Dreams Are Falling Short

Harry jumped out of bed at once, pulling on his dressing gown and pushed his glasses back on his nose. I looked anxiously towards McGonagall, and I think she felt the air of concern in the air.

“You two ought to come too, Weasley, Samuals,” she said.

We followed McGonagall past the silent figures of Neville, Dean and Seamus, out of the dormitory, down the spiral stairs into the common room, through the portrait hole and off along the Fat Lady’s moonlit corridor. I felt as though the panic inside me might spill over at any moment; I wanted to run, to drag Harry with me or to yell for Dumbledore; Mr Weasley, a man who I now thought of as a father, was possibly bleeding as we walked along so sedately. We passed Mrs Norris, who turned her lamplike eyes upon us and hissed faintly, but McGonagall said, “Shoo!” Mrs Norris slunk away into the shadows, and in a few minutes we had reached the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore’s office.

“Fizzing Whizzbee,” said Professor McGonagall.

The gargoyle sprang to life and leapt aside; the wall behind it spilt in two to reveal a stone stair case that was moving continually upwards like a spiral escalator. The four of us stepped on to the moving stairs, me feeling rather numb at this point; the wall closed behind us with a thud and we were moving upwards in tight circles until we reached the highly polished oak door with the brass knocker shaped like a griffin.

Though it was now well past midnight there were voices coming from inside the room, a positive babble of them. It sounded as though Dumbledore was entertaining at least a dozen people.
McGonagall rapped three times with the griffin knocker and the voices ceased abruptly as though someone had switched them all off. The door opened of its own accord and McGonagall led Harry, Ron and I inside. I wanted to hold one of their hands, just for a small ounce of comfort, yet I think neither of them would appreciate the gesture at this point. I wished Fred or George was here.

The room was in half-darkness; strange silver instruments standing on tables were silent and still rather than whirring and emitting puffs of smoke as they usually would; the portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses covering the walls were all snoozing in their frames. Behind the door, a magnificent red and gold bird the size of a swan dozed on its perch with its head under its wing.

“Oh, it’s you, Professor McGonagall… and … ah.”

Dumbledore was sitting in a high-backed chair behind his desk; he leaned forward into the pool of candlelight illuminating the papers laid out before him. He was wearing a magnificently embroidered purple and gold dressing gown over a snowy white nightshirt, but seemed wide-awake, his penetrating light blue eyes fixed intently upon Professor McGonagall.

“Professor Dumbledore, Potter has had a… well, a nightmare,” said Professor McGonagall. “He says…”

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” Harry said quickly.

McGonagall looked round at Harry, frowning slightly.

“Very well, then, Potter, you tell the Headmaster about it.”

“I… well, I was asleep…” said Harry, examining his own interlocked fingers. “But it wasn’t an ordinary dream… it was real… I saw it happen…” He took a deep breath, “Ron’s dad – Mr Weasley – has been attacked by a giant snake.”

The words seemed to reverberate in the air after he had said the, sounding slightly ridiculous, even comic. There was a pause in which Dumbledore leaned back and stared meditatively at the ceiling. Ron and I looked from Harry to Dumbledore, white-faced and shocked.

“How did you see this?” Dumbledore asked quietly, still not looking at Harry.

“Well… I don’t know,” said Harry rather angrily – what did it matter anyway? “Inside my head, I suppose –“

“You misunderstand me,” said Dumbledore, still in the same calm tone. “I mean … can you remember – er – where you were positioned as you watched this attack happen? Were you perhaps standing beside the victim, or else looking down on the scene from above?”

-

“Yes, they’ve taken him to St Mungo’s, Dumbledore… they carried him past my portrait… he looks bad…”

“Thank you,” said Dumbledore. He looked round at Professor McGonagall. “Minerva, I need you to go and wake the other Weasley children.”

“Of course…”

She got up and moved swiftly to the door. I noticed Harry cast a sideways glance at me and Ron, who had sat down on the chairs in front of Dumbledore’s desk. The twins would be here soon, and Ginny too. They would help with the terrified feeling.

“And Dumbledore – what about Molly?” said McGonagall, pausing at the door.

“That will be a job for Fawkes when he has finished keeping a look out for anybody approaching,” said Dumbledore. “But she may already know… that excellent clock of hers…”

I knew Dumbledore was referring to the clock that told, not the time, but the whereabouts and condition of the various Weasley family members, and with a pang I thought that Mr Weasley’s hand must, even now, be pointing at mortal peril. But it was very late. Molly was probably asleep, not watching the clock. I felt cold as I remembered Mrs Weasley’s boggart turned into the lifeless bodies, Mr Weasley’s glasses askew, blood running down his face… but Mr Weasley wasn’t going to die… he couldn’t.. he was a like a father to me.

I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings or what was happening, until Fred, George and Ginny were ushered inside by McGonagall, all three of them looking dishevelled and shocked, still in their night things.

“Harry – what’s going on?” asked Ginny, who looked frightened. “Professor McGonagall says you saw Dad get hurt –“

I stood up, instinctively going to stand between the twins, who gave me comforting side hugs and held my hands.

“Your father has been injured in the course of his work for the Order of the Phoenix,” said Dumbledore, before Harry could speak. “He has been taken to St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I am sending you back to Sirius’ house, which is much more convenient for the hospital than The Burrow. You will meet your mother there.”

“How’re we going?” asked Fred, looking shaken. I squeezed his hand slightly. “Floo powder?”

“No,” said Dumbledore, “Floo powder is not safe at the moment, the Network is being watched. You will be taking a Portkey.” He indicated to an old kettle lying innocently on his desk. “We are just waiting for Phineas Nigellus to report back… I want t be sure that the coast is clear before sending you – “

There was a flash of flame in the very middle of the office, leaving behind a single golden feather that floated gently to the floor.

“It’s Fawkes’ warning,” said Dumbledore, catching the feather as it fell. “Professor Umbridge must know you’re out of your beds… Minerva, go and head her off- tell her any story –“

-

“We don’t care about the dumb Order!” shouted Fred.

“It’s our dad dying we’re talking about!” yelled George.

“Your father knew what he was getting into and he won’t thank you for messing things up for the Order!” said Sirius, equally angry. “This is how it is – this is why you’re not in the Order – you don’t understand – there are things worth dying for!”

“Easy for you to say, stuck here!” I bellowed, louder and more aggressive than them all. I knew what it was like to lose parents and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let anyone take away the closest thing I had to a father. “I don’t see you risking you neck!”

What little colour remained in Sirius’ face drained from it. He looked for a moment like he would quite like to hit me, but when he spoke, it was in a voice of determined calm.

“I know it’s hard, but we’ve all got to act as though we don’t know anything yet. We’re got to stay put, at least until we hear from your mother, all right?”

I huffed, stomping up the stairs out of the basement kitchen. I wanted to punch something – to kill something – someone. My heavy footfalls stopped as I got into the hallway, were I slammed the back of my head against the wall and slid down it. I let out my tears, an angry sob escaping my lips. My hands fought to rip the hair right out of my skull as I pulled my knees to my chest.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry, Blondie,” Fred said softly, sitting down beside me.

“And you’re not going to,” I said, facing away from him, furiously shoving my hand across my face to get rid of the tears.

“You don’t need to be strong all the time you know,” he said. “I’m crying too.”

I turned to look at him, and sure enough a pair of tears were running over his pale cheeks, racing to see which one could fall the fastest. A piece of his hair had fallen into the crease between his eye and the bridge of his nose, but he didn’t bother moving it.

“I know Sirius wants the best for all of us, but I don’t think he understands that George and I are ready to be in the Order of the Stupids. ‘Some things are worth dying for’ – that’s why I want to do it. Why should we sit around when we can being out there helping? It makes no sense.

“I don’t think I could stand to lose the old man though, you know? We all make fun of him for being a Muggle-obsessed sod, but really he’s fantastic, absolutely fantastic. What are you smiling about?”
“Just, serious and sentimental aren’t a side I’m used to from you, Fred Weasley,” I said. I’d been biting my lip before, and I had drawn blood. I could taste the saltiness of it on my tongue.

“Should I stop then?” Fred said, his eyes playful despite the situation. I nodded, a stray tear still falling from my eye. “Make me.”

And that was all it took. Bedraggled and cheeks tear stained, my bleeding lips met his, as we both lent forward, his hand sitting on the back of my neck and my hand on his shoulder. My first kiss, our first kiss, and it all made sense.

Some things were worth dying for.