Seeing the Invisible 8
Disclaimer: I do not own anything but Farrell, Longtree Orphanage, Mrs. Fairfax, and my plot. Please do not steal anything that I forgot to mention. Anything that is recognizable from the Harry Potter book series belongs to J.K Rowling.
After the message that the letter from Dumbledore had born, Farrell became, if it was possible, even more distant with people. She hid behind her glasses and a thick woolen scarf all day, and as soon as her lessons were finished, she went straight to the lake, not returning to the common room until after midnight. She was lost in her own world of sorrow and grief, not allowing anyone to get through to her. She no longer visited Professor McGonagall (which was the reason she stopped Farrell in the halls for a quick conversation between classes), Professor Lupin frequently asked her if she was ill, she only spoke when asked questions in class, and she ate very little. During meals in the great hall she sat at the very edge of the deserted end of the Gryffindor table, often having an open book in front of her while she picked at her food.
Harry often watched her from his end of the table, staring down at her, half of him feeling horrible for his behavior and wanting to go talk, and the other half saying ,"to hell with her, let her deteriorate while she's living- she's making a good start." He was torn mentally, and didn't know what to do.
For weeks, nothing changed. Farrell did well in all of her classes, though outside of them, there was nothing keeping her alive. Rumors darted through the halls of Hogwarts on the tongues of gossiping students. They told of a 5th year Gryffindor who wasn't really human at all. A student that wasn't human, but skeleton, who spent its nights crying by the lake, and its days buried in books. Farrell herself overheard these rumors, but could only laugh.
~
One afternoon in March, during a quidditch match, Farrell found herself to be the only one in the common room. Though this pleased her slightly, she still felt vaguely unhappy about being alone, although she was nearly used to it by now. She was afraid to be alone with herself, because the dreams kept coming back. Even when she wasn't asleep, visions of the man in the hooded cloak and his many masked servants haunted her mind. Pulling aside the thick curtains of the common room window, she looked out over the grounds to the quidditch pitch. She watched the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor teams soar above the field, the balls rise and plummet on their own accord.
Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something glimmer on the edge of the forest. She closed her eyes. Before her flashed a trio of images, quick and horrific. The first was the red-eyed man, flanked by fifty or so of his followers, appearing on the quidditch field. The second was crowds running frantically, a scene of chaos, from the men on the field. The third image was that of a boy on a broomstick, level with the red-eyed man who hovered in midair, both of them glaring with wands raised.
Farrell's eyes snapped open. She looked out of the window again. The faint glimmer of blackness on the muddy grounds had moved closer to the pitch. For a moment, Farrell stood, frozen with fear, by the window, her throat constricting as though squeezed by an invisible noose. Then her eyes widened even more and she sprung up, picking up her wand and Mary (a/n: member Mary? The transfiguration mouse?). She turned Mary into a broom and knocked the window open, hopping on. She flew out of the window, but she was too late. She saw the twinkle of black once more, but it was only strides away from the pitch. Within 30 seconds her first vision had come true. From her place in midair, inching ever closer, she watched the men formulate on the field. As she urged her broom to go faster, she saw pandemonium break out among the stands, the crowds of panicking students and staff fleeing the field.
"If what I'd seen is correct…" she thought, scanning the sky, " there should be a boy on a broomstick somewhere…" Just then, her eyes clicked into focus on a figure in the sky.
It was Harry.
She screeched to a halt in midair, immobilized with fear. Cold horror swept through her insides, freezing her to the spot. There she hung, staring, as the masked figures on the ground formed a semicircle below Harry.
With a bang and a small flash of green, a cloaked figure shot up into the sky and suspended itself at eye-level with Harry. Frantically, still to far for them to see her, Farrell shot straight up into the air and slowly maneuvered forward until she was directly above Harry and Voldemort. They were not speaking, but even from her great distance, Farrell could see the fiery hate that burned in the gaze they held. They were each just dangling there, eyes fixed on each other, wands raised, looking ready to kill.
Farrell looked to Voldemort. His eyes sparkled with pure hatred, ablaze like crimson coals in his skeletal face. On his face a twisted grin was spread, warping his features into something more sinister than even they would have been normally. From his face, Farrell's eyes shifted to Harry. To anyone who just looked, Harry looked bold and proud, defiant and angry. But to Farrell, he was more than that. Behind his unwavering emerald eyes, fear lingered and upon closer inspection, his hand was shaking on his wand and his furiously set jaw was so stiff from his teeth clenched together in terror.
"So, Potter," hissed the Dark Lord, finally breaking the silent inferno that burned between them, " Come back for another duel?"
Harry did not respond, only glared in fury.
"Is that what you want, Potter?" asked Voldemort in a deadly whisper.
Once again, Harry only glared at him.
Above them, Farrell was going to pieces, but was sure that if she moved, she, and Harry most likely, would be killed.
"Please let Dumbledore come…" she prayed, her eyes flicking towards the castle.
~
"On account of the little mishap that occurred the previous time that we dueled, I have decided to give you a very small advantage, boy."
Harry's face showed no emotion except for anger and he did not move at these words.
" I have chosen another wand to use, since I will not be able to kill you with my own," said Voldemort with relish, as though he were enjoying each syllable.
"So, let us begin then," cackled the Dark Lord, his menacing grin distorting his already disfigured features once again.
Harry's eye's narrowed and he leaned back into his broom, wand poised for action.
"CRUCIO!" shouted Voldemort, trying to catch Harry by surprise.
With a swift turn, he dodged the spell while shouting the first things that came to his head, " RICTUSEMPRA! FURNUNCULUS! WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!" all of which were deflected.
Harry continued to dodge the spells on his broom, narrowly escaping death on all sides. For even if the killing curse was not shot at him, if he were to fall, he would plummet to his death on the pitch below him.
Spell after spell shot across the space between them, though none were successful. Above them, Farrell was chewing her nails off in fear. She debated with herself whether or not to shoot curses at Voldemort.
"I could turn him into a slug…then he'd fall! But…oh…then all his blasted men would be after me…but if I don't do anything Harry will die! And then it'll all be my fault and…arrrgh," she screamed inwardly, her heart racing. For Farrell knew that even if Voldemort let down his guard completely, Harry couldn't really do anything since he had such a limited knowledge of curses and spells.
Then, several moments later, Farrell saw Harry look up. He spotted her. And in the split second that he did, Farrell heard a small chuckle of laughter. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Voldemort's mouth form the word, " CRUCIO" and a blast of light fly out of his wand. She swooped down in front of Harry. The spell hit her, and, crying out in pain, she fell off of her broomstick.
Despite his fear, Harry kept his head. As though in slow motion, he watched Voldemort's red eyes follow Farrell in surprise and Harry took that moment to shout, " EXPELLIARMUS!"
Voldemort's wand flew from his hand, and then Harry quickly pointed to the falling form that was Farrell and yelled, " IMPEDIMENTUM!"
Farrell slowed down, floating, featherlike to the ground as Harry tested out his acceleration and soared down in a deep arc, pulling Farrell onto his broom and speeding off towards the tower.
Behind him, he heard," GET THEM! THE BOY IS GETTING AWAY! HE'S STOLEN THE SEER! DO NOT LET THEM ESCAPE! DO NO-
Harry quickly turned to see what had stopped him. Squinting, he saw a blue and silver something zoom onto the pitch, shooting spells in every direction. Looking closer, Harry could tell. It was Dumbledore, fury etched in every line of his face, hatred radiating from his body, as he roared in rage, bringing them down in his wrath. The death eaters were reduced to a faint black glimmer, and Voldemort himself disappeared completely. As soon as he saw the death eaters disappear he looked back to Farrell, lying motionless on his lap, and urged his broom onward, flying around the perimeter of the castle. While circling round, looking for an open window, he saw what he was looking for. It was the common room window Farrell had emerged from earlier. He sailed through the window, landing softly for a moment. He looked at Farrell,
her face white and her eyes closed as her limbs trembled slightly from shock. Harry knew that no matter how much he "hated" her he could not let her die, he wouldn't let Voldemort kill anyone he knew- well…maybe Snape. He pulled Farrell closer and zoomed out of the portrait hole and to the hospital wing.
Madame Pomfrey let out a shriek of alarm when she saw him flying towards her at top speed. It then occurred to him this was the second time he'd flown through the halls of Hogwarts on his broomstick.
"Potter! This is a hospital! You're not on the pitch anymore! If it wasn't for-
But she was cut off as Harry lifted up Farrell and handed her to Madame Pomfrey. Shocked, she lay Farrell onto an empty bed and shooed Harry out of the wing. Reluctantly, He walked from the wing and was ready to head for the common room when he heard a voice behind him.
" Harry?"
Harry spun around, finding himself to be staring straight into the twinkling blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore.
"Hello Professor…" said Harry slowly, not sure if he should mention what happened earlier.
"I'd like a word in my office, if you don't mind," said Dumbledore.
~
Lying in the deserted hospital wing, Farrell twisted restlessly in her sheets, a beacon of moonlight illuminating her face, which was contorted in anxiety.
All of a sudden, she froze, rigid, her current nightmare vanishing altogether as pure horror flooded her mind. She forgot her body completely as her soul spiraled deeper and deeper into the beckoning blackness of the void.
"How could you have missed her, fool?!" yelled a harsh voice, "You assured me she'd attend that quidditch match!"
"I-I-I apologize master," simpered a second voice, "It was an assumption, sir. I was wrong."
"We do not assume. Assumptions are for incompetent people. Obviously, you are trying to demonstrate to me your incompetence. I shall ask someone else if I need something done," the first voice hissed scathingly.
"Yes, master," whimpered the second voice.
Then footsteps followed and the voices continued.
"Now. After that first glitch in our plans, we are slightly discouraged, are we not?" asked the first voice.
Murmurs of agreement could be heard.
"Despite that, we shall overcome! We shall get the seer and the city will be ours. With the magic generated from its core, I shall be the most powerful wizard to ever roam the earth! And you all shall be at my hand, commanding the world!" We shall rid the world of all nonbelievers, and then, with all faithful wizards with us, we shall regain the earth from the muggles!"
Cheers could be heard in the background and for the first time during this vision, Farrell saw a claw-like hand raised above the crowd, a large golden key glinting in between the spindly fingers.
A flash of white-hot pain raced up her spine and her back arched, convulsing in agony. She let out a shriek of agony before falling back out off consciousness and back into her pillows.-
Disclaimer: I do not own anything but Farrell, Longtree Orphanage, Mrs. Fairfax, and my plot. Please do not steal anything that I forgot to mention. Anything that is recognizable from the Harry Potter book series belongs to J.K Rowling.
After the message that the letter from Dumbledore had born, Farrell became, if it was possible, even more distant with people. She hid behind her glasses and a thick woolen scarf all day, and as soon as her lessons were finished, she went straight to the lake, not returning to the common room until after midnight. She was lost in her own world of sorrow and grief, not allowing anyone to get through to her. She no longer visited Professor McGonagall (which was the reason she stopped Farrell in the halls for a quick conversation between classes), Professor Lupin frequently asked her if she was ill, she only spoke when asked questions in class, and she ate very little. During meals in the great hall she sat at the very edge of the deserted end of the Gryffindor table, often having an open book in front of her while she picked at her food.
Harry often watched her from his end of the table, staring down at her, half of him feeling horrible for his behavior and wanting to go talk, and the other half saying ,"to hell with her, let her deteriorate while she's living- she's making a good start." He was torn mentally, and didn't know what to do.
For weeks, nothing changed. Farrell did well in all of her classes, though outside of them, there was nothing keeping her alive. Rumors darted through the halls of Hogwarts on the tongues of gossiping students. They told of a 5th year Gryffindor who wasn't really human at all. A student that wasn't human, but skeleton, who spent its nights crying by the lake, and its days buried in books. Farrell herself overheard these rumors, but could only laugh.
~
One afternoon in March, during a quidditch match, Farrell found herself to be the only one in the common room. Though this pleased her slightly, she still felt vaguely unhappy about being alone, although she was nearly used to it by now. She was afraid to be alone with herself, because the dreams kept coming back. Even when she wasn't asleep, visions of the man in the hooded cloak and his many masked servants haunted her mind. Pulling aside the thick curtains of the common room window, she looked out over the grounds to the quidditch pitch. She watched the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor teams soar above the field, the balls rise and plummet on their own accord.
Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something glimmer on the edge of the forest. She closed her eyes. Before her flashed a trio of images, quick and horrific. The first was the red-eyed man, flanked by fifty or so of his followers, appearing on the quidditch field. The second was crowds running frantically, a scene of chaos, from the men on the field. The third image was that of a boy on a broomstick, level with the red-eyed man who hovered in midair, both of them glaring with wands raised.
Farrell's eyes snapped open. She looked out of the window again. The faint glimmer of blackness on the muddy grounds had moved closer to the pitch. For a moment, Farrell stood, frozen with fear, by the window, her throat constricting as though squeezed by an invisible noose. Then her eyes widened even more and she sprung up, picking up her wand and Mary (a/n: member Mary? The transfiguration mouse?). She turned Mary into a broom and knocked the window open, hopping on. She flew out of the window, but she was too late. She saw the twinkle of black once more, but it was only strides away from the pitch. Within 30 seconds her first vision had come true. From her place in midair, inching ever closer, she watched the men formulate on the field. As she urged her broom to go faster, she saw pandemonium break out among the stands, the crowds of panicking students and staff fleeing the field.
"If what I'd seen is correct…" she thought, scanning the sky, " there should be a boy on a broomstick somewhere…" Just then, her eyes clicked into focus on a figure in the sky.
It was Harry.
She screeched to a halt in midair, immobilized with fear. Cold horror swept through her insides, freezing her to the spot. There she hung, staring, as the masked figures on the ground formed a semicircle below Harry.
With a bang and a small flash of green, a cloaked figure shot up into the sky and suspended itself at eye-level with Harry. Frantically, still to far for them to see her, Farrell shot straight up into the air and slowly maneuvered forward until she was directly above Harry and Voldemort. They were not speaking, but even from her great distance, Farrell could see the fiery hate that burned in the gaze they held. They were each just dangling there, eyes fixed on each other, wands raised, looking ready to kill.
Farrell looked to Voldemort. His eyes sparkled with pure hatred, ablaze like crimson coals in his skeletal face. On his face a twisted grin was spread, warping his features into something more sinister than even they would have been normally. From his face, Farrell's eyes shifted to Harry. To anyone who just looked, Harry looked bold and proud, defiant and angry. But to Farrell, he was more than that. Behind his unwavering emerald eyes, fear lingered and upon closer inspection, his hand was shaking on his wand and his furiously set jaw was so stiff from his teeth clenched together in terror.
"So, Potter," hissed the Dark Lord, finally breaking the silent inferno that burned between them, " Come back for another duel?"
Harry did not respond, only glared in fury.
"Is that what you want, Potter?" asked Voldemort in a deadly whisper.
Once again, Harry only glared at him.
Above them, Farrell was going to pieces, but was sure that if she moved, she, and Harry most likely, would be killed.
"Please let Dumbledore come…" she prayed, her eyes flicking towards the castle.
~
"On account of the little mishap that occurred the previous time that we dueled, I have decided to give you a very small advantage, boy."
Harry's face showed no emotion except for anger and he did not move at these words.
" I have chosen another wand to use, since I will not be able to kill you with my own," said Voldemort with relish, as though he were enjoying each syllable.
"So, let us begin then," cackled the Dark Lord, his menacing grin distorting his already disfigured features once again.
Harry's eye's narrowed and he leaned back into his broom, wand poised for action.
"CRUCIO!" shouted Voldemort, trying to catch Harry by surprise.
With a swift turn, he dodged the spell while shouting the first things that came to his head, " RICTUSEMPRA! FURNUNCULUS! WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!" all of which were deflected.
Harry continued to dodge the spells on his broom, narrowly escaping death on all sides. For even if the killing curse was not shot at him, if he were to fall, he would plummet to his death on the pitch below him.
Spell after spell shot across the space between them, though none were successful. Above them, Farrell was chewing her nails off in fear. She debated with herself whether or not to shoot curses at Voldemort.
"I could turn him into a slug…then he'd fall! But…oh…then all his blasted men would be after me…but if I don't do anything Harry will die! And then it'll all be my fault and…arrrgh," she screamed inwardly, her heart racing. For Farrell knew that even if Voldemort let down his guard completely, Harry couldn't really do anything since he had such a limited knowledge of curses and spells.
Then, several moments later, Farrell saw Harry look up. He spotted her. And in the split second that he did, Farrell heard a small chuckle of laughter. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Voldemort's mouth form the word, " CRUCIO" and a blast of light fly out of his wand. She swooped down in front of Harry. The spell hit her, and, crying out in pain, she fell off of her broomstick.
Despite his fear, Harry kept his head. As though in slow motion, he watched Voldemort's red eyes follow Farrell in surprise and Harry took that moment to shout, " EXPELLIARMUS!"
Voldemort's wand flew from his hand, and then Harry quickly pointed to the falling form that was Farrell and yelled, " IMPEDIMENTUM!"
Farrell slowed down, floating, featherlike to the ground as Harry tested out his acceleration and soared down in a deep arc, pulling Farrell onto his broom and speeding off towards the tower.
Behind him, he heard," GET THEM! THE BOY IS GETTING AWAY! HE'S STOLEN THE SEER! DO NOT LET THEM ESCAPE! DO NO-
Harry quickly turned to see what had stopped him. Squinting, he saw a blue and silver something zoom onto the pitch, shooting spells in every direction. Looking closer, Harry could tell. It was Dumbledore, fury etched in every line of his face, hatred radiating from his body, as he roared in rage, bringing them down in his wrath. The death eaters were reduced to a faint black glimmer, and Voldemort himself disappeared completely. As soon as he saw the death eaters disappear he looked back to Farrell, lying motionless on his lap, and urged his broom onward, flying around the perimeter of the castle. While circling round, looking for an open window, he saw what he was looking for. It was the common room window Farrell had emerged from earlier. He sailed through the window, landing softly for a moment. He looked at Farrell,
her face white and her eyes closed as her limbs trembled slightly from shock. Harry knew that no matter how much he "hated" her he could not let her die, he wouldn't let Voldemort kill anyone he knew- well…maybe Snape. He pulled Farrell closer and zoomed out of the portrait hole and to the hospital wing.
Madame Pomfrey let out a shriek of alarm when she saw him flying towards her at top speed. It then occurred to him this was the second time he'd flown through the halls of Hogwarts on his broomstick.
"Potter! This is a hospital! You're not on the pitch anymore! If it wasn't for-
But she was cut off as Harry lifted up Farrell and handed her to Madame Pomfrey. Shocked, she lay Farrell onto an empty bed and shooed Harry out of the wing. Reluctantly, He walked from the wing and was ready to head for the common room when he heard a voice behind him.
" Harry?"
Harry spun around, finding himself to be staring straight into the twinkling blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore.
"Hello Professor…" said Harry slowly, not sure if he should mention what happened earlier.
"I'd like a word in my office, if you don't mind," said Dumbledore.
~
Lying in the deserted hospital wing, Farrell twisted restlessly in her sheets, a beacon of moonlight illuminating her face, which was contorted in anxiety.
All of a sudden, she froze, rigid, her current nightmare vanishing altogether as pure horror flooded her mind. She forgot her body completely as her soul spiraled deeper and deeper into the beckoning blackness of the void.
"How could you have missed her, fool?!" yelled a harsh voice, "You assured me she'd attend that quidditch match!"
"I-I-I apologize master," simpered a second voice, "It was an assumption, sir. I was wrong."
"We do not assume. Assumptions are for incompetent people. Obviously, you are trying to demonstrate to me your incompetence. I shall ask someone else if I need something done," the first voice hissed scathingly.
"Yes, master," whimpered the second voice.
Then footsteps followed and the voices continued.
"Now. After that first glitch in our plans, we are slightly discouraged, are we not?" asked the first voice.
Murmurs of agreement could be heard.
"Despite that, we shall overcome! We shall get the seer and the city will be ours. With the magic generated from its core, I shall be the most powerful wizard to ever roam the earth! And you all shall be at my hand, commanding the world!" We shall rid the world of all nonbelievers, and then, with all faithful wizards with us, we shall regain the earth from the muggles!"
Cheers could be heard in the background and for the first time during this vision, Farrell saw a claw-like hand raised above the crowd, a large golden key glinting in between the spindly fingers.
A flash of white-hot pain raced up her spine and her back arched, convulsing in agony. She let out a shriek of agony before falling back out off consciousness and back into her pillows.-