Thanks to everyone who's reviewed it so far - I'm glad you all like it. There are about seven or eight more chapters to come, I think - keep reviewing! Thanks ~M~
They had been nearly a month at Hogwarts now. Harry sighed. He never thought he'd hear himself say this, but he almost missed the lessons – the bustle of the huge crowds of people – and, most of all, he missed Quidditch. Since the fiasco with the secret tunnel (and with the exception of the small excursion to Professor Trelawny's attic), he, Ron and Hermione had kept a decidedly low profile, especially from Snape. Hermione had refused to do anything even remotely exciting, and kept reminding them of the Illuviate curse – something Harry and Ron would rather have forgotten. The result of this was that they spent most of their time skulking in the Gryffindor common room, and Harry was bored with it.
"Let's do something…" he said, one afternoon. Ron rolled over on the couch where he'd been lounging.
"Like what?" he asked lazily.
"Nothing dangerous," said Hermione at once. "Nothing that's going to get us expelled." It seemed that she had taken Snape's threat very seriously.
Harry waved an impatient hand in the air. "No, no… nothing like that," he said. "What about a game of Quidditch? Ron – your mum's forwarded all our stuff here, hasn't she? Well – she'll have sent my Firebolt, then. Come on – let's go and have a game. And I could do with visiting Hedwig, too," he added as an afterthought.
"Fine." Ron stood up, stretching, and yawned loudly. "I'd like to see Pig. And you can get that ginger thing of yours, Hermione."
Hermione looked as though she were about to pick up on the ginger comment, when her face suddenly lit up.
"Herbert!" she exclaimed. "Ron! You haven't seen Herbert!"
Harry hid a smile as he saw a flicker of jealousy cross Ron's face at the mention of another male name, but when Hermione explained he was a parrot he brightened considerably.
"OK then," he said. "Off we go."
In the end, they decided not to bother with the Quidditch game. It would be dark in less than two hours: Harry had no desire to play by light of the moon, round and bright though it would be, and instead they spent an enjoyable hour or so with the birds before realising that they had not yet eaten any lunch.
"Let's go and see Dobby," said Hermione, placing Herbert gently on top of Hedwig's empty cage and leaving the two owls and the parrot to fly around as they left the owlery. "And Winky. I wonder how she is?"
The last time they had seen Winky she had been drowning her sorrows of newfound freedom in a bottle of something: Harry thought that Dumbledore had probably done his best to rectify the situation, and hoped that the little elf was happy. As they descended the stairs leading from the tower, they peered about them curiously. There was an odd lack of people – even for the holidays.
"Where is everyone?" asked Ron. "I'd expect at least Filch to be lurking around somewhere ready to shout at us. But I haven't even seen Mrs Norris: or Peeves. Is there something going on I don't know about?"
Harry shrugged. He was about to respond when something odd caught his eye: bending down, he snatched a scrap of paper up from the floor and looked at it curiously. He was sure that neither he nor the other two had dropped it; and, since Filch was fanatical about the state of the corridor, and they hadn't seen anyone else around for ages he wasn't really sure who had. The side he was looking at was blank: idly, he flicked it over – and then dropped it in shock.
"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione. "What's wrong? What is it?"
Harry was standing, shaking, staring at the small piece of paper where it lay harmlessly on the floor. Hermione glanced at Ron and, obviously deciding that Harry was beyond speech, his best friend stooped to pick it up, wondering why on earth Harry was behaving so oddly. He hoped it wasn't another letter from Snape…
"Oh no…" said Ron, as he saw it. Hermione snatched it from him.
"What are you – Oh," she finished in a dismayed whisper. "One of those."
Because, scrawled crudely onto the paper in what looked like red ink was a sign that the three of them had seen once before, at the Quidditch World Cup, sparkling in the air. Harry knew who had made it then: what he didn't know was who the creator of this one was. He hoped with all his heart that it wasn't anyone he knew in Hogwarts – but, the more he hoped, the less likely the possibility seemed.
It was a Dark Mark.
"Oh – oh," Hermione was whimpering. "Who – why – what shall we…"
Harry didn't hesitate. He knew where they had to go: Dumbledore's study. Quickly. Snatching the paper from Ron's hand he sped back up along the corridor to Dumbledore's study: he didn't stop for breath, or for Ron and Hermione to catch up with him, or even for Peeves, who flew straight at him, bombarding him with the last remnants of the Christmas cake. Harry strode forwards without seeing him, and Peeves was forced out of the way with one last disappointed chunk of marzipan aimed at Harry's left ear. It missed, and fell on top of Mrs Norris. Peeves rapidly disappeared as Filch miraculously materialised out of nowhere to attack the poltergeist with one of his brooms, and Harry arrived outside the Headmaster's door just as a maniacal cackle announced Filch's victory.
"Professor Dumbledore?" he called, knocking so hard on the wooden door that his knuckles popped. He ignored them. "Professor!"
"Harry?" said Dumbledore, through the door. "Come in. Oh, no; wait a moment: I seem to have barricaded myself in… Hang on there a minute. What can I do for you?" There were noises of violent upheaval as Dumbledore apparently rearranged the furniture in his study. In spite of himself, Harry couldn't help but grin at the image.
"I have something to tell you, Professor – it's urgent." Harry had to raise his voice above the noises of something scraping across the floor.
"Fire away," said Dumbledore, cheerfully. "I'll be through in a minute – ah, nearly…"
"We were just going to the – well, we were going… somewhere, when we found this piece of paper. And it's got a – it's got a Dark Mark on it."
There was a pause. Then: "Harry," came Dumbledore's voice, urgently, "Listen to me carefully. I know that what I'm about to suggest may well sound ludicrous – but I'm afraid we have no options left now. Voldemort is coming: you must hide. Use the secret way you discovered last week: I will meet you there as soon as I may. Hurry. Now."
With a quick glance at his companions, who each nodded, Harry turned and led the way quickly back down the corridor to the portrait of the little goblin. Touching it quickly with his wand, he wasted no time in diving through and down the narrow, dark tunnel that led to the dungeons: with a flick of his wand, he murmured a quick Lumos, before Hermione could shout at him for using magic when he wasn't supposed to.
But nothing happened.
"Lumos!" he repeated, louder this time, and shaking his wand harder. "Lumos!"
"Lumos!" added Ron helpfully, joining in. Still nothing. "Why don't you try, Hermione?" he asked hopefully, knowing from bitter experience that Hermione often had a lot more luck than they did when it came to spells.
"No," said Hermione. "If – if you can't do it, then I won't be able to."
"Why isn't it working?" asked Harry. "What's happened? I don't get it… D'you think it's Voldemort, putting a blocking curse on us or something? Just try it, Hermione. It might be only me and Ron."
But Hermione wouldn't. They carried on in darkness, stumbling over everything that lay in their way, Ron furious with Hermione for not trying to help them and Hermione sulking as a result of this. Harry, who was in front, was grateful for the silence this situation provided: at least, with both of them refusing to talk to each other, he thought, they weren't bickering in their usual manner. He soon reached the door to the first dungeon, and they stopped.
"Do you think it's safe?" whispered Hermione. "I mean – if none of our wands are working, and You-Know-Who could be anywhere…"
"If we had some light," announced Ron – and Harry could tell from his tone of voice that he was glaring at Hermione in the dark – "Then we could have a look at the Marauder's Map and find out where he is. Didn't Lupin say it never lies, Harry? It would show him up, wouldn't it?" His voice had grown excited.
Harry agreed with him.
"Oh… OK," said Hermione finally. "Lumos. There. See. Nothing happened." Nothing had. Harry sighed.
"We'll have to risk it," he sighed. "Dumbledore said it was safe, so… Here goes." He pushed at the door, and it swung open noisily. Harry felt his way forwards cautiously, remembering the long flight of steps they had nearly missed the first time they'd come down here.
"OK," he whispered, as he located them with a groping toes. "The stairs start here… Come on… What was that?"
A noise like something getting dragged along the floor had made him stop still where he stood, and stare back into the dark behind them, but now there was silence once more. Harry blinked.
"I dunno," said Ron, puzzled. "Maybe we just left the door open, and there's a draught…"
"Down here in a dungeon?" retorted Hermione. "I don't think so. How many windy dungeons have you ever been in? How many prisoners have you ever heard of that died of exposure?"
"Oh, OK, whatever," snapped Ron. "It was just a suggestion. You think of a better one."
But Hermione was to be deprived of the chance to take Ron up on his offer, because at that moment a loud explosion caused them all to leap high into the air in shock. They lost all hesitation in carrying on further into the dark: hurtling down the stone steps, the three of them half-ran, half-fell downwards until at last they reached level ground. Harry sat up from where he'd fallen awkwardly: he felt around in the dark for his glasses, patting the floor with his hands and praying that they weren't broken.
"Oi!" came Hermione's startled voice, and Harry withdrew his hand hurriedly. That obviously hadn't been his glasses… Hermione sounded indignant. "Was that you, Ron?"
"No it was not!" replied Ron angrily. "I'm over here trying to work out which way is up. I'm nowhere near you. What were you yelping about anyway?"
"Nothing," muttered Hermione. Harry was, for the first time since they'd gone down the tunnel, glad it was dark enough to hide his face as he blushed furiously. Finally, he found his glasses, and stood up.
"What do you think that noise was?" he asked, slowly. He couldn't shake off the feeling that someone – or something – was behind them, following them. He wished that he could see. His only consolation was that if he, Ron and Hermione couldn't then neither would his pursuers.
"Not sure," admitted Ron. "But whoever made it…" Although he didn't finish his sentence, his implication hang heavily in the air, and Harry shuddered.
"Yeah," he said. "We'd better carry on, hadn't we…" They set off again, Hermione keeping a tight grip on his robes and Ron behind her, padding quietly into the blackness. None of them spoke. They were all listening intently to whatever might be heard – which, at the moment, was a dense silence. And then, ever so softly, there was the unmistakable pattering of feet, growing louder by the second.
Harry tensed in the dark, the hairs rising along the back of his neck, and his instinct fully alert now. Half to his surprise, he no longer felt scared: he was simply aware that he and his friends weren't alone – and that something had to be done about it. Silently, he tapped at Ron to get his attention.
"What is it?" asked Ron, loudly.
Then: "Duck!" screamed Hermione, startling Ron into obeying her – which was just as well as something whistled through the dark horizontally, slicing cleanly through the air where Ron's neck had been just a few seconds ago.
"What the – " began Ron, but found no time to finish his sentence as Harry and Hermione grabbed a handful each of his robes and pulled him along the floor. Footsteps could be heard behind them, and all of a sudden, as he saw the metal bolts of the locked door glistening in front of them, Harry knew they had no chance of escape.
He stopped and turned, like a stag at bay, and beside him felt Ron and Hermione follow suit. The footsteps were coming nearer: Harry wondered why his pursuers weren't talking. But soon he had no time to ponder the question: as soon as he sensed there was someone near, he lashed out as hard as he could with his foot and, to his satisfaction, was rewarded with crushing contact with whatever it was chasing them, and a bruised toe. Encouraged by his success, he followed it up with a hard punch. He didn't dare use his wand in the dark, even if he had thought it worked, in case he hit Hermione or Ron by accident.
The fight went on. Their opponents' lack of voice was proving to be oddly disturbing: to the left and right of him, Harry could hear the noises made by the scuffle, and the exclamations of triumph and pain from his two friends. But not a squeak was uttered by their attackers.
Harry elbowed something, hard, and jumped as he heard Ron's voice howl in his ear.
"Argh – hey!" There was a sound like something had been kicked, and a satisfied grunt from Ron.
"That showed you, didn't it, you – oof!" It seemed that, once again, Ron had fallen victim to some form of violence – and, as Hermione muttered an embarrassed-sounding apology, Harry suddenly realised that it was only them doing the actual fighting. He had received no returning blows, and –
At that moment something very large and very heavy cannoned into him, sending him crashing to the ground, winded. A stop must be put to this, he decided, feeling his ribs delicately. Now.
"H-Hermione?" he croaked on a sudden impulse, pushing in vain at the enormous lump sprawled on top of him. It didn't budge.
"What?" said Hermione.
"Can you – can you remember that other version of Lumos that was in that book we looked at? In Professor Trelawny's study? I think we should look…"
"Harry!" Hermione's voice sounded scandalised. "You know as well as I do that we aren't allowed to use magic in the holidays. I've already tried Lumos. Besides – the spells in that book are forbidden unless you're given permission. I might get expelled! I might – "
"You might think about rearranging your priorities," suggested Ron, panting. "This is no time to worry about getting expelled! Can we sort out the little business of not getting killed first?"
"Well… OK…" said Hermione, sounding like the words were coming out against her better judgement. She gave a long-suffering sigh.
"Illuminatus," she muttered, very quickly, and there was a blinding flash of light that hurt Harry's eyes. "But if I get into trouble, I'm blaming – "
"Hagrid!" exclaimed Harry in amazement, finally rolling out from underneath the dazed-looking giant. "What are you doing here? Why…?"
Harry suddenly felt very confused. As his blinking eyes grew accustomed to the harsh light, he saw the forms of Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Severus Snape stand up and walk towards him. Not one of them spoke a word.
"Wh – what's the matter?" he asked, a horrid, sick feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. What was happening? Ron and Hermione came to stand next to him, facing the approach of the three men with wide eyes.
"Say something!" hissed Ron, suddenly totally unnerved. "What's wrong with you all?"
All men looked equally dishevelled, and equally impatient. Sirius pointed to his lips, and mouthed something at them.
"Did – did he just say 'newt farm'?" asked Ron, worried. "'Cos if he did, I mean, Harry, I'd be – "
"No, silly!" interrupted Hermione, jumping up and down excitedly. "Mute charm! Somebody's put a mute charm on them!"
"Oh," said Ron, relieved. "Well, hurry up and get it off, then."
"I can't," said Hermione. "I don't know how."
Ron gaped in disbelief. "You – you don't know… you…"
"Ssh!" said Harry. Snape, Sirius and Lupin were all trying to speak to them, with various expressions of urgency on their faces and in various states of health – Harry wondered which one of them had bequeathed Snape the bloody nose, and hoped it had been him. But they were all mouthing the same word.
"What are they saying?" asked Ron, staring intently at Snape's mouth for a minute before shuddering and looking at Sirius's instead. He picked up his wand.
"Espresso?" he said uncertainly, waving it at them. The four men looked startled to find themselves suddenly holding a bone china cup each filled with strong black coffee, and Ron looked at his wand with a new interest.
"Cool," he said. Lupin drained his cup – and looked like he needed it: Snape glared, and threw his on the floor. Hagrid looked bewildered.
Harry could see the glimmer of understanding begin to dawn on Hermione's face, and put a hand on her arm before she could try her luck at breaking the spell. He stared at each of the men in turn.
"How do we know you're real?" he demanded. "How do we know you're not just some trick of Voldemort's?"
Sirius shrugged, clearly exasperated; Hagrid started trying to speak before he realised he couldn't; Snape, looking almost rabid now with fury lunged forwards with his hands outstretched towards Harry's neck and Remus Lupin was having a hard job of restraining him. That at least was in keeping with their characters, thought Harry wryly.
Lupin shoved Snape into Sirius, and pointed at Harry's pocket. Harry stared at him blankly before he remembered the Marauder's Map: examining it closely for a minute, he finally gave a whistle of relief as he located the seven of them in one of the lower dungeons.
"It's OK," he said to Hermione, "It's them – go ahead."
"Expresso," said Hermione, with a sideways look at Ron, who shrugged and looked embarrassed. "I'm going to get in so much trouble," she added.
A sudden babble of noise erupted around Harry's head: hurried, urgent babble. He heard his godfather's voice, and Snape's silky tones: and Ron, and Hermione, and Hagrid, and Lupin. But all that somehow seemed distant; detached – because he was still looking at the Marauder's Map clutched tightly in his left hand.
And a dot labelled 'Voldemort' was moving slowly towards them.