Chapter Twenty-One
The Ghost's Tale
"Wait here," McGonagall said, gesturing to the right of the gargoyle statue that marked the entrance to the headmaster's office. "I'll go up and tell the headmaster that you're coming. Pepper Imp." The gargoyle sprang aside, revealing the ever-revolving staircase behind.
They stood in the hallway amid an awkward silence. Something about their encounter with McGonagall had drained away a lot of their earlier enthusiasm.
"Harry," Hermione hissed after a moment. "Did you just tell her about the vision so that we could come to Dumbledore, or did you see something that relates to—?"
"I saw something," Harry muttered. He had seen Voldemort holding that little vial, hadn't he? He just hadn't understood what it was. He hadn't told the others about it before, because it had seemed so unimportant at the time. So trivial amid all the other things that had happened in his mind.
The grinding of stone on stone announced McGonagall's return as the statue sprang aside, bowing slightly. McGonagall stepped off the spiral staircase, and said simply, "Come with me, please." They climbed aboard the stairs. Soon, they found themselves outside the door to Dumbledore's office. Harry heard the familiar buzz of conversation behind the door, and knew that Dumbledore was talking to the portraits of all the past headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts School. Harry had had plenty of experience with the portraits over the last few years.
McGonagall raised a hand to rap on the door, but there was no need. It swung open before them. Harry walked into the circular room first. Fawkes stood on his golden stand behind the door. His feathers fluffed cheerfully. Harry smiled at the beautiful red phoenix. The last time he had seen Fawkes, he had been a tiny, ugly baby after swallowing one of Voldemort's fatal curses. The room echoed with the clicking and whirring of Dumbledore's many silver instruments. With a tiny surge of guilt, Harry remembered how he had smashed several of them last spring. But he had been so very angry…
"Good evening, Harry," Dumbledore said. He was seated behind his desk, his hands steepled in front of him. "Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger. Please be seated." He flicked his wand and an overstuffed purple sofa appeared in front of him. They sat down gingerly, and sunk into the cushions. Hermione's feet flailed momentarily while she tried to upright herself. McGonagall stood beside Professor Dumbledore like a sentry, her expression grave.
"Professor McGonagall tells me that you have had another vision, Harry," Dumbledore said, leaning forward.
"Yes, professor," Harry said. He was afraid Dumbledore would ask why he hadn't gone to him sooner, like McGonagall had. He didn't want to say "Because I thought I would get in trouble." It was true, but it sounded so stupid.
Fortunately, Dumbledore didn't waste time. "Please tell us everything you saw. Spare no detail, Harry."
Harry looked sideways at Ron, who gave him the tiniest of encouraging nods. Harry swallowed, and launched into the tale. He described it even more carefully than he had when he had told Ron and Hermione about it. He relayed not only the words, but also the way he had felt at every moment of the vision. Dumbledore didn't interrupt him; he simply listened as Harry revealed everything.
When Harry had finished, Dumbledore frowned. "The scene you saw at Grimmauld Place, Harry. You're sure there was no one in the room with you but Remus and Mira?"
"Yes, Professor," Harry said. McGonagall's eyes widened as she looked at Dumbledore, who frowned. Dumbledore motioned for her to lean closer. He whispered to her for a moment. Harry watched McGonagall's face carefully as she listened to Dumbledore. Her eyebrows drew closer together, her lips thinned, and her eyes took on a steely look. After a long moment she nodded, straightened up, and left the room. Harry watched her leave—as she pushed through the door she began to tug on something around her neck.
Dumbledore coughed politely, and the students' three heads turned back toward the claw-footed desk. "Before I ask you my questions," Dumbledore said, "is there anything you wish to ask me?"
Harry nodded, startled. This was an unexpected opportunity. "What happened to Professor Snape?" he asked. Ron nodded beside him.
"Ah," Dumbledore said. "I rather suspected that would be your first question. Very well." He leaned forward, folding his hands over the soft purple blotter on his desk.
"Bill Weasley tells me that you found out about the Network Charm," he said. "It didn't come as much of a surprise that you found out. Hagrid has been saying since last summer that it was only a matter of time before you uncovered that information." Dumbledore chuckled. "There was some discussion of explaining it to you when we implemented it. However, after a great deal of arguing, we decided against it."
"Why?" Ron asked.
"Your mother was most vocally against it, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, the trace of a laugh in his eye. "While I saw no harm, per se, in telling you about it, we did decide that it was best not to, at least initially. You see, we predicted that your ultimate reaction would be to try and obtain a piece of the enchanted jewelry yourselves."
"What would be so bad about that?" Harry asked. "We're a part of this fight, too. Don't we deserve to be included?"
"I'm afraid it would be counterproductive," Dumbledore said. "The Network Charm was one of my more clever ideas, but it isn't without its limits. For one thing, no message can be directed to a particular witch or wizard. What one person says, everyone hears. In the case of alarms, this has proved most useful. However, there are occasionally things said over the network that it would be best if you weren't subjected to."
Dumbledore lifted the sleeve of his navy-blue robes, revealing a very thin silver chain around his wrist. He carefully undid the clasp, and laid the chain on his desk. "Anyone in danger, or wishing to give a report on their activities need only touch the silver—or gold, in the case of Remus Lupin—and everyone hears. Unfortunately, there are sometimes messages we cannot respond to." Lines had appeared around his eyes. He looked sad, as though he were recalling sad memories. "More than once, pleas for help have been sent out over the network, yet there was nothing we could do. It is a terrible thing, hearing someone call out for help, and yet being unable to act." Dumbledore shook his head. "It is a responsibility that the Order has accepted. But I cannot lay this burden on you yet. Do you understand?"
Reluctantly, Harry nodded. He still thought he deserved to be included in the Network, but there were more pressing matters at the moment.
"Very well. Last Wednesday morning, a message went out over the Network," Dumbledore said. "Unfortunately, we aren't sure where the message originated—whether it was somewhere on the Hogwarts grounds, or somewhere nearby. All we know is who it originated with. Severus Snape."
"What did the message say, Professor?" Hermione asked.
Dumbledore stood, and walked to the window near his desk. He gazed out at the twinkling stars and the shining snow for a moment. When he spoke, he did so without turning around. "He said, 'They've come for me.' After that, there was only silence."
Hermione gasped. Ron elbowed her in the side, and she clamped a hand over her mouth.
Dumbledore didn't turn. "Immediately, several of our number attempted to apparate to his location, but they were unsuccessful. A few moments later, Elphias Doge reported that the Dark Mark had been sighted in the country side near Hogsmeade. Once again, several members of the Order tried to locate Severus, but found themselves in an apparently empty field. They quickly combed the scene."
Dumbledore paused. He hadn't moved since he stood up and faced the window. "All they found, I'm afraid, was a silver earring lying in the mud near a few scorch marks."
Hermione clamped her other hand over her mouth. Dumbledore turned again. He looked tired. "I'm afraid we don't know exactly what happened, and all attempts to find Severus have so far been unsuccessful. My own theory is that Severus somehow discovered that Voldemort was coming after him, and apparated away from Hogwarts in an effort to protect the students. Before he was captured, he must have thrown away the earring. If a single piece of Network jewelry fell into the hands of Death Eaters, everyone wearing it would be at risk," he explained.
"Since then, we have all been devoting as much time as we can to searching for Severus. Why Voldemort decided to come after him now, of all times, is uncertain, but it may have to do with the informant among us." A shadow flicked across Dumbledore's face as he said this, but it was gone again in an instant. "I must ask you three not to share this information with other students. We don't want to cause alarm. They are perfectly safe here at Hogwarts. Now more than ever—we've added more charms and spells around the school. Every secret passage is being guarded, and every entrance has been enchanted. However, the potential kidnapping of a teacher is likely to make many of the students feel very uncomfortable indeed."
Harry nodded.
"Your information, Harry, will be valuable in the search. If nothing else, we know now that Severus is still alive," Dumbledore said gravely. "However, I want to plead with you once again. Do not attempt to reinitiate this link."
"But Professor," Harry said, "it's been useful so far! It hasn't hurt me at all—"
Ron snorted. Harry glared at him.
"You wished to say something, Mr. Weasley?" Dumbledore said pleasantly.
"Er, no sir," Ron said quickly, after a glance at Harry.
"Then I will," Hermione said irritably. "Harry was gone for hours. Eventually Ron and Neville had to wake him up. They said he looked like he was dead, sir."
"I was fine," Harry insisted, angrily. "If they hadn't woken me up, I might've found out something useful."
"He wasn't breathing," Ron said quietly. "And he was ice cold." Harry glared at Ron, who didn't meet his gaze.
"Harry," Dumbledore said, sitting down again. "I am asking you—not as your headmaster, but as a concerned friend—not to try this again. You have no idea how dangerous these attempts are. Voldemort has not sensed your presence yet, and you don't realize how lucky you are that that is the case. When he does, he could harm you in ways you cannot imagine."
Dumbledore leaned over the desk. Harry had never seen him look so concerned. "I know that you want to help. I know that through these attempts you're trying to save lives. I understand that. But every time you try, you're putting your own life in terrible, terrible peril. Your parents, and your godfather, would never forgive me if I failed to stop you. I am an old man, Harry. I would hate to bear the burden of their disapproval. Promise me you won't attempt the link again."
Harry was shocked. Of all the things he had expected Dumbledore to say about his using the link, calling on his parents' and Sirius's memories hadn't been one of them. He nodded mutely.
"Thank you, Harry," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair. He steepled his hands under his mustache again. "Now, about the information you uncovered tonight. You came across the de Malaise story, Miss Granger?"
Hermione jerked, as though waking out of a reverie, and nodded. "I think they might have learned how Pennyworth did the spell, Professor, and that's how they got into Harry's house."
"The vial that Harry saw in Voldemort's hand certainly seems to corroborate your theory," Dumbledore said.
"Oh, poo," said one of the portraits, a particularly frail looking old witch in a silk gown. "I knew Jacques de Malaise in my day, you know. A student in Hufflepuff. He was a terrible liar. I wouldn't trust a word he said any more than I'd trust a billygoat." She scowled. "I once caught him in the owlery with a pot of jam and a boggart in a jar. He said he was—"
"Thank you, Dora," Dumbledore said quickly. "We did consider the possibility that someone had tried that method this summer, but not particularly seriously. To the best of our knowledge, no one knows how Pennyworth performed the spell."
"McGonagall—er, Professor McGonagall—said he got the girl—er, Lady Catherine—to murder her uncle," Ron said. He sounded as though he were very much hoping Dumbledore would dismiss this possibility outright.
"It is a popular theory," Dumbledore said. "But I have had the opportunity to speak with Lady Catherine several times, and I find it very hard to believe that she would be capable of such a thing—even under the influence of magic."
The three of them exchanged a glance of surprise. Dumbledore had spoken with Lady Catherine? Wasn't that impossible?
"But Professor McGonagall said that Lady Catherine died right after the attack," Hermione said, breaking their silence. "And even if she hadn't, it happened five hundred years ago! She'd be long dead, wouldn't she?"
"Lady Catherine the Gray died a few months after her uncle's untimely death," Dumbledore nodded. "She's resided here at Hogwarts ever since. I find her to be a noble and good-natured young woman."
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the whirring and clicking of Dumbledore's many silver instruments. Then Hermione's eyes widened into two circles of surprise. "Oh," she whispered.
"By Jove, she certainly figured that out quickly!" laughed a portly old headmaster in a gilt frame.
"Figured out what? What's going on?" demanded the frail old headmistress. "Are we still talking about de Malaise?"
"What do you mean she's resided at Hogwarts ever since?" Ron asked. "You mean she's buried here?"
"Lady Catherine the Gray, Ron," Hermione said.
Harry's jaw dropped a bit. "You don't mean—"
Dumbledore nodded. "Our very own Ravenclaw ghost. The Gray Lady," he said, his eyes twinkling. "I'm afraid I've never broached the subject of the Pennyworth incident with her. Sir Nicholas warned me many years ago that it upsets her too much. However, under the circumstances…" Dumbledore frowned slightly. "Armando, if you would be so kind?"
"Certainly," said the nearly-bald Armando Dippet from his portrait near Dumbledore's desk. "My old house, you know," he said conspiratorially to Harry. "Know the Gray Lady well." He stepped out of his frame, and ran through the portraits around the room, forcing several former Headmasters and headmistresses to squeeze almost out of their own frames to make room for him.
"Do you think she knows something Professor?" Hermione asked.
"If anyone does, it will be Lady Catherine. Fortunately few wizards have made the connection between the famed Lady Catherine the Gray and our own house ghost, so she's been allowed her privacy for many years now." Dumbledore smiled. "She is a lovely woman. I wonder if you've had the opportunity to speak with her?"
"Er," Harry said, "not really, no." The Gray Lady had always been a part of the Hogwarts scenery for him. She was just another glowing silver face that he saw roaming the halls with the other house ghosts, another face singing Christmas carols in a ghostly whisper.
"Pity," Dumbledore said. "She's most knowledgeable about magical beasts. In her day, they say she was the most prolific Jarvey breeder in the wizarding world. Of course, Jarveys have rather gone out of style nowadays, despite their usefulness with gnomes. It's their rather salty language, I'm afraid."
"But Professor, if she could tell you the truth, why didn't you ask her sooner?" Hermione asked.
"We didn't believe the story was true, Miss Granger. I still have my doubts," Dumbledore confided. "But that vial that Harry saw with Voldemort suggests a scenario which we need to verify as soon as possible."
Armando Dippet reappeared in his portrait. "She's on her way up," he said, his face slightly red.
A moment later, the silvery form of the Gray Lady slid into the room. "Good evening, Albus," she said. Her voice was faint, as though it were far away, but it was thick, like the purring of a contented cat. "You sent for me?"
"I hope we are not disturbing you, madame," Dumbledore said, standing.
"Not at all," the Gray Lady said cheerfully. "I was just having a game of snakes and ladders with Sir Nicholas and the Baron."
"I'm afraid, madame, that I must ask for your help," said Dumbledore. "It is a rather unpleasant matter."
The Gray Lady settled herself on a chair near Dumbledore, spreading her skirts out graciously before her. "In all things I am your most humble servant, Albus," she said pleasantly. "How may I assist you?"
"I need to know about Bradfelt Pennyworth," Dumbledore said slowly.
The Gray Lady raised a silvery hand to her mouth, and looked away. She said nothing.
"I understand you knew him?" Dumbledore said soothingly.
"It is not something I speak of, Albus," The Gray lady murmured. Now her voice seemed to have faded to a tired whisper. "Bradfelt is long dead, and his story buried with him."
"Please forgive my indiscretion," Dumbledore said. He paused for a moment, allowing the Gray Lady to compose herself. She looked up mournfully. "Perhaps," Dumbledore continued, "you heard about the attack on Mr. Potter this summer?"
"Of course," she said. She straightened, and lifted her head aristocratically. "It was a matter of concern among us ghosts. We worry for all of our students, of course."
"Certainly," Dumbledore said. "But perhaps, madame, you did not know that Mr. Potter was protected by a powerful charm placed on him by his mother. I myself saw to it that Mr. Potter would be protected so long as he lived in his mother's sister's home."
"A charm much like that used to protect my Uncle Apollonius from Bradfelt," the Gray Lady murmured. "Yes, I see what you are suggesting. You want me to tell you if the stories are true."
Dumbledore nodded solemnly.
The Gray Lady sighed. She straightened herself, and when she spoke, it was with the resigned voice of one telling a long and painful tale. "I loved my uncle. I never knew my own father, you know. He was a dragon enthusiast, and died in an accident involving a pair of temperamental Chinese Fireballs shortly before I was born. Uncle Apollonius moved in with my mother and I, and he loved me like a father. He encouraged my love of magical creatures and taught me everything he knew.
"I went to Hogwarts as a girl," she continued. Harry thought her expression looked rather wooden. "I was very happy here. When I turned seventeen and had to leave, I was most distressed. Returning to the life of a simple country witch seemed so unappealing after all the excitement and joy of Hogwarts. I was very lonely after I returned home.
"Then, I attended a party given by Mother's friend, Wendolyn of Whitower. It was there that I met Bradfelt. Of course, I had heard all the old stories about Pennyworth and Uncle Apollonius. I never would have trusted him." She looked out the window, as though watching a scene only she could see. "He drank polyjuice potion, you see. He took the appearance of some other man, and he introduced himself as Bradfelt Goodcent.
"From that night on, he was seated next to me at every party or dinner I attended. He seemed so perfect. He was interested in me, and he knew some of the most fascinating stories. I loved him very deeply. I wanted nothing so much as to be near him. He asked me to marry him.
"My uncle deeply opposed the match. He had never met Bradfelt, you see. My uncle had grown to fear Pennyworth's repeated attacks so much that he never left the house any more. In those days, Bradfelt should have spoken to my uncle before he asked me, and my uncle was always a stickler for tradition. I told Bradfelt that I could not marry him until he spoke to my uncle."
The Gray Lady turned her head to look at Dumbledore. "The stories that circulated after my death claim that it was at that point that he enchanted me to murder my uncle. But there was no truth to those lies. Bradfelt told me that he could not speak to Uncle Apollonius because he was a distant cousin of Pennyworth, and the charm would not allow him to enter the house.
"Jacques de Malaise's story is true," she murmured. "Bradfelt told me he knew of a charm to enter the house. He said an incantation and cut my hand."
The Gray Lady raised her right hand. Across the palm was a faint, glowing white line. "This is where it was done. He took the blood of my hand and put it in a tiny bottle around his neck. I watched him go into the manor. A moment later, a flash of green light shone from every window. I panicked, and ran into the house. Too late—I found my uncle dead.
"I mourned two losses that day. My uncle's, of course, but also that of the Bradfelt I had loved. He had never even existed. I wasted away from my grief and guilt after that. Within a year I was dead. I could not bear to face my uncle in the afterlife, so I became a ghost. I returned to Hogwarts, the only place I was truly happy." The Gray Lady sighed. "And that, my dear Albus, is my whole sad story."
For a moment they were silent, giving the Gray Lady a chance to compose herself. Then Dumbledore spoke. "Thank you, Lady Catherine, for your candor. I know this has been most unpleasant for you. Now, I must ask you one more important question. Do you have any idea how Voldemort might have discovered the spell that Pennyworth used? Did he keep a diary perhaps?"
"All this time, I thought the secret died with me," the Gray Lady said. "I never thought anyone would be able to duplicate his results. You see, no one else has ever been able to do it, because everyone—even de Malaise himself—believed that Bradfelt had used a new spell. Everyone thought he had invented some kind of all-powerful incantation. In fact, he used a very simple spell. One I imagine even a few of the students here can manage."
Harry leaned forward, and found that he was sitting on the end of his seat. "And?" Dumbledore prompted.
"He used the Protean Charm," she said simply.
"Ahh," Dumbledore said. "Ingenious."
"The Protean Charm?" Hermione exclaimed. "How could that possibly—?" Then a light appeared to be lit behind her eyes. "Oh, of course."
"The Protean Charm?" Harry asked. Wasn't that the spell Hermione used to enchant the galleons so that the DA members would know when the next meeting was?
"It's a spell to change the shape of a thing so that it mimics the shape of another," Dumbledore explained. "I've never heard of it applied to people before, but with a few modifications—"
"Yes," the Gray Lady concurred. "'Protea Sanguine.'"
"That would modify the spell to affect only blood," Hermione said. "Yes, of course he'd need to keep the real blood in the vial very close for that to work, though. And it was very risky. He might've died on the spot if he'd made a mistake—"
"Pennyworth was very insistent on killing Uncle Apollonius," the Gray Lady said stiffly. "He would have considered it an acceptable risk."
"And the Death Eaters wouldn't think twice about dying for Voldemort," Harry said.
Dumbledore nodded. "Surely at some point along the line Pennyworth found some way of discerning whether you, Lady Catherine, and he had blood compatible enough to prevent him from dying. Voldemort probably chose his death eaters in the same way." Of course, Harry thought. No wonder Voldemort hadn't sent his top death eaters—he had needed ones who were somehow compatible with Dudley.
Dumbledore turned his attention again to the Lady Catherine. "Madame, can you think of any way Voldemort's supporters might have discovered this information?"
"As I said, I thought it died with me. I considered myself the last guardian of the secret. But—" she frowned. "I suppose they might've used dark magic."
Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Thank you again for your openness this evening, madame. I know this was difficult for you, but you have been most helpful."
The Gray Lady stood. Dumbledore rose to his feet. "It is ever my pleasure to serve you," she said, returning to the purring voice she had used when she first entered the room. "If ever I can be of assistance to you, don't hesitate to ask."
She nodded graciously at the students. "Good luck to you. And good evening to you all," she said, bowing her head slightly.
"Good evening, Lady Catherine," Dumbledore said. The Gray Lady swept out of the room, vanishing through a bookshelf to the right of the claw-footed desk.
"Well," Dumbledore continued, sinking back into his chair. "I suppose that's as much information as we're going to get tonight."
"What about Dudley?" Harry blurted out. "Aren't we going to talk to him?"
"Of course. I'll be sending a message to your Aunt and Uncle right away, Harry." They would love that, Harry thought. He could just imagine Uncle Vernon's beefy face as he read a letter informing that his son had potentially been enchanted by evil wizards.
"One more thing before you go, please, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Have you given any consideration to where you will be staying this Christmas?"
"What?" Harry said surprised. "Oh—er, not really, no sir."
"He's staying with us at the Burrow, Professor," Ron said.
"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Mr. Weasley. Harry needs to stay in protected areas," Dumbledore replied. "That means either Hogwarts or Grimmauld Place."
"Oh," Harry said lamely.
"The decision is entirely yours, of course," Dumbledore said. "But personally, I would like to entreat you to return to Grimmauld Place for the holidays. I have no doubt that Hogwarts will be rather deserted this year, and I would prefer that you not be so isolated. Besides," he said, the twinkle returning to his eye, "I suspect that Remus and Mira would be quite pleased to have you home. Professor McGonagall will be coming around with the sign-up sheets tomorrow, Harry, so please consider it."
"Sure, Professor," Harry said.
"And maybe you can convince your parents to go as well, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling.
"Yeah," Ron said, smiling.
"Think about it," Dumbledore encouraged, smiling. "And now, I think it would be best if the three of you went on to bed. It is well past bedtime, you know. Pleasant dreams."
The Ghost's Tale
"Wait here," McGonagall said, gesturing to the right of the gargoyle statue that marked the entrance to the headmaster's office. "I'll go up and tell the headmaster that you're coming. Pepper Imp." The gargoyle sprang aside, revealing the ever-revolving staircase behind.
They stood in the hallway amid an awkward silence. Something about their encounter with McGonagall had drained away a lot of their earlier enthusiasm.
"Harry," Hermione hissed after a moment. "Did you just tell her about the vision so that we could come to Dumbledore, or did you see something that relates to—?"
"I saw something," Harry muttered. He had seen Voldemort holding that little vial, hadn't he? He just hadn't understood what it was. He hadn't told the others about it before, because it had seemed so unimportant at the time. So trivial amid all the other things that had happened in his mind.
The grinding of stone on stone announced McGonagall's return as the statue sprang aside, bowing slightly. McGonagall stepped off the spiral staircase, and said simply, "Come with me, please." They climbed aboard the stairs. Soon, they found themselves outside the door to Dumbledore's office. Harry heard the familiar buzz of conversation behind the door, and knew that Dumbledore was talking to the portraits of all the past headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts School. Harry had had plenty of experience with the portraits over the last few years.
McGonagall raised a hand to rap on the door, but there was no need. It swung open before them. Harry walked into the circular room first. Fawkes stood on his golden stand behind the door. His feathers fluffed cheerfully. Harry smiled at the beautiful red phoenix. The last time he had seen Fawkes, he had been a tiny, ugly baby after swallowing one of Voldemort's fatal curses. The room echoed with the clicking and whirring of Dumbledore's many silver instruments. With a tiny surge of guilt, Harry remembered how he had smashed several of them last spring. But he had been so very angry…
"Good evening, Harry," Dumbledore said. He was seated behind his desk, his hands steepled in front of him. "Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger. Please be seated." He flicked his wand and an overstuffed purple sofa appeared in front of him. They sat down gingerly, and sunk into the cushions. Hermione's feet flailed momentarily while she tried to upright herself. McGonagall stood beside Professor Dumbledore like a sentry, her expression grave.
"Professor McGonagall tells me that you have had another vision, Harry," Dumbledore said, leaning forward.
"Yes, professor," Harry said. He was afraid Dumbledore would ask why he hadn't gone to him sooner, like McGonagall had. He didn't want to say "Because I thought I would get in trouble." It was true, but it sounded so stupid.
Fortunately, Dumbledore didn't waste time. "Please tell us everything you saw. Spare no detail, Harry."
Harry looked sideways at Ron, who gave him the tiniest of encouraging nods. Harry swallowed, and launched into the tale. He described it even more carefully than he had when he had told Ron and Hermione about it. He relayed not only the words, but also the way he had felt at every moment of the vision. Dumbledore didn't interrupt him; he simply listened as Harry revealed everything.
When Harry had finished, Dumbledore frowned. "The scene you saw at Grimmauld Place, Harry. You're sure there was no one in the room with you but Remus and Mira?"
"Yes, Professor," Harry said. McGonagall's eyes widened as she looked at Dumbledore, who frowned. Dumbledore motioned for her to lean closer. He whispered to her for a moment. Harry watched McGonagall's face carefully as she listened to Dumbledore. Her eyebrows drew closer together, her lips thinned, and her eyes took on a steely look. After a long moment she nodded, straightened up, and left the room. Harry watched her leave—as she pushed through the door she began to tug on something around her neck.
Dumbledore coughed politely, and the students' three heads turned back toward the claw-footed desk. "Before I ask you my questions," Dumbledore said, "is there anything you wish to ask me?"
Harry nodded, startled. This was an unexpected opportunity. "What happened to Professor Snape?" he asked. Ron nodded beside him.
"Ah," Dumbledore said. "I rather suspected that would be your first question. Very well." He leaned forward, folding his hands over the soft purple blotter on his desk.
"Bill Weasley tells me that you found out about the Network Charm," he said. "It didn't come as much of a surprise that you found out. Hagrid has been saying since last summer that it was only a matter of time before you uncovered that information." Dumbledore chuckled. "There was some discussion of explaining it to you when we implemented it. However, after a great deal of arguing, we decided against it."
"Why?" Ron asked.
"Your mother was most vocally against it, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, the trace of a laugh in his eye. "While I saw no harm, per se, in telling you about it, we did decide that it was best not to, at least initially. You see, we predicted that your ultimate reaction would be to try and obtain a piece of the enchanted jewelry yourselves."
"What would be so bad about that?" Harry asked. "We're a part of this fight, too. Don't we deserve to be included?"
"I'm afraid it would be counterproductive," Dumbledore said. "The Network Charm was one of my more clever ideas, but it isn't without its limits. For one thing, no message can be directed to a particular witch or wizard. What one person says, everyone hears. In the case of alarms, this has proved most useful. However, there are occasionally things said over the network that it would be best if you weren't subjected to."
Dumbledore lifted the sleeve of his navy-blue robes, revealing a very thin silver chain around his wrist. He carefully undid the clasp, and laid the chain on his desk. "Anyone in danger, or wishing to give a report on their activities need only touch the silver—or gold, in the case of Remus Lupin—and everyone hears. Unfortunately, there are sometimes messages we cannot respond to." Lines had appeared around his eyes. He looked sad, as though he were recalling sad memories. "More than once, pleas for help have been sent out over the network, yet there was nothing we could do. It is a terrible thing, hearing someone call out for help, and yet being unable to act." Dumbledore shook his head. "It is a responsibility that the Order has accepted. But I cannot lay this burden on you yet. Do you understand?"
Reluctantly, Harry nodded. He still thought he deserved to be included in the Network, but there were more pressing matters at the moment.
"Very well. Last Wednesday morning, a message went out over the Network," Dumbledore said. "Unfortunately, we aren't sure where the message originated—whether it was somewhere on the Hogwarts grounds, or somewhere nearby. All we know is who it originated with. Severus Snape."
"What did the message say, Professor?" Hermione asked.
Dumbledore stood, and walked to the window near his desk. He gazed out at the twinkling stars and the shining snow for a moment. When he spoke, he did so without turning around. "He said, 'They've come for me.' After that, there was only silence."
Hermione gasped. Ron elbowed her in the side, and she clamped a hand over her mouth.
Dumbledore didn't turn. "Immediately, several of our number attempted to apparate to his location, but they were unsuccessful. A few moments later, Elphias Doge reported that the Dark Mark had been sighted in the country side near Hogsmeade. Once again, several members of the Order tried to locate Severus, but found themselves in an apparently empty field. They quickly combed the scene."
Dumbledore paused. He hadn't moved since he stood up and faced the window. "All they found, I'm afraid, was a silver earring lying in the mud near a few scorch marks."
Hermione clamped her other hand over her mouth. Dumbledore turned again. He looked tired. "I'm afraid we don't know exactly what happened, and all attempts to find Severus have so far been unsuccessful. My own theory is that Severus somehow discovered that Voldemort was coming after him, and apparated away from Hogwarts in an effort to protect the students. Before he was captured, he must have thrown away the earring. If a single piece of Network jewelry fell into the hands of Death Eaters, everyone wearing it would be at risk," he explained.
"Since then, we have all been devoting as much time as we can to searching for Severus. Why Voldemort decided to come after him now, of all times, is uncertain, but it may have to do with the informant among us." A shadow flicked across Dumbledore's face as he said this, but it was gone again in an instant. "I must ask you three not to share this information with other students. We don't want to cause alarm. They are perfectly safe here at Hogwarts. Now more than ever—we've added more charms and spells around the school. Every secret passage is being guarded, and every entrance has been enchanted. However, the potential kidnapping of a teacher is likely to make many of the students feel very uncomfortable indeed."
Harry nodded.
"Your information, Harry, will be valuable in the search. If nothing else, we know now that Severus is still alive," Dumbledore said gravely. "However, I want to plead with you once again. Do not attempt to reinitiate this link."
"But Professor," Harry said, "it's been useful so far! It hasn't hurt me at all—"
Ron snorted. Harry glared at him.
"You wished to say something, Mr. Weasley?" Dumbledore said pleasantly.
"Er, no sir," Ron said quickly, after a glance at Harry.
"Then I will," Hermione said irritably. "Harry was gone for hours. Eventually Ron and Neville had to wake him up. They said he looked like he was dead, sir."
"I was fine," Harry insisted, angrily. "If they hadn't woken me up, I might've found out something useful."
"He wasn't breathing," Ron said quietly. "And he was ice cold." Harry glared at Ron, who didn't meet his gaze.
"Harry," Dumbledore said, sitting down again. "I am asking you—not as your headmaster, but as a concerned friend—not to try this again. You have no idea how dangerous these attempts are. Voldemort has not sensed your presence yet, and you don't realize how lucky you are that that is the case. When he does, he could harm you in ways you cannot imagine."
Dumbledore leaned over the desk. Harry had never seen him look so concerned. "I know that you want to help. I know that through these attempts you're trying to save lives. I understand that. But every time you try, you're putting your own life in terrible, terrible peril. Your parents, and your godfather, would never forgive me if I failed to stop you. I am an old man, Harry. I would hate to bear the burden of their disapproval. Promise me you won't attempt the link again."
Harry was shocked. Of all the things he had expected Dumbledore to say about his using the link, calling on his parents' and Sirius's memories hadn't been one of them. He nodded mutely.
"Thank you, Harry," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair. He steepled his hands under his mustache again. "Now, about the information you uncovered tonight. You came across the de Malaise story, Miss Granger?"
Hermione jerked, as though waking out of a reverie, and nodded. "I think they might have learned how Pennyworth did the spell, Professor, and that's how they got into Harry's house."
"The vial that Harry saw in Voldemort's hand certainly seems to corroborate your theory," Dumbledore said.
"Oh, poo," said one of the portraits, a particularly frail looking old witch in a silk gown. "I knew Jacques de Malaise in my day, you know. A student in Hufflepuff. He was a terrible liar. I wouldn't trust a word he said any more than I'd trust a billygoat." She scowled. "I once caught him in the owlery with a pot of jam and a boggart in a jar. He said he was—"
"Thank you, Dora," Dumbledore said quickly. "We did consider the possibility that someone had tried that method this summer, but not particularly seriously. To the best of our knowledge, no one knows how Pennyworth performed the spell."
"McGonagall—er, Professor McGonagall—said he got the girl—er, Lady Catherine—to murder her uncle," Ron said. He sounded as though he were very much hoping Dumbledore would dismiss this possibility outright.
"It is a popular theory," Dumbledore said. "But I have had the opportunity to speak with Lady Catherine several times, and I find it very hard to believe that she would be capable of such a thing—even under the influence of magic."
The three of them exchanged a glance of surprise. Dumbledore had spoken with Lady Catherine? Wasn't that impossible?
"But Professor McGonagall said that Lady Catherine died right after the attack," Hermione said, breaking their silence. "And even if she hadn't, it happened five hundred years ago! She'd be long dead, wouldn't she?"
"Lady Catherine the Gray died a few months after her uncle's untimely death," Dumbledore nodded. "She's resided here at Hogwarts ever since. I find her to be a noble and good-natured young woman."
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the whirring and clicking of Dumbledore's many silver instruments. Then Hermione's eyes widened into two circles of surprise. "Oh," she whispered.
"By Jove, she certainly figured that out quickly!" laughed a portly old headmaster in a gilt frame.
"Figured out what? What's going on?" demanded the frail old headmistress. "Are we still talking about de Malaise?"
"What do you mean she's resided at Hogwarts ever since?" Ron asked. "You mean she's buried here?"
"Lady Catherine the Gray, Ron," Hermione said.
Harry's jaw dropped a bit. "You don't mean—"
Dumbledore nodded. "Our very own Ravenclaw ghost. The Gray Lady," he said, his eyes twinkling. "I'm afraid I've never broached the subject of the Pennyworth incident with her. Sir Nicholas warned me many years ago that it upsets her too much. However, under the circumstances…" Dumbledore frowned slightly. "Armando, if you would be so kind?"
"Certainly," said the nearly-bald Armando Dippet from his portrait near Dumbledore's desk. "My old house, you know," he said conspiratorially to Harry. "Know the Gray Lady well." He stepped out of his frame, and ran through the portraits around the room, forcing several former Headmasters and headmistresses to squeeze almost out of their own frames to make room for him.
"Do you think she knows something Professor?" Hermione asked.
"If anyone does, it will be Lady Catherine. Fortunately few wizards have made the connection between the famed Lady Catherine the Gray and our own house ghost, so she's been allowed her privacy for many years now." Dumbledore smiled. "She is a lovely woman. I wonder if you've had the opportunity to speak with her?"
"Er," Harry said, "not really, no." The Gray Lady had always been a part of the Hogwarts scenery for him. She was just another glowing silver face that he saw roaming the halls with the other house ghosts, another face singing Christmas carols in a ghostly whisper.
"Pity," Dumbledore said. "She's most knowledgeable about magical beasts. In her day, they say she was the most prolific Jarvey breeder in the wizarding world. Of course, Jarveys have rather gone out of style nowadays, despite their usefulness with gnomes. It's their rather salty language, I'm afraid."
"But Professor, if she could tell you the truth, why didn't you ask her sooner?" Hermione asked.
"We didn't believe the story was true, Miss Granger. I still have my doubts," Dumbledore confided. "But that vial that Harry saw with Voldemort suggests a scenario which we need to verify as soon as possible."
Armando Dippet reappeared in his portrait. "She's on her way up," he said, his face slightly red.
A moment later, the silvery form of the Gray Lady slid into the room. "Good evening, Albus," she said. Her voice was faint, as though it were far away, but it was thick, like the purring of a contented cat. "You sent for me?"
"I hope we are not disturbing you, madame," Dumbledore said, standing.
"Not at all," the Gray Lady said cheerfully. "I was just having a game of snakes and ladders with Sir Nicholas and the Baron."
"I'm afraid, madame, that I must ask for your help," said Dumbledore. "It is a rather unpleasant matter."
The Gray Lady settled herself on a chair near Dumbledore, spreading her skirts out graciously before her. "In all things I am your most humble servant, Albus," she said pleasantly. "How may I assist you?"
"I need to know about Bradfelt Pennyworth," Dumbledore said slowly.
The Gray Lady raised a silvery hand to her mouth, and looked away. She said nothing.
"I understand you knew him?" Dumbledore said soothingly.
"It is not something I speak of, Albus," The Gray lady murmured. Now her voice seemed to have faded to a tired whisper. "Bradfelt is long dead, and his story buried with him."
"Please forgive my indiscretion," Dumbledore said. He paused for a moment, allowing the Gray Lady to compose herself. She looked up mournfully. "Perhaps," Dumbledore continued, "you heard about the attack on Mr. Potter this summer?"
"Of course," she said. She straightened, and lifted her head aristocratically. "It was a matter of concern among us ghosts. We worry for all of our students, of course."
"Certainly," Dumbledore said. "But perhaps, madame, you did not know that Mr. Potter was protected by a powerful charm placed on him by his mother. I myself saw to it that Mr. Potter would be protected so long as he lived in his mother's sister's home."
"A charm much like that used to protect my Uncle Apollonius from Bradfelt," the Gray Lady murmured. "Yes, I see what you are suggesting. You want me to tell you if the stories are true."
Dumbledore nodded solemnly.
The Gray Lady sighed. She straightened herself, and when she spoke, it was with the resigned voice of one telling a long and painful tale. "I loved my uncle. I never knew my own father, you know. He was a dragon enthusiast, and died in an accident involving a pair of temperamental Chinese Fireballs shortly before I was born. Uncle Apollonius moved in with my mother and I, and he loved me like a father. He encouraged my love of magical creatures and taught me everything he knew.
"I went to Hogwarts as a girl," she continued. Harry thought her expression looked rather wooden. "I was very happy here. When I turned seventeen and had to leave, I was most distressed. Returning to the life of a simple country witch seemed so unappealing after all the excitement and joy of Hogwarts. I was very lonely after I returned home.
"Then, I attended a party given by Mother's friend, Wendolyn of Whitower. It was there that I met Bradfelt. Of course, I had heard all the old stories about Pennyworth and Uncle Apollonius. I never would have trusted him." She looked out the window, as though watching a scene only she could see. "He drank polyjuice potion, you see. He took the appearance of some other man, and he introduced himself as Bradfelt Goodcent.
"From that night on, he was seated next to me at every party or dinner I attended. He seemed so perfect. He was interested in me, and he knew some of the most fascinating stories. I loved him very deeply. I wanted nothing so much as to be near him. He asked me to marry him.
"My uncle deeply opposed the match. He had never met Bradfelt, you see. My uncle had grown to fear Pennyworth's repeated attacks so much that he never left the house any more. In those days, Bradfelt should have spoken to my uncle before he asked me, and my uncle was always a stickler for tradition. I told Bradfelt that I could not marry him until he spoke to my uncle."
The Gray Lady turned her head to look at Dumbledore. "The stories that circulated after my death claim that it was at that point that he enchanted me to murder my uncle. But there was no truth to those lies. Bradfelt told me that he could not speak to Uncle Apollonius because he was a distant cousin of Pennyworth, and the charm would not allow him to enter the house.
"Jacques de Malaise's story is true," she murmured. "Bradfelt told me he knew of a charm to enter the house. He said an incantation and cut my hand."
The Gray Lady raised her right hand. Across the palm was a faint, glowing white line. "This is where it was done. He took the blood of my hand and put it in a tiny bottle around his neck. I watched him go into the manor. A moment later, a flash of green light shone from every window. I panicked, and ran into the house. Too late—I found my uncle dead.
"I mourned two losses that day. My uncle's, of course, but also that of the Bradfelt I had loved. He had never even existed. I wasted away from my grief and guilt after that. Within a year I was dead. I could not bear to face my uncle in the afterlife, so I became a ghost. I returned to Hogwarts, the only place I was truly happy." The Gray Lady sighed. "And that, my dear Albus, is my whole sad story."
For a moment they were silent, giving the Gray Lady a chance to compose herself. Then Dumbledore spoke. "Thank you, Lady Catherine, for your candor. I know this has been most unpleasant for you. Now, I must ask you one more important question. Do you have any idea how Voldemort might have discovered the spell that Pennyworth used? Did he keep a diary perhaps?"
"All this time, I thought the secret died with me," the Gray Lady said. "I never thought anyone would be able to duplicate his results. You see, no one else has ever been able to do it, because everyone—even de Malaise himself—believed that Bradfelt had used a new spell. Everyone thought he had invented some kind of all-powerful incantation. In fact, he used a very simple spell. One I imagine even a few of the students here can manage."
Harry leaned forward, and found that he was sitting on the end of his seat. "And?" Dumbledore prompted.
"He used the Protean Charm," she said simply.
"Ahh," Dumbledore said. "Ingenious."
"The Protean Charm?" Hermione exclaimed. "How could that possibly—?" Then a light appeared to be lit behind her eyes. "Oh, of course."
"The Protean Charm?" Harry asked. Wasn't that the spell Hermione used to enchant the galleons so that the DA members would know when the next meeting was?
"It's a spell to change the shape of a thing so that it mimics the shape of another," Dumbledore explained. "I've never heard of it applied to people before, but with a few modifications—"
"Yes," the Gray Lady concurred. "'Protea Sanguine.'"
"That would modify the spell to affect only blood," Hermione said. "Yes, of course he'd need to keep the real blood in the vial very close for that to work, though. And it was very risky. He might've died on the spot if he'd made a mistake—"
"Pennyworth was very insistent on killing Uncle Apollonius," the Gray Lady said stiffly. "He would have considered it an acceptable risk."
"And the Death Eaters wouldn't think twice about dying for Voldemort," Harry said.
Dumbledore nodded. "Surely at some point along the line Pennyworth found some way of discerning whether you, Lady Catherine, and he had blood compatible enough to prevent him from dying. Voldemort probably chose his death eaters in the same way." Of course, Harry thought. No wonder Voldemort hadn't sent his top death eaters—he had needed ones who were somehow compatible with Dudley.
Dumbledore turned his attention again to the Lady Catherine. "Madame, can you think of any way Voldemort's supporters might have discovered this information?"
"As I said, I thought it died with me. I considered myself the last guardian of the secret. But—" she frowned. "I suppose they might've used dark magic."
Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Thank you again for your openness this evening, madame. I know this was difficult for you, but you have been most helpful."
The Gray Lady stood. Dumbledore rose to his feet. "It is ever my pleasure to serve you," she said, returning to the purring voice she had used when she first entered the room. "If ever I can be of assistance to you, don't hesitate to ask."
She nodded graciously at the students. "Good luck to you. And good evening to you all," she said, bowing her head slightly.
"Good evening, Lady Catherine," Dumbledore said. The Gray Lady swept out of the room, vanishing through a bookshelf to the right of the claw-footed desk.
"Well," Dumbledore continued, sinking back into his chair. "I suppose that's as much information as we're going to get tonight."
"What about Dudley?" Harry blurted out. "Aren't we going to talk to him?"
"Of course. I'll be sending a message to your Aunt and Uncle right away, Harry." They would love that, Harry thought. He could just imagine Uncle Vernon's beefy face as he read a letter informing that his son had potentially been enchanted by evil wizards.
"One more thing before you go, please, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Have you given any consideration to where you will be staying this Christmas?"
"What?" Harry said surprised. "Oh—er, not really, no sir."
"He's staying with us at the Burrow, Professor," Ron said.
"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Mr. Weasley. Harry needs to stay in protected areas," Dumbledore replied. "That means either Hogwarts or Grimmauld Place."
"Oh," Harry said lamely.
"The decision is entirely yours, of course," Dumbledore said. "But personally, I would like to entreat you to return to Grimmauld Place for the holidays. I have no doubt that Hogwarts will be rather deserted this year, and I would prefer that you not be so isolated. Besides," he said, the twinkle returning to his eye, "I suspect that Remus and Mira would be quite pleased to have you home. Professor McGonagall will be coming around with the sign-up sheets tomorrow, Harry, so please consider it."
"Sure, Professor," Harry said.
"And maybe you can convince your parents to go as well, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling.
"Yeah," Ron said, smiling.
"Think about it," Dumbledore encouraged, smiling. "And now, I think it would be best if the three of you went on to bed. It is well past bedtime, you know. Pleasant dreams."