Disclaimer: I have no money, and since JKR owns all the characters, she has my permission to steal my plot. (That's J.K. Rowling by the way. Josh Kyle Robinson will get a swift kick in the rear if he tries!)
Warning: violence, adult themes, vomiting, screaming and I think I've earned my PG13 by now, don't you.
Author's Note: Thank you reviewers! People who review are the best people on earth. Sorry about the typos and spelling mistakes, I'm making my poor pirate sister correct them, so it should be fixed soon. Sorry also that it has taken me so long to up date. I have been battling the mighty powers of SBC to get my phone line hooked up again. Thank yee again, kind reviewers. Props to my homie Hobbitfoot!
In Fire Lies Redemption
By Marz
Chapter 11
The Near Side of Waking
"Is that really necessary?" asked professor McGonagall, as she freed her robes from a thorny hedge.
"It is if you want these wards to work," answered Professor Vector as he pushed another little flag into the ground. "Measurements have to be precise you know, or else there's no harmony. I don't ask you how much fir is necessary on a cat do I?"
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "I was not trying to be offensive; I just don't see the purpose…"
"Building wards is not like transfiguring a single object, it involves sending energy through space in a very precise pattern and I must have the Arithmancy done exactly right or the whole thing will be useless. It will collapse under the first curse or strong breeze that comes its way. But Albus does not want just any ward, no! He wants a spell nullification ward! A professional in my field would be earning at least a thousand galleons per acre for this kind of work, not that I'm complaining, I know he-who-must-not-be-named is a threat to the students, but still I have home work to correct and lessons to plan not to mention my own research, I would not be stomping through the edge of the forbidden forest unless these measurements were really necessary," finished the short balding man with a dramatic squaring of shoulders.
Professor McGonagall looked at the Arithmancy teacher for a long moment before speaking. "I simply wanted to know if the Ravenclaw crests embossed on each of the flags was necessary."
Vector adjusted his robes self consciously. "The ravens on the flags? No, not really I suppose, I had volunteers in my house make them you see…"
He trailed off and the two professors continued on in silence. McGonagall kept a careful eye on the forest. A centaur had fired an arrow at them earlier in the day, and she did not want to have to limp up to the hospital wing to have one of those things pried out of her back side. As they left the forest for the open hills between the school and Hogsmead Professor Vector spoke again.
"I know the rules for having a family member living on school grounds only apply to spouses and their immediate children, but I was wondering…"
"What?" asked Professor McGonagall.
"I was wondering if my sister and my niece and nephews could share my quarters at the school. I would not ask for the rules to be bent, its just her husband has gone missing and she's very upset, and with all these new wards to put up and security screenings every time I leave the school grounds… I can't visit her as often as she'd like and, well she was never brilliant at defense. I don't think she's safe out there on her own."
"I'll speak to the Headmaster."
"Thank you."
"Don't mention it."
********
He woke up so suddenly he startled himself. Ron sat up in his bed, surrounded by the curtains. He held his breath, trying to slow his racing heart enough to hear the breathing of the four other occupants of the room. Neville was snoring too loudly. Ron could not hear anyone else. He quietly climbed out of bed. He listened at Harry's bed first, and then tiptoed passed Seamus and Dean, they all sounded normal. He went to the window and looked out at the faintly illuminated grounds. For a moment he thought he saw a dark shape racing across the lawn, but a cloud passed over the moon, and the shape was gone.
Ron paced, ignoring the stinging cold of the stone floor. Something was very out of place; he could feel it. It was like that time Ginny nearly drowned in the pond behind the Burrow. Ron had only been six at the time, but he had noticed his annoying little sister was not tagging along after him. The absence of her incessant chatter had spurred him into a frantic search. He remembered screaming his head off when he saw that clump of something, floating out in the center of the murky water, too red to be marsh weeds.
He struggled with the urge to run up to the girl's dorm and check on her. It would set off the security alarms if he did. Maybe it's Hermione, something she said earlier today, that I'm just thinking of now? Then it hit him. Ron had not been awakened once that night by Harry yelling and mumbling in his sleep. That never happens. Ron went sprinting to Harry's bedside, certain he'd find the bed empty or occupied by some hideous imposter. He tore aside the curtain.
"AHHHHHH!"
The shouting had everyone awake in an instant. The lights came on. Ron fell backwards onto the floor and the occupant of the bed, still shouting, darted for the wand on the dresser. The other three boys were out of bed as well, wands drawn.
"What's going on?" shouted Seamus Finnegan.
Harry was looking around wildly. The red goop on his forehead had smeared around during the night, masking most of his face in a strange parody of gore. Harry looked to Ron on the floor.
"What happened?" asked Harry.
"Nothing," said Ron as he got back to his feet. "I just thought I heard something."
Neville, Seamus, and Dean looked around suspiciously, but after a few minutes, they wandered back to bed.
Harry leaned over the edge of his bed. "Was I talking in my sleep again?"
"No. You weren't."
Ron went back to bed and tried to sleep again, but the feeling that something was not right did not go away. He was still staring at the ceiling when the sun came up.
******
The cart tilted up on two wheels as they hit the turn. Remus and the goblin leaned toward the outside, to make sure they did not fly off the track. The goblin grinned like a maniac as he applied a bit of brake, and sparks sputtered out behind them. Remus pressed his hands to his ears, trying unsuccessfully to block out the terrible squeal of metal against metal. As the cart halted, the grinning goblin looked back at him.
"My apologies sir. I forgot about your condition. Please follow me," the goblin said.
Remus hopped out of their rickety transportation, and followed the goblin past countless rows of huge vaults, which grew steadily larger as they traveled deeper underground.
"The Black vaults, sir," said the goblin, pointing to a ceiling-high door of solid silver.
The goblin watched Remus as approached the door. No doubt expecting quite a show if this doesn't work, Remus thought morbidly. Silver would keep out most dark creatures, and it burned a werewolf's skin like a red-hot poker. Slowly, Remus took from his pocket the silver key Sirius Black had given him over a year ago.
"It's not as if I'll be appearing at Gringotts any time soon," the laughing dark-haired man had said.
Or ever again. Remus searched for the lock but saw only a large round hole in the door, about twenty centimeters across. He looked questioningly at the goblin.
"The lock is in the back. You have to put your arm in there to reach it," the goblin said.
"And I assume something thoroughly painful will happen if I have the wrong key?" Remus asked.
"You lose the arm."
"Splendid," Remus growled.
Gritting his teeth, he very gingerly put his arm into the hole, the silver key burning his fingertips all the while. He felt along the back of the wall and the key slid into place with a loud click. He carefully turned it to the left. The hole constricted around his upper arm, pinching off circulation. He tried to pull free, to no avail. Remus turned to the goblin, but he only watched passively. The pain intensified and his vision blacked out.
He blinked his eyes clear. With a final sharp tug he pulled his arm free and stumbled back. He looked behind him for the goblin and the cart, but they were gone. Instead, a narrow tunnel stretched out behind him. Torches lit the cramped space. Pushing his discomfort aside, Remus turned and followed it. He walked for a quarter of an hour before he came to another large door. This one was gold, and had a very simple keyhole in it. Engraved in the metal was the Black family motto, Toujours Pur. Remus unlocked the door and stepped through.
Inside was a single circular room, pitted with cul-de-sacs. Remus passed a chamber filled with shining galleons, but ignored it. He was looking for something more valuable. The Black family was rumored to have owned a massive collection of dark texts, which would be, needless to say, incredibly important to the Order. They could not search for the books fifteen years earlier, because the Black matriarch was still alive, and they had not had sufficient time, in their current struggle, to devote to the task before that day. He bypassed a room full of paintings and another full of ornate cages before coming to the library. Someone had beaten him there.
Five large shelves occupied the small space, but no more then two dozen books remained, piled randomly on the ground in front of them. Remus sighed. Nothing about transfigurative potions, but I can read the enchanting history of the Black family's victory over impurity, he thought, sifting through the piles. He pushed aside another photo album and was about to leave when a stained old book caught his eye. Basic Transfiguration: Level Five by Renald Clearwater. On the old leather cover, in ink, familiar handwriting scrawled.
Property of Sirius Black
Under that another hand had printed.
King of the Gryffindors.
Reverently Remus lifted the book from the floor and brushed off the layers of dirt and cobwebs. He flipped through the pages, which were filled with underlining and what must have seemed like very witty comments at the time. A few more of Sirius' old school books had been left on the floor. Remus collected them all, shrunk them and put them in his pocket. He started to sigh again, but stopped himself halfway. Quit feeling sorry for yourself, muttered the little voice in the back of his head. A quick check of the rest of the vault showed him nothing he wanted to see. He walked out the door, which slammed with a reverberating clang behind him.
With the afternoon mostly wasted, Remus decided to get a late lunch. He headed for the Leaky Cauldron, but as it was crowded with many Ministry workers he recognized from the Werewolf Taskforce in the Department for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, he chose to transfigure his cloak into a coat and continued on into muggle London, hoping to find some place to eat there.
As he did not spend much time in the crowded city when he could help it, he was not entirely sure what restaurants served palatable food at a reasonable price. He only had ten pounds in his wallet. Remus inhaled slowly so as not to alarm the muggles on the sidewalk around him. He could detect just a hint of baking scones, and followed that scent up the street. After several minutes of walking the wind changed direction. Fearing he would not be able to locate lunch, he sniffed the air more sharply. A woman in a jogging suit gave him an odd look but he ignored her. His eyes widened as he recognized another smell, completely unrelated to scones. He sprinted up the block.
Remus was not certain how far he had traveled before he found the alley. The narrow gap between towering brick walls was cluttered with stacks of wet newspapers, bags of rubbish, and broken bottles. A rusted dumpster sat a few meters in. The lid was propped open slightly by the excessive number of black plastic trash bags crammed into it. Barely visible, sticking out between the bags was a limp pale hand.
******
Harry walked up the staircase, eyes glued to his new copy of The Perfect Countercurse, mail-ordered from Flourish and Blotts, delivered by Hedwig, and inspected by Professor McGonagall that morning. The first D.A. meeting of the year was scheduled for Friday evening and he planned to show everyone how to deflect a blasting hex back at its owner. Dumbledore had given them permission to practice in an empty classroom on the seventh floor, across from the abandoned north tower. Harry felt very odd about having posted flyers for the meeting all over the school. Without being outlaws, leading the group seemed a lot less fun and a lot more paper work. Harry was so engrossed in the book that he did not hear the group charging down the hallway, and barely leapt aside in time.
Mad-Eye Moody, Remus Lupin, and two wizards Harry did not know rushed by, an occupied stretcher between them. The figure on the stretcher was covered in a white sheet. Terrified that someone he knew had been killed, Harry rushed after them. They went straight to the hospital wing, and did not take any notice of Harry as he followed them in the door. Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, rushed out to meet them. Harry supposed she must now be a member of the Order as well, as she did not question the presence of people in her hospital who were obviously not students. After a few whispered words with Lupin, she pulled back the sheet.
Professor Snape's blank eyes stared up at the ceiling. His skin was more yellowed than usual and he did not respond when Pomfrey called his name and shook his shoulder. Harry would have thought him dead were it not for the faint snoring breaths coming from the Potions professor's overly large nose. Suddenly, Snape twitched.
"…they were walking on the left…the door closes!" Snape shouted.
Everyone in the room jumped in surprise. Pomfrey called his name again, but Snape did not answer. The nurse went through several healing and reviving spells before Snape spoke again, and whether it had anything to do with Pomfrey's efforts was questionable.
"You eat with a fork, Moron!" Snape shouted loudly, twitching as he did so.
"A babbling beverage?" asked a wizard Harry didn't know. The man had long black hair in a braid down his back.
"That wouldn't cause this degree of mental impairment," said the other stranger, in a gravelly voice. He wore a hooded red cloak that hid every bit of him.
"It's not a hex or a potion as far as my spells can tell," said Pomfrey quietly.
"Was he hit on the head?" asked Harry.
The adults all jumped again and stared at him.
"How'd you get in here?" demanded Moody.
"I walked in right behind you," Harry said smugly. He had yet to forgive Moody for stupefying Joan. "What happened to him?" Harry asked, pointing at Snape.
"We don't know Harry, but you can't tell anyone you've seen him," said Lupin, as he walked over to him. The former professor began to push Harry out the door.
"Go back to your classes, we'll tell you if there is any change," Lupin said. Just as he pushed him into the hall, Lupin grabbed Harry's hand, pressing several small objects into in. Harry looked up at him, and Lupin winked right before slamming the door in Harry's face. For a moment Harry thought he had given him matches, but on closer inspection he saw they were miniaturized textbooks. After a final look at the door, Harry started up the stairs to Gryffindor tower.
Harry often imagined what it would be like to see Snape brought low. On a regular basis he used fantasies of Snape being injured or humiliated to get through Potions class with the biased, cruel, slimy, intolerable man, so as he gave the fat lady the password, Harry wondered why he did not feel more like celebrating. Maybe it's because I know he was probably injured while working for the Order, Harry thought. Or maybe it's because you didn't get to do the injuring, mumbled the little voice that might have been his conscience.
As Harry entered the 6th year boys' dorm, he pushed all the chattering little voices out of his mind, to make room for the books Lupin had so mysteriously given him. He laid the five little books out in front of him on the bed spread. He glanced at the door for a moment, but then remembered Dean and Seamus were in Divination. Harry pointed his wand at each of the books in turn and said "Engorgio!" returning them to a normal size.
Basic Transfiguration: Level Five by Renald Clearwater, Defense Against the Unknown, Basic Transfiguration: Level Three, Charms for all Ages, and The Potions Brewing Guide: Advanced, the titles read. The covers were all coated in a thick layer of graffiti, and Harry's heart sped up as he recognized the nicknames. All the books had belonged to the Marauders, a group consisting of Harry's father and his three closest friends. The majority of the writing belonged to none other then Sirius Black. Harry spent the next hour reading over the notes in the ledgers and title pages. Many of the comments did not make sense, no doubt depending on bizarre references and inside jokes, but a few of the messages were completely hilarious.
Though not bored, Harry grew impatient. Professor Lupin seemed to have a purpose in giving him the books. He lifted his wand and carefully tapped the cover of Defense Against the Unknown.
"I solemnly swear I am up to no good." Harry said.
He hoped the passwords for the Marauders' Map would reveal something, but it had no effect on any of the books. Nor did any of the other passwords he tried in the next hour. He looked at his watch. Potions would start in another thirty minutes. He would have to come back to the books later. What did I do with my essay? Harry scrambled about, looking through his cluttered trunk and desk for the paper he'd written the night before. He was about to try a summoning charm when he saw the edge of it, sticking out of under his bed.
After freeing it from under some filthy shoes, Harry put a hand on his bed, to push himself back to his feet. He was not terribly surprised when his hand landed on one of the books he had been looking at. What did surprise him was the sudden hot feeling under his palm as it came to rest exactly in the center of the cover of Basic Transfiguration: Level Five. The feeling faded a second later. Harry lifted the book and inspected it carefully. The cover looked exactly the same. He opened to the title page. Neat block printing had replaced the name of the book.
Remember to hide the book next time, Prongs, Moony's been carrying it around all day.
As Harry watched, the block letters faded away, and fancy scarlet script soaked into being on the paper.
******
The air was humid and sweat ran in rivers down his back. Gnats flew into his eyes, forcing him to blink constantly, and the smell of manure nearly choked him. Despite the atmosphere of the greenhouse, Neville Longbottom was incredibly happy. The main reason for this was a sudden relief from guilt. Neville felt more then a little responsible for the injuries that befell his fellow students and friends, as he had not been in the Great Hall to help when "the incident" with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and Harry had occurred, but everyone was fine now. Harry had woken up three days previous, and was now attending classes. Harry seemed to be in perfect health, except for a slight bit of depression, but anyone would be depressed really, if they had to wear a potion that smelled that awful all over their face, all the time.
And the best news had come at breakfast that very morning. Professor Snape had disappeared without a trace, and had not shown up to any of his classes. If Neville's prayers succeeded, Snape would not be present in the evening Potions classes either. They were working on healing potions that week, and Neville needed to learn them especially well to get the N.E.W.T.s he needed. Without the teacher hovering over his cauldron shouting every few minutes, he might actually have a chance to brew it properly.
Neville began to hum as he transplanted the last of the henbane into flower box eight, finishing one of his extra credit Herbology assignments, and continued humming as he took a quick shower, grabbed a light lunch in the Great Hall and went to the library to finish up his homework for Potions. Madam Pince, the librarian, gave him a scathing look as he walked past her towards the secluded table in the herbology section, his favorite study spot. As he unrolled his parchment and opened his textbook there was a prickling feeling on the back of his neck.
"Hello Verdad!" he said cheerfully.
The table creaked as she settled herself on the edge of it.
"How'd ya know I was there?" asked the tall, dark haired girl.
Neville shrugged and looked up at her. She was grinning rather widely. The Slytherin girl had been plaguing him with homework questions for the past two weeks. Whenever he stepped out of Gryffindor tower by himself she would appear with an essay or a test, asking him to point out and explain her mistakes to her. Neville had asked her why she did not get help from someone within her own house. She only smiled and told him it was because he was so much smarter then anyone she could ask in Slytherin. It was obviously flattery with a purpose, but Neville found he did not mind so much.
"Guess what." Verdad said.
"I don't know, what?"
"You have to guess."
"You got in another fight with the seventh years?"
"No. Better."
"You found ten galleons?"
"No."
"You made the Quidditch team?"
"No! Alright, enough of this $#!%." she said, and with an odd flourishing motion of her arms she held up a roll of parchment for inspection. It was an essay, entitled "Human Transfiguration," and there was only a single line of red across the bottom.
Exceeds Expectation, Keep up the good work. Professor McGonagall's neat handwriting declared.
"Congratulations," said Neville looking over the paper. She had done that particular one without his help.
"Absolutely brilliant isn't it?" she crowed, smiling. "I think I'll get it framed. And thank you, of course," she said, and before Neville could form a "you're welcome" she bent forward and kissed him on the cheek. His face burned and he stared down at his textbook. He tried to control the huge stupid grin struggling to form.
"A-a-a-a…" he heard himself stuttering like a fool. Not a big deal, this kind of thing happens all the time. Say something! You're acting like a stupid first year. It's not a big deal, stop staring at the book, she'll think you're a poof.
When he looked up again, she was watching him very intently.
"You're turning awfully red," she said with a slight smirk.
"Th-th-th-…" Neville struggled to spit out a sentence. His brain froze. She hopped off the table, leaned over him, and put her hands on the arms of his chair, disrupting Neville's plan to run for it.
"Why are you blushing Neville?" she whispered, moving closer.
He tried to look back at the book, but her hand came under his jaw, forcing him to keep eye contact. The ring in her lower lip grazed his chin a moment before their mouths touched.
******
Ron Weasley was certain he had stepped into the strangest Potions class ever. The first and foremost source of peculiarity was the lack of the world's worst teacher. Rather than Snape, Professor Dumbledore was overseeing the class, instructing patiently and not deducting points for mistakes. Under most circumstances Ron would have expected a pleasant hum of chatter in the room, but all he heard was nervous chopping, grinding, and stirring.
Harry sat on one side of Ron, brooding thoughtfully. Hermione sat on his other side, mumbling to herself every once in a while about S.P.E.W. and the Ministry. At the end of the table, Neville, who usually begged Hermione to help him with his assignment, stared into space, looking flushed and dazed. No other Gryffindors had been allowed into the N.E.W.T. preparatory Potions class.
The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws all cautiously kept their eyes on their work. The Slytherins in the class, all the sixth years including Crabbe and Goyle (who couldn't tell a cauldron from a toad, and only got into the class because Snape was a rotten, cheating, so-and-so, in Ron's opinion.), were also very quiet. They would look at Draco Malfoy from time to time, but he would only shake his head. Whatever stunt they had been planning that day would be postponed due to the presence of the Headmaster.
The moment the clock struck seven, every single student sprinted for the door.
Harry grabbed Hermione's and Neville's arms and began to drag them up the steps to Gryffindor tower.
"Hurry up Ron!" Harry hissed, as they passed Malfoy and his gang.
Malfoy started to say something, but Ron struck him in the solar plexus with an elbow as he rushed by. Crabbe and Goyle looked to their leader for instructions, but as the wind had been knocked out of him, all Draco could do was gasp for air. Feeling better, Ron sprinted up the stairs after his friends. Somehow they collected Ginny along the way to the 6th year boy's dorm. They all crowded around Harry's bed, but Harry suddenly looked suspiciously at the wall behind Ron. A portrait of a desert landscape hung on the wall of the room. Ron did not remember seeing it before. Harry rushed to the painting, looking incredibly angry.
"I should have known!" he growled. Harry snatched several books off his bed and ran for the door. The others stood watching him.
"Come on. Hurry up!" he said, waving his arm impatiently before rushing back down the stairs.
They ran after him, through the twisting corridors and staircases of the school, until they arrived in the seventh floor corridor, opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his trolls. The magical door to the Room of Requirement had already appeared and without pause Harry entered.
Instead of the D.A. classroom, filled with tools to help them practice defensive spells, the room was almost completely empty. Five cushioned chairs and a coffee table were the only furniture, and the room was much smaller then it had been. The walls were completely bare. On the table sat a sneak-o-scope and a strange device covered in long metal antenna. Harry set the books on the table.
"Close the door, hurry!" he said.
Ron, the last one in, obeyed.
"What's this all about, then?" asked Ginny. "Why are we rushing around? Is some one following us?"
"Dumbledore, he has all the paintings spying for him. That's how he knows so much about what's going on in the school. I thought the dorms were safe, but then that painting showed up while we were in potions class," Harry said, his eyes moving over each of their faces in turn. Hermione looked a bit doubtful but did not speak the thought that was forming lines in her forehead.
"So what are we doing that Dumbledore shouldn't see?" Ron asked, now very interested.
"This!" Harry said, opening a rather worn-looking old transfiguration book.
Ron could see scarlet ink on the title page, but then Hermione touched the corner of the book and in the blink of an eye the scarlet writing was gone, replaced by black print. Property of Sirius Black, the page now read.
"What happened?" asked Neville.
"A concealing spell with an identifier charm," stated Hermione. "Only particular people involved in the casting of the spell can touch the book. Is this something you and Sirius made, Harry?" Hermione spoke Sirius' name so softly it was barely audible
"No this is something else the Marauders made. The book thinks I'm my dad." Harry said.
"Who are the Marauders?" asked Neville.
Harry was about to speak and from the look on his face the tale would be long and morbid, so Ron cut him off, giving Neville the short version, (though Ron was still not certain why Neville was so involved in their group all of a sudden.)
"Harry's dad, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew were all best friends at Hogwarts: they had a little gang and called themselves the Marauders. Pettigrew became a Death Eater and framed Black for murder, and then in fourth year Pettigrew tried to kill Harry. You remember Scabbers, my pet rat?" Ron paused until Neville nodded. "That was Peter Pettigrew in his Animagus form. So back to the book."
Neville looked more confused but did not interrupt again as the group's attention returned to Harry.
"Professor Lupin gave me this book, this morning while they were bringing Snape in to the hospital wing."
"Was he hurt?" asked Ginny.
"Who? Snape?"
She nodded.
"He was babbling incoherently about forks when they kicked me out. They didn't know what happened to him, or maybe they just didn't want to tell me, but the book!"
Harry closed the cover again and put his hand in the center of it. When he opened the book the scarlet print had returned. They all crowded around him, reading over his shoulder.
Animagus: Transformation Through Will
"Anybody else want to give it a try?" Harry asked, with a sly grin on his face.
*****
For Harry, the next day flew bye. Preparing for the D.A. meeting, make-up homework, and secretly reading about Animagi took up nearly every moment of his time. Every so often he was struck with a strange feverish head ache that made him sure he was about to get the flu. He was knew he was doomed when he checked the time and realized he had forgotten to include Quidditch practice in his over loaded schedule. He grabbed up his broom and sprinted down to the pitch.
The field was already crowded when he arrived. Ginny, Katie, Ron and he were returning to the team from the previous year. Andrew Kirke and Jack Sloper, the rather awful beaters who had replaced Fred and George Weasley, had graduated, as had their Chasers, Alicia and Angelina. The team was holding tryouts that day for replacements. Professor McGonagall nodded to Harry as he ran past. She had omnioculars in one hand and her wand in the other. Harry knew he was supposed to be 'supervised' whenever he was outside, but he was sure McGonagall would have been at the practice anyway, as she was very concerned with all things Quidditch.
Ron had been appointed captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team while Harry was in a coma, as Katie Bell, the ranking member of the team, refused the job. She wanted to avoid "Oliver-itis"--the bizarre mental disorder that seemed to strike every Gryffindor captain--so that she could pass her N.E.W.T.s. The disease was most insidious, with symptoms involving insomnia, anorexia and amnesia of anything unrelated to Quidditch. Ron began to show symptoms at the first practice, starting it off with an aggressive speech.
"Quidditch is one of Hogwarts proudest traditions," Ron began, "For hundreds of years Wizards all over the world have played the game, and taken it seriously. Any one who can not take Quidditch seriously should leave now. If you're going to abandon the team for little things like clubs or parties or O.W.L.s we don't want you here. We've had the cup for two years now, and we don't want to give it up, not to Hufflepuff, not to Ravenclaw and I'll be dead before I hand it over to Slytherin. We practice three times a week, two hours per practice, and if your skills aren't up to scratch you'll be expected to drill on your own time. Is that clear?" Everyone nodded.
"Alright everyone, we're going to do some basic drills, and then we'll spilt up into practice teams and scrimmage. The current team will be taking notes on your progress. At the end of try-outs we'll make our decision. Get to it!"
The beater tryouts went reasonably well, though one boy, Arthur Amines, narrowly avoided a major accident. He flew too far outside the Quidditch pitch, attempting to outflank a Bludger and ran into the new null-wards the teachers had put up around the school for Harry's benefit. The wards canceled out all spells that passed though them, so Arthur's suddenly un-enchanted broom dropped out of under him. Fortunately, Ginny Weasley was on the other side of the ward and was able to catch him with a levitation spell.
The Chaser try-outs were a bit muddled, as Ron was trying to supervise the Beater tryouts and play goalie simultaneously, but eventually they got things sorted out. At the end of the afternoon they chose their new beaters: a stocky third year girl named Natalie McDonald and a fourth year boy, Normandy Branstone. They did not work together as well as the Weasley twins had, but Natalie hit Bludgers with a force and aim that Harry had never seen before, and Normandy flew with the skill of a Seeker. There new Chaser was Milton Blackwater, another third year. He was a bit of a Quaffle hog but Ginny laughingly said they could beat that out of him. After the selection process was over, the team practiced for another hour and a half, before they had to relinquish the field to Ravenclaw.
Harry was walking off the field as Cho Chang walked on. They paused for a moment. Harry was unsure whether to say hello or not, and finally settled on a nod. Cho returned the gesture and continued on. Not as awkward as I thought it would be.
Milton, Natalie, and Normandy seemed impressed beyond words by the Quidditch locker rooms. None of them even commented on the over powering smell of sweat socks that neither charm nor soap seemed capable of removing. Ron led them all to the wardrobe where the excess robes were kept. After much trial and error the new members were fitted to Ron's satisfaction.
"You have to treat your uniforms with respect, always hang them up after practice and make sure they're clean. We don't want to look like a bunch of Slytherins out there." Ron said. He started talking about proper glove maintenance when Ginny cut him off.
"You can ignore my brother from now on, as he always leaves his uniform waddled up on the floor of his locker."
"And let's not forget the lessons of Alexander Bones," said Katie in a low mystical tone, "Before your time Ron and Harry, but his skills as a Chaser were unmatched. Some say the secret of his success were in the fact that he never had his uniform cleaned after a wining game, so as not wash the luck out. For some reason the other team stayed at a distance and up wind."
The new players all smiled, and Ron looked disgruntled, but before he could go into another speech Ginny suggested they get back to Gryffindor tower, as she'd had Dean "acquire" them some Butterbeer.
As they walked past the fat lady, the party met them full swing. Someone had brought up a large Wizarding-Wireless-Phonograph and it seemed as if every one in the house had come to the common room to talk loudly and dance badly. Dean had apparently acquired some Fire Whisky as well, and had consumed enough of it to be in a sharing mood. Hermione was looking rather desperate trying to confiscate it without starting a riot, and in the end only managed to limit Deans generosity to those in sixth year and above.
Harry's head ached terribly and he squeezed his way over to a seat by the fire place. He put his glasses on the arm of his chair and rubbed at his eyes. The pain started in his temples and made a circuit through the back of his skull, then up into his forehead. He rubbed at the sides of his head hoping to somehow improve circulation to his brain. All he managed to do was get Professor Graypond's mind-sealer all over his fingers.
A dancing couple bumped into the back of his chair and his glasses went flying. Not really thinking Harry darted forward. With a spectacular dive he snatched up his glasses a moment before they shattered on the hearth. Quit a few people paused to applaud him. With a mock bow Harry climbed back to his feet, and returned to his chair. His head ache grew worse, but he didn't want to skive off too early, and be labeled the crazy unsocial loaner. He sat watching the flames with his eyes half closed.
"Not feeling well?"
Harry looked to his left, as Natalie squatted down next to his chair.
"Not really," Harry answered.
"You want me to get you something to drink?" she asked.
"No thanks, I just don't feel like partying at the moment."
"Me neither," Natalie said in a low voice "I don't think any of these people really do. Look at them. They're all trying to hard." She waved her hand expansively. "I think they're just doing this because they're scared they won't get another chance, with you-know-who back and all."
Harry tried not to grind his teeth, as Voldemort was the last person he wanted to think about. Natalie seemed to catch on.
"I'm not trying to bug you about it or anything. I just mean nobody'll blame you if you want to sneak off. I'll even cover for you, tell them 'Potter's gone to take a piss,' or something. You look half asleep anyway."
"Yeah I guess I'll turn in." Harry muttered. He tried to smile at her but he thought his expression was closer to a grimace. He got up and she immediately took his seat. He wondered slightly at the altruism of her actions as he climbed the steps to the boy's dormitory.
As Harry sat in bed he thought about how different he felt since he started taking Professor Graypond's medication. His scar did not burn anymore, and to test it again he said "Voldemort" under his breath, but even then there was no reaction. That was good he supposed, but he did not feel quite awake. He knew he had to be, as he was walking around and the details of his surroundings were very clear and un-dreamlike, but something was off. He had not dreamed about the black dog since the medication either, and he was strongly tempted to wash the red goop off his face for just one night at least, to see if Snuffles would return. The sounds of other footsteps in the dorm pushed the idea out of his mind. Despite the pain of his next thoughts, he knew they were true.
Even if that is Sirius some how, it's not right. Not if it means Voldemort could get in here again and hurt people.
On that bitter note he closed his eyes.
He walked through the empty halls. All the doors were open but they contained only darkness and he ignored them. He stumbled and looked down. Under his feet were the remains of the statues of the magical brethren. He walked gingerly through the atrium to the stairs. It took forever to walk down them. Harry shivered. The Ministry Building was never this cold before, he thought. He stumbled on. Every door he came to seemed slightly out of place but he opened them and went through all the same, through the department of Mysteries and the spinning room and past the glass cases filled with quivering disembodied brains. He slipped on the wet floor but climbed to his feet again.
At last he came to the door. It opened before he could put his hands on it. The staircase stretched down before him, and so far away it was almost lost in the mist at the bottom of the amphitheater, was the arch. The sound of lapping water floated up to him. He started down.
As he approached the arch he could see the curtains whipping about in a wind he could not feel. Every few seconds a hand would reach out, trying desperately to scrabble past the curtains, only to disappear again in the next rush of wind. From beneath the curtains a stream of oily water ran. It spilled out over the edge of the dais on which the arch rested and covered the floor. Harry paused on the last step. The water had come all the way to the bottom of the stairs.
It was pitch black and freezing cold as he stepped into it. His feet sank down as if the stones of the floor had turned to mud. As he splashed out towards the arch, the dais drifted further away, and with every step the water grew deeper.
"No! Stop! It's not fair!" he shouted struggling clumsily through water now up to his arm pits.
But the dais did not stop drifting, rather it sped its departure until it was little more then a shadowy pinpoint in an endless sea. The water lapped around Harry's ears and he began to swim. Something brushed across his toes but he ignored it. His arms and legs burned but he was certain he was gaining on the arch. When a hard scaly thing bumped him from the side, he pushed it away in annoyance and paddled faster. It was harder to ignore the hand that wrapped around his ankle and pulled him beneath the surface.
Water rushed up his nose and he struggled back towards the air. The thing holding his ankle let go, and he broke through. Choking and sputtering he looked around. The stony ceiling of the cavernous room had vanished and a clear starry sky drifted over head. Harry whirled around, treading water. He could see the dark outline of land in the distance, but it was far away. His heart hammered faster, he turned. In the distance he saw a faint light rising above the water.
That can't be Hogwarts, he thought, trying to still his chattering teeth. I'm in the lake, I can't be in the lake, I'm still dreaming, I'm still in my room, this isn't real… His thoughts were cut short by a pair of lantern like eyes looking up at him from beneath his paddling feet. Hands locked around his ankles and dragged him under again.
The water closed over his hands and the faint light of the stars drifted into nothing. He was blind to every thing except the florescent eyes of the creature dragging him down. It's a grindylow, he thought. Around him other pairs of eyes appeared, and the water filled with a strange combination of chatters and clicks. He was not a strong enough swimmer to pull the grindylow back to the surface with him. Harry bent double and tried to pry the creature's fingers from his legs, but as he did so two of the creatures' friends grabbed his wrists.
Harry thrashed about in desperation as bubbles of air drifted up and away from him. Flashes of light appeared before his eyes and for a moment he thought someone was coming to rescue him, but as the flashes became more frequently he realized it was just his brain, misfiring for want of air. Pressure pushed in on his ears as they descended. He kicked with all his might. The hands let go and for a moment he was free. He tried to swim up ward but his arms and legs were lead. The grindylows circled him. The chattering in the water increased in frequency and he was certain they were laughing at him. He was almost numb with cold, except for his lungs, which had not given up their persistent burning. Despite this, the sharp pain of teeth on his arm still caused him to cry out, giving up the last of his oxygen. The grindylows began to feed.