The Heart of the Boy Who Lived
I've thought of how to explain this. Explain her. Daphne. Have done so, in fact, more times than I'd ever be able to count within the tattered remnants of my mind – long before these pages ever saw your sorrow filled eyes.
I've thought of skipping her entirely. Thought about brushing away the agony of which could bludgeon reality itself – meander it into something a tad less… well, yeah, just that. Less.
I've thought and thought and thought, worried that I might have unseen her once across the years of Hogwarts – that the tapestry of her life had muddled and turned bleak, awry. Wrong.
I've known, and that's the crux of the matter, that I'd never be able to do justice to her. What she was. Is. Thought and said and done. She deserves, undoubtedly, more than I can give. More than I can see. More than anyone can see.
Even muggles can see through walls, you know, but no one can see inside a broken heart and mend it.
Only time.
Perhaps.
Sometimes I wonder – maybe it's not so much mended by time, as it's… forgotten. Twisted. Still broken, but now only perceived – more whole.
Right? Does anyone ever see you? As you are, and – much more importantly – just what you can be.
Some, perhaps. Not many, I'd wager. But those few times… those few folks you meet… that see…
Even if only for a second…
There can be, in Dumbledore's words, no greater magic. It's the same kind of magic, touch of love – touch of a mother – that allows me to breathe now, to see the sun trek across the heavens for years beyond my first.
That, and an healthy dollop of destiny, of prophecy – of meaning beyond the rules of life and death.
Anyway. I thought of skipping her – yes, yes, yes. Yes. I did. And then…
And then I realized that that would be even more of a disservice to her.
So screw it all – do your worst, memory.
"Daphne," Harry gasped, wand lowered instantly, wide-eyed. "What – I could have cursed you!"
Ron swore beside him and lowered his own wand, as Daphne, bright eyed and half-a-foot in the grave by the looks of her, slumped back into the black leather couch on which she'd obviously been sleeping.
"Dammit, Harry!" she breathed, heart pounding so fierce in her chest he could actually see it. Her eyes opened and stared at the ceiling, seeing nothing and everything. "I didn't think – you nearly scared me to death! What was that – that light?"
"The Stunning spell," Harry said, shrugged, pocketing the wand. He glanced at the table in front of her. A square, dark wood table stretched the length of the couch adjacent to it. Usually, it would be polished down to a mirror sheen by eager house-elves, but today it was touched by a plethora of cups of half-drunk coffee and small plates with crumps of biscuits. Daphne had planned on camping here for the night, it seemed. "Daphne, why're you sleeping on the couch?"
The question seemed to snap her out of her inertness and she found her feet in an instant. Something that resembled that same light of adventure he'd found in Ron's, of destiny and resolve, of sheer fuckin' defiance, snapped into being in her bright blue eyes.
"Because I knew." She pointed her finger at Harry, triumph in her posture and a proud smirk on her lips. "Knew you were up to something. I could see it on you. What's going on? And don't tell me it's nothing."
"Daphne," Harry said, glancing at Ron. His impatient glare could, if her eyes darted to him for even a second, put a stopper on the beating of her heart. Harry hurried onwards. "You're right. Something's… going on. But it's not safe, okay? You have to promise me – you'll stay here. Don't follow us, okay? Promise me that."
Ron, his glare softened, sighed. Resigned. Checking his watch, he muttered, "Harry, we don't have time for this."
"I know but we have to do this right."
"I…" Daphne said, hesitant. Full of nerves now that the moment was upon her – whatever the moment meant for her. "I'm not here to stop you, if that's what you're worried about. And I won't tell Snape. I just – I wanna understand. I can see something's going on. Something dangerous, right?"
"Yes," Harry said, gently, voice barely more than a murmur. Daphne. What are you doing?
The silence lingered, and she shuffled nervously on the spot, inching closer and closer to filling it with an… explanation? A plea?
"Maybe – I don't know – maybe I can help. You know?" she said at last, words hurried and jumbled.
Why was this so important for her?
"Help?" asked Ron in exasperation, his wand slightly raised and rising further still, moving with clear intent. "You don't even know what's going on!"
"I know enough, okay!" Daphne exploded, her temper conquering her nervous energy. Her pale skin, almost ethereal in the shadow of the flames from the fireplace, had gained small spots of light-red blotches. "I know. Despite what Malfoy and his lot say, you're not complete idiots – even though you could've fooled me right now! And – you've looked scared all day, okay? I… I just wanna help." The last part was added on so quietly, so utter demurely, that Harry almost didn't hear it.
"Why?"
Daphne, biting her lower lip, seemed to weigh her options. "Why is the why of it so important anyway?" she asked in lieu of answering, words slow and measured. Like Ron with McGonagall. She was obvious in her carefulness.
Harry sighed. With great care, he pulled out his wand.
"The fact that you don't wanna tell me says it's plenty important to you. That means it's important to me."
"Look, maybe I just want to help. Have you thought of that! Ever considered that there wasn't more to it than that?"
"No."
"Uh, boys!" she moaned angrily, flinging her arms up. "You think you're all so-"
"Enough of this," said Ron with finality, raising his wand. "Petrificus Totalus." His voice was calm. Whisper-thin. Crisp. Measured. Precise.
There was clear and obvious progress in that.
Unfortunately, the timing of it left something to be desired.
Daphne's arms, which had been raised over her head, snapped to her sides. Her legs sprang together as if pulled roughly by invisible strings. Her whole body went rigid. And then she, swaying for a second whilst the universe decided her fate, fell forward towards the small, messy table in front of the sofa with no chance to protect herself from the impact.
Harry stopped her. His wand snapping up, magic spluttering out of the tip, he caught her. She hovered there, face inches from the surface, fixed in mid-air. The glare in her eyes was vicious.
It spoke louder than any word she could have mustered – of rage and betrayal. And Harry supressed the sliver of fear that touched at his spine.
"Ron!" he cried, voice soft, as he lowered her to the sofa. "She could've really hurt herself!"
"Sorry," he said, and had the good sense to look sheepish. "Sorry, Daphne. You'll understand later."
"Yeah." Harry nodded, though a touch ashamed. "Sorry. We have to do this. No time to explain."
When he'd placed her on the sofa, he angled his wand at her and splashed an arc of red light, knocking her out.
"So she didn't have to lie there awake and all helpless," he muttered when Ron gazed questioningly at him. Glancing at her darkly, feeling a bad omen about this whole night loom over his head, Harry turned and strode out of the common-room.
The entrance to the Slytherin Common Room was placed deep within the cascading dungeons of Hogwarts. Even at the best of times, it didn't exhibit any of the glowing warmth the rest of the castle was known for.
Tonight, however, it looked positively ripe with decay. The dark walls seemed infested with the alive like a rotten corpse.
Harry turned about on the spot as Ron came out with him and the wall slid closed behind them; the greenish light, which had been cast upon the opposing wall of the corridor from the common-room, slithered away into the blackness of a lightless night along with the close of the wall.
Leaving them all alone in the dark.
A rancid smell of moist water hung heavy in the air, as if something had been left to fester away from the touch of the sun for ages. In the silence, upon the moment of misdeeds such as this, it was all-consuming. Unavoidable.
All there was.
Considering things for a moment, weighting directions and possible adversities and foes and fucking dragons, Harry paused and remembered how he'd planned this night. How he'd prepared for it. Glancing down the dungeons, resolved, he lifted his wand and ignited the tip in bright lights, banishing the dark.
Ron, following his lead, murmured a soft, "Lumos."
They could see the dungeons now and, when no monsters or dragons seemed intent upon devouring them, Harry breathed a great sigh of relief.
Fuck, this was gonna be a long night!
With a flourish he flicked the sphere of light off his wand and made it hover above them, then he conjured two more spheres and did the same.
"Insurance for Filch," he answered Ron's silent question.
Ron nodded, going with it. Then he led the way as the lights started to hover towards the upper floors and the grounds outside.
A couple of minutes of hurrying in infernal silence, something fierce and approaching broke it asunder up ahead.
"Can you see them, my sweet? Hear them? I saw a light flicker. Go on, they might be lurking around the corner."
Harry stopped and frowned, raising his wand at the ready. The voice had come a little ways of, hidden amongst the dark twisting, throbbing, lurching corridors of the dungeons.
"Filch!" Ron whispered furiously, eyes horror-struck, shaking his wand and choking the light. "Let's turn around. Go the long way around."
"Easy, Ron," Harry muttered, crouching by the wall. With a thought and a nonchalant twitch of the wrist, he sent one of the spheres off at speed.
"There! Did you see that, girl! Go! Go! Get him!"
With a thought and another flick, the sphere, lurching to a stop, turned about and forked through the darkness around the other corner.
"Oh, it's a fast one, eh?" Filch muttered darkly – equal parts relishing the hunt and exasperation of the fictive student's fright.
"Ready your wand, Ron," Harry whispered, and held his gaze for a second. "I'll get the cat – you get Filch."
"What?" he whispered in Harry's ear, furious, his own ears reddening something mad.
"Keep your voice down," Harry snarled, twirling his wand and summoning the sphere back towards them. An echo of curses and gleeful encouragements resonated from Filch, edging on his cat, getting closer and closer as he chased the light. "Okay, Ron. Cover your face. Yes, like that. Okay. Three. Two. One."
A couple of things seemed to happen almost at once. Mrs Norris, rounding the corner with flicker-quick movements, cast her reflected, slit-like eyes at them, paused for the millions of moments that reside within seconds, and then ran at them. Filch, somehow hot on the blasted cat's tail, turned the corner, saw Harry and Ron and came to a halt.
"Who are – ah!"
With a flick Harry had sent all three spheres of light at him. Harmless but bright, they blinded him for precious seconds. He turned his wand upon the cursed cat, which, hearing her master's plight, had stopped and looked.
"That will cost you, Norris," Harry whispered. Stupefy!
His aim was true and the cat collapsed, out of it.
"Petrificus Totalus!" cried Ron, voice reverberating off the walls, and then it travelled down the corridor in an everlasting echo of noise. It made Harry flinch.
But his aim had been true, as well, and Filch, much like Daphne before, snapped to attention, limps growing stiff and body turning rigid. He fell, face first, and hit the floor with a vast thud.
Harry pulled a grimace, a mad sort of laughter bustling on the edge of his throat. That had to be painful.
"Let's go," he muttered, still grinning, voice low as a breath, mindful of Filch's continued awareness. He flicked his wand and a jet of red light claimed his consciousness. "The sound might attract trouble."
Ron nodded. They hurriedly journeyed onwards.
The narrow, featureless dungeons slowly fanned out into the rest of the castle as they neared the ground floors. Turning a corner, deeming the Entrance Hall too conspicuous even at night, they slipped the long way around and found the exit door to the east – in the direction of Hagrid's hut and the Forbidden Forest.
Some portraits seemed to awake and groan against their light as they passed, becoming almost a trail behind them of moaning and indignation, but none recognized them and they were gone before the portraits fully awoke. They met no one else in the hallways and reached the door a couple of minutes later.
Ron, a jump to his quiet steps as the first part of the plan proved successful, grabbed hold of the handle and pushed. It didn't budge. Locked.
Harry seemed to awake into a sense of déjà vu. Snapped into it. Turned afire into it. A sensory overload of which jarred his head to a stopper. Everything stopped.
He'd been here before. Lived this before. Breathed and fought and ran… all of it on another night such as this.
"Harry," said Ron from so very far away it almost seemed like another life entire.
He survived once, in the faces of a vast dog. Why not once more?
Harry raised his wand, motion born and borne on instinct alone, and cast the simple spell. There was a great groaning, wheezing sound as the old hinges of the door was pulled open by magical force.
And then the door, ajar for but a second, was blown open by the winds of winter.
And then the grounds of Hogwarts were revealed onto their eyes.
The chill of the night – the freezing, moaning winter breeze fluttered in through the open door and hit them in their faces, claiming with great calamity of mind their attention.
"Shit," whispered Ron, already a little shaky round the shoulders.
Of that there could be no argument. Shit, indeed.
The night was cold and cruel, clutched in the grasp of all that was horrific and kind in December. Christmas. Such a bright spot of joy for the young and the happy, clutching their blankets by the fire as they gazed out the window upon the slow rivulets of snow – wherein the unforgiving cold was little more than a concept of thought.
Now it could be their very worst enemy of the night, for it could break them before they even arrived onto whatever battlefield lay in wait.
In the distance, a little ways off, down the old rumbling hills, lay Hagrid's hut with a small flicker of dim light in wait. It would be their guide, their Polaris, until they reached the Forbidden Forest – a point in the distance for them to brave the snow and trod and trod and trod towards.
Ever onwards, he thought grimly.
You could just make out the Forbidden Forest through the smoky haze of falling snow. Looming and reaching across the peaks of the horizon, there was a depth to it that he'd never considered before – the sheer vastness of it.
They'd, of course, laid their plans. Get to Hagrid's hut, enter the forest, get to the caverns wherein they'd hidden Norbert, and from there turn around and enter the depths of the Forbidden Forest, trying to backtrack their thief's footsteps, hoping to find some sort of a track.
As plans goes, it was neither intricate nor well planned. But then again, they really had very little to go on to begin with.
"Dragging a dragon, even with magical means, must leave clues, Harry," Ron had said last night.
And Harry agreed. He really did. But it was dark. It was cold. And snowing so fiercely that seeing past your outstretched hand was a challenge. And he knew sight would come easier to them in the forest, wherein they'd be canopied by the thick overhanging branches and trees.
He knew that.
But, standing here, it was cold, freezing comfort.
Murmuring the heating charm twice, he turned his wand on Ron and then on himself.
"If you were gonna do it anyway, why did I waste an entire evening trying to learn the damn spell?" Ron muttered darkly.
"The spell will run out in time," Harry replied, softly; rather happy to take his mind off what lay ahead. "If we get separated, if something happens to me… I rather like the idea that you can protect yourself against the cold."
"Right." Ron nodded and tried to swallow a lump in his throat. "Good point. Excellent. Bloody excellent."
They exited the door, found the cold glancing off of them thanks to his small charm, and Harry turned and stooped by the door, tapping his wand to the nearest stone.
"Ron – lend me your wand, please."
Ron, without hesitation to his immense credit – or maybe he just didn't hold any true fondness for a wand that wasn't really his own – passed it to Harry and he tapped his, as well.
Keying it in.
"What was that?" asked Ron, taking back the offered wand.
"Tracking charm of a sort. Hold your wand in the belly of your hand and think of this stone – really envision it, Ron. It should point you to it."
Ron nodded. "Sounds dead useful for when we get lost."
Which, of course, they were bound to do. That thought, oddly, brought him a small laugh.
"Yeah. Take a good look. Remember it. Got it? Good. C'mon, then."
They hurried along the hills, faster now that they were outside, shielding their faces against the punch of the wind. Harry realized half way down that, although he wasn't getting cold, he was still getting plenty wet.
Nothing to it now.
They reached Hagrid's hut in what he thought was record time. Scanning with careful eyes as they crept along the threshold of the Forbidden Forest, they searched in the dark for the way they usually journeyed on.
"Ah!" Ron snarled ten minutes into the search. "I can't see a damn thing!"
Neither could Harry. Initially he'd thought not to ignite too much light, for fear of discovery by someone from the castle. But five minutes into the search he'd abandoned that strategy and conjured more and more spheres of pure white, shinning lights.
They hovered and forked above their heads, running up and down and back along the periphery of the forest, illuminating for their eyes every inch. Unfortunately the heavy downpour of snow, of snowflakes heavy and whole, managed to sort of flicker and screen the light.
Harry could just imagine, with growing dread as time passed onwards, the kind of light-show someone happening to be looking out a window at that instant would see.
But then at last Ron cried out in triumph as one of his lights flickered by his head and revealed a familiar gaping hole in the forest – an almost opaque blackness that could stretch forever – right in front of where he stood.
Harry sighed. Fifteen minutes and it's right in front of him. Oh well. Forest for the trees and all that…
He quickly vanished most of the conjured light. They hurried in, and – blessedly – found that the forest did indeed dampen the kick of the storm a notch – down to something bearable.
They nodded. Looked ahead. Hurried onwards. Passed the clearing in which Hagrid had met them the day Norbert had been found stolen. Passed the swaying, hustling, darkly lit trees. And passed beneath the canopy of thick branches from which, every now and then, the gleam of moonlight would shine through in thick shafts of pure light, touching their eyes and skin and the gentle flicker of falling snow.
Even in here they would not be bereft of it.
They circled the lake, keeping to the path along the shore line, and found themselves some short time later at the threshold of the forest, staring into the maw of the cave that seemed to lead beneath – or perhaps more excitingly into – the lake itself. What was once the home of Norbert, the dragon.
They walked out, smacked at once across the face by the full brunt of the wind, into the clearing that was to be found in between the forest and the lake. With a thought, Harry reapplied their heating charms for good measure.
From here, you could see Hogwarts in its entirety loom beneath the cloudy skies some distance away, a haze of moonlight touching parts of her, but its brilliance only held Harry's gaze for a moment. He turned to the forest, looking in the direction directly away from the castle. In the clearing, the lake bent around, offering a view up along the spine of the Forbidden Forest, showcasing in a rather intimidating fashion just how vast the fucking thing truly was.
"See that." Harry pointed in the distance. "You can just about make out a shift in the kinds of trees – I don't know what kind of trees that is. Doesn't really matter. Let's call that our backdrop. If we find the forest starting to fill with those, then we turn around and go back. Agreed?"
Ron nodded, his red hair sticking wetly to his forehead.
Harry nodded. "We'll try and keep Hogwarts behind us."
Then they marched in. Braved the night and the never-ending darkness.
At some point Ron, wand-tip alight, stooped and twirled his wand about the ground, illuminating a narrow, winding earth track that seemed to descend into the very heart of the Forbidden Forest, away from everything they'd ever known about Hogwarts.
"Right," Harry muttered, as Ron stood. "Onwards it is."
Onwards they must.
The light breeze, with snow in their eyes, lifted their hairs off their forehead, as they journeyed through and disappeared in the haze and maze of the thick black trees. They were trees like none he'd ever encountered in his decade of muggle life. Black and towering and menacing like they were a creature in itself.
It was dark all round, blackness unbound, and silent as the graveyard at midnight. Everything seemed to be still and everything, including the dead leaves that lay splattered across the roots of the trees, seemed alive – yet somehow not.
Harry had conjured two sets of orbs again, filled them with as much light as he could, and made them to hover a few feet in front of them as Ron and he, wands raised and at the ready, lurked onwards in tense silence.
Every now and then, a thick ray of moonlight would shine through, only to be stooped out by clouds a moment later, splashing silent darkness upon us.
Ron, breathing laboured in fright, was pale like he'd never seen him before.
"You all right, Ron?" Harry asked, then frowned. "Shit!"
With great effort, Harry pulled Ron aside the winding earth track and jumped behind a towering black tree, readying his mind and his wand.
Something howled, moaned, grieved into the night. Something monumental. Something… wounded. And that sound hung like a promise in the very air.
"What is that?" whispered Ron, even as they heard something stomp off at great speed, seeking refuge further, deeper into the Forbidden Forest.
Harry got the sense, and he knew it was from his fear, that something was lurking, trying to lure them deeper, deeper still into the woods.
"I heard," Ron moaned, rather than whispered, "that there are werewolves in here."
"Good thing it's not a full moon," Harry muttered.
"You sure?" he breathed in his ear.
No. "Yes."
"Liar."
They snuck out from behind their hiding place, setting alight their balls of light anew, and set off. Going towards where they heard the sound, silently glad to finally have something to track – even if it was a red herring.
Though something told Harry it wasn't. It really wasn't.
"Where did you hear about the werewolves?"
Ron, slowly and almost timidly, answered, "Fred and George."
"What?"
Oh. Harry's experience with the two… the twins weren't exactly great, and he highly doubted they were a creditable source of information, but…
Beggars can't be choosers.
"Did they know what else lives out here?"
Ron nodded. "I think so – they've been here more than anyone I know."
"Then… for all the times they've been here – did they ever run into something… intelligent?"
Ron stopped, eyes aghast. "Harry – please don't tell me you wanna ask for directions?"
"No – of course not." Harry frowned, ghost of a smile on his lips. "Just, you know, if they'd seen a dragon come by recently."
Ron, growing silent, stared at him with what could only be described as a mounting horror. "The scary thing is – I can't tell whether you're joking or not."
The forest grew thicker; the winding track became more linear and narrower – so narrow, in fact, that Ron had to step in behind Harry. Still no sign of dragons. But the sound, of footsteps and hooves and haunting, desperate pleas, bled away into echoes through the blackness ahead. Something seemed to slowly take hold, seeping through their minds and touching upon them in a manner that was almost… seductive perhaps.
No. That wasn't quite it. Pleading. Yeah. It was pleading.
They followed it. Like shipwrecked men turning to seawater from uncontrollable thirst. Slowly losing themselves in the adventure.
At some point Harry stopped and tried his spell tied to the stone. It worked at once, wand settling in the palm of his hand, which set his heart at ease, but he noted with dread that they'd ended up winding around in a different direction somewhere along the way without realizing.
The sound of rustling leaves was the only warning they got.
"FUCK!"
Ron screamed behind Harry and, by instinct older than man, tucked and rolled upon the dirt floor of the forest as a… multiple legged creature floored him.
Harry span about, wand raised and alight with infernal yellow light. And with a sharp jab, he banished the creature off his friend.
It landed some feet away upon the slightly winding, narrow dirt road, snarling and spitting and…
"It's a spider!" Ron moaned, a limp in his right leg as he tried to gain his footing. "A giant fucking spider!"
"I can see that," Harry breathed, wand steady at the ready, as his two orbs of light spun around above them, illuminating the space between them and the newcomer.
"I hate spiders!"
"I didn't know that," Harry said, finding it curiously interesting as he stared down the creature with a healthy bead of fear himself.
"It bit me, Harry!"
It floundered upon the ground and found its feet. Feinting right and going left, it scrambled faster than any creature had a right to. With a leap, it jumped at the tree to their left and – bounced – off it, snarling and spitting and screeching bloody murder.
Some of it actually sounded like words.
Harry yanked his wand down in an arc and cursed light forked the blackness of the forest, slicing through the creature's midsection in mid-air.
A gore of blood splattered at their feet as its two halves – one of them still all screeching hatred and hungry eyes, the other eight scuttling legs at nothing – sailed past them on either side of where Ron and Harry stood clinging to each other.
The two halves landed with a soft, impotent thud, and then everything was silence.
Dead silence.
A great exhale of relief left Harry's lips. His body was all shakes and aches all of a sudden, reminded that this was the Forbidden Forest in a stark moment of danger. He cast, quite without thought, another heating charm before he realised it wasn't the cold that made him tremble.
"Well," he said into the tense silence that clung to the heart of their twosome. "I'm almost positive I heard that thing speak words – intelligent life, after all."
"What was that spell?"
"Severing charm."
"I've… anybody ever told you how scary you are?"
"Malfoy did, though never with words."
Ron groaned, and Harry noted he was still clinging to him. Without word, he bent down, running his wand, alight, over Ron's right calf, wincing as he beheld the sheer depth of the wound.
It looked purple already. Sickly poisonous. Throbbing.
Harry realized startled, horror surging, that he'd never even considered healing charms for this – quest of theirs.
For a moment, a moment of utter madness, he thought about severing the leg with the same charm before the poison would spread.
"Fuck!" Ron swore, voice a whisper, clutching Harry's shoulder. As adrenaline subsided, pain blossomed. "It hurts, Harry. My leg. It hurts."
"I know, Ron."
"Please – Harry, do something."
And that, that desperate plea – it almost broke his damn heart. Panic rising, Harry thought of what to do, thoughts rushing like a waterfall of ideas. Nothing of note emerged, nothing with even a meagre chance of success.
Ron could still stand – for now. And the sound, the haunting, moaning, painful melody that seemed to breathe through the air, wheezing eternally and tantalizing, still called on him. Still beaconed him through the night like a lighthouse, bulging and surging.
And they wouldn't make it back. Harry knew that. Not in time to save Ron from the poison that now ran through his blood. Harry knew it. Ron knew it. By now it would have reached his heart and from there the damage would only get worse. Their only hope lay ahead.
"Ron – can you still hear that?" Harry asked, floundering his hand at the invisible and the in-between.
"Yes…" He sighed, looked ahead, then lowered his head in defeat – knowing towards where they would be going. "We have no other choice, do we?"
He felt it, too, then. It felt right. Like it was calling to them. Like it could be an answer to their sudden silent plea. Like it could save Ron just as much as they could save it.
"You've felt it, too?"
"Yeah."
"I can't see any other way," Harry said, letting go of his side. "Can you walk?"
He nodded.
"Tell me if that changes. Stand close behind me – there's probably more of them."
"Right."
Moving slower and less stealthily thanks to Ron's lumbering, they managed to get through the narrower parts of the track. It broadened and broadened and then… it simply stopped, a wall of trees so thick and grown so close together that travelling through was impossible.
Muttering curses under his breath, Harry checked the direction back to their marked stone, then set off the known path around the trees and into further dangers great and unknown, Hogwarts behind them.
Ron's limp got worse, his breath horrifically and heavy, and he found great difficultly travelling across the broken, fallen branches or great lumbers of trees that lay scattered over the forest floor.
At times, heart beating madly, something would rustle a branch here, slither across the dead leaves there, hustling and whispering, all around them. Unseen eyes, their gazes felt by something older than instinct, watched from afar – unfound in the dark.
And still the beating of a crying melody arose. Mounting. At times, howling, though mostly moaning softly. Steadily, however, it grew. Steadily it pleaded. And steadily they journeyed towards it.
"What's that?" Ron muttered during a short break, hands on his knees, breathless and sweaty, his weight almost entirely supported by one leg by now. From his ankle there was a small trickle of blood, staining his shoes. Yellow puss had begun to form around the wound. "It looks like…"
It looked like a trail of blood, a pathway, shinning against the glare of their lights. Silvery and blue, its smell reminded Harry heavily of roses. He flicked one of the orbs to fork through the trees ahead, surging along the path.
The trail led the way they were walking. Towards the sound. Towards what they had become depending upon. Towards, Harry thought ruefully, what had made them forget entirely about dragons and Philosopher's Stones and Dark Lords.
"What creature bleeds liquid silver?" Harry inquired.
"I dunno."
They followed the trail of silver and the hum of melody. Not knowing what any of it meant, not knowing how they knew that it was right. Only that they knew.
His mind fell on Daphne for a moment. She'd be lying right now in the middle of the common room. Warm. Sheltered. Asleep.
Safe.
Looking at Ron, limping and whimpering and dying slowly, Harry knew he'd done the right thing by her.
For a time, about twenty minutes, he'd wager, the clock passing four o'clock, bones weary with fatigue, the gently flicker of snow finally came to a rest. They found themselves so deep within the woods that, even if he was to save Ron, they'd never make it back in time to the last breakfast before students would be travelling home for Christmas.
They'd have a hard time even making it back before the train left. They travelled so slowly now it was almost painful.
For Ron it actually was – beyond excruciating.
Still, they hurried, as much as Ron could, onwards. Harry had taken to, with minimal thought of stealth, banish whatever lay in their way. It allowed Ron to walk by his own for a little while longer. It was a losing battle, though, and Harry's ruckus would eventually attract attention.
About ten minutes later, it did.
"Harry!" Ron whispered furiously, yanking his sleeve, almost tripping over his feet when he tried to stop. "More of them…"
He was right, of course, more of those damn overgrown spiders that Harry would later learn were called Acromantulas. They found Harry and Ron whilst waiting in the very centre of a clearing. A misty, domed spider web, which tendrils were as thick as Harry's arms, spun across the open plane. Two stood on the ground, their pincers, of which looked capable of tearing through cars, clicked almost excitedly at them. Above Harry, he felt rather than saw a score more of them hanging from the branches, slowly slithering down towards him.
And then they spoke.
"Fresh meat!"
They fucking spoke!
"It is been so long since fresh human meat came wandering in these parts."
"Young, skinny bones! Barely enough meat for one!"
Harry could see the trail going through the two giant spiders in front of them, hear the melody beyond, and he knew, somehow, they must find a way through. He glanced at Ron. He stood, eyes watery and orb-like and swayed, all sickness, and stared up at the towering trees, mouth caught agape.
He would fall any second now.
Harry let his eyes fall back upon the spiders. Well. Oh shit. They seemed… well spoken enough.
"Err – my name's Harry Potter," Harry muttered, finding his voice anything but forthcoming as he looked to the two who blocked the road. Throat dry, lips harsh and twitching. Trembling. He cleared his throat, raised his voice in defiance, and tried again, "You wouldn't – happen to have seen a dragon come by here recently, would you?"
Ron snapped his neck around so fast Harry swore it broke, staring at him as if seeing him for the very first time in his life. Then a mad, watery hiccup of a laugh tore through his throat, as if against his will entirely, and he slumped to the ground as the last vestiges of awareness slipped from his body.
Shit!
"The boy's sick," muttered one of the spiders, and Harry swore he could hear a note of disgust in its voice. "Inedible."
Well, if that was what it took.
"I'm also starting to feel rather sick," Harry said, almost laughed despite himself and the situation he found himself caught up in. "About that dragon, though…"
For a wonder one of them actually answered, rather interestedly.
"There were rumours about a wizard with a dragon…" one of them whispered, all eight eyes swirling with fear. He stared at his… comrade? "Isn't that right? Though it no longer resides within these grounds."
"You've seen it, then?" Harry asked eagerly and dreadfully, mind conflicted by two different desires that pulled in opposite directions. Ron was dying, of that there could be no doubt, and Harry had to get a move on. On the other hand, he wanted to drag out the conversation with the irrational hope of someone – something – coming to rescue them.
He didn't fancy his chances against a score or so of them. Their movements were too erratic, too small and quick.
But combat seemed inevitable.
"No…" It seemed to weight Harry with its gaze. "The dark wizard that commanded it is a sorcerer even we steer clear off, Harry Potter."
Okay. Two things, Harry thought. They knew him somehow. Did his fame even travel to creatures such as these? And the dark wizard had to be Lord Voldemort.
Or the man in black.
Nothing much new learned perhaps, but a confirmation. Of a sort. From a spider…
Moving on.
"Where did he take it? To the castle?"
"We believe so. Though we really do not know. All we know is that it no longer walks in the forest."
And of that it seemed mighty pleased.
How, Harry wondered, his mind awhirl with conspiratorial thoughts. How had Voldemort managed to smuggle a dragon in unnoticed? Where did he keep it? And why now – was something to happen soon? Was the dragon involved in his plans for the Stone?
One thing was for sure – here, in the Forbidden Forest, he was doing no good. He had to get back. Somehow. Which meant he had to cure Ron. Somehow. Which meant he had to get past all these fucking spiders to what lay ahead. Somehow.
Harry almost – almost – sighed in defeat. Almost. In front of him lay so many kinds of somehows' that it seemed too steep to overcome.
But then again in all of them there was order, something to do… and it all could start right here, right now.
Right.
Fuck it – come at me!
"Confringo!" Harry snarled, angling his wand at the two creatures standing before him and pouring a little more force into the magic. A throbbing, thick jet of fiery-orange light tore at them. Eyes widening in clear surprise – only reaction the monsters managed – they were dead upon contact, splattered to pieces, and the fight was afoot.
And then everything happened at once.
Great, dull thuds shocked the earth as powerful and heavy bodies fell out of the sky and landed all round Harry. Glancing at all flicker-quick, defiance growing within, he set in motion.
With a flick and snap and a thought, he sent Ron skidding out of the clearing beneath the canopy of thick branches and heavy bushes – out of sight, out of mind.
And then, as if by instinct won across multiple of quarrels like this, Harry slashed his wand at three approaching spiders, conjuring a pulse of pure force, banishing them roughly into the towering trees.
Crouching low, already turning with wand raised and ready, throbbing and alight, he cast almost without thought a series of severing charms, blasting curses, stunning spells and banishing charms at the onslaught – most of it missing by a hair or more. But some hit, too. Weaving them together and yanking them into existence in a stream of thought turned real that, although nothing alike the mastery he'd seen of the man in black, still proved him to be a force to be reckoned with.
One of the monsters slipped through his blitzkrieg of spells and tried to slash him in the ribcage. But, with instinct definitely born from all his near-ambushes by Dudley, he tucked and rolled to the side, flashing his wand over his shoulder as it shot past him.
A loud bang and a shriek of agony resonated across the open space of the clearing, and the creature whined, groaned, spat with hatred and cold fury.
Gasping with fright and adrenaline in equal measures, Harry turned and jumped at it, wand alight, and jabbed the spell at its face, cleaving it open at its maw. It slumped, dead.
Three definitely dead – twenty seven or so to go.
A wheezing screech of pain, of hunger and old rage, thundered away the night.
"You think you can defy us all, boy!"
Harry was beyond thoughts, beyond contemplation, beyond answers. He was his wand, and the magic with it he could weave.
They were quick.
He was quicker.
They were mean.
He got meaner.
Seeing another siege en route, dozen or so of eight-legged creatures skidding and filtering, Harry flicked his wand, blinking-quick, back and forth, banishing with burgeoning force the Acromantulas out of the way before they reach him with their pincers.
Pointing almost blindly behind him, reaching, touching, feeling magic take hold, Harry yanked whatever he'd grasped over his head and clubbed another six spider just before they were upon him. With a practiced, albeit rather unnecessary flourish, he lifted the rather thick lump of tree over their heads and clubbed them into dank submission, almost flattening them.
Definitely killing them.
Letting go of the small tree, he spun about upon the dead leaves – a jet of blue light tore into the back of another, wounding it but not entirely stopping it. He brandished his wand, getting worn and weary with the certainty of coming defeat, at a tree with low hanging, thick branches and watched as one of the thicker ones seemed to spring alive, smacking around like a bat at everything within reach, clubbing another couple of spiders before they leapt out of the way. It was a rather rudimentary spell of animation, not meant for any such intricate work as this, but Harry knew no better spell for the occasion and with a bit of extra power, it had done the job adequately.
He dared not move within reach himself, though.
And then he got back at it, turning his wand at foes left, right, centre, above – all over. Foregoing complexity in favour of speed, Harry started trying to cut them down with the same spell over and over, weaving them together as his wand, tip on fire, became almost a blur. But though he kept them at bay with the onslaught, they were fast and avoided most of his curses.
A part of him, the part that looked on from somewhere within, somewhere aside – whispering, whispering, whispering – thought of how little semblance there was between the boy fighting for his life right now, compared to the boy a few short months ago, who'd thought a midnight duel with Draco Malfoy was something of immense importance.
There was barely any comparison. Neither in will nor in skill.
But the same boy he was.
And everything comes to an end.
Everything ends – in fuckin' agony!
One of them, unseen, slipped through his defences and crashed into his midsection, head-first, doubling him over in agony and pushing him within reach of the very tree he'd just animated to some semblance of life.
And that, through miraculous circumstances, actually ended up saving his life.
It possessed no sense of loyalty for the one that had granted it life. Yanking the branch down and catching Harry in the side, it slammed him off his feet and almost threw him out of the clearing. But as it did that, it also smashed away the spider that had tackled him just before it managed to bite into his abdomen.
That only left another problem. He was beyond knackered. Done. Out of breath. Barely seeing straight.
The world, shimmering, reeled in and out of focus through watery eyes. Through a minor miracle, he'd managed to keep hold of his wand and kept the glasses on his nose. But the wind had been knocked out of him, more than one rib in his ribcage was broken, and the only thing he could manage was getting to his knees, staring in utter defiance at a world that was slowly being pulled away.
He couldn't even raise his wand. Limps, without air in his lungs, might as well have been made of brick.
Trying to blink away the fierce tears that held his eyes, Harry hung his head in defeat as he felt the approaching quicker-flick steps of the spiders. Apologizing to Ron with unspoken words, he accepted defeat.
I'm sorry, Ron.
Harry closed his eyes, as one of the more nastier Acromantulas lurched at him.
Bracing himself he waited for death…
Not breathing… Harry thought that despite that he didn't feel all that different. His right side still hurt and throbbed like mad – screaming with what could only be the continued beat of his existence.
"Begone, children of Aragog!"
Hooves stomped and cries of war laid claim to the air, and spiders, hissing and wheezing with wrath and fear, scuttled out into the night. And in barely ten seconds, it was all over.
Harry, startled, opened his eyes slowly, moaning in pain, and then bolted back on his haunches, wincing. Before him, standing tall where there should have been a vile, overgrown spider, stood a creature that was half man, half horse, looking down upon him with something akin to… interest?
"What-?" Wheezing, Harry tried to gain enough air in his lungs to function properly once more. His ribs were burning. "What – who're you?"
The centaur – for even Harry realized that that was what it was (tales of them had bled out even to the muggle world) – didn't answer at first. He had astonishingly blue eyes, like pale sapphires, whose gaze seemed to bore right through his skull.
"You… you're the Potter boy," he said, troubled, his eyes flickering up as if searching for an answer above. "You're not suppose to be here now… things are spiralling into chaos much too fast…"
Harry stared at him, caught between fright and confusion. Then there was a sound of more galloping from the other side of the clearing, and he threw his eyes, wand raised, beyond his new acquaintance.
Only to behold yet more centaurs. Some of them pawed on the grounds as if wrought with great nerves, gazing around, others stared impatiently between Harry and the centaur before him, waiting for whatever was to unfold to begin.
Harry got the feeling they were not here by accident. Saving him. Saving them… Ron!
"I had a friend with me!"
"We know – he's dying."
A movement to the right caught Harry's eye. The centaur that had spoken – black haired and bigger and wilder than any other – came forth with Ron cradled in his arms.
"I know." Harry nodded hurriedly, as the centaur placed him upon the ground at his feet. They looked upon him as if he was merely a pet being put to rest. Something verminous and dark came alive in Harry, forging will through the pain. "I have to follow the trail."
"The trail?"
"There's a song, too – can't you hear it?" Harry swished and flicked and Ron levitated to the height of his hips. "It can save him. I know it can."
"What song?" some of the centaurs muttered between themselves.
"Your friend is beyond saving. You can barely stand yourself," the fierce-looking one answered.
"Watch me."
"School children should not be out here at night. You've brought this upon yourselves."
"Voldemort-"
"We know about your connection with the Dark Lord, Harry Potter," whispered the centaur he'd first laid eyes on – all kind blue eyes and soft words. "It is written in the soft movement of the planets."
"Mars is uncharacteristically bright this night," the wild centaur replied, as if he'd been asked about the status of the planet. "That is – unexpected."
"I don't care about the fucking planets."
"You should, Harry Potter – your name is touched upon by every star in the universe. Flying, crying, slaying… Your blood will smear the touch of fate and prophecy. Chaos wring and tremble at the feet of your will… your defiance… as good men goes to war. But…" He lowered himself onto his front legs, eye-to-eye with Harry even as the wild one hissed in contempt behind him. "You will be afraid, when fate is revealed to you. Frightened. Don't let it consume you. Harry – fear… is not the answer. You mustn't fear that which is in… you."
He stood up, gazed at Harry in something approximating wonder, and smiled. Harry was caught in a whirl of utter perplexity. What the hell were they talking about?
"Don't die, boy. I fear… if you were to – the world would grow cold and still in the grasp of the Dark Lord. The universe has lent too much of itself for this moment to go to waste."
"You're needed back at the castle, boy," said the wild one. "We'll… look after your friend in the meantime, make sure he has a safe passage. You need to get back. Tonight. Now!"
Safe passage? Fuck that noise! "I'm not leaving, Ron – I refuse to do that."
Harry turned his back on them, Ron hovering beside him with a sliver of will, and started to trod out of the clearing, limping with a hand cradling his side. Following the trial and the sound that had set hopes and dreams alight in the deepest recesses of his mind.
"You'd risk the Dark Lord's untimely return to save an insignificant boy – the Weasley boy is of no importance in the great cosmos of futures and pasts."
"He's important to me!"
"More important than the rest of us?"
"He can't…" the other centaur said and paused. Harry turned to gaze at him, all blue eyes and kind words, kind heart. "He can't make that choice… something in him – in his very heart – won't allow for him to make that kind of choice. Such is his heart… What do you hear, Harry Potter – singing to you from somewhere in the dark?"
The other centaurs had stopped in the clearing, looking upon Harry's back as he left it all behind. On the trail of the silver and the gentle flow of a mournful song.
"I… It's like – hollow and over it all. Cold and warm and all over. It sounds… afraid." Harry floundered for words, embarrassed now that he spoke into being just how whimsical his small beacon of hope was. "But it's calling to me, and I'm… getting warmer as I draw closer. And it sounds, well, less afraid now. I'm close. I don't know how I know, but I do."
It nodded like what he'd just said made perfect sense to it. "Do you know what bleeds silver?"
"Err – no."
"A unicorn," said the centaur. "Only a creature with no care of his own soul would slay a unicorn. You see, the act leaves behind a curse – an imprint on the very soul that can only be undone if one shows true remorse for his actions. Something tells me that the creature who did this is beyond remorse."
"Who did it? Voldemort, right? Why?"
"You may be cursed for it, but – if you stand at the abyss between life and death… the blood of the unicorn can grant you a life for a time. And if that's all you desire, then a cursed life is a small price to pay. And the Dark Lord is perhaps so far beyond death that even such a life will do him little harm, but… I think he seeks something more permanent. Do you have any idea what rests at Hogwarts right now?"
"The Philosopher's Stone," Harry muttered. "How did you learn about it?"
"The planets speak of more than just your fate, Harry Potter. You can learn a great deal if you know what to look for."
"Can humans learn that, too?"
The centaur beheld Harry as a shaft of moonlight blazed through the canopy of branches above, illuminating his eleven-year-old grizzled face, full of sweat and dirt and blood, and almost blinded his eyes. Because of it, Harry failed to see the shadow pass over the centaur's face.
"It's certainly possible. But we centaurs have guarded our secrets with great care for as long as can be remembered."
Which was not really much of an invitation, but nonetheless neither a closed off door.
"It beacons you to it – the wounded unicorn," the centaur said later, the way he said it making it quite clear it wasn't a question.
"Yeah. Why would it do that?" Harry asked.
"I'm not sure," he replied. "It might recognize you as an opposite to the man who wounded it. It might see something in you that inspire… trust. Not much is known about unicorns – they tend to keep to themselves. Even from us."
How close Harry had been to meet the Dark Lord. If he had wounded the unicorn… they could have passed each other out there in the dark.
Not long after, cantering and walking into the depths of the forest, deeper than any student had ever dared, they came upon the unicorn that – like him – had escaped the wrath of Lord Voldemort.
It was a thing of beauty. Beauty and sadness and smelled of roses – it had no likeness. No equal that Harry could think of. The sight of it made him quite forget about the pain in his side.
Its legs seemed bent all wrong, its body stooped and drained. Its mane was so white it almost seemed impossible. Like the dirt of the Forest couldn't – wouldn't – dare touch it. It lay, beautiful and sad, and fought for every inch of life it had left, moaning its sad little song for them.
In its side, there was a gaping wound, out of which silvery blood oozed still and gleamed in the pale moonlight, pooling beneath it.
The centaur, that had introduced itself as Firenze, took a sharp intake of breath.
And then song was rising – the mournful, haunting tune that filled the silence and hung like a stench of regret on the air, blowing away in the forever like smoke.
"What now, Harry Potter?" Firenze asked. "The unicorn, like your friend, is beyond your help. Every second here brings the Dark Lord closer to the Stone."
Moment of truth… had it brought Harry here simply to let him watch it die? To show what another human had wrought? To bless? To curse?
But then another – another unicorn from far away – began to sing. And then another. And another. Another. More still. Until it was all clear and his eyes, watery and awed and filled with hope, found his path further into the dark, into the Forbidden Forest – wherein trees would change and Ron and he had sworn they'd stop and turn.
Harry, foregoing answering Firenze, flicked and swished and levitated the unicorn along with Ron.
And he set out again, Ron and the unicorn floating beside him, and Firenze the centaur followed along. Why Harry didn't know, nor really cared to. He didn't dare ask him, for fear that he should change his mind and leave.
Leaving him alone.
Harry followed the tunes of the unicorns to a great ravine, steep scales of bedrocks enclosing around a narrow gentle stream that shone in moonlight and had the purest water he'd ever laid eyes on. They followed the stream, trod up the river up the rolling hill, and Harry noted that the stream, somehow, flowed up the mounting hillock. Smiling and winking and cleansing of mind, the water was warm to the touch despite the cold air – despite the unforgiving winter. As though the time of cold couldn't touch it.
They came upon a cave-in some time later in the side of the ravine, a gaping maw in which only blackness and a slight dot of white light could be beheld in the distance.
"I'll wait here," Firenze said, stopping at the threshold of the cave, when he noted Harry intended to enter. There was a gleam of wonder in his startling bright blue eyes, which flicked between Harry and Ron and the unicorn. "After all, I'm not the one invited. Don't be long, Harry Potter."
Harry entered the darkness, and for the first time tonight it did not fill him with fright. He walked and he walked, Ron and the unicorn floating behind him, and still he walked and he walked. And as he walked ever onwards, the small dot of light, of life, grew. Pulsating, like the beat of a heart, he watched it dance and come alive.
And when Harry reached its threshold, its light long since conquering whatever darkness lay behind and ahead and in eternity, as he stood on the edge and stared in, transfixed, as if waiting to be invited in by an old friend, he thought that he'd come upon the greatest secret he was ever gonna uncover.
A vast, flourishing valley stretched out as far as the eye could behold.
Enclosing the valley, far, far away, mountains hugged the vast open clearance with steep hills and narrow, running waterfalls. A V-shaped space between the mountains, to what Harry assumed was the north, allowed a light like twilight to shone through in great, multi-coloured rays of opaque hues – like the sun and the moon and the heavens had met and burned in unison.
Just above the mount of one of the mountains, a sliver of the moon could be seen, twinkling with light and might.
Harry couldn't recognize the mountains from those he remembered back at Hogwarts, couldn't remember the distinct shape of them. He couldn't recognize the glare of light, the sky aflame with the orange veracious glow, the heat of the air – and perhaps even the very air itself seemed foreign. Heavy and light. Old and new. Ancient. Forever.
In the centre, down the old, tumbling green hills there was a lake not unlike the Great Lake back at Hogwarts, water just as impossibly clear as the river on the other side of the cave. Within it, Harry saw a plethora of small islands of varying sizes and at the very centre, on the biggest island of all, there was a vast round well made of gold-encrusted flagstone and an iron-wrought gated lock that stood ajar atop.
It drew his gaze. Along its rounded wall, there were all sorts of inscriptions that seemed to have stood there across an abundance of centuries. Intricate runes, depictions of wizard's hats and glittering swords and shapes like animals that had become vague and indecipherable to the tooth of time. It stood out and he found himself moving towards it, yearning, before he realized to what end he travelled here for.
Harry, raising his wand, muttered a small incantation to tell the clock, but found it wouldn't take effect. He sighed, somehow not surprised, and figured that wherever they were – they were beyond time.
The unicorns near the entrance, of which there were plenty, neigh and brayed and stomp their hooves in greetings as Harry hovered Ron and their wounded mate into the light. Some lay and gleamed pearly white beneath the winking face of the moon, lazily gazing at them as Harry settled them on the ground.
Slowly, pushing him away gently, Ron and the wounded animal were surrounded by the unicorns of the valley. As the seconds passed so many came and formed a circle that Ron wavered out of his sight.
But he knew it was all right. He knew now – still without knowing how he knew – that Ron and Voldemort's victim were gonna be all right. He'd brought them here in time.
Ron was saved.
Harry took to stare out over the valley, down into the lake, up at the mountains, further up at the scorched sky, cradling his side; at times a great cry from creatures Harry could neither see nor feel split the quiet morning air – evening air – forever air – and then everything would go quiet again for some untraceable amount of time.
He thought he found a flicker of movement once along the spine of a ridge along the edge of the mountain to the west, followed by a flicker of flames, but when Harry looked closer he found nothing worth of note.
He didn't know how much time passed. How long he stood and stared across this world that seemed to defy every sense, magic or muggle, he'd ever known. How long Ron had been in the grasp of the unicorns.
Harry thought it was long enough that, by the time Ron stirred, Hogwarts should have awoken and the children should be on their way home by train, yet, somehow, he knew that barely a moment had passed since he left behind Firenze on the threshold of the entrance.
"Where – Harry!" Ron cried, voice loud and exuberant with life, when the unicorns moved aside and let him stand. "Where the hell are we? What's going on? How did we escape?"
"I don't know," said Harry, coughed in agony as Ron's arms, impossibly warm and with a sliver of silver hue, found him in a bone-crushing hug. He stepped back at once, and was no longer wrought in silver. Harry thought he might have imagined it; light was weird here.
"I – this was were the sound let to, Ron. I followed it to here – to them. The unicorns."
As if sensing their cue, they neighed their melody, bowing, and Harry got the sense that they were being thanked.
"I've never heard of such a place," said Ron, staring with orb-like eyes of sheer awe across what could only be described as a whole other world. He laughed. "No one will believe us."
"No." Harry smiled. "I don't think any will."
"What happened to you?"
"Broken ribs. I think."
Ron looked at the unicorns in thought. "You reckon they can help?"
Harry looked to Ron's limp, noting that while the poison seemed out of his system, the wound wasn't gone, and he thought that there was probably nothing these creatures could do for something as simple as broken bones and gaping wounds – or maybe nothing they could do without cursed consequences.
"Probably not."
Harry could spent days here, he'd wager – days getting lost, getting drunk on the sense of wondrous adventure and discovery, but the conversation with the centaurs resonated across the small space within where sense of duty seemed to reside.
Was that what it was? That drove him to this? An inexplicable sense of duty? Drawing him across dangers and foes… pulled as if by magical strings…
No. There was more. He was… drawn.
"We need to get back to Hogwarts – can you run?" Harry gestured meaningfully to his leg.
"No. It still hurts a bit," he muttered, robbing his calf tenderly where he sat, then he rose to his feet. "I can walk. Harry – what's going on? How long have we been here?"
Harry smiled, grasping for some sense of reassurance but found none. "I don't think time matters all that much in here. As for what's going on… I spoke to the centaurs – we met them after you fell asleep – they said Voldemort is at Hogwarts. They said that… that he's going for the Stone tonight. They said – all sorts of nonsense. But it seems like everything is coming to-"
And that's when it sounded. As if on fucking cue. Alarming bells – magically amplified to reach across a village of twinkling lights and Christmas might, to reach across the vast Forbidden Forest and, it seemed, even to this valley that seemed to exist aside the Forest itself – rang and screeched the coming of fright and chaos and dangers unbound upon a school in the night.
Ron and Harry, eyes darting to each other with mounting dread and horror, stood rooted for precious seconds.
Someone on Hogwarts had sounded the alarm.
Someone on Hogwarts believed that the school was under attack.
Someone… no…
Lord Voldemort had attacked Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
And they were hours away.
End of chapter
Author's note: Good thing it wasn't Harry that was bitten, huh? First of three chapters that will stretch across the night for Harry and Ron.
It's funny, I wrote in the beginning chapters that there had been muggleborns in Slytherin during the war with Voldemort, even insinuated that it had been the case throughout the years. But I was reading through the books a little the other day, and found evidence that suggest that might not have been the case. Granted, Rowling kept much of this sort of stuff intentionally vague, but still – that might be a small divergence from canon that I did not intend.
Anyway. If you're still with me here, I thank you and hope you'll leave a word or two on your way out.
Bye.
