A/N: Another rather lengthy one… much to my own surprise. Again, I probably could have cut this into two chapters, but it felt like one. I hope everyone enjoys it!
Please do read and review! It's wonderful to hear from readers, and it is encouragement to get the next instalment up as quickly as possible!
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DISCLAIMER: Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.
Chapter 27: The Willow's Shadow
Severus Snape had just seen the last of his House down the staircase toward their dungeon Common Room when it happened.
Little Geoffrey Hooper, one of the Gryffindor second years, came tearing down the grand staircase, nearly falling face first to the marble floor in his haste. Severus glared. This night had been trying enough; between the feast, half his House on a sugar-high from their trip into the village, and his own constant battle with his memories. He wanted nothing more than a stiff drink and an end to the evening… and, perhaps, an answer to where Dumbledore had disappeared to with the Potter boy all day.
'Running is forbidden in the corridors!' he barked at Hooper's retreating back. 'Ten points from – Hooper!' he shouted at the still-sprinting boy, but Hooper did not turn. He threw himself through the doors to the Great Hall without acknowledging the Potions Master, and they clanged shut behind him.
How dare he… the insubordinate little brat.
Severus snarled, making to cross the entrance hall after him. He'd take fifty points for insolence.
But the doors to the Hall burst open again before he could touch the handle, and Albus brushed past toward the staircase, running full out. Hooper was clutching a stitch in his side as he followed at the headmaster's heels.
' – nobody's seen her, don't know where she went,' the Gryffindor gasped out. 'But it's been torn to shreds, sir, there's almost nothing left.'
The headmaster took the steps two at a time, leaving the student trailing woefully. Minerva and Lupin emerged from the Hall moments later and turned to follow, both looking near terrified.
' – should take Harry,' the wolf was saying in desperation to the Gryffindor head as they hurried for the staircase.
'What in Merlin's –' Severus began, but neither of his colleagues paused for explanations. They tore up the stairs nearly as fast as Albus had, Minerva's hair falling out of its rigid bun in her panic.
Severus waited the span of two seconds in indecision. Then with a growl, he rushed after the others toward the lions' den.
Except the lions weren't in the den.
As Severus turned off the landing and into the corridor where the Fat Lady's portrait stood sentry, he was met with the backs of dozens of Gryffindor students, all muttering to each other and standing on tiptoe to see something in the corridor ahead. Minerva and Lupin were pushing their way through the sea of students, as was the headmaster – though Albus had several metres' head start.
'Move,' he spat at the nearest group, and the students shifted at once so he could pass, looking wary.
Severus reached the front just as Lupin and Minerva did. His dark eyes swept the scene before him with mounting trepidation.
Albus was running one hand along the gilded edge of what had been the Fat Lady's portrait. It was now a tattered ruin – strips of canvas swinging from the frame and bits of sheared paint littering the floor. The Fat Lady herself seemed to have disappeared.
'Albus,' Minerva began in an urgent whisper.
The headmaster turned, his blue eyes glinting with a fury Severus had not seen in months.
'We need to find her,' he said sharply. 'Minerva, please go to Argus at once and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady.'
'You'll be lucky!' came Peeves' irritating cackle. Severus scowled as the poltergeist bobbed overhead, grinning madly.
'What do you mean, Peeves?' asked Albus in a voice of forced calm. And Severus nearly smirked in vicious satisfaction as the poltergeist deflated visibly, forced to adopt an unctuous tone as close to respect as he was capable. 'Ashamed, Your Headship, sir. Doesn't want to be seen. She's a horrible mess. Saw her running through the landscape up on the fourth floor, sir, dodging between the trees. Crying something dreadful… Poor thing.'
'Did she say who did this?'
'Oh yes, Professorhead,' said Peeves, his wicked grin reappearing slightly in apparent relish for the news he was about to impart. 'He got very angry when she wouldn't let him in, you see.' The odious little man flipped over, grinning disrespectfully from between his legs at the lot of them. 'Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black…'
There was sudden chaos, as many of the children screamed and squeaked in terror. Peeves remained upside down, watching the pandemonium with the air of a proud father surveying his son. Albus sent off three loud bangs from the end of his wand, attempting to restore order.
All Severus' thoughts of turning in evaporated as though they had never been.
He was Here… in the Castle.
But how had he snuck past the wards? How had he crept unseen through the corridors? How had he managed to get all the way to Gryffindor Tower… to the Boy Who Lived's very doorstep?
The Boy…
Severus whipped around, glaring through the sea of Gryffindor students who had now quieted but remained frozen in horror, watching the professors. He found the shock of untidy black hair in moments. Potter was looking right at him, and their gaze met for the briefest of instants.
'Come with me, at once,' Dumbledore commanded suddenly to the students. The Gryffindors moved to allow the headmaster through, and Severus, Minerva and Lupin followed in his wake. The wolf was white in the face, and he seized Potter by the shoulder as they passed the boy and his sidekicks.
'No,' Severus spat in an undertone, slapping Lupin's hand away from the boy and pushing the wolf roughly ahead. Several of the students stared.
'Severus,' Lupin whispered back urgently, his eyes pleading.
Severus glared straight back. He did not trust the wolf – had never trusted him. Dumbledore had been foolish to bring him here, to allow him near Potter, to harbour him in the castle…
'Leave him,' he hissed, still pushing Lupin forward toward the headmaster and Minerva. 'If you truly wish him to be safe, he will be far more so in the middle of a group.'
Lupin looked as though he wanted to argue, but they had reached the others.
'Severus, you and Minerva take the back, please,' Albus ordered.
He nodded to Lupin, and they hurried to lead the students out of the corridor, Minerva and Severus watching them past and bringing up the rear. Both kept their wands drawn as the group paraded down the staircase. Severus saw three sliver Patronuses streak off in opposite directions as they reached the entrance hall, and knew Albus had sent word to Filius and Pomona, and probably Hagrid.
'Remus, fetch the rest of the staff at once and direct them to the antechamber off the Hall,' the headmaster commanded as the students filed in. 'Severus, please gather your House and lead them up here as well.'
Severus sent the wolf a deeply mistrustful look, but hastened to follow the direction.
He swept through the corridors with murder in his heart. He was almost prepared to leave his House where they were… after all, even Sirius Black would not be foolish enough to attempt to enter the Slytherin dormitories. And they were wasting valuable time. But Albus had said to bring them, and Severus was not a fool. He strode quickly down the many flights to the dungeons, cursing the distance.
'Spina rosa,' he muttered at the entrance. The stone passage opened, and Severus hurried through.
Most of the House was gathered in the Common Room, still keyed up from the feast that had ended only minutes before.
'Professor?' the Head Girl, Gemma Farley, asked curiously as the professor stepped into the room and silence fell at once.
Severus was not an uncommon visitor to the Slytherin Common Room. He ducked in regularly during term, at least twice a week… more, when examinations drew near or some measure of discipline was due. He liked to keep an eye out, and the Slytherins always required a strong hand at the helm. But his presence on a Sunday evening after the Hallowe'en feast was rather unusual, and he supposed something of his fury must have been visible in his eyes and the set of his jaw.
He was close to Gemma. She was an excellent student – a half-blood, like himself, with a particular talent in Transfiguration. She was clever and witty, with a strong moral compass and a keen sense of decorum. He had advocated very hard for her selection as Head Girl, and acted as an advisor for her as she determined her plans for after Hogwarts. But even she looked apprehensive as she studied him.
'Everyone is to change into their pyjamas immediately, and return to this room within three minutes,' Severus said curtly to the gathered students. 'Wear footwear, as you will be going back to the Great Hall. Ms Farley, Mr Flint,' he added, seeking out the Quidditch captain from the group of older boys gathered in a corner, 'You will ensure that no student is left in the dormitories.'
'But –' Blaise Zabini began, looking puzzled. Severus cut him off with a glare.
'Now,' he said in a dangerous tone.
Nobody else dared to speak. The students who had not yet changed scrambled quickly after Gemma and Marcus, and there was a general flurry of activity as everyone hurried to follow his instruction. A few minutes later, the House was changed and gathered, several sleepy-eyed first years having joined them from their beds.
'Follow me,' Severus commanded when the dormitory doors had shut behind the seventh years at last.
His House was dutifully silent as he led them out of the dungeons, wand held aloft and eyes and magic scanning for any sign of trouble. The Hufflepuffs met them in the entrance hall, and thunderous footfalls from above told him Filius was parading his own House down the staircase. He and Pomona filed their students in to join the Gryffindors, and Severus sought out the headmaster at once.
'Where?' he demanded in a harsh whisper, mindful of the hundreds of gossiping students.
'We do not know,' Albus said seriously. 'The Fat Lady was last seen on the Fourth floor, quite hysterical, by Peeves, but the ghosts tell me she is no longer there. I have already sent Argus to being the search for her; the rest of us will need to start the hunt for Black.'
Severus ground his teeth as he and the other Heads of House assisted the headmaster in quieting the children, and waited for Dumbledore to instruct the Head Boy and Girl in their duties while the professors led the search. At last, the headmaster swept for the antechamber off the Hall. Severus, Minerva, Pomona and Filius followed.
The rest of the staff had already gathered in the little room; all except for Hagrid, who was presumably still in the grounds, and Trelawney, who Severus doubted had been asked.
'I have sealed the castle entrance for the moment,' Albus said gravely when the door had shut behind the Charms Master. 'Hagrid will conduct a search of the grounds, but if Black remains in the castle he should be unable to leave the building. As we cannot know the timing of his attack until and unless we are able to locate the Fat Lady, we cannot know whether he has yet had time or inclination to escape the castle. Please divide yourselves into pairs, and each pair take a floor. Filius, you ought to oversee the seventh floor and above – through the towers on the north side of the castle. Report to the entrance hall when they have been thoroughly checked. Pomona, if you would oversee the first through sixth floors and the classrooms. Minerva –'
'We are not leaving the students unattended, Albus,' she said, her green eyes glinting. 'What if Black comes to the Hall? Percy Weasley and Ms Farley are not in a position to –'
'No,' Albus agreed before she could get going. 'I was going to suggest that you remain in the entrance hall, keeping watch over the entrance to the school and the doors to the Great Hall. The others can bring their reports to you.'
She nodded and he turned to Severus. 'Severus, please see to the dungeons and the Hospital Wing,' he instructed. 'And then find Mr Filch, if you would. Though I highly doubt Black would have been able to circumvent the enchantment, I myself will investigate Gryffindor Tower as well as my own chambers and the remaining towers. We shall all meet back in the Great Hall when the search is complete. Send word to me immediately should you discover anything.'
He nodded, and everyone hurried from the room at once.
Severus prowled through the dungeons in high temper, willing Black to be hiding around every corner. He knew it was a fruitless exercise; and he knew Dumbledore was aware of the fact. Black was an arrogant, reckless, slimy excuse for a wizard… but he was not an idiot. He had been a spy, after all; serving a false master and a true, without the former any the wiser.
Like you… a small, nasty voice reminded him.
Like Severus. The notion made bile rise in his throat, but he could not push it away.
Sirius Black had betrayed Albus Dumbledore; had hidden his allegiance from one of the two greatest Legilimens in the world. How? Because Dumbledore was too trusting? Had Black simply played on the headmaster's good nature… banked on the fact that nobody would suspect him, as loyal and attached to James Potter as he always had been?
Perhaps. Or, perhaps, Sirius Black was an accomplished Occlumens; able to hide the thoughts that would have given away his secret. He was a pure-blood, after all, raised in the Black household, however much he had shunned their legacy in his youth. They would have respected the old ways; the old Magics… especially the ones with theoretically dark connotations. They might have taught him, as a child. Bellatrix and Narcissa had been taught, after all… and they too were Blacks by birth. And Regulus… he'd known some Occlumency too, now Severus thought about it. And he'd been Sirius Black's brother…
Severus had learned to shield his mind out of necessity. The Blacks… perhaps they had learned it by birth right. Occlumency didn't seem to fit, somehow, with the boisterous, arrogant man that Severus remembered… But Sirius Black had been a spy… and got away with it. For years. And he hadn't been peripheral, in the shadows of the Order. He'd been at Dumbledore's feet: in the headmaster's own confidence.
Which is why Severus knew, with certainty, that Black would not be in the castle any longer tonight. Because Severus knew spies. And he knew Dumbledore.
And so does Black, the nasty voice piped up again.
He would not have slashed the Fat Lady's portrait to pieces and expected to linger unseen in the corridors for long… These were the actions of anger; of frustration and failure. Spies did not operate in the crowd. They did not charge their way through to their intended victim. They did not draw attention, if they wished to remain in the shadows. Black had been brazen in that Ulster street, of course… but that had been different. That was when he'd been out of his mind with the suddenness of his change in position. He doubted even Black would risk such foolhardy actions now.
He would have planned it. It wasn't a mistake, as some of his colleagues had muttered. It was no lucky coincidence that Black had chosen tonight, when no students would be in their Common Rooms.
Black would have chosen this evening carefully. He would have hoped to sneak in, unsuspected, and hidden away in the Tower while the feast concluded below. He would have lain in wait for Potter – the snake in the grass… ready to strike when the boy thought himself safe in his bed. He would have killed him quietly, and stolen away again. Unseen. A shadow in the night. Slithering back to his master.
No, he disagreed with himself. Black was nothing like Severus.
For one, Black had been caught.
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'Shall I go right and you left?' Remus invited Charity Burbage as they turned off at the fifth floor corridor.
She considered him with a frown. 'Are you quite well?' she asked kindly.
Remus forced a grim smile. 'Oh yes,' he assured her. 'The moon, you know… I'm always a bit peaky this close to the cycle.'
Charity smiled in understanding, but laid a hand on his arm before Remus could turn for his duties. 'He'll be alright, you know,' she promised. 'Harry,' she clarified, at Remus's furrowed brow. 'I can see you worry for him, and I don't blame you,' she said quickly. 'But we won't let anything happen to him. The headmaster, Minerva, the staff… we're all focused on keeping the school safe for all students.'
'Yes,' Remus agreed. He gave a heavy sigh. 'And yet, Sirius Black has still managed to gain entry tonight. And it was… it could have been so much closer,' he added bitterly. 'Sheer luck – the one night all the students were out of the dormitory. If it had been any other…'
'But it was not,' she reminded him. Her hand clenched slightly on his arm. 'He's with the others, and he's safe,' she said firmly. 'And if Black remains in the castle, we'll find him. Everything will be alright.'
Remus returned her smile vaguely, though he knew they were empty promises. The type you told children in the night, when they awoke screaming about monsters beneath their beds. You dried their tears and promised there was nothing to dread in darkness… though you knew that wasn't always true. You swore that monsters were not real; were not out to get them… because you wanted to see them happy and free from fear. Because children should not know of evil. They should be sheltered.
They should be protected.
'We'll meet back here in ten minutes, then,' Remus said with a nod. And he turned away down the corridor.
Charity had been right, in part, about what preyed on his mind tonight. His terror for Harry was paramount. And he hadn't been lying about his impending transformation either…
But what drove him now, what fed on his very soul, was guilt. He was racked with it. Guilt, and apprehension. And fear.
Was it his fault, that Sirius had been in the castle tonight?
Remus had kept his silence. He'd kept their secret. So many years… so many opportunities to tell. One sentence; three seconds. And the headmaster would know everything.
And yet… he hadn't done it.
Why?
He couldn't come up with a decent answer, even to himself.
At school, it had been obvious. They'd been children – carefree (mostly), innocent (rather) and carried away with their own brilliance. It had seemed a laugh, roaming the grounds together. Particularly for the others. But Remus… even in the joy of the adventure, there had always been the shadow of doubt. Of guilt. Of looming rejection.
That the others had become animagi – for him – was a gift Remus could never repay even if he spent a lifetime trying. He'd always been lucky to have them: to have friends at all. Just as he had been lucky to attend school. He'd thought they would run, when they learned the truth. He never imagined they would accept him; embrace him, really, for the monster he was. But they had – all three.
His transformations had been a monthly trial. They were painful, of course. Terribly so. He'd bitten and scratched a hundred wounds into himself – cursed wounds that would never properly heal. He'd torn the little shack to shreds, howling his misery into the night. He'd spent days in hospital, sleeping off the illness and letting Madam Pomfrey do her best to treat his many injuries. Each monthly trip below that accursed tree had left him with its own set of unique horrors.
But the worst part, always, had been the loneliness. Even without his mind; even transformed… the loneliness and isolation had never left him.
And then James, Sirius and Peter had learned the truth. And they'd changed too. And, suddenly, the bitter nights were no longer spent chewing himself to pieces in a ruined shack, but creating memories: forming a friendship that, he'd thought, would be the most lasting constant in his life. He'd never have a wife, or children… never form a family of his own. He'd made peace with that before he'd even come to Hogwarts. But with James, with Sirius, with Peter – he'd had the next best thing. They'd kept him alive, and kept him sane.
So he'd put aside his reservations. Hidden his uneasiness and his guilt. And he allowed himself to live in the moment: relax the careful guards he'd built up, the protections he'd needed. He told himself they were teenagers – and they should have a bit of fun.
Of course, they hadn't stayed teenagers forever. But by then, the secret had become a point of pride. Something that was just their own and theirs to control, in a world that felt increasingly beyond their ability to do so.
And Remus had kept his silence.
Because he didn't want Dumbledore to know… did not want to admit that he'd betrayed the headmaster's trust; that he'd forgone the precautions that had allowed him to come to the castle in the first place, that he'd led three others down the dangerous path, merely by his own existence.
And now…
Now James was dead. Now Peter was dead. And Sirius… Sirius had killed them both.
And Sirius was hunting Harry.
And still, Remus kept the secret.
He'd allowed Dumbledore to give him employment, and a constant supply of Wolfsbane. He'd taken advantage of the headmaster's kindness – his love – as an adult, just as he had lived by it in his childhood. He'd watched as Sirius escaped prison… flown up the castle steps in terror when he'd heard Harry had come face to face with him in the castle grounds… watched the staff set precautions and detailed protections… seen Sirius's face plastered across wizarding Britain…
And still, he'd kept his silence.
And was Harry to be the next casualty? Would his blood be on Remus's hands – the price for his cowardice?
As he checked the still and empty corridors, Remus turned the conundrum over and over in his head.
If he told Dumbledore…
The headmaster would know he'd lied, for decades. He would know Remus had betrayed his trust. He would know Remus had allowed the others to break the law; to break school rules; to put themselves and the entire community at risk. He would know Remus was, truly, a monster. He would never forgive him. Should never forgive him, if it was this ability which was allowing Sirius access to the school, to Harry. Any affection the old man had for Remus… it would vanish in an instant.
And Remus did not think he could bear to watch that happen.
But if he put Harry at risk… his best friend's child: James' living legacy, and Lily's… the boy he'd come to care for as if he were Remus's own family…
He could not do it. He would not do it. He'd have to tell Dumbledore.
But…
Dumbledore had warded the castle, hadn't he? He'd set up wards to keep Sirius out. No animagus transfiguration would be able to counter that, surely.
And the ward was on the castle herself; not just the front entry. Even the passageways into the building would fall within its sphere. Whether Sirius was transforming when he came or not.
Which meant Sirius had to be using dark magic – magic he'd learned from Voldemort himself. Nothing else would stand a chance, against Dumbledore's prowess.
It couldn't be Remus's fault.
And Harry…
Remus felt a rush of anger and fear, picturing the boy's ashen face in the corridor that night. Knowing that Black had broken in for him… and yet not knowing so much.
Not knowing that Sirius had betrayed his parents, though he'd looked only hours before upon their very graves.
Not knowing that Sirius had willing given Harry's own life up, after naming him… holding him… standing as his godfather… loving him, or so they'd all thought.
And not knowing just how much of a monster Remus Lupin really was.
Perhaps it was a good thing, that Severus had pushed him so harshly; broken his grip on the child. The things Remus loved, after all, just seemed to get ripped away eventually. Destroyed. Perhaps his presence would hurt Harry much more, in the long run, than leaving well enough alone.
After all, alone was a place Remus had resigned himself to long ago.
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Severus swept back into the Great Hall at quarter past three, still fighting murderous rage. He'd known it would be a wasted endeavour… but that did not alleviate his frustration.
The headmaster was speaking with Percy Weasley in a corner of the Hall. He made for them at once.
'You've had the reports back from the others?' he asked sharply. The headmaster nodded.
'Nothing,' he confirmed. 'The Fat Lady was discovered on the second floor, but no sign of our intruder. I take it you have finished your own investigation?'
Severus gave a jerked nod. 'Every corner of the dungeons has been searched, and the hospital wing. Filius reports no sign of Black in the Owlery or the North Tower. I do not believe any of the staff remain searching.'
Dumbledore sighed. 'Not unexpected,' he admitted wearily. 'I hardly thought he would linger.'
Severus glanced once at Percy Weasley, who was watching their conversation intently. He wished dearly that he could force the boy away; but he hardly dared do so if the headmaster had not.
'You do not know how Black got in?' he asked in a rough whisper, staring intently at Dumbledore. He would have preferred to send the message mentally… but the dim lighting of the Great Hall was hardly enough to make out the garish purple sleeping bags, and Dumbledore was too busy sweeping his gaze over his charges to focus on Snape's eyes.
'I have several theories, Severus,' Albus assured him. 'None of them at all definite.'
Severus scowled. 'I would remind you, headmaster,' he said in a clipped voice. 'That there are certain persons in this school who have knowledge of Black… if you would remember our conversation at the start of term –'
'I very rarely forget a thing, Severus,' Albus cut in. He was looking at him now, and Severus could read the warning in both his tone and his gaze. He ground his teeth, undeterred.
'Then,' he continued stubbornly, 'You must agree that it seems impossible Black could have entered this castle without assistance from someone.' He glanced sideways at Percy Weasley again, who was listening raptly. From the corner of his eye, he thought he also caught a slight movement from one of the nearer sleeping bags; a tuft of untidy hair barely visible above the fabric. His gaze narrowed, but he continued nonetheless. 'I must reiterate my concern that you continue to employ –'
'There is nobody within this castle, Severus,' Albus cut across him firmly, 'That I would not trust to remain loyal, and true. I do not believe any of our students or staff have helped Black enter tonight.'
Severus continued to sneer his disbelief, but the finality in Dumbledore's tone was clear. Weasley's eyes darted between them in confusion. Albus pulled a pocket watch from the inside of his robes.
'I must go and inform the Dementors,' he said heavily.
'They didn't want to help?' asked Weasley in surprise.
Severus could see the fury sweep over Albus's expression. Weasley shivered slightly, unprepared for the change in the atmosphere.
'Of course they wished to do so,' said the headmaster darkly. 'But so long as this castle is within my watch, no Dementor shall ever be permitted to cross her threshold.'
He made for the doors without another word, leaving a slightly chagrined-looking Weasley to stare after him. Severus watched the old man go as well, still fuming at his own dismissal.
He was right, he had to be. The wolf was the common thread – the only common thread, in this whole equation. They'd always been in on the joke together… Black, Potter, the wolf, that little toe rag…
Sure, Lupin had acted the innocent. He'd been the devoted teacher, the patient mentor, the confidant for the Potter brat all summer long… biding his time, if Severus was right. Bringing the brat closer… under his thumb… gaining his trust. Holding out for Black – to let him carry out the final deed. He'd been conveniently absent the night Potter ran off and Black escaped: it had aligned so well with a full moon. He'd been conveniently away from the castle, too, when Black had entered the grounds this summer and nearly killed Potter in the Forest.
It was impossible that Black could have worked out an entry to this school without inside help. Impossible. The doors had been warded by Dumbledore himself.
And yet, like all those years ago when the headmaster had refused to see Black for what he was… he remained deliberately obstinate where the wolf was concerned too.
Protecting his precious Gryffindor to the end.
The wrong Gryffindor.
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'You are aware, Alastor, that an owl would have done just as well?' the headmaster greeted his visitor lightly, closing the door to his office as he watched Mad-Eye Moody step out of the shadows.
He'd cancelled all lessons before midday this Monday morning, after the children had had such a disturbed night of rest. Most of the castle was still yet to emerge from their dormitories, which they'd been permitted to return to for a lie-in after an early school-wide breakfast in the Great Hall. But Albus had been up before seven, and up for good, as was his custom. In his advanced age, he seemed to need far less sleep than he had as a young man. Which was all the better, when one returned from one's morning walk to find he had unexpected early morning visits from old acquaintances.
Still, Albus welcomed the fleeting distraction after a night spent in such high tension.
Alastor snorted. 'Don't trust owls,' he muttered. 'Can't ever be too careful, Albus, you know that.' He fixed Albus with his dark eye. The magical blue one, meanwhile, whizzed about the circular study suspiciously.
'Indeed,' Albus agreed. 'But still, I feel rather guilty, dragging you up from your retirement in all this stormy weather.'
Moody shrugged. 'Weather's not much mind to me,' he said dispassionately. 'I'm used to worse.'
The ex-auror clunked his way over toward Albus's desk, throwing himself heavily in the chair opposite. Albus shook his head slightly, but followed in Alastor's wake. He seated himself in his own high-backed chair behind the desk. In deference to both the nature of the topic they were to discuss and Alastor's paranoia, he shot a quiet spell at the door.
'Minerva let you in, I gather?' he guessed with a twinkle.
Moody gave a grunt of agreement. 'Passed her coming out,' he admitted. 'You ought to have a bit of discretion.'
Albus's twinkle of amusement grew, but he did not comment. 'Were you able to discover the information?' he asked instead.
Alastor grunted again, shifting himself to reach inside a pocket of his long travelling cloak. He pulled out a heavy-looking file, tossing it on the wood between them.
Albus considered it with a frown. 'You took their file?' he asked, disquieted.
Alastor gave a dark chuckle. 'They'd have deserved it,' he opined. 'Show them their continual lack of security….'
'Alastor…'
'Of course I didn't, Albus,' Moody finished gruffly. 'Had a contact of mine make a copy.'
Albus's frown deepened. 'It would not do for anyone to discover I had requested it…' he began in concern, but Alastor shook his head.
'Don't have to worry about that,' he assured the headmaster. 'Kid owed me a favour. She's been a special favourite of mine… trained her up myself. She'd never betray me; and I doubt she'll have realised the request stems from you. Hardly the first time I've asked for information since they forced my resignation.'
'Very well,' Albus relented with a small sigh. He fingered the cover of the file. 'Did you read it?' he asked the ex-auror. He thought he already knew the answer, and the smirk that Alastor gave in reply confirmed his suspicions.
'Naturally,' Moody answered, unrepentant. 'A Ministry file you didn't want to retrieve yourself? I was more than curious what it might contain.'
'Of course you were,' Albus said, smiling slightly himself. 'And what did you discover?' he asked, picking up the folder.
Moody shrugged. 'Fairly routine,' he admitted. 'Straight forward investigation. Ministry got report of magic in vicinity of a Muggle 19 July 1943. Didn't know the spell, of course – this was well before that enchantment had been added to protocol on magic detection. Sent out two people from the Mis-Use of Magic squad and two from Magical Law Enforcement. Three Muggles discovered in their living room, bit after twenty-three hours, all dead from the Killing Curse. Wasn't much that could be done at the house, so they left them for the Muggle polis to deal with and went for the wizard who'd cast the curses.'
'How did they determine who had been at fault?' asked Albus curiously. 'I do not believe the Prophet was specific on that score.'
Moody nodded his head at the file. 'All in there,' he said gruffly. 'What the lazy sods at the Ministry considered worth noting, at least. Which wasn't much. Wizard name of Morfin Gaunt. Seems he'd cursed the youngest Muggle before. He and his father both did time in Azkaban after that incident. Father was long dead by this night, and his sister wasn't in the house any longer either, apparently, so he was the only one with magical blood in the area. Made sense to check him out – what with that and his history.'
'Sister?' asked Albus sharply, looking up from where he had opened the file. 'A witch?'
Alastor shrugged. 'Looks like it,' he said in an offhand voice. 'She doesn't factor in much – just a note from the previous infraction that the old man Gaunt had a daughter. Doesn't give her name. I take it you've checked your own records on the family?'
Albus nodded, pensive. 'I looked up the family, to the extent I could,' he confided. 'There is not much to be found… there were Gaunts educated at Hogwarts years ago, but none since the 1740s. There is mention of the family residing near Little Hangleton in several of the pure-blood Wizarding Genealogy tomes, but Marvolo Gaunt is the last listed in anything I was able to locate. His children were not mentioned in The Sacred Twenty-Eight.'
He did not mention the connection to the Slytherin line. Nor the perhaps more curious connection to the Peverells.
'Aye, that'd be the father,' Alastor informed him. 'Dead by the time the son murdered the Muggles. Not sure what happened to the girl. The place was a shit hole, by the looks of the report. Suppose she might have up and left when the father and the brother were in Azkaban.'
He shifted a little in his seat, freeing his hipflask. Albus, used to this odd habit, was not bothered… until he caught a whiff of the contents as Moody unscrewed the cap.
'Alastor, it is hardly nine o'clock in the morning,' Albus pointed out, as the ex-auror drank deeply from the flask.
Moody winked his normal eye. 'Aye,' he agreed. 'And I'm in retirement, Dumbledore. A nip seems well earned.'
Albus pursed his lips, but chose not to comment. 'What did the Ministry do to Morfin Gaunt?' he asked in the alternative.
Moody shrugged. 'Didn't have to do much,' he admitted. 'Seems when they got there, Gaunt gave a full confession. They use priori incantatem on his wand, and it'd definitely been used to cast the curses. He was sent to Azkaban later that week.'
Albus sighed. 'And I suppose he perished there,' he said sadly.
Alastor gave him a hard look. 'Not yet,' he spat. 'Surprising, that he's managed to last this long. But he'll rot in his cell. Three Muggles dead, Albus? We don't let murderers go free. Well, we're not supposed to… though, apparently, Fudge's forgotten that, or he wouldn't have had me –'
'True,' Albus interrupted. 'If in fact they have committed murder.'
Moody frowned. 'You think Gaunt's innocent?' he asked derisively. 'Even given the incompetence of the Ministry, seems fairly open and shut to me.'
'Perhaps,' said Albus, noncommittally.
He fingered the file, deep in thought.
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The next week was a highly unpleasant one for Harry. Though Sirius Black had not managed to harm him – or harm anyone, really, except the Fat Lady – most of the school was in a state of high panic, and none of the staff would let him alone. Harry found himself watched at nearly every turn outside his regular lessons – not only by the many professors, but also by Percy Weasley, who Harry supposed had heard the story from his parents.
The problem was, nobody wanted to hear his complaints about any of it.
'You know why, Harry,' Minerva told him in exasperation, when Harry stopped to grumble after his Tuesday Transfiguration lesson. 'We aren't taking any chances. The headmaster is still unable to determine how Black got in on Sunday evening, and that means we are unable to guarantee he won't do it again. Until such time as he has been recaptured, I will not hear a word about the precautions necessary for your protection.'
Harry crossed his arms, recalcitrant. 'It's not as though I walk around getting myself into trouble at every turn,' he whinged in annoyance.
'I don't!' he insisted, when Minerva raised a disbelieving eyebrow. 'Trouble finds me.'
'All the more reason for precaution,' Minerva said stiffly, sitting herself down in the chair behind her desk. 'In fact, I would prefer that you not practise in the evenings anymore… out on the dark pitch without protection, it's rather too exposed. We know Black has been in the grounds in the past, and –'
'No,' said Harry flatly, furious. 'I'm not giving up Quidditch!'
Minerva's eyes flashed, and Harry quickly adopted a different tactic.
'You can't want me too,' he pleaded, his own eyes beseeching. 'Our first match is Saturday next, and we won't stand a chance if I've not been able to practise all week. Can't… isn't there anyone who could watch over us, just for a few hours?'
Minerva still looked cross, but Harry could tell he was winning the argument. 'Very well,' she conceded with a sigh. 'I shall come myself, if I have a free evening. Otherwise, I will send Madam Hooch. But you are not to take to the air unless one of us is present, or I shall ban you from the team myself. Am I clear?'
Harry nodded quickly. 'Yes, ma'am,' he assured her with the ghost of a grin.
And he ducked out quickly for Arithmancy, before she could change her mind.
The talk of the school was how Black had crept into the castle… and yet, nobody seemed to have a theory that worked. Harry knew from Dumbledore himself that the headmaster had warded the entire castle against Black's entrance, and Padma Patil had told everyone in their shared Astronomy lesson on Wednesday that Flitwick was teaching the front doors to recognise a photograph of Black – just in case the dark wizard had learned to conceal his magical signature and fool the wards somehow. Theories about how he'd managed to gain entry ranged from some sort of brilliant Transfiguration to that he'd managed to tunnel under the lake… but nothing seemed to make sense to Harry. Nor to Hermione, who seemed to take it as a personal insult that Black was managing to skirt all the protections that Hogwarts, A History insisted the school possessed and those the staff had added.
In the meantime, on top of his changing of the guard routine, Harry now had to deal daily with the insufferable Sir Cadogan – an irritating knight with a fat little pony who had 'bravely volunteered' to guard Gryffindor Tower after the Fat Lady's indisposition. He appeared to consider it a great failure to keep a password longer than six hours, and regularly still denied entry to the students until they'd engaged him in witty banter or nostalgic reflection for ten minutes or so. The result was a constant queue for passage, and regular point deductions for their lateness to lessons.
Added to all this misery was the constant drone of the continuing rain, which Harry was forced to practise in every night of the week preceding their first Quidditch match. He didn't think he'd ever be dry again, by the looks it, and his rancour over the circumstances they were likely to face on Saturday trebled when Wood announced on Friday that Malfoy was still claiming injury, meaning they would face Hufflepuff tomorrow instead. Harry hadn't played Hufflepuff properly since his first year – though, admittedly, that had been the match he'd won in less than five minutes.
The rest of the team was as furious as he'd been at the news. The resulting chorus of complaints went on so long, Harry found himself running far too late for Remus's lesson. He burst through the door ten minutes in, clutching at a stitch in his side.
And promptly lost his House fifteen points, as Snape was teaching in Remus's stead.
He was in a foul temper by the end of it. Not only had Snape refused to answer Harry's queries regarding Professor Lupin's illness; the Potions Master had also set them to reading a chapter they'd never studied; assigned them a massive essay on werewolves that they had to turn in to him; threatened to go to Dumbledore over Remus' supposed incompetence; and snapped at Hermione so badly that Ron had come to her defence, earning himself a detention for his cheek.
The full lot of these transgressions ate away at Harry's fraying temper, but the whole horrifying fiasco was compounded by his thoughts on Remus's absence. He was concerned, of course, that Remus was ill again… and he dearly wished he knew what was wrong with him. But he also felt a bit neglected, as childish as it felt. Remus had been avoiding him much of the week, despite his constant gaze when they were together in the Great Hall or lessons. He'd deliberately busied himself with tidying the cages after their Tuesday afternoon lesson, pretending not to notice Harry dawdling in the doorframe. He'd suddenly struck up a conversation with Professor Sinistra when Harry had tried to catch him after dinner in the Great Hall on Wednesday evening. And he hadn't answered Harry's knock on the door to his private study, when Harry had gone up on Thursday night just before curfew.
Harry had questions; so many questions, in the wake of what had happened on Sunday night. And he hadn't yet discussed his visit to Godric's Hollow with the headmaster with anyone – not even Ron and Hermione – as the events of the latter portion of the day had stolen everyone's attention for the moment. Much of the headmaster's own story, of course, he had promised not to speak of… but he really wanted to discuss his parents with Remus.
Except, it seemed, Remus did not want to have the discussion with Harry.
So Harry had worked himself up all week to force Remus's hand after Friday's lesson, when he knew the after-lesson lunch break would mean Remus couldn't escape off to some immediate engagement. But he hadn't banked on Remus falling ill again. Nor on Snape's substitution.
It was the worst ending to a miserable week he could have thought possible.
Harry nearly threw himself out of his chair when the lesson ended, feeling as though he'd rather sleep in the driving storm outdoors than spend one more moment with the Potions Master.
But, as apparently was his lot this week, Harry was not going to get what he wished.
Snape's spidery hand shot out in front of him, his forearm blocking Harry's exit and cutting him off from Ron and Hermione.
'I want a word, Potter,' Snape said coldly.
Harry glared, not able to hide his temper.
'I'm hungry, sir,' he said pointedly, barely this side of civil. 'Perhaps I could come down after –'
'Luncheon will wait,' Snape cut him off. 'Or, if you prefer, I can have a sandwich sent up. But you will sit.'
Ron and Hermione, who had waited on the other side of Snape's barrier, shot Harry looks of commiseration. Harry saw that Hermione had a hand on Ron's arm, and was grateful, at least, that Ron did not earn himself another detention arguing Harry's corner.
He sighed.
'I'll catch you up,' he said forlornly to his friends, tossing his bag miserably at the foot of the nearest student chair.
Snape shut the classroom door smartly in their still-surprised faces.
'Sit,' he repeated.
Harry sank onto the chair, wondering if this was to be his most lecture-heavy week of term. He glared at the wood of the desk, refusing to speak first. Then jumped back with a start, as a plate of sandwiches popped up inches from his nose.
'I can eat later, sir,' he said, raising his eyes to meet Snape's. He didn't like the idea of giving into the gesture… it felt too much like tit-for-tat.
'You will eat,' Snape said, leaning back against Remus's desk and crossing his arms. 'As you've already stated so clearly, it's lunchtime.'
Harry scowled, but bit into a sandwich. He hadn't been lying, after all… he was hungry.
'Where's Remus?' he demanded after he'd swallowed, as it seemed Snape was in no hurry to reach his own point.
Snape's eyes flashed dangerously. 'Professor Lupin,' he corrected. 'You will show due respect to all your… professors… when you are attending school in this castle. And you will address me as sir, Potter, if you have a query.'
'We're not in lessons, sir,' said Harry mulishly. 'Where is he?'
Snape was looking more livid by the minute, and Harry knew he was pushing his luck. The Potions Master seemed to grind his teeth as he watched him pick at the sandwich. 'He is ill,' he repeated.
'You've said, sir,' Harry acknowledged. 'With what? The same thing as usual, or has he got something –'
'It is his usual affliction, yes,' Snape spat out before Harry could finish. 'Which he suffers from monthly, Potter. I should get used to his regular absences, and my own need to… assist.' His tone was derisive, but his eyes bored into Harry's as he spoke… as though trying to convey something obvious. Harry frowned.
'Why did you want me, sir?' he asked. 'We're not due another wandless lesson until next –'
'I know the timetable, Potter,' Snape spat. 'I set it.'
'Well then why am I –'
'I wish to discuss Lupin,' Snape said curtly.
Harry stared, well surprised. 'You won't tell me what's going on with him,' he pointed out. 'And it isn't like you're friends, sir. What is there to talk about?'
Snape sneered. 'No, we are not friends, Potter,' he agreed in a drawling voice. 'And I do not think it wise that you spend additional time with him, outside your Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons, of course.'
Harry stared, caught between shock and indignation. 'It's… it's not any of your business who I spend –'
'Careful, boy!' Snape spat furiously. 'Or I shall take even more points from your House for your impertinence.'
Harry felt his temper simmer dangerously. 'Why are you so horrible to him, sir?' he asked defiantly. 'I know you don't get on, or whatever, but he's never said a word against you. He's respectful, always, and you can't even –'
'Do not presume to understand my relationship with Lupin, Potter,' Snape said in an even more dangerous voice. 'And you would be foolish, in the extreme, to assume you know him better than myself. I have known Lupin for years, Potter, since long before you graced the earth, and I know things about him that would make you cower in fear.'
Harry snapped his mouth shut, but continued to glare at the Potions Master. 'Remus has been great to me, ever since June. He's watched out for me, he's taught me, he's been there when things were hard. He was my father's best friend,' he said stubbornly. 'And my mum's.' Snape gave an irritated jerk at the words, and Harry felt his anger return. 'Just because you didn't like them –'
'This has nothing to do with your arrogant father or the time we endured together under this roof!' Snape interrupted.
He'd lunged toward Harry now, who momentarily thought he was about to be struck… but Snape grasped the edges of Harry's desk instead, leaning across the wood so they were nearly nose to nose. Harry bent back, truly frightened.
'You will listen, Potter, and hear me,' Snape said, his voice low and serious again. 'You are not to spend any time with Remus Lupin outside what your timetable demands for the purposes of completing your Defence studies, do you understand? You are not to meet him for tea, or visit his quarters, or so much as walk alongside him alone in a corridor.'
'What?' Harry spat out, as Snape finally pushed away from his work table again to stand glowering in front of him.
Snape couldn't know, of course, that Harry had been thinking of nothing but those things all week… that all he craved right now was Remus's company, the chance to talk with him about the million things running through his mind.
But it was so classic Snape to take it from him anyway.
Harry sputtered, indignant. 'You can't just… what does Albus say? He'd never make me –'
'This is my instruction, Potter,' Snape said, still glaring at him. 'The headmaster is immaterial.'
'The headmaster is in charge, sir,' Harry pointed out, still reeling. 'Of the school, and of Remus, and of me. You can't just throw something like this out there because you hate Remus, and expect me to –'
'I expect you to obey, Potter,' Snape insisted in a growl, 'Because I am your professor, your elder, and by far your magical superior. And if you disobey my instruction in any way, you will cease studying wandless magic with me… and there will be severe – severe – consequences.'
'But, why?' Harry insisted. He was so bewildered by the force of Snape's command, he momentarily forget his own fury.
'Because,' the Potions Master said, returning to his usual silky tone and toying with the turn-ups of his robes, no longer looking at Harry, 'As I have already indicated, I am more knowledgeable on Remus Lupin than you,' he said simply. 'And I have determined, from this knowledge, that inviting any further relationship with him is unwise. He is your professor – nothing more.'
Harry felt as though the professor had slapped him, though Snape could not know why the words cut so deeply. He knew Remus would not have confided in the Potions Master about his feelings toward Harry… even if this was what Remus wanted, now. And yet… it was everything that Harry had been afraid of, these past few days. That Remus no longer wanted Harry around.
He set his jaw, determined not to let Snape see him falter.
'Can I go?' he asked through his teeth.
'May you go,' Snape corrected maddeningly. 'And no, you may not. Not until you give me your word that you understand.'
Harry gave one, stiff nod.
'Aloud, Potter,' Snape insisted.
'Yes, sir,' Harry ground out.
Snape jerked his head toward the door and Harry scrambled to his feet, fumbling for his school bag. He couldn't get out of the room fast enough.
'Potter,' Snape called as Harry reached the classroom door.
Harry turned, still scowling. Snape's eyes were boring into his own again, with an intensity that made Harry feel as though he were being burned.
'Yes, sir?' Harry asked, blinking to break the scrutiny.
Snape frowned, leaning back against the desk again and still glaring at him. 'Be sure to write that essay,' he warned. 'I shall give you my critique at next Thursday's detention.'
Harry's scowl deepened. But he nodded once before hurrying from the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, trying valiantly not to think about either of its resident professors.
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The weather was atrocious. Worse, today, than it had been the previous three weeks. Albus considered the sky as he made his way down to the pitch with Minerva, walking slowly even under their massive conjured umbrella, aiming to avoid the puddles that littered the ground.
'Perhaps we ought to reschedule,' he suggested, frowning at the dark, thunderous clouds.
'Reschedule?' Minerva scoffed. She gave him a sideways look as though he were mad. 'We do not reschedule Quidditch, Albus,' she said with a shake of her head.
'It seems likely to thunder,' he observed. 'I do not relish the thought of Harry – or any of my students, for that matter – zooming about on broomsticks in the midst of an electrical storm. Someone could be grievously injured.'
'We've charms over the pitch to prevent that sort of thing. And weather is a part of the sport,' Minerva insisted firmly. 'Why, I remember in my own fourth year… record-breaking blizzard conditions: in November, nonetheless. Not something we usually deal with in practise, as Quidditch takes a break in the winter; but of course, it was still autumn and we had a match against Slytherin, so up we went. So white you could barely see the quaffle, and half the squad spent a week in hospital wing taking Defrosting Draught against the frostbite…' she grinned with nostalgia. 'Most fun I've ever had on a broomstick,' she admitted. 'And we won by nearly two hundred points.'
Albus stared, bewildered. 'At times, my dear, you astound me,' he said seriously.
Minerva laughed and slapped playfully at his arm.
The stands were filled to capacity when they reached them: the entire school packed in as usual, as though the day were as balmy as late spring. Albus and Minerva slipped into the teacher's section, grateful for the cover of the overhang that shielded the worst of the rain.
The teams were drenched in moments – before they'd even mounted their brooms. Albus could hardly keep an eye on the lot of them as they took to the air, becoming naught but blurred specks of scarlet and yellow against the ever-darkening sky. The thunder was louder than the commentary, and most of the school was left to guess at the score as the match dragged on – thirty minutes, forty-five, an hour…
Albus willed Harry to catch the Snitch, if only to bring an end to this foolishness before he was forced to cancel a day of lessons for the second week running while the entire school was dosed with Pepper-Up.
Two hours…
He hardly knew how the boy would see to catch it, with the rains driving down so relentlessly and every player's broom blowing regularly off course. Four students had already been slammed by Bludgers, the balls taking advantage of the poor visibility. It became steadily harder to tell the squads apart as the water darkened both their robes and the sky.
Three hours…
At last, the Gryffindor captain flew at Madam Hooch, signalling frantically for a break. Albus turned to Minerva as the players huddled on opposite sides of the pitch.
'Do you stand by your position now?' he asked, half-playful and half-serious as he smirked.
She set her jaw stubbornly. 'Quite,' she said with a stiff nod, though Albus could read her underlying anxiety. 'They must learn to deal with the elements, and there are methods to cope with a bit of rain.'
'A bit of rain,' Albus repeated, shaking his head. But he watched a bushy-haired figure tear down the pitch toward the scarlet huddle, and smiled slightly. 'It appears someone has,' he noted, nodding toward Hermione.
'Clever girl,' Minerva agreed in approval, as they watched Hermione tap Harry's glasses and teach an incantation to the rest of the players.
Madam Hooch's whistle sounded not long after, and the fourteen flyers shot up into the storm again. The time out had done nothing to lessen the downpour, but Albus could tell the small relief of the spell had lightened the scarlet-clad players' mood. The Gryffindor team took possession of the Quaffle almost immediately, and put two more goals away.
Several of the students squeaked in concern as a clap of thunder shuddered the seats. It was growing so dark now, it seemed as if night was falling early in the grounds of the school. The brightest illumination was coming from the regular cut of lightning across the sky.
'Thirty minutes,' Albus said, leaning over to speak in Minerva's ear. 'And then I am postponing, Minnie, whatever the circumstances.'
She rolled her eyes but did not retort, too busy watching the match. The wind was picking up now, gusting colder and colder through the stands. Albus's eyes narrowed as he watched the smallest player, who's broom had just dropped dangerously several feet before he turned, streaking off toward the middle of the pitch.
'He's seen it!' Minerva squealed, pressing her hand against her mouth as both Harry and Cedric Diggory began tearing up the pitch in opposite directions. 'You're so much faster – you've got him! Go, go!' she encouraged; oblivious, it seemed, to the chilling in the air.
But Albus felt the cold for what it was. He tore his eyes from his watch on Harry, leaning over the edge of the box to stare down at the grass.
There were hundreds… gliding onto the pitch from every direction. He cursed himself for his distraction; for not recognising the signs earlier… as a hush began to fall among the masses of supporters. He drew his wand in a flash, cold fury in his heart.
In His grounds… at His school… with His –
'Harry!'
Minerva's shriek broke his concentration. Her hand came down ironclad on his wand arm in horror, unwittingly stalling his building spell.
Albus raised his eyes from the encroaching Dementors, his heart actively pounding in his chest.
Harry had come off his broom. He was free falling through the air… gathering speed as his tiny body careened in a spiral toward the earth, toward the mass of black figures waiting eagerly to devour their prey.
'Arresto Momentum!' he bellowed, thrusting his Minerva-free hand toward Harry with all the power he could wield.
Harry's body froze in its fall twenty feet off the ground, then began floating downward in a much slower descent.
'Expecto Patronum!' Albus cried, wrenching his wand arm free again and directing his spell with trembling force toward the sea of foul creatures attacking his child.
They fled at once, gliding back across the edges of the pitch and away into the darkness as the phoenix hovered, protecting Harry's path to the ground.
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The first thing that Harry became aware of was the pain. He hurt. Everywhere. Like someone had beaten him with a massive club.
The second thing he noted was the familiar aftertaste of potions in his mouth, and the barely-masked sensation of nausea still clinging despite whatever he'd been forced to consume. The combination of the pain and the sickness made him feel like he was recovering from a nasty bout of flu. Altogether, not a pleasant way to wake up.
Through his somewhat hazy brain, Harry tried to recall what had happened. He didn't remember falling ill, but…
'… must have been fifty feet, at least,' someone was saying nearby.
'If Dumbledore hadn't stepped in,' a girl's voice said in answer. 'I thought he was –'
'… still hit the ground so hard,' a boy muttered. 'But Madam Pomfrey says he hasn't any broken bones.'
'Why hasn't he woken up?' a high-pitched squeal added. 'It's been almost an hour already.'
'Dumbledore should have cancelled the match,' a shaking, familiar voice hissed. Harry could hear tears in her speech. 'All that weather… it was set for disaster before you even got into the air. And now Harry – Harry?'
Harry had turned toward the last voice automatically. He felt a hand on his cheek, and opened his eyes with some effort.
''Mione,' he greeted her, trying to focus on her face as his vision adjusted.
Someone placed his glasses helpfully over his eyes. Hermione looked pale and terrified, her cheeks tear-stained. But she broke into a wide smile as she saw he was awake.
'Oh, Harry!' she said, leaning carefully down to kiss him on the forehead. 'Thank God you're awake. We were so worried. The match –'
The Match!
Harry sat bolt upright, all immediate thoughts of illness and injury gone as the memories came flooding back to him in a horrified whoosh. There were several gasps and cries of alarm at the sudden movement. Harry's eyes darted around the room.
He was in the Hospital Wing, of course. In the same third-in bed that he always seemed to wake in. The little space around his sickbed was crowded: seven people staring anxiously at him. Harry saw the entirety of his Quidditch team, minus Wood – drenched in mud and still wearing their flying gear. Ron was seated in the chair to his left, half-risen as though to brace him if he toppled and looking just as grim-faced as Hermione. She was to his right, and at the moment looked caught somewhere between relief and disapproval.
'The match!' Harry said aloud, scanning the faces before him. 'What's happened with the match? Was it called off? Are we doing a replay?'
The players began giving each other oddly tense looks, each refusing to meet his eyes. Hermione bit her lip.
'You should lie down, Harry,' she said, palming his chest gently in an effort to push him back into bed. 'Madam Pomfrey says you're –'
'What happened with the match?' Harry repeated tensely, ignoring Hermione as he turned instead to glare at Ron.
The red-head swallowed audibly. 'They… er, Hufflepuff got the Snitch, Harry,' he said in a low voice. 'Diggory. He caught it just after you fell. They won the match.'
Harry felt a new wave of nausea rise within him – one he highly doubted was related to the Dementors' effects. His vision seemed to tunnel as he heard Hermione and one of the Chasers start tutting anxiously – someone's hand on his brow as someone else pushed him over a yellow basin. Hufflepuff yellow, Harry thought wildly. How fitting.
He sicked up violently into it.
'… think this can wait,' Katie Bell was hissing, when Harry at last emerged from the basin. 'Look at the state of him!'
'We should call Madam –' George began, looking very uncharacteristically grave, but Harry protested at once.
'No, I'm fine,' he insisted, wiping sick off his mouth with a pyjama sleeve. 'I – I want to know what happened.'
'Harry,' Ron began, looking very uncertain. But he backpedalled at the glare Harry gave him. 'Alright, alright,' he relented, palms up. 'Just stay horizontal this time, yeah?'
Harry gave a stiff nod, still glaring. Ron swallowed again.
'You were miles ahead of him, mate,' he assured Harry with half a grin. 'No way he'd have beaten you if the… if the Dementors hadn't come. But when they did, you sort of… well, you know,' he said, shrugging guiltily. 'I don't reckon Diggory really registered you'd fallen – he was so focused on the Snitch. He got it a few seconds later.'
'He tried to call it off after,' Alicia put in, coming a bit closer to the bed. 'Said we ought to do a rematch, that it wasn't a fair catch.'
'But it was,' Angelina admitted with a sigh. She patted Harry's knee in sympathy. 'Not your fault, Harry,' she told him. 'But it was fair. Even Wood admitted it.'
Harry pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes in temper. How could he have gone to pieces like that – again? He'd cost them the match. He might have cost them the Cup.
'Don't beat yourself up, Harry,' said Fred bracingly, yanking on his arms to relieve Harry's eyes. 'It wasn't your fault. The Dementors aren't supposed to be in the grounds. You couldn't have known what would happen.'
'Dumbledore went mental,' said George, shaking his head with wide eyes. Fred let out a low whistle.
'He did,' he agreed with feeling. 'I've never seen him like that before. You could feel it in the whole stadium.'
Angelina shuddered. 'Power,' she said simply. 'It was almost as scary as the Dementors, really.'
And Harry, remembering the few times he'd witnessed Dumbledore in a real temper, privately agreed.
'So what happened then?' he asked, though he knew anything they might say could not relieve the deep sense of guilt preying on his mind.
'It was sort of hard to tell,' Ron admitted with a shrug. 'Everything was mad. People were screaming, and crying. Lots of crying. Girls, mostly, of course.' He rolled his eyes at Harry as though trying to convey some humour. But Harry could see the tear tracks still evident on his best mate's face too… and knew it hadn't been funny in the slightest.
'Anyway,' Ron continued, clearing his throat, 'The teachers all jumped up to help. Dumbledore cast a spell and you sort of slowed down before you hit the ground. Saved you from breaking your neck.'
'And then he pointed his wand at the Dementors,' Hermione picked up. 'And he shot a silver spell at them. The patronus, I suppose it was. It drove them back from the pitch. You were on the ground by then, but you weren't moving. The headmaster and Professor McGonagall came down and put you on a stretcher, and he floated you back up here. The other teachers had to get everyone back to the school, of course. And that's it, really. You've been out cold since.'
'How long?' asked Harry dully.
'Nearly two hours,' Fred supplied helpfully. 'We weren't allowed in for the first bit, but Dumbledore bullied Madam Pomfrey into letting us stay for a while when he had to go to see to the Dementors. Everyone's still in chaos – the Heads of House are all supposed to be forcing their students to eat some chocolate, and Madam Pomfrey's going ballistic. Says she thinks every one of them is going to come down ill. She wasn't happy the headmaster let us stay at all, mind, so she's made us eat about four slabs already.'
Harry could tell Fred was offering the information to make him feel a bit better, and he appreciated the gesture. He gave a weak smile.
'Where's Wood?' he asked curiously, noticing the captain's absence again.
Alicia bit her lip. 'He's, er… still in the showers,' she admitted.
'We think he's trying to drown himself,' George clarified lightly.
Harry buried his face in his hands again, feeling worse than ever.
'Cheer up, mate,' George said, clapping his shoulder. 'You've never missed the Snitch before.'
'There had to be one time you didn't get it,' Fred added bracingly.
'But the Cup,' Harry moaned. 'We're out, now. And it's all my fault.'
'Not necessarily,' Angelina disagreed. 'We're down one hundred points, right? So if Hufflepuff loses to Ravenclaw –'
'And Ravenclaw loses to Slytherin,' Katie cut in, tapping at her fingers.
'Or Slytherin beats Hufflepuff,' offered George, frowning. 'But –'
'Loses to Ravenclaw,' finished Fred.
'Or even if Slytherin wins, and we manage to beat them by more than one hundred…' Ron piped up.
'I should go talk to Wood,' Harry said decisively, pushing the bedclothes back.
'Harry,' Hermione said anxiously, 'I really think you should stay –'
'Back in that bed at once, Mr Potter!' a furious voice interrupted.
Harry cringed as Madam Pomfrey emerged from around the curtained corner, a tray of potions balanced in one hand and her face absolutely livid. He pulled his legs back onto the mattress.
'You lot – out!' the matron continued, rounding on the crowd of Gryffindors.
'But, the headmaster said –' Fred tried to protest.
'That you could keep watch over him while he was unconscious,' the mediwitch finished for him as she set the tray on Harry's bedside table. 'That is no longer the case. Mr Potter needs potions and rest, not excitement. Out – all of you!'
She flapped her hands at the gaggle of teenagers, and they conceded begrudgingly. All wished Harry a speedy recovery with false cheerfulness, and hurried for the door to the Hospital Wing.
'And you two,' Madam Pomfrey added, turning her stern gaze on Ron and Hermione, who hadn't moved.
'Oh please, Madam Pomfrey,' Harry begged. 'Don't make them go.'
Harry hated the Hospital Wing. And he felt miserable in the wake of losing the match. The last thing he wanted, just now, was to be forced into rest on his own.
Madam Pomfrey's eyes softened. 'Fine,' she relented fussily, measuring out the first dose of vile potions for Harry to take. 'But the moment I feel you are too riled up, Harry, everyone leaves,' she warned him. 'Sit up a bit and take this.'
He complied without complaint, too grateful for the compromise to push his luck. The potion was icy cold as it dripped down his throat. Must be Fever Reducer.
'And this one,' Madam Pomfrey continued, passing him what Harry recognised as Invigoration Draught. Harry swallowed obediently again, trying not to show his disgust. The matron forced one more potion on him that seemed to drown the worst of his aching, then handed him a glass of plain water when he'd finished.
'I'll be back in twenty minutes,' she warned him. 'There is a mug of hot chocolate on the table. It had better be gone when I return.' She gave him one last glare that dared him to disobey, and swept off toward her office again.
'She's in a mood,' Harry grumbled, reaching reluctantly for the mug of chocolate.
'You should have heard her after the match,' Ron said seriously. 'Even in the corridor, we could hear her shouting. I don't think I've ever seen her in such a temper.'
'Nor Professor McGonagall,' Hermione opined. 'Or the headmaster. I suppose the Dementors were a bit much for everyone.'
'I can't believe I didn't have my wand!' Harry bemoaned, pushing the half-full mug back onto his bedside table. 'Two years I've flown with it at every match, after what happened in that first one with Quirrell… and today, of all times, I didn't have it. Not that I've managed to do the charm properly yet anyway… but how stupid could I –'
'Harry stop,' Hermione interrupted him. She picked up his half-drunk chocolate, pressing it back into his hands. 'Drink it, before Madam Pomfrey drugs you back to sleep and kicks us out,' she said bossily. 'And stop blaming yourself. It wouldn't have mattered if you had your wand, even if you could do the Patronus charm perfectly,' she disagreed. 'There were dozens of those foul things. You'd never have managed it.'
Harry drank from the chocolate mug irritably. Whatever Hermione said, he felt humiliated, guilty and furious. He wondered if Remus had watched his failure.
'Was Remus at the match?' he asked them aloud.
Hermione shook her head. 'No,' she told him. 'He must still be ill.'
Harry looked around hopefully. Of course, the curtains were blocking his view of the other beds. 'Is he here?' he asked.
To his surprise, it was Ron who answered this time. 'No,' he said, frowning. 'And that's odd, now you mention it.'
Harry shrugged. 'Not really,' he disagreed. 'Madam Pomfrey might have sent him out to recuperate in his own rooms. Or maybe he just left… the professors probably don't get jailed the way we do.'
Ron raised a doubtful eyebrow. 'Yeah, maybe…' he said in clear disbelief. 'But he wasn't up here last night either. I had to come for my detention from Snape, remember? Scrubbing out bedpans. Disgusting, that was. I only got back so early because there weren't many to do, thank Merlin. Five beds – all students.'
'There's a couple of private rooms,' Harry reminded him. 'Maybe he was –'
But he cut himself off when he saw Ron shaking his head. 'Checked all those too,' he informed him. 'Only one occupied, and that was a first year with some odd skin condition. Lupin definitely wasn't here.'
Harry frowned. It did seem strange that Remus hadn't come to hospital, if he was ill enough that he wasn't up to teaching their lesson yesterday. But then, he supposed this was a chronic condition that Remus had. And he'd had it since boyhood, from the sound of it. Perhaps he was just used to managing on his own, especially if there wasn't much Madam Pomfrey could do about it. But he felt a bit let down that Remus wasn't around… perhaps we would have had to talk to Harry, if they'd been shut up in here together.
'What's Dumbledore done about the Dementors?' he asked instead, returning to their original topic and pulling his mind forcibly from Remus's silence.
'Gone mental,' Ron said simply.
Hermione rolled her eyes. 'He conjured the Patronus,' she recounted, 'And that drove them back from the pitch. Then he brought you straight up here, and he was in with Madam Pomfrey for a bit while they sorted that out… he only left for the grounds again an hour or so ago. I suppose he was going to talk to them, or perhaps get the Ministry involved…'
'Boil them alive, more like,' Ron offered, still looking wary.
'I expect he'll be by soon,' Hermione finished, studying Harry's expression.
But Harry had thought of something else.
'What about my broomstick?' he asked suddenly, looking around his bed for a sign of it. 'Did someone remember to bring it up for me?'
Ron and Hermione exchanged terrified looks. Neither seemed to want to speak.
'What?' Harry insisted, sitting up in the bed again.
'Harry…' Ron started nervously. 'We… we couldn't do anything, mate. The winds – it was such a mess out there. When you fell, the broom sort of got blown away. Flitwick went to try and find it after he'd sorted the Ravenclaws, but…'
'It's lost?' asked Harry, devastated.
'No,' Hermione said, looking tearful again. 'No… he found it. But Harry… oh, Harry, it hit the Whomping Willow!'
Harry felt a dull blow in his stomach. He watched, horrified, as Hermione withdrew a paper bag from inside her satchel. He reached into it with trembling fingers. The splintered remains threatened to slice his hands as he grasped them hopelessly.
'Right,' he said weakly, mind spinning with the loss.
The weather… Sirius Black… Remus's distance… the Grim… the Dementors… missing the Snitch… and now, his beloved broomstick was destroyed.
He was well and truly beaten.
'Right,' he repeated.
And he leaned over and vomited again off the edge of the bed.
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Review Responses: Chapter 26
Rosaleen: Thank you for reviewing! I'm very happy you liked the chapter and the choice to have Albus speak about Ariana to Harry, as well as the bookending Severus and Sirius perspectives. Hope you enjoy the continuation!
AlsoKnownAsMatt: Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. Poor Ron… he is lazy, isn't he? Loyal, yes… but certainly a bit of a layabout. Nice to hear you liked Godric's Hollow and the Sirius break-in. I hope you like Chapter 27!
Valkyrie-Sythe: Thanks for your review! Happy to hear you liked the trip to Godric's Hollow. It was rather a jam-packed chapter (event-wise and emotion-wise), but I am grateful to hear that readers are enjoying it and hope that you will continue to like the story!
Elementalwriter908: Thank you for your review! Yes, I have seen the new film, and am excited for the direction JKR seems to be moving for that series. I was excited to see that some of the Grindelwald gems in Fantastic Beasts actually align perfectly with my plans for him in this book (as, hopefully, readers will see shortly!), and loved that we got a name and some more background on what was, presumably, Ariana's affliction. I didn't give all the details here, as I felt Harry was a bit young and Albus not quite ready… but we've laid some groundwork and it will certainly be explored further in future. I hope you like Chapter 27!
Me (Guest Reviewer): Thanks for reviewing! Another attack… might have been fun, but I think the chapter was heady enough without more drama, haha. And yes, Albus is definitely full of precautions at the moment where Harry is concerned – though I doubt anyone would be able to sneak up on him even without the wards. Killing Albus Dumbledore is not so easy a feat. Glad you liked Bathilda – I thought it might be fun to see a little of her true character. And, of course, it sets us up nicely for possible later interactions. As to Grindelwald… I do not think for a moment that Harry will remain ignorant of his identity. Grindelwald has a large part to play yet in this story, and Harry will be involved in the scheme. I hope you like the next chapter!
Guest: Thank you for reviewing! Glad I could make your day a bit brighter :). I hope you enjoy Chapter 27!
Leonore: Thanks for your review! I'm very happy you liked it so much, even though it was a rather sad and emotional chapter. As to your questions… Yes, Albus will tell Harry more in future about Ariana and her obscurus… or, at the very least, he certainly intends to do so. He just couldn't have that discussion at this time; and Harry, quite truthfully, is not ready for it. As to whether he will confide in Harry about Grindelwald and/or that wizard's part in Ariana's tale… I will decline an answer at this point. I promise there will be much, much more to come on that portion of our story in future. I hope you like Chapter 27!
Babascoop: Thank you for your review! I like your substitute title suggestion, haha… although the title I went with here was definitely a deliberate choice for various reasons. Yes, you are correct in that it's a very information-heavy chapter… and that even with the information I chose to hold off on for now. But it was necessary, as you've noted – for Harry; and for the relationship development between Albus and Harry. Much of the information had roots in canon; other bits were added… but you are correct in that Harry's reactions to much of the headmaster's story were the key points in that portion of the chapter. That righteous anger, in particular, will be important. As will the concept of obscurial magic.
I'm glad you found depth to Ariana and Bathilda here. I'm hoping that one thing this story can achieve is creating more three-dimensional characters where JKR did not have the time to flesh them out entirely (as yet, at least, because presumably that is one of her goals in continuing to add to the canon material). And the picture of Grindelwald… absolutely not an errant thought. It will certainly be relevant in future; Grindelwald has a much larger role yet to play – in past and in present.
Happy to hear you're liking the story so much! I hope you enjoy Chapter 27.
Guest (2nd 'Guest' reviewer): Thanks for reviewing! It's great to hear you're liking the story, and I'm glad you find the Sirius perspectives interesting. I hope you like Chapter 27!