What A Spell Can't Fix
Ron was the first back into the dormitory. Seamus, Dean, and Neville were still in the common room, talking, and Harry hadn't turned up at the feast - probably anticipating the speech, and rightly. Hermione and Ginny had both been crying by the end, and Ron had seen Dumbledore's eyes linger sorrowfully on the empty seat at the Gryffindor table.
Harry hadn't truly packed, either - a few things had been carelessly pitched into his trunk, and Ron could even see shards of glass beneath a few dirty socks. Had he broken his Sneakoscope? No, there was too much glass, and it was too flat. A mirror? Harry didn't have a mirror.
Decisively, figuring that he could break it again if necessary, he waved his wand and muttered, "Reparo!"
The pieces flung themselves back together. Sure enough, a handsome, important-looking mirror lay atop the small pile of socks. Ron picked it up, puzzled. He turned it over, and his eyes widened as he read and reread the hasty message on the back.
Quite suddenly and brutally, Ron understood.
He lay the mirror at the bottom of the trunk, and carefully folded each of the items of clothing, laying them in the trunk so neatly Hermione would have been proud. Then he turned to the bedside table hesitantly - it seemed sort of wrong, Harry could have personal things there that he didn't want Ron to see.
With a sigh of resolution, he started to lay items on top of the clothing. Then something caught his eye, and he froze, staring at it.
A photograph album lay opened to a certain picture, and from it Ron watched Sirius wave madly from next to Lily and James Potter.
His breath caught in his throat, and he saw damp spots on the page.
There was a knock at the door, and Professor McGonagall's voice called out quietly, "Potter?"
Ron moved to the door and opened it. The Professor blinked.
"He's not here," Ron said flatly.
"Oh," she said, looking decidedly put out. "Well, I've finally managed to get him his Firebolt. Could you give it to him?"
Ron nodded and took it carefully, moving over and setting it by the trunk. McGonagall stood for a moment and then said, in a soft, decided voice, "How is he taking it?"
Ron looked over at her. "Not too well," he said finally. "I mean, Sirius was." Unable to finish, he looked at the floor, embarrassed.
McGonagall made an indistinct sound, and Ron got a sudden impression that she'd been talking about something else. Perhaps not. What else could there be?
She nodded, and looking suddenly flustered reached into her pocket and pulled something out.
It was a Snitch, for the moment still and lifeless. She looked up and stretched out the hand that held it. "This.ought to mean something to him," she said, voice suddenly strained. "Put them in his trunk, will you?" And there were two notes as well, neither of them in McGonagall's handwriting, but one in the same script that was on the back of the mirror, and the other that Ron recognized from the chalkboard in the Potions dungeon and the one that had scrawled a "P" on his moonstone essay. That seemed like years ago.
Ron nodded mutely, and Professor McGonagall left.
He finished packing Harry's things and had a feeling that his best friend wouldn't notice that his trunk had been dealt with.
But then, he thought as he closed the photo album and lay it gently in the trunk, as he pushed the notes and the Snitch to the bottom of the trunk, as he added to them one of his own, as Dean and Neville and Seamus came in and Harry did not, there were some things a spell couldn't fix.
Ron was the first back into the dormitory. Seamus, Dean, and Neville were still in the common room, talking, and Harry hadn't turned up at the feast - probably anticipating the speech, and rightly. Hermione and Ginny had both been crying by the end, and Ron had seen Dumbledore's eyes linger sorrowfully on the empty seat at the Gryffindor table.
Harry hadn't truly packed, either - a few things had been carelessly pitched into his trunk, and Ron could even see shards of glass beneath a few dirty socks. Had he broken his Sneakoscope? No, there was too much glass, and it was too flat. A mirror? Harry didn't have a mirror.
Decisively, figuring that he could break it again if necessary, he waved his wand and muttered, "Reparo!"
The pieces flung themselves back together. Sure enough, a handsome, important-looking mirror lay atop the small pile of socks. Ron picked it up, puzzled. He turned it over, and his eyes widened as he read and reread the hasty message on the back.
Quite suddenly and brutally, Ron understood.
He lay the mirror at the bottom of the trunk, and carefully folded each of the items of clothing, laying them in the trunk so neatly Hermione would have been proud. Then he turned to the bedside table hesitantly - it seemed sort of wrong, Harry could have personal things there that he didn't want Ron to see.
With a sigh of resolution, he started to lay items on top of the clothing. Then something caught his eye, and he froze, staring at it.
A photograph album lay opened to a certain picture, and from it Ron watched Sirius wave madly from next to Lily and James Potter.
His breath caught in his throat, and he saw damp spots on the page.
There was a knock at the door, and Professor McGonagall's voice called out quietly, "Potter?"
Ron moved to the door and opened it. The Professor blinked.
"He's not here," Ron said flatly.
"Oh," she said, looking decidedly put out. "Well, I've finally managed to get him his Firebolt. Could you give it to him?"
Ron nodded and took it carefully, moving over and setting it by the trunk. McGonagall stood for a moment and then said, in a soft, decided voice, "How is he taking it?"
Ron looked over at her. "Not too well," he said finally. "I mean, Sirius was." Unable to finish, he looked at the floor, embarrassed.
McGonagall made an indistinct sound, and Ron got a sudden impression that she'd been talking about something else. Perhaps not. What else could there be?
She nodded, and looking suddenly flustered reached into her pocket and pulled something out.
It was a Snitch, for the moment still and lifeless. She looked up and stretched out the hand that held it. "This.ought to mean something to him," she said, voice suddenly strained. "Put them in his trunk, will you?" And there were two notes as well, neither of them in McGonagall's handwriting, but one in the same script that was on the back of the mirror, and the other that Ron recognized from the chalkboard in the Potions dungeon and the one that had scrawled a "P" on his moonstone essay. That seemed like years ago.
Ron nodded mutely, and Professor McGonagall left.
He finished packing Harry's things and had a feeling that his best friend wouldn't notice that his trunk had been dealt with.
But then, he thought as he closed the photo album and lay it gently in the trunk, as he pushed the notes and the Snitch to the bottom of the trunk, as he added to them one of his own, as Dean and Neville and Seamus came in and Harry did not, there were some things a spell couldn't fix.