- CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT -
The Hospital Wing Again

Harry ran back through the maze, heart in his throat. The hedges were shrinking and dying as he ran, leaves turning brown, wood shrivelling.

The scream cut off into a ragged, agonising groan as he sprinted for the source of it. "Ron?" he yelled into the ringing silence. "Hermione? Professor?"

He tripped over the body on the ground before he saw it. He didn't even realise what it was, until he put a hand down to support himself while he sorted out his tangled feet, and touched cool flesh. With a strangled yelp, he jumped up, and mustered a shaky "L-lumos!" The wand-light illuminated a slumped, robed form at his feet: unidentifiable in the dark, and very definitely dead.

His heart thumped a fast, painful beat, but he made himself kneel, made himself turn the body over with shaky hands that didn't quite seem to belong to him. Tugged back the fold of cloth that obscured the corpse's face.

Dolorus. His eyes were still wide and staring; they looked oddly naked without the glasses, the same way Harry's own did in the mirror last thing at night. He must have taken his glasses off to wear the magic visor. A stupid, ridiculous, inane detail, but somehow it made the body at his feet a person. Not just a dead enemy, but a fifteen-year-old boy who got up and put his glasses on every morning, just as Harry did. Who would never need to wear them again.

He felt sick.

Something rustled in the shadows, and Harry had his wand extended before he even knew he was going to move.

"It's me." Ron looked pale and exhausted, swaying slightly with the effort of keeping upright. Keeping himself and Hermione upright, actually; her still-unconscious form floated in the air beside him, but dipped and wobbled alarmingly.

"Where's Snape?"

Ron jerked his head. "Back there. He can't walk, and I can barely cope with Hermione-" His mental gears seemed to shift suddenly as he looked down at Dolorus. "It was horrible, Harry. We were fighting, and then the Thaumentors came out of nowhere-"

"They killed him?"

"Sucked everything right out of him. He was trying to fight-" Ron's eyes were wide with horror. "It must have been those Dark curses he was throwing around. I don't know why they didn't come after the rest of us. Something must have distracted them..."

"Durand appeared when I completed the maze," Harry said. "A memory, like in Riddle's diary... it must have been that."

"You completed it? Why isn't it gone?" he asked, frustrated.

"The hedges are dying, but we still won't be able to get out until Midsummer comes."

Ron winced. "Typical," he sighed, with a certain amount of dark humour despite their situation. "We need to get Hermione to the hospital wing, fast. I don't know what that junior Death Eater did to her, but she won't wake up."

"What about Snape?"

Ron looked conflicted. This was serious, now, and the automatic childish urge to say 'leave him here' didn't sit so easily. "I don't think he can walk, Harry. That curse really- Look out!"

He pulled Harry down as one of the Thaumentors swooped overhead. The light at the end of his wand went out, and Hermione fell to the ground with a horrible thump that made both of them flinch. Harry went to raise the Gryffindor shield - and found it wasn't even attached to his arm any more. He didn't know whether he'd dropped it, or it had melted or transported away.

"Why aren't they attacking?" Ron whispered urgently, as more of the creatures passed above them without slowing.

The answer was obvious - and not good. "Snape. He's a teacher in a magical school and he spends all his time around potions - he must stink of magic compared to us."

"He definitely stinks of something," Ron grumbled, but his heart obviously wasn't in it as he carefully bent to check Hermione's pulse. "She's still breathing, but the longer she stays unconscious-" He shook his head angrily. "If we left Snape to fend for himself, we could probably get her back to the school before those things come after us..."

He trailed off, and they held each other's eyes for a long moment. Ron straightened up, and grimaced.

"We're going to run over there and get killed trying to save Snape's life, aren't we?"

"I guess so," said Harry, matching his tone. He pulled off his outer cloak and laid it over the unconscious Hermione. He sent up some sparks as they'd been taught to do in the Triwizard Tournament, in the faint hope that somebody might be watching. It was all they could do for her, and she might well be safer left to lie on her own than brought into the thick of a battle with the Thaumentors.

"Well, look on the bright side," Ron said, as they both started to run. "At least we won't have to explain to the school why Snape took five billion points off for us following him."

The hedges had shed all their leaves and shrivelled now, skeletons of their former imposing glory. It was easy to see where Snape must be by the mass of Thaumentors circling. There must be dozens of them at least, with more flocking in from all directions. Perhaps the fading of the magical maze had made it easier for them to locate their prey within it.

There was no way they had the slightest hope of fighting the creatures off. But Harry knew that abandoning somebody, even Severus Snape, to that boiling mass of magic-eaters was something he would never be able to live with.

"What I wouldn't give for a gun right now," he murmured to himself. Or even a crossbow. Or, for that matter, a slingshot and a decent stock of pebbles.

"Huh?" Poor Ron - he probably didn't have the slightest clue about fighting without magic. In all likelihood, neither would Snape.

Harry shrugged a mental 'what the hell', and dove into the fray.

It was utter chaos. Wings battered him, claws raked at him - the only reason he avoided being murdered right away was the fact that the Thaumentors were wrestling and turning on each other to get at the prizes. He thought he glimpsed Snape once or twice through the throng, but it was impossible to even try and fight his way over to him.

One of the creatures latched onto his shoulder. Harry battered at it helplessly, trying to get it to stop - what? Not biting, exactly, though it had him trapped between its toothless jaws. Instead of physical pain he felt a tug in his belly, like the action of a Portkey. As if it was drawing on something deep inside him...

Sucking out his magic.

He knew Dumbledore had said the effects were only temporary, but his struggles grew more desperate all the same. How much of his internal power could he afford to lose? These things had killed Dolorus. If they sucked all the magic out of him, would they keep on trying to draw more until he was torn apart? Or would they toss him aside like a rag doll as soon as he was useless to them?

Harry wrenched free of the Thaumentor that had him by the shoulder, but there were more, always more, cramming in to take its place. One grabbed onto his arm; he heard Ron cry out; the beating of leathery wings blocked out all sound but his own harsh, laboured breathing. He was going to die. He was going to die right here, within a short sprint of the school that should be the safest place in wizarding Britain, and Voldemort wasn't even here to oversee it personally.

And then... something started to happen.

The beating of wings changed its tone, and he didn't have the first clue what was happening until he saw a bright white point of light far above. For a moment he couldn't place it, and then he realised it was a star. The pressure around his wrist disappeared, and he threw himself flat against the ground as the creatures that had been fighting so hard to get close to him were suddenly fighting equally hard to get away.

The Thaumentors were leaving.

The gruesome 'flock' boiled away as one, all moving in the same direction. Towards the school. Harry sat up, and met the eyes of a battered but still conscious Ron. The slumped form of Snape was several feet away. Harry didn't think he had either the energy or the mental reserves to crawl over there and find out if he was still alive.

"Where are they going?" Ron asked dazedly.

It was a struggle to talk. "Must be... some kind of surge... strong magic-"

"What could possibly-?"

The realisation of the only magic source that could tear dozens of Thaumentors away from a feast of three helpless wizards struck them both simultaneously.

"Dumbledore!"

Ron grinned stupidly with relief. "They're comin' t'get us," he mumbled triumphantly, and laid his head back down on the ground as if to go to sleep.

Rescue at last. Assuming Dumbledore even knew that they were out here, let alone where to start looking for them. Harry prised his wand out of the mud beside him where it had been dropped and trampled on. He pointed it skywards and waved weakly. "Relashio!" Nothing happened. "Relashio!" Still nothing. His magic was drained dry.

Harry took a deep breath, and remembered the book for suspected Squibs that Neville had lent him. His discovery of the tale of Bertram and Durand had distracted him from looking up all the focusing exercises, but he could remember one from near the beginning that had stuck with him simply because it seemed so silly.

Picture yourself as a wizard, the book had said. Visualize your robes, and your pointed hat, and your wand. Picture the spell as a glow that starts in the middle of your chest, and passes down your arm and out of the wand. Hold that image in your mind before you cast.

Harry pictured his best robes, and his rather crumpled hat, and the wand as it had been handed to him in Ollivander's, when it was clean and new. He thought of Hagrid that night in the shack in the middle of nowhere saying "Harry - yer a wizard." He imagined that last little spark of magic, starting from the centre of his chest, and passing along his trembling arm to the wand that he held up. "Relashio!" he said in a loud whisper.

A long stream of sparks shot up into the air. Harry let his wand arm fall slack to the ground, and passed out.

Cool, clean sheets. The hospital wing.

Harry sat up with a start, and looked around urgently. Ron was in the next bed, snoring away reassuringly. He leaned back and thought for a moment. So, he and Ron had survived the night. What about- oh, God, Hermione! Had anyone found her, lying unconscious some way down the path from their own position? He threw back the covers and started to get out of bed.

"Ah, ah, ah - back in that bed, Mr. Potter." Madam Pomfrey materialised out of the doorway as if she had some kind of spell set up to alert her the moment he tried to get up.

"Hermione-?" he said urgently.

"Miss Granger is still recovering from her ordeal." Harry sat back as the Headmaster entered the room. "A moment, Poppy, if you would," he said mildly. The matron looked slightly miffed at being sent away, but simply sniffed and bustled out.

Harry rubbed his aching head. "Is Hermione all right?" he asked anxiously. "He put some kind of curse on her- we couldn't wake her up..."

"Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape are attempting to divine the cause of her continued sleep right now."

So Snape was all right, too. Or alive and conscious, anyway. "Snape was hit with some kind of hex- Ron said he couldn't walk?"

Dumbledore looked rather grim. "Indeed, if Madam Pomfrey had her way, he would not be trying to now. Unfortunately, with the extent to which you all have been drained by the Thaumentor attack, it will be a while before magical cures can reach their usual effectiveness. And Professor Snape, alas, has never been the most patient of individuals, especially when his expertise is needed elsewhere."

Harry tried not to snort at the understatement. He attempted again to get out of bed. "Can I go and see Hermione now, please, sir?"

The Headmaster smiled. "Madam Pomfrey will no doubt have my hide if you are up for too long - but I think a few minutes' visit can be arranged. Be warned, however, that your magic will take a while to reestablish itself, so although, of course, your wand has not been taken from you, I must ask you not to attempt to use it for the next few days."

He nodded impatiently, and limped through to the next room where Hermione was still sleeping. Except it didn't look so much like sleep in this light; her skin was literally grey, and she looked shrunken, almost, as if she was suddenly little more than a skeleton. The rise and fall of breaths still being taken was so faint it was almost invisible.

"Mr. Potter, you should not be out of bed!" Madam Pomfrey rushed over to cluck at him, but the Headmaster stilled her with an upraised hand.

"I think a few moments can be allowed, under the circumstances," he said.

The matron tutted, but Dumbledore was just about the only person around she wouldn't fight with, so she contented herself with hustling Harry into a chair. He didn't resist, his limbs still feeling unnaturally heavy and his head rather light.

It was a while, indeed, before he noticed the lurking presence of Professor Snape, something that was usually impossible to miss. The teacher appeared to be simply standing against the far wall, but on closer inspection it was possible to see that he was actually leaning against it, and that perhaps the habitual scowl was tightened a little by pain.

Harry knew any attempt at a comment would be rebuffed, but what the hell. Let Snape be the rude one. "How's your leg, Professor?"

"It will heal," he said curtly. "Miss Granger's injuries will not be so easily dealt with. She should have been delivered to the hospital wing much earlier instead of left to wait for the outcome of your amateur heroics."

Harry's jaw tightened, but he forced himself to hold in the retort that was waiting to burst out. Considering the likelihood of that strategy holding out, it was probably just as well that the Headmaster spoke up in his place.

"Had Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley not rushed to join the battle against the Thaumentors, it is almost certain that you would have met the same fate as young Tiberius before they were drawn away," he informed Snape mildly. "Certainly, getting Miss Granger to the hospital wing sooner would have been desirable - but not at the cost of your life."

Harry knew he had actually made that decision when it came down to it, so he supposed that - theoretically - he agreed. Somehow with Snape glaring at him, not showing the slightest bit of gratitude for that fact, it was a lot harder to remember why. The irritable Potions master was a lot easier to consider important and valuable in the abstract.

Knowing it would be easier to milk a Blast-Ended Skrewt than get anything approaching gratitude out of Snape, he turned his attention back to the Headmaster.

"What happened to all the Thaumentors? They were swarming the three of us, and then suddenly they all flew away..."

"Something I suspected, but was not sure of until last night," Dumbledore explained, "was that the presence of Thaumentors was not wholly or even largely to blame for the fluctuations of power experienced by those of us within the bounds of the hedge. Indeed, it seems likely that it was Durand's Curse itself that drew magic from the strong and redistributed it amongst the weaker. This created a complex magical field, the details of which-" he smiled - "probably only those who study advanced Arithmancy would find fascinating. Suffice it to say that the Thaumentors, which centuries ago were still present in this part of the world, were drawn to the spell in the same way as insects to a brightly coloured picnic cloth."

Like most of the Headmaster's 'explanations', Harry found himself scrambling to fill in most of the gaps himself. "So... the Thaumentors weren't causing the power drain, they were just sort of caught up in the spell by accident when it was, er, folded up and put away?"

"Quite so." Dumbledore looked quite delighted with this extension of his whimsical metaphor.

"So when I ended the Curse, everybody's magic came back, and you were able to draw the Thaumentors, and, um-?"

"-Deal with them appropriately." Something in the Headmaster's suddenly steely demeanour dissuaded him from asking exactly how.

Harry nodded to himself, and suddenly sat up straight. "The doorway! There was, er, there was a magical doorway. At the end of the maze, when I solved it. Durand said he would take me to the heart of the castle..."

Dumbledore shook his head gravely. "I fear that, whatever offer he may have made you, the time to accept it has since passed."

He sighed, and slumped down in his chair. Had he made the right decision? He could never know, and in a way, that was nearly as bad as knowing for sure he'd made a terrible mistake. Harry suddenly felt, almost unwillingly, a stab of sympathy for Dumbledore. It sometimes seemed as if the Headmaster had been manipulating him all his life - but did Dumbledore feel like this all the time? Did he sit awake wondering whether sending Harry to live with the Dursleys had been the only choice, or he could have let him have a proper family without ruining everything?

He glanced at the Headmaster, but that blankly pleasant face revealed nothing more than it usually did.

Despite himself, Harry was unable to stifle a yawn, and Madam Pomfrey swooped down faster than any Thaumentor. "Back in bed, Mr. Potter," she ordered sternly. "No more dawdling, and no more unscheduled trips until I say so!" He was too tired to do anything but meekly stumble back to the other room.

Ron was awake when he got there. "Hermione-?" he blurted urgently.

"She's still unconscious," Harry admitted miserably.

"And we are doing everything we can for her," the matron said briskly. "Now, bed!" Harry scrambled back under the covers, and struggled to keep his eyes open for a few more heartbeats after she'd left.

"Did we save Snape?" Ron asked him.

"Yes," he said, the word transforming into a loud yawn.

Ron grimaced. "Oh, bloody hell," he groaned. "What d'you want to bet we're still on for losing those five billion points?"

"Look on the bright side," Harry mumbled. "At least with our magic drained, we might be able to get out of... doing the... exams..."

He fell asleep.