❛ASTERIA EDWARDS was your average, typical eleven-year-old child stuck in a pandemic with her mother Isabella Diggory until she found out where she truly came from.. and where she truly belonged...❜
[extended summary inside]
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harry potte...
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Harry's feet hit solid ground again, his knees buckling at the impact. The golden wizard's head that Dumbledore had handed to him as a Portkey fell down with a clunk.
He had arrived back in Dumbledore's office. The portraits of the headmasters and headmistresses were snoozing in their frames, heads lolling back in armchairs or against the edge of their pictures.
Harry looked through the window, at the approaching dawn. Yet his throat was dry, hands clammy with sweat, eyes unfocused and blurry as Isabella's silhouette falling back and disappearing invaded his mind.
The silence and the stillness, broken only by the occasional grunt or snuffle of a sleeping portrait, was unbearable to him. If his surroundings could have reflected the feelings inside him, the pictures would have been screaming and crying.
He walked around the quiet office, breathing quickly, trying not to think. But he had to think.. There was no escape..
It's my fault. It's all my fault. If I hadn't been stupid enough to fall for Voldemort's trick, if I hadn't been so convinced that my dream was real, if I hadn't been thick enough to not fall for his games—
Maybe she would've been alive..
It was unbearable, he couldn't not think about it, he could not stand it. His own voice was screaming inside his head. My fault. My fault. My fault. My fault—
The empty fireplace burst into emerald-green flame, making Harry flinch as he stared at the man spinning inside the grate. And as Dumbledore's tall form unfolded itself from the fire, the wizards and witches on the surrounding walls jerked awake. Many of them gave cries of welcome.
"Thank you," said Dumbledore softly. And with a sigh, he walked towards his chair, but chose not to sit down just yet. "Well, Harry, you will be pleased to hear that none of your fellow friends are going to suffer lasting damage from the night's events."
Harry tried to say "Good," but no sound came out. All of it was just a reminder of the amount of damage he had caused by his actions, and although Dumbledore was for once looking at him directly, and though his expression was kind rather than accusatory, Harry could not bear to meet his eyes.
"Madam Pomfrey is patching everybody up now," said Dumbledore. "The rest of them are at St. Mungo's. Tonks might need a bit more time for full recovery. But Asteria is doing quite well." He felt his stomach churn at her mention.
How would she be feeling right now? Helpless? Damaged? Regretful? Angry?
A pang of guilt shot through him. My fault.
"I know how you are feeling, Harry," said Dumbledore very quietly.
"No, you don't," said Harry, his voice suddenly loud and strong. He knew nothing about his feelings.
