*****Author's note—Welcome back! I hope everyone had happy holidays and a good start to 2004. Apologies for the hiatus, but I certainly enjoyed my trip back to my homeland, and I thank you all for your patience. Enjoy this latest installment! Reviewer responses are at the bottom. Yours as ever, neoepiphany*****
*****Notice**** All chapters of this story have been replaced in order to correct a repetitive and idiotic spelling mistake on my part. A great deal of thanks to astronut for pointing it out! No other changes were made to the text, however. Thanks, neoepiphany****
Chapter Eleven
Tea with Hagrid
"—wasn't having those visions anymore."
"It seems the matter is more complicated than I suspected. We might be able to get a firmer grasp on the situation once we've had a chance to talk to him."
"Is there anything we can do to stop it?"
"I'm afraid I've exhausted every outlet of research. There's simply never been a situation such as this before, so, without risking Harry's life, there's little we can try." There was the sound of footsteps, coming closer. "But unless I'm much mistaken, Professor McGonagall, our patient is awake."
"I'll fetch Madame Pomfrey," McGonagall said. Her footsteps retreated, and Harry heard the door to the hospital wing open and close.
Harry didn't open his eyes. He didn't want to look at Dumbledore. Once again, he had the curious sensation that a snake was coiling within him and that to see Dumbledore would be to invite it to attack.
"Good morning, Harry," the Headmaster said, pleasantly. Harry heard the squeaking of springs—Dumbledore had sat down beside him.
"Good morning," Harry replied. He was surprised at how thin and croaky his voice was.
"I understand you've had another vision," Dumbledore said gently.
Harry winced. He had almost managed to forget the dream in sleep, but at Dumbledore's words it rushed back to him. He opened his eyes, desperate to chase away the vision of Hestia Jones's face that was burned onto the backs of his eyelids. "Yes, Professor," Harry whispered. He stared at the ceiling.
"Can you tell me about it?"
Harry sighed. "She's dead—Hestia Jones is dead."
"Are you sure?"
"I saw her," Harry snapped. He swallowed hard, and softened his tone. "Professor."
"I understand," Dumbledore said kindly. "But I need you to tell me what you saw. Exactly what you saw."
Harry grimaced. Reliving the visions was tiring and painful. It had been one thing when he'd seen Mr. Weasley attacked—he had been only too eager to get them to listen to him then. He'd been driven by urgency. But there was no urgency now, no hurry to make them understand. It was too late for Hestia.
"I was—was Voldemort," Harry said. He swallowed. His mouth was very dry. He didn't know how to go on; he didn't know if he wanted to go on.
"What was the first thing you saw?" Dumbledore suggested.
"A dirty white room," Harry replied. "White walls, white floor, white everything. It was all filthy." As he spoke the vision began to reappear in his mind, as though he'd hit the play button on a video. He saw the hunched figure of the cowering Death Eater. "Bellatrix Lestrange," he spat. "She'd been torturing Hestia." Harry stopped, rubbing his eyes.
Dumbledore was silent for a moment. "Then what did you see?"
Harry felt cold. "Voldemort looked at the fireplace. She was there. Hestia was there—" He suddenly swallowed hard, but he continued. He gathered his strength to go on. "Bellatrix said that before she died, Hestia told them two names. She said that Hestia gave them two names that their spy hadn't given them yet." Harry sat up. "Their spy! Professor, she said they have a spy."
"I see," Dumbledore said, his voice very grave. Harry risked a look at him. He wasn't looking at Harry, but staring at a point on the opposite wall with a grim expression. Dumbleore stood up, and walked around the bed, looking thoughtfully at his feet. At last he spoke. "Did she say anything else? Anything at all?"
Harry shook his head. "At the end of my dream, when my scar began to hurt, she called out to Voldemort. Asking if he was okay. But that was it."
"Harry, it is very important that you tell me the truth. Since last spring, exactly how many visions like this have you had? No matter how minor they may have seemed," Dumbledore asked.
"None, Professor," Harry said. "Until last night, I haven't had any dreams at all."
Dumbledore paused mid-stride. He turned his twinkling eyes to Harry. "None? No dreams at all? Not even normal ones?"
"That's right," Harry said.
"How about your scar? Does it still hurt a lot?"
Harry shrugged. "It hurts a bit sometimes, but not like last year. Not as much."
Dumbledore resumed his aimless pacing around the bed. "Interesting," he murmured.
"What's interesting?" Harry asked. He could feel the little well of irritation that he was trying so hard to suppress opening up again.
"It's interesting," Dumbledore said, "that you seem to have found a way to shut off Voldemort's link to you, Harry."
Harry's jaw fell slightly. "What? No—I'm not doing anything," he protested.
"It may have something to do with Voldemort's attempt to possess you," Dumbledore sugested. "Perhaps you weakened the link between the two of you, or you awakened some kind of self-defense mechanism that won't allow him to access your mind."
Harry hadn't given a lot of thought to why he'd stopped dreaming; he'd just considered it a blessing that he had done so. However, either of Dumbledore's theories were welcome. He felt well rid of Voldemort's connection to him—that is, if he really was rid of it.
"But the question we must return to," Dumbledore said, "is why the link manifested itself again last night. Professor McGonagall tells me that she sent you and your friends the clipping from the Evening Prophet, so you already knew that Hestia was missing."
"We were worried about her, and about everyone out looking for her," Harry said. "I was still thinking about it when I fell asleep. I was thinking that if she died, I'd know it because of my scar."
"Ah," Dumbledore said, smiling again. "Most extraordinary. Harry—do you realize what this means? It's possible that you managed to overcome your own self-defense mechanism in order to get the information you desired. You manifested the link against Voldemort."
Harry frowned. "Are you saying… Are you saying that I possessed Voldemort?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes," Dumbledore smiled. "By concentrating on Hestia, you initiated the link by an act of will. This is an impressive feat, Harry."
Harry sank back onto his pillows. It made sense. This time had been different than the last times he had seen what Voldemort saw. Those times, he had felt physically ill, or somehow violated by the visions. Now, all he felt was tired. He remembered Voldemort crying out in pain—pain he shared with Harry. That had definitely never happened before.
Dumbledore reappeared at Harry's side. "But I must ask you not to attempt to reinitiate the link. By doing so, you are putting yourself in grave danger. If Voldemort is aware of what you are doing, he could do you serious harm."
"But Professor—" Harry began to protest. He had thought last year that being able to see through Voldemort's eyes, he could be a useful asset for the Order. But, if he were able to somehow possess Voldemort at will, that was even more of a gift. They wouldn't even need spies anymore. But, he didn't get the chance to voice his dissent; Madame Pomfrey came bustling toward them, Professor McGonagall nearby, and Dumbledore raised his hand to silence Harry.
"It is far too dangerous for you to try again, Harry. You must take my word on that. I will rely on you to do the right thing," Dumbledore said.
"What hurts, Harry?" Madame Pomfrey said, grabbing his wrist and checking his pulse. "Stomach? Head? Scar? Any nausea? Blurry vision?" She peered in his eyes and laid a hand on his forehead to check for fever.
"No, nothing," Harry said, jerking his head from under her hand. "I'm just tired, that's all."
"Hmmm," Madame Pomfrey said thoughtfully, straightening up triumphantly, "I think some rest would do you good. You should stay here for the rest of the weekend."
"What?!" Harry exclaimed. "No—I'm not that tired. Just a few hours, that's all."
Madame Pomfrey frowned down at Harry. "We'll see," she said in a tone that clearly indicated she disagreed.
"We'll leave you to it, then," Dumbledore said. "Come, Minerva. We have much to do." McGonagall sped to his side, and they walked out, grave-faced and whispering.
Madame Pomfrey drew the curtains around Harry's bed, and the light became pleasantly dim. He didn't know what time it was, but he guessed it was around mid-morning. He lay back on his pillows, and, in a very short time, he drifted back off to sleep—blissfully dreamless sleep.
He awoke again at last, and marvelled at how much better he felt. He didn't know if he'd slept for a few minutes or a few hours, and, he wondered for a moment why he'd awoken so quickly. The question was promptly answered by a growl from his stomach.
Harry sat up, and pushed aside the curtains. Madame Pomfrey, spun around from two beds away, where she was tending a Hufflepuff second year who, judging from the purple boils erupting all over his face, had come off the worse in a fight with the Slytherins.
"Where do you think you're going?" she asked.
"I'm starving. I'm going to lunch," he replied.
"Get back in bed. I'll have a tray sent up."
Harry managed to bargain with her, and eventually, Madame Pomfrey capitulated. Harry was allowed to go, as long as he promised to come straight back if he felt the least bit out of sorts. His robes had been sent up from the dormitory; he changed quickly behind a curtain and hurried to the Great Hall. He pushed open the door and crossed the hall to the half-full Gryffindor table.
Ron and Hermione were sitting with their backs to the door, heads bowed in concerned conversation. Ron was munching on a bit of apple pie. Harry plopped down across from them. "What'd I miss?" he asked, helping himself to some chicken and peas.
"Harry!" Hermione squealed, smiling brightly. "You're back! Are you okay?"
"We thought you'd be in there all day at least," Ron said.
"If Madame Pomfrey'd had her way, I would've been. But I'm fine. Nothing to worry about. I just needed a bit of sleep, that's all," Harry said. He ripped into the chicken. It was juicy and rich, tasting of lemon and pepper. He grabbed another piece.
"A little hungry, are we?" Ron said, raising an eyebrow.
"Absolutely famished," Harry said between mouthfuls. "Feel like I haven't eaten in a year, to be honest."
"What happened, Harry?" Hermione said, frowning. "What did you see?"
Harry sighed. "Voldemort. Bellatrix Lestrange. And Hestia."
Hermione gasped a little, and pressed her hand to her mouth. "Was she—?"
Harry nodded. Hermione pressed her hand to her mouth, whispering "Oh, no." Ron just shook his head, and took a bite of his pie.
"That's not the worst of it, either," Harry said. "You were right, Hermione. They do have a spy in the Order."
Ron's mouth dropped open, displaying the pie. He quickly shut it again and swallowed. "Are you sure?" he said.
Harry just nodded again. "They said so."
"Oh no," Hermione whispered again. "You told Dumbledore, of course?"
"Of course. He didn't seem all that surprised, actually."
"Maybe," Ron said, his brow furrowed, "maybe they knew there was a spy already. And—no, wait for it, Hermione—they've been feeding them false information to keep Voldemort off guard."
Hermione sighed. "It is possible, Ron," she said diplomatically. Ron smiled, happily.
"But who could it be?" Hermione murmured, more to herself than to them.
Ron gave her a condescending look. "Isn't it obvious? Someone new turns up under mysterious circumstances, and the next thing we know, we've got spies in the Order. Just who could it be?" he said, rubbing his chin in mock-concentration.
"Yes, but it just seems a little—well, obvious, doesn't it?" Hermione said. "I mean, obviously we'd think of Mira first because she's the newest. No one trusts her yet."
"Dumbledore trusts her," Harry pointed out.
"Does he?" Hermione said. "How do you know?"
"Lupin said so," Harry shrugged.
"Dumbledore believes in second chances," Hermione said, frowning.
"But who else could it be, Hermione?" Ron persisted. "It's obviously not Lupin, McGonagall, or Dumbledore."
"I doubt it's Tonks or Kingsley, either," Harry added.
"Could be Snape," Ron mused, and Hermione shot him a withering look. "What? It could be!"
"The fact is, it could be anyone," Hermione sighed.
Harry frowned. The last time there had been a spy in the Order, it had turned out to be the person they least suspected. And that had cost his mother and father their lives. The thought made his recently-filled stomach turn. "Anything in this morning's Prophet, Hermione?" he asked, desperately changing the subject.
"Just more details about yesterday's attack," Hermione said. "And they say that Hestia Jones is still missing. Oh, and an article about Fudge's falling popularity."
Harry sighed, and pushed aside a small pile of chicken bones. He bit into a roll.
"Er," Ron said, "do you fancy a bit more quidditch before we go to Hagrid's?"
"Hagrid's!" Harry said, smiling. "I'd completely forgotten."
"You don't have time for quidditch. Neither of you has started your homework, and I'm not going to help you finish this time," Hermione said matter-of-factly.
"Thank you," Ron snapped at her, "we are perfectly capable of finishing a Care of Magical Creatures essay and doing a bit of practice for Charms and Transfiguration on Sunday. That leaves the whole of today free for fun and liesure."
Hermione just sighed.
Harry helped himself to a piece of pie, and quickly ate it. They were almost the last ones out of the Great Hall when they finally left. Harry and Ron had reverted to their favorite subject of conversation—the upcoming quidditch tryouts. Harry had never actualy tried out for quidditch; he'd been picked by Professor McGonagall. Ron on the other hand had been to tryouts for three different positions last year, first his own, and then the tryouts to replace Fred, George, and Harry when Umbridge threw them off the team. Ron was describing what they'd been like to Harry, when the three of them rounded a corner and walked into a gigging crowd.
"What's going on?" Hermione said, standing on tiptoe to peer over the heads blocking their view.
"Move aside, move aside," Ron said, pushing a group of first-years out of the way. "Prefects coming through." Harry followed him through the crowd.
When he saw what was in the center of the crowd, Harry burst out laughing. Apparently, someone had let loose a sackfull of Weasley's Evolving Fluffblasters. He'd never seen them in action, but Ron had told him about them over the summer. They looked like fluffy little balls, but, they were spelled to change into whatever shape was best suited to mischeif making at the moment. So, anyone wishing to cause a little trouble, could tuck one into a quiet corner and in a few minute it would evolve into something else. A few of them were still in ball shape, and these had been thrown into a sack by Filch, who was being assisted by a handful of prefects: Ginny, Terry Boot, and Ernie Macmillan. The remaing ten or so had turned into a variety of bizarre shapes. One looked like a fuzzy octopus, and had gripped Ernie's head firmly with it's tentacles. Ernie was trying to get it off by shooting a variety of curses at it, but, as Harry watched, the octopus sprouted a thick shell. The crowd burst out laughing as Ernie dropped to all fours and began banging his head on the ground. Terry had four or five of them that looked like wide-eyed monkeys hanging onto his robes like doxies. They were singing a rude song in loud, high-pitched voices, and every time he tried to catch one, it bit his fingers. Filch was busily trying to disentangle one that had assumed a long, snake-like shape and then wrapped itself around his cat, Mrs. Norris. Ginny, meanwhile, was red faced and panting as she chased one that looked like a small, furry ostritch. It batted its long eyelashes at the crowd as they circled past. To top it all off, Peeves had gotten into the action, and was circling the crowd singing a rude song, and shooting spitballs at the prefects.
"I'm going to kill Fred and George," Ginny panted as she ran past Ron.
"Me too," Hermione said, as she sent a Reductor curse at the octopus on Ernie's head, sending it flying.
"It's not like they set them loose," Ron pointed out, ducking a spitball. "It's not really their fault what people do with their merchandise."
"They invented the stupid things!" Hermione said, tossing the octopus, which had reverted to a little fluffy ball, back into the bag. "Impressive, but more than a little annoying."
"These don't come—Ouch!—cheap, either," Ron said, picking a monkey shaped one off of Terry and tossing it into the bag. "Someone—Ouch!—saved up for quite a—Eeech!—while."
Harry decided to help, and, after only a minute or two, the fluffblaster he had been trying to disentangle from Terry's robes had formed itself into a giant ring, pinning Harry's arms at his side. He tried vainly to angle his wand well enough to curse it, but succeeded only in setting the hem of his robes on fire. By the time he stamped it out, most of the fluffblasters were back in the bag. Hermione managed to get Harry's off, and it reverted back to its ball form. Filch confiscated the bag, and carried it away, muttering about detentions and possible hanging by the thumbs in the dungeons.
"I'm going to have to write Fred and George about that," Ron said. "They'll be thrilled."
Hermione pursed her lips, but didn't say anything.
By the time they got back to Gryffindor tower and changed into less dusty and fur-covered robes, it was almost time to go down to Hagrid's. They walked across the grounds, enjoying the warm, sunny weather, and banged on Hagrid's front door. A chorus of barks rang from inside.
"Down Fang!" Hagrid shouted. "Down! Come on in," he called toward the door, and they let themselves in.
Hagrid looked a mess. He had another huge bruise on the side of his face, and his wiry hair and beard were full of twigs.
"Hagrid! What happened?" Hermione said. "You were looking so much better!"
"It's nothin'," Hagrid protested. "Just a bit o' a bruise is all."
"Is it Grawp?" Harry asked, feeling that he somehow knew the answer before he asked.
"Yeah," Hagrid nodded, motioning them all to chairs. "Big feller just don' know his own strength, tha's all. He's been much better since Olympe brought Hedgarr up—" Hagrid's eyes suddenly widened and he turned quickly to get down a milk jug and sugar.
"Hedgarr? Who's Hedgarr?" Ron exclaimed in alarm.
"Oh, Hagrid, you didn't bring another giant!" Hermione moaned.
"They're only little ones, Hermione," Hagrid protested. "An' Grawp was lonely."
Hermione looked as though she were going to cry.
"There's going to be an entire tribe of giants in the Forbidden Forest at this rate," Ron sighed.
"Don' be silly," Hagrid said. "Jus' the two of 'em."
"Yeah, but what if they decide to have babies?" Ron said.
Hagrid ignored Ron's comment. "You'll have to meet Hedgarr," Hagrid went on. "She's a real sigh'. Foot-anna-half taller than Grawp, but just as sweet as she can be."
"Sweet?" Harry said, incredulous.
"Fer her kind," Hagrid qualified it. "I mean, she don' let him rip down the trees, and she keeps him quiet. Quieter."
"But Hagrid—" Hermione protested.
"Nah, they're happy, Hermione. They like bein' together," he said. "An' they're getting' where they're okay on their own. Hedgarr don' speak a word of English, but Grawp's gettin' pretty good at it."
Harry could tell that Hagrid didn't want to talk about the giants. But there was one question that he had to ask. "What does Dumbledore say about them, Hagrid?"
Hagrid sighed, and looked at Harry. He half smiled. "Shoulda known you'd know. Nothin' gets by you three."
Harry shrugged. "Dumbledore had to know. He went into the forest after Umbridge. All the centaurs saw Grawp. And it wouldn't exactly be easy to overlook all the trees he's pulled down."
"Dumbledore," Hagrid murmured, "thinks I ought not ter have brought him in the first place, but that now it'd be cruel ter send him back."
Hermione nodded. "He's gotten used to you," she said. Harry remembered Grawp last spring as he chased down the centaurs shouting for "Hagger."
"He's my brother," Hagrid sniffed. "But Dumbledore wants 'em off the grounds. Says they're a danger ter the students. He's tryin' to find a reserve or somethin' where we can put 'em." Hagrid sniffed again, and looked almost as sad as he had when they'd sent Norbert away.
"But you can still visit him, Hagrid," Hermione said, encouragingly.
"Yeah," Hagrid said sadly. He poured the tea, and they sat for a moment, sipping their tea and looking at their hands. There didn't seem to be anything else to say.
"So, er, Hagrid," Harry said. "Coming to the quidditch trials?" Hermione, who was no doubt getting a bit tired of hearing about quidditch sighed and leaned her head on her hand.
"When are they?" Hagrid asked.
"Next Tuesday," Ron said.
"Aw," Hagrid said, shaking his head a little. "Wish I could. But I got some importan' business that night."
"For the Order?" Harry asked eagerly.
"Never mind who it's fer," Hagrid said, sipping his tea. Then, suddenly, as though he'd just remembered, "Oh! Harry! How're yeh feelin'?"
"What?" Harry raised his eyebrows. "Fine, thanks."
"I heard about yer, eh, thing," he said. "This morning."
"Ah," Harry said. "That. I'm fine, really. Slept it off."
"Yeh need to be careful," Hagrid admonished him. "It's dangerous, pokin' around in You-Know-Who's mind. Yeh could be hurt—or killed—or driven mad."
Hermione's eyes widened. "Mad?" she said.
"So I've heard," Hagrid said.
Harry just quietly sipped his tea. He tried to fight off a vision of Ron and Hermione coming to visit him in the special ward at St. Mungo's. He could see himself perched on a bed between Lockhart and the furry-haired witch, staring vacantly into space as the boisterous nurse said, "Look, Harry! You've got visitors!"
He shook off the vision and frowned. Harry had a gift—a powerful gift. He could spy on Voldemort, and be left feeling fine except for a slightly tender scar and a bit of weariness. And yet everyone was insisting that he not do it, just because of a chance that it could be dangerous. He thought he understood how Sirius had felt last year, while he was cooped up in Grimmauld Place when he could have been out fighting. As the conversation turned to Care of Magical Creatures classes, and how fascinating Hermione found the spirit creatures they were studying, Harry stared at his hands. He watched the sunlight play across the tiny ruby embedded in the black onyx.
He thought of Sirius.
***********************
Reviewer responses.
godrick_gal: Welcome to the story! Hope you stick with us. Thanks for the compliment! I'm sure it can be improved, though—no one's perfect!
Ryanaven: Good eye for detail! Yes, I have rather read the books a lot. When I first moved to Japan, before I found the local English bookstore, all I had for company was my HP boxed set. I think I can recite PoA from memory… Enjoy the clue hunting. (mwahaha) How I love to draw out the suspense until the end and torment everyone! What bliss.
Sasinak: Yes, who is that darn spy? A question that will haunt us for some time, I'm afraid…
Sab: Thanks!
Iavala: Thank you. Sorry to have kept you waiting!
Dshaky: I must confess, you threw me for a loop here. I read some Piers Anthony back in junior high school. I liked his Incarnations series, but there's nothing like that in there, so I guessed you were referring to a Xanth thing. I like the first 3 or 4 Xanth books, but I don't think much of them after that. I couldn't remember anything like Mira's linguistic difficulties, so I did some web research and found out that in later Xanth books there's a demon who mixes up her words. *sigh* It's too late for me to go back and change things (and I don't really want to anyway), so all I can say is that it was entirely coincidental. Not that I expect you to believe me… So, I'll just say that there is a specific REASON why Mira mixes up words, a reason that has to do with who she is and where she came from. The trait is based on a personal experience, not another writer. I would never be so cheap. But thanks for pointing it out.
Wynjara: Hopefully things have cleared up a bit! I remember finals brain-drain all too well…
Wiccan Pussy Kat: Yes! Yes! Here is the next chapter! And I promise not to leave you hanging again for a good long while. If it's any consolation, I used the time well… :)
Is the chocolate evil? Is Mira evil? Or is she just an innocent with a few weird tendencies? Only time will tell…
No, Hestia was attacked in her own home, where she was laid up with a cold. As to whether or not Voldemort knows the location of Grimmauld Place, don't for that it's protected by the Fidelius charm. If Kreacher couldn't tell the Malfoys in Book 5, I doubt that Mira (if she is a Death Eater) could tell Voldie where it is either. He'd have to hear it from Dumbledore, or he'd never be able to find it. Of course, that leaves the question of how Mira got past the charm if she didn't really hear it from Dumbledore like she says…
You like Harry torture? Poor Harry! I always get very angry when he gets cruciatus-ed, but not so much as when it's someone else… like, say, Neville.
Yes, I like to put the exciting stuff at the end of the chapter wherever I can. (Tricky for the next few, though) Especially when you "publish" in a serial format like this. It makes sure my readers keep coming back. :)
Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Looking forward to another nice, hefty review.
*****Notice**** All chapters of this story have been replaced in order to correct a repetitive and idiotic spelling mistake on my part. A great deal of thanks to astronut for pointing it out! No other changes were made to the text, however. Thanks, neoepiphany****
Chapter Eleven
Tea with Hagrid
"—wasn't having those visions anymore."
"It seems the matter is more complicated than I suspected. We might be able to get a firmer grasp on the situation once we've had a chance to talk to him."
"Is there anything we can do to stop it?"
"I'm afraid I've exhausted every outlet of research. There's simply never been a situation such as this before, so, without risking Harry's life, there's little we can try." There was the sound of footsteps, coming closer. "But unless I'm much mistaken, Professor McGonagall, our patient is awake."
"I'll fetch Madame Pomfrey," McGonagall said. Her footsteps retreated, and Harry heard the door to the hospital wing open and close.
Harry didn't open his eyes. He didn't want to look at Dumbledore. Once again, he had the curious sensation that a snake was coiling within him and that to see Dumbledore would be to invite it to attack.
"Good morning, Harry," the Headmaster said, pleasantly. Harry heard the squeaking of springs—Dumbledore had sat down beside him.
"Good morning," Harry replied. He was surprised at how thin and croaky his voice was.
"I understand you've had another vision," Dumbledore said gently.
Harry winced. He had almost managed to forget the dream in sleep, but at Dumbledore's words it rushed back to him. He opened his eyes, desperate to chase away the vision of Hestia Jones's face that was burned onto the backs of his eyelids. "Yes, Professor," Harry whispered. He stared at the ceiling.
"Can you tell me about it?"
Harry sighed. "She's dead—Hestia Jones is dead."
"Are you sure?"
"I saw her," Harry snapped. He swallowed hard, and softened his tone. "Professor."
"I understand," Dumbledore said kindly. "But I need you to tell me what you saw. Exactly what you saw."
Harry grimaced. Reliving the visions was tiring and painful. It had been one thing when he'd seen Mr. Weasley attacked—he had been only too eager to get them to listen to him then. He'd been driven by urgency. But there was no urgency now, no hurry to make them understand. It was too late for Hestia.
"I was—was Voldemort," Harry said. He swallowed. His mouth was very dry. He didn't know how to go on; he didn't know if he wanted to go on.
"What was the first thing you saw?" Dumbledore suggested.
"A dirty white room," Harry replied. "White walls, white floor, white everything. It was all filthy." As he spoke the vision began to reappear in his mind, as though he'd hit the play button on a video. He saw the hunched figure of the cowering Death Eater. "Bellatrix Lestrange," he spat. "She'd been torturing Hestia." Harry stopped, rubbing his eyes.
Dumbledore was silent for a moment. "Then what did you see?"
Harry felt cold. "Voldemort looked at the fireplace. She was there. Hestia was there—" He suddenly swallowed hard, but he continued. He gathered his strength to go on. "Bellatrix said that before she died, Hestia told them two names. She said that Hestia gave them two names that their spy hadn't given them yet." Harry sat up. "Their spy! Professor, she said they have a spy."
"I see," Dumbledore said, his voice very grave. Harry risked a look at him. He wasn't looking at Harry, but staring at a point on the opposite wall with a grim expression. Dumbleore stood up, and walked around the bed, looking thoughtfully at his feet. At last he spoke. "Did she say anything else? Anything at all?"
Harry shook his head. "At the end of my dream, when my scar began to hurt, she called out to Voldemort. Asking if he was okay. But that was it."
"Harry, it is very important that you tell me the truth. Since last spring, exactly how many visions like this have you had? No matter how minor they may have seemed," Dumbledore asked.
"None, Professor," Harry said. "Until last night, I haven't had any dreams at all."
Dumbledore paused mid-stride. He turned his twinkling eyes to Harry. "None? No dreams at all? Not even normal ones?"
"That's right," Harry said.
"How about your scar? Does it still hurt a lot?"
Harry shrugged. "It hurts a bit sometimes, but not like last year. Not as much."
Dumbledore resumed his aimless pacing around the bed. "Interesting," he murmured.
"What's interesting?" Harry asked. He could feel the little well of irritation that he was trying so hard to suppress opening up again.
"It's interesting," Dumbledore said, "that you seem to have found a way to shut off Voldemort's link to you, Harry."
Harry's jaw fell slightly. "What? No—I'm not doing anything," he protested.
"It may have something to do with Voldemort's attempt to possess you," Dumbledore sugested. "Perhaps you weakened the link between the two of you, or you awakened some kind of self-defense mechanism that won't allow him to access your mind."
Harry hadn't given a lot of thought to why he'd stopped dreaming; he'd just considered it a blessing that he had done so. However, either of Dumbledore's theories were welcome. He felt well rid of Voldemort's connection to him—that is, if he really was rid of it.
"But the question we must return to," Dumbledore said, "is why the link manifested itself again last night. Professor McGonagall tells me that she sent you and your friends the clipping from the Evening Prophet, so you already knew that Hestia was missing."
"We were worried about her, and about everyone out looking for her," Harry said. "I was still thinking about it when I fell asleep. I was thinking that if she died, I'd know it because of my scar."
"Ah," Dumbledore said, smiling again. "Most extraordinary. Harry—do you realize what this means? It's possible that you managed to overcome your own self-defense mechanism in order to get the information you desired. You manifested the link against Voldemort."
Harry frowned. "Are you saying… Are you saying that I possessed Voldemort?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes," Dumbledore smiled. "By concentrating on Hestia, you initiated the link by an act of will. This is an impressive feat, Harry."
Harry sank back onto his pillows. It made sense. This time had been different than the last times he had seen what Voldemort saw. Those times, he had felt physically ill, or somehow violated by the visions. Now, all he felt was tired. He remembered Voldemort crying out in pain—pain he shared with Harry. That had definitely never happened before.
Dumbledore reappeared at Harry's side. "But I must ask you not to attempt to reinitiate the link. By doing so, you are putting yourself in grave danger. If Voldemort is aware of what you are doing, he could do you serious harm."
"But Professor—" Harry began to protest. He had thought last year that being able to see through Voldemort's eyes, he could be a useful asset for the Order. But, if he were able to somehow possess Voldemort at will, that was even more of a gift. They wouldn't even need spies anymore. But, he didn't get the chance to voice his dissent; Madame Pomfrey came bustling toward them, Professor McGonagall nearby, and Dumbledore raised his hand to silence Harry.
"It is far too dangerous for you to try again, Harry. You must take my word on that. I will rely on you to do the right thing," Dumbledore said.
"What hurts, Harry?" Madame Pomfrey said, grabbing his wrist and checking his pulse. "Stomach? Head? Scar? Any nausea? Blurry vision?" She peered in his eyes and laid a hand on his forehead to check for fever.
"No, nothing," Harry said, jerking his head from under her hand. "I'm just tired, that's all."
"Hmmm," Madame Pomfrey said thoughtfully, straightening up triumphantly, "I think some rest would do you good. You should stay here for the rest of the weekend."
"What?!" Harry exclaimed. "No—I'm not that tired. Just a few hours, that's all."
Madame Pomfrey frowned down at Harry. "We'll see," she said in a tone that clearly indicated she disagreed.
"We'll leave you to it, then," Dumbledore said. "Come, Minerva. We have much to do." McGonagall sped to his side, and they walked out, grave-faced and whispering.
Madame Pomfrey drew the curtains around Harry's bed, and the light became pleasantly dim. He didn't know what time it was, but he guessed it was around mid-morning. He lay back on his pillows, and, in a very short time, he drifted back off to sleep—blissfully dreamless sleep.
He awoke again at last, and marvelled at how much better he felt. He didn't know if he'd slept for a few minutes or a few hours, and, he wondered for a moment why he'd awoken so quickly. The question was promptly answered by a growl from his stomach.
Harry sat up, and pushed aside the curtains. Madame Pomfrey, spun around from two beds away, where she was tending a Hufflepuff second year who, judging from the purple boils erupting all over his face, had come off the worse in a fight with the Slytherins.
"Where do you think you're going?" she asked.
"I'm starving. I'm going to lunch," he replied.
"Get back in bed. I'll have a tray sent up."
Harry managed to bargain with her, and eventually, Madame Pomfrey capitulated. Harry was allowed to go, as long as he promised to come straight back if he felt the least bit out of sorts. His robes had been sent up from the dormitory; he changed quickly behind a curtain and hurried to the Great Hall. He pushed open the door and crossed the hall to the half-full Gryffindor table.
Ron and Hermione were sitting with their backs to the door, heads bowed in concerned conversation. Ron was munching on a bit of apple pie. Harry plopped down across from them. "What'd I miss?" he asked, helping himself to some chicken and peas.
"Harry!" Hermione squealed, smiling brightly. "You're back! Are you okay?"
"We thought you'd be in there all day at least," Ron said.
"If Madame Pomfrey'd had her way, I would've been. But I'm fine. Nothing to worry about. I just needed a bit of sleep, that's all," Harry said. He ripped into the chicken. It was juicy and rich, tasting of lemon and pepper. He grabbed another piece.
"A little hungry, are we?" Ron said, raising an eyebrow.
"Absolutely famished," Harry said between mouthfuls. "Feel like I haven't eaten in a year, to be honest."
"What happened, Harry?" Hermione said, frowning. "What did you see?"
Harry sighed. "Voldemort. Bellatrix Lestrange. And Hestia."
Hermione gasped a little, and pressed her hand to her mouth. "Was she—?"
Harry nodded. Hermione pressed her hand to her mouth, whispering "Oh, no." Ron just shook his head, and took a bite of his pie.
"That's not the worst of it, either," Harry said. "You were right, Hermione. They do have a spy in the Order."
Ron's mouth dropped open, displaying the pie. He quickly shut it again and swallowed. "Are you sure?" he said.
Harry just nodded again. "They said so."
"Oh no," Hermione whispered again. "You told Dumbledore, of course?"
"Of course. He didn't seem all that surprised, actually."
"Maybe," Ron said, his brow furrowed, "maybe they knew there was a spy already. And—no, wait for it, Hermione—they've been feeding them false information to keep Voldemort off guard."
Hermione sighed. "It is possible, Ron," she said diplomatically. Ron smiled, happily.
"But who could it be?" Hermione murmured, more to herself than to them.
Ron gave her a condescending look. "Isn't it obvious? Someone new turns up under mysterious circumstances, and the next thing we know, we've got spies in the Order. Just who could it be?" he said, rubbing his chin in mock-concentration.
"Yes, but it just seems a little—well, obvious, doesn't it?" Hermione said. "I mean, obviously we'd think of Mira first because she's the newest. No one trusts her yet."
"Dumbledore trusts her," Harry pointed out.
"Does he?" Hermione said. "How do you know?"
"Lupin said so," Harry shrugged.
"Dumbledore believes in second chances," Hermione said, frowning.
"But who else could it be, Hermione?" Ron persisted. "It's obviously not Lupin, McGonagall, or Dumbledore."
"I doubt it's Tonks or Kingsley, either," Harry added.
"Could be Snape," Ron mused, and Hermione shot him a withering look. "What? It could be!"
"The fact is, it could be anyone," Hermione sighed.
Harry frowned. The last time there had been a spy in the Order, it had turned out to be the person they least suspected. And that had cost his mother and father their lives. The thought made his recently-filled stomach turn. "Anything in this morning's Prophet, Hermione?" he asked, desperately changing the subject.
"Just more details about yesterday's attack," Hermione said. "And they say that Hestia Jones is still missing. Oh, and an article about Fudge's falling popularity."
Harry sighed, and pushed aside a small pile of chicken bones. He bit into a roll.
"Er," Ron said, "do you fancy a bit more quidditch before we go to Hagrid's?"
"Hagrid's!" Harry said, smiling. "I'd completely forgotten."
"You don't have time for quidditch. Neither of you has started your homework, and I'm not going to help you finish this time," Hermione said matter-of-factly.
"Thank you," Ron snapped at her, "we are perfectly capable of finishing a Care of Magical Creatures essay and doing a bit of practice for Charms and Transfiguration on Sunday. That leaves the whole of today free for fun and liesure."
Hermione just sighed.
Harry helped himself to a piece of pie, and quickly ate it. They were almost the last ones out of the Great Hall when they finally left. Harry and Ron had reverted to their favorite subject of conversation—the upcoming quidditch tryouts. Harry had never actualy tried out for quidditch; he'd been picked by Professor McGonagall. Ron on the other hand had been to tryouts for three different positions last year, first his own, and then the tryouts to replace Fred, George, and Harry when Umbridge threw them off the team. Ron was describing what they'd been like to Harry, when the three of them rounded a corner and walked into a gigging crowd.
"What's going on?" Hermione said, standing on tiptoe to peer over the heads blocking their view.
"Move aside, move aside," Ron said, pushing a group of first-years out of the way. "Prefects coming through." Harry followed him through the crowd.
When he saw what was in the center of the crowd, Harry burst out laughing. Apparently, someone had let loose a sackfull of Weasley's Evolving Fluffblasters. He'd never seen them in action, but Ron had told him about them over the summer. They looked like fluffy little balls, but, they were spelled to change into whatever shape was best suited to mischeif making at the moment. So, anyone wishing to cause a little trouble, could tuck one into a quiet corner and in a few minute it would evolve into something else. A few of them were still in ball shape, and these had been thrown into a sack by Filch, who was being assisted by a handful of prefects: Ginny, Terry Boot, and Ernie Macmillan. The remaing ten or so had turned into a variety of bizarre shapes. One looked like a fuzzy octopus, and had gripped Ernie's head firmly with it's tentacles. Ernie was trying to get it off by shooting a variety of curses at it, but, as Harry watched, the octopus sprouted a thick shell. The crowd burst out laughing as Ernie dropped to all fours and began banging his head on the ground. Terry had four or five of them that looked like wide-eyed monkeys hanging onto his robes like doxies. They were singing a rude song in loud, high-pitched voices, and every time he tried to catch one, it bit his fingers. Filch was busily trying to disentangle one that had assumed a long, snake-like shape and then wrapped itself around his cat, Mrs. Norris. Ginny, meanwhile, was red faced and panting as she chased one that looked like a small, furry ostritch. It batted its long eyelashes at the crowd as they circled past. To top it all off, Peeves had gotten into the action, and was circling the crowd singing a rude song, and shooting spitballs at the prefects.
"I'm going to kill Fred and George," Ginny panted as she ran past Ron.
"Me too," Hermione said, as she sent a Reductor curse at the octopus on Ernie's head, sending it flying.
"It's not like they set them loose," Ron pointed out, ducking a spitball. "It's not really their fault what people do with their merchandise."
"They invented the stupid things!" Hermione said, tossing the octopus, which had reverted to a little fluffy ball, back into the bag. "Impressive, but more than a little annoying."
"These don't come—Ouch!—cheap, either," Ron said, picking a monkey shaped one off of Terry and tossing it into the bag. "Someone—Ouch!—saved up for quite a—Eeech!—while."
Harry decided to help, and, after only a minute or two, the fluffblaster he had been trying to disentangle from Terry's robes had formed itself into a giant ring, pinning Harry's arms at his side. He tried vainly to angle his wand well enough to curse it, but succeeded only in setting the hem of his robes on fire. By the time he stamped it out, most of the fluffblasters were back in the bag. Hermione managed to get Harry's off, and it reverted back to its ball form. Filch confiscated the bag, and carried it away, muttering about detentions and possible hanging by the thumbs in the dungeons.
"I'm going to have to write Fred and George about that," Ron said. "They'll be thrilled."
Hermione pursed her lips, but didn't say anything.
By the time they got back to Gryffindor tower and changed into less dusty and fur-covered robes, it was almost time to go down to Hagrid's. They walked across the grounds, enjoying the warm, sunny weather, and banged on Hagrid's front door. A chorus of barks rang from inside.
"Down Fang!" Hagrid shouted. "Down! Come on in," he called toward the door, and they let themselves in.
Hagrid looked a mess. He had another huge bruise on the side of his face, and his wiry hair and beard were full of twigs.
"Hagrid! What happened?" Hermione said. "You were looking so much better!"
"It's nothin'," Hagrid protested. "Just a bit o' a bruise is all."
"Is it Grawp?" Harry asked, feeling that he somehow knew the answer before he asked.
"Yeah," Hagrid nodded, motioning them all to chairs. "Big feller just don' know his own strength, tha's all. He's been much better since Olympe brought Hedgarr up—" Hagrid's eyes suddenly widened and he turned quickly to get down a milk jug and sugar.
"Hedgarr? Who's Hedgarr?" Ron exclaimed in alarm.
"Oh, Hagrid, you didn't bring another giant!" Hermione moaned.
"They're only little ones, Hermione," Hagrid protested. "An' Grawp was lonely."
Hermione looked as though she were going to cry.
"There's going to be an entire tribe of giants in the Forbidden Forest at this rate," Ron sighed.
"Don' be silly," Hagrid said. "Jus' the two of 'em."
"Yeah, but what if they decide to have babies?" Ron said.
Hagrid ignored Ron's comment. "You'll have to meet Hedgarr," Hagrid went on. "She's a real sigh'. Foot-anna-half taller than Grawp, but just as sweet as she can be."
"Sweet?" Harry said, incredulous.
"Fer her kind," Hagrid qualified it. "I mean, she don' let him rip down the trees, and she keeps him quiet. Quieter."
"But Hagrid—" Hermione protested.
"Nah, they're happy, Hermione. They like bein' together," he said. "An' they're getting' where they're okay on their own. Hedgarr don' speak a word of English, but Grawp's gettin' pretty good at it."
Harry could tell that Hagrid didn't want to talk about the giants. But there was one question that he had to ask. "What does Dumbledore say about them, Hagrid?"
Hagrid sighed, and looked at Harry. He half smiled. "Shoulda known you'd know. Nothin' gets by you three."
Harry shrugged. "Dumbledore had to know. He went into the forest after Umbridge. All the centaurs saw Grawp. And it wouldn't exactly be easy to overlook all the trees he's pulled down."
"Dumbledore," Hagrid murmured, "thinks I ought not ter have brought him in the first place, but that now it'd be cruel ter send him back."
Hermione nodded. "He's gotten used to you," she said. Harry remembered Grawp last spring as he chased down the centaurs shouting for "Hagger."
"He's my brother," Hagrid sniffed. "But Dumbledore wants 'em off the grounds. Says they're a danger ter the students. He's tryin' to find a reserve or somethin' where we can put 'em." Hagrid sniffed again, and looked almost as sad as he had when they'd sent Norbert away.
"But you can still visit him, Hagrid," Hermione said, encouragingly.
"Yeah," Hagrid said sadly. He poured the tea, and they sat for a moment, sipping their tea and looking at their hands. There didn't seem to be anything else to say.
"So, er, Hagrid," Harry said. "Coming to the quidditch trials?" Hermione, who was no doubt getting a bit tired of hearing about quidditch sighed and leaned her head on her hand.
"When are they?" Hagrid asked.
"Next Tuesday," Ron said.
"Aw," Hagrid said, shaking his head a little. "Wish I could. But I got some importan' business that night."
"For the Order?" Harry asked eagerly.
"Never mind who it's fer," Hagrid said, sipping his tea. Then, suddenly, as though he'd just remembered, "Oh! Harry! How're yeh feelin'?"
"What?" Harry raised his eyebrows. "Fine, thanks."
"I heard about yer, eh, thing," he said. "This morning."
"Ah," Harry said. "That. I'm fine, really. Slept it off."
"Yeh need to be careful," Hagrid admonished him. "It's dangerous, pokin' around in You-Know-Who's mind. Yeh could be hurt—or killed—or driven mad."
Hermione's eyes widened. "Mad?" she said.
"So I've heard," Hagrid said.
Harry just quietly sipped his tea. He tried to fight off a vision of Ron and Hermione coming to visit him in the special ward at St. Mungo's. He could see himself perched on a bed between Lockhart and the furry-haired witch, staring vacantly into space as the boisterous nurse said, "Look, Harry! You've got visitors!"
He shook off the vision and frowned. Harry had a gift—a powerful gift. He could spy on Voldemort, and be left feeling fine except for a slightly tender scar and a bit of weariness. And yet everyone was insisting that he not do it, just because of a chance that it could be dangerous. He thought he understood how Sirius had felt last year, while he was cooped up in Grimmauld Place when he could have been out fighting. As the conversation turned to Care of Magical Creatures classes, and how fascinating Hermione found the spirit creatures they were studying, Harry stared at his hands. He watched the sunlight play across the tiny ruby embedded in the black onyx.
He thought of Sirius.
***********************
Reviewer responses.
godrick_gal: Welcome to the story! Hope you stick with us. Thanks for the compliment! I'm sure it can be improved, though—no one's perfect!
Ryanaven: Good eye for detail! Yes, I have rather read the books a lot. When I first moved to Japan, before I found the local English bookstore, all I had for company was my HP boxed set. I think I can recite PoA from memory… Enjoy the clue hunting. (mwahaha) How I love to draw out the suspense until the end and torment everyone! What bliss.
Sasinak: Yes, who is that darn spy? A question that will haunt us for some time, I'm afraid…
Sab: Thanks!
Iavala: Thank you. Sorry to have kept you waiting!
Dshaky: I must confess, you threw me for a loop here. I read some Piers Anthony back in junior high school. I liked his Incarnations series, but there's nothing like that in there, so I guessed you were referring to a Xanth thing. I like the first 3 or 4 Xanth books, but I don't think much of them after that. I couldn't remember anything like Mira's linguistic difficulties, so I did some web research and found out that in later Xanth books there's a demon who mixes up her words. *sigh* It's too late for me to go back and change things (and I don't really want to anyway), so all I can say is that it was entirely coincidental. Not that I expect you to believe me… So, I'll just say that there is a specific REASON why Mira mixes up words, a reason that has to do with who she is and where she came from. The trait is based on a personal experience, not another writer. I would never be so cheap. But thanks for pointing it out.
Wynjara: Hopefully things have cleared up a bit! I remember finals brain-drain all too well…
Wiccan Pussy Kat: Yes! Yes! Here is the next chapter! And I promise not to leave you hanging again for a good long while. If it's any consolation, I used the time well… :)
Is the chocolate evil? Is Mira evil? Or is she just an innocent with a few weird tendencies? Only time will tell…
No, Hestia was attacked in her own home, where she was laid up with a cold. As to whether or not Voldemort knows the location of Grimmauld Place, don't for that it's protected by the Fidelius charm. If Kreacher couldn't tell the Malfoys in Book 5, I doubt that Mira (if she is a Death Eater) could tell Voldie where it is either. He'd have to hear it from Dumbledore, or he'd never be able to find it. Of course, that leaves the question of how Mira got past the charm if she didn't really hear it from Dumbledore like she says…
You like Harry torture? Poor Harry! I always get very angry when he gets cruciatus-ed, but not so much as when it's someone else… like, say, Neville.
Yes, I like to put the exciting stuff at the end of the chapter wherever I can. (Tricky for the next few, though) Especially when you "publish" in a serial format like this. It makes sure my readers keep coming back. :)
Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Looking forward to another nice, hefty review.