Harry Potter is Dead

Chapter 4 | Asylum


"And now we invite our listeners to join us for a most unusual story. Residents of the small village Ottery St. Catchpole received quite a shock when they stepped outside yesterday evening - snow. That's right, snow. The villagers reported that last night, at about nine PM, there was a dramatic drop in temperature, followed by a light snowstorm that lasted for ten minutes and then suddenly disappeared. By ten o' clock the frost had gone and everything was back to normal.

"Dodgy, it was," says Ottery St. Catchpole resident Gertrude Portsmith, eighty-seven, who was talking to her neighbor outside when the freak snowstorm occurred. "Didn't notice the temperature real much until I realized I could see my breath. So I says to Donna, 'Lookit! It's right cold out!' and she points at the bushes in front my house, all covered in frost! And then it starts snowing! In the middle of May! Never seen anything like it. So I says to Donna, 'It's right snowing!' an so we wakes up the whole street and we gets them all out in the middle of the square, all in their winter things and everything, and then the clouds start to roll away and it gets right warm out again within the hour! So we takes off our coats and goes back inside. 'Course, I phones up everyone I knows and I tells them all what I seen."

"And now we are joined by meteorologist Kenneth Greenmore, who's joining us today to give us his opinion of this natural phenomenon."

"Thank you, Archie, it's good to be here. Now, there aren't any leads currently, but I can assure your listeners that my colleagues and I are doing all we can to work out a reason for last night's peculiar shift in weather - "

Ron shut off the small wooden wireless with a flick of his wand. Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips.

"Even the Muggles noticed." She frowned.

"They don't know what it is, though," George offered. "They're always reporting weird stuff like this, but they haven't got a clue about magic."

Mrs. Weasley knew that her son was probably right, but the lines around her mouth were still taught. "I'm worried about her." She said.

Her statement met no reply. With an air of snapping out of a daydream, Mrs. Weasley looked around, wiping her hands on her apron absently. "Well, I've got work to do." She said rather briskly, ignoring the elephant in the room, and swept off.

Ron felt someone settle in the seat next to him and put an arm around Hermione without much conscious thought.

"Ron," She said in a slightly quavering voice.

George gave a loud, theatrical cough, eyed Ron in mock disapproval and left. Hermione threw George an annoyed look and continued when he was gone, "We should go up stairs. See if Ginny's all right."

Ron looked at her for a long time. Her face was very close to his; there was a crease in between her brows. The usual warmth in her large brown eyes was now accompanied by a glimmer of worry. "I would," Ron began slowly, "But what if she starts yelling at us again, like last night?"

"Your mum cast a Sedation Spell on her, they're long-lasting. She'll probably still be a bit drowsy." Hermione replied.

It was a moment before Ron nodded. If Hermione thought it was okay, then it was good enough for him; she was always right. "Why do you want to, though? As soon as we bring it up she might go ballistic." He said, however, staying where he was. Hermione looked uncomfortable.

"I was thinking about it last night. I don't think anyone really noticed it, because they were so . . . "

"Busy making sure Ginny didn't freeze us all to death?" Ron offered.

". . . Yes. But anyway, last night I was going over what she had said while you and George were trying to stop her from fighting. It sounded like - like she was talking to Harry. As if he were there."

"She talks to herself sometimes, doesn't she?" He said. "Mostly to herself, when she thinks no one's watching. Or when she's angry, I guess, judging by yesterday."

"That's still not good." Hermione said. She was stating the obvious now.

"Well, I know that. She's been sick since the Battle." said Ron. He inwardly cursed himself. He had been about to say, 'since Harry died,' but had changed track at the last minute. Was he really that weak, so much so that he could not even admit that his aloud?

Hermione pushed on, though she had probably noticed too and chose not to bother him about it. He was very grateful.

"Either way, if she's ever going to get better, this - this arrangement can't continue." She waved a hand vaguely in the air for lack of a better word.

"What arrangement?"

"This!" Hermione said, exasperated. "Discussing in detail whether or not it's a good idea to go and talk to her! We've gotten into the habit of treating Ginny as if that room of hers is an insane asylum." Hermione looked very tired all of a sudden. When she shook her head, bushy hair tumbled all over her face and she did not bother to brush it back. "When did this happen, Ron? How did everything get like this . . . ?"

She trailed off, and Ron squeezed her hand. "We'll go and talk to her." He said firmly.

Ron placed his hand on Ginny's doorknob and braced himself for the worst. He was fully prepared to slam the door shut again as soon as he opened it, just in case Ginny lunged at him. He tried not to show his nervousness, but Hermione must have been able to tell anyway, because he felt a gentle pressure on his shoulder, and with a deep breath he stepped inside.

Ron expected to be attacked as soon as he entered - but Ginny did not attack. She was seated on her bed, meditation-style, as disheveled and mad looking as always, but blessedly calm. Ron let out a small breath.

"Hello, Ginny," Said Hermione kindly. "What are you doing?" Ginny ignored her. Undeterred, Hermione tried again. "Is it all right if Ron and I join you?"

Ginny looked up as if she had only just heard Hermione. She stared at them blankly for a few seconds, then nodded. Her eyes fell back down to the plastic doll she clutched in one hand, apon which the Animation charm had long worn off. The doll blinked feebly every now and then, or gave a tired sigh, tiny limbs stirring minutely. Ginny had to do the moving for the doll, walking her along the edge of her bed, lifting her arms up and down, combing her hair with a tiny brush. Ron couldn't see the point in playing with that old thing if it wouldn't go on its own.

"That's pretty." Hermione sat down next to Ginny on the bed, and Ron followed suit. "Oh, look, she's smiling at me!" Hermione didn't seem to see that the toy was broken. She asked Ginny if she could play as well.

Ginny presented Hermione with another doll, an army man that had once belonged to Charlie, who was missing a leg. He limped around tiredly, a defeated look in his eyes. Ron watched the two girls have the dolls throw a tea party, not saying anything for a while. He caught Hermione's eye, unsure of what to say, inquiring silently what the point of being here was if they were not asking Ginny questions. She merely shook her head cryptically and continued to chat idly with his sister.

"So, Ginny." Hermione's change in tone jerked Ron out of his daydream. He could tell she was past talking about dolls and tea parties. "Ron and I wanted to talk to you about last night."

Ginny's eyes widened. She glanced at the door, as if weighing her chances of escaping quickly. Hermione kept her eyes on Ginny, perhaps waiting for a reply, but none came. Ron felt he should help her in some way, but had not a clue what to say. He merely nodded fervently in agreement.

"You two think I'm mad." Ginny finally said.

Neither of them answered.

"Well, I'm not." She continued calmly, surveying them both. "You don't need to worry about me."

Still Hermione pushed on. "But we care about you, Ginny. Everyone does. We just want you to be better."

"I'm not sick." Ginny repeated, quite serenely. Ron had been expecting her to be more agitated than this, even violent . . .

"What are you, then?" Ron asked, taking a chance, now that she seemed to be eerily calm. "You had a fit yesterday." Hermione caught his eye, looking wary of his daring, but he ignored this.

"I may've been . . . scared last night, but I'm not sick." Ginny said yet again, defiant.

"Why were you scared last night, Ginny?" Hermione asked.

Ginny looked down so that Ron could not see her eyes. Was she angry, afraid? Had they triggered another outburst?

"I told you." Ginny's voice quavered.

"But you haven't told us - " Ron began, but he was cut off.

"It was a secret, and I told it to you." When she looked up, her eyes filled with tears. "Please don't take him away from me . . . " And then she broke, crying freely now, balling her hands into fists so tight that her knuckles turned white.

Ron did not hesitate pulling her into a protective hug. He stroked Ginny's hair, muttering calming words to her. He assured her that no, they would not take anything away from her, whatever it might me, she just needed to stop crying.

Ron met Hermione's gaze over Ginny's shoulder. They could not talk about it, not with Ginny there, but he knew what she was thinking anyway, because he was thinking it too. Ginny did not want them to take 'him' away from her, and it was now quite obvious that she meant Harry. So what did this mean?

At last, Ginny sat up, hiccupping. Her hands were still fists, and she sat there for a minute without speaking, just wringing them together. They always seemed to be like that, Ron observed dully. Always closed, so that no one could see the inside, just like the way Ginny kept her thoughts walled up inside of her. Who really knew what was going on in her head . . .

"Arthur!" Mrs. Weasley's shriek carried through the open window of Ginny's bedroom. Ron and Hermione exchanged a worried glance.

"We're going to see what's wrong, all right?" Hermione said at once to Ginny, who remained cross-legged on her bed, nodding slowly.

She and Ron pounded down the stairs two at a time, running through the empty kitchen and wrenching the back door open again as it shut behind Mr. Weasley. Adrenaline coursed through Ron's veins; he pulled out his wand, ready to fight. He kept a close eye on Hermione, her wand also out, sprinting behind him; he would not lose her like he lost Harry.

Everyone was congregated outside, at the very edge of the enchantments which protected the Burrow from discovery. Ron and Hermione stopped next to them, breathless, and eyed the black shadow they were all staring at. A lone man blundered through the fields very close by, tracing a helter-skelter path through the brush, arms out in front of him as though he could not see where he was going.

"What's going on?" Asked Dean, breathless, he and Luna rocketing out of the back door to join them.

"Weasley!" The man bellowed, voice hoarse and cracked. "Arthur Weasley!"

"I don't know." Mr. Weasley said, voice low and grim.

Mrs. Weasley clutched her husband's arm very tightly as the man got nearer and nearer.

"He shouldn't be able to find us, right, dad?" George asked warily. "We have the Fidelius Charm."

Mr. Weasley nodded, but Dean said darkly, "They still found us."

"That was because they got the location out of Mal," Luna reminded Dean. "He looks as if he's just stumbling around, waiting to walk into something."

It soon became apparent that this was exactly what the man was doing. He seemed to get nearer to the Burrow purely by chance, his arms blindly groping, still yelling feebly for Arthur Weasley. It was only when he was twenty feet away that Hermione gave an astounded gasp.

"What?" Said Ron, turning to her, alarmed.

Hermione turned her white face and round eyes up at him. "Ron - it's Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy!" She replied.

He had not seen it until Hermione pointed it out, and even then, it was still very hard to discern any sort of recognizable features on the man's face. Every inch of his exposed skin was covered in cuts and bruises; both eyes were swollen and black, his lips puffed and red, his broken nose bleeding down his front. Only the long, knotted, white-blonde hair bore any slight resemblance to the proud man Lucius Malfoy had once been.

Everyone around them seemed to tense. George was snarling, his wand following Lucius like a hunting dog, and Mrs. Weasley had stepped protectively in front of her family, arms slightly outstretched, an unshakable shield.

"Can't we do something?" Whispered Andromeda, who clutched Teddy tightly.

"Not if we want to blow out cover." Said Mr. Weasley grimly. "He's probably found out we were in the area. How, I don't now . . . but he can't know exactly where, we've got every protection under the sun hiding this place."

There was naught to do but hold their breath as Lucius stumbled ever closer, panting and shouting and looking as if he might collapse at any moment. He seemed quite deranged. After a tense minute of blind stumbling, the desperate man finally touched the edge of the magical border and was lifted into the air by the force of the shield; he hurtled ten feet backwards and hit the ground with a nasty bump. Undeterred, Lucius scrambled onto his hands and knees and crawled forward once more, only to be pushed back again. He was shaking so badly the words coming out of his mouth sounded garbled and strange.

"Weasley! Weasley, I must speak with you . . . P-please, I must tell you . . . p-please . . . I know you are there . . ."

Just as Ron had never seen Lucius so ill-kept, he had never anticipated that words like these would spill from Lucius' mouth. Lucius had always spoken to everyone - the Weasleys in particular - as if they were far beneath him. Now he begged at their feet, a shadow of that sneering man he had once been. The whole scene was so pitifully desperate that it made Ron want to look away.

"I am not here on the Dark Lord's orders . . . " Lucius continued, when he realized that no one would risk leaving the protection of the Burrow to hear him out, conveying his message blindly in the hopes that they could hear it. "I managed - managed to escape, but he will be looking for me - not here, never here, he knows not where you are . . . but it m-matters not. The Dark Lord - Draco - my son - " Lucius swallowed and shook his head, eyes closed, refusing to continue that train of thought. "He has a plan."

He opened his eyes again, and his listeners stood stock-still. For a moment no one dared breathe, but Lucius did not seem to want to speak again until someone showed themselves. They stood there tensely, waiting for him to continue, but he merely began to cough violently.

Ron was struck with a sudden idea. "Hermione," He said. "Make a patronus, have it go past the enchantments, and have it tell Malfoy to talk."

Hermione looked up at him, surprised. "That's brilliant, Ron." She said, as though she could not believe it, but was very impressed nonetheless. She looked around at the others, who nodded their approval.

Ron turned slightly pink. "I'd do it myself, but I don't know how to do that message thing . . . " he mumbled.

"Expecto Patronum." Hermione said clearly, waving her wand gracefully, and a silver otter burst from the tip. It floated once around Hermione, who directed it towards Lucius with another flick of her wand.

Lucius gave a very audible yelp of shock as the Patronus suddenly became visibly in front of him. Hermione's voice echoed firmly from the silver otter: "Tell us what you know."

He hesitated, gaping, only for a moment as the Patronus vanished. Then Lucius swallowed thickly and continued, addressing the spot where the Patronus had vanished.

"I . . . I know very little - unfortunately I . . . the Dark Lord no longer holds me in such . . . high regard." Lucius looked as if it pained him very much to say it. "But I - I have managed to spy, to listen through keyholes, for long enough to discern what he intends t-to do. It is . . . awful . . . and - and he must be stopped." He gave an almost patriotic jerk of the fist, trying and failing to smile feebly.

This lengthy preamble seemed to be a very transparent attempt to convince the Order members that Lucius was indeed on their side. He was desperate to convince them . . . as he should be, Ron thought, who sneered down at the broken man in front of him with disgust. So now that he had used up all of his second chances with Voldemort, Lucius wanted to come begging for mercy at the feet of his enemies? Ron wanted very badly to curse Lucius into something disgusting. Lucius did not truly care for taking down Voldemort. He only wanted to save his own skin.

Get on with it, you lousy piece of scum, Ron willed Lucius, and finally, after much groveling, Lucius took a deep breath and began to describe what Voldemort had in store.

"The D-Dark Lord - he once possessed several magical objects called Horcruses. There were once six - but Potter managed . . . managed to destroy all but one. The Dark Lord believes he m-must ensure that as many of these objects, these - these Horcruses, are made and protected. The Dark Lord has created so many, however t-that he is only strong enough to make but one more.

"He has devised a plan - one so secret and terrible that p-precious few have been trusted with its details - that will allow him to create one final Horcruse g-greater than the rest. The Dark Lord experiments, now, with old magic and that of his own invention. Though he is not been successful in creating this last Horcruse, he works tirelessly . . . and his aims . . . his aims are to craft it so that it is more powerful, stronger, somehow, than all the rest . . . I know not what their function is, the Horcruses, but the creation of this final Horcruse will require many deaths. Much pain, much suffering. Monumental destruction. And once it is done . . ." Lucius took a deep breath before delivering the final blow. "There will b-be no destroying it. It will be better than any Horcruce he has created before. The Dark Lord can not die." And with a great, shuddering gasp, his deed done, Lucius drew his legs close to himself and was silent.

His audience stood completely silent. No one spoke, but they all seemed to be thinking the same thing - could this be true? Can we trust him?

After a minute of wary silence, Mr. Weasley finally let out a puff of air. "I'll notify the rest of the Order. We can decide what to do with him."

He hurried inside, leaving the rest of them looking down at Lucius, who stirred feebly at their feet.

"He looks rather badly hurt." Luna said.

"Well, we're not taking him inside and nursing him back to health, if that's what you're suggesting." George said, his arms folded. "Let the bastard suffer, for all I care."

Luna tilted her head to the side. "It is true, he really is a quite terrible man, and he doesn't much deserve it. But it seems as if we're going to have to discuss what he's said with the rest of the Order, to see if it's true. We'll need to question him, and we can't do that if he gets any worse." She paused for a second. "Harry would have helped him."

Once again, Luna had impeccably acted without bias or prejudice, despite the fact that if she was a normal sort of person she should have possessed a great deal of it. Ron wanted to let Lucius waste away just as much as George, and would have been willing to argue against Luna even though she was probably right up until a moment ago. But her mention of Harry had stopped the angry words as they rose in his throat. It was true. Though Harry had never been no stranger to feelings of anger, he had also been so admirably clement.

Ron looked at George, and after a moment his brother lowered his wand with a sour expression. Luna stepped forward, followed closely by Mrs. Weasley, and passed through the enchantments. They began to tend to Lucius' wounds, who apon seeing them gave a cry of shock and relief.

"Weasley - he - he - ?" Lucius could not finish, but Luna must have understood his meaning, because she nodded silently.

"We're going to need a lot of Skele-gro. . . " Mrs. Weasley muttered under her breath as she felt Malfoy's ribs.

Mr. Weasley came jogging out of the house a minute later. "Everyone I could reach is on their way," He said. "I've told them what Malfoy said, we've got to discuss this further." Even as he spoke, a faint green light shone underneath the back door and dark shapes moved past the windows.

"We can't leave him here." Said Dean. "He might run off and lead Voldemort right back."

"Put a Supersensory Charm around him." Mrs. Weasley suggested.

"I'll do it." said Mr. Weasley.

He waved his wand in a tight circle around Lucius. It was plausible, of course, that he could try and get back to Voldemort and inform him of their location, but seeing as he was currently curled in a ball and moaning pitifully, Ron doubted he'd be able to get very far.

He felt Hermione entwine her fingers with his. The pressure was steady and comforting; it let him know that she was there. With one final look at Lucius' broken form huddled within the boundaries of the Supersensory Charm, the two followed the rest of his family inside. Ron did not know what the future held, or what plans Voldemort may have, but at least he had Hermione.


Before you point it out, I know Horcrux is spelled wrong. Lucius just doesn't know what he's talking about.