Chapter 27: The One, part I
Harry hadn't realized it before—that it was possible to be completely enraged and yet completely focused at the same time. Hot flares of fury were searing him inside, but he listened almost passively to Lucius Malfoy's voice as it taunted from outside the room. It's not his time yet, a voice inside him said, but it will be soon.
Right now, there was nothing for him to do but wait. Draco was even replying for him.
"Father. I'm impressed by your use of House Elves' magic. You've come so far." The boy's voice dripped disdain. "At one time, I believe you would have cut off both testicles rather than resort to stooping so low. But then, you are a Malfoy."
A cold laugh was his response. "And you are not—you pusillanimous, pitiable traitor. I shall enjoy exacting my revenge upon your pain-wracked, slowly-dying flesh at length."
"Likewise," returned Draco with chilling malice, "you sadistic, power-hungry miscreant. It is notable that you chose to stay on the outside of the room, safely tucked away from any fair dueling."
"It is you who are safely tucked away. And you who are to be plucked from this room one by one like so many overripe melons and your innards stretched across these stones. Unless . . . Potter gives himself up."
Harry's eyes shot open and his insides chilled instantly. He reached down and pulled Ginny into his arms, hugging her tightly and rocking with her.
"Over my dead body," Ron yelled back.
"Yes, and on top of it, too," Lucius returned. "Potter, you have three minutes before we commence the killing."
Ron turned away from the door. "All right, here's what we do . . ."
Harry pulled away from Ginny slightly and was heartened to see her eyes open, though she still trembled against him.
"Harry," she began and he immediately tuned Ron out.
"Shhhh. It's all right. I'm here."
"Violet."
"What?"
Ginny's eyes bled tears. "Violet Hooch. She was under the Imperius—Bulstrode said Zabini put her under it."
Hermione was beside them now, her hand gently on Ginny's arm. "But Zabini was kicked out."
Ginny nodded. "She was already under it. They used her to get me aside during the Bazaar. Then again, when she was sent home, he got to her again. She came back under his spell and tampered with the Bludgers."
"Poor Violet."
Harry shook his head. "It doesn't matter now. Are you all right?"
"Yes," she said, closing her eyes and shivering into him. "But I don't think I can handle Lucius . . . anymore."
"Don't worry," he said through a clenched jaw, pulling her tighter. "I can handle him."
"No one heard a word I said," Ron groused loudly. "This is not the time for it, Harry!"
As if I'll get another chance. Harry glared at him.
"As if he'll get another chance!" Draco hissed at him.
Ron looked at Draco, shocked, then back at Harry, who was still glaring at him. Ron's face slowly cleared and he stepped back. "Oh. Right."
Harry looked over at Hermione, who nodded, gave Ginny a quick kiss on the cheek and then headed over to Ron. "Let's give them a minute," she whispered.
Draco gave Harry a long-suffering look before turning his back, morose at the onset of more Gryffindor intimacy.
Harry hesitated, then met Ginny's eyes. "I wasn't sure I'd get a chance to see you again," he whispered. "There's something I have to say."
Ginny stirred in his arms, her brown eyes suddenly alive and full of tears. She sat up, still leaning against his chest. "Me, too. You go first."
Harry nodded, then had to look away. The words were fleeing from him at an alarming rate. No. He closed his eyes, dug in and opened his mouth. "When we first got together—it was like magic." He stopped, opened his eyes and smiled, flushing. "I mean, magic the way it seemed to me when I first saw it, coming from the Muggle World—er, like it was everything I ever wanted but didn't know that I did. Does that make sense?" He looked up to see her face transformed—happy despite her gray pallor and the blood on her bottom lip. He reached up and gently wiped at the red smear with his thumb. It wouldn't come off and she winced, so he smoothed that rough touch with a gentle, lingering kiss.
Ginny sobbed a bit as he pulled away, then caught hold of herself. "Of course it makes sense."
Harry continued to caress her cheek, losing himself in it, knowing it had to be the last time he would ever feel it. "You made me feel . . . normal and wanted and . . . loved. Like I never had before." Ginny turned her head to kiss his hand.
Draco groaned softly over to the side, and Harry made a Herculean effort to ignore him. Ron, however, thumped him on the head. "Prat."
Harry let his hand fall to her long braid falling down over her shoulder, catching it gently in his hand. Ginny, no longer content to let him have his way, reached up to touch his face, to run her fingers intimately over his features as he had never done before—almost as if she were memorizing him.
Harry caught her hands in his and pulled them off his face, closing his eyes to focus. "But I had a problem." Deep breath. "When Lucius had me . . ."
In a few, quiet, halting sentences, Harry confessed to her the painful truth of his captivity and how it had confused his physical feelings for her—how any intimate touch had reminded him and haunted him and nauseated him.
"I knew it confused you and I didn't—" he finally looked up at her and spoke plainly. "I didn't want you to ever, ever think it was you. Truth is, I couldn't have gotten past that if it weren't for you." He smiled at her. "It . . . gives me courage, knowing that you . . . love me."
"I do."
Harry nodded. "I don't know what's going to happen after this. But no matter what, hold on to this—to what we have. It will make you strong."
Ginny, weeping, reached up to pull him into an embrace. "It always has. Loving you has always made me stronger."
Shaken by her words, by the memory that she had loved him long before he had ever understood his love for her, Harry closed his eyes and remembered. He remembered the small red-headed girl running alongside the train, waving to her brothers, crying because she was too small and was going to be left alone. He remembered her bright brown eyes and the silence that had plagued her for years whenever she saw him. He could hear the steel in her voice in later years as she steered him straight time after time, not commanding like Hermione or cajoling like Ron, but with a firmness that always surprised him. She was strong.
"There," she said, pulling away from him and wiping at her eyes. "I'm going to make you three promises: One, I'm not going to leave your side again. Two, I'm not going to get caught again, so stop worrying about it. If we get separated, don't worry. The next time you see me, I'll be coming to rescue you. And three, no more singing Valentines."
"Good," Harry said as he gently took her hands in his. "I don't really like singing Valentines."
Ginny gave him a watery smile. Harry squeezed her hands and smiled back. The moment wasn't going to hold, and Harry knew it. But he was drawing strength from her, and saw the same change in her face as she took in a deep, settling breath.
"Okay," she whispered. "Now, I'm ready."
"Time's up, mes enfants," Lucius called moments later. "Call upon your gods and weep."
"No—wait," Harry called, disentangling himself from Ginny. "I'm coming out."
"What?" came several voices from around him.
"Harry—no!" Ginny said, trying to push herself to her feet.
"I need to do this." Harry strode forward until Draco stood in his way.
"He's not alone." Draco waved the Marauder's Map at him. "Snape is there as well. And god knows how many House Elves."
Torn, Harry shifted from foot to foot.
"If you try to walk out that door, I will Petrify you!" Ginny called out from behind him.
"Brilliant idea," Draco spat at her over Harry's shoulder. "Then the Savior of the Wizarding World will be an unmoving target."
Harry drilled him with his eyes. Don't talk to her like that.
Draco nodded. "Yes. Fine. But there will be no hex—"
Harry shoved him out of the way and faced the door. "Then, we're going to blow through it—all at once," he said in a low voice. "Take out some of them and widen the fighting area. Otherwise they'd pick us off one by one as we came out the door."
"Yeah," Ron said, "that's what I just said." Draco made a rude noise. "Well, 'cept the part about blowing open the wall. I didn' think we could do tha'."
"We can," Harry stated, then looked around at everyone. "Ginny, stay back."
She started getting up immediately and Hermione bent to help. "Like hell I will. You should know me better than that." She gave him a wan smile.
"Don't weaken yourself further," he begged. "I know how strong you are. Just let us do the Spell, okay?"
"Fine," she assented, but with her trademark disgruntled look.
Just then, a House Elf appeared in the corner, cowering as Harry spun to shoot a Curse at her. "No, Mister Harry Potter, sir," she whispered. "It is Winky, sir. Are you remembering me?"
Harry stopped his Curse just in time. "Winky? What are you doing here?"
"Winky is outside with the bad House Elves, but I is not going to help them. All House Elves is not bad."
"I know, Winky. What can you do?"
"Is Harry Potter going to blow down the wall?"
Everyone exchanged glances. "Did you overhear that?"
She nodded and sniffed. "All the House Elves did. House Elves is having good hearing."
Harry sighed. "So much for the element of surprise."
Winky blinked her big, watery eyes. "When Mister Harry Potter gives the count, the good Elves will attack the bad. Maybe that is being a help."
Harry smiled slowly. "That is being a big help."
Winky smiled in return and popped out.
"Everyone ready?" He looked around at the others and then froze—gaze jetting to the walls. "What am I—I'm such an idiot."
"Of course," Draco said instantly, staring at Harry. "But why hasn't he done it yet?"
"Done wha'?" Ron asked, looking from one to the other, his face growing darker by the second.
"Oh," Hermione said loudly, "I see. But I don't know why either."
"Why what?" Ginny said sharply.
Harry walked over to Ginny, stowed his wand, and scooped her up in his arms. "Don't worry," he said as she buried her face in his neck, "the Headmaster will get us out of this." He strode over to the back wall and faced the blank stone expectantly.
"But Snape said the Headmaster was dead," Ginny said in a small voice.
"Ohhhhhhh," Ron said finally. "Now I get it. Yeah, why hasn't he open-sesame'd yet?"
"He's no longer alive in himself," Harry murmured to Ginny. "He's given his magic over to the castle, and it's been helping us. Just watch." One by one, everyone got behind Harry, who was waiting by the back wall of the room. Three seconds went by, then four, and then—the wall split open before them.
Ginny gasped and grasped Harry tighter. "It's all right," he told her. "We've been doing this all afternoon." Harry took a deep breath and started inside. Ginny was almost a dead weight in his arms, but it felt good to carry her. He knew she had to be hurting. And Lucius—
Harry swallowed and shook his head. There was nothing he could do now. He had to get everyone to safety.
"It helps to have friends in high places, eh, Potter?" Draco called back.
Ron and Hermione were walking ahead, debating whether it was time for her to drink her potion from Madame Pomfrey. "She said every three hours, Ron," Hermione chided. "It can't have been that long."
"Think of all we've done since then. It has to be at least two."
"What have you been doing?" Ginny asked Harry.
Harry hesitated to tell her about Neville and McGonagall, but in the end, he felt he must. As they walked up the long staircase, hearing the echoes of the others around them, he skimmed over the events. He made sure to tell her that Fred and George had rescued her father, and that Charlie had been up and fighting the last time he saw him. Ginny took in the overwhelming information as stoically as she could.
"Hate to be a bother, Potter," Draco said as they neared him on the stairs, "but has the wall down there closed off yet?"
Harry leaned slightly against the wall to anchor himself and looked below. It had been a straight climb up, so it was easy to tell the wall was open. "No."
Draco met his gaze lazily. "Don't you think that's odd? Shouldn't he want to keep my father and Snape blocked from following?"
"Let me down," Ginny insisted. "I can walk."
Still puzzling over the open wall below, Harry let her slide to the step above him. "Careful now," he told her, keeping a hand around her waist.
"Oh!" Hermione's voice came down, and light flowed down the steps. "It's opened up here."
"Careful," Harry called up. "Ron, check it out."
"Be righ' back." Ron's dark form appeared, outlined by the light pouring in the doorway, and then vanished.
Beside him, Harry could sense Draco staring down at the open wall beneath them. No one had yet appeared there. Were the House Elves still waiting for Harry's count or had they already attacked without him?
"'s all right, Harry," Ron appeared through the lit wall one more time. "It's brought us back to the third floor—everything's quiet."
"Everyone up—quickly," Harry instructed and there was an instant flurry of motion. Ron, Hermione and Ginny were swallowed by the light before being followed by a reluctant Draco. Harry paused to look back down. The wall below was still open, but no one was in sight.
"Harry!"
Harry jerked his head up to see the wall slide shut with a snick. His friends were on the other side.
"No!" He slammed his hand against the stone. On the other side, he heard faint voices yelling his name. "Ginny!"
And then, the stairs gave a jerk. Harry turned to look at the long stairs beneath him, stretching three floors down. "Do you want me back down there? Are you insane?" he yelled, his voice echoing around in the tunnel.
The stairs gave another jerk and then—disappeared. Harry windmilled wildly as his feet slid out from under him, and his back hit the stone hard. Stunned momentarily, he felt his body gain momentum and begin to slide faster. Why was this happening? With only seconds to go until he was deposited back into the room below, Harry pulled himself together and readied his wand. Focus! He told himself, trying to quell the rising panic. Dumbledore wants you there. Be there.
It almost worked. Then the light broke over his face and he was dumped into the room, nearly at the feet of Lucius Malfoy.
"Well, Happy Christmas to me," he said smugly. "Crucio!"
But Harry was already in motion, rolling fast enough to stay ahead of Lucius' curse.
"Stay still, damn you," Lucius said, tension beginning to work its way into his calm, icy voice.
It was a small room and Harry was already at the end of it. So he turned, and used the momentum he'd gained to run three steps up the wall. His Senses engaged, it was easy to spin out an Impedimenta mid-flip—one that took Lucius by surprise.
The older wizard still managed to get up a Shield, but it was so weak that the impact knocked him back into the wall.
Harry spun around and hit himself with a Disillusionment Charm. As Lucius clambered painfully to his feet (one leg did seem to be injured from earlier), Harry used the time to quietly move aside, his wand trained on Lucius.
Lucius' gaze darted around the room, his eyes going wild. Harry breathed soundlessly and watched Draco's father slowly fall apart.
"Are you afraid, Boy-Who-Has-No-One-Left-To-Love-Him?" Lucius screamed, his wand's aim skipping around the room with no rhyme or reason. "You can't even face me, can you? Is the memory of what I did you the last time I met simply too shameful?" He flung a Reductor Curse to the wall, blowing a small hole in it. Harry, now on the other side of the room, smirked. Lucius' words had no hold over him now.
And, there was the little matter of revenge to think of . . . right after he ducked this Bludgeoning Curse—
Harry threw himself to the left, wand out, erecting the gray screen in his mind. Contra producto produxi productum, Harry cast with focused thought—a favoritespell of Fred's and George's from the old days, used especially for when Percy was sitting on the toilet—and before Harry had even landed, the room was beginning to darken.
Lucius turned toward the noise as Harry collided with the floor, all his weight on his left hip, left elbow and left foot. He slid a few feet and Lucius lit up the space behind him. But the room was nearly dark now, and all Harry had to do to disappear was to be silent.
Which was more difficult than it should be now that his elbow and hip were on fire from contact with the stone floor. Harry breathed through clenched teeth as quietly as possible while moving to his feet.
Lucius had also gone quiet. He wasn't going to risk lighting his wand and announcing to Harry where he was. So. Now Lucius would be fighting an invisible opponent in a dark room.
Again, Harry smirked.
Sonorus, he cast against the shield again. "Lucius!" His voice was shockingly loud in the room, and echoing until it was impossible to tell where he wasThen he whispered, "Do you know what revenge feels like?"
Harry heard the slight intake of breath and moved closer on silent feet. Eyes closed, he Sensed Lucius' form and his magical energy. He would know before any spell left his wand.
"I see you learned your lesson well," Lucius said coldly.
"I learned NOTHING from you!" Harry yelled, and Sensed Lucius reeling back from the sound.
But the wizard was laughing now. "You learned hate from me, boy, and shame. And when you face the Dark Lord, you will be all the weaker for it!"
"I asked you if you knew what revenge feels like," Harry hissed.
"Oh yes," Lucius spat back. "I remember!"
"Then you will know how good this feels," and Harry lifted his wand. Lucius was running to the left, but Harry merely followed him with the tip of his wand and shot the tar all over him as he ran. It was a new spell, one that acted exactly as the paint they had used in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but heavier . . . and flammable. This one, he had learned from Rodolphus Lestrange back in Hell Manor.
Lucius stumbled, gasped for breath. "No! Potter—" Tar covered him all over.
"Accio wand. Incarcerous."
Harry reached out to catch Lucius' wand, listening with pleasure to the wizard's mad cry. "SEVERUS!"
Harry whipped around, but he knew there was no one else in the room. No one—
No, wait, there was a figure moving down the hallway. Harry Sensed a wizard with a strong magical core coming near. Harry turned once again to Lucius.
"Do it, boy! Or are you a coward?"
Harry hesitated, then cancelled the Darkening Charm. The room came into view again, and with it, a broken, tarred, tied-up and frothing Lucius.
"Coward! The Dark Lord will—"
"Silencio."
Lucius stopped abruptly.
Harry considered him, considered burning him as he'd intended. He'd hurt so many people; he'd hurt Ginny. But to kill someone this way was so . . .
The door flew open and Severus Snape strode in, his black cape billowing. Harry trained his wand on the wizard, watching him carefully.
Lucius screamed to Snape silently.
Snape considered Lucius, then turned back to Harry. "What are you waiting for?" With a casual wave of his wand, he sent a jet of flame at Lucius and cancelled the Silencing Charm at the same time.
"There," the wizard turned, giving Harry a profile of his hawk-like nose. "I've been waiting to do that for years."
Harry was so shocked that he almost dropped his wand entirely. Lucius was writhing, rolling, wrapped in flames, screeching until his voice grew dry and raspy. Then, Snape waved again and the flames grew whiter and hotter. Lucius was reduced to ash in seconds.
Harry was still staring in abject horror when something hit him hard on the back of his head. His knees buckled and the light around started evaporating. He was falling forward and down . . . so far down . . . but Snape's words followed him into the dark.
"It's time to go, Harry . . . the Dark Lord awaits."
When Harry woke up, he was lying on a cold, smooth floor, staring up at floating candles lit with blue flames, feeling the throb of his heartbeat in his skull. The black walls of the room loomed over his head, completely out-of-proportion for the space around him. And there were so many doors—everywhere he looked there were plain, black doors, without handles. It seemed familiar; if only Harry could think around the pounding in his head, maybe he could remember . . .
"I see your head is not as hard as I gave you credit for." came a grating voice from behind him. Harry looked over to see Severus Snape seated, wand out, watching him. "If you would do me the pleasure of—"
"Delivering myself up to you, tied, tarred and Silenced? No, I don't think I will, thanks," Harry interrupted as he struggled to his feet. The dark room spun around him, and the high polish on the black floor made him feel as though a tumble might send him drowning in deep waters. Balancing on his own two feet had never seemed so difficult. "Is the Dark Lord ready for me?"
"Indubitably. It is whether you are ready for him that is the eternal question and one that I have fallen most ill while pondering. Shall we get on with it?"
Harry bit back an angry retort. He couldn't afford to get baited into anything right now, especially since his wand was not in his wrist holster. He had to calm himself, get as much information on where he was and—
"You're at the Ministry of Magic," Snape supplied easily, blue light from the candles flickering on his face. "I've brought you here to show you something that few witches or wizards have ever seen." He was walking toward a door.
One of the twelve, Harry suddenly remembered, that opened into different sections of the Department of Mysteries. Right. Harry shook his head and tried to orient himself. He'd battled Lucius and his Death Eaters here, and lost Sirius to the Veil as well, in the Death Room, which was beside the . . . Time Room? But he had other concerns right now.
"Wait—what's happened to my friends?"
"The last I saw of them, they were fighting off House Elves on their way to reunite with the Order. There they will be dealing with Aurors, Dementors and a nasty Manticore before leaving Hogwarts, if the Dark Lord doesn't decide to scoop them up and use them as bait for you."
Harry clenched his jaw. "Then what in the bloody hell are we doing HERE?"
Snape watched Harry, amused. "This will not be our last stop. We will go on to Hell Manor, Potter, where all the students who were supposedly sent home were Flooed directly—one of Fornier's sneaky little plans. Here, they were collected by Death Eaters, over the bodies of several Ministry workers, naturally, and sent on to Hell Manor."
"And what are we waiting for?" Harry tried to force the squeakiness out of his voice, but the new information had shaken him to the core. Students . . . at Hell Manor? Harry tried to focus on Snape's answer.
"We are here because Albus wished it to be so. I am fulfilling my last duty to a friend."
"Friend? Drop the act, Snape. You were never—"
"Yes, exactly!" Severus took several abrupt steps in his direction, startling Harry. "I am dropping the act . . . Harry."
And tentatively, Snape smiled.
Harry's mind ground to a halt. The Death Eater before him, the professor who had saved his life numerous times only to betray him in the end—hadn't he betrayed him in the end?—was actually . . . smiling. And not the ghastly false smile that had so nauseated the Gryffindors during Potions class, but a small, light smirk that actually reached the man's normally unfathomable eyes.
"But this is the expected outcome of my years of verbal abuse and unrighteous wielding of class power." The wizard's smile grew. "Albus predicted you would not believe me at first, which is why I took the precaution of securing your wand. I know you would derive great joy from taking out your anger and frustration on me, the wizard who assiduously cultivated your hate for the past six years. But this is not the time. Your future lies in that room," Snape gestured to the door he'd approached, "as does your past. You seek what is there, you have sought it your whole life, though you do not know it. There will be no fulfilling of the prophecy without it."
Harry stood silent, staring at the door. He could hear a replay of the words Dumbledore had said to him in his office at the end of his fifth year, words burned in his mind by desperation, pain and latent horror.
"There is a room in the Department of Mysteries that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than forces of nature—perhaps the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there." Harry could remember the way the wizard's old blue eyes had burned into his with intensity, sorrow, and a fierce, puzzling belief in Harry's abilities. "It is the power held within that room that you possess in such quantities . . . and which Voldemort has not at all."
Not at all . . .
"Harry," Snape said firmly. "The time for secrets is past. Enter."
Compelled by something he could not even name, Harry walked forward slowly, aware every second that he could be making the biggest mistake in a lifetime of big mistakes. His steps echoed in the dark room and he continuously tried to blink the brightness of the blue light out of his eyes. Walking into an unknown room, dazzled, wandless, in front of Severus Snape . . . Ron would kill him for this.
But if this was the room, (and truly, it could be another easily, if Snape wished to deceive him), then Harry had to enter.
As Harry passed Snape, he turned on his Senses. Nothing came from beyond the door at all—meaning that either its magic was hidden, or that it was empty of magic entirely. Harry stopped in front of the door and drew in a deep breath. Behind him, nothing stirred. Snape was still watching him. The candles threw strange bluish shadows over him, and once again, Harry doubted the wizard's intentions.
Then he turned, reached out his hand and cracked the black door open—easily.
Harry's Senses went wild. Inside this room was one of the purest sources of Magic he'd ever encountered. It was extremely powerful and wildly intoxicating. Perhaps there was some secret weapon after all.
As Harry opened the door, Snape made a move to follow him. And Harry meant to whip around, ready for any sort of betrayal, but once he saw what was in the room, he froze. His knees buckled. His eyes swam with tears. He only made it five steps before he fell to his knees.
It was a small room with elegant carved wooden walls depicting witches and wizards in various forms of dress. In the few seconds that Harry forced himself to glance around the room, checking for hidden danger, he recognized a few personas he had studied by the glow cast from the center of the room—seemingly, all of Wizarding history was represented in this room and all of it attended to the figure—the one real figure—in the center of the room.
Harry moved closer.
A young woman was lying on a narrow, pillowed pedestal, her long, crimson hair flowing over the side, the soft glow of magic light infusing the air above her with radiant, sparkling mist. As Harry moved ever nearer, hardly aware he was doing so, the features of her face, so familiar already, became more beautifully clear. Her narrow, pale forehead, the dainty, slightly pointed nose and the full, pale pink lips were all features he knew by heart—had memorized from her photo. And even though her eyes were closed, he knew that if they opened—oh! if they but opened—he would be gazing into emerald depths that were the mirror of his own.
Lily Potter. His mother. He stared without moving, without conscious breath, studying every detail of her face and clothing for so long that when Snape appeared on the other side of the pedestal, Harry could not bring himself to even look up.
"Lily Potter, dead at twenty-two years of age." Harry finally jerked his eyes away and stared at his Professor, startled to see a soft look around his eyes. "Dead because she chose to save her son—you." A bitter tone had crept into his soft words, and his eyes cut to Harry before returning back to Lily. "I don't think I've ever forgiven you for that. I've become convinced that she was correct in doing what she did, but still . . . the world is not a better place for losing her."
Harry looked back at his mother, and blinked back another rush of tears. "Why is she—why does she still look so . . ."
"Her act, synonymous with love and self-sacrifice, and responsible for the downfall of the Dark Lord, was seen as the usher in of a new time of peace and prosperity for the Wizarding World. Lily Potter could have easily been named the Savior of the Wizarding World instead of you. But because of the Prophecy, Albus chose to emphasize your future role rather than Lily's past one. But . . . to let such a one as this simply die, after all she had done was an anathema." Snape looked away and paced idly toward the far wall, studying the walls. "A way was found to preserve her and the Ministry agreed. The room was built and here we are."
"What way?"
Snape gestured behind Harry. "The Draught of the Living Death, of course."
Harry turned and saw, tucked away in the corner, a plain, wooden table only large enough for a single item—a silver chalice that hovered an inch over the table and rotated slowly. His eyes widened as they took in the dull, satin finish and the design played on by an infusive glow—flowing scrollwork that hid running wolves and their mates howling at the moon. The stem was incredibly delicate, balanced by a pearl-studded base.
Harry had seen this goblet before. He had been given highest marks in Transfiguration at the beginning of term for it—Transfiguring a turtle into this goblet's likeness.
He turned back to Snape. "I've been here before."
"When you were a baby they brought you here to see your mother one last time."
"I remembered that goblet. I Transfigured—"
"Yes, yes, of course. You nearly gave Minerva a . . ." Snape gave an uncomfortable pause before continuing on, showing that he, too, had heard of her demise. "You startled her by Transfiguring the likeness of this chalice. Albus was pleased to hear that you remembered the visit to your mother, albeit in some sequestered, normally unused section of your brain." Somehow, Snape still managed to make it sound like an insult that the Headmaster was pleased.
"But wait—you have to be alive in order to take the Draught of the Living Death. And my mother was already . . . wasn't she?" His chest constricting with sudden emotion, Harry stepped closer still to Snape. "Wasn't she dead?"
For a long moment, Harry thought Snape wouldn't answer him. The glow from the room cast warmth on one cheek, but the other side of his face lay in shadow. "She wasn't completely dead."
Harry stopped breathing.
"The Dark Lord had cast a spell that night, before entering your home," Snape gave Harry a cursory glance. "He was determined to live forever and had found a way to preserve his soul—the Animus Abeo. All he needed to do to complete the spell was cast the Killing Curse, and then his soul would be bound in a chosen object. The object was to be a small, solid gold ring that he wore that night on his person. He was to cast the Killing Curse on you. It was supposed to be the culmination of his attempt to take over the Wizarding World—the death of the one Prophesied to be his undoing. But after killing both James and Lily, and readying the object for the transfer of his soul, the Dark Lord made a mistake." Snape turned toward Harry, his dark eyes glittering. "He tried to kill you while your mother's protection was guarding you. It proved to be his undoing."
"How?" Harry prompted, after Snape paused.
"Your soul was not ripped from your body as he'd intended because your mother's soul was covering it. Instead, his own soul was torn from his body when the curse rebounded. It was in limbo, kept in place by the spell that had prepared it to inhabit the ring but unable to go there because he was not there to direct it. Instead, it was pulled and directed by the strongest magical force present—you." Harry was breathing again, but barely. He swallowed, his throat parched. With every sentence Snape uttered, he felt himself grow closer to doom, to understanding.
"The force of the Dark Lord's own Killing Curse had forged a connection between you, a connection that now channeled his dark soul into your body. But, there being so much light, so much love in your body because of your mother's presence, the Dark Lord's soul could not withstand it. Part of him, the part that was once good, the part that might have been redeemable at one time and still quietly yearned for good things, joined with yours instantly, becoming a part of you, centered around the scar that was the point of the transference of souls. But the part of the Dark Lord that could not abide love, that shrank from everything good, that part ripped itself away and sought out shelter in some other, more inhabitable creature for him."
Unconsciously, Harry had reached up to touch the scar that even now marked him. The connection he felt with Tom—that was because part of his soul was entwined with Harry's own?
"But you said she wasn't completely dead," Harry prompted.
Snape crossed closer to Harry. "Lily knew they would come. She knew the Dark Lord will try to kill you and she was determined to protect you, at all costs. She came to me, insisting that I help her—that I use my knowledge of the Dark Arts to help her forge protection for you." The earnestness in Snape's face made Harry pull back, though his desire to understand made him nearly vibrate with tension.
"Why you?"
Snape spoke quicker now, more easily. "Because she was the only Gryffindor that ever befriended me, the only person who ever saw behind the mask I had carefully cultivated in order to spy on the Dark Lord's recruits. You must understand that even then, even then, Albus was my mentor and already I was being turned into a spy. Already, I was alienating anyone who had ties to the good and was courting those who were slowly being gathered by the Dark Lord.
"Lily always saw through my pretended anger, my vague attempts at alienating her. She knew to come to me when she needed help. And I helped her. I knew which spell the Dark Lord would cast to preserve his own soul. He did not confide in me, but I was able to glean it from his thoughts during one short unguarded moment." Snape smiled briefly. "His ego did not permit him to suspect me then. When Lily asked me to meet her one night, far from Hogwarts' safety, even unknown to James, I could not help but respond. She begged me for protection, and not for herself. No, she never would have lowered herself to do that. But she begged protection for you. I told her that the only way to ensure your safety would be for her to cast the same spell."
Harry stared at the wizard, his mind too sluggish to grasp the full meaning. "The same spell?"
"The Animus Abeo. She cast the spell the same spell as the Dark Lord, to preserve her soul, or at least part of it, in you."
Harry took a step back. His eyes had gone watery again, and he seemed to have trouble breathing. "My mother—"
"To save your life," Snape reminded him.
". . . to save my life . . .cast a spell to preserve her soul . . . in me?"
"Yes, and the spell worked, even with our modification. You see, Lily would not use the Killing Curse as the spell required, but she fully expected to die by one. She used the force from the Dark Lord's spell against her to forge her own Animus Abeo. When part of the Dark Lord's soul followed hers into your body, it was joined up in the magical binding your mother's soul had already made. As your own magic began to seek to heal the damage, both were sealed up, magically bound to the wound created by the curse, what is now a scar on your forehead."
Harry rocked back on his feet before catching his balance again. "So . . . the Dementors . . ."
"Were always drawn to you because you hold not only one whole soul, but also the parts of two others. That is the source of your strong magical power." Professor Snape looked almost smug at the revelation.
Harry's knees gave out and, again, he knelt in the room. He was a . . . a . . . he didn't even know what to call himself. A Frankensteinian monster. An imposter—a pretender. He wasn't in the least bit strong—his only magical strength lay in the power given him by his mother and by . . . Voldemort himself?
"Potter." Snape paused. "Harry. This room was kept so that you would not just hear the information of the origin of your rebirth, but understand it and see how costly it was. You are what you are—who you are—for a purpose. I have spent the better part of my life preparing for your coming, preparing others to accept you, then protecting your life, and preparing you for the hard road and darkness ahead. The weight of the truth cannot end—it does not end—the necessity, the rightness and the meaning of your existence." Harry heard it all, but his heart felt frozen.
"Look at her," Snape prodded him. "Look at her!"
Harry climbed heavily to his feet and moved himself to stand by his mother. Snape joined him, looking down on her lovely face. Tears slowly leaked down Harry's face.
"The best witch I ever knew died for you. She passed on to you the best parts of herself and gave you strength and power! The best wizard I ever knew has just laid down his life to protect you inside Hogwarts! You may not claim to be the One everyone thinks you are, but you are the product of so many wizards and witches giving to you and making sure that you are ready. Harry." Harry wiped his eyes and looked up at Snape, who had fixed him with a deadly earnest black-eyed gaze. "For six years, I've bullied you and taunted you, knowing that my seeming hatred would pale in comparison with the venom of the Dark Lord you must eventually come to face."
"That was why . . ." Harry seemed incapable of finishing a sentence.
"It was my job. Albus trusted me to do the one thing that he could not—ensure that you were not petted and feted into a self-satisfied stupor. The Dark Lord reinforced that by binding me to an Unbreakable Vow that I was to undermine your training as much as possible. It served both sides that demanded my allegiance."
Harry nodded, too wearied to ask more questions now. The answers were all so strange . . . so much to think through, and there was no time.
"Now, Harry." Harry looked up. "For six years, I've told you and anyone who would listen, repeatedly, of your ineptness, your weakness and your fallibility. Are you ready to prove me wrong?"
The intensity of Snape's gaze and his words had their desired effect. "Yes sir." Harry stared long into his eyes and then finally glanced away. "I assume you have a plan."
"Of course. Listen carefully. The first thing we must do is revisit the Veil."
Harry stared at the crumbling stone archway before him, watching the mysterious, tattered veil moving slowly in a wind he couldn't feel. Whispering voices caressed his ears, the pull of the unknown beckoned. He was still trembling from his talk with Snape. Thoughts were broiling in him constantly, bringing strong feelings to the surface again and again.
"I have a piece of the Dark Lord in me," Harry said, thinking aloud. "And my blood was used to bring him back to human form."
"Correct."
"And if I threw myself into the Veil right now, what would happen?"
"You would die unquestionably and he would be left vulnerable to attack. But we are unsure that anyone else may be victorious against him, Harry. And there would still be Dementors and a Manticore ravaging your friends at Hogwarts and the Dark Lord's followers to deal with after that. It would be . . . more ideal for you to survive the encounter with the Dark Lord, of course."
Harry gave him a look.
"There is a time and a purpose for everything, Harry. You are needed beyond this room at this time. The Veil is a temptation for you, but do not think you are alone in that. My purpose and my road have been infinitely longer and harder than yours."
Harry looked at Snape in surprise, but instinctively felt that what he said was true. If he really had deceived the Dark Lord all along, had been a Death Eater only on Dumbledore's instruction, had watched the deaths of so many and been the recipient of so much pain from denying himself the things he most wanted in life, simply because he had a purpose to protect Harry and stop the Dark Lord's ultimate victory . . . it was almost unthinkable.
Grudgingly, Harry realized that he would not have been able to do it, that his heart and his soul were not cut out for such duplicity, purposeful or not.
With a small smile, Harry nodded. "You're probably right."
"That was remarkably easy," Severus Snape said with another of his unexpected smiles. "I don't think those words ever passed from your father's lips." And there they stood for a long moment, simply smiling at each other.
Then, feeling completely absurd, Harry looked back at the Veil. "So then, we destroy it and the Dementors will dissipate?"
Immediately, the wizard lost his smile and resumed his business-like demeanor. It was nowhere near his usual cold, inhospitable sneer, but it was close enough to make Harry more comfortable. "Precisely. Dementors are wizards and witches who, in their lifetime, were users of the Unforgiveable Curses. Their punishment was to be sent through the Veil, where their souls were ripped from their bodies. But by use of a spell, a horrible spell finally outlawed by the Wizengamot a century ago, their bodies were recalled back through the Veil. Because they are, in effect, deceased, they do not retain physical bodies—no more than a ragged, ravaged, skeletal appearance. Having nothing of their former lives, no memories, no souls of their own, they house a vacuum inside, one that desires nothing so much as to experience joy again, and to ultimately regain their own soul back. Destroy the Veil which imprisons their souls, and they will be free."
Harry swallowed, and looked at the Veil with newfound horror. Someone could have done that to Sirius. "But, I thought Dementors just appeared, bred out of evil and dark magic."
"Ah, yes, they do breed. A perfect example of how Dark Magic can take on a life of its own and grow beyond our control. But still, all of them are all tied to the Veil by the magic that begat the original Dementors. Without that spell, without the Veil that is the basis of that spell, the Dementors would cease to exist."
"Then why hasn't someone done this before?"
Snape scowled. "Use your head, Potter! They were advantageous to the Ministry until recently when the Dark Lord began using them against us. And by that point, Fornier was positioned as Head Auror. No order to destroy the Veil would get by him."
"Okay, fine. How do we destroy it?"
"We must dissolve the Magical link between the Veil and the Land of Souls, then destroy the structure itself."
"Land of Souls?"
"Yes," Snape replied acidly. "The afterlife, Limbo, the Spirit World—whichever you prefer."
"Right. Er . . . how about if you handle the link, and I'll destroy the arch?"
"Nicely decided," Snape turned to the Arch and lifted his wand. "This link was forged in the Dark Ages, when wizards were necromancers and raising people from the dead was a regular practice. It was problematic, though, to have people thought to be dead constantly popping up again, so an archway was built and a permanent link forged in order that it could be controlled by those in power. Eventually, this room was built to house the archway, and to keep it out of the clutches of the populace. It was relegated to Ministry use only." He paused. "The wizard who first used it to create a Dementor was later turned into one. I don't think he will mind us destroying it."
"I would think not," Harry said, shuddering. "How do you destroy the link?"
"Simple. We remove the key from the body buried under the archway." Snape aimed his wand at the floor. "Careful of the stones." Before Harry could ask whose body and what stones, there was an immense upheaval in the floor surrounding the archway, as if the stones were boiling and coming to the surface of a great cauldron. With a swirl, Snape directed the stones to ripple away from the arch. Moving in concentric circles toward the walls, they piled up on top of each other, filling in the first few rows in the stadium seating. Harry rode the waves of tremors in the floor and tried not to think about the fact that they were nine floors down in the Ministry if anything were to start falling apart. Snape looked pleased.
The archway now stood alone, its supporting platform dug away. Inside the area where the platform had been was a narrow crypt with a single coffin. Cobwebs draped from the walls of the crypt to the wooden box that was discolored and stained by time.
"Who's in there?" Harry pointed with a jerk of his head.
"The architect's mother," Snape replied as he pocketed his wand and began to climb down into the crypt. "We can only assume she wasn't a very good one."
"You think?" Harry looked around nervously. "Are you sure there aren't any . . . traps or security systems protecting that thing?"
"Albus assured me they would be turned off, that even Fudge himself saw the necessity of it. The Dementors have to be destroyed if we want to defeat Fornier's Aurors, or make it safely to Hell Manor."
"Fornier's dead," Harry said automatically. "Neville killed him."
"Longbottom?" Snape looked surprised at first, then looked more closely at Harry. "How?"
"Fornier made the mistake of not killing Neville first—just injured him. Neville's dead now."
Snape inclined his head, a short show of respect for Harry's grief—and an unexpected one. Then he directed a stern look at Harry. "Ready with your wand." Focusing his attention back on the coffin, Snape waved his wand and lifted the top of the coffin off with a curiously wet thwacking sound. Harry shuddered.
He'd heard of Inferi before and had no desire to meet one of the undead. But he peeked over the edge of the stone circle to see the innards of the coffin, anyway. It was completely full of slimy, green water and the smell that came wafting off of it was heinous.
Harry almost gagged. Professor Snape made no movement, but turned his head slightly.
"It appears that his mother was at least part Veela."
"They like to be buried in water?"
"No. They loathe any moisture in their casket because it quickly deprives them of their beauty. Most are embalmed. This would be an insult of enormous proportions." He swished his wand and emptied the casket of water. Inside, a skeleton was lying, with a curious locket of shining gold around its neck. "That would be the key."
Harry walked around the low, circular wall which remained from the pedestal and leaned back over to get a better look. It looked like a normal locket in every way. But when Snape raised his wand and muttered a soft word, the locket chimed a clear, bright note as if a bell had been struck by a hammer. As the note faded, Harry noticed that Snape seemed to be waiting for a response. Harry waited with him. The air seemed expectant, almost vibrating with tension.
Or wait—it was vibrating. There was a sound, growing louder every second—a vibrating, humming buzz that was coming from the archway itself, sending the black, tattered curtain into a frenzy of spasms. Harry stood and raised his wand to destroy the archway.
"Not yet—the link is still viable!" Snape shouted, holding an arm outstretched to Harry.
Harry eyed the skeleton in the coffin nervously. Snape waved his wand and muttered something indistinct, something that seemed to concentrate the magic in the air. Harry closed his eyes and Sensed the power surrounding the locket and how it stretched to protect the opening of the archway. Yes. If the locket were destroyed, then the gateway would be damaged and vulnerable to magical attack.
The vibrating grew higher-pitched and much louder. Harry opened his eyes, pressing one hand against the ache in his ears, while holding his wand hand aloft. Snape had already sliced through the gold chain and was attempting to destroy the locket.
And then the sound grew even higher—like the scream of a teapot on full boil, the shriek of a Fwooper and the scrape of a saw on wood all concentrated into one intensely painful blast. Harry tried to cover his ears more fully, then desperately slung as powerful a Silencing Charm as he could at the locket in Snape's hands.
It worked—but on Snape.
The Professor turned an outraged look on Harry, who hastily undid his spell before succumbing to the sound. Both hands pressed to his ears, he fell to his knees. It was up to Snape. If he couldn't—
But then it stopped. Harry looked up and peered over the edge of the low wall. Snape was pressing one hand to his ear, a look of pain on his face. On the floor lay small bits of gold, nothing more.
"Do it," Snape said through clenched teeth.
Harry shook his head and stood, raising his wand. The archway before him hadn't changed, but the magic had altered it greatly. Harry Sensed that it was fluctuating, seeking an anchor to hold it in place. It wasn't going to find one.
"Do it now!"
Harry erected the shield in his mind, and threw his strongest possible Reductor curse.
But the jet of light hit the stone and spread across its surface like an emerald wash, then disappeared. Harry looked down at Snape, who was giving him a disgusted sneer.
"I guess if I want something done I'd better do it myself."
But Harry felt something stirring in the air . . . "You might want to put a shield."
Snape lifted an eyebrow. "Or what? I might get injured by a—"
And the archway blew up—spitting pulverized rock, rubble and dust into the air. Harry was on the ground instantly, shield up, trying to get the taste of boulder out of his mouth. "Professor Snape?" The concussion had hit Harry rather hard and it was an effort to crawl to the low wall looking down on the crypt.
"Professor Snape?"
"You thought, perhaps, that I could no longer Apparate?" Harry whirled around to see Professor Snape at the top of the steps leading to the dias, smirking at him. "By the way, nice spellwork."
Harry stared for just a moment at the compliment before giving him a wan smile. "Are we really done with the Dementors now?"
"Yes. You might want to move," Snape said conversationally.
"Why?" Harry looked around behind him, but saw nothing stirring. The stone of the archway was gone, but the shape remained behind—a gaping black wound in the air, finally uncovered by its veil.
"The lost souls will be exiting soon to join their Demented bodies."
Harry gave the wizard a look before scrambling to the farther reaches of the room. Then the trembling began again, and a sad, keening sound filled the room again.
The atmosphere in the room darkened. Energy crackled in the air as if a violent thunderstorm approached. Harry lowered himself to the ground, wand up. Snape joined Harry on the floor, and both fixed their eyes on the Veil, to see something that few wizards would ever see.
In the beginning, all was dark within the hole—an inky blackness as solid as the stone arch had been. Then a light began to twinkle, distantly, so far that Harry thought it might be his imagination playing tricks on him. But then another light joined it and another, and the pinpricks became streaks of light with a beginning in the far distance. They were coming this way—and fast.
The voices began again—the whispering that Harry had always heard behind the Veil—growing louder and louder as the streaks of light became brighter. And then, suddenly they were upon them.
Two figures of glowing white exited the darkness first—a short, thin man with a droopy face wearing wispy, old-fashioned robes and a large woman with angry, dark features. They circled once, and their expressions changed. There was freedom in their movements and newfound peace on their faces as they flew out of the walls.
And then there were more—tens more, hundreds more—coming so fast that Harry could only get an impression of the many different kinds of wizards and witches that came through. All of them had been turned into Dementors?
Harry shook his head, then froze. His gaze had caught on a tall, thin man who was continuing to glide around the room when most had moved on. The ghost was looking intently around the room, as if he'd lost something. It was hard to get a look at his face, but Harry was already standing.
"Harry," Snape said beside him. "Careful."
As Harry stumbled down the stairs, gaze fixed on the ghost above him, tears jumped into his eyes. Brushing them away impatiently, he tried to confirm what he already felt—yes, yes, it was him.
"Sirius!" Harry screamed through a suddenly raw throat. "I'm here!"
Turning, the figure slowed and moved toward Harry. Harry's starving eyes watched every expression that flitted across the ghost's face: relief, joy, sadness . . . love. Sirius held out his hands to Harry and a smile grew on his face.
Harry's eyes filled and he couldn't help but hold his hands up toward him, just a little. "I'll be there, soon, Sirius. Tell Mum and Dad." Sirius was shaking his head with an expression of grief. He flew closer to Harry, bringing an intense flow of colder air with him. "It's been a very long year, Sirius—I didn't think I'd make it. Now, I have just a few more battles to fight and then I can be with you."
Again, Sirius looked grieved. He put out his hand and touched Harry lightly on the head, or at least tried to. His mouth worked to form words. "H—Harry. You can fight harder than that." He smiled. "If you are t—truly your mother's son—you will fight harder than that."
Harry bowed his head and nodded. "I miss you," he whispered.
"And I, you," Sirius whispered back, so quietly that Harry almost didn't hear it. When he looked up again, Sirius' ghost was gone. The room was quiet, save the whispering of the last two ghosts enjoying their newfound freedom.
The Veil was destroyed. The Dementors unable to harm anyone ever again. And Sirius was gone—again.
Harry, feeling the familiar painful squeeze begin in his heart, shut his eyes and tried to breathe. Sirius was right. He had to fight harder. His mother would want him to.
Just as Harry was opening his eyes, his Senses flared. An Incarcerous spell coming from—
"What—"
The split-second hesitation made his desperate dodge too late. Ropes snaked themselves around him from shoulders to ankles, making him teeter precariously.
"Silencio!" Snape hissed, and once again, Harry was so dumbfounded that the curse hit him easily. Snape had deceived him? All of this was a lie? Why? To get his help destroying the Veil? "Accio wand." Harry's wand went winging to him.
Furious, Harry jerked at the ropes and snarled at Snape noiselessly, almost dumping himself on the ground. He never should have trusted him. He never should have—
"I'm tellin' you, that was him."
"Sirius bloody Black's ghost? Then how come I didn't even get so much as a glance? Tell me that."
Voices coming from outside the room, quiet but growing louder. Wait—was that—?
"Well. You do have a tendency to go off scratching your arse at important moments—good luck I was paying attention and saw that this is the room they all came from."
The twins?
"Oh, really? And why in the bloody hell would ghosts be fleeing from the Department of Mysteries? Tell me that."
"Probably smelt that ghastly aftershave you've been wearing ever since Paula Pricklesleeve started coming 'round."
Their footsteps stopped outside the door. "Perish the thought. Probably smelt Wormtail's b.o. Probably been at least four or five weeks since he's bathed, eh? Come on, then."
One of the twins—Harry immediately saw that it was Fred—appeared inside the doorway, eyes wide and jumping about the room, taking in the destruction and finally coming to rest on Harry, who by this time, was madly trying to gesture with his head for them to turn around.
"Harry? Bloody—"
George had ducked his head in and, as soon as he saw Fred heading for Harry, whipped his head around to the left and caught sight of Snape. His shield went up just in time to save Fred from being hit by a Reductor Curse. Fred turned and whipped out his own wand, shouting several colorful names for the Professor.
Harry, in an agony of helplessness, watched with sinking heart as Snape just sneered at the twins and easily blocked the first two curses they spun at him.
"Come to join the party, then?" He flicked his wand and a jet of purple light just missed George. "Winners take all?"
"Harry, are you all right?"
Harry nodded at George, and jerked his head to Snape as if to say, Forget me—watch out for him.
"I haven't hurt the poor boy, if that's what you're worried about. I admit, I would like to, but that wasn't part of my orders from the Dark Lord," Snape curled his lip as he spoke.
"Orders from the Dark Lord? You bastard!" Fred shouted. "And I always said you were too pathetic for Voldemort to really use, too broken and bitter." He hurled a powerful Incarcerous, but Snape blocked it—less easily this time.
"Does that make you angry? Perhaps you should hang around, and see what happens when I turn precious Potter over to the Death Eaters. They've been waiting years for this." He smiled, and Harry saw the merciless, cold devil he'd always hated in Snape.
And yet, something didn't seem quite right in what he was saying.
"You'll have to go through us," George said, moving slowly to join his brother.
"Why don't you just stay right there?" Snape swiped his wand and—nothing happened.
Then suddenly, the stone in front of George grew tall and split in two. The giant arms, for that is what they looked like now, reached around George and clamped around him tightly. Fred gave a cry of alarm and hit the stone with several spells, but nothing worked.
Harry fought to made a noise, any noise, to remind Fred of the danger to himself, but was of no use. And, just as he'd foreseen, Snape simply repeated his spell and enclosed Fred in a like stone embrace. Harry tried to move—couldn't. Tried to focus, to bring up the screen in his mind. Just as he got it up, Snape began speaking.
"Try it, Potter and I'll kill them." Harry met the black eyes with hatred, but gave in. "Thank you. Accio wands. There. I have no need to hurt you, spawn of Weasley, and will be more than happy to leave you for the returning Aurors to find—if there are any—once I have a simple piece of information." His voice was silk-wrapped menace, and Harry thought he could happily kill the evil wizard right now if he were free.
From the curses spewing out of both of the twins' mouths, it appeared they agreed with Harry. Then Snape waved his wand and Fred screamed.
"I said I have no need to hurt you, but I will, unless you tell me where you put Wormtail. I am responsible for him, you see." Fred was manfully battling the tremors that racked his body while Snape stepped closer to him.
"Leave him alone!" George bellowed, kicking uselessly against his stone captor, his arms pinned tightly against his sides.
"Would you like your brother to feel the same pain?" Snape gestured loosely to George.
"I don't care!" George returned. "Let him do it, Fred!"
"Or . . . perhaps you might not care to see our Gryffindor Savior battling the same agony?" Snape's wand strayed to Harry. As Fred hesitated, white-hot pain sliced through Harry's midsection and he couldn't help but fold in his bonds, his face contorted. The pain was brief—in fact, by the time he was on his knees the pain was already gone. Harry looked up in surprise.
"Bastard!" George shouted.
"Wormtail is in the Atrium," Fred ground out with fury in his eyes. "There was no one in the Auror office to process him, so we made a cage for him—a proper cage for a rat!" He smiled grimly. "Not sure what good that information will do you, anyway. Harry will still get away. And then, you'll know what pain feels like."
Snape gave him an oily smile. "Your faith is touching. Hold on to that. The worst is yet to come."
Lazily, he began to swish his wand back and forth, back and forth, muttering words that Harry couldn't hear. He looked at Fred and George with alarm, horrified to see that their eyes were closing.
"No!" He cried out silently. Snape was capable of anything—ANYTHING!
Once the twins had fallen over, slumped in a bewitched sleep, and Harry had rediscovered how impossible it was to free himself, Snape turned to Harry, continuing the same motion.
Harry shook his head.
"Yes," Snape whispered, "you do need to sleep. You have a very long night ahead of you, Harry, and you need to rest. Sleep," his voice fell to a whisper. Harry felt his eyelids closing, but could do nothing to prevent it. His body was shutting down of its own accord, and he was lying on the floor, staring up at Snape when everything went blurry.
His eyes began to close.
"Ginny," he whispered soundlessly. "Ginny . . ."
