Chapter 28: Effects
It was rather hard, Albus Dumbledore found, to keep up the façade of the wise man who was always calm that evening.
Everyone in the headmaster's office had been in a very grave mood since the connection to Harry had broken when Voldemort had come into the room. Dumbledore himself was plainly scared that Harry was dead, but he tried not to show it, and he simply refused to give up hope before he knew more of what had happened.
From his armchair behind his desk, the headmaster surveyed the other people present.
Directly in front of his desk, four hospital beds had been put up, where Hermione, Ronny, Remus Lupin and Seamus Finnigan were being treated – the four persons who Harry had just saved from Voldemort's clutches before he himself had been caught. Madam Pomfrey, the kind soul, was no longer rushing from one bed to another and pushing various potions down her patients' throats, but after she'd finally been satisfied that they were as fine as it was possible for them to be, she had settled down on a seat next to the beds, not taking her eyes off her patients once.
Minerva was, like himself, trying to put on a brave face, though he had been her friend for a long time and he knew from her expression that she was having very troubled thoughts as well.
Dumbledore looked at Remus Lupin and Seamus Finnigan, who were both staring into space. They must have very confused thoughts, he was sure. Why had that murderer helped them out of Voldemort's hell? And why had Voldemort kidnapped them, anyway? After all, the Ministry still refused to admit that he was alive, and even those who knew the truth about his rebirth believed that he was lying low, hiding somewhere, doing nothing. For somebody, Albus knew, was covering his crimes up. He suspected that the Ministry of Magic was involved there.
These great fools.
Dumbledore had not yet told Remus, Seamus and Ronny about Harry's innocence. He wondered briefly if he should so that they wouldn't be so confused anymore, but then thought that they weren't in the mood for a long explanation right now. Especially the young boy.
Of Poppy's four patients, Ronny Longbottom worried him the most. The boy had gone through hell, and on such a young child this could have a traumatic effect. Ronny had not spoken a word after his return, only cried in his mother's arms for a short while, then lain back in his bed, closed his eyes and let his parents stroke his hair. Ginny was still having occasional crying fits, and Neville would from time to time bury his face in his hands and rest his arms on his knees.
Hermione was the only person speaking – she felt responsible for Harry's capture. Even after hours, she was still in tears. Minerva was with her all the time, trying to calm her.
And then there was Severus Snape. Severus was standing at one of the many windows in Albus' office, looking outside. To everybody else, he looked calm, but Albus knew the man better than most and knew from his features that he was extremely nervous, perhaps even a bit sad. Had he given up on Harry? Albus wondered what his relationship to Harry had become during their time together. He wouldn't be surprised if Harry had managed to break through the man's walls and become his friend. And he would be grateful if he had, for Severus could use all friends he got. And so could Harry.
Hermione was quietly crying again, and muttering.
"I should have warned him properly. . . I should have said who I meant. . . of course he didn't understand. . . God, this is all my fault. . ." she sobbed.
"Sssh. . . this is nobody's fault, Hermione." shushed Minerva. "You tried to warn him, and you weren't able to do anything more at the time."
"But I should have been!" Hermione sobbed again. "I couldn't even tell him what I wanted to. . . and now. . . now he's dead because of me. . ."
Snape suddenly wheeled around to face Hermione, his eyes shining with anger.
"God, can't you shut up for one minute!!!" he roared and grabbed one of Albus' silver instruments that lay on the table next to where he was standing. He hauled it against the wall so hard that it shattered into several pieces.
Everybody stared at him in shock. Even Hermione's sobs had ceased. None of them had ever seen the calm man lose control like that. Even Snape himself seemed surprised.
Albus slowly stood up from his armchair, walked over to his distressed friend and laid a hand onto the man's shoulder.
Snape stared at the floor, taking several long, deep breaths. "I'm sorry, Albus." he mumbled, then quickly turned around again and looked out of the window.
He took a big jump back, shocked, as Harry Potter suddenly appeared just outside the window on a broom.
** +++++ **
Lord Voldemort had never been so angry.
Most of his servants had fallen victim to his anger before he had finally allowed them to go home. The Dark Lord had shot out many Cruciatus Curses that day, even killed two of his more annoying followers, who had dared to tell him that it would all work out in the end. As if he, Lord Voldemort, a man whose very name every wizard and witch in the United Kingdom feared, needed to be comforted like a weak little child.
He could not tolerate his servants thinking of him as a weak little child.
And he didn't want anyone but himself to cool down his anger. Great anger was a flaw, of course, for it hindered one from thinking clearly. But Lord Voldemort was flawless – his brain worked perfectly through the few emotions he had – and a little anger every once in a while did, after all, give new mental strength.
Not that he really needed it.
The Dark Lord was as fixed on his plans as he had ever been. His time of waiting was coming to an end – he would soon set the big plan into action. He would start with small institutions, and in the end, when all of the wizarding world had given up hope, had stopped fighting and accepted their downfall, when Albus Dumbledore was standing alone with his castle – then he would attack Hogwarts. He had the ultimate weapon – his medal, which gave him power beyond imagination. Nothing could stand in his way. Nothing.
Except Harry Potter.
The dry wood in the fireplace of the room burst into flames as the Dark Lord thought about that person. Harry Potter. The man who refused to join him. The only man who would be considerably hard to get out of the way. Potter, his biggest enemy, who he, the Dark Lord, had, admittedly, failed to kill – again.
He'd had the chance. Potter had been lying there, pinned to the ground, weak and injured. He'd been lying in front of his feet for hours, while his Deatheaters had played with him, while he had waited for him to crack, to agree to become a Deatheater. But Potter had never cracked. Potter had even escaped and got safely back to wherever his hideout was.
Or perhaps he hadn't.
It was a hope that Lord Voldemort still had. Perhaps Potter wasn't fine. Perhaps he was permanently injured, and would therefor be easier to kill later. Perhaps Potter was now lying somewhere on the ground, moaning or screaming in pain, bleeding to death from his wounds. . . perhaps he would be found and arrested again. . .
** +++++ **
Harry Potter moaned in pain as Snape hurriedly tore the remains of his robes off of his broken body, leaving him in only his black boxers.
Only seconds later he found himself lying in the hospital bed that Dumbledore had quickly conjured up for him upon his arrival.
The headmaster did a magical scan on him to discover the spells and curses that had been used on him, and gasped at what he discovered. Among the most cruel torturing curses he had ever come across, there was one that – as a side effect - deactivated all anti-pain potions as well as sleeping potions or spells. The spell's strength made it obvious that it would last for a long while and be hard to remove. Voldemort's work, the headmaster knew.
Harry was still coughing up blood and the state of his lungs was now Madam Pomfrey's first priority - his broken leg and torn skin would have to wait. The medi-witch treated his broken ribs and punctured lungs with various spells and potions, sometimes assisted by Dumbledore. Harry himself couldn't move. His legs and arms were once again pinned to the ground – in this case the bed – so that he wouldn't struggle against the treatment. And Harry knew that, if he could, he would have kicked around in agony.
Though Harry tried to make as few sounds as possible, the pain he was feeling was written all over his face and the people around him looked at him in a mixture of pity and sadness.
"Albus!" he suddenly gasped and more blood ran out of his mouth. "I. . . know. . . how to. . ."
"Don't talk!" Madam Pomfrey snapped. "Your condition is bad enough as it is!"
"But. . . we must. . ."
"I said DO NOT TALK, Mr Potter! Do you want to survive this or not?!"
Hermione's sobs in the background became louder.
Harry desperately tried to catch Albus' gaze, which finally he did. Also, his eyes must have displayed his desperateness to Albus, since the headmaster immediately said: "Poppy, I think that Harry here has to say something important."
"No" Pomfrey shook her head, "No no no, headmaster. Not even on your request will I risk my patient's health. Look at him. We cannot afford to lose any time. . ."
"I know. . . how to kill. . . Voldemort." Harry gasped again.
Finally, he had the attention of all.
"You know how to kill the Dark Lord, Potter?" Snape breathed.
Harry nodded shortly. "He's bound. . . all his power. . ."
Again: A small coughing fit, much blood, a very worried and angry Madam Pomfrey, who, though, stayed silent – as did everybody else.
". . . to the medal. . . around his neck. . . the medal, Albus. . ."
Dumbledore nodded quickly, in order to show that he had understood.
". . . we must destroy it. . . than he'll be powerless. . . like a Muggle, Albus. . . destroy it. . ." Harry gasped, and more blood ran down his cheek.
"Do you know how to destroy it, Harry?" Dumbledore demanded.
"Figure it out. . ." Harry replied, ". . . there must. . . be a way. . ."
"Oh, that's rich, Potter!" Snape spat. "They must have done something to your brain, really! Figure it out! I mean, it's only by far the strongest magical object on the world, but hey, don't worry, we'll just figure out how to destroy it and then we're rid of the Dark Lord! HAS YOUR GRYFFINDOR STUPIDITY FINALLY GOT THE BETTER OF YOU?!!!" he ended, not far from yelling.
Harry shut his eyes tightly. "It's all I got out. . . I couldn't stay any longer. . . he was about to. . . finish me off. . ."
There was a moment of silence. Then, surprising all, it was not Snape, but Hermione, who exploded.
"You willingly stayed in the Dark Lord's captivity to get some stupid information, Harry?! Are you mad?!" she yelled. Then she calmed down a bit and started to cry again. "Do you. . . do you have any idea how worried we've all been? I thought. . . I. . . I" she sobbed, "I was sure that I had killed you!!!"
"I'm. . . okay, Hermione. . . it wasn't your fault. . . I should have realised. . . what you were trying to. . . warn me of" Harry said weakly, before breaking into the next coughing fit that brought more blood running down his face onto the formerly clean white pillow.
"Good, that matter is settled then." said Madam Pomfrey furiously. "You have said what you wanted to. Now I will tolerate no more interruptions in my treatment."
Nobody objected, and again Harry was exposed to various healing spells and potions. Sometimes she had Snape tell her some details about a potion, or she had Albus look something up in a book. Harry was beginning to feel better as the time went by – there certainly was no longer any death danger. Also, those around him were feeling better – more relaxed. Hermione was no longer crying, but talking to Minerva and occasionally walked over to Harry to check on him and talk a word or two. The Longbottoms were also quietly talking, though Ronny did not say anything. Snape was constantly next to Harry, shooting sarcastic remarks and just being there. Harry was grateful for it.
At some point, Madam Pomfrey gave Harry a potion to adapt the repaired part of his lungs to his body and blood system – at least that was what she said it did. What she had not told Harry, though, was that it would be extremely painful.
After a horrible scream, several tears and much struggling against the bounds, Harry Potter sank into a restful, painless, silent faint.
** +++++ **
Two minutes to nine. Leon Creevey and Martin Whitby were standing in front of a big grey stone gargoyle, waiting.
They had been rather surprised when that evening at the Christmas feast (where, oddly, Dumbledore and McGonagall had been absent), they had got an owl from McGonagall, their Head of House, saying that they were to meet her at the entrance of the headmaster's office at 9pm sharp, and that it was important that they came alone and did not tell anyone where they were going, if asked.
Both boys agreed that something extraordinary must be going on, for the teacher's orders sounded oddly mysterious. And both agreed that it must have something to do with the kidnapping of their best friend Ronny. What else would McGonagall have to show or talk about to them, and so urgently that they had to come on Christmas Eve? And why else this secret keeping?
They just hoped that it was good news about Ronny rather than bad ones.
The stone gargoyle moved aside to reveal McGonagall standing there.
"You're there, good." said the old woman. "Have you been followed? Does anybody know where you are?"
They shook their heads.
"Good. Come in, then."
The two boys did, and the stone gargoyle moved back into place.
"Professor. . . what is this all about?" Martin asked.
McGonagall sighed. "Yes, Mr Whitby. . . yes, you are right. It is better that I tell you now, before you see it and get a huge shock. . ."
The boys' gazes met. This was something serious. Had anything happened to Ronny? Had Potter done anything to him? Was he. . . no, they wouldn't think about it.
"Mr Longbottom and the other victims have all been rescued out of captivity." informed McGonagall. The words had the effect she had expected.
Leon and Martin screamed with relief and embraced each other tightly. It was a touching scene, found Minerva McGonagall, to see how much these boys cared about their friend, and what this war was doing to them. A wave of hate towards the monster that had caused all this ran through her, but she held her many emotions under control firmly, as she had done so often already.
"So Potter has been caught? By who? Dumbledore or the Ministry?" Leon asked after a long moment of silence.
"Contrary to common belief, it was not Harry Potter who held them." said the Professor.
"Not?" repeated Martin. "But he wrote letters to the Ministry, saying that. . ."
"These letters were fake. In fact, it was Mr Potter who rescued your friend."
"WHAT? That murderer. . ."
McGonagall sighed again. Then, much to their amazement, she pulled out three little stones out of her pocket and laid them onto the floor. She enlarged them with a spell and then transfigured them into chairs.
"You might want to sit down." she offered. "I am now going to tell you a rather long story. . ."
Long it was. Shocking, too. Yet, Martin and Leon believed every word their transfiguration teacher told them. They had never had any reason not to trust her, and the story answered more than one of the questions that they had had.
McGonagall told them the story of Harry Potter – an innocent convict, a fugitive of the Ministry. About how he'd had many experiences with fighting the Dark Arts, about how he'd just risked his life to save those of the others and had been tortured by the Dark Lord after having been caught.
Finally, she said that the rescued people were all being treated in Dumbledore's office as well as their rescuer, repeated once again that Potter was on their side and that they were not to attack him, and that they should try to act normal towards Ronny, though the boy was "not himself at the moment". They wondered what she meant by that, and how the terrible experiences had affected their friend.
After they had been given the main background information and warned what they would meet, the two boys were finally lead into Dumbledore's office.
They got a shock nevertheless.
Indeed, all kidnapped were in the room, looking very much like McGonagall had described: bruised bloody, full of scars. Though the adults seemed to be feeling alright. Professor Granger sent them a small smile, the Auror Finnigan and Remus Lupin said hello. Potter was there, too – asleep. His face was grey and he looked very weak, yet more peaceful than he had on any of the pictures f him that were published in the Daily Prophet. Like the others, he was lying in a hospital bed, but his arms and legs were magically pinned to the bed. Both boys briefly wondered what these security measures were for, now that it had turned out that Potter was not a murderer at all.
Their friend Ronny was lying in a bed, holding his mothers hand, looking. . . empty. He didn't even look down from the spot on the ceiling he had his eyes fixed on when they walked over to him.
"Hi, Ronny." said Leon quietly. Still, no reaction.
When Martin carefully laid his hand onto his friend's shoulder, though, Ronny shrank away from it and rolled over so that he no longer faced the ceiling, but his mother. Martin and Leon saw that he was shaking and clutching Ginny Longbottom's hand stronger than before.
The two boys stared at Ronny, not knowing what to do. So this was what McGonagall had meant by saying that he was "not himself at the moment". They only hoped he would recover from the shock he was apparently under, and open up to them again.
The silence was broken when Harry Potter suddenly moaned and started to struggle against the magic that held him. But it didn't budge.
Both the headmaster and Madam Pomfrey were a his side immediately. All others in the room turned their attention to him, too. Even Ronny looked in his direction.
"A vision, probably. . ." muttered Dumbledore. Pomfrey checked his pulse and remarked that it was dangerously high.
"Is there a way we can stop this, Albus?" she asked.
The headmaster shook his head. "No. . . none that I know of. We've tried Occlumency once, but he's just not made for that. . . He'll survive, Poppy."
There was silence for a while, during which they all looked at the haunted man who was their saviour and who was currently chained to a hospital bed, his face twisted in pain.
"Can we get that on the screen?" asked Snape suddenly.
"WHAT?!" exclaimed Hermione.
"If this is a vision", explained the Potions Master, "it might be important. I know for a fact that Potter forgets some of them. And we cannot afford to miss anything."
Albus considered it. After a moment, he nodded. "I'm not sure if it works, but it is worth a try. Those of you who don't want to see this, please go into my adjoining private rooms for the time. I will get you once this is over."
Nobody moved.
"Are you sure?" he asked, looking specifically at Leon and Martin. The two boys nodded. This was their one chance to see something akin to what Ronny had lived through, they both new. They would not miss it.
Dumbledore laid a hand onto Potter's forehead, who tried, in vain, to shake it off – moaning again. The headmaster tried to reattach the charm that linked the man's mind with the screen. Indeed, it worked.
What they saw made them tremble.
*** +++++ ***
"M. . . my Lord. . . he was too fast. . ."
"CRUCIO!" roared the Dark Lord. Most of his Deatheaters had never seen him so angry. His red eyes were glowing.
"Do not ever talk back to me again, Nott!" he whispered after Nott had finally finished screaming. "You have FAILED!!! All of you!"
He glared at each of the trembling black figures kneeling in front of him.
"Goyle, you followed him by broom, too, didn't you?" the monster hissed.
"Yes, my Lord."
"Why didn't you get him?"
"As Nott said, he was too fast. . . you see, my Lord, he was an excellent Quidditch player at school, always got the snitch faster than anybody else. Perhaps he's been practising his skills and now. . ."
"CRUCIO!" yelled the Dark Lord again, wondering if perhaps he'd be better off without the two dumb gorillas that used to play young Malfoy's bodyguards in their childhood.
"Avery! He stunned you, didn't he? How come?"
"My Lord, as we all know Potter is a very fast and powerful dueller. . ."
"CRUCIO!"
After a short moment he stopped the curse and hissed again in that quiet, deadly dangerous voice: "I had Potter here, lying on the ground before me, unable to move, tortured, weak as never before, and you let him just blow off the wall and fly out. He had a punctured lung, problems breathing. He was practically half dead. Yet, he fought you all down and flew away on a broom, when he was outnumbered 40 to one. . ."
"It was 37 to one, in fact." corrected Crabbe. "Er. . . my Lord." He added upon seeing the shocked and horrified looks his fellows were giving him.
Even Voldemort blinked in surprise when suddenly something happened that had never, ever, happened before, and which none of those present, and neither the man watching through a vision because of his scar, would ever forget.
The incredible pain hit them all at once, and some fell dead, though most survived the huge amount of raw magic and the inhuman pain that it brought, screaming in a way that made their enemies pity them, until their vocal chords could no longer produce any sound.
Voldemort's medal was radiating power on its own, controlled not by his will, but by his emotions.
Even the Dark Lord had not known that his new weapon could work this way.
Voldemort laughed. Things were getting interesting.
** +++++ **
Harry's eyes flew open, yet he saw nothing. He felt pain, worse than anything he'd ever felt before, and he screamed as his enemy's magic went through him, tearing him up from inside, or so it felt. His body was spasming violently, his bed was rattling, and he tried, in vain, to fight Voldemort's magic off with his own. But he couldn't.
Albus was at his side immediately, helping him in the fight against the dark power. Harry rather felt than saw or heard him.
In spite of both their powers combined, Harry was beginning to feel weaker, to feel whatever Voldemort had cast consuming him.
Until Snape managed to pour some potion into Harry's mouth.
Harry still felt physically weak, but his magic strengthened and after a while, Albus and he had drawn all of the dark magic out of his body.
He managed to stop his screams, and his eyes fell shut. He heard voices, but they were sounding more and more distant."
"Will he live?"
"I have hope – he's a fighter. But he'll be physically and magically exhausted for a few days, the way this looks. . ."
Then everything went black.
**
+++++ **
"So, young dragon. . ."
"My Lord?"
Draco Malfoy was, once again, kneeling in front of the thing he called master. It was past midnight and he was extremely tired. He hadn't slept much the last night because he'd had a bad conscience about Hermione and the others that had been tortured because he had brought them to Voldemort, and that night he'd gone to Dumbledore for help. In the morning, he had accompanied Potter to Voldemort's castle, and since then he hadn't left that awful place. Later he'd had much work to do, healing the wound Potter had left on Voldemort, then the long hours recovering from whatever it had been that the monster's medal had done. . . and finally helping the other Deatheaters recover with potions. . . and of course helping getting rid of the bodies of those who had not recovered.
"I understand it that you still have connections to the Ministry of Magic?"
"Yes, my Lord."
Damn. Sounded like a new mission.
"You will use them to find out some things about them. About their headquarters. You may use all means to get the information, just do not get caught."
"What things, my Lord, if I may ask?" said Draco, wondering why Voldemort was suddenly interested in the Ministry. He had just ignored it so far.
"You may ask, for you must of course know. You will find out about the security on the building, what curses there are, how strong, and how much effort it will take for us to break them. And. . ."
The monster smiled evilly.
"You will make sure that Sirius Black will be there. We shall find out how much Potter still cares about him."
Did this mean. . .
"Yes, young Dragon. I will finally give up hiding and make sure that everybody knows what to expect from me. The Ministry will fall soon. Many people will fall with it. Good people. Important people. People who give those Mudbloods hope."
"That is a brilliant plan, my Lord."
"My plans, Draco, are always brilliant."
"Of course, my Lord." responded Draco quickly.
"And then we shall attack more and more and more. . . mudbloods and more mudbloods. . . they will be terrified of me. . . and do you know what they will do upon seeing that the Ministry is absolutely powerless?"
"They will. . ."
At that moment Draco Malfoy fully realised what his master's plan meant.
"They will turn to Dumbledore, my Lord. They will turn their trust back to Dumbledore."
"Exactly. And not only that. We will make them feel so unsafe at home that they will run to Hogwarts. . . hundreds of mudbloods. . . thousands of mudbloods in Hogwarts – the castle certainly is big enough. And then. . ."
This maniac smile was back to the Dark Lord's face.
"Then we will attack Hogwarts. We will kill Albus Dumbledore and all that dare to stand aside him. And, of course, those mudbloods. All will be out of our way. It is getting time, Draco. It is getting time for me and my followers to take over the world."
It was rather hard, Albus Dumbledore found, to keep up the façade of the wise man who was always calm that evening.
Everyone in the headmaster's office had been in a very grave mood since the connection to Harry had broken when Voldemort had come into the room. Dumbledore himself was plainly scared that Harry was dead, but he tried not to show it, and he simply refused to give up hope before he knew more of what had happened.
From his armchair behind his desk, the headmaster surveyed the other people present.
Directly in front of his desk, four hospital beds had been put up, where Hermione, Ronny, Remus Lupin and Seamus Finnigan were being treated – the four persons who Harry had just saved from Voldemort's clutches before he himself had been caught. Madam Pomfrey, the kind soul, was no longer rushing from one bed to another and pushing various potions down her patients' throats, but after she'd finally been satisfied that they were as fine as it was possible for them to be, she had settled down on a seat next to the beds, not taking her eyes off her patients once.
Minerva was, like himself, trying to put on a brave face, though he had been her friend for a long time and he knew from her expression that she was having very troubled thoughts as well.
Dumbledore looked at Remus Lupin and Seamus Finnigan, who were both staring into space. They must have very confused thoughts, he was sure. Why had that murderer helped them out of Voldemort's hell? And why had Voldemort kidnapped them, anyway? After all, the Ministry still refused to admit that he was alive, and even those who knew the truth about his rebirth believed that he was lying low, hiding somewhere, doing nothing. For somebody, Albus knew, was covering his crimes up. He suspected that the Ministry of Magic was involved there.
These great fools.
Dumbledore had not yet told Remus, Seamus and Ronny about Harry's innocence. He wondered briefly if he should so that they wouldn't be so confused anymore, but then thought that they weren't in the mood for a long explanation right now. Especially the young boy.
Of Poppy's four patients, Ronny Longbottom worried him the most. The boy had gone through hell, and on such a young child this could have a traumatic effect. Ronny had not spoken a word after his return, only cried in his mother's arms for a short while, then lain back in his bed, closed his eyes and let his parents stroke his hair. Ginny was still having occasional crying fits, and Neville would from time to time bury his face in his hands and rest his arms on his knees.
Hermione was the only person speaking – she felt responsible for Harry's capture. Even after hours, she was still in tears. Minerva was with her all the time, trying to calm her.
And then there was Severus Snape. Severus was standing at one of the many windows in Albus' office, looking outside. To everybody else, he looked calm, but Albus knew the man better than most and knew from his features that he was extremely nervous, perhaps even a bit sad. Had he given up on Harry? Albus wondered what his relationship to Harry had become during their time together. He wouldn't be surprised if Harry had managed to break through the man's walls and become his friend. And he would be grateful if he had, for Severus could use all friends he got. And so could Harry.
Hermione was quietly crying again, and muttering.
"I should have warned him properly. . . I should have said who I meant. . . of course he didn't understand. . . God, this is all my fault. . ." she sobbed.
"Sssh. . . this is nobody's fault, Hermione." shushed Minerva. "You tried to warn him, and you weren't able to do anything more at the time."
"But I should have been!" Hermione sobbed again. "I couldn't even tell him what I wanted to. . . and now. . . now he's dead because of me. . ."
Snape suddenly wheeled around to face Hermione, his eyes shining with anger.
"God, can't you shut up for one minute!!!" he roared and grabbed one of Albus' silver instruments that lay on the table next to where he was standing. He hauled it against the wall so hard that it shattered into several pieces.
Everybody stared at him in shock. Even Hermione's sobs had ceased. None of them had ever seen the calm man lose control like that. Even Snape himself seemed surprised.
Albus slowly stood up from his armchair, walked over to his distressed friend and laid a hand onto the man's shoulder.
Snape stared at the floor, taking several long, deep breaths. "I'm sorry, Albus." he mumbled, then quickly turned around again and looked out of the window.
He took a big jump back, shocked, as Harry Potter suddenly appeared just outside the window on a broom.
** +++++ **
Lord Voldemort had never been so angry.
Most of his servants had fallen victim to his anger before he had finally allowed them to go home. The Dark Lord had shot out many Cruciatus Curses that day, even killed two of his more annoying followers, who had dared to tell him that it would all work out in the end. As if he, Lord Voldemort, a man whose very name every wizard and witch in the United Kingdom feared, needed to be comforted like a weak little child.
He could not tolerate his servants thinking of him as a weak little child.
And he didn't want anyone but himself to cool down his anger. Great anger was a flaw, of course, for it hindered one from thinking clearly. But Lord Voldemort was flawless – his brain worked perfectly through the few emotions he had – and a little anger every once in a while did, after all, give new mental strength.
Not that he really needed it.
The Dark Lord was as fixed on his plans as he had ever been. His time of waiting was coming to an end – he would soon set the big plan into action. He would start with small institutions, and in the end, when all of the wizarding world had given up hope, had stopped fighting and accepted their downfall, when Albus Dumbledore was standing alone with his castle – then he would attack Hogwarts. He had the ultimate weapon – his medal, which gave him power beyond imagination. Nothing could stand in his way. Nothing.
Except Harry Potter.
The dry wood in the fireplace of the room burst into flames as the Dark Lord thought about that person. Harry Potter. The man who refused to join him. The only man who would be considerably hard to get out of the way. Potter, his biggest enemy, who he, the Dark Lord, had, admittedly, failed to kill – again.
He'd had the chance. Potter had been lying there, pinned to the ground, weak and injured. He'd been lying in front of his feet for hours, while his Deatheaters had played with him, while he had waited for him to crack, to agree to become a Deatheater. But Potter had never cracked. Potter had even escaped and got safely back to wherever his hideout was.
Or perhaps he hadn't.
It was a hope that Lord Voldemort still had. Perhaps Potter wasn't fine. Perhaps he was permanently injured, and would therefor be easier to kill later. Perhaps Potter was now lying somewhere on the ground, moaning or screaming in pain, bleeding to death from his wounds. . . perhaps he would be found and arrested again. . .
** +++++ **
Harry Potter moaned in pain as Snape hurriedly tore the remains of his robes off of his broken body, leaving him in only his black boxers.
Only seconds later he found himself lying in the hospital bed that Dumbledore had quickly conjured up for him upon his arrival.
The headmaster did a magical scan on him to discover the spells and curses that had been used on him, and gasped at what he discovered. Among the most cruel torturing curses he had ever come across, there was one that – as a side effect - deactivated all anti-pain potions as well as sleeping potions or spells. The spell's strength made it obvious that it would last for a long while and be hard to remove. Voldemort's work, the headmaster knew.
Harry was still coughing up blood and the state of his lungs was now Madam Pomfrey's first priority - his broken leg and torn skin would have to wait. The medi-witch treated his broken ribs and punctured lungs with various spells and potions, sometimes assisted by Dumbledore. Harry himself couldn't move. His legs and arms were once again pinned to the ground – in this case the bed – so that he wouldn't struggle against the treatment. And Harry knew that, if he could, he would have kicked around in agony.
Though Harry tried to make as few sounds as possible, the pain he was feeling was written all over his face and the people around him looked at him in a mixture of pity and sadness.
"Albus!" he suddenly gasped and more blood ran out of his mouth. "I. . . know. . . how to. . ."
"Don't talk!" Madam Pomfrey snapped. "Your condition is bad enough as it is!"
"But. . . we must. . ."
"I said DO NOT TALK, Mr Potter! Do you want to survive this or not?!"
Hermione's sobs in the background became louder.
Harry desperately tried to catch Albus' gaze, which finally he did. Also, his eyes must have displayed his desperateness to Albus, since the headmaster immediately said: "Poppy, I think that Harry here has to say something important."
"No" Pomfrey shook her head, "No no no, headmaster. Not even on your request will I risk my patient's health. Look at him. We cannot afford to lose any time. . ."
"I know. . . how to kill. . . Voldemort." Harry gasped again.
Finally, he had the attention of all.
"You know how to kill the Dark Lord, Potter?" Snape breathed.
Harry nodded shortly. "He's bound. . . all his power. . ."
Again: A small coughing fit, much blood, a very worried and angry Madam Pomfrey, who, though, stayed silent – as did everybody else.
". . . to the medal. . . around his neck. . . the medal, Albus. . ."
Dumbledore nodded quickly, in order to show that he had understood.
". . . we must destroy it. . . than he'll be powerless. . . like a Muggle, Albus. . . destroy it. . ." Harry gasped, and more blood ran down his cheek.
"Do you know how to destroy it, Harry?" Dumbledore demanded.
"Figure it out. . ." Harry replied, ". . . there must. . . be a way. . ."
"Oh, that's rich, Potter!" Snape spat. "They must have done something to your brain, really! Figure it out! I mean, it's only by far the strongest magical object on the world, but hey, don't worry, we'll just figure out how to destroy it and then we're rid of the Dark Lord! HAS YOUR GRYFFINDOR STUPIDITY FINALLY GOT THE BETTER OF YOU?!!!" he ended, not far from yelling.
Harry shut his eyes tightly. "It's all I got out. . . I couldn't stay any longer. . . he was about to. . . finish me off. . ."
There was a moment of silence. Then, surprising all, it was not Snape, but Hermione, who exploded.
"You willingly stayed in the Dark Lord's captivity to get some stupid information, Harry?! Are you mad?!" she yelled. Then she calmed down a bit and started to cry again. "Do you. . . do you have any idea how worried we've all been? I thought. . . I. . . I" she sobbed, "I was sure that I had killed you!!!"
"I'm. . . okay, Hermione. . . it wasn't your fault. . . I should have realised. . . what you were trying to. . . warn me of" Harry said weakly, before breaking into the next coughing fit that brought more blood running down his face onto the formerly clean white pillow.
"Good, that matter is settled then." said Madam Pomfrey furiously. "You have said what you wanted to. Now I will tolerate no more interruptions in my treatment."
Nobody objected, and again Harry was exposed to various healing spells and potions. Sometimes she had Snape tell her some details about a potion, or she had Albus look something up in a book. Harry was beginning to feel better as the time went by – there certainly was no longer any death danger. Also, those around him were feeling better – more relaxed. Hermione was no longer crying, but talking to Minerva and occasionally walked over to Harry to check on him and talk a word or two. The Longbottoms were also quietly talking, though Ronny did not say anything. Snape was constantly next to Harry, shooting sarcastic remarks and just being there. Harry was grateful for it.
At some point, Madam Pomfrey gave Harry a potion to adapt the repaired part of his lungs to his body and blood system – at least that was what she said it did. What she had not told Harry, though, was that it would be extremely painful.
After a horrible scream, several tears and much struggling against the bounds, Harry Potter sank into a restful, painless, silent faint.
** +++++ **
Two minutes to nine. Leon Creevey and Martin Whitby were standing in front of a big grey stone gargoyle, waiting.
They had been rather surprised when that evening at the Christmas feast (where, oddly, Dumbledore and McGonagall had been absent), they had got an owl from McGonagall, their Head of House, saying that they were to meet her at the entrance of the headmaster's office at 9pm sharp, and that it was important that they came alone and did not tell anyone where they were going, if asked.
Both boys agreed that something extraordinary must be going on, for the teacher's orders sounded oddly mysterious. And both agreed that it must have something to do with the kidnapping of their best friend Ronny. What else would McGonagall have to show or talk about to them, and so urgently that they had to come on Christmas Eve? And why else this secret keeping?
They just hoped that it was good news about Ronny rather than bad ones.
The stone gargoyle moved aside to reveal McGonagall standing there.
"You're there, good." said the old woman. "Have you been followed? Does anybody know where you are?"
They shook their heads.
"Good. Come in, then."
The two boys did, and the stone gargoyle moved back into place.
"Professor. . . what is this all about?" Martin asked.
McGonagall sighed. "Yes, Mr Whitby. . . yes, you are right. It is better that I tell you now, before you see it and get a huge shock. . ."
The boys' gazes met. This was something serious. Had anything happened to Ronny? Had Potter done anything to him? Was he. . . no, they wouldn't think about it.
"Mr Longbottom and the other victims have all been rescued out of captivity." informed McGonagall. The words had the effect she had expected.
Leon and Martin screamed with relief and embraced each other tightly. It was a touching scene, found Minerva McGonagall, to see how much these boys cared about their friend, and what this war was doing to them. A wave of hate towards the monster that had caused all this ran through her, but she held her many emotions under control firmly, as she had done so often already.
"So Potter has been caught? By who? Dumbledore or the Ministry?" Leon asked after a long moment of silence.
"Contrary to common belief, it was not Harry Potter who held them." said the Professor.
"Not?" repeated Martin. "But he wrote letters to the Ministry, saying that. . ."
"These letters were fake. In fact, it was Mr Potter who rescued your friend."
"WHAT? That murderer. . ."
McGonagall sighed again. Then, much to their amazement, she pulled out three little stones out of her pocket and laid them onto the floor. She enlarged them with a spell and then transfigured them into chairs.
"You might want to sit down." she offered. "I am now going to tell you a rather long story. . ."
Long it was. Shocking, too. Yet, Martin and Leon believed every word their transfiguration teacher told them. They had never had any reason not to trust her, and the story answered more than one of the questions that they had had.
McGonagall told them the story of Harry Potter – an innocent convict, a fugitive of the Ministry. About how he'd had many experiences with fighting the Dark Arts, about how he'd just risked his life to save those of the others and had been tortured by the Dark Lord after having been caught.
Finally, she said that the rescued people were all being treated in Dumbledore's office as well as their rescuer, repeated once again that Potter was on their side and that they were not to attack him, and that they should try to act normal towards Ronny, though the boy was "not himself at the moment". They wondered what she meant by that, and how the terrible experiences had affected their friend.
After they had been given the main background information and warned what they would meet, the two boys were finally lead into Dumbledore's office.
They got a shock nevertheless.
Indeed, all kidnapped were in the room, looking very much like McGonagall had described: bruised bloody, full of scars. Though the adults seemed to be feeling alright. Professor Granger sent them a small smile, the Auror Finnigan and Remus Lupin said hello. Potter was there, too – asleep. His face was grey and he looked very weak, yet more peaceful than he had on any of the pictures f him that were published in the Daily Prophet. Like the others, he was lying in a hospital bed, but his arms and legs were magically pinned to the bed. Both boys briefly wondered what these security measures were for, now that it had turned out that Potter was not a murderer at all.
Their friend Ronny was lying in a bed, holding his mothers hand, looking. . . empty. He didn't even look down from the spot on the ceiling he had his eyes fixed on when they walked over to him.
"Hi, Ronny." said Leon quietly. Still, no reaction.
When Martin carefully laid his hand onto his friend's shoulder, though, Ronny shrank away from it and rolled over so that he no longer faced the ceiling, but his mother. Martin and Leon saw that he was shaking and clutching Ginny Longbottom's hand stronger than before.
The two boys stared at Ronny, not knowing what to do. So this was what McGonagall had meant by saying that he was "not himself at the moment". They only hoped he would recover from the shock he was apparently under, and open up to them again.
The silence was broken when Harry Potter suddenly moaned and started to struggle against the magic that held him. But it didn't budge.
Both the headmaster and Madam Pomfrey were a his side immediately. All others in the room turned their attention to him, too. Even Ronny looked in his direction.
"A vision, probably. . ." muttered Dumbledore. Pomfrey checked his pulse and remarked that it was dangerously high.
"Is there a way we can stop this, Albus?" she asked.
The headmaster shook his head. "No. . . none that I know of. We've tried Occlumency once, but he's just not made for that. . . He'll survive, Poppy."
There was silence for a while, during which they all looked at the haunted man who was their saviour and who was currently chained to a hospital bed, his face twisted in pain.
"Can we get that on the screen?" asked Snape suddenly.
"WHAT?!" exclaimed Hermione.
"If this is a vision", explained the Potions Master, "it might be important. I know for a fact that Potter forgets some of them. And we cannot afford to miss anything."
Albus considered it. After a moment, he nodded. "I'm not sure if it works, but it is worth a try. Those of you who don't want to see this, please go into my adjoining private rooms for the time. I will get you once this is over."
Nobody moved.
"Are you sure?" he asked, looking specifically at Leon and Martin. The two boys nodded. This was their one chance to see something akin to what Ronny had lived through, they both new. They would not miss it.
Dumbledore laid a hand onto Potter's forehead, who tried, in vain, to shake it off – moaning again. The headmaster tried to reattach the charm that linked the man's mind with the screen. Indeed, it worked.
What they saw made them tremble.
*** +++++ ***
"M. . . my Lord. . . he was too fast. . ."
"CRUCIO!" roared the Dark Lord. Most of his Deatheaters had never seen him so angry. His red eyes were glowing.
"Do not ever talk back to me again, Nott!" he whispered after Nott had finally finished screaming. "You have FAILED!!! All of you!"
He glared at each of the trembling black figures kneeling in front of him.
"Goyle, you followed him by broom, too, didn't you?" the monster hissed.
"Yes, my Lord."
"Why didn't you get him?"
"As Nott said, he was too fast. . . you see, my Lord, he was an excellent Quidditch player at school, always got the snitch faster than anybody else. Perhaps he's been practising his skills and now. . ."
"CRUCIO!" yelled the Dark Lord again, wondering if perhaps he'd be better off without the two dumb gorillas that used to play young Malfoy's bodyguards in their childhood.
"Avery! He stunned you, didn't he? How come?"
"My Lord, as we all know Potter is a very fast and powerful dueller. . ."
"CRUCIO!"
After a short moment he stopped the curse and hissed again in that quiet, deadly dangerous voice: "I had Potter here, lying on the ground before me, unable to move, tortured, weak as never before, and you let him just blow off the wall and fly out. He had a punctured lung, problems breathing. He was practically half dead. Yet, he fought you all down and flew away on a broom, when he was outnumbered 40 to one. . ."
"It was 37 to one, in fact." corrected Crabbe. "Er. . . my Lord." He added upon seeing the shocked and horrified looks his fellows were giving him.
Even Voldemort blinked in surprise when suddenly something happened that had never, ever, happened before, and which none of those present, and neither the man watching through a vision because of his scar, would ever forget.
The incredible pain hit them all at once, and some fell dead, though most survived the huge amount of raw magic and the inhuman pain that it brought, screaming in a way that made their enemies pity them, until their vocal chords could no longer produce any sound.
Voldemort's medal was radiating power on its own, controlled not by his will, but by his emotions.
Even the Dark Lord had not known that his new weapon could work this way.
Voldemort laughed. Things were getting interesting.
** +++++ **
Harry's eyes flew open, yet he saw nothing. He felt pain, worse than anything he'd ever felt before, and he screamed as his enemy's magic went through him, tearing him up from inside, or so it felt. His body was spasming violently, his bed was rattling, and he tried, in vain, to fight Voldemort's magic off with his own. But he couldn't.
Albus was at his side immediately, helping him in the fight against the dark power. Harry rather felt than saw or heard him.
In spite of both their powers combined, Harry was beginning to feel weaker, to feel whatever Voldemort had cast consuming him.
Until Snape managed to pour some potion into Harry's mouth.
Harry still felt physically weak, but his magic strengthened and after a while, Albus and he had drawn all of the dark magic out of his body.
He managed to stop his screams, and his eyes fell shut. He heard voices, but they were sounding more and more distant."
"Will he live?"
"I have hope – he's a fighter. But he'll be physically and magically exhausted for a few days, the way this looks. . ."
Then everything went black.
**
+++++ **
"So, young dragon. . ."
"My Lord?"
Draco Malfoy was, once again, kneeling in front of the thing he called master. It was past midnight and he was extremely tired. He hadn't slept much the last night because he'd had a bad conscience about Hermione and the others that had been tortured because he had brought them to Voldemort, and that night he'd gone to Dumbledore for help. In the morning, he had accompanied Potter to Voldemort's castle, and since then he hadn't left that awful place. Later he'd had much work to do, healing the wound Potter had left on Voldemort, then the long hours recovering from whatever it had been that the monster's medal had done. . . and finally helping the other Deatheaters recover with potions. . . and of course helping getting rid of the bodies of those who had not recovered.
"I understand it that you still have connections to the Ministry of Magic?"
"Yes, my Lord."
Damn. Sounded like a new mission.
"You will use them to find out some things about them. About their headquarters. You may use all means to get the information, just do not get caught."
"What things, my Lord, if I may ask?" said Draco, wondering why Voldemort was suddenly interested in the Ministry. He had just ignored it so far.
"You may ask, for you must of course know. You will find out about the security on the building, what curses there are, how strong, and how much effort it will take for us to break them. And. . ."
The monster smiled evilly.
"You will make sure that Sirius Black will be there. We shall find out how much Potter still cares about him."
Did this mean. . .
"Yes, young Dragon. I will finally give up hiding and make sure that everybody knows what to expect from me. The Ministry will fall soon. Many people will fall with it. Good people. Important people. People who give those Mudbloods hope."
"That is a brilliant plan, my Lord."
"My plans, Draco, are always brilliant."
"Of course, my Lord." responded Draco quickly.
"And then we shall attack more and more and more. . . mudbloods and more mudbloods. . . they will be terrified of me. . . and do you know what they will do upon seeing that the Ministry is absolutely powerless?"
"They will. . ."
At that moment Draco Malfoy fully realised what his master's plan meant.
"They will turn to Dumbledore, my Lord. They will turn their trust back to Dumbledore."
"Exactly. And not only that. We will make them feel so unsafe at home that they will run to Hogwarts. . . hundreds of mudbloods. . . thousands of mudbloods in Hogwarts – the castle certainly is big enough. And then. . ."
This maniac smile was back to the Dark Lord's face.
"Then we will attack Hogwarts. We will kill Albus Dumbledore and all that dare to stand aside him. And, of course, those mudbloods. All will be out of our way. It is getting time, Draco. It is getting time for me and my followers to take over the world."
