A/N: Well, having almost completely abandoned the Amorus Imedius Potion for lack of inspiration, I have turned to my promised Siriusfic. I now risk my reputation by attempting to write something of gravity. If you think this fic is going to be like any old "You-Know-Who attempts to take over Hogwarts" fic, think again. The action sequence will have firmly faded out by the second chapter, and the majority of this story will in fact take place inside of Harry's mind. If you're into surreal, this is the story for you. Thank you to Rachel, my beta-reader who is never afraid to be skeptical.
Disclaimer: All of the following characters, names, places and concepts are property of JK Rowling, much as that irks me.
Part One: Death of a Weasley
"Well," said Sirius, affecting a posture of calmness and repose in the chair before Dumbledore's desk, "I can't say I'm sure it's so much of a loss, really. Mundungus isn't exactly . . . what he used to be."
It was late afternoon on a Tuesday and Sirius was doing what he'd been doing every Tuesday since last June: appearing before Hogwarts Headmaster and brigadier-general of the forces of good to make his reports on how "rounding up the old crowd" was going. Unfortunately, it was not going very well. The meetings were getting shorter and shorter, and with any luck Sirius would be out of here in time to catch Harry before he had to leave.
"Mundungus Fletcher was one of the best Ministry insiders we ever had, Sirius," said Dumbledore, whose voice was carefully measured to cover its evident strain. Over the past eleven months Dumbledore's voice had lost its ability to remain calm and cheerful in all circumstances. He was standing near one of the tall, thin windows of his office, frowning slightly as he peered down at the grounds. "A connection like his in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is priceless."
Sirius nodded his agreement, but, unable to resist, he doggedly added, "Arthur Weasley said Mundungus nearly got called up on charges of fraud two years ago for his Quidditch World Cup claims. I don't think he has the level of credibility we need."
"We haven't got time to worry about levels, Sirius. Anything he has to offer our cause is priceless." Dumbledore sighed heavily, his pale blue eyes made gray by the reflection of the dark sky outdoors, his frown deepening. "If Mundungus isn't in some way affiliated with our cause, then he has every reason to be affiliated with those against us."
Sirius stood, feeling his bones creak. He did not spend a great deal of time in cushioned chairs, and they no longer agreed with his body. Moving to stand next to Dumbledore, he stared down at the curiously empty school grounds. It must be even colder than he thought, for no one to be outside this time of day. He sighed.
"Even if he was with us, Dumbledore, he'd be more of a target—"
Their budding argument was cut short as the door to Dumbledore's office burst open. Startled, Sirius swiveled in his chair to see Minerva McGonagall standing in the doorway, breathing hard, her face white as chalk.
Dumbledore was across his office immediately, his form nearly blurring with the suddenness of the movement. "What is it, Minerva?"
"There's been an attack on the grounds, Albus."
"The Death Eaters?"
Dumbledore was already halfway down the stairs. Sirius ran to keep up with his surprising speed while Professor McGonagall led them in the direction of the hospital wing. His gut was clenched in fear. Please, don't let it be Harry, he thought. But who else would it be?
"Potter and Weasley," he heard McGonagall say lowly, and he felt his heart drop into his shoes. As they neared the hospital wing, a stunned crowd of silent students parted to let the Headmaster through. Sirius barely had time to register the fact that he was out in public without any sort of disguise before he was inside the doors of the ward, with the world shut out behind him.
"Harry," he cried, rushing forward to embrace the boy. Harry was on his feet, apparently unharmed, but he didn't return the embrace. "What happened?" Sirius looked at Harry, judged him unwilling to speak, and turned immediately to Madam Pomfrey, who was flitting around the two of them, trying to find an opening to examine her patient. "Where's Ron?"
There was a long silence, broken only when, to Sirius's horror, Professor McGonagall began to weep. Dumbledore's face was creased with sorrow, and he put a hand on her arm. "Where did this happen?" he asked Madam Pomfrey, who on closer inspection looked puffy-eyed as well.
"By the lake," she answered, her voice wavering.
"Who is down there now?"
"Professor Snape, I believe."
Dumbledore cast one glance at Harry, seemed to come to a swift conclusion, and then said, "We must be getting down there. If you'll excuse us, Sirius."
And they walked back out the door, Professor McGonagall clinging to Dumbledore for support as her sobs echoed off the walls.
Sirius turned back to Harry, who was standing in the same position he'd been in since Sirius had arrived. He gathered him up in his arms again, not caring if he was injuring a fifteen-year-old boy's pride. "Are you all right?"
But Harry didn't respond. Sirius stepped back, holding him at arm's length. "Harry?"
Madam Pomfrey, used to Sirius jealously guarding his loved ones in her ward by now, saw her opportunity to care for the living and swooped in, crowding him away. She led Harry to one of the beds, attempted to coax him for a few minutes into exchanging his school robes for pajamas, but eventually gave up and settled him in garbed as he was. Sirius moved to his bedside, looking down at him, and what he saw there frightened him: Harry was staring straight ahead, his eyes fixed, his face expressionless.
"Harry?" he asked again.
No response.
The silence was shattered as the door of the hospital wing opened and Sirius turned to see Hermione enter the room. Her pale face was drawn, her body somehow diminished, making her seem smaller and thinner than usual. Of all the people that Sirius would have thought would dissolve into hysterics at the death of a close friend, Hermione topped the list, but her eyes were dry. She crossed the room to Sirius without meeting his gaze, looked down at Harry for a moment, then threw herself into a chair near his bed and stared at the floor.
For a while there was no sound in the hospital wing except for Madam Pomfrey's low murmur to herself as she checked over Harry, frowning as she removed his glasses and lifted his eyelids, shining the light from the tip of her wand into his eyes. She moved the wand up and down his entire body before standing up, looking perplexed, and crossing to the other side of the room.
Sirius got up as well, to follow her and demand in as low a voice as he could manage what was the matter with his godson, when the room itself rocked with the force of a huge explosion. Madam Pomfrey shrieked as the floor groaned beneath their feet and vials filled with herbs and potions crashed to the floor. Sirius rushed to the small window beside Harry's bed to stare into the darkness, Hermione beside him.
There, ribboned across the night sky, was what looked like thin, gleaming purple netting, sparkling as if made from a million tiny points of light. It was swaying and shivering as the echoes of the explosion pounded against it. Hermione made a small, frightened noise, and Sirius saw that behind the deadened look in her eyes there was a dawning horror.
"The wards," she whispered.