Chapter 29

Time That We Should Chat

"I agree you can get in, Harry, but how are you going to get her out of there? This is more than a one-man job." Hermione's face flushed as her argument with Harry continued, her bushy hair starting to escape their bindings.

The two friends verbally battled back and forth for half an hour, with Ron squeezing in a thought when given the chance. Ginny looked on mostly as a bystander.

"The Order cannot possibly put together a force to attack it," Harry argued for the tenth time, "The castle is far too well protected. We'd be sending them to their deaths. I'm not going to be responsible for that!" He set his jaw.

"But what's the point of getting in there if you can't get her out?" Hermione retorted reasonably, "I know the Order can't make a head-on attack, but maybe it can devise a plan to sneak in and sneak out." Harry frowned, but as much as he hated to admit it, Hermione had a point.

"OK, let's go over the whole thing again. Maybe we're missing something. Dobby!" The house elf appeared almost before Harry finished saying his name.

"Dobby, I'm sorry to bring you back again. We're having trouble deciding what to do. Can we go over what you learned again?" If Dobby felt reluctant to tell his story a fourth time, he did not show it.

"Of course, Harry Potter."

"Tell us if we're missing anything. You determined that Dotty is at McNaughton Castle in Scotland, and that Dotty's mother was able to visit her. She found out that the castle is headquarters for at least one hundred death eaters and other creatures. Dotty told her there were trolls and dementors for sure, but probably other creatures as well. Mrs. Malfoy is there but is in terrible shape, mourning the death of Draco. Lucius Malfoy is also there, at least part of the time, having been freed from Azkaban. Right so far?"

Dobby nodded, "Yes, Harry Potter, and Dotty says bad master is very upset."

"Now Dotty thinks that there are wards on the castle to prevent apparation, just like Hogwarts, but she's not sure. She can apparate if her master is there, but she's a house elf, and the wards wouldn't affect her. All we know is that she's never seen a wizard or witch apparate." Dobby nodded again at Harry's synopsis. Harry paced the room anxiously while he spoke.

"Dotty does not like McNaughton Castle," Dobby added, "Too much dark magic. Too ugly."

"Now, we know I can get into the castle by possessing Issamir again. He's already agreed to do it. I know from experience that Issamir is extremely stealthy. We'll be able to find Mrs. Malfoy, I know it. The problem again is what should I do when I find her."

The four stared at each other in silence until Ginny, of all people, broke it, "Why don't you just interrogate her right there. Take the veritaserum with you. Then when you're done, modify her memory, and sneak out of there in the snake." She sat on Harry's bed, her back leaning against the wall and her legs pulled underneath her.

In the days since her admittance to the group, the tension among the four had slightly decreased. Ron and Hermione's relationship progressed to the point that they would speak with each other about "business," though Harry and Ginny could easily detect the ill feelings between them. Ginny continued to feel out-of-place and carefully avoided speaking too much during their discussions, but gradually her comfort level increased to the point where she offered comments from time to time. Harry seemed half oblivious to such unimportant interpersonal relationships, his mind focused entirely on what lay ahead.

At first blush, Ginny's idea seemed to be the solution, but as they parsed it further, problems arose. Would Harry have enough time to question her? Would he find her alone? What about Lucius? What if a house elf sees him and informs someone? Moreover, they would like to be able to deliver Narcissa to the Order, as she would have a tremendous amount of valuable information. They set aside Ginny's idea as a possibility, but they hoped to figure out a better option.

And so it passed for hours, until at last past midnight, they departed for their rooms. Harry prepared himself for bed, completely frustrated. He ached to take action, any action. Laying his head on the pillow, Harry began his nightly ritual of clearing his mind and erecting his mental ice wall, when he abruptly stopped. No time like the present, he decided, and he pulled himself up, resting his back against the wall. Closing his eyes, he focused his energy on his scar, as he had done at least half a dozen times in dry runs. This time, however, he intended to launch the boat.

"Legilimens."

Harry initially desired that his first foray into Voldemort's mind be spectacular, causing as much pain and havoc as possible. Dumbledore, however, convinced Harry of the short-sightedness of that approach.

"Other than temporarily improving your spirits," he had argued, "the only effect will be to inform Voldemort of your ability to enter his mind. He will then take whatever steps are required to prevent such penetration in the future, and you will not have struck a lasting psychological blow. No, Harry, subtlety is the key, at least for now."

Feeling his mind link with the enemy's, Harry paused for a moment, breathing steadily and deeply. Apparently Voldemort did not yet feel his presence, and Harry saw flashes of light. He decided to remain still within the foreign mind. Gradually he could see and hear thoughts flash before him; scenes and noise that had no meaning to Harry. A death eater's mask, a door, a group of death eaters sitting together, cowering before him, a dead snake. Nagini! Though tempted to invade the mind at that point, he remained still.

Now he needed to put into practice the techniques taught to him by the professor. As softly as he could, Harry injected two words into Voldemort's mind: "Next attack." Dumbledore emphasized that no more than one or two words should be used; otherwise, the invaded mind almost certainly will recognize the intrusion and take steps to block it. Harry continued his deep breathing to calm his nerves - another teaching of Professor Dumbledore.

Before him appeared the Tower Bridge in London, with the Tower of London in the background. Death eaters hid underneath the bridge, wands at the ready. Harry had to suppress a gasp as he realized Voldemort's next target, one of the great symbols of England. Harry injected one more word: "When?"

"Tomorrow morning." Not sure if he heard the words or felt them, Harry understood perfectly. The Tower Bridge, and who knows what more, would be destroyed the next morning.

Suddenly Harry felt Voldemort's mind stop. The enemy sensed something amiss, and as Dumbledore had advised, Harry broke the link immediately. In this way, Voldemort would not be sure whether his mind had been invaded or not.

"Uncertainty is a powerful weapon," rang Dumbledore's words inside of Harry's head.

Harry jumped from his bed, running right and left through halls to reach Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's bedroom. With no time for civilized niceties, he banged on their door three times, yelling, "Mr. Weasley." Then he opened the door to find a startled Arthur Weasley sliding clumsily from his bed.

"What . . . Harry, what's going on?"

"Come with me right away! It's urgent." Arthur needed to hear nothing more. Now wide awake, he grabbed a robe and his wand and rushed out with Harry, as Molly looked on nervously. The two wizards sped down the stairs to the sitting room.

"Mr. Weasley, I can't tell you how, but I found out Voldemort's next target. It's the Tower of London. And Tower Bridge. Tomorrow morning - actually this morning," Harry explained in a rush, "You've got to contact Remus and tell him to come here. There may still be time to put some Order members under the bridge. Maybe we can stop them."

Arthur opened his mouth to ask if Harry was completely sure, but he needed only to examine Harry's face. Mr. Weasley muttered some words and then waving his wand said, "Expecto Patronum," sending his message to Remus. A rather small, dull, ill-defined animal emerged from the wand, which as best as Harry could determine appeared to be a camel or llama or some such creature. Despite the urgency of the moment, Harry could not avoid a certain shock that the patronus of an accomplished wizard such as Arthur Weasley was so, well, unimpressive. Harry's first patronuses back in third year far exceeded Arthur's in quality and size.

As they had a few minutes to wait, Arthur glanced at Harry and noted the young man's surprised expression.

"I'm sure my patronus does not measure up to yours, Harry. I have heard stories of your stag." Arthur indicated that Harry should sit while they waited, and both men found a chair. "Do you realize how rare it is to produce a patronus like yours?"

"Not really," Harry responded, "I know that it's considered advanced magic and that some wizards can't produce a corporeal patronus, but I assume that most can with enough practice." Arthur chuckled nervously, anxiously waiting for Remus to arrive.

"There you are quite mistaken, Harry. A few years ago I read a study about patronuses, something to do with contingency plans if the dementors left Azkaban. They discovered that fully half of the wizarding population can produce no more than a grey wisp, which would provide no protection at all. About half of the rest can produce a decent silver cloud, which at least will detain a dementor and may allow a witch or wizard to flee. Only about one fourth of the population can produce a corporeal patronus of any kind. Did you know that there are five stages of patronuses?"

"No, I've never heard that."

"Mine is a stage three, and only ten to fifteen percent of the population can produce a three or better. From what I hear, yours must be a one, the highest rating." Arthur stared seriously at the young man. "Less than one percent can produce a stage one, Harry."

Sometimes bits of information such as this can have a profound effect. Despite scores of instances where he had been told of his magical power, this statistical data shockingly proved to Harry that he truly was powerful. Extraordinarily powerful. In the top one percent of the population. He could think of nothing to say.

"I know you have been told many times, but you are an extremely powerful wizard, Harry. But power is not everything. Power can be combined with brilliance, stupidity, evil or good. Dumbledore always said it best, "It's . . ."

". . . our choices that make us," Harry finished. Arthur smiled and nodded his head.

"If you want, Harry, you can be as great as Dumbledore. You have what it takes . . . if you make the right choices." Harry looked down at his bare feet. A minute later, the fireplace crackled, and Remus stepped through the floo.

"Arthur, Harry," he greeted them perfunctorily, "What's the emergency?" Harry repeated his information.

The young man observed with interest as the more experienced wizards immediately devised an operation to protect the Tower Bridge and the people on it. These two had done this before, Harry realized, too many times. In no more than five minutes, they completed their impromptu plan, and Arthur rushed up the stairs to his room to dress. Remus stood to leave, but turned towards Harry and considered his best friend's son.

"You're sure about this, right?" Harry gazed directly into the werewolf's eyes.

"I'm positive."

"Maybe this is the break we need," Remus mused hopefully, and stepped towards the floo. Harry wanted to ask to come along, but he refrained. He had done what he could. Now it became a matter for the Order of the Phoenix.

"The Order will tend to its business, and I must tend to mine," he muttered to himself, as he slowly returned to his bedroom, "We have to find that medal." When he stretched out in his bed a few minutes later, now wide awake, Arthur's words echoed in his head: You can be as great as Dumbledore.

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DEATH EATER PLOT FOILED

The Prophet has learned that an outrageous plot by followers of He Who Must Not Be Named was foiled by resistance forces. The forces of light disabled the death eaters at the Tower of London and Tower Bridge, and prevented destruction of these British icons. Resistance forces, which prefer to remain anonymous, killed two death eaters and captured at least five others. The thanks of all of Britain must be extended to these brave freedom fighters.

Harry did not bother to read the rest of the article, as he already heard many of the details from Remus. Arthur and Remus had returned almost giddy with excitement at the success of their hastily arranged operation, almost entirely due to the element of surprise. The Prophet actually understated the victory, as the Order captured eight death eaters and killed five. Interrogation of the prisoners had already begun at Order headquarters.

"We can't thank you enough, Harry," Arthur gushed again, taking another celebratory sip of Ogden's Firewhiskey, "Hopefully this will give people a bit of hope, even if it isn't much."

While pleased that the plot had been derailed, Harry hardly felt triumphant. At best, this could be considered a temporary victory, and no doubt Voldemort would react with a vengeance. In fact, for the first time in many months, Harry felt Voldemort's anger in his scar. But all of this constituted nothing more than a side show. A day after the attack, Harry visited Dumbledore.

"You did what you had to do, Harry, I certainly do not blame you. Destruction of the Tower of London and the Bridge would have been devastating both to the wizarding and muggle public. Nevertheless, it is unfortunate that Voldemort will now know that you invaded his mind." The elderly wizard clearly did not feel his best this day, more hunched over than just a few days before when Harry last visited.

"How can we be sure? He could believe that the plot was given away by a traitor, or a prisoner," Harry responded, but deep down he knew the headmaster told the truth.

"Not impossible, I suppose, but do you really believe that?" Harry shook his head.

"Do you think I should keep doing it?" Harry inquired, "Invading his mind, I mean? I haven't tried since."

The old man still wore his nightclothes, and Harry thought he looked older and weaker than he had for some time. Fawkes perched on a chair in the apartment, and Winky performed various tasks. Though the professor did not feel well, he gave Harry's question his undivided attention.

"I believe you must. The battle has been joined, and you cannot now undo it. Yes, you must continue. Even though Voldemort now almost certainly knows of your intrusion into his mind, he will have been shaken by that fact. You must continue to erode his confidence, Harry, but you can be sure that he will counter. Yet as of now he has not, which leads me to believe that he is unsure of himself. You may have a slight advantage in this battle, and you must push ahead to exploit it." The young man smiled.

"That's what I wanted to hear, because I already decided to have another go at him tonight."

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"McNaughton."

Harry injected one word into Lord Voldemort's mind just a few hours after leaving Professor Dumbledore's flat. After spending half an hour mulling over which word to use, Harry finally decided to see if he could learn something about the castle where Narcissa Malfoy, and at least one hundred death eaters, currently resided. He considered many other words as well, but something told him to trust his instincts.

An image of an enormous medieval structure immediately appeared before Harry, an older, less well maintained version of Hogwarts, set in a narrow valley in rugged Scottish hills. Just as Harry began to concentrate on the image, it vanished.

"I've been expecting you, Harry," sneered a cold, ruthless voice. By the sound of it, Lord Voldemort felt in no mood for games. "Again, I must congratulate you. My defenses were lax, and I allowed you to enter my mind unnoticed. Do not plan on further mistakes, Harry."

"It seemed time that we should chat, Tom," countered Harry as lightly as he could, "You have not been round to visit lately,"

"My activities are of no concern to you," the enemy hissed, "but your intrusion shall not go unpunished, Harry Potter. I believe I can find some time in my busy schedule to kill you. You have become a nuisance."

Harry felt his scar tingle with pain, and he knew that Voldemort initiated an attempt both to drive Harry out of his mind and to enter the young wizard's mind at the same time. He could feel the dark lord's outrage.

"STAY WHERE YOU'RE AT," Harry's mind yelled, and he decided that the time for subtlety had passed. He rushed into Voldemort's mind with all of his might, seeing images flash by him like fence posts on a highway, and hearing a cacophony of sound, none of it intelligible. His purpose now was not to learn but to attack - to cause pain. "HOW DOES IT FEEL, TOM," he thought as he released years of hatred and frustration in the attack. Excitement coursed through his veins, much as he felt when slaying Nagini in the bowels of the Ministry.

Voldemort did not scream, but Harry knew that his attack caused excruciating pain. After a few moments, however, the dark lord forced his mind to retake control. Suddenly, without having the slightest idea how it happened, Harry felt himself surrounded, though by what he could not determine.

"Now you will suffer, Potter," Voldemort's voice snarled, his pain and anger evident.

Harry's mind, still somewhere inside of Voldemort's, became constricted. Something squeezed it from all sides, and then it began. First a numbness, then a dull throbbing, then real pain. Harry began to panic; he needed to escape this trap immediately, but he could not think rationally. In desperation, he thought to himself, "PUSH, PUSH, PUSH!" And with all of his power, he pushed out against the wall, and the battle truly began.

The two wizards' minds entangled in a way that neither of them understood, but they understood one aspect of it: the pain. Voldemort screamed now, Harry could hear it, but he could not enjoy it due to the explosion of pain in his scar, pain that he had not felt for years. The two minds alternately pushed, squeezed, slashed, bludgeoned, and battered each other, neither able to gain any advantage over the other. Minutes passed by, with the pain mounting for both participants, until both weakened.

Unknown to Harry, he had been screaming his lungs out in his bedroom, thrashing about on his bed, arms and legs flailing. Hermione and Ginny, both in their nightclothes, arrived first, followed a second later by Ron. Even Mr. and Mrs. Weasley could hear Harry from their room several halls away, and they arrived half a minute later, tying their robes around their stomachs. The five onlookers stared wide-eyed at the young man in anguish, but whose face nevertheless displayed tremendous determination.

Hermione restrained Ginny from going to Harry, recalling her own experience at the museum when she touched Harry during the Hufflepuff Cup battle.

When Mrs. Weasley arrived, she yelled, "What's happening to Harry? Somebody help him!" and she moved towards the bed only to be grabbed by Ron's right arm.

"Don't touch him, mum," he shouted to be heard over the noise coming from Harry, "We can't help him. He has to do this on his own."

"But what is he doing?" Arthur asked loudly.

Hermione turned and explained in a shout, "He's inside Voldemort's mind, or Voldemort is inside of his. Something has happened. They're fighting."

"Inside You Know Who's mind?" Molly screamed, "No!" Taking one last look at the boy she loved more than he knew, she fainted into Ron's arms.

"Get her to a bed," Arthur shouted in fear, and Ron and he half lifted and half dragged the plump woman down the hall to the first room with a bed.

"Is he going to die?" a trembling Ginny asked quietly, but Hermione couldn't hear her.

"What?" the older girl asked loudly.

"Is he going to die?" Ginny half shouted, her arms trembling. Never had she seen anything like it.

"NO!" Hermione shouted with utmost determination, "WE'RE NOT GOING TO LET HIM." Recalling Harry's struggle with Slytherin's locket, she dragged Ginny next to Harry's head and yelled into his ear, "WE'RE HERE, HARRY. YOU CAN DO IT! HE KILLED YOUR PARENTS. HE KILLED SIRIUS. YOU CAN DO IT!"

Ginny froze, shocked to hear the Head Girl shouting like a fan at the quidditch final, but she trusted that Hermione knew what to do and joined in, "YOU CAN DO IT, HARRY." She did not understand exactly what Harry needed to do.

As they continued shouting encouragement, Harry felt exhausted He wanted to get out of Voldemort's mind, but he could not figure out where to go or what to do. Thrashing about both on his bed and in the enemy's mind, Harry failed in his attempts to focus his mind. But he knew that Voldemort suffered too, which encouraged him to continue.

Suddenly, the pain ceased, and Harry found himself on the outside of a brick wall. He stopped screaming and thrashing, and Ginny and Hermione stopped their chants, watching their friend while holding their breath. In a moment, Harry understood what had happened. Voldemort gave up. He pushed Harry to the side and set up his wall through Occlumency.

"I did it!" he barely whispered as he panted heavily from the exertion, but Ginny and Hermione heard him. They remained silent, but looked worryingly at each other. Harry removed himself from Voldemort's head, and lay his own head down on his pillow in exhaustion.

"Is he all right?" he heard Ginny ask fearfully.

"I think so," he heard Hermione answer, "He's breathing OK. Let me check."

But before Hermione could perform a diagnostic check with her wand, Harry managed an exhausted smile and whispered without opening his eyes, "I'm OK. Wasn't much fun though."

Ginny continued trembling, but Hermione, more experienced with Harry's irritating habit of enduring extreme pain, asked, "Are you all right, Harry? Can we do anything for you?"

"My head hurts. Potion."

"Get the pain-relieving potion, Ginny; it's in the kitchen," Hermione ordered, but Ginny's feet remained immobile. "NOW!" The raised voice unstuck her feet, and the redhead shot out the door and down to the kitchen to find the potion.

Hermione pulled up the chair from the desk and sat next to the bed, taking Harry's hand into hers. He squeezed it gently in thanks.

In a moment, he asked, "Is there any water?" The Head Girl left her wand in her room, but seeing Harry's wand on the table, she grasped it and rapidly conjured a glass and filled it with pure, cold water.

"Here you go, Harry." The boy finally opened his eyes, but the light from the wall lamps, though dim, blinded him. Hermione immediately incanted "nox" at three of the lamps to dim the room further. "Is that better?" He opened his eyes again, and found the light level more to his liking.

"Thanks," he muttered, and took a deep gulp from the glass. After another gulp, the water disappeared, but Hermione quickly filled the glass anew. At that moment, Ginny came running back with the potion.

"Are you OK, Harry," she huffed, as none of them had much opportunity for exercise lately. She poured the correct measure of the navy blue mixture into a glass and handed it to him.

"I'm fine," Harry assured them, gradually coming back to life, "I just have a terrific headache." He gulped down the potion, and made a face at the acrid taste. "I don't even want to know what's in this stuff. Can you give me some more water?"

And so the two girls tended to the young wizard for the next several minutes, when Ron and Mr. Weasley returned. The potion helped, and other than exhaustion and a dull throbbing in his scar, Harry suffered no serious injury.

The others wanted to know what happened, but with Mr. Weasley in the room, they did not ask. Instead, Arthur informed them that Molly felt better and rested comfortably in her bed. After assuring himself of Harry's condition, he returned to be with his wife.

As soon as his father stepped out the door, Ron closed it, pulled out his wand and said, "Silencio. What happened, Harry?"

"Had a chat with Voldemort," Harry responded, "He wasn't in a very good mood, but then again, neither was I."

His friends waited for him to say more, but Harry fell back onto his pillow and closed his eyes. A minute passed, and nobody wanted to press him for any more information. Ultimately he rewarded their patience.

"It was kind of like fighting a horcrux. Magical power. Pain. Really can't explain it. You had to be there. But it worked. He was in a lot of pain, more than I was. I could feel it. He gave up. Pushed me out with Occlumency." His friends hesitated for a moment, glancing at each other.

"So, that means you won, right?" Ron asked, trying to read between the lines of Harry's cryptic statements.

"I guess you could say that."

"You were stronger than You Know Who?" Ginny gasped in disbelief. Harry reopened his eyes and stared at the redhead with irritation.

"I AM stronger than he is. And say his name! No 'You Know Who's' around here"

Chastised, Ginny remained silent, and Hermione wrapped a comforting arm around her. The older girl pondered the events of the evening.

"Do you think you really accomplished something, Harry? I mean, I don't think you really discovered any information, did you? You were in a lot of pain. It may not be a good idea to do this again."

"I accomplished a lot," Harry retorted, "Voldemort knows that I mean business now. He knows that I am more powerful, and that he's no longer in control. With Dumbledore gone, he thought he had no more obstacles. Now he knows differently."

Ron nodded his head in agreement, and asked, "So what are we going to do next?"

Harry closed his eyes again but spoke clearly, "We're going to take a trip. It's time to pay Mrs. Malfoy a visit at McNaughton Castle."