Harry's eyes blinked open.
Rain swept through the banks of his legs, piling between his fingers and winding to a puddle beneath his back which pooled, until he swore there was enough to carry him away like a log floating down the riverbend.
He groaned.
"Ow!"
His shoulder throbbed.
What struck first was not the haziness or the ringing that sang, a soft lull then a whispered whine in his ears; what struck first was the overwhelming sensation of water.
Of uncaring rainfall, seeping through his body in fresh relief, of
the dark strands of hair that whipped about him, stuck fast to his icy, sodden skin.
Harry could feel his neck against cool, damp stone, could feel the weight of soaked robes hug and bear down upon him, but it was not until he had enough sense to reach out—grabbing onto fistful of pebbles—when he realized he was no longer within Quidditch grounds.
Where…?
He blinked, still coming to, mind slow. Pain waned in and out as his shoulder stung in a fast-growing bruise, the front of his head aching in a sore way too. Even now, the wind was voracious, unyielding. It took a moment for his sight to return from dazed distortion and to realize that the dreary churning above was not some trick or illusion, but a thunderous sky unguarded by the familiar borders of the Quidditch pitch: it was the very thing that he had just lost makeshift battle to.
Harry breathed in.
First thought:
Where was his broom?
He contemplated getting up and looking for it but could feel his ribcage creak and whinge; he lifted a hand to cover his face from the rain.
He breathed out. Second thought:
Where…
Third thought: … am I?
As one exhausted breath escaped, suddenly, the hand that covered his eyes was taken away and its place, Cedric peered down at him, agitated. He was breathing shallowly, the brown locks of his hair so soaked by water that it deepened to a dark pine, and the rain dripped down his nose.
Harry felt them drop and slide on his cheek. He blinked and tried to say something but without warning, the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team came into faded view, looking equally as frightened as they stood over him.
"Haa—!"
"Don't!"
With a start, Harry sat up and felt something stab inside his head. The glasses slipped off his nose as he swayed to the right, nearly smashing to the ground before being pulled abruptly back—"Stay still!"—hands wrenching him upright. Coughing, Harry fell back against Cedric who flung his wand straight into the air and shielded him from the rain once more.
"Slow, you have to go slow now… you just took a tumble above the lake—"
"WHAT WERE YOU DOING, HARRY?!"
"Now's not the time to be yelling…"
"Am I supposed to ask the NEXT time he strikes out on his own!"
"Later, Lina! She bloody well-meant later…"
Voices bellowed, cutting through and over the rain. Ignoring them, Harry squinted blearily from underneath his heavy eyelids.
"...'m in the lake?" he asked softly, dizzy.
Blinking fast against the rainfall, he raised his chin and vaguely confirmed that they were indeed in the midst of a storm and—vaguer still—indeed standing on the pebbled shore of the Great Lake.
"But I was nowhere near—… agh!"
Harry threw his head into his hands, eyes screwed tight with pain. A familiar white heat seared again, exploding from above his right brow.
"Harry!"
Gargling out of his throat, Harry heard someone crash against the pebbles beside him.
"What happened?!"
It was Ron's voice.
"Something's wrong!"
Several more rang out too, dissonant, and incredibly jarring as the storm rocked overhead. Fighting against the dizziness and pain, Harry spoke as best he could.
"Nothing," he muttered, unconvincingly as his hand raked down his face, "I—… ugh… something's got in my eye…"
The shore blurred and he fell forward a little more, light-headedness taking swiftly over.
"We need to take him inside!" Ron shouted, there was a clatter as he seemed to throw something away before he hooked his hands underneath Harry's arms. "Before the storm gets any worse!"
The rain beat hard as Harry felt himself hoisted upward; a hand tilted his head and gently wiped the hair from his face.
"D…on't. Don't touch it," Harry said hoarsely.
"I-I won't…" Cedric's fingers trembled, weaving deftly away from Harry's scar. "Can you stand?"
Slowly, Harry got to his feet; his heart throbbed to the dull pulse of his forehead, and he felt Ron and Cedric stoop underneath his arms, helping him along.
"Stay up," Ron urged. "Don't fall asleep on us!"
Though Harry desperately wanted to retort, he gritted his teeth.
"'m trying…" he muttered, weakly. "It's easy for you... to say..."
By now, Angelina's anger had subsided and as she spoke, a small nervousness revealed itself in her voice.
"D'you think we'd get in trouble for walking in like this?"
"Forget that, Madame Pomfrey's about to go ballistic—"
Eyes closed and chest heaving, Harry shook his head, "No…"
"We can't go to the hospital wing," said Cedric, at once.
"Yeah, we wouldn't want to Umbridge to cite this as a reason to ban Quidditch trainings or whatever,"
"It's probably already a daft decree that she's got cooked up—"
"Then where are we going?"
The group stood in blank silence.
"Let's just get inside first," said Cedric. With the rain spitting at everyone's faces, he pointed toward a dark shape protruding in the haze and bluster of the mounting storm. "We can cut through the portrait in the Boathouse!"
Darkness cradles.
He was walking once again; a long, windowless corridor—
Tap, tap!
—bare feet pattering against the dark and glossy floor… toenails, digging into the brickwork.
Tap!
Haa!
Thin footsteps hit hollowly in the silence, tap, tap, tap!
And a breath quickens.
At the end of the passage, so long and tormentous to have walked, a door looms—larger than measley life—and a heart beats in excitement.
Haa…
Mist billows.
If I could only open it…
The whisper curls from the fog of his breath—
Aha! … If only I could enter beyond…
He stretches his hand out, pale fingertips and yellowed nails grasping but mere inches from the golden handle before him—
"Harry Potter, sir!"
Harry awoke with a sudden start.
Something toppled to the floor as he sat there, breathing hard, the cold sweat dripping down the slope of his neck as his murky surroundings ceded into view.
"Whozair?" he said thickly, staggering upright. He could barely make sense of what was going on and looked down himself, realizing that though dry, he was still in his Quidditch robes.
He wobbled, lifting himself to squat with his toes on the cushion as he searched desperately for his wand—
"It's Dobby, sir! a squeaky voice answered.
"Dobby?"
Harry's hand frozen in the air.
"Dobby has your owl, sir!"
The fireplace was almost extinguished. The room lay, smothered in nightfall though Harry's eyes blinked in and out of his sleepy daze. Groggily, he recognized the familiar Gryffindor common room; the recollection of being dragged inside its walls flowed as his sleepiness fell away, busy murmurs, hands that touched his cheek, a wand that had a spout of steam bursting from its tip.
Harry plopped back down into his armchair, sluggish but brimming with vague remembrance. He pieced together shards of a memory—the tinny voice of the Boathouse portrait speaking in riddles, blurred and washed-out faces, scarlet Quidditch robes bending over him and the bright, crackling firelight that had cast shadows upon the wall—and he realized that he must have passed out earlier in the night.
The rest, he thought, must have gone upstairs.
A damp towel with a stitched Chudley Cannons emblem rest by his feet and as it caught Harry's eye, he realized that the same bright auburn poked out of the couch adjacent to him. Harry could make out Ron's fiery hair in the low light: slumped and asleep while still sitting, a single, wooden bucket filled with fresh water and a multitude of rags were strewn about the floor beside his feet, his palms scrubbed red and raw as they curled, facing toward the ceiling. Nestled next to him was Hermione, whose face was half-buried against Ron's shoulder. There were an abandoned pair of knitting needles by her arm and about a half-dozen unfinished garments. She snored lightly, wand still at hand—she must have been responsible for Harry's dry robes—and as Harry pressed his fingers against his cool forehead, he became struck by the sudden stiffness of his right shoulder. He folded his collar back.
She also must have been responsible for the bandages, which smelt strongly of mint.
"Sir?"
Harry peered through the gloom toward the source of the voice.
On a low table in front of the fireplace, Dobby the house-elf stood, his large, pointed ears sticking out from beneath what looked like all the hats that Hermione had ever knitted. Each one had been stacked on top of the other so that his head seemed elongated by two or three feet, and on the very topmost bobble sat a snow-white owl, hooting serenely.
"Hedwig?"
"Yes, sir! Dobby has volunteered to return Harry Potter's owl, sir!" said the elf squeakily, with a look of positive adoration on his face. "Professor Grubbly-Plank says she is all well now!"
He sank into a deep bow so that his pencil-like nose brushed the threadbare surface of the hearthrug and Hedwig gave an elegant hoot, fluttering onto the arm of Harry's chair.
"Thank you!" he said, relief flooding his heart almost at once. He became instantly aware of how sweaty his hand was as he stroked Hedwig's head and blinked very hard, trying to shake off the strange and uncomfortable pressure on his chest.
"Harry Potter, sir?"
"Huh?" Harry rubbed his eyes and bent forward in his chair, "O-Oh sorry, Dobby, was there something else?"
It was midnight; Harry could tell from the low chime of the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, and looking back to Dobby, he noticed that the elf wore several scarves and innumerable socks, so that his feet looked far too big for his body.
"Err… have you been taking all the clothes Hermione's been leaving out?"
"Oh no, sir," said Dobby happily, "Dobby has been taking some for Winky too, sir."
"How is she?" asked Harry softly. He remembered how, after the events of the last year, Winky was forced to find employment within Hogwarts and felt a pang when Dobby's ears drooped.
"Winky is still drinking lots, sir," he said sadly, his enormous green eyes—as large as tennis balls—downcast. "She still does not care for clothes, Harry Potter. Nor do the other house-elves! I finds all sorts of things in your lion's tower these days, but they don't wants to hear about it!"
"Why not?"
"They finds them insulting, sir! None of them will clean Gryffindor Tower, not with the hats and socks hidden everywhere…" hobbling closer, Dobby whispered as if he worried some of his friends would hear. "To tell you the truth, Dobby does it all himself, sir, but Dobby does not mind. Especially now that the clothes don't haves rubbishes on them!"
"Right…"
Harry furrowed his brow. Dobby leaned back and took what looked like mittens from Hermione's pile and added them to the layer of socks already on his feet.
"And—and! For he always hopes to meet Harry Potter and tonight, sir, he has got his wish!" Dobby sank into a deep bow again.
"But Harry Potter does not seem happy…" he went on, straightening up and looking timidly back at him. "Dobby heard him muttering in his sleep; was Harry Potter having bad dreams?"
"No," said Harry. He shifted in his chair and rest against his elbow, face tight. "Not yet anyway, I've… it's just a one I've had before, I think…"
The visage of the door stuck like it had been seared and stamped onto his mind… the dream had been very vivid… Hm?
Wait.
Where had he—
"Dobby wishes he could help Harry Potter…" said Dobby, interrupting very sincerely as his ears drooped again. He surveyed Harry out of his vast, orblike eyes. "For Harry Potter set Dobby free, and Dobby is much, much happier now…"
Harry smiled slightly.
"You can't help me, Dobby, but thanks for the offer," he slumped back into his chair and stared up into the ceiling, the weak firelight illuminating the scars on the back of his hand.
"Wait a moment—there is something you can do for me, Dobby," said Harry slowly.
Dobby's ears perked.
"Name it, sir!"
"I… I need to find a place where thirty-two people can practice Defense Against the Dark Arts without being discovered by any of the teachers. Especially—" and Harry clenched his hand, so that the scars shone pearly white— "Professor Umbridge."
As he said this, he expected the elf's smile to vanish, for his ears to droop.
Harry half-expected him to say that 'this was impossible!' or else that he would try but his hopes were not high, but what he had not expected was for Dobby to skip.
There was a soft rhythm that pattered against the table as Dobby waggled in a circle happily, and he clapped his hands together, (though in a hushed way so as to not disturb his sleeping friends); Hermione began to grumble under her breath, she shifted and burrowed her face into Ron's neck.
"Dobby knows the perfect place, sir!" he said gleefully. "In fact, it is the other reason I was sents to you tonight!"
Harry's head tilted, "What? What do you mean—"
"Cedric Diggory, sir! He asked me to check if I could gets you!" Dobby said, pulling him eagerly out of his chair. "He is awaiting on the seventh floor!"
It took only a few minutes before Harry and Dobby snuck out the common room, carefully navigating through the Grand Staircase and tiptoeing past the castle's paintings, their snores and sleepy babbling following them up to the seventh-floor landing. Passing by windows and peeking through their curtains, the sky outside flashed warily, and rain assailed the rooftops and walls with fierce bite. The castle seemed darker and quite cold tonight, with the storm and the thunder having its way of turning each room, each corridor, and each chamber that they walked across, into something nefariously other and new. But as the wind swayed and buckled between the moors, the thunder booming in its slow roll towards the distant scrape of mountains, Dobby and Harry snuck under the cover of the raging downpour outside and finally reached the corridor where Cedric stood.
Lightning flashed.
"Sir!" Dobby hissed as soon as they got closer. Thunder broke and Cedric whirled around—he had been staring out the window until now—and his wand snapped forward in a shock of cold, white light as he pored over the pitch-black hallway, startled.
There was nobody around him.
"Who's there?" he asked. The light that pooled at his wand dimmed now and again as ever so slightly; his hands shook, "Dobby, is that you?"
"Yeah—" said Harry hastily, before Dobby could snap! and appear abruptly by Cedric's side— "It's us,"
They hurried into the light.
Dobby whispered cheerfully, "Harry Potter, sir, just as you've asked!" and Cedric relaxed; a small breath escaping.
"Hi," he said, stepping toward Harry. "A-Are you alright? I didn't mean to force you out of bed if you're still…"
Harry shook his head, "I'm alright to move, thanks to you and the others… Lumos!"
He had doused his light when they passed into the seventh floor, fearing that it would give them away to any patrolling teachers or for that matter cats, but had a sudden change of heart.
It may have been the trick of the spell's glaring properties, but Cedric looked a touch paler than usual.
"I don't remember much after getting to the Boathouse…" Harry continued. Cedric nodded.
"I can tell you, but I'm afraid we'll have to save it for another time—I heard Filch yelling at Peeves on the fourth floor again…" he said, and without waiting for a response, he knelt down beside Dobby, who had been gazing back and forth between the boys as if deeply invested in their conversation.
"Could you show us that place now, Dobby? The one I asked about?"
Dobby beamed. "Gladsly, sir!"
Then he set off, the totem pole of hats on his head teetering faintly as he skipped along the hallway. The wind wailed.
Harry took the chance to whisper to Cedric.
"Alright?" he asked.
"Yes," said Cedric, terse though he seemed to want to pretend otherwise.
"How did you get to know Dobby?"
"Everyone in Hufflepuff knows him, least the ones who're willing to talk to the elves… he's basically our next-door neighbour…"
He began to tell a story about the time Dobby had saved a group of first-years who had stolen the kitchens self-replicating kettle, when the elf in question turned so swiftly that—for the second time this night—the stacked pile of hats on his head threatened to fall.
(Thankfully, they did not).
"Dobby must inform you sirs, he heard tell of this room from the other house-elves when he came to Hogwarts!" he said, lively as ever, "It is known by us as the Come and Go Room, sirs, or else as the Room of Requirement!"
"Requirement?" Harry asked, curiously.
"It is a room that a person can only enter," Dobby confided, "when they have real needs of it. Sometimes it is there, and sometimes it is not, but when it appears, it is always equipped for the seeker's needs."
He then stopped and waited for them to reach his side, dropping his voice as he whispered, "Dobby useds it, sir, when Winky has been very, very drunk! He has hidden her in the Room of Requirement and found antidotes to butterbeer there, and also a nice elf-sized bed to settle her on while she sleeps it off, sir... And Dobby knows Mr. Filch has found extra cleaning materials there when he has run short, and—"
"—and if you really needed a bathroom," said Harry, suddenly remembering something Dumbledore had said at the Yule Ball the previous Christmas, "would it fill itself with chamber pots?"
"Dobby expects so, sir," said Dobby, nodding earnestly. He turned and began walking again. "It is a most amazing room, and cames immediately to mind when Mr Diggory asked about the castle's hidey places!"
"How many people know about it?" said Harry, standing taller and taller as they matched Dobby's pace.
"Very few, sir. Mostly people stumbles across it when they needs it, sir, but never find it again! For they do not know that it is always there, waiting to be called into service,"
"Brilliant," said Harry, his heart racing. He looked to his right and mouthed, "It sounds perfect!"
Cedric managed a slight grin back.
"That's what I thought when he told me as well,"
They hastened through the seventh floor, occasionally dimming their wands inside their sleeves, and waiting behind corners to make sure that no teachers were hiding behind suits of armour. For added measure, Cedric would often make Dobby and Harry stand back, while he pointed his wand forth and muttered, "Homenum Revelio!"
They waited a few seconds.
He seemed satisfied when nothing happened.
In between the task of winding carefully through the hallways, past classroom doors and some of the unfurled, ghost-possessed banners which quivered fearfully at the rumble of the storm: Harry thought to enlighten Cedric of the dream he had.
"There was a corridor—" he said, and as he began to retell the story, the brief snatches emerged like they were being pulled out his lips by string— "It was windowless, dark, and the floor! The floor was this polished, black marble… you could make out blue veins or roots or something running alongside,"
Cedric frowned and thought to himself, trying to recall if he had seen anything similar in his own recent dreams.
"There's… There's always this door at the end of the hallway that I'm trying to get to, and," Harry blinked rapidly, "and, oh… that's all I can…"
"'Always?' You've dreamt about this place before?"
"I'm not certain, but—" Harry fell silent, bearing a troubled expression— "I don't know. It's isn't… it doesn't happen like the ones of the graveyard…"
"Right," Cedric whispered, understanding. Harry shook his head; he inhaled sharply, as if bracing himself.
"There's something else…" he said. With light fingers he touched the right side of his forehead.
"What?"
"My scar… when it hurt today, I think—"
"Harry Potter, Cedric Diggory sirs… we've arrived!"
Harry stopped. They had come to a halt at a deadend, T-junction of the corridors, at which Dobby presented a rather large but empty-looking stone wall opposite to an enormous tapestry depicting Barnabas the Barmy's foolish attempt to train trolls for the ballet.
"Here? Dobby?" Cedric asked.
"Yes!" Dobby whirled around. "It may looks like this for now sirs, but only because we haven'ts told the room what it is that we need yet!"
"Do we have to speak to the room?"
"No, sirs! We must only walks past this bit of wall three times whilst thinking very hard on the thing we mosts need!" Dobby put his mouth behind his hand, "The room will always be listening!"
"Oh," Harry said. Unnerved, he looked toward Cedric. "Right then, err, what do we need?"
"A place to fight, I'd say… somewhere where we can learn to fight without being bothered,"
Harry nodded and looked determinedly at the empty space in front of them.
"Let tell it that then," he declared.
They began to walk alongside the wall, turning sharply at the window just beyond the right wing before swinging past a man-sized vase on the other end. Each time through, Dobby had his thin fingers pressing hard against the temples of his head, while Cedric closed his eyes and muttered, almost chanting, under his breath. Harry decided to clench his fists as he stared ahead of him and began thinking in the loudest 'voice' he could muster, in the hopes that it could help.
We need somewhere to learn to fight… he thought, focusing on Cedric's exact words, just give us a place to practice… somewhere they won't be able to find us… a place to practice… please—
"Harry!" said Cedric sharply. After their third time past, they wheeled right around, a little to the left from the previous corridor's entryway where precisely in front of them—as if it had been always been there from the start—a highly polished, wooden door had appeared on the wall.
Dobby hopped forward with excitement, nodding enthusiastically at an ornate brass handle, ripe for the pulling.
"Shall I?" said Cedric, warily. Harry nodded, glad that he made the suggestion.
"Careful."
Cedric reached out and pulled open the door.
Fuoh!
Air escaped, almost like a breath, but whether it belonged to Harry, Cedric, Dobby, or even the door—nobody could tell. Blue light shone as the doors cracked open and, allured, they walked inside to a wide, spacious room lit with flickering torches like those that illuminated the dungeons below. Wooden bookcases and mirrors that loomed a foot high above their heads lined adjacent walls, and the ceiling—which was strangely shaped like a dome not unlike the Prefect Bathroom's—housed tall, opaque windows, shining with a white glow which cast about the marbled, lazurite interior of the room.
The floor was both a strange mesh of grey stone and black grating, and instead of chairs, large silk cushions had been placed neatly to the side. At the far end of the room, there were more shelves as well as a fireplace whose mantel carried instruments such as Sneakoscopes, Secrecy Sensors, and a large, cracked Foe-Glass, of which Harry was sure had been previously stored in the fake Moody's office last year. Above them hung a suspended, wooden chandelier wrapped in fern and vine; it flickered alight as soon as Cedric and Harry walked underneath it, and in fact, the fireplace and the room's torches also seemed to roar with greater intensity as they walked deeper inside: pale illumination that bounced off the ceiling and walls in cobalt dimmed, as a warm hue kindled and enveloped their surroundings.
Harry breathed out; the ache of his shoulder forgotten.
"Alright… So, this is—"
"Brilliant."
Cedric looked back at him, a true and giddy sort of smile alight on his face, "It's like Hogwarts wants us to fight back!"
"Yeah…" Harry said breathless, unable to keep the excitement from bubbling too, "yeah, I suppose that's right."
Below their waists, Dobby clapped his hands together again and jumped into the air, clearly elated as Harry and Cedric stared about the room in an undeniable sort of wonder.
"Dobby is so happy to have helped you, sirs!" he cheered and by—perhaps—another inexplicable effect of the room: the elf's collection of knitted hats stayed put for the third time that night, as he bounced and did a little dance in the air.
The next morning, Harry ran around the common room, crossing off names that been hurriedly inked on the back of his copy of Heretical Herbology, while Ron and Hermione trailed bewilderedly behind him.
"No practice today!" Angelina moaned, catching them just outside the entrance. Even on the Grand Staircase, you could hear the sky hammering against the castle with what sounded more like stone rather than hail, and it came as no surprise when many afternoon lessons—such as their Care of Magical Creatures—were posted to have been relocated from stormswept grounds to a free classroom on the lower floors.
Much to Harry and Ron relief, it seemed that Angelina had come to see the same reason.
"McGonagall doesn't want any incidents," she continued, "and I thought she's got a fair point 'specially with you rocketing off yesterday without proper order—"
"D-Did you tell her about it?" said Ron, alarmed; Harry looked to his captain with the same unease. Angelina slammed her hands against their heads, rifling through their hair.
"'Course not, I'm not dense! Though I suppose I should get a better whistle if we're ever to practice in conditions like that again…"
Harry kept silent and let his hair be dishevelled; that must have been the excuse that Ron and Cedric told her yesterday.
"How are you feeling by the way, Harry?"
"I'm fine, thanks Angelina but listen…" he glanced around and then dropped his voice to a low murmur, "tonight, eight o'clock, seventh floor opposite that tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy being clubbed by those trolls… can you tell Katie and Alicia?"
Angelina looked slightly taken aback, "Oh... is this...?"
"We've found somewhere to have our first Defense meeting,"
Angelina nodded, promising to tell the others. After reassuring her that he hadn't hit his shoulder or head too hard, Harry thanked her again and swept quickly down the stairs.
"Harry!" Hermione called.
"Yeah?"
He crossed off three names off list, barely registering the sound of Ron and Hermione skidding and skipping steps to keep on his tail.
"Are you going to tell us what you're doing?"
"Well, I've found a room for us to practice in—"
"Yeah, we've gotten that much!" Ron said, jumping down a few steps. "Are you going to tell us anything else about it?"
"It's on the seventh floor, opposite that giant tapestry of—" Harry felt two hands grab the back of his robes, pulling him right around as the next set of stairs on their way down, disconnected from the platform.
"Yes, yes! We've heard what you've said to Angelina and Neville and Dean and the twins about a thousand times now!" Hermione said impatiently. She looked back, conscious of a group of second-year Gryffindors that had been trapped on the landing behind them and began mutter under her breath. "How'd you even find it? And when did you have time to—"
"Dobby told me about it, last night," said Harry, eyes flicking away.
"Dobby!" exclaimed Ron, startled. The second-years next to them jumped.
Hermione sighed, though perhaps she was only catching her breath, "I hope you know what you're doing… Dobby's plans aren't always that safe, don't you remember when he lost you all the bones in your arm?"
"I promise this isn't just some mad idea, Hermione… Dumbledore knows about the room too, he mentioned it to me at the Yule Ball, and—" Harry hesitated— "Cedric and I already-had-a-look-last-night, and it was actually quite impressive so,"
"Last night? But you weren't… Were you out of bed last night?!"
Harry chose to not answer.
"Trust me," he said firmly, "just trust me. I'm not being reckless just because Snuffles told me to be,"
Hermione reared back, clearly about to chide him before she stopped and shut her mouth. Though he had not meant to say it so carelessly, in the spur of the moment he felt something similar to when Mrs Weasley and Sirius argued about him at Grimmauld.
"That... I'm didn't mean to come off like I'm doubting you! O-or Snuffles—!"
Clink!
The next set of stairs finally reconnected to their landing. From behind Hermione, Ron glanced at the group of second-years rearing to get to the Hall.
"Well, I think we ought to have breakfast first… before we start chasing the others around," he said, supportively. Harry grinned. Together, the three spent most of the day seeking out those who had signed their names to the list in the Hog's Head and telling everyone where to meet in the evening. Along with Cedric, who had promised that Hidiyah and Evan would also be on the case: by the end of supper, Harry was confident that the news had been passed to every one of the twenty-nine people who had turned up in the Hog's Head.
When the minute-hand finally struck half-past seven that evening, the three left the Gryffindor commons, Harry having gathered his cloak, the Marauders Map, and the scroll that contained the final draft of his lesson plan, while Hermione and Ron could not help but glance behind their backs as they walked out onto the stairs. Despite knowing that fifth-years were allowed to be out in the corridors until nine o'clock, there was a certain element of illicitness that remained, familiar but somewhat abundant and infectious within the air.
As the seventh floor drew closer, all three of them looked increasingly more nervous and at one point, the faint outline of Nearly Headless Nick—who only drifted through the portrait of Edgar Stroulger—scared the three of them thoroughly; Ron let out a muted kind of squeal before Harry rashly clamped a hand on his mouth, and the ghost himself clutched at his own chest before realizing.
"AHHHH—! … Oh,"
"Nick!"
"Sir Nick," corrected Hermione, breathless. The ghost tipped his extravagant, plumed hat slightly and looked down at them, concerned.
"Are we alright, sirs and madame? School hasn't been getting the best of you all, has it?"
"N-No! We're fine!" Hermione insisted. "Ron's just got the, err… the Squealies…"
"… Ah… yes. Well, I've heard that's quite the frightful illness! It's not contagious, is it?"
"I don't see how that's really relevant to y—"
"No!" said Hermione quickly. At the same time, Harry's hand swatted at Ron's chin. "There's nothing to fear! But we'll be taking him to the, err, hospital wing now!"
"Excellent! Well stay strong, young master Weasley! I am certain that you will get through it…" Sir Nick began drifting past them again, unsheathing his rapier and holding it high in the air. Ron awkwardly returned a weak salute back.
"The Squealies?" he said, as soon as Sir Nick was out of earshot.
"Hush—"
"It saved you, didn't it?" said Harry.
"Not any face or pride!"
Hermione sighed. "I didn't just make it up, I read about it in that rubbish—… in Luna's family magazine,"
Ron shook his head, mouthing to himself once more in disbelief.
"The Squealies?"
Without further incident, they finally reached the top of the last staircase.
"Hold this," said Harry, unfolding the Marauders Map.
He tapped it with his wand, swore to be up to no good, and waited as the old parchment obediently filled in: a myriad of tiny black moving dots along different areas of the castle.
"Filch is on the second floor," Ron said, holding the other end of the map close to his eyes and scanning it closely, "and Mrs. Norris is… she's on the fourth!"
"How about Umbridge?" said Hermione anxiously.
"In her office," said Harry, pointing. "Alright, let's go,"
Remembering the route, he led them along the corridors to the familiar stretch of blank stone wall and guided Hermione and Ron on the walk from end to end, instructing them as Dobby did to concentrate hard on what they needed. Once the doors appeared, a boyish excitement filled his face and he pressed down on the familiar, ornate handle before gesturing for his friends to enter inside. Hermione and Ron's immediately faces dropped in astonishment as they walked into the Room of Requirement, their reflections glinting back at them from the mirrored wall as the blue marble shone; it didn't take long for the fires flickered into hearty life as his friends ran deeper into the room.
"Look at these books!" exclaimed Hermione, racing excitedly to bunch of crammed shelves in the corner. "A Compendium of Common Curses and Their Counter-Actions… The Dark Arts Outsmarted… Self-Defensive Spellwork… wow…"
She traced their spines, the leatherbacks looking like they had just been oiled, a set of quills and some parchment neatly set aside at the end of each shelf. By the fireplace, Ron also turned back, poking various objects as if to make sure they were real.
"These will be good when we practice Stunning," he said, eagerly prodding one of the cushions with his foot. Just as it sunk in and he lifted his shoe, the velvet surface inflated to its full size again. "Wicked! And these!"
Ron reached over to the fireplace's mantle and held the Sneakoscope aloft, analysing it through a careful streak of light.
"I dunno what these do, but they're really official-looking!"
"They're Dark Detectors," said Harry, stepping between the cushions to reach them. "Basically, they all show when Dark wizards or enemies are around. You'll see that you don't want to rely on them too much though, they can be fooled…"
He gazed for a moment into the cracked Foe-Glass—shadowy figures were moving around inside it, though none were recognizable—and then turned around, finding Ron and Hermione still staring around the premise with their faces aglow.
"I'm sorry," Hermione said suddenly. She stared down at the book she had pulled from the shelf, Jinxes for the Jinxed, and quirked her mouth glumly. "You were absolutely right, this place is wonderful… it has everything we'd ever need…"
Briefly, Harry thought to tease her or even quip "I told you!" to salve the frustration that had mounted over the last few days, but he shook his head.
"Thank Dobby," he said, "and also—"
A gentle knock interrupted them, resounding from behind the doors.
Creak!
"Oh! Good," Cedric's cheerful voice came through as the room opened up once more, "they're here,"
He turned, beckoning to a multitude of people behind him—Ernie, Hidiyah, Justin, Lavender, Evan, Dean, and Parvati, just to name a few—the same bolt of shock made plain on their faces as they stood in the corridor outside.
As Harry, Ron, and Hermione came up behind him, Cedric grinned.
"Come in,"
By the time eight o'clock arrived, every cushion within the Room of Requirement was occupied and Harry moved across to the door, turning the key that protruded from the lock as it clicked in a satisfyingly loud way.
At once, everyone fell silent. Whispers quietened, and the wide-eyed denizens tore away from marvelling at the Room of Requirement to instead stare at him.
"Well," said Harry, slightly nervously, "this is the place we've found for practices… you've—er—obviously found it okay…"
"It's fantastic!" said Susan Bones, and several people murmured their agreement.
"It's bizarre," said Fred, frowning around at it. "We once hid from Filch in here, remember, George? But it was just a broom cupboard back then…"
"The room can be a lot of things but we can get to that stuff later… I've been thinking about the stuff we ought to do first and… er—"
Harry noticed a raised hand.
"What is it, Hermione?"
"I think we ought to elect a leader," she said.
"Harry's leader," said Cho at once. Murmurs of agreement arose but Hermione looked unperturbed.
"We all know he is, but just to make things formal and give him proper authority… all those in favour?" Hermione raised her hand. Almost immediately, every person in the room followed suit, even Zacharias Smith though he did it very half-heartedly.
"Er—right, thanks," said Harry, who could feel his face burning. A thought struck him; he raised his own hand. "And everyone in favour of Cedric also?"
Cedric turned, surprised.
"You can't have two leaders!" George said loudly, then he paused. "Can you?"
"Who said that?" asked Alicia beside him.
"Err—"
Harry shook his head, "I think we should. I won't be the only person at the front teaching lessons and Cedric's made just as much effort to get us all here…"
A brown hand raised in the air.
"Cedric for co-leader!" Hidiyah said loudly.
"Hear hear!" joined Evan, great hand also up. It was not long before everyone's hands raised in the air again, a chorus of 'Aye' and more 'Hear hear!'s ringing, (even Zacharias straightened more enthusiastically).
Cedric smiled and got his feet.
At once, Harry remarked at how suited his friend looked, standing in front of all these people. When Cedric gave a deep bow, Harry grinned and clapped alongside the others until Cedric sat back down.
"Great!" he said, relieved. Harry kneeled onto his own cushion and began to unfurl his lesson plan on the floor, "So, er—… oh, yes, Hermione?"
"I also think we ought to have a name," she said brightly, finally resting her hand on her lap. "It would promote a feeling of team spirit and unity, don't you think?"
"Could we be the Anti-Umbridge League?" said Angelina, hopefully.
"Or the Ministry of Magic are Morons Group?" suggested Fred.
"What about W.H.U.T?" said Dean, counting off his fingers. "We… Hate… Umbridge Truly!"
"Or rats!" Evan exclaimed. "Righteously Angry, Tired Students!"
The room rang with varying agreement and more laughter, and Harry felt pleased to see people enjoying themselves; whatever tensions were held when they first started, had begun to diffuse as the torches flickered a little warmer too.
"I was thinking—" said Hermione, the slightly raised corner of her lip ruining her stoic face— "more of a name that didn't tell everyone what we were up to? So, we could refer to it safely outside meetings…"
"How about the 'Defense Association'?" Cedric suggested. There was a murmur of earnest consideration, "The 'D.A.' for short, so nobody'll know what we're talking about,"
"Smart!" said Ginny. "Only let's make it stand for Dumbledore's Army because that's the Ministry's worst fear, isn't it?"
There was a great deal of appreciation and laughter at this.
"Okay! All in favor of the D.A.?" said Hermione, kneeling up on her cushion to count. "That's a majority—motion passed!"
She pinned the piece of parchment that they had all signed on a corkboard at the back of the room and wrote DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY across the top in large letters.
"Right," said Harry when she had sat down again, "shall we get to practicing then? I was thinking that the first thing we should do is Expelliarmus—you know—the Disarming Charm. It's basic, but I've found it quite useful in—"
"Oh please," said Zacharias Smith, folding his arms. "You don't think Expelliarmus is actually going to help us against You-Know-Who, do you?"
"I'd say it saved our lives well enough, when Harry used it last June,"
Smith opened his mouth to retort but gaped quite stupidly, realizing—like everyone else who had turned to look—that it was Cedric who had spoken up, his quiet voice out of place in what had been a chamber full of laughter minutes ago. Now, the room fell to an iron silence. Harry twirled his wand.
"If you think it's beneath your level, you can leave," he suggested.
Smith did not move. Nor did anybody else.
"Okay," he continued, his mouth slightly drier than usual with double the realization of all their eyes upon him. He looked to Cedric, "Shall we, er, divide into pairs and practice?"
Cedric nodded, encouraging.
"Yeah, let's do that," Harry said, "get into groups of two!"
It felt very odd to be issuing instructions, but not nearly as odd as witnessing those instructions being followed. Practically everybody got to their feet at once and paired up, with Neville left—predictably—partnerless.
"You can practice with me," Harry told him, he noted with surprise that Luna Lovegood had pulled Cedric for herself. "Right, on the count of three then everyone—one, two… three—!"
"Expelliarmus!"
Flashing with red light, the room was full of shouts as wands flew in all sorts of directions: missed spells hit books on shelves and sent them flying into the air, while only few of those who were hit had actually dropped their wands to the floor.
It seemed Harry had been right to suggest that they practice the basics first. Glancing around, he could tell that a great deal of shoddy spellwork had occurred in their first attempt; many people simply failed in disarming their opponents at all while most others were merely caused to jump backward a few paces, or wince as the feeblest version of the spell washed over their heads.
"Expelliarmus!" cried Neville, and Harry—caught unaware—felt the wand fly out of his hand.
"I DID IT!" said Neville gleefully. "I've never done it before! I DID IT!"
"Nice one, Neville!" Harry said. He decided not to point out that in a real duel, an opponent was unlikely to be staring in the opposite direction with their wand held loosely at their side. Instead—
"Listen, can you take it turns practicing with Ron and Hermione for a bit? I just need walk around and see how the rest are doing…"
Leaving Neville in his high, Harry moved off and began circling around the room as each pair tried again and again.
The first thing he noticed was that something very odd was happening to Zacharias Smith. Every time he opened his mouth to disarm Anthony Goldstein, his own wand would fly out of his hand, yet Anthony did not seem to be making a sound.
Harry did not have to look far for the solution of the mystery: several feet away, Fred and George seemed to take turns pointing their wands at his back.
"Sorry, Harry," said George hastily, when Harry caught his eye. "Couldn't resist…"
After this, the next few observations that Harry would make were less strange but more telling.
On the left side of the room, Ginny seemed to be doing very well but her partner, Michael Corner, was either horrendously bad or simply unwilling to jinx her. Next to them, Ernie Macmillan was flourishing his wand unnecessarily, giving Hannah Abbott enough time to get in under his guard, and on the other side of the door, the Creevey brothers were enthusiastic but made erratic motions, flinging stray spells which seemed to be the main perpetrators of all the books leaping off the shelves. In the centre of the room, Luna seemed similarly patchy: she occasionally sent Cedric's wand spinning out of his hand but at other times, merely caused his hair to stand straight to its ends, and as Harry passed around the room twice, walking by Hidiyah—who was doing much better than the often frozen-in-panic Evan—he began to take note of more and more inconsistencies, bad habits which piled into weak form which obviously was not helped by the fact that most of them had not had proper practice since the year started.
Eventually, he walked toward the last pair that he had yet to closely observe.
"Oh no," said Cho, rather wildly as he approached. "ExpelliARmious! I mean, Expelli-mellius! I—… oh! Oh sorry, Marietta!"
Her curly-haired friend's sleeve had caught fire; Marietta hurriedly extinguished it with her wand.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine! Don't worry Cho, it was just—"
"You made me nervous, I was doing all right before then!" Cho said, turning to Harry rueful and out of the blue.
"No! It was… that was quite good…" Harry lied, but when she continued to stare at him, he corrected himself. "Okay, well… it was a bit lousy, but I believe you! I was watching from over there…"
Cho gave a small laugh, bashful. Her friend Marietta began to look rather sour and turned away.
"Oh. Erm… please don't mind her," Cho said, gently. She made wild gestures, clearly nervous, though for what reason Harry could not tell. "Marietta… she's usually a very nice person but err… she doesn't really want to be here… I-I made her come with me initially, even though her parents forbade her from doing anything that might upset Umbridge… Her mum works for the Ministry, you see…"
"What about your parents?" asked Harry.
"Well, they've forbidden me to get on the wrong side of Umbridge too," said Cho soberly. However, there was a quick spark of determination in her eye that Harry was certain he had never seen before. "But if they think I'm not going to fight You-Know-Who after what happened to Cedric, I—"
She broke off, looking rather confused as her eyes had become drawn toward the person in question; Cedric had moved to the opposite end of the room, laughing raucously as Evan attempted to disentangle himself from the robes that had flown up over his head.
"Oh… er…"
"R-Right," Harry said, pretending that he had not looked in the same direction either. Terry Boot's wand went whizzing past his ear and hit Alicia Spinnet hard on the nose, but even that kerfuffle could not stop the awkward silence that fell between them.
"Well my father is very supportive of me taking part of any anti-Ministry action," said Luna, appearing from out of nowhere just behind them. Harry did not know whether it was her or Cedric that had left the other first, but had the impression that Luna had been eavesdropping on their conversation for a while.
"He always says its best to believe anything bad about Fudge, especially after the number of goblins that he's had assassinated… and of course, he uses the Department of Mysteries to develop terrible poisons, which he feeds secretly to anybody who disagrees with him! And then, there's his Umgubular Slashkilter—"
"Don't ask," Harry muttered quickly to Cho who had opened her mouth. She laughed and smiled graciously.
"Well, that sounds sort-of nice… I wish my parents were more like that,"
"… Would you be interested in a copy of the Quibbler?"
Harry took this as his cue to leave and shuffled to the fireplace, ignoring the stuffy feeling inside his chest. He looked at the messy floor of spell-slinging in front of him and scratched his head.
"Alright, erm… Stop!" he shouted. "Stop! STOP!"
"Expelli—"
"Hey!"
"—armus!"
"Everyone!"
No one seemed to be able to hear him.
Merlin! I need a—
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a silver flash as something small suddenly appeared on the fireplace's mantle.
A sharp noise pierced the air.
In a chain-reaction of quick jolting, everyone lowered their wands to see Harry, who held a whistle to his lips.
"Thanks," he said gratefully. "I just wanted to say that what you've done so far wasn't bad! But I think everyone can see… err… that's there's definite room for improvement…"
Zacharias Smith glared. Harry ignored him.
"So, let's try again…"
A little timidly, the room returned back to practicing and Harry circled around once more. However, this time, he stopped here and there to make friendly suggestions.
To Ernie, he demonstrated how quick flicks and jabs could prove more deadly and impressive in results, while the Creevey brothers—after enduring their spluttering excitement at Harry's presence—were advised to make proper time to aim, while also being shown different sets of casting forms for their wrists and arms. Watching a little longer, Harry asked Cedric to start moving around a little; he hid behind bookshelves and sometimes other people which seemed to delight Luna and some of those involved, as she ran avidly after him. It was not long before some of the others became intrigued by this, moving a safe distance away from the rest of group to practice in the same way. Finally, Harry was glad to find that Michael's 'issue' had been solved by Ginny herself: she seemed to have caught onto his hesitance and as Harry passed by, had some prompt and stern words with her boyfriend.
By this time, Harry made his rounds, the general performance of the room slowly improved to the point where only three bookshelves had been emptied of its contents. At the same time, there were a lot more sounds of surprised shouts and wands being flung from hands, a larger sense of enthusiasm sparked in each shouted incantation of the spell.
"Hey, Harry," Hermione called from the other end of the room, "have you checked the time?"
He looked down at his watch and received a shock—it was already ten past nine.
WHHHHHHEEEEE—!
He blew his whistle, causing everybody to stop shouting, "Expelliarmus!" as the last couple of wands clattered to the floor.
"Well, that was pretty good!" said Harry. "But we've overrun, so we'd better leave it here. Same time, same place, next week?"
"Sooner!" said Dean Thomas eagerly, and many people nodded in agreement.
"Longer!" Evan chimed. Hidiyah hid a snicker behind her hand.
Angelina raised her hand, "Hold on now, the Quidditch season's about to start remember, we need team practices too!"
"Okay, let's say next Wednesday night," Harry proposed, "and we can decide on additional meetings then… Come on, we'd better get going…"
He pulled out the Marauder's Map again and checked it carefully for signs of teachers on the seventh floor.
"Coast is clear; go!"
He let them all leave in threes and fours, anxiously watching their tiny dots to see that they safely returned to their dormitories; the Hufflepuffs to the basement corridor that also led to the kitchens, the Ravenclaws to a tower on the west side of the castle, and the Gryffindors through the Grand Staircase to the Fat Lady's portrait.
When it was finally just the three of them left, alongside Cedric, Evan, and Hidiyah in the corner: Hermione jumped and threw her arms around Harry.
"Amazing!" she cried. "That was really, really good!"
"Thanks—ack!" he groaned a little, touching his shoulder as Hermione let go.
"Sorry! I forgot,"
"Ow… don't worry…"
"That was great, Harry! Did you see me disarm Hermione?" said Ron excitedly.
"Only once," said Hermione, stung. "I got you loads more than you got me—"
"I—… that's true, but I did not only get you once, I also got you at least three times,"
"If you're counting the one where you tripped over your own feet and knocked the wand out of my hand—"
"Of course, I'm counting that one!"
They continued to bicker back and forth, but—as usual—Harry did not listen; instead, he rolled his shoulder back and quietly relished the way the blood rushed into his heart, a warm feeling now spreading to the tips of his fingers as Cedric, Evan and Hidiyah surged forward too.
"Well done! said Hidiyah, smiling. "You've managed to make it work quite well, haven't you?"
"All because of your help, really… thank you so much—"
"Tonight was supreme! And this room!" Evan gestured around him. "Supreme!"
As Evan high-fived Harry lightly, Cedric grinned, bright and looking down at him.
"You were fantastic tonight," he said. Harry gave a modest smile, nodding as that same stuffy feeling from earlier would not let him say anything else. The six of them talked for a couple of minutes, congratulating before eventually Hidiyah took out her wand, a small golden clock that had been affixed to its base gleaming in the light.
"Oh! I ought to get back soon," she said, "prayers and whatnot—you staying, Ced?"
"Er—"
"Could you?" Harry asked suddenly. "I want to talk about the next meeting,"
Cedric nodded. Evan gave them all a small salute as he and Hidiyah turned to the door.
"We'll be off then; I'm really looking forward to next week!"
"See you, Potter!"
The doors shut softly behind them, and as soon as their dots vanished into the basement on the map, Harry gathered his remaining friends in the centre of the room.
Half an hour had nearly passed since the meeting adjourned, and Ron yawned, slumping to a cushion on the floor.
"Issit not bedtime yet?" he asked jokingly. Harry shook his head.
He was beginning to look increasingly troubled, and the proud glow that he bore and revelled in earlier fell away, as his brow knitted in a straight line.
"What's wrong, Harry?" Hermione said, noticing. He turned, hesitating only a moments worth before he regarded Cedric and Ron.
"I have something to tell you, but before I say it… could you tell me what happened during training last night? When I—" Harry hesitated— "When I… flew out into the lake? Was that what happened?"
Drowsy, Ron looked at him, confused.
"Don't you remember?"
"That's what this is about," Harry said, dismally. The light and sleepy mood that persisted after their first successful meeting evaporated as he said this, and the Room of Requirement's blue glow grew stronger as all the torches dimmed, save for the ferned chandelier above them.
"My scar… it was hurting yesterday," Harry said tentatively. All three of his friends sat upright; they were now wide, wide awake, whether out of simple curiosity or the trepidation by what that may mean.
"Tell me what happened," he asked again.
Cedric shifted forward.
"Lightning broke—do you remember that?"
Though the rooms light-washed windows were not being pelted by rain, the sure sound of thunder rumbled above them as Harry shook his head. Cedric continued.
"As… as soon as Angelina saw the first signs of lightning, she called the practice to an end. She was shouting, er, and I blew my own whistle… We managed to round everyone up, managed to assemble near the ground entrance to the pitch, but you…" he faltered. "… Fred said that he and George swung under you once or twice. You were hovering in the air for quite a while, and they were trying to tell you to get back after the first set of whistles—"
"Then you saw me fly out of the stadium?"
"Yes."
"You just… you took off!" Ron said, "It was bloody scary. Katie did the headcount and everything and then Fred almost crashed through the stands, shouting about how you were hurling toward the lake!"
"At first, we thought that you had seen the Snitch… maybe you hadn't heard the whistles because you were so high up in the storm, and the Snitches pathing always goes a bit haywire depending on the weather conditions but once we followed you, I…" Cedric frowned. "You weren't looking back at all—you weren't… you didn't stop,"
Arms crossed, Ron nodded solemnly.
"I think Alicia was planning to pull right behind you—she said she was going to try and grab the end of your broom before you just…"
The four of them sat in silence. Harry could guess what had happened next.
"Thanks for catching me," he said quietly, looking to Cedric. "I remember that part, at least,"
"You're welcome," Cedric said just as hushed, and the silence grew heavy between them as they wordlessly imagined what else could have happened.
"So, what did you tell the others, exactly?" Harry asked.
"Oh, something about altitude sickness… and, again, you not hearing the whistles over the storm…"
"They bought it quite well actually, I was kind-of scared that Angelina would tell McGonagall… but we've got nothing to worry about—"
"What happened to you, Harry?" Hermione asked abruptly. She had been silent throughout the entire exchange, eyes focused at the floor until now. "You're sure it was your scar?"
Harry nodded grimly as he stared into space; he touched the right side of his forehead.
"It started hurting again…"
Ron got to his feet and strode across to a window, "He—he can't be near us now, can he?"
"No," Harry muttered, sinking against his crossed legs and rubbing his forehead. "He's probably miles away. It only hurt because… because he's angry, or—"
Harry broke off. He had not meant to say that at all.
He heard the words as though a stranger had spoken them, and yet he knew at once that they were true. He did not know how he knew it, but he did; Voldemort—wherever he was, whatever he was doing—was in a towering temper…
He looked back at his friends; the same alarmed expressions reflected on each of their faces.
"Did you see him?" said Cedric, alert. "Did you get a vision or something?"
"A vision…"
Harry sat quite still and stared at his feet, allowing his mind his memory to relax in the rush of adrenaline and the fast pace of the last few days. A confused tangle of shapes, a howling rush of voices whispered in his ear…
"He wants something done, and it's not happening fast enough," he said. Again, he felt surprised to hear the words coming out of his mouth, and yet quite certain that they were true.
"H-how do you know that?" asked Hermione, wide-eyed. Harry shook his head and covered his eyes with his hands, pressing down upon them with his palms until a static pattern dotted the blackness. He felt Ron sit back down beside him and knew that he, Cedric, and Hermione were all staring.
"Was it like this last time?" she asked, in a hushed voice. "When your scar hurt in Umbridge's office? Was V-Voldemort angry?"
Ron winced.
Harry shook his head.
"What was it, then?"
Harry thought back. He had been looking into Umbridge's face and his scar hurt… He had had that odd feeling in his stomach… a strange, leaping feeling… a happy feeling… but, of course, he had not recognized it for what it was, as he had been feeling so miserable at the time…
"Last time… he was pleased," he said. "Really pleased, he thought… he thought something good was going to happen,"
He turned his head to Ron, who gaped at him.
"You could take over from Trelawney, mate," he said in an awed voice.
"I'm not making prophecies,"
"Right, because they don't exist," said Hermione vehemently.
"No, you know what you're doing?" Ron said, sounding both scared and impressed. "Harry… you're reading You-Know-Who's mind,"
"No," said Harry, shaking his head. He glanced quickly at Cedric but looked away just as fast, "It's more like… his mood, I suppose. Dumbledore said something like this was happening last year too… Whenever Voldemort was near me, or when he was feeling pure hatred, I'd be able tell…"
He sighed.
"Now I-I'm getting flashes of whatever he's feeling, I suppose…"
There was a pause.
"Bad upgrade," said Ron sympathetically. He jerked as Hermione prodded him.
"Bad upgrade," repeated Harry, distracted as another thought came to mind.
"Your dreams," Cedric said. "Do you think that they could be connected to him?"
"I wonder…" Harry's brow furrowed. He turned to Ron and Hermione and explained, "Last night, I dreamt about this place—this long, dark corridor with a door at the end…"
"Your head could make up worse things, I guess,"
"Ron—"
"That's the thing," said Harry, tense. "I don't know if I am making it up,"
He brought a knee against his chest.
"To tell you the truth, I don't remember flying to the lake at all, my… my scar… The pain was too much and by the time I woke up, I was already on the shore with you all," Harry's chin tapped against his knee, mouth left partially open, "the only thing I remembered was that dream or vision or whatever… and I'm sure that it came to me twice. More than, even, I… I think I've been dreaming about the same place for ages now and just forgetting—"
"They must be connected," Hermione declared. "Your scar hurting and the same dream twice? You'd have harder time proving that all of this is just by chance,"
"We should tell someone," said Ron, immediately. "Someone in the Order,"
Harry shook his head, "I've already told Sirius about the last time."
"Well, tell him about this time!"
"Careful. Our High Inquisitor is still likely to be watching the owls and the fires," Cedric reminded them grimly.
"Then how about Professor Dumbledore—"
"He already knows," said Harry shortly, getting to his feet. "Look. I know I should tell someone, that's why I'm tell you all… But I'm not sure if there's any point in telling the same people again; I feel like they'll only say the same stuff they said before,"
As he stood, the rest of his friends got up as well; there was a sense of finality to it, as if the conversation ended although Hermione still eyed Harry thoughtfully.
"He would still want to know, I think," she said. "Dumbledore,"
Harry shrugged.
"This was all I wanted to talk about tonight, so I suppose let's just keep it in mind…" he looked at Ron and Hermione, sighed, and then gazed back to Cedric. "You two go ahead. I think Cedric and I ought to actually figure out things for the DA before the next meeting…"
"Don't stay up too late," Ron said. Harry nodded. The doors shut behind his friends and he grappled with the strange realizations that had come to surface tonight. Though he knew Cedric was beside him, and that Ron and Hermione were just outside those doors; suddenly, forcefully…
Harry felt very alone in the pale light of the blue-stone room.
"We think that he's trying to obtain something, something that he didn't have last time."
"Like what?" Harry asked. He did not know this, but with the next word the room would coalesce with an electric energy; as if there were a shiver zipping up and down everyone's spine, or a cold mist that clung about the room... Bells would toll in a deep and guttural clang, and something primal would grip at everyone's chest.
Sirius stared out, eyes drowned in the tension of the room.
"A weapon." he said simply...
As if those mildewed, olive walls encased him, Harry felt himself slip back into Grimmauld's dining room: the memory of sitting at that antique dinner table along with the tense discussion that followed thereafter, pulling itself to the front of his attention.
He realized that he had not thought about those words in so many weeks, he had been too absorbed in what was going on at Hogwarts: Hagrid's absence, Umbridge's presence, he dwelled too much at being furious at both her and the Ministry's interference and how it dragged his friends and Cedric into the mix…
But now that it came back, he wondered.
What was not happening quickly enough?
Voldemort wanted something done—Harry could intuit that much—and his anger during yesterday's training could only make sense if he had been thwarted somehow, and thus no closer to laying hands on whatever the weapon is. Had the Order stopped him? Had they stopped him from seizing it? If so, where was it being kept? If so—
Who had it now?
Harry pondered this, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment while Cedric regarded him carefully from five feet away. It had been an hour more or less since Hermione and Ron had left, and for the last thirty minutes they had been sitting underneath one of the room's many bookshelves, silently trading a scroll of parchment where they devised a teaching schedule of who and what would take charge every other week.
"So that's it then, you're alright with this?"
He came back to his senses just in time as Harry flipped the scroll, revealing a cluster of wobbly lines, crossed out question marks, and dates that corresponded to separate array of different defense techniques and possible subject focuses.
"Yes! Er—" Cedric blinked and brought his face closer to the parchment, as if he had been listening the whole time. As he leant over, the face of Harry's watch flashed, and his stomach dropped.
"Oh no…"
"What?"
"It's late—" Cedric took the parchment and began to hurriedly roll it up— "we should head back, or else I'll get locked out of the kitchen!"
Gathering the scrap pieces of paper and scrolled copies and drafts that they had made over the hour, they pocketed everything into their robes and Harry brandished the Invisibility Cloak, oblivious to the quiet wonder of his friend. Wordlessly, they marched out of the Room of Requirement, the doors melting back into stone behind them as they proceeded through the seventh floor in the same cautious trek they had made with Dobby the night before.
Brief snatches of the moon shone through the windows. The storm had moved on to the mountains while a few clouds trailed wistfully behind, pattering the castle with a lighter rainfall.
Harry never had trouble moving with either Ron or Hermione under his cloak but as Cedric stood ten centimetres taller than him—which was not much by means, but enough to make the cloak lift awkwardly above their feet—they abstained from lighting their wands and chose to walk along the corridors in the moonlit darkness of the late hour.
They managed to avoid bumping into the castle's statues and suits of armour, but picked through the seventh floor in a tense and careful way all the same. Each snoring painting and portrait called for a slower, stealthier shuffle past, and each corner signalled wary pauses, this time Cedric standing back as Harry profusely checked the Marauders Map before they walked on. Once they made it out onto the landing, the two boys could not help but stare down into the inky depths of the Grand Staircase's shifting, half-expecting the swing of Flitwick's lantern to flash and wink at them from below. However, fortunately, this did not come to pass.
To Cedric's surprise, Harry seemed intent to keep going past the landing of the Fat Lady's portrait, and eventually they reached the castle's bottom floor with ease, sifting through the dungeons until the kitchen's entrance—still lit up by several scones and torches—came into view.
"Harry? My commons is just in there," Cedric whispered, pointing toward the smaller-than-usual wooden door set into a cobbled arch on the wall.
"Right," said Harry, slow as if he were distracted. They made their way down the corridor until the flicker of the kitchen's torches warped in the folds of the cloak, and Cedric looked down at Harry, remarking.
It had not been noticeable in their dark amble about the castle, but in the dim light of the kitchen's torches, Harry looked much more dour than before; he seemed to wrestle with something that tightened his lip and jaw and though his silence had been bearable until this point, suddenly Cedric could not seem to stomach it any longer.
"Hey," he said in a low voice. "Can I tell you something?"
Curious, Harry gazed up at him; he slipped the Marauders Map inside his pocket.
"Go ahead,"
"You… You nearly gave me a heart-attack yesterday," Cedric said. His voice came out anxious and restrained.
The cloak was stifling and held them far too close together, and his eyes darted quickly to the wall.
"When we were chasing you down, I… I felt so glad that you weren't going the Firebolt's full speed. If you had been, we would've lost you to the lake first, and—"
Harry shifted, the revelation softening his face.
"—and I suppose… well, I suppose we're even now,"
Unwittingly, Harry gave a small laugh. Cedric smiled too, waiting until it quietened down before he spoke again.
"What's on your mind?" he asked. Harry's smile faltered here.
"I know you're bothered about yesterday, and… and about what we told you tonight,"
"You can tell?"
Cedric snorted.
"'Course, I can tell,"
"Ha!" another laugh.
Then, "Can I ask you something? … I promise its related,"
"Yes,"
"Are you scared of me?"
"What?"
Cedric was taken aback; his head twisted in confusion. Harry looked at him with such a strained and precise gaze that he knew the boy in front of him was neither joking nor exaggerating.
"Look, this thing that's happening to me…" Harry hesitated, "it's… it's honestly nothing out of the ordinary so far, but I don't want it to bring up any bad memories around you—"
Cedric blinked, "You… aren't. It isn't! I'm not the one that we need to worry about, what gave you the idea that—"
"I just don't want you to be scared. Not you," said Harry, softly.
Somberly.
Cedric's breath stopped.
Brow furrowed, Harry looked away and whispered, "Definitely not you."
Cedric felt his mouth dry.
"You—" he shook his head, trying not think about how fast his heart was turning inside his chest— "have nothing to worry about,"
"Are you certain?"
Cedric swallowed.
"… I care too much about you to ever feel afraid,"
The words rung, small but clear.
There was nothing timid in this moment. Harry looked at Cedric in quiet surprise—it was hushed, slight—but as they looked back at each other, they did not take the chance look away. They held the cloak up between them, a strange fort of sorts in the faint light of the sconces upon the wall, and stared at each other: neither searching nor confirming, just looking.
Then slowly, but surely, Harry smiled.
It was soft and terribly handsome and so delightfully small.
His eyes were pulled into crescents and the light of the torches refracted through the air, past the shadows, past the fabric of the cloak until it was a golden glow against his cheek and collar.
Thank you, he said, wordlessly.
Eyes closing, Cedric stepped back as much as he could.
"That was dangerous," he mumbled, nervous fingers reaching up to tap the back of his neck.
"What?" said Harry. Cedric gazed out at him from the low light.
"I could've kissed you there… again,"
A scoff. Flushing and a shoe which scuffed against the stone floor.
"You are—… ha! Merlin—"
Cedric laughed, and Harry followed; they looked at each other with easy smiles as their hands creased the cloak.
The kitchen door was right there.
"Good night, Harry," Cedric said quietly.
"Good night, Cedric."
He slipped out from under the Invisibility Cloak. When he stepped in front of the door to the kitchen, he looked back into the direction of where Harry had stood and smiled once more, giving a slight wave before he disappeared through the archway.
Ten minutes later, Harry finally reached the common room, not surprised when he saw that Ron and Hermione waiting for him by the fire.
He took his seat between them and lay back, neither of his friends taking note of the passive silence that he had entered the commons with as they seemed to, again, to be stuck in another of round of bickering.
Harry stared deeply into the hearthrug.
There was shadow of flame and an ember which popped and extinguished as soon as it fell between the frayed ends of where the mat met stone.
He could not diagnose the bubbling feeling inside of him, but thought that perhaps it could partly attributed to the knowledge that they were doing something to resist Umbridge and the Ministry. He was a key part of some kind of rebellion, bolstered by friends who were now willing to defend and follow him in confidence.
Whatever it was, Harry felt immense satisfaction. Somehow, despite knowing the great amount of uncertainty that lay between him and realizing the meaning of his dream, the meaning of his scar… he felt more prepared than ever to take it on and discover the truth, absently reliving today's meeting in the full breadth of his mind: all of those people coming to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts, the looks on their faces as they saw what they could do… Some even praised him, some even seemed encouraged that they had joined, and Cedric had encouraged him—
Harry wrapped a hand around his neck, trying hard not bury his face in his hands.
Away with you now, he thought, but the memory did not immediately fade as he intended. Instead, it strengthened, and he could almost see it, almost feel it now: the image of Hogsmeade lain distant from the bridge, his palm against stone… the wind whistling through his hair and the sound of trickling water. The… the warmth… Cedric against him—
"I care about you."
Stop.
"I care too much about you to ever feel afraid."
Harry whacked his side.
The sight of Cedric at the bridge doused in bright sunlight melted into the sight of the wind rushing through his hair and clothes at the bottom of the Owlery. His hand trembled—the sight of Cedric having kissed the scars etched on the black of his palm melted into the sight of Cedric under the Invisibility Cloak: red-faced, anxious.
Grey eyes gentle underneath low lashes.
Away... away with you, Harry thought, again. But the memory did not obey.
He sighed, blood rushing as his hand covered his mouth—Ron and Hermione bickered on; a pair of enchanted knitting needles clacked on; the fireplace crackled on.
Oh Merlin, Harry thought, heart stuck. His face burned.
He would not be able to put this off for much longer.
