Title: The Silent Spectre
Summary: The nighttime…the only time Harry can come out of his hiding spot. Of course, since he doesn't have his invisibility cloak and he's not quite used to hiding yet, who spots him?
Disclaimer: No, you stupid. See that lady over there…the one with blond hair? Yeah, that's the great J.K Rowling. SHE owns, creates, and fixes these characters. I don't own them, never created them, and break them continuously.
Harry idled restlessly until nighttime, when he would be able to escape the oppressing silence of the dark passages, and find a library to learn how to make the blood-replenishing potion.
When it finally did arrive, Harry slunk quietly out of the dungeons and up the marble staircase, moving on a straight and silent course towards, not the library, but the infirmary.
Once inside, he creaked open the light blue student cabinet and swiftly snatched what he needed…rolls of bandages, wound cream, and several vials of the very blood-replenishing potion that he hoped to make. He needed them not only for backup in case his pellets ran out, but also as a reference as most potion books didn't have any inclination to put in color photographs, and he'd like to know exactly what color potion it was…and match it, before he tipped it down his throat. It was a dirty brown color, like sludge…and he knew it tasted to match.
He moved slowly down the corridors with the precious materials cradled in his arms and slipped into a bathroom down the hall. He stepped up to the mirror and received a shock.
His skin was pasty gray, and his cheeks were thin and gaunt. His eyes looked huge and dark, and shadows like bruises decorated the area underneath them. His hair, bloodied and stiff, stuck up in every direction, but instead of the naturally windswept look, it gave off a dismal and grim air of pain and suffering.
Grimacing, he quickly readied all the bandages, and then he began to strip out of his robes. He brought the bloody bundle over to the familiar laundry shoot and tossed down the entire thing save his wand, then turned on the shower quickly. He stepped in and began to scrub himself thoroughly, washing his hair again and again until every rust red particle was gone. Then he sat in the shower watching the water run in reddish rivulets over his body and down the drain.
He turned off the shower, toweled himself off swiftly and tossed the towel down the chute, and jumped out of the shower towards the mirror, swiftly slapping a small bandage to his cheek and wrapping the gashes on his arms and legs tightly. They wouldn't last long…not with endless bleeding…but for a few minutes he was able to relish the feeling of being clean.
His robes had been swiftly and without question washed by the elves, and he slid on his trousers and dress shirt, and then the robes themselves. Looking into the mirror he saw that already blood was seeping through his makeshift dressings, bringing out his grayish pallor and overall horrible appearance. With a sigh, he left the bathroom, striding away with rather renewed strength towards the library…more specifically; the restricted section.
Nearly six years of researching with Hermione, while often dull, gave him invaluable research skills, though not nearly level with Hermione herself. They were good all the same, however, and he put them to use now, pulling books with titles like A Healer's Magic: From A to H, and Contusions, Broken Bones, and other Grisly Injuries off the shelves. He grabbed rolls of parchment from a nearby table, a short, nub quill, and a half-full bottle of green ink, and started taking notes on anything that caught his eye. He gave no notice to the blood steadily seeping onto the table and the parchment, although he made sure to keep the books clean. All through the night he sat, conjuring a cloth to mop himself up every hour and banishing it again. Somewhere along the way he found the recipe for the blood-replenishing potion, which was not easy at all but hopefully within range of a sixth year student. Checking the vial on the chain, he saw that it was still three-quarters full, so he scribbled down the steps and recipe for the potion and moved back to the curse upon him.
Blood was clotted by platelets. Well, he knew that from Muggle school, although he'd forgotten the name. They could often clot small cuts, but sometimes needed clotting factors for the larger ones. Platelets were formed, along with red and white blood cells, in the bone marrow.
So either the curse wasn't letting the platelets clot his blood, or the curse was in his marrow, and stopping the platelets from forming at all. Frowning, Harry checked his watch and slid the books away, standing and stretching a bit. Then he wandered through the shelves once more, sliding books out of their places with his wand and floating them to the table. Bones: The Marrow, The Blood Cells, and Diseases of the Clotting System.
He scribbled endlessly, periodically checking his watch and paying special attention to where he dripped blood. He would have been horrified, he thought, if he hadn't had ages to get used to the constant ache, and the constant bleeding. The ache he didn't even feel anymore…it seemed like his nerves had gone numb.
As the library lightened with the rising sun, he quickly rolled the scrolls up and shoved them in his robes, waved his wand and watched as the books snapped closed and stacked on top of each other with a series of thumps. Another wave, and they floated towards Madam Pince's desk where they settled with a soft thump. He was about to return to the table to clean up the blood when he heard rapid footsteps outside, and he lunged behind a shelf just as the library door opened and Madam Pince herself walked through the door.
She strode towards her desk without a pause, but froze when she saw it.
Oh, no. Harry thought. I should have put them all away…
But there had been no time, he saw now, and he waited with bated breath as Madam Pince turned slowly around, her sharp, beady eyes scanning the library. Harry gulped as those eyes slowed, and then stopped…right on the table he'd been using.
She paled, but strode forward, bending to examine the blood on the tabletop. Heart thumping, Harry knew he might not have another chance, and pushed himself silently to his feet and leaped from out behind the shelf…but his robes whipped across the wood, making a faint swishing noise that was loud against the silence. Harry froze as Madam Pince spun around to stare straight into his eyes.
There was a pause, and then Madam Pince shrieked once, and Harry catapulted himself forward and charged around the doorframe, Pince's shrieks sounding in his ears.
Bounding down the corridors he heard shouting in the distance, and skidding around a corner he pounded on what seemed like a solid wall.
'Beledier, Beledier!' He thought, desperation fueling him. 'Let me in, come on…' And like a miracle, the wall faded, like an image, and he fell through, tapped the wall again and made it solid just as the voices came around the corner.
He jogged swiftly down the secret passage and came out behind a statue on the fourth floor, and moved at a sprint down three flights of back stairs and down into the dungeons and into his Slytherin haven.
"What was he doing, Albus?" Pince asked shakily. The teachers; Dumbledore, McGonagall, Dominick, Flitwick, Pince, and Madam Pomfrey were in the library, and Dumbledore's head was bent down over the table sprinkled with blood.
"He's still alive, Irma." Dumbledore said softly. "And if I were to venture a guess…he's looked for, and found, the recipe to the blood replenishing potion."
"But…" Minerva said. "How could he have possibly lasted the night?" Dumbledore straightened up.
"Poppy, have you checked you potions cupboard lately?" Pomfrey looked up curiously.
"Yes, when Mr. Lupin needed an anti-nausea potion on Tuesday, and everything was in order."
"What about yesterday?" Dumbledore asked.
"Well, no." Pomfrey said. "I can't go checking everything in the Infirmary, it's just too large."
"Not to worry, Poppy, but perhaps you could go to the Wing and check for me? Come straight back once you have."
"Very well, Albus, I'll be back in a jiffy."
"Thank you, Poppy." Dumbledore said, and turned back to the other teachers as Pomfrey clicked out of the Library in her heels. "Now," he said, bending towards the books that had been on Irma's desk. "I would say, by the titles of the books he brought down, that he was looking for something else, as well as the recipe for blood-replenishing. I suppose," Dumbledore's eyes glowed blue. "That the question is not why he's still alive…I think we will find out when Poppy returns…but why he's still bleeding."
"What do you mean?" Dominick asked, his deep voice floating through the room.
"Look at this." Dumbledore said, sliding a book out of the pile. "The Diseases of the Clotting System…and here," Dumbledore opened the book to a page that had one corner folded. "Hemophilia and the Von Willebrand disease."
"But Albus, any student could have folded that page." Dominick said.
"No, look here." Dumbledore replied, and the teachers bent down to examine the fold. Just along the crease was a tiny streak of rusty color. "I think if we were to examine these books carefully we'd find many clues like this…no matter how careful you are, if your bleeding like that boy is, you will get it everywhere you go."
"Do you think he's diseased?" Irma asked worriedly.
"No, I don't." Dumbledore replied, gazing at everything on the table…the blood, the books, and a small quill and nearly empty bottle of dark green ink. "If you look at this book here…" And Dumbledore opened another book, The Bone's Marrow and the Strange Things About It, "And read this passage. Ah, here's another bit of red, there, so he did read this. This is basic…unless he's taking medication fairly new to him that's causing this, he should know plenty about this disease and therefore know how to take care of it. However, I do not think he's taking medication, as he'd have to know more than this just to get the potion…or Muggle medicine in his hand. So I think that something happened to him, perhaps a curse of unfamiliar origins that is stopping his wounds from healing. What I don't understand…" Dumbledore paused, and then continued, "Is why he's so injured in the first place, and why he's here yet won't seek help."
There was no reply from the teachers, all grim faced and pondering the Headmaster's words.
"Albus!" Poppy exclaimed, hurrying into the Library. "My cupboards been raided…I'm missing several bandages and ointments, and all of my blood-replenishing potions…" Poppy stopped, just realizing what she was saying.
"Yes, my dear Poppy." Dumbledore said quietly. "But I think we can make an exception for this young man. Perhaps we can even help him, try to get him to trust us. Leave out some more supplies tonight, Poppy, and Dominick, leave the ingredients for the potion in the student supply cupboard tonight and take what is left out again in the morning. I think I'll leave some things here for him…perhaps a list of books…"
"Professor Dumbledore?" A voice asked at the door of the Library. The Professors turned to look at the speaker. It was James Potter, and beside him was Sirius Black. "I think you'd better look at this, sir."
"What is it, James?" Dumbledore asked, standing quickly. James shook his head and beckoned, and everyone but Pince, who stayed in the Library, followed the Head boy. They moved through the corridors, with Professor McGonagall asking the boys' questions. They were stubbornly silent, and both had rather ill looks on their faces.
"Here, sir." James said, his voice subdued sounding. He pointed at the plain stone wall.
There were bloody fist impressions, the curl of the fingers in the markings and the press of the palm clear…as if someone were pounding on the wall with their clenched fists.
"What was he doing?" McGonagall asked shrilly. If possible, James and Sirius looked even gloomier.
"Beledier." James said quietly, and the wall melted away. He raised his wand and lit it, illuminating the dark passage beyond…and the wand's light shone on something dark and shiny…two pools of black-red blood on the floor.
James felt sick. They all did.
A/N: Oh, wow. I absolutely loved this chapter, and I don't know why! It's just fascinating for me to write, and Dumbledore's character is so awesome to put on paper. Anyways, I know not a lot of action in this chapter, but at least we're getting somewhere, right? This story won't be overly long…perhaps fifteen chapters or so, maybe a few more or maybe a few less. I know this was kind of an awkward place to stop, but that's just where it ended. Hope you liked this chapter!
Oh, one more thing. This is a revised chapter…someone mentioned that Harry was mute, and I had him talking! Stupid me, now it's better, I hope. Thanks Phoenix 5.
