Chapter Two

What's Said Is Said

The storm raged on over Harry's house. The clouds boiled. Rain lashed the leaves on the trees. Thunder was followed by lightning. Lightning was followed by more thunder.

Harry was listening. What he was listening to was an unnatural silence within the room. Ginny had stopped crying, so suddenly it scared him. He looked back inside the room she was occupying. The bedside light was out. "Ginny?" he called. She did not respond.

He flicked the light switch beside the door. Nothing happened. He jiggled it up and down several times to no effect. A board creaked was that in the room or the stairs? "Ginny? Are you all right? Why aren't you crying?"

He stepped nervously into the quiet room. The light from the landing, coming through the doorway, threw unfamiliar shadows onto the walls and across the carpet. In the lull between two thunderclaps, he thought he heard a humming in the air. He could detect no movement at all in the bed.

"Ginny," he whispered in anxiety, and walked toward the bed with his breath drawn. His hands were shaking like aspen leaves. He reached out to pull the sheet back.

He recoiled. The sheet was convulsing. Weird shapes were thrusting and bulging beneath it. He thought he glimpsed things poking out from the edge of the sheet, things that were no part of Ginny. He felt his heart thumping, and he put his hand over his mouth, to stop himself from screaming.

Then the sheet was still again. It sank slowly down over the mattress. Nothing moved.

He could not turn and run away and leave her. He had to know. Whatever the horror of it, he had to know. Impulsively, he reached out his hand and pulled the sheet back.

The bed was empty.

For a moment or an hour, he would never know how long, he stared at the empty bed. He was not even frightened. His mind had been wiped clean. So clean is was as if an Oblivater had come and wiped out all of his memories.

And then he was frightened, by a soft, rapid thumping on the windowpane. His hands clenched so tightly around his wand, his fingernails scored his skin, and left faint marks on them.

A white owl was flapping insistently on the glass. He could see the light from the landing reflected in its great, round, dark eyes, watching him. The whiteness of its plumage was illuminated by a series of lightning flashes that seemed continuous. Behind him, a Death eater briefly raised his head, and ducked down again. Another that could be seen as Luscious Malfoy did likewise. He didn't seem them. His eyes were fixed on the owl's eyes.

Lightning crackled and flashed again, and this time it distracted his attention from the window by shining on the clock that stood on the mantelpiece. He saw that the hands were at thirteen o'clock. He was staring distractedly at the clock when he felt something nudge the back of him legs. He glanced down. The bed was levitating across the carpet its legs turning colors as it moved. If he didn't know any better Harry would of sworn that the Weasley twin's were playing a prank on him. Harry's lips parted, but he made no sound.

Behind him, something snickered. He spun around and saw it duck down again behind the chest of drawers. Shadows were scuttling across the walls. Death eaters were prancing and bobbing behind him. Harry was watching the chest of drawers. Like the bed, it was moving and rattling on its own accord.

He wheeled around, mouth open, hands clenched, and saw the Death eaters cavorting. They ducked away into the shadows, to evade his eyes. He looked for something that would serve as a weapon other then his wand. For he was still underage and not aloud to use magic. In the corner of the room was an old broom. Not a racing on like that of his Firebolt just an old house broom. He took it and advanced upon the nearest Death Eater.

"Go away. Go away," He whimpered, trying to sweep them out, but the handle of the broom twisted in him hands and slithered out of his grasp.

The storm wind rose to a pitch. Lightning made daylight in the room, and scared faces suddenly began to vanish into cupboards, drawers, or down the cracks between floorboards. As the thunder boomed and the wind shook the curtains, a blast of air blew the window open. Between the fluttering curtains the white owl entered.

Harry wrapped his arms around his face, and screamed, and screamed again. He was petrified that the flapping owl would brush across him. He thought he would die if it did.

He felt the wind blowing his hair around, but the flapping had ceased. Between his fingers he peeked out, to see where the bird was perched. Perhaps it had flown out again.

A prolonged crackling of lightning was throwing a giant shadow on the wall facing the window. It was the shadow of a human figure.

Harry spun around. Silhouetted against the stormy sky was a man. A frightful looking guy. He wore a cloak, which swirled in the wind. A hood wrapped the strangers face. Red-snake like eyes glommed out from underneath the hood. Something glinted about his neck.

Harry said, "Uh ...," and cleared his throat. "Who are you?"

"Don't you know?" The man's voice was calm, almost kindly.

Lightning traced the veins of the sky and lit up his face. He was not smiling, as one might smile on greeting a stranger, nor was his expression fierce. His eyes were fixed upon Harry's with an intensity he found compelling. When he took a step toward him, into the light shining from the doorway, he did not retreat. If his eyes had not hypnotized him, the golden chain around his neck might have. Underneath his robe he pulled out his wand. In one of them he held the jeweled knob of a curious cane with a snake shape at the end.

"I ...," Harry answered. "I ..."

The humming that he had thought he heard in the air was now quite distinct, and musical. The stranger smiled at him hesitancy. He wasn't the slight bit handsome. He had not expected that. When he spoke, his voice was a whisper.

"You're ... him, aren't you?" You're the King of the Death eaters."

He bowed. "Voldermort."

He resisted the ridiculous impulse to return a curtsy.

"I have saved you," he said. "I have liberated you from those bonds that distressed you and frightened you. You're free now, Harry."

"Oh, no. I don't want to be free," he answered. "I mean, I do, but -- I want my best friends little sister back. Please." he gave him a tiny smile. "If it's all the same to you."

Voldermort folded his hands on the top of his cane. "What's said is said."

"But I didn't mean it," Harry replied quickly.

"Didn't you, now?"

"Oh, please. Where is she?"

Voldermort chuckled. "You know very well where she is."

"Please bring him, back, please." he heard herself speaking in a small voice. "Please!"

"Harry ..." Voldermort frowned, and shook his head. His expression was all concern for him. "Go back to your room. Read your books. Put on your robes. That is your real life. Forget about the girl."

"No, I can't."

For a moment, they regarded each other, adversaries trying to size each other up at the outset of a long contest. Thunder rumbled.

Then Voldermort raised his left arm, and made a large gesture with his hand. Harry looked around, thinking that he was summoning assistance. When he faced him again, a glowing crystal had appeared in his hand.

"I've brought you a gift, Harry," he said, holding it out to him.

He paused. He could not trust him. "What is it?"

"A crystal, nothing more. Except that if you look into it ... it will show you your dreams. Its much like the Mirrior of Erised "

Harry's lips parted involuntarily. With a teasing smile, Voldermort watched his face, while he spun the shining crystal around in his fingers. His hand started to reach out for it. He smiled a little more, and withdrew the crystal from him.

Raising the cane with his other hand, he told him, "But this is not a gift for an ordinary boy, one who takes care of a crying girl." His voice was quieter now, and huskier. "Do you want it, Harry?" He held it out toward him again.

This time his hands remained by his sides, and he made no answer. His eyes were fixed on the dancing, flashing glints of the crystal. To see his own dreams -- what wouldn't he give for that?

"Then forget the girl," Voldermort said firmly.

While Harry hesitated, another bolt of thunder and lightning illuminated the sky behind the Death Eater Lord.

He was torn. The gift was not only seductive, it was also the choice of someone who understood him, someone who cared about the secret places of his imagination and knew how infinitely much more they meant to him than anything else. In return, he would have to trade his responsibility for an offensively spoiled girl, who made endless demands on him and never showed the least sign of gratitude; who was, after all, only his best mates sister. The crystal was spinning, glowing. He willed his eyes to close. From behind shut eyelids, he heard a voice answering. It was his own voice, but it seemed to be a memory. "I -- I can't. It isn't that I don't appreciate what you're trying to do for me ... but I want my best mates sister back. She must be so scared ..." he opened his eyes again.

Voldermort snorted, and tossed his head back. He had lost patience with the boy. With a wave of his wand, he extinguished the crystal. With another wave, he plucked a live snake from the air. He held it with a straight arm in front of him, so that it writhed and hissed near Harry's face. Then he threw it at him. "Don't defy me," he warned him.

It was wrapped around his neck. He clutched desperately at the thing, and found that it was now a silk scarf. He yelled, dropped it and jumped away. When it hit the floor it shattered into a number of horribly ugly little spiders, who scuttled, snickering, to the corners of the room. Death eaters crept from the shadows, or popped out from their hiding places, and stood, all around the room, brazen now, watching to see what their king would do to him next.

"You are no match for me, Harry." Voldermort sounded impatient. "Let the girl alone. Take my gift. I will not offer it to you again."

Before he could produce the crystal, Harry told him, "No." he paused. "Thank you all the same, but I can't do what you want. Can't you see that? I must have Ginny back."

"You will never find her."

"Ah," Harry said, and took a deep breath. "Then ... there is a place to look."

Just for a moment, Voldermort's face flinched. Harry saw it, the merest trace of fear fleeting across his eyes. Was it possible? His nostrils tightened, he gripped his cane, and appeared to hesitate slightly before answering him. He could not quite believe it, but the suspicion that the Death Eater King could be afraid of him, even if only momentarily, was encouraging.

"Yes," he said. "There is a place."

And now, with a really hammy gesture straight out of vaudeville, he twirled his hand and pointed through the window.

"There!"

Lightning and thunder, right on cue, he thought. He moved past him and stared into the night. On a distant hill, brilliant in the flashes, he saw a castle. He leaned on the windowsill, trying to see more clearly. There were towers with turrets, massive walls, spires and domes, a portcullis and drawbridge. The whole edifice was built on top of a sharply rising mound. Around it the lightning flickered and forked like snakes' tongues. Beyond was blackness.

From just behind him shoulder, Voldermort murmured. "Do you still want to look for him?"

"Yes." he swallowed. "Is that ..." he remembered the words. " ... the castle beyond the Hogsmeade City?"

Voldermort did not answer at once, and he turned around. He was still there, watching him intensely, but they were no longer in the house. They stood facing each other on a windswept hilltop. Between them and the hill on which the castle stood was a broad valley. In the darkness he could not tell what was down there.

He turned again. The wind blew his hair over his face. Brushing it back, he took one timid step forward.

Voldermort's voice came from behind him. "Turn back, Harry. Turn back, before it is too late."

"I can't. Oh, I can't. Don't you understand that?" he shook him head slowly, gazing at the distant castle, and to herself, quietly, repeated, "I can't."

"What a pity." Voldermort's voice was low, and gentle, as though he really meant it.

He was looking at the castle. It seemed to be a long way off, but not impossibly far to travel. It depended on what he would encounter in the valley, how easily it could be crossed. Was the darkness down there perpetual? "It doesn't look that far," he said, and heard in his voice the effort he was making to sound brave.

Voldermort was at his elbow now. He looked at him, with a smile that was icy. "It's farther than you think." Pointing at a tree, he added, "And the time is shorter."

Harry saw that an antique wooden clock had appeared in the tree, as though growing from a branch. On it were marked the hours to thirteen, as on the room clock in the lightning.

"You have thirteen hours to un-riddle the Labyrinth," Voldermort told him, "before your dear Ginny becomes one of us."

"Us?"

Voldermort nodded. "Forever."

Magic still hummed in the air. Harry was standing still, hair tossing in the wind, looking out across the valley toward the castle. After a while, he said, "Tell me where I start."

He waited for an answer, and finally he heard him say, "A pity."

"What?" he turned his head to look up at him, but he was not there. He spun all around. He had vanished. He was alone in the night, on a windswept hilltop.

He looked across again at the castle. The storm was passing away. Blades of clouds sliced across the moon. he thought he glimpsed the figure of an owl, high above, wings spread wide on the air, as she flew steadily away from him.

He took another step forward, down the hillside. But there was no ground beneath his feet. He began to fall.