Chapter Thirty-Seven: Scratching Quills and Dusty Orbs
The spring approached rapidly, and Harry found himself no closer to discovering what was behind the door in the Department of Mysteries. Though he, Hermione, and Ron tried to do some research on the matter, they found that no books, not even the ones in the restricted section of the library, contained information about what was in the Department of Mysteries. There seemed to be seas of silence where they searched for answers, and they quickly realized that the inner workings of the Department were likely even more secret than they had originally suspected. It was most likely top-secret Ministry information, so there was no way that they would be able to gleam answers from library books meant for public use.
The search soon turned exhausting, and soon Harry gave it up. He was quickly finding himself stretched between Occlumency lessons, D.A. meetings, and the upcoming O.W.L.s anyway, so he put the search to the side in order to balance his other occupations. Besides, with the end of the year drawing closer, his friendships were growing increasingly strained due to the stress they were all under. Hermione and Ron began bickering incessantly as nerves ran high. Mental breakdowns became so frequent among fifth-year students that no one looked twice when someone burst into tears over his or her books. Harry quickly found he couldn't handle all of the emotional and mental stress and keep up his research of the Department of Mysteries. Besides, he didn't want his parents, who he sensed were already disappointed with the lack of progress in Occlumency, to think that he was disobeying their request to leave the topic alone. He stopped searching for leads.
Before he even realized it, the week of the O.W.L.s was soon upon them, and he was studying in the library every day with Hermione and Ron.
"I mean, how hard can the exam possibly be?" Hermione said the night before their Charms exam. She had recently been fluctuating between mini breakdowns and periods of confidence. "We've learned everything at this point. It's not like there's anything else we can do. Right?"
"Speak for yourself," said Ron, deeply buried in his charms textbook. "I still need to go over Cheering Charms."
"I mean, it's bound to be hard. They're covering a lot of information. But they probably take that into consideration when making the exams," Hermione said. She looked toward Harry for confirmation. "Right?"
"Umm, I guess so," Harry said. He was struggling to pay attention to his Transfiguration text.
Hermione was quiet for a long moment, and then whimpered and slunk down in her seat. "This can't be healthy!" she cried, clutching her charms textbook to her chest. "Why do they do this to us?"
Ron and Harry barely glanced at her, knowing that their advice would be shot down when Hermione was going through one of these phases.
"I don't understand why they're making us do this! It's practically counterproductive!" She ran her fingers through her hair, making it fluff up even more. "Ugh, and I still can't even get my tea cozies to turn an exact shade of purple. It's more like magenta!"
"Hermione, I think that should be the least of your worries," Harry told her. He flipped the page in his Transfiguration book.
"Magenta is purple," Ron pointed out.
Hermione's head snapped around to look at him. "It's not! Magenta has hints of red."
Ron just raised his eyebrows and returned to his book.
"I'm sure they'll accept magenta," Harry told Hermione. "If they even ask us any color-changing charms."
"I know they will," she groaned. "Both McGonagall and Flitwick reminded us that we need to go over those."
"They recommended we go over everything," Harry pointed out.
"Yeah, but I really think…"
"You'll most likely get Outstandings on all of them anyway. I'm not sure why you're worrying."
"I'm not so sure I will," she said, opening her charms book for the sixth time since they had sat down.
"Just think about it. By the end of next week, we'll be just about done," Harry said. "Then we can go home for the summer."
They went through the exams in a blur, and by the day of the last exam, when Harry looked back, he could remember very few details of his other exams.
The last exam was History of Magic, and the one that Harry was least prepared for. Of course, Hermione had given him scores of notes from which to study – she had even color-coded them – but by the time that Harry had the written exam in front of him, he could remember very little.
The exam ended up being much longer than he expected. The pages and pages of essay questions seemed to drag on forever, and he began to confuse the witch-hunts of the Middle Ages with the history of Merlin. He got Morgan le Fay confused with the Witch of Endor, and Circe confused with Ivan the Great… His mind was straining for answers…
Soon, when there was five minutes left for the exam, his worry was steadily rising as the answers continued to elude him. He answered all that he could, but there were blank spots in his mind from things he knew he had studied. He could hear quills scratching at the desks around him, never stopping or pausing for breath. He didn't know how the other students could keep their facts straight; it was all beginning to swirl around in his head in a muddle of confusion. His head was beginning to ache. He rubbed at his scar, not quite sure why it was beginning to get sore.
He reread the last line that he had written. The question was about the Goblin riots: Describe immediate cause of the 1612 Goblin rebellion. He scanned his brain for more information. It had taken place in Hogsmeade… he had written that already. The Three Broomsticks Inn was used as headquarters… no, he had added that already too. But what were the causes? Was it the new wand legislation? Wasn't it? Or was he confusing the eighteenth century rebellions? He couldn't remember. It was all a bit of a blur…
Harry gasped as his scar seared suddenly. He clasped a hand to his forehead, as if he could iron the pain away, but luckily the pain faded a moment later to a dull ache. He withdrew his hand, but his heart did not slow. He hadn't felt that amount of pain in his scar since his attack at Christmas… Dread filled him. No. He couldn't have another now. This was the last place that he wanted another, in the Great Hall surrounded by so many other students. He didn't want the attention, didn't want others whispering things about him…
Another jolt of pain swept through his head, and this time his quill fell from his hand and landed on his parchment, splattering ink onto his essay about the Werewolf Code of Conduct. He could feel his body weakening, his hands beginning to shake. He should tell someone, he should get out of the Hall.
The pain increased in a third wave, and it was so crippling that suddenly he was no longer in the Great Hall. He was down in the Department of Mysteries again, moving down the onyx hallway. His scar burned, propelled him onward, and to his surprise, the hallway did not lengthen and stretch before him as it usually did. It remained unchanging. It did not stretch, tease him, or slow his progress.
Encouraged this time, Harry began to hurry towards the door, heart pounding. He didn't know what was behind it, but he was about to finally find out. When he had reached the doorknob for the first time, his hand reached out slowly to touch it. He was afraid that he might touch the knob and suddenly the dream would shatter. Yet when his fingers touched the cold metal of the knob, the world did not shatter. The door clicked open.
Scarcely breathing, Harry went into the following room and saw that he was in a circular room lined by more doors. He didn't know how he knew, but something drew him to the one on his right. He went to it, and twisted the knob. It opened easily.
The next room was unlike the previous two. Its ceiling was high as a cathedral's, and it was lined with rows upon rows of shelves that seemed to reach the vault above. Dusty orbs rested all over these shelves, with faint and dusty labels attached.
Then, suddenly, he was moving quickly towards another location, the rows whizzing by him. When he came to a stop, he drew to his full height, and looked down at the man before him.
"Fetch it for me…" he hissed at the kneeling man, who was trembling from his place at the floor.
"You'll have to kill me," the man whispered, and the man looked up. He had the blood-splattered face of Sirius.
A cruel laugh came from Harry mouth. "Oh, I will," he said. "But not until you have done what I ask. Crucio!"
Then Harry felt pain, blinding pain, and the Department of Mysteries began to shatter. Someone was shaking him. He could feel his shoulders moving, and someone slapping his face.
He jolted back to Great Hall with a gasp, and saw that the exam proctor was above him, looking flustered. His pince-nez glasses had slipped as he was trying to help Harry up.
"Please, Professor Tofty," he could hear Hermione saying. "Please, he just needs to see Madame Pomfrey-"
"Mr. Potter," Tofty said. "Mr. Potter, dear boy. Sit up for me. Here's a glass of water-"
"No," Harry was saying, his mind swirling. He needed to get to Sirius. He needed to get to the Department of Mysteries. He could feel a cool rim of a glass pressing against his lips, but he turned his head. He didn't want water. He wanted to make sure Sirius was okay. "No. I'm all right. I'm just…" He could sense that they weren't listening to what he was saying; his words were coming out jumbled anyway. He could feel Ron seizing him by the armpits and making to take him to the hospital wing, but he began to fight him.
"Ron," he panted. He felt incredibly nauseous. "Ron, it's Padfoot."
Ron didn't seem to be listening. Professor Tofty was trying to give him instructions, and Ron wasn't paying attention to Harry.
Harry's head was swirling, his scar aching. "Ron, no. Ron, listen." He could feel Hermione on his other side. "Hermione, it's Padfoot. He's got Padfoot."
By the time that they had led him out of the Great Hall, and he felt less claustrophobic, his head began to slow, and he soon began to replace his surroundings. By the time that they had reached the moving staircases, he was feeling clear-headed enough to support himself. Though he still felt a bit nauseous, he told them, "Okay, you can let go of me."
They only gave him a glance, but didn't pay him much attention. He realized he was going to have to be more convincing for them to believe him. He realized he had probably rambled his way out of the Great Hall.
"I'm serious. Ron, Hermione. I'm okay now. I'm…better."
They looked at him doubtfully, and he tried to extract himself from their grasp.
"I'm fine. I'm okay now. Please, I need to go find Sirius-"
"Harry, I don't think so," Hermione said.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," he told her, feeling a bit embarrassed that they had had to help him out of the Great Hall. "It's passed. I feel better now. Please, we can't lose time-"
"Harry," she said worriedly. "I don't think you're well. We're just taking you to Madame Pomfrey for a look-"
"No, Hermione, I'm fine," he said, taking his arm out of her grasp. "I was confused before but- please, I'm okay now. Please, I need you to listen. We need to find Sirius. Voldemort has him. I saw. I saw them. They're in the Department of Mysteries-"
"You're still confused, mate," Ron said. "Come on, we'll take care of it-"
"I'm not confused!" he exclaimed. "Listen. Listen to me! He's got Sirius in the Department of Mysteries. He's torturing him-"
"Harry, I think we should go to the hospital wing-"
"There's nothing wrong with me!" he said. "Ask my parents. I was lucid the last time too. I know what I'm saying. I know what I saw. I saw Sirius in the Department of Mysteries. He's there, with Voldemort. I was there, I saw. I was Voldemort-"
"Harry-"
"No, listen. I need you two to listen. You don't believe me, but we need to go now!" he insisted. "We don't have much time."
"Harry, mate, you're still a bit flustered," Ron said. "I don't know if-"
"I know! I know, you think I'm rambling! I'm not, I really saw him there," Harry said. "We need to go! Now!"
Hermione and Ron were staring at him blankly.
"Aren't you listening? We need to get there!" he exclaimed. "Sirius could be injured, dying. Voldemort's with him-"
"Harry-"
"You still think I'm rambling, I know. But I saw Voldemort there, with Sirius! I've never seen the inside of the Department of Mysteries before, but I did this time, and I saw him there!"
"Harry, listen-"
"No, you listen!" he retorted. "I'm going to the Department of Mysteries to find Sirius. I don't know if you believe me or not, but I'm telling the truth. He's there, and he's in trouble, and I'm going to get him!"
There was a long pause as Harry glared at them, breathing hard. He was just beginning to think that he might have to go by himself when Hermione finally spoke.
"Harry," she said hesitantly. "It's not that we don't believe you. We believe that that's what you saw. I just think that we should make sure that what you saw was true."
"What do you mean?" he demanded.
"I'm just saying that there's a possibility that it could have been Voldemort's doing. He could be trying to manipulate what you see, trying to lure you into the Department-"
"He's not in my mind!" Harry said. "Why can't you understand that?"
She looked a bit pale. "Then let's double check, Harry. Just to be safe. It's better to do that than to wander unprepared into a trap."
Harry knew she was speaking sense, so he was silent for a long moment, trying to get his frustration under control. "What do you suggest?"
"We first go to find Dumbledore or McGonagall. If we can't find them, we'll go check Umbridge's Floo and talk to your parents or Sirius," she said. "And if they aren't there, and if your parents don't have their mirror, then we'll go to the Department of Mysteries."
Please excuse the canon-ness of this chapter! It was necessary for tomorrow's coming chaos!