When Gwen didn’t return to teach the next day, or the next, Professor Smith understood. All the faculty had been alerted that she was in mourning because of the death of a close friend. The students didn’t understand, but they didn’t need to. She would come back, just when was the question.

Harry was more than concerned. He had stopped by her office, hoping to catch her, but to no avail. He was surprised when Professor Trelawney took over the Ouranian Barbaric project, as if it had been planned that way. He decided to seek Gwen out in her room.

He knocked and knocked over and over, but she would not respond. It was if she had been trapped in the Carcer Tristitia Curse. She was so deeply locked inside the Cell of Sadness that she could not respond to his knocking, if she even heard it at all.

“I don’t know what to do Professor.” Harry whispered to Dumbledore in his office. He had been given the password to the gargoyle this year (it was an Order privilege) and so used it for the first time. He needed to talk to someone. “She won’t come out of her room, she’s just holed up in her grief.”

“Perhaps,” said Dumbledore, a sparkle in his eye, “you should knock harder.”

Harry looked at Dumbledore as if he’d already done that, indeed he had. But he would try again anyway. He shuffled down to her door and pounded again, louder and harder than before. He pounded until his hands bruised. If he kept it up much longer his hands would be so swollen he wouldn’t be able to catch the Snitch at their next Quidditch match.

He stopped, this isn’t working. He decided to try talking to the door instead. “Gwen, come out please. I want to talk to you.” He heard a shifting inside, as if she were moving around, trying to decide whether or not to respond. “Gwen, please. I miss you.”

He waited a few moments, the seconds ticking by slowly. If she was moving before she had stopped. Maybe she didn’t want to talk. Well, Harry thought, too bad. He redoubled his efforts.

“Gwen, you once told me that there was no point wasting away in your grief.” Harry yelled, his head pressed against the door straining to hear any movement within.

“I know Harry.” She replied to the door, using her voice for the first time in days. She was surprised at the hoarse sound, the burning sensation in her throat caused by all the tears. “I’ll be out in a moment.”

She tidied herself up as best she could, straightening her wrinkled robes as much as she could manage without having to use any magic. Her face was puffy in the mirror, her eyes ringed with red. Her hair was a tangled mess that she didn’t dare comb through. She grabbed a dark bandana and covered her head.

She thrust herself out of the door and into the pale light of the hall. Harry looked at her deeply. He had never seen her so distraught, but he felt that her loss was so much the greater. Her best friend had been killed by the same people who had killed the rest of her family.

The dark times were just beginning and braver wizards than Gwen were quailing already.

Harry didn’t dare ask her how she was. He knew she was a mess. Instead her offered her some coffee and ushering her back into her room, a seat.

“No thanks.” She said to the coffee (which was good because he didn’t have any) and curled up on the velvet covered bench below the window. Harry sat next to her, taking her hand gently in his. He wasn’t sure that’s what she wanted, but he wanted it and he thought it might help. She squeezed his fingers gently and braved a smile for him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He suggested softly.

“A bit.” She said. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. He was so much braver than I am and I don’t often get scared. I just can’t imagine life without him.” He gazed into her eyes noticing their color for the first time. They were light brown, almost tan rimmed with a dull orange that glowed brighter when she was feeling some strong emotion. She wiped a tear away with her finger and rested her cheek on her hand.

“He was such a loss to our side.” She laughed painfully. “It’s so strange to think of someone you loved so dearly as a loss for your side.” She looked at Harry desperately hoping he would understand.

He was very confused about his own feelings on the situation. Graves had proven to be a good friend, even in competition for the woman he loved. And now he was gone. He would no longer prove a distraction to Gwen, nor would he be there to razz Harry regularly. He knew he would miss the constant struggle. He couldn’t have asked for a better opponent or ally for that matter.

“My grief is so different from yours Gwen. My parents died before I even knew to be sad about it and I’ve been carrying it inside of me for seventeen years. It’s almost a numbness now, an old scar that aches sometimes.” He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “But your grief is alive. It’s raw and biting. You’ve lost both of your parents, an uncle and your best friend in the last eight years. You were old enough to know what grieving is. Your pain is like a wound that just won’t close. It won’t scar because it will never heal.”

She looked at him. “It will heal Harry. You’ll help me.” She closed her eyes. The burden, the pain she’d been carrying around had lightened considerably. “I have something to show you.” She said softly.

To be Continued in Episode Seventy Six