- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN -
Explanations and Bad News

It was a good half hour before Ron limped out to see them, looking still rather wobbly on his feet. Hermione threw herself at him in a huge bear hug, which he took rather sheepishly.

"What's happened to Professor McGonagall?" Harry asked nervously.

Ron looked grave. "I don't know. Professor Snape gave her something, but it doesn't look good." They were silent for a moment. "What were those things?" he finally asked.

"I think they were Thaumentors," Hermione said. Ron seemed no more enlightened by that than Harry was. "They're sort of a distant relative of Dementors, except they feed on magic instead of emotions. I should have thought of them much earlier, when Harry first described what happened before Christmas, but no one really agrees on what they were supposed to look like - no one's even seen one for four hundred years!"

"Once again, Miss Granger, your perceptiveness is quite remarkable." They all jumped, none of them having seen Dumbledore approach. "Mr. Weasley, rest assured, your magic levels will be quite back to normal after a few good nights' rest."

Ron sighed in relief from a tension Harry hadn't realised he was carrying.

"Sir, does the Thaumentors coming back have anything to do with the Curse of Durand?" Harry asked. Dumbledore smiled behind his beard.

"I see that as usual, Mr. Potter, you seem to have found the answers to all your own questions before you even pose them." He gestured to the window. "The hedge maze you see outside is not, precisely, around Hogwarts. Or rather, it is... but only on one side."

They contemplated that for a moment.

"What?" said Ron.

"Like a Möbius strip?" Hermione asked.

"What?" Ron repeated.

Dumbledore twinkled at her approvingly. "An apt metaphor indeed, Miss Granger. I find it is quite remarkable what Muggle mathematicians can put their minds to without the aid of magic. Yes, you are quite correct - Durand's maze is, in truth, essentially one-sided. Or rather, one-sided from one side, at least."

Harry's brain had zoned out several exits back, but Hermione seemed to be following. "Meaning you can pass through it to get in, but once you're inside, there's no way out."

"Indeed."

Harry frowned. "Then how do the owls-?"

"The owl post has a magic of its own," Dumbledore said. "Alas, it is not one we humans can use. For a while, at least, the hedge is a physical barrier only, and magic can still pass through it to the outside world."

"That was why you were able to set up the Window of Opportunity?" Harry guessed. The Headmaster nodded.

"What about the Floo Network?" asked Ron.

"A very intelligent suggestion, Mr. Weasley - and one that your teaching staff took considerably longer to come up with, I might add." Ron blushed. "However, it seems that travelling by Floo is bound by the same rules, and once again, it is possible to enter, but not leave. I suspect that were it possible to Apparate on Hogwarts grounds, that too would be similarly affected - and in any case, it would be foolish indeed to attempt it considering current circumstances."

"Meaning those... things outside," Harry concluded. "Are they responsible for everything that's been going so strange with our magic?"

Dumbledore nodded, but Hermione frowned. "I can understand why those who are best at magic are weakened by the presence of the Thaumentors, but why are some people boosted at things?"

"That, it seems, is an interesting side effect that Durand Adroganter was first to discover. When Thaumentors are present at a distance, they draw power from those who are magically strongest, but - as you now have reason to be intimately aware - they require close contact to be able to absorb it. This means that there is a certain amount of... free-floating power, if you will, drawn from the stronger sources but not collected - and those who are concentrating hard on tasks they find difficult will often unconsciously draw magic from their surroundings in an effort to be more successful."

Hermione was looking utterly fascinated by this sudden branching into magical theory, but Harry had more concrete concerns to be going on with. "Professor Dumbledore - am I right in thinking that if we don't solve Durand's magical puzzle by Midsummer, then even the magic will be stopped from passing through the hedge maze... and we'll be trapped in here forever?"

Dumbledore's twinkle faded completely. "You are indeed, Mr. Potter," he said softly. "You are indeed."

It was several days before Professor McGonagall returned to teaching her classes, but she seemed quietly gratified by the round of applause that she got from her sixth-year Transfiguration NEWT group. The Slytherins didn't join the cheers, of course, but they didn't actively jeer, either. News of the attack had rippled through the school, and everyone was on edge. The idea of creatures that could not be repulsed by magic was a frightening one to everybody, and they were all no doubt relieved to know that the effects of such an attack were not necessarily permanent.

Dumbledore had spoken to the students over dinner the day after the attack, to correct some of the more egregious misinformation and issue further warnings to stay within sight of others at all times, especially outdoors. But beyond that, life went on as before. Ron, who had been hit worst by the attack, was completely unable to use magic for two days, and almost cried with relief when an unthinking attempt to summon a Pumpkin Pasty across the room suddenly worked. Draco, despite the fact he hadn't been drained of magic nearly so badly, retreated to the Slytherin quarters for almost a week and refused to come out.

Harry himself found his spellcasting to be rather erratic for some time afterwards, which put him in the very unusual position of almost looking forward to Potions lessons. At least then, with a fixed recipe and no wand work required, he could be reasonably assured that if he focused well enough, things would turn out correctly.

Not that Snape ever acknowledged it, of course. However, Harry had been doing surprisingly well in Potions since they moved up to the NEWT class. The fact that there were far less people in the room and the Potions were that much more intricate and complex meant that he was concentrating better, and he had to rather guiltily admit that the classroom was definitely less distracting without Neville around.

Which wasn't to say there were never explosions. One particular Thursday when Snape appeared to be in a fouler mood than ever, Justin Finch-Fletchley accidentally added Bonnacon Dung instead of Bundimun Secretion to his Purging Potation, and caused a mass evacuation. The resulting clouds of smoke, coupled with Snape's loud and vitriolic attempt to remove every point Hufflepuff had earned since September, gave Harry a horrible pulsing headache that stubbornly refused to shift for hours afterwards.

"You should go and see Madam Pomfrey," Hermione advised him, watching him grimace over a Defence text despite the fact that only one word in ten was sinking in.

"I'm fine, Hermione, really." The protest was automatic, and he was half surprised he didn't ruin it by vomiting. He felt terrible.

She glared at him. "Harry, you are not fine. You have to stop trying to cope with everything on your own!"

"All right!" He stood up, actually rather grateful that she'd pushed him into it. "I'll go to Madam Pomfrey."

He went down to the hospital wing, but the Hogwarts matron was surprisingly unsympathetic.

"I can't keep handing out potions like two-Knut sweets, Mr. Potter! Our stocks are low enough as it is, and goodness knows they don't keep their potency with those unnatural beasts flying about outside..." She sighed. "It really is emergency use only, Mr. Potter; you can either be charmed to sleep it off and spend the night in the hospital wing, or you can go and see Professor Snape and ask him to make you up a cure fresh."

Neither of those options held any appeal whatsoever. "I'll just... go back to my dorm and lie down, I think."

"Well, go on, then. Be off with you." She was already turning to the next patient; ever since the news of the presence of the Thaumentors had broken, half the school kept rushing in for medical check-ups, convinced they'd been drained of their powers in their sleep.

Harry staggered out, but he wasn't sure he could face going back to Gryffindor Tower. The pain in his head was absolutely crushing, now - his forehead seemed to scorch the palm of his hand when he felt it. He staggered across to the Owlery instead, seeking the peace and quiet of Gryffindor's study.

He almost passed out in the passageway before he got down there, but the second he stepped inside the door, the headache was gone. He stopped, and massaged his head in wonder. No pain.

"Cheers, Godric," he mumbled aloud to the room, and slumped down into the oversized chair to go to sleep.

Harry had been too exhausted by hours of head pains to be thinking anything much, but if he had been, he would have intended to just nap for a while and then make it back to the dorms. Instead, when he woke to find the fire again burned down to ash, and the clock below the Owlery reading only a few minutes before breakfast. He dashed into the nearest toilets to splash water on his face, and then ran on down to the Great Hall.

"Harry! There you are!" Ron looked relieved to see him.

"We've been worried sick." Hermione inspected him anxiously. "Did you stay overnight in the hospital wing?"

He shook his head, and was relieved to find it didn't hurt any more. "In Gryffindor's study."

"Oh." She considered. "Well, I suppose you're safe enough in there."

"Remus said I would be," he agreed.

"You told Professor Lupin?"

"When I wrote to him last. I think he and my dad and the others found it when they were at school. It must have been after they made the Marauder's Map, though."

Hermione considered him. "You do look better," she conceded.

"My headache went away as soon as I got inside," he explained. "I think there must be some kind of anti-tension spell on the room or something."

She frowned. "That's odd. I don't think that can be it, because it's been proven that those kind of spells can easily cause you to miss important appointments because they damage your sense of priorities and-"

Ron groaned into his porridge. "Hermione, can we save the lectures until after breakfast?"

Hermione would have probably argued, if she hadn't had to hurry off to her Arithmancy lesson. Harry played Exploding Snap with Ron, Dean and Neville in the common room until they had to go to Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Although the most strenuous Defence practicals took place during the double lesson on Tuesday mornings, the Friday class was usually still quite active, with Snape picking random pairs of students to hex each other at a moment's notice. Today, though, they were curtly ordered into their seats and made to write an essay from memory on the limitations of protection spells. Snape prowled through the room enforcing utter silence, looking as if he should have had a tail just so he could be twitching it warningly. Apparently his rotten mood of the day before had only grown overnight. Harry wondered if the fumes had given him a headache, too.

About twenty minutes into the lesson, the silence was broken by a nervous third-year entering with a note. "Professor Snape..."

Harry expected Snape to roar at her, but he simply stalked over, and snatched the paper out of her hands as if he had been waiting for it. His face was stony and unchanging as he read.

Then he crumpled the note in his hand, and turned. "Weasley," he barked. "You're wanted in Dumbledore's office. Leave your things."

Ron went white as a sheet and got up, wobbling towards the door. Snape's cold, assessing gaze fell onto Harry, who struggled to keep his expression neutral.

Then, completely unexpectedly: "Potter. Granger. Go with him."

Harry suddenly felt very sick indeed.

They flanked a rather unsteady Ron as he made his way towards the Headmaster's office. None of them spoke. Harry dreaded to think what could have happened. Either Snape had almost refused a request to send Ron's friends and then thought better of it... or, worse, he'd thought it necessary to send them along on his own initiative.

Ginny joined them emerging from the Transfiguration classroom, and the queasy feeling in Harry's stomach got worse.

There was no guessing of incongruously cheerful passwords today. Dumbledore was waiting for them, and greeted them with a solemn nod. "Ah, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter. I am glad that you are here... but I'm afraid that you must wait outside for a while."

They both stood back, and waited in traumatized silence as the two Weasleys entered the Headmaster's office.

They seemed to stay in there a very long time. Eventually, Ron emerged, looking at the ground. A red-eyed and silent Ginny lingered behind him. Harry and Hermione ran to them, but neither dared to shape a question, and they waited for Ron to finally speak.

"Voldemort attacked the Ministry of Magic," he said dully.

Harry swallowed. "Is your dad-?"

"He wasn't even there. He was at home." There was a long and horrible pause. "The Death Eaters tried to kill the Minister of Magic. Percy saved his life."

Hermione paled. "Is Percy... all right?"

"No, he's not." Ron raised his head; his eyes were devoid of the slightest flicker of any emotion. "He's dead."

Nobody knew what to say. Hermione and a few of the other Gryffindor girls went off with Ginny for a while, but Harry was left with Ron, and he didn't know what to do. His best friend just sat on the bed with his arms around his knees, and barely responded to any of the awkward comments the others tried to make to him.

Harry's own mind was racing. He was horribly aware that he hadn't liked Percy very much, and had said and thought some very nasty things over the last year or so when the most ambitious of the Weasley brothers was acting like a prat and toady to Fudge.

And now he was dead.

Killed saving the life of a man who almost certainly didn't deserve it. There was no way Cornelius Fudge could ever be worth the sacrifice of Percy Weasley. It seemed he'd been a true Gryffindor at heart, after all. Probably a much better one than Harry.

After a while, Ron went to sleep, or pretended to. Knowing there was nothing he could do or say that wouldn't sound trite or false, Harry went back down to the half-empty and very subdued common room. Hermione was there, being relentlessly sensible, tidying and straightening things and always keeping in motion. Harry thought that if he was to stop her and hold her by the shoulders, she would probably explode.

"We should go back to class and collect our things," she babbled, while he pretended not to notice the telltale redness around her eyes. "I left my ink bottle, and Ron will need his quill. We all missed Transfiguration this afternoon; I'll have to ask Parvati if I can borrow her notes. Professor McGonagall always sets the homework on Fridays - it's probably still written on the board, we can check on our way back..."

Harry let the words wash over him, and took no offence at their trivial content. He knew it was Hermione's way of dealing with things, pretending everything was all under control and neatly managed.

They returned to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, and found their essays where they'd left them. Harry packed away his own and held Ron's awkwardly, feeling almost as if it was Ron who had died thanks to this strange ritual of collecting up his abandoned things.

They met Professor Snape in the corridor; he regarded them with his usual curled lip. "Potter. Miss Granger."

Harry eyed him challengingly, aching for a chance to convert the burning sensation in his chest into anger and fire it off at an external target.

"Professor," said Hermione shakily.

"I expect you to make up for the lesson time that you missed," he said coldly. "You will both turn in fourteen inches on the use of the major Shield Charms in a combat context versus formalised duelling by Tuesday's lesson."

Harry felt his fury and indignation begin to build, his hand itching to reach for his wand.

Snape started to move away, and paused. "Mr. Weasley is excused," he added over his shoulder, and walked away without turning.

Hermione abruptly burst into tears. Harry's anger melted away like candle wax into a big messy pool of confused emotions; he patted her shoulder awkwardly, and wished that he could think of something to do.

But he knew there was nothing.