Everyone was fed now, and happy. The last thing they'd eaten besides the pasta was those mushrooms up on the mountain, and the hot dinner was more than enjoyable for the whole lot of them. The younger ones, or ones that were in worse shape than others, were sleeping on the cots while the rest of them sprawled lazily on the floor.
Daphne, Seamus, and Hermione had told the other recent graduates about this town's secret, though figured that for the desire to keep panic down, they wouldn't tell the others. Michael was a bit shocked, really, though, like Hermione, he'd taken it rather well. This seemed to surprise Daphne a bit, though to her credit she wasn't very outspoken about it. Seamus, too, seemed unnaturally quiet about the subject. Then again, he was one of Professor Lupin's fans.
Michael sat with Daphne off near the wall while the others started dozing off. There were a few talking to each other, though from where they were, it was a bit too quiet to hear. Daphne was leaning on Michael, and he was trying not to lean back with too much force... But the truth remained that he was dead tired. He was just drifting off when Daphne spoke. "Where do we go from St. Mungo's?"
He'd been trying hard not to be pessimistic, but his inner voice was very much that. When all their charges had asked him if everything would be fine, he couldn't help but think, 'Probably not, but at least you're not dead.' Not that being alive would do them much good if... He figured it was because he was exhausted that he was thinking like that, and he blamed his not-very-sugar-coated response on the same, "Well, we don't really have anywhere to go, do we?" He wasn't trying to be snappish, in fact he was using the last reserves of energy to not be, but his voice sounded sharp through the generally haggardness. "I'm not chasing Death Eaters, Daphne. I suppose Granger and Finnigan may choose to do so, maybe even Terry, but I'm not."
"What about Anthony?" she asked, sounded a little irritated now as well.
"We have to find out if he's even alive first... I think we should go to the Ministry. Try to find out there, and see if they know where Dumbledore is. I don't know about you, but I want some answers." He wanted to know more than anything how their Headmaster could just abandon them to Death Eaters. Not just the older students and graduates, but first and second years... all left to face the wrath of Voldemort's followers. For the first time since that day in Diagon Alley, for a moment he did want to go after Potter and the others, to wrap his hands around one of those bastard's throats and ask them how they could kill eleven year olds as though they were flies. He didn't realise that Daphne was speaking at first.
"I don't want to go, either," she was saying, "But I really think we should do something. It doesn't seem right just to sit around while they're... Listen to me go on. I thought I was supposed to be a Death Eater or something."
Michael shook his head, sitting up a bit. "Daphne, I'm not going. I didn't ask to be in this war. I'm a wizard, and I went to school. That doesn't mean--"
She held up her hand. "I'm not saying we follow after Potter," she said quietly. "But I don't think we can just do nothing. I have to tell Hermione what I think I know, because if I'm right, their friends are going to be waiting ready to attack them when they get... Well, wherever He is." She settled back down a little again.
"You think... Potter... And--" Michael felt a little confused. He didn't see how she'd come to that conclusion.
Daphne smiled. He couldn't see it, but he could hear it in her voice. "You have to have that mind for evil, I guess." She snickered a little, though it really wasn't funny. "Think about who made it out alive. Members of the DA. The best students in the school. Do you really think Death Eaters wouldn't have killed them if they could have? I mean, they're good, but they're just students."
"Maybe they were in a hurry," Michael replied. After all, that's what he'd been thinking all along. They blew up the school, took Ron Weasley and apparently Malfoy, and apparated out. Then it hit him... Why would they take those two students? "It's a trap."
"Yeah. I'm not sure exactly what they plan on doing, but it's a trap. They're luring more students there because it's easier." Daphne shifted a little, looking up at Michael. "I don't want to head into that. But there's other things we can do. You're right... We can start by going to the Ministry, but I just can't sit it out. Clare's with Potter, too. If Clare went..."
"You think they're going to use them, then? If that's the case... We'd be in even more danger if we tried to follow. I don't know about you, but I couldn't raise a wand to Anthony no matter what he was about to do to me," Michael replied with a sigh, really wishing she wasn't leaning on him, because he had a crick in his neck, and he wanted to sleep for about twenty years. "I... don't want to do nothing either, but by the same token I don't want to do anything reckless. I guess we'll have to start with the Ministry... Once we have some answers, we'll have a better idea of what we can do. Do you think we should warn Finnigan and Granger and Terry, though? Just in case...? I don't imagine any of them would be any more willing than I to fight their friends."
"I think we should. Better to be prepared," Daphne replied, her voice starting to sound a little slurred with exhaustion.
"We'll figure it out once we're out of here," he promised her, straightening slightly to reposition them. He couldn't sleep like that, after all, and he'd be useless if he was this tired in the morning. So he leaned against the wall while offering her his lap as a pillow, which she gladly took. He smiled softly to himself as he watched her eyes drift shut. A year ago, she would never have accepted such a position, but it seemed that any pillow offered was such a luxury now that she couldn't turn it down. He leaned back against the wall, laying a hand against her cheek and quickly drifted off.
He wasn't prepared for what he would dream.
Hogwarts.
Not destroyed. Bright, vibrant colors. The sun was shining, the Quidditch pitch wasn't dotted with refugee tents and the school's various animals. Of course, Michael in the dream had no idea what was in store for the castle... Or maybe he did, on some level, because he was noticing everything with much more clarity than he had when he was i actually /i a second year.
True, there weren't many second year students that made the Quidditch team, but he had to try. Michael thought he was pretty good... But the team thought otherwise. In any case, he'd put up a good fight, looked damn good trying, and now he was beating himself up over it. And also, it seemed like he was being followed.
It was some Slytherin he didn't recognize, though he didn't really like the lot of them. As far has he was concerned, they were all impossible to tell apart. This one was a girl. Short. Her hair appeared to have been blonde but was starting to grow in darker. She looked at him, curling up her nose.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing," she said. "I was just watching the tryouts. Now I'm heading back to the castle. Is there something wrong with that?"
Michael shook his head and turned back around. He decided he didn't like this girl...
...As he was dragging his feet back to the castle, she walked past him, and he heard her mutter, "You'll get it next year."
...He decided he did like this girl. Even then.
Michael stirred, and the dream ended, but only for a moment. When he dozed again, it picked up, but it was already a couple years later.
The Astronomy Tower was silent and dark. He'd just come up to finish up his homework, but when he'd arrived, Catherine was there. He couldn't recall her last name, though he knew that he knew it, because she was a seventh year Ravenclaw. He'd been thinking about red hair and freckle-flecked red skin since his one dance with Ginny Weasley at the Yule Ball, but even so as they chatted in the Astronomy Tower--and he found that the conversation itself seemed as though it was held under water, their voices sounded garbled and nonsensical, so that he wasn't sure exactly what he or she was saying--he had found himself momentarily compelled to move toward the girl. Dark blue eyes watched him in amusement, and then she tucked her pale blonde hair back and kissed him. It was his first kiss, he thought, but as she pulled away, he turned and saw that girl again. She hadn't seemed to age any--her face still the same, though with a bit more brown in her hair. She was still very short.
He blinked and the dream had moved again--cycling through each romantic interlude in his brief life--Ginny and Cho and eventually Daphne, too--and each time he relived the apex of the relationship, the girl was still standing there. He wanted to tell her to go away, but there was something painfully familiar about her--the small white face, brown and blonde streaked hair, and Slytherin badge--and he couldn't seem to force his brain to connect where he'd seen that face before.
The rainy day at the beach faded away, along with Daphne who'd been nestled in his arms against the wet, leaving him and the girl. He stood up and stared down at her irritably. He noticed that there was blood leaking down from her hair across her cheek. Looked like a rather nasty head wound. He could feel his body start to wake up, but he tried to cling on, because suddenly it seemed more important than anything to know why there was blood dripping down her cheek.
It seemed very red in comparison to the rest of the dream, but the girl didn't seem to notice it was there. Michael crouched down in front of her... Now that he was this close, he should have been able to figure out her identity, but for some reason, he just couldn't see it. The only thing she did as he stared at her was stare back... No words this time, though he wished she'd say something. Maybe if she spoke, he could...
The dream faded, though, and Michael was finally left on the edge of wakefulness where he knew he'd never find out who that girl was. It would drive him crazy, though, thinking about it, mostly because he still had that feeling that he knew her from somewhere. That he'd seen her before. He straightened himself up a little, and Daphne stirred. It was still dark, though, and most everyone was still asleep. There was always one or two awake, though, Michael noticed. In the past couple nights, he'd seen the same few students up and about, only closing their eyes and catching sleep when they were on the edge of collapse.
It hadn't taken him long to realize why. They must still see it when they closed their eyes.
Terry was awake. Somehow he'd climbed up to the ledge below one of the higher windows, and he was sitting on it, looking outward. "Hey, Terry," Michael called, just loud enough for him to hear. Still, his voice caused Daphne to stir again. Thankfully, Terry heard him, because he looked away from the window, and, after a moment, climbed down.
Terry didn't say anything until he sat down next to Michael, and even then, the just sort of remained in silence for a while. The quieter Ravenclaw finally spoke. "You've been all right?"
"Yeah, I guess," Michael answered.
"I still can't believe it. Feels like I should be waking up in my dorm room soon and going to class." He looked down at Daphne for a moment, who was quite still. Michael got the feeling that there wasn't much that could wake her up at this point.
"Terry, can I ask you something?"
Terry shrugged, looking up from the sleeping girl to Michael with some concern. "What is it?"
Michael gently ran his hand down Daphne's hair, gazing at her peaceful face for a moment before speaking. "Do you suppose there's something to dreams?"
His friend's concern turned to mild bewilderment at the question. "Well, I don't know. I've heard Harry Potter has dreams that are real, but... I don't guess I've heard of anyone else who has. Why? What did you dream?"
If Daphne was pretending to sleep, she was a better actress than he could have imagined, so Michael figured it was safe enough to speak openly. "This is the second time I've had this sort of dream in the last few days. The first time, I dreamt I was in an accident with Daphne, and I was in the emergency room with her when she died... She didn't know I was there. The dream I just had... I don't get it at all. I kept going through all these moments in my life that were important to me--romantic interludes, you might say--but every time I turned around there was this little girl. I knew I knew her, but now that I'm awake, I can't remember her face... So I don't know who it was, except she was bleeding from her head. It seems like it's somehow related."
Terry scratched his cheek, contemplating it. "It's probably just stress," he said after a moment. "Probably you're just thinking about what scares you."
"But... I don't know who that girl is, so why should some random injured girl scare me?"
"Dunno, mate," Terry said with a shrug. "But it doesn't seem like something you should be worrying about."
Michael had the feeling that even should he try not to worry about it, he was going to anyways. Even though he couldn't make out the girl's features anymore, the bright red sliding down her white face was still vibrant in his mind. It made him want to never shut his eyes, because the afterimage was painfully vivid.
"Terry, what are you going to do now?" he finally asked. "Are you going to try and follow Anthony?"
Terry leaned back against the wall, and it looked as if he wasn't going to say anymore. Then he offered, "Yes, but not just for Anthony."
Michael nodded, understanding. "Finnigan's going." As much as he disliked the Gryffindor, he couldn't fault Terry for going along with him.
"Seamus said that anyone that took over his mind was going to pay for it. But no, that's not the reason."
Michael thought about it for a while. There were a lot of reasons to go... The greater good, the salvation of humanity... All those reasons that made Potter chase after the Dark Lord. But that wasn't Michael, and he really didn't think that was Terry, either. Then again, he really didn't think it was Anthony, and Anthony had gone. "Then what?"
"Merry wasn't in the Great Hall when we looked through the bodies." Terry paused. "I don't think she was at the school anymore."
"You think she went with Potter?" Terry nodded, but Michael shook his head. "But she was so young. Why would someone that young chase after the DA on a suicide mission?
Terry shrugged. "Well, consider. She was probably feeling awfully alone and scared. Her friends were dead. What else was she going to do? Would you remain in a castle filled with bodies?" The question was rhetorical, and Michael didn't answer it. He wouldn't have, though. If his last hope was following Potter, he probably would have done it. But that wasn't his last hope anymore.
"You're not going, are you?" Terry asked.
Michael threw a surprised glance in Terry's direction. "How did you know?"
"Could see it on your face. You don't want to." He slid further down the wall until he was almost lying down. Michael found he appreciated Terry's nonjudgmental take on the fact that he wasn't going. He never said a word about it, and didn't even go into detail about why people were going. It was just what it seemed to be... A statement. 'You're not going, and I accept that.'
It wasn't too much longer after that that Michael could tell that Terry, too, was asleep. Daphne hadn't awakened either, during their talk, and he was vaguely grateful for that... He'd gotten one last chance to talk to his best friend alone before they went their separate ways. Putting his hand over Daphne's, he looked to Terry, who was already snoring a bit.
"Just take care of yourself."