Chapter 48

TELEPATHY

As advertised, Sirius's Christmas present the Lockit Pocket had been undetectable to Avery when he'd patted him down. Smiling, Harry reached into his invisible, impalpable pocket for Millicent's Christmas present. When he touched the paper, he was thrilled to hear its familiar, throat-clearing cough—but this time he heard it inside his head.

Most providential that you should seek out Lesson Five in such straits as these: Long-Distance Telepathy Djinn Ball to Djinn Ball.

"Telepa—"

Shhhh! His teacher hissed in his brain. Your vain attempts at escape are being observed. Whatever you do, don't speak!

Harry gulped. My lips are sealed, He thought back. Tell me what to do.

Crumple me in one hand, and sneak the Djinn ball to your eyes with your other. Lean your forehead against your knuckles. A pose of defeat. Ready? Think.

I'll contact Millicent.

Can't. She's visiting her mum. She left her Djinn ball at her aunt's.

Then I'm sunk. The only other person I know with a Djinn ball is Trelawney. If she stares into it, she'll think me a portent—not an actual, live, human being that—

Calm yourself! You do know someone else with a Djinn ball. Think, think, think! And he doesn't need to be near it yet if you can find someone to bring him near it.

Harry's memory flashed on the crystal ball he'd set back on Snape's desk the night of his Somnoleveritaphantasmagoria interrogation. An instant later, he was looking out of it at the Potion master's office. That meant his haggard face would be visible inside it. Success! He'd cracked the dark force surrounding Storage Locker Number Nine—if only with his mind. He peered around the scarred mahogany desk, noting the familiar black gargoyle and a new copper-and-glass dragon. No Snape.

Okay. Now what?

The paper tsked. Must everything be spelled out for you? Contact someone who can lead the professor to his Djinn ball.

Harry groaned. I suppose you're going to make me figure out how.

Find a Sensitive. Think! Who has been aware of your presence via the Djinn ball? Think!

Crookshanks had noticed him. That made Bête Noire a possibility at Hogwarts—but in the castle's vastness, how could he locate a cat? Then there were Dobby and Winky. If that made all elves a possibility, then the kitchen would be the place to start.

As he raised his point-of-view from Snape's desk to get going, Harry's lips parted in wonder. Dobby was jumping up and down in the doorway, biting his lip and pulling at his scalp. A hank from his scant hair was already missing. Relief close to joy spread through Harry. His faithful friend had found him.

Severus Snape! Dobby's agitated voice sounded in Harry's head. Dobby must find Severus Snape to help Harry Potter. Follow me.

Harry's view in the Djinn ball cut to the Potions storeroom. Then to a stark, orderly, black-curtained bedchamber stocked with books, scrolls, and cauldrons. Then he was looking out the astronomy tower's windows at a threatening, gray dawn. Sunrise? Have I been a prisoner that long? When his viewpoint jumped yet again—to Snape's classroom—he realized he wasn't so much following his little friend as metaphysically holding his hand while he Apparated around Hogwarts

In quick succession, Harry saw a corner of the teacher's lounge, the restricted section of the library, and a bedroom decorated with cream-colored lace and framed photos of smiling blonde witches surrounded by hounds. Odd. The castle seemed empty. When Dobby stopped at the top of the stairs leading down to the entry, Harry saw why. The staff and the couple dozen students who had stayed over Winter break stood huddled together at the foot of the stairs, listening to Professor McGonagall bark out orders for who should look where for the missing Daine, Avery, and Potter.

Nobody seemed aware that Harry Potter was among them, frantically trying to attract everyone's—anyone's—attention.

In the next instant, his panorama switched to an elf-high view of the muddy hem of Snape's robes. Dobby reached out and tugged it. Craning back his viewpoint, Harry saw the professor scowl downward. Slowly, the irritation faded into uneasy comprehension. Snape nodded curtly. An instant later, Harry was again staring up from the professor's desktop, fretfully ticking off the seconds.

After awhile, the number of those seconds told him that, indeed, humans could not Apparate inside Hogwarts. Just when he was worrying that maybe the professor hadn't understood Dobby's silent summons, Snape burst through his door, slammed it shut behind him, stopped, and stared at Harry. Then he hurried around his desk, sank into his chair, and pulled his crystal ball closer.

Tell me what's going on.

Images of the kidnapping, the reckless flight, and his ignominious tumble to the floor of the Death Eater's lair spilled out of Harry's memory more quickly than he could form a coherent answer.

Yes, yes, Snape brusquely interrupted his stream-of-consciousness. I deduced as much. Tell me what's going on now. Where are you? Has Voldemort spoken to you? What do you know of his plans for you?

Harry's mind projected a different picture: the Muggle girl draped in white. Not more than ten, she looked as bashful, vulnerable, and innocent as Ginny Weasley had the first time he'd seen her.

Snape's forehead furrowed as if in painful memory. Coolly, he answered, Of course. I should have anticipated this development. Voldemort's coven will not command full power until it once again numbers thirteen.

Harry sent an image of Avery's leer. He won't be the thirteenth if I can help it. I challenged Voldemort for the girl. Avery and I are competing for her tonight.

You'll lose.

Harry released an audible snort. What else would he expect Snape to say?

You forget: you'll be dueling without your wand. Snape paused, his face reflecting some bitter recollection he didn't communicate to Harry. With a grimace, he pulled himself back to the subject. The only other wand in existence that can truly direct your powers is Voldemort's. I rather doubt he'll lend it.

If I were fighting him, I'd be worried. But Avery? Harry smiled.

His uncle clicked his tongue. As arrogant as your father. Hear me out before you scoff. No question, your magic could best Avery's—were the match to be fair. He's worse than a mediocre scholar; he's no scholar at all. Last semester, Draco did most of his work.

Harry raised his eyebrows.

Snape pursed his lips. Improper in the short run to turn a blind eye, granted. In the long run, advantageous. Better for Draco to hone his skills, than that sycophant.

In grudging agreement, Harry dredged up a picture of Malfoy wrestling away Filch's wand.

But I underestimated Avery's ambitions. His dullness to Hogwarts's offerings didn't mean he'd not been more apt elsewhere. When Voldemort instructed, he listened. Recall the hexes that sluggard managed to cast these past few months—including the one that captured you.

Harry bit his lip. He, uh, kind of caught me by surprise.

Indeed. Underhanded but effective. Snape centered his gaze on Harry's. Don't imagine this will be some noble ordeal by combat. The Dark Lord accepted your dare for its entertainment value. He'll set tests he believes his minion can solve—those most likely to mystify you—all for the pleasure of seeing you squirm.

When his uncle shot him an image of a butterfly struggling on a pin, Harry blew out his breath. I get the picture. You think I'm being foolish—brave Gryffindor, and all.

On the contrary. Putting on an heroic show could provide an expedient delay. The Death Eater ceremony must commence a minute past midnight—no sooner and no later. If you postpone Avery's inevitable victory, you could buy that hapless Muggle another day. Snape drummed his long fingers on his desktop. How far along are you in the knowledge of crystal balls?

Telepathy Djinn Ball to Djinn Ball. The instruction sheet showed me today.

Good. The next lesson should prove useful: Telepathy Through a Sensitive. Miss Granger has a cat, does she not? Voldemort will devise trials that show off his obscure knowledge. That's Miss Granger's forte. And with her use of Elixir of Infinite Memory, her store of esoterica will have increased vastly.

Harry frowned. You want Hermione to whisper answers to me during a contest? That would be—

Cheating? Don't be an idiot. Remember your goal. Proving you can single-handedly save the day? Or preventing the girl from being killed?

Harry sighed. The girl, of course. It's encouraging you think I can save her—at least with Hermione's help.

Snape shook his head. When you least expect it, after you've solved every riddle and met every challenge, Voldemort will bend the situation to his advantage. Never mind. All you need do is hold on. The wheels are in motion.

Harry shifted awkwardly. Something here wasn't quite right. From what I saw, everyone is still looking for us at Hogwarts.

Snape's expression remained impassive. A distraction. The situation is too sensitive for the masses to know of it.

Harry wondered whether McGonagall was aware that her search parties were pointless—or was she, too, one of the masses that hadn't been told the real story?

The situation is too sensitive, Snape continued, to reveal to anyone who is not already at work solving it. Tell Ms. Granger the competition is being held in the Great Hall. Don't let on it's anything more than a friendly, holiday pastime.

But she's one of my best friends—

And as such, she'll feel driven to rouse the whole magical world to rescue you—likely the Muggle world as well. If cornered, Voldemort would most certainly unburden himself of you and—

A spasm of pain passed over Snape's face. Harry caught a glimpse of Ariel Daine—battered and disheveled, but awake and bristling with all her Good Witch of the South righteous indignation. This wasn't his memory. It was his uncle's.

Just as quickly, Snape pulled the image back. Yes. She has been shown to me.

Voldemort contacted you? Harry's surprised thought burst out. He remembered the Dark Mark on his uncle's arm that would forever give Voldemort a link to him. Why would he—

Can't you figure it out? A ghost of a smile twisted Snape's lips, making him look more wretched than if he'd scowled. And to think Ariel was so impressed with your lucky guess about how Voldemort and his flunky had exploited the insects.

Harry released his breath slowly. He's sticking to his original goal. This time the branch of magic he wants to use is yours. He took Daine to lure you away so you won't be at Hogwarts to stop him when he tries to use a potion to kill Professor Dumbledore.

In Harry's mind, silence. His uncle was shielding his thoughts again. Peering into the Djinn ball, he tried to read the hooded eyes as they flickered aside to the delicate dragon statuette. He surmised Daine had given it to him.

At last, Harry heard Snape's murmur of a thought. Not quite. He means for me to do it.

Such a tremor of alarm shook Harry that he almost dropped his Djinn ball. Kill Dumbledore? You wouldn't, of course. Never. What a stupid idea. As if! The joke's really on Voldemort this time.

For an instant, Snape's lack of response reverberated ominously in Harry's head. Then his uncle raised his chin. A joke, indeed. The Dark Lord is certainly prone to his whimsical flights of fancy. When his uncle glanced away across his desk, Harry got a glimpse of what he saw: Dobby anxiously wringing his hands. Then the Djinn ball cut back to Snape's troubled face. Your impulse was correct: taunt Voldemort to keep him amused. Before coming here, I, too, created a diversion. Now, however, his attention is circling back. He will fix his awareness on me to ascertain how I'm taking his ultimatum. To handle it my way, I must have no interference. Give me your word you won't tell Miss Granger—or anyone else—what game is really afoot.

Harry gnawed his lower lip. Okay. My word.

I'm relying on it. Don't contact me again. Have faith. Abruptly, Snape leaned forward until his fathomless black eyes filled the crystal. And whatever you do, Harry, don't push Voldemort too far.

The Djinn ball went dark. Harry continued to hunch over it. His uncle had certainly given him some practical advice. But his admonition: have faith? That hadn't been quite so comforting.

Stop lollygagging, the instruction sheet rapped out in his brain. You heard the professor. On to Lesson Six: Telepathy through a Sensitive.

Okay, don't comment. Leave me hanging. As of 5/21/13, this chapter has no reviews.