Courage - Harry Potter

-110-

Book: Courage
Chapter 110
Word Count: 3058

The sun was coming up: The pure, colorless vastness of the sky stretched over him, indifferent to him and his suffering. Layla awakened to see that Harry wasn't beside her as he was most mornings. She looked over at his own bed which hadn't been touched in weeks, and he wasn't there either. Climbing out of bed, Layla exited the tent and looked around, worried, until her eyes finally landed on Harry.

"Harry?"

"Oh," Harry looked up. "Hey, Lays..."

"Are you okay?" asked Layla as she walked over and sat beside Harry. "I'm really sorry about your wand."

"It wasn't your fault," said Harry, looking miserable. Layla frowned.

"Then please don't blame Hermione. She feels terrible."

"I know," said Harry, staring out at the snow-covered hillside. "My wand was just... a part of me. It feels like I lost my protection. My wand saved me against Voldemort without me even controlling it. I feel weak for the first time."

"I understand that, Harry, but..." Layla reached across to Harry and picked up his hand which lay in his lap, giving it a soft squeeze. "Your power doesn't come from your wand. Sure, it's a boost, but all the power you need is right in there." She pointed at his heart. "Your power comes from you. It doesn't matter what wand you use... I believe in you. You've survived this much."

"Yeah, with my w--"

"No. No, don't," Layla shook her head, giving Harry a stern look. "Your wand is an added bonus, understand? You're the reason for your power. Believe in yourself."

"Thank you," said Harry, a soft, genuine smile across his face. He leant forward, his lips inches away from Layla's, when they were interrupted.

"Harry?"

Hermione looked frightened that he might curse her with her own wand. Her face streaked with tears, she crouched down beside Layla and Harry, three cups of tea trembling between her fingers, and something bulky under her arm.

"Thanks," he said, taking one of the cups.

"Thanks, 'Mione," said Layla with a kind smile, taking a cup. Hermione smiled slightly back before glancing at Harry nervously.

"Do you mind if I talk to you?"

"No," he said.

"Harry, you wanted to know who that man in the picture was. Well... I've got the book."

Timidly she pushed it onto his lap, a pristine copy of The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore.

"Where — how—?"

"It was in Bathilda's sitting room, just lying there... this note was sticking out of the top of it. Layla found it." Hermione read the few lines of spiky, acid-green writing aloud. "'Dear Batty, thanks for the help. You said everything, even if you don't remember it. Rita'. I think it must have arrived while the real Bathilda was alive, but perhaps she wasn't in any fit state to read it?"

"No, she probably wasn't."

"You're still really angry at me, aren't you?" said Hermione.

"No," Harry said quietly. "No, Hermione, I know it was an accident. You were trying to get us out of there, and you were incredible. I'd be dead if you hadn't been there to help me."

Layla felt Harry squeeze her hand softly twice as a 'thank you' gesture. Layla smiled. She knew Harry had took in what she said to him.

They all then turned back to the book. Its spine was stiff; it had clearly never been opened before. Harry rifled through the pages, looking for photographs. He came across the young Dumbledore and his handsome companion, roaring with laughter at some long-forgotten joke.