Potter47
Part Two
Wrinkling Time
"I've been alone in the dark, I've been dreaming
And waking up without you...
I've been waking up without you for too long."
Jonathan Foreman
Chapter Six
Missing
Ginny opened her eyes, and no one noticed, because no one was there to see it.
She blinked, overjoyed at the sight of her bedroom's familiar ceiling. Then she blinked as she took in the familiar walls. Again and again she blinked and blinked, astonished at such a simple action because it had been so long since she'd really done it. Sure, she had blinked in the Chamber--but then, her eyes had remained closed.
Save me...
Ginny blinked once more, but this time for a very different reason. The image of Harry in the Bell Jar surfaced in her mind, and she sat up in bed.
"I'm trying, Harry," she murmured to herself as she slipped on her slippers and her dressing gown. "I'm trying."
The rain beat down on Ottery St. Catchpole even harder than it had on Privet Drive. Clouds were covering all the country and breaking open wherever they felt like it, it seemed–but London didn't know that. London only knew as much as was pitter-pattering on his own house, and that was quite a lot.
London usually liked the rain--usually loved to stick his tongue out into it and drink it in, to let his hair get all wet so he could shake it back and forth, could splash it at Luna, and before Luna, at Cynthia.
But today London felt no sympathy towards the rain–he didn't care how much it called him out to it, how much it wanted him to come get his hair wet and to come stick his tongue out. London paid the rain no attention at all because he was too busy tasting the exquisite loneliness he was feeling all over.
It was worse than ever, this year. Normally, he could get away from the thoughts of Cynthia that came with August by spending time with Luna, having a good time and listening to some Beatles... and, when it rained, by enjoying the rain with her. Because Luna loved the rain, and that helped London to love it.
Usually.
Luna hadn't been down all day today, however. She was in her room, sleeping, or doing whatever else she did when she was not sleeping. She did that, sometimes–just disappeared in her room for the day, not even coming out for the loo (or at least not when London was there to notice). He knew better than to worry, because that didn't help things–she was always all right, no use getting worked up about it. Still, London missed her terribly–
–a strange, whirling sound whirled London out of his thoughts. He looked out the window to the front yard, where two very dizzy-looking figures lay in his flowerbed, trying to stand up on the slippery ground.
He quirked his head to one side.
He marched to the front door and peeped through the peep hole, his face pressed awkwardly against the wood.
"Ronnie?" he murmured to himself.
He opened the door and squinted his eyes through the blurriness of the rain.
"Ronnie!" he said, louder this time so that the figures--one of them looked up at him, red hair plastered to his face with the rain.
"Uh, hi, Mr. Lovegood..." said Ron, but before he could say anything else, the other person spoke:
"Mr. Lovegood? Nice to meet you," said Hermione, finally managing to stand properly and walk over to the door. "I'm very sorry we landed in your flowers," she added. "This was my first Portkey... I missed by a mile or so both ways..." She looked very disappointed in herself, but then shook it off, along with some mud and a bit of water.
"Oh, it's all right," said London, smiling and nodding. Then: "Who are you, by the way?"
"Oh! I'm... I'm Hermione Granger."
"Are you sure?" asked London curiously.
"Well--yes, quite..."
"You seemed unsure of yourself for a moment. All right then." He turned back to Ron. "Ronnie, are you here to see Luna?"
"Oh!" said Hermione, interrupting. "That reminds me of why we are here... Mr. Lovegood, may we use your Floo? We need to contact Dumbledore..."
"Oh, most certainly, go right ahead," said London to Hermione. Then, to Ron again: "Because I believe she is resting or sleeping or something of the sort. But seeing as it's you, I'm sure she wouldn't mind being awoken–"
"No, don't," said Ron, turning a bit pink without realizing it, "you don't have to. We're in a bit of a hurry. This is important."
"Oh, all right," said London, nodding sagely as though he'd known Ron's response before he'd even sponsed to begin with. "Would you like some Pop Tarts while Herminey over there is taking care of your important business?"
"It's Herm-i-o-ne," said Herm-i-o-ne, throwing some powder into the fireplace.
"Yes, that's what I said." Back to Ron: "Hmm?"
"Um, no thanks, sir."
"Whatever floats your boat, then, Ronnie. If you don't mind, I'm going to put on some Beatles, yes?"
"Uh...sure."
"Dumbledore's office!" said Hermione, and stuck her head in the fireplace.
"No, no..." murmured London, fiddling with the wireless. "That's not a Beatles song at all." To Ron: "She is certainly a strange girl, isn't she?"
Ron didn't know what to say.
"...under the sea, in an Octopus's Garden... in the shade..." supplied the wireless.
Ron didn't think that would do very well.
Mrs. Weasley heard that familiar tock once again, and her head spun around in a flash, dragging the rest of her along shortly thereafter. Her eyes scanned the clock without quite taking it in--which hand had moved? Was Harry safe? Had they found him?
But Harry's hand was still quite at home pointing towards "mortal peril."
It took her mind a minute before it could figure out which of the hands had moved. Fred, Ron, George... all where they were expected to be. And Ginny was of course at home...
Molly took a breath.
She shot out of her seat and towards the stairs.
"He's coming," said Hermione, pulling her head out of the fireplace.
"Who?" asked London, seated on the couch and bobbing his head to the wireless.
"Dumbledore," said Hermione. "I said that he was who I was talking to, didn't I?"
"Dumbledore!" shouted London, and he shot up from his seat. "Oh dear, oh dear, why didn't you say so? I've got so much to do!"
And before Ron and Hermione's very eyes, London Lovegood turned into a human bumblebee, buzzing hurriedly back and forth all across the living room, neatening pillows and dusting off furniture and wiping the dust off the wireless until it shined as bright and shiny a silver as one of the spindly instruments in Dumbledore's own office.
Ron and Hermione blinked, in unison. Hermione opened her mouth to comment, but before she managed it, the fire glowed bright green once more and spit Albus Dumbledore gracefully into their presence.
"Hello, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger. London," he added, nodding towards him as he stood nervously by the wireless."
"Albus," said London, swallowing audibly.
Dumbledore, looking as old as he ever had, seemed as though he wished to say more to London, but decided not to. Instead he merely said: "Thank you for graciously allowing us use of your fireplace. We really must be off at once."
"Oh, of course... Albus," said London, and Ron decided it was decidedly strange to hear London in such a nervous sort of voice. He had always had the feeling that London could have yelled at Lord Voldemort for stealing his fuzzy slippers and it wouldn't have bothered him. Why was he so nervous around Dumbledore?
Now was not the time, it seemed, and Dumbledore gestured for Ron and Hermione to follow him out the door.
Once on the doorstep, with the door tight behind them so the rain would not get inside, Dumbledore spoke once again:
"Tell me once again," he said, and the others struggled to hear him against the rain; "what did Harry tell you about his dream?"
"Shouldn't we talk someplace quieter?" asked Ron.
Dumbledore shook his head. "The rain is good for many things, Mr Weasley--private conversation being high upon the list. Now, Harry's dream...?"
"He just said..." began Hermione, "...he just said that Voldemort had got the Dursleys, that he was torturing them."
"There was a dementor, I think," added Ron.
Dumbledore nodded to himself, and said, "We'll go to the Burrow, then, first of all, to let your mother know what has happened. Although she may already know, of course, with that clock of hers--in which case we will let her know what has happened in a bit more detail. Come."
He put an arm on Ron's shoulder and the other on Hermione's, stepped out into the rain and it was as though the Lovegood's doorstep was only a few feet from the Burrow's. He must've Apparated them, Ron reckoned, but he hadn't even noticed.
Just as Dumbledore raised a fist to knock on the front door, a SHRIEK sounded from within, loud and sudden, and the fist flattened out into a gesture of caution.
Dumbledore motioned the two children to the side of the doorway and his wand had found its way into his other hand. He tapped the doorknob, slid it open and slipped inside stealthily. Just then it occurred to Ron how ludicrous it must've looked for a tall, silver-haired man with a beard tucked in his belt to be doing anything stealthily, but the thought vanished as Dumbledore beckoned them to follow.
Inside, the Burrow seemed empty--there was no one in the living room or the kitchen, no one on the stairs, which they now began to ascend. As they rose, they heard more muffled sounds, none of them really what could be called words. At the third landing, Ginny's door was wide--the sounds were coming from there, it seemed...
Dumbledore put a finger to his lips, and snuck up the few remaining steps to the landing before poking his pointy-hatted head into Ginny's bedroom. He turned around to Ron and Hermione and smiled the smile of a man who had not smiled in a while.
"Come on up," he said, and when they did, they saw the source of the shriek: It was Mrs. Weasley, standing in the center of the bedroom with her daughter enveloped in her arms.
"Ginny!" shouted Ron, and he ran to join the embrace--
Ginny herself had other ideas. She struggled and struggled and finally managed to pull away from her mother and brother. She turned to Dumbledore.
"Harry's missing, isn't he?" she said.
Ron and Mrs Weasley turned to Dumbledore too, a jug of water thrown carelessly over their happiness.
Dumbledore nodded, slightly taken aback.
Hermione stared, quite more apparently taken aback.
"How on earth did you know that, Ginny? You just woke up--"
Ginny ignored her, and spoke again to Dumbledore:
"Because I know where he is. Or at least, where he's going to be."
Harry opened his eyes, and no one noticed, because no one was there to see it.
He blinked, trying to determine his surroundings. Where on earth could he be? The last thing he remembered, he'd been outside the Dursleys house, in Privet Drive... and now he was... where?
A light shone suddenly, a speck in the distance and then he saw it was really more of a line in the distance. A line? Why was there a line of light in the--?
Then it came into clearer focus still and he saw what it was: the light streaming in beneath a closed door.
He stood, or rather stumbled gracelessly to his feet, and felt around for the door itself, and once he'd found that, for the knob.
There it was--cold beneath his fingers. He turned it, back and forth, back and forth, but it would not open. Again--again--nothing.
As the wrenching noises of the knob faded back into silence, he could hear another sound in the distance: footsteps. Closer, closer, closer still.
He backed away from the door and groped in his robes for his wand. He couldn't find it. Damn it.
There was a click, and the doorknob wrenched once more, this time from the outside--then the line of light beneath the door grew suddenly into a glowing rectangle, surrounding a black silhouette.
Harry's eyes adjusted, finally, and saw the figure was not entirely black--just his robes. His face was pale white, and his hair shining, silver-blond. He smirked.
"Hello, Potter," said Lucius Malfoy. "I heard that you'd awoken. I hope you had a nice little nap?"
Harry didn't speak--and indeed, he wasn't sure if he could have if he had tried. His throat was sore.
"I do apologize for the... rather pitiful accommodations, but the Dark Lord insisted. I had suggested putting you in one of our lovely dungeons, but he seemed to think you would prefer it here--in this little cupboard, under the stairs."
Malfoy smirked once again.
"I suppose it doesn't matter now, does it?" he said, stepping into the cupboard and grabbing Harry by the shoulder. "I'm to take you straight to the Dark Lord, now that you've woken up. The two of you are going on a little field trip."
Just Like That
"This one's about a dream I had last night
How an old man tracked me home, and stepped inside...
He put his foot inside the door, and gave a crooked smile...
Something in his eyes... Something in his laugh...
Something in his voice that made my skin crawl off..."
Jonathan Foreman
Coming Soon
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