Consequences
By Neurotica
Three
In one of the upstairs bedrooms of Number Twelve, the four youngest Weasleys were gathered around Hermione Granger, waiting. Ginny had owled Hermione early in the morning to tell her what had happened with Harry. The Grangers had cancelled their holiday plans to France for the remainder of the summer to allow Hermione to be with her friends. Fred, George, and Ginny had told Hermione what they were able to find out using the Extendable Ears and from hurried explanations from their mother and Tonks—no one else seemed to have a moment to spare, and Sirius hadn't been seen for a few hours. Ron had been eerily quiet since before Hermione's arrival.
"I've never seen Sirius that angry," George said half-impressed, half-fearful.
"Looked murderous, he did," Fred agreed.
"He wouldn't have actually killed Kreacher, though, would he?" Hermione asked, glancing at each of them.
"You know, I think he would have," Ginny said quietly.
"I definitely would have," Ron whispered hoarsely, staring at the floor. His siblings and Hermione turned to look at him, surprised. "He did it," Ron continued, not looking at any of them. "Sirius was right about that. I'd bet anything Kreacher tried to off Harry."
"But how would a house-elf have gotten a hold of a potion like that?" Hermione asked reasonably. "From what you've all said, Kreacher isn't that smart; someone would have had to give him the potion."
"Who, though?" George asked seriously. "Who in their right mind would do that?"
"Whoever it was, I wouldn't want to be him," Fred said conversationally. "Sirius is bound to kill him."
The tense atmosphere in the basement kitchen had grown, if possible, worse throughout the afternoon. Sirius had taken his firewhiskey and retreated to the library to brood. Arthur and Tonks had escaped to Diagon Alley to pick up a quick lunch since Molly was occupied with Harry and Pomfrey.
Dumbledore was left to pace around the kitchen, his mind working in overdrive. He never would have thought it possible for something of this magnitude to happen. The only suspect they had in Harry's poisoning was the last person he would have ever thought of.
Maybe it was a mistake, the potion being placed on Harry's bedside table. But Dumbledore was anything but naïve. In war, everything down to the smallest details was planned out carefully. This was a well-thought out, well-executed plan.
The Imperius Curse, then... highly probable, but again, unlikely. The house had been full of Order members; one of them would have noticed something like that.
As much as it pained Dumbledore to admit it, he was forced to believe the Order had discovered their first spy of the war. But was he really a spy? Did he really have the Dark Mark burned into his arm?
Dumbledore had always believed the boy to be highly intelligent—a little too pompous and ambitious at times, but he would have made a good ally to the Order when he was ready. Arthur and Molly would, of course, need to be notified. They wouldn't take it well, but who would? This was not the kind of news any of them needed to hear after everything that had happened over the last few days.
"Albus," said a sharp voice from the staircase.
Dumbledore ceased his pacing and turned around. "Ah, Minerva," he said with a smile.
McGonagall pursed her lips. "You've been pacing, I see. What have you come up with, then?"
"You know me too well at times, Professor." Dumbledore sighed. "We will need to inform a certain couple before we tell the rest of the Order. And I think it best to keep Sirius out of the loop, as they say, for the time being."
McGonagall nodded stiffly. "And you are certain it was he who had the potion put there?" she asked quietly, watching Dumbledore's face for any change of expression.
"Most unfortunately, I am," the Headmaster responded with no trace of a twinkle in his eyes. "Even without Kreacher's testimony, it all fits."
"But Percy Weasley wasn't even here, Albus. Nymphadora Tonks told me—"
"I understand, Minerva, but there are other ways one could penetrate the wards of this house."
"I suppose you won't tell me what those ways are?"
"I would prefer to find out which form was used first, but I will inform you as soon as I am able."
"Very well," McGonagall said curtly. "If you'll excuse me, I must speak with Poppy."
As the Transfiguration Mistress went up the stairs, Dumbledore chuckled inwardly. Minerva had an odd way of disguising her worry, even if it was over Harry Potter.
Harry felt like he was floating. He soared through the air, his bare toes skimming the cool ocean water, completely unsupported by anything. He felt better than he had in years as he looked around his surroundings. There was no visible land around him as far as he could see. How long he'd been floating in midair was a mystery, but he didn't want the feeling to end.
He vaguely remembered drinking the potion left for him by Mrs. Weasley—at least he thought it had been left by Mrs. Weasley. It hadn't tasted half bad after the first few sips, either. The taste held that of a Sleeping Draught mixed with an ice cream shake from Florean Fortescue's.
Just in front of him, Harry could see the shadowed outline of a large bird. He sped up and saw the familiar red and gold plumage he'd been so enthralled with as a young child. "Fawkes." He grinned. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded like a distant echo. "Where are we going?" he asked the phoenix.
Fawkes continued to fly towards the orange setting sun. Slightly annoyed for some reason, Harry followed. He didn't have time to run around the world with Fawkes; Sirius and Remus would worry when they found his bed empty.
Sighing, Harry turned away from Fawkes. "It is quite pretty out here," he murmured. "Peaceful..."
He turned back to Fawkes and felt a surge of panic flood his insides. He was no longer floating or flying, or whatever it was that he'd been doing. Now he was on his knees, staring at the mouth of a cave. Darkness had suddenly surrounded him. Waving his pale hand in front of his face, he could barely see a thing.
"Fawkes?" he called uncertainly into the blackness.
There was no answer.
Harry was alone—or so he initially believed.
His brow furrowed as a soft hissing sound began to move closer to him. Cautiously, fearfully, he turned around and began to scream.
By five in the evening, Sirius' firewhiskey supply was depleted, leaving him to pace outside Harry's bedroom door. Pomfrey and Molly had been quite adamant about keeping him out. Harry had once again begun to convulse earlier in the afternoon. The only thing that seemed to soothe him was the spell Dumbledore used to calm him the first time. According to the Headmaster, it was a rather complicated painkilling spell. It was all they could do for the time being, until Snape arrived with the antidote. Pomfrey didn't dare give Harry any potions for fear of how they would react with the poison.
Sirius leaned against the wall across from Harry's room and slid to the floor. If there was one feeling he hated more than waiting, it was waiting for Snape to arrive. Harry's life was, literally, in Snape's hands. If the Potions Master didn't correctly brew the antidote, or if it took longer than anticipated to brew, Harry would die.
Thankfully, Dung's connection had successfully found the last ingredient for Snape. Dung had personally delivered the dragon scales to Hogwarts four hours previously. Now, they just had to wait.
Kingsley's search team had sent an owl earlier in the afternoon. Their information was almost useless —they'd found no trace of the missing Order members, yet, but were still searching. All Sirius needed was one, simple piece of evidence stating that Remus was possibly still out there somewhere, then, perhaps, he could better deal with everything that was happening at the moment inside Number Twelve. If he knew Remus was still out there, he could focus solely on making sure Harry was all right.
At nine that night, Molly and Pomfrey were finally satisfied that Harry was stabilized and allowed Sirius inside his godson's room. Molly had half-heartedly offered to bring Sirius some dinner, but the Auror's appetite had completely disappeared hours ago.
Two more hours was all they had. Harry already looked... Sirius couldn't finish that train of thought. His chest clenched painfully to even think that he could lose his family.
This is war, Black. And you've got to face the facts... You can't keep them safe... said a dark voice in his mind.
"Shut up," Sirius growled quietly. He sat on Harry's bed and reached for his godson's hand. He winced as he felt the coldness of Harry's hand. "C'mon, mate," he whispered to his boy, hoping Harry could hear him. "Don't leave me now..."
Before he could stop, tears began to fall, and Sirius didn't bother to wipe them away.
Pomfrey and Molly returned an hour later with Dumbledore and Arthur in tow. Sirius briefly saw the Weasley children and Hermione waiting anxiously outside the door before it closed.
"Severus has informed us that the antidote will be ready in thirty minutes, Sirius," Dumbledore said quietly, placing a hand on Sirius' shoulder.
The younger wizard nodded and looked back to his godson. Thirty minutes... But would that be enough time...?
"Imperio," Lucius Malfoy muttered lazily, pointing a wand he'd stolen from some dead wizard. The Ministry still had his; that bloody werewolf had undoubtedly given it to Black...
Up, Malfoy commanded silently. Pettigrew rolled over onto his back from where he'd been facing the wall and stood from the cot that had been set up for him.
Malfoy directed Pettigrew out of the stone room and down the dark corridors to where the meeting would begin shortly. The Dark Lord apparently had good news—Malfoy hadn't seen his master in such high spirits in years.
The Death Eaters entered a large, stone circular room with a high dome-ceiling. Though a fire burned against one of the walls, the room was still quite cold.
Dementors, Malfoy thought with a slight shiver. I should have known they'd be here…
The circle of black cloaks had already been formed in the center of the room, with spots left open for two more. Malfoy guided Pettigrew to the circle and took his own spot beside the soulless Death Eater. How he'd come to be in charge of Pettigrew, he'd never know. Apparently the Dark Lord believed he'd done something terrible, and was punishing him.
It's better than death on some days, I suppose, Malfoy thought dryly.
Further thoughts were driven from his mind as a door slammed open and the Dark Lord himself entered, followed by Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange.
"My Death Eaters," the Dark Lord said softly after the Lestranges took their spots. Malfoy noticed with some satisfaction that Bellatrix looked to be in some pain. "I have good news and I have bad news for you tonight. The bad, first, I believe." Malfoy stiffened. "My prophecy has been moved to Hogwarts. Dumbledore and the werewolf have placed their pointless protections over it. Perhaps you think this would only make it easier to get my hands on it. You would be wrong. During the attack on Diagon Alley, my spy in Hogwarts was captured. He is being held at the Ministry of Magic. I now ask you, my faithful, what is the point of having a spy if he has been detained?" The Dark Lord looked around his circler of followers slowly. "Get him out. I do not care what casualties are made."
"Yes, Master," shuddered eerily around the circle.
"And now, the good news," the Dark Lord continued in what could be considered a light tone. "Potter is now on the verge of death." There was a soft gasp somewhere on Malfoy's left. He didn't have the courage to look around. The Dark Lord didn't seem to notice. "In less than an hour, one of my goals will have been completed after fourteen years of failure. This night is to be celebrated, my friends."
Malfoy let the rest of the Dark Lord's speech fade. He was merely pleased to have lived through another evening.
Ten-forty-five, Sirius' wristwatch read. Snape still hadn't arrived... Dumbledore had left Harry's room to contact Snape and find out what was taking so long. Sirius' breathing was coming to him in short, shallow spurts as he watched Harry fight to breathe. Molly had been escorted from the room by Arthur a short time ago due to her sobbing, and had been replaced by Mad-Eye and Tonks. Pomfrey was doing her best to keep Harry stabilized until the antidote arrived, but Sirius was sure it wouldn't do much good after a few more minutes...
Never before had Sirius wanted to see Snape so badly. Snape was their only hope, Sirius had to reluctantly and bitterly remind himself.
At ten minutes to the hour, Harry's door opened. Snape entered swiftly, carefully carrying a smoking goblet. Dumbledore and McGonagall entered, the latter closing the door and moving to stand beside Sirius.
Without a word, Madam Pomfrey sat beside Harry and sat him up. Snape opened Harry's mouth, rather roughly in Sirius' opinion, and tilted his head back, forcing him to swallow the potion. Once the goblet had been drained, Snape and Pomfrey moved away from the bed and watched along with the rest of them. Sirius felt Tonks and McGonagall slip their hands into his, and he appreciated the slight comfort from them.
Long minutes passed with no change. The clock struck eleven o'clock and Harry, to Sirius' immense relief, was still breathing.
"What are we watching for?" somebody quietly asked Snape.
"The color will begin to return to him shortly," Snape answered quietly. "His breathing will return to normal, though he may not wake for another few hours. His organs will have to repair themselves—the antidote will help with that..."
Sirius blocked the rest out as he concentrated on Harry. His breathing hitched as Harry's chest began to move with more normalcy than it had in the past twenty-four hours. He gently pulled his hands from McGonagall and Tonks, and moved beside Harry.
Slowly but surely, the boy's color was returning. Sirius felt Harry's forehead—his temperature felt as if it was warming, a large relief from the coldness Sirius had felt earlier.
For hours, they waited for something, anything to happen. They were rewarded just after two in the morning, when Harry emitted a hoarse groan. Various sighs of relief could be heard, Snape's most likely because he hadn't messed up the potion.
Sirius held his breath as he watched Harry's eyes start to flutter open. "Sirius..." Harry whispered almost inaudibly.
Sirius laughed shortly in relief and enveloped Harry in a tight hug.
Kingsley led his team through the forest, their eyes wide open for anything and everything around them. They'd gathered what they believed to be the contents of Emmeline's travel bag, but hadn't found any sign of the owner.
"Kingsley!" called one of the Aurors. Kingsley looked behind him and found the team had stopped. They were gathered around a large clump of bushes, looking over each other's shoulders to see better.
Kingsley repressed the urge to think it might be a body and made his way to the bushes. Dawlish floated what was unmistakably Remus' knapsack before Kingsley's eyes. Kingsley opened the bag with his wand and noticed out of the corner of his eye that his team was backing away. A nauseating smell flooded them, making their eyes water.
"Dungbombs," Kingsley coughed.
"Ow!" they heard Johnson cry out.
"What?" Kingsley said immediately. Johnson seemed to have tripped over something. He was caught in another clump of bushes on the other side of the path.
"Lumos," muttered five voices in unison.
Kingsley felt his stomach sink to his feet when he saw a leg sticking out. Evans moved forward to push the bushes out of the way. "Oh shit," Kingsley muttered.
They'd found Remus.