* * * *
Chapter 2: Any Other Fragile Thing* * * *
He was standing on the stairs, in one of the towers, he imagined—it was nearly pitch-black, so he couldn't see well. A flickering candelabrum gave the only light. Harry shivered—he was wearing his pyjama bottoms, but no shirt and his feet were bare. The stone walls gave no insulation and draughts blew along the spiralling steps.
The candelabrum approached him, and he saw that there was a small figure carrying it, covered completely in a dark cloak. There was a tear in the cloak, and through it Harry could see a pale shoulder. With its free hand, the figure reached out and took his hand, leading him up the stairway. Harry couldn't see anything but the walls around him and the person leading him, adding to the surrealism of the whole thing. They could have been walking forever for all he knew.
God, it's like the bloody Ghost of Christmas Future here . . .
Suddenly the figure stopped and turned to face him. He still couldn't see the person's face. He looked down at the hand that was holding his—it was pale as the shoulder, and it was distinctly feminine. She held the candelabrum up to the wall and the grey stone seemed to melt away before the light. She stepped through the opening—still pulling him along. He stumbled over the half-melted rock and found himself in a small room. There was a window on the far side of it, and a strange light spilled through, casting ever-changing shadows over the room and onto a large desk. The figure dropped his hand and went to the window, looking out.
The weird light suddenly expanded and filled up the room, blinding Harry in brightness.
When it faded, he found himself standing behind the desk. There was a piece of torn, crumpled parchment upon it. The paper was yellowed and there didn't seem to be anything on it. He smoothed it as flat as he could and abruptly writing began to appear under his hand. Harry couldn't make out what the words were—it seemed to almost be in a different language. It reminded him of the engravings he'd seen in very old books. The parchment itself began to shimmer and almost writhe as more writing appeared upon it.
The words changed, as if they had a life beyond what the unseen author intended. They grew and spread themselves out, transforming until they made an image.
He was looking at the slightly hazy image of a hand. It was reaching out and touching something—no, not something, a face. Ashes streaked across the person's forehead where the hand touched, leaving ugly grey marks. Harry couldn't see the whole face—it was blurred—but he could make out the eyes.
They were closed.
Harry suddenly felt as if something awful had happened.
He turned away from the paper. He didn't want to see any more.
The figure in front of him touched his arm gently, understandingly.
She reached down and took his hand again, leading him to the window.
He looked out and could see all the way across the grounds right up to the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
In the middle of his view, right at the tree line, a pale glow seemed to be leaking out from between the firs. It was the same kind of light that had filled the room before.
He squinted at it and like a Muggle zoom lens, he was suddenly focussing in closer and closer,
A single tree was glimmering—a yew tree—almost concealed by the oaks that surrounded it. The light was coming from a split hollow in the yew's stumpy trunk and Harry tried to see what was inside. But as he did so, the tree abruptly receded in his vision until he could see the edges of the stone window again. The girl in the cloak still stood next to him, waiting.
He tried to speak to her.
"What's going on?" but it was as if he'd had a Muting Charm placed on him, because the words dissolved before they even left his mouth.
She shook her head and let go of his hand, then walked back to the table. She started to pick up the parch—
"HARRY! HARRY? WAKE UP, MATE." Something shook his shoulders, hard.
Harry gasped and reality flooded in. He was staring up at Ron.
His best friend was pale. "You started thrashing in your sleep, mate, and then I couldn't wake you. I was about to call down to infirmary."
Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan were behind Ron, looking sleepy but worried. Neville apparently had managed to sleep through the ruckus.
"I'm all right," Harry said. "I'm all right. Sorry to wake you all." This last part he said to all three boys. Dean and Seamus shrugged good-naturedly and went back to their four-posters.
Ron, however, looked sceptical. "You're sure?" he said.
"I'm fine."
"Okay, then." And Ron, too, returned to bed. Harry heard him snoring a few minutes later.
He lay awake for a long time after that, lost in thought.
* * * *
He didn't tell either Ron or Hermione about what he'd dreamt until that afternoon, though he had a feeling that Ron had mentioned something to Hermione about the events in the dormitory, because she kept asking him if he was okay. And after he'd respond yes, she countered with "Are you sure?" A good four or five hours of this line of questioning would be enough to crack the resolve of even James Bond himself.
His best friends were round-eyed as he finished his story. Ron was quiet, his brow furrowed. Hermione, on the other hand, immediately and not unexpectedly leaped in with advice and worry.
"You should go to Dumbledore," she said. "What if it's something important?"
"I don't know," Harry said. "It wasn't one of those dreams where I know Voldemort's there. It wasn't like that—it was different somehow."
"Different how?" Ron asked, frowning.
"It just seemed to be pointing me towards that tree. I don't know—I can't explain it. Nobody gives me interpretation guides for this stuff."
"Be a lot easier if they did, eh mate?" Ron grinned. "Make it a lot easier on everyone involved, wouldn't it?"
"I just know it's something about what was in the tree."
"Probably it's only a wasp's nest in there. It's trying to tell you to stay away if you don't want to get stung." Even Ron looked doubtful about his own suggestion.
"Ron." Harry didn't have to say any more.
"Fine." Ron sighed. "We're going. As always."
* * * *
The grounds were cold for late October, and Harry was glad he was wearing his scarf as they walked towards the forest.
Hermione and Ron trailed behind him as he tried to figure out where exactly the spot he'd seen was located. A patch of blackthorn bushes caught his attention. He motioned to Ron and Hermione and they followed him towards the prickly trees. Harry pulled out his wand, just in case.
They pushed through the sharp branches, and Harry thought how much his friends really were pretty devoted to climb through such unpleasant plants just because he had a dream about something that might or might not be here.
At least, unlike most of the plants in Herbology, these bushes didn't seem to be fighting back. And the hedge itself really wasn't that thick—from the edge of the forest line, you just had to push through quick and then you were in the clearing.
He stepped into the open area beyond the brush. It was the same place that he'd seen in his dream. He knew it. He held his wand a little tighter as he looked around, expecting someone to be there besides the three of them.
But the clearing was empty. The only sounds that Harry could hear were the leaves rustling under his feet, and Ron and Hermione pushing through the thorns behind him.
Ron raised his eyebrows and looked over his shoulders warily. Harry turned in a circle, wand still drawn. Nope. Still deserted. Hopefully that meant this would go well.
Hermione suddenly sneezed and both boys whipped around. "Allergies," she muttered, a bit apologetically. "Are you sure this is the place?" she asked, peeking around a tree a little nervously. She sounded as if she was trying to keep the doubt out of her voice.
"Yes." Harry clenched his jaw. "I'm sure."
"Hermione," Ron said, "Harry's not going to be wrong. Not about stuff like this. You know that."
"But it's so quiet here," Hermione was trying to respond in between sneezes. She still seemed puzzled and dubious. "And there's not a trace of the light you saw in your dream. How could this be th—AUGHHH!!"
She cried out as a flash of fire grazed her arm and shot into the tree behind her. Ron grabbed Hermione by the shoulders and pulled her back.
"Are you convinced now?" he asked. The three of them ducked through some blackthorns that ran around the edge of the clearing—Harry felt his robe tear on one of the branches. They sat there, hopefully safe for a moment.
Hermione was wide-eyed. "Harry, what's going on?" she whispered. The blow seemed to have at least stopped her allergies, because, she had stopped sniffling.
"I don't know," he replied. This hadn't been part of his dream. He parted the brush and looked out. About seven all-too-familiarly masked wizards had appeared seemingly out of nowhere and were examining the area around the scorched tree trunk. Harry pulled out his wand, muscles tensed, hoping that they would remain unnoticed. His eyes flickered upwards and he met the eyes of one of the wizards. Their gazes locked and Harry froze, knowing that he'd been spotted but hoping against hope that he was wrong. The masked wizard raised his wand and sparks began to gather at its tip. DAMN. Get down, NOW, Harry thought. NOW, Potter. He put his hands over his head and was about to dive, even though he doubted he'd be able to clear out quickly enough, when he heard Ron say loudly "Harry, you idiot, move! Get out of the way!"
Harry suddenly fell, knocked sideways. He barely had time to look up and see what had knocked him over when there was a loud noise around him and the world exploded.
* * * *
The world came back in pieces. First sound, then touch and then as Harry's eyes slowly opened, sight returned as well. He sat up, dizzy. Things seemed confused—he barely remembered where he was. He couldn't feel his shoulder. He didn't want to either, as his arm was hanging loosely from the socket in a most unnatural fashion. It was almost like the time in second year when Professor Lockhart had dissolved his bones, except this time he knew he still had his bones and he knew that a normal, boned, arm shouldn't fall limply like his was at the moment. A pain shot from the centre of his neck to the spot where the numbness in his arm began.
What had happened? All right. His mind started to focus. The fight. He had been standing and then he was falling, knocking Hermione back over as he fell, and then there had been an explosion. Then—there wasn't anything. His memory was a blank.
Wait—Ron. Hermione. Where were they?
He looked around. Hermione was kneeling a few feet away from him, on the edge of a scorched crater. Ron was next to her, apparently knocked out. She had one hand pressed against his side and the other was pointing her wand along the patch she was covering.
"Oh, God. That was a lot of blood." Her face was white and tense. She dropped her wand arm. "Let's hope that worked, eh? Just stay put. I've got to check on Harry." Absently, she smoothed the hair on Ron's forehead away from his face. She paused and then turned to Harry. "Harry! You're awake."
He nodded. "If you can call this being awake. I feel like someone's been punting Bludgers at me all day." Hermione's face softened.
"Hang on a sec, Harry. I'll see if I can splint that up for you. I can't put it all the way back, but I can keep you from damaging it more." She pulled her wand back out and muttered at it again, and then traced his shoulder in the air. A bandage unwound itself from the end of her wand and wrapped itself around his arm, pulling it into a nearly normal position. Some of the pain along his chest lessened. "Can you get up?" He nodded and rose to his feet, a bit unsteadily, but he managed to keep himself upright.
Hermione smiled encouragingly at him, and then turned her attention back to Ron. She pointed her wand at him and called out "Mobilicorpus."
Ron rose slowly in the air. Hermione grimaced and turned to a tree limb that lay not too far from them. She transfigured it into a stretcher and moved Ron's unconscious form over it, laying him gently on the canvas. The stretcher began to follow them. Harry was puzzled—why use the stretcher when all she needed to do was keep up Mobilicorpus—it was less effort, magically speaking. His slight bewilderment must have shown, because Hermione glanced up and explained.
"I don't like that spell." Harry raised an eyebrow. "In Latin, Mobilicorpus means 'Move the Body.' It's the same root as 'corpse,' did you know that, Harry?" He shook his head. It didn't seem like that big a deal—it was undeniably weird, but there were far worse spells and far worse names for them. Hermione saw the expression on his face and said "Never mind—it's stupid, I know."
"I didn't say that." He tried to protest.
"Look, don't worry about it, Harry. I just don't like it." She shrugged and kept walking.
"Hermione?" he called after her, "what happened? Where did they go? What the hell happened to the ground?"
"Oh, that," Hermione didn't seem very interested in the subject. "I just tried this spell that we learned in Charms, you know, yesterday, and it sort of worked, and they got knocked back. I suppose they must have disappeared then. I don't know. I wasn't really noticing—you and Ron were out—so I just wanted to get them out of the way. I don't know how they disappeared—you still can't Apparate or Disapparate on Hogwarts grounds, so they've found some other way to go. Maybe a Port Key?"
Harry didn't want to think about Port Keys. If their attackers had used a Port Key that close to Hogwarts, then in his experience that could only mean unpleasant things . . .
Lost in thought, he hardly noticed as they traipsed up to the castle doorway. Hermione set Ron's stretcher down.
"Hang on a minute, Harry," she said. "Wait with Ron—I'll get Madam Pomfrey down here."
She opened the great doors and went in to the school. Harry sat down next to his friend.
"Merlin's wand, Ron," he said, "you're lucky Hermione was there to patch you up. What did you do, leap in front of that curse?" He shook his head. "You did, didn't you? Hermione's right: you really are an idiot." He clapped his good hand on Ron's shoulder and hoped he didn't do any more damage to the redhead. "Thanks." There was a noise of a door opening, and Hermione reappeared at the entrance, breathless, with the school nurse in tow.
Madam Pomfrey took one look at the two boys and immediately started bustling around. "Glad at least you have good common sense. Splinting that up, making a stretcher." She glanced at Harry again, and he could feel her triaging him. "You, you're going to have to wait a minute while I take care of your friend here." She waved her wand over the stretcher. It rose and the three of them followed it up to the infirmary.
"Fine," Harry said. He could live with the pain for a bit longer. They opened the door to the infirmary and went in. Hermione tugged on his good arm.
"The twins. Ginny," she mouthed at him. He nodded. They tried to sneak out, but the nurse was too quick.
"I said," Madam Pomfrey called after them, "you had to wait. I didn't say you could go."
"I'm coming back." Harry yelled back as he and Hermione scurried out. "Just a minute."
* * * *
They entered the Gryffindor common room. Hermione had to help Harry balance through the portrait. Without using his wounded arm, he couldn't catch hold of the edge properly.
Ginny was talking animatedly with some of the other fourth-years. She looked up and caught Harry's eye as he entered.
"Hang on," she said to the group of girls and crossed over to Harry and Hermione. "Hey, there. What's going on? How'd your arm end up like that, Harry?"
From their position by the fireplace, the twins looked up.
"Probably injured it fighting to protect damsels in distress, again." Fred laughed. "Have you been in distress lately, dear sister?" Ginny turned scarlet. "So where's the trusty Third Musketeer? He couldn't take any more heroic acts by young Potter here?" Harry started to speak, but then Fred did a double take and suddenly seemed to really see Harry's hastily bandaged arm. And how dirty he and Hermione were. Fred fell silent. George jumped in.
"Is Ron all right?"
"He's in the infirmary," Hermione said, biting her lip. "He's been knocked out. Madam Pomfrey's with him."
"Right." The twins exchanged a look. "Ginny?" Their sister was incredibly pale, but she had the presence of mind to nod. They left the common room and started through the halls to the infirmary. It was hardly a comfortable walk. Fred seemed to think that it was his job to lighten the mood.
"That's it then," he said, slapping Harry carefully on the back. "As soon as he's up, I'm telling my little brother to make new friends. And none of this 'keep the old' business. You two seem to have a knack for getting him pounded on. I'd like to be able save that job for myself, thank you." Harry smiled thinly.
But all joking stopped when they reached the infirmary. Harry brushed off the nurse's attempts to both shoo everyone but himself out and to immediately start mending his arm. Instead, the five of them stood around Ron for a minute, watching him breathe, while Madam Pomfrey looked on, seeming a bit put out that they weren't paying attention to her orders.
"Will he wake up soon?" Ginny asked the nurse.
"Maybe a week. Maybe more. Hopefully less. He took quite a bad hit there." Madam Pomfrey's face was serious.
"Yeah, hopefully," Fred repeated. He didn't take his eyes off of the bed.
"Come on, Fred," George put his arm around his brother and started to guide him towards the door. "Let's go. We'll come back in the morning. Anyway, we need to find an appropriate toilet seat to send Ickle Ronniekins." He winked at Madam Pomfrey, who looked back suspiciously. George added, more quietly, "This time I know we'll get it in here. You need to come up with something to transfigure it into so we don't get caught."
He caught Harry's eye and smiled sadly. "Getting to be a bit of a routine, eh? Mum's going to love this one." He addressed his twin. "Fred. I'm going to take Pigwidgeon and owl Mum."
"All right," Fred replied. "I'll, um, I'll owl Bill or Charlie. Or Percy."
"Mum can deal with all that." His brother was firm. "What about getting his assignments? You can do that."
"Don't worry about those. I'll get them." Hermione said softly. "We've got most of our classes together."
"Great," George said, "then we're set. That means," and as he said this he grinned, "my strikingly handsome alter ego, that you get to sleep while the rest of us do extra work. You do lead quite a rough life, Weasley. Someday we are going to trade places again." They left, though Fred glanced back over his shoulder several times. The three remaining students were quiet again, until Ginny spoke
"Do you ever worry," she said, "that he's not going to wake up?"
"Of course not!" Hermione snapped. "That's stupid. I was Petrified for much longer than a week." Ginny looked shocked and a little irritated by Hermione's tetchy reply.
"Right," muttered Harry to the form on the bed, "right. Of course. She was Petrified. And look how well she's turned out since."
Harry never said things like that. He was a bit surprised at himself for even thinking it. As he sat and let Madam Pomfrey tend to his shoulder, he realised that he was glad he did, though; because—although he wasn't sure—he thought he saw the corners of Ron's mouth turn up a bit. His best friend's eyes didn't open, but that ghost of a smile was enough to let Harry sleep a few hours that night.
