Chapter 11: Things That Go Squeak and Scream in the Night

A/N: This one is for Charmina. Thanks for the encouragement.

There was a short meeting before bedtime, and all the Gryffindors were called into their common room. The mood was sober as Professor McGonagall went over the morning's events with those in her house. Harry peered through the crowd, wondering if any of them had actually tried to kill him. Face after face was familiar, sober and glancing at him with obvious worry. No one looked suspicious, and there wasn't any student Harry could truly believe would do him harm.

"Therefore," McGonagall summed up, "from now on, each student will come in the portrait hole one at a time, but the password will be whispered, not said out loud. A statue of Godric Gryffindor will be positioned outside the portrait and those awaiting entry must stand back behind the statue. Any crowding will result in some severe unpleasantness. I assure you that Godric Gryffindor was a famous swordsman as well as a wizard, and will let your imaginations conjure the rest. Now, are there any questions? Yes, Miss Weasley?"

"What if more poisoned food shows up here?"

"Professor Flitwick and myself will be adding and strengthening the wards around the dormitory and common rooms tonight, adding a Poison Alarm and a Skulking Monitor. Also, as an added precaution, no one will be allowed up in the Sixth Year boys dormitory except for the boys who sleep there now. If you press your way in, you will find yourself standing in Moaning Myrtle's toilet," she said with such a severe face that only a few students laughed. "Now if there are no more questions, I will ask you to go to your rooms early tonight, so that the warding can begin."

"Damn Slytherins," Dean muttered as they entered the dorm room minutes later. "I hate to think that one of them was creeping around our dorm looking like one of us and we didn't even know it."

Neville raised his eyebrows as he walked over to his bed and dumped his bookbag. "Do you really think the Slytherins could pull that off?" he asked doubtfully. Harry winced as he set his own book bag down and traded glances with Ron. The other boys were staring at Neville.

"What's that?" Seamus asked. "If it weren't the Slytherins, then who done it?"

"Death Eater," Neville answered in a slightly high-pitched voice as he sat cross-legged on his bed. "Gran warned me that they might try to get in to do mischief this year, and it looks like she was right as usual."

The boys all regarded each other for a long moment.

"Cor," Seamus finally breathed out. "If I told me mam tha', I'd be back home in a whiff."

"Might have been a Ravenclaw, you know," Ron suggested, but nobody answered. It didn't feel much better to think that someone in what appeared to be a friendly house would try to kill Harry, either.

"Sorry," Harry finally said quietly. There didn't seem anything else to say.

"Not your fault," Dean said with a forced smile.

"Of course it isn't," Ron said loudly. "We'll just have to keep a better eye on things, that's all."

"I know I will," Neville said as he started rummaging through the book bag at his feet and came up with a shiny Prefect badge. The boys erupted into chaotic congratulations and it was a minute before Neville could speak again.

Harry nodded. "Good on you, Neville," thinking not for the first time that something seemed different about Neville this year. He had grown taller over the summer and was no longer round-faced. He also had a new wand—dragon heart-string and holly, twelve inches. But obviously, for Neville to say something like what he had said in Dumbledore's office, Harry felt like the biggest change must have been on the inside, where no one could see it. Whatever it was, Harry couldn't be gladder, especially as his friend took charge of the covert signal idea.

"I was thinking about this, Harry," Neville said seriously. "I think they should only be used if the person is giving you critical information, handing you something, or asking you to come with them. The less we use them, the better. No point in you getting twelve signals every time you just walk in the room, right? That would jeopardize the whole system." Neville said seriously. "We'll have to use them sparingly out there. And once the ward and charms are up, we won't always have to do them in here, either."

Ron and Harry exchanged impressed glances, both implying, Who knew?

Neville gave Seamus the sign of blinking twice, and Dean the hand sign for the letter "d", which was a forefinger raised in the air and the thumb curving around to meet the other fingers. If he did it low, it looked completely natural.

After that, the boys got ready for bed, wondering back and forth about the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class on the morrow and whether or not Professor Haverlime would be good at her job. Harry couldn't imagine that there were many applicants for the position, as cursed as it had been, but hoped for the best. Professor Haverlime looked matronly, but so did Molly Weasley, but Harry knew his friend's mother to be a formidable witch of considerable talent that he wouldn't want to cross in a fight. Especially if one of her children were in danger.

After the other boys grew quiet, Harry lay looking at his curtains, suddenly remembering that Haverlime was going to teach Ginny Occlumency instead of Snape; she must be some good. He set his glasses beside him on the ledge. He needed to ask Ginny about that next time he saw her. Turning over under the bedclothes, Harry let out a sigh and pulled up the gray screen in his mind, wanting no bad dreams or dark visions tonight.

He was sure he'd only been asleep for a few seconds when a sudden chill passed through him, startling him awake. He rolled over and gasped. In seconds he was up on his knees, wand trained on the gray, misty body floating over his bed, heart thundering in his chest. The gray thing squeaked and clapped its hands over its mouth. Harry gave a start and grabbed at his glasses with his free hand, trying to smother the hope fluttering up in his chest.

"Dobby?"

As soon as the glasses slid on his face, he saw the elf's huge tennis-ball eyes, gray now instead of green, wide with excitement as he nodded.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked in a scratchy voice. He felt as if all the horror and guilt of the day were caught in his aching throat.

Dobby let his arms fall by his sides and ducked his head. "Dobby is not meaning to startle you, Harry Potter, but Dobby—Dobby is back at Hogwarts," he said with a squeak of excitement on the last word.

"But, but you—you are dead?" Tears sprang into Harry's eyes as the words left his mouth.

"Oh, yes, Harry Potter, Dobby was killed," the elf returned gravely. "Dobby could not help being dead and for that, Dobby is begging your pardon, sir."

"Dobby—no," Harry said in a pinched voice he barely recognized, "I'm the one who's sorry." Before he could stop himself, out tumbled the words he'd wanted to say to so many people before. "It's my fault you're dead. I'm so very sorry. Please forgive me," and with that, Harry's resolve crumbled. Tears, hot and wet sprang from his eyes and tracked down his cheeks, but he couldn't stop them. The pain was old and deep and carried him along helplessly. He fisted his hands into his eyes, a sob escaping him. "Please forgive me."

"Oh, oh—Harry Potter is crying for Dobby's death?" The elf's voice had gone so high as to be almost inaudible. "Oh no! Dobby was proud to serve Harry Potter and to die for him in such a way. Harry Potter risks his own life for his friends and Dobby wanted to do no less."

That didn't help, and a few sobs made their way out before Harry could quell them completely. But he couldn't really cry in front of someone else and his tears dried quickly. He wiped his face and looked up, his eyes feeling grainy and ill-used. "Dobby, I swear, I will find out who did this and I will avenge you, as I will Sirius and Cedric. And my parents."

"Oh yes, Harry Potter! And Dobby, Dobby is here to help Harry Potter!"

As the House Elf smiled widely, showing all of his ghostly-white teeth, understanding flashed into Harry's mind. "You mean . . . you came back here to help me?"

"Yes, Harry Potter! Dobby can no longer do elf magic, sadly enough, but he can watch and sneak and tell Harry Potter things. Dobby knows Hogwarts," he said in a knowing, mischievous voice. "Dobby can find out secrets."

Harry almost smiled, but found he was too disturbed. "Thank you, Dobby. But, did you give up something to come here? I mean—"

"Oh, Dobby will not be here forever. Soon, he will be free, once Harry Potter is free."

"Free?" Harry's mind cast around for an answer. "You mean, you stay here until I die?"

Dobby nodded with a shy grin. "Dobby's last thoughts were wishes to help Harry Potter, so he was able to stay. But not forever. Oh, not forever, like some unhappy Hogwarts ghost. No, Dobby will go with Harry Potter, wherever Harry Potter goes." And his eyes were shining with that familiar, fanatical glow.

Finding no words appropriate, Harry only swallowed, nodded and moved to stow away his wand.

"Dobby is ready to go sneaking around the castle, Harry Potter. Where should Dobby go first?" The House Elf clapped his hands in childish delight.

Harry found he knew exactly where to send him. "Check up on Malfoy—I mean, Draco. The Prat's disappeared since lunch and I've been hearing bad things about the Slytherins. I want to know if he's in on it."

Dobby shook his head darkly. "Dobby heard about how the bad, evil Master treated his bad, evil son-no-longer. Only bad things and evil things will come from that house. Dobby knows. But Dobby will sneak and spy, oh yes!" He grinned again. "Dobby will find young past-master and come directly back!"

"Wait!" Harry called out louder than he'd intended as the ghost disappeared through his bed hangings. Harry stuck his head out just as Dobby flew back in, forcing them into the same space for a moment and causing Harry's whole body to go cold and clammy.

"Wha's tha', Harry?" Ron asked sleepily from behind his hangings.

"Yes, Harry Potter, sir?" Dobby said as he floated at the other end of the bed.

"Could you report back in the morning?" Harry whispered. "I need to sleep."

"Yes, sir," Dobby said with an energetic bow and then floated off through the curtains. Harry gave his head a shake and then peeked out to see if Ron had seen Dobby. Ron's curtains were still drawn and a light snore came from behind them.

Harry fell back into bed and was asleep before his mind had really sorted through all that Dobby had said.

At some point a dream caught him up and he found himself floating on a white cloud of nothingness, watching the land pass by beneath him. Hogwarts went by, followed by a sweep of heather and hills. Just as a beautiful, silvery lake came into view, a rain shower fell beneath him, drowning Harry's view in a gray storm. The thunder below him grew louder and louder until Harry clapped his hands to his ears, but it still sounded as if it had cracked right in his eardrums. A buzzing sound followed that Harry couldn't shake. It reminded him of the sound the fluorescent lights made in his old public school back in Surrey. He was thudding his palm against his head, struggling to hear anything but buzzing when—

"Harry Potter, sir!"

Harry jerked upright, realizing two things instantly: that the loud peal of thunder from his dream had been real—had in fact just rolled by right outside the window—and that Dobby was back inside his bedhangings, his pale, ghostly body quivering with energy.

"Dobby found him—the young past-master—out in the hallway, under attack! Harry Potter must come and help!"

Harry grabbed his glasses, flicked his wand into his hand and jumped through the curtains, his mind fumbling for sense in what Dobby had said. Could it be a trap? No, Dobby would have seen that. Did the Prat actually deserve rescue? Harry entertained the notion of not going, but . . . he couldn't. It just wasn't right. He couldn't leave someone helpless. "Where? Which hallway?"

"Outside the Gryffindor Tower entrance, left, heading down toward the dungeons," Dobby squeaked.

"What time is it?" said Neville in a muffled voice.

"Harry, 'zat you?" Ron slurred out.

Realizing in an instant how stupid he'd almost been for going off alone, Harry threw himself at Ron's curtains and snatched them open. "Wake up, Ron! Someone's attacking Malfoy—er, Draco!"

"Wha'? Wha's that?" Ron sat up and blinked.

Harry shook his head. "Get up!"

"Did you just say that—that—" he yawned widely, "someone's attacking the Prat-Who-Cannot-Be-Named?"

"Yes!"

"Good! About time," he added as he lay back down and turned over.

Harry huffed out an irritated breath. "Dobby, get him up and explain! I have to go!" His heart pounding, Harry raced down the stairs, ignoring Neville's call after him. Why would Mal—Draco be over here near Gryffindor Tower unless he was trying to come for help? Or trying to make an attempt on my life, the darker side of Harry's mind reasoned with equal force.

Harry ignored both voices and vaulted through the Portrait Hole, promising himself to take it slow and assess the situation before jumping in. Why did Ron always take so deucedly long to wake up?

"Dearie, oh my—where are you running off to? And where's your FRIEND?" The Fat Lady sounded very upset. "Oh my! I'll have to let the Headmaster know!"

Harry ran bent over, his feet padding almost silently on the cold stone, his wand out, his gaze never resting on one thing too long. He didn't know how far down the hallway Draco would be, and every sense was strained to the limit as he tried to avoid any possible dangers. So far, all was quiet. Where was the Prat? Dobby had said he was—

Harry froze with his back to the wall. From somewhere around the corner came choked, desperate noises of someone in pain—someone unable to breathe, unable to scream. Harry tipped his head around the corner, then pulled back. No one attacked, and there was no sign of any attackers, but the sight of Draco, alone, jerking on the floor was seared into Harry's mind. Harry set his mouth grimly and tapped his wand on his head, silently thanking Lupin for the forced practice as the familiar, drippy feelings of an expert Disillusionment Charm worked their way over him. No yellow glow this time. As soon as it was done, he stepped around the corner and pointed his wand at the boy.

"Finite Incantatum!"

Immediately, a scream ripped from Draco's throat, making Harry jump. He realized with sudden horror that the boy had been Silenced as well as put under the Cruciatus. Draco was bloody from a wound to his head and trembling all over. There was a flash of red light from the corner of Harry's eyes—from empty space—and he jerked around sideways, only to have a soft wetness splash over him. His Disillusioned body now had a large splash of purple paint over one side of him.

"Stupefy!" Harry sent a spell spinning toward the space where the paint had come from.

It must have missed; there was no movement. Harry threw a Body-Binding Spell slightly to the right of the spot. Nothing. Another to the left. Somewhere distant, thunder rumbled. Draco moaned.

Harry didn't know what to do. If his opponent was still there, maybe Disillusioned, too, why weren't they attacking? Had he scared them off? If the attacker had been a student, it was possible. Up on the roof somewhere far away, rain was striking hard enough to be heard. A torchlight sputtered nearby. Harry bounced on the balls of his feet, not yet convinced this was over. But as carefully as he scanned the hallway, he could see nothing.

Finally, Harry aimed a Scourgify spell at himself and washed away the paint, half-expecting a curse to be thrown at him before he was through. Nothing came. Now Draco's teeth were chattering as he lay on the stone like a dead man, an occasional tremor making its way over him.

"Hey, Mal—Draco?" Harry whispered, stepping back to speak to him. "Who attacked you?"

The boy's surprised gaze flickered in Harry's general direction, but then he shut his eyes, shuddering. Harry had forgotten for a moment that he was Disillusioned. He turned back to the hallway, half of a mind to try Sensing, which he had used with marginal success during those few weeks of training he'd had this summer. Then he would be able to locate anything with potential magic. But, of course, to really concentrate, he would have to close his eyes . . .

From somewhere around the corner came the distant whisper of voices—Ron's and Neville's, Harry thought. Relieved, he took a few steps back and glanced back in their direction. Of course, they wouldn't be able to see him. Before they came into view, a half-grunt from Draco pulled Harry's attention back. He walked back over to the boy.

"Yeah?"

"Potter," Draco said weakly as he sat up, "don't be an idiot She's an Animagus."

"What?"

"She could be any—" Draco's eyes went wide.

Instantly, Harry knew the spell was coming; he could Sense it speeding toward him from a different direction this time and knew that it was too late. He twisted and jerked back, almost far enough, but not quite and the red light caught him at his left elbow with a sickening crack, lifting and spinning him round in the air with dizzying force. There was a distant cry from someone, an echo of his agony, even before his back connected with the floor. Then his head hit stone and everything faded into a white, cottony wilderness.

He was somewhere else. It was a peculiar place, one empty of stress or pain, where peace reigned supreme. Wall-to-wall white, or rather, horizon-to-horizon white. If only it had some kind of boundaries . . . or other people in it, it might not be so bad. Harry wandered about in it, kicking up clouds of puffy, white mist until something tickled at his mind, a vague feeling that he needed to be somewhere else, doing something else right now. That didn't make sense to him, but then a roaring like the ocean had started in his ears and with it came groaning and screaming. It grew louder and louder until, with a rush, darkness overcame the light and he knew that he was the one groaning. Draco was the one screaming.

Harry opened his eyes to see red light hit to the right of him, knocking up a spurt of dusted rock from the stone floor. He couldn't move—the pain from his arm was deep and nauseating, not to mention the reactivated bruising from the Portkey incident—but he lifted his wand in the other hand and readied himself, thankful that his Disillusionment charm was providing him cover for a few more seconds. There was a whispered curse and another jet of red light headed his way from seemingly empty space.

"Protego!" he whispered, his wand shaking.

The spell splattered purple paint over his shield, the overflow landing on Harry and the floor around him.

"Yesssss," a voice hissed from across the hallway. Harry hurled a Body Binding Curse toward it, grunting at the pain it caused him.

Another bludgeoning curse was the response, and his quick shield kept only the worst of it off. With a sickening thud, the spell drove against his injured arm and left him reeling in a hellish, white dream . . .

"Stupeffffffffyyyyyyyyyy!"

"Harrrrrrry! Are you allllll rightttttt?"

Someone—Neville?—was whispering.

Harry groaned.

"Hang on, Harry!"

A sizzling spell cut the next silence and Draco cried out.

"Right there, see it?" Neville?

Slowly, the white mist faded around Harry and he opened his eyes just in time to see a red spell go jetting toward his friends.

"Protego!" they both yelled.

"I got him! Wait—"

Red light went spinning in the other direction and there was a high-pitched scream from the invisible assailant. Harry fought past the dizziness and nausea and forced himself to sit up.

"Uh-oh," said Neville.

"You just hit a girl," Ron said in amazement. "Bloody hell."

"Hit her again, you idiots!" Draco screeched. "She's going to kill me!"

"Reducto!" screamed the invisible girl.

"Protego!" Neville and Ron shouted again in unison, shields in front of them, but the spell wasn't aimed for them. The red jet went upwards and collided with the ceiling above. Rock exploded down. Ron fell with a cry while Neville dove backwards to get out of the way. Harry tried to stand, but fell back on his haunches when white patches threatened his vision again. He leaned forward on his good arm, wand to the floor, useless.

"Reducto!" Draco returned fire desperately, but his red light hit the wall without interference.

"Concidus!" the girl said triumphantly and Draco cried out again as he was flung hard at the wall. He went limp, blood quickly welling up underneath the jagged cut on his shirt.

Harry sat back, forcing himself to lift his wand while his left arm stayed limp in his lap. There were quiet, fast footsteps and Harry tried to follow their progress. He wished he knew the stupid incantation for . . .

In desperation, he called out, "Paint!" and pointed his wand. A jet of neon-orange colored paint flew across the hall and caught the edge of a moving figure in a cloak, swirling around as the girl stopped and crouched. A curse spun from her just as Harry worked out that she was wearing an Invisibility Cloak. His movements were sluggish from pain as he started the shield spell—

"Proteg—"

The fiendish blow to his ribs cut off his breath and colors spun before his eyes as he fell back, head hitting the stone again, hard. He could do nothing but wait for air, wait for the pain to subside and the world to stop spinning. Then—

"Crucio."

Harry got in a breath only to let it out in a scream. Fiery, consuming agony ran up and down his limbs, in and out of his mind, agony upon agony. He felt himself fading, and then it suddenly stopped. Tremors ruled his body and his sight was dark, but he could still hear. At first, it was just cursing and incensed words from Draco, something about someone getting away.

Then Dobby appeared in Harry's vision, as cloudy and gray as everything else in Harry's blurred vision. He looked nervous and his words cut in and out, saying something about Madame Pomfrey and was it . . . Hermione?

The last thing that penetrated the fog in Harry's mind was the moaning, ragged voice of Draco calling for his Mum.

Or actually, Harry realized foggily, he wasn't calling for her at all . . .

"Oh Mum . . . Mum," Draco groaned out in-between pained breaths. "You'll pay for this . . . I swear! . . . I'll see you rot in hell!"

Then darkness eclipsed the gray and Harry fell deeply into it.