Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I decided to put in the effort to get this chapter out a little quicker than usual. I've gotten myself onto FictionAlley's queue bypass, which will hopefully mean that I can start updating about once a week. At any rate, I have nothing further to say, so enjoy.

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Chapter 11: The Library

Just as Harry had suspected, he woke the next morning to find that Malfoy was fast asleep in the corner. Harry felt a fleeting urge to go over and give him a swift kick in the ribs, but he pushed the thought away immediately, surprised at his own malice. He was sure that Malfoy would not hesitate to do the same in his place, but he could not let himself stoop to Malfoy's level. So, he got up instead and left the room.

"Oh, good, you're awake." Hermione, who looked as though she had been just about to knock on Ron's door, turned to Harry and lowered her voice. "I think after breakfast we should try to find somewhere private to talk."

Harry stared at her for a moment before realizing what she meant. "Right," he said.

Hermione knocked on Ron's door and waited. "Ron?" No answer. She knocked again and pushed the door open a bit, peering inside. "There's nobody in there."

Harry tapped her on the shoulder and pointed toward the staircase, where Ron has just appeared on the upstairs landing. "You...owe...me..." Ron said, pointing a bandaged hand at Harry and putting emphasis on each word as he took slow, heavy footsteps down the stairs. He had dirt smudges on his face and his clothes were disheveled and covered in filth.

"What happened to you?" Hermione asked.

"Mum found a Doxy nest on the fourth floor and thought it'd be just the perfect punishment. I had to clear out the nest and change the ruined curtains out. And, as an added bonus, I had to help clean out a cursed cupboard."

Harry felt a stab of guilt. "I'm sorry."

Ron shook his head. "It's not your fault. You might not want to leave me alone in a room with Malfoy any time soon though."

"Speaking of," Hermione said, lowering her voice, "how is everything? I mean, did he try to start anything again?"

Depends on what you mean by anything, Harry thought. "No. And I talked to Lupin, he's agreed to bring meals to the room for him while we're here."

"Good thinking," she said. "We'll be able to focus a lot easier if we don't have to worry about that all the time." She glanced at the staircase. "We'd better head down before they start wondering where we are."

Breakfast passed just about as fast as dinner had the night before. The company was about the same: a few Order members, the Weasleys, and about a dozen people that Harry did not know. The boy named Ivan came down about midway through the meal, but he did not say a word to anyone, keeping his eyes firmly focused on his plate.

Harry and Ron had barely finished eating when Hermione whisked them away from the table, telling the Weasleys that they were going upstairs to check out the library on the third floor. Harry thought it was rather a bad excuse, especially for him and Ron, but Mrs. Weasley just gave them all a big smile. No doubt she was just happy that Harry and Ron seemed to be getting along now.

"Okay, you three," Mr. Weasley said, "but be careful up there. We haven't cleared the debris from that room yet, so don't touch anything."

On the way upstairs, they passed Lupin on the first floor. Harry sped up a bit, but there was no need. Lupin gave them only the slightest of nods before knocking on a door and going inside, shutting it quickly behind him. Harry saw the other two exchange bewildered looks and glanced the other way, pretending not to notice. Once they reached the third floor, Hermione led them a short way down the hall to a set of double doors with wrought iron handles. She walked over and, with some effort, managed to wrench one open.

The library was huge, stretching on for what looked like half a mile, and, just as Mr. Weasley had warned, it was a mess. Two of the ceiling-high bookcases had fallen over, smashing two of the three tables in the room into splinters. Great cobwebs hung from ceiling to floor, fluttering in spite of there being no breeze.

"Look at this place," Hermione said, a slightly dazed expression on her face as she took a couple steps inside. Her footsteps were muffled by a layer of dust about an inch thick on the floor. "There must be a thousand books in here, at least."

"I think we've lost her," Ron muttered, waving a hand in front of Hermione's face.

She batted his arm away. "Funny. Come on." And before either of the other two could object, she started forward again. Harry and Ron glanced at each other, shrugged, and followed.

They picked their way slowly across the room, their arms outstretched to ward the cobwebs away from their faces. Finally, they made it to the table, where they picked out the chairs that looked the least as though they would collapse under any weight. They sat with their hands in their laps, none of them brave enough to touch the table, which had a suspicious looking blue mold growing on it.

"I can't believe we never thought of Regulus," Hermione said immediately.

"Well, we really don't know anything about him," Ron said. "We knew he was Sirius's brother. That's about it."

"And that he was a Death Eater," Harry added.

"But this is a big step," Hermione said. "I mean, for all we know, there could be a Horcrux in this house. Maybe more than one."

Harry shuddered. The thought of a piece of Voldemort's soul being somewhere nearby made his skin crawl. "But how are we going to find them?"

Hermione ran her fingers through her hair, picking out a bit of cobweb that had gotten tangled in it. "I don't know. I think we should at least try to see if we can find any books to help us in here. If nothing else, it'll keep us busy until we think of something."

"You must be joking!" Ron said, waving his hand at the bookcases. "It'd take us months to go through all this! We're only here for a couple of weeks!"

"We just need to work out a system," Hermione said. "Each of us will take one bookcase at a time. Just scan the indexes. Even if we don't find anything about Horcruxes, maybe it'll give us an idea."

Harry soon found, however, that this was easier said than done. The shelf he chose was full of dusty old volumes, most of which had the titles worn off the covers. Half of the books he pulled down were written in languages he did not even recognize. A few let off a sort of humming noise whenever he reached for them, so he avoided those, as well as one that had a dark stain on the spine. The few whose indexes he did read held no clues. After the fifth book on Goblin wars, he had a sneaking suspicion he was in the history section. After over an hour of searching, he had found nothing. His face was dripping with sweat and he could feel his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his back.

"You got anything?" he called to Ron, who was at the next shelf. He looked just as overworked as Harry felt.

"Not a—ouch!" Ron dropped the book he was holding and shook his hand furiously. "The little fucker bit me!" He gave the book a swift kick, sending it cascading across the floor.

"Quit messing around you two," Hermione called from across the room. Her face was tinged pink and beaded with sweat, and she had pulled her hair up into a messy bun on her head.

"How much longer do we have to do this?" Ron said. He scratched his head, sending a cascade of dust falling from his hair.

"You two can take a break if you want," Hermione said, waving her hand at a stack of books by her feet. "You can flip through these books. They have a couple of indexed references to soul magic."

"I don't think she knows the meaning of the word 'break,'" Ron muttered. Nevertheless, he and Harry each grabbed a couple books from the stacks and went back in their chairs.

Harry's first book referenced Horcruxes only twice The first was nothing, just an example of how soul magic was more dangerous than blood magic. The second was in a section written entirely in Latin.

As he flipped through the pages, a cloud of dust rose from the book, making his eyes water. He reached up a grubby hand to rub his eyes, instantly regretting it as they started to burn. He pulled his glasses off and used the inside of his shirt to rub the grit out of his eyes. A sharp, steady pain was starting to form in his skull, close enough to his scar that he wondered for a moment if it was burning.

"I can't take this anymore!" Ron said, throwing his book on the table. Harry closed his eyes hurriedly against the new wave of dust. "Can't we at least clean some of this up?"

"I've already tried," Hermione said. She came back over and collapsed in her chair, fanning herself with her hand. "The dust is enchanted to resist cleaning spells. If we could just—"

The door swung open at that moment and Mrs. Weasley's voice interrupted. "Lunch is about—oh my!" She stood in the doorway clutching her chest. "You three get out of there this instant!"

Harry exchanged a quick look with the other two, and they hurried out of the room, their heads bowed to avoid Mrs. Weasley's scrutinizing gaze. Once they were out, she slammed the door behind them.

"Absolutely filthy...heaven knows what's in there..." Mrs. Weasley prodded Harry with her wand. "Scourgify!" Nothing happened. "Oh, this is just...off with all of you! I want you all cleaned up and downstairs in half an hour!" She stalked off down the hallway, muttering to herself.

Harry glanced at Ron, who looked positively horrified at his mother's behavior. Hermione, however, was staring after Mrs. Weasley with narrowed eyes, a tinge of pink in her cheeks.

"Hermione...?" Harry said hesitantly.

"I'll see you both downstairs," she said shortly, setting off down the hall.

"What was that about?" Harry asked once she was out of earshot. Ron just shrugged.

They headed down to the second floor. After Ron had gone to his own room however, Harry hesitated in the hall for a moment, then mentally kicked himself and strode over to his door. This was ridiculous. He could not work himself into a fit every time he had to go back to the room. With this in mind, he went inside, closing the door with a bit more force than was necessary.

"Hey, Potter," Malfoy called from his corner, wrinkling his nose, "there's this new invention, you see. It's called a bath."

Harry ignored him, making a beeline for his trunk. He grabbed the first set of clothes he saw and, without a second glance at Malfoy, headed for the bathroom.

Unfortunately, a few minutes after getting into the shower, Harry learned that the dirt was not just resistant to magical means of cleaning. It took him twenty minutes of scrubbing every inch of his body to get the majority of it off. By the time he had finished, his skin was pink, and he was sore everywhere. Finally, he gave up and stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel to gingerly dry himself.

Harry put on his glasses and immediately whipped them off again when he realized that he could actually see better without them. He ran them under the tap for about five minutes and then put them back on. His vision was still spotty, but at least he could see now. He sighed and reached for his clothes.

It had been much longer than half an hour by the time Harry made it downstairs, but Ron and Hermione had not shown up yet. Lunch had already started when he entered, so he had to endure the stares of everyone at the table as he took the nearest chair. The attention made him intensely uncomfortable, so he kept his eyes firmly fixed on his plate as he began to eat, feeling a slight relief when he heard the clink of silverware and whispered conversations.

Ron arrived a few minutes later and received a similar reception, though the pause was not nearly as long. His face was still smudged with dirt, and he had wrapped his hand, where the book had bitten him, in a cloth. "Did Mum say anything?" he muttered to Harry once the noise had started up again. Harry just shook his head.

Hermione did not show up for another twenty minutes. When she finally did arrive, she seemed to take no notice of the other people in the room, moving swiftly to the other side of the table and sitting across from Harry and Ron. The skin on her face was inflamed, and her frizzy hair was once again pulled back out of her face.

None of them spoke for the rest of the meal. Ron seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Harry, barely lifting his eyes from his plate long enough to look at anyone. Hermione, on the other hand, went through the motions of eating with almost no expression on her face. A close observation, however, revealed jerky movements and a slight narrowing of her eyes every time Mrs. Weasley spoke to someone.

As everyone finished eating and began to leave, Mr. Weasley finally spoke up. "You three stay." Ron and Harry, who had just risen from their chairs, exchanged a look and quickly sat back down. Both Mr. and Mrs. Weasley made no move to stand, and, beyond disapproval, their expressions were unreadable.

"I told you not to touch anything in that room," Mr. Weasley said once everyone else had cleared out.

"We were just—" Harry started.

"That room hasn't been touched yet by the Order. We have no idea how many curses are lingering in there, especially in the books."

"Dad—" Ron said.

"You three have no idea how much danger you've put yourselves in," Mrs. Weasley spoke up, her voice a dangerous whisper. "Now, I want you to promise me that you won't go back in there. Not until the Order has cleared it."

"It'll take months—" Ron said.

"We can be reasonable," Mr. Weasley said, glancing at Hermione for this. "If you want a book, we can send an Order member in to check it for curses and fetch it out for you. But understand, we don't want you three going in there with no protection."

Hermione just stared back at him and, for a brief moment, Harry thought she might start shouting. Finally though, she nodded and spoke in an even tone. "I'm sorry. It was all my fault. I wanted to see the books, so I talked Ron and Harry into going in with me. I promise, it won't happen again."

Harry glanced at Ron, who seemed just as shocked as he was. It was not the first time Hermione had taken the full blame for something they had a fault in, but it was still surprising.

The Weasleys seemed satisfied by this. "You can go then," Mrs. Weasley said, standing up.

As they got up to leave, however, Mr. Weasley called them back. "If you three are heading upstairs, will you tell Lupin we'd like to have a word with him? If he's not down any of the halls, he's probably up on the third floor, second door on the left. Thanks."

The the trio reached the first floor landing, Ron finally broke the silence. "Hermione, are you all right?"

She sighed. "I'm fine. It's just...I'm tired of everyone treating us like children."

Harry nodded, knowing all too well how she felt.

"Anyway," she said, shaking her head, "I'm going to check my books again. Maybe something will come to me. You two had better go give that message to Lupin." She moved down the hall to her room and slipped inside.

Ron looked at Harry, who just shrugged. "Let's go then," he said.

They looked for Lupin in the halls, but he was nowhere to be found, so they headed for the room Mr. Weasley had told them to check. When Harry knocked on the door, a voice called from inside, "Come in."

When Harry walked in, he wondered for a brief moment if he had stepped through a portal into the dungeons of Hogwarts. The room was dark, dank, and windowless. Every inch of wall space was covered in shelves which housed potions and potion ingredients of every imaginable sort. In the very center of the room, a monstrous cauldron was set up on a metal stand, a fire blazing underneath offering the only light. The potion inside was deep purple and issuing a large amount of acrid smoke. Lupin stood on the other side of the cauldron, stirring the potion with one hand and holding a book in the other. When they entered, he looked up.

"Oh, good afternoon," he said, shutting the book and setting it aside.

"What are you making?" Ron asked, staring wide-eyed at the cauldron. Harry could not blame him. He did not think he had ever seen a cauldron that big before.

"Just working on some potions for the Order," Lupin said. He grabbed a jar of beetles off the shelf and examined its contents for a moment before dumping the entirety inside and giving the cauldron another stir. "It's not exactly my area of expertise but after...well, you know...there's really no one else to do it."

"Couldn't Slughorn make some of them?" Harry asked. He doubted Slughorn was part of the Order, but surely he would be willing to help out.

Lupin shook his head. "I'm afraid the situation is rather too...delicate for that. But it's nothing for you two to concern yourselves with. Now, what brings you up here?"

"Dad wants to talk to you down in the kitchen," Ron said.

Lupin nodded. "I've just got a couple more ingredients to add here, then I'll head down. Thanks for the message." He turned away to examine the ingredients on the back wall.

Harry wanted to stay and ask more questions, but the fumes were starting to make his mind feel muddled, so he motioned to Ron to follow him out into the hall. The moment they stepped out into fresh air, Harry took a deep breath and let out a sputtering cough.

"How can he stand it?" Ron asked hoarsely, doubled over and clutching the wall.

"I dunno," Harry said. He still felt very light-headed. "What do you think he's making?"

Ron shrugged. "Better question is why is he making so much of it?"

As they went back downstairs, they theorized about what the potion could have been. Ron thought it was probably a weapon, but Harry thought that they probably would not be preparing something potentially volatile at the Order's headquarters. Harry suggested that it might be a healing potion of some sort, but then Ron again posed the question of why they would need so much. By the time they reached Ron's door, they had not come up with anything.

"We should ask Hermione," Harry said. "Maybe she'll have an idea."

Ron nodded. "We should probably wait until later though. Is it just me, or does she seem a little moody today?"

"Probably just upset that she can't go back in the library," Harry said.

"Right," Ron said.

They stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment. Harry knew he should probably just go back to his room, but the thought of spending the rest of the afternoon with Malfoy was not exactly appealing.

Ron glanced toward Harry's door, as though he had read his mind. "Listen, you can come in if you want. We could play Exploding Snap, or something.

Harry grinned, relief washing over him. "Sure."

They spent the rest of the afternoon playing various card games to pass the time. Within the hour, they had both nearly singed their eyebrows off and were in a much better mood than before.

"You must have a lot more patience than me," Ron said, tossing a card on the table and watching it catch fire. "I probably would've strangled Malfoy on day one."

"Don't think I'm not tempted to," Harry said. "He's bloody unbearable."

"How do you stand it?" Ron asked.

Harry sighed. "Honestly, I don't know." The memory of Malfoy's lips on his floated unbidden into his mind, and he pushed it away, grinding his teeth together. "I did try to strangle him once."

"Shame you didn't succeed," Ron muttered. The card in his hand burst into flame and he dropped it, shaking his already bandaged hand furiously.

Harry forced a smile, but his insides twisted into a knot. What if he had succeeded? He had stopped choking Malfoy when he realized that he was ill, but what if he had kept at it for just a few moments longer? This time, an image of Malfoy lying on the floor of the bathroom, blood pouring from his face and chest, appeared in his mind. Harry shuddered and the cards slipped from his hands, fluttering to the floor and exploding, lighting the carpet on fire.

"Shit!" Ron muttered, standing up and stomping on the flames to put them out. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Harry said. He did not even sound convincing to himself. "I just..." All at once, a searing pain lanced through his head and he clamped a hand to his scar, squeezing his eyes shut. A series of images flashed behind his eyelids, all going by too fast to make sense of them. Just as quickly, a range of emotions ran through him, nonsensical and jumbled up.

"Harry!" Someone was shaking his shoulders, shouting from far away. "Harry!"

Then, as though someone had flicked a switch in his mind, it all stopped. Harry opened his eyes and blinked. Slowly, Ron's face came into focus a few inches in front of his. He still had Harry by the shoulders and all of the color had gone out of his face, his eyes wide open with fear.

"Was it...?" Ron asked shakily.

Harry just nodded, afraid that if he opened his mouth he might vomit.

"But...it's not...I mean, didn't Dumbledore say it's not supposed to happen anymore?"

Harry nodded again, swallowing several times in an attempt to make his stomach settle down. "He...he said that Voldemort was blocking the connection now so I can't see into his mind anymore." He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers over them hard, trying to pin down the images he'd seen, but they all evaded him. It felt as though he had just awoken from a nightmare that he could not remember.

"So?" Ron said. He had finally dropped his hands from Harry's shoulders, but made no move to sit back down. "What did you get from him?"

Harry, who had successfully managed to calm himself down for the most part, moved on to focus on the emotions. Barely aware that he was speaking, he heard himself say, "At first he was really angry about something, but then at the end he seemed...well, I don't know if happy is the right word. It was..." He furrowed his brow. "...like everything had been going wrong and finally something went right." He opened his eyes again, saw the pity on Ron's face, and immediately glanced off toward the wall. Even after all this time and knowing the reason why he could see into Voldemort's mind, it made him feel unclean.

"Maybe it was just a fluke," Ron suggested, but he did not sound like he even believed himself. When he got no response, he pressed on. "We should go tell Hermione. Maybe she can figure out why it happened."

The thought of Hermione looking at him with the same pity as Ron made Harry's already sensitive stomach give another painful clench, but he knew Ron was right. If anyone could figure this out, it was Hermione.

But that was not the only thing that made him feel sick. If this had happened just a month ago, Dumbledore would have been the person he trusted to figure it out. Knowing that he could not go to him now filled Harry with such a deep feeling of loneliness, he could barely stand it.

With some effort, Harry forced himself back to reality and braced his hands on the table. Even so, it took Ron's help to get him onto his feet, which did not seem to want to work properly. A part of his mind wondered suddenly if this was how Malfoy felt when he took the potion. A mix of exhaustion and the sheer madness of that thought made him laugh out loud. Ron's grip on his arm tightened. No doubt he was frightened that Harry was feeling Voldemort's emotions again. Harry sobered immediately and nodded at Ron to show that he was all right.

Harry's sense of balance was starting to come back, so he was able to make it out into the hall on his own. Ron kept close, however, as though afraid that Harry would fall. Harry was grateful for it, as he was not quite certain he could stay on his feet either, especially on the stairs. Luckily, they did not run into anyone on the way down to Hermione's room. Once there, they knocked on the door.

No one answered.

Ron furrowed his brow and knocked again. "Hermione?" Nothing. He glanced at Harry and shrugged.

"Try the door," Harry suggested.

Ron twisted the knob, finding it unlocked. "I'm coming in," he said loudly. He waited a moment for a reply, then pushed the door open just enough to peek in. He shut it again immediately. "She's not here. Maybe she went down to dinner already."

Harry nodded, but his insides were in knots again at the thought of being in the kitchen with that many people. They would know something was wrong with him. He was sure of it.

Ron seemed to sense his unease. "I can tell them you're sick," he said.

Harry forced a small smile. "Thanks."

Ron gave a half smile and patted him lightly on the shoulder before heading off downstairs. Harry waited until he had disappeared from sight before turning toward the rather daunting task of climbing back up to the second floor.

By the time Harry finally reached the landing, his limbs were shaking, his breathing erratic. He leaned against the wall to regain his bearings. The moment he had calmed down and looked toward his door, however, his heart leapt into his throat again. As bad as facing everyone downstairs seemed, facing Malfoy's insults was ten times worse. It was too late though. Ron would have announced his illness to everyone by now. If he showed up, it would look even more suspicious.

Harry sighed and chose a spot on the floor across from his door to sit down, leaning his back against the wall and closing his eyes. He tried again to bring up the images, but even making his mind work now was a chore. His limbs felt heavy and useless at his sides. He tried to keep himself awake, but it was like trying to pull himself out of quicksand, and he was slowly sinking.

"Harry?"

Harry opened his eyes, his scar twinging with phantom pain. Lupin was standing over him with concern on his face, a cart stacked with trays sitting a few feet away. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Harry nodded, though his mind was elsewhere. "I must have dozed off." Was his scar hurting again, or was he just recovering from the earlier episode? It was hard to tell.

"Why aren't you at dinner?"

"I wasn't feeling well, so I thought I'd turn in early."

"Uh-huh." Lupin narrowed his eyes. "And that's why you're sleeping in the hallway then?"

Harry did not say anything, focusing his attention on a spot just over Lupin's shoulder and trying to keep his expression neutral.

Finally, Lupin sighed. "It's your business, I suppose. I'd suggest getting a pillow though. Sleeping on the floor is murder on your spine." With that, he turned back to his cart and set to work bringing meals to room after room. He knocked on the door of each, opened it only far enough to slip inside before shutting it behind him. He stayed in most rooms for only a moment or two, but he lingered in some for several minutes. Not once did he look back at Harry.

Harry did not know how long he watched Lupin. As he stared at the door of a room Lupin had disappeared into at least fifteen minutes ago, Ron came bounding up the stairs two at a time and stopped in front of Harry, gasping for air.

"Hermione...got here...fast as I could..." he sputtered, his hand over his chest.

Harry leapt to his feet, regretting it instantly as his vision momentarily blacked out and he swayed, clutching the wall. "Ron, calm down. What is it?"

Ron took a deep, shuddering breath. "Hermione wasn't at dinner. Mum thinks she's just in her room sulking but—"

"Calm down," Harry said again, mostly because he was starting to get a headache. "Did it ever occur to you that she might be in the library?"

"Huh? Oh." A red tinge crept into Ron's face, and he gave an embarrassed laugh. "Well, I just made a right fool of myself, didn't I?"

Harry tried to smile, but the muscles in his face did not cooperate. "You didn't tell anyone downstairs that she was missing, did you?" he asked as they set off for the stairs. Ron was setting quite a fast pace, which he was finding difficult to keep up with.

"No," Ron said, "thankfully. I thought I should find you first, so I just bolted my food down and made up something about coming up to check on you. I feel like an idiot."

"Don't," Harry said. He stumbled a little on the stairs and grabbed the railing to hide his slip up.

Ron reached the door to the library first and wrenched it open with a loud creak. There was a gasp from inside, followed by a dull thump. Hermione stood right in the thick of the cobwebs in front of one of the bookshelves, a thick, leather bound book lying at her feet and a cloud of dust rising up around her. She just stared at them, clutching her chest and breathing heavily.

The moment Ron made to step forward, however, she shook her head furiously and held up her hands. "Stop. Wait right there." She stooped down and picked up the book, along with another stack of about five books behind her that Harry had not noticed before. She carefully moved across the room toward them, hugging the books to her chest protectively. When she reached them, Harry saw with some surprise that she did not have a speck of dirt on her.

"What—?" he started.

"The way I see it," Hermione said, depositing the stack of books on the floor and stretching. "I only promised Mrs. Weasley that I wouldn't drag you two back in here again. Besides, she can hardly punish me for it. I'm not her daughter."

Harry stared at her open mouthed, his own problems temporarily forgotten. In the last couple years, Hermione had flouted the rules almost as much as he had, but he had never known her to disobey Mrs. Weasley's wishes before.

Ron, however, was not so dumbfounded. "How could you come up here without telling us?" he asked furiously. "We had no idea where you were!"

Hermione shrugged. "I thought you would figure it out."

Harry decided to head off the argument before it started. "We need to talk to you," he said, shooting a quick warning glance at Ron to remind him of why they were there. "It's important."

Hermione looked between them, the worry clearly written on her face, and nodded. She collected her books, and they headed downstairs. None of them spoke as Ron ushered them into his room so they could talk privately.

"What happened?" Hermione asked the moment the door had closed, dropping her books on Ron's bed.

Harry exchanged one more look with Ron, took a deep breath, and began to relate what had happened, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor the whole time. He was surprised at how quickly he was able to tell the story, though he realized that he should not be. After all, it was all very vague in his mind, so much so that he was almost convinced it had not actually happened. If Ron had not been there, he might have dismissed it as just a horrible nightmare. It was only when Harry finished speaking that he realized he had sat down on the edge of Ron's bed, his entire body shaking.

Harry chanced a glance up at Hermione, and was surprised to find that there was no pity in her eyes, only a quiet contemplation. She slowly began to pace the length of the room, muttering to herself. Ron, who stood just a few feet away, groped for the desk chair and sat down. He was white as a sheet and looked as though he might faint at any moment.

Finally, Hermione stopped in her tracks. "You said there were images," she said quietly.

It was not a question, but Harry felt compelled to nod anyway. "But they went by so fast, I couldn't see any of them."

"And the emotions shifted. They weren't a constant."

"Yeah. I mean, no, they weren't constant."

"Hmm..." She paused a moment. "Then I think we can safely assume that he's not trying to manipulate you."

Harry gave a start. He had not even considered that possibility. "How—?"

"Well, if he was, he probably would've done the same thing as last time, wouldn't he? He would wait until you were asleep so he could send you a false vision."

"Then why did he do it?" Ron asked.

"I'm not sure he did."

"What?" Harry asked, feeling a little irritated. He wished she would just say what she meant already.

"We can assume that he's doing Occlumency to keep you out of his mind. Maybe he slipped up and some of his mind just sort of...leaked into yours," she finished lamely.

"I dunno..." Harry said. The explanation seemed plausible enough, but it just did not sit well. He recalled the odd, uplifting feeling he'd gotten at the end of the episode and shuddered. If something was going well for Voldemort, that could not mean anything good.

"At any rate, there isn't really enough for us to go on," Hermione said. "I think we shouldn't worry unless it happens again."

The room went quiet. Harry was staring at the floor again, but he could feel them watching him, waiting for him to either argue or change the subject. Knowing that Hermione was probably right, he opted for the latter. "So," he said in a hollow voice, "did you find anything new?"

"I found a few more books that reference soul magic quite a bit." Hermione waved her hand at the stack on the bed. "I thought we could each take a couple and look over them tonight. Wait," she said hurriedly as Ron reached out to touch one of the books. "I worked up a spell to repel the dust. Give me your hands."

She performed a complicated set of wand movements over each of their hands. Harry's skin burned for a moment and then tingled for several more before going back to normal. He reached out to touch one of the books and his fingers came away clean.

"The spell will wear off the next time you wash your hands," Hermione explained. "That should give you enough time. Here." She passed them each a pair of sizable books, though she left the two biggest for herself. "Start looking. I'll go back tomorrow for more."

"What do you mean you'll go back?" Ron asked.

"I mean that your mother's right. You two shouldn't be in there. You're on shaky enough grounds with your parents as it is, and Harry, if there are curses on any of these books, we can't risk you getting hurt."

"But—" Harry protested.

"No," Hermione said firmly, looking him straight in the eye, "you are not going back in there. There's too much at stake. The plain and simple truth of it is that Ron and I are expendable. You're not."

Harry looked to Ron for support, but he only nodded his agreement with Hermione. "Well," Harry said, "at least let us know when you're going in there. If something does happen, we need to be able to get help."

Hermione stood up. "Fair enough. Finish looking through these books tonight and bring them back to me first thing in the morning. I'll be going back up to get more after breakfast." She looked pointedly at Harry. "And if your scar hurts again, come tell us. I don't care if it's the middle of the night; the sooner we deal with it, the better."

Harry nodded silently, gathering up his two books. Once he and Hermione were out in the hall, she turned immediately to go down to her room. Harry took a deep breath and moved toward his door as well. At least he would have something to focus on other than Malfoy's insults tonight.

He need not have worried, however. When he entered, Malfoy was fast asleep in the corner of the room, curled up in a way that reminded Harry of a cat. Harry let out a quiet sigh of relief and sat down on his bed, cracking one of the books open.

Hermione seemed to have had better luck this time. These books each had an entire section devoted to the study of soul magic. Unfortunately, the pages were torn and worn through in places, and the ink was so faded that Harry had to squint to be able to make it out. Meanwhile, the exhaustion of the day was starting to take it's toll and his mind was drifting. He shook his head, put the first book aside, and moved on to the second, turning to the right section and forcing himself to focus on it.

Soul magic is among the darkest and most dangerous form of spellcasting... Why was Voldemort's Occlumency slipping up now? It had held up through all of last year.

Most wizards never reach a level of power high enough to attempt the more advanced forms... Was Voldemort's power starting to decrease? Maybe he was starting to lose control.

The most basic of soul magics are the various dream distortion spells... Harry could feel his eyelids starting to droop. He tried to concentrate, but it was no use. His head dipped forward onto his chest and, a moment later, he collapsed to one side.

Harry stared at an ancient, crumbling stone wall, unmoving. He could feel an odd sensation in his head, as though someone was prodding his brain, and a dull pain, but it was all distant and unimportant. A few shadows moved through the recesses of his mind occasionally, but he paid them no heed. All that mattered was that wall and that he keep staring...keep focusing...

When Harry woke up the next morning, it was with a slight twinge in his scar, and the odd feeling of having had a dream, but not being able to remember it.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. Next chapter: a rude awakening, a not-so-mysterious visitor, a window into the past, and one extremely upset house-elf.