Chapter 15: Soaring, Silence and the Soul
Harry felt his way down the stairs carefully. His legs felt like mushy toast. The shower had brightened him up, but used most of his energy. Once he reached the floor, he leaned a hand against the wall, resting.
"Buck up there, mate," a voice admonished him. Harry looked over to see Charlie drinking a large glass of lemonade, sweat running in rivulets down the sides of his freckled face. "Going to join us out there?"
Harry nodded and stood straighter, swaying a bit.
"Looks like you haven't quite gotten your sea legs yet. Think you can hang on to a broom?"
Harry gave him a look.
"All right, all right," Charlie laughed. "The Great Harry Potter is always ready to ride a broomstick. Fancy playing Seeker against me?"
Harry grinned and nodded eagerly.
"Let's head on out, then, shall we?" Harry went with Charlie through the back door, immediately cheered to be out in the bright, warm sunshine. They were headed toward a large magically-extended clearing that had been home to some of the most gruesome Quidditch matches ever played within one family. Harry knew because he had been there for some of them. Over the years, they had gone from apple tossing at low heights to actual scrimmages, thanks to a few magical developments brought home from work by Bill and Charlie. Harry couldn't wait to get out there.
As they walked up the hill, he noticed two people standing a fair distance off, a guy and a girl. Both appeared to be several years older than Harry. The guy was distinctly disheveled in a Californian way, sporting a rich tan and long, sun-bleached hair which, as he waved at Harry cheerfully, vibrated with energy. Something about his rumpled clothes looked very American. The girl was tall and thin and rather awe-struck, a dishwater blonde who eventually managed to nod at Harry. Harry tapped Charlie on the shoulder.
"Yeah? Oh, that's Botswana Beattie—the girl is, I mean—and Juniper Nebbles, spanking-fresh Aurors. They graduated last year, top of the class. She's supposed to be brilliant at Transfiguration. I think Mundungus is also on duty today. He must be around the other side of the house. It's all right," he added as Harry started to look uncomfortable. "We don't always see them, but they're always here. Plus, me and Bill and the twins. And Mum, too. You can't do much better than a passel of Weasleys, eh?"
Harry nodded, still wishing it was someone other than Mundungus, after all that had happened this summer.
"There they are. Looks like Gin is on a tear. Crikey!"
Harry pulled his thoughts into the present as the small redhead went blazing by, heading straight for a grove of trees to the south.
"Pull up, Gin!" Charlie hollered.
She was barreling for the trees, ignoring the shouts of all of her brothers. The twins suddenly shot by going almost as fast, and Harry was holding his breath when Ginny finally pulled hard to the right and missed the trees by inches.
Ron whooped loudly and Harry would gladly have joined him. He knew what it felt like to fly that fast and dare danger so recklessly. He loved it.
The twins, surprisingly enough, were the ones who chased Gin down and started lecturing her loudly. Harry and Charlie headed for the brooms.
"Wonder what set her off? Eh—they must have put her at Seeker again," Charlie said, bemused, as he sorted through the brooms in a pile on the ground. He picked up a small, light broom that was at least a decade old. "Here you are, Harry. This is an old Cleansweep 7, and it's probably your best bet. It isn't good for flying straight, tends to lead left a bit, but if you want maneuverability, it's the best we've got. Sorry."
Harry took it from Charlie and nodded with a smile. He didn't care what he flew on; he just wanted to be up there.
"Wish we had your Firebolt for you. I've only gotten to see you on it a few times, you know," Charlie went on wistfully. "I'll never forget you stealin' that egg, and the way that beaut of a dragon went for you. Now that was flying!"
It had been far too long since Harry had been up in the air. With that little swoop in his stomach that was strange and yet so familiar, he lifted off, a huge smile breaking over his face. The wind rushed by as he ascended so steeply and with such speed that cheers broke out all around him.
"Yeah, Harry!" Ron yelled, zipping by going the other way. "Keep going, mate!"
Ginny and the twins screamed something unintelligible at him. He was soaring high above them in the air, and the world was deep and wide below him. For a minute, he enjoyed the view of the Burrow and the surrounding countryside as it went by at a fair clip. He was really too high to engage in a Quidditch match here at the Burrow, though, so he stopped to catch his breath.
Catch his breath? Harry was disgusted to realize that he was breathing hard from the effort, like an old man. He huffed out a quick breath. His lips twitched into a smile. He angled his broom for the ground, imagined a Snitch below, and dove.
It was thrilling insanity. The wind shrieked by; the blurry ground loomed; Weasleys were screaming, yelling, cheering—
And Harry wasn't stopping.
He glared at the ground zooming toward him, and waited for that moment—that one perfect moment—a second away from the point of no-return.
In an instant he was there—
jerking up—
angling straight—
zooming around Charlie—who threw a broom at him, laughing—and headed for the trees.
Fierce joy gripped Harry as he arced around and came back to face the field, adrift with Weasleys. The twins were giving each other high fives. Ron was doing a loop de loop. Ginny was clutching her broom and bouncing up and down on its seat like a child.
Harry smirked.
"You're an idiot, you know that, mate?" Bill called down good-naturedly from his broom above Harry. "You and Ron make a perfect couple. So, you want to play some Quidditch or what?"
Harry, still a bit breathless, pointed gamely at the air ahead.
"Alright then, if Charlie will get his rather large caboose on a broomstick—"
"Oi! Better that than being the Shah of Skinny Booties, O Brother of Mine," Charlie shouted as he finally lifted off into the air. "At least I got some padding to handle those dragon saddles with! Occupational advantage, that," he nodded to Harry.
"So," Bill went on. "I'm playing All-Time Beater. There are no Keepers, just you and Ginny at Seeker. The twins are the Chasers on your team, and Charlie and Ron are on Ginny's team. How's that sound?"
Harry nodded; he couldn't wait to get started. The Weasleys had let him play Chaser once or twice, and he was fairly good at it, but since he didn't know all the plays they did, it was the most fun for him to be Seeker. Ginny, of course, was frustrated to no end playing opposite him, and he could see it in the way she flew—in erratic little bursts. She was itching to try Chaser again.
"All right, everyone on the ground." The air rained Weasleys and they lined up more or less in standard Quidditch formation. Bill blew a whistle that appeared around his neck, let go of the Snitch, tossed the Quaffle and then released the Bludgers. The air was suddenly alive and the game was on.
Harry immediately flew in the direction the Snitch had gone, looking for the gleam that was actually a bit more like bronze than pure gold. The Weasleys' set was an old third-hand one that Charlie had traded another dragon tamer for. He said they didn't have much use for it out at the camp.
Ginny was flying lackadaisically, watching Charlie and Ron flip the Quaffle to each other on their way toward the one goal post—a round metal ring Bill had Transfigured out of a tree some years before. He was still proud of that. Since the field was so small, even though it was magically enlarged a bit, they took turns aiming for that one goal.
Harry noticed Ron juggling the Quaffle and George nearly knocked him off his broom as he swooped in to steal it.
"Ron, you idiot!" Ginny leaned far forward on her broom as she yelled at him. "If we lose this game, you're Seeker next time!"
"The Snitch, Gin," Charlie called back to remind her of her task. "I'll keep Ron in line."
Fred and George, now with the Quaffle, swept back out past the imaginary boundary line and turned back in to make a run at the goalpost. By then, Ron and Charlie were in position and Bill was looking ready to knock the Bludger at one of them.
"Hit George, Bill! C'mon!" Ginny needled him loudly. "He was the one who put the fake rudders in Mum's houseshoes! He deserves it!"
Harry had to smile as he scanned the field for the Snitch. It was never quite as difficult to see here because of—
POP!
Harry stopped mid-thought and jerked around on his broom. Just yards away, the natural boundary line of the woods stretched out before him—empty. He tried to peer through the thick trees. In the absence of movement, he felt his heart pounding, and the fatigue that was setting in from just this little bit of exercise. Pinpricks of sweat tingled under his arms. That had been the noise of someone Apparating.
Harry swung around again and eyed the two Aurors-in-training over by the edge of the clearing. They had moved closer to watch the game, cheering loudly as Fred barely dodged Bill's Bludger. Harry scoured the grounds for a sign of Mundungus Fletcher, and felt a deeper pang of worry for the Weasleys when the Auror was nowhere to be seen.
He swallowed and looked back toward the still-empty woods. Had that noise been Fletcher taking off, or someone else?
Caution goes down better than regret. That's what Hermione would say.
Harry took a deep breath, streaked down the middle of the field and landed.
Ginny called down to him, "Harry, are you all right?"
Down at the goal post, the twins were just about to take a shot, and Charlie was diving about trying to get in their way. Ron had turned to look over his shoulder at Harry, who gestured wildly to him. Immediately, Ron headed his way, putting on a sudden burst of speed.
"What's up, mate?" His face was pink from exertion, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat.
Ginny flew near just as Harry started pointing to his own ear, vehemently wishing he could speak.
"What? Your ear hurts?" Ron was clueless.
"No, you idiot," Ginny said tensely, landing on the other side of Harry. "He heard something. What was it, Harry?"
He pointed to the woods then made a popping sound and opened his hand in a jerking motion.
"You heard a popping sound?"
"Someone Apparating, then," Ron concluded quickly. "Ginny, go tell the Aurors. Game off." He turned to the field. "GAME OFF!"
Harry was stunned by the quick response. At Ron's command, Ginny flew toward the Aurors, and everyone, even Fred and George, stopped playing immediately and headed for the ground.
"What's happened," Bill barked out first, as Charlie landed and started gathering brooms.
"Harry heard someone Apparating over in the woods," Ron answered.
"Let's go. Inside, everybody!" Bill shouted. "C'mon, Harry. Let's get you inside."
Harry wanted to protest, doubting himself now that everyone had complied so quickly, but well—he couldn't.
"Could have just been Dung, you know. He's always popping off," Charlie supplied easily as Harry handed him his broom. "And it's not like there's no one else here."
Bill was watching the woods intently. "Hm," he grunted. "Let's go."
They started the walk back to the house, all the brothers breathing hard, wiping away sweat. No one except Bill looked overly concerned, just disappointed. Harry saw Ginny up ahead, talking animatedly to the Aurors-in-training. They were tense. Botswana already had her wand out.
"It's a fair scorcher," Ron said, using the hem of his t-shirt to wipe his sweaty face. "Hope Mum has more lemonade ready."
"If she does, you get it last, Red," George said, shoving Ron. "You just had to stop the game when you knew we were gonna' score, didn't you?"
Ron groused back and Harry got a sinking feeling in his stomach. He had ruined everyone's afternoon with what was probably a false alarm. He shivered at the thought, oddly cold.
Cold?
Ice cold.
No.
Time seemed to slow as Harry wheeled about, darting through the brothers, catching glimpses, horrified to see the dark, hooded shapes gliding from the woods—Dementors.
"No," he mouthed. Where had they come from?
Someone yelled. The dark shapes were already at the field, maybe fifty yards away, heading straight for them and the Burrow. Harry's wand was out, rage putting the right words on his tongue, but, of course . . . he couldn't speak them.
Harry's jaw went slack. Ice-cold blood flooded his veins. He couldn't conjure his Patronus. He couldn't defend them. At all.
For a long second, he froze; no one moved—terror eclipsed all else.
Then the Weasleys were a blur of motion around Harry. Ron yelled from behind and Harry found himself jerked behind a wall of the brothers. Bill and Charlie faced the Dementors, wands out, shifting nervously. Fred and George were to Harry's left, Ron on his right. And in front of them, a nightmare played on.
Dementors were gliding toward them over the field—fifty, a hundred, two hundred of them—still coming, always more—dampening the light, forcing waves of blank terror and stark cold before them.
"They're being Portkeyed in," Bill said tersely.
"How can you tell?" Charlie yelled in frustration.
"They're appearing out of nowhere and Dementors don't Apparate," Bill bit out, then turned to yell over his shoulder. "Run! There's too many of them. We can defend from the house!"
It was what they should have been doing all along. Fred took up the cry and they all began to move, but it was easier said than done. For Harry, stumbling along slowly, it all seemed like it was happening very far away. The hated voices in his head started. It was all happening too fast . . .
"Kill the spare."
"I would not know, I have never died."
"Sirius!"
Then Lucius Malfoy whispering, saying something Harry couldn't even remember hearing:
"Have you ever imagined what revenge feels like, Harry? Something like this?"
Harry bent over, fighting nausea. His knees went weak.
"Expecto Patronum!" Charlie's voice.
Bill stumbled backwards into Harry, knocking them both down. "Get up! Hurry! C'mon!" Ron helped steady them.
The cold terror abated slightly. Harry looked up to see Charlie's Patronus, an enormous silver dragon, driving the Dementors back up the middle. Dozens of black shapes fled before it, moving back to the woods. But it was like driving back the tide. As the dragon flew on straight, Dementors spread to the outside, flowing around it, reforming the front line. They had been slowed, but not stopped. There were too many of them.
"Everyone retreat! We'll take it from here," the Auror, Juniper, called out as he ran up on the left; Botswana, looking green, moved much more slowly.
"Where's Dung?" Charlie ground out, backing up.
"No idea," Juniper said tersely.
"Well, isn't that bloody brilliant!" Charlie spat back. "George—get Bill back to the house. Ron—take Harry. Move!"
"C'mon!" Ron pulled at him, but Harry moved slowly, loathe to leave anyone behind. The strain had already taken its toll on the brothers; Bill looked terrible.
"No—not Ginny," Bill moaned. George was urging him to walk.
"Everybody back! Fred, no—GO!" Charlie shoved Fred, who was suddenly beside him, facing the Dementors, wand raised.
"No," Fred replied quietly. "Expecto Patronum!" To Harry's surprise, a silver fox erupted from Fred's wand and ran at the Dementors that had re-formed on the left. They backed away, the fox nipping and chasing them.
"Well, done," Charlie said in amazement.
"So totally cool," breathed Juniper, who hadn't tried a spell yet that Harry could see.
"Oh, well done, Fred!" George turned back to yell agreement, then fixed Bill, who was draped over his shoulder, with a fierce look. "Now, Bill—Ginny's fine! She's back at the house! Let's goThey finally started making progress.
Charlie's dragon had wheeled about to join Fred's fox. The Dementors, confused by the attack of two Patroni, were separated and forced to wheel back. The fox and the dragon chased them, in the air and on the ground, a formidable team. Back into the woods they drove them.
A cheer went up from the Weasleys and the Aurors, but in the next second, another group of Dementors had broken from the trees.
"Bugger! They're still Portkeying in," Charlie said unnecessarily. And moving fast. The advancing line had surged ahead to a point that was already nearing the edge of the field. Fred yelled to redirect his Patronus, while Charlie threw his arm frantically out to point. "Get to the bloody house NOW!"
Juniper sent a curse of hissing white into the line of Dementors, but Harry didn't see its effect, as he was jerked bodily off his feet by the heaving pull Ron gave him. After only a few more backward steps, the cold was debilitating and the day grew dark. A white fog started rolling in front of Harry's eyes.
"No," moaned Ron and his grip tightened on Harry's arm. Harry couldn't even see him anymore. There were so many voices calling now, some from far away and some of them only in his mind.
"Sirius!"
"Harry!"
"He's gone, Harry."
"Crucio!"
"Harry!"
Cold despair was filling Harry. He groped outwards helplessly. He'd somehow lost Ron.
"Have you ever imagined what revenge feels like, Harry?"
"Ginny—NO!"
"HARRY!" A small body banged into him from the side, knocking him off-balance. "You're going the wrong way! Come ON! This way! Harry! Ron, please!" It was Ginny, in a flash of red that pierced the fog—yelling, jerking away to touch as many of her brothers as she could reach, begging them all to move faster. Harry could barely keep her in sight beyond the mist.
"Ginny?" Ron gasped out from their right.
"Ron—move or I'll hex you good!" She yelled. "Please Harry, come ON!"
"Ginny, get back to the—oh, bloody hell, as long as you're here, tell Bill you're fine," gasped George, straining under Bill's weight and taking another moment to yell at him, "She's fine, I tell you!"
"Bill, I'm—I'm—" Ginny was struggling now, white-faced. Harry saw that the Dementors were getting to her, and pulled her behind him where she grasped on to his shirt. He desperately wanted to get Ginny back to safety, but he could not leave her brothers. This was his fight.
"Uh, guys," came Juniper's voice from the side. "This is so not working." Harry looked up with foggy eyes to see the first of the line of Dementors thirty yards and closing. Fred and Charlie were backing up now, wands unsteady. Their Patroni were blurs of white surrounded by darkness, much too far away.
"Run!" Fred turned to yell, and Harry turned to shove at Ginny, who had frozen behind him. He looked back. Dementors at twenty-five yards. Harry gasped as Charlie fell to his knees. A chorus of cries broke out from behind them. Was his dragon Patronus gone? Juniper stepped up beside Charlie, his wand wavering, once again casting the spell of whirling white that seemed to have little effect on Dementors. He cursed loudly and started backing up.
"Fred!" George yelled.
Fred, the lone figurehead of the crumbling Weasley defense, was staggering now. His fox was trying to reach the front of the dark shapes surging before it, but it was paler now, and not nearly as effective without the dragon. Dementors were closing in at twenty yards.
Ginny clutched at Harry. "Harry, you have to—to—"
He grimaced, wanting to help her, to do anything to help, but he was losing the battle in his mind. Without being able to summon his Patronus, he was helpless. Despair crashed in on him. The Weasleys were going down just as he feared: pawns in the war between himself and Tom.
"Sirius!"
"He's gone, Harry. There's nothing you can do."
"Expecto Patronum!" Ginny's faint voice came from behind, where she was pressed against him, shaking. If anything came out of her wand, Harry couldn't see it at all. Juniper went down. Then Harry's knees buckled and he and Ginny both fell. Ginny moaned and curled up on the ground. Before the fog completely obscured his vision, Harry looked up over the ground littered with Weasleys and saw the Dementors closing in at fifteen yards.
No! He closed his eyes and tried to stand, but fell. He forced himself to crawl forward, wand still in hand. If he couldn't protect them, he should at least get kissed first.
But the screaming in his mind grew so loud . . . the laughing . . .
His weak limbs failed and he tasted grass.
Then, like a dream, a clear voice rang out, "Expecto Patronum!" A familiar voice, Harry thought as he started to fade. A silvery-gray form dispelled the darkness, driving away the voices in Harry's head. It seemed to be circling them. Harry opened his eyes to see a silvery-gray otter Patronus gliding away into the dark.
"Hermione," Ron gasped out. The front of the Dementors were routed, and the heavy mist left Harry's eyes.
He looked up to see Ron on his knees. Fred was still standing, silent and trembling with effort, directing his fox Patronus alongside Hermione's otter. The Dementors had surged forward in a narrow strip, so the two small Patroni had no problem driving them back. Everyone could breathe easier. But the sheer number of Dementors meant that it would not last.
Charlie was up, trying the spell again, cursing loudly when only a silver mist came out. "Where's the bloody Order?"
"Don't know, but I could use some help here. Botswana's down!" Juniper called as he knelt beside the limp girl, shaking his head as if to clear it. George suddenly ran up beside them, but paused before helping.
"Ron," he called over worriedly, "you all right, mate?" Ron waved a hand faintly as he tried to climb to his feet.
Charlie glanced around. "I've got him," he ground out, moving back to help Ron as George bent to help Botswana. Harry suddenly realized, with gratitude, that George must have gotten Bill to safety and come back.
"Mobilus Corpus," Hermione shrieked. "Use Mobilus Corpus!"
"Hermione! GO GET DUMBLEDORE," Charlie yelled, draping Ron's arm over his shoulders.
"She can't," Ron groaned, putting a pale hand to his face. "That's her otter Patronus out there."
Charlie looked stunned, and shook his head. "Well, SOMEBODY GET DUMBLEDORE!"
"They're trying," Hermione yelled back, "but he's not—"
"Harry," George interrupted as he started moving Botswana's levitating body toward the house. "Harry, can you get Ginny up?"
"He's mine." Juniper was suddenly there, grabbing Harry under the arms and pulling him to his feet. "Dude, you okay? We gotta move—like now!" Harry was disoriented. He'd only made it up to his knees and was still clutching his wand, trying to keep up with everything. He'd seen that the Patroni were holding the Dementors back on the right. But on the left . . .
Juniper steadied him and then went to pick up Ginny. Everyone around Harry was moving backward, stumbling. Things were speeding up again, and he had to focus on staying on his feet. Panic was all around him.
He could hear Hermione yelling at her Patronus. "Oh, come back this way—move faster, you stupid thing!"
"Fred, come ON!" George yelled.
"Harry! Ron! RUN!"
More voices . . .
"Dude, let's go!" Juniper grabbed at Harry, Ginny folded in his arms. "Move it! It's—ohhhhhhhh shit!"
An icy grip squeezed out Harry's breath. He looked up.
Dementors at fifteen yards.
Harry clutched at his head as his mother's screaming began again. Charlie went down, and Ron sank beside him.
"No! Charlie! Ron!" A lot of people were screaming. The white fog again—
"FRED!"
"Charlie, get up!" Fred shouted and then turned back. He stood in front of his brothers, wand shaking, yelling insanely at the Dementors only ten yards away from him. "Would you just DIE, you slimy BASTARDS?"
Harry barely heard him; the cold was debilitating. His mother was screaming—
"Crucio!"
Beside him, Juniper, with Ginny in his arms, started to crumple. "No," he moaned.
Ginny's hopeless, dull eyes caught Harry's as they went down and he was forcibly reminded of the Concidus curse and Ginny's helpless words, just before he'd repeated the countercurse . . .
WAIT—
The countercurse.
Harry dropped to his knees. He closed his eyes and focused. Deep inside his wearied mind, he pulled up the gray screen, forcing everything else to fade behind it. He sucked in a deep breath as the words filled the screen:
Expecto Patronum.
He couldn't say them out loud. But maybe he wouldn't need to.
Desperately, Harry recalled a day from his first year—the day Gryffindor had won the House Cup and Dumbledore praised his courage in front of the whole school. Harry opened his eyes, pointed his wand, and said the words silently.
Expecto Patronum.
An enormous silver stag shot out of his wand and galloped toward the Dementors on the left. They cowered and sank beneath the onslaught, beaten back easily by the fierce hooves.
Harry climbed to his feet slowly, adrenaline forcing his mind to clear, and walked forward. Relief filled him as the stag wheeled about and tossed its head at the Dementors, with every movement pressing them back toward the woods and toward Hermione's otter Patronus, still faithfully guarding on the right. Fred's fox was nowhere to be seen.
Step by weary step, Harry passed the others who were coming back to life, noting especially how pale Ron was where he had fallen beside Charlie, and that Fred was on all fours, clutching at the grass. Harry claimed his place at the front of them, wand out, desperately determined, spear-heading the protection as he should have been all along.
There was yelling behind him, as they tried to get the Weasleys to retreat to the house. He heard Juniper urging Charlie up, and Ron calling to him. Harry started backing up, waving at them to go on.
Just then, a Dementor broke free, gliding around to the left. Harry willed the stag to follow it, until three more broke to the right. The otter tried to control them, but the stag wheeled around, too. And this time, a bigger group of them swarmed left. Dammit. The stag wheeled back to chase them, but felt the surge of the Dementors in the middle. The otter went right and the surge became more pronounced. The stag shook its head suddenly and turned back for the woods, immediately flattening the bulge.
Harry vibrated with fury as the silver stag herded the Dementors back, joining the otter in pushing them toward the woods, choosing to force away the larger number rather than the fight the few who had escaped. The brilliance of their forms disappeared into the trees, and the hooded figures remaining on the left—ten or twenty of them—doubled their pace, straight toward Harry.
He retreated a few more steps and looked back over his shoulder. Fred and Ron were halfway to the Burrow, moving slowly. George was further on, helping Juniper and carrying Ginny. Hermione was beyond them, guarding and guiding her Patronus.
Farther past was the Burrow, and Harry gave it one last glance, watching Molly come and draw a weakened Charlie inside to join the others. Then he turned back and widened his stance, wand outstretched. A fleeting feeling of rightness fed his resolve. They had always welcomed him with open arms, despite the danger. It was his turn to protect them. He would stand his ground.
The black forms were gliding closer and almost immediately, the relentless scream of voices broke through the screen in his mind. Everything went dark. The Dementors were closing in.
Come back, he pled with his Patronus. Come back!
Hermione was screaming—screaming—and other voices, too—
"Harry!"
"Not Harry!"
Screams and yells and whispers and laughter all melted, running together in his mind. Dark shapes crowded in and he fell back, barely breathing. . . so cold . . .
"Have you ever imagined . . . something like this?"
Lucius.
"Crucio!"
Despair filled Harry. He'd lost again. No one was coming to help him. He should have re-cast his Patronus. He should have—
Bony hands gripped his arms. The smell of putrid flesh invaded his nostrils as his head and shoulders left the ground. He turned his face away, as far away from the awful stink as he could. But the Dementor held him, forcing a bony arm underneath his back and arching him closer, nestling him against its rough, black cloak.
Another wasted hand grabbed at his leg, pinching, grasping. Then another. Harry kicked weakly. More hands grabbed and pulled. The Dementor who held him in his arms tightened his grip. They could all feel him, and they all wanted to feed.
"Harry!"
Ron?
Screams were his only answer. His mother's . . . and others . . .
Harry could no longer fight. As he collapsed, awaiting death, time slowed down inexorably. His heart thudded in his ears . . .
. . . slowly . . .
. . . and he couldn't think . . .
. . . could think of nothing . . .
. . . but his last, desperate wish to . . .
. . .die.
The desire shocked him, rearing up so strongly that it stole away his breath, and his mind raced to understand. But at length, he understood. Cedric's death had birthed it; Voldemort's brief possession had forced it upon him and Sirius's death had made it desirable. The torture had only made it stronger. And the Concidus curse had brought it tantalizingly close.
Harry remembered vividly being on the bed, bleeding to death. His very soul had been weary of pain and humiliation, reaching for those who had already gone before, aching to die, somehow already bonded to the thought of leaving it all behind.
People had been begging him to say the countercurse, yet Harry knew that if he spoke it, something would be ripped loose from him—something that had found peace, something that wanted to stay hidden and alone and private—something desperately close to sliding past the veil.
So he had not spoken the words aloud.
And he had not spoken since.
Now he understood his silence, and time rebounded and it was all moving too fast. Did he even have a choice?
The Dementor was positioning itself to feed, cradling his head, tucking it gently into the crook of its bony arm, so that Harry had no choice but to look it full it the face. He blanched, sucked in a breath and tried to take in the horror there in the eyeless face of horrid putrescence. The mouth hole was open, lowering scabbed, wasted flesh toward his lips.
Harry arched away in sudden, desperate disgust, but the arms gripped him like pincers of iron. His hands scrabbled at the ground beneath him helplessly. His mother's scream would be the last thing he ever heard.
Then a hand—a wonderfully whole, familiar hand—clutched at his right where it clawed the ground, and squeezed. Harry couldn't see beyond the black figure holding him, couldn't help Ron in the least, and listened to his gasped words with further despair.
"Harry . . . I'm sorry, mate. I couldn't—I can't—"
The mouth hole was hovering over Harry's lips; bony hands all over his body held him still. Harry had reached the point of no return—the point he had been easing toward for weeks—and now all he wanted to do was go back—go back and help Ron, and—
Then it touched his lips and the world was ripped away. Blinding light filled his vision as he dropped to the ground, cold beyond bearing. As he continued to fade, the light above him changed. At first it was only stars; then the stars moved and glittered so brightly that he had to close his eyes.
It was only then, against the darkness in his own mind that he saw the shape they had formed:
Prongs.