A/N: Guess what? My new goal is to finish this story before August 22nd! I have another two chapters that are nearly ready for posting. And there may be two chapters after that, depending on how long the details and actions come out.
Chapter Ten
"Plot, Surrender, and Passage"
Dawn seemed to approach slowly over the moor behind Malfoy Manor. Draco watched the gray light creep over the dark treetops from his tower bedchamber window. He was not banished from the rest of the house, but he did not want to make his presence felt. However, when he could keep still no longer, Draco stealthily traveled the many corridors of his manor.
He heard snippets of conversation from those unaware of his lurking presence. Ginny Weasley had become unconscious from the strain of the Cruciatus Curse, and the Dark Lord was infuriated that his plans were delayed.
But Draco was not so concerned with the Dark Lord's captive; it was his own fate that concerned the Malfoy heir.
As Draco made his way toward the study that had become the Dark Lord's private quarters, he was passed, and ignored, by Nott and Lestrange. Their dark gazes flicked incidentally over Draco before fastening on something entirely else. Bitter resentment sparked inside, and Draco opened his mouth to demand respect—but then he snapped it shut.
He had heard his father's voice.
A prickle of excitement thrilled the hairs on the back of his neck. As far back as he could remember, Draco had played a game of espionage with his father. Sneaking around the house, especially when there had been "important business company," Draco had made a point of eavesdropping. When caught, he was severely punished, but his father's cold eyes gleamed with pride and encouragement; a word of correction on technique and advice on the art of invisibility (without a cloak) was often spoken just before a house elf was called to see to Draco's wounds.
Two doors down from the end study, where a Death Eater stood guard, a door was ajar. Pretending to be examining a fray in his robes, Draco leaned toward it. He was careful not to peer inside, lest his father spy him.
"—a disappointment, I know," Lucius was saying, his voice cutting into Draco with each syllable. "I had hoped, my lord, that his hate for Potter would provide a fervor. Perhaps if he had known what you discovered from the Weasley girl, he would have been more eager to act."
"Are you excusing Draco's weakness?" questioned the Dark Lord.
"No, of course not, my lord," Lucius said quickly. "I was only lamenting on the unworthiness of my son."
Draco clenched his teeth at the disdainful, unclaiming way his father said "my son." As if he's ashamed I sprang from his loins.
"Then," said the Dark Lord, a nasty tone in his voice, "you will not mourn the death of your son if he fails tonight."
"I have no other heir to pass on the Malfoy heritage or keep the family fortune. However, all my wealth has been promised to you, my lord. My only concern is continuing the purest bloodline."
Hearing this and knowing how truthfully and unemotionally his father spoke, Draco leaned slightly closer. It was of no surprise to him, however hard it smite. As he continued to listen, a plan began forming in his mind.
"What of the Weasley brat?" asked Lucius in a lower voice. "The potion will not keep much longer."
"Her faint was a setback, but she will be revived for tonight. Just before the dawn. I felt her break. She will surrender to me. And then all I need is Potter's blood and his death."
Draco sensed the conversation drawing to an end. Silently, he turned from the door, casting the slouched Death Eater a cursory glance. He had no doubt, whoever was under the hood, was dozing blissfully.
With purpose driving out the hovering pain, Draco's plot began taking shape. And so he thought. He realized what his mistake had been before. Preparing meant thinking constantly about what he was going to do. If his mind had been trained, poised, for the action, he would have acted without thinking when the actual opportunity arised. Such had happened at last night's meeting. Since he had refused to think on his task beforehand, he had been confronted with the decision in its presence. The reality caused him to truly think about what he was about to do.
He would not fail again.
Draco thought about what he was going to do. When the time came, he would have already made his decision and would not think about what his actions would bring.
As the morning became day, he made his unassuming rounds through the manor, gathering information from the careless mutterings of his father's 'comrades', and threatening a house elf or two (not that they weren't happy to spoil the happenings at Malfoy Manor). No one seemed to care or notice him; they all knew he was a dead man walking.
But, Draco smiled to himself as he slipped out of the manor library, he was not going to lay down his life without his father failing first. Draco Malfoy had learned about retribution from an early age and the sting of shame even earlier.
~*~*~
She was surrounded by light that was not green nor black, but both. It formed as shadows and smoke, swirling around her with graspy, wispy fingers. It seemed to lift her, make her weightless, but press leaden weights upon her weary body. She felt as if she were sinking, drowning, and she wished it were so.
The darkest shadow of all turned pale as it moved between her and the cauldron bubbling with thick, black liquid. The stench of rotting flesh filled her nose.
"Now," said Lord Voldemort, peering through the swirling smoke, "you are mine, Ginny Weasley. A willing sacrifice."
"Yes. I give myself to you."
A black line slashed the clammy whiteness of his terrible face. "You are mine! Then I will have Potter." Voldemort turned away from her, barking, "Wormtail! The potion!"
Wormtail scuttled into view, hunched and trembling. He dipped a ladle into the hissing cauldron, pouring the thick contents into a silver goblet. An eerie screech emanated from the potion, and the smoky fingers seemed to recoil before unfurling again around her.
Holding the goblet aloft, Voldemort began to chant in a reverent but soft voice, "Restore my life, I bind eternal youth,
"Willing sacrifice of my slave, make life a slave!
"Reficio immolo mortis!"
The unearthly screech rose in pitch, seeming to circle closer and closer around her. Then it fell silent as Voldemort swallowed the potion, a sharp, red glow jumping from his sallow skin. Without further word, he turned on her, his long-fingered hands grasping her head.
"Aperio transmoveo!"
Retching, scratching pain sliced through her head, driving deeper and deeper inside her. She felt the very core of her being ripped from her body . . . and then again the strange black and green light.
The pain was gone. There was nothing. Instead, Voldemort and Wormtail stood around the wailing cauldron, another body suspended in the smoke. The body was limp, but not dead. Messy, jet black hair seemed to reach for the green and black tendrils of smoke, and furious bright green eyes glared hatefully at Voldemort. One arm was extended over the cauldron, a dark line of blood running from the bend of his elbow, each drop initiating another shriek from the bubbling black potion.
"The dagger," Voldemort commanded, hissing through his teeth. Instantly the blade appeared in his white hand. Without hesitation he placed the shining blade's tip, already marked with blood, into his arm. He allowed seven drops to fall into the cauldron. Then he quickly covered the wound and moved to the boy suspended before him.
"I defeat my foe, I conquer death!" he shrilled, uncovering his wound as he raised it to the boy's glaring face. With his other arm, he flicked his wand and the boy's mouth opened. Blood dripped down into the gaping crevice, and the boy's eyes darkened with revulsion. Another flick of the long wand, and the boy's mouth closed, his Adam's apple bobbing as his throat constricted to swallow.
Bending his neck ever so slightly, Voldemort drank the boy's freely flowing blood. He paused once to say, "His blood is mine, and mine is his! Bound with death, it cannot destroy me! Dormitor defigo mortis!"
And then he drank again. Blood spilled down the extended arm, much of it passing from the lipless, sucking mouth to fall into the awaiting cauldron. As the boy grew paler and paler, fiery light dying in his eyes, a sharp, painful glow began to grow brighter and brighter around Voldemort.
Again, he paused to shriek an incantation.
"Remove strength from foe
"Take will from slave
"My death to my foe
"My slave's life to me!
"Transmoveo!"
The boy's eyes slowly fell shut, and his head rolled to the side. Gradually his chest stopped rising. The blood stopped flowing.
Voldemort ran his forked tongue over the remaining stream of blood before it could dry. He paused a moment to stare at his enemy and conqueror, now defeated and lifeless before him. Then he turned silently to his obedient servant, who had begun filling seven goblets full of the black potion, which had turned green from the boy's blood. The servant flinched at the caking blood smeared across the flat whiteness of his master's manically grinning face.
"Death and life are one!
"Neither can defeat me!"
Voldemort drank gluttonously from the seven goblets. When he had drained every last one, he shrieked triumphantly into the throbbing green and black swirls, "I am immortal! Immortalis!"
With a resounding clap of thunder, the world flashed a brilliant, frightening green.
~*~*~
She might have woke screaming, if only her body had the strength and will. Just as the horrible blinding light faded, icy cold slammed into her body, jogging every single fear, pain, and dread within. Beyond hysteria, unable to even feel the emotion, she lay silently on her side, curled against the painful stone wall.
It was completely black, but she knew where she was. Back in the cell. The first one.
It was going to happen all over again.
No, it wasn't.
Dread, fear, and pain no longer penetrated her mind and body. She knew she had no right to feel those things, to feel anything at all. Because she had broken. With cruel clarity and finality she knew she had broken. Riddle's vice-like grip on her was beyond overpowering her; she was too willing to dispose of him to feel his power.
Life without Riddle could not exist, and she had known this before the last Cruciatus Curse had hit her. She'd known it as Malfoy had gazed down upon her. Without Riddle she would die, and death was what she wanted. If she were not killed, she would kill herself.
Death . . .
Only relief could be associated with it. She would not know the shame of her weakness, nor witness what she had seen in her dream—she would be dead by then. Gone.
Maybe, just maybe she would die before Riddle could escape her body. And then he would die within her, unable to leave, unable to prey.
Should she hold her breath? Or bash her head against the stone wall? Strangle herself with her nightdress? At least she will have destroyed Riddle. He had destroyed her.
But revenge took too much will, too much strength. Riddle had won. Revenge did not interest her. Only the end.
~*~*~
So many days had felt like the longest day of their lives, but today was freshest and longest in Harry, Ron, and Hermione's minds. Neither Harry and Ron slept well, too anxious for the coming day when the Order would launch an attack on Malfoy Manor. Upon stumbling down the boys' staircase, they quickly discovered that Hermione was just as red-eyed and weary. Wordlessly they had gone to the Great Hall for breakfast, hoping to spot Professor McGonagall.
However, the Transfiguration professor was missing from the high table. Dumbledore sat serenely in his noble chair, deep in conversation with Professor Flitwick.
"What d'you reckon?" asked Ron in a lowered voice, gazing at the bent heads of the professors.
"Well, it would be too obvious for Dumbledore and McGonagall to be missing," Hermione reasoned while pouring herself some orange juice, and then completely ignoring it. "Any spy would be less alarmed by McGonagall being absent or late, but they'd definitely notice Dumbledore. We were told she would speak to us, so I'm sure she'll be back. Being gone for classes would certainly draw attention."
Ron stared at her and then finally shrugged. As he played with his eggs, he kept an eye on the table, and another on Harry. As much as he was disturbed by the grisly book, Ron had a feeling that Harry was even more unsettled by Death Do Part. Shuddering involuntarily at the memory, Ron's fork scraped across his plate, causing all three of them to wince.
"Oh!" said Hermione suddenly. "How did last night go? I'd almost forgotten." Ron shot her an incredulous look. "Well, I was on duty, Ron. We caught six second years trying to sneak into an unused passage. Two tried some hexes, so we had to get them to Madam Pomfrey and then alert the Heads of Houses."
"It was more than one house?" said Harry, not at all sounding very interested. He had buttered some toast without taking a single bite.
"Ravenclaw and Slytherin."
"Well, you'd never see Gryffindors and Slytherins mucking about together," Ron muttered derisively, shooting the Slytherin table a nasty glare.
"And it is that attitude, Ron, that causes so much trouble!" Hermione chided.
"You mean, Slytherin causes so much trouble—"
"No, I don't. Slytherin and Gryffindor. You don't see such animosity between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff."
"Gryffindor doesn't go kidnapping Slytherins!" Ron nearly shouted, causing several Gryffindors to stare wide-eyed at him. He turned red at the ears and lowered his voice. "Hermione, don't say another word about Slytherin not being all-bad. Not now."
Hermione opened her mouth as if to say exactly that, but quickly closed it and folded her hands in her lap. Then she glanced surreptitiously towards the staff table and said, "Oh, I wish McGonagall would get here!"
They did not see McGonagall until the afternoon in Transfiguration. By that time Hermione had questioned Harry and Ron again about the book. Dissatisfied by their lack of progress, she began to lecture them until Ron shut her with, "How would you like to see someone eat someone else?!"
Wanting to reach McGonagall as soon as possible, Harry, Ron, and Hermione skipped break between classes and went straight to the classroom. The classroom was closed until the bell, so they waited impatiently outside. Finally, they heard the clicking of thick, sensible heels and turned as one to see Professor McGonagall striding purposefully up the corridor towards her classroom.
"Professor! Professor!" they burst, jumping to their feet as she reached the door.
"Would you hush! Now, really!" McGonagall gave them a silencing look as she unlocked her door and stepped into the classroom, apparently unaware of three teenagers tumbling in after her. Without a glance towards them, she placed her briefcase on her desk and sat down, dipping a quill as if to write out her lesson plan.
Ron swallowed the urge to yell and stepped up to the desk, feeling Hermione and Harry press in behind him. "Professor?" he asked, trying to sound polite and patient.
McGonagall did not glance up as she shuffled some marked essays in front of her. "Can I help you with something, Mr. Weasley? Perhaps your essay on complex vertebrae transformation?"
Ron pressed his fingers into her desk. Was she barking mad?
"If you need help, speak to me after class. That goes for anyone else who needs assistance."
Ron stared, but McGonagall did not look up from the essay she had begun to mark. Had she just said what he thought she said? He opened his mouth to speak, to have definite clarification, but then he felt a tug on his shoulder.
"Come on," said Hermione as the bell started to ring, signaling the end of break.
When they had sat down, Harry whispered, "She'll tell us after class. After class! It's a double period!"
Ron noticed that Harry was looking feverish again. His face was alarmingly pale, but his eyes were burning fiercely bright. It hurt to look at him, really. If Ron hadn't known Harry better, he might have thought his friend utterly mad. But he knew Harry, and knew that look well, and also knew, despite trying to be loyal to the thought of his friend, that Harry honestly was mad. When he got the way he was now, looking as if he'd fall faint or spring into action, it was almost impossible to stop him. At least there was a plan now, at least action was going to be taken. It made it easier to wait. Hopefully that would stop Harry from being stupid.
"You're not doing anything but what Professor McGonagall sets for us in class," hissed Hermione, trying to pin Harry with a stern glare. Students had begun drifting into the classroom, Neville casting them a sympathetic yet curious eye before sitting down beside Seamus and Dean.
"What?" Harry seemed to jerk. He blinked several times.
"Oh, really," Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You have no chance of getting out of this classroom. Even if you did, Dumbledore would stop you if McGonagall could not. And if you managed to get out of Hogwarts, the Death Eaters would get you. Now, wouldn't that just jeopardize what the Order is about to do? They don't need to rescue two people—"
"What makes you think I'd let myself get caught?" Harry said wonderingly, a slightly amused look on his face. However, Ron thought he also seemed rather affronted and dismayed that Hermione knew exactly what he'd been considering.
"Honestly, Harry! You haven't even taken your N.E.W.T.s yet!"
"Which is by far the stupidest thing you have ever said," Ron snorted. Hermione's cheeks turned pink, but she looked rather satisfied with herself as Harry even cracked a grin. "Oh, Harry," Ron went on in a higher voice, as McGonagall called class to order, "you better not do anything . . . dangerous! You're not qualified!"
~*~*~
Harry frowned at the stony-eyed cat he was supposed to be turning into a dog. The gray feline stared back, obviously offended at the suggestion it should become such a thing. "Come one," he coaxed, "being a dog isn't all that bad. My godfather can do it. He loves it." He reached out a hand to scratch the cat's head, but she hissed fiercely and he quickly backed off.
Sitting back in his chair, Harry surveyed his classmates' attempts. Dean's cat had beagle ears and looked rather sour about it. Neville was trying to coax his calico kitten from atop McGonagall's bookshelf, all the while glancing pleadingly at the professor, who sat regally on her desk, steadily changing from a cat to a dog and back again. Amazingly enough, even Hermione seemed to be having troubles, since her dog was still meowing and sporting whiskers.
Running a hand through his hair, Harry eyed his cat dolefully. "Believe me, the last thing I want to do is change cats into dogs," he said. "I don't need this N.E.W.T. to be useful and do what I ought to do."
The gray cat shifted from her haunches and stretched luxuriously, letting Harry see every single claw. Then she twitched her long tail, arched her back, and leapt deftly onto his unsuspecting lap. Harry, surprised, stared at the suddenly friendly cat for a moment, expecting her to attack him. However, she gave a soft meow and butted her head against his chest, a low purr rumbling in her slender chest.
"Oh, so you agree?" Harry slowly began scratching the cat under her chin, wincing slightly as she kneaded her paws into his thigh with pleasure. Yet it was comforting. He felt calmer. At least someone else thought this class period was a waste of time and rather ridiculous. The urge to race from the castle still ran hot through him, but he felt steadier and more able to think. He still felt very weird about the sudden urge to joke at the beginning of class. What was wrong with him if he wanted to laugh at a time like this?
One minute I want nothing more than to hex a few Death Eaters, and the next I just want to crack stupid jokes.
"You stupid beast! AARGH!"
Harry's cat let out a shrieking hiss and leaped from his lap, but not before digging in her claws. Wincing at the sharp pain, Harry—and everyone else—looked around to see Ron's head completely engulfed by a mass of orange and white fur that was spitting viciously at anyone who approached.
Once McGonagall had taken human form and disentangled Ron from the animal, Harry could understandably see why the cat was so upset. Although the body was completely feline, the poor creature sported a beaver's head. When the cat was returned to his natural form and soothed, McGonagall called an end to the practical lesson and had them all take notes on why their transfigurations failed. Not a moment too soon, the bell rang and all the Gryffindors but Harry, Ron, and Hermione quickly left, wanting salve for their many scratches.
"All right, you three," McGonagall said when no one else remained.
Quickly, they crowded around her desk, where she sat looking very weary. "At six o'clock tonight, you will meet me at Dumbledore's office. You will be going outside Hogwarts, but not with the Order. There is a headquarters you may wait at and know information as quickly as possible."
The aging witch placed her spectacles on the desk and squeezed the bridge of her nose, as if it ached. "I will have you know that I do not approve of you three leaving the protection of the school. Even if the Death Eaters on the barrier knew what was about to happen and attacked . . ." She paused and looked older still as she replaced her spectacles. "You would still be safer here.
"But it is not my decision. Headmaster Dumbledore believes there is less chance of any . . . irrational behavior if you were more involved. However," and now McGonagall drew her wand, "not a single one of you will be participating in the operation. You will be magically bound."
Harry exchanged raised eyebrows with Ron and Hermione, who looked similarly bewildered. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"I mean, Mr. Potter," said McGonagall, standing up and coming around the desk, "that we are taking a precaution. You will be magically bound by oath to the rendezvous unless a member of the Order orders you to leave. And then you can only go where they tell you until the bound is lifted."
Harry's insides turned cold. It sounded almost like Imperius. "But what if something happens at the rendezvous?" What if he was given to a spy in the Order?
"Only the most trusted of the Order know of the location. You will not feel the spell except for if you try to leave."
Harry still didn't like it, but his desire to leave Hogwarts and know what was happening overpowered his paranoia. Nodding, he steeled himself for whatever the night would bring. As McGonagall cast the spell and he recited the oath, he concentrated on the thought of seeing Ginny alive and back at Hogwarts.
~*~*~
Six o'clock finally arrived, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione had positioned themselves outside of Dumbledore's office twenty minutes before McGonagall had instructed. However, their overly enthusiastic punctuality was to no avail, since Professor McGonagall arrived at precisely six to guide them into Dumbledore's office.
Harry wasn't surprised to find the office empty, since he'd been certain that Dumbledore had been absent all day planning things with the Order of the Phoenix. However, he was confused about why they were to meet at the empty office.
Soon he discovered why. After piercing him, Ron, and Hermione with her sternest don't-you-dare-do-anything-I-wouldn't-approve-of look, Professor McGonagall led them through an entirely new area of Dumbledore's office Harry had never seen before. It seemed that a portrait of a sleeping lion had been tucked away, forgotten, in a back cranny of the circular room. In fact, when Harry blinked once, it had disappeared, and all he could see was a darkened shadow. But McGonagall stepped directly to the nook, and suddenly Harry could see the portrait again.
The lion's large, rounded ears barely peeped out from the massive red mane, but they flicked alertly as McGonagall cleared her throat. One eye, gold with fiery flecks, peeked open and squinted at them. Then he let out a yawn, flashing his powerful, sharp teeth, stretched, and then shook himself. Without any prompting, the beast's portrait swung open, revealing a darkened passage.
"Cool," whispered Ron from behind Harry.
"It may be of some interest to you three," said McGonagall, removing a torch from the wall and holding it aloft, "to know that Dumbledore has control of all passages in and out of the school."
Harry thought he detected a twitch of a smirk on the strict professor's thin mouth, but it may have just been the flickering of the torch light. Trying his best to look innocent but contrite, he followed her into the passage, not really astonished by Dumbledore's knowledge and access to everything at Hogwarts. The wizard did have a knack for popping up suddenly.
The passage was surprisingly comfortable and well-ventilated. There was no need to crouch or duck, and although it was decidedly narrow, he didn't feel cramped or claustrophobic. It wasn't the first time magic had adjusted proportions for comfort. Harry was sure Dumbledore had enough height in this passage to wear his tallest of hats and the tip wouldn't brush the ceiling.
After about a minute, they came to a junction in the secret corridor. No less than nine archways surrounded them, dividing into every direction and angle, vertical drops and inclines, and even one that had the appearance of a window. Harry gaped, realizing that he was staring out at the settling evening on Number Four, Privet Drive.
"This way, Potter," McGonagall said briskly.
Harry tore his eyes away from his summer 'home' and hurried after the others, feeling distinctly unsettled. Was that all Dumbledore had to do? Pop into jolly ol' Number Four to check up on Harry? How did he get back? Could Harry have somehow escaped the Dursleys by jumping through this window and into Dumbledore's secret passage? Speculating made Harry very angry and bitter, and quickly he turned his attention back to the matter at hand—which was avoiding running into the wall.
"Harry?" Hermione whispered, having noticed how Harry had barely missed the sharp turn in the new passage.
Harry shook his head, trying not to stumble as the floor dropped into a steep but not impossible slant, as if they were traveling downhill. He had the distinct feeling of being underground, perhaps tunneling under a mountain, but they couldn't have possibly been out of the school yet. Perhaps it might be a way of obliterating staircase, he thought, concentrating on his foot placement.
And then, quite suddenly, they had reached the end.
"We'll be stepping outside in a moment," said McGonagall very quietly. She tapped her wand against something hard, like stone. Nothing happened. And then, quite suddenly, the torch flame exploded with a loud whooh, and Fawkes spread his great wings before settling proudly on McGonagall's shoulders. Smiling faintly in greeting, McGonagall faced the wall once again.
Fawkes uttered a high shrill that echoed without distance. With a soft whoosh, evening light seemed to wax before them like a moon, first as a crescent until it was nearly full. A chill November breeze brushed Harry's face, lifting his fringe off his scar. He rubbed it anxiously, wondering about its painless presence all day. Standing in the dark corridor, he gazed out into the darkening night and noticed that no stars or moon provided any light.
It was going to be a very dark night.
"Come along, then," said McGonagall. Her torch had been extinguished and Fawkes had lifted from her shoulder.
Together they stepped into the cold night. Harry shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around him, noticing that Hermione and Ron's breath formed in the air. They gazed wonderingly at one another.
The passage had come out to the side of a hill dotted with large, white rocks behind the school. Above them Hogwarts' many turrets towered blackly against the dull blue-dray of the darkening evening, only illuminated by tiny square spots of yellow light. Below them was a steep drop into a dry creek bed, which must have fed into the lake in the warmer seasons. Now it crackled and sparked at the bottom from the magic of the barrier. On the other side rose the beginnings of a mountain that didn't look too inviting for a hike.
The soft whoosh that had opened the tunnel sounded behind Harry, and he whirled around to see a cluster of rocks on the mound of earth roll smoothly over the darkened exit, completely camouflaging the secret passage.
"I've never been back here before," Ron whispered, leaning towards Harry.
"Of course, you haven't," said Hermione, also whispering. "We're out of bounds! Didn't you notice the wall?" She pointed, and Harry had to peer closely into the black fortress that was Hogwarts to see the high stone wall that bordered Hogwarts' grounds. Rarely was he actually aware of it, and it surprised them that they had just gone under it.
"Oh, look!" Hermione gasped, drawing the boys' attention away from the wall and to McGonagall and Fawkes.
The magnificent bird had landed down in the creek bed, his claws clinging to the smooth rocks. His long neck was stretch gracefully down against the nearly invisible barrier, his small head cocked as if he were eyeballing himself in a mirror. As they watched, the bird's eyes glistened with tears.
Suddenly a small, ring-shaped light appeared as if in mid-air. Before it could disappear, Fawkes dropped three more tears into the ring, and it tripled in size.
"Oh . . . wow . . ." Hermione breathed, stepping closer to look.
"Don't," Ron warned, grabbing her hand. "Don't disturb him."
Within minutes the breach in the barrier was large enough to fit a bent human through. McGonagall gestured for them, and Ron and Hermione looked at Harry expectantly. Shrugging and not feeling nervous because he trusted Fawkes completely, Harry slid slowly down to the riverbed, careful not to stumble into the flickering magic that would splinch him (if not worse). Smiling at Fawkes, Harry bent his body and stepped carefully over the bird, thrusting a leg through the ring, then his body, followed quickly by his other leg.
He stumbled forward onto the dry, cold ground, then rolled into a sitting position to watch everyone else.
"Ladies first," Ron was saying, sweeping his arm in front of Hermione. Harry saw her smile sheepishly at Ron before carefully making her way down the bank. Realizing that she was going to have trouble keeping her balance, Harry quickly held out a hand.
"Thanks," she uttered breathlessly. Her eyes seemed unusually bright, and Harry realized she was frightened. It made him all the more aware of his own nerves.
"Handy pets, phoenixes," said Ron, stumbling into the ground as Harry had. Ron jumped to his feet and turned to lend Professor McGonagall a hand as she came through the ring.
"Thank you, Mr. Weasley."
The ring was quickly shrinking behind her, and Harry worried that Fawkes wouldn't make it through fast enough. Just as the phoenix thrust his neck and chest through, it closed completely—
--and Fawkes let out another shrill but not-carrying song and exploded.
Hermione squeaked and Ron grunted. Harry felt his stomach lurch.
And then, just as suddenly, Fawkes reappeared in a burst of flames on their side of the barrier. Harry let out a breath of relief. They had all made it.
"Now," said McGonagall, "grab his tail."
Harry and Ron exchanged knowing looks. Hermione, however, frowned uncertainly as she clutched a fiery piece of tail feather. When McGonagall also clutched Fawkes' feather, however, Harry did not feel weightless as he had in the Chamber of Secrets. Instead he felt burningly hot, as if he were running a fatally high fever without feeling delirious . . . and then he was engulfed in flames.