Disclaimer: These characters belong to JK Rowling, and are used without her permission.
Author's Notes: Does anyone remember this story? A year between chapters, I'm sorry! Would it make things better if I claimed to be JK Rowling and said I'd been too busy writing Book 5 to update this? No…well, the truth is that I lost the inspiration to write fanfic for a while, but seeing the film of HP2 has kick-started me into continuing this. The remaining six chapters should be up over the next month. Honest.
Summary: Harry longs to know what has happened to Sirius and Mundungus. Malfoy gets an unusual present, Fred and George get into trouble, and Harry makes a rash decision. And what is the mysterious "List"?
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Part Fourteen
* * * * *
"…Sirius has not been seen since he went out to look for Mundungus yesterday…"
"…there is no trace of him…"
Dumbledore's words were echoing in Harry's head as he sat on his bed in Gryffindor Tower. Blackie had jumped up on his lap and was licking his hand occasionally with her rasping little tongue, clearly trying to comfort him.
It had been several hours since Professor Dumbledore had told Harry about the disappearance of Mundungus and Sirius, and he had spent most of that time alone in his dormitory.
"You must try to carry on as usual," Dumbledore had told him, as they faced each other across the desk; Fawkes staring beadily from one to the other of them.
"But-"
"No, Harry," Dumbledore had said, as if he were reading Harry's thoughts. "Sirius would not want you to put yourself at risk. The search is, of course, continuing, and I assure you that there are excellent people - most capable people - assisting in the efforts to find Sirius."
He had paused, meeting the intensity of the look in Harry's green eyes. "No, Harry," he had repeated. "You must carry on here. You know that Sirius would want you to do so." He dropped his hand on to Harry's tense shoulder for a moment, before deliberately changing to a lighter tone of voice. "And do not despair, Harry. Things may not be as bad as they seem. And we may receive good news at any moment."
Harry had recognised the sense of Dumbledore's words but still, walking silently from Dumbledore's office to Gryffindor Tower, Harry had found it very hard not to despair. It was true that Sirius's disappearance - and Mundungus's disappearance, too - might not have anything to do with Voldemort and his Death Eaters, yet Harry knew that the odds of that were slim. Immediately, his mind had filled with all-too-vivid images of that night in the graveyard when Cedric had died. Although it regularly visited his dreams, he did not need to be asleep to conjure up the dreadful sights, the haunting sounds, and even the heavy metallic smell of blood and fear. Harry knew better than anyone else at Hogwarts - even Dumbledore - about the sheer evil which was fuelling Voldemort's actions since that terrible night of death, mutilation and rebirth.
And if Voldemort had managed to get hold of Sirius already - Harry's fists had clenched inside his robes. It wasn't fair. Those few weeks at Gatehouse Cottage in the summer, really getting to know his godfather for the first time, had been so satisfying - a tantalising taste of the kind of home Harry might have one day, if the threat of Voldemort was ever removed. If Sirius died, one more hope for the future would be gone.
Harry's thoughts were swirling so fiercely with hatred and worry that he had almost walked into the Fat Lady without seeing her. "Watch out there!" she had cried in alarm, before recovering herself and adding, "Password?"
Inside the common room, Ron and Hermione had been waiting anxiously to find out why Dumbledore had wanted to see Harry. One look at their friend's face had told them that the news was not good. A part of Harry's mind had appreciated their concern, but he just could not face discussing Sirius's disappearance yet, so after giving them the news briefly he had excused himself and gone up to his dormitory. To his relief, Ron had not followed him. Blackie, however, had been sitting bolt upright on his bed, waiting for him, and although Harry had merely stroked her mechanically at first, the warm softness of her fur was comforting.
In Harry's imagination, it was only too easy to replay the night of Cedric's death again and again. He saw again the smoky images of his parents, issuing from Voldemort's wand - he heard the screams and sobs of Wormtail, clutching at his mutilated arm - he felt the thud as Avery, a Death Eater, flung himself before his master, pleading for mercy - and he saw Cedric - dead.
Only this time, when Harry closed his eyes and saw the motionless, silent figure on the ground - eyes wide and soul flown - it was not Cedric, but Sirius.
* * * * *
"Er…Harry?" Ron's red head was poking around the edge of the dormitory door, his expression unsure.
Harry lifted his own head. He had been lying flat on his bed, Blackie on his chest, for the last hour. He had not been aware of falling asleep, but somehow the sky outside the dormitory window had altered from afternoon to evening. "Yeah?"
"D'you feel up to coming to practice tonight? Only it's supposed to be starting now…but I can tell the others if you like - "
Harry sat up, awkwardly pushing Blackie off his chest. "No…no…I'm coming." He supposed that he couldn't go on brooding in the dormitory indefinitely, and playing Quidditch seemed like something which just might keep his mind off Sirius, with luck.
When he and Ron reached the changing rooms they found the rest of the team ready and waiting for them. "So, Captain," Fred said cheerfully, polishing his Beater's club on his robes, "what are we doing tonight? Got any tactical charts to show us, à la Wood?"
Harry managed a smile, pulling on his Quidditch robes and buckling his kneepads. As they walked out on to the pitch, a few minutes later, he tried to put his worries about Sirius out of his head for a while, but it was difficult. Thoughts of where Sirius might be now - what might be happening to him - thoughts of Remus's worry, too, and Mundungus's possible fate - kept floating into his head as he hovered on his Firebolt, watching the Chasers practising penalties against Ron. He was barely aware of what his team-mates were doing, until a stray Bludger missed his head by about two inches.
"Oops! Sorry, Harry," called George, swooping above him to retrieve the Bludger. "Didn't you see it, though?"
"No. Sorry," Harry said, looking up at him.
There was a whoop of triumph as Angelina succeeded at last and managed to get a penalty shot past Ron and into the middle hoop. Grinning, she looped the pitch, but came to a halt as she saw Harry's face.
"Er - is something wrong, Harry?" she asked, clearly trying not to sound too curious. "You don't seem quite yourself tonight."
"I'm fine." Harry looked away from her, to where Prashant was hovering on Parvati's broom, looking eagerly all around him for any sign of the Snitch. Harry left Angelina abruptly and flew over towards Prashant. "Come down," he said, pointing towards the ground. "You can practise on my broom for a bit. I'm going to watch."
Prashant did not need a second invitation, and headed eagerly for the ground. "Wow! Can I really have a go on the Firebolt, Harry? Thanks!" He shot off on the Firebolt like a small red and gold torpedo, whizzing between Fred and George in spectacular fashion.
Harry spent most of the rest of the practice leaning against one of the goalposts, watching his team go through their moves above him, and only occasionally calling out advice or instructions. He noticed Angelina having a quiet word with Ron, and suspected that she was asking Ron if he knew the reason for Harry's sombre mood. However, when the rest of the team returned to the ground at the end of the practice, not one of them said anything to Harry about his unusual behaviour, and Harry wondered if Ron had warned them to leave him alone.
* * * * *
The following day seemed very long, and there was no further news. Harry found it just as hard to concentrate on homework as it had been to concentrate on Quidditch, and the usual Sunday activities did not appeal to him.
He was very glad that Ron and Hermione were not forcing him to talk about Sirius or even making "comforting" remarks. They left him in peace and he sat in a chair near the common-room fire, a book open in front of him, though he could not have told anyone what the book was about. Next to him, Ron and Hermione were sitting at a small table covered with books. Hermione was organising Ron into sorting out the notes for their History of Magic project. Harry let their voices wash over him, without hearing what they said.
He was distracted from staring at his book by the sound of a cough. Prashant Patil was hesitating in front of him, shifting rather awkwardly from foot to foot.
"Did you want something?" Hermione asked, looking up from a four-foot long parchment.
Prashant looked embarrassed. "Um…I needed to tell Harry something…Harry…I'm really sorry, but I can't come to Quidditch practice tomorrow night."
"Oh, why not?" Harry asked, surprised. Since his selection for the team, Prashant had been extremely keen not to miss any Quidditch training, usually showing up at practices before anyone else did.
"I've got a detention from Professor McGonagall," Prashant confessed, keeping his voice hushed in an obvious effort to prevent Parvati hearing from her seat across the room.
"Detention? What for?" asked Hermione, wearing what Ron called "her Prefect face".
"Oh give him a break, Hermione, it's not that hard to get a detention," Ron said lazily.
"Well, you should know, you and Harry have been in detention often enough," Hermione retorted, before turning back to Prashant. "You must be careful, Prashant, I'm sure you didn't mean any harm, but we can't afford to lose too many points for Gryffindor, you know."
Prashant, looking rather shame-faced, nodded.
"Er…what did you do, just out of interest?" Harry asked, and thought he saw a gleam creep back into Prashant's eyes.
"I…um…Raymond Crabbe put a lump of Malaclaw guano down my neck in Potions, so afterwards I…er…put a hex on him."
Ron snorted into the book he was holding, and Harry grinned, despite himself. Hexing the revolting younger Crabbe did seem like a detention earned in a good cause.
"What sort of hex?" Harry asked, avoiding Hermione's eye and hoping he wasn't encouraging Prashant.
"Jelly Legs," Prashant said, brightening a little. "Only he staggered into the door of the book storeroom, and Professor McGonagall was in there, and she came out and…er…I got detention." He looked earnestly at Hermione. "She didn't take any house points off me though, honest."
Harry saw Hermione's lips twitch, but she only said, "Well, don't make a habit of hexing people, Prashant - you don't want to get into Professor McGonagall's bad books."
Prashant did not seem too worried at the thought of being in Professor McGonagall's bad books, but he did give Harry a last apologetic look and repeat, "I'm really sorry about Quidditch practice, Harry," before turning away.
After Prashant had hurried back to the other first-years, Hermione shook her head and said, "We didn't even know that sort of hex when we were first years - honestly, the older students shouldn't be teaching him stuff like that…"
Ron's ears flushed a guilty red. "Yeah…I mean, no…" He changed the subject - rather quickly, Harry thought. "So, which book did you say that Wendolen the Weird was in again, Hermione?"
Hermione, after one long, suspicious look at Ron, leaned over the textbooks once more.
* * * * *
Harry felt as though he was walking around under a cloud for the next few days. The worst part was not being able to explain why he was in such a dark mood - several of the other Gryffindors were giving him a wide berth, assuming that he was just in a bad temper. He had visited Professor Dumbledore's office several times, only to be told that there was no more news yet, and that the search for Sirius and Mundungus was continuing.
Fred and George, anxious to promote team harmony before the Ravenclaw match, tried to cheer Harry up by demonstrating their latest invention during breakfast on Tuesday morning. As the owls flocked into the Great Hall carrying the morning post, Harry felt Fred nudge him in the ribs.
"Looks like Malfoy's got something interesting, eh George?" Both the twins were looking eagerly across at the Slytherin table, where an owl had just delivered a shiny, gold-wrapped package to Draco Malfoy. Harry noticed that Raymond Crabbe was sitting with his brother, Goyle and Malfoy again. He seemed to be sticking very closely to the Slytherin fifth-years for protection since the Jelly Legs hexing incident.
Malfoy had now opened the packet. From where Harry was sitting, it looked as though it contained mints, or similar white sweets. Malfoy was smirking, as he usually did when his frequent parcels of sweets and treats arrived, and handing out the sweets to his Slytherin cronies.
"What are you looking at?" Hermione asked, as she and Ginny arrived at the breakfast table. She took the seat Ron had been saving for her, and glanced across the room to see what the twins, Ron and Harry were gazing at with such interest.
Before any of them could reply, there was a succession of sharp popping noises and several shrieks from the Slytherin table. This was followed by an outburst of noise as the rest of the school turned to see what was happening. Craning over several people's heads, Harry couldn't help grinning as he saw that Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Raymond and several other Slytherins were now sporting long, drooping moustaches and looking very irate. The Gryffindor table was rocking with laughter. Even Hermione was giggling, her hands to her mouth.
Next to Harry, Fred and George were whooping and slapping hands. "Moustache-Making Mints!" George told the other Gryffindors gleefully. "Good, aren't they? We got the idea after that incident with the Ageing Potion last year when we had the - er - beard problems."
"McGonagall doesn't look too happy," Ron warned the twins, as he caught the eye of the Head of Gryffindor House. She was standing by Malfoy, listening to the indignant protests of the unhappy Slytherins, but her suspicious gaze was aimed piercingly in Fred and George's direction, and her expression was not amused. "She's looking right at you."
"Why does she always think it's us?" Fred asked, in an injured voice.
"It was you," Ginny pointed out.
"Oh, yeah." Fred did not look too upset about the prospect of Professor McGonagall's wrath, however. "Still, it was worth it. Got one over on Malfoy, and made our Captain here smile for the first time this week."
"Yeah, lighten up, Harry," George said. "Don't worry about the Ravenclaw match - trust me, we'll flatten them."
Harry smiled again - weakly, this time. If Fred and George thought that he was worrying about being Captain for the match against Ravenclaw, he would let them go on thinking that.
* * * * *
That week seemed to be one of the longest Harry had ever known. Around him, the pattern of school life was apparently "normal" again. Mrs. Norris now fled whenever she saw Blackie, although Filch did not seem to have found out the identity of Mrs. Norris's attacker. The Gryffindor team had had several more Quidditch practices. Malfoy was still obeying Fleur Delacour's instructions in Potions lessons, although not with a good grace. His moustache had soon disappeared, but he was clearly longing to get revenge on the twins, and looked daggers at them whenever he met them - not that this seemed to bother Fred or George much. Harry and Neville had done some more work on their History of Magic project for Professor Binns, and Neville's cousin had sent them some interesting facts about how the Department of Magical Law Enforcement worked. Professor Stoddard kept loading homework on to the fifth-years, and the other teachers seemed determined to keep them busy as well. Harry didn't mind this - working hard at least gave him less time to worry.
By Friday evening, however, as he sat in the Gryffindor common room, Harry had finished most of his homework, and even the Quidditch match next day could not occupy his thoughts. None of the friends who had been trying to cheer him up all week were around, for a change - the common room was unusually quiet. Fred and George were in the dungeons somewhere serving a detention with Filch - the result of Professor McGonagall's investigation into the Moustache-Making Mints. Hermione and Ron were in the library, working on their History of Magic project again - Ron had told Harry that the project was already seven rolls of parchment long but Hermione seemed to be nowhere near running out of ideas. Ginny had accompanied Neville over to Hagrid's hut to ask his advice about Trevor the toad, who had been looking off-colour lately. Dean and Seamus had challenged Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley of Hufflepuff to an Exploding Snap contest. Even Blackie had disappeared, probably to chase mice round the Hogwarts grounds with Crookshanks. So, unusually, Harry was alone. There was still no news at all from Gatehouse Cottage, and he was starting to feel as though he had to do something himself to help Sirius, despite Professor Dumbledore's warnings.
"Why hasn't Remus written to me, even?" he muttered to himself, angrily. "He must know I'm wondering what's going on - at least he could tell me how the search is going - "
Harry was finding the thought of the silver key in his trunk very tempting. If he used the Portal, he could go to Gatehouse Cottage; he could see if Remus was all right and demand to be told what was really happening. Remus would probably be livid with him, but it would be better than this awful uncertainty, this not knowing. He had to know…
The few Gryffindors in the common room took no notice when Harry went up to his dormitory. It only took a few seconds to find the key, but for several minutes Harry sat on the end of his bed, the key heavy in his hand, trying to make up his mind. The worst thing was that he knew that he couldn't tell Ron and Hermione he was going back through the Portal. Hermione would be horrified - not so much, Harry knew, at the idea that he would be breaking rules, but at the danger that Harry might be putting himself in, going out of Hogwarts alone, especially after Sirius's disappearance. She might even feel that she had to tell Professor Dumbledore of Harry's intentions. Ron would understand why Harry felt he had to go, but he would not be happy either. Ron had great respect for Professor Dumbledore, and he already knew that Dumbledore had forbidden Harry to go out looking for Sirius. He might try to talk Harry out of going through the Portal, and Harry knew that if he waited any longer, he might think better of it himself. This was his opportunity - while none of his friends were around, and no one would stop him. With a sudden feeling of resolution, Harry stood up, and dropped the silver key into the pocket of his robes.
* * * * *
It all seemed too easy, somehow. Harry did not meet a single person on his journey along the quiet stairs and passageways from Gryffindor Tower to the corridor with the faded flowered carpet and the statue of the Quidditch player. The stone Quaffle lifted easily out of the statue's hand, this time, and the key turned smoothly in the lock Harry had oiled.
Harry pushed back the statue's stone arm and heard again the grating rumble as the black opening in the stone wall appeared, the cold breeze blowing gently out of it. He looked quickly to the left and right down the corridor, but nothing stirred, and no one appeared to challenge him. Taking a deep breath, Harry ducked his head, and squeezed quickly into the hole in the wall. Within seconds, he felt the air around him begin to whirl furiously, as he was swept into the cold, black cloud and transported away by the Portal.
When he stepped out into the tiny stone room beneath the ruins of Blackdale House, Harry felt almost as though he was still in the Portal, it was so dark. When he had been here before with Ron and Hermione, starlight had illuminated the underground room with a faint light, but tonight was cloudy, and he could hardly see his hand in front of his face. He found the stone bench by knocking against it painfully with his shin.
"Lumos!" The small bright light from his wand allowed Harry to find the rough stone steps and climb out of the room on to the springy grass and mossy stones of the Blackdale House ruins. It had obviously been raining in Yorkshire that day. The ground squelched beneath his feet as he walked in the direction of Gatehouse Cottage, and every time he brushed against a gorse bush it flicked drops of water on to his robes. As Harry entered the tree-lined path that had once been the drive to the big house, more water dripped from the leaves of the trees over his head and ran down the back of his neck.
There were lights in Gatehouse Cottage. Harry's heart lifted at the sight. As he got nearer to the gate, he moved with extreme caution, remembering how Mundungus had Stunned him when he first arrived there. Mundungus was missing now…but Harry was sure that Remus would still be keeping a sharp look-out for intruders. Harry was still torn between a desire to march into the house and demand to know what was going on, and a fear that Remus might curse him into the middle of next week for his idiocy in leaving Hogwarts and coming out alone into the darkness of the moors.
Moving along the side of the house, trying to avoid stepping in muddy puddles and walk silently at the same time, Harry began to hear a murmur of quiet voices coming from the direction of the sitting-room. Pressing himself against the wall, he managed to get close enough to the window to hear what the voices were saying, though he did not dare to risk a glance through the window, in case he was seen.
"Sirius did get to the Pettigrews' old house, then?" That was Mrs. Figg's voice. She sounded edgy and anxious.
"Yes, we know that much." That was Remus. "He sent me a message to say that he'd searched the place - it's been empty since Peter's mother died, you know. We wondered if Voldemort might be using it as a meeting-place - whether it might even be the place they'd taken Mundungus to."
"But there was nothing there?"
"He said not - but that was the last I heard from him. So he may have met someone after sending me the message - he may have come across something. We've searched the place ourselves since then, of course, but there doesn't seem to be anything there now."
"What I should like to know," said a third voice gently, "is why Voldemort - as we presume - chose this time to take Mundungus."
Harry, pressed against the wall, barely breathing, froze at the sound of this new voice. Professor Dumbledore. He hadn't been expecting to meet him at Gatehouse Cottage tonight. Remembering the steady look Dumbledore had given him when he had forbidden him to go looking for Sirius, Harry knew very definitely that he did not want Dumbledore to know about his rash use of the Portal tonight.
"One has to wonder," Dumbledore's voice continued, "if Mundungus had discovered something about the Death Eaters which Voldemort did not want him to pass on."
"Mundungus did seem very excited the last few days before he disappeared," Harry heard Mrs. Figg joining in the conversation again. "He had this theory - something he reckoned he'd found out when he was spying on Avery and Nott - about this List."
"Yes, this List - it does exist then?" That was Remus, strained and urgent. "Mundungus was right?"
"Yes, I am sorry to say that the List does exist, Remus," Dumbledore's voice said heavily. "There have been several mentions of it from my other sources - a message for Simon and Amaryllis Lestrange was intercepted - "
"The Lestranges? But they're still in Azkaban, aren't they?"
"That is true - but messages can still get through, Arabella - I'm afraid these days it is hard to know who can be trusted fully. Fortunately, several members of the Order are doing excellent work on our side - and putting themselves at great personal risk."
Harry was surprised to find himself thinking of Professor Snape. He had been gone from Hogwarts for several weeks now, and Harry knew that he must be carrying out some sort of secret work for Dumbledore. Was he, perhaps, spying on Voldemort even now? And what was the "Order"?
"I'm going to check all those possible sites again tomorrow," Harry heard Remus saying. "I know there's not much chance of anything else, but we've got to keep looking."
"Mark my words, we need to keep following Avery and Nott," Mrs. Figg put in. "They were the ones Mundungus heard talking about the List. They could probably tell us a lot more."
"I don't want you to put yourself at increased risk by travelling into these places alone, Remus," Dumbledore's voice said, sounding rather stern. "We can't afford to lose you too."
There was a strained pause, before Remus's voice said flatly, "I'll be all right - but we need more people, it's true - "
"I have another member of staff who, I believe, would be willing to help us," Dumbledore said. "Professor Stoddard, my new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, is highly gifted in the area of self-protection, and she knows the histories of several Death Eaters extremely well. I would like you to meet her, Remus - I believe you might work well together." His tone had changed almost to one of amusement, Harry thought, puzzled.
"If you think so, I'll meet her, of course, but I will be busy for a while - I must search those sites - "
"No, Remus, I would prefer you to discuss the situation with Professor Stoddard and myself first," Dumbledore said, and Harry recognised a certain steeliness in his tone. "Tomorrow, perhaps, at Hogwarts?"
There was a definite note of resignation in Remus's reply. "Certainly, Headmaster. I will come."
"Excellent! I believe there is a Quidditch match tomorrow - you will enjoy that. And Harry will be delighted to see you."
At the mention of his own name, Harry's face burned with guilt. If they found out he was here, eavesdropping on them - Sirius would have been furious with him for dashing over here -
"I should have written to Harry, or gone to see him, before now." Remus sounded guilty too. "He must be worried out of his mind about Sirius. Thank God he's safely at Hogwarts, anyway. The last thing we need now is for Voldemort to get his hands on Harry again."
Outside in the garden, Harry edged away from the window. Much as he wanted to know more about what Remus, Mrs. Figg and Dumbledore had been discussing, he knew that he needed to get back to Hogwarts quickly, before anyone realised he had gone. He couldn't run across the grass, though - it was an agonisingly slow process creeping away from the cottage, trying to get back to the open moorland without making a sound, knowing that few ears were sharper than those of Remus and Dumbledore. Even when he reached the tumbled stones where Blackdale House had stood, Harry did not feel safe. The determination and anger which had brought him here in defiance of instructions - anger about being kept in the dark over the search for Sirius, anger against Voldemort - had evaporated, leaving him feeling not just worried, but guilty too. He hadn't felt this small since Remus - when still his Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor - had told him off for sneaking into Hogsmeade when the world believed that Sirius was out to kill him.
"Your parents gave their lives to keep you alive, Harry. A poor way to repay them - gambling their sacrifice for a bag of magic tricks."
Stumbling down the stone steps into the pitch-black underground chamber, Harry could feel his face burning at the memory of those words. It had been a mistake to ignore Dumbledore's instructions and go to Gatehouse Cottage in the hope of speaking to Remus, but…this time, he hadn't just broken rules to sneak into Hogsmeade and have fun in a joke shop. He'd done it to find out about Sirius - Sirius, who might be dead already. Like Cedric.
Tonight's escapade might have been stupid, Harry decided, but that did not mean he should give up on Sirius. If there was any way he could find of helping in the search - of helping in the wider battle against Voldemort - he would do it. Remus was coming to Hogwarts tomorrow. He would talk to him and find out, if he could, what this "List" was that they were all so worried about.
Tomorrow - Harry was astonished to remember suddenly that tomorrow was the day of the Quidditch match against Ravenclaw. His very first match as Gryffindor Captain, and he had hardly given it a thought all day. What he needed to do now was to get back to Gryffindor Tower as soon as possible and get some sleep. He felt his way blindly across the stone chamber until he reached the black Portal, where the cold air blew on to his face. He was only too eager to get away from this place tonight.
Harry stepped forward into the Portal, and was caught once more in the middle of the icy whirlwind, the air rushing around him, blowing through his hair, making his eyes water, until it slowed again to leave him in dark stillness, and he stepped out of it into the quiet Hogwarts corridor where the statue waited and lamps glowed softly.
But the corridor was not deserted, as it had been when he had left. Two people were standing against the oak-panelled wall opposite the Portal, watching Harry as he climbed out from behind the statue. And one look at their faces was enough to tell Harry that he was in big trouble.
* * * * *
To be continued…