Elizabeth Potter

Next day brought the start of term and the first classes, or class, in Holly’s case. Sometimes she wondered why the teachers of electives only taught one subject, since they usually had only between five and ten classes per week, depending on how high demand there was for their subject. This year Holly had only seven. Which left her plenty of time to do other things, but still, it was quite a waste. She could have easily taught a second subject, probably even a third. Instead, she would spend the school hours sitting in her office, preparing for the next day’s class, correcting essays, or simply reading. Which was what she was doing when Harry knocked on her door late that afternoon.

“Harry, come on in.”

Smiling warmly, she got up to boil some water, pouring herself another cup, then offering Harry one, too.

“Some tea?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Before she handed him the cup, she placed two chocolate chip biscuits on the saucer, knowing that they were Harry’s favourite.

“How was your first day?”

“Eventful.”

Laughing a little, Holly sat down, sipping her tea. Eventful was standard for Harry, she would have been honestly surprised if things had been calm for once.

“You had your first elective class today, didn’t you? What did you choose?”

“Divination.”, he sounded a little sheepish, and Holly wasn’t sure if that was because he hadn’t picked her class or because Sybill Trelawney was more than just a handful.

“And, how did you like it?”

“She predicted my death, said she saw a grim in my tea leaves.”

“Charming. But I have to say, I have gotten to expect some more creativity than that from her. Where’s the drama, the shabam in predicting the death of someone who gets himself into trouble all the time, eh?”

Smiling faintly, Harry nodded, nibbling on his biscuit.

“Harry, are you worried she might be right?”

“No.”, he sounded certain, but then he bit his lip, lowering his eyes to his cup.

“Then what is it about this that’s bothering you?”

“The grim…”, he admitted quietly, half expecting her to dismiss him like Hermione had.

“I see. And why do you think that is?”

“Because I think I saw one a couple of weeks ago.”

To his surprise, Holly tensed, sitting up straight, her voice suddenly tight, “You have? Where?”

“In Little Whinging, the night I… blew up my aunt.”

So he really was looking for Harry. And he had found him.

“It was only for a moment. Then the Knight Bus showed up… but, I’m certain I saw a large, black dog.”

Without paying much attention to what she was doing, Holly got up, turning to look out the window. Sirius was looking for Harry. Sirius had found Harry. But why? And why had he not killed him if that had really been his intention? If, and that was still a big if, what everyone was saying was true and Sirius really was a death eater, really had killed all those people, then witnesses clearly didn’t bother him. No… she still couldn’t believe Sirius would ever do anything to hurt those he loved. And he definitely loved Harry. She knew he did.

“Professor, do you think it was really a grim?”

Torn from her thoughts, she turned back to Harry, leaning against the tea table standing underneath the window.

“Well, Harry, I can’t possibly answer that for you. For one, I don’t know what you saw, if it was magical or not. And for another, I don’t think Grims are something nefarious.”

“Really? But I thought they’re always an omen of death?”

“Meh, I think that’s merely a superstition. You see, there’s plenty of stories surrounding black dogs, many referring to them as Grims. There’s one in particular that I think caused this believe of Grims being omens of death. D’you like to hear it?”

“Sure.”

Topping of both their cups, Holly sat down on the edge of her desk, looking down at Harry’s curious face.

“You see, it was believed that the first soul to be buried in a new graveyard had to remain there to protect the others from evil spirits. Obviously, no one wanted their loved ones to suffer this fate, and so the first corpse to be buried was generally that of a dog. The spirits of those dogs were then called Grims, or Church Grims, and they were rather benevolent beings. Protecting the graveyards from evil spirits and also, according to some folklore, guiding the deceased into the afterlife. Not so scary now, are they?”

“No. Are they real?”

“Huh, see, I don’t know. There’s a lot of folklore in the wizarding world, too. Ghost stories we tell our kids around the bonfire to scare them a bit. Personally, I always thought the Grim was one of them, but there are wizards and witches who swear they are real. In the end, I think we just have to make a choice what we want to believe.”

Harry nodded, thinking about it a little, as the sipped his tea, then he smiled,

“I think I like the church grim better.”

“Me too.”

“Can I ask you something else?”

“’Course you can.”

Hesitating for a moment, Harry fixed his eyes on his cup.

“The Dementors… I could swear I heard someone scream when I… when they were on the train.”

Sighing quietly, Holly sat back down into her armchair. She had a fairly good idea who Harry had heard scream.

“You’re wondering if I know something about that?”

“I just mostly want to know I’m not going mad.”

“That I can assure you. You are not going mad, Harry. You see, Dementors have the nasty habit of brining up our most painful memories. The worse the memory the more we are affected.”

“So, I’m not weaker than the others…”

“You just have been through more. But my dear boy, that doesn’t make you weak. For someone so young you have had to experience quite a lot of horrible things, things you shouldn’t have had to go through. Things nobody prepared you for. But you know what, you handled them as well as you could. And them still affecting you does not make you weak. It makes you human. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Harry nodded, not entirely convinced, but looking at least a little more at ease.

“Thank you, Professor.”

“I know some of your classmates are making fun of you for fainting, but you have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“But no one else fainted.”

“Perhaps not, but I know what it feels like to face a Dementor, and I know all too well what it feels like to be caught in your nightmares.”

The absent tone made Harry curious, and for a moment he considered asking, but when he saw the dark shadow on his teacher’s face, he decided against it. Whatever she had been through, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Knowing that she, too, struggled with the Dementors was enough for now.

“Thanks for your time, Professor, and for the tea. I better head back to the common room now.”

“Have a good night, Harry.”