AN: This chapter was a brute to write. I was just squirming with embarrassment the whole time. Allusions include a recent film, Lewis Carroll and Edward Lear, and Beatrix Potter (perhaps a distant relative?). Thanks to my anonymous reviewer; many readers have mentioned difficulty remembering which is mine and which Rowling's.
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Chapter 9: A Beautiful Mind
The next morning at breakfast the ceiling of the Great Hall filled the room with early sunlight and the omelettes had an excellent flavour. Harry noticed that Neville looked freshly scrubbed, and Ron and Hermione were comparing notes on their experience of the day before with every appearance of enjoyment. Ivy actually winked at them from the Slytherin table. Harry was prepared to savour a normal day at Hogwarts, because all too soon—tomorrow, in fact—he would be visiting Frank Longbottom for the third time, and what might happen was anybody's guess.
So Harry went to class, caught up on the previous day's homework over lunch (Professor McGonagall, at least, had given them an extension), and threw himself into Quidditch practice, grateful that Fred and George were running things with their usual lunatic efficiency. He also took time to write another note to Sirius, asking simply, What can you tell us about pet rat experiments? It seemed like no time until he was back in the Gryffindor common room after dinner, doing homework with his classmates.
Hermione looked up from her astrology chart and said, "Harry and Neville, there's something Ron and I want to ask you. I talked to Ivy in the library and she asked me to count her in."
"Fire away," said Harry, not knowing what to expect.
Hermione hesitated a moment, looking down at her parchment and running a thumb over the fine silky strands forming the soft edge of her quill. She said, "Since yesterday, we've got a better idea of what you're up against. We want to know if it would be all right with you—if we joined you tomorrow at the hospital when you see the Longbottoms. If there's any way we might be able to help if we were there."
"Only if you want us," said Ron diffidently. "It's okay if you don't."
"We could wait outside the door for you if you'd rather," added Hermione, looking at Neville.
"Okay by me," said Harry. "I'd like to have you. But it's up to Neville."
"You know," said Neville, "hardly anybody ever visits my Mum and Dad anymore, except for Gran and me. They don't recognize anyone, they haven't for years as far as anyone can tell, and Gran says that even their close friends have sort of given up on them. It's as if they've died. It's very sad and all that, but life goes on."
"So you wouldn't mind if we came along?" asked Ron. "Even Ivy?"
"Not at all," said Neville. "Unless you were coming just to gawk at a crazy man."
"If it were that, I'd much rather skip it," said Hermione with a shiver.
"Me too. Still, it's bound to be better than the Broken Record Spell," said Ron. "No offense meant, Neville."
"No, it's okay," Neville told him.
* * * * * * *
So when Lucretia Longbottom arrived at Hogwarts the next day, she, like Snape two days earlier, found more students than she expected. Neville made introductions. "They're all coming with us, Gran," he told her. "They want to help."
Ron and Hermione were visibly nervous, but Ivy appeared self-possessed as usual. They left from the same fireplace they had used the previous time. Floo powder again, Harry thought with a sigh, but he was starting to get used to it, and to the somber hospital atmosphere waiting at the other end of the journey.
Dr. Leech met them there and informed them that Frank Longbottom was stronger and more aware of his surroundings since Harry's last visit, and seemed to understand more of what was said to him. "He's been having occasional violent episodes, as he used to in the past, but lately he's been trying to control them. I heard him say, 'Don't let me hurt anyone.' However, he speaks very seldom and he still won't let anyone else take the Trempath."
Ivy, Ron, and Hermione agreed to wait outside Frank Longbottom's room to start, so as not to tax him with too many new people at once. There was a sort of waiting area nearby with chairs and a few small tables with stacks of pamphlets on them. Hermione picked up St. Mungo's: Five Hundred Years of Excellence, Ron chose Advances in Magical Surgery, probably for its graphic illustrations in living colour, and Ivy absorbed herself in Don't Ever Become a Patient Here if You Can Possibly Help It. Harry watched them for a moment and said, "You look like you're waiting to see the dentist."
Hermione lowered her pamphlet a moment. "Which is the dentist here, you or Frank Longbottom?" she asked. No one had the answer to that one, so Harry, feeling somehow very glad to have his friends handy in case he needed them, took a deep breath to steady his nerves and went in with the two Longbottoms to see Neville's father.
This time, Frank looked up as soon as the door opened. His eyes fastened on Harry. "I'm here, Frank," said Harry.
"Harry Potter," the man whispered. "They told me you would come today."
Harry crossed the room and sat next to Frank on the bed. As before, Harry took the Trempath from the other's hand and felt the familiar fierce sting in his scar that meant the Curser was at work. He also sensed a desperate resolve. "I—waited for you," said Frank. "I've tried for years, but I could never see it—him—face to face. I haven't dared—help me."
Harry could see a faint outline of the hooded figure of the Curser. "You want him to show his face?" asked Harry. Frank nodded without speaking and swallowed hard, shivering. "I'll give it a try," said Harry grimly. He stood and faced the Curser, extending his arm to touch the hood which hid its face, but his hand went through it as if through empty air. He tried again with the Trempath pressed against his forehead (oh man, that really hurts), and this time felt something, a faint cottony resistance, still not solid enough to grasp.
But the Curser sensed his presence now. Its hooded head moved as if to look at him. Harry swiftly pulled out his wand, thrust the point under the concealing hood, and flung it back, but no head appeared. Instead the entire robe collapsed, emptied of its occupant, and the pain ceased abruptly. Harry stood there wondering what to do next and feeling an inexplicable dread as if he had drunk Panic Potion. He turned back to the man on the bed. Frank's eyes were dilated with fear. "Do you hear it?" Harry listened hard and heard a squeaking sound that seemed to come from under the empty robe. And did he see a wiggling grey tail? He couldn't be sure.
"The rat," Frank whispered. "It happens every time … and then nothing but rats. It's almost worse than the pain." Compelled by some impulse communicated through the Trempath, Harry looked up at Neville and his Gran, and to his horror he saw instead two human-sized, human-clothed rats, looking completely solid and real.
"I see what you mean," said Harry shakily, turning his eyes from that preposterous vision with his heart pounding. "Does everyone you see look like … ?"
"Rats," said Frank with a shudder. "Except you, Harry."
"You're saying I don't—didn't—look like a rat?"
"Not a bit. You look like your father, Harry." A smile lit Frank's face for a moment.
Harry was beginning to understand why Frank Longbottom found it difficult to recognize visitors, or see anybody at all. He said, getting it clear, "So the Curser turns into a rat whenever you try to look at its face? And then you see everyone else as a rat." Frank nodded. "Do you know what that means?" Harry said excitedly. "Hardly anyone knows this, but Peter Pettigrew is an unregistered Animagus, and his animal form is a rat. He must have been the one who did this to you. He must have put the Curser in your mind."
"Yes. But there's more," said Frank.
"As if that weren't enough," Harry muttered, taking another peek at Frank's whiskered family members and looking away hastily.
"I can shut out the rat people by sending them away or closing my eyes," Frank went on, making a great effort to speak calmly, "but then I start thinking about what happened when Pettigrew came that day. When he attacked me, I told Aurelle to take our son to safety and send someone—someone to help—but she couldn't find anyone. Must have been his doing. She came back and kept begging him to stop. She told me not to give up … When he finished with me, he started on her. I heard him do it. She didn't even know anything; I made sure of that, and I told him. I shouted out, 'Stop! She knows nothing! She knows nothing!' But he kept on. It was pure spite on his part. And there's something else—something even worse. I can't speak of it.
"If only he had left Aurelle untouched," said Frank, his voice rising, "I could—keep it at bay. But when I think of what he did to her, I'm not—strong enough—to fight the anger. I start raving whenever I see her—so violent I have to be restrained—and I haven't been allowed to visit her for months."
As Frank spoke Harry felt overpowering rage, not only Frank's rage but also his own: pictures of torturing Wormtail began to fill his mind, as they had after his second visit to Longbottom, but this time with terrible force behind them. He trembled with blood lust, the urge to stab and maim. The fury in his mind wasn't satisfied with imagining atrocities; it insisted that he commit them without delay on the first rat he could find.
Harry refrained with difficulty from turning and assaulting Neville and his Gran. "You see how it is," said Frank Longbottom through his teeth. He gripped Harry's free hand hard. They sat in silence for a moment, side by side on the bed. Harry watched jagged red and black splinters jostle and fight with each other in the Trempath.
"You've definitely got a serious problem," said Harry.
"No one's been able to help—not for a long time," said Frank. "I don't know how many people I've hurt, or even who they are—hardly even seen their faces." A hopeless grey cast settled over the coloured shapes in the Trempath, which lost their sharp edges and seemed to squirm with shame.
"They know you're not to blame," said Harry, knowing that this was small comfort. "Listen, this is going to sound completely dotty, but it just might work."
"Bring it on, Harry," said Frank. "I'll try anything."
"I know you remember the Opposition Verse."
"Of course."
"Well, there's another version that works a little differently."
Feeling uncommonly silly, Harry recited,
"/Your sprinkling can drowned me in one submarine,
And forced me to replace your foamiest anteater.
If strudel's improving a newlywed possum,
Where fade wilted flowers of years' mangled blossom,
Buttercream spreads from my shoes top to bottom,
Till toads underground grin from something in autumn./"
Frank looked at Harry in disbelief, and started chuckling. "It sounds almost the same, but it makes no sense at all. Your sprink—half a moment. Say it again, Harry." Harry did, and this time Frank listened with closer attention. He started laughing again. "But—the second line doesn't even rhyme," he pointed out. For some reason that set him off more than ever. He flopped over onto his side on the bed, clutching his stomach and wheezing. Harry, connected to him by the Trempath, found that he had to laugh too. It felt like a mental Tickling Charm, but much pleasanter.
Finally Frank sat up again, all the lines on his face expressing merriment. "I want to learn it. Teach it to me." So they said it over and over until Frank knew it by heart. "I still think it's the funniest thing I ever heard, I don't know why. When I say it, I can see it all," he added dreamily. He had apparently forgotten his anger and fear for the moment. His eyes roved freely around the room, then widened, arrested by the sight of a familiar face. "/Mother?/"
Lucretia Longbottom, looking herself again, stared at her son in amazement.
"Mother, is it really you?"
"Oh yes, Frank," she told him.
/Hot stuff, it really works/, Harry exulted. I'll have to tell Ron.
"This isn't the first time you've come, is it?" Frank asked.
"No, I've been here to see you many times," she told him.
Harry felt Frank's sudden pang of fear as he asked, "I haven't … hurt you … have I, Mother?"
"Never, Frank. You've only made me very proud." Her voice shook and she wiped her eyes. He held out a hand to her and she came to him, bringing Neville with her. Harry could tell that the old lady was holding back from throwing her arms around him and bursting into sobs, not wanting to jar him out of his lucid state. "I've brought someone else you might remember," she said, putting his hand in Neville's.
Frank Longbottom looked at Neville with dawning recognition. "Aurelle," he said. "I see Aurelle in your face. But you're not Aurelle. I know we had a child … Could you be my son, Neville?"
"Yes, Dad," said Neville.
"But you're nearly grown," said Frank. "You were three years old … Have I lost that much time?"
"Yes, Dad," said Neville again.
Frank Longbottom shook his head and his look of recognition faded. It was too much to take in all at once. His eyes darkened with the return of his inner demons. "The rats, Harry," he muttered. "They're coming back."
"We'll say the verse again," said Harry. Neville joined in this time, and the three of them said it together twice.
Frank's face cleared. "That's much better," he said. "Why have I never heard it before? Where did it come from?"
"It's a long story," said Harry, deciding not to try to explain about the Marauder's Map. "We found it sort of by accident, but Ron discovered that it's just the ticket for rat revenge fantasies. He and Ivy and I have all been having those lately." No, it was too confusing.
"Your friends?" Frank asked.
"Yes," said Harry. "They came with me today and they'd like to meet you if it's okay."
"I think I'd like to see them for just a short while. It's nice to see human faces again."
Still holding the Trempath, Harry poked his head out of the room for a moment to beckon the others in. Ron had finished with the surgery pamphlet and was now perusing /Gored, Bitten and Crushed: Dos and Don'ts for Treating Injuries Caused by Magical Beasts/. Before he came in with Ivy and Hermione, he tucked it into a pocket, no doubt meaning to give it to Hagrid later.
Frank Longbottom went through the motions of greeting Ron and Hermione. But when Harry introduced him to Ivy Parkinson, Frank looked at her intently, frowning as if to place an elusive resemblance.
"Severus … ?" he said slowly.
"Severus Snape is my uncle, sir," said Ivy. "My father is Octavius Snape."
"I met Octavius too," said Frank. "He came and told me … told me he would take care of Severus."
"He did," said Ivy.
"What of Severus? Is he … well?"
"Uncle Severus was ill for a long time, but he recovered," said Ivy. "He's teaching at Hogwarts."
Frank extended his hand and grasped hers. "You must bring Severus to me," he told her. "I must tell him … tell him ..."
"I'll bring him," said Ivy.
"And will you do another thing?"
"Of course, sir," said Ivy.
"Go to Aurelle," he begged her. "Please see Aurelle. She will know …"
"I'll see her," Ivy promised.
Frank's eyes went blank again, and he closed them. He released his grip on Ivy's hand, and rubbed his eyes wearily. He drew a long breath. "The Curser is coming back," he said. "You've done enough for me today, Harry. I can't tell you how much. But you must leave me now," he added resolutely.
Harry suddenly realized how drained he was. Frank held his hand out for the Trempath and Harry gave it back, not without some reluctance. But he knew the danger of taking too much upon himself, and had no intention of adding to Frank's burden of guilt.
"I'll be back," said Harry.
"Neville and I will stay with him a bit longer, young Potter," Neville's Gran assured him, "that is, if one or two of you would be kind enough to escort him back to school," she added, turning to Ron, Hermione, and Ivy.
"Certainly, Mrs. Longbottom," said Hermione.
"Sure thing," said Ron.
"I'd like to stay and meet Neville's mother, if I may," said Ivy. "I did promise."
"You can come with us," said the elder Mrs. Longbottom.
* * * * * * * *
As soon as they arrived back at Hogwarts, delayed reaction hit hard. Harry's eyes refused to focus and he staggered when he tried to walk. Ron and Hermione, by unspoken agreement, took him by the arms and steered him toward the hospital wing. "No, really, I'm fine," Harry muttered unconvincingly, but his friends tactfully ignored his words and carried on taking him up to Madam Pomfrey. He saw rats wherever he looked. All the students and teachers passing in the corridors had rat heads and rat tails. In the infirmary, a rat wearing a white apron put him to bed and dosed him with hellebore. It helped, but not enough; the rats pursued him into his dreams.
Whenever he remembered, he recited the Sprinkling Can verse over and over to himself, and before his unbelieving eyes he saw a colorful panorama of sprinkling cans, submarines (some of them yellow), foamy anteaters, strudels, possums, blossoms, streams of buttercream pouring from pairs of shoes, and grinning underground toads. He found this helpful for two reasons. First, he was quite sure none of these visions were real; and second, it gave him a nice rest from the rats. But not for very long; they kept creeping back.
That evening Harry had a visit from a rat with a red handbag and a vulture hat, whom he recognized as Lucretia Longbottom. "I have something to tell you, young Potter," she said. "After you left, we stayed with Frank, and after a while he asked to see Aurelle. He promised he would behave. I told the staff that they should allow it, and they did. Neville, Ivy and I went with him. He was angry, but not violent. When he got back to his own room he wept for an hour, and then he fell asleep, with no potions, drugs, or spells, for the first time in twelve years. Thanks to you, young Potter, my son has been sleeping peacefully these three hours and more."
Harry devoutly wished he could do the same. Still, it was good to know that his own ordeal wasn't completely pointless, because it certainly felt that way. Either he had already gone crazy or he was about to be driven crazy, and he didn't know which was worse.
* * * * * * * *
The next day Harry was sitting up in bed propped on pillows when a rat appeared who was about the right height for Hermione and spoke in Hermione's voice. "Harry, you need to eat something," she said, and handed him a plate with a dead rat on it. Harry felt his gorge rise, and before he could stop himself, he hurled the plate across the room. The plate was made of gold, so it didn't shatter, but it got badly dented, and its contents oozed over the floor. "Sorry. I reckon it wasn't really a rat, was it?" he said.
"A rat? Of course not, Harry," said Hermione's voice. "I brought you some chicken pie. Everyone at lunch thought it was quite tasty."
"That would have been good," said Harry.
"I could get you some more," she suggested.
"If you wouldn't mind," he said, trying not to sound pathetic, and avoiding the sight of her beady eyes and twitching whiskers.
"It's all right, Harry," she assured him. "None of this is your fault." She came back in a few minutes with another plate of pie and a bottle of Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover. Before giving him the plate she muttered the Sprinkling Can verse over it so he wouldn't make the same mistake again. Feeling a bit like Duchess in The Pie and the Patty-Pan (a story he had overheard Aunt Petunia reading to Dudley many years ago), Harry took a cautious bite of what was on the plate; but, finding that it looked and tasted like chicken pie and not like rat (though he had no way of knowing how rat would taste), he finished it eagerly and felt better for it.
A bit later, Professor Snape appeared with a cup of some kind of potion, and he actually looked like himself. Harry was glad to see even the Potions Master's face after the endless procession of rodent heads. "I hear you're seeing things, Potter. This will help to clear the delusions from your mind," he told Harry. "You should stop hallucinating in another day or two."
Harry looked at the potion doubtfully. It was clear, like water, or like—
"It's not Veritaserum, is it?" he asked suspiciously.
"No, Potter, but it has some of the same elements in it. It will help you to see and be seen without distortion. I took some myself before I came here, so you would recognize me more easily."
Harry took a sip. The potion was tart but not bitter, and more pleasant than otherwise. He drank it down thirstily.
"Did you see rats everywhere you looked, too?" he asked. The professor was silent for so long that Harry thought he might not answer.
"Quite," said Snape drily, at length. "For weeks on end. And after that I kept having relapses, so I was able to develop this concoction and refine it by testing it on myself. Trust me, Potter, it is extremely effective."
Harry was interested. "Did you send some to Frank Longbottom?"
"Naturally I did, Potter, but the hospital staff put me off with a polite thank-you. I don't know if he ever got it. They never asked me to send more."
"Silly of them," said Harry, and closed his eyes.
The first effect Harry noticed was, not that the hallucinations stopped or grew less, but that it became easier to distinguish them from reality. They appeared less solid and more dreamlike.
He was getting very tired of the Sprinkling Can verse and found that it helped when his friends read him things like /The Owl and the Pussy-Cat/ and /The Hunting of the Snark/, although those rhymes didn't have quite the same cleansing effect.
After that, Snape visited Harry regularly, each time with a dose of Anti-Psychedelic Potion. He was actually quite solicitous (for him) and seemed to take a personal pride in the speed of Harry's recovery. On Monday Harry only saw rats out of the corners of his eyes, and on Tuesday he was well enough to return to his classes. He told Neville to be sure that his Dad got some of Snape's potion, even if he or his Gran had to smuggle it into Frank's room.
"I'll take care of it, Harry," Neville assured him. "And you'll be happy to know that our Wednesday get-together with Snape is cancelled this week. You're not up to it yet."
At lunchtime on Thursday, Neville told Harry that Dumbledore wanted to see both of them that afternoon after class in his office. When Harry arrived, Neville was already there, and somewhat to Harry's surprise, so was Neville's Gran.
"Ah, young Potter is here," she said warmly when she saw him.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Longbottom," said Harry politely.
"Why don't you call me Gran, the way Neville does?" she suggested.
"Fine, if you'll call me Harry," said Harry.
"Fair enough, young P— Harry."
Professor Dumbledore smiled at him and said, "Harry, I've called you and Neville here because Lucretia has some important news."
Harry sat down in the chair provided. "About Frank?" he asked.
"Yes, Harry. You should know that his condition has shown great improvement in the past week. We're all very much in your debt." He nodded to Neville's Gran.
"Frank had a visitor this morning," Lucretia Longbottom told them. "Lucius Malfoy. He just got back from a long holiday. Years ago he bought his way onto the advisory council at St. Mungo's, and in my opinion he has far too much influence there."
Dumbledore nodded as if the same thought had crossed his mind.
"I saw him walk over to Frank's room; he seemed quite agitated. He didn't notice me sitting in the lounge. I heard him mutter something like, 'I can't trust anyone here to keep things from getting completely out of hand.' He opened Frank's door, marched in, and said, 'I hear you're getting better, Longbottom. Congratulations,' but he didn't sound at all happy about it. Frank didn't say anything. I got up as quietly as I could and moved to where I could see Frank's face. He looked angry and frightened, but not as upset as Lucius. Lucius said, 'You're looking at me, and you can see me, can't you? You know who I am, don't you, Longbottom?' I saw Frank nod, but he still didn't answer. Then he turned his head away and refused to look at Lucius again. I went back to my seat and heard Lucius slamming the door on his way out. When he saw me he looked guilty and tried to recover himself. He plastered a false smile on his face and said, 'Ah, Lucretia. You must be very pleased at this turn of events.'
"I said, 'Yes indeed, Lucius,' as if I hadn't noticed anything amiss.
"Then he saw the potion bottle I was carrying in my bag. He said, 'What's this?' and pulled it out without a by-your-leave or if-you-please. He unstoppered it, looked at it, and sniffed it. If anything, he was even angrier than before. He shouted, 'Do you have any idea how dangerous this potion can be? In your son's case it is absolutely contraindicated. I'll dispose of this.' And he left without another word.'
"It was the same potion Professor Snape gave me, wasn't it?" said Harry.
"Yes, it was Severus' potion, young Harry. Neville got it from him. I've only been giving it to Frank for two days, but it's already making a difference, more than any of the herbs I've tried on him."
"Thank you, Lucretia," said Professor Dumbledore. "I think we can all agree on what this means."
"Mr. Malfoy doesn't want my Dad to get better," said Neville. "He's been making sure Dad would stay ill. But why? What has Dad ever done to him?"
"My guess would be that he made the mistake of knowing too much," said Harry. "Lucius Malfoy must have a personal reason for not wanting it known that Pettigrew tortured the Longbottoms, besides the fact that he's a Death Eater."
"You're sure he's one of them?" asked Neville's Gran. Harry nodded. "I never did trust that Lucius," she muttered.
"Neville," said Dumbledore, "it's your job to keep me informed about any plans that you and Harry make on the basis of this information."
"Yes, Professor," said Neville.
"And I needn't remind any of you that the utmost discretion is warranted." Dumbledore looked at each of them as he said this. He dismissed Harry and Neville soon afterward.
"Harry," said Neville as they descended the moving spiral stairs, "Are you going to tell me what a Death Eater is?"
"I suppose I will, the next time we meet at Hagrid's," said Harry.
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News: My daughter, Leona da Quirm, has made some illustrations in the manner of Mary Grandpre, which I hope to show you soon. Also, now that HP5 is out and we've read most of it, I want to reiterate that I finished writing this entire book before the release date. Any similarities between the two were arrived at independently.
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Chapter 9: A Beautiful Mind
The next morning at breakfast the ceiling of the Great Hall filled the room with early sunlight and the omelettes had an excellent flavour. Harry noticed that Neville looked freshly scrubbed, and Ron and Hermione were comparing notes on their experience of the day before with every appearance of enjoyment. Ivy actually winked at them from the Slytherin table. Harry was prepared to savour a normal day at Hogwarts, because all too soon—tomorrow, in fact—he would be visiting Frank Longbottom for the third time, and what might happen was anybody's guess.
So Harry went to class, caught up on the previous day's homework over lunch (Professor McGonagall, at least, had given them an extension), and threw himself into Quidditch practice, grateful that Fred and George were running things with their usual lunatic efficiency. He also took time to write another note to Sirius, asking simply, What can you tell us about pet rat experiments? It seemed like no time until he was back in the Gryffindor common room after dinner, doing homework with his classmates.
Hermione looked up from her astrology chart and said, "Harry and Neville, there's something Ron and I want to ask you. I talked to Ivy in the library and she asked me to count her in."
"Fire away," said Harry, not knowing what to expect.
Hermione hesitated a moment, looking down at her parchment and running a thumb over the fine silky strands forming the soft edge of her quill. She said, "Since yesterday, we've got a better idea of what you're up against. We want to know if it would be all right with you—if we joined you tomorrow at the hospital when you see the Longbottoms. If there's any way we might be able to help if we were there."
"Only if you want us," said Ron diffidently. "It's okay if you don't."
"We could wait outside the door for you if you'd rather," added Hermione, looking at Neville.
"Okay by me," said Harry. "I'd like to have you. But it's up to Neville."
"You know," said Neville, "hardly anybody ever visits my Mum and Dad anymore, except for Gran and me. They don't recognize anyone, they haven't for years as far as anyone can tell, and Gran says that even their close friends have sort of given up on them. It's as if they've died. It's very sad and all that, but life goes on."
"So you wouldn't mind if we came along?" asked Ron. "Even Ivy?"
"Not at all," said Neville. "Unless you were coming just to gawk at a crazy man."
"If it were that, I'd much rather skip it," said Hermione with a shiver.
"Me too. Still, it's bound to be better than the Broken Record Spell," said Ron. "No offense meant, Neville."
"No, it's okay," Neville told him.
* * * * * * *
So when Lucretia Longbottom arrived at Hogwarts the next day, she, like Snape two days earlier, found more students than she expected. Neville made introductions. "They're all coming with us, Gran," he told her. "They want to help."
Ron and Hermione were visibly nervous, but Ivy appeared self-possessed as usual. They left from the same fireplace they had used the previous time. Floo powder again, Harry thought with a sigh, but he was starting to get used to it, and to the somber hospital atmosphere waiting at the other end of the journey.
Dr. Leech met them there and informed them that Frank Longbottom was stronger and more aware of his surroundings since Harry's last visit, and seemed to understand more of what was said to him. "He's been having occasional violent episodes, as he used to in the past, but lately he's been trying to control them. I heard him say, 'Don't let me hurt anyone.' However, he speaks very seldom and he still won't let anyone else take the Trempath."
Ivy, Ron, and Hermione agreed to wait outside Frank Longbottom's room to start, so as not to tax him with too many new people at once. There was a sort of waiting area nearby with chairs and a few small tables with stacks of pamphlets on them. Hermione picked up St. Mungo's: Five Hundred Years of Excellence, Ron chose Advances in Magical Surgery, probably for its graphic illustrations in living colour, and Ivy absorbed herself in Don't Ever Become a Patient Here if You Can Possibly Help It. Harry watched them for a moment and said, "You look like you're waiting to see the dentist."
Hermione lowered her pamphlet a moment. "Which is the dentist here, you or Frank Longbottom?" she asked. No one had the answer to that one, so Harry, feeling somehow very glad to have his friends handy in case he needed them, took a deep breath to steady his nerves and went in with the two Longbottoms to see Neville's father.
This time, Frank looked up as soon as the door opened. His eyes fastened on Harry. "I'm here, Frank," said Harry.
"Harry Potter," the man whispered. "They told me you would come today."
Harry crossed the room and sat next to Frank on the bed. As before, Harry took the Trempath from the other's hand and felt the familiar fierce sting in his scar that meant the Curser was at work. He also sensed a desperate resolve. "I—waited for you," said Frank. "I've tried for years, but I could never see it—him—face to face. I haven't dared—help me."
Harry could see a faint outline of the hooded figure of the Curser. "You want him to show his face?" asked Harry. Frank nodded without speaking and swallowed hard, shivering. "I'll give it a try," said Harry grimly. He stood and faced the Curser, extending his arm to touch the hood which hid its face, but his hand went through it as if through empty air. He tried again with the Trempath pressed against his forehead (oh man, that really hurts), and this time felt something, a faint cottony resistance, still not solid enough to grasp.
But the Curser sensed his presence now. Its hooded head moved as if to look at him. Harry swiftly pulled out his wand, thrust the point under the concealing hood, and flung it back, but no head appeared. Instead the entire robe collapsed, emptied of its occupant, and the pain ceased abruptly. Harry stood there wondering what to do next and feeling an inexplicable dread as if he had drunk Panic Potion. He turned back to the man on the bed. Frank's eyes were dilated with fear. "Do you hear it?" Harry listened hard and heard a squeaking sound that seemed to come from under the empty robe. And did he see a wiggling grey tail? He couldn't be sure.
"The rat," Frank whispered. "It happens every time … and then nothing but rats. It's almost worse than the pain." Compelled by some impulse communicated through the Trempath, Harry looked up at Neville and his Gran, and to his horror he saw instead two human-sized, human-clothed rats, looking completely solid and real.
"I see what you mean," said Harry shakily, turning his eyes from that preposterous vision with his heart pounding. "Does everyone you see look like … ?"
"Rats," said Frank with a shudder. "Except you, Harry."
"You're saying I don't—didn't—look like a rat?"
"Not a bit. You look like your father, Harry." A smile lit Frank's face for a moment.
Harry was beginning to understand why Frank Longbottom found it difficult to recognize visitors, or see anybody at all. He said, getting it clear, "So the Curser turns into a rat whenever you try to look at its face? And then you see everyone else as a rat." Frank nodded. "Do you know what that means?" Harry said excitedly. "Hardly anyone knows this, but Peter Pettigrew is an unregistered Animagus, and his animal form is a rat. He must have been the one who did this to you. He must have put the Curser in your mind."
"Yes. But there's more," said Frank.
"As if that weren't enough," Harry muttered, taking another peek at Frank's whiskered family members and looking away hastily.
"I can shut out the rat people by sending them away or closing my eyes," Frank went on, making a great effort to speak calmly, "but then I start thinking about what happened when Pettigrew came that day. When he attacked me, I told Aurelle to take our son to safety and send someone—someone to help—but she couldn't find anyone. Must have been his doing. She came back and kept begging him to stop. She told me not to give up … When he finished with me, he started on her. I heard him do it. She didn't even know anything; I made sure of that, and I told him. I shouted out, 'Stop! She knows nothing! She knows nothing!' But he kept on. It was pure spite on his part. And there's something else—something even worse. I can't speak of it.
"If only he had left Aurelle untouched," said Frank, his voice rising, "I could—keep it at bay. But when I think of what he did to her, I'm not—strong enough—to fight the anger. I start raving whenever I see her—so violent I have to be restrained—and I haven't been allowed to visit her for months."
As Frank spoke Harry felt overpowering rage, not only Frank's rage but also his own: pictures of torturing Wormtail began to fill his mind, as they had after his second visit to Longbottom, but this time with terrible force behind them. He trembled with blood lust, the urge to stab and maim. The fury in his mind wasn't satisfied with imagining atrocities; it insisted that he commit them without delay on the first rat he could find.
Harry refrained with difficulty from turning and assaulting Neville and his Gran. "You see how it is," said Frank Longbottom through his teeth. He gripped Harry's free hand hard. They sat in silence for a moment, side by side on the bed. Harry watched jagged red and black splinters jostle and fight with each other in the Trempath.
"You've definitely got a serious problem," said Harry.
"No one's been able to help—not for a long time," said Frank. "I don't know how many people I've hurt, or even who they are—hardly even seen their faces." A hopeless grey cast settled over the coloured shapes in the Trempath, which lost their sharp edges and seemed to squirm with shame.
"They know you're not to blame," said Harry, knowing that this was small comfort. "Listen, this is going to sound completely dotty, but it just might work."
"Bring it on, Harry," said Frank. "I'll try anything."
"I know you remember the Opposition Verse."
"Of course."
"Well, there's another version that works a little differently."
Feeling uncommonly silly, Harry recited,
"/Your sprinkling can drowned me in one submarine,
And forced me to replace your foamiest anteater.
If strudel's improving a newlywed possum,
Where fade wilted flowers of years' mangled blossom,
Buttercream spreads from my shoes top to bottom,
Till toads underground grin from something in autumn./"
Frank looked at Harry in disbelief, and started chuckling. "It sounds almost the same, but it makes no sense at all. Your sprink—half a moment. Say it again, Harry." Harry did, and this time Frank listened with closer attention. He started laughing again. "But—the second line doesn't even rhyme," he pointed out. For some reason that set him off more than ever. He flopped over onto his side on the bed, clutching his stomach and wheezing. Harry, connected to him by the Trempath, found that he had to laugh too. It felt like a mental Tickling Charm, but much pleasanter.
Finally Frank sat up again, all the lines on his face expressing merriment. "I want to learn it. Teach it to me." So they said it over and over until Frank knew it by heart. "I still think it's the funniest thing I ever heard, I don't know why. When I say it, I can see it all," he added dreamily. He had apparently forgotten his anger and fear for the moment. His eyes roved freely around the room, then widened, arrested by the sight of a familiar face. "/Mother?/"
Lucretia Longbottom, looking herself again, stared at her son in amazement.
"Mother, is it really you?"
"Oh yes, Frank," she told him.
/Hot stuff, it really works/, Harry exulted. I'll have to tell Ron.
"This isn't the first time you've come, is it?" Frank asked.
"No, I've been here to see you many times," she told him.
Harry felt Frank's sudden pang of fear as he asked, "I haven't … hurt you … have I, Mother?"
"Never, Frank. You've only made me very proud." Her voice shook and she wiped her eyes. He held out a hand to her and she came to him, bringing Neville with her. Harry could tell that the old lady was holding back from throwing her arms around him and bursting into sobs, not wanting to jar him out of his lucid state. "I've brought someone else you might remember," she said, putting his hand in Neville's.
Frank Longbottom looked at Neville with dawning recognition. "Aurelle," he said. "I see Aurelle in your face. But you're not Aurelle. I know we had a child … Could you be my son, Neville?"
"Yes, Dad," said Neville.
"But you're nearly grown," said Frank. "You were three years old … Have I lost that much time?"
"Yes, Dad," said Neville again.
Frank Longbottom shook his head and his look of recognition faded. It was too much to take in all at once. His eyes darkened with the return of his inner demons. "The rats, Harry," he muttered. "They're coming back."
"We'll say the verse again," said Harry. Neville joined in this time, and the three of them said it together twice.
Frank's face cleared. "That's much better," he said. "Why have I never heard it before? Where did it come from?"
"It's a long story," said Harry, deciding not to try to explain about the Marauder's Map. "We found it sort of by accident, but Ron discovered that it's just the ticket for rat revenge fantasies. He and Ivy and I have all been having those lately." No, it was too confusing.
"Your friends?" Frank asked.
"Yes," said Harry. "They came with me today and they'd like to meet you if it's okay."
"I think I'd like to see them for just a short while. It's nice to see human faces again."
Still holding the Trempath, Harry poked his head out of the room for a moment to beckon the others in. Ron had finished with the surgery pamphlet and was now perusing /Gored, Bitten and Crushed: Dos and Don'ts for Treating Injuries Caused by Magical Beasts/. Before he came in with Ivy and Hermione, he tucked it into a pocket, no doubt meaning to give it to Hagrid later.
Frank Longbottom went through the motions of greeting Ron and Hermione. But when Harry introduced him to Ivy Parkinson, Frank looked at her intently, frowning as if to place an elusive resemblance.
"Severus … ?" he said slowly.
"Severus Snape is my uncle, sir," said Ivy. "My father is Octavius Snape."
"I met Octavius too," said Frank. "He came and told me … told me he would take care of Severus."
"He did," said Ivy.
"What of Severus? Is he … well?"
"Uncle Severus was ill for a long time, but he recovered," said Ivy. "He's teaching at Hogwarts."
Frank extended his hand and grasped hers. "You must bring Severus to me," he told her. "I must tell him … tell him ..."
"I'll bring him," said Ivy.
"And will you do another thing?"
"Of course, sir," said Ivy.
"Go to Aurelle," he begged her. "Please see Aurelle. She will know …"
"I'll see her," Ivy promised.
Frank's eyes went blank again, and he closed them. He released his grip on Ivy's hand, and rubbed his eyes wearily. He drew a long breath. "The Curser is coming back," he said. "You've done enough for me today, Harry. I can't tell you how much. But you must leave me now," he added resolutely.
Harry suddenly realized how drained he was. Frank held his hand out for the Trempath and Harry gave it back, not without some reluctance. But he knew the danger of taking too much upon himself, and had no intention of adding to Frank's burden of guilt.
"I'll be back," said Harry.
"Neville and I will stay with him a bit longer, young Potter," Neville's Gran assured him, "that is, if one or two of you would be kind enough to escort him back to school," she added, turning to Ron, Hermione, and Ivy.
"Certainly, Mrs. Longbottom," said Hermione.
"Sure thing," said Ron.
"I'd like to stay and meet Neville's mother, if I may," said Ivy. "I did promise."
"You can come with us," said the elder Mrs. Longbottom.
* * * * * * * *
As soon as they arrived back at Hogwarts, delayed reaction hit hard. Harry's eyes refused to focus and he staggered when he tried to walk. Ron and Hermione, by unspoken agreement, took him by the arms and steered him toward the hospital wing. "No, really, I'm fine," Harry muttered unconvincingly, but his friends tactfully ignored his words and carried on taking him up to Madam Pomfrey. He saw rats wherever he looked. All the students and teachers passing in the corridors had rat heads and rat tails. In the infirmary, a rat wearing a white apron put him to bed and dosed him with hellebore. It helped, but not enough; the rats pursued him into his dreams.
Whenever he remembered, he recited the Sprinkling Can verse over and over to himself, and before his unbelieving eyes he saw a colorful panorama of sprinkling cans, submarines (some of them yellow), foamy anteaters, strudels, possums, blossoms, streams of buttercream pouring from pairs of shoes, and grinning underground toads. He found this helpful for two reasons. First, he was quite sure none of these visions were real; and second, it gave him a nice rest from the rats. But not for very long; they kept creeping back.
That evening Harry had a visit from a rat with a red handbag and a vulture hat, whom he recognized as Lucretia Longbottom. "I have something to tell you, young Potter," she said. "After you left, we stayed with Frank, and after a while he asked to see Aurelle. He promised he would behave. I told the staff that they should allow it, and they did. Neville, Ivy and I went with him. He was angry, but not violent. When he got back to his own room he wept for an hour, and then he fell asleep, with no potions, drugs, or spells, for the first time in twelve years. Thanks to you, young Potter, my son has been sleeping peacefully these three hours and more."
Harry devoutly wished he could do the same. Still, it was good to know that his own ordeal wasn't completely pointless, because it certainly felt that way. Either he had already gone crazy or he was about to be driven crazy, and he didn't know which was worse.
* * * * * * * *
The next day Harry was sitting up in bed propped on pillows when a rat appeared who was about the right height for Hermione and spoke in Hermione's voice. "Harry, you need to eat something," she said, and handed him a plate with a dead rat on it. Harry felt his gorge rise, and before he could stop himself, he hurled the plate across the room. The plate was made of gold, so it didn't shatter, but it got badly dented, and its contents oozed over the floor. "Sorry. I reckon it wasn't really a rat, was it?" he said.
"A rat? Of course not, Harry," said Hermione's voice. "I brought you some chicken pie. Everyone at lunch thought it was quite tasty."
"That would have been good," said Harry.
"I could get you some more," she suggested.
"If you wouldn't mind," he said, trying not to sound pathetic, and avoiding the sight of her beady eyes and twitching whiskers.
"It's all right, Harry," she assured him. "None of this is your fault." She came back in a few minutes with another plate of pie and a bottle of Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover. Before giving him the plate she muttered the Sprinkling Can verse over it so he wouldn't make the same mistake again. Feeling a bit like Duchess in The Pie and the Patty-Pan (a story he had overheard Aunt Petunia reading to Dudley many years ago), Harry took a cautious bite of what was on the plate; but, finding that it looked and tasted like chicken pie and not like rat (though he had no way of knowing how rat would taste), he finished it eagerly and felt better for it.
A bit later, Professor Snape appeared with a cup of some kind of potion, and he actually looked like himself. Harry was glad to see even the Potions Master's face after the endless procession of rodent heads. "I hear you're seeing things, Potter. This will help to clear the delusions from your mind," he told Harry. "You should stop hallucinating in another day or two."
Harry looked at the potion doubtfully. It was clear, like water, or like—
"It's not Veritaserum, is it?" he asked suspiciously.
"No, Potter, but it has some of the same elements in it. It will help you to see and be seen without distortion. I took some myself before I came here, so you would recognize me more easily."
Harry took a sip. The potion was tart but not bitter, and more pleasant than otherwise. He drank it down thirstily.
"Did you see rats everywhere you looked, too?" he asked. The professor was silent for so long that Harry thought he might not answer.
"Quite," said Snape drily, at length. "For weeks on end. And after that I kept having relapses, so I was able to develop this concoction and refine it by testing it on myself. Trust me, Potter, it is extremely effective."
Harry was interested. "Did you send some to Frank Longbottom?"
"Naturally I did, Potter, but the hospital staff put me off with a polite thank-you. I don't know if he ever got it. They never asked me to send more."
"Silly of them," said Harry, and closed his eyes.
The first effect Harry noticed was, not that the hallucinations stopped or grew less, but that it became easier to distinguish them from reality. They appeared less solid and more dreamlike.
He was getting very tired of the Sprinkling Can verse and found that it helped when his friends read him things like /The Owl and the Pussy-Cat/ and /The Hunting of the Snark/, although those rhymes didn't have quite the same cleansing effect.
After that, Snape visited Harry regularly, each time with a dose of Anti-Psychedelic Potion. He was actually quite solicitous (for him) and seemed to take a personal pride in the speed of Harry's recovery. On Monday Harry only saw rats out of the corners of his eyes, and on Tuesday he was well enough to return to his classes. He told Neville to be sure that his Dad got some of Snape's potion, even if he or his Gran had to smuggle it into Frank's room.
"I'll take care of it, Harry," Neville assured him. "And you'll be happy to know that our Wednesday get-together with Snape is cancelled this week. You're not up to it yet."
At lunchtime on Thursday, Neville told Harry that Dumbledore wanted to see both of them that afternoon after class in his office. When Harry arrived, Neville was already there, and somewhat to Harry's surprise, so was Neville's Gran.
"Ah, young Potter is here," she said warmly when she saw him.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Longbottom," said Harry politely.
"Why don't you call me Gran, the way Neville does?" she suggested.
"Fine, if you'll call me Harry," said Harry.
"Fair enough, young P— Harry."
Professor Dumbledore smiled at him and said, "Harry, I've called you and Neville here because Lucretia has some important news."
Harry sat down in the chair provided. "About Frank?" he asked.
"Yes, Harry. You should know that his condition has shown great improvement in the past week. We're all very much in your debt." He nodded to Neville's Gran.
"Frank had a visitor this morning," Lucretia Longbottom told them. "Lucius Malfoy. He just got back from a long holiday. Years ago he bought his way onto the advisory council at St. Mungo's, and in my opinion he has far too much influence there."
Dumbledore nodded as if the same thought had crossed his mind.
"I saw him walk over to Frank's room; he seemed quite agitated. He didn't notice me sitting in the lounge. I heard him mutter something like, 'I can't trust anyone here to keep things from getting completely out of hand.' He opened Frank's door, marched in, and said, 'I hear you're getting better, Longbottom. Congratulations,' but he didn't sound at all happy about it. Frank didn't say anything. I got up as quietly as I could and moved to where I could see Frank's face. He looked angry and frightened, but not as upset as Lucius. Lucius said, 'You're looking at me, and you can see me, can't you? You know who I am, don't you, Longbottom?' I saw Frank nod, but he still didn't answer. Then he turned his head away and refused to look at Lucius again. I went back to my seat and heard Lucius slamming the door on his way out. When he saw me he looked guilty and tried to recover himself. He plastered a false smile on his face and said, 'Ah, Lucretia. You must be very pleased at this turn of events.'
"I said, 'Yes indeed, Lucius,' as if I hadn't noticed anything amiss.
"Then he saw the potion bottle I was carrying in my bag. He said, 'What's this?' and pulled it out without a by-your-leave or if-you-please. He unstoppered it, looked at it, and sniffed it. If anything, he was even angrier than before. He shouted, 'Do you have any idea how dangerous this potion can be? In your son's case it is absolutely contraindicated. I'll dispose of this.' And he left without another word.'
"It was the same potion Professor Snape gave me, wasn't it?" said Harry.
"Yes, it was Severus' potion, young Harry. Neville got it from him. I've only been giving it to Frank for two days, but it's already making a difference, more than any of the herbs I've tried on him."
"Thank you, Lucretia," said Professor Dumbledore. "I think we can all agree on what this means."
"Mr. Malfoy doesn't want my Dad to get better," said Neville. "He's been making sure Dad would stay ill. But why? What has Dad ever done to him?"
"My guess would be that he made the mistake of knowing too much," said Harry. "Lucius Malfoy must have a personal reason for not wanting it known that Pettigrew tortured the Longbottoms, besides the fact that he's a Death Eater."
"You're sure he's one of them?" asked Neville's Gran. Harry nodded. "I never did trust that Lucius," she muttered.
"Neville," said Dumbledore, "it's your job to keep me informed about any plans that you and Harry make on the basis of this information."
"Yes, Professor," said Neville.
"And I needn't remind any of you that the utmost discretion is warranted." Dumbledore looked at each of them as he said this. He dismissed Harry and Neville soon afterward.
"Harry," said Neville as they descended the moving spiral stairs, "Are you going to tell me what a Death Eater is?"
"I suppose I will, the next time we meet at Hagrid's," said Harry.
******************************
News: My daughter, Leona da Quirm, has made some illustrations in the manner of Mary Grandpre, which I hope to show you soon. Also, now that HP5 is out and we've read most of it, I want to reiterate that I finished writing this entire book before the release date. Any similarities between the two were arrived at independently.