"Ciri, I can't—" Harry started, his voice thick with emotion, his hand instinctively reaching to touch the silver wolf head.
"Shush," Ciri interrupted gently but firmly, her gaze unwavering. "Take it. It's… something to remember me by. Seems only fair, really, with all that you have given me."
"But you said that your father—" he tried again, remembering her stories of the Witcher medallion, a symbol of her adopted family, of Geralt.
"When I see him again, he will understand," Ciri stated, her voice leaving no room for argument. She was giving him a hard, determined look that told him she wouldn't be moved on this. He knew that look. Despite the ache in his chest, he couldn't help but smile faintly at her stubbornness. God, he was going to miss her, miss this fierce, unyielding spirit of hers.
Harry took the cool silver chain from her outstretched hand. He carefully looped it around his neck and fastened the clasp. He tucked the wolf head under the collar of his shirt, and was surprised by how warm the metal felt against his skin. He briefly remembered that it had been constantly pressed against Ciri's own skin for who knew how long, which had kept it from growing cold. He marveled at the sensation, a tangible piece of her, before looking back up at Ciri. She was smiling at him, a soft, almost tender smile.
"One more thing to remember me by…" she said then, and a sly, mischievous grin spread across her face. Harry looked at her, a flicker of confusion in his eyes.
"What do you me—MMPH!" His question was cut off abruptly as she grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulled him towards her hard, and smashed her lips onto his.
Harry didn't care who knew it, who might have seen it if anyone had been looking (which they weren't, thankfully). In that one, electrifying moment, he felt like he was melting into goo, his mind going completely blank except for the feel of her lips on his, the scent of her, the sheer, overwhelming Ciri-ness of it all. It took a few heart-stopping seconds before his brain finally rebooted and he was cognizant enough to return the kiss with full, unreserved force.
It was a few breathtaking, timeless moments before Ciri finally pulled away, her breath coming in soft gasps, her cheeks flushed. She smiled at him, a radiant, triumphant smile.
"You better remember that," she said, her voice a little breathless, as she backed up a few small steps. "Or I'll come back here and personally beat you black and blue."
"Oh, I will remember that for as long as I live," Harry said, a wide, goofy, utterly besotted smile plastered across his face, a smile he couldn't seem to wipe off even if he tried. "That, I can absolutely guarantee." Her grin got even bigger, brighter.
"I'm glad to have met you, Harry James Potter!" she called out to him, her voice ringing with genuine affection.
"And I you, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon!" he called back, using her full name, a name that now held a special, poignant significance for him.
"Remember, Harry," she said, her voice suddenly serious again, her silver eyes locking with his. "Only we can change our fate. No one else can do it for us. Don't be a slave to yours." And then, before he could say another word, she disappeared in a bright, swirling flash of blue light, gone as suddenly as she had first arrived.
Harry wasn't sure how long he just stood out there on the porch, staring at the empty space where she had been. All he knew was that it was completely dark out, the stars beginning to prick the inky sky, when he finally, slowly, turned and went back into his silent, empty manor. A mirror near the entrance hall revealed the faint, dry streaks of tears on his cheeks. He summoned Kreacher, his voice rough. The elf appeared instantly, and Harry curtly asked him to bring a moist hand cloth to wipe his face.
He then went to sit down at the massive, polished dining table, to eat a solitary meal for the first time in many, many months. He spent the entirety of it, and much of the night that followed, thinking of Ciri. He would need to master Occlumency, and soon. He never, ever wanted to forget her face, her laugh, her fierce spirit, let alone all the precious memories they had made together.
'Remember Harry, only we can change our fate. No one else can do it for us. Don't be a slave to yours.'
Those were the last words she had ever said to him.
He touched the warm wolf head beneath his shirt. "Alright, Ciri," he whispered to the empty room. "For you… I'll confront my destiny. Whatever it is. Even if it leads to my death."
Hogwarts, The Next Day
General POV:
It was, by all accounts, a perfectly normal, rather dull day for the Hogwarts crowd. This particular school year had been surprisingly quiet and almost easy-going, despite the ever-present shadow of the Dark Lord Voldemort running rampant in the wider wizarding world. Of course, that relative tranquility could also have a lot to do with the conspicuous absence of a certain messy-haired, green-eyed "Golden Boy."
No one in Britain had seen or heard hide nor hair of Harry Potter in months. He had, according to a few fleeting, unconfirmed reports, shown up briefly in France a few months ago, spotted eating lunch with two very beautiful, very mysterious girls, but had not been seen since. Rumors, as they always did concerning Harry Potter, were running absolutely rampant. Some whispered that he was out there somewhere, bravely hunting down the dark followers of Lord Voldemort. Others sneered that he was cowering in fear, running and hiding from the powerful Dark Lord. A few, more morbidly inclined, even suggested he was already dead.
No matter what the rumors were, no matter if you liked him, disliked him, or were utterly indifferent to him, absolutely no one had expected Harry Potter to randomly, casually walk into the Great Hall that cold February morning during breakfast, as if he hadn't been missing for the better part of a year. No one expected him to simply sit down at the Gryffindor table, grab a plate, and start calmly eating some eggs and bacon, all while not paying a single ounce of attention to the hundreds of stunned, staring faces around him. Yet, that is exactly what happened.
The vast hall, usually buzzing with chatter and the clatter of cutlery, fell completely, utterly silent. All movement, all conversation, came to an abrupt, shocked halt. The Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, his long silver beard almost brushing his own breakfast plate, stood up slowly from the staff table, his bright blue eyes, usually twinkling with amusement, now wide with what many students thought was sheer, unadulterated amazement.
"Harry Potter," Dumbledore called out, his voice, amplified by a subtle sonorous charm, booming through the silent hall.
Harry paused, a forkful of bacon halfway to his mouth, and looked up at the old man with an expression of profound, almost weary boredom. "What?" he asked quietly, yet his voice, in the pin-drop silence, carried clearly to every corner of the Great Hall. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, hanging on his every word.
"May I… may I speak privately with you, Harry? Please?" Dumbledore asked, his voice a little strained. He was clearly, and understandably, wanting to take this unexpected and potentially explosive reunion away from the prying eyes and eager ears of the hundreds of students who were watching the unfolding drama with rapt attention.
Harry shrugged nonchalantly, a gesture of pure indifference. "After I'm done eating," he said, his voice still quiet, and then he promptly went back to eating his eggs.
"Why, you insolent little—" Professor Snape, from his seat at the staff table, had started to rise, his face contorted in its usual sneer, before Dumbledore silenced him with a single, sharp glare. Dumbledore looked back at Harry, his expression a mixture of relief and something unreadable.
"As you wish, Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice regaining some of its usual calm. "But no later than that, please." Harry didn't even grace him with a nod or a response, just kept on eating.
It was then, as if a spell had been broken, that everyone in the Great Hall burst into excited, hushed talking, a fresh wave of new rumors and wild speculations about Harry Potter already starting to circulate.
It was only a few more moments before a piercing shriek was heard from the entrance of the Great Hall. "HARRY!" someone yelled, their voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming relief.
Harry turned his head to look, and was immediately, and rather forcefully, smashed into by a bushy-haired missile that was one of his best friends.
"Where HAVE you BEEN!?" Hermione Granger yelled, her voice muffled against his shoulder as she tried to squeeze the literal life out of him in a bone-crushing hug. Harry did his best to shrug, a difficult feat when being compressed like an accordion.
"On vacation," he said, his voice calm, almost nonchalant.
"Harry, Summer vacation ended AGES ago!" she exclaimed, finally pulling back enough to glare at him, though her eyes were suspiciously bright.
Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah, I noticed," he said, taking another bite of toast. "It got cold, and then later it started snowing a few months back. Pretty big clues."
"So, what were you doing then?" Hermione asked again, her frustration evident.
"I was still on vacation," Harry told her, his expression unchanging.
She didn't seem at all happy about that answer. "You mean… you mean you willingly skipped school, all this time, just so you could do nothing and relax?" she said, her voice rising in pitch, clearly getting angry.
"Yeah," Harry said, considering it. "Yeah, that sounds about right." He then looked past her at Ron Weasley, who was standing there looking a bit shell-shocked but also undeniably relieved. Ron took that as his cue to finally greet him.
"Hey, mate," Ron said, a wide grin spreading across his freckled face as he clapped Harry firmly on the back. "Bloody hell, it's good to see you in one piece and everything. We were getting seriously worried there."
Harry nodded, managing a small, genuine smile for his friend. "Yeah, it's… it's good to see you guys too," he said to them both. And in truth, he realized with a pang, he had missed them, more than he'd allowed himself to admit. But most of his thoughts, most of his time, had been consumed by Ciri.
"Ron, did you not hear him?" Hermione interjected, still flabbergasted by Harry's casual attitude. "He ditched school! For months! To go on vacation!"
Ron looked at Harry, then back at Hermione, then back at Harry again, and his grin widened. "Yeah, I heard, Hermione. Gotta say, I'm a bit jealous, mate. All that time to just relax, and not have Snape and McGonagall breathing down your neck every five minutes. Must have been nice." He then sobered slightly. "But, uh, why didn't you tell us? Send an owl or something?"
Hermione finally seemed to calm down a fraction, enough to wait for an answer. Harry sighed, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair.
"Look, I just… I didn't feel like talking, or having to explain myself to anyone at the time," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "Let's just drop it, alright? I'm here now, and that's what matters. How are your guys' classes going, anyway?" he asked, deliberately trying to change the subject.