Harry Potter and Voldemort's Bane

by Prince of Enchanters

What if two strangers showed up at Hogwarts in Harry fifth year. And what about the strange end to the Triwizards Tournament, could they have something to do with it? Are they even brothers and why do they sound like they've been in lots of life and death situations? Arthur/Merlin slash, the rest of the pairings are canon. Don't like, don't read.

14. Chapter Fourteen: Harry

Hey everyone! Hope you enjoyed Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas! Oh, and Happy Middle Of The New Year to everyone! :-) Okay, before we start with anything else I just wanted to apologize for the long waits in between updates, especially this one and in the same breath, I want to reassure you that I will finish this story no matter what. With that done, I just wanted to say thanks so much for all the amazing reviews I received on the last chapter, they were so nice to read, though strangely, I didn't get a lot of response on Draco being a Seer….

Anyway, so I just wanted to let you know that I've starting university this year and I have absolutely no idea how my time will be divided or how my schedule's going to work out but I'm really hoping to finish this story this year! Love you guys and I hope you enjoy the chapter and that some of your questions will be answered. I have to warn you all that the chapters are quite long since I had to add a lot of stuff from the book and I squeezed a rather large time frame into one chapter so….

Oh and also, I finally remembered the advice someone gave me in a review so this will become a thing from now on so sorry if the lay out is a bit strange since I'm still trying to figure this thing out, if you have pointers about this kind of thing, please feel free to tell me. Oh and I'm freaking well thrilled! My story "hits" before I published this chapter was 61,562 so YEY! Thanks so much for getting me there! :-)

---

Previously:

"Gryffindors and Slytherins have never been friends," Draco stated, seemingly resigned to the fact that he was talking to an "idiot".

"Well, then we're about to change that," Merlin declared, determined.

Regaining some sense, Merlin looked up at the Slytherin. "Listen to me Draco, you're a Seer. We need to-"

"No!" Draco's vehement denial overshadowed Merlin's own. "I'm not Trelawney and I'm sick and tired of everyone telling me I am!" Draco screeched out making Merlin frown in disapproval, yet the fact that Draco had immediately linked being a Seer to Trelawney, made Draco's fears easier to decipher.

"Hey Hermione, um, could I ask you something?" Hermione nodded, looking curious. "I was wondering, if maybe I could ask Seamus if he wants to join us, he could really use the help." Dean murmured to the bushy haired girl and Merlin got the feeling that he hadn't meant for anyone else to hear.

"I don't know, Dean. He didn't seem too keen when I tried to suggest it to him before," Hermione pondered, uncertainly.

"But he's been asking me where I was last week and I haven't been able to tell him," Dean sounded pained. "Please Hermione, it's not like he'll make any trouble," Dean pressed, quite desperate. Hermione bit her lip, still dubious.

The Malfoy family tree spiraled across the pages, declaring Draco's parents to be Lucius Malfoy II and Narcissa Malfoy (née Black).

"Better start thinking about what you're going to say to them," Arthur smirked and Merlin glowered, Arthur was lucky that Arthur's magic wasn't strong enough to break through the barriers rumored to surround Malfoy Manor because Merlin was starting to want to drag Arthur along for this unpleasant adventure just so he wouldn't have to suffer through it alone.

"Here, thought I might spare you some time," Arthur added, holding up a simple silver ring with protection sigils carved into it.

"Just thought I'd come and give you this," Merlin answered, holding out the Protection ring. "It should help with the nightmares," Merlin explained when Draco raised an eyebrow at it.

"A ring?" Draco seemed surprised, taking it and inspecting it with a careful gaze.

"Yep." Merlin bobbed his head in reply.

"Voldemort's coming back on Halloween, if we can get you to a safe house before then, he won't be able to touch you or your wife." Merlin informed him. Lucius let out a derisive laugh.

"You know as well as I do that no one can hide from the Dark Lord," Lucius said, the distain clear in his tone.

"I can, I've been hiding from him since the first war," Merlin admitted, hoping his gamble wouldn't come back to bite him in the arse. Lucius snorted in clear disbelief.

"Impossible, you're no more than a twenty, you're a merely a boy!" Lucius accused.

"So is Harry Potter," Merlin shot back without hesitating. "That doesn't make him any less of a threat." Finally, Lucius paused seeming to consider something, before he asked:

"What price would I pay?"

"You know, Dean's been eyeing me all night, do you-" Blood rushed to Merlin's ears, muffling the sound of Arthur's voice and making Merlin's temples throb.

His vision seemed to sharpen and fade all at once before a shrill and ringing scream tore through his mind and Merlin felt as if his entire being was splitting in two while yearning to remain as one. He was freezing and melting and burning and shattering all at once, trembling without being able to move. Merlin stumbled and for a moment fought to regain his balance only for another wave of pain to destroy his resolve.

He collapsed.

The last thing Merlin felt was large hands capturing and cradling his burning body – he blacked out.

---

Chapter Fourteen: Harry

Harry groaned as he came to, his temples throbbing and his mind buzzing with unclear images. The feeling wasn't a new one yet he couldn't help wondering what had gotten him into such a state since the memories continued to elude him.

"Mr. Potter?" a voice asked, causing Harry to open his eyes and squint at the form standing over him. Harry blinked a few times until the white blob finally started to take shape and the hospital wing came into focus. "Miss Granger, would you mind handing me a pepper up potion from the top shelf." It was Madam Pomfrey who'd been standing in front of him and who'd just addressed Hermione. Harry's eyes followed his friend as she rushed to do what Madam Pomfrey had asked of her.

"What happened?" Harry's words slurred together into a jumbled mess yet it seemed that everyone understood what he'd said.

"You tell us mate, you're the one who passed out in the common room." Ron told him, and as Harry looked at him, he noticed the concerned and ruffled look his friend was sporting.

Harry's brows furrowed at the news as he tried to remember what Ron was talking about.

"Here you go Mr. Potter, drink up," Madam Pomfrey spoke up, interrupting Harry's thoughts by pressing a glass vial to his lips.

Harry blinked, his lips falling open almost unconsciously to allow the liquid to pass through. Harry swallowed the bitter potion under Pomfrey's scrutinizing gaze but couldn't resist pulling a face at the thick and heavy texture of the potion. Pomfrey 'Hmmph'ed before heading towards her office allowing Harry's eyes to settle on his two friends both of whom were looking quite anxious.

"Was it You-Know-Who?" Ron finally asked, lips pursed and brow tense.

Harry didn't answer immediately as he tried to remember all that had happened before he passed out. The memories of the party resurfaced and along with it came memories of light-headedness and pain that seemed to slice through his forehead and tear at his soul.

Harry gave a hesitant nod. "I think – I think he's back."

"That's what Dumbledore said, and Emerson too," Hermione whispered, glancing over her shoulder at the entrance of the hospital wing.

"Wha-" Harry started to ask, thrown by Hermione's announcement.

"Yeah, McGonagall and Dumbledore brought you to the hospital wing and Emerson and Armand were already here since apparently Emerson had fainted as well, real strange don't you think?" Ron told him. Harry couldn't help but agree.

"They didn't seem too surprised by it Harry, I think they know more than they're telling us." Hermione added, brown eyes filled with worry.

Harry didn't get any time to ponder this as Ron spoke up again.

"Anyway, "Anyhow, Dumbledore started whispering about Voldemort and Emerson mumbled something about a break in the veil and then said that You-Know-Who was back, sounded real nutty about it to." Ron finished. Harry stayed silent, trying to process everything the red-headed Gryffindor had just said while Ron watched him with an expectant gaze.

"And they all just left?" was all Harry could think to say when Ron's staring became too much.

"Oh yeah, Pomfrey looked ready to stun Emerson to keep him here but since she couldn't find anything wrong with him…." Ron trailed of as Pomfrey's office door opened and the nurse came bustling into the room again.

"Well up you go Mr. Potter, it seems no one needs to stay in the infirmary tonight," she told him as she approached the bed with a chart, her posture stiff and her expression stern.

The trio exchanged glances before Harry hurried to sit up and pull on his sneakers, afraid that Pomfrey might change her mind if they lingered too long.

Pomfrey handed them a permission slip incase Filch happened upon them and Harry was quick to thank her before they left the hospital wing.

"Why would Emerson be effected by Voldemort coming back to life, though?" Harry questioned as they made their way back to the common room. Hermione and Ron didn't reply seeming to be as baffled as he was.

Harry couldn't seem to wrap his head around it since he'd never heard of anyone else who'd had a connection with Voldemort, even stranger was the fact that according to Ron and Hermione, neither Emerson nor Armand had seemed surprised by this turn of events.

"What about Dumbledore, did he seem surprised?" Harry questioned.

"Yeah, but only a little, he seemed more surprised that Emerson knew than anything else." Hermione sighed, appearing frustrated.

Harry nodded in agreement. Clearly there was something more to the Pendragon brothers, but Harry was struggling to find out what that something was.

---

Thursday's DA meeting found Hermione handing out what appeared to be Gallones but she was quick to correct that assumption before Ron became too excited.

"You see the numerals around the edge of the coins?" Hermione asked, holding one up for everyone to examine. The coin gleamed fat and yellow in the light from the torches. "On real Galleons that's just a serial number referring to the goblin who cast the coin. On these fake coins, though, the numbers will change to reflect the time and date of the next meeting. The coins will grow hot when the date changes, so if you're carrying them in a pocket you'll be able to feel them. We take one each, and when Harry sets the date for the next meeting he'll change the numbers on his coin, and because I've put a Protean Charm on them, they'll all change to mimic his." Hermione's words were met with a blank silence, and Hermione suddenly appeared to start doubting herself.

"Well - I thought it was a good idea," she said uncertainly, "I mean, even if Umbridge asked us to turn out our pockets, there's nothing fishy about carrying a Galleon, is there? But… well, if you don't want to use them -"

"You can do a Protean Charm?" said Terry Boot.

"Yes," said Hermione.

"But that's… that's NEWT standard, that is," he said weakly.

"Oh," Hermione tried to look modest. "Oh… well… yes, I suppose it is."

"How come you're not in Ravenclaw?" he demanded, staring at Hermione with something close to wonder. "With brains like yours?"

"Well, the Sorting Hat did seriously consider putting me in Ravenclaw during my Sorting," said Hermione brightly, "but it decided on Gryffindor in the end. So, does that mean we're using the Galleons?"

There was a murmur of assent and everybody moved forwards to collect one from the basket.

Harry looked sideways at Hermione as he approached her.

"You know what these remind me of?"

"No, what's that?"

"The Death Eaters' scars. Voldemort touches one of them, and all their scars burn, and they know they've got to join him."

"Well… yes," said Hermione quietly, "that is where I got the idea but you'll notice I decided to engrave the date on bits of metal rather than on our members' skin."

"Yeah… I prefer your way," said Harry, grinning, as he slipped his Galleon into his pocket. "I suppose the only danger with these is that we might accidentally spend them."

"Fat chance," said Ron, who was examining his own fake Galleon with a slightly mournful air, "I haven't got any real Galleons to confuse it with."

Harry rolled his eyes at his friend before turning to face the others again.

"Alright, we should be heading back so please form your groups," Harry told them as he pulled out the Marauders' Map and started searching for Filch's dot.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed as she jumped up and hurried towards her bag, causing Harry to raise an eyebrow in a show of curiosity but Hermione just shook her head and mouthed "Later".

Slowly, but surely, the Room of Requirements started to empty out, until it was only Armand, Emerson and Neville lingering. They seemed to hesitate for a moment more before leaving with Neville. Harry felt himself frown; everything that was happening this year, Voldemort's rising included, just seemed to add more mystery to the air surrounding the two brothers.

"Harry!" Harry jerked out of his train of thought at the sound of Hermione calling his name. He blinked before turning and wandering towards his two friends who were once again seated on some of the pillows. "I think I might've found out what's wrong with the map!" Hermione spoke up before Harry could start questioning her, her eyes flicking from the book in her lap up to The Marauder's Map.

"Really?" Ron asked, leaning over, to peer at the book. He wrinkled his nose. "What are you reading?" He added and Harry suddenly realized that the book seemed to be in another language, was that Latin?

"It's a Latin script of tracking spells, it's the only one I could find that had plausible possibilities in it, that's why I took so long, I had to translate it first," Hermione explained, confirming Harry's thoughts.

"That's brilliant," Ron blurted before seeming to realize what he'd said and turning bright red because of it.

Harry studied his friends as Hermione's face registered surprise before flushing as well. Harry pressed his lips together in an effort to hide his amusement.

"Right, erm… well I found the spell the Marauders must've used to track everyone moving around Hogwarts grounds." Hermione started once she'd recovered most of her composure. "The Ministry has the birth records of every witch and wizard in the UK as well as the birth records of any foreign witches and wizards who's visited the UK before. You'd be surprised how accessible the information is," Hermione elaborated with a grimace.

Harry frowned, wanting to protest, yet he knew it wouldn't do them any good now.

"So," Harry couldn't help asking when silence filled the room.

"They used a Source Tracking Charm that used the information drawn from that Ministry list, too track people inside Hogwarts. It's actually quite amazing because each time a new name is added to that list the spell picks it up so the map stays updated," Hermione finished up, the admiration clear in her voice. Harry struggled, not quite knowing what to make of this.

"If that's possible, why don't they use that to track people down, why didn't they use it too track Sirius when he broke out of Azkaban?" Harry finally settled on asking.

"They probably tried, at some point at least, but the spell is only effective if the area is marked off. That's why Hogwarts worked so well for the map; the wards around the castle creates an invisible wall that seals in the magic." Hermione answered.

Harry glanced over at Ron and was glad to see the wide eyed look resting on his face. Harry himself wasn't quite sure what to make of the new information so he decided to leave it for the moment and focus instead on what he did understand.

"So if it's still working, why aren't Armand and Emerson showing up on the map?"

"I can't say for certain, but I think it might be because neither Emerson nor Armand have been registered with the Ministry, it's likely the Ministry doesn't even know they exist," Hermione stated with a worried frown marring her face. There was a pregnant silence before Ron spoke up.

"Well, they know now, Umbridge probably told the Minister about everything, the cow." He grumbled, face souring.

Hermione gave a very unlady –like snort. "What? You actually want Emerson and Armand to get away with it?" She challenged with a raised eyebrow.

"No! But I certainly don't want the toad to know something we don't, either!" Ron hissed, eyes narrowing at the bushy haired girl.

Harry, sensing the beginnings of a fight, decided to intervene.

"So they aren't registered, any ideas why that could be, Hermione?" Harry asked, grasping at straws. Hermione grimaced and shook her head. Harry paused at that, brow furrowing in thought. "Maybe it was their dad's doing, he certainly sounds controlling enough," Harry considered, reasoning that it had been their parents' responsibility to report their existence to the Ministry. It seemed Hermione was thinking along the same lines because she was quick to object.

"Only problem is, Harry, that they didn't have the same dads when they were born, which is when they're existence should've been recorded." Hermione stated grimly.

Harry froze as the truth of that statement sunk in, what were the odds that two people who weren't registered, would just happen to become step-brothers?

Nothing was making sense.

---

As if both Halloween and the last DA meeting weren't strange enough, the Quidditch game against Slytherin decided to take a strange turn as well. In the weeks leading up to the Quidditch game, Slytherin had become crueler and crueler, hexing Alicia with bushy eyebrowsand picking on Ron, who was still struggling to live up to Keeper standards.

But that wasn't what struck Harry as strange.

The morning of the match dawned bright and cold. When Harry awoke he looked around at Ron's bed and saw him sitting bolt upright, his arms around his knees, staring fixedly into space.

"You alright?" Harry couldn't help but ask, concerned by the blank look on his friend's face.

Ron nodded but did not speak. Harry was reminded forcibly of the time Ron had accidentally put a Slug-vomiting Charm on himself; he looked just as pale and sweaty as he had done then, not to mention as reluctant to open his mouth.

"You just need some breakfast," Harry said reasonably. "C'mon."

The Great Hall was filling up fast when they arrived, the talk louder and the mood more exuberant than usual.

They received a rousing welcome at the Gryffindor table, where everyone was wearing red and gold, but far from raising Ron's spirits the cheers seemed to sap the last of his morale; he collapsed on to the nearest bench looking as though he were facing his final meal.

"I must've been mental to do this," he said in a croaky whisper. "Mental."

"Don't be thick," said Harry firmly, passing him a choice of cereals, "you're going to be fine. It's normal to be nervous."

"I'm rubbish," croaked Ron. "I'm lousy. I can't play to save my life. What was I thinking?"

"Get a grip," said Harry sternly. "Look at that save you made with your foot the other day, even Fred and George said it was brilliant."

Ron turned a tortured face to Harry.

"That was an accident," he whispered miserably. "I didn't mean to do it - I slipped off my broom when none of you were looking and when I was trying to get back on I kicked the Quaffle by accident."

"Well," said Harry, recovering quickly from this unpleasant surprise, "a few more accidents like that and the game's in the bag, isn't it?"

Hermione and Ginny sat down opposite them wearing red and gold scarves, gloves and rosettes.

"How're you feeling?" Ginny asked Ron, who was now staring into the dregs of milk at the bottom of his empty cereal bowl as though seriously considering attempting to drown himself in them.

"He's just nervous," said Harry.

"Well, that's a good sign, I never feel you perform as well in exams if you're not a bit nervous," said Hermione heartily.

"Hello," said a vague and dreamy voice from behind them. Harry looked up: Luna Lovegood had drifted over from the Ravenclaw table. Many people were staring at her and a few were openly laughing and pointing; she had managed to procure a hat shaped like a life-size lion's head, which was perched precariously on her head.

"I'm supporting Gryffindor," said Luna, pointing unnecessarily at her hat. "Look what it does…"

She reached up and tapped the hat with her wand. It opened its mouth wide and gave an extremely realistic roar that made everyone in the vicinity jump.

"It's good, isn't it?" said Luna happily. "I wanted to have it chewing up a serpent to represent Slytherin, you know, but there wasn't time. Anyway… good luck, Ronald!"

She drifted away. They had not quite recovered from the shock of Luna's hat before Angelina came hurrying towards them, accompanied by Katie and Alicia, whose eyebrows had mercifully been returned to normal by Madam Pomfrey.

"When you're ready" she said, "we're going to go straight down to the pitch, check out conditions and change."

"We'll be there in a bit," Harry assured her. "Ron's just got to have some breakfast."

It became clear after ten minutes, however, that Ron was not capable of eating anything more and Harry thought it best to get him down to the changing rooms so they stood up and said goodbye to Hermione with Ron still looking quite lost and desperate.

"Good luck, Ron," Hermione smiled, standing on tiptoe and kissing him on the cheek. "And you too, Harry ."

Ron seemed to come to himself slightly as they walked back across the Great Hall. He touched the spot on his face where Hermione had kissed him, looking puzzled, as though he was not quite sure what had just happened.

Harry couldn't help but feel grateful towards Hermione for supplying Ron with a distraction. "Come on," Harry said, dragging his dazed friend away.

The frosty grass crunched under their feet as they hurried down the sloping lawns towards the stadium. There was no wind at all and the sky was a uniform pearly white, which meant that visibility would be good without the drawback of direct sunlight in the eyes. Harry pointed out these encouraging factors to Ron as they walked, but he was not sure that Ron was listening.

Angelina had changed already and was talking to the rest of the team when they entered. Harry

and Ron pulled on their robes (Ron attempted to do his up back-to-front for several minutes before Alicia took pity on him and went to help), then sat down to listen to the pre-match talk while the babble of voices outside grew steadily louder as the crowd came pouring out of the castle towards the pitch.

In the end they'd won, but only because Harry had been able to catch the snitch before Ron could do too much damage. But Harry had to admit that it had been quite close since he'd struggled to stay focused on the match. His lack of focus was partly due to him keeping an eye on Ron but mostly it was due to the fact that Malfoy hadn't been playing seeker opposite him. Instead it had been a burly looking fourth year that looked nothing like the typical seeker. Harry was baffled, to say the least, and spent most of the game searching for the head of platinum hair in the cheering crowd, but it stayed missing.

"Angelina, where was Malfoy?" Harry asked as everyone surrounded him for congratulations after the match. Angelina raised an eyebrow at Harry's question but replied nonetheless.

"No idea, I just got the line-up that said that he and the two beaters were out for the match. Why?"

Harry shook his head, frowning. "Just curious."

"That was great! Both of you!" Hermione exclaimed as she burst through the crowd.

"I don't think we were watching the same match, Hermione, I didn't catch a single Quaffle," Ron grumbled as Hermione hugged both of them.

"Nonsense, you did fine," Hermione waved his comment away, though her smile did look a bit pained.

"Thanks Hermione," Harry said in an effort to cut off any further objections Ron might have. Ron gave Harry a look, but he didn't say anything so Harry took it as a win.

"Celebration in the common room!" George yelled and every one cheered before starting to disperse.

"Recon they've managed to smuggle in any Firewiskey, I could really go for a round" Ron's weary question earned him a dirty look from Hermione but even she seemed to sense that now wasn't the time to reprimand him.

"Let's go find out," Harry said as they made their way back to the dorm.

---

Armand, Emerson and Seamus were already in the dorm when the trio got there, as was two craters full of Firewiskey. But unfortunately for Ron, Hermione made sure to keep Harry and him away from it and instead guided them towards the open seats across from Armand and Emerson.

"Honestly, Hermione, it's not like I'm gonna get sloshed, I just want a sip," Ron grumbled as he glared down at his feet.

"There are children here!" Hermione hissed back, trying to keep her voice low.

"How bout we go visit Hagrid, it might cheer you up and it'll be quiet over there now," Harry interrupted whatever response Ron might've had, desperate to stop this argument before it truly began.

Ron gave Harry a doubtful look before giving in with a reluctant nod.

Harry smiled in relief.

"Mind if we tag along?" Emerson spoke up looking rather sheepish as he toyed with the plain red scarf wound around his neck. "Hagrid's been asking us to come over for tea but we haven't had the chance," he elaborated upon seeing Harry's questioning look.

"I suppose so," It was Harry's turn to feel reluctant. He wasn't comfortable with the idea of them coming along yet he couldn't think of a good enough reason to say no.

"Thanks," Armand smiled.

And so they headed out once again.

To Harry's surprise, Hagrid seemed glad to see all of them when they appeared on his doorstep, huddled together and shivering from the cold.

"Ah, Ha'ry good tah see yah! Oh! And I see Arman' and Emers'n's decided to come as well! Come in, come in, can't h've yah, wand'rin' 'round in the cold," he enthused as he ushered them inside.

Hagrid's hut was cozy as always, the fire crackling away and warming the place up.

"Bes' be puttin' the kettle on for you lo'," Hagrid told them as he started bustling around, leaving them to find seats for themselves. Harry found himself, Ron and Hermione perching on the kitchen stools while Emerson and Armand settled into something that looked like a lumpy loveseat. There was a pregnant moment of silence as they waited for Hagrid to put the kettle on the fire.

"So Hagrid, how've you been?" Hermione asked when Hagrid finally settled into a chair.

"Not too bad, mind yah, that Umbridge woman's been snoopin' 'round. Pr'ffesor Dumbl'dore recon's she's tryin' tah cause some tr'uble for 'im," Hagrid answered, a disturbed look flitting over his face.

Harry felt his eyes widening at that while his brow creased in worry.

"We've been having trouble with her to, though Emerson and Armand have been standing up to her," Ron exclaimed and started recounting everything about Umbridge's detentions. As he talked, Harry noted that both Armand and Emerson seemed uncomfortable and embarrassed about being the topic of conversation.

Harry knew the feeling and felt slightly guilty for not stopping Ron's rambling but at the same time, he wanted Hagrid to start questioning the two brothers, wanted to see what they had to say.

"That's an outrage that is!" Hagrid exclaimed when Ron had finished with his story. "We need tah tell Dumbl'dore. They can' be putting peopl' like 'hat 'round chil'ren, she's downrigh' dang'rous," Hargid said as he stood up as if meaning to go talk to Dumbledore that instant.

"Hagrid don't, like Ron said, Emerson and Armand took care of it, it'll only cause trouble for Dumbledore if he tries to do something about it." Hermione told him, eyes wide in alarm.

"Exactly, Fudge wants a reason to sack Dumbledore, we can't give him one," Harry agreed, looking at Hagrid in desperation.

Hagrid huffed and grumbled but sank back into his chair, face still red from anger.

"Ow! Um, right, sorry Hagrid, didn't mean to upset you," Ron apologized while rubbing his ribs, where, if Harry had to hazard a guess, Hermione had just stabbed him with her elbow.

"Tha''s alrigh', Ron," Hagrid said, reaching over to pat Ron on the shoulder with one of his large hands. Harry didn't miss Ron's slight wince of pain.

Silence reigned again until the sound of the kettle whistling, split through it.

"Oh, almost forgot tah mention i', I've been speaking tah your brother Charlie fir a while now, Dumbled're said I could go visi' Norbert during Christmas, only, Charlie's bin callin' h'r Noberta, she's female, apparen'ly." Hagrid told them as he started pouring the tea and handed each of them a cup, excitement clear in his voice.

"Norberta?" Emerson asked, looking rather curious.

"Yes," Hagrid agreed, seeming happy to have been asked. "It's me dragon, had tah hand h'r off tah Charlie when she bit Ron, but 'e says she's bin doin' well," Hagrid sounded proud.

"That's amazing, what type of dragon is she?" Emerson exclaimed, intrigued.

"Norwegian Ridgeback," Hagrid answered before suddenly looking uncertain. "Not sure if I should be tellin' yah this," he then added.

"No, no, no," Emerson started fumbling to placate him a blush staining his cheeks. "Just curious."

"He's always had a fascination with dragons," Armand put in. "Which is ironic considering our surname," Armand mused, a smile stretching across his face.

"Oh, Pendragon, righ'? If yah don' mind me sayin', I was actually under the impression tha' the name Pendragon died out with Kin' Arthur 'imself, in the wizardin' world at least." Hagrid said and Harry felt his ears prickling with interest. He knew about the Arthurian Legends of course, it had been one of the children's books they'd been given to read in preschool, though, unsurprisingly, he's copy had been torn up by Dudley. But he hadn't given Merlin and the prince much thought after he'd seen what real magic was like. It was strange to think that Merlin must've existed, once upon a time.

Armand's smile seemed to falter for a moment.

"It's cool, isn't it," Emerson sounded eager when he spoke up. "Apparently Armand's great grandmother was a muggleborn and they got the surname from her. I love it, so, naturally when it came to taking their surname or keeping my own, I obviously took the chance to change it," Emerson explained with a grin.

Hagrid nodded as if this made sense to him while Harry couldn't help asking what Emerson's surname use to be.

"Morgan," Emerson answered and there was something unreadable about his expression as he said it.

Harry gave an absentminded nod before turning his attention back to Hagrid. "Well I'm glad you're getting to see her, Hagrid. Tell her "hi" from us," Harry told him.

Ron snorted. "It's not like she'll understand."

"You're so tactless, Ronald," Hermione scolded.

"But it's true!" Ron defended.

"It didn't used to be, actually," Emerson informed them, sounding serious.

"What do you mean?" Harry questioned, once again intrigued.

"'e means the Dragonlords," Hagrid answered before Emerson could. "Legend has it tha' there w're so'ceres, witches an' wizards alike, who w're gifted with the abili'y tah talk tah dragons, they w're the dragons' kin," Hagrid explained, his voice heavy with emotion.

"Mum told us 'bout, them, said they were there when magic began but that they died out rather quickly, no one really knows why." Ron put in, perplexed.

"Tha''s wha the legends say, anyhow," Hagrid agreed. "Now, I recon they'll be missin' yah back in the castle, bes' be on your way," Hagrid changed the subject as he heaved himself out of his chair.

"I suppose so, thank you for the tea Professor Hagrid," Emerson beamed as Hagrid took all their empty cups.

"Me pleasure all a' you ," Hagrid smiled back, blushing.

They stood and Emerson and Armand led the way out with Ron following behind them.

"Hagrid, you said the wizarding world lost the name Pendragon when King Arthur died, but legend says he was a muggle," Harry heard Hermione say just as he went to follow Ron.

"Tha''s no' wha' some o' the legends say," Hagrid replied.

"Come on, Hermione, Harry, lunch's almost over," Ron called from where he'd stopped when he realized they weren't with him.

Harry looked back at Hagrid and Hermione, the latter of whom seemed to want to ask Hagrid more, but she sighed and bid him goodbye instead.

Hagrid's words echoed in Harry's mind as they walked.

---

"Did you notice that Malfoy wasn't at the game?" Harry remembered suddenly when they'd settled in front of the fire late that night. The common room was practically abandoned, even Emerson and Armand having gone to bed already.

The comment was aimed mostly towards Hermione since it wouldn't have surprised Harry if Ron had been too nervous during the game to notice anything, let alone the absence of the blonde Slytherin. Still, Ron frowned but gave a slow nod of acknowledgement, as if he seemed to be thinking about it.

"Well, Emerson wasn't at the Quidditch game either," Hermione informed them, catching Harry off guard. He hadn't really seen either Emerson or Armand in the stands but that wasn't anything new, he usually couldn't pick anyone out of a crowd at a Quidditch match.

"What does that have to do with Malfoy? Don't tell me you think that Emerson would have anything to do with that blonde git." Ron grumbled.

"How should I know, Ronald, I'm just saying that Malfoy wasn't the only one who missed the game today. And don't you find it strange that neither Armand nor Emerson mentioned Emerson's absence, at all?" Hermione sounded fed up as she glared at the redhead.

Harry's eyebrows drew together a he considered this.

"But they were at the celebrations afterwards," Harry pointed out.

Hermione shrugged. "Armand was the only one sat with me in the bleachers."

Harry let out a groan of frustration. "They were just starting to seem normal again," he complained, thinking back on their visit with Hagrid and all that had been said. "Hermione, what do you think Hagrid meant when he said that not all the legends said the same thing, I mean, the legends are pretty standard," Harry pondered out loud.

Hermione pursed her lips as she seemed to consider Harry's words before replying.

"Not necessarily, I mean, we grew up in the muggle world so it's quite possible that what we heard was out of a muggle's point of view. After all, muggles mainly used stories to explain what they didn't understand or to warn children off of something. It's quite possible that the stories were changed to benefit the people telling the stories. While in the wizarding world, they might've done the same thing but they would've also kept records of what really happened, to separate fact from fiction," Hermione mused. Harry took a moment to process this but he thought he understood what she was saying.

"So, where do we find the facts and what about Malfoy?" he wanted to know.

Hermione sighed but gave in quickly. "I'll take a look in the library when I get the chance but I don't know what's going on with Malfoy. But, arry, do you really think we should be focusing on this now?" Hermione's brow was creased with worry as she stared at Harry.

"Fine, okay, but if not that, then we at least have to keep an eye on Armand and Emerson, even if it's just because they're not registered at the ministry and because Emerson seems to know too much about Voldemort. I can't shake the feeling that they're hiding something," Harry conceded, gut clenching as he thought about all the unanswered questions still floating around.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look

"We trust you, Harry," Hermione assured him with a small smile.

"Yeah mate, your gut hasn't steered us wrong yet," Ron smirked.

Harry felt an answering smile stretching across his own face.

---

And so the weeks leading up to the Christmas Holidays were spent focusing on DA meetings and trying, without Hermione's knowledge, to uncover the truth about the Pendragon brothers, with the latter of the two tasks producing no results.

"Maybe we should ask my dad about it when we're there for the holidays, at the very least we could ask me mum about the legends. You're still coming over, right Harry?" Ron whispered as they were getting ready for bed one evening. Ron was careful not to mention the Pendragons by name when he spoke, since the objects of their discussion where across from them, getting ready for bed as well.

"Yeah, that might be best," Harry agree, glancing over at the two brothers as he spoke.

"Well, night" Ron mumbled as he climbed into bed.

"Night," Harry replied.

Neville snuffled in his sleep and an owl hooted somewhere out in the night before Harry felt himself drifting off.

Harry dreamt that Cho had cornered him in the library and demanded that he stop searching for answers concerning Armand and Emerson. Then Cedric had appeared and pushed Cho against a wall before he and Cho had started kissing with Harry being forced to watch.

The dream changed…

His body felt smooth, powerful and flexible. He was gliding between shining metal bars, across dark, cold stone… he was flat against the floor, sliding along on his belly… it was dark, yet he could see objects around him shimmering in strange, vibrant colors… he was turning his head. At first glance the corridor was empty… but no… a man was sitting on the floor ahead, his chin drooping on to his chest, his outline gleaming in the dark.

Harry put out his tongue… he tasted the man's scent on the air… he was alive but drowsy… sitting in front of a door at the end of the corridor. Harry longed to bite the man… but he must master the impulse… he had more important work to do.

But the man was stirring… a silver Cloak fell from his legs as he jumped to his feet; and Harry saw his vibrant, blurred outline towering above him, saw a wand withdrawn from a belt… he had no choice… he reared high from the floor and struck once, twice and then Harry was suddenly hissing and screeching as he felt his smooth, flexible body growing unbearably hot before exploding.

Harry's eyes flew open in shock. Every inch of his body was covered in icy sweat; his bed covers were twisted all around him like a strait-jacket; he felt as though a white-hot poker were being applied to his forehead.

"Harry!"

Ron was standing over him looking extremely frightened. There were more figures at the foot of Harry's bed. He clutched his head in his hands; the pain was blinding him… he rolled right over and vomited over the edge of the mattress.

"He's really ill," said a scared voice. "Should we call someone?"

"Harry! Harry!"

He had to tell Ron, it was very important that he tell him…. Taking in large gulps of air, Harry pushed himself up in bed, willing himself not to throw up again, the pain half-blinding him.

"Your dad," he panted, his chest heaving. "Your dad's… been attacked…"

"What?" Ron said uncomprehendingly.

"Your dad! He's been bitten, it's serious, there…there was blood…"

"I'm going for help," said the same scared voice, and Harry heard footsteps running out of the dormitory.

"Harry, mate," Ron said uncertainly, "you… you were just dreaming…"

"No!" said Harry furiously; it was crucial that Ron understand. "It wasn't a dream… not an ordinary dream… I was there, I saw it… I did it…"

He could hear Seamus and Dean muttering but did not care. The pain in his forehead was subsiding slightly, though he was still sweating and shivering feverishly. He retched again and Ron leapt backwards out of the way.

"Harry, you're not well," he said shakily. "Neville's gone for help."

"I'm fine!" Harry choked, wiping his mouth on his pyjamas and shaking uncontrollably.

"There's nothing wrong with me, it's your dad you've got to worry about - we need to find out where he is - he's been hurt - I was - it was a huge snake."

He tried to get out of bed but Ron pushed him back into it; Dean and Seamus were still whispering somewhere nearby. Whether one minute passed or ten, Harry did not know; he simply sat there shaking, feeling the pain very slowly receding from his scar. There were hurried footsteps coming up the stairs and he heard Neville's voice again.

"Over here, Professor."

Professor McGonagall came hurrying into the dormitory in her tartan dressing gown, her glasses perched lopsidedly on the bridge of her bony nose.

"What is it, Potter? Where does it hurt?"

He had never been so pleased to see her; it was a member of the Order of the Phoenix he needed now, not someone fussing over him and prescribing useless potions.

"It's Ron's dad," he said, sitting up again. "He's been attacked by a snake and it's serious, I saw it happen."

"What do you mean, you saw it happen?" said Professor McGonagall, her dark eyebrows contracting.

"I don't know… I was asleep and then I was there…"

"You mean you dreamed this?"

"No!" said Harry angrily; would none of them understand? "I was having a dream at first about something completely different, something stupid… and then this interrupted it. It was real, I didn't imagine it. Mr. Weasley was asleep on the floor and he was attacked by a gigantic snake and… and I… I woke up… I think someone… someone's got to find out where he is…"

Professor McGonagall was gazing at him through her lopsided spectacles as though horrified at what she was seeing.

"I'm not lying and I'm not mad!" Harry told her, his voice rising to a shout. "I'm telling you, I saw it happen!"

"I believe you, Potter," said Professor McGonagall curtly. "Put on your dressing gown - we're going to see the Headmaster."

Harry was so relieved she was taking him seriously that he did not hesitate, but jumped out of bed at once, pulled on his dressing gown and pushed his glasses back onto his nose.

"Weasley, you ought to come too," said Professor McGonagall.

They followed Professor McGonagall past the silent figures of Neville, Dean and Seamus, out of the dormitory, down the spiral stairs into the common room, through the portrait hole and off along the Fat Lady's moonlit corridor. Harry felt as though the panic inside him might spill over at any moment; he wanted to run, to yell for Dumbledore; Mr. Weasley was bleeding as they walked along so sedately, and what if those fangs (Harry tried hard not to think 'my fangs') had been poisonous? They passed Mrs Norris, who turned her lamp-like eyes upon them and hissed faintly, but Professor McGonagall said, "Shoo!" Mrs Norris slunk away into the shadows, and in a few minutes they had reached the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office.

"Fizzing Whizzbee," said Professor McGonagall.

The gargoyle sprang to life and leapt aside; the wall behind it split in two to reveal a stone staircase that was moving continually upwards like a spiral escalator. The three of them stepped on to the moving stairs; the wall closed behind them with a thud and they were moving upwards in tight circles until they reached the highly polished oak door with the brass knocker shaped like a griffin.

Though it was now well past midnight there were voices coming from inside the room, a positive babble of them. It sounded as though Dumbledore was entertaining at least a dozen people.

Professor McGonagall rapped three times with the griffin knocker and the voices ceased abruptly as though someone had switched them all off. The door opened of its own accord and Professor McGonagall led Harry and Ron inside.

The room was in half-darkness; the strange silver instruments standing on tables were silent and still rather than whirring and emitting puffs of smoke as they usually did; the portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses covering the walls were all snoozing in their frames. Behind the door, a magnificent red and gold bird the size of a swan dozed on its perch with its head under its wing.

"Oh, it's you, Professor McGonagall… and… ah."

Dumbledore was sitting in a high-backed chair behind his desk; he leaned forward into the pool of candlelight illuminating the papers laid out before him. He was wearing a magnificently embroidered purple and gold dressing gown over a snowy white nightshirt, but seemed wide awake, his penetrating light blue eyes fixed intently upon Professor McGonagall.

"Professor Dumbledore, Potter has had a… well, a nightmare," said Professor McGonagall. "He says…"

"It wasn't a nightmare," said Harry quickly.

Professor McGonagall looked round at Harry, frowning slightly.

"Very well, then, Potter, you tell the Headmaster about it."

"I… well, I was asleep…" said Harry and, even in his terror and his desperation to make Dumbledore understand, he couldn't help noticing that Dumbledore seemed reluctant to meet his eyes and he couldn't help feeling confused by it. "But it wasn't an ordinary dream… it was real… I saw it happen…" He took a deep breath, "Ron's dad - Mr. Weasley - has been attacked by a giant snake."

The words seemed to reverberate in the air after he had said them, sounding slightly ridiculous, even comic. There was a pause in which Dumbledore leaned back and stared at the ceiling meditatively. Ron looked from Harry to Dumbledore, white-faced and shocked.

"How did you see this?" Dumbledore asked quietly, as his eyes slowly lowered themselves back to Harry, yet Harry still couldn't catch his gaze.

"Well… I don't know," said Harry, rather angrily - what did it matter? "Inside my head, I suppose -"

"You misunderstand me," said Dumbledore, still in the same calm tone. "I mean… can you remember — er - where you were positioned as you watched this attack happen? Were you perhaps standing beside the victim, or else looking down on the scene from above?"

This was such a curious question that Harry gaped at Dumbledore; it was almost as though he knew…

"I was the snake," he said. "I saw it all from the snake's point of view."

Nobody else spoke for a moment, then Dumbledore, now looking at Ron who was still white-faced, asked in a new and sharper voice, "Is Arthur seriously injured?"

"Yes," said Harry emphatically - why were they all so slow on the uptake, did they not realize how much a person bled when fangs that long pierced their side? They seemed to be taking him seriously yet they weren't doing anything to remedy the situation.

But Dumbledore stood up, so quickly it made Harry jump. The headmaster then addressed one of the old portraits hanging very near the ceiling. "Everard?" he said sharply. "And you too, Dilys!"

A sallow-faced wizard with short black bangs and an elderly witch with long silver ringlets in the frame beside him, both of whom seemed to have been in the deepest of sleeps, opened their eyes immediately.

"You were listening?" said Dumbledore.

The wizard nodded; the witch said, "Naturally."

"The man has red hair and glasses," said Dumbledore. "Everard, you will need to raise the alarm, make sure he is found by the right people -"

Both nodded and moved sideways out of their frames, but instead of emerging in neighboring pictures (as usually happened at Hogwarts) neither reappeared. One frame now contained nothing but a backdrop of dark curtain, the other a handsome leather armchair. Harry noticed that many of the other headmasters and mistresses on the walls, though snoring and drooling most convincingly, kept sneaking peeks at him from under their eyelids, and he suddenly understood who had been talking when they had knocked.

"Everard and Dilys were two of Hogwarts's most celebrated Heads," Dumbledore said, now sweeping around Harry, Ron and Professor McGonagall to approach the magnificent sleeping bird on his perch beside the door. "Their renown is such that both have portraits hanging in other important wizarding institutions. As they are free to move between their own portraits, they can tell us what may be happening elsewhere…"

"But Mr. Weasley could be anywhere!" Harry objected.

"Please sit down, all three of you," said Dumbledore, as though Harry had not spoken, "Everard and Dilys may not be back for several minutes. Professor McGonagall, if you could draw up extra chairs."

Professor McGonagall pulled her wand from the pocket of her dressing gown and waved it; three chairs appeared out of thin air, straight-backed and wooden. Harry sat down, watching Dumbledore over his shoulder. Dumbledore was now stroking Fawkes's plumed golden head with one finger. The phoenix awoke immediately. He stretched his beautiful head high and observed Dumbledore through bright, dark eyes.

"We will need," Dumbledore said very quietly to the bird, "a warning."

There was a flash of fire and the phoenix had gone.

Dumbledore now swooped down upon one of the fragile silver instruments whose function Harry had never known, carried it over to his desk, sat down facing them again and tapped it gently with the tip of his wand.

The instrument tinkled into life at once with rhythmic clinking noises. Tiny puffs of pale green smoke issued from the minuscule silver tube at the top. Dumbledore watched the smoke closely, his brow furrowed. After a few seconds, the tiny puffs became a steady stream of smoke that thickened and coiled in the air… a serpent's head grew out of the end of it, opening its mouth wide. Harry wondered whether the instrument was confirming his story: he looked eagerly at Dumbledore for a sign that he was right, but Dumbledore did not look up.

"Naturally, naturally," murmured Dumbledore apparently to himself, still observing the stream of smoke without the slightest sign of surprise. "But in essence divided?"

Harry could make neither head nor tail of this question. The smoke serpent, however, split itself instantly into two snakes, both coiling and undulating in the dark air. With a look of grim satisfaction, Dumbledore gave the instrument another gentle tap with his wand: the clinking noise slowed and died and the smoke serpents grew faint, became a formless haze and vanished.

Dumbledore replaced the instrument on its spindly little table. Harry saw many of the old headmasters in the portraits follow him with their eyes, then, realizing that Harry was watching them, hastily pretend to be sleeping again. Harry wanted to ask what the strange silver instrument was for, but before he could do so, there was a shout from the top of the wall to their right; the wizard called Everard had reappeared in his portrait, panting slightly.

"Dumbledore!"

"What news?" Dumbledore said at once.

"I yelled until someone came running," said the wizard, who was mopping his brow on the curtain behind him, "said I'd heard something moving downstairs - they weren't sure whether to believe me but went down to check - you know there are no portraits down there to watch from. Anyway, they carried him up a few minutes later. He doesn't look good, he's covered in blood, I ran along to Elfrida Cragg's portrait to get a good view as they left -"

"Good," said Dumbledore as Ron made a convulsive movement. "I take it Dilys will have seen him arrive, then -"

And moments later, the silver-ringleted witch had reappeared in her picture, too; she sank, coughing, into her armchair and said, "Yes, they've taken him to St. Mungo's, Dumbledore… they carried him past my portrait… he looks bad but it appears that the bleeding is slow…"

"Thank you," said Dumbledore. He looked round at Professor McGonagall.

"Minerva, I need you to go and wake the other Weasley children."

"Of course…" Professor McGonagall got up and moved swiftly to the door. Harry cast a sideways glance at Ron, who was still looking terrified. "And Dumbledore - what about Molly?" Professor McGonagall asked, pausing at the door.

"That will be a job for Fawkes when he has finished keeping a lookout for anybody approaching," said Dumbledore. "But she may already know… that excellent clock of hers…"

Harry knew Dumbledore was referring to the clock that told, not the time, but the whereabouts and conditions of the various Weasley family members, and with a pang he thought that Mr. Weasley's hand must, even now, be pointing at mortal peril. But it was very late. Mrs. Weasley was probably asleep, not watching the clock. Harry felt cold as he remembered Mrs. Weasley's Boggart turning into Mr. Weasley's lifeless body, his glasses askew, blood running down his face… but Mr. Weasley wasn't going to die… he couldn't…

Dumbledore was now rummaging in a cupboard behind Harry and Ron. He emerged from it carrying a blackened old kettle, which he placed carefully on his desk. He raised his wand and murmured, "Portus!" For a moment the kettle trembled, glowing with an odd blue light; then it quivered to rest, as solidly black as ever.

Dumbledore marched over to another portrait, this time of a clever-looking wizard with a pointed beard, who had been painted wearing the Slytherin colours of green and silver and was apparently sleeping so deeply that he could not hear Dumbledore's voice when he attempted to rouse him.

"Phineas. Phineas."

The subjects of the portraits lining the room were no longer pretending to be asleep; they were shifting around in their frames, the better to watch what was happening. When the clever-looking wizard continued to feign sleep, some of them shouted his name, too.

"Phineas! Phineas! PHINEAS!"

He could not pretend any longer; he gave a theatrical jerk and opened his eyes wide.

"Did someone call?"

"I need you to visit your other portrait again, Phineas," said Dumbledore. "I've got another message."

"Visit my other portrait?" said Phineas in a reedy voice, giving a long, fake yawn (his eyes traveling around the room and focusing on Harry). "Oh, no, Dumbledore, I am too tired tonight."

Something about Phineas' voice was familiar to Harry, where had he heard it before? But before he could think, the portraits on the surrounding walls broke into a storm of protest.

"Insubordination, sir!" roared a corpulent, red-nosed wizard, brandishing his fists. "Dereliction of duty!"

"We are honour-bound to give service to the present Headmaster of Hogwarts!" cried a frail-looking old wizard whom Harry recognized as Dumbledore's predecessor, Armando Dippet.

"Shame on you, Phineas!"

"Shall I persuade him, Dumbledore?" called a gimlet-eyed witch, raising an unusually thick wand that looked not unlike a birch rod.

"Oh, very well," said the wizard called Phineas, eyeing the wand with mild apprehension, "though he may well have destroyed my picture by now, he's done away with most of the family-"

"Sirius knows not to destroy your portrait," said Dumbledore, and Harry realized immediately where he had heard Phineas voice before: issuing from the apparently empty frame in his bedroom in Grimmauld Place. "You are to give him the message that Arthur Weasley has been gravely injured and that his wife, children and Harry Potter will be arriving at his house shortly. Do you understand?"

"Arthur Weasley, injured, wife and children and Harry Potter coming to stay," repeated Phineas in a bored voice. "Yes, yes… very well."

He sloped away into the frame of the portrait and disappeared from view at the very moment the study door opened again. Fred, George and Ginny were ushered inside by Professor McGonagall, all three of them looking dishevelled and shocked, still in their night things.

"Harry - what's going on?" asked Ginny, who looked frightened. "Professor McGonagall says you saw Dad get hurt -"

"Your father has been injured in the course of his work for the Order of the Phoenix," said Dumbledore, before Harry could speak. "He has been taken to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I am sending you back to Sirius's house, which is much more convenient for the hospital than The Burrow. You will meet your mother there."

"How're we going?" asked Fred, looking shaken. "Floo powder?"

"No," said Dumbledore, "Floo powder is not safe at the moment, the Network is being watched. You will be taking a Portkey." He indicated the old kettle lying innocently on his desk. "We are just waiting for Phineas Nigellus to report back… I want to be sure that the coast is clear before sending you -"

There was a flash of flame in the very middle of the office, leaving behind a single golden feather that floated gently to the floor.

"It is Fawkes's warning," said Dumbledore, catching the feather as it fell. "Professor Umbridge must know you're out of your beds… Minerva, go and head her off - tell her any story -"

Professor McGonagall was gone in a swish of tartan.

"He says he'll be delighted," said a bored voice behind Dumbledore; the wizard called Phineas had reappeared in front of his Slytherin banner. "My great-great-grandson has always had an odd taste in house-guests."

"Come here, then," Dumbledore said to Harry and the Weasleys. "And quickly, before anyone else joins us."

Harry and the others gathered around Dumbledore's desk.

"You have all used a Portkey before?" asked Dumbledore, and they nodded, each reaching out to touch some part of the blackened kettle. "Good. On the count of three, then… one… two…"

It happened in a fraction of a second: in the infinitesimal pause before Dumbledore said "three", Harry looked up at him - they were very close together - and Dumbledore's clear blue gaze moved from the Portkey to Harry's face.

At once, Harry's scar burned white-hot, as though the old wound had burst open again – and unbidden, unwanted, but terrifyingly strong, there rose within Harry a hatred so powerful he felt, for that instant, he would like nothing better than to strike - to bite - to sink his fangs into the man before him — "… three."

Harry felt a powerful jerk behind his navel, the ground vanished from beneath his feet, his hand was glued to the kettle; he was banging into the others as they all sped forwards in a swirl of colours and a rush of wind, the kettle pulling them onwards… until his feet hit the ground so hard his knees buckled, the kettle clattered to the ground, and somewhere close at hand a voice said: "Back again, the blood-traitor brats. Is it true their father's dying?"

"OUT!" roared a second voice.

Harry scrambled to his feet and looked around; they had arrived in the gloomy basement kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The only sources of light were the fire and one guttering candle, which illuminated the remains of a solitary supper. Kreacher was disappearing through the door to the hall, looking back at them malevolently as he hitched up his loincloth; Sirius was hurrying towards them all, looking anxious. He was unshaven and still in his day clothes; there was also a slightly Mundungus-like whiff of stale drink about him.

"What's going on?" he said, stretching out a hand to help Ginny up. "Phineas Nigellus said Arthur's been badly injured —"

"Ask Harry," said Fred.

"Yeah, I want to hear this for myself," said George.

The twins and Ginny were staring at him. Kreacher's footsteps had stopped on the stairs outside.

"It was -" Harry began; this was even worse than telling McGonagall and Dumbledore. "I had a - a kind of – vision."

And he told them all what he'd seen, though he altered the story so that it sounded as though he had watched from the sidelines as the snake attacked, rather than from behind the snake's own eyes. Ron, who was still very white, gave him a fleeting look, but did not speak. When Harry had finished, Fred, George and Ginny continued to stare at him for a moment. Harry did not know whether he was imagining it or not, but he fancied there was something accusatory in their looks.

Well, if they were going to blame him just for seeing the attack, he was glad he had not told them that he had been inside the snake at the time.

"Is Mum here?" said Fred, turning to Sirius.

"She probably doesn't even know what's happened yet," said Sirius. "The important thing was to get you away before Umbridge could interfere. I expect Dumbledore's letting Molly know now."

"We've got to go to St. Mungo's," said Ginny urgently. She looked around at her brothers; they were of course still in their pajamas. "Sirius, can you lend us cloaks or anything?"

"Hang on, you can't go tearing off to St. Mungo's!" said Sirius.

"Course we can go to St. Mungo's if we want," said Fred, with a mulish expression. "He's our dad!"

"And how are you going to explain how you knew Arthur was attacked before the hospital even let his wife know?"

"What does that matter?" said George hotly.

"It matters because we don't want to draw attention to the fact that Harry is having visions of things that are happening hundreds of miles away!" said Sirius angrily. "Have you any idea what the Ministry would make of that information?"

Fred and George looked as though they could not care less what the Ministry made of anything.

Ron was still ashen-faced and silent.

Ginny said, "Somebody else could have told us… we could have heard it somewhere other than Harry."

"Like who?" said Sirius impatiently. "Listen, your dad's been hurt while on duty for the Order and the circumstances are fishy enough without his children knowing about it seconds after it happened, you could seriously damage the Order's -"

"We don't care about the dumb Order!" shouted Fred.

"It's our dad dying we're talking about!" yelled George.

"Your father knew what he was getting into and he won't thank you for messing things up for the Order!" said Sirius, equally angry. "This is how it is - this is why you're not in the Order – you don't understand - there are things worth dying for!"

"Easy for you to say, stuck here!" bellowed Fred. "I don't see you risking your neck!"

The little colour remaining in Sirius's face drained from it. He looked for a moment as though he would quite like to hit Fred, but when he spoke, it was in a voice of determined calm.

"I know it's hard, but we've all got to act as though we don't know anything yet. We've got to stay put, at least until we hear from your mother, all right?"

Fred and George still looked mutinous. Ginny, however, took a few steps over to the nearest chair and sank into it. Harry looked at Ron, who made a funny movement somewhere between a nod and a shrug, and they sat down too. The twins glared at Sirius for another minute, then took seats on either side of Ginny.

"That's right," said Sirius encouragingly, "come on, let's all… let's all have a drink while we're waiting. Accio Butterbeer!"

He raised his wand as he spoke and half a dozen bottles came flying towards them out of the pantry, skidded along the table, scattering the debris of Sinus's meal, and stopped neatly in front of the six of them. They all drank, and for a while the only sounds were those of the crackling of the kitchen fire and the soft thud of their bottles on the table.

Harry was only drinking to have something to do with his hands. His stomach was full of horrible hot, bubbling guilt. They would not be here if it were not for him; they would all still be asleep in bed. And it was no good telling himself that by raising the alarm he had ensured that Mr. Weasley was found, because there was also the in escapable business of it being he who had attacked Mr. Weasley in the first place.

'Don't be stupid, you haven't got fangs,' he told himself, trying to keep calm, though the hand on his Butterbeer bottle was shaking. 'You were lying in bed, you weren't attacking anyone…'

'But then, what just happened in Dumbledore's office?' he asked himself. 'I felt like I wanted to attack Dumbledore, too…'

He put the bottle down a little harder than he meant to, and it slopped over on to the table. No one took any notice. Then a burst of fire in mid-air illuminated the dirty plates in front of them and, as they gave cries of shock, a scroll of parchment fell with a thud on to the table, accompanied by a single golden phoenix tail feather.

"Fawkes!" said Sirius at once, snatching up the parchment. "That's not Dumbledore's writing – it must be a message from your mother - here -"

He thrust the letter into George's hand, who ripped it open and read aloud:

"'Dad is alive. I am setting out for St. Mungo's now. Stay where you are. I will send news as soon as I can. Mum.'"

George looked around the table but didn't seem to know what to say.

Still exceptionally pale, Ron stared at the back of his mother's letter as though it might speak words of comfort to him. Fred pulled the parchment out of George's hands and read it for himself, then looked up at Harry, who felt his hand shaking on his Butterbeer bottle again and clenched it more tightly to stop the trembling.

It was ten past three in the morning when Mrs. Weasley finally entered the kitchen.

She was extremely pale, but when they all turned to look at her, Fred, Ron and Harry half rising from their chairs, she gave a wan smile.

"He's going to be all right," she said, her voice weak with tiredness. "He's sleeping. We can all go and see him later. Bill's sitting with him now; he's going to take the morning off work and we might even get to see him when we go at nine."

Fred fell back into his chair with his hands over his face. George and Ginny got up, walked swiftly over to their mother and hugged her. Ron gave a very shaky laugh and downed the rest of his Butterbeer in one go.

Mrs Weasley hugged each of her children before turning towards Harry and to his surprise he saw no anger in her eyes. Instead the red headed witch rushed towards him and pulled him into a hug.

"I don't know what would have happened if it hadn't been for you, Harry," she said in a muffled voice. "They might not have found Arthur for hours, and then it would have been too late, but thanks to you he's alive and Dumbledore's been able to think up a good cover story for Arthur being where he was, you've no idea what trouble he would have been in otherwise, look at poor Sturgis…" And though Harry could hardly bear her gratitude he felt a small sense of relief, receiving any harsh words from Mrs Weasley, would've been ten times less bearable than her hearing her gratitude. When Harry drew back from Mrs Weasley, he caught the guilty looks of the other Weasleys but decided to try and ignore it, as his own guilt was still sitting heavily within him. When Mrs Weasley was done thanking Sirius for looking after her children, she suddenly seemed to gather herself together and set about shooing everyone off to bed despite everyone's protestations.

With this, everything seemed to return to a shaky version of normal, yet Harry found himself lying awake, only able to drift off as the sun started appearing through the windows of Grimmauld Place.

---

Everyone looked exhausted as they sat around the kitchen table at eight o'clock, leading Harry to believe that he wasn't the only one who'd struggled to fall asleep a few hours prior. As it was, he'd only managed to get an hour and a half's sleep.

"Oh, Sirius, I'm so grateful… they think he'll be there a little while and it would be wonderful to be nearer… of course, that might mean we're here for Christmas."

"The more the merrier!" said Sirius with obvious sincerity as he and Mrs. Weasley stood side by side while making breakfast. Mrs Weasley beamed at that.

Watching Sirius, Harry wished he could tell his godfather what had really happened in the dream last night. He needed to talk to someone.

"Sirius," Harry muttered after a few minutes, unable to stand it a moment longer. "Can I have a quick word? Er - now?" His godfather looked up, brows furrowed. There must've been something in Harry's face that conveyed the urgency Harry felt for Sirius patted Molly's shoulder before abandoning his cooking.

Harry walked into the pantry and Sirius followed. Without preamble, Harry told his godfather every detail of the vision he had, including the fact that he himself had been the snake who had attacked Mr. Weasley.

When he paused for breath, Sirius said, "Did you tell Dumbledore this?"

"Yes," said Harry impatiently, "but he didn't tell me what it meant."

"I'm sure he would have told you if it was anything to worry about," said Sirius steadily.

"But that's not all," said Harry, in a voice barely above a whisper. "Sirius, I… I think I'm going mad. Back in Dumbledore's office, just before we took the Portkey… for a couple of seconds there I thought I was a snake, I felt like one - my scar really hurt when I was looking at Dumbledore - Sirius, I wanted to attack him!"

"It must have been the aftermath of the vision, that's all," said Sirius. "You were still thinking of the dream or whatever it was and –"

"It wasn't that," said Harry, shaking his head, "it was like something rose up inside me, like there's a snake inside me."

"You're in shock, Harry; you're blaming yourself for something you only witnessed, and it's lucky you did witness it or Arthur might have died. Just stop worrying."

He clapped Harry on the shoulder and left the pantry, leaving Harry standing alone and feeling even more so.

Their trunks arrived from Hogwarts while everyone was eating, so they could dress as Muggles for the trip to St Mungo's. Everybody except Harry was riotously happy and talkative as they changed out of their robes into jeans and sweatshirts. When Tonks and Mad-Eye turned up to escort them across London, they greeted them gleefully, laughing at the bowler hat Mad-Eye was wearing at an angle to conceal his magical eye and assuring him, truthfully, that Tonks, whose hair was short and bright pink again, would attract far less attention on the Underground.

Tonks was very interested in Harry's vision of the attack on Mr. Weasley, something Harry was not remotely interested in discussing.

"There isn't any Seer blood in your family, is there?" she enquired curiously, as they sat side by side on a train rattling towards the heart of the city.

"No," said Harry, thinking of Professor Trelawney and feeling insulted but he paused as he thought of the lecture Hermione had received from Emerson that one time. He couldn't help feeling a bit guilty. Strange, Harry mused, he hadn't seen Emerson or Armand among the figures surrounding his bed when he woke up in the dorm the night before.

"No," Tonks was still pondering his vision, "no, I suppose it's not really prophecy you're doing, is it? I mean, you're not seeing the future, you're seeing the present… it's odd, isn't it? Useful, though…"

Harry didn't answer; fortunately, they got out at the next stop, a station in the very heart of London, and in the bustle of leaving the train he was able to allow Fred and George to get between himself and Tonks, who was leading the way. They all followed her up the escalator, Moody clunking along at the back of the group, his bowler tilted low and one gnarled hand stuck in between the buttons of his coat, clutching his wand. Harry thought he sensed the concealed eye staring hard at him. Trying to avoid any more questions about his dream, he asked Mad-Eye where St. Mungo's was hidden.

"Not far from here," grunted Moody as they stepped out into the wintry air on a broad store-lined street packed with Christmas shoppers. He pushed Harry a little ahead of him and stumped along just behind; Harry knew the eye was rolling in all directions under the tilted hat. "Wasn't easy to find a good location for a hospital. Nowhere in Diagon Alley was big enough and we couldn't have it underground like the Ministry - wouldn't be healthy. In the end they managed to get hold of a building up here. Theory was, sick wizards could come and go and just blend in with the crowd."

He seized Harry's shoulder to prevent them being separated by a gaggle of shoppers plainly intent on nothing but making it into a nearby shop full of electrical gadgets.

"Here we go," said Moody a moment later.

They had arrived outside a large, old-fashioned, red-brick department store called Purge & Dowse Ltd. The place had a shabby, miserable air; the window displays consisted of a few chipped dummies with their wigs askew, standing at random and modelling fashions at least ten years out of date. Large signs on all the dusty doors read: "Closed for Refurbishment".

Harry distinctly heard a large woman laden with plastic shopping bags say to her friend as they passed, "It's never open, that place…"

"Right," said Tonks, beckoning them towards a window displaying nothing but a particularly ugly female dummy. Its false eyelashes were hanging off and it was modelling a green nylon pinafore dress. "Everybody ready?"

They nodded, clustering around her. Moody gave Harry another shove between the shoulder blades to urge him forward and Tonks leaned close to the glass, looking up at the very ugly dummy, her breath steaming up the glass. "Wotcher… We're here to see Arthur Weasley."

Harry thought how absurd it was for Tonks to expect the dummy to hear her talking so quietly through a sheet of glass, with buses rumbling along behind her and all the racket of a street full of shoppers. Then he reminded himself that dummies couldn't hear anyway. The next second, his mouth opened in shock as the dummy gave a tiny nod and beckoned with its jointed finger, and Tonks had seized Ginny and Mrs. Weasley by the elbows, stepped right through the glass and vanished.

Fred, George and Ron stepped after them. Harry glanced around at the jostling crowd; not one of them seemed to have a glance to spare for window displays as ugly as those of Purge & Dowse Ltd; nor did any of them seem to have noticed that six people had just melted into thin air in front of them. Harry suddenly felt like he was on platform 9 ¾ for the first time again.

"C'mon," growled Moody, giving Harry yet another poke in the back, and together they stepped forward through what felt like a sheet of cool water, emerging quite warm and dry on the other side.

There was no sign of the ugly dummy or the space where she had stood. They were in what seemed to be a crowded reception area where rows of witches and wizards sat upon rickety wooden chairs, some looking perfectly normal and perusing out-of-date copies of Witch Weekly, others sporting gruesome disfigurements such as elephant trunks or extra hands sticking out of their chests. The room was scarcely less quiet than the street outside, for many of the patients were making very peculiar noises: a sweaty-faced witch in the centre of the front row, who was fanning herself vigorously with a copy of the Daily Prophet, kept letting off a high-pitched whistle as steam came pouring out of her mouth; a grubby-looking warlock in the corner clanged like a bell every time he moved and, with each clang his head vibrated horribly so that he had to seize himself by the ears to hold it steady.

Witches and wizards in lime-green robes were walking up and down the rows, asking questions and making notes on clipboards like Umbridge's. Harry noticed the emblem embroidered on their chests: a wand and bone, crossed.

"Are they doctors?" he asked Ron quietly.

"Doctors?" said Ron, looking startled. "Those Muggle nutters that cut people up? Nah, they're Healers."

"Over here!" called Mrs. Weasley above the renewed clanging of the warlock in the corner, and they followed her to the queue in front of a plump blonde witch seated at a desk marked Enquiries. The wall behind her was covered in notices and posters saying things like: A CLEAN CAULDRON KEEPS POTIONS FROM BECOMING POISONS and ANTIDOTES ARE ANTI-DON'TS UNLESS APPROVED BY A QUALIFIED HEALER.

There was also a large portrait of a witch with long silver ringlets which was labelled:

Dilys Derwent

St. Mungo's Healer – 1722

Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – 1741

Dilys was eyeing the Weasley party closely as though counting them; when Harry caught her eye she gave a tiny wink, walked sideways out of her portrait and vanished.

Right next to her portait was that of an old looking man wearing a blue tunic and sporting shoulder length grey hair and a severe looking eyebrow.

His label read:

Gaius

Camelot Healer – 600 (exact date unknown)

First Magical Healer Since The Great Purge.

The man was looking around curiously blue eyes old and wise.

Meanwhile, at the front of the queue, a young wizard was performing an odd on-the-spot jig and trying, in between yelps of pain, to explain his predicament to the witch behind the desk.

"It's these - ouch - shoes my brother gave me - ow- they're eating my - OUCH - feet - look at them, there must be some kind of - AARGH - jinx on them and I can't - AAAAARGH – get them off." He hopped from one foot to the other as though dancing on hot coals.

"The shoes don't prevent you reading, do they?" said the blonde witch, irritably pointing at a large sign to the left of her desk. "You want Spell Damage, fourth floor. Just like it says on the floor guide. Next!"

As the wizard hobbled and pranced sideways out of the way, the Weasley party moved forward a few steps, enabling Harry to read the floor guide:

ARTEFACT ACCIDENTS… Ground floor

Cauldron explosion, wand backfiring, broom crashes, etc.

CREATURE-INDUCED INJURIES… First floor

Bites, stings, burns, embedded spines, etc.

MAGICAL BUGS… Second floor

Contagious maladies, e.g. dragon pox, vanishing sickness, scrojungulus, etc.

POTION AND PLANT POISONING… Third floor

Rashes,regurgitation (uncontrollable), etc.

SPELL DAMAGE… Fourth floor

Unliftable jinxes, hexes, and incorrectly applied charms, etc.

VISITORS' TEAROOM AND HOSPITAL SHOP… Fifth floor

IF YOU ARE UNSURE WHERE TO GO, INCAPABLE OF NORMAL SPEECH OR

UNABLE TO REMEMBER WHY YOU ARE HERE, OUR WELCOME WITCH WILL BE

PLEASED TO HELP.

A very old, stooped wizard with a hearing trumpet had shuffled to the front of the queue now.

"I'm here to see Broderick Bode!" he wheezed.

"Ward forty-nine, but I'm afraid you're wasting your time," said the witch dismissively. "He's completely addled, you know - still thinks he's a teapot. Next!"

A harassed-looking wizard was holding his small daughter tightly by the ankle while she flapped around his head using the immensely large, feathery wings that had sprouted right out through the back of her romper suit.

"Fourth floor," said the witch, in a bored voice, without asking, and the man disappeared through the double doors beside the desk, holding his daughter like an oddly shaped balloon. "Next!"

Mrs. Weasley moved forward to the desk.

"Hello," she said, "my husband, Arthur Weasley, was supposed to be moved to a different ward this morning, could you tell us -?"

"Arthur Weasley?" said the witch, running her finger down a long list in front of her. "Yes, first floor, second door on the right, Dai Llewellyn Ward."

"Thank you," said Mrs. Weasley. "Come on, you lot."

They followed her through the double doors and along the narrow corridor beyond, which was lined with more portraits of famous Healers and lit by crystal bubbles full of candles that floated up on the ceiling, looking like giant soapsuds. More witches and wizards in lime-green robes walked in and out of the doors they passed; a foul-smelling yellow gas wafted into the passageway as they passed one door, and every now and then they heard distant wailing. They climbed a flight of stairs and entered the Creature-Induced Injuries corridor, where the second door on the right bore the words: Dangerous' Dai Llewellyn Ward: Serious Bites. Underneath this was a card in a brass holder on which had been handwritten: Healer-in-Charge: Hippocrates Smethwyck. Trainee Healer: Augustus Pye.

"We'll wait outside, Molly," Tonks said. "Arthur won't want too many visitors at once… it ought to be just the family first."

Mad-Eye growled his approval of this idea and set himself with his back against the corridor wall, his magical eye spinning in all directions. Harry drew back, too, but Mrs. Weasley reached out a hand and pushed him through the door, saying, "Don't be silly, Harry, Arthur wants to thank you."

The ward was small and rather dingy, as the only window was narrow and set high in the wall facing the door. Most of the light came from more shining crystal bubbles clustered in the middle of the ceiling. The walls were of panelled oak and there was a portrait of a rather vicious-looking wizard on the wall, captioned: Urquhart Rackharrow, 1612—1697, Inventor of the Entrail-Expelling Curse.

There were only three patients. Mr. Weasley was occupying the bed at the far end of the ward beside the tiny window.

Harry was pleased and relieved to see that he was propped up on several pillows and reading the Daily Prophet by the solitary ray of sunlight falling on to his bed. He looked up as they walked towards him and, seeing who it was, beamed.

"Hello!" he called, throwing the Prophet aside. "Bill just left, Molly, had to get back to work, but he says he'll drop in on you later."

"How are you, Arthur?" asked Mrs. Weasley, bending down to kiss his cheek and looking anxiously into his face. "You're still looking a bit peaky."

"I feel absolutely fine," said Mr. Weasley brightly, holding out his good arm to give Ginny a hug.

"If they could only take the bandages off, I'd be fit to go home." Mr. Weasley assured them, reaching across for his wand, which lay on his bedside cabinet, and waving it so that six extra chairs appeared at his bedside to seat them all.

"So, you going to tell us what happened, Dad?" asked Fred, pulling his chair closer to the bed.

"Well, you already know, don't you?" said Mr. Weasley, with a significant smile at Harry. "It's very simple - I'd had a very long day, dozed off, got sneaked up on and bitten. Though I have to say, that fellow who helped me out till the ministry got there was a bit strange." Mr Weasley pondered.

"What fellow?" everyone seemed to chorus, faces showing various degrees of alarm.

"The one who was covered in a cloak," Mr Weasley pursed his lips before looking over at Harry curiously. "You didn't see him in your vision?" It wasn't really a question, though he continued to look at Harry.

Still, Harry mutely shook his head, in reply, as stumped about Mr Weasley's words as his family was. Suddenly Harry was assaulted with images of first year, of Voldemort drinking unicorn blood while wearing a cloak but Harry immediately discarded the thought, if it had been Voldemort, he definitely wouldn't have helped Mr Weasley.

"I could've sworn it was you there Harry, especially when everyone told me you'd been the reason why they found me in time," Mr Weasley murmured so softly everyone had started to lean in to hear what he was say. But upon registering the words, Harry jerked back, almost knocking a chair over in his shock. He knew it was impossible, he'd been in his bed the entire time, so what did all of it mean?

"Well it wasn't Harry and it couldn't have been someone from the Order either, otherwise Dumbledore wouldn't've been as worried as he was," Ron spoke up, though he kept his voice hushed.

"What did the man do, Arthur?" Mrs Weasley demanded, voice frightened.

"He incinerated the snake, and started stemming the bleeding from my wounds."

'So that's what the burning pain was,' Harry couldn't help thinking back to the dream and his last few seconds as the snake.

Mr Weasley frowned, looking as if he was concentrating on something.

"But I didn't recognize the spells he was muttering. Then he disappeared when he heard the Ministry people arriving. Regardless, the Healers keep saying that I should've been a lot worse off."

"What do they think about the stranger, Dad?" Ginny questioned.
"Oh I didn't tell them, goodness knows what they would've accused Dumbledore of if there had been two people down there. He's having a hard enough time covering up for me as it is," Mr Weasley said severely, voice brooking no argument.

"Well it seems you had guardian angels, Arthur, first with Harry, then with this stranger. I'm just glad you're alive," Mrs Weasley said but the smile on her face still seemed worried.

Harry's thoughts jumped back to Dumbledore, who'd said almost the exact same thing two months ago.

But why and how long would the protection last?

---

Okay, so there you have it! Another chapter done! :-) I'm so happy that it's finally published since I really struggled with writing this chapter for two reasons. One being that I didn't really know where I wanted this chapter to go and the other being that I struggled to find time to actually sit down and write. I tried writing during my semester but I kept thinking about all the other work I had to do and as ridiculous as it sounds, my conscience just wouldn't allow it. But I've current have a clear image of key things that need to happen during the next chapter so hopeful it will help move things along a bit. Anyway, I'm babbling now, thanks so much to those of you who are still sticking around, I know I don't make it ease and I'm looking forward to the next chapter as well as your reviews for this chapter, if you would be so kind.

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VERY IMPORTANT NOTICE:

I'm setting up a poll because I'm uncertain about when to have the trio find out about Merlin and Arthur's identities so please, if you have time, go and vote, this is the first time I've done a poll and I'd really appreciate as much input as possible!

Thank you and have a lovely day/night!