Miss LeFey had called Harry to her office once more. She had noticed that his grades were steadily slipping from all A’s to C’s and then he received his first F on a DADA assignment. Hermione and Ron had tried to help, Hermione especially, but they couldn’t get him to concentrate.
He would often grumble nonsensically when working on homework for this class. All of his other classes were fine, although he didn’t participate as much as he used to. Even on the Quidditch field he had lost his sparkle. The other Gryffindors were worried. They had never seen Harry so sullen.
He didn’t want to speak with her. She was the whole problem. Every rotten feeling he was now trudging through was because of her. He could handle it over the summer, he had much bigger things to worry about (like cleaning the Dursley house every day until he nearly rubbed holes in the wood he was polishing). He wanted to be Gwen’s friend, that is if he couldn’t be more.
But she had cut him off completely. This wound was deep and fresh, not something he could shake off easily. He wanted to forget about her, but it wasn’t easy being stuck in her class. So he simply stopped paying attention in Defense lessons.
He stood before her door. It was closed, the dim light in the hall glimmering as it hit the letters of her name. G. LeFey. He didn’t want to ever hear that name again.
He knocked twice, turned the handle and pushed the door open. Gwen was seated behind her desk, gazing at the Mona Lisa by the door. She looked worn under the burning light of the candles. Her eyes were red rimmed and her hair was a little disheveled, as if she’d been pulling at it.
He sat dazedly in a chair as the thought finally struck him. Maybe she’s taking this as badly as I am. She certainly didn’t show it before now, but of course she couldn’t. Harry sighed and looked back up at her.
She was trying so very hard to maintain her composure. It wasn’t easy being professional in the face of great emotional attachment. Hurting Harry wasn’t something she liked to do, but unfortunately it was something she did well.
She breathed slowly. “Harry, your grades have been slipping and Professor Smith thought it best that I speak to you.”
“I know.” He said, looking at his hands. He too was aiming to remain casual and business-like. “I’ll study harder.” He said softly.
“Harry, I know how you feel. Please understand, I know. But there’s no point wasting away in your grief.”
He looked deeply into her eyes and blinked when he couldn’t bear to look anymore. She wanted so badly to bear her soul to him again and he wanted to be there for her. He reached his hand timidly across the desk and brushed her fingertips with his.
She didn’t curl away like she used to when he made her nervous.