Chapter Nineteen.

At eight fifteen in the morning, Harry found himself back in Professor McGonagall's office for his second session with Marcus Barnaby, who looked as warm and bright as last time, despite the overall sense of gloom that radiated from Harry and McGonagall.

'Now, Harry', Marcus said, rolling up his sleeves. 'Last time was hard for you, I could tell.'

Bit of an understatement, Harry thought.

'And last time, we discovered two things. The hand has a ring on it… and it belongs to a woman.'

'I think it belongs to a woman.'

'Trust your intuition, Harry. It is your most trustworthy mode of survival, and it hardly fails.'

'Today', Marcus continued, and he clapped his hands together as airily as if he were telling Harry he'd be mowing the lawn. 'I want you to focus on sound. Focus only on that which you can hear. Nothing else. Understood?'

Harry nodded slowly.

'Outstanding. Now, sit tight, close your eyes, and remember that black pool beneath your feet.'

Harry did as he was told and took a deep breath.

'Ready?'

Another nod.

'Legilimens!'

The flash, as always, came as a shock, and Harry felt his body stiffen in response. He forced his mind to continue, forced himself to remember what was at stake, and accepted the sensation of drowning, the screaming, the helplessness, until finally… there he was. Or rather, there she was. Hermione's face, staring back at him in fear. Harry flinched. For a split second, before he regained control of himself, he saw Hermione's hair glowing in sunlight, dancing on a breeze.

'Just sound, Harry' said Marcus. His voice sounded as if it came from somewhere far above Harry, and as if it had to penetrate a thick wall of water to get to him.

Harry swallowed, and focused on sound. He heard nothing at first, but as he concentrated harder he picked up ragged breathing. It was hard to hear, but it was there.

'Who does that belong to?' Marcus asked.

Harry concentrated on the breathing. Not him. Or rather, not whose body he possessed. It came from Hermione, of course.

'Hermione.'

'Good. What else?'

Harry's mind raced, digging through the panicked sound of Hermione's breathing to get to the second layer.

'Do you hear clocks? Doors? Birds, possibly?'

'No… no, but I hear… whispers, maybe.'

'Wonderful. Where is it coming from?'

'To my- to this person's right.'

'Male or female?'

Harry listened hard.

'Male, I think, but it's hard… he sounds, he sounds panicked.'

'Is it you?'

Harry felt slightly sick at the thought but listened more closely. He couldn't hear what was being whispered, but it sounded like someone was complaining… or crying.

'It's not me.' Harry didn't know it, but he felt it. Besides, he couldn't imagine being there, seeing Hermione being attacked, and not doing anything to stop it. It didn't make sense.

'I'm moving along, Harry', Marcus warned, and suddenly a piercing scream echoed through Harry's head. Hermione's body fell just as Harry's eyes shot open. Harry drew a sharp breath. His heart pounded painfully in his chest.

'My apologies', Marcus said. 'I'd hoped to get further ahead.'

'There's nothing ahead', Harry snapped.

McGonagall raised her eyebrows from behind Marcus, and Harry swallowed. 'Sorry', he muttered.

'No matter, Harry. I understand. But I need you to focus on the sound beyond the scream. Can you do that?'

Harry clenched his jaw, breathed deeply through his nose, and shut his eyes.

'Good. Imagine that the scream is the snap of lightning. Listen for the rain, the thunder.'

Harry tried. But as Hermione screamed, and her body fell, his focus slipped and he was back at Hogwarts on the night of the Yule Ball, watching Hermione come towards him from up the stairs in her dress.

'Harry', Marcus said, sternly. 'Remember what you're doing this for.'

Hermione's dress faded to the background, and there he was again, holding her by the throat. Harry focused. Rain. Thunder.

Hermione's scream pierced all of Harry's defences; he forced himself to allow it. He felt that it was useless, at first. Hermione was falling and screaming again and again, and Harry only felt pain, and anger, but then finally… there it was. Thunder.

'What are you hearing?' Marcus asked urgently.

'Someone is yelling. But it sounds more like… like roaring.'

'Is this someone angry, you think?'

'I think so.'

Marcus was silent for a long moment before he said: 'Is it you?'

Harry froze. Was it? He listened, again. And again. And again. He wasn't sure. If it's me, why aren't I doing anything?

'I don't think it's me,' Harry said.

There was a moment of silence before Marcus said: 'Alright. Trust your gut, Harry. Anything else?'

Harry listened many more times, and began to feel at last that the screaming became bearable. It was as if he was beginning to be desensitised to it. But beyond Hermione's scream, and the thundering roar, he heard nothing.

There was another flash, and Harry's mind belonged again to himself. He opened his eyes, slowly, feeling as if he were coming down from a fever dream. Barnaby stood before him, wand lowered, and Harry was surprised to see that the bright, hopeful look on his face had gone.

'Good work, Harry.' Marcus turned around and limped with his cane back to the desk.

Harry frowned. 'What is it?'

Marcus stiffened a moment, and when he turned, the smile on his face looked utterly unconvincing. 'Nothing. Nothing at all, Harry. Now, if you'll excuse us, I'd like to have a word with Minerva.'

Harry was dismissed and soon found himself back in the hall, sweaty and with his heart beating rapidly. He felt utterly confused.