Author's note: Thankies to Ally and Miriam, my most loyal reviewers… My only ones at present… *sniffles*
Chapter 33: Close My Eyes
I'm waiting for the sun;
I'm waiting for a new day
I'm waiting for the night
To close my eyes
I'm waiting for the dark
Oh, it's gonna be harder without you
The way we danced, I'll always miss
I'll never forget the way we kissed
The time stood still; the time was flying
I wonder why I'm not dying
—Roxette: Waiting for the Rain
"Hi, Harry. How are you?" Ginny asked, sitting down on the bed Harry was lying in and giving him a tentative hug and kiss.
"Oi, mate. You always get yourself in trouble, don't you?"
"The trouble usually finds me—and it did again," Harry said softly.
"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked then.
"I'm fine," Harry said. "A bit sore, but nothing serious. Madam Pomfrey fixed me up quite fine. I'm not the one to worry about." He indicated the screens around Professor Ravon's bed. "It's Professor Ravon. Be quiet. Snape is with her. Look."
There was a narrow gap through which Harry could see Professors Ravon and Snape.
Snape was holding her hand. Even though Harry only saw his profile, he could tell his expression, and suddenly realized that he had seen Snape cry the day before. Severus Snape, Ex-Death Eater, sneering, cruel and thus very much disliked Potions master, had actually cried.
And if Harry strained his ears, he could even make out Snape's voice, soft and low, as he whispered to Professor Ravon, from time to time lifting her hand to blow on it and rub it to make it warmer, sometimes kissing it. He was completely unaware that he was being watched. Maybe he wouldn't even have cared if he had known.
"Why, Sariss? Why?" he whispered. It didn't sound in the least reproachful, only sad. "There must have been another way… I should have found it…"
"What happened to her?" Ginny asked very, very softly.
"Yes, what happened after you dashed off as though a Manticore was chasing you?" Ron joined in.
"Malfoy happened. Haven't you heard?"
"The Ministry won't let anyone in on it. Dumbledore's silent, too. So are the other Professors, and they must know something. So you're the only one who could fill us in," Hermione explained.
Thus, Harry reported in a hushed voice what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets. Ginny blanched slightly at the mentioning of that particular location and muffled a small scream.
He told them how Malfoy had forced him to open the sink in Myrtle's bathroom, how Voldemort had spoken to him, tortured him, the elusive voice that had somehow calmed him and told him it would be alright if only he'd concentrate—or at least so Harry remembered it. And then how the Dark Lord had been right about to cast the Killing curse, when Professor Ravon had appeared. Deus ex machina—or rather Dea ex machina. How she had the Death Eaters out cold, how the Dark Lord had prevented her from doing any further magic, how Harry had disarmed him with Ravon's wand. And then—the Kiss and its aftermath…
"And then the strangest thing happened… Snape looked at me and for once in his life he wasn't sneering at me at all. And he called me Harry…"
He finished his recount of events with some of what had happened after the Portkey had taken the three of them into the infirmary. Then Harry fell silent again. Three shocked, amazed, and astounded faces watched him.
"No one's going to believe that," Ron whispered in awe. "Wow."
"Now you tell me one thing. I had almost forgotten. What went with the attack?"
"Oh, it was nothing serious. I don't know what Dumbledore did, but they fled. Might have been the giants, might have been that they saw they couldn't breach the wards, that no one from the inside would assist them…" Ginny said. "Come to think of it… He might have told them that Vol—." She took a deep breath. "Voldemort is no more."
"No more. Gone. Dead," Harry muttered. "Even though I was there, it is something that has to sink in first."
"Receiving visitors, Mr Potter?" Madam Pomfrey bustled in, speaking very softly for her conditions.
Harry nodded sheepishly, as did the others.
"Well, I daresay, you look fine again. How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine, really," replied Harry. "Can I leave, Madam Pomfrey? I… er… I don't know how to put this, but… I don't feel like I should… I don't think anyone should witness—." He jerked his head in direction of Professors Snape and Ravon. Snape was still sitting at her bed, speaking softly to her, holding her hand.
"Ah, yes. I understand," Madam Pomfrey nodded; her trademark-smile disappeared. "It's so sad. Makes you feel for Professor Snape, doesn't it? I just hope Sariss is as much of a fighter as you have always been, Mr Potter."
"She is a fighter, Madam Pomfrey. She saved my life. Twice."
"Twice?" three voices said.
"Hush," said Madam Pomfrey sternly. "Quiet."
"I remembered something down there. I'll tell you later. Please, can I go?"
"Alright, Mr Potter, but take care. I understand perfectly well that you'd rather prefer to be with your friends than stay here and…" She didn't finish. She didn't have to.
Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks," he said, got up, grabbed his robes and disappeared behind another screen to put them on. Someone must have brought fresh ones while he had been asleep.
"I should be the one lying there…" he heard Snape's voice again. Very softly, and not remotely as harsh as it was wont to sound. "Not you, Sariss. I'd swap places with you if only that were possible. Immediately. Without a second thought… This is just like last time, but a thousand times worse…"
~*~*~
Severus was heartbroken. It was indeed worse than last time. Back then—it seemed such a long time ago all of a sudden—he hadn't had to face the fear that she would most likely be dying. As soon as he had known her to be safely in Madam Pomfrey's hands, he had known that she would survive. But now… There was nothing anyone could do. She was on her own, fighting whatever it was that she was fighting against.
And Severus had to admit that, back then, he hadn't been so deeply and almost obsessively in love with her yet—although he had thought it impossible that he could be capable of loving her even more; that he had been capable of falling in love again had been a miracle in itself—and with her of all people.
And now it's only a matter of time until she—.
Don't. Please, don't.
Thankfully, Sariss was lying relatively still once more. Severus allowed himself a small sigh of relief and despair and whatever else it was that he felt at the moment.
It was too painful to watch her body wrecked with convulsions and tremors all the time. Every time she lay unmoving, if only for a moment, she looked peaceful and only asleep.
The sound of whispering voices and then footsteps…
The sound of the door clicking shut…
Alone.
It was completely silent, save for Sariss's laboured breathing.
Severus still held her hand, only letting go when he felt it was time to wipe her face. She was sweating. Cold sweat.
He didn't know what else he could do for her. Every second felt like hours. Waiting for her next intake of breath… Waiting for her to exhale the grey mist… Waiting for her to breathe in again…
He wanted to shake her awake. How long would it go on like this? He wanted her to open her eyes, to look up at him from beneath those long black curved lashes—and smile. Had it been only slightly less than forty-eight hours since they had kissed, only a few hours more than that since they'd lain in each other's arms, bodies entangled, souls united? Nothing had pointed to the fact that only two days later—.
Click.
The door…
Footsteps.
"Severus?"
Dumbledore.
"Yes," he replied and lapsed back into silence. With a soft rustle of robes, Dumbledore approached. He didn't speak any more. Severus needn't turn around to know that Dumbledore was still there, although he couldn't hear him anymore. He simply knew.
"What happened down there, Headmaster?" Severus whispered after a long while.
"You were there, Severus. You saw it," answered Dumbledore's quiet voice.
"No, not that. How was this possible? What's happening to her?" Severus wrung out the cloth he had been wiping her face with; her lips were parchment-dry, chipped and very white compared to her strangely feverish-looking skin.
"I think we should wait for her to wake up. I would like to tell this only once since it would make a rather long and complicated attempt at explaining the events."
"If she wakes up at all," Severus whispered despairingly.
"Don't lose faith, Severus. Be strong. She is strong, too; she'll be fine. She must. She simply must."
"Maybe not strong enough."
"Then you be strong for her if not for yourself. Mortally wounded have recovered, people we never thought would survive did so because they somehow felt if they came back there'd be someone waiting for them, needing them. This is magic at it most ancient and mystifying," the old man whispered and kissed Sariss's cold, sweaty forehead. "I'm so sorry, Sariss," he whispered before he turned back to face Severus. "Stay with her, Severus, stay with her and let her know that she is desperately needed. Give her all your strength and love. I just hope it's enough to help her fight and win against Voldemort's soul."
"Voldemort's soul?" Severus repeated blankly.
"The Dementor in her is trying to devour it, to destroy it. Two Dark forces are waging war inside her fragile body."
"How do you know?"
"Only a theory. But an explanation as good as any other."
"It sounds logical enough for me to believe you every single word," Severus said. After all, when it came to things like this, Dumbledore was always right. Snape dreaded the answer, but he had to know… "What if she loses the fight?" he breathed.
"I don't know. If she loses, the best that could happen would be for her to simply die—."
"Headmaster!"
"Let me finish, Severus, please," Dumbledore said calmly. "The worst that could happen would be for to stay alive with her soul overcome by Voldemort's. We mustn't underestimate the Dark Lord's will to continue his existence at all costs—."
"You mean, when she opens her eyes, it could be Voldemort looking at me?"
"Yes. That is possible."
"No! No, that mustn't happen! There must be something we can do!"
"Remind her who she is. Keep talking to her. She can hear you. I'm convinced that she does."
"What am I supposed to say? I can't think of a coherent sentence."
"Speak to her as though she were only asleep. Comfort her. Touch her. Care for her. Stay here. I'll take care of you two's business. I'll grade the as of yet unfinished essays, I'll get a decent nightgown for Sariss. She never liked hospital clothes. Let's make her comfortable—."
"Comfortable to die."
"Severus. Repeat after me. She is not going to die."
"You don't know that. No one does. If she loses—."
"Don't let him defeat her. Don't let her die. Keep her alive. Tell her… Yes, talk about the future. Remind her that the future is waiting. If not in words, then in your emotions. Envelop her in everything that is you. Let her know that you're there."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Good. There's something I must ask of you…" he began hesitantly.
"What is it?"
"Your wand. The Aurors want it for—."
"But—."
"You'll get it back as soon as they're done. My word on this."
You don't honestly believe you'll get it back. They'll do their tests on it. Determine the spells you cast with it and then they'll come in here and tear you away from her faster than you can say 'Azkaban'—where you'll join your former colleagues. They will be very pleased to see you.
"It doesn't matter anyway," Severus muttered and handed over his wand. "They'll probably snap it later on."
"Thank you." Dumbledore pocketed it. "And you will get it back. I'll do everything in my power to—."
"In fact, I can't seem to care."
Dumbledore patted Severus's shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll tell the Ministry people that you need to stay with her. They don't need you for Prior Incantato. I'll be back as soon as I can." He turned to leave. "And I'll go get some of her things," he added. "Anything special she might—?"
"A hairbrush," Severus muttered.
"Excuse me?"
"A hairbrush. You said, 'Let's make her comfortable.' She might want her hair to be brushed…" Severus chided himself for not being able to find the words to explain better what it meant to him to brush her hair. It was important. An important gesture as small as it was. To her and to him. It were the small gestures that counted.
Dumbledore nodded.
"And a certain book she has in her study. Her favourite, I think. I never asked her about it. It looks quite tattered already. So I—."
"I believe I know which one you mean. I gave it to her for Christmas once so she'd have her own copy. She'd never thought of buying it herself," he mused. "Tolkien, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"A very good idea, Severus. I'll be back soon." He gave Severus another encouraging pat on the shoulder and then left. The door fell shut with a small clicking noise.
"Oh, Sariss, what am I supposed to do?" Severus asked after a long silence, during which he only heard the wind blow and catch in the towers and bays of Hogwarts castle. The sound was eerily similar to Sariss's ragged breathing, only louder. "I wish I could be of more help. All I can do is be here. I wish you'd tell me that it's enough…"
He took her hand in his again. She had clenched it into a fist. Both her hands were fists. Severus forced the one that was near him apart and laced his fingers through hers so she couldn't make the fist anymore. Her nails had dug into her palm once more. But there was no fresh blood. The way she'd clenched her hands into fists, trembling, yet unyielding like marble, hardly allowed the blood to flow.
With his fingers between hers, he prevented her from hurting herself. He only wished he could do that with her other hand, too. But there was no way of unclenching it with only one hand free. He had needed all his strength of his two hands to manage it once. It had to be enough.
Don't die on me. Don't die on me. You mustn't die on me.
As painful as her grasp on his hand was, it had a soothing component to it. As long as the pain was there, Severus could be positive that she was not dead.
She was holding onto him for dear life, although if she knew, Severus couldn't tell.
"Live, Sariss. Live and fight," Severus whispered intently. "Live for me."
No one ever lived for you, isn't that so? Not even your family did…
Most of them were already dead to me when they were still alive. My real family is here.
And half of it is dying…
"Fight for us," he continued, thinking that perhaps if he roused her stubbornness and determination, she might gain some more strength. "You can't let him win. Not even in death, he must win. Never. Don't let him defeat you in the end. Come back to me, Sariss. You're stronger than him. If you let him win now, where's your revenge, huh? Where's your revenge?"
Still holding on to her, he closed his eyes…
~*~*~
Severus blinked the sleep out of his eyes. He had fallen asleep again. Time seemed to stand still when he was sitting by her side and taking care of her best as he could. At other times, time seemed to be fleeting, hours flying by like minutes. But no matter if time went by fast or slowly, Sariss's condition didn't change.
Dumbledore must have been here earlier. There were the book and the hairbrush and her nightgown, the long white one, one of her favourites because it was so soft and flowing. Severus knew it looked simply magnificent on her with its transparent sleeves and the not too low cut, gently curved neckline. She had blushed an adorable pink when Severus had told her that she looked like a nymph in it, as though she'd go up in a wisp of smoke any second—.
But it was completely useless at the moment. How was he supposed to get it on her when she didn't yield, when she kept struggling and kicking and straining against the bonds?
So he set it aside for the time being. Instead, he wiped her forehead again. She was sweating, but even so, she was terribly cold again. The fever had apparently stopped.
The muscles in her face, her cold hands, were tense and stiff. Severus gently unclenched her fist again, held her hand in his, first one, then the other one, stroking them, kissing them, trying to warm them. She looked like alabaster, her fingernails like glass.
Her touch was still the same. Electrifying, cool and soothing, and so familiar that it hurt.
"I'm here, Sariss," he said. Those were the words that came most naturally to him. He had said them so often already. He had fallen asleep with those words on his lips how many times? "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, do you hear me? I'm here. I'm waiting for you. I love you; you know that, don't you? You knew it even before I said it. I love you."
He'd give everything if only she'd reply…
Her body was still trembling. Severus threw another blanket over her, although he was fairly sure that it was not the cold that made her tremble. He'd know by now if that were so. No, she wasn't shivering because she might be freezing; it was the strain that made her tremble, the battle against whatever it was that Voldemort's soul was doing to her; she was fighting it. And she was putting up one hell of a fight just as Severus had told her to.
"I'm here."
Gently, he began brushing her hair. It was draped over the pillow on either side of her like two auburn veils, shiny and soft.
"And you're still beautiful. Like a porcelain doll," he muttered, letting her hair flow through his fingers and beginning to plait it, but only near her scalp. The lower half of her tresses he let flow openly, arranging them on either side of her. Lovely. He couldn't help it. Lovely… Another one of the words that slipped so easily over his lips when he looked at her or merely thought of her. "Are you even aware how beautiful you are to me? Every passing day, every passing minute, you've become more beautiful, just when I started to think that that's impossible. Even now, you're my Beauty. My Sleeping Beauty."
If only she were merely sleeping…
He set the brush aside and reached for the book instead.
"Let me read to you," Severus said softly. "Let's see… You even marked the page. How often have you read it? You probably know it by heart already…" He opened it where Sariss had marked the page with a small empty piece of parchment.
But there was not only that small piece of parchment that marked the page. As he put that one away, another parchment slid out of the book and tumbled to the floor. It was a whole sheet of parchment, folded once right in the middle—and it bore his name in what was unmistakably Sariss's handwriting.
This couldn't be what it probably was. Severus retrieved it from the floor and unfolded it with slightly trembling hands. If they trembled because he dreaded the content or because he was lacking quite a few hours of deep sleep, he couldn't tell.
Severus, it read in a small and narrow version of Sariss's usually generously elegant, old-fashioned and eccentric-looking writing. Her hand was so much like her that he could almost hear her voice say his name when he read it. Apparently, she'd had an idea of how long the letter would become even before she'd started writing it. Strangely, it didn't look as if it had to be squeezed onto the parchment. It was exactly two pages.
Severus,
I'm not exactly sure what date it is today and I'm too lazy to look it up. It wouldn't matter anyway. I think that, now as I write this, you're probably rummaging around in your office or something. I'll go to you later. I'm sure we'll be making love again. And then we'll talk. And then make love. Deliciously dizzying, isn't it? And at some point, I'll fall asleep in your arms, the only place in which I feel safe enough to actually sleep. You're always so warm… I love the way you touch me. I love the way you look at me. With you I can pretend that I'm just a normal woman, although you make me feel extraordinary—
Oh dear, this was not supposed to be a love letter. It was supposed to be something much more unpleasant. A document full of explanations and confessions…
Why am I writing this anyway? I don't even know how to start. Sometimes it seems that I don't know anything.
Well, I don't know if you'll ever come across this piece of parchment, that's for sure. I think I'll leave it somewhere for you to find should something happen to me. If it does it's probably my own fault. Who am I kidding? There is no if. There is only a when. And I hope it's soon—I'm sorry, but I do—because I don't think I can bear it for much longer. Do not feel bad, Severus. You haven't only kept me alive; you've kept me sane, and now that you're reading this, you might even have kept me sane long enough to end the life of the monster that spawned me. I'm saying it frankly. I'm not that different from him. Just imagine me growing up among cruel people, imagine me growing up living in an orphanage—as if that were an excuse for being… I don't know what he is. I don't know how the man my mother loved could become what he became… Looks can be so deceiving…
Oh, but the point is, now that you're reading this, I've probably followed him—or didn't even make it. Did I do it, Severus? Have I managed to rid the world of him? Have I committed a murder? I most certainly am capable of it. I know it because I am my father's daughter and I killed before. I already wanted to kill him when—No, that wasn't my father. That was Voldemort. And now they're the same man, although there's hardly something human left in that creature… I am so much like him…
Have I killed him? If so, I didn't do it for the world. It was for me, my dead mother, your regrets, for Aurora and Rick… Maybe it was a bit for the world, too.
I'm dreading this moment. But I'm also looking forward to it. How strange is that?
The page ended there, and Severus turned the parchment to continue…
So… apparently, the moment came and passed—or you wouldn't be reading this.
Do not blame yourself, Severus. I don't know if you tried to talk me out of it. Have we ever spoken about it before I went off to find and fulfil my destiny? This sounds so pathetic, I know. I don't think I could have spoken the words out loud to you. No, I'm sure I never said them. I'll write them instead.
I, or rather the Dementor in me, it sucked the greater monster's soul out—or it tried. I leave it to you to decide whether indicative or subjunctive would be the correct mood to use here.
You couldn't have stopped me. No one could ever have stopped me. Get that into your thick skull, you creep. No lovely detention for that now, I'm afraid… Thinking you could ever have stopped me from doing something I really wanted to do. How presumptuous of you that would be.
I'm so mixing up moods and tenses in this letter, aren't I? Past tense, present, perfect, future… They all blend into one. It's amusing to think that I'm sitting here and struggling to sound as if I were speaking to you some time in the future…
I can't help but wonder what it's like. Being dead I mean. Am I lurking around somewhere in the castle having conversations about not sufficiently clammy ectoplasm with the other ghosts? Do I have enough unfinished business to remain in the material world?
You tell me, Severus. Are you my unfinished business?
Have I ever told you that I love you? Have you ever told me? It's hard to say, isn't it? Well, I do. I do love you. And the longer we're together the more I love you. I fear that I won't be able to bring myself to fulfil this stupid prophecy. Yes, it's about me. It has to. A part of me wants it to be that way. The other part doesn't, but it knows that it is.
Just look at me. Even on paper, I'm rambling. No order. No proper start, no proper middle part, no climax. And as this piece of parchment is almost full, I think I should finally come to an end as well… The end. As if anything ever really ended… There are probably many things I never told you, many things left unspoken… How could there ever be an end then? Yet, here it is. The end of me. The end of what we had… Yes, the end at least will be a proper one.
I love you, Severus, remember that always…
And, Severus… You made me happy.
Sariss
He had to read it a second time before his brain had processed it, yet it failed to deliver a comment. The letter didn't ease the pain. It changed nothing. Or maybe it did. The longer we're together the more I love you. There it was. I love you. She'd said it, and now he held it in his hands, hidden among many words with many tiny letters.
He folded the parchment again and put it back inside the book. No one would know that it existed. It would lie hidden between two pages forever, and only Severus—and Sariss, if she made it—would know of its existence. She had to make it. There was no alternative. She had to. She simply had to.
After all, she was still alive. He had to keep telling himself that.
Then, one day, when Severus would surreptitiously skim through the book's pages, he might find it gone as if it had never been there. But in his mind's eye he'd still see the words—not because he'd once read them, but because she'd whisper them to him. What he wouldn't give to hear her voice.
He sighed. It sounded so loud in all this silence. The whole castle seemed to hold its breath.
"Now let me read to you," he began softly, thus adding another sound to the silence. Another sound than Sariss's unsteady breathing. It was strange. Even though he spoke and she breathed fairly audibly, it still seemed silent. "And, remember, I am waiting for you."
He cleared his throat and began to read to her.
"Chapter Seven. Journey to the Crossroads. Frodo and Sam returned to their beds and lay there in silence resting for a little…"
~*~*~
"Checkmate," Ginny said. "Again. You don't really pay attention, do you, Harry? Crookshanks could have seen that one coming."
"I'm sorry, Gin. Let's play another game and I'll try to be more of a worthy opponent, alright?"
So they repaired the pieces and set up another game.
"The loser begins," Ginny said.
"No need to tell me that every time," Harry muttered. "How often have I lost already?"
"Seven or eight times."
"Oh, dear…"
"What's on your mind?"
"Sirius takes quite a long time to write me back considering that he's supposed to be somewhere in England, don't you think?"
"I'm sure he's alright. Now that Voldemort's gone, they'll only have to sweep up the pieces—."
"Mr Potter?" Professor McGonagall scrambled through the portrait hole. "Ah, there you are. Would you accompany me to the headmaster? There are a few Ministry officials who'd like to have a word with you."
"Alright," Harry said. He had been expecting it actually. "Sorry, Gin."
"Don't worry. They'll only ask a few questions concerning the incident that happened down in the Chamber. They just need a testimony from you since Professor Ravon isn't available."
"But Snape…" Harry got up.
"Professor Snape, Mr Potter, is… well… He refuses to leave Professor Ravon. In fact, I think, he doesn't want to talk to them and uses the best excuse there is…" McGonagall muttered. "I would prefer that, too… But I don't think your interrogation will be that unpleasant. They just want a firsthand account on what happened."
"I understand, Professor," he said.
"How is Professor Ravon?" asked Ginny.
"I don't know, Miss Weasley. I don't know." Professor McGonagall heaved a sigh. "Let's go, Mr Potter. I don't think it will take long."
Harry followed her through the portrait hole and to Dumbledore's office without speaking.
Of course, the Ministry people would come and ask him some questions about what had happened. It was nothing new. But would they believe him? Fudge hadn't believed him three years ago. Fudge hadn't believed Dumbledore either. Would he believe what lay before his very eyes? What explanation would the Minister bring up for Voldemort's dead body? Could he still ignore the evidence? Harry wouldn't put it past him. And what had happened to the caught Death Eaters? Where was Draco Malfoy? Had he already wormed his way out of it, claiming he had been under the Imperius Curse perhaps? Or was he doing what he did best? Was he already spilling the beans about his Death Eater friends so he'd get out of it unscathed?
Anxious voices could be heard as Professor McGonagall led Harry up the spiral staircase.
Harry recognized Dumbledore's voice at once although he had never heard him sound that angry. From the few words Harry could clearly understand he assumed that the content of the conversation was revolving somewhere along, "I told you. We told you. You wouldn't listen. And here's your undeniable proof that we were right all along."
Was he talking to—?
Yes, there was Fudge's voice, too. Had it always sounded so annoying? And to think that Harry had sort of liked Fudge when he'd met him first.
The further the staircase carried Harry and Professor McGonagall up towards the office door, the better Harry understood what was being said.
"Cornelius," Dumbledore pleaded, "you must act fast now before they can leave Britain. This could be your chance to catch the whole lot. The Order simply can't provide enough resources for such a big undertaking. We need your assistance here. We need the Aurors, everyone available, everyone who can hold a wand."
"Apart from the ones we already caught, we don't even know their names, Dumbledore. We'd have to offer the prisoners deals—."
"We know their names. We've known them all the time. Even though the Dark Mark is fading, we know. Severus Snape risked his life, the Parkinsons died to provide us with that knowledge. Don't let them claim the Imperius-excuse again. Use Veritaserum on the prisoners if you want confirmation. Qualms and false scruples are pointless here. A woman's fighting for her life while we're discussing petty politics—," Dumbledore said, as Professor McGonagall knocked. "Ah! Now there's Mr Potter. He'll give you your answers."
"Albus."
Dumbledore nodded his greeting.
"Professor Dumbledore."
"Good to see you are well, Harry. You already know Cornelius Fudge—." Harry nodded. "And those are Aurors Queror and Ansel. They're here to investigate the Dark Lord's demise."
"I know, Professor."
"And Sirius is here, too."
"Where is he—? Oh, hi… Snuffles." A smile crept onto Harry's face as he saw the giant black dog that was his godfather's Animagus form lounge about the carpet in front of the fireplace. Sirius liked being Snuffles very much. It had been useful for his escape from Azkaban, and it had also been very much fun during the full moon nights with Moony, Wormtail and Prongs, a.k.a. Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew and James Potter, Harry's father. Sirius had told Harry some stories that sounded unbelievable. Perhaps he had been exaggerating. But in the wizarding world everything seemed still kind of weird to Harry, so he might have been telling the truth after all…
With a Plop! Sirius transformed into his human self and crossed the room.
"I thought instead of writing a letter I'd drop by personally, Harry." He smiled. "You don't look any worse for wear despite your—."
"Can we begin now?" Queror or Ansel said.
"Yes, of course."
"Mr Black…" Fudge began.
"Regard me as the cavalry," Sirius said, making himself comfortable in one of the armchairs. "In fact I'm just curious." He shrugged. "No use making my godson report twice today and give him a sore throat. I promise to be a good dog. See?" He transformed back into the large black dog and rested his head on his paws. If it was anatomically possible for a dog to smirk, Snuffles did it.
And thus, Harry reported what had happened, not in exactly the way, he had told Ron, Hermione and Ginny. Of course not. Some things were private. Among other things, he left out the voice that he might have imagined, after all. It seemed so strange to him in retrospect. Quite some things seemed strange and surreal. The way Harry had understood Fudge three years ago, the man already thought that he was mad. He had read too much Rita Skeeter back then. A bad influence—and one that left a lasting impression.
"Interesting," Fudge said when Harry had finished and answered a few additional questions asked by the Aurors. They hadn't commentated on anything Harry had said. They had simply taken a few notes and nodded now and then during Harry's account of things.
"Interesting. But highly unbelievable."
"Cornelius. You have evidence that supports what Harry has just said. And Sariss—."
"Will you stop with that woman? We all know that—."
"And will you stop believing every single word Rita Skeeter has ever wasted parchment on?" Dumbledore boomed.
"Um… Professor…" Harry began, feeling uncomfortable at the fact that he had to witness them argue.
Dumbledore sighed. "All I'm asking of you, Cornelius, is to help me. Is it so important to find out how it happened? Isn't it far more important to use the current chaos among the Death Eaters to our advantage? The rest can be dealt with later. But we must strike now; join our forces and then strike fast and hard before they find time to regroup. That strategy worked before. Act faster than they expect you to. Simple and effective."
"Minister?" Queror or Ansel said. "If I may say so… You should perhaps agree. It won't do any further damage to act now. In fact, the story sounds plausible to me. Strange but perfectly logical considering that it's the only possible explanation for all of it."
"We've heard worse," the other one said. "And if you intend to at least try to keep your position in the Ministry for another period you should indeed listen."
"And if you doubt that the body is the Dark Lord's, all I can say is, 'Don't.' It is he. We already used Prior Incantato on Mr Snape's wand. There's absolutely no doubt that it was the Dark Lord all along despite your—."
"Ansel, you're exceeding your authority!"
"Minister, if you don't intend to support Dumbledore in those matters… Why did you bring the Aurors in the first place?" Harry asked. "Everyone could have asked those questions and then sent the report to the relevant department in the Ministry."
There was a long silence.
"It appears that I have no choice in those matters. The MLED is in charge here. I'll give the Aurors a free hand. Inform Harker. He'll alert everyone. Tell him to contact Albus Dumbledore," Fudge said finally. One could see it in his face that it took him quite something to force those words over his lips. "Satisfied, Dumbledore?"
"Thank you, Cornelius," Dumbledore said, putting his hand on the other man's shoulder. "Thank you."
~*~*~
Harry opened his eyes.
It was 12th June. A week since the exams had been over. Two days since Harry had been released from the infirmary. Three days and four nights since the attack, since Harry had been as good as dead—if it hadn't been for Professor Ravon.
The Death Eaters had been taken to Azkaban for interrogation and trial. Rumour had it that the Ministry got more names out of them than ever before. With that information, they'd soon be totally obliterated. Apparently, the fact that they'd seen Voldemort's dead body and that they'd been informed about what had occurred, had loosened their tongues considerably.
As a consequence, many Slytherins were highly nervous. Understandable, as the Dark Mark indicated quite clearly, which one of them had already been initiated…
A few of the most respected and influential families in the wizarding world were involved. That meant that Rita Skeeter had a field day. Good. Great. That way she'd be much too busy to fly or crawl around Hogwarts and spy on anybody who might mention something of the affair in passing. That woman's quill was wicked.
Harry heard some noises. The other boys in his dormitory woke up too.
"Oi, mate! Wake up! Today's the day!" Ron said and drew back the hangings.
"The meaning of the word 'Privacy' isn't well known to you I take it?" Harry yawned. Why was Ron so excited?
Oh. Sure. The exam result were supposed to come out today…
Harry didn't quite share that excitement. Of course they had passed. They had been revising so much; it wasn't possible for them to have failed, was it?
Fact was, however, that Harry couldn't seem to care if he received two N.E.W.Ts or twelve. It wasn't of much importance, since he could be dead now if it hadn't been for her to arrive just in time.
For the second time in his life.
Vague memories had become startlingly clear down in the Chamber. She'd saved him twice. The mere thought of it! A Slytherin saving the life of Harry Potter! Well, it was not unheard of. Snape had done that too. Several times. Even when it hadn't been necessary he'd tried to save him.
Harry hadn't seen either of them since the day. One could only guess what was happening to Professor Ravon. It was being said that her condition was critical. Dumbledore's grave expression whenever Harry saw his face confirmed that rumour.
The atmosphere had been subdued. And not only among the Gryffindors. Ginny showed her concern rather openly but tried to cheer Harry up as best as she could. It wasn't very effective, but it was good to have her near. She understood him without many words.
He didn't know why exactly it was that he was so worried about Ravon. He just knew that he was.
Hermione was the optimistic one. She always said that a powerful witch like Ravon simply must survive what she had done. Life would be too unfair if she didn't. When everyone else—except the Dark wizards, of course—could enjoy the benefits of her deed, it was only just for her to be able to do the same.
And Ron, well, he was the one who didn't show how he felt about the current situation. But, since Harry knew him so well, it was quite obvious that he didn't want to start on the requiem for Ravon already. Somehow, Ron had always been that way. And it was good. His jokes managed to make the current situation a bit more bearable.
The other houses weren't too cheerful either. It was quite surprising how popular Ravon had been—was. As of yet, there was no reason to use the past tense.
"Don't you want to get up?" Ron said. "The lists will be already up. You want to know how many N.E.W.Ts you got, don't you? You know, just to show off to Ginny. Set a good example and all that."
"Yeah," said Harry and yawned again. He hadn't slept very well during the last nights. Somehow, his scar kept itching and prickling and thus kept him awake. Sometimes it even stung as if Voldemort were planning something vicious. Had that something to do with the state Professor Ravon was in? After all, she had a scar identical to Harry's. It had been made on the same day, by the same wand, by the same person. A connection perhaps? Similar to the mind connection they had apparently had a few days ago…
Harry mentally shook himself. Pondering that would help nobody. Thinking didn't help. And there was nothing anyone could do. Even get-well cards seemed cynical… No, stop thinking. Answer to what Ron said.
"Wouldn't that be your job? Set a good example as the older brother?"
Ron made an indecisive gesture.
"Well, that's that then." Harry put on his glasses and got up. "Just give me five minutes to wake up."
~*~*~
When they arrived in the Entrance Hall, a throng of students was assembled in front of the black board.
"The results," Hermione said, nervously wringing her hands. "They're out."
"Why so anxious?" asked Ron. "Everybody in here knows that you're right on top of the list. One N.E.W.T. for each subject. That would—in your case—make…"
"Ten normal level N.E.W.Ts. Plus any medium or advanced level ones if available," Ginny said. "I'd say you'll at least get fifteen or so."
"Could be a record," Harry said. "Come on. Let's take a look."
They stepped closer to the board. There weren't many seventh years there anymore. They had left for breakfast now.
"There! Sixteen, Hermione! My girlfriend is the most intelligent girl in the history of Hogwarts. Her name will be in a new and revised edition of Hogwarts: A History. Generations to come will know her name…"
Hermione blushed and giggled. "Oh, come on. Hogwarts: A History… I want a book about me and me alone," she said dramatically. "By the way, you're not too bad either, boyfriend of mine. Eleven. That's good. All those hours in the library weren't wasted. Your mother will be so proud." She messed up his fiery hair so it stood in all directions.
"'Mione…" Ron complained loudly. "You're worse than my mother."
"Twelve, Harry! A whole dozen," Ginny squealed. "And in the top ten too. The Ministry will be hunting you down to join them."
"Not if I shield myself with our genius here…" Harry answered. "Where are your results, Ginny? They must be… There." He quickly scanned the numbers. "Flying colours I'd say. You don't intend to beat Hermione to the record, do you?"
"I might. As you won't be here next year, I'll be having simply too much time on my hands. As I don't intend to find a replacement for you, I'll have to make friends with some very large books."
"Next year," Harry muttered. "I owe it to a single person that I can even think of a next year now…"
"Oh, Harry. She'll be okay. Madam Pomfrey is doing everything she can right as we speak. And so is Dumbledore. And Snape."
Next chapter:
Severus still takes care of Sariss and gets all emotional. Dumbledore writes a few letters. Poppy is not amused. And someone thanks someone else.