What a Strange and Mysterious Thing It Is

Disclaimer All characters and references to Harry Potter mythology are the sole property of the amazing J.K. Rowling. I write for fun only, besides lawyers make me nervous.

Summary: Following the death of Sirius, truths emerge from everywhere. Harry must learn to cope with them and perhaps find what he has been seeking. This story, in keeping with the style of Ms. Rowling, is in Harry's point of view. It is mostly about Harry and Professor McGonagall, but there is a lot of AD/MM as well. It is rated PG-13 for some violence in later chapters. Please read and review! Enjoy!

A/N: Okay, so I don't mind admitting I've been really annoyed with ffnet the last couple of days. I apologize to all of you who are having difficulties accessing my updates. Also, just so you all know I am still writing the end so my updates will be slowing down a bit now. I have been pretty good lately about updating a chapter a day, but I don't think that is going to stay consistent for too much longer. I have everything worked out in my brain, but apparently my muse has gone on vacation because I have run into some difficulties wording things the way I want without it sounding forced. But I am definitely on the downswing now. Thank you so much to Amandah, Liat1989, Quill of Minerva, Lou. McGonagall, mugglemin, and Aurinko for reviewing! Hopefully ffnet will get the bugs worked out soon. Enjoy chapter nine!

Chapter Nine: Little Judas

When Harry awoke he found himself staring at the hospital wing ceiling. He did not know how long he had been out, but apprehension came flooding back to him as he began to remember what had transpired. He remembered Voldemort's voice and how he had been unable to move. Was he paralyzed? Harry tried to sit but found that he was restrained in the bed. A brace was supporting his neck. A wave of panic washed over him and he began to feel himself hyperventilate. He was gasping for air when he felt a hand squeeze his own. It was a comforting sensation and Harry's breaths were slowing down.

"Am I paralyzed?" Harry spluttered nervously, not knowing to whom he was speaking.

He could hear the creak of a chair as whoever was holding his hand stood. It was Professor McGonagall. She leaned over his bed so that she could look him in the eyes. "No," she said soothingly.

"But I can't move!" Harry shouted feeling himself becoming upset again. McGonagall was stroking his forehead.

"Harry, move your fingers," the professor prompted. Harry wriggled his fingers and sighed with relief. "We had to immobilize you to allow your spinal cord to heal properly," McGonagall explained. "We have been very worried about you."

"Who's we?" Harry asked.

"Albus, er, Professor Dumbledore," she blushed, "well, everyone in fact."

"Could I have my glasses, please?" Harry inquired smiling. "I can't see anything without them." Professor McGonagall reached for his bedside table and place his glasses carefully upon his face. "How long have I been out?"

"Four days," McGonagall responded. "There is something you need to..."

"I will tell him Minerva," a voice interrupted. Harry could not see who it was, but he knew it had to be Professor Dumbledore. A weight dropped onto the edge of Harry's bed and the young man turned his eyes to see his Headmaster sitting there. Dumbledore's eyes looked hollowed and exhausted. Their usual twinkle was notably absent.

"What is it, Sir?" Harry prodded.

"The day of your accident I assumed you had another vision that caused you to lose consciousness," he disclosed. "You were quite correct in what you informed me of. Voldemort and his Death Eaters staged an assault upon Azkaban Prison early last Saturday morning. His followers that had been captured in the Department of Mysteries last June have once more escaped. Voldemort tempted other prisoners to join him by offering their freedom. A few apparently accepted. One who concerns us is.."

"Dolores Umbridge," Harry finished for him. Dumbledore nodded.

Ron and Hermione came and visited Harry everyday upon the conclusion of classes. Though Harry thoroughly enjoyed their visits, it was obvious that Madame Pomfrey was less than thrilled. "Mr. Potter needs his rest!" she would exclaim.

"Honestly, Madame Pomfrey," Harry would chide, "how worked up can I get just lying here?" Harry had improved to where the neck brace and body bind were no longer necessary. Though Harry suspected Madame Pomfrey would have liked to have kept them just to spite him.

"Old bat," Ron scowled as the nurse finished chastising the trio for the third time that evening. Hermione's eyes narrowed, but she didn't respond.

The sight made Harry smile truly for the first time in days. His expression soon sombered, however. "What about the Death Eaters and Umbridge?" Harry asked. "What have they been doing?"

"As far as we can tell, nothing," Hermione replied. Harry raised his eyebrows doubtfully.

"It's just like in chess. They're biding their time," Ron said wisely. "They're not going to strike until the have an advantage."

"I'd say a dozen escaped Death Eaters is an advantage," Harry expressed sarcastically.

"Yeah, but he had that before," Ron stated rolling his eyes. "Voldemort is going to wait until he can hold all the cards." Ron looked from one friend to another confused. Both Hermione and Harry and their mouths hanging open as if caught by surprise. "What?" Ron hissed.

"You said Voldemort," the other two responded simultaneously.

"So?"

"You never say his name, Ron," gasped Hermione.

Ron's ears went red. "Yeah, well, I finally realized that you were right all along," he blushed. "His name is not what I fear, it is his actions."

"How profound," said Harry dryly.

"What I don't get," Hermione interrupted perhaps trying to divert an argument, "is why Dumbledore would be so especially worried about Umbridge joining Voldemort? I know she's evil, but hardly the most impressive witch."

"Look at Peter Pettigrew," Harry said somberly. "Everyone said he had to work hard and get help just to make it through Hogwarts. Yet, look what has happened since he aligned himself with Voldemort. Voldemort can utilize anyone to accomplish his goals."

"And she knows a lot about the inner workings of Hogwarts now," Ron added. "She's almost as good as a spy."

"That's true," Hermione thought aloud, "but I can't think of what she could tell him though that he wouldn't already know, or Dumbledore hasn't thought of." Both boys just shrugged. "Oh!" Hermione announced suddenly. "What will really surprise you is how Snape reacted to your accident!"

"Let me guess, he danced with glee?" Harry asked sarcastically.

"No, he actually seemed quite beside himself with worry," Ron mused. "It was weird, really. He seemed almost human."

"I wonder what that's all about?" pondered Harry curiously.

Ron and Hermione just shrugged. Since his accident, Harry quickly tired. He would start to feel as though his head was too heavy for his neck to support, and a numb, tingling sensation would creep into his limbs. Harry shifted his body to snuggle back down upon his pillows. Hermione eyed him somewhat nervously. "Tired Harry?" she asked.

"Yeah, but Madame Pomfrey said I would be for a while. She said my body is working so hard to heal itself," Harry disclosed. "Don't worry. It's okay."

"When are you going to be able to come back to classes?" Ron inquired.

"I don't know," Harry answered. "If I try to stand for too long, or do too much my arms and legs go numb with the effort. Madame Pomfrey says that I have to stay here until that stops."

Right on cue, Madame Pomfrey stormed out of her office. "OUT!" she exclaimed. Ron rolled his eyes so that only Harry could see. Harry had to suppress his laughter. Infuriating the medi-witch could make for a long recovery indeed. Hermione squeezed his hand softly as she and Ron rose to make their escape.

"See you tomorrow, Harry," Hermione and Ron said together.

"See you."

Harry remained in the hospital for another week. Ron and Hermione continued to visit, but they were far from being the only ones to do so. Many Gryffindors stopped to keep him company as did a few of Harry's friends from other houses. Hagrid dropped by a couple of times. He usually brought Harry some rock cakes or stoat sandwiches as a "break from tha' hospital slop" as Hagrid put it. Harry was appreciative of the gesture, but had far too much experience with Hagrid's cooking. As a result the cakes and sandwiches tended to make a quick disappearance into Harry's bed pan immediately following Hagrid's departure.

"Am I allowed to leave soon?" Harry asked, bored stiff.

"Why Mr. Potter," Madame Pomfrey said mocking rejection, "it's as if you do not enjoy my company." Harry was surprised by her attempt at humor. "If all goes well at your check up in two days I will have no reservations about letting you return to class."

"Thank you Madame Pomfrey!" Harry exclaimed excitedly.

"However," Pomfrey stated sternly. "you will be restricted of activity. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," Harry replied. Harry's fatigue of the hospital wing could cause him to kiss Snape's boots if only he would be released. Well, almost, nothing could be that good.

Madame Pomfrey turned on her heal and stormed to her office. She paused and looked over her shoulder as if as an afterthought. "And don't eat all that candy at once!" she scolded. Harry rolled his eyes. Ron and Hermione had spent the day together at the last Hogsmeade visit. Though they had not forgotten Harry back in the hospital wing. Harry was much appreciative of the trip they made to Honeydukes just for him. There was a small mountain of sweets on the bedside table.

Harry had made good use of his idleness over the last few days. He spent much of his time considering the events that had taken place. First and foremost were his concerns about Voldemort. What was he plotting? Harry knew Voldemort had not yet learned the contents of the prophecy, but he also knew that with or without that knowledge Voldemort's ultimate goal would be Harry's demise. Ironically, it was a goal that Harry shared. Harry was sure that he desired the death of his enemy with the same level of conviction. The difference, however, was Voldemort wanted to kill to achieve complete power, Harry needed to kill to achieve peace.

And how will Umbridge factor into all this? Harry thought. Harry delved deep into the realms of his memory. He contemplated all of the experiences he had had with Umbridge. Of course none of them were good. Harry felt a pang, a certainty in his heart that somehow Dolores Umbridge would be playing a significant role for Voldemort. Something inside him told him that it would be soon. What was it that Umbridge had to offer? What secret did she possess that would leave Hogwarts and all those who lived inside her vulnerable?

Harry shook his head to chase away the perplexing thoughts. It was a sure thing that dwelling on such negativity and worry would leave him susceptible to nightmares. Harry forced his brain to remember happier events. The relief of his confession to Hermione, albeit unintentional, gave him hope. He no longer felt despair or frustration plague every waking moment. Though he still longed to be in Ron's position and happy with Hermione, he could now be guilt-free about being happy for Hermione. Similarly, Harry was relieved by the developments he had witnessed in Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall just before the fateful quidditch match.

Harry realized how funny love could truly be. What a strange and mysterious thing it is, love. To be without it is like being deprived of oxygen. Harry, who had known none in nine of the first ten years of his life, perceived love as the great gift and torment that it was. Dumbledore and McGonagall had also known this truth all too well. Harry could not help but think of the love Professor Dumbledore had held in secret for more than fifty years. How astonishing it was that his professors had been living their lives knowing one truth, but living another. They had been like birds living in separate cages in a manner of speaking. Harry smiled to himself when he realized that his little nudge on Professor McGonagall had been like the key to those cages; its occupants now free to find each other.

Harry yawned widely. He removed his glasses and placed them upon the beside table. This was not as easy a task as normal thanks to Ron and Hermione's contribution to the contents laboring the tabletop. Resigning to the fact there would be no room, Harry simply laid his glasses on top of the pile of chocolates. He nestled down into his pillows, and with a last reminiscence of his two professors drifted off to sleep.

It was dark, very dark. Despite the blackness people were moving around quietly. ...Harry sat in the corner drumming his fingers...What was this place? Something about it seemed oddly familiar...He looked around...The doors of the dusty room opened...A short, squat figure strode in with an air of sinister confidence...A high, girlish voice spoke, "We have her, my Lord." Two more figures, hooded and cloaked, dragged a third between them. The third figure was hunched over gingerly...Harry's fingers desisted their drumming at once... "Excellent," said Harry, but with a cold voice most unlike his own...The third figure was thrown roughly to the floor...Harry began to speak again, "All we have to do now is wait. Our quarry will come to us." Harry laughed...He turned to another cloaked figure to his left, "In the mean time, have fun, my friend." The figure bowed and Harry heard the man's drawling voice, "My pleasure." He turned to the crumpled form on the floor...When the man's heavy boot connected squarely in the fallen victim's chest, Harry clutched his forehead...It was pain beyond measure.

Harry awoke and abruptly vomited onto the floor. He seized his glasses from his bedside table, sending Honeydukes sweets in all directions. Harry felt feverish. He was weak. It seemed to take insurmountable strength to force one foot in front of the other. Harry's legs and arms were numb, he could not control them. He had to get to Dumbledore, but he was stumbling and falling over and over. Eventually Harry was pulling himself along, using furniture and whatever other means to reach Dumbledore's office as soon as possible. His scar seared again and Harry once more fell to the floor. His cheek was resting upon the cold, stone surface. The temperature soothed his burning head, and Harry had much difficulty resurrecting his willpower to continue on. A sharp pain in his ribs told him that the Death Eaters were busy now with the individual he had seen in his dream. Harry had a sick suspicion he knew who it was.

This knowledge caused him to vomit once more, but also gave him an added surge of strength. He pushed his way to his feet. He swayed dangerously, but ran from corridor to corridor. With each torturous step, he could feel pain springing up all over his body. The Death Eaters' captive was paying dearly. Before he knew it, Harry found himself before the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office. A sense of panic enveloped him as Harry realized he had no idea what the password was. Harry's urgency made it impossible to think of possibilities. "Let me in!" Harry shouted. "This is important!" He was becoming increasingly desperate. The gargoyle remained still. Harry pounded his fists upon it. This only added pain to his weakening body. Suddenly, an idea occurred to him.

"Fawkes!" Harry bellowed. A ball of flame burst behind him. Harry turned to see the phoenix gliding toward him. The bird hovered before Harry. The young man reached out by instinct and grasped Fawkes' tail. A second burst of flame surrounded him and Harry found himself opening his eyes to the familiar sight of the inside of the office he had so fiercely desired to enter.

Dumbledore was there, but did not even look upon Harry's dramatic entrance. Harry rushed to the Headmaster who was sitting slumped on a small sofa. "He's got her!" Harry yelled. Professor Dumbledore remained ever still. Harry seized his shoulders and shook the man intensely. "Professor!," he yelled again. "Voldemort has Professor McGonagall! They are hurting her!"

The fog in Dumbledore's eyes lifted at last. He looked Harry squarely in the face. "I know." Harry heard a piece of parchment hit the floor. Dumbledore's hand was dangling over the edge of the sofa. Apparently he had been reading this document before Harry had arrived. The parchment lay face up beneath Dumbledore's outstretched fingers. The message was simple, but ominous.

She will die in three days.
Give me what I want.

The next morning Harry had refused to go back to the hospital wing. He was weak, but the last thing he wanted was Madame Pomfrey fussing over him. Instead, Harry had made his way to his dormitory. He rifled through his trunk before he found his invisibility cloak. Not knowing where to go, Harry simply sank upon the floor beside his bed. He drew his knees to his chest and put his head down upon them.

Harry had been able to surmise a few facts as to what had happened through Dumbledore's incoherent state of shock the night before. Professor McGonagall had escorted the students to Hogsmeade as she always had done. No one knew when she had disappeared however. A great rush of despair threatened to consume him. He now understood what Umbridge had done. She knew the students visited Hogsmeade periodically throughout the year and that it was Professor McGonagall who would chaperone. She also knew that Professor Dumbledore had a close relationship with McGonagall. Ironically, she had not known the recent development, but the timing was inconceivable. Here was exactly what Dumbledore had feared all those years ago. Voldemort was using someone he cared about to achieve his ends. Dumbledore had refused to say what Voldemort had been after, but that was hardly necessary. Harry knew it was him, and he also knew that no matter how much he loved Professor McGonagall, Dumbledore would never sacrifice him for her. Neither would McGonagall except such a trade.

Footsteps echoed into the dormitory from the stairwell. Harry held himself still. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He had to think. He knew he had seen the room where McGonagall was being held captive before, but he could not remember. Underneath his cloak, Harry looked to the doorway as Ron and Hermione entered.

"Where is he?" asked Hermione shakily.

"I don't know," answered Ron. Hermione sank pathetically to the floor as Ron put his arm around her. Silent sobs began to shake her body. "Don't cry," Ron soothed.

"But what if they have Harry, too?" Hermione cried softly. Harry felt a sense of guilt rising in him. His need to be alone was only causing his friends unnecessary anguish.

Harry stood allowing the invisibility cloak to fall to the ground. "They don't," he replied.

"Harry!" Hermione, and surprisingly Ron, rushed to him and threw their arms around his neck. Harry could feel Hermione's tears dripping gently onto his skin. He leaned his cheek onto the top of her head and placed his arm around Ron. The trio stood quietly for a moment embracing each other.

"What happened?" Hermione queried pulling away at last. Harry explained all about the dream. He told them of his suspicions that McGonagall was being held in a room where he had once been, and how she was suffering now. Ron paled and sank onto Harry's four-poster. He put his head in his hands. Once Harry finished his story the room was silent for several moments.

"Harry, what if..." Hermione began. She seemed to be working something out in her brain as she spoke. "What if you haven't really been there before? The room I mean. What if...you have only seen it before?"

"Hermione," Ron interrupted, "that doesn't make any sense."

"Shh!" she waved Ron quiet. "Yes it does! Here me out!"

"Go on," Harry prompted.

"What if when you saw it last night...you were witnessing it for...for the second time though someone else's eyes?" She gasped, "Harry, I think you dreamed it before."

"Of course!" Harry shouted in revelation. "But which memory is it?"

"If you only recognized someone other than Umbridge or Voldemort in you vision," mused Ron.

Harry closed his eyes. He was willing himself to relive the vision. A cloaked figure popped into his brain. "My pleasure," it had said in a drawling voice. "I do," Harry replied.

"Who?" his friends asked together.

"The drawling voice," Harry disclosed. "Who do we know that has a drawling voice?" Harry nodded as he saw comprehension dawn upon Ron and Hermione's faces. "The man beating Professor McGonagall is Malfoy's father." A sudden pained expression flashed across Harry's face.

"What is it?" Ron asked worriedly.

"We need to hurry," Harry explained turning to sprint out of the dormitory. "They are hurting her again." The trio flew down the steps and out of the portrait hole. The Fat Lady called after them, scolding them. But they hardly heard nor cared what she said.

Harry and the others burst through the doors in the Great Hall. Harry's eyes scanned the Slytherin table to find Malfoy. It wasn't difficult. He was sitting in the middle of it, surrounded by his cronies. He was laughing about something and Harry felt a surge of anger and hatred course through his entire being. Ron and Hermione, having spotted Malfoy as well, made sure to keep up with him before Harry did anything rash.

"What have you done?" Harry seethed. Malfoy slowly turned to face him with the usual disgusting smirk gracing his lips.

"Well, well, Potter," Malfoy ridiculed. "Have you lost something?"

"You told them about the Hogsmeade weekend, didn't you?" Ron chimed in his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"And what if I did, Weasley?" the Slytherin taunted. He turned his attention back to Harry. Harry was shaking with rage. "I told you my father would escape. I told you I would make you pay for putting him in prison, though I doubt I will have the pleasure of knowing how much you suffered like someone else I know." The level of pure evil in Malfoy's demeanor could be described as nothing less than disturbing.

"Where is she!" Harry yelled.

Malfoy laughed, "Even if I did know that, I would not tell you Potter."

Harry instinctively realized that Malfoy did indeed not know where Professor McGonagall was. He turned to leave. Ron and Hermione began to follow him. He was incensed. Professor McGonagall had always been a fair and just teacher. She had regarded the Slytherins with the same level of respect that she had for her own Gryffindors. She had never shown favoritism, nor bias. She had always been strongly and dependently fair.

"Funny about McGonagall, isn't it?" Malfoy had continued. Harry slowly spun on the spot having only made it a few steps from the Slytherin table.

"What do you mean, Draco?" laughed Pansy Parkinson with tears of mirth in her eyes.

"Well," Malfoy explained staring Harry dead in the eyes, "after six years at this joke of a school, it surprised even me to find out that McGonagall has been Dumbledore's whore."

The next few moments were like a dream itself. The last few words of his statement seemed to have reverberated around the Great Hall. An eerie silence descended upon them. Heads from every corner; Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor turned to face the Slytherins. If Malfoy had been seeking a confrontation he sure received it. However, it came from the least expected source imaginable. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been too stunned to react to Malfoy's derogatory remark, yet there was another in the Great Hall who responded without hesitation.

"Stupefy!"

Malfoy's pale complexion became bathed in red light. The stunning spell hit him in the face and he flew backward off of his seat. Harry wheeled around to identify the source of the curse. Standing with her wand still raised was a violently shaking Madame Pomfrey. A collective gasp of disbelief was ushered from the student body. Madame Pomfrey had dedicated her life to healing and protecting the students of Hogwarts, but in this moment she had for the first time caused one of them harm. Yet, Harry remembered how she had reacted when McGonagall had to be sent to St. Mungo's all those months ago. Without another word, she lowered her arm at last. She gave Malfoy one last fleeting look before slowly exiting the hall.

That night was pure agony for Harry. He knew that somewhere out there Professor McGonagall was fighting for her life. A life that may extinguish in one more day. Harry lay in his bed with the curtains pulled around him. He had his fist in his mouth to stifle the sobs escaping him. Harry had never felt so utterly helpless. Harry closed his eyes to see the room where McGonagall was being held. Why did he know it? When had he seen it before? Harry pounded his fist on his forehead as if trying to force the memory out. It's like a riddle with no answer, Harry thought. Suddenly Harry's eyes widened and he sat bolt upright in bed. "Riddle," he said aloud.

Harry flew out of the bed and dressed as quickly as possible. He knew what he must do. There was no question. Harry grabbed his wand and turned to leave the dormitory. A particularly loud snore from Ron made him stop. He turned to his sleeping friend. Harry crept quietly over to Ron's bed. The curtains were pulled back slightly and Harry could see Ron sleeping peacefully. Slowly, he bent to Ron's ear. "I can't take you this time, my friend," he whispered. "Take care of her." With that Harry departed the dormitory without a second glance.

Had Harry not been so determined he may have noticed the creak of floor boards as a second individual arose from the confines of a four-poster.

"What a strange and mysterious thing it is, love. To be without it is like being deprived of oxygen ."

-Emily Delahunty
My House in Umbria, William Trevor, 1996
film version, HBO Studios, 2003

Incidentally, Emily Delahunty was portrayed by the fabulous Maggie Smith in the 2003 film. If you have not seen it I highly recommend it. Smith, who we all know and love as Professor McGonagall in the Harry Potter films, is brilliant in this film and has the ability to draw all kinds of emotion from you. It is fitting that she won the American Emmy for her performance. So...check it out!