The Eye of the Storm

Growing Apart

The Great Hall doors opened part way through the Feast, and a bloodied Harry came in.

"Where've you — blimey, what've you done to your face?" said Ron, goggling at him along with everyone else in the vicinity.

"Why, what's wrong with it?" said Harry, grabbing a spoon and squinting at his distorted reflection.

"You're covered in blood!" said Hermione. "Come here —" She raised her wand, said "Tergeo!" and siphoned off the dried blood.

"Thanks," said Harry, feeling his now clean face.
"How's my nose looking?"

"Normal," said Hermoine anxiously. "Why shouldn't it? Harry, what happened? We've been terrified!"

"I'll tell you later," said Harry curtly. He was very conscious that Ginny, Neville, Dean, and Seamus were listening in; even Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had come floating along the bench to eavesdrop. "But —" said Hermione.

"Thanks, Kendra. Tonks told me what you did."

"No problem." I cut my steak viciously. "If it makes you feel better, Malfoy didn't look much better an hour ago."

My attention floated in and out of the conversation.

"Him and everyone else here," sniffed Hermione.

"People were interrogating us about it on the train, weren't they, Ron?"

"Yeah," said Ron. "All wanting to know if you really are 'the Chosen One' —"

"There has been much talk on that very subject even amongst the ghosts," interrupted Nearly Headless Nick, inclining his barely connected head toward Harry so that it wobbled dangerously on its ruff. "I am considered something of a Potter authority; it is widely known that we are friendly. I have assured the spirit community that I will not pester you for information, however. 'Harry Potter knows that he can confide in me with complete confidence,' I told them. 'I would rather die than betray his trust.'"

"That's not saying much, seeing as you're already dead," Ron observed.

"Once again, you show all the sensitivity of a blunt axe," said Nearly Headless Nick floating away.

Dumbledore got to his feet at the staff table. He chartered went away almost instantly. "The very best of evenings to you!" he said, smiling broadly, his arms opened wide as though to embrace the whole room.

"What happened to his hand?" gasped Hermione. She was not the only one who had noticed. Dumbledore's right hand was as blackened and dead-looking as ever.

"Nothing to worry about," he said airily. "Now... to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you..."

"His hand was like that when I saw him over the summer," Harry whispered to us. "I thought he'd have cured it by now, though... or Madam Pomfrey would've done."

"Thanks for telling us now," I said sarcastically.

"It looks as if it's died," said Hermione, with a nauseated expression. "But there are some injuries you can't cure... old curses... and there are poisons without antidotes..."

"... and Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to say that there is a blanket ban on any joke items bought at the shop called Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

"Those wishing to play for their House Quidditch teams should give their names to their Heads of House as usual. We are also looking for new Quidditch commentators, who should do likewise.