It was late evening by the time Harry brought five-year-old Teddy back to Andromeda’s place. Teddy had been wriggling and giggling all afternoon, but on the way home, he’d begged to be carried and had fallen asleep in Harry’s arms. Now a dead weight with bright blue hair, Harry had to shift him several times so that he could use the door knocker.
It wasn’t a conscious decision that found Harry returning to Surrey after the war. He’d told the others that he needed some time to himself – which was true – and had Apparated to the park near Privet Drive, whereupon he spent half an hour walking the five-minute stretch to number four, and another ten minutes just standing outside it.
He vaguely remembered hearing from someone in the Order that the Dursleys had moved back to Privet Drive in late May. Hermione had asked him tentatively what he was going to do about it, if anything, and he hadn’t answered because he hadn’t known. It was where he’d spent the majority of his life, and yet he felt no attachment to it. He’d thought he could go without visiting it ever again, but apparently something had drawn him back to the place he’d never wanted to call home. It had been a stifling, restricting household, one in which he’d been painfully abnormal among people whose greatest desire was to be normal.
It had been the understanding beyond words that had compelled Ron and Hermione to follow Harry out of the Great Hall a week after the final battle. Perhaps they knew what he had to do, perhaps they only guessed. But as Harry’s footsteps led them down the hill outside the castle and into the Forbidden Forest, none of the three said anything at all.
Harry was sure he didn’t have the energy to speak. Part of him was relieved that he was making this journey – he needed nothing more than closure at this moment – but the other part was fiercely apprehensive. What would he see when he got there? Would it open up more wounds than it closed?
It was the sound of Hermione’s gentle footfalls that jolted Harry out of his half-sleep. Jerking upright, he tried to make it look as though he was alert as he should have been.
‘If you’re that tired, maybe you should go to bed and let me take over,’ she said, peering down at him. Even in the feeble light, Harry could see dark circles under her eyes. Had she got much sleep? If he was tired, he was sure that she was even more so.
Harry had woken, that morning after, with the foolish idea that if he kept his eyes shut and refused to face the music, then Ron would still be in the tent with him and Hermione. Of course, it was not the truth. Ron had left, and the only thing to do was soldier on, pretending that nothing had changed, when everything had.
At breakfast, Hermione’s eyes were red and puffy. He wondered uneasily if she hadn’t slept, and had simply cried for most of the night, and felt again a strong pulse of anger towards Ron. What was he thinking, leaving them like this, abandoning a job he had committed to? But then again, that was Ron, thought Harry savagely. He never did think.
‘D’you – d’you think he’s OK?’ Ron asked quietly, nodding over at the door to the boys’ dormitory.
Hermione shook her head. ‘He’s hardly ever been this quiet, except after meeting Dementors.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘We shouldn’t leave him alone.’ She turned her attention back to her mountain of homework, but Ron kept on talking.
This is my version of the song the Sorting Hat could have sung if Harry and Ron hadn’t missed the Sorting in their second year. It’s not nearly as long nor as polished as J. K. Rowling’s, but I’m pretty proud of it, all the same. I wrote it for my Evanna Potter series. Instead of mostly skipping the Sorting Hat’s song, like I did in The Muggles’ Niece, I thought I’d write one instead. It appears in Chapter 5 of The First Horcrux.
[This is a post that's been sitting in my drafts folder for a while now, and in my head for even longer. Since I haven't posted here in a while, I thought I might put this up. Enjoy.]
I don’t usually cry over books. Full stop. In fact, I rarely do. For a measure of this: I didn’t cry while reading The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. Or any of the other one-and-a-half John Green books I’ve read so far — Looking for Alaska and Will Grayson, Will Grayson. (I know, I know, it’s sacrilegious, since TFiOS is the one book that everyone seems to cry over.) In fact, the books I have cried while reading are probably fewer than ten. Here they are. (Warning: spoilers abound.)
What can I say? Beautiful video, beautiful voice. The best bit is that it motivates me to actually WRITE something instead of just toy with ideas in my head, too lazy to flesh them out.
We always knew Nan and Di, Anne and Gilbert’s twin daughters, are different. But how different? And in which ways are they still similar? In this article, I take a closer look at the Ingleside twins, the third named set of twins (and the first ones of the same gender) to be introduced in the Anne of Green Gables series. Nan is often described as being like her mother, while Di is her father’s favourite. But is this true of the way they are characterised?