirrell, or Lockhart, or Umbridge.
“Right,” she said when she had finished calling the roll. “Let’s get started with practice.”
Draco Malfoy raised his hand and said, “What are we supposed to practice? We haven’t got any book on Disguise and Concealment and we haven’t had any instruction.”
“You won’t be needing any books,” Tonks replied sharply, “because none of them can teach you the things that I can. If you’ve got the talent. If you apply yourself instead of acting like a disrespectful git and questioning your teacher before she begins.”
Malfoy looked furiously angry at the put down and said reflexively; as he had so often during the years at school, “Wait till my father hears this.”
“I don’t think your Death Eater Daddy is going to be worried about teacher quality now he’s on the run,” Tonks answered coolly, “and as for your Mummy, Narcissa and I are well acquainted, and she doesn’t bother me one bit.”
She swept the room with her dark eyes, that suddenly reminded Harry very much of Sirius and told him why she was a full-fledged auror.
“Anyone else feel the need of a large, fat, boring old textbook? If you do, the library has lots of them and you can spend this class in there, writing an essay for me every period, while the rest of us practice the real thing. No? Right, then,” she finished and she said simply, “Now, watch.”
She turned around and faced the black board so that her back was to the class. Moments later-- and Harry was certain she must have screwed up her face in concentration as she did when she was performing metamorphmagic—she turned around, and the whole class breathed a collective “Aaah!”
Her hair was now a shiny blond, her glasses were sunglasses, her suit was blue and looked like a Muggle’s, with a skirt that came inches short of her knees.
“As you see,” she said, “Disguise number one. A Muggle lady of business. All I need is a briefcase and a mobile phone and no wizard would look twice at me.” Harry grinned, from the looks on Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas’s faces as they studied her legs, they would look, but not because they would think she was a witch.
"Right," Tonks said, "Can anyone tell me what spells I used to change my appearance just now." Hermione's hand shot into the air, and so, surprisingly, did Neville's and Malfoy's.
"Mr. Longbottom," Tonks said, "You first."
"Well," Neville said, "You've obviously done some kind of transfiguration to change the color and style of your clothes and your glasses."
"Very good," Tonks said. "Take five points for Gryffindor." She glanced then from Hermione to Draco Malfoy and with narrowed eyes, she said,
"Mr. Malfoy? What else did I do?"
"You're a metamorphmagus," Malfoy answered. "That's how you changed your hair color, and that's not something that you can teach, is it, because you have to have the talent to begin with."
The rest of the class muttered softly. Some seemed confused, because, Harry supposed, they had never heard of metamorphmagi before. Others, perhaps, because Malfoy had suggested they could not learn what the teacher said they could. He himself wondered about that, as he thought he recalled Tonks saying once metamorphmagi were born, not taught. Tonks, however, looked not at all disconcerted.
She looked at Hermione and asked, "Do you agree, Miss Granger?"
"Yes, and no," Hermione said.
Harry stared at her with as much puzzlement as the rest of the class. "It's true that metamorphmagic is very hard to learn," she added, "but I'm guessing that's not what you did to change your hair color, because you said it was something we could learn."
Tonks smiled for the first time and said, "Right in one, Miss Granger. What did I do, then?"
"A temporary change in hair color can be effected by the use of the Coloratura Charm," Hermione responded. "It doesn't last permanently, but it's more instantaneous than metamorphmagic, isn't it?"
"Very good," Tonks said. "And that is the spell we'll learn today. It sounds easy, but it takes a rather subtle wand movement--thus--and a good deal of focus to do it."
Everyone ooohed again. Tonks had flicked her wand in a funny little wiggle, and said the charm, and her hair was now black again, instead of blond or gray. She tapped the board with her wand, and the name of the charm, together with the words and a diagram of the wand movement appeared on the board. Harry copied down the information with enthusiasm. It had occurred to him that being able to change his hair color would be a tremendous advantage. If he wanted to go to Hogsmeade without Death Eaters noticing him, a change of hair color would be a very fast and effective kind of disguise. They'd have to look twice and close up to notice his scar. And, he thought, there must be ways of dealing with that, too.
Tonks had them try the charm and the class came alive at that as different people had varying results. Hermione, as usual, was the first to be successful. Her bushy hair changed from brown to a rather vibrant auburn, so that she could easily have passed for a Weasley if you didn't look too hard.
Ron, however, had more trouble with the charm. Harry was surprised at that, because Charms was actually one of Ron's best subjects. He wondered whether this was because Weasley hair was simply very resistant to change or whether deep down, Ron didn't really want to change his color. Some of the other students changed their hair color successfully, but with very peculiar effects.
Seamus, for instance, turned his hair as green as the shamrock on his Irish Quidditch team rosette. Crabbe's hair got white stripes, so that he looked like an enormous skunk. Harry, on the other hand, could not seem to do the spell at all. No matter how hard he tried, his hair remained stubbornly jet black and stubbornly untidy and nothing could change it. He found this even more annoying than he would have because Malfoy had done the spell as perfectly as Hermione and had turned his sleek pale blond hair into a black as black as Harry's own. His pale face looked even paler than normal and with his pale gray eyes, Harry couldn't help thinking he looked like a junior vampire. The very self-satisfied smile on Malfoy's face when he saw Harry's failure only made it much worse.
Tonks told them she would quiz them on the spell the next lesson, with grades based on the reliability and speed of the change. As the rest of the class filed out, Harry gloomily gathered his books together and thought this might be the first class in Defense Against the Dark Arts where he really did rather poorly.
Tonks called him aside as he was leaving and considered him with a very curious and thoughtful gaze. "It didn't work at all for you, did it?" she said. Harry started to say something in his own defense, but she cut him off.
"I wonder..." she said, and then she went on, "When you practice, I want to see you try the spell on someone else, Harry. I've an idea why the spell didn't work for you. So let's see if you can do it on another person."
Harry brightened up immediately. "Thanks, Tonks," he said gratefully.
She smiled suddenly and quite brilliantly. "Wotcher, Harry," she said, "It's nice to see you smile for once."
He smiled a bit more at that, though he felt his cheeks heat a bit, and he felt that coming back to school had been worth it after all. If he could get into be an auror, then this class would be a leg up on his training. Feeling a more hopeful than he had in some days, he made his way to Divination trying to think whom he could convince to let him practice on.
The first Divination class of the term was held in Firenze's grassy classroom on the first floor. Normally, the class was something of break, for Firenze would wave off the lights and they would spend the hour gazing at a star-strewn heaven tracking the gradual changes that came as the constellations made their way through the earth's skies in a grand and stately dressage. On some days, they would burn various herbs, mallowsweet and others, that perfumed the air and made Harry sleepy and which supposedly would encourage them to See. Most often, though, Harry found himself drowsing and would have to force himself to stay awake; never, did he permit himself to relax entirely, for fear he would wake with Voldemort in control.
When they entered the class, Firenze was looking more solemn than usual. Had he been human, Harry would have said that some great anxiety ate at him, for his sapphire eyes glittered, his golden-white tail swished, and he actually scraped the grass with one hoof as the class entered and seated themselves at several grassy hummocks scattered about the room. In the center of the room, a large bronze cauldron was set above a merrily burning fire. Swirls of mist rose from the cauldron and left a pungent odor that stung Harry's nose and made his eyes water. He sneezed and blinked and thought briefly of making an excuse to leave. Ron, however, poked at him, and he sat, not wanting to look like he had succumbed to some silly panic.
"Today," Firenze said, "we will make an effort to seek a clearer vision of the things to come. I have stood on the fields beside the Castle these past three nights, and a strange scent is in the air. Some thing most fell and dangerous has cast a mist of ice that will freeze us all, and threatens to stop the very buds of spring if its source is not detected."
"So something is wrong with the weather," Ron said.
Firenze directed his clear blue gaze at Ron and said, "Yes, Ronald Wealsey. Something is very wrong with the weather." He turned back to the class and continued, "In the cauldroon is a special recipe of my own for encouraging farsight. Professor Dumbledore has agreed that we should try, all of us together, to break through the dark clouds that have obscured our understanding of this mystery." Firenze waved his hand, and as on all other classes, the lights dimmed and went out. The only light remaining after was the light coming from the crackling fire beneath the bronze cauldron, for the sky, instead of being clear and full of stars, was entirely dark. Not even a trace of the moon could be seen.
"So has the sky been for the past nights. Each night the sky has dimmed and fewer and fewer stars can be seen, until for the past three nights, not one star has been visible. Each of you, then, will take a cup and drink from the Clarifying Potion here, and we shall see what we shall see."
Lavender Brown raised her hand and said, "Please, Professor Firenze, do you mean we'll be able to see the stars anyway if we drink it?"
"I do not know, Miss Brown," Firenze replied. "Many of you, perhaps all of you, will see nothing. But if even one does, it may be we shall see the very source of the darkness and assist Professor Dumbledore at finding the first key to overcoming it."
Harry raised his hand and on Firenze's grave nod, asked, "Don't you think it's likely being done by Voldemort?"
Firenze pawed the ground again and said, "The possiblility is great, Harry Potter, for only a very dark power can cause this effect for such a length of time. But there are other possiblilities, and we would like to find the very source, the place from whence it issues, if we can."
Harry looked doubtfully at the bronze cauldron. Not that he thought Firenze would try to poison them or anything; he just had been forced to drink so many potions since the previous summer that the sight of a cup annoyed him. He waited until more than half the class had taken a cup and drunk from it before going forward for his.
Firenze scooped up a small portion and said, "Three swallows should be sufficient." Harry nodded and gulped down less than half the contents of the cup. It was rather bitter and he half coughed before he could try to swallow the rest. The potion burned its way down his throat and made his eyes sting again. He shook his head and put the cup down without swallowing the rest. While he wanted to find out where the icy mist was coming from, he would have preferred to find it out in some other way. There must, he thought, be some way of Seeing that didn't involve smelly potions or incense. The odor rising from the cauldron made his head swim and he made his way back to the grassy hummock where Ron sat and sat down heavily.
"I don't like this much," he muttered to Ron as he lay back and stared up at the dark smoky sky. Next to him, Ron laughed. It sounded, really, Harry thought fuzzily, almost like a giggle. He closed his eyes thinking that would help clear his head, but instead, he felt as though he were sinking deep under water. He opened his eyes again, straining to find some light, but even the crackling fire had gone out and there was nothing but the dark.
The mist rising from the cauldron was a warm, moist current. He seemed to have risen on the current and he winged his way in the dark, allowing the current to carry him forward, though he flew entirely blind. The current carried him higher and higher and he would have been happy to be up in the air, flying again, if it weren't so dark. The current carried him farther and farther, and he was certain he had gone many miles from the Castle. The mist wrapped itself around him, and the current lost its warmth so that he felt cold again, almost numb, and he knew that below him the mist was full of freezing, dark ice that would extinguish all warmth, and all life.
He found himself struggling to stay aloft as the cold dragged him down. Time itself spun more slowly; the turning earth spun more slowly. But after a time the current drew him downward in a great swooping spiral and he was helpless and could only fall in a long, slow, gyre, until at long last, he was drawn down a shaft, a chimney, his mind dimly registered, and he barely avoided the flames of the green-black fire that burned coldly in a great stone fireplace.
Inside the room, a hooded man stirred the great stone cauldron with his wand. The green-black flames leapt high out of the cauldron and the hooded man shuddered with cold. In a chair a the other end of the room, robed in black wool and covered with an enormous black fur coverlet, Voldemort sat watching the Death Eater struggle with the great cauldron.
"Three times, widdershins," Voldemort said, "and three times the opposite, then seven again widdershins and so many moons shall the cold fire burn, till all shall wither and die, or bow to me."
The Death Eater shuddered again and said, "My Lord, I cannot, it is too cold! My hands burn with the cold, My Lord!" Voldemort raised his wand and a dark jet of light struck the Death Eater.
"Come Dolohov, do you stumble in your service now, when I freed you from the Ministry's embrace, not once, but twice?"
The Death Eater, Dolohov, did not reply. He stirred the cauldron again as directed and Harry saw his bare hands were covered in ice, and the frost had crept its way in a gray-white rime the length of his ebony wand. Horror and a faint stir of pity surfaced unwillingly.
"Who's there?" Voldemort said suddenly. He rose and stood, listening tensely. Harry froze, though he thought the dark wizard could not see him. Nevertheless, he shuddered with greater cold himself as the glowing red eyes passed through the space he occupied.
A sudden scream turned Voldemort's attention away. The space where the Death Eater had stood by the hearth was now empty and the black flames burned momentarily bright and red. The draft caught him and pulled him back up the chimney shaft. He was in a whirlwind of ice and cold and he spiraled into the dark and knew no more. Hearing returned before anything else.
"How long has he been like this?" asked Dumbledore's voice.
"I'm not certain," replied Firenze's worried one. "The draught should not have affected him so. All the others, as you see, are awake and unaffected."
"Wake up, Harry!" Ron's voice urged. But a heavy weight kept his lids closed and he was one solid block of ice, incapable of movement. A warm hand touched his brow and then his cheeks and he was sorry when it was taken away. Then the hand pressed the place at his wrist where his pulse should be and the thump of his heart made it reached his consciousness once more.
The warm hand clasped his and said, "Wake, Harry. Come back now." The weight lifted from his eyes and he blinked as Dumbledore's care-worn face swam into view.
Then he remebered where he had been and he tried to sit up, but Dumbledore said, "Slowly, now," as though he were soothing a sick animal.
"Voldemort," he said, "it's him." There were other students crowded around watching and a part of him that was disengaged cringed because the whole school would know in minutes that he'd had some kind of "fit" again. But that was for later. He had to tell Dumbledore now.
"He has a great stone cauldron," Harry said. It was an effort to speak, as he was still so cold. "And there's some sort of spell, very dark, that makes black flames come out and the mist from the black flames makes the ice. He's had a Death Eater stirring it, to keep the spell going, but the one who was stirring, his hands were covered in ice, and then he fell in." A fainst wave of sound whispered around the room and he tried to sit up again.
"You have to stop him, Professor," he got out, "the ice will kill everything. He wants everyone to bow to him, or he'll keep making it and everything will die." His head swam again as he tried once more to rise. Again, the wave of whispers went by him, but he had to concentrate on meeting Dumbledore's blue eyes and seeing the fire there that told him Dumbledore had believed him.
"Where is he?" Dumbledore asked urgently. "Could you tell?" Harry shuddered and tried to recall details, but he shook his head in defeat.
"I dunno, I'm sorry. It was all dark, and I couldn't see anything until I was inside the room where he was. There was a huge old stone fireplace and the cauldron was in the fireplace, but that's all I know."
"Was it the Riddle House?" Ron asked quietly.
Dumbledore looked at Harry and said softly, "Excellent question. Was it?' Harry closed his eyes and thought and then he forced them open again.
"No," he said. He shivered harder and thought he would never be warm in his life again. "No," he repreated, "this place was older, much older. The fireplace was stone, not brick and huge, like in very old castles or really old, old houses." He shook his head and said, "No. Not the Riddle House." He tried force himself back to normal and he bit his lip to try to break through the lassitude that gripped him. He sat up and said, "Perhaps I should try..."
But Dumbledore cut him off with a flare of alarm in his eyes and said, "No. You've done more than enough for today." A look passed through the blue eyes, almost calculating, as they swept around the room at the watching students and with more strength than you expect of a man of one hundred fifty seven, Dumbledore pulled Harry up to his feet and steadied him for a moment.
"Some hot tea and a good meal will fix you right up," the old wizard said calmly. "Seeing can be an exhausting business, you know."
Another wave of whispers swept the room, only this time it was more like an extended aaah; the sound of enlightenment. Harry frowned and started to say, but I'm not a Seer, only Dumbledore shook his head fractionally and said, "A hot meal would be a good idea for all of you."
Such was the authority in the old man's voice, that the students, except for Ron, immediately proceeded out of the classroom and left Harry to face Dumbledore and Firenze alone.
"Why did you let them think I'm a Seer?" Harry asked. "I'm not. You know that's not why I..."
Firenze's sapphire eyes widened slightly and the centaur shook his head in a way that made one think of horses tossing their manes. "Only Seers see places where they are not," Firenze answered.
"I don't See the future," Harry insisted. "I've only ever seen bits of what Voldemort's doing, and that's not really Seeing; it's not divination."
"We can debate just exactly what it was you did later," Dumbledore said calmly. "In the meantime, you need rest and a good meal, as I said before." He gave Harry a gentle push toward the door and said to Firenze as they left, "I think it would be best if you restricted that form of Seeing to yourself, after all. You were right, it was not a good idea to use that draught on humans."
Firenze did not reply to Dumbledore immediately. His brilliant eyes looked at the old man and through him and from Dumbledore to Harry and back again. "There is good reason why we centaurs have kept ourselves apart from human affairs. And, though I do not regret my decision, I see more clearly how our races differ. Be careful, Albus Dumbledore, lest haste and emotion lead you into mistakes you will regret."
Dumbledore paused then and his eyes were old and sorrowful and lacking in mirth entirely. "I have made such mistakes already, Firenze. I am trying not to repeat them. And yet, I think now, some of the things a centaur would say were mistakes were not mistakes at all. Just as centaurs have magic we do not, so we humans have one magic that the centaurs lack. It is a magic that comes from the very thing that makes us err; it is a magic that makes some few of great."
Harry was left feeling more puzzled than ever, but he quite lacked the energy just then to pursue this small mystery. He followed Dumbledore toward the Great Hall and was surprised when Dumbledore stopped him once more. The elderly wizard looked at Harry piercingly and said, "I must ask you, please, to refrain from attempting to find anything more about Voldemort's whereabouts just now."
Harry started to protest. He was certain he could figure out exactly where Voldemort was if he let down the wall between them just enough.
"No," Dumbledore said, as though he had followed Harry's exact thoughts. "No."
Harry nodded and went to find a seat at the table for dinner. He poured himself a cup of hot tea with a shaking hand and held the cup with both hands until the numbness eased and he could sip the hot reviving drink without spilling any. Ron and Hermione sat down on either side of him and exchanged anxious glances.
He put down the teacup, sloshing a bit over the side and said testily, "I'm okay. Just remind me to consider dropping out of Divination."
"You can't drop NEWT level classes," Hermione reminded him.
"Maybe," Ron said hesitantly, and he looked sideways at Harry as if to test just how annoyed he might be, "maybe you should be studying Divination. If Dumbledore thinks you've got talent..."
"Don't be ridiculous," Harry answered. "He just said that so the other students wouldn't think I'm going barmy. More barmy than they already think I am, anyway."
"I thought you didn't believe in divination anymore," Hermione said to Ron. Harry nodded and took a spoonful of the beef stew. He concentrated on the flavors of the meat and the carrots and hoped that his friends would follow suit. Of all the talents in the wizard world he'd prefer not to have, Divination was the one. And, he assured himself, he was "seeing" Voldemort because of their connection through his scar. That was not divination.
Ron, however, was looking shrewdly at Harry and he replied quietly, "Yeah. Well, maybe I've been wrong. Maybe some of Harry's dreams are because he does have some Seer talent, not just cause of You know Who. Firenze thinks he does." Harry dropped his spoon.
"You heard that?"
"Course I heard it," Ron answered. "You didn't think I was going to leave without making sure you were all right, did you?"
"And you rushed back here just before me to tell Hermione," Harry said, none too nicely. Ron merely rolled his eyes and did not respond to Harry's ill temper. Harry took another bite of the stew, but the steam rising from the bowl reminded him too vividly of the mist rising from the great stone cauldron, and any hunger he might have felt dwindled rapidly.
"The important question," he said firmly, "is where is Voldemort and how this spell can be counter-acted?"
"Dumbledore told you not to try to find that out," Ron said quickly.
"Ron's right," Hermione put in, "counter-acting that freezing spell isn't your problem."
"Trying to protect me again, aren't you?" Harry commented.
Hermione flushed but did not back down. Niether did Ron. "You don't have to save the world alone every time, Harry," Ron added.
"I wasn't thinking of it," Harry answered mildly. "I was relying on you two to help."
“You're not going to try to find Voldemort by opening your mind up?" Hermione asked. She was whispering so low Harry could barely hear.
He shook his head and said, "There are other ways wizards track people, though. Maybe we could look in the library. Or, maybe Snape knows and he'll say something if we annoy him or ask him right."
"If Snape knew," Hermione answered, "he'd have told Dumbledore already."
"Would he?" Ron asked.
"Maybe," Harry said thoughtfully, "the place where he's doing this freezing spell isn't his main headquarters. Maybe he has more than one place and he meets most of his Death Eaters elsewhere. You know, to keep most of them ignorant of what he's really up to."
"That's quite clever," Hermione said. "I think we should go to the Library after dinner. I bet you two can research magical detection and I'll see what I can find about the spell and if there's any means of countering it."
"Not tonight," Ron protested. "Harry's had enough today. We can start tomorrow night –
"We have quidditch practice tomorrow," Harry reminded Ron. "What about Wednesday?"
"Wednesday before dinner," Hermione said firmly. "So you two won't fall behind on your homework again."
Harry shrugged. "What does our homework matter if everything freeze because Voldemort's spell can't be counteracted?"
"Dumbledore will find a way to stop him," Hermione answered.
Harry looked down at his congealing stew and shoved it away. He had great faith in Dumbledore's power in a direct fight. But he had seen Voldemort's increasing power and lessening humanity, and he wondered if even Dumbledore could defeat him were they to fight directly again as they had in the Ministry of Magic two years before. And he knew that Dumbledore would always refrain from the final act needed to defeat Voldemort -- killing him --because he would not, could not chance killing Harry as well.
***
Whilst they were on patrol duty that evening, Hermione took the first opportunity to drag Ron aside.
"You shouldn't encourage Harry in pursuing this thing," she hissed.
"Well, I didn't see you make much of an effort to stop him," he answered. "You're the one who's setting up research schedules and all."
"Yes," she answered, "because at least it will keep him somewhere safe and delay him from trying to get the information directly out of Voldemort's mind. And that's likely to be a disaster."
"This is really dangerous, Hermione," Ron said quietly. "I don't like the idea of you researching this spell, either. It's dark magic. How do we know there's even a counter-spell? And don't you think Dumbledore's already looking for an answer? If it was that easy, wouldn't he have dealt with it already?" Hermione frowned at him.
"Of course," she answered. "But you know Harry. He'll go and figure it out himself and go off himself to deal with it if we don't keep our noses in it with him. And the last thing we want is for him to feel he has to go off and challenge Voldemort alone again." Deep worry lines cut between Ron's brows, so she could see where they would lie permanently some day.
"Hermione," he said slowly, "do you even think Harry can...well...survive another confrontation with You Know Who?" Fright worked its way up her spine and froze her heart.
"He's survived every time so far," she answered. Ron looked at her and she could see reflected in his eyes the same terror.
"You didn't see him this afternoon. I thought he would never wake up. And he was like ice, like he was in shock."
"How is this going to end, then?" she asked.
"I dunno," Ron said softly. "I just don't know."
***
By Wednesday, Harry still had not forgotten about Hermione's promise to help research the dark ice spell and magical methods of spying. As soon as Care of magical Creatures was over, he said a hasty good-by to Hagrid- who looked a bit put out at their leaving so fast - and dragged Ron and Hermione to the library to start their new project.
"Don't you remember anything from when you were trying to find out how Rita Skeeter was spying on us?" Harry asked impatiently. Hermione pointed out a row of books, which had proved pointless for her research when it came to Rita Skeeter, but which she thought might contain some answers that could keep Harry occupied for a few days. He would, she knew, pore over every one of those books until he found an answer. And if he didn't find what he was looking for, he would go elsewhere and never stop, until he had found a way. There were, she reflected, few people more relentless than Harry, when it came to solving a puzzle.
It didn't matter that he would rather be outside practicing quidditch or hanging out in the common room listening to Ron's jokes; he would forgo that until he had his answer. Harry dragged down a tottering stack of books and plunked them down on the library desk with a thunk. He divided them in half and pushed half towards Ron, who groaned at the sight of them.
"You do want to figure out a way to spy on Voldemort without having to take potions don't you?" Harry asked.
"I could take all the potions in the world," Ron answered, "and I wouldn't see a thing." He opened up the first book, however, at the sight of Harry's most ferocious glare and read, "I Spy - A Guide to Magical Mirrors and other Devices for Farsight."
"Well, that sounds promising," Harry said. He leaned over to read over Ron's shoulder and Hermione was relieved to see that some of the icy pallor that had stolen the color from his face had disappeared.
"Look at this," Ron said, "Foe glasses. One of a wizard's best defenses is a good Foe Glass. Foe glasses can be used to detect enemy presences up to a mile away."
"Well, that's no good," Harry said. "We need something that will let us see hundreds of miles away."
"How do you know Voldemort isn't quite near here?" Hermione asked curiously. "If he's affecting the weather and turning out ice and sleet, he could be somewhere north like we are." Ron gave a small shudder and looked around nervously.
"How do we know he's not really near? He could be hiding out in Hogsmeade even."
"He's not," Harry said shortly. "I'd know if he was."
"Your scar's not hurting then?" Ron asked with relief. Harry shrugged carelessly, a habit of his that Hermione found annoying on occasion. On those occasions, anyway, when he used it as a means of avoiding answering important questions. He couldn't, however, entirely conceal the faint tightening about the mouth or the sudden tension in his hands as they gripped the back of Ron's chair.
"Wherever the place is that he's doing the spell isn't close," Harry clarified. "I'm sure of that."
"Enchanted mirrors, talking mirrors, cursed mirrors..." Harry ran one long finger down the page. "Looks like there's a mirror for just about anything you want. So where do we get one that lets us see what we want?" Ron laughed suddenly.
"Look at this one: A spell for making your true love fall for you. Cast a spell on your true love's mirror and she'll see you there forever."
"Oh, go on," Harry said, "You can't make someone really love you. And who'd want that anyway? What good is it if the person you want only likes you because they can't help themselves? That's not love, is it?"
" 'Course not," Ron answered. "When you love someone, you don't need a spell to make you think of her. You think of her when you wake up in the morning and when you go to sleep at night. You think of her at every odd moment during the day. She creeps in your thoughts when you're supposed to be doing the most important things." He looked at the book and shook his head. "You're right," he added, "this is silly."
Hermione couldn't help it. She stared at Ron and she could feel the flush of embarassment rise hot in her cheeks when Harry glanced from Ron to her and back to Ron again. "Some people," Harry said, "are so lucky."
This time it was Ron who gawped at Harry, whose low voice sounded a note of envy in tone so sad, in minor key that spoke of some great longing unfulfilled.
Then Harry crossed his arms and said sardonically, "I don't think a love spell's going to be much use on Voldemort, anyway. His heart's utterly impenetrable and untouchable. He's never loved anything or anyone in his life and never will."
"If it were anyone else," Hermione said quietly, "I should say that he was to be pitied for that."
"You think even he is to be pitied?" Ron asked.
"The thing is," Hermione, replied, "you have been loved in order to know how to love."
"I dunno," Harry answered. "It's still not an excuse for him being evil, is it? It's not an excuse for him to want to destroy the world, if it won't bow to him." He frowned and she could see some recollection pass through his green eyes like a shadow on clear water. "And so what if he grew up unloved and he had a hard childhood," Harry added. "That's not enough for what he's done, for what he's made himself. It's easy to hate, I suppose, and to be resentful and to want to be given what you don't have. But to let yourself become that...a monster...I dunno," he concluded. "I think most people, even bad ones, have some bit of conscience still, something that'll put the brakes on when it comes to the worst things. But he...has none. He's like that ice, you see, like a great storm gone out of control, a force of darkness, unstoppable."
Hermione shivered, For a moment she fancied that Harry was standing there facing Voldemort, that he was talking to his nemesis directly, and that in his own way, he would be as adamantine and unstoppable as his opposite twin. She could not help but wonder just how much of his humanity he must sacrifice in order to survive Voldemort's next attempt, in order to defeat him once more and forever.
***
He was alone in the common room. Even Ron had given him up this time and stumped his way wearily up the stairs. The faint hiss of ice coating the windows again was an irritant, a scratchy sort of noise that hovered at the base of his consciousness punctuated occasionally by the weird, off-key sigh of the wind. The only other creature in the room was Crookshanks, whose ginger fur would bush out every so often and whose ears would flatten back whenever the wind sounded.
"I know," Harry said to the cat, "it gets on my nerves, too." He dipped his quill in the ink and struggled to find words to put down on parchment, to keep his promise. It might be the only promise he could keep.
I'm not much at putting things in words. You know that already, I suppose. And I know I was supposed to keep this diary and I haven't done, have I? The thing is, writing things makes them seem so permanent. So it's kind of scary. And I haven't really done anything or been in any places or meetings you don't know about. Well, maybe that's not quite true. When I dream, maybe I'm in places you don't know about, and maybe that's as real as if I went to those places with my body, and not just my mind. I dreamed last night that I was a statue turned to ice and I was laid out in a cave with a sword in my hands and I could not wake up because the ice couldn't be melted. When I woke up, I couldn't be sure at first if I was still in the dream, because I couldn't seem to move or open my eyes and I was so cold. Then I thought about you and it was okay and I opened my eyes.
