Chapter Fourteen: A Dark Haze of Power

The sound of someone screaming sank its teeth and nails into him, dragging him from the darkness, unwilling. He felt drugged and heavy, but his senses quickened as soon as he recognized the sound coming from across the room. Harry's eyes flew open and he took in his surroundings: the metal cage around him, the amber glow of torchlight. The fact that his body was invisible all the while kick-started his memory and brought him up-to-date. Disillusioned. Portkey. Charlie.

Another scream, hoarser.

Harry jerked upright, shaking his head when it went dizzy on him. Charlie was being tortured—now. Harry shot up to his feet, wand in hand, registering vague surprise that he was not being tortured himself. Malicious laughter rang out from behind. Harry spun and froze, motionless, feeling as if he'd hurtled the finish line only to slam into a brick wall. He couldn't get a breath. There was no way he had been prepared for this . . . .

Charlie Weasley was strapped to the table, arms stretched wide, taut and trembling against the metal restraints. He was silent now, eyes slitted in fatigue or relief, but his mouth was open, gasping for air. There were horrible burn marks decorating his naked torso, and slashes dripping blood on both of his arms. Over him were two Death Eaters, masks off, wands up, chanting and circling in some kind of grotesque dance of death.

"Can he take much more? How much can he take? Is he crazy yet? I hope—for his sake."

Then with a whirling turn, the Death Eater farthest from him, one Harry didn't recognize, jabbed his wand at Charlie. "Crucio!"

When Charlie again began to yell hoarsely, as if his throat was too raw to make much sound, Harry suddenly noticed movement in the ceiling over the table. Ducking lower to get a better angle, his jaw dropped. It was a mirror . . . a bloody mirror! As long as Charlie's eyes were open, he would be forced to watch himself tortured. And the Death Eaters could enjoy their twisted evil from any vantage point they wanted, could drink in every detail. Like Lucius. Just like Lucius' Hall of Mirrors.

Harry straightened and forced his gaze on Charlie again. The room was turning dark around him and his breathing grew harsh. It all came back—the helplessness, the humiliation, and the black roar of pain that was never satiated, no matter how many times his body was sacrificed—the convulsive reality of it had never left. He could still feel it, bleeding in his chest, leaking out of his eyes, screaming in his ears.

Then the curse was ended, and Harry saw, as if at the end of a long, dark tunnel, that Charlie sagged back against the table in deep, shuddering relief. Harry shuddered with him. Seconds ticked by, and Harry slowly blinked his way back to full awareness. This time, it wasn't him. A grim smile took over his face. It wasn't him they were torturing, and that had been their first mistake.

In between the space of one heartbeat and the next, Harry's wand slashed out and the door of the cage went crashing into the wall. The Death Eaters spun, gasped, turned their wands on nothing. Harry was striding out of the cage, toward them now. He didn't know what curse he'd just flung at the door; fury had demanded it, just as it now demanded that he take out every one of these—

They dove apart at his next curse, spilling fearful oaths into the air.

"Who's there?" one demanded as he crouched behind the table. A second later, he was flung into the wall head over heels. Harry vaguely recognized the twisted face of McNair as he slid to the floor.

The other man's face blanched and he ran from Charlie's side. "Intruders, Master!" he yelled and as Harry bore down on him, the sound of a gong reverberated in the room. Wildly, the man went on, "He's coming! He's coming and you don't want to be here when he gets here."

"Oh, don't I just?" Harry ground out before sent a blinding Bludgeoning Curse his way, but the man dodged it by diving behind the cage. He rolled over and returned an Eviscerating Curse that would have sliced Harry longwise if it had connected, but it was still a good two feet to the right. Disillusionment Charms work. Harry, about to attack again, paused to run and check on Charlie.

He swallowed hard when he saw his friend's eyes were closed. No longer in Harry-disguise, his familiar freckles were connected by random dots and dashes of blood, displayed darkly against his pale, ashy skin. He was so still that Harry put a careful hand on his chest, and was relieved to feel the small stirring of breath. Bowing his head in quick relief, Harry inhaled deeply before turning to undo Charlie's bonds. The older Weasley's arms were cut and bloody where the restraints had bit into him. But Pomfrey could heal that when—

A red jet blasted the table just beside Harry's hand, scorching it so that he had to bite back a cry. He whipped around the see the lone Death Eater standing just behind the cage, staring at the ground behind Harry. At his shadow. "Got you!" he hissed suddenly, then aimed another Eviscerating Curse.

"Protego!" Harry shouted and the curse rebounded on his shield, forcing the Death Eater to dive away from the bars. "Stupefy!" The man kept rolling and the spell missed him by inches. He jumped back to his feet, grinning evilly.

"I know that voice. Is it a visit from the real and true Harry Potter, then? The one as fell in love with my little Pansy?" Harry stopped, searching the man's face, and suddenly recognized familiar traits. It was Pansy's father, probably half-mad already from losing his daughter. "The one what killed her?" Parkinson's face twisted. "If I can get you, Potter, the Dark Lord won't have nothin' left to spit on. You miserable, cursed—"

Harry's fast-flung curse beat his by seconds, but was aimed at the cage, blasting it satisfactorily apart. One section came nicely close to taking off the man's head. But Parkinson dodged it, screaming out something unintelligible before slinging another curse in Harry's direction. It missed. Footsteps rang out in the hall behind Harry. He ducked down, running for the far wall, thankful for the Disillusionment Charm. Parkinson's next curse hit feet behind him and the man continued cursing him foully.

Harry could just take Charlie and go, reactivating the Galleon Portkey in his Hospital Wing pajama pocket. He probably should. But something made him hesitate. It wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. That man had been torturing Charlie. If anyone deserved Azkaban, he did. Lucius, too? a soft whisper in his mind suggested. Lucius, too. Harry agreed, sending off a red-hot Bludgeoning Curse.

It hit dead-on. Parkinson, who had been creeping along, squinting and spitting in his attempt to find Harry, flew back and hit the wall with a jarring thud. He slid to the ground and fell sideways, eyes wide open, just as the other Death Eaters appeared at the entrance, white masks in place, looking alert.

"What the hell's going on? Parkinson? Check him!" said one, sounding as if he were in charge. "McNair?"

"Over there!" Two of the figures in black headed for McNair's collapsed body, while the other two skirted around the collapsed cage to Parkinson, much closer to Harry.

"Someone's been here," shouted a Death Eater in a thick, guttural voice. He was heavyset and his movements seemed to trigger something in Harry's memory.

"Oh, really?" the lead Death Eater said, stressing the word with sarcasm, "Do tell. And do any of you see this invisible intruder, or does your upper level thinking extend that far?"

"No."

"No, sir." Reports came eventually from all four Death Eaters.

"No, your upper level thinking doesn't extend that far, or no, you don't see the intruder?"

They exchanged glances. One chuckled nervously, then answered. "No, we don't see the intruder. Do you?"

The Death Eater leader inclined his head. "He's a child and wishes to play hide and seek. Two of you cover the exit." The four hesitated. "Oh, for gods' sake, you two cover the door and you two scout around and look for Potter."

The two nearest Harry scurried to obey, the heavyset man among them.

"P-P-Potteh?" One of the men left behind stuttered out, raising his wand higher. He was the thinnest of the Death Eaters, and his voice had a nasal quality.

"Well, yes," the leader said lazily, heading over to Charlie's prone form. "Naturally. Who else would have used the Portkey to come but him? Their first attempt at subterfuge was a disaster, and they won't risk sending another stooge. The only person idiotic slash heroic enough to come here and fight his way out is—"

"Potter!" one man said triumphantly, turning to look around the room with renewed interest. The other man left looked more hesitant.

"But Snape said he was still undah—tha' the Potteh brat was still in a coma or somefing. Ain' tha' righ'?"

"Well, apparently he's woken up. And he looks to be a quite pissed off at the moment, so keep your wands ready." He stopped beside Charlie and Harry's breath hitched. "Weasley. Too bad he's out cold. Might be fun to see him beg Potter to leave and save himself. That's what they always do." The bastard looked suddenly taken aback. "Was that a moan, Weasley? Not dead yet? In pain? You don't know the meaning of the word." He leaned over, close to Charlie's incoherent face. "If you're around when we catch baby Potty, then you'll see pain." He laughed. A ragged bit of memory came back to Harry, of a man named Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix's husband. Hadn't he been in the Department of Ministries?

Harry gritted his teeth and kept his wand at the ready. As soon as they had their backs to him all at once, then they would see pain. Rubbing the sheen of his wand with nervous fingers, Harry forced himself to carefully calculate the risk before acting. He could do this, if he didn't make any mistakes. Right now, he needed to wait. Both of the Death Eaters at the entrance turned to look at Lestrange. The other two were splashing clouds of dust at the area around McNair, hesitantly searching for Harry. Their wands were up and they weren't far from Lestrange. Any spell Harry used would give his location away to some degree and then the odds would be five-to-one.

No problem.

Erecting the shield in his mind, Harry silently cast a spell against it, mouthing the words. "Serpensortia Sextus!" From his wand came six hissing snakes that fell heavily to the ground just feet away.

"There," Lestrange barked out, pointing at the origin of the snakes. "There! Get him! He's there!"

Curses flew, hitting behind Harry as he took off in a dead run, his bare feet making no noise on the cold stone. He hugged the wall, hissing commands in the sibilant tongue of the snake. The snakes obeyed and slithered toward the Death Eaters. The two over by McNair were the closest. No less than four snakes went on the offensive in that direction, driving them back and dodging spells with lightning speed, intent on the kill.

"I 'ate snakes! Did it 'ave to be ruddy snakes?" The skinny one was trying to hold his ground, but shooting glances over at the table with Charlie on it, as if contemplating the jump. Harry found himself hoping the snakes were as deadly as they looked.

"Just kill them!" yelled the other Death Eater as he threw a green curse at the first of the four. It enveloped the creature in a haze of green, causing an immediate seizure. Seconds later, the snake dissolved. Two other snakes darted forward, and the man only caught one with a curse before the other sank its fangs into his arm. The man howled.

The other Death Eater screamed as well, then turned tail and ran for the table, the last of the four snakes in hot pursuit.

"Ahhhh! It's gonna' kill me!"

"I certainly hope so!" snapped Lestrange, "Can you not at least die quietly?" But he Vanished the smaller snake before whipping back to the other two.

Those snakes had slithered away toward the entryway and were now growing at an alarming rate, since Harry had sent two Engorging Spells at them. One Death Eater, the smaller of the two, had banished a snake as soon as it reached them. The other had been left to grow to ten times its previous mass. It scraped forward over the stone floor, hissing so loudly that the room rumbled. The larger Death Eater at the door threw a Scorching Spell at it and managed to burn himself when it bounced off the creature's scales. Even Lestrange seemed at a loss.

"Well. That's a problem."

Then the skinny Death Eater was screaming again, as the last of the small snakes had turned on him and chased him back over to Charlie. The idiot was actually going to throw himself up on the table! With a grunt, Harry spun a Stunner toward him and knocked him back off, screaming. The screaming grew louder and unintelligible.

Harry felt a brief flare of satisfaction before something hurtling toward him caught his eye. He dove but felt the sting of something catching his back and side. A noxious smell covered him and he came up with his shield in place He'd given away his location.

"I've got him! Concidus!" screamed Lestrange. "Excorio!"

Harry, partly blinded and now visible from the spray of what smelled like tar, stood his ground and nothing penetrated his shield. He tried to clear away some of the globules of tar that had struck his glasses, and was only partially successful. Everything had a smear of black over it. At least no but Lestrange was throwing hexes at him.

"I can't—they just bounce off—Ahhhh!" From the direction of the entryway came awful tearing noises and shrieks.

"Stop that thing! S—S—Someone—stop it! I can't—"

Lestrange stopped his barrage a moment. "Shoot for its open mouth, Flint, you idiot!"

In that instant, Harry cast a cleansing spell on himself—

The Death Eater shot a Bludgeoning Spell jet into the snake's huge jaws and it came out the other side, bringing blood and cartilage spraying over the walls. The snake collapsed.

—and Flint flew back threw the entryway, the victim of another of Harry's Bludgeoning Curses.

Lestrange whipped around, cursing colorfully. The other Death Eaters were unconscious now, victims of apparently quick-working venom. It was just Harry and Lestrange.

"Oh, so very clever, are we, Potty baby?" Lestrange said tightly. "Not so clever that the Dark Lord can't cure you of that when he arrives. His curses have a way of making things so very clear. Wouldn't you agree?" And on that last word, he threw more tar straight ahead. It impacted the wall and stuck. Lestrange moved on, slowly, listening for any movement.

Harry felt safe where he was. He had ducked down behind the large, fallen body of McNair, turned up on his side. There was lots of bulk to hide behind. Tar flew from Lestrange's wand again and again, bathing the walls all around, but little else. The man was careful not to turn his back to the area Harry was hiding in, and slowly Harry's hopes waned. Lestrange apparently knew almost where he was and it was just a matter of time.

Indeed, just at that moment, the Death Eater paused and pulled off his mask. Rodolphus was pale and waxy, his face so skeletal that he was barely recognizable. Tom did not reward his followers well. "Doubtless you already know who I am, Potter. You know I've been in Azkaban; you know I've seen the worst your side can do to me. And from what Bella has told me, I've seen much worse than anything you can do." He sniggered nastily. "Bella said that your Cruciatus was more a tickle than an Unforgiveable. Have you ever told anyone about that?" He was standing and staring out, addressing the room at large. "I imagine not. Wouldn't do much good for the Ministry to catch wind of that, now would it? They'd love an excuse to get rid of you, you know. Begging for it." Rodolphus smiled again, and Harry's stomach nudged its way up into his Adam's apple. The man was playing with him, as if he knew exactly where he was . . .

"By the way, the Dark Lord taught me this curse. You know what is the best thing about this tar? It's flammable. Igneus!"

And with that, hot, orange, flames shot from his wand, from the floor up to five feet high, burning until the tar itself caught, melting and running flames down into the cracks between stones. Lestrange laughed maniacally and sent flames just a few feet from McNair. Harry took off at a dead run in the opposite direction, hearing the flames roar behind him, eyes set on Charlie. It was time to use the Portkey.

Then Lestrange shouted again and flames leapt to life in front of Harry. The roar buried his own shout of fear. His arms went up block the flames and then he was on fire—his pajama sleeve blazed up—and his other hand seared in the hot flame. Then he was on the ground, squirting water out of his wand, coughing on smoke until his eyes ran, putting out the flames and jerking up the biggest shield he was capable of just as Lestrange sent the flames again.

Breathing harshly, grinding out his groans of pain, Harry pulled his burned hand into his stomach and rested it there. Tears were leaking out his eyes, and the flames in front of him were blinding, hungry waves that threatened to crash over him at any second. With a will, Harry stood up and started walking toward Lestrange, step by step. Ignoring the messages of pain his seared hand, arm and, suddenly, his face were sending him, Harry walked closer to Lestrange. He had to be close to the man to make this work. He wasn't sure if it would, but it suddenly seemed like the only solution.

Then the flames were pulled away and Harry blinked. Acting quickly, he jerked away his shield and cancelled the Disillusionment Charm.

Lestrange, only feet away now, smiled. "Potter, how nice to see you charred. My Master would especially relish the sight. Does this mean you'll come quietly, or shall I need more flames to convince you?"

Harry lifted his wand. "Legilimens!"

A blur of images came at him so quickly that he had difficulty sorting them out: a tall, thin man holding the hand of a little girl, a blond wig and a dark one, red eyes and an outstretched wand, Charlie Weasley screaming—

Then flames were coming at Harry again, and he jerked up his shield. But he was close enough now to see the dark eyes narrowed in malicious glee, and he focused on them through the flames. The dark eyes faltered, then widened.

Harry's gray screen in his mind was now wand-shaped and pointed at Lestrange. With a roar of fierce determination, Harry attacked Lestrange's mind, jabbing at the man's consciousness, seeking to tear anything vulnerable, to end the flames. Two seconds later, the fire was gone. Lestrange gave a strange bleating noise and collapsed on the spot. Harry staggered and stared at the man for a moment. What had he just done?

Glancing around at the room, he was amazed to see it looking so destroyed. There was burning tar still seeping in the cracks of the floor, blood, guts and ooze from the snake scattered about, five bodies in various disarray, one torn apart so viciously by the snake that Harry had to turn away. He picked his way around the broken bits of the cage walked over to Charlie, finally realizing that the one sleeve of his pajamas that had caught on fire was blackened, but still in one piece. In fact, it didn't feel as if his arm was badly burned underneath. He looked at the Infirmary pajamas with newfound respect.

Feeling as if he hadn't been breathing properly for a long time, Harry sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. New resolve slowly filled his mind. He needed to get Charlie to Hogwarts so Madame Pomfrey could tend to him. Right. But leaving all these Death Eaters alive and ready to pick up their activities at a moment's notice just didn't seem right.

Harry turned and held up his wand. "Accio wands!" From every corner of the room came wands propelled in his direction, raining to the floor beside him. He stowed his wand in its holder and tucked the rest in the pocket of his pajamas, careful to put them in the pocket that wasn't holding the Galleon. Now to get Charlie out. Tom wasn't here and obviously, Tom wasn't coming. If Harry was honest with himself, he was half-disappointed. A grim smile wreathed his face. At least he was leaving them humiliated and torn apart this time.

Charlie was still on the table, breathing softly and moaning under his breath. Harry's chest got tight as he drew nearer and he looked away from his friend again. The movement overhead caught his eye and Harry stared up at the mirror, revulsed.

There lay Charlie, broken and on display like a discarded body at the morgue, with Harry beside him, his pale face reddened on one side by burns, his hair singed and disheveled. Another time gripped him, a memory of seeing himself in the mirrored hall at Malfoy Manor, beaten and humiliated by the hand of one of the Dark Lord's own. Bitterness twisted his face, fury gripped him and his wand was in his hand before he knew it.

Caution barely won out. Wait.

Harry looked back down at Charlie and lifted him with a whispered, "Mobililus Corpus." After Charlie was out of the way, Harry looked up and directed the gray shield in his mind, forming a wand and sending a vicious Bludgeoning Curse upwards. The blow shattered the glass on impact, and broken shards like jagged hail rained down on the table beneath. Harry let himself imagine Lucius tied down there—impaled over and over again—before turning away.

He knelt and canceled the spell holding Charlie, then spent a few seconds adjusting his weight, worried about aggravating Charlie's injuries. Forcing himself to go quickly, he took Charlie's hand in his own burned one, the pain making him light-headed. "Accio Galleon," he whispered, and as the coin flew out of his pocket, he forced his hand and Charlie's to close upon it.

There was a jerk behind his navel, a rush of wild colors and a yell of pain that Harry knew to be his own. He half-expected Tom to interrupt him again, but the colors of Gryffindor's Sixth Year Boys' Dorm settled around them and a familiar yell sounded in his ear.

"Harry!" Pounding footsteps came near, and it was Ron kneeling by him. "Mate!" he said hoarsely, "I didn't think you were—" his eyes went to Charlie and stayed there, words and all thought seeming to leave him at once. "Is he—?"

There was a strange whispering from out in the hallway, as if people were crowded out there, waiting, but Harry couldn't think why that would be.

"He's alive. He needs help." Harry started to shift Charlie onto the floor as carefully as he could, hearing voices out in the hallway spreading the news. Ron was stiff as a poker, and so pale Harry wondered if he were going to faint.

"Let me help, Harry," came a sleep-roughened voice, and Dean was on Charlie's other side, easing him into a more comfortable position. "He looks bad, Ron. Maybe you should call Dumbledore."

"Already done," called a voice from the doorway, and Harry looked over to see Hermione's wan face just outside. She tried to smile at him, then froze, seeming to suck in a breath at the sight of him. "Oh, Harry—"

"I'm fine," he called to her in a hoarse voice, "tell everyone I'm fine." But he wasn't. He turned back to the other boys, his hand hurting so badly that simply breathing was a chore.

Mrs. Weasley's voice, thick with relief, came next from the hallway. "Boys, be careful with him—oh, Harry! Harry, you did it, didn't you? Oh, bless you boy, you brought back my Charlie to me!" Harry glanced over and felt his eyes tear up as she started sobbing. He was split down the middle—relieved to be back, but ashamed that Charlie had been in danger because of him again.

"Harry, our thanks can never be enough," Mr. Weasley put in, sticking his head through and smiling at Harry briefly. "Ron, let's get Charlie to the Infirmary,"

"Oh, right," Ron said distantly, holding his wand out and blinking as though a fog had been obscuring his sight. "Charlie to the Infirmary." But it was Neville who stepped forward and whispered the incantation, and Ron followed him blankly. Harry found himself being helped up by Seamus.

"Looks like you got tangled up with another Blast-Ended Skrewt, Harry," he said with a wan smile. "Poppy won't be happy about that at all." Harry smiled a bit at the familiar use of the Healer's nickname, but couldn't say anything. His hand was on fire, and the rest of his body was sweating to keep up. "You know those extra wards they put up on our dorm room? Well they work dem fine! When the Weasleys and the girls rushed in here to find you, they ended up wandless and tied from head to foot. I was laughing so hard when I came in that it was a while before I realized something was really wrong." He swallowed. "Glad you're back, mate. We were running out of ways to keep Ron put. And Neville was almost as bad."

"That's the truth," Dean muttered. Harry nodded, wishing he could clear away the fog that was creeping into his own head. So that was why everyone was still in the hallway—the wards. "What's wrong with your hand?" Harry was holding it in tight to his stomach, trying to keep from jostling it.

"Burned," he said shortly. "Dean, there's wands in my pocket—Death-Eater wands. Would you get them out and give them to Dumbledore?"

"What?" Dean said incredulously. "Blimey, of course. You really beat them, then, didn't you?" He shook his head, seeming to need to clear it, then stuck his hand in the pocket of Harry's pajamas and pulled out seven wands. "Cor. Did you kill them, Harry?"

"No, of course not," he said emphatically, then hesitated. "Well, not all of them. I think three were dead." It was disconcerting to him to remember. He hadn't actually cast the killing curse; his snakes had done the work for him. But it was his spell nonetheless.

Dean and Seamus exchanged looks. Seamus, looking awed, reached for the wands in Dean's hands, cursing low under his breath.

"Who'd you get?" Neville asked quietly, and Harry turned to look him in the eyes. They'd never spoken of it, but Harry knew they both wanted revenge on the same person.

"Bellatrix wasn't there. I, er, hurt Rodolphus pretty bad, though. Took out Marcus Flint with a Bludgeoning Curse and Pansy Parkinson's Dad, as well. Not sure of who the dead are."

"Flint?" Dean muttered. "Imagine that. Flint."

"Good job, Harry," Neville said in a voice that grew more unsteady as he went, "good on you. Just . . . next time . . . take me, too, okay?" His pleading eyes made their point and then the taller boy turned away. Harry said nothing, slightly taken aback.

Now they were at the door and the next few minutes went by in a sort of a blur of concerned faces and hushed voices. No one asked him any direct questions and the world began to narrow down to him and the pain in his arm. He knew that Mr. Weasley had covered Charlie in a thin, silky blanket that he conjured, and was now levitating his son to the Infirmary. He had heard the stampings of feet as the other Gryffindors arrived from their dormitories into the Common Room, and barely managed to notice that many started yelling encouraging but meaningless things as he left the room, like "Way to go, Harry!" and "We knew you'd be back!" and rot like that. He had to remind himself that they'd been worried about him all day, and managed to give them a wave that sent up a cheer just as he climbed through the Portrait Hole.

"Yeah," Ron said, suddenly beside Harry as they climbed up a narrow ridge of stairs Harry had never been on before. "Yeah, you're back. And you did it. I don't know mate," he said with a serious look on his face, "maybe there's something to this you-being-the-One thing after all."

Harry gave a sideways glance and was glad to see him smiling a bit, even though he was still pale.

"Thanks, mate," he said, clapping a hand on Harry's back and jarring Harry's hand terribly. "Oh—sorry! Sorry! It's that bad, huh?"

After a few minutes of apologizing and trying to help Harry which only ended up in hurting him more, Ron left well enough alone and pulled out the stone. "It's been going nutters ever since you woke up. Hungry, in pain, unconsciousness, in a hell of a lot of pain once or twice." He slipped it back into his pocket. "I dunno. Kind of makes it harder in a way not to be there with you."

"Where's Hermione?" Harry finally thought to ask.

"She's got Prefect duty tonight in the dorm, all of 'em do since you're back and so much has gone wrong around here lately. Security's been beefed up a bit. Teachers walking the corridors, you know." Harry was glad to hear Ron talking more normally again, but he could still hear the tenseness in his friend's voice. "But it's Nnot enough if you take into account what happened—what happened today."

The processional marched on, and Harry knew they were taking shortcuts to the Infirmary he should be watching carefully, but wasn't. The hallways must have been cleared out ahead of time, because they saw no gaping students, and no other teachers. He kept looking at the other Weasleys, noting the horrified, but hopeful, looks on their faces. Fred and George were the only ones not present, and Harry wanted to ask where they were, but kept his own counsel. Bill's face was ashen and set in granite as he helped his mum along.

"Almost there, Harry," he asked tersely and gave him a brief look before moving on. Harry nodded, and kept climbing the stairway. He had the impression that they were just going to keep climbing up to the Astronomy Tower and send Charlie off to St. Mungo's on a broomstick ambulance. The image was enough to make him smile. Then his knees gave way and he sat heavily on the stone stairs. He didn't think he would be able to stand again without help. Why didn't they—

Then several people exclaimed as the stairs gave a jolt, then a heave and started to move up on their own. Ron cursed loudly.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley!"

"Hang on to the rails, every one," Bill shouted, "Harry's triggered the Infirmary Upscalator."

And so he had. It was a nice ride—much nicer than walking. The Upscalator moved as smoothly as Harry needed it to and came to a complete halt as soon as Harry reached the top. There, it propped the step Harry was seated on up enough for him to step down easily. Bill caught his good hand with a grin, then apologized as Harry winced. His "good" hand still had a good burn from one of Parkinson's curses and he showed it to Bill ruefully.

"Best get you patched up, eh?" Bill said, leading Harry through the doors. "And this time, try to stay put 'til they kick you out." He ruffled Harry's hair, then seemed to think better of it and leaned over to give Harry a one-armed hug. "Thanks, Harry. Anything you need—ever—you let me know."

Madame Pomfrey was directing Mr. Weasley to put Charlie in an empty bed nearest the corner, and she immediately pulled the sheet. Harry could hear Mrs. Weasley following her, trying to make her understand that he was injured as well. But he hoped the Healer would tend to Charlie first; he needed it worst.

"Oh, Harry," said a quiet voice, and Harry turned to see Ginny beside him. She was studying his face and for some reason he suddenly felt as if he wanted to burst into tears. Instead, he swallowed hard and looked at the floor. She was going to yell at him for disappearing like that, he knew. Or maybe she would feel the need to apologize for the Love Potion fiasco first. He didn't want her to do either. Instead, to his relief, soft arms slid around his waist, her head leaned against his chest and she sighed, "thank you. I didn't want you to do it, but I'm so glad you did. You have no idea . . . how horrible it was . . . but I knew you'd come back." She pulled away to look at him, her face transformed from sadness and tears by the brilliant light in her eyes. "I told them all you'd do it."

Harry flushed, and felt suddenly very unwell. It must have shown on his face, because Ginny let him go and stepped back. "We need to get you into bed," she said, a brisk note creeping into her voice. "You and I can talk later. Now, don't argue with me." But he wasn't going to. He had just opened his mouth to ask what she wanted to talk about. But as she directed him to a nearby bed, he suddenly felt that he didn't need to ask. There were things he wanted to say to her, too.

"Be right back, mate," Ron said quietly and walked with Bill over to check on Charlie. Ginny helped Harry pull back the covers and get him settled.

The drawling voice that came almost immediately from across the room grated on Harry's last nerves. "Well, look who made it back in one piece: The-Boy-Who-Lives-for-Attention. Have a good time getting in the headlines?"

Harry snapped back without even looking, which was probably a mistake. "No, Draco, your father wasn't there—now quit needling me for information and go back to sulking."

He barely had time to notice that Draco seemed to have snapped before the wild-looking youth jumped to his feet, picked up a thankfully empty chamber pot nearby and chucked it right at Harry. As luck would have it, the pot connected with Harry's bad arm. Thus it was that , and the chamber pot did what five Death Eaters had not accomplished—knocked him out cold. The last thing he heard was Malfoy's howl of, "Nooooooo!"

And, somehow, he knew that a very powerful Bat Bogey Hex was being given at that very moment.