~~HP~~
He watched Lucius torturing a Death Eater who'd tried to steal from the burning muggle homes. The Death Eaters were a proud force, apparently, not 'common pilfering fools'.
Harry woke up to more screaming. The ceiling seemed to pulse with it.
"-all the stupid, ill-timed accusations I've heard you make of the boy! He could be dying right now, Severus Tobias Snape, and I don't give a hippogriff's horn what defense your brilliant mind has come up with to explain how that was not the most irresponsible, inconsiderate, immature things you've done!"
A woman was shouting, Harry noted with a light groan.
"I would be the last to call you inexperienced Professor, but I am quickly coming to believe that you are far more immature than you think yourself, not to mention rash, thoughtless, and utterly devoid of moral feelings when it comes to the boy!"
"Potter is-" A male voice started, sounding strikingly calm beside the shrieking.
"Not his father! How many insults must you rain upon that teenager before you're done punishing a dead man? And this time your actions could have killed him, I just spent five hours feeding him potions with a spoon as he choked between his screams to get him stable and out of Voldemort's mind. Well done, Severus, you're finally even with Sirius and James, they're dead and you're killing Harry. Is life sufficiently fair now, you foolish, prideful brute of a wizard?" The voice snarled.
"Potter is awake, Poppy." Harry heard Snape's voice say, before a dark blur covered up his view of the ceiling.
"Harry?, Can you hear me?" The woman's voice came from the blur above him. Pomfrey, Harry realized.
"I have to go back now." Harry realized, and groaned. The burn of stomach acid rose in his throat as he spoke. Harry suppressed his need to cough, wanting concentrate on his mind and magic. He needed to find that little thread again, there was something terrible behind it that he needed to see. Henti would die otherwise, and she was so cute-.
"Stay with us, Harry. Your weakened magic is allowing you to pass into Voldemort's mind, you are very sick, but we are taking care of you. You have to stay here, fight to stay in this room, okay? Don't sleep, not right now, concentrate. Drink this." Pomfrey's voice ordered.
Harry found the thread and smiled triumphantly. He had to go back, there was information to learn, and those bastards had killed that little, curly-haired girl. He had to bring them down.
~HP~
He'd become accustomed to the sound of burning houses, Harry realized with a sickened shock when he entered Voldemort's mind and was startled by the quiet there. Voldemort was walking down a long, wide hallway that was broken periodically by open windows on one side and closed doors on the other. All Harry could tell from the windows was that it was night out.
Harry spotted few decorations but those that did stand out in the hallway gave off the air of being horrendously expensive. The hallway floor looked to be some type of white marble, though it was almost entirely covered up by the embroidered rug that stretched down the hallway and around a corner Voldemort wasn't looking past.
"Is there anything specific you'd like me to bring up in the meeting, my Lord?" asked Lucius's voice from far behind Voldemort's shoulder.
"I will handle them, Lucius." Voldemort responded coldly.
"Yes, my Lord." Lucius's voice replied with perfect respect.
Voldemort turned through a doorway on the side of the hallway and entered the room, his quiet entrance broken by the sound of Lucius quietly shutting the door behind them.
They'd entered what looked like a muggle conference room, Harry observed, only able to see the size and shape of the large round table inside before his eyes adjusted to see past the bright floating globes of light and recognize the people already seated. The room couldn't seem less muggle after that.
Avery, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Arsenius Jugson, Wormtail and Bellatrix. With Lucius Malfoy, the group seemed to complete Voldemort's top circle.
Harry looked around at all of them, imagining yet again bursting through Voldemort's eyes to kill them all. They'd been killing comfortably for far too long. All of the Death Eaters had.
They will fucking fear me. Harry thought savagely, looking at all of their faces as Voldemort crossed the room towards the table's head. He'd heard all of their names and voices in the last raid. They were all there, and Lucius Malfoy was the only one who hadn't seemed to enjoy the killing.
Lucius had just done it efficiently, with an air of boredom around him, like it were any other tedious job. The rest had whoopsed and laughed and traded laughs. You're a lucky one, Arsenius. Harry still wasn't sure which of the two types of Death Eaters were worse: the ones who were little more than rapists in a mob, and the ones who weren't.
Voldemort took his seat after Malfoy.
Why is Malfoy not at Voldemort's side? I thought he was always Voldemort's 'chosen' supporter, Harry wondered. This was a political meeting, everything was going to be a political statement. Voldemort was conveniently staring straight at Lucius, watching the blond-haired pureblood ignore the other Death Eaters' smirks from his place between Bellatrix and Arsenius.
He got caught. Harry reminded himself, taking advantage of Voldemort's silence to think. Getting caught ruined almost all of his political power. Except for his money he's almost useless.
But other Death Eaters were commended for their dedication in going to Azkaban. Harry argued with himself, remembering the first Death Eater meeting he saw, when Voldemort was first risen.
Other than for getting caught, the disaster at the Ministry hadn't had anything to do with Malfoy, that plan was the Dark Lord's own. It would be stupid for Voldemort to blame one of his top circle for his own mistake, especially when the Death Eater in question was Lucius Malfoy, supposedly one of the richest and most influential wizards in Europe.
Why would Voldemort weaken his own support?. Harry questioned, watching Bellatrix flash Lucius a thinly-veiled grin and feeling Voldemort's amusement.
Voldemort was flanked by Nott and Avery, and both of them seemed too involved in the papers in front of them to notice the goings on. Everyone else had noticed though, Harry saw from their pleased faces and hidden glances.
Wormtail was currently curling his fingers up and down in a parody of a wave across the table at the elder Malfoy. Harry felt Voldemort's disgust mirror his own at the somehow grossly effeminate lump of a man, and wished he could be irresponsible enough to pull away from the Dark Lord's emotions while watching the same scene. He couldn't risk the lack of information, but he wanted it horridly.
There's an empty space, Harry noticed suddenly when Voldemort refocused his gaze on the elaborately engraved chair between Nott and Crabbe and felt a burst of pure anger.
"Avery, report." Voldemort ordered, without looking away from the empty place.
"I've run and updated the numbers you've asked me for, my Lord. This month's recruitment has gone well. We've gotten another 200 to take up the mask, though many of the non-combative members are still not assigned to specific departments, which means those departmental figures will remain the same as those I reported on in our last meeting. This latest recruitment brings us to 12,400 declared supporters, which means we are currently representing 17% of the population. Snape has informed me of a current 4, 400 wizards fighting against us, including the Ministry's 'Centrally Assigned Aurors' and Dumbledore's 'Order' members. This would mean of the total European Wizarding population of 73,000, the members fighting against us total an intimidating 6 percent, my Lord." Avery reported.
Harry mentally winced as Voldemort's inner circle began to cackle. Only Malfoy and Voldemort refrained, but even they spared a pleased smile.
"But I wonder, why is Snape not here to give us those estimates?" Voldemort said quietly in a disappointed voice that made Harry's mind writhe with fear.
The empty chair is Snape's? Harry thought with surprise. He hadn't realized Snape was so elite within the Death Eater ranks.
What the hell is Snape doing? Why did he ignore Voldemort's call?
"May I speak, my Lord?" Lucius asked without lifting his head. Voldemort's vision jolted back to the disfavored pureblood.
"On his behalf?" Voldemort asked.
"Yes, my lord." Lucius responded quietly.
"Speak." Voldemort ordered. Lucius looked over finally, though his eyes were kept focused at Voldemort's hands.
"Snape was waylaid by Dumbledore, my Lord. My Draco informed me immediately, Snape was prepared to join us but contacted Draco at the last minute to say that Dumbledore has ordered his presence, at the risk of his loyalty. If he were to have disobeyed, my Lord, he may have lost his standing in Dumbledore's misplaced esteem."
This is too complicated, how am I supposed to know if Snape is loyal or not? Did Dumbledore actually threaten him? Is Lucius lying to protect Snape? Why would he? Is Lucius just wrong and Draco was lying? Why is Lucius protecting Snape at all?
"Defending Snape as ever, Lucius. Much time has passed since the last war, but I remember warning you then, do not let that child of yours make you weak. We have to build an army, and so far your son and his godfather have hardly even been present in it." Voldemort cut in quietly.
Godfather. That explains that at least.
"We are one, Lucius, you can not split your loyalty and call yourself a loyal man. Treasure your son for his potential as a Death Eater, but remember that he is nothing without that potential. Snape is the same, he is nothing if he is not loyal." Voldemort preached, staring straight at Lucius. Out of the corner of Voldemort's eye Harry saw Bellatrix gazing up at him and nodding like a woman at prayer before an angel.
"Yes, my Lord, thank you, my Lord." Lucius responded, bowing his head back to the table again. His light hair fell over his shoulder and brushed gently against the table edge. Malfoy looked almost as reverent as Bellatrix in the quiet position.
Voldemort swung his vision over back to Avery.
"I was hoping for thirty percent by now, Augustus."
"Yes, my Lord." Avery responded warily. "If my Lord would permit the distribution of propaganda, I could report these numbers to the population and recruitment would certainly-"
"I think not." Voldemort interrupted, sounding almost harsh in comparison to his usual quiet, hissing voice.
"Yes, my Lord." Avery subsided, curling back into his chair away from Voldemort before quite purposefully leaning forward again. Harry felt Voldemort note the disloyal motion.
"Nott." Voldemort ordered, his vision swinging over to the older Death Eater on his other side.
"I've acquired all the materials you've asked me to, my Lord. The wand specifications are written up in this report here," Nott gently pushed a thick stack of parchment towards the center of the desk as he continued. "The wands were all made by masked Death Eaters, double checked against Ministry warding spells by separate D.E task personnel, and are awaiting your order for distribution, my Lord." Nott said in a fast, clipped tone.
"This month's raiding has also gone well, my Lord. The Opposition rarely arrives on time to skirmish with our forces. Our raids in Dorset and Archiestown were the only ones to end this way, and as my Lord predicted, we had the advantage and suffered no casualties. The Opposition's forces are still unable to cast effective temporary anti-apparation wards, so there remains no reason to switch retreat strategies."
Harry focused on all of the information, carefully memorizing it as Nott threw it past him. He was going to be useful the next time he woke in the white room. He tried to hear every breath people released into the room, and everything Voldemort was aware of. Voldemort's hands were cold. All of the Death Eaters were sitting too nervously. Wormtail was rubbing his hands together in a disgusting expression of eagerness. Lucius obviously accepted his massive fault. He sat quietly, and kept his head down. Nott took a breath in to continue his rant of information.
"With your leave, I have appointed Thorfinn Rowle to take care of establishing portkeys at every raid site, for the off-chance that the Opposition pulls their heads out of shit-lined arseholes where they left them and cast reasonable anti-apparation wards. So far Rowle has performed his fool's errand respectably, though to date the Opposition is still staring at their colons." Nott reported. The table again chuckled, though Harry saw Lucius reach for his wine and take a sip instead. Harry could feel that Voldemort's face didn't shift at all, but knew that the Dark Lord was amused by the crude comment.
"At the moment the raids have averaged 45 minutes in total attack time. Snape has informed me that the raiding strategy is working perfectly. His contacts have stated strongly that the majority of the Opposition effort is focusing on protecting the muggle chattle. The Ministry is already understaffed obliviating everything that moves. The Order is apparently still attempting to find a pattern in our attacks, from which they can anticipate the next ones."
That caused a chuckle from around the room, Harry noticed. Even Lucius smiled lightly.
"According to Snape the raiding strategy is highly affecting Opposition moral, both in the Ministry and the Order forces, especially in regard to the displays of children, so that is also going as my Lord predicted. Within our own troops, in regards to moral, the raids have mainly been enjoyed, although there is a concern that the wild nature of the attacks are detrimental to troop organization and -"
"Stop." Voldemort ordered, and the room went silent.
What's going on? Harry thought, and tried to pick out every sight, smell, and sound in the room. All of the Death Eaters were struggling trying to look perfectly loyal. Wormtail seemed to be sucking on his thumb, though the sound of him biting his nails was crackling in the silence. The Death Eaters were apparently too preoccupied with staying perfectly silent and still to sneer at him for the habit as Harry would have expected.
:You've come too far into my head, spy: Voldemort's voice surrounded Harry. He couldn't mistake it for spoken word, the voice was different than Voldemort's usual. It was deeper, and far more human.
Is this what Voldemort sounds like to himself?, Harry wondered briefly before he remember what, exactly, he'd heard Voldemort think.
Shit. Harry thought, and tried desperately to pull back towards the white room, away from his focus on the room around him, but he'd tried that dozens of times before, and it never worked. He didn't know how he got back to the white room, he just did. Getting into Voldemort's head was far, far easier than getting out. He could get away from Voldemort's emotions by not focusing on them, but how was he supposed to get out of his mind entirely? Harry tried to pulled his own thoughts backwards, desperate to feel the control of his own body return to him, even if it came with weakness. He had to get out.
:Ah don't leave so soon, my friend. You've done a feat I daresay few have dared try: Voldemort's thoughts 'said' in a voice that sounded subtly interested, and Harry saw the scene of the meeting room disappear slowly, as if a curtain had been dropped over it from above.
He closed his eyes, Harry realized.
:You're one of Dumbledore's, I suspect. The Ministry would never dare break their precious little laws. And here I thought Dumbledore had become too quaint to ever try something so dangerous and new. Do you think he will regret his success, when you are dead? He used to count casualties, but I'm afraid now he cries in his overstuffed Headmaster's chair over every limp body I leave on the street. You're on the wrong side, Legilimens. Join me, I will raise you high for this achievement of yours. Or do you honestly believe, that Cornelius Regun Fudge and Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore are going to win this war? If you think that, my spy, I have no need of you, fools have no place in war.:
How the fuck do you make a thought turn around?, Harry asked himself frustratedly as he tried it. He'd followed what felt like a string of magic into Voldemort's mind, but he didn't have magic in Voldemort's head, so how was he supposed to use it?
Magic is in the body, Harry remembered belatedly. Of course he couldn't find the magical connection back to his body, his body was the only thing that would be able to feel or use it.
How the hell did I get out of here before? Harry wondered suddenly. He'd been so stupid, how was he supposed to help the Opposition when he couldn't even get back into his own damned brain?
:Do you know your own worth, spy? The Sun Tzu once wrote that 'All warfare is based on deception', Know your enemy and know yourself and in a thousand battles your victory will never be endangered, even the muggles know that. With you on our side, the war would end. You could save lives, master spy, think of it. Think of the wreckage this war is spreading across the land. And you could end it! Dumbledore and the Ministry are not the answer to this war. They are like vultures, picking out the weak of my army. And here they claim they are saving the world. They will never stop their so-called 'war effort', despite my strength. I will take over the European Ministry and the Order will continue their relentless killing. They are little more than terrorists, if anything more at all. This country's suffering will go on endlessly. But with me? I will end this war. I will strengthen the world beneath me, whether you fight against me or not. The difference is, with you the war may end quickly. Are you interested in saving lives, spy of Dumbledore?:
:Pull out of my mind now, if you're interested. Tell your leader everything you've heard here, it's of no matter, he's heard it before. You have twenty four hours to contact me. Manage that, and I'll give you a spot in my top ranks, and perhaps one day you will be seated at this very table you've spied upon. We seem to have an empty chair, after all. Don't tell your leader I knew of your presence. When he asks why you escaped so quickly tell him I'd started torturing a man for no reason, and had mentioned I'd planned on doing it for the next full day. That is your twenty four hours. Do not try this delightful trick of yours again. I will not be so unaware as to not notice you the second time. I assume you still hold some ties of loyalty to the Opposition. I doubt you will enjoy watching what there is to see through my eyes everytime I feel you looking through them. Surely there are only so many times that Dumbledore needs to hear what happens to his precious freedom fighters when he sends them off to kill. Though perhaps you can be of some good staying with your loyalties and reporting back what you've learned every time you venture here. After all, Dumbledore is yet to get the message.:
The meeting scene flashed back into existence. The shuffling sounds of the Death Eaters stilled immediately as Voldemort turned his opened eyes on them.
Voldemort stood gently and started towards the door.
"Lucius. The rest of you, be in place in twenty four hours." Voldemort ordered as he left.
They were in a home, Harry concluded immediately, as Voldemort turned back down the hall and faced a giant center staircase. Harry tried to memorize everything he could, hoping to come upon some helpful information before he managed to escape. So far, Harry suspected Voldemort was right; he hadn't learned anything that Dumbledore hadn't heard before.
The staircase opened onto a beautiful room that resembled a dance hall with its dark wood floor and huge space, through the staircase still took up most of the floor. There was a giant crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, lined in tiny balls of light that managed to light up every corner of the room. Voldemort walked down the staircase quickly and past through the double doors pulled fully open against the wall. Inside Harry saw what he guessed was an entrance hall, marked by the engraved white double doors in the center of the opposite wall, flanked by full-length windows running down the entire wall. Voldemort's gaze jerked away from them quickly as the man made his way to the sliding doors Harry hadn't noticed on the side of the room. The doors slid open as Voldemort and Malfoy approached, revealing a room set with comfortable-looking chairs and card-tables.
"Lucius." Voldemort hissed, and a door on the side of the room lit up. It was startling to open a door straight onto a staircase, but Voldemort didn't seem surprised by it. He started down the staircase immediately, and it lit up with lights as soon as his foot hit the first step.
It was a strangely humanizing moment, Harry thought to himself, to see the Dark Lord focus on the step in front of him to keep himself from falling.
An image of Voldemort tripping down the steps flashed in Harry's mind. He would have grinned outright if he hadn't suspected what exactly Voldemort was going underground to do.
"What is the objective in this, if I may ask, my Lord?" Lucius's voice came from behind as Voldemort reached the plain-looking wooden door that sat at the foot of the stairway.
"I've had a boring day." Voldemort answered. The line, while it could have sounded childish, made Harry want to tear his way back to the white room before he had to see or hear anything more.
Voldemort pulled open the door, releasing a wave of sound that had obviously been magically trapped inside. It didn't take Harry long to recognize the distinctive sounds of a man's screaming.
There weren't any locks on the door, Harry remembered, blinking dumbly in surprise until his mind caught up with him. Wizarding locks didn't leave any trace, he knew that, but it was very different to read that in a textbook and see what looked like a bathroom door open onto a prison.
Wizarding dungeons were different than he'd read about in muggle fiction stories, Harry noted as he passed into a well-lit, carpeted hallway. It looked like it was taken straight from the second floor of the Leaky Caldron, except for the line of torture instruments that held themselves up along the walls. Harry wanted to shudder. He'd have preferred dragons and cold stone to the almost cheerful atmosphere of the torture here.
Mundungus Fletcher, Harry almost tried to say aloud when he saw the man held up against a wall by some nameless spell. Harry had known from the curses echo-ing from down the hall that the man was wizarding, but he'd never expected to see someone he knew. Dung went silent upon catching Voldemort's eye, and then started to smile.
"Ah yes, good, you're a good sucker to see, you know." Mundungus made out before spitting fiercely on the ground. "I'm a dealer like you, it's all give and take, I get that, and hey, I spent a hell of a lot of time in the Order headquarters, no need for the hurt, I've got information to give, full to bleedin' bursting with it, sure, and I'll throw it to ya, just like I said before, it's all give and take in the world, Voldy my frien-"
Dung didn't get any further than that.
Voldemort was a fool to let his 'spy' see this, Harry thought when Voldemort let Lucius take over. Hearing Mundungus ruined the idea that there was some fundamental difference between wizards and muggles. After all, Harry knew for sure now, they all sounded exactly the same when they screamed.
~~HP~~
Harry woke up and told the air everything he'd learned in the meeting. A woman said "Sleep, Mr. Potter, I'll tell Dumbledore."
He knew Voldemort was right, he hadn't learned anything useful enough to bother worrying about spies. Everything he'd learned, Voldemort already knew, and Dumbledore needed to hear. If Voldemort learned it had been Harry Potter in his head, so be it; Harry didn't know who to trust in the Hogwarts faculty to get the information to Dumbledore without giving that information away, and Dumbledore was not known for rushing around the castle to talk to him directly.
Harry barely had time to figure that out and speak before he fell asleep.
Harry woke up alone in the white room. He was exhausted and slightly dizzy, but he barely cared once he realized quite how sick he was.
He could barely feel his magic. It was like in the hostel room, when he needed most of his concentration to feel a tiny bit of the force of magic within him without confusing it with his pulse.
He couldn't go back into Voldemort's mind and learn anything useful, and he could barely lift his head from a pillow. His magic felt too weak to even manage lumos. Harry closed his eyes to suppress his panic.
He'd tried to train to become useful and failed.
But it meant that he wasn't wasting time lying alone sick; there was nothing he was supposed to be doing. He couldn't waste time by not preparing for war if he was too far gone to help anything at all..
At this point, Harry told himself firmly, he could only waste other, more useful people's time. Harry listened to the silent, still room and almost smiled with relief; there was no one there helping him.
What about the assurance Moody had offered with his training? By the end of it, he was supposed to either be a worthwhile wizard, or dead. He'd known back then that he didn't want anything else.
But he hadn't made the cut. Honestly Harry figured he couldn't be too surprised. He had never been an asset in the war. The Order had shown him multiple times that the best he could do was to stay out of the way.
So why hadn't he died?
Harry almost wanted to scream at Moody for never killing him during one of those random psychotic and dangerous moments of paranoia. Months ago it would have been easy for the auror to cast a quick spell when Harry wasn't looking.
It would be easy now, Harry thought bitterly. He could barely move or concentrate enough to feel properly miserable; there was no way he'd be able to take on the mad auror.
Harry'd known he couldn't live with being useless months ago, before he'd heard Avery's numbers or seen the Henti's mother choking on a silencing spell. Back when Sirius's death was the only real motivation he had for tracking down Death Eaters and ripping them apart one by one.
Harry clenched his closed eyes tightly, hoping Madam Pomfrey had figured it out, and had decided to let him die. It was a time of war. That changed the stakes of everything, and made very little room for compassion. Even more so because Madam Pomfrey was on the losing side. Madam Pomfrey knew him pretty well, thanks to all of his stupid heroics; he just had to pray she knew him well enough.
He simply couldn't take making it less likely for the Opposition to succeed.
I'm not going to be able to kill Arsenius Jugson. Harry realized with a jolt and let out a furious grunt deep in his throat.
Damn it. Harry thought succinctly. He needed to kill that man.
"We could lose this war." Harry stated, opening his eyes to the ceiling above him as he was hit by the thought.
He knew the numbers now. There were 12,400 Death Eaters. Wizarding Europe was both corrupt and not addressing the issue. There were apparently only 4,400 wizards were fighting against the Dark Lord. Including civilians.
Harry remembered the news he'd been catching up on since the beginning of the year. Fudge had declared Voldemort a 'terrorist' and avoided a full declaration of war. The Ministry was in shambles, with people rushing to cover their own asses. Article after article exposed corruption and incompetence, whether real or false, and Ministry personal were being sacked-and replaced-by the dozen. Replaced by Death Eaters, Harry had guessed, Death Eaters or simply political thieves who were trying to pull as much personal gain from the ashes of the European Ministry as they could before the Death Eaters really took it over.
How the hell was the so-called 'Light' expected to survive at all?
It didn't matter if he joined the Order or not, Harry realized. That would only make 4,401 wizards who were drastically outnumbered by the Death Eaters.
And what if we lose?
The Weasleys, Dumbledore, Lupin, McGonagall...were there any adult wizards that he liked that weren't in the Order?
Harry looked down at the thin sheet covering his obviously sickly body, stuck with sweat to his too-thin legs. Draco Malfoy made a better candidate than he did. True, Draco was in training to be evil, but at least he could walk.
He was 16 years old; he'd only been trying to learn magic for half a year. Even Hermione Granger could have made a better candidate for 'Savior of the Wizarding World' than he did, if Hogwarts had taught her more. He already gone far beyond the knowledge she had, and it wasn't going to be nearly enough to take down 12,000 wizards.
Have we already lost the war? Harry wondered, thinking over Voldemort's improvised speech. Perhaps Voldemort was right, perhaps the 'Opposition' was doing nothing else but prolonging the death toll of the Dark Lord's revolution. Harry stared at the ceiling, wishing the war would just go away. He couldn't stop fighting and let Voldemort kill him and everyone he loved, but how innocents were going to die because of that decision?
Harry didn't know why he remembered that little girl with the curly hair and the My Little Pony out of everyone he saw in the raids, but her image was stuck in his mind and she never stopped appearing before his eyes. She was so cute. He was glad he hadn't had to see her blue and tiny with the rest of the children in the trees.
The raids are just to distract us, Harry remembered. But why is it working so well? Why haven't they been stopped? What is Dumbledore doing with the Order's time?
And damnit why don't I know anything about what's going on?
I can't even say if there's still a chance of winning, Harry acknowledged with a grimace. He was still just as ignorant about the war effort as he'd been back when he was sitting at the Dursleys with Dudley crunching down carrots behind him.
And I'm the so-called 'Savior of the Wizarding World'?.
We could lose this war. Harry repeated to himself, almost left dumbfounded at the thought. Why hadn't he ever thought it before?
The Death Eaters could win. What would the wizarding world look like? What would happen to the muggleborns? The Ministry would be destroyed, not even Hogwarts would stay the same.
Would any of the Order make it out alive? Harry asked himself, like he had a thousand times before. Sirius's death was his fault. How many more would die on account of his incompetence? He had to end this war.
Harry forced his arms to move and pushed himself up to sit against the backboard behind him. His arms wobbled as energy poured from his body. A headache started as soon as he swung his legs over the side of his bed.
I need to get back to work, Harry thought, glancing around the room one more time to double-check that the room was still empty but for the bedside table at his side. None of his books were there, and there was forty seven of them that he'd have to reread.
Seven years of Hogwarts texts, Reliable Locking Charms, 101 Spells for the Modern Wizard, A Charms Compendium Volumes one through ten, Modern Transfiguration Techniques, Styles, and Resources, Protection Spells and How to Cast Them, Volumes one and two, Shades of Gray: Dark Magic for Altruistic Goals, A Treatise of Magical Space Theory, A Dissertation Concerning Magical 3-Dimensional Complete Space, Warding in 3 Dimensional Complete Space, How 3-D C.S Warding Magics Affect Advanced 1st Class Castings in Shared Target Objects, The Specifics of Intra-transfiguration of Target Objects with a Mixed Organic Makeup, Exterior-bordered-complete Charms: Casting without a Target Object, How Deterioration affects Organic Target Objects, Charms against Organic Target Object Deterioration,...
The titles came back to him in a blur. Of course he understood how Organic Deterioration occurred, and he wouldn't need to reread anything about that anyway; he could name ten spells on how to avoid it without even stopping to think.
Harry suspected with any modicum of thought he could figure out a way to transfigure target objects to avoid it.
It would be easy usually, Harry thought, considering the different ramifications a Containment-Charm-based transfiguration could have even as he pushed himself to get his upper body vertical over his legs on the bed.
It all depends on the target object in question. Harry considered, trying to shift his weight forward.
I'm definitely going to fall. Harry decided, seeing the room spin and throb with his headache even as he pushed himself a few inches closer to the ledge. He had to get out of the room, he had to get to Griffindor tower, where he'd left the books he'd ordered from Knockturn alley. He'd already read everything useful in the library, hopefully he'd be ready for the illegal 'tomes' he'd bought. He needed something to learn anyway, and he wasn't ready for the Room of Requirement.
Harry almost gagged at the thought, and felt himself truly throwing up, only just missing his knees. Harry looked down and watched the room circle around the line of saliva connecting his mouth to the floor.
Now I have that to fall in. Harry thought resignedly, looking down again only to see clean white tile beneath him.
Did I hallucinate throwing up?
"Do not try to get up, Mr. Potter. You most certainly can not stand, and the cold tile will do nothing helpful for your fever." A female voice told him.
Harry looked up and saw a blur swimming in the air to the right of him.
"You are ill, Mr. Potter, and you are in an infirmary. You are exactly where you need to be. Lie back down please." The voice ordered, approaching him. Harry felt a warm spot on his shoulder pushing him down, and realized it was connected to the huge figure beside him.
Madam Pomfrey is pushing me down. Harry understood.
"Where are my books?" He asked, trying to sound as healthy as he could. His voice came out rough and deep and he wanted to gag and cough and choke on the words as they itched in the back of his throat.
"Not here. You've made yourself rather impressively ill, Mr. Potter. I'm sure your motives are very commendable. So well done, you've worked very hard, and lie back please." Madam Pomfrey answered him, sounding hurried.
"I need to study." Harry answered her, feeling that itch in the back of his head that told him that he wasn't doing anything and that wasn't right and he needed to start doing something productive now.
"That is a different discussion, Mr. Potter. Let's get your body healthy first, then we can work on your study habits." She answered him.
"Could you please bring me the book Magical Theory on long-term Charms on Evolving Target Objects in Relation to Warding by E. N. Elerding? It's in the library, in the Advanced Research section, second from the left on the fifth shelf to the right of the stone bench and the statue of a lion and a mouse. I put it back but I want to consult on something." Harry asked, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the terrible painful rising swirling feeling in his stomach.
"When you are healthy, Mr. Potter, I'd be delighted to call a house-elf for you. For the moment, no, and do not think of ordering your own house-elf to come here Mr. Potter. You might be dead before the apparation crack." Pomfrey's voice responded from somewhere above him, though Harry wasn't sure what direction she was talking from at all.
Harry opened his right eye to squint slightly around the room. He found Pomfrey's form again and met her eyes in question.
"At the moment your body is extraordinarily weak, weaker than I've ever seen a wizard's body become in many ways. Long term damage is different than a armful of vanished bones, Mr. Potter. I can not give you a potion and make this better, because you weakened your body slowly enough that your magic weakened alongside it. At the moment, practically-speaking your body reacts like that of a squib." She said.
"You can't take magic from a wizard." Harry answered back, pushing against her hands as she tried again to push him backwards onto the bed.
"No, but you've done the very commendable feat of weakening your magic to an almost unheard-of extent. Potions react to the magic within a wizard, Mr. Potter. Every potion I give you has to be watered down to ten percent of its usual dosage so that it does not simply poison your body like it would do to a muggle, and it is only thanks to Professor's Snape's almost unbelievable genius that I have a potion to treat you with at all. Now lie down." She ordered. Harry felt a hand tip him back, and another grab the back of his head and keep it straight on his neck until he felt a pillow take its place.
Oh god, now I have to sit up again. Harry thought, and allowed a groan to escape him.
"I need my books." Harry repeated.
"Right now you are in an entirely magic-free room. There are wards keeping as much of the magical world's interference out of here as possible. Every potion you've ingested in the last week, and yes, there have been many-"
"A week?" Harry interrupted.
"You slept for days at a time between passing in and out of Voldemort's mind, Harry. It's November 5th." Pomfrey answered, instantly sounding less clinical.
"Was any of the information I got useful?" Harry asked, opening both eyes as wide as they would go so he could actually see Pomfrey's face, and hopefully read whether she was telling the truth or not.
"I don't know, Mr. Potter, but anything you were able to say would have been days old." She answered.
Useless then.
"Could you bring me a book please?" Harry asked as politely as he could.
"No." Pomfrey answered, her harsh tone restored immediately even as her hands gently pulled a sheet over his body. "You are going to stay in bed, and get weeks of bedrest, and be bored to Knockturn until you are healthy, Mr. Potter, as you should have been in here doing months ago before the incredible lack of insight on all of our parts allowed you to almost die in the middle of the best magical wards in the country." Harry felt a hand push on his chest, feeling strangely gentle beside the cuttingly annoyed voice.
"I need my books." Harry argued back, trying to pull an arm up to push against her. He didn't feel the brush of sheets against his arm, and guessed it wasn't moving.
Harry pulled his head up, groaning at the amount of energy the motion took, only to see an entirely open, empty room, like when he woke up.
"Pomfrey?" Harry asked in his harsh voice.
Was that a fever-dream? Harry wondered, feeling himself sweat into his sheets even as his bones wanted to shake with cold. He was feverish, that much he did know. But had Pomfrey come? Would calling Kretcher kill him? Was she going to bring him his books after all?
"Damn it." Harry rasped.
