Chapter 22: Serpent's Shadow

December arrived almost without Harry noticing. The green of the grounds was replaced with the ghostly white of snow. The surface of the lake turned to ice, frozen and silent.

Harry felt very much like the lake.

Outwardly, he was calm and shiny, an out-spoken hero from the cover of a magazine. Inside, he was a whirl of emotion, rapids of rage and waves of weariness so deep they almost overwhelmed him.

The detentions with Umbridge were hell, an inferno consuming him slowly. After several weeks, he had almost grown used to the pain, but he could not shake the exhaustion. The compulsions she had on him were strong. Too strong. It was like trying to fight off the Imperius Curse all the time.

It was dark magic. The kind of magic that slowly sapped life from your body. He could feel it settling into his bones, reaching its tendrils into his brain, draining his strength to fuel its power.

He had tried to break the spells in a desperate bid for freedom. Unfortunately, breaking a spell on a person, especially yourself, was incredibly dangerous. When Harry had reached out his magic in an attempt to sense the spells Umbridge was using, he had been met with a terrifying realization: the spells were completely interwoven with his own magic.

He could hardly distinguish them from one another. Any attempt to remove them would likely render him a Squib or just flat out kill him.

He needed help. Someone to break the spells for him.

Umbridge had ensured that he was unable to ask for it.

She was a monster of the highest order dressed in the pink frills of innocence.

He loathed her.

After his failed attempt to break the spell, Harry had simply given up, taking his punishment in silence. He still had faith that she would fall. It kept him sane.

He found himself cherishing his time with his friends more than he ever had before. When he was with them the dull thrum of the compulsions faded into the background of his mind. When he was with them the ever-present pain in his arm dulled.

He clung to the bits of happiness in his life, letting them chase away the anger and pain.

What Harry found truly ironic was that, besides the torture, everything was going really well for him.

The issue of Magical Monthly had shifted much of the school to his side. The day after the magazine was published Seamus had come up to him, looking nervous and guilty. He had offered Harry a heartfelt apology and told him that he believed him.

It was easy for Harry to accept his apology. All of his anger was reserved for Umbridge and Voldemort. He didn't have any left for anyone else.

Just like that, Harry's friendship with Dean and Seamus was rekindled. The air of tension in the dormitory eased. The two boys had even agreed to join the Founders' League, adding to their ever-growing ranks.

They had gained twenty new members since the magazine had been published as students realized that theory wouldn't protect them from Voldemort.

One of the new members had come from a place Harry had never expected.

He had been sitting in the library working on a Potions essay, struggling to fit everything he wanted to say into his response, when McManus had approached him. On instinct, Harry reached for his wand, expecting an attack.

He let the stick of holly go when he saw the look on McManus' face. He looked devastated.

"Can I sit down?" he asked, gesturing at the empty chair across from Harry.

Harry nodded, setting his quill down. McManus sat gingerly in the chair, twisting his hands together roughly.

"I'm sorry."

It was a whisper, almost a plea.

"It's okay."

Somehow, it was.

Harry understood what had driven McManus. It was the same anger that had almost led Remus and Sirius, two of the best men he knew, to murder Peter Pettigrew in the Shrieking Shack.

"It's not. I…I hurt you. I acted like a total jerk. I don't even recognize that person. I just…I was so angry, and I took it out on you. I'm really sorry."

There was nothing but sincerity and regret in those eyes.

"It's alright. I understand."

McManus had stared at him for a moment, like he was an enigma, a puzzle he couldn't solve.

"You know what you said, in the hallway, about how you wish it was you who died?"

Harry nodded, remembering those words all too well. He had meant it at the time. He still meant it.

"I'm glad you didn't. Cedric would have wanted you to live. He always said you were a good guy. I can see now that he was right."

In the course of that afternoon, McManus became Michael.

When Harry had tentatively asked him if he was interested in joining the Founders' League, Michael had accepted immediately, clearly interested in learning to defend himself.

Harry left the library that day feeling lighter. He knew that forgiving Michael had been the right thing to do. Grief affected people in different ways: for Michael it had been expressed as anger, for Cho it was sadness, for Harry it was paralyzing guilt. For Harry to deny Michael forgiveness would have been cruel in the extreme. He knew what guilt felt like. He wouldn't wish that feeling on anyone.

The Founders' League had changed since the magazine had come out, and it wasn't just the new members. The atmosphere of the meetings had changed, growing more somber. The students now understood the reality of what had happened to Cedric. How his life had been snuffed out in a single moment. It had changed learning how to defend themselves from a hobby to a necessity.

The magazine had also profoundly changed the way the other students looked at him. Instead of hate and distrust, there was something akin to awe in their eyes. Even the Professors were acting differently around him. Professor Sprout had given him a hug after Herbology, telling him how grateful she was to him for telling Cedric's story. Professor Flitwick had given him a box of Ice Mice at the end of class, quietly expressing his support.

Professor McGonagall's reaction had been his favorite. She had simply put a hand on his shoulder, looked him right in the eye, and told him how proud she was. It was a moment he would never forget.

Professor Snape's reaction was not nearly so pleasant. The dour man had grown crueler to Harry since the magazine had come out, insulting him frequently and taking points over nothing. Harry could understand why Snape was angry, but he couldn't condone it. Bitterness was not a helpful emotion, especially after so much time. He wished that his Professor would learn how to let go.

Harry let the insults roll off his back, but his friends had a much more difficult time letting it go. Hermione had to keep pinching Ron to stop him from yelling at Snape, and Neville kept glaring at their Professor when his back was turned. Blaise didn't even try to restrain himself. Every time Professor Snape took points unfairly, Blaise would point out his bias in a falsely polite voice. Each time he insulted Harry, Blaise would say something nice about Harry. Snape would grow more and more annoyed but would still refuse to take points from Slytherin. Blaise used this to his benefit, growing more and more outrageous with his compliments. It was rather funny to watch.

Harry appreciated Blaise's support. It was nice to have people back him up.

The support of his friends meant everything to Harry, but even they couldn't completely erase the effects of his nights with Umbridge. As the holidays approached, Harry felt the detentions beginning to wear him down more and more.

By the day of the last Founders' League meeting of term, Harry was exhausted. He had never felt this tired in his life. It was like his bones were filled with lead, dragging him down.

It was only the knowledge that he would be at Grimmauld Place in less than a week that stopped him from just staying in bed all day.

In the last few days it had gotten so bad that Harry kept falling asleep in the Common Room while they were all doing homework. Ironically, it was the best sleep he was getting. With his friends around him, Harry never had nightmares.

While Harry did appreciate the sleep he managed to get, it didn't stop the situation from being embarrassing. It wasn't that Harry was ashamed of sleeping in front of his friends, it was where he kept falling asleep.

For some reason, Harry kept falling asleep on George.

It was mortifying.

George didn't seem to mind, but Harry was still so embarrassed he wanted to sink through the floor.

It didn't help that Neville and Ron kept exchanging knowing looks while Hermione kept calling him adorable. He was definitely NOT adorable.

Wanting to avoid further embarrassment, Harry was struggling to stay awake. They had just returned from the Room of Requirement after a long day of Founders' League meetings. It had been the last session of the term, and it had turned into something of an impromptu Christmas party.

By this point, Harry was used to feeling tired. What he wasn't used to was feeling this cold.

It had started a few hours ago, an unsettling chill in his blood.

It had grown worse since then, sending tendrils of ice through his body. He was freezing.

Even now, sitting in the Common Room wrapped in a fuzzy blanket from Hermione, he was shivering.

"I just don't understand why you're so cold," she said, worriedly.

"M-maybe it's j-just the weather?" Harry offered weakly, knowing that didn't make any sense.

Hermione glared at him in that way she did when he was acting like an idiot.

"Of course it's not that! We're inside!"

She looked concerned now, and Harry could feel his guilt start to rise.

"Maybe you should go to the Hospital Wing?"

"No."

It was an automatic answer. The compulsions wouldn't let him do that. The Hospital Wing meant discovery, and Umbridge's spells would never allow that. The only way he could go to the Hospital Wing was if someone knocked him out and dragged him there.

"I'm just going to go to bed."

He got up, reluctantly handed Hermione's blanket back to her, and trudged up the stairs on shaky legs.

Back in the dormitory, he quickly opened his trunk, desperate to locate his warmest clothing. He found a pair of fleece-lined sweatpants, a thick sweatshirt, and a pair of heavy woolen socks.

He pulled everything on as fast as he could, trying to minimize the amount of time his bare skin was in contact with the frigid air. That done, he cast a quick Warming Charm on his bed, feeling the heat begin to rise from the blankets. He burrowed under the duvet, desperate to feel warm again.

He didn't cast the usual Silencing Spells around his bed that night, knowing that Ron and Neville were worried about him. If they couldn't hear him breathing, they might do something rash.

Despite his exhaustion, sleep just wouldn't come. Harry felt an odd coil of anticipation in his chest like something was about to happen. As the hours stretched on, the feeling grew stronger, and his body grew colder.

He was shaking badly now. Warming Charms and blankets were making no difference. It was as if he was being slowly frozen from the inside out.

He knew that something was wrong. He needed to get out of bed and tell someone what was happening.

He needed help, but he couldn't move. When he tried to sit up, it was as if his control of his own body had been cut off. He could still feel everything, but he had no control over any of it.

Before he could begin to panic, something changed. His vision began to split, his consciousness fracturing.

Part of him was still Harry Potter, still in the Gryffindor Dormitory. The other part of him was not.

He was slithering down a dark hallway, tongue darting out to taste the air.

The man was on the ground beside the door, clearly asleep.

Red hair rumpled, light gleaming off his glasses.

Mr. Weasley.

Why was he seeing Mr. Weasley?

He reared back, fangs exposed, lunging toward the man.

No.

Fangs sunk into flesh, blood filling his mouth.

STOP!

Harry shouted the word in his own mind, unable to use his voice.

He felt himself split away from the snake. He was still aware of it, but he no longer WAS the snake.

He couldn't let this happen. He just couldn't.

He reached his magic out to the other half of his consciousness, grabbing for the snake's magic.

He found it and latched on, pulling hard, trying to get the snake to stop its attack.

The snake released Mr. Weasley, coiling on the ground, eyes darting about to find the threat.

Harry, ignoring his panic, continued to pull on the snake's magic, draining its very life. He didn't know what would happen if he killed the snake while he was still connected to it like this. Would he die too?

He never got to find out.

Just as he was about to drain everything from the snake, a new force appeared in his mind. It was roaring anger, rage in its purest form.

Harry recognized it right away.

Voldemort.

The snake's magic was pulled away from him violently, taking much of his energy with it.

His scar exploded in pain and he couldn't stop himself from crying out in agony.

"What was that?"

Neville's voice. The others were waking up.

The lights flicked on.

He needed to tell someone about Mr. Weasley. He was lying on the ground bleeding. Harry couldn't let him die.

He tried to pull himself away from Voldemort's mind, but the other was so strong, trapping his consciousness in icy fingers. Harry pulled harder, desperately trying to disentangle his magic from Voldemort's. His vision was flashing terribly now. A mirage of images and perspectives flashing by in a whirlwind of confusion and pain.

Darkness.

The Chamber of Secrets.

Piles of Gold, gleaming in the light.

Long-fingered white hands.

The Gryffindor Dormitory with scared faces staring at him.

Harry grasped for the image of his own reality, clinging to it with all the strength he had left. With one final tug, he released himself from Voldemort, falling back into his own body.

"Harry?"

Ron sounded so scared. Harry wanted to reassure him, but there was no time. Harry couldn't let Ron lose his father.

Ignoring the jerking tremors running through his body, Harry lunged for his bedside table, grabbing onto a lifeline: the two-way mirror.

"Sirius Black."

He stared at the mirror, begging the universe for his godfather to hear his call. After a few seconds, Sirius' face appeared. He was still dressed. It didn't look like he had gone to sleep yet. As soon as he saw Harry, his face fell.

"Harry, what's wrong?"

"Mr. W-weasley." He croaked, trying to ignore how Ron jerked beside him.

"He w-was attacked by a snake. I saw it. You h-have to h-help him, S-sirius."

"Where was he?"

"A dark hallway...in f-front of a door."

Sirius seemed to freeze for a second before he sprung into action, turning his back to Harry for a moment.

"Remus. Send a Patronus to Albus. Tell him that Arthur has been attacked while on guard duty. Then, send one to Minerva...Snape too. They can make sure the kids are okay."

Harry saw Remus moving behind Sirius, hurrying out of the room. Sirius turned his gray eyes back onto Harry.

"Listen, Harry, everything is going to be fine. Professor McGonagall is going to come get you, alright?"

Harry tried to nod, but he was still shaking too badly to control his movements.

Sirius seemed to notice this.

"Is Ron there?" he asked, sounding more worried than Harry had ever heard him.

"I'm here, Sirius," Ron said, moving into view of the mirror.

"How much blood has he lost, Ron?"

Blood?

What blood?

"I don't know, Sirius. Kind of a lot, I think."

That was when Harry noticed it. The red on his hands, on his sleeves, on the collar of his sweatshirt. He looked down.

His pillow and sheets were stained with blood, saturated with it.

"It's all from his scar, right?" Sirius continued, still looking panicked.

"Yeah, I think so."

Sirius nodded as if he had expected that.

"Harry, keep pressure on your scar okay? It'll help the bleeding stop."

Harry nodded, bringing one shaking hand up to his forehead, pressing as hard as he could through the shivers.

He was still so cold.

He could feel his blood soaking into his sleeve. Even his blood was cold.

Harry lost track of time, barely hearing the conversation Ron and Sirius were having. Barely noticing the shock and horror on the faces of Seamus, Dean, and Neville.

He only snapped back to awareness when Professor McGonagall arrived, looking incredibly flustered. Upon catching sight of Harry, she faltered, worry appearing in every line of her face. She quickly conjured a blanket and wrapped it tightly around him.

She gestured for Harry and Ron to follow her out of the dormitory. Harry found that he was shaking so violently that he could barely stand. Ron noticed as well, wrapping an arm around him and supporting him as they made their way out of the room and down into the Common Room.

Harry had never felt weaker or more exhausted. He was freezing cold and bleeding, struggling to put one foot in front of the other. More than anything though, he was afraid. Afraid for the Weasleys. Afraid that they would lose their father because he hadn't acted quickly enough.

He had let the snake bite Mr. Weasley. Sure, he had stopped it after the first bite, but he should have stopped the attack from happening at all.

If Mr. Weasley died, it would be his fault.

Fred, George, and Ginny were in the Common Room, looking pale and still in their pajamas. Harry couldn't even look at them.

"What happened, Ron? Professor McGonagall said Dad was hurt?"

Ginny's voice was so small, high-pitched and terrified.

"Yeah. Harry saw...something."

Before anyone could ask Harry exactly what he'd seen, Professor McGonagall ushered them out of the Common Room. Harry had barely enough energy to notice that they were taking the route to Dumbledore's office.

They had only been walking for a few moments when Harry felt his legs beginning to give out. Ron noticed, accepting more of his weight.

Harry could tell that Ron was beginning to tire himself out. Harry wasn't that heavy, but Ron wasn't exactly muscular.

"I've got him, Ronnie."

Another, stronger, arm wrapped around him, supporting him much better than Ron had been able to.

"Thanks, George."

Harry couldn't see George very well. He still had one hand pressed to his forehead, the sleeve of his sweatshirt obscuring his vision.

"How are you doing, Harry?" George whispered to him, failing to disguise the slight shake in his voice.

"M'fine."

Harry's words were slightly slurred. He was simply too weak to enunciate them.

"Right, of course. Silly of me to assume that bleeding from the head was cause for concern."

Harry could tell that George was trying to joke, but it fell flat.

"M'sorry."

He needed George to understand.

"What for?"

"It's my fault…I didn't..."

"Shut up, Harry."

There was an edge in George's voice, anger and fear.

"Not everything is your fault."

Before Harry could respond, they arrived at Dumbledore's office.

Harry didn't notice McGonagall give the password, he wasn't aware of the journey up the stairs. All he could feel was the terrible chill in his blood and George's arm around him.

The next thing he knew, he was entering Professor Dumbledore's office. All the Portraits were awake, chattering to one another. Dumbledore was standing at his desk, deep in conversation with Professor Snape. Both men looked up when the group of students entered.

For the first time since June, Dumbledore met Harry's eyes. It seemed to have been a mistake, an accidental connection as Dumbledore scanned the room.

But, mistake or not, green met blue. Harry searched Dumbledore's eyes for an answer. An answer to the question he wanted to scream into the night. He wanted to know what was happening to him.

Although he seemed to want to, Dumbledore did not look away. After a moment, the expression on his face changed into one of surprise as if he had seen something in Harry that he hadn't expected.

"Are you alright, Harry?"

There was concern in his voice, more than Harry had ever heard.

"No, he's most definitely not alright!"

George was nearly shouting at the Headmaster, his face contorted with anger.

"George…" Fred attempted to cut in, glancing nervously at the Professors.

"No. I'm serious. How the hell could you ask him that? He's covered in blood and seeing visions of You-Know-Who! How could he possibly be okay?!"

"Mr. Weasley, do not take that tone with the Headmaster."

Snape cut in, the normal venom creeping into his voice.

"It's quite alright, Severus. Mr. Weasley is correct. It was an insensitive question."

The twinkle was back in Dumbledore's eyes as he looked between Harry and George, clearly seeing something Harry could not.

"Don't worry, Mr. Weasley. I will explain everything at a later date. For now, you are all going to go to Headquarters. Sirius and Remus will take good care of Harry, I'm sure."

George seemed satisfied.

"And our Dad?" Ginny asked, her voice still trembling.

"He has been found by the right people. He's been taken to Saint Mungo's, and your mother is already with him. Don't fret Miss Weasley, things are looking good. It seems that something stopped the snake before it could do very much damage."

Dumbledore turned his gaze back to Harry, calculating.

"Do you know how that happened, Harry?"

Harry could tell that George was about to start yelling at Dumbledore again, so he answered before George could interrupt.

"Yeah, I...I did something to it. I'm not really sure what though...sorry, Professor."

Dumbledore nodded, looking at him like he had never seen him before.

"That's quite alright, Harry. I'll come speak to you over the holiday, and we'll try to figure out what happened. Does that sound good?"

"Yes, sir."

Harry wanted to ask more questions, but he was just so tired. So tired and so cold.

Dumbledore seemed to sense that his strength was failing, moving quickly around his desk toward the group.

"I've made a Portkey. It will take you to Headquarters. Sirius and Remus are waiting for you. They'll be able to help you, Harry."

Harry gave a weak smile, happy that he would soon be seeing his godfather.

They all gathered around a blackened kettle, huddling close together. They each placed a finger on the Portkey as Dumbledore counted to three.

As the final number left Dumbledore's lips, they were snatched away in a rush of motion, images flashing by in quick succession.

Harry could still feel George's arm around him, grounding him as he was swirled into nothingness.

He felt his knees slam onto a hard floor as the interior of Grimmauld Place materialized around him.

He felt hands on his face, heard panicked voices all around him.

Whiteness was filling his vision, blotting out the faces of his friends, turning the world into a snowstorm of emptiness.

He didn't feel the arms that reached out to catch him as his reality faded into nothing.

Nothing.

A/N: Does this count as a cliffhanger? If it does..sorry :(

Thank you to everyone who has liked, commented, or followed! I really appreciate the support :)

Next chapter is coming SATURDAY!