Chapter One Hundred and Ten - In the Headmaster's Office

Harry was so relieved that Snape was actually listening to him, he immediately made a jump toward the door. But then another wave of nausea rolled over him and he doubled over, fighting the urge to be sick again. Blaise was by his side in a moment, gently supporting him as he helped Harry into his robe.

"Zabini, you wait here with the others," Snape said dispassionately.

Blaise began to protest. "But, sir! Harry isn't well. I should go with him, I can…"

Harry took a steadying breath and said, "I'll be fine, Blaise. Just wait here."

He knew it would be useless to argue with Snape, and he didn't want to waste any more time. Mr. Weasley was bleeding alone in some dark corridor, and every second was precious. Blaise must have read Harry's intentions in his expression. Though his mouth was set in a grim line, he nodded his head in agreement.

Harry wordlessly followed Snape past Draco's shocked face and out of the dormitory, leaving Crabbe and Goyle's muttering far behind. They probably thought he'd finally cracked. Gone completely mental. He told himself he didn't care. If he hadn't been there himself… Hadn't seen the things he'd seen… He might have even agreed with them.

"Can't we go faster?" Harry begged as they made their way toward the headmaster's office. To Harry's anxious mind, Snape's sedate pace might have been a snail's crawl. And all the while Mr. Weasley was lying on that cold stone floor… Harry couldn't stop thinking about the snake's fangs… His fangs? What if they were venomous?

"What did you see in this dream?" Snape asked, not altering his pace.

"I already told you!" Harry cried in frustration, "It was Mr. Weasley. Ron's dad. He was asleep in a dark corridor. He had an invisibility cloak with him, but it had slipped off. Then this huge snake came along and… and it bit him!"

Snape wisely did not ask him again if he thought it was just a dream. Instead, he stopped before the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office.

"Fizzing Whizbee," he uttered with the utmost composure. It might have been funny if Harry wasn't so terrified.

The gargoyle leapt aside, revealing the stone staircase that moved in a continuous spiral up to the headmaster's office. Harry and Snape mounted these stairs together. Left alone, Harry might have run the short distance to the polished oak door, but he forced himself to remain by Snape's side.

Although it was well past midnight, there were voices coming from the other side of the door. It sounded as though Dumbledore was entertaining a large number of guests. But when Snape knocked, the voices ceased immediately. They found Dumbledore seated at his desk, completely alone. Or nearly so. His phoenix, Fawkes, slumbered on a perch behind his desk, his head tucked under his wing. The portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses were similarly asleep in their frames.

"Oh, it's you, Severus. And… ah…"

"I'm sorry to disturb you, headmaster," said Snape, "Potter has had a… A vision, of sorts…"

Dumbledore's white brows lifted high above his half-moon spectacles. "A vision?"

"I'm not exactly sure what else to call it. They boy insists it was no nightmare…"

"It wasn't a nightmare!" Harry cried, his anxiety bursting from him all at once, "Professor, you have to send someone to help Mr. Weasley! He's hurt. He could be dying and I…"

To his immense frustration, Dumbledore did not even glance at him. He kept his eyes fixed on his own interlocked fingers as he asked Harry in a calm voice, "How do you know Mr. Weasley is in danger?"

Harry, barely able to contain his rising anger, replied, "I… I don't know. I was asleep, but this wasn't a dream! It… It felt real. Like I was really there. I saw Mr. Weasley sleeping on the floor of a long, dark corridor. Then this giant snake came along and it… It attacked him! Please, please send someone to help…"

Dumbledore, still not looking at him, interrupted to say, "Where were you when this took place?"

"I already told you! I was sleeping, but then I had this… this vision and…"

"You misunderstand me," Dumbledore interrupted again, "I meant to say, where did you witness this attack from? Were you standing beside Mr. Weasley, or were you perhaps looking down from above?"

Harry felt his stomach clench uncomfortably. He was strangely glad that he had already emptied his stomach, for Dumbledore's question left him feeling queasy again. He suspected that Dumbledore already knew the answer to his question, and yet for some reason, Harry did want to tell him the truth. If he admitted that he hadn't just seen the snake, he'd been the snake, did that make him responsible?

"I… I was standing at the end of the corridor," Harry said.

The lie hung in the air, thick and heavy like smoke. Harry could almost taste it on his tongue. It tasted like the vomit he'd expelled earlier. He knew that Snape was considering him carefully, even without turning to look at his expression.

Dumbledore did not press him further. He merely asked, "Is Arthur seriously injured?"

"Yes," Harry said emphatically, both relieved that he finally understood and frustrated that it had taken this long to get his point across.

Dumbledore stood abruptly and addressed two of the portraits hanging on the walls.

"Everard! Dilys!"

The two paintings, one a sallow-faced wizard with short black fringe and the other a witch with curling silver hair, woke instantly.

"You were listening?" inquired Dumbledore.

"Of course," said the wizard, while the witch replied, "Naturally."

"The man has red hair and glasses," Dumbledore said, "He will have an invisibility cloak with him. Everard, raise the alarm, but make sure he is found by the right people."

Both Everard and Dilys nodded their heads, then moved swiftly out of frame. Usually, they would simply reappear in a neighboring portrait, as was typically the case with the moving paintings at Hogwarts. But this time, they simply vanished, leaving behind only empty backdrops.

"Everard and Dilys were two of Hogwarts' most celebrated Heads," Dumbledore explained as he turned toward Fawkes, "As such, both have portraits in other wizarding institutions. They can move freely between their own portraits. It will give us some idea of what may be happening elsewhere."

"Then… You must know where he is!" Harry exclaimed as a wave of immense relief washed over him, "Will they arrive in time to… to help Mr. Weasley?"

Dumbledore ignored his question as he gently woke his sleeping phoenix.

"We will need a warning," he said, and in a flash of flame, the bird dissipated. Dumbledore then turned toward him, and with a wave of his wand, conjured a chintz armchair from thin air. "Have a seat, Harry."

Though the chair seemed comfortable, Harry didn't want to sit. His protests fell on deaf ears, however. Snape forced him to accept the chair, then he moved closer to Dumbledore himself. The two men began conversing in whispers as Dumbledore grabbed one of the many silver instruments that adorned his office. Harry had no idea what it did, but he stretched his neck to see around Snape as Dumbledore tapped its delicate metal surface with his wand.

A plume of greenish smoke rose from a tube near the top of the device. Little puffs at first, followed by a thick, steady plume. To Harry's untrained eye, it seemed to take the form of a coiling serpent. He wondered if it was somehow confirming his story, then Dumbledore muttered to himself, "But in essence divided?"

The snake split in two. Dumbledore, with a look of grim satisfaction, tapped the instrument with his wand once more, then replaced it back on its table.

Harry wanted to ask what the strange device was used for, but before he got the opportunity, Everard returned. He gave a shout from his portrait near the top of the wall, calling Dumbledore's attention.

"I shouted until someone came," he reported breathlessly, "Told them I heard someone moving downstairs. They carried him up a few minutes later, but he didn't look good. He was covered in blood, Albus. I couldn't be sure, but it looked as though…"

"That will do," Dumbledore interrupted, "They'll have taken him to St. Mungo's. I expect Dilys will…"

Dilys, the witch with the silver ringlets, appeared the moment he mentioned her name. She sank into the painted armchair that formed her portrait's backdrop. Harry didn't think it was possible for a painting to turn pale, but she was clearly trembling in her frame.

"Dilys?" Dumbledore prompted, "Did you see him?"

"Yes…" said Dilys, clearly distraught, "Yes, I saw him pass under my portrait, but… Oh, Albus! We were too late!"

"You don't mean…?"

Dilys wiped her eyes on her sleeve, dashing away the memory of tears that her portrait couldn't really shed. "I do. He's gone, Albus."

A heavy silence filled the air. The tight, pinched sensation in Harry's stomach evaporated, leaving him feeling hollow and cold. He stared down at his feet, feeling his throat close as he fought back tears. He was too late. He couldn't save him.

Distantly, he heard Dumbledore speaking with Dilys's portrait again, asking her if she was certain. But Harry couldn't hear her reply. It was as if someone had stuffed his ears with cotton. All he could think at that moment was of Ron and his family. What would they say when they heard the news? What would become of them without their father?

Dumbledore's thoughts must have drifted in the same direction, for he said, "Severus, I must ask you to find Professor McGonagall. Have her bring the Weasley children here."

Snape obediently moved toward the door, ready to perform this unenviable errand. He paused only a moment to ask, "And Molly?"

"That will be an errand for Fawkes, once he has finished his duty as lookout."

Snape nodded and left the office. Meanwhile, Dumbledore pulled a kettle from one of his cabinets and placed it on his desk. Drawing his wand once more, he gently tapped the dull metal and intoned, "Portus."

The kettle shivered for a moment, glowing with a strange blue light. Then it came to rest, as solid and black as ever. This task complete, Dumbledore turned his attention to another portrait on the wall. This time it was a wizard with a pointed beard. His robes had been painted in the green and silver of Slytherin House.

Unlike the rest of the portraits, who had abandoned their guise of sleep, this one was still pretending to slumber so soundly, Dumbledore had to repeat his name several times before he would respond.

"Phineas. Phineas. Phineas!"

With a groan, the wizard made a great show of stretching his arms, like one who had just woken from a very deep sleep. He stared at Dumbledore haughtily before saying, "Did you call me?"

"I need you to visit your other portrait again," said Dumbledore, "I have another message."

"At this time of night?" Phineas asked in a reedy voice, "He'll destroy my portrait this time if I try."

"Sirius knows not to destroy your portrait. No matter what provocation you give him," replied Dumbledore.

At the mention of his godfather, Harry realized that he had heard the wizard's voice before. Back at Grimmauld Place, there was an apparently empty picture frame in one of the bedrooms. Harry had come across it several times while doing his chores. Occasionally, a voice would speak to him as he went about his business, usually offering a cutting remark about the style of his sweeping. But there were plenty of strange items ferreted away in the Black residence. The Cleaning Committee had treated the blank picture as nothing more than another idle curiosity. Apparently, that voice had belonged to Phineas, probably lurking just outside of frame. Harry supposed this was how Dumbledore passed messages to the Order without having to make the trip himself.

While Harry was lost in silent reflection, Dumbledore was reciting the message that Phineas was to deliver to Sirius.

"You are to tell him that Arthur Weasley has… That he has given his life in service to the Order. I am sending his wife and children to the safehouse shortly. They'll need safe passage to St. Mungo's."

"Arthur dead. Wife and children on their way. Give them passage," Phineas said in a bored voice, as if brave wizards left a widow and several children behind every day.

Harry didn't move a muscle as Phineas disappeared. He was busy thinking that he shouldn't be there when the Weasleys arrived. He shouldn't be allowed to share in their grief. Not when he felt that he was somehow responsible… He was struggling to find the courage to speak to Dumbledore when the door to the office swung open, revealing Snape, McGonagall, and all four of the Weasley children currently enrolled at Hogwarts.

They were still dressed in their nightclothes, each looking disheveled and frightened. Harry could tell from the looks on their faces that they hadn't been told.

All at once, Harry snapped out of his daze. He jumped out of his seat and announced, "I should go."

"No, Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice soft but firm, "I must ask you to stay. We may need you."

Harry could feel the stares of the Weasleys boring into him, but he couldn't bring himself to meet their gaze. He hadn't forgotten that Ron once called him "cursed." What would he say when he learned that his father was dead, and that it was Harry who witnessed everything happen?

"What's Harry doing here?" Ron asked, even as Fred demanded, "What's going on? If this is about the statue on the fifth floor, George and I haven't been out of bed at all this evening, honest…"

Dumbledore said nothing at first, though his demeanor must have warned them of impending sorrow. They fell silent, watching as Dumbledore leaned heavily against his desk, gazing at each of them in turn. Harry risked glancing at his face, and saw that the headmaster looked older and sadder than Harry had ever seen him.

"It is my terrible duty," he began slowly, weighing each word before it passed his lips, "to inform you that your father was injured in the course of his work for the Order of the Phoenix. He was taken to St. Mungo's, but our efforts were in vain. He succumbed to his injuries. Your father is gone."

Ginny gasped, her hand flying over her mouth as tears began streaming down her face. She attempted to hide them, as if her grief were something to be ashamed of. Harry wanted to join her, or else run screaming from the room. Anything would be better than standing there, mute and powerless, unable to say any words of comfort or even explain what the hell he was doing there!

Dumbledore had paused, giving them time to process his words. The twins both looked shaken to their core. Ron merely stared at the headmaster in disbelief.

"Gone?" he said finally, "What do you… He can't be…!"

"Mum," Fred interrupted, "We need to see our mother!"
Dumbledore nodded his head. "I have already made arrangements for you to meet her at Grimmauld Place. From there you may travel to St. Mungo's."

"How will we get there?" asked George, who had wrapped a protective arm around his sister's shoulders while she tried to dry her tears.

"You will be taking a portkey," Dumbledore said, indicating the kettle on his desk. "It is ready whenever you feel prepared to depart…"

Suddenly, a burst of flame appeared in the middle of the office, causing everyone but Dumbledore to jump. It was gone in an instant, leaving only a single golden feather that floated slowly to the floor.

"It may need to be sooner than that," Dumbledore commented, "That was a warning. She must know you're out of your beds. Minerva, go and head her off. Tell her any story…"

Professor McGonagall had already departed with swish of her tartan robes. Meanwhile, Phineas had drifted back into his frame, announcing to the stunned room of mourners, "He's up. Him and his pet wolf. They're ready for them."

"Come here, then," Dumbledore said, motioning toward the Weasleys. "There will be time for questions later. Right now, my priority is to get you to your mother."

The twins nodded and took the kettle in hand. George continued to keep his arm around Ginny, but she hardly needed him now. There were still unshed tears standing in her bloodshot eyes, but she was steady and calm as she placed a hand near the kettle's spout. Ron was the last of his siblings to join. He spared one searching gaze at Harry before he too held on. Dumbledore counted down from three, and then they disappeared.

Harry had entirely forgotten about Snape until Dumbledore turned and spoke to him.

"There is much I would discuss with you, Severus, but for now it is important that Harry return to his dormitory," he paused, and for the first time looked fully at Harry before he added, "Or perhaps the hospital wing. If she stops you, inform her that Harry is ill."

In the fraction of a second that Harry met Dumbledore's eye, a sudden surge of rage swelled within him. He had never felt such hatred before. His scar was burning again, but it felt as though it was happening to someone else. All he could feel now was that seething hatred and an urge to strike… To bite… To sink his fangs into the man before him just as he had the man in the corridor…

The office door swung shut behind him. Harry hadn't even realized Snape had led him to the door. For a moment, he could only stand upon the moving staircase as if stunned, wondering what was happening to him?

Snape's rapid pace did not leave much time for consideration. As they rushed toward the hospital wing, Harry bitterly reflected that if he had moved as quickly to Dumbledore's office as he walked now, perhaps Mr. Weasley might have… But he quickly banished the thought. As anxious as he had been, they might have flown to the headmaster's office and he still wouldn't have thought it fast enough. Besides, if anyone was to blame for Mr. Weasley's death, it had to be him…

Snape must have been on the lookout for Umbridge, but she was easy enough to avoid. McGonagall was having a very loud argument with her in the hall leading toward Dumbledore's office.

"... simply want to know what four students are doing out of bed at this…"

"And I have told you, repeatedly, that it concerns a family emergency and has nothing to do with you! Or does your role as High Inquisitor suddenly give you license to dictate how I manage students of my own house…?"

McGonagall seemed to be purposely pitching her voice at a higher volume than strictly necessary, perhaps to warn them if they should be heading her way. Snape, with cool composure, grabbed Harry by the arm and quickly ducked behind a tapestry that concealed one of the school's many hidden passages. It led them up an old, dusty staircase a floor above where they needed to be, but at least it was well clear of Umbridge.

"Why did you lie?" Snape asked as they continued on their way to the hospital wing.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry replied automatically.

"I am a particularly good liar, Potter. As such, I am able to spot a bad one. You lied when the headmaster asked you how you saw this vision. So what really happened?"

Although Harry had felt like he couldn't confide in Dumbledore, he found himself confessing everything to Snape. He told him what he saw from the beginning, including the fact that he had dreamt of that dark hallway many times before. And this time, he didn't conceal the fact that he had been the snake.

"I'm responsible!" he concluded, his voice thick from the sob he was barely keeping in check, "That's why I couldn't say… to Dumbledore… If I hadn't been having these dreams… If I hadn't… Then Mr. Weasley…"

He couldn't go on. To continue would mean losing what little composure he had, and he stupidly clung to his pride. He would not cry in front of Snape.

To his surprise, Snape scoffed audibly at his concerns and said, "Ridiculous. I know your arrogance has been left unchecked for too long, but this is a bit much. You and I both know that the Dark Lord has been plotting his vengeance for some time, and yet you really think Arthur Weasley's death was your doing?"

Harry sniffed. As usual, Snape's comments seemed designed to be cruel, but in reality he was telling Harry it wasn't his fault. He supposed it was Snape's way of trying to comfort him. Stranger still, it worked. Snape wasn't looking at him like he was a murderer or a monster. It was as if they were in Potions class, and Snape was glaring at him over his cauldron, making snide remarks about a solution he'd actually done very well.

"But… Back in Professor Dumbledore's office… I'd felt it again," Harry cautiously admitted, "That same anger. What I felt when I… When the snake was attacking Mr. Weasley. I wanted to hurt him."

This time Snape offered no reply. Harry felt his heart sink. Was he really cursed, after all?

They had reached the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey must be awake at all hours, for she bustled forward, as alert as if it had been mid-day.

"Potter is ill," Snape informed her without ceremony, "He'll need to rest here tonight. I suggest a sleeping draught to help him rest."

Madame Pomfrey hurried off in search of the recommended potion even as Harry protested its use.

"I can't sleep!" he argued, "What if it happens again? What if the snake comes back and I hurt someone else!"

"Listen to me!" Snape demanded, silencing Harry's worries. He half-expected Snape to ridicule him again, but instead, he stated, "Arthur Weasley did not die in vain. He was guarding something tonight. Something the Dark Lord wants. And because of Arthur, the snake failed. They will not try again tonight. You will have no more visions. You're safe. Everyone is safe."

Harry didn't know how Snape could be so confident, but he had to trust that he and the rest of the Order knew what they were doing. He accepted the sleeping potion when it was offered, though it helped that Madame Pomfrey assured him it would give him a dreamless sleep.

Snape remained long enough to ensure Harry had taken his dose in full, watching as Madame Pomfrey helped Harry to bed.

"I must return to the headmaster," he said, his voice already sounding far away, as if he were speaking to Harry from the end of a long tunnel.

Harry tried to reply, but he could only murmur incoherently. His mind was drifting closer toward unconsciousness. Thoughts of the Weasleys returned unbidden to his mind. He found himself thinking that it was good they had gone to Grimmauld Place. Remus was there, and Sirius… They would know what to say. He fell asleep imagining Remus sharing a piece of chocolate with each Weasley, like a talisman against sorrow. If only that could be enough…