...And then they saw the first witch. Black just stared at her. She was beautiful, in a way, with pale skin, red lips, and long, wild dark hair. She swaggered down the platform as if she owned it.
"Bellatrix," said Black. He looked completely shocked. "They let Bellatrix out. They're absolutely insane. Do they want to start a war?"
If this Bellatrix woman shocked Black speechless, it was Harry's turn when she saw the man a few steps behind her. Only one person's robes billowed like that.
"Snape!" she said, pointing wildly.
"Yeah, I see him," Black replied, and if anything he looked even angrier than when he saw Bellatrix. "Neck deep in the Dark Arts, the both of them!"
Harry looked at Voldemort's second in command. He spoke about the Dark magic with such venom.
"Who's Bellatrix?" she asked. She'd never heard the name before.
"Bellatrix Lestrange, official crazy bitch," spat Black. "She was right in You-Know-Who's Inner Circle. Maybe even his second, after Nicolas Volante got the Kiss."
Harry had never heard of Nicolas Volante either, but something wasn't adding up. Was Black trying to trick her?
"But that was you, wasn't it?" she asked, rather boldly. "Voldemort's second?"
Black turned his gaze to her. It was inscrutable. He laughed his bark-like laugh again.
"Is that what they say about me?"
"Are you saying you weren't?" He'd been hinting at it, over and over. Time to ask him to his face.
He turned back to the window.
"Well, this is practically confirmation that Snape was a Death Eater. We always suspected..." he trailed off, completely ignoring her question. She thought about pushing the issue, but honestly, what could she do? Just make a dangerous Dark wizard angry. Flamel had taught her the costs of rash action.
"Wait, Snape's a Death Eater?" she said, allowing Black to direct the conversation. And Snape was a bastard. "But he works at Hogwarts!"
"Snivellus is a teacher?" Black said in surprise. "What was Dumbledore thinking, putting him near children? They might drown in the grease from his hair..."
Harry snorted, before stopping herself. She was not going to joke about Snape with Voldemort's most trusted. She was letting her guard down.
She turned her back on the window and retreated to the bunk bed. She wasn't going to let Black trick her. He was a Death Eater. He was no better than the war criminals that were being sent to avenge Dumbledore's death.
The idea of Death Eaters being freed to enact revenge on Dumbledore's killers made Harry's blood boil. Someone was using Dumbledore's death to undo everything he had ever stood for. Using it to weaken the British Ministry and strengthen Dark wizards. And then Harry's boiling blood ran cold.
Was that the plan? There was only one man that could have killed Dumbledore. Everyone knew it. It was the elephant in the room.
Voldemort had returned, and his attack had already begun.
Pop!
Harry jumped from his seat in surprise, knocking it backwards. His wand was out, ready to cast a hasty hex, but his spell died on his lips when he saw who - or rather, what - had apparated into the room. A House Elf was staring at him, legs shaking, frozen in shock, her eyes impossibly wide. She was holding a tray of steaming food. It smelled beautiful. Was that gravy? It had been so long since he'd had a proper meal.
"Tipsy is being sorry, Mister Potter sir," she said in a tiny voice, and Harry noticed that she was a lot smaller than Dobby. The tray of food dwarfed her. Was this a House Elf child? He swallowed the urge to apologise back: he had a bit of experience with House Elves now, and wanted to avoid hysterics if possible.
"It's all right," he said, but he didn't put his wand away. "Why don't you put the food on the desk? Orgando." His spell cleared a space on the messy desk, shuffling his notes on blasting spells to one side. Tipsy put the tray down and hopped from one foot to the other nervously. She scrunched her large nose and looked at the ceiling, as if trying to remember something.
"Oh!" she said, and smiled. "Is Mister Potter needing anything else?"
"Well, you could take me out of here," he said flippantly. Tipsy squeaked and her hopping intensified.
"Harry Potter is a great and kind wizard, but Tipsy cannot be doing that. Oh! Oh no! Tipsy is always getting things wrong!"
She looked like she was about to cry.
"It's okay," Harry said, and he patted her awkwardly on the head. "You're doing great."
"Really, Mister Potter sir?"
"Really," Harry said, giving her an encouraging smile. Then something occurred to him. "Er - shouldn't you speak, like, French?"
Tipsy giggled.
"Tipsy is speaking Elfish, like other House Elves," she said.
Before Harry found out about Parseltongue, that would have made a lot less sense. He supposed it was part of the magic of House Elves.
"Okay, well, I guess I don't need anything else," he said. For a moment he had hoped she could take him away. Dobby had been able to go through the protections around Hogwarts, after all, and without his Master's permission.
"Goodnight, Mister Harry!"
Tipsy popped back out, leaving Harry once again in silence. He shook his head and turned to the food. It really did look very good. He sniffed it cautiously, trying to figure out if it contained anything untoward, but they hadn't even started poisons and antidotes in Potions class. It just smelled like the great beef wellington it was. And really, if Flamel wanted to hurt him, he had much more direct means.
He tucked in, eating quickly, wanting to get back to blasting spells. He was almost ready to give it a go, he thought. He was focusing on just one spell, having quickly dismissed the Reductor Curse - it was about as powerful as a strong kick, which wasn't enough for the window. The chair had shown that. The Expulsing Curse was also inappropriate, and the Caesus Curse - if he was even able to manage it, which he doubted - was much too powerful. He'd blow up half the house, and himself besides. No, he needed the Ignition Curse. Derived from both the Reductor and Caesus, it produced both powerful force and fire.
No time like the present, he thought as he finished his food. He took one last look over his notes - a mess of diagrams and graphs, equations and flow charts. He didn't understand everything, but he thought he had enough. He was as ready as he'd ever be.
Harry moved as far away from the window as he could. He didn't want to get caught by the spell, after all. Okay, here goes. He raised his wand. His arm was steady, his articulation fluid.
The spell started in the third position. Aggressive stance, a common beginning for many curses. Complex stability depends on the precision of the motion.
Sweep to fifth. Invocation of fire. Angle relative to head will determine balance of fire and force according to Bowman's Law of Thermokinetics. Length of pause inversely proportional to completion speed. A nimbus of red light began to form around the tip of his wand.
Hammer to first, third variant. Casting position. Transitive object taken. Incantation must be left for the final moment.
"CONFRINGO!"
The spell burst from his wand like a firework, fizzing and spluttering in a shower of red sparks and smoke. Quicker than Harry could see, the spell whizzed across the room. It hit the window like a hammer against a gong and bounced right off, shooting straight back at Harry. He ducked just in time. He felt a ripple of hot air pass over his head before the gong sounded again, and the spell was off: ducking by the desk, hands over his ears, Harry watched as it bounced around the room like a pinball, reflecting from wall to wall, each impact adding to the racket. Then -
CRASH!
The crack and snap of splintering wood filled the room as the spell smashed into the bed, flaming shards of wood flying across the room as it was torn asunder. Hidden as he was behind the chair, Harry managed to avoid the shrapnel, but he quickly realised the danger had not yet passed.
The remains of the bed - cracked in two down the centre, as if it had been hit with a sledgehammer - were on fire.
"Corpellus!" Harry shouted, tapping his forehead with his wand. A feeling like a cool breeze rippled over his skin, marking a successful Flame Freezing Charm. For a moment, Harry considered letting the fire continue. If it raged hard enough, maybe it would destroy the room and he could escape.
But that plan was quickly discarded when he began to cough. The room was rapidly filling with smoke. Unfortunately, Harry had no idea how to stop a fire.
"Black!" she shouted, and the Death Eater jumped as she broke the silence. "What's the spell to conjure water? Quickly!"
"The incantation's 'aguamenti', but it's a pretty tricky spell," he said, looking at her in confusion. "Why?"
"Aguamenti!" Harry cried, and a single drip of water came out of his wand. "Damn!" he said, with both his bodies, his concentration rapidly deteriorating. She clamped down on her body, immobilizing it. This was no time for multitasking.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" he shouted, thinking quickly. The tattered and flaming remnants of his bedsheets hoisted up into the hair. Harry flicked his wand, and they flew into the stone hearth.
"Wingardi-" He coughed as he breathed in a mouthful of smoke. His eyes were beginning to sting now. Remembering that smoke rises, Harry crouched down, trying to find cleaner air.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" he repeated, and this time a corner of the bed levitated. Weakened by fire, it tore off from the frame as it lifted up. Crap, thought Harry, gotta hurry. He flicked his wand once more, intending to do the same, but as the wood accelerated into the fireplace, the fire spat and a chunk of wood flew off, landing on a particularly furry rug.
Whoosh!
The dry fur lit up like kindling, and now there were two fires. The smoke was getting bad. He had to get creative.
"Corpellus!" he cried, pointing his wand at the rug. For a moment, the fire flashed a deep blue, but it was otherwise unaffected.
Damn! He hadn't been sure if the Flame Freezing Charm could be adapted like that. What else? He had to think of something!
"Second position, you fool boy!" shouted the portrait suddenly. "You have to use the second position!"
Of course! He wasn't casting on himself, but at a foreign object!
"Corpellus!" he shouted, twisting his wand into second. The fire on the rug froze in place like it was made of ice, turning a deep blue. "Corpellus! Corpellus! Corpellus!"
Harry looked around the half-destroyed room. The bed, the curtains, the bedside cabinet, the rug. All showed the signs of fire damage; all had shards of what looked like blue glass protruding from them. Curious, Harry moved over to the bed and held his hand near one of the frozen flames - it was quite cool. He ripped it out of the wood, and threw it into the fireplace. It smashed in a gout of flame, but did not continue to burn.
He wandered around the room, collecting the frozen flames. Maybe he could keep a few, to use as weapons? It would be risky, though. An image blossomed in his mind of his pocket spontaneously combusting when the charm wore off. He knew it wouldn't last for long - it was his first try with the spell, and you'd need to use Elemental Transfiguration - not taught at Hogwarts - for anything permanent.
The portrait interrupted his deliberations.
"I've been around a long time, boy," he said. "And let me tell you: that was quite possibly the stupidest thing I've ever seen."
Harry looked up at the man. He was youngish, and bore a rather striking familial resemblance to Jean-Francois. And yet it had saved his life.
"Thanks, whoever you are," he said, throwing a handful of blue glass into the hearth.
The portrait sniffed haughtily.
"My name," he said, "is Nicolas Flamel."