Harry's Grief - 9

"Let's just find this last one first," Harry said, brushing her off. He'd made up his mind. It wouldn't do any of them any good to continue rehashing the alternatives. He knew what he had to do, and they'd come to realize it after the fact. They'd have to – it wasn't as if he'd have allowed Remus to do what he did beforehand. Still, he had to admit that Remus's sacrifice had allowed them all to escape.

Remus finally had had the chance to do what he'd always wanted – make a difference. Harry forced himself to slow his pace when he realized that Ginny – on her shorter legs – was nearly running to keep up with him.

When they reached the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Professor McGonagall's office, Harry's heart lurched. He hadn't been back here since the night Dumbledore had died. He swallowed heavily and gripped Ginny's hand more tightly.

She gently caressed his hand with her thumb, soothing him.

"Three hundred and ten spread," Hermione said, and the gargoyle sprang aside, revealing the moving circular stairway.

Harry and his friends rode up in silence, none of them feeling any desire to rush into the office. Hermione pushed open the door, and Harry took a good look around.

The office was familiar, although all of Professor Dumbledore's odd little trinkets and instruments were missing. Godric Gryffindor's sword still hung in the display case, and Harry supposed that it was appropriate that it remain at the school. A tartan tin of biscuits had replaced the sweets jar on the desk, and the Quidditch Cup was displayed prominently where Fawkes' perch once stood. The game-winning Snitch sat beside it, gleaming in the sunlight. Harry supposed that a new head of Gryffindor House had never been named, so Professor McGonagall had been able to hold onto the trophy.

Harry studied the office carefully and only when he had nowhere else to look did he raise his eyes to the golden-framed portrait that hung above the desk. He inhaled sharply when he realized that Professor Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes were open, twinkling with that familiar sparkle, as he watched the four friends approach.

"Good afternoon," Dumbledore said, clearing his throat. "It is lovely to see young people about the castle again. I am glad you convinced your friends to drop by, Miss Granger. I have been eagerly anticipating it."

"Hello, Professor," both Ginny and Hermione murmured.

Ron smiled half-heartedly, but Harry stood frozen, rooted to the spot, his heart hammering.

"Care for a lemon drop?" Professor Dumbledore asked pleasantly, raising a painted jar full of the sugary sweet and leaning it toward Hermione.

"No, thank you, sir," she replied, smiling fondly.

Professor Dumbledore peered at Ron, and then Ginny, each of whom shook their heads mutely. Hermione wrung her hands while Ron nervously shifted from foot to foot. Ginny tried to melt back between the two. All of them kept casting anxious glances in Harry's direction, but he maintained his silence. He knew it was making everyone else nervous, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't seem to find the words.

Dumbledore's twinkling gaze finally reached Harry, and it took all the willpower he possessed not to shrink away. The Bludger-sized lump lodged in his throat prevented him from speaking, and he had to rapidly blink the mist from his eyes, hoping no one else would notice.

"Harry, dear boy, I had wondered when you would finally come around to call. I have been asking Miss Granger after you. I am delighted to see you are well. Unfortunately, you are the one person to whom I cannot offer a lemon drop," Dumbledore said, a sad smile crossing his face.