Sleeping a dreamless sleep . . . resting . . . being completely at peace. It had been far too long since Harry had felt this safe. There wasn't much to do here. When he felt tired, he slept. When he woke up, he lay back in the security of the shield until he felt himself drifting again. There was no need to hurry off and do something, no one to talk to or protect. Just . . . peace. There had been moments like this when he was a child in his cupboard under the stairs, late at night when everyone else was asleep. He would pretend that he had locked the cupboard door himself to keep anyone out, and that no one could come and bully him or punish him for something he didn't do.
Of course, that illusion of safety had lasted only as long as they were asleep. There had never been true peace with the Dursleys around.
Grudgingly, Harry had to admit that this feeling of peace was an illusion as well. Small nudges from outside his little cocoon of consciousness were touching him now and then, reminding him that the world was still going on out there. It might even be those spells still battling it out. Whatever. This peace was far too pleasant to give up at present. Not even Tom could touch him here. He hadn't had a vision or a twinge of pain in so long that . . .
Harry frowned, or at least he thought a frown. How long had it been?
It was discomfiting to realize that he didn't know; as nice as it was to rest, he didn't want to make everyone worry. They were hyper enough already. With a reluctant sigh, Harry set about unfastening his shield. Nap time was over. It was nice while it lasted. He ran his consciousness all along the smooth, gray surface of it, trying to find the edges that he'd sealed together. To his amazement, he couldn't find them. He did one side, then the other. Nothing.
A tiny niggling of fear introduced itself and Harry worked more frantically, feeling his way all around the circle. He was the one who did this—surely he could un-do it. An idea struck him, and he cast out his Sensing abilities, trying to find a reading on the magic he had used, perhaps to find a weakness or the last place he had used his power to seal it up. It was no use. He was on the inside of a magically sealed sphere that cut off all sensory input. He might go mad in here. But what could he do?
There was another nudge against his shield. Throwing himself against the area that had come to life, Harry tried to reach out to whatever was touching him. He didn't care if it was pain, Tom's connection or the touch of a friendly mind right now; he just wanted out. Harry began to pound on the sphere with spells, trying to break the fabric of his shield. It wouldn't budge and eventually the sensation of someone else being there disappeared.
Exhausted, Harry fell back into a trance-like state. It was some time before he could stir himself to think it through again and when he did, despair rolled over him like a wave. If no one, not even Tom was able to penetrate this shield, then how could Harry hope to do it? Now his body was still out there, helpless, unable to stop any of what was happening around him. What if all those nudges were from Dumbledore? Or Snape? Tom knew the Prophecy—damn Kingsley Shacklebolt! Tom knew that Harry was the One. What if he had chosen to attack because he knew Harry was neutralized?
With a silent roar, Harry threw spell after spell at the shield. Since there was nothing physical for the spells to hit, they bounced around harmlessly, jets of red light. After Harry vented some of his fury at himself, he stopped to think. He'd used Occlumency to get himself into this predicament. Perhaps Procclumency, the opposite of Occlumency, would help him get out. Maybe he could project himself beyond it. Yes!
Procclumens
But it was no use; even when he focused on projecting a certain memory with every shred of strength he possessed, he went nowhere. There was no one else's mind out there to project to. But he did not give up. Instead, Harry tried again and again with rising frustration and latent rage. How could he possibly have closed his own mind so tightly that, not only could no one else get in, but he couldn't even get out? Bottled up in his own mind, Harry released Bludgeoning Spells and Cutting Curses until he exhausted himself. He seemed to do that relatively quickly and wondered if the shield itself pulled a lot of energy from him.
It did seem to be extraordinarily powerful. Eventually, Harry became quite philosophical about it. A shield this strong would be useful in many situations, if he could only control it. Is it possible to construct the shield outside of my mind? If it was, there was no limit to the protective uses it might have, for him or others around him. And—here Harry went very still—perhaps it might be used to hold Tom in, to seal him in as it has me.
His next thought came very slowly and chilled him to the bone. What if the only way to do it was to seal himself inside with Tom?
"One must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives . . ."
The pain would be unbearable—he knew that—and a shudder ran through Harry at the thought.But despite his misgivings, the possibilities continued to race through Harry's mind. Perversely,he found that the more desperate he grew to discard the idea, the surer he felt that it might be the only way.
Harry sighed. It would be pure suicide.
A last resort, he finally decided. If there's absolutely no other way, I'll take it.
With that concession, his mind went blissfully blank for a while, exhausted from his earlier efforts of escape and perhaps from the effort of keeping up the shield as well. He rested again, as long as he felt it necessary. Thus it was that some time later, when he was startled to feel another nudge from outside, Harry was able to pull his mind together and cast a spell again, using the nudging entity outside as a target.
Procclumens
This time, he felt a slight give in the gray shield that surrounded him. A loud rushing noise swept by, and his vision seemed to blur. At first, he thought it hadn't worked, but then he felt the curious sensation of floating. And as he looked, the air seemed to fill itself around him. He was floating in midair, somehow borne aloft by a mild afternoon zephyr, accompanied by white feathers, the blowings of dandelion puffs and something mysterious that sparkled like diamonds in the air. It was quite beautiful and restful and he was tempted to lie back on the breeze and let it carry him. But then he remembered that he could not fly without a broom, and just as quickly, he saw his Firebolt under him. Automatically, his hands went to grab the broom and his body leaned forward in the sporting manner he knew so well by now. But he didn't feel like zooming around on the pitch. And after all, he wasn't on a pitch.
Below him was a field of flowers, mostly white lazy-eyed susans and a few taller red flowers that pinched upwards in tribute to the sun. They called to him, drawing him downwards and Harry gave in gladly, purposefully ignoring the fact that in the real world, flowers don't call people. He circled downwards, lazily watching the flowers grow larger below him. There was nothing to pull him on, no where to go and no where to be right now. Well . . . except for one thing. He did need to talk to Ginny. That needed to be done.
Harry reached the ground and unfolded himself from the broom, collapsing onto the soft, springy turf of grass and flowering weeds. The blur of white and red flowers enveloped him as he lay back and watched the fluffy clouds pass across the sapphire sky. Somewhere nearby, a bird sang sweetly. Harry closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on his skin and the peaceful calm of the day drifting deep into his soul.
When something landed lightly on his chest, he opened his eyes, somehow not surprised. A tawny cat with bright brown eyes and white boots on its paws sat serenely, watching him from its perch on his chest. It seemed in no hurry to leave. With an imperious expression, it—she, Harry suddenly knew—lifted a dainty paw and licked carefully at hair there, though the gesture seemed too tentative to do much actual good. In fact, she looked less as if she was trying to clean herself and more as if she were trying to convince someone that she was an actual cat. Harry smiled.
Instantly, the cat dropped her paw and stared at him in a decidedly affronted manner. He felt that she was demanding an apology, but the sight made a small laugh bubble up inside his chest. This set the cat to shaking, making Harry laugh even harder. The poor cat – looking none too serene now – jolted onto her four paws and dug her claws into Harry's chest.
"Sorry," he managed in-between breaths, "I didn't mean to offend you."
The cat gave him a pointed look, nodded once and then jumped into the tall grass beside him. Harry turned over to see the cat looking uncomfortable on the mound of stalks she had trampled, a lone island of hairy orange in the sea of green around it. Then the cat walked daintily around her small circle of crushed grass and paused to work it over with her claws. When she was finally satisfied with the state of things, she sat down and looked up at Harry with a disgruntled look that was very un-catlike.
"What?" Harry asked it, feeling very silly. "I didn't put the grass here."
The cat tilted its head to one side, peering at Harry, looking for all the world as if it wanted him to cotton on to something.
"Oh. Are you an Animagus?" The thought had just struck him.
"Of course I am," it said plainly, the words coming out a bit sticky from the rough tongue. But the voice. He recognized that voice . . . .
"Ginny?"
But in lieu of an answer, the cat simply stretched itself up on its hind legs and well—kept stretching. It went up and up until it towered over Harry and he had to scramble to his feet. As his view shifted, he saw that it had stopped at Ginny's normal height, which was just under his own, but she was still cat-like—that is, until the hair at her throat began to disappear, retracting back into pale skin, and the hair around her ears began to redden and grow long. Her body was changing all over, going pale and freckled, her legs lengthening, her toes becoming delicate and—
That's when it hit him.
Ginny wasn't wearing any clothes.
Harry jerked his eyes back up to her face, to the brown eyes that were slowly becoming more human, the pupils rounding out and the color deepening to mahogany. Did she know she wasn't dressed? He saw no surprise in her eyes, only bright-eyed happiness mixed with a healthy amount of pride. Despite himself, his gaze fell one more time to see the smooth, pale skin that rounded out the clean, straight lines of her clavicle and shoulders. His eyes traveled lower and he felt his breath hitch as her small breasts with their delicate pink tips came into view. She was lovely and everything about her was so tiny, as if she needed him to—
Suddenly Ginny gasped and Harry jerked his head up, already blushing furiously.
"I forgot clothes!" she gasped to him as if he didn't know it already. "How could I have forgotten clothes! I've never even. . . oh!" Her hand flew to her mouth. "You must think—"
He saw the horror in her eyes flicker and war with something else. Suddenly she dropped her hand from her mouth. "Oh, hell." She seemed to be steeling herself for something. "It's my dream, I'll do what I want!" Then she threw her arms around him and pressed her lips to his. Ginny was kissing him and every cell in his body was tingling, warming to the fiery desire in her lips. And god, she was soft. His hands crept across her back, sliding over smooth skin that pebbled into goosebumps as he touched her. It took another few moments for him to register that she was swept flat against him, her unclothed body pressed into his in a very intimate way. He couldn't get over how soft her skin was, and how much he really, really . . .
"Ginny?" A voice from somewhere distant made Ginny pull away, sadness lingering in her eyes.
"No," she whispered, "this is the best dream I've ever had. Tell me, quickly. Do you forgive me, Harry?"
"What? I—"
But before he could say another word, the dream dissolved around him. He was again, nowhere . . . hanging in space, somewhere in the depths of his own stupid, apparently overly-secured mind. Harry sighed deeply into the echoing silence, feeling acutely lonely. That had been the best dream he'd ever had, too. But had it even been his? Ginny didn't seem to think so. And speaking of Ginny, was she really an Animagus then? He shook his head, smiling. It would be just like her to surprise them all like that.
Suddenly, Harry realized there was again something nudging at his mind from the outside. This had to be the way out. Fiercely, he focused his mind.
Procclumens
The shield around him began to give again, this time completely. In seconds, he had penetrated its hull and found himself surrounded by a cacophony of noise so intense that he succumbed almost at once to darkness.
"Pottttttterrrrrrrrrrrr!"
As Harry was pulled with increasing speed back into blinding consciousness, he realized he'd been out only seconds. The spell was still working, sending out the warm memory of Ginny pledging to help him in his fight with Tom. Harry jerked back to keep it from completion. And as he did this, to his consternation, the spell changed mid-way. Without a conscious thought, he was now drawing into himself a thread of memory from the person trying to use Legilimency on him.
As soon as it came to life, Harry knew it was Snape. He was seeing Dumbledore's office and the flustered, wide-eyed man entering was Snape. The Professor offered no preamble to the surprised Headmaster, but simply walked over and leaned on the man's desk.
"Potter has mastered Occlumency," he said.
"Marvelous, Severus!" Albus Dumbledore raised a hand to congratulate him.
"Hold your congratulations, old man," the Potions Master snapped, with a show of rare insubordination. Harry knew, as Snape felt it, that the rudeness would be regretted later. "He not only held under my attempt to penetrate his mind during class, but he used that damn Procclumency trick of his to project the memory of my rescue of him from the Manor."
Dumbledore winced.
"Yes, exactly," Snape said, lowering himself into the chair that had been pulled forward for him. "The next time I am Summoned and The Dark Lord searches my mind for recent Potions lessons—as he always does, ready for more laughs at Potter's expense—what will he see? He will see the memory of how I rescued Potter from Lucius' clutches. Idiot boy!" he snapped, then rested back in the chair. "And yet, how fitting it is that he will be the end of me, when it was his father—"
Then, with a snarled "POTTER!" and a whiplash of a spell, Harry was out of the memory and reeling in his own mind. Once again, the overload to his senses was almost too much to bear. Images, smells, sounds all crammed into his head in a jumbled order.
"Drink this," the familiar voice said, and Harry tentatively opened his mouth. The potion went down like water, but bubbled strangely in his stomach. The cacophony of sense detail began to blur and fade. Harry found that he could open his eyes and see his surroundings grayed, as though from the center of a fog. Unfortunately, the first shape he worked out was Snape bending over him.
The dark figure snorted at him. "Finally," he snarked out and turned away, moving to the door to speak with someone outside. "He's all yours. I only ask that you prevent him from exiting until things have settled down. We do not need another casualty. Potter—" and here Snape moved back toward the bed until his black eyes bored into Harry's own, "stay put or I will cut off your ears, grind them into powder and use them in the Sublimination Serum for my Seventh Years."
Harry's hearing had returned to normal by the time Snape had turned away and stalked off, but the boy was fumbling a bit trying to put meaning to the words. The world felt unreal to him right now, as though he'd been taking place in a drama for the past sixteen years and the real world was the safe cocoon inside his own mind. There was too much information to take in and assimilate here. What was that memory of Snape's about? And what had he meant—a casualty? Harry tried to croak out words, but just then, he heard a welcome voice call, "Harry?"
It was Lupin. Harry tried to speak back, but couldn't.
"Oh no, you don't, Remus Lupin," scolded Madame Pomfrey from beyond the door of the room. Was Harry in the Infirmary then?
"But Severus said—"
"You have been set to guard this ward and you will do it," she said shrilly, her matronly form coming in to view at the doorway.
"Yes, of course, but is he awake?"
"I've had no time to examine him and you are keeping me from my patient." She waved him away.
Quietly and firmly, Lupin repeated, "Is he awake?"
She took a long look over at Harry, who gave her a small wave. "Yes, he is," she said in exasperation, "Now go and do your job and let me do mine!"
Remus gave an audible sigh before raising his voice. "I'll come back in to see you after I'm relieved, Harry! Glad you're doing better!" Then the far door snapped shut and Madame Pomfrey turned to Harry.
"Well, Mr. Potter," she said crisply as she swept in past the curtain, "Professor Dumbledore said that that you might wake up today, and here you are! Severus is a miracle worker! How are you feeling?"
She handed Harry his glasses and paused to wave a wand over him, taking his readings. With his glasses on, Harry could see that he was being kept in a small room off the side of the Infirmary. It was bare, with only the bed and a small table for Potions beside him. The ceiling was much lower here, and Harry thought it felt much cozier.
"Oh my, you've had quite the nice sleep then," Madame Pomfrey concluded. "Your red blood cell count has never been this high, or your Magical Core so brimming full. Of course, it would be, though, wouldn't it, with that constant depletion and restocking of magic that your body was doing. Wouldn't be a bit surprised to see a few of your spells becoming more powerful, dear, and wouldn't that be a welcome thing?" She pocketed her wand and poured Harry a glass of water that sparkled like diamonds.
He drank three gulps and sighed. There were too many questions to be answered all at once. "Wh-what," Harry croaked, "what's been happening?"
"Well, we were quite concerned about you, naturally, Mr. Potter," Madame Pomfrey said as she went to straighten the sheets over him, "as it's been over ten days since we saw those bright eyes of yours. Now that you're all right, things can get back to normal. I was just telling Professor Dumbledore yesterday that it would—"
"Sorry, but—" Harry cleared his throat, still sounding like a toad/boy cross rather than like himself. "Where is everyone?"
"Drink some more water, and then we'll talk."
Harry obeyed, but the cold water rolled down into a stomach roiling with nerves. There should be more people here. And something seemed off in the nurse's mannerisms—she was too cheery, her eyes watery with emotion and since when did she order Lupin around like a child?
She fussed over his covers again, straightening some wrinkle that apparently only she could see. "Now then, don't you worry about your friends. They've been here on and off for the entire ten days. We'll get word to them now you're awake and they'll be up directly."
"Was it really ten days?" he repeated weakly, handing the glass back to her and sitting up.
"Indeed," she eyed him with a stern eye, ignoring his protests and resettling the pillows behind him, "and from what I understand there's naught to blame but yourself. Of course, that didn't stop those cretins from blaming the Weasley girl," she sighed as she moved back around to other side of the curtain. "But then she did do a risky, risky thing. Love Potions often go wrong, and here you were given two! And one of them right under my own nose. I'll never forgive myself for that one, I assure you, Mr. Potter. To think I was—"
But Harry wasn't listening. "You mean Ginny gave me a Love Potion in that Butterbeer? To make me—no, but wait—she knew—"
"Of course she did and she had to do it anyway," she staunchly. "It is the only way to break the hold of a Deliriously Desirable Love Draught, you know, which is what you were given. Strong stuff, that, and from what I heard, Dumbledore practically ordered Miss Weasley to do it. Seems that he and Mrs. Weasley, bless her soul, had been worried about someone trying this exact thing on you. And oh my, isn't Molly Weasley just the one to plan something like that! Why I do remember—"
"Oh no," Harry groaned, his stomach sinking at the memory of what Ginny had done for him . . . what she had done to him. But no—she had been trying to help him, in apparently the only way that anyone could. But ten days? "You said some people were blaming her? For what?"
"For your coma, dear," she said in a matter-of-fact voice, heading for the door. "Now, I must speak with Professor Dumbledore. He'll be so pleased that you've awoken and I doubt that Severus thought to stop in. This might change everything."
"Everything," Harry echoed with confusion. That reminded him of Snape's words and he called after her loudly. "Wait—what did Snape mean—a casualty?" But she ignored him and continued clattering briskly across the stone floor. Harry huffed out a breath of frustration. When were these people going to realize that he needed answers as soon as he woke up?
He swung his feet over the side of the bed, marveling at how weak he felt. The room spun around languidly before re-settling itself. He really needed to see Ginny. Everyone had castigated her for trying to help him, and he wasn't sure, but he thought he might have been a jerk to her himself. Did I really pull a wand on her? He dropped his head into his hands. His memories from that night were blurred, as though it had all happened underwater, but from what he remembered, he'd gone absolutely barking mad. Pansy Parkinson had asked him to kiss her in front of the whole school and he had actually tried to do it. Worse, he'd wanted to! After all, they had already kissed once before . . .
Harry felt all the blood rush out of his face. Pansy had come here, to the Hospital Wing and tried to—to—
He ignored the nausea, stripped off the covers and looked around for his robes desperately. All he had on was those familiar Hogwarts-issue pajamas, but at least they fit better than Dudders' old ones. Where was his wand? Harry cursed and held out his hand. "Accio wand!"
There was a rattling from somewhere outside his room. Sighing, Harry padded through the door and over to a large section of drawers opposite the beds. Normally, Madame Pomfrey wasn't this devious about hiding his things, but then, he had snuck off once before when left in the Hospital Wing. He gave the drawer a hard jerk, finding it locked as expected.
Time to try wandless magic. He had only been able to make this work a few times in practice. Lupin had shown him how to focus his mind like a funnel and imagine the magic coming out of the tip, forcing his magic into a potent form. So Harry pulled up his shield and paused. Then, instead of trying to imagine the cylinder as he'd done before, on a sudden whim, he began to curve the shield itself. In seconds, it was joined at the ends and pulled as thin as a straw—thinner even than a wand. Harry focused on the drawer and whispered, "Alohomora."
With a resounding crack, the drawer gave and flung itself open so violently that it left the track and barreled into Harry's stomach. "Oof!" Harry was bending over, trying to reach the wand which had, of course, rolled away, when—
"The hero of the Wizarding World done in by a drawer. Oh, if only that Creevey loon was here to take a picture for posterity."
Harry bowed his head, acknowledging that fate had quite the sense of humor, and then swiped up his wand. Flushing madly, he turned around. "Malfoy. What are you doing here—faking a new injury?"
"Please. Draco," the boy reminded him in return. Harry nodded and grabbed his robes out of the drawer. "And no, I'm resting up after being healed, thanks for your concern. Are you actually trying to sneak out of here?"
"I'm trying to get some answers," Harry snapped, grabbing up his wand and levitating the drawer back into place. "Lupin should do fine."
"Or the Weasel, who should be here in seconds anyway. Rumor is that he has some sort of signal rock that is bound to you." Harry frowned, looking around. Why hadn't Ron been here already? "And if you're wondering why he isn't here, let's just say that he had a family emergency," and Draco's eyes flashed in a horrible way.
Harry began walking toward Draco, trying to ignore the cold snake of fear writhing in his stomach. "What are you talking about, Malfoy? What have you done?"
"Done? Me?" Draco said with an incredulous smile. "I had absolutely nothing to do with it. In fact, I kept the Headmaster's little plan a secret even when it could have done me the most good. I'm trying to practice loyalty, you see."
"What plan," Harry ground out, hating to have to ask Draco for information.
"Well, one that didn't fool me, obviously. The Headmaster deemed it necessary to fake your return to health. However, I knew as soon as I saw the pseudo-Harry that it was Weasley again. Easy to spot once you know what to look for, and I did, seeing as how I was forced into being you for a time as well."
"Charlie. He was impersonating me with Polyjuice again?" Draco nodded lazily to answer Harry's question. "And something happened?"
"Of course it did, don't be ridiculous. This is you we're talking about. As soon as Pansy's body was found—oh, that's right, you didn't know she was dead, did you?"
Harry staggered back a step, his thoughts skittering off in a thousand different directions. He didn't know how to feel. The impulse to mourn her was strong, but just as quick to react was hatred and nausea, betrayal and confusion. He didn't love her without the potion in him, but neither did he want her dead. The knowledge made his eyes water, as though they were crying without his permission.
Draco was watching him intently. "Well, she is dead, which is, after all—as I keep trying to explain to these idiots in charge here—just a side effect of having my mother lolloping about the castle. They truly need to catch her."
"Your mother killed Pansy?"
Draco paused and finally dropped his gaze. "I'm positive of it. She's his contact here, though she might have help." He looked back up at Harry. "Pansy was found the next day after Dumbledore brought out Charlie. Up until that point, it was thought that her attempt to do you in might have been successful."
"Why did Dumbledore do it? And what happened to Charlie?"
Draco smirked. "One question at a time, Scarhead. Dumbledore did it because your impending death had the entire school in chaos. Everyone seemed to think that it was that Weasel girl's potion that did you in. She was actually castigated by the Ravenclaws and half of the Hufflepuffs. Even some of the Gryffindors started to blame her when you hadn't woken up by the fourth day. That was when the Slytherins wrote a song in her honor 'She did the Boy-Who-Lived well in; Weasley is our Queen," Draco sang softly.
Harry's eyes closed as he imagined Ginny going through all of this merely because she had helped him.
"There were several incidents and scuffles," Draco continued, "culminating in a rousing dinnertime row that was responsible for a fourth of the Gryffindors put on detention and over 450 house points lost. Students from all the other houses were injured and punished as well. It was gloriously horrific," he closed his eyes as if enjoying the memory. "They confined everyone to their Common Rooms for the rest of the day. I think that was when the plan was put into motion. The next morning, it was announced that you were awake. Church bells were ringing, choirs of angels descended from on high and the Daily Prophet was so excited that it sent out a Howler edition."
"When was this?"
"Five days ago."
"And the plan was Charlie Polyjuiced to look like me?"
"Yes."
"Well, what happened to him?"
Draco straightened up, obviously enjoying himself. "Patience, Scarhead."
Harry whipped out his wand and held it to Draco's temple. Draco's eyes went wide and he blinked them several times. Fear was edging its way up into his pupils. "So. You don't like that nickname. Point taken."
"Tell me what I want to know and without any petty snarking. Got it?"
"Yes."
Harry pulled away his wand, giving a look to Madame Pomfrey's office. He could just see the back of her head as she knelt before the fireplace. "Quickly, but leave nothing out."
Draco took a deep breath. "Another Slytherin plot. Apparently there are seven of them—'The Seven Deadly Slytherins.' This time it was Goyle. I caught him bragging about it. That's why I'm here. I told him it wasn't really you that had come back. It's been almost two months since I had a beating that thorough."
"What happened to Charlie?"
"Portkey made to look like a Galleon. They'd been trying to get you for weeks, but you're not greedy enough to pick them up. Idiots. I could have told them that. And told them that any Weasley would."
"When did this happen?"
"Five—six hours ago."
"And you knew?" Harry's voice went up an octave on the last word, his wand shaking in his hands. If the git had known—
"No, no. I didn't know beforehand," Draco held up his hands, "I swear. I only found out in the Common Room because Goyle can't keep his fat mouth shut, bragging about how Pansy failed, but he was going to win. So I tried to rile him, get him to tell me more by making him mad. At least that part worked. All I could find out was that the Portkey went straight to Hell Manor."
"Hell Manor?" Harry forced himself to ask.
"The Dark Lord's Lair. Sorry," he finished shortly. "If Weasley went there, then there's nothing we can do. Professor Snape is waiting to be summoned."
Harry drew back visibly. Draco knew Snape was a spy?
The blonde smirked again. "I told you I had benefactors long ago. Why wouldn't you assume that one would be my godfather?"
"Because of your father," Harry shot back. "When he finds out that Snape is supporting you—"
"You think I run around telling everyone who sponsors me? Keep the information to yourself and there won't be a problem with my father, at least not until I want there to be," Draco said disdainfully. Harry blinked, not sure at all when he made Draco's list of people to trust. It was disconcerting. "As I was saying, if Professor Snape is summoned, then, maybe he can help him get out. That seems to be the best shot Weasley has."
Galleons . . . Galleons . . .
A memory was tickling Harry's mind . . . one of the blurry ones, but he could still hear Ron's voice quite clearly.
"Wow! Look! A Galleon just sitting here on the steps! And I know just how to spend it, too! Boyd Fletcher's new Quidditch Strategy Book!"
And Ginny as well.
"I found a Galleon in the Gryffindor Common Room yesterday. Harry, you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
One moment he was remembering—the next he was running.
"Harry! Scarhead!" Draco yelled after him. "What the bloody hell—"
Harry was already out the door, sprinting by Lupin. "Harry? What are you—"
The Marauder seemed to feel that Harry wasn't acting rationally; two seconds later, there was a spell coming at him. Harry could feel it. Time seemed to slow as the searing red beam crept toward his left shoulder. With a grunt, Harry slowed, dropped to one knee and spun, ducking under one Stunner and sending off another in short order.
"Prote—" Lupin, surprised by the quick attack, flew back before hitting the stone floor hard. Harry winced.
"Sorry, Lupin. I know you'll try to stop me. They all will," Harry looked up at the hallway as a clattering of footsteps and an odd thumping approached. He knocked himself over the head with his wand, Disillusioning himself just as the first head of red hair appeared at the top of the stairs. Harry stood and eased over to the wall, where a knight was standing guard. Slipping into the crook behind it, he felt its shadow envelop him in darkness. It wasn't that his Disillusionment Charm hadn't worked, but there was every chance that the stomping noise he heard was Mad-Eye Moody, whose magic eye could see through spells of any kind. Harry wished there was a way to hide Professor Lupin's prone form, but then again, maybe the man needed help anyway. He'd hit the stone floor pretty hard.
"He's fine," Ron said shortly as he strode forward, "stone says he's up and hungry—no pain. Much better than he was. He's probably wondering where I've got to."
Ginny, pale behind him, just nodded. Hermione had an arm around her, and was sniffing regularly. Behind them came Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Tonks and stomping in last place, Mad-Eye Moody. The sight of all of them made Harry's knees feel weak. Things really must have spiraled out of control with Charlie gone. Mrs. Weasley must be going spare.
"I'll not allow it, Arthur," she was saying in a determined, but weepy voice. "Harry doesn't need to know everything." Ron and Hermione exchanged pained glances. "That's just asking him to feel responsible!"
"Sorry, Molly, but Dumbledore insisted," Tonks said awkwardly as she scratched at her slowly lengthening, mustard-colored hair. "Doesn't want a repeat of last year."
Ginny finally spoke up. "He'll want to go after Charlie," she said softly. "He'll try it as soon as he can."
Ron had stopped and was watching his sister with a frown. "No he won't, 'cause we won't let him.."
Harry had to smile when Ginny just shook her head. Of course, Harry was doing exactly what she predicted.
"Now, I hate to keep repeating myself, all of you," Mr. Weasley spoke up, "but Dumbledore has got things under control. There's no need for Harry to go running off because the Order has a plan in place. All we need is a bit more time before it's put into motion. That's what we tell Harry, because that's the truth."
They all exchanged glances, and Harry's heart tugged at him. Maybe he should stop and let them he was okay. Especially for Ginny's sake; she'd been through so much since he'd been out. But something stopped him—determination to act, to help Charlie. That would help Ginny more than anything else.
Harry watched as Hermione encouraged Ginny to start walking again. "Just think how relieved Harry will be to see you, Ginny."
Ginny barked out a laugh. "I tricked him into drinking Love Potion-laced Butterbeer. He probably hates me."
Ron and Hermione protested, but it was Mrs. Weasley's words that did the most good. She stroked Ginny's hair with a soothing hand. "He'll be thinking perfectly clearly now, love. Just be straight with him and he'll understand."
"And make sure you tell him not to be expecting many more kisses like that anytime soon," Mr. Weasley said with a half-smile.
Tonks snorted and tripped on nothing, almost taking out the suit of armor Harry was hiding behind. "I'm sure the Daily Prophet made it sound worse than it was, Arthur."
Mrs. Weasley turned a cold eye toward Tonks. "Don't say the name of that rag in my presence. 'Newspaper', indeed. Wouldn't know the truth if it came sashaying into their office playing the harmonica."
Ginny giggled a bit hysterically. "I can't wait for Harry to see it."
"He's not going to like it," Ron said as he ran his fingers through his hair, "especially that Sleeping Beauty bit."
Hermione hugged Ginny again, looking at her worriedly. "But we're going to tell him everything because we have to," Hermione said in a firm voice. "And then we won't let him out of our sight."
"Girl's right," Mad-Eye agreed as he stomped on by. "Boy can handle it. He's handled worse before." Harry thought the man's magical eye had roved toward him as he spoke. Could it have been his imagination?
"As I keep trying to remind everyone, he's not a seasoned Auror!" Molly suddenly snapped out. "He's a sixteen-year-old boy and that Portkey was meant for him!"
There was a strained silence as they walked on past Harry. No one seemed to know what to say anymore. Arthur had pulled his wife in closer and she let him, wiping away what must have been more tears. Harry was relieved they hadn't detected his presence, and slowly slipped out from his hiding place, determined more than ever to help Charlie. Just then, Ron let out a startled yell.
"Hey—what's—oh blimey!" Ron said as he rushed forward to where Lupin had landed. "He's out cold!" As everyone went forward, Harry ran along the wall back the way they had come, making for the stairs. Behind him, he heard a cacophony of voices.
"Is he breathing?"
"What happened?"
"Mad-Eye, is Harry—?"
"Nope. Sorry. He's gone."
"No!"
"Oh, Harry!"
"Mum!"
"Molly, are you all right?"
Harry couldn't listen to anymore. Wand drawn, he whispered, "Accio Firebolt!"
Turning to take a last look, he froze instantly. Mad-Eye was staring directly at him. The Auror was still a moment, then nodded his head at him jerkily.
Harry gave a quick wave, relief flooding him that he wasn't about to be turned in. As he turned to go down the stairs, the old Auror yelled, "Constant vigilance!" so loudly that its echoes drowned out everything else.
Harry took the stairs down as quickly as he dared, wand out. His Firebolt almost knocked him off his feet as soon as he reached the landing. Above him, he heard voices shouting his name. He Disillusioned his broom, mounted it, and then he was off, bound for Gryffindor Tower.
Harry sailed over the next three flights of stairs, suppressing a whoop of joy that somehow bubbled up from under his anxiety. This was probably something that Filch would want to hang him by his toes for, but that just made it more fun. Hogwarts castle was a fantastic place to ride. The ceilings were tall and the hallways narrow, making for lots of hairpin turns. Harry zoomed by statues, past oblivious Portraits and over the heads of a few students that turned to follow his invisible progress with gaping mouths.
"What's that noise?"
"I felt a draft!"
"Was that Peeves, then?" Harry heard one Third Year ask an older student.
Once down in the main hallway, Harry could see that most students were still finishing their dinner in the Great Hall, though some had spilled out into the hallway. He stalled a bit there, noting the way that the small groups congregating there had a strange sort of energy and furtiveness. He supposed it just made sense. Surely everyone knew by now that Harry, or the person everyone thought was Harry, had been taken by Portkey. He shook his head and flew on, trying to keep his thoughts straight. If everything went as planned, then everyone would be celebrating shortly.
And then . . . for the first time, Harry remembered the name Draco had given to those in his house who were trying to kill Harry—the Seven Deadly Slytherins. The name left him cold. Pansy's Love Potion had been just the first attempt, then, and Charlie's abduction was the fall-out from the second attempt—Goyle's. And five more to come? Harry's stomach did a small flop, which grew into an ache of dread when he remembered asking Tobias Wafting to get information about the Slytherin plans from that Twitchtie girl if he could. That had not been a good idea. Harry made a mental note to talk to Tobias again as soon as things settled down.
Ten days? Harry gave himself a mental kick for staying down so long. He just hoped nothing had already happened to the boy while he was out.
Just then, Harry reached the Fat Lady's Portrait and wrestled with himself over the quickest way in. Finally dismounting, he hurried over to the portrait and froze as he realized that the password would have changed.
Harry swore under his breath.
"Oh my, who's there?" The Fat Lady paused before opening, but when Harry didn't answer, she just sighed peevishly. "Another student up to no good, I'll wager. What is this house coming to?"
Harry looked around with fevered intent, hoping to see a student coming up, but there was no one. He would have to wait. Harry did not do waiting well. He gritted his teeth and sent mental messages in the direction of the Portrait Hole, "Come out and go to dinner. You need to take a walk. You need to talk to a Professor. Come on, somebody, open up!"
No one came, and Harry redoubled his efforts. To his surprise, the door popped open with a crack and Lavender Brown came out into the hallway, looking confused. Harry mounted his broom and kicked off, hovering above head level and ducking down to slip inside the hole. As he breezed by Lavender, she shivered.
"Lavender, what are you doing?" called Parvati from the couch.
"I don't know," Lavender said breathlessly, pulling the door shut and looking around with another shiver. "I just felt like the door needed to be opened, so I did it. And then I felt this . . . presence come over me."
"Really?" squeaked a Second Year whose name Harry could never remember. Suddenly, most of the Common Room was paying attention to them.
"Oh yes," Lavender said in a deeper tone, "I really think that . . . I think that it was . . . a visit from beyond the grave!"
To Harry's disgust, a respectful gasping went around the room. Lavender sat right on the floor there beckoned to some of the other girls, getting out Tarot cards like Trelawney's. Though some of the boys threw pillows in her direction and griped at her to shut it, Lavender had a fair audience of girls for her impromptu séance. Harry took off up the stairs as soon as he could do so without giving Lavender more mysterious wind to work with.
His mind was racing as he landed in front of the Sixth Boys dormitory. Still Disillusioned, he hoped that there wouldn't be anyone inside to hide from, as he'd be ransacking Ron's things in short order. Opening the door and swiftly moving inside, Harry was relieved to see the room empty. Then there was a hiccoughing sigh from behind Neville's bed hangings and Harry froze. Small sobbing noises escaped despite what sounded like desperate attempts to stifle them.
Wincing, Harry continued on over to Ron's bed, treading lightly. He had no time for Neville right now.
"Sorry, Harry," Neville choked out in a muffled voice. Harry whirled around, but the bed was still shut up tight. "'m so sorry." Confused, Harry stood stock still for a moment, then felt understanding dawn. Had no one told Neville that the real Harry hadn't been taken? Obviously not from the way his friend was sobbing.
"Bloody hell," Harry whispered in a tense voice, then turned back to continue on. He didn't have time to mess about when Charlie's life was on the line. He'd show himself to Neville when he got back.
As he reached Ron's bed, he was shocked to see Galleons strewn across it at random, as though someone had already been searching for them. Ron's money bag lay open on the bed. Harry grabbed it, fumbled with it and then threw it back down. It was empty—someone had already thought of this. His hopes fell faster than a Bludger. Had the other Portkey been found? When he'd overheard the others in the hallway, it had sounded like there was a plan in motion. And Harry easily believed that Ginny would have remembered the Galleon she had found, but Ron—?
Obviously, no one would be able to make the Portkey work except Harry or someone Polyjuiced to look like him and Harry fervently hoped no one had tried that. Surely Dumbledore wouldn't risk that. From what Draco had said, the plan hinged on Death Eater Snape and no one else.
Harry closed his eyes and tried Sensing over the coins, looking for a magical aura over any of them. In the darkness behind his lids, Harry saw the faint glow of his broom from where it was propped against the bed. There was also a faint overall glow on Ron's bed, as if it had collected the magical essence of the person who had slept there every night for years. But the coins themselves were like small, round voids on the bed. No magical energy at all. Harry cursed loudly.
A sudden silence fell over the room. Harry froze—all noise from Neville's bed had ceased. He had to do this quickly. There was only one hope left, and that was that Ron's rather impressive gift for disorganization had triumphed in this case.
"H—h—hello?" Neville's voice came from behind him, along with the familiar stirrings of someone rising out of bed.
"Accio Galleon," Harry whispered, aiming the desperate spell at Ron's trunk. Maybe Ron had put it some place else on a whim? But after a moment, he knew it was a lost cause. No coins came forward at all.
"Is somebody there?" Neville's voice was firmer now and Harry turned to see his friend standing beside his bed uneasily. The boy's eyes were red and watery, but there was a determined look on his face. When no one answered him, Neville drew his wand and his face darkened. "I know someone's there. Tell me who it is or I'll hex you where you stand." His gaze was off by about five feet, but Harry knew he couldn't continue to fool his friend.
With a sigh, he tapped his head with his wand and Disillusioned himself.
Neville went white as a sheet. "H-H-Harry? Is it really you? Are you—are you okay?" He jerked several steps forward and then stopped. "Did they let you go?" he asked, looking confused at his own question.
"No, Neville," Harry said quickly, "that wasn't me they took. That was Charlie Polyjuiced to look like me. I just woke up in the Hospital Wing and dashed here. Do you know who took one of Ron's Galleons?"
"Wow," Neville breathed, "so they didn't get you? But they got—they got Charlie instead?" He frowned suddenly. "By now, the Polyjuice will have worn off."
"Yes, it will and I've got to go get him back here."
"That's what I was going to do! I mean, back when I thought it was you," Neville said, looking suddenly energized. "But the bloody thing wouldn't take me!"
Harry started walking toward Neville, his mind reeling. "You mean . . . you tried to use the Portkey to come find me? All alone?"
"Yeah."
Harry wanted to follow this up further, but his mind was putting two and two together—the Galleons spread out on Ron's bed, Neville crying on his bed, alone. "So . . . you've got the Galleon Portkey, then?"
"What? Oh. Yeah, it's right here, I think," Neville said, drawing it out of his pocket and offering it to Harry. "But it doesn't work."
Harry almost took it, but stopped himself just in time. "Wait," he barked out, taking a moment to Disillusion himself.
"Wow," Neville said, suddenly staring at nothing. "Harry, how'd you do that? Is that like the way the Aurors do it? Harry?" Harry's only response was to steel himself and force his hand forward until it grasped the Portkey. The world blurred around him in a familiar wash of reality and darkness that took his breath. Then Harry felt his feet hit the floor and he worked hard to stay upright. He saw at once that he was in a cage in the center of a shadowy room with stone walls. The wall directly in front of him had manacles hanging from it at random heights.
Then a klaxxon split the air and Harry clapped his hands to his ears. It was an alarm; it had to be. Around him, he caught glimpses of a fire place and a long table with restraints embedded in its metal sides. By now, the siren's noise had crept inside Harry's skull and he could feel it vibrating with each screaming pulse. If someone didn't turn it off he might go mad.
But just then a Death Eater appeared at an opening that must have lead to the door. He lurched forward with an uneven gait, clutching convulsively at one knee and at one ear. While several feet away from the wall, he aimed his wand at a section devoid of manacles and shot off a red jet of light. The wall imploded, leaving a jagged hole. Rocks flew outward for a distance of five feet, hitting the shield the man had quickly pulled up in front of himself. The man, if it was a man, turned away with disgusted, jerky movements and bent over. He looked like he was in pain. Had Tom punished his followers for not capturing the real Harry Potter? Good. It was making them sloppy now. The Death Eater gave the cage a cursory glance before continuing his pained walk back to the entrance he had come.
Harry took his hands down from his ears, horrified to hear nothing but a dull roar and the thudding of his own heart. It was as if someone had stuffed cotton in his ears. He shook his head and considered his situation more carefully. The first thing he had to do was find Charlie. Carefully, trying to make no noise at all—though he truly could not hear—Harry turned to look at the rest of the room, feeling suddenly sluggish. He stumbled forward and rested a hand on the bars, determinedly continuing to peer into the shifting shadows of the torchlight. Two walls were bare of anything but manacles. Turning slowly to the final one, Harry let out a silent gasp. Limp in metal wrist cuffs, feet dragging the ground helplessly, was Charlie.
His head hung down, obscuring his face from view. He was shirtless, with various welts and burns and cuts all over his torso and graying skin where it could be seen. The pants he wore—Harry's—had been ripped open in several places and blood lay darkly crusted at a gash on his right thigh, just above the knee. It was almost impossible to believe this was Charlie Weasley, and Harry had a moment of total unreality.
He seemed to float off from his body, his mind clouding over as it tried to reconcile that cast-off, abused body with the laughing, canny, second-born Weasley he knew so well. But it was impossible. It was absolutely impossible that someone could treat Charlie so horribly, that someone could pretend to be that unaware of how much his family loved him, how much they would die to be here in his place, and how anguished they were all feeling now not knowing. Then he remembered the laughter as Tom had tortured Harry at the graveyard, how the Death Eaters had loved to see the Boy-Who-Lived brought low, hurt and humiliated and how Lucius had continued that goal on his own.
With a jolt, Harry was back, feeling fury like hot lava bubbling up inside him, fueling his hatred and giving his mind a sudden focus. Tom was responsible for this. Tom had made Charlie suffer just because he wasn't Harry. A primal scream was pressing to spring from Harry's lips, but he bit down on his tongue until it bled and waited, trembling with . . . with . . . exhaustion?
Harry's knees buckled and hit the bottom of the cage. What was this? His fury abated, drained just as quickly as his energy had been. He could barely keep his head up. The cage was cursed, he knew suddenly without a doubt. He raised his wand with sheer force of will. Grunting with effort, he started to speak. But before the spell made it out, Harry's eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the floor, sprawled out. With fierce concentration, he kept his wand in his hand.
From somewhere distant came the sound of iron scraping iron, muffled in a strange way. The first thing Harry saw when he opened his eyes was the Death Eater looking into the cage, eyes narrowed behind the white mask. Then his eyes fell closed again and he slept.