Chapter 5 - The Secret Library
Dear Viktor,
I really am sorry to be writing you this letter, but I'm afraid I won't be coming to Bulgaria to see you. The truth is, I don't feel the same way about you that I used to. I think you're a wonderful person, and you'll make someone very happy some day. But it isn't me, and it isn't now. I apologise for doing this to you through owl, but I can't think of any other way to tell you. I hope you can forgive me and that we can remain friends.
Sincerely,
Hermione
Harry stepped out of the light drizzle outside and into the Great Hall. He breathed in the familiar smell of Hogwarts and looked at the thousands of candles hovering around the tables. He finally felt home, safe, and secure, inside the school's protective walls and within earshot of all his closest friends.
Hermione's sharp intake of breath startled Harry back into his present surroundings. He noticed a tall figure walking past them and coming nearer. Just before the person overtook them, Harry realised it was not one person, but two, and they happened to be Oliver and Viktor Krum.
Oliver stepped right up to them. "Ron! Harry! How was the train? Bet you didn't expect to see me here, did you? Oh by the way, this here's Viktor Krum. On the Bulgarian team."
"We'd noticed," Ron snarled in an undertone. Viktor, however, did not seem to notice. He stepped up to Hermione, who was staring at her feet. She looked up for a brief moment to kind of squeak an "Oh! Viktor! Hello."
"Ve need to talk," He said solemnly, and turned away from her.
She walked away with him, still looking at her feet. Ron glared after them, but Oliver didn't seem to notice. He began talking about the next Quidditch season and how he was going to get to help with the Gryffindor tryouts.
They meandered in the general direction of the Great Hall, but had only gotten halfway there when Hermione came walking briskly out of the large open doorway, head down and shoulders pulled forward in what seemed to be some attempt to protect herself. She pushed past the group with barely a chin tilt in acknowledgement. Ron, however, reached out and stopped her with the crook of his right arm. He held her by the arms and turned her toward him, bending his neck down toward her, head tilted slightly, trying to look into her face. He wore a worried expression. She looked up, and Harry saw why she had kept her eyes on the floor: her eyes were brimming with tears. She looked down again quickly, and then leaned into Ron, shoulders beginning to shake. His eyes doubled in size, and a blushing pink spread from his ears to his cheeks as he nervously patted her on the back.
He motioned for Harry to come with him, and then led Hermione into an empty corner. They sat facing her, waiting for her to look up or say something, of which she eventually did both.
She rubbed her eyes furiously with her hands, and sniffled a low, "I'm sorry... I don't know..."
Ron looked up furiously. "Did Krum do this?" He said in a low, wavering growl.
She nodded, but then looked up, alarmed, and said, "Oh, no, it isn't his fault. It's... well, I suppose it's mine."
Ron, with a nudge from Harry, stopped grinding his knuckles into his open palm. Harry put his hand on Hermione's shoulder reassuringly and said, "It's all right," in a way that he hoped was convincing. He could tell that Ron was hoping for at least a little bit of explanation, which Harry had already guessed at. However, Ron wouldn't get his wish, because Hermione promptly dried her tears and stood up, saying, "Well, I'm better now, and we'd better get going before we miss the Sorting." With that, she breezed past the two of them and into the Great Hall right behind Oliver, who had conveniently waited by the doorway to catch a glimpse of what had been said. Ron looked at Hermione, then back to Harry, an expression of complete confusion on his face. He sighed, shrugged his shoulders, and followed Hermione's path with Harry, though they went much more slowly to give her space.
When they entered the Great Hall, the Sorting Hat had only three more students in line. They sat down, Harry by Hermione and Ron between Harry and Ginny, who was chatting animatedly with Dean, who was enthralled by what she said only because she was the person saying it. When the Sorting Hat had finished the last student (Wallace, Matthew -- Ravenclaw!), Professor Dumbledore stood up and motioned for silence, which he immediately received from the already quiet hall.
"As you all no doubt know," he began, "Voldemort has indeed returned." A murmur echoed through the Hall. "Many of his Death Eaters," Dumbledore continued, "have returned to him, and there have, in the past few days, been reports of attacks just north of Knightsbridge." This news came as a shock; the whole of the student body gasped with alarm and began whispering furiously.
Ron leaned over to Harry. "Mum told me about one of those. Nasty attack, a little old biddy who was feeding her cats, when her house just blew into the sky! She wasn't killed, luckily, but a few of her cats... well..." Hermione gasped and looked worriedly toward the Gryffindor Tower.
"Anyway," Ron continued, "Right before the Aurors came, the old bat swears she saw a hooded, masked person disappear. So Dad says --" but he stopped speaking suddenly when Dumbledore resumed his speech.
"However," he continued to the quickly silenced crowd, "I assure you that you are safe at the school. Every possible precaution has been taken to protect the students and staff at Hogwarts. As long as the school stands together, as a family..." he paused, looking at the determined faces, "as an army... we will succeed. We will triumph." A thousand heads nodded silently.
"On a lighter note, we have added new staff to our ranks. Though they could not be here this evening due to an urgent meeting, I'm sure many of you will soon meet them." He winked at Ron. "Also," he continued, "we will be holding a Yule Ball again this year in order to, well, lighten up the year a bit, and to help support the Purple African Fire Breathing Rabbit Refuge. Hogsmeade trips will also be open to all third years and above. Thank you, and that is all."
Dumbledore settled into his chair, and a sudden burst of noise filled the Hall. "Professor," Professor McGonagall turned to Dumbledore, "Have they..."
"Yes," he nodded. It should be almost complete now. I believe we have chosen wisely; they seem to be accepting their hosts readily."
After dinner, the Head Boys and Girls of each house signaled for their houses to stand, and they began to file out of the Hall. A large shuffle and line shifting was made, mostly by the first years, and many seventh years glared, some doing so much as to shove them back in their places in line. Harry was at the beginning of the line, chatting to Andrew Kirke and Jack Sloper about the impending Quidditch try-outs.
Hermione turned to Ron. "Do you think Professor Dumbledore is doing anything to protect Harry? You know, since what happened last year?"
Ron stood silently for a moment, then said abruptly, "Hermione, I have to go take care of something. I'll be back in the Common Room later, alright?"
"Okay..." she consented uncertainly, "but don't get yourself into any trouble."
He turned and shoved his way through the crowd, earning many more than one rude comment or gesture. He pushed through a side door that lead to a dank hallway. He walked brusquely through it, then found the hall he was looking for. Dumbledore was walking down that hallway toward a stone gargoyle.
"Professor Dumbledore," Ron gasped, "wait!" Dumbledore turned around and smiled inquisitively at him. "I've something I need to talk to you about," Ron said, trying to calm his ragged breathing.
"Should we step into my office?" Dumbledore asked. "Ah, yes," he answered himself, searching Ron's face, "I suppose we should, if it is of that importance. Fizzing Whizbees," he murmured to the gargoyle, which sprang to life and leaped to the side, revealing a large, slowly revolving staircase. Ron looked curiously, though he had seen one before. He stepped onto it, a few steps below Dumbledore, and after the fist turn, thanked his stars that he had developed a strong stomach. They reached the top, and Ron gasped at the most gadget-filled room he had ever seen. However, Dumbledore, motioned curtly for Ron to follow him to a thick, heavily bolted door.
He held his finger to a nail on one of the locks and muttered, "Subsentio quemadmodum oris nunquam amoveo." He then moved his finger to touch the keyhole on the smaller lock. "Paene," he said, and the door creaked open. He pushed the heavy door and went into the dark room. Ron followed him. The air around him weighed thickly on Ron's arms and eyelids. The room was lit only by the dying light from behind the closing door. Dumbledore sparked a pale blue light onto the wick of a short, melted candle with his wand, and Ron looked around the room. The ceiling vaulted into a high black nothing. Up to the line of visibility loomed large, withering books; row upon row of leather and metal bound tomes, ancient words forgotten by all but the select few.
Dumbledore stepped to the books and stated in a serious voice, "Am I right Mr. Weasley, in assuming you are looking for something of a spell or charm in which you could protect Harry?" He did not look back to see Ron nod, dumfounded. Dumbledore pulled down a relatively thin blue book and opened it on the small ledge-like table. "Now, if I remember correctly... Aha! Here it is!" He turned to the back of the book, to a page written completely in Latin, in a scrawling, illegible hand.
Dumbledore looked up at Ron, eyes wide and drilling into Ron's own. "Do you understand, Mr. Weasley," he began solemnly, "The immense importance of the task you have chosen to accept?" Ron nodded silently. "And of the ramifications of every action you make, every choice you take, if you should move or choose wrongly?" Ron nodded again, uncertainly. The cold from the stone walls was creeping slowly under his skin.
"Ronald," Dumbledore looked again at him, "Are you sure that you --"
"Professor," Ron cut in, "Harry's my best friend. He could be in real danger this year. He can't get hurt. I don't care what it takes on my part."
Dumbledore nodded, satisfied. "You have a strong heart, Mr. Weasley. That's good, because this, as I recall, is a particularly unstable spell. Do you read Latin?"
"No, sorry sir," Ron muttered, rubbing his arms in a futile attempt to regain his warmth.
"The name of the spell is Vitualamen. It means sacrifice, or offering. The spell is very simplistic at its roots: Any physical ailment or pain to the veil is directly translated to the anchor." He was murmuring, almost to himself, and Ron didn't understand a bit of it. Dumbledore looked up, suddenly acknowledged him, and said, "In basic terms, it means that any physical injury the veil, or Harry in this case, would receive would be relayed directly to you. It's a very dangerous situation, however, as the sets seem to be hooked directly to the human emotions, as opposed to something more stable. Well, wizards back then didn't have the technology we do now, I suppose. Ron," he said, "You aren't... courting anyone, are you?"
"Excuse me, Professor?" Ron asked, confused.
"Courting, you know... oh, what do they call it nowadays... dating?" Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, that's the one. Are you... dating... anyone?"
"Not at the moment," Ron shifted uncomfortably, blushing.
"Good." Dumbledore nodded again. "Keep it that way. The wizard thinking up this spell has set an escape route, apparently, which means he probably had to use the spell for himself. Anyway, what it means to you is, no display of any romantic feelings. To say it in short, no kissing."
"Um," Ron stuttered, shivering from the cold, "Sir, do you mind if I ask why?"
"The escape route, something often found in the more complex spells, is that of romantic love. A kiss would transfer some of Harry's pain to that person. However, instead of the pain attacking the escape's physical form, it would directly attack the soul of both the escape and the anchor. Meaning," he glanced at Ron, "whomever you may choose to woo and yourself, respectively. And trust me, Mr. Weasley, souls are not things so easily repaired by medicine. Souls must return of their own free will, and once most get a taste of the Summerland, they never want to return."
"I understand, Sir -- I'll do it," Ron said, setting his teeth determinedly.
"Alright. I might give you some positive news, though -- it seems that, should nothing fail, your physical body will not die, though something such as betrayal could cause the soul to die. Well, anyway," Dumbledore straightened up, smiling, "If you're sure, we should begin."
Ron nodded.
"Very well. The first stage is an absorption process. If your body does not reject the treatment in a week, we'll be safe to continue to the next step. So, here we go." He conjured three candles in a triangle around Ron. Their small lights each glowed a different colour: one red, one purple, and one blue. Dumbledore turned the page of the book and began to read.
"Annuo fabela absorbeo repino." Suddenly, Ron's eyes flashed past the room, the school, and into a small, blurred memory. A flash of green. A scream. A blinding pain.
"Agmen intus corpus sanctus." Another memory. A chamber. Fire. Red stone, a mirror, yards of purple cloth - a hideous, greedy pair of eyes. Such red, bloodshot eyes.
"Licet is ea id instruo sanctus," gravestones. The stench of death. A terrible fear filled him. Looming cloaks. The eyes, and the blood, burned an afterimage on his eyelids.
Dumbledore grabbed Ron's hand. His head was lolling back on his shoulders, eyes wide open, irises hidden in his skull. Dumbledore dipped the small athame in each of the three candles. He then raised the blade to Ron's pale palm. As he traced the small curved line in the white skin, the beams of light centred on the thin blood lingering in the wound. He stepped back, and resumed his post behind the large volume. "Requiro viaticus de vitualamen, piaculum!" he finished. The candles flared and went out. Ron fell, unconscious, to the floor. Dumbledore dragged him away from the candles and propped his back against the table.
A few minutes later, Ron's eyes opened tentatively. "Is it... done?" He asked in a shaky voice.
"The first stage, yes." Dumbledore replied calmly. "You will most likely have many varying symptoms, from common sickness to periods of unconsciousness. However, if your fingernails turn dark purple, come immediately to me. Other than that, you're free to go. See you again about this time next week?"
Ron nodded and headed for the door. At the handle, he turned. "Harry's memories... that's what I have now?" Dumbledore nodded. "I feel like..." he shifted, "like I've lost some of them."
"That's expected," Dumbledore smiled. "They will return to your conscious within the week. Oh, and Ron?" Ron turned to look at Dumbledore as he opened the door. "You can't tell anyone about this, or the spell will break. And you're very brave," he added, eyes twinkling as he opened another book. "I'm glad Harry has friends such as yourself."
Ron nodded to himself and stepped out of the doorway, closing the door behind him. He looked at his right palm, into which a design of curved lines had been recently etched. He pressed his fingers onto it and pulled down the sleeve of his robe, hoping that no one would notice the blood on his hand.