Potter47
Part Two
Wrinkling Time
"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
Chapter Seven
Just Like That
The darkness was gone and the world was bright, illuminated by countless, dazzling chandeliers along the corridor, their fire turning the green walls a sickly shade. Harry, brain functioning once again, could not help but thinking how ridiculous this was--Voldemort was on a kidnapping streak lately, wasn't he? And yet, nobody seemed to die.
"Hurry up, Potter, don't dawdle," said Malfoy, pulling on Harry's magical leash sharply--he'd been tied up around the hands, with his mouth gagged--so that he lost his balance and fell to his knees.
"Tsk, tsk," said Malfoy. "Come along," he added, in a tone Harry recalled very well--it was how he had spoken to Dobby the house elf, in Harry's second year.
Harry stood once more, wondering if he could take advantage of how much Malfoy seemed to be enjoying this. Could he lunge at him? Would Malfoy be too quick for him?
Before Harry could decide, Malfoy stopped abruptly in front of a great, shiny oak door. He knocked twice.
A familiar, slithery voice responded from within:
"Enter."
Harry shivered, and Malfoy threw the door wide.
"I'm going," said Ginny. "I need to go."
Mrs. Weasley shook her head forcefully.
"She's not going, Albus. She's been lying in bed all this time and she is most definitely not heading off on some adventure the moment she wakes up--"
"Yeah," said Ron. "Me and Hermione'll go, Professor, Ginny can stay here--"
"I am right here, people, you can act like it--"
"Under normal circumstances, I would agree with you, Molly," said Dumbledore, spreading his words out purposefully, so as to appear a bit more calm than he was. "But I do believe this is a very special circumstance indeed."
Something in his words seemed quite inarguable, somehow.
"Fine," said Molly weakly. She pressed her lips together tightly to prevent herself from shouting at the headmaster.
"Well, we'll come anyway," said Hermione. "It can't hurt to have more--"
"No," said Dumbledore, shaking his head. "I have something else for the two of you to do. Ginevra and I will go alone."
Ginny's face glowed for a moment in triumph, before settling once again in determination.
"Then let's go," she said.
Voldemort sat in a throne-like chair at the end of a long, wooden dining table--this was the Malfoy's dining hall. He seemed to be in his element, smiling his evil, Grinch-like smile as Malfoy pulled Harry into the room.
"Why, hello there, Harry," said the Dark Lord. "I daresay you've missed me?"
Harry glared the fiercest, most intimidating glare that anyone can glare when one's hands are bound and one has a gag stuffed in one's mouth.
"I guess not."
Voldemort stood, and gestured dramatically--with his thumbless hand--for Harry to sit down in the chair at the opposite end of the table.
"Let him speak, Lucius," he said, and Malfoy removed the gag from Harry's mouth--the edges of his lips were bleeding. He coughed, and wanted nothing more than a glass of water.
"You look parched, Harry," said Voldemort, smirking still. "Would you like a glass of water?"
He shook his head firmly.
"Fine then," said Voldemort. "Lucius, you may go."
Lucius, who had been watching appreciatively from behind Harry, spoke for the first time since entering the room: "Surely I can be of some assistance?"
"You've had your fun, Lucius, now it's my turn, don't you think? You may go."
Lucius protested no further, and shut the door behind him--its slam paved the way for a minute of silence as Voldemort looked Harry over in the most unsettling way--as though he were a filet mignon, or a Christmas ham.
"So," he said, and if he had real lips, he probably would have licked them, "Harry. This day has been a long time coming, hasn't it?"
Harry was silent.
"Do speak up, Harry. That's why I brought you here, for this little get-together--I want to have a nice chat before our trip." A pause, then: "Do you know where we're going, Harry?"
Harry was silent.
"Well, you'll find out soon enough."
Voldemort seemed to be weighing what to say next. He put his elbows on the table and touched his fingertips together. The gesture was familiar, of course--although normally it was not quite so disturbing, as it was performed by Dumbledore, who had both thumbs intact.
Then, as though coming to a decision, he reached deep into his robes and withdrew his wand--yes, his wand. He spun it gracefully between the four fingers on his left hand, and then moved to grasp it properly--it clattered to the tabletop. For the first time, his smirk faltered.
His voice didn't show it.
"So what was it like?" he asked. "Using my wand, I mean, Harry? Did you like it? The sturdiness of it, the strength of power flowing through its core? I daresay you must have enjoyed it..."
He pulled another wand from his robes, Harry's own.
"--especially after using this... thing, for so long," he said, distastefully. "How on earth did you manage? It's such a pathetic little wand, don't you think? I could hardly get it to spark."
Harry spoke, for the first time:
"I didn't feel any difference," he said, and Voldemort hesitated.
"Ah--yes, well, that is odd, isn't it?"
Voldemort rolled Harry's wand down the table towards him, and it came to a stop just before rolling off the edge. Harry's hands remained bound, of course, so it didn't do him much good.
Voldemort awkwardly took up his own wand again, with his thumbless hand, holding it in his fist like a child holds a crayon.
"This," he said, almost to himself, "yes, this is a wand." Green and silver sparks shot up from the tip, moving a little feebly but still vibrant.
"So," said Voldemort, smirking once again, "how is Ginevra these days?"
Harry was silent once again, his lips pressed tighter than ever. He glanced at his wand... If only...
"Oh, that's right," said the Dark Lord dramatically. "She's been playing sleeping beauty." He closed his eyes and tilted his head to one side, either miming a peaceful sleep or miming a wine tasting.
"Don't worry," said Voldemort, "I'll... wake her up... as soon as I return from our trip."
And Harry didn't know what happened; one moment he had been concentrating on his wand, hoping against hope that his binds would spontaneously fall off and it would jump into his hands, and then the next minute they did fall off, and it did jump into his hands, and if he wasn't very much mistaken, he did somehow manage to leap atop the table and point his wand at Voldemort.
"Expelli--!"
Harry's wand flew out of his hand as quick as it had flown into it. Voldemort did not look pleased. It flew behind him, to the doorway where Malfoy stood once again, and he caught it deftly, and then briskly Banished it back to Voldemort's side of the table.
The Dark Lord caught it in his right, thumbed hand and then--just like that!--snapped it in two.
Harry stood stock-still atop the table, dumbfounded and pathetic-looking.
"Lucius, bind him once more," ordered the Dark Lord, smirk gone and clearly tired of foreplay. Harry fell to the table, arms bound much tighter than they had been before.
"Time to go," said Voldemort, and before Harry knew what was happening, a cold, thumbless hand had grabbed his arm, and the world was a blur of color and sound.
Ron and Hermione swirled down to the wet, muddy ground once again, as the rain beat down outside Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.
"Well, at least we actually landed in the right place this time," said Ron as they stepped under the roof covering the doorstep.
"Oh, sorry, Ron, I didn't make a flawless Portkey on my first try..."
Ron blinked.
"I wasn't saying that," said Ron. "Believe me, I'm not about to start arguing now, of all times..."
"Oh," said Hermione. "I'm sorry, I'm a little... uneasy, right now."
"I don't blame you," said Ron, and he knocked the silver, serpent-shaped knocker.
Even the rain could not block out the scream that emanated from within--Mrs. Black's portrait, of course, had never liked visitors no matter how urgent their affairs.
The wailing was muffled, suddenly, and the door flung open--and there stood Sirius Black, looking like he hadn't slept in ages.
He blinked. "What the hell are you two doing--well, get out of the rain--come in--"
Come in they did, and when they did, they saw that Sirius was not alone in the entryway. Snape stood to the side of the doorway, wand at the ready. When he saw who had entered, he let his wand arm fall to his side.
"I told you there was nothing to worry about, Snape," said Sirius. "Nobody can knock unless they already know about us, you know that--"
"Yes, but that doesn't mean you should fling open the front door willy-nilly. You didn't follow proper procedure. You're supposed to--"
"Give it a rest, Snape."
Snape, however, had already given it a rest:
"What is the matter, Granger?"
"Dumbledore sent us--" started Ron.
"I believe I was speaking to Granger?"
Ron made a face, but Snape ignored him.
"Well, Dumbledore sent us," said Hermione.
"Really..." murmured Sirius.
"Quiet," said Snape. "Why did he send you?"
"Harry's missing," said Hermione, and the room seemed so much quieter once she'd said it. "But Ginny says he's at the Ministry--"
"Then I'm going--" said Sirius.
"Quiet," said Snape again. "Miss Weasley has woken up, then?"
"No, she was sleep talking..." said Sirius.
"Quiet," said Snape for the third time. "When did she wake up?"
"Just a little while ago, I think," said Hermione. Then, more towards Sirius: "But Dumbledore doesn't want us to go to the Ministry. He and Ginny are going, and he wants us to wait here and alert the rest of the order to be on guard."
"Then that is what we'll do," said Snape.
"Like hell we will," said Sirius. "What happened the last time Harry was at the Ministry, Snape? I believe there was a Bell Jar involved--"
"Indeed," said Snape, "but that bears little relevance. Dumbledore has ordered us to remain at headquarters, and here we will remain unless he gives order otherwise."
"Exactly," said Hermione. She looked at Snape, fervent yet unruffled. He caught her glance, and she looked away.
The next moment, the two of them--Snape and Hermione, that is--disappeared with a soft pop!
There were whispers and voices and muffled sounds--but the Ministry of Magic was deserted once again, just as it had been--before, on that night in June.
Ginny and Dumbledore had been waiting, waiting, waiting for what seemed to be hours on end. They sat, invisible to all but each other--Dumbledore had cast a spell to make sure of that before they'd even left the Burrow--on one of the long, stone benches in the Veil Room. And it was from the veil that the whispers came.
It was cold.
Dumbledore spoke, for the first time in a long while: "You are most certain that this is the room you saw?"
Ginny nodded. "Yes. That archway, I saw that archway, I know I did."
Dumbledore nodded, trusting her judgement. "Of course," he said, and he was silent, once again.
Ginny couldn't help staring at the long, tattered veil hung from the archway, as she waited. She couldn't help staring, and she didn't want to stop, either--there was something about that veil that invited her gaze, like the Bell Jar had. She had not heard the voices, the last time she had been here. Harry had, and Luna, and Neville. But Ginny herself had not, and she wondered why.
"What is that archway, Professor?" said Ginny.
Dumbledore hesitated. "What do you think it is, Ginevra?"
"I don't know," she said. "It... it makes me think of death."
Dumbledore nodded: "It makes a great many people think of death. That archway has been here as long as anyone can remember, and as long as it has been here, it has made people think of death. Some have been absolutely convinced that it is a gateway to the afterlife--to heaven, to hell, to purgatory, to the spirit world. They have ventured their lives on it, and have never been heard of again."
"So it is, then? It is a... a gateway?"
The headmaster hesitated again, as though this was a very difficult question indeed.
"The Ministry certainly believes it is so. They've used it as such for a very long time--whenever a particularly unpleasant creature is to be executed--such as a werewolf, or a vampire--they have been taken to this room, and thrown through the veil. A clean end, and very easy to watch." He gestured towards the countless benches.
"But what do you think it is?" asked Ginny.
"Well," said Dumbledore. "It may well be a gateway to the afterlife--but there is also reason to believe it is the gateway to something else."
"Something else?"
"Yes. More of a duringlife than an afterlife, I would call it. Another world, existing shoulder-to-shoulder with our own. Perhaps all those that have gone through have not been killed at all--perhaps they are merely somewhere else."
"But--why do you think that? Why don't you think they've died?"
"Because," said Dumbledore, and his tone changed, as though he were speaking of something very personal: "I believe there is more to understand in the universe than mere life and death. We concentrate far too much on what we are afraid of, and we ignore the possibilities that there is something else to discover--something that may be fascinating and completely new."
"I don't understand," said Ginny.
"Let me put it this way," said Dumbledore. "A man looks at that veil and he fears it, because it is unknown. It is completely unknown, because he has no idea what it is. But he fears this unknown--and thus it reminds him of death, because death, too, is an unknown, and is a fear. But what is there, concretely, to say that that veil leads to death?"
"The voices--"
"--could be coming from that duringlife, yes? Why must they be the voices of the dead?"
Ginny thought a minute, and then shrugged. "I dunno."
"Exactly," said Dumbledore. "None of us do. All we know for sure is that no one has ever come back out of that curtain, once they've gone into it. Anything else... is mere conjecture."
Ron blinked. Sirius blinked as well--and then, the next moment, Sirius had flung the door open once again.
"Let everyone else know what is going on," he said to Ron. "Do as Dumbledore said--wait for his orders. I'll be at the Ministry."
And then a big, black dog stood in his place. It nodded to Ron, and then padded softly down the front steps, disappearing into the London night.
Ron stood, jaw slack, watching him go. What had happened? Where were Hermione and Snape?
He closed the door, locked it, and set off deeper into the house to find another member of the Order, and tell them what was going on.
The air in the Veil Room was cold, colder even than it had been before. The door had opened with a slam, and two figures were visible. One was tall, pale, and snakelike--the other short, bound, and decidedly familiar.
The word had escaped Ginny's lips before she knew it was coming:
"Harry!"
The Dark Lord's gaze snapped up in Ginny's direction in a flash, and he looked round confusedly. Harry did the same. He tried to yell back, "Ginny...!" but his mouth was bound once again.
Voldemort sent a jet of light towards Ginny--Dumbledore pulled her out of the way, and it ricocheted innocently off of the stone bench behind them. Dumbledore put a finger to his lips, and Ginny nodded. He kept a hand on her arm.
Voldemort looked around suspiciously for a few more moments, lack-of-eyebrows scrunched suspiciously. Then he tugged Harry violently away from the doorway, and began to descend past stone bench after stone bench, down and down and closer and closer to the archway on the dais in the room's center.
The whispering seemed to grow louder than before, and it took Ginny a moment to realize that it was because now, Dumbledore was whispering just beside her.
"Please," he murmured to himself, "please don't be wrong..."
Ginny blinked. "Come on," she whispered to him. "Let's go. We've got to stop him--"
And then, inexplicably, Dumbledore shook his head.
"What do you mean no?"
"Ginevra, do you trust me?"
"Of course."
"Then stay here, just for a moment. Do not make any noise."
He tightened his grip on her arm.
Deep in the pit in the center of the room, the Dark Lord spoke:
"I do apologize, Harry," he said, "for not giving you a fair duel this time. After all, you don't seem to have a wand, hmm?" He smirked. "So if you'll excuse me..."
Harry tried to pull away, lunged stupidly, pathetically in an attempt to escape, but it was futile. Voldemort put a slimy, cold, thumbless hand around his neck, grabbing him firmly and leading him up upon the dais.
"Goodbye, Harry Potter," said Voldemort. "It's been a pleasure."
And then, as simply as he had snapped Harry's wand in two--just like that!--the black curtains billowed, and with a deep scream from the doorway high above, Harry fell beyond the veil.
Smoke and Tears
"The times, they are a-changing."
Bob Dylan
Coming Soon
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