/Author's note

/I'm sorry for the depressing chapters; I promise that I will relax with those.

Harry lay there, in his dormitory, reminiscing about what had happened. He had lost his hand in an effort to save a girl that he ultimately could not save. Nevertheless, he did not regret it, and would do so again in a heartbeat. Although his philosophy was that of non involvement, his heroism quite often shined through his facade of neutrality.

He was, however, genuinely distraught about his arm, and was looking for some solutions. He didn't want anybody to notice that he lost the ability to use his arm; he did not want pity. Madam Pomfrey told him that she was the only one who knew of this affliction, and not even Dumbledore knew of the permanent damage to his arm. Although he was crippled for the moment, he was resolute on finding a way to re-animate his currently non functional arm.

He was going to write to the goblins in order to figure out what he could do. He already deduced on his own that if one can't move an object physically, one can employ the wonders of Magic to help them out. He knew that using any charm or spell would not make for a permanent solution, and would require painstaking re-application every time it would wear out. He decided to question the goblins about the possible application of runes for the task.

Harry got up from his bed, and, determined to see himself get over his predicament, sat at his desk, got out a piece of parchment and began to write.

"Dear Friend Griphook,

I write with the desire to learn more about the art of permanent object manipulation. I have some ideas on the subject, and, according to my hypothesis, runes are the only thing that would allow for such a feat, as charms and the like would simply wear out after some time. It would bring me great pleasure if you would assist me with finding a runic array that would allow for this.

Sincerely, Harry Potter."

Harry hated writing in such a formal manner, but Griphook, the bank-raised goblin insisted that perfect grammar and diction were necessary in writing letters of any kind.

He stood up from his chair and proceeded to the owlery to send the letter. On his way there he was careful to conceal his arm from the curious onlookers who constantly sent out glances in his direction. From the way they looked at him, he was getting suspicious that the Hogwarts rumor mill picked up some information regarding his condition.

-"Harry! HARRY!" - a feminine voice called out from right behind him.

Harry immediately turned around, and the girl smashed her forehead directly into his own. The force of the impact sent the two flying I the opposite directions across the Hall.

The two sat on their bottoms, rubbing their hurt foreheads.

-"What did you want from me?" - rather spitefuly questioned Harry.

-"Oh… I'm sorry… I just wanted to ask you something. In private, of course."

Harry groaned. Daphne was obviously trained in the aristocratic art of not revealing information in front of anybody; however, she sure as hell just gave the rumor mill things to talk about for the next week.

-"Ugh… Alright, follow me to the owlery; I have some things to do in there."

The girl acquiescently followed him by his side. Daphne walking by his side reminded him of his powers over emotions, but he quickly forgot about that as he was not at all in the mood to focus on anything substantial.

-"Once again, I ask - What do you want from me?"

-"Well… I feel guilty for being mean to you beforehand; I want to make it up to you by inviting you to the quidditch match today…"

-"Today?" - Harry interrupted her - "How long was I out?"

-"Did you not ask anyone beforehand?"

-"No, not really; so, how long was I blacked out?"

-"A couple of days at least. Dumbledore somehow knew when you would wake up, and gave the the heads up."

-"Did he give it to anybody else?"

-"I asked Tracey, and to my knowledge, nobody else had got the heads up."

-"Peculiar…" - Harry was about to begin speculating on what this new information that he had been presented with could mean, but he was not given the chance to do so because Daphne chimed back in:

-"So what do you say about quidditch?"

Harry looked at her and simply nodded as the two of them made their way to the owlery.

The breezy air of autumn blew across the outside. The mountains around the castle turned a dull gray. Harry had never gone outside of the castle, so this cold exterior took him by surprise. Harry and Daphne went out into the field; today's game was Slytherin vs. Gryffindor, the two rival and rather competent teams. Maybe this game could inspire him to join the Hufflepuffs next year.

As he was thinking of the game, he suddenly remembered the girl. Hermione. Somebody told him her name after she kicked the bucket. The question that suddenly appeared at the forefront of his mind was how the hell did the school move on so quickly from such a disaster?

There was no way that Hogwarts, a prestigious school could just shrug off a death of a student.

He decided for himself to investigate this, but later. Currently, he was at a game, and he was planning to enjoy every second of it.

As the game started, Harry immediately tuned out the annoying commentator who couldn't help but catcall the gryffindor chasers. Other than that, the game was marvelous. The chasers of both teams played off each other, and truly shined, as they have been working together for numerous years. The goalies were solid, and the slytherin seeker was too. The same could not be said about the fresh Gryffindor seeker, who had just joined the team and fumbled quite a bit, obviously not very comfortable playing as the seeker. However, the players that truly stood out for Harry were the beaters. It was obvious that these players dictated the pace of the whole match. They had the teamwork, the precision, and the skill to eliminate the highest of threats, and Harry felt that this was the role that, if mastered, had almost limitless potential. Harry envisioned himself as the one controlling the field; suppressing the enemy; enabling combos. In essence, this position controlled the game, and he wanted it.

Harry was so engrossed in the game, that he didn't notice the fact that Daphne, in all her dignity, and with the straight, aristocratic face stood a lot closer to him than she initially started at. Although Harry took no notice of this, some certainly had, as if one looked, they would see plenty of curious, plenty of intrigued, plenty of jealous glances at the pair. It was evident that Daphne was cursed with constantly fueling the rumor mill.