𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒

Chapter 12

Chapter 12: The Apology

Harry had gotten himself pretty sloshed the night before. Well, as 'sloshed' as you could get on Butterbeer. He hadn't a clue how he got back to the warmness of his bed, although he had a weird sensation that Tom had escorted him upstairs sometime after one in the morning. Tom, truthfully, had surprised Harry the night before—normally, the thought of The-Boy-Who-Lived getting drunk was just that. A thought. But for some reason Tom kept serving him Butterbeer until he was too full to order another. Maybe Tom actually understood that someone needed to get a little tipsy every once in a while to relieve some stress.

Now, about ten o'clock in the morning, and bright and cheerful morning at that, Harry was blinking blearily about his room. Everything from the looks of it was still there. His Firebolt (he hadn't a clue why he had taken the thing, just over-protective, he supposed) was still in the corner and his open suitcase lay flopped by the window, exactly where it had been the night before.

Deciding that more sleep was definitely in order—after the most exhausting and stressful days he had been having of late—he turned over onto his left side and promptly swore.

What the bloody hell was wrong with his ear?

Reaching for it, more awake now, he felt, with some incredulity, the icy coolness of metal.

What the—he gasped to himself, jumping off the bed and moving towards the mirror. Was this what he actually thought it was? Had he...actually gotten an earring last night?

Starring at himself in the reflection, Harry didn't know whether to gasp, or crack a grin. Truth be told, he couldn't remember getting the earring the night before (probably one too many butterbeers there) but now that he looked at himself in the early morning light he realized he looked quite cool. Yes, cool was definitely the correct word.

"I'm turning into bloody Charlie," he chuckled under his breath, leaning closer for a better look, and wondering where he had put his glasses the night before (it would later turn out they fell underneath the bed).

Yes, as he blearily looked at his reflection, still somewhat asleep, he realized that with the addition of the subtle bit of metal shining out against his ear, he looked a bit more adult—and maybe, just maybe, fashionable (something Harry had certainly never been).

"Who you trying to impress?" he reflection asked cheekily, tossing his hair in a joking way.

Harry, who at that moment noticed that his hair had grown quite long (too his shoulder, or so) snorted, "No one."

"Sure, love." His reflection chortled, fingering with the overgrown strands.

He really could use a hair cut—but he rather liked the hair at this length. It rounded the 'look'—should be going for a 'look'. Maybe just a trim to get rid of some of the split ends.

Walking away from the mirror, still flashing backwards glances at himself with the earring slightly glinting, Harry decided he would do just that on the way to St. Mungo's today—just a little trim. Nothing particularly spectacular.

Harry endured three more days of hell at the hospital, watching Remus oscillate between sudden coughing fits, drifting in and out of delirium and unfruitful sleep (which he would often awake from screaming). Also there was the constant reminder of how much Harry looked like his father. Only at nights did Harry venture out into Diagon Alley, allowing the stress of the day to slowly be released by one butterbeer after another.

On the second day of his visit Harry received an owl from Dumbledore inquiring if the visit was going to be extended. Harry was still quite undecided on the matter—of course he didn't want to leave Remus, especially when the Mediwizards were still figuring out what the devil was wrong with him. Harry realized more so than ever, that he was all Remus had anymore, especially with the still very recent death of Sirius.