"Oi, posho," Ruby hissed at the white-blond head down the deserted corridor. Draco, wearing his school robes and typical haughty air, swiveled and narrowed his eyes at the tall girl. He was careful to look around and confirm they were alone before he answered. They walked the few steps toward one another on the gray institutional tiles.
"Aren't you supposed to be in Household Charms class with the other halfies?" He sneered. "You sure you want to get caught skiving after last time?"
Ruby rolled her eyes and held up her left hand. Her palm was criss-crossed with faint pink lines, the result of the caning from several days before. "Almost healed, and the Beak'll be itching for a chance to beat me anyway. Why not give her a reason?" She said, using the students' nickname for their despised headmistress.
"Besides," she lowered her hand and reached into the satchel at her hip, "That class is rubbish. There's not a chance in hell I'm going to go into domestic service. I'm saving Gorley the hassle of trying to teach me shirt starching charms."
"That's Charms Mistress Gorley, girl!" Draco imitated the insufferable witch's perpetually sour expression and nasal, squawking voice. "And don't forget it!"
Ruby smirked. "That's good. You should go out for the Junior Follies - I heard it's Robin Hood again this year. I bet Parkinson would love to see you in tights."
Draco flushed. "Aw, you're daft."
"I've got something to show you," Ruby pulled the prize from her satchel. She held it up with a look of triumph.
"What's that?" Draco eyed the cracked plastic hair comb with a confused expression. "A comb?"
"No," Ruby grinned at him. "I mean, yes it's a comb, but it's also something else. Something very important." She gave him a meaningful look.
"Is that…" Draco's eyes widened and he lowered his voice to a whisper, looking around the empty corridor again. They were still alone: only grey walls and closed doors surrounded them. "A portkey! You really are daft! You got it? How?"
"Doesn't matter," Ruby said, stuffing the comb back into her bag again with a smooth motion.
"Where'd you get it? How do you even know it works? How much did you pay? It must have cost a fortune-"
"It works," She cut in. "I'm sure it works. You're ignoring the most important thing: It's the last piece we needed. We can do the ritual. We're ready."
Draco gaped at Ruby. "Are you sure? I mean… You still want to do it?"
"You can't back out, Draco. You promised." Ruby said, voice firm.
"I'm not going to back out. I just, you know, what to make sure that you're ready. Sirius said it's too dangerous-"
"I know what he said," Ruby interrupted him. "But we have no choice. We have to do it soon. And I'm ready. We've already put in so much work…" She gave him a beseeching look. "Please, Draco. This is important. You know how important this is."
"Yes, okay. All right." He glared at her. "But when we get caught, I'm telling Sirius it was all your idea."
She frowned. "We aren't going to get caught, and I can handle him if we do."
Draco scoffed at her bravado. "He'll have your guts for garters."
"Our guts," She corrected. "If you think I'm not going to take you down with me, you're mad."
"Please," Draco sniffed, resuming his typical disdainful demeanor. "You're the halfblood orphan charity case, and I'm the pureblood heir. Who do you think is going to get the blame when it all goes sideways?"
Ruby smirked at him and reached up to playfully ruffle his coiffed hair. "Prat."
Draco squeaked and covered his head, glaring daggers from under his arms.
This was where the memory ended. Everything in the dream up to now was the way it had actually happened, as Ruby remembered. They'd spoken a few more words. They were both planning to be home for dinner (their glorious privilege as day students), and they would talk about plans then. Draco went on to his potions tutorial. Ruby snuck down to the laundry to hide out and smoke cigarettes before her next pointless class. She was hoping to avoid the roving prefects and survive the day without being hauled into the Beak's office.
This time, though, it was different. None of that happened. Instead, they stood stock still in the corridor, a sense of dread tinting the scene. The memory was changing.
Ruby suddenly remembered feeling very cold. Cold, and empty. It was like the flick of a light switch. Draco looked up from the hair-mussing, a sneer on his lips. The color drained from his face as he stared, wide-eyed at something behind her.
"What? Draco, what is it?" Ruby turned and saw... nothing. Where there should have been a corridor with classroom doors, there was only darkness. The darkness was solid, like a mass of smoke, and it was moving toward them. Panicked, Ruby turned back to shout for Draco to run, but he was gone. The darkness was moving toward her from the other side as well. It was freezing. Her heart fell into her feet and she wanted to scream, but couldn't make the air leave her lungs. She couldn't breathe. The darkness pressed in from both sides. She stood there, freezing and choking, for long minutes as the creeping dark closed in on her.
She woke with a start and looked around, heart jumping in her chest.
She'd dozed off again. She was back in the hospital. She wasn't supposed to be here. The ritual should have worked.
It must have been a stupid mistake. Probably a mispronounced word in the tedious incantation or a gap in the circle of runes that she'd laid down. Ruby had been practicing the ritual for months. She'd been convinced that she was ready, but Sirius wasn't. Maybe he was right. She must have been flustered enough to do something wrong, because this really was not the result she had expected.
Stuck in a bloody hospital bed in who-knows-where after encountering a Dementor… At least that was what she'd been told when she woke up. She didn't even know where she was or who might be close by, which was bad. Very bad.
She cursed her momentary lapse of self-control, and knew she was cursing her own reckless stupidity. If Sirius were here, he would have told her that everyone makes mistakes and to not be so hard on herself. That would be after he gave her a royal ticking off for being so stupid in the first place. The thought came unbidden, slithering through a widening crack in her shields. If he were here…
Ruby's eyes burned as tears formed and blinked them back forcefully. She was on her own now. She had convinced Draco to go ahead with the ritual against Sirius' wishes, against his warnings. It had taken several nerve-wracking weeks to pull off, weeks of sneaking and lying at school and at home. They'd bartered with a goblin for the blood spell to bind Ruby to the Lamp. She bought an illicit portkey. Finally, they did the ritual: the one that was supposed to bring them closer to salvation, the one that Sirius had forbidden as too risky.
Ruby knew better, though, didn't she? Stubborn, bloody-minded little shit, as Sirius called her. Once she got an idea to do something, she couldn't shake it. She had to do the ritual now, before the next full moon. She must have been convincing, too, to get Draco in on the scheme; he was always so scared of pissing off the adults.
She'd showed him the evidence that Sirius had dismissed. The star charts and the numbers all showed that their window would close soon. Even the weird seer in Knockturn who foretold the future using spiders said that it was time for her to do it. She'd been itchy as she watched the hunched, wizened witch peer over her jars of hairy spiders, scrutinising patterns in the jostled nests. In the end, the signs were all the same: Do it now.
Apparently, she trusted soulless divination more than she trusted the people who cared for her. After all, Sirius and the others only had decades of experience and tutelage under one of the greatest wizards who ever lived! What did Ruby have? Her star charts and arithmancy textbooks? She was also the only one who was willing to do the ritual. That should have been a warning sign.
She had been so desperate. It seemed to be the perfect answer to the problems that she'd created with her own petty antics. There would be no more chances, he'd said, red eyes and rotting meat breath looming large in her memory. Consequences for her bad behavior. Remember, there are others I could hurt before you. In her panic, she had gotten in over her head.
She was an idiot.
She remembered some of what happened, before the Dementor: Draco's pale face lit only by lamplight, eyes huge. The massive black door appearing in the smoke. Then the door opening, and Draco screaming her name as she was pulled inside. It had been a rough landing and she barely got her feet under her again before the dark, cold presence was upon her. Sudden, swift pain and terror. The terrible things she'd seen when it enfolded her... The pain that wracked her body and bit into her soul…
Then, nothing, until she awoke in this unfamiliar place. No wand. No Draco. With any luck, he would find out where she was and send her some help. Until then, she was wandless; but she was not defenseless. The best defense was meticulous preparation. She resolved not to slip up again. She would not make any more mistakes. She swore it.
One of the first and most lasting lessons her father ever taught her: Mistakes brought pain. Case in point. She trembled, remembering the all-consuming pain and fear, then mentally kicked herself again.
Stop it, she scolded herself. Do what you know how to do. Conceal. Deflect. Keep your secrets. For what must have been the tenth time that morning, Ruby steeled her resolve. She took several calming breaths and cleared her mind every thought and emotion. Her Occlumency shields were in place. She buried all the things she did not want to feel beneath the floorboards of the grey room in her mind. Everything unwanted was secured and waiting until she had time to deal with them. She could focus.
She looked around again at the stark white room. She fixed her gaze on the fussy looking older woman bent over a cart of medical supplies. The woman wore an old-fashioned nurse's cap and flowing white robes over a matron's uniform. She'd introduced herself earlier as Poppy something, and she'd become increasingly frustrated with Ruby as the morning went on. She seemed to take Ruby's silence and her refusal to take any potions as something of an insult.
The matron was the only person she'd seen so far, but there were voices from beyond the door every now and then. The voices had been low and muffled, and alternated with the matron's staccato footsteps. The matron entered the room periodically to check on Ruby. She would wave her wand over her, or shine a light in her eyes, or comment on her silence. This place was otherwise quiet. Ruby guessed she was matron's only patient.
From her vantage point on the hospital bed, Ruby could see that the matron was now absorbed in reading a chart. Every now and then she tapped her wand on the page and hummed to herself. The door to the room opened, and an old wizard with a long grey beard entered. He was wearing robes the color of an autumn sunset with gold spangles along the sleeves and hems. The pointed cap on his head featured embroidery with thread of the same gold. He wore small, half-moon spectacles. When he smiled at Ruby, his pale blue eyes crinkled.
"Good morning, Madame Pomfrey," the old man said to the nurse, who turned to greet him. "And good morning to you, young lady." He looked at Ruby as though expecting a reply. She said nothing.
"Headmaster," Pomfrey (that was the name she hadn't been able to remember) said crisply as she rolled up the chart. "I've examined our patient for any signs of injury related to the Dementor attack. There are some bumps and bruises, but she won't take the potion to heal them. I couldn't find any other cause for concern except slight dehydration. She may leave the quarantine wing as soon as you wish. I'd like her to stay in the infirmary for 24 hours - unless you'd like me to arrange for her to be transferred to St. Mungo's. That will take some time."
The old man nodded, still smiling at Ruby. "Learn anything new?"
"No," the matron said. She glanced at Ruby with a disapproving look. "Not a word spoken since she awoke. She seems to understand me, but doesn't reply. She's also refused liquids. If this keeps up," she said, a little more severely, "I'm going to have to take extreme measures to ensure she doesn't become more dehydrated."
Ruby wondered what extreme measures she was talking about.
"I'm sure that won't be necessary," The old man said, still smiling. His unfailing friendliness was beginning to look like feeble-mindedness to Ruby. Perhaps he was so calm and pleasant because he didn't know any better.
"Mm," Matron Pomfrey made a doubtful noise and looked at the upside-down fob watch pinned to her robe. "I have to attend to something in my office. Headmaster, will you be all right here without me for a brief time?"
In reply, he wordlessly conjured an overstuffed purple armchair and sat a few feet away from the edge of the bed. "Oh, I'll be fine. I'll take this opportunity to get to know our guest."
The matron cast a last glance at Ruby before scooping up her charts and leaving the room, closing the door behind her. Ruby looked at the old man again. He was still smiling.
"Now, my dear," The old man said, eyes twinkling in a very grandfatherly manner. "You're probably ready to get out of this room, aren't you? What do you say we find you a more comfortable place to rest and recover from your ordeal?"
Ruby didn't speak. For just a moment, there was the barest hint of pressure on her shields. If he was trying to Legilimise her, he wasn't being very forceful. His face gave no sign that he'd tried anything, though, and he kept talking.
"I don't believe we've met before. My name is Albus Dumbledore. I am headmaster here at Hogwarts School. May I offer you a lemon drop?" He produced a small purple tin from the pocket of his robe and held it out to her.
Ruby stared at him. She tried to make sense of what the old man was saying as he prattled on. Hogwarts. She was at Hogwarts? Dumbledore?
"I realise you must have had an awful fright, accosted by Dementors right outside our gates…"
After she awoke in the hospital bed a couple of hours previous, Ruby had been observing her surroundings. All this - everything she experienced since the ritual - may be a dream, or a vision, or an elaborate trick. The Dark Lord was known to enjoy invading minds and creating horrific visions to torment people. She didn't know of anyone suffering his wrath through an hallucination of sitting in a hospital bed for hours on end. It was still a possibility.
Ruby had always been taught to understand exactly what danger she was facing before she acted. Acting without sufficient knowledge led to mistakes. Mistakes brought pain.
"...I've always found that when my spirits need a lift, nothing works quite as well as a sweet..."
So she had watched for any clue that this was not real. She was familiar with visions and how they differed from real life. She noted and analysed details. The movement of sunlight across the smooth plaster walls and tiled floor as early dawn changed to mid-morning. The high, whispery sound of wind whipping beyond the single mullioned window high on the wall. The antiseptic smell of the hospital, sharp and medicinal. The sensation of relief when the matron had cast a cooling charm on Ruby's sweaty face and rumpled hospital gown.
"...you'd rather something more substantial? I can arrange for some breakfast…"
She'd scrutinised her own body: her aching back, dry throat, and her growling stomach. Her bladder, becoming more urgently full with every passing minute. It all seemed perfectly real.
She supposed she might be mad. She had no idea of what to do in that case.
"...interest you in a cup of tea…"
Now she smelled the inviting bright citrus aroma of the candy as the man lifted the lid of the tin. She heard the creek of the springs in his chair as he leaned forward. She saw her own startled reflection in his glasses as he gazed at her. It was real.
So if the hospital was real, and the man in front of her was real, it meant that she was in very serious trouble. The old man smiled at her, waiting for her to respond. Her stomach shriveled.
My name is Albus Dumbledore
She knew the stories about Dumbledore, of course. About his greatness and his courage. About his Order of the Phoenix and how hard he'd fought with them during the war. She'd heard stories since she was a little girl. Sirius had imparted them in reverent tones and sometimes, when he was feeling maudlin and had too much to drink, in sorrowful rants.
This man was not Albus Dumbledore, no matter what he said. No matter how kindly he appeared to be, no matter what he offered her, she would not let down her shields. She knew the stories of the war. She knew the grief that Sirius and the other survivors carried in their hearts each day as they struggled against the Dark Lord's regime.
Albus Dumbledore was one the greatest wizards who had ever lived, and Voldemort murdered him more than thirteen years ago.
