Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Him Again	By : Apocalypticat Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 1312 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
A/N: Glad to know you're still reading, Quarter-Blood! Thanks for reviewing! *stares pointedly at any other readers* I've been to see a counsellor. Does that count?
The years passed. They altered things imperceptibly in their days and yet in their entirety shaped souls and faces, with the reckless abandon of a sculptor at play. The seasons cycled round, turning the world green and blue, orange and brown. The birds who had sung at a phoenix�s coming laid eggs, the hatchlings of which had chicks of their own. Childhood sunshine began to turn to dusk.

Brian Potter�s small limbs shot outwards and his tiny face ceased to be all eyes. No toddler stumbled around the Potter family home; instead a skinny boy with piercing blue eyes sat quietly in his room and read - accompanied by the ageless phoenix.

Harry supposed that Brian had inherited a lot from the Weasley side. Ron�s influence was everywhere in his son: from the flaming auburn hair and the long nose, to the sapphire eyes and lanky frame. There was also no doubt that the Potter short-sightedness had claimed him early, leading to a pair of spectacles at the tender age of five.

�Aye, I can see that,� Moody had said once, after Brian had just exited the room from dinner. �But pardon me, Potter, when I say he still doesn�t look very much like either of you.�

The fact was undeniable. Brian�s eyes were not the same shade of blue as Ron�s, the red of his hair was unlike Ginny�s and his frame was far spindlier than even Harry�s. When neither Harry nor Ginny had particularly large feet, it did indeed seem odd that Brian should possess veritable whoppers. There was also something about his face, particularly around the region of his eyes and nose, that was totally unlike either of them.

�There�s not a bit of you in him, Potter,� Moody had growled.

The media had been quick to pounce on the rumours. Although the Chief Auror would not give them an audience, there were other sources, other wells of information to tap. Ancient history was dug up - there were whispers of Dean Thomas and Michael Corner and people as unlikely as Zacharias Smith.

THE DAILY PROPHET 22^ND August 2013

Sponsored by Madam Malkin�s - voted Number One in wonderful witch wear!

In the days following his son�s birth, Harry Potter, Chief Auror and Destroyer of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, vehemently denied rumours asserting that the child�s paternity was in doubt, writes Eliza Streng, Special Reporter. Yet questions persist�

Ginny had stared over the top of the paper with a pale face. �Harry - you don�t - you don�t think that-�

�No, of course not,� he�d said, squeezing her hand. �Never.�

What did it matter what illusions the world laboured under? He loved Brian - and was quite sure that Brian loved him. No, it was for other reasons that Harry worried about his son.

For one thing, the boy was extremely quiet and withdrawn. There were times when he seemed uncomfortable even with his family, and the other children who befriended him soon moved on. He preferred to listen rather than talk - and yet had learned to read so quickly that it was almost beyond belief.

�Harry, don�t take this the wrong way,� Ginny had said when he�d voiced these concerns. �But don�t you think it might be due to you? Oh - not you personally, but your reputation?�

Ginny was right, of course. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. The pressure on Brian was intense - had always been, from a young age. What boy could grow up normally when the shadow of his father extended far and wide, when Daily Prophet reporters still crept around the neighbourhood whenever they were short of actual news? What boy could find it easy to be happy when everything seemed to revolve around Harry Potter, and pass him by?

He�d tried his hardest to shelter Brian, to act as a buffer zone between his son and the media. However, success wasn�t always guaranteed. There was that time when their first family outing to a zoo had been ruined by photographers and journalists, determined to get a snap of �the Chief Auror spending time with his family?�

�Yes!� he�d snapped at last, thoroughly fed up. �I�m spending time with my family - or at least I was trying to! Then the bloody Daily Prophet sticks its nose in!�

Luckily, Brian hadn�t seemed rattled by it at the time. He hadn�t even tried to hide behind Harry but had calmly walked out in front, gazing at the zoo animals and seemingly oblivious to the photographers. A Gryffindor to the bone, Harry thought proudly. When they�d got home, with Harry trembling in anger, Brian had even managed to calm the situation down - by flinging his arms round his father�s middle.

�Dad, it�s all right,� Brian had said in his usual, strangely eloquent manner, staring up at him past the new half-moon glasses he�d insisted on. �I�m not alarmed by any of it. The day wasn�t ruined at all; the zoo was splendid.�

#

August heat shimmered the air and cracked the ground. Brian sat not only on his bed, but on the brink of a new epoch - for both him and Albus.

Albus aimed Brian�s eyes at the blue brilliance of the sky outside, scanning for the blot of an owl. The expectancy of the last few days would have been exhausting, had not there been an almost equal degree of excitement. Brian�s anticipation was one of a boy about to go to school; Albus�s was one of a man about to go home.

Hogwarts.

The very word refreshed him, raising memories that were not all darkness and death. The visions of the sunlit grounds, the glowing windows, the idyllic spire of a tower that had once been his - all combined to create an urge in him that was lyrical in his potency. Had normality been restored, this would have been the sort of mood to induce the Hogwarts Headmaster to take up a brush and paint the school in all its splendour, or the faces of his colleagues.

There was a sense of dramatic irony in it all, he thought, in sitting where he was and waiting for a letter. For years he had watched the First-Years enter to be Sorted, terrified and disorientated, glancing up at the High Table with expressions of awe and apprehension. Now he was once again to be in the Great Hall - but from the perspective of an incoming student.

Yet no, that wasn�t quite true. After all, he would not be looking up at the Great Hall with awe - he would be searching for familiar faces. The apprehension would be present, but for a different reason. His information, after all this time and the subtle questioning of Harry, was still sketchy. How had the war ravaged the faculty? What absences, what disfigurements, what newcomers would he see?

The Order reunion meetings - becoming fewer in number over time as the urge to reminesce got less and the desire to live grew stronger - had provided him with glimpses of only Slughorn, Hagrid and Minerva. Slughorn�s corpulence was a tribute to his obvious well-being, Hagrid and the word �indomitable� were always synonymous and Minerva�

He sat up and scanned the sky more desperately. He wanted to be there, to see her sitting at the High Table every day. That way, he could-

-Could what? Albus asked himself, confusedly. What could I do other than simply watch her from day to day?

That would be enough, for the moment. At the very least he was guaranteed seven years of watching and listening - which was better than the present.

Hogwarts. He had learnt there, taught there, led there - and now the cycle was set to begin again. Weariness flooded him. Hogwarts would both make demands of him and free him at the same time. He would have to play the part of Brian Potter, the frightened new student, make friends with children whose company could never satisfy him, learn about the war in History of Magic with the indifference of the next generation, pretend ignorance in subjects which he�d helped write the syllabus on� The very idea was tiring.

Still, there would be times when he could be alone. Places like the Room of Requirement would allow for an undisturbed dropping of the mask. Hogwarts was still his home, whether or not the last he�d seen of it was of a treacherous tower. And Minerva-

He frowned, only distractedly noticing a speck in the cloudless sky. What are you thinking, old boy?

A younger version of Harry�s face swam before him, bitter and sad. What pain blighted those features! His own voice was reverberating around the office, soothing and firm at the same time, the projected serenity almost obscene in the light of what had just then happened. The words that came back now were his.

�There is a room in the Department of Mysteries that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature.�

Albus closed his eyes. He�d walked through that room several times in his life - not the room at the Ministry, but the metaphorical room inside. More wonderful and terrible than death� Back then, when speaking to Harry, it had been his darling wife Maria�s face that had entered his head. His love and her death had been entwined - for what could be worse than loving and losing? Now the words had another meaning, and another face attached to them.

Death - the forces of nature - had been violated in his rebirth. That first aspect of meaning could be thought of dispassionately; the other levels and the face less so. He dared not think further. Why did Minerva�s face appear to him?

His human intelligence was failing if he pondered that, someone in the back of his head pointed out. You old fool. What kind of man had the audacity to sit in his twee little office and talk about the room of love yet be blind to his own passions?

Maria, my dearest, he found himself thinking, as though mere thought could penetrate the Veil. Forgive me.

The owl tapped the glass impatiently. An envelope was tied to its leg, bearing a familiar seal. Albus - and Brian - roused himself and opened the window, untying the letter. This was it.

The letter was addressed to Mr B. Potter. The moment of opening the envelope had a surreal quality unparalleled by anything Albus had ever experienced before; for one wild second he considered flinging it back out of the window.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall

(Order of Merlin, First Class, International Confederation of Wizards)
The rest of the letter was largely irrelevant - the lines dealing with Headmistress Minerva McGonagall were the ones that held his attention. He sighed and crumpled the parchment. How hopeless it was!

#

�Please inform me if there are any problems. That is all.�

The faculty dispersed, heading to their respective offices to make the last adjustments to lesson plans before the new school year began. House-elves began to appear, to clear away the cold cups of tea and coffee. Minerva saw Poppy look her up and down with an expression of vaguely disgruntled medical assessment, but luckily time was too short for any remonstrations.

The school corridors were blissfully silent as Minerva McGonagall headed back up to her own office, walking stick in hand. Well, she corrected herself, it wasn�t her office. It would always remain His office - but what sane person would object to that?

A mirror on the Fourth-Floor corridor provided her with a hint at what Poppy had seen. She halted and gave herself a quick glance. No, it was as she�d suspected - Poppy had no right to complain at all. The iron-haired woman in the mirror was hollow-cheeked and lined, but the improvement remained.

�Minerva, I�m extremely pleased with your progress,� she recalled her friend saying about eight years back. �Your body mass index is improving.�

�She means you�ve got some meat on your bones,� Rolanda had added cheekily.

�How disgraceful,� Minerva had replied. �I shall become bloated and fat.�

�If you become bloated and fat, I shall jump for joy.�

She�d laughed. To this day she still remembered Poppy and Rolanda�s encouraged faces; it had been the first time anyone had heard her laugh since Albus had died. What a debt she owed Eleanor Reeves - who had become a friend and now visited every fortnight for a chat! The old Minerva McGonagall was still dead, but the new one was no longer a living wreck, unable to communicate with anyone.

She still didn�t like to talk about it. Once the initial confidences had been extended - first to Eleanor and then to her friends - the subject was laid to rest, much like Albus. Instead she talked about other things, having leant on and socialised with her friends more at the counsellor�s urging. Only some nights, His birthday and the anniversary of His death remained intolerable - and then there was always Poppy or Rolanda to depend upon.

�Surely you don�t mean that I should descend on them whenever I�m upset?� she recalled herself asking Eleanor incredulously.

�Minerva, I think that�s exactly what you should do. You shouldn�t be alone at such times.�

�I guess I�m just too proud.�

However, in the end she�d swallowed her pride more than once - and felt better for it. Albus wasn�t coming back and part of her would always grieve for him but, as Eleanor had pointed out, He wouldn�t have wanted her to be unhappy. There was also the fact that she was engaged in exactly what He�d always most enjoyed: passing on knowledge to the next generation. That she was still not the woman she once was was of little consequence; if Poppy expected a full recovery then she was a fool.

Minerva shook her head as she ascended the staircase to the office. How often she dragged up the past, at the most irrelevant and inappropriate of moments! How frequently she teetered between bracing happiness and reflective melancholy! It was enough to give anyone a headache.

The office was tranquil and warm, overflowing with Albus-esque good-will. The former headmasters and headmistresses were dozing in their frames, and there was no movement at all - except for the action of a silver-haired figure shifting in its seat to look round at her.

Minerva had no idea why she was surprised; the visits had always been the same: brusque, unannounced, irregular. He often turned up whenever she least expected him, with the attitude of performing a menial, tedious task that was nonetheless unavoidable.

�Aberforth,� she said, walking around so as to see her visitor better.

Aberforth, as usual, looked grumpy and irritated, shoulders hunched and entire demeanour closed and hostile. His grizzled hair and beard were tangled in the singular manner of something that has been brushed carelessly with no attention to possible damage and with the effect of creating more snarls than before. The bristling brows were lowered and he stared at her coldly - yet that fact of his presence was an undeniable kindness.

�Professor,� he growled, giving her a curt nod as she moved around the desk to sit down.

�It�s a pleasure to see you,� Minerva said. �Perhaps you would like a cup of tea?�

�That�s highly doubtful. And no thanks.�

She waited, but Aberforth merely continued to half-glare at her.

�I hope you weren�t waiting here long?�

�Long enough.�

�My apologies; I was in a meeting.�

�I know.�

She waited again, knowing that if she was patient, he would eventually be forced to take the initiative. The silence stretched. Aberforth shifted in his seat.

�You are well?�

�Very well, thank you.� She made sure the last two words were obvious in their sincerity.

�Good, good.�

There was another awkward pause. Minerva felt her gratitude become exasperated.

�Have you come to give me some news?�

�No news,� Aberforth snarled, teasing his beard with his fingers. �The only news around nowadays is old news.�

�Indeed,� she replied, noting that he presented her with no alternative reason. �I suppose the Hog�s Head is very busy around this time of year?�

�Busy enough, busy enough.�

�My favourite is the Gillywater.�

�Yes, women of your age tend to like that.�

�Aberforth.� Minerva sat back in her chair. The face of the man before her was cragged and guarded, like a cliff-face. �If you are so very busy then you shouldn�t be leaving your pub to visit me.�

�I didn�t leave my pub solely to visit you. I was taking a break and thought I ought to drop by.�

�Ought to? I was not aware that you were under any obligation to visit me.�

Aberforth ground his teeth and looked thoroughly miffed. �You weren�t, were you?�

She�d already dared to go further down the line of enquiry than she ever had done before, these past ten years. One could never tell if Aberforth was offended enough to completely estrange himself but the grinding teeth suggested he was close to it. What harm was there in going further, attempting to draw out an admission?

�Aberforth - there�s absolutely no need for you to visit me the way you do. I do honestly appreciate your dutiful concern for me, but you don�t enjoy it and so you may as well-�

The old man rose from his chair suddenly, sharply, eyes flashing. �Don�t flatter yourself, woman! I have no concern for you and never had! Your incompetent staff can fuss their little heads over you but, believe it or not, I have more to busy myself with than old women! I detest this blasted place!�

Minerva sat, stunned at the sudden outburst. A raw nerve had certainly been touched. Aberforth�s tattered cloak swirled, the fire leapt - and he was gone. Anger and mere frustration fought a pitched battle in her head.

�I can do without pity, Aberforth,� she muttered under her breath. �Especially from men who cannot even bring themselves to admit that they feel it.�

�What a thoroughly undignified fellow,� commented Phineas Nigellus from the wall behind her.

#

�Nerves, eh?�

Albus looked up from his toast and saw Harry beaming at him from across the table. He curved Brian�s lips in a small smile and nodded. It was certainly no lie; Albus felt as nervous as Brian�s position warranted. The castle, crowned in the splendour of a setting sun, floated in his mind�s eye. Could he bear to stand in the Hogwarts grounds and gaze up the head teacher�s tower, knowing all that had happened there and knowing its present occupant, without keeling over from both pleasure and pain?

�Don�t worry,� Harry was saying. �I can guarantee you�ll like it there, Brian. I�m afraid I�ll have to keep quiet on the subject of the Sorting Ceremony, but I can assure you it doesn�t involve trolls.�

�Trolls?� repeated Ginny, as the Potters rose from breakfast and donned their coats. �What are you on about?�

�Ron�s brothers told him that he had to battle a troll. Come to think of it, he did too.�

�How prophetic of them. Brian, go and get your trunk. And brush your hair - if you won�t have it cut to a sensible length then at least keep it tidy.�

Albus gave a very convincing little boy�s moan and obeyed. Even after over ten years of practice, keeping the mask donned was extremely trying. He knew that it hadn�t been entirely successful; Brian�s mannerisms and speech weren�t like a young boy�s, and his vocabulary and knowledge were certainly beyond a eleven-year-old�s. However, not for nothing had he been Hogwarts Headmaster for so long - the act was convincing enough to make Brian unlike an old man and merely a bit odd - and luckily his over-abundant repertoire of knowledge had thus far simply created a familial consensus that Brian Potter was extraordinarily clever for his age and would probably be �the next Hermione.� There had been slip-ups, but not many, none to make a lasting impression - bar one.

�Curious, very curious,� Mr Ollivander had said, blinking at Brian�s lack of uneasiness at the former�s penetrating stare. �I happen to know from old records that this wand possesses the very length, core and wood of old Dumbledore�s wand. How curious that Harry Potter�s son should receive this exact combination��

Harry�s hand had tightened on his shoulder painfully, and the old wand-maker had begun to speak to him whilst continuing to gaze at Brian.

�Your son is not like other people, Mr Potter. He looks at me just as how old Dumbledore used to do so too� I�m not surprised the phoenix chose to stay with him. You watch him, keep him close. A most unusual boy indeed��

Albus experienced little of the journey to King�s Cross (by Knight Bus), being too distracted by the growing reality of seeing Hogwarts again. He tensed at the sight of the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten; home was getting closer all the while, no matter that he was entering it as a stranger!

At last the Hogwarts Express belched its steam before him and other young witches and wizards crowded around, shouting and tugging at their luggage. The scarlet metal mesmerised him.

�Got Fawkes with you?� Harry shouted in his ear, straining to be heard above the sound of the mob.

�He flew on ahead!� Albus replied, coming back into his role with difficulty.

�Good! Now Brian, don�t worry about a thing! You�ll love it! You write to me every now and then, okay? Remember your poor old dad whilst you�re enjoying yourself, eh?�

Albus looked up at Harry�s concerned and encouraging face, with its emerald eyes and livid scar, and felt a genuine pang. Affection surged through him - and so he grinned and flung Brian�s arms around his father�s middle. Out of the corner of his eye, another student could be seen staring at him scornfully.

My boy, it does not matter what others see. Time�s too short for that, the spectre of the Hogwarts Headmaster addressed the boy cheerfully. One must show love whilst able�

A hollow emptiness became a void in his chest. Brian buried his face into his father�s shoulder; he hadn�t obeyed his own advice�

�Brian?�

Harry and Ginny exchanged worried glances. Brian had always been very affectionate but this display indicated some inner distress - yet the moment was over before it had begun, Brian was drawing back, smiling and promising to write.

�Make sure you�re in Gryffindor!� Harry yelled at the flaming mop of hair that was his son as it disappeared into a carriage.

�Harry!� Ginny scolded.

Then the train was gone.

#

That boy - that one, with the orange hair and funny glasses - know who he is?

What? Him, sitting next to the window, staring into space?

-He�s Brian Potter. You know, Harry Potter�s son! Ronald Weasley�s nephew!

He was in the papers, wasn�t he - with a full colour family photo album in the middle of the Daily Prophet! It must be awesome, having such a cool family! And being so famous, for doing nothing but being born!

-Tried to say hello to him; just said hi back and then ignored me! And I was staring at him for ages-

-Probably thinks he�s too high and mighty for us-

-Nah, bet he�s sick of it all - must be so annoying, not being able to go outside without getting your picture taken-

-D�you reckon he�s asked his dad about it all? You know, the juicy bits they don�t print in the papers or teach you in History? I bet he has - and his dad�s Chief Auror - so he probably knows more spells and stuff than all of us put together! And he�s in our year!

-Hey - what if he has his dad�s cloak and map? You know - he�s supposed to have an Invisibility Cloak and this special map of Hogwarts that-

-I asked him - and he said yes - so I bet there�ll be a few good pranks played by the end of this year-

-He doesn�t look much like his parents, does he? I mean, his mum�s got orange hair and so has he, but other than that-

-What�s all the excitement, what�s all the fuss? It�s ancient history, it doesn�t matter any more! So his dad�s Chief Auror and destroyed some mouldy old Dark Lord - so what? I wish the papers would get over it. And it�s like with old folks. �During the war-�

-Oh, he�s gone and gone off now! I think you annoyed him; he looked well angry just then-

-Who cares? He was all quiet and odd anyway, I bet he�s screwy. Anyone know what the Sorting Ceremony�s like? Or about any of the Houses? My whole family�s been in Ravenclaw-

-Dunno, but I�ve heard that Gryffindor�s quite�

Albus stood outside the compartment door, fuming. He clenched his young hands into fists and shoved them inside his robes, before setting off to pace up and down the corridor. It wasn�t their fault - how could they understand something that had happened before they born? How could anyone understand anymore?

#

Minerva McGonagall watched as Deputy Headmaster Flitwick set the hat upon the stool and let the song wash over her, resting her eyes on the line of bedraggled, soaked First-Years standing nervously near the High Table. Rolanda nudged her and mouthed a name in her ear. She soon found Eric Weasley, the third child of Bill and Fleur, already bearing his father�s rakish air, but he was busy gawping at the Sorting Hat and so didn�t noticed the small smile she aimed at him.

She was about to finally tune into the Sorting Hat�s song when she became aware of the prickling sensation of sitting under a very intense gaze. Her orbs scanned the line again - and found a boy with long untidy auburn hair and large blue eyes, who was giving her such a penetrating look that she was strongly reminded of Moody�s artificial stare that saw through everything.

Minerva expected the boy to look away once he became aware that his stare was being returned - but he did not. Oddly disconcerted, she smiled in what she hoped was a welcoming manner. Brian Potter, whispered her brain, finally matching a name to a face.

The boy�s lips twitched in return. His eyes were wide, his face pale.

People were clapping; the song had ended. Filius cleared his throat and beamed.

�When I call your name, please sit and put on the hat,� he squeaked. �Ainsley, Robert!�

The First-Years began to be be Sorted, walking off to their respective assorted destinies. Minerva found herself waiting for the moment when �Potter, Brian� would be called - and when it was, watched the boy curiously as he strode up to the stool with an unusually confident manner and placed the hat upon his head.

Albus got a glimpse of the Gryffindor table craning eagerly at him before the hat dropped over his eyes. He waited, with the profound sense of the familiar and known all around him, and with Minerva�s smile dominating a greater part of his brain than the issue of the Sorting.

�Well now-� The smooth voice of the hat cut itself off and then returned, sharp and urgent. Albus felt himself revelling in the shock of something that had always previously been frustratingly omniscient.

�By Merlin! You!� said the hat.

Me, he thought back somewhat smugly.

�Alive! And as� Merlin�s beard, Merlin�s beard! Such a thing has never happened! What? Oh, so you�re enjoying my surprise, hmm? I have a good mind to put you in Slytherin or shout the truth to the whole school, Headmaster Dumbledore!�

I would rather you didn�t. It could make things exceptionally difficult.

�Difficult, eh? Well, I must say I�m finding things very interesting at present. It�s rare for me to rest on a mind as old as yours anyway. The things I�m finding�

Please place me.

�Now, now, Albus. Impatience is a virtue in nobody, least of all you - especially when you�ve been incredibly sluggish in realising certain things. Is this your plan, then? To languish away in another life and never tell anybody the truth? Or do you plan to proclaim your affections the next time you get sent to the Headmistress�s office after a carefully obtained detention? Or do you want me to slip it in her ear some time..?�

Albus felt his knuckles crack as he gripped the stool in shock. The hat knew - but no, of course, it had got it all wrong - his affections? Really-

�I thought you�d come to terms with it,� said the hat disapprovingly. �If you wish to delude yourself, then very well. You haven�t planned a thing - which is very unlike you. Your mind has the hallmarks of a brilliant Slytherin, such cunning and resourcefulness��

I do not believe I�m deluding myself. And-

�That was a rather circulocutionary thought.�

-I doubt I would like being a Slytherin for seven years.

�No? Yet no prejudice in this head, only old pain. Wondering what�s the matter with Minerva? I�ll let you work it out on your own, armed with your great wisdom and almost supernatural intelligence� You have a honed mind, a beautifully honed mind. There�s Slytherin cunning, Ravenclaw cleverness, Hufflepuff kindness and Gryffindor bravery all in here, all working in union� Hmm, what a decision��

Thank you.

�Thank me when you�ve sorted your heart out as well as your head.�

I�ve been sitting here for five minutes. I don�t mean to be rude, but-

��Yet accidental rudeness occurs alarmingly often. Best say nothing at all, my good man.� Classic, Albus, simply classic. Such interesting memories you have� I think I concur with my previous decision. That�ll be� GRYFFINDOR!�

Albus took off the hat with a sigh of relief and marched up to Gryffindor table, barely hearing the cheers. He sat down, smiled distractedly at Abigail Lupin, Head Girl, and looked back at the High Table.

Connection sprang between the Headmistress and the boy again, an invisible thread attached their pupils. Brian�s cheeks flushed; Minerva looked away and began talking to Rolanda Hooch. He closed his eyes for a moment, and the Great Hall faded from existence until only Minerva remained.

�Proclaim your affections�

Never; it was impossible.

�Languish away in another life�

He opened his eyes and the brightness of the Great Hall stung them. What other choice did he have?
- 8
- 9
- 10
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Him Again