A/N: I have been made aware that my first posting of the previous chapter ended up being another upload of chapter 4. This has been fixed, and the previous chapter is now the real chapter 5. Sorry for the inconvenience!

Chapter 6:
The Lightningdust Crusaders

Harry and Ron quickly found that lugging a half-comatose Hermione Granger through the maze-like corridors and staircases of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was a far greater strain on their arms than they'd thought. Their pacing was different, too; Ron was walking and pushing slightly faster than Harry was walking and pulling, meaning that Hermione kept accidentally knocking into Harry. Coordination seemed not to be their best skill at this time. However, this was the least of their problems. They had to be as quiet as possible so they wouldn't attract unwanted attention from Filch and/or Mrs. Norris, the previously mentioned man's eternally grumpy, grey cat.

Mrs. Norris was as notorious as her master, the caretaker, around Hogwarts; notorious for being an absolute prick of a cat. She seemed to have a sort of sixth sense for when a student was causing trouble or breaking the rules. Do the slightest thing wrong, and one would be almost certain to find beady, yellow eyes glowering at them from inside the nearest shadows. Most annoying of all was that both Filch and Mrs. Norris seemed to have memorized all of the ins and outs of Hogwarts. The Weasley twins swore that man and cat knew even more of the school's secret passages than they did, and they'd pretty much made it their life missions to discover every nook and cranny in Hogwarts.

Harry and Ron were very nervous indeed of being discovered as they continued to lug Hermione up a long flight of stairs to the next floor. Filch didn't very much enjoy listening to reason, as they had discovered that very morning. They'd been attempting to force their way through a locked door which had turned out to be the forbidden corridor on the third floor. The two friends had been threatened with being locked in the dungeon despite their terrified protests that they'd just been trying to get to class and hadn't been aware of which corridor it was. It was only thanks to Quirrel, who had been passing by at that time and giving the locked door a strange look, vouching for them that they had escaped this fate. Harry very highly doubted Filch would accept "taking a student, who tried to kill us, to the infirmary" as a valid answer, and neither did he have any want for detention.

"I swear, that old guy's evil if you ask me," Ron grunted as he strained to keep Hermione in the air while ascending the staircase. "Fred reckons he tried to beat him and George with a cudgel once."

The raven-haired Boy Who Lived scowled. "What's his problem, anyway? Being that grumpy all the time can't possibly be good for his health."

"Maybe he has spiders in his office," Ron guessed. "That would make a guy reasonably grumpy."

"Ron, not everyone is as terrified of spiders as you are."

"They have eight legs and way too many eyes! I say they should be killed with lots and lots of fire!"

"But they're harmless," said Harry, raising an eyebrow. "I slept in the same space as them for years and never got a single bite. They did tend to crawl on me a lot, though."

Ron, pale and slack-jawed, looked hilariously horrified. "Remind me to never touch you, ever."

Something soft hit the ground nearby them, and the hair on the back of Harry's neck rose on end. He froze and peered through the darkness. Then he winced as Hermione's head knocked against his funny bone.

"Ouch."

"Sorry." Ron winced sympathetically, then paused and tilted his head. "Why did you stop?"

"Shh," Harry hissed, releasing one of Hermione's arms to hold up a palm haltingly. The arm he'd released fell limply and swung in midair a few times before stopping. He lowered his voice to just barely above a whisper. "Did you hear that? It sounded like... like footsteps. Like really soft footsteps."

The redhead opposite him strained to listen. "I don't hear anything," he hissed back. "Do you think we're being followed?"

"I don't know." Harry squinted through the dark stairwell, examining the shadows of the walls and banisters. The torches that normally lit up the place had burnt out half an hour ago, creating a vast sea of darkness. The friends' eyes had long since adjusted to the lack of light, but it was still very tough to make out any meaningful shapes in the distance. Hogwarts at night was creepy and foreboding, or perhaps that was because there was the possibility of someone here who could control others into wanting to kill Harry and Ron.

Hesitating, the duo stood stock still in the stuffy silence, carrying Hermione - a human, comatose bridge - the entire time. Tension hung in the air for several long minutes. Finally, when they neither saw nor heard any other movements, Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"I guess it was just my nerves," he sighed. He leaned down and once again grasped Hermione's arm that he'd dropped. "Come on, let's continue. My arms are getting really tired."

"Relatable," mumbled a relieved Ron, and they once again struck up their uneven rhythm.

Neither of them noticed the feral eyes gleaming up at them, menacingly, from behind an alcove at the bottom of the stairwell.

Fifteen minutes of mostly silent walking later found them standing in front of the infirmary. Harry gently laid his side of Hermione down on the floor so that he could open the infirmary door. Light spilled into the hallway as he did so, and he again picked up Hermione and heaved her into the office of Madam Pomfrey, Hogwarts's nurse. She'd been relaxing on one of the many beds laid evenly throughout the infirmary, perhaps exhausted from a long first, full day of the school year. When the door opened, however, she blearily stood up and rubbed her eyes.

"Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley?" she said groggily. "Why are you carrying Miss Granger like that, and why are you here, anyway?"

"Hermione attacked us earlier," explained Harry with a wince. "She was screaming stuff about being for the Dark Lord, and she had a weird, fleshy thing sticking out of her head. We managed to pull it out and destroy it, but she fell unconscious immediately upon us doing so."

Madam Pomfrey, now wide awake, frowned. She was a shorter woman, grey haired and blue eyed, and was well-known for being quite strict about her patients and their treatment. She was widely known for being remarkably skilled, however; indeed, she could treat most ailments and injuries in at least one night.

"I see," the nurse said, a dark look crossing her face. "That is quite bizarre indeed. Hm... well, I suppose the best way for answers is to wake the poor girl up." She reached into a pocket and withdrew her wand. "Please place Miss Granger on one of the beds. Any one is fine, they're all empty."

"Right," Harry and Ron chorused, and followed said instructions.

Once Hermione was resting flat on her back on the nearest bed to the door, Madam Pomfrey brandished her long wand and pointed it directly at Hermione. "Rennervate." Brilliant red light flashed from her wand and hit Hermione's forehead. The girl's eyes fluttered open, and she sat up blearily, rubbing the back of her head.

"Ow," Hermione complained. "It feels like I have a really bad headache for some reason..." Then she blinked and looked around. "...Why am I at the infirmary?"

"I would like to know the full details of these circumstances myself," Madam Pomfrey said, looking questioningly at Harry and Ron.

Harry exchanged a nervous glance with Ron, then looked back at the frowning nurse. "Alright, but we might need to have Professor Dumbledore come down, too. It was kind of a big deal, or it seems like it could be, at any rate."

Harry and Ron were told to wait in the infirmary with Hermione, who was very confused indeed, while Madam Pomfrey went to get the Headmaster. The brunette seemed to be totally lost on what had happened that night, which baffled Harry and Ron. She had appeared entirely aware of what she'd been doing before they extracted the fleshy bud from her. It was an awkward handful of minutes between the nurse leaving and her returning with Professor Dumbledore in tow behind her.

Once Dumbledore, a silver-haired old man with a rather epic beard, arrived at the infirmary, the two friends launched into their story. They explained all about their Stands, about having discovered how to fight with them when Malfoy had attacked them on the train, and about the events of Hermione attempting to kill them. Hermione had been horrified during the latter explanation, especially when Dumbledore said he could tell that they were being truthful.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione apologized profusely, bowing low and nearly teary-eyed. "I would never normally want to kill either of you. I, I don't know what had come over me, and..."

Harry sweatdropped. "It's alright, Hermione, it's over now."

"Yeah, besides, neither of us even got hurt all that badly," Ron agreed. "My head hurts a bit from you punching me with [Final Problem], but it's not even that bad, anyway. We're just happy you're back to normal."

"This talk about Stands is very disturbing," Dumbledore said, rubbing his chin worriedly. His normally happy and sparkling eyes were dimmed with concern. "I have, of course, heard of them before in several ancient texts. I met a rather bizarre Seer in Egypt around fifteen years ago, too, who mentioned them and their various powers which they can grant their users. At first I dismissed them as old superstitions about magic and powerful wizards, and the ramblings of a man who believed in them, but now... I can tell that everything you two have said, Harry and Ronald -"

"Ron," grumbled Ron under his breath.

"- is entirely true. And that's quite concerning. It appears that someone or something here in this school is capable of awakening people's Stands. Hermione, you mentioned that you have never before had been able to use [Final Problem]?"

"That's right, Headmaster," Hermione said nervously. "I always felt a sort of strange presence around me, but I never quite knew what it was, nor have I been able to see it until tonight." Final Problem, lying on the bed beside her in a Draw me like one of your French girls style, waved happily. Harry and Ron sweatdropped, though neither Dumbledore nor Madam Pomfrey seemed able to see it. Hermione frowned at it, then looked back up at Dumbledore. "What do you suppose we should do? If I was somehow controlled like this, and had my... Stand awakened, then isn't it possible that the same thing might happen to other students?"

Dumbledore hummed. "Yes, that is quite possible indeed. The Stand awakening itself seems to not be altogether dangerous, although the Stands themselves appear to be quite deadly indeed. At the same time, however, you three, and young Mr. Malfoy, seem to be quite capable and dependable at wielding your Stands. Furthermore, we don't yet know just who is orchestrating this horrible scenario, although it is extremely likely that they have, or had, connections to Lord Voldemort."

Ron and Madam Pomfrey twitched violently. The Headmaster frowned at this, then shook his head.

"At any rate," Dumbledore continued, "I think that it is best to keep people as calm and collected as possible. We don't need any widespread panic about rumors of the possibility of Voldemort still being around, or of his supporters trying to make a comeback. I hate to ask something so dangerous of such young wizards and witches, but since you three and Mr. Malfoy are so capable, would you be willing to all work together to discover any Stand-related threats as they come up and stop them? Neither I myself, nor any of the staff members, have at this time a Stand, although I will do extensive research into how one might acquire one."

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged nervous looks.

"You mean that you want us to go looking for danger?" Harry asked incredulously.

Dumbledore sighed. "Putting it simply, yes. If there was any other way... But there isn't, and thus this is the best solution I can currently come up with."

Hermione bit her lip, then sat up straight. "Very well. I suppose this is, in a way, a crusade, isn't it?"

"I suppose one might call it that," said Dumbledore slowly, and a twinkle sparked in his eyes. "It would be a tremendous favor to the whole school."

"Well, I'm only in it if Malfoy agrees not to be a prick," Ron mumbled. "But, uh, this sounds interesting at the very least."

"I'm in." Harry crossed his arms. "Something just tells me it's the right thing to do, like I was always meant to do this."

"Very well," said Dumbledore with a smile. "You three will have done us all an enormous service. All we need is Mr. Malfoy to agree now, and that can be done tomorrow. But for now..." He clapped his hands together. "Bed! Staying up past midnight will make tomorrow, or should I say today, much tougher."

"Off with the lot of you, off I say!" huffed Madam Pomfrey, and promptly shooed everyone who wasn't her out of the infirmary. When the room was quiet once again, she sighed and rubbed her cheek. "Crusaders, eh? Something tells me that I will be seeing those three first years quite often from now on..."

~o~

In the Defense Against the Dark Arts room, once again swathed in night now that the door was shut and the torches in the hallway had burnt out, Quirrel slammed his fist down furiously against the surface of his desk. A resounding boom permeated the classroom and shook the various papers and books on his desk. A feather quill, placed precariously on the precipice of the desk, jumped slightly and dive-bombed off to the wooden boards of the floor below. Black ink splashed on the floor where the quill's tip brushed against it.

"Damn it all," Quirrel growled, his eye twitching. His back ached as it always did when he was stressed, ever since that fateful day in the Dark Forest. He quickly stood up and stretched, relishing in the relaxing feeling of his spine cracking. He couldn't enjoy it for long, though, due to the anger flooding his veins. "I can't believe that Potter and Weasley have Stands and know how to use them. And young Granger's power was completely useless for our own purposes, too! Nothing worked out with her!"

"Patience, servant," drawled the inky grey face on the back of Quirrel's head. A sinister sneer crossed its lips, which made the face appear rather serpentine, especially considering the fact that said face had no nose. "I, Voldemort, am still safe. Hermione knows not what happened to her tonight. Thanks to the effects of the great magic bud, created by both my Stand and Dark Magic, she will forever forget all of the circumstances that have just occurred. We are free to operate exactly as planned. Continue to use the arrow on the students and creatures of the Forest. One of them may yet have the power we seek. We should find it eventually. Even if it isn't useful for our purposes, we can still orchestrate the deaths of those who oppose us without anyone realizing what's going on. Granger may have been a failure, but our newest... recruit... may not be. Anyway, in the meantime..."

Quirrel shuddered. "Unicorn blood."

"Unicorn blood," agreed Voldemort.

Quirrel's eyes fell upon a golden goblet that sat in the center of his desk, filled with a strange, mystical silver-blue liquid. With a shaking hand, he reached out, grasped the cup, and lifted it up to his own lips. He hesitated, swallowing nervously, then at last tilted the shining vessel up. Cold, bitter liquid rolled against his tongue, and the most horrible, rotten taste he'd ever had the displeasure of tasting washed into his mouth. It was death, it was witnessing a million heartless executions at the same time; it was the taste of the lifeblood of a purely innocent creature that had been taken for evil.

On the back of his head, Voldemort's face twisted into a horribly pleased smirk, and its lips parted to let one, raspy sneer, like a thousand snakes hissing at once, permeate the empty classroom: "Wryyyyyyyyyyy!"

-TO BE CONTINUED-