Chapter Forty Three
Harry was unbelievably glad to crawl into bed, the night Daphne and his detentions were over. It was difficult to explain how horrific and dirty he felt, sitting and watching Daphne write her lines without moving a muscle to help her.
He fell quickly asleep, finding himself in dark room with rich curtains and a large collection of candles.
His hand tapped on the arm of a straight backed leather chair, white, long fingers tapping out a meaningless rhythm. In front of him knelt a man in black robes, trembling slightly.
"I have been badly advised, it seems." Harry said, in a high, cold and very angry voice that was not his own.
"Master, I crave your pardon!" the man croaked.
"I do not blame you, Rookwood." Harry said, waving a hand dismissively, he stood up and glared down at the man, towering over him, "You are sure of your facts, Rookwood?"
"Yes my Lord! Yes… I used to work in the Department after… after all" the man said.
"Avery told me Bode would be able to remove it." Harry hissed.
"Bode could never have taken it, Master… Bode would have known he could not… undoubtedly, that is why he fought so hard against Rodolphus's Imperious Curse..." Rookwood babbled.
"Stand up, Rookwood." whispered Harry.
Harry looked down at the scared, pox marked face below him, almost tripping over his robes in his hurry to stand and obey.
"You have done well to tell me this." Harry said, calmly, "Very well… I have wasted month on fruitless schemes, it seems… but no matter… we begin again, from now. You have Lord Voldemort's gratitude, Rookwood."
"My Lord… yes, my Lord!" gasped Rookwood.
"I shall need your help. I shall need all the information you can give me." Harry instructed.
"Of course, my Lord… of course, anything." Rookwood assured him.
"Very well." Harry nodded, "You may go. Send Avery to me."
Rookwood left the room, scurrying backwards so that he wouldn't turn his back on Harry. Left alone in the room Harry walked, slowly around, looking at the rich decoration, he noted there was not a single painting.
He spotted a large, gilded frame and walked, causally over to it. It wasn't a picture but a large mirror. Harry gazed into it, the white skin and red slitted eyes coming into focus. Harry screamed.
"Harry, Harry! Calm down!" Draco said, trying to free him from his bedding curtains.
There was a large rip as they pulled themselves free of the rings at the top of the bed. Draco dug the still screaming Harry free and held him tightly as Harry thrashed around.
"Dra… Draco?" Harry gasped, the real world coming into view.
Draco nodded.
"Shut the nutter up!" Goyle snapped, throwing a dirty pair of socks at them.
Draco threw them back and dragged Harry from the room, sitting him on the stone steps.
"Harry, what on earth happened?" Draco asked, breathing heavily.
Harry caught his breath, his scar throbbing.
"Is it that snake thing? Someone has been attacked?" Draco asked, his face deathly pale.
Harry shook his head, "No. Everyone is fine, I think. Well, everyone who isn't Avery, he gave Voldemort some bad information and now he's in a lot of trouble. But it's OK, Rookwood is going to help him, going to get everything back on track-"
"Harry stop." Draco said, "I… you saw You-know-who?"
Harry reached up his hand to check it was his own again, "No. I was Voldemort. I was with Rookwood, he escaped from Azkaban, Rookwood has just told him… that… that Bode couldn't of removed it. Bode was under the Imperious Curse. I think Bellatrix's husband did it. To get him to take something."
"Take something?" Draco repeated, "Harry, you don't think it was… the weapon? But he didn't manage right?"
Harry nodded, "No. He was in the hospital though, we read about it remember? He died."
Draco nodded slowly, "Yes, I remember. Killed by a pot plant Devil's snare, of all things."
Harry nodded, he could finally feel his heart beat returning to normal. Draco shifted awkwardly on the step next to him.
"Harry, did you say that… you were You-know-who?" Draco said after a moment, barely above a whisper.
Harry nodded, "Yes. I wasn't watching him, or even just in the snake. I was in his body… I looked… I looked in the mirror and my face was… was…"
"It's OK, Harry." Draco said soothingly, "I get the picture."
Harry rested his head against the wall, the cool stone helped sooth his aching forehead.
"You need to tell Professor Snape." Draco said, "He should know about this."
Harry shook his head firmly, "No, no I can't! Umbridge is already watching out for every move I make! She's going to use any excuse she can to get rid of him."
"Harry you have to tell!" Draco pleaded.
"I don't have to tell anyone. Promise me you wont tell anyone?" Harry asked.
"What about the girls? And Neville?" Draco suggested.
Harry shook his head, "No. At least not at the moment. We should get some more sleep."
Draco nodded begrudgingly and helped Harry back into bed. He folded up the torn bed hangings and laid them on Harry's trunk; no doubt the house elves would have it fixed by the following evening. He was not happy at the idea of Harry keeping what happened to himself but he also knew Harry well enough to know he was too upset at the moment to talk about it, Draco would try again in the morning.
Harry turned over in his bed, pretending to be asleep. His scar burned painfully and he knew, that somewhere, Avery was being brutality punished.
The next morning, after a few hours of peaceful sleep, Harry was still convinced that the best course of action was to keep the dream to himself, if he'd had the choice, not even Draco would know about it.
This was for two reasons; firstly he knew that everyone, including his father, had a lot on their plates right now and further worry wouldn't do them, or him, any good.
Secondly, he was deeply ashamed. He couldn't say he had honestly put even a tenth of the effort and concentration he should of regarding his Occlumency lessons. He'd gone through the motions of course but deep down he just wanted to get through that door.
Harry reminded Draco of his promise to keep quiet as they quickly dressed themselves and headed down for breakfast. Crabbe and Goyle had both given him rough shoves as they'd left the dormitory that morning, muttering about him keeping them awake.
Several weeks passed and Harry spoke no more of the dream until he was, once again, lying on the floor of the blank room in Professor McGonagall's private rooms, gasping for breath.
"What was that memory?" she asked, pulling Harry to his feet.
"Which one?" Harry said, "The one with the chicken pox?"
"No." Professor McGonagall asked, looking over him, "There was a kneeling man, in a room."
Harry's face flushed and he looked down at his shoes, trying to think of an excuse.
"I know that room, it's in Lestrange Manor. I presume you have never been there? Especially as you were trying to hide it from me?" Professor McGonagall said sharply, "Speak, Mr Potter."
Harry forced himself to look at her, "It's nothing, Professor."
Professor McGonagall arched her eyebrow, "I hardly doubt that. How did that man, and that room, come to be one of your memories?"
"How do you know where the room is?" Harry said, trying to shift the subject.
McGonagall looked at him shrewdly, "I have seen a photograph. However, how I know in which house that room resides is not in question."
"I had a dream." Harry whispered.
"What?"
"I had a dream." Harry repeated, through gritted teeth.
Professor McGonagall drew up a straight backed chair and sat down, "You realise you should not be having such dreams? That I am giving up my time in order to teach you something which you are clearly putting little effort into!"
"I'm trying!" Harry spat, "It's not easy you know, especially when I'm asleep!"
Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes, "The idea is for you to learn while you are awake, so your mind has protection all the time."
Harry glared evilly at the floor, saying nothing as he was sure that anything he wanted to say would land him in at least a week of detentions.
"Have you told anyone about this dream?" McGonagall asked.
Harry shook his head, "No. I didn't want anyone to worry."
"You will allow me access to this memory, Mr Potter. I need to see it all." Professor McGonagall said, more softly than Harry was expecting, "I will then be able to report it, and shall say that you had no memory of the dream until I dug it up."
Harry nodded and allowed her to stare into his bright green eyes as she ran over the memory.
"Stay here, Mr Potter." Professor McGonagall told him, "I shan't be long."
McGonagall waved her wand, a plate of hot, buttered toast and a large mug of hot chocolate appearing on the table. She left, leaving Harry alone, his mind swimming.
Harry waited a moment before standing up and picking up the plate and mug, that sat next to the Pensive. He was about to go and sit back down, wishing he had brought a book more interesting that his Transfiguration text book, when he saw his fathers' face swirling in the basin. Both fathers' in fact, a quick flash of one after another.
Growing up in a very magical household, Harry knew that certain things were private, he knew that the contents of Pensives were one such thing, he just had to know.
He placed the food back on the table and slowly lowered his head into the stone dish, falling quickly through the surface.
For all Harry was nosy, he had no idea how to navigate around a Pensive, he simply was washed along with the natural flow of the memories. He had aimed to arrive at either the memory containing James or Severus, or possibly both, but he missed and was standing in amongst a group of nervous first years, waiting to be sorted.
"McGonagall, Minerva." An older witch who Harry didn't recognise said clearly.
A young girl, slightly taller than the others stepped forward. She had two long black plaits that had been pinned up to form a crown on her head. She walked confidently forward and sat on a four legged stool before the sorting hat fell over her eyes.
Harry could hear the hat mulling over her many traits, it was more than five minutes before the hat finally called out 'Gryffindor'. The young McGonagall grinned and skipped off to the Gryffindor tablet and took her seat.
Once the meal was finished, the witch who had called the names of the students forward, marched quickly over to where McGonagall was taking her place in the line of first years.
"Miss McGonagall? I would have a quick word." the lady said, guiding McGonagall from the line and to the edge of the hall.
"Have I done something wrong?" McGonagall asked, her green eyes growing wide.
"Hmm? No, of course not my dear." The witch said kindly, "My name is Valeria Myriadd, and I am head of Gryffindor house."
Harry looked over Professor Myriadd; she was an older lady, with grey hair and a thick white fur collar on her robes, she had a kind and friendly air about her that made Harry relax.
"Oh. It's very nice to meet you, Professor Myriadd." McGonagall said politely.
Myriadd smiled, "And you my dear. Now I won't keep you long, I imagine you must be very tired and in need of a good sleep before lessons begin tomorrow. There is a small clause in the Sorting Hat process that if the Hat takes more than five minutes, a very rare occurrence, the student may swap to the other house if they feel it would be more suitable for their needs after adjusting to school life. May I inquire which other house, or houses the sorting hat was thinking off?"
"Ravenclaw, Professor." McGonagall told her.
Myriadd gave her a nod, "Very good. I am, of course, most happy to have you in my house, but will respect your choice."
"I believe my mother was in Gryffindor." McGonagall said, "I think I will be happy here."
"I do hope so. Please come to me if you have any trouble or concerns." Myriadd told her, "I expect great things from you."
The memory faded, being replaced with the Quidditch pitch and a lot of worried voices. An older McGonagall, now a couple of years older than Harry, was lying in the middle of the pitch. Her black hair, once again pinned in a braid crown, was covered in a large amount of blood that was running down her back, staining her Quidditch robes. She was clutching at her side, her face lined with pain.
"That was a foul!" another Gryffindor player yelled, giving the Slytherin captain a good shove.
"Enough!" yelled the referee, "Captains with me! Nurse, see to McGonagall."
An old fashioned nurse, even more so than Madam Pomfrey, rushed over and began to wave her wand over McGonagall's sobbing form.
"She has a sever concussion, and several broken ribs. I need to get her to the hospital wing." the nurse said.
"No… no it's… it's the deciding match… I need to… I need to play!" McGonagall said, letting out a scream as she tried to get up.
"I'm sorry Minerva, the game will have to go on without you." the nurse said.
It faded, reappearing quickly in the hospital wing. McGonagall looked asleep, but Harry knew she was just pretending, the memory was in her head after all. There were several Gryffindors around the bed, holding her hand and whispering.
"I don't know how we're going to tell her." a pretty blonde girl sighed.
A large, dark skinned boy nodded, "She'd tried so hard. She's going to be crushed."
A short haired brunette nodded, "Pissing snakes." she spat, "They stole the cup from us."
The blonde girl sighed again, "It's their captain, he's bullied her from her first day. She told me once he stole her chocolate frog on the train."
"I hate bullies." The boy agreed.
Harry watched as a single tear, rolled unnoticed down McGonagall's cheek and his heart broke a little for her.
The memory faded into a large, open field. A young adult McGonagall stood, her dark hair blowing freely, for the first time Harry had seen it, in the wind, her skirt fluttering up to show a puffy, white petticoat.
"Minnie!" a young man called, rushing over.
He picked her up and spun her round. McGonagall smiled, but it was slightly empty and sad.
"Dougal, thank you for coming." McGonagall said, once he'd placed her back down on the ground.
"Anything for my beautiful, amazing financé!" Dougal beamed, "The red dress I got you looks wonderful."
Harry had to agree, the dark, blood red dress nipped her in at the waist with a large poodle skirt exaggerated her already impressive curves. Harry felt odd looking at one of his Professors like that, but she can't have been ten years older than him at this point.
"I am very grateful." McGonagall smiled, quickly wiping her eyes, "For everything you have done for me."
"Minnie, you're worrying me, is there something wrong?" Dougal asked.
McGonagall smiled, and pushed a stray hair from his face, "You know you and your little Iona are the only ones allowed to call me that."
"Well, she is the best little sister in the world." Dougal grinned.
McGonagall nodded, "She is. I'll miss her."
"Why?" Dougal asked, "Minnie? What on earth is going on?"
McGonagall let out a small sob, "I have to give you this back." she said, handing him a small, neat engagement ring, "It was your grandmother's, it wouldn't be right for me to keep it if we're not…"
"You're leaving me?" Dougal asked, his eyes brimming with tears.
"I have to." McGonagall sniffed, "I'm so sorry."
"Minnie… I… are you in trouble? Is it someone else?" Dougal asked, begged.
McGonagall shook her head, "No, no nothing like that. I'm so sorry."
"I love you." Dougal whispered.
McGonagall smiled through a grimace of pain, "I love you too."
She pulled her hand away from him and ran down the field as the memory faded, Dougal calling after her, begging her to stay.
Harry wiped his own eyes and finally saw himself looking at the sobbing form of Severus.