Chapter 38 – Darkness in Halls of Light

Harry was once again wallowing in misery. Not withstanding the efforts of Ron and Hermione to cheer him up, he had been unable to enjoy the passing of the New Year. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing to celebrate. The sight of one girl in particular would have lifted him clean out of his pit of despair, and the fact that she was still alive somewhere in Hogwarts just wasn't enough.

He had been escaping to the Room of Requirement whenever possible to take out his frustrations by running through some of the more vicious jinxes and curses he had learned over the past few months. It was his reasoning that this was best conducted in these surroundings, rather than risking an attack on another student whenever his temper got the better of him. And his temper was really starting to worry him. He had learned to politely excuse himself from the room whenever he feared that he would snap at someone who didn't deserve it, but this was happening with alarming regularity. Somehow, the happiness of others only served to grate on his nerves.

It was as he was aimlessly wandering the corridors deep in thought that Hermione found him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked casually, "I know Ron's been looking for you."

"What did he want?" grumbled Harry in reply.

"Oh, I don't know," she said, glancing critically at him, "Maybe he wanted his best friend back."

"Ron hasn't lost my friendship," he sighed wearily.

"Well, maybe you should tell him that,"

Harry could only gaze at her in disbelief. Hermione took the opportunity to expand on this point.

"I know you've been miserable and I know you have a lot on your mind, but Ron thinks you've just completely turned your back on him. He didn't even start sulking like he used to, instead he's just worried that he's done something wrong to upset you. Harry, I really must insist you go and see him right now and straighten things out. He had another bad Potions lesson today, so I think he could do with a friendly ear."

There was nothing Harry could do but hang his head shamefully. Now that he thought about it, Hermione was right. He had been far too absorbed in his own worries over the past fortnight to notice the people he counted as friends. At that moment, he could only reflect on how selfish he had been. After all, if he had never met Ron, perhaps he would have never found Ginny, and that thought was too terrible to bear.

"I believe you'll find him in the dormitory," smiled Hermione, seeing his thoughts as clearly as a Legilimens.

With a nod of thanks, he dashed off back to Gryffindor Tower.

Upon entering the boys' dormitory and venturing across the room, he noticed a very peculiar sight. Ron was crouched by Harry's bed, examining the base of the woodwork that had traditionally been obscured by a trunk. He didn't even look up at the sound of Harry's footsteps.

"Erm, Ron?" he said cautiously, "I, um…just wanted to talk to you."

No response. This was something else to worry him.

"Look, I know I've been acting like a total prick, and if you want to freeze me out then go ahead, I probably deserve it -,"

"What?" replied Ron, suddenly looking up at him, "No, no…I was just looking at this. I can't believe you haven't seen it before."

Harry crouched on the floor beside his friend and joined him in contemplating the wooden border at the base of his bed frame.

"What exactly am I supposed to be looking at here?" he enquired.

Ron pointed to a panel near the corner. Carved into the oak with a penknife was the inscription 'J.P / L.E' inside a badly scratched heart. Harry would have liked to think that nothing like this could surprise him anymore, but as far as he could tell, the initials could mean only one thing; that his father had once kneeled on that very spot, and most likely slept in the very bed that he now occupied. Oddly enough, he felt more comforted than upset.

"It looks like this bit's loose," Ron remarked, indicating a hairline crack in the wood, "I didn't want to try pulling at it before you could see it yourself."

"Wonder how many people have seen this before…" murmured Harry, running a finger over the scratches.

Now that Harry had joined him, Ron had no moral dilemma about damaging the bed.

"Well, it's been repaired pretty well if anyone's removed it at all," he said as he tugged at the strip of wood, "Probably a bonding charm or something."

"Here, let me try," offered Harry, taking it at one end.

The small panel came away easily under Harry's grip, prompting Ron to give him a bemused stare.

"But…that thing was stuck fast!" he exclaimed.

Harry looked through the gap behind the panel into darkness. He reached inside and, after a few moments, felt his hand close around a small wooden box. Pulling it out into the open and dusting off his sleeve, he got up and placed it on his bed. Ron joined him in examining the curious find.

"Well, go on, open it," urged Ron.

Wiping the lid of the box, Harry opened it slowly and carefully. Lying on top of a pile of parchment was a photograph that had both of them lost for words. It depicted a Quidditch team celebrating a victory, covered in mud but gloriously happy. In the centre of the picture, waving a Gryffindor banner above his head, was boy Harry instantly recognised as his father.

"Wow," Ron smiled, "Why do you think he hid that under there?"

"I…I really don't know," replied Harry, unsure whether to laugh or cry.

He turned it over and read the scrawled writing on the back.

"Dragged Slytherin through the dirt, 370 to 30! Life doesn't get much sweeter than that!"

Harry closed his eyes as he held the picture, wishing more than ever that his parents were alive. Ron sat in silence. If Harry needed time to himself, he would be gone in a flash. After a brief pause, however, the photo was replaced and the contents of the box examined further.

"Dear James," read Harry, after unfolding the first faded piece of parchment, "I realise you have a great deal of growing up to do, but that is still no excuse for embarrassing me in front of my friends! They can't stop teasing me now! Valentines Day it may be, but you can't just march up to me and say those things in the middle of the hall! Perhaps you could send your compliments to me in a more discreet manner, and preferably when your high spirits have calmed down. I'll be waiting… Lily."

Both of them exchanged raised eyebrows at this. Harry couldn't understand why he wasn't sobbing into the sheets by now. Perhaps, he thought, he was just glad to know that his mother and father at least had some good times while they were alive. He was even wondering what kind of bold romantic gesture James Potter had made. The next piece of parchment contained the same delicate hand without the slightest ink smudge. This time, despite the passing of years, he could see that it had been previously folded into a more aerodynamic shape for ease of throwing across a classroom.

"Alright, I'll go to Hogsmeade with you! Just promise me you'll act like the gentleman you claim to be. I did like the flower, by the way. How did you manage to get into the girls' dormitory without being seen? See you later, Lily xxx,"

"Sounds like he was a braver soul than either of us," grinned Ron.

Harry nodded silently as he rifled through the rest of the papers. How had these gone undiscovered for so long? The box was littered with Quidditch strategies, which were, for the most part, interspersed with scribbling based around the general theme of the witch who would become his mother. As he reached the bottom, there was another photograph. This one showed a very handsome young man with a devilish smile on his face, standing next to a very pretty raven haired witch who seemed to be a little camera-shy.

"Isn't that…?" Ron began.

"Yes," replied Harry, "Must be Sirius."

Again, there was a caption written on the back.

"Padfoot and Dorinda – together at last! They always did a lousy job of hiding it…"

Ron looked very confused.

"I'm sure he never said there had been anyone special in his life?" he said, expecting this to be a closely guarded secret of Harry's.

"You know as much as I do," Harry mumbled, wondering if he would ever again be able to reach Sirius in his dreams.

Carefully packing everything back in the box, he decided that this was a piece of history that was best kept hidden. As glad as he was that his parents had been so happy together, it also served as a reminder of the happiness that he himself was lacking. He didn't feel angry, but he was still allowing his emotions to rule him as he sealed the box away under his bed.

The two of them entered the common room in time to see the Patil twins stepping through the portrait hole.

"Oh bloody hell, not again!" groaned Ron under his breath, "Every time they see me, they always ask if I've heard from Fred and George and if they're coming back any time soon. I still have no idea what happened with them, but they've left that pair completely obsessed!"

Instead of directing their attention to Ron, however, Parvati left her sister and approached Harry.

"Professor McGonagall said you have to go to the old Arithmancy classroom on the second floor at six thirty," she said sweetly.

"What, both of us?" asked Harry.

"No, just you," she replied, and so saying, turned on her heel and swept across to the other side of the room.

"Oh brilliant, that only gives me ten minutes," he grumbled, glancing up at the clock, "What does she want with me anyway?"

The fact that the second floor appeared to be completely deserted was making Harry decidedly uncomfortable. Walking along the empty corridor, his every footstep echoed ominously off the smooth marble floor. With all the portraits that lined the walls, it was difficult to tell, but he simply couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched.

Having finally located the disused classroom, he grasped the door handle with a certain degree of apprehension and entered. The suggestion of light inside was little more than the extent to which stars would illuminate a night sky, and he was sure that the room was now larger than it should have been.

"Professor?" he ventured, peering into the gloom.

There was silence. If this was somebody's idea of a joke, Harry thought, then it would be quite a while before could see the funny side of it.

"Professor, I…"

The wind was suddenly knocked out of him by a spell that sent him flying against the wall. He felt as if he were facing a hurricane that pinned him to the spot and was near enough blinding him. A moment later, he felt a charm working that sapped every bit of strength from his limbs until they were nothing more than four useless lengths of flesh hanging from his body. Until fairly recently, Harry's first instinct would have been to cry for help, but this was now the first idea he scrapped. Keeping himself as calm as possible, he focused his mind intently. Alright, he thought, whoever or whatever it was had rendered his body helpless, so what now? The important thing was to concentrate and keep his mind well defended. One thing he had learned from Professor Lockhart was that the power of thought should never be underestimated.

He wandered the halls of his memory as if browsing the shelves of the school library, and like a book flying into his face, the answer came to him. A wandless verbal spell. An incantation to draw power from certain offensive charms, hopefully one that would allow him to regain control. Summoning the words, he muttered them under his breath and, slowly but surely, the feeling returned to his right arm. Seizing the opportunity, he drew his wand and blindly fired the most powerful Confundus charm he could muster into the semi-darkness.

In that instant, the wind that imprisoned him ceased, and he fell to the floor. As he resumed full use of his arms and legs, he felt a sharp pain in his left ankle, having twisted it badly on impact. Dragging himself upright and hobbling painfully forward, his eyes strained to make out any shapes in the room. From the silence came a clattering and clinking noise that seemed to be that of a heavy metal object knocking against a hard surface.

"Who's there?" said Harry cautiously.

He then heard the sound of tight, rushing air. Something in the room was flying. And that something was flying towards him. Staring into the gloom, Harry suddenly made out the object, and realised that he was on the point of being skewered by a deadly sharp steel halberd. Without so much as a moment's thought, he transfigured the weapon into a large cucumber and performed a shattering charm that caused it to splatter against him and the surrounding patch of floor. Alright, so he was covered in slimy pieces of cucumber, but at least he was alive.

Recuperating from the attack, he felt his wand slipping uncontrollably from his hand. Looking down, he realised that where his hands had once been were now a pair of horse's hooves. This was surely cause for alarm. His feet then felt strangely small inside his shoes as they followed suit, and on his four hooves, he fell forwards. Intending to summon the wand into his mouth, he resorted to the verbal spell, but instead of his own voice, he heard nothing but a horse's neighing issuing from his throat.

He looked down in panic as a series of thick ropes were conjured around his legs, binding them together. Before he could even consider his next course of action, he was being rapidly hoisted up towards the ceiling. As he came to a halt, hanging upside down with his wand lying six feet below him, Harry cursed himself for being such an easy target. He was certain there was a way out of this; it was just a question of focusing on the right details. It was something that he had been taught about the nature of Transfiguration, that it was possible to refuse change if you could defend your original form well enough inside your mind. But the change had already occurred, and retrieving his wand seemed to be all that mattered.

"Accio wand!" uttered the voice in his head.

The wand lifted a few inches off the floor, then clattered back down. Harry could now feel that the ropes were gently swinging him around in a circle. He didn't have time for mistakes.

"Accio WAND!" said the voice in a firmer tone.

This time, the wand soared from the ground and flew in a jagged path around Harry, a little way out of his reach. The circle made by the ropes was getting wider, and he was beginning to feel dizzy as they swung him helplessly around. Within a few seconds, he had reached a speed at which he couldn't have remembered a charm that would cease the movement if he tried. Looking desperately for his wand as it struggled to remain airborne, his mind cried out with frenzied conviction.

"ACCIO WAND!"

At last, as he made another wide arc around the room, the wand flew to him. He threw his head back, opened his mouth and caught it between his teeth. If he was going to get out of this, he would have to act now. Leaning his head as sharply to the left as was physically possible, he strained to point his wand up towards the ropes. His vision was blurred and his head was swimming this way and that, as he performed a severing charm. Before the spell in his mind was even completed, he heard a cry from out of the shadows.

"POTTER, NO!"

The ropes that held his hooves together split into pieces and Harry fell to the floor with an excruciating 'crack'. As he raised his head, he let out what could only be described as the sound of a horse in great pain. With his two front hooves, he weakly grasped the wand that had fallen from his mouth and pointed it at his feet. Concentrating as hard as he could, he transfigured them back to their natural shape. Then, anchoring his wand to the floor, he did the same to each hand in turn, the mournful equine cries accompanied by a face contorted in discomfort.

It was at that moment that he was hurriedly approached by his Transfiguration and Charms teachers.

"Harry! Are you alright?" enquired Professor McGonagall with great concern.

She pointed her own wand at his throat, and all at once his human voice returned. Harry gritted his teeth and clasped one of his injured legs with the one arm that wasn't broken.

"Filius, fetch Madame Pomfrey, he must be seen to immediately!"

Professor Flitwick thought better of taking the time to congratulate Harry on a brave effort, and hurried out of the room. With a wave of her wand, the Headmistress placed a Charm of Tranquillity on the boy, allowing his body to relax. He lay his head down and looked sleepily up at her. As he tried to speak, she silenced him gently and smiled at him in consolation.

"I do apologise, Harry," she began, "I thought you would have performed the countering spells far sooner, but nevertheless, you did far better than many would have done. The reason it had to be done like this is because your preparation for the dangers you will face is of paramount importance. We had to be sure that you were ready."

"Can't have done that well, could I?" Harry groaned quietly, "I'd be dead by now."

McGonagall smiled and shook her head.

"Potter, Professor Flitwick and myself were appointed to our positions at Hogwarts for a very good reason. I doubt you will encounter many Dark wizards who employ anything more than barbaric hexes and curses, and in many cases, it is the more subtle and disciplined branches of magic that can be the more deadly."

Harry gave a small feeble chuckle.

"Do you think I could have a lie down, please?" he offered, before closing his eyes.