"ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴠɪꜱɪᴏɴꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴄʟᴇᴀʀ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ. ᴡʜᴏ ʟᴏᴏᴋꜱ ᴏᴜᴛꜱɪᴅᴇ, ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍꜱ; ᴡʜᴏ ʟᴏᴏᴋꜱ ɪɴꜱɪᴅᴇ, ᴀᴡᴀᴋᴇꜱ."
― ᴄ.ɢ. ᴊᴜɴɢ
Chapter Nineteen: A Treacherous Reflection
Ruby shuffled her feet under her desk, her stomach coiling with anxiety and anticipation. Beside her, Hermione looked far less perturbed, though she was rehearsing her speech under her breath, her hands running over the box set on the table.
Glancing to her left, Ruby saw Daphne sitting in her old seat, next to Anthony, and her stomach squeezed. They were whispering amongst themselves, which seemed to be their new favourite hobby.
What could they possibly have to talk about?
Ruby expected she wouldn't be feeling this way if it at least made sense.
Just then, Professor Babbling clapped her hands, startling her out of her thoughts.
"As I hope you are all aware, today is devoted to project presentations, and any spillover we have we might fit in tomorrow." She surveyed the now-silent class with a pleasant smile. "Any questions?"
As expected, Hermione's hand hit the air in the blink of an eye. She had, Ruby thought, developed a response speed that any Quidditch player would envy.
Professor Babbling nodded in her direction, the pleasant smile still affixed to her face. "Miss Granger?"
"Will we have time after each presentation for questions?" asked Hermione breathlessly, "or should we save them until the very end?"
Babbling's smile grew yet more indulgent, if anything. "Yes, of course. Five minutes for your presentations, and two for questions after. I'll remind you when you have only a minute remaining. Any more questions?"
The classroom was silent again. Ruby couldn't help but think that with seven minutes per presentation, there was no hope of getting through the whole class, even though they had a double time period today.
"Without further ado, would anyone like to volunteer to start?"
Again, Hermione's hand shot up uncontested. She picked up the box and walked to the front of the classroom as Babbling flicked her wand at the lights, dimming everything but the front of the classroom, now illuminated only by a soft halo of golden candlelight.
"Here we go," Ruby heard Theodore whisper.
"So, Miss Granger, have you chosen a spell or an artifice to present to us?" asked Babbling, who was now sitting at the very back of the classroom and winding her watch.
"I have an artifice, Professor Babbling," said Hermione, holding up her box. She placed it on the demonstration table, then stepped back, smoothing her robes, the prefect badge pinned to them glittering in the candlelight.
Clearing her throat and folding her hands in front of her, she began to speak:
"One of the things I was most surprised by in the wizarding world was the speed of communication. While our methods of instantaneous and practically instantaneous transportation are the stuff of Muggle science-fiction—"
A few people bristled at the mention of Muggles. Ruby turned around; Professor Babbling was scribbling down notes on a sheet of parchment.
"—but when it comes to communication, owls can only fly so fast, and not everyone is connected to the Floo Network. What if there was a magical version of cellphones and email?"
Now, she had truly lost half the class, judging by the rustling and whispering. Anthony had his head bent next to Daphne's, probably explaining what an email was. Someone tapped Ruby on the shoulder, and she jumped. It was Theodore Nott, his face silhouetted in the low light.
"Always trying to work Muggle things in, isn't she? That's why people like her don't fit in. See, you and Harry were raised with Muggles, but you wouldn't know it."
"I don't know what you mean," said Ruby coldly. "My mother was like her."
Professor Babbling shot them both a warning look for talking during the presentation, and Theodore leaned away with a self-satisfied smile before returning his attention to the presentation.
"—the seventh-level value of nion is 'ring,' which is a hard one to get because it's so low down. I applied some amplifying charms…"
Ruby recognized the object Hermione had pulled out of her box. It looked a lot more like a makeup compact than a cellphone, though, and had tiny runes etched all around the edges. Nothing more of note occurred until Hermione wrapped up her presentation, beaming when Professor Babbling called out, "Impeccable!"
"Now, who's next?"
The scrape of a chair pulling out behind her made Ruby jump. Hermione, still floating on air, didn't notice Theodore sauntering up to the front of the classroom with nothing but his wand.
"Spell or artifice?" asked Babbling, her fingers already on the crown of her watch.
"I won't need the timer, Professor Babbling," said Theodore, still smiling like the cat who got the cream before giving his wand a lazy flick. "Tempus."
Oohs and ahhs rippled through the classroom as a spectral blue, blinking 𝟷𝟶:𝟶𝟾 appeared where his wand had trailed in the air.
"I disagree with Granger's stance towards Muggle inventions; magical solutions are clearly more elegant. Why bother with an implement like a watch when there's a much simpler solution?"
"Because time is an integrable function," Hermione muttered under her breath. "Therefore a charm directly interacting with it is an inherently unreliable estimate. Third Fundamental Law." To demonstrate, she waved her wristwatch in front of Ruby's nose, which read ten minutes after the hour instead.
"This eliminates the need to carry around useless implements," said Theodore, still sounding smug, before diving into the details of his project.
Ruby turned around again to see Professor Babbling filling out the rubric. It was impossible to tell what she thought about the presentation. And that cold, coiling feeling was back in Ruby's stomach. Maybe they really wouldn't get through all the presentations, and she would have until tomorrow. She didn't know why, but the idea of standing up there, with Anthony and Daphne watching her in particular, made her skin crawl. Ruby tuned out Theodore's voice, dragging her fingernail through the soft wood of her desk in loopy patterns.
"Any questions?" Professor Babbling's voice snapped her back into reality.
Hermione's hand nearly smacked into Ruby as it rocketed into the air.
"Miss Granger?" said Professor Babbling.
The smug look on her face rivaled Theodore's. "Thank you for the presentation of your charm; it was really interesting." Hermione glanced down at her notes — an affectation, Ruby knew she probably had it all memorised. "I was just wondering, since you didn't mention it — how do you account for dilation in areas of concentrated magical energy, such as Hogwarts, for example?"
Half the class seemed annoyed, but some, like Anthony, were looking between Theodore and Hermione, as if curious to see how he'd answer.
"I worked out that since dilation effects are negligible, they can be discarded," said Theodore, with a half-shudder, half-shrug.
"Hmm, but you didn't mention that in your presentation, so I'm not sure you really considered it enough," said Hermione. "Actually, by my watch, and the clock behind you, your spell is two minutes off, maybe more. But it's a nice proof of concept."
A few titters resounded through the classroom, before Anthony, leaning back in his chair, raised his hand. Theodore's mouth hardened.
"Mr. Goldstein?"
"Yeah, I wanted to know if you know who Eloise Mintumble is?"
Theodore's eyes flashed with annoyance. "Of course I do. The Unspeakable who went back in time from 1899 to 1402 and died shortly after. It's why Time-Turners have a hard-wired time limit that can't be bypassed."
"Great, so do you think her wand would have read the time in 1899 when she went back, or the time in 1402 with your spell?" asked Anthony, yawning. "'Cause if it was a watch, it would have read the original time, I think."
"I don't see what that has to do with anything," said Theodore, looking at Babbling as if for recourse, but she said nothing.
"It does," said Anthony, sitting up straight. "Because it would be different depending on if your spell works based on thermodynamic or psychological time."
"And your two minutes of questions are up," said Babbling, not unkindly. "Thank you everyone for your interest in Mr. Nott's presentation, but let's move on."
It was probably for the best that she cut into Anthony before he started asking Theodore how his spell would work if he were falling into a black hole. Then again, it would be funny to watch him struggle to answer.
"Do we have a volunteer — Mr. Goldstein, it looks like."
Anthony made his way to the front, taking a silver chain out of his pocket. "Alright, I'm going to need some help for this one."
Everyone seemed confused until Anthony turned to look at Daphne. Smiling slightly, she lifted her wand, and said, "Avis." A flock of white doves burst out of the tip of her wand, circling her once before flying towards Anthony.
For some reason, the entire performance made Ruby's stomach turn again. Anthony had hooked the chain around his flesh hand, and one of the doves had landed on his wrist.
Anyone could have guessed it would have something to do with animals.
"Would you like to say hello to the class?" Anthony asked the dove, as if it were perfectly natural.
The dove puffed up its neck, and said, in a half-coo, "Hell-oo-oo."
Terry Boot, sitting in the back of the class, roared with laughter, and Ruby found herself laughing along with the rest of the class.
"So he's taught a bird to do some tricks," muttered Theodore. "Big deal."
"Thank you for the demonstration," said Anthony, with the same politeness.
"No, I thank you-oo."
Daphne raised her wand again and ended the spell, the doves disappearing in a flash of light.
"So that's my artifice," said Anthony, taking off the chain from his wrist and draping it on the table, though it wasn't impressive to look at. "I started off thinking about Parselmouths, and my question, whether it's possible to replicate with other animals, and it turns out it kind of is."
"Oh, how useful," said Theodore under his breath.
Ruby whipped around, her throat burning, and hissed at him to shut up. He went pink; Anthony trailed off in the middle of his speech. Several people turned around to glare at Ruby.
"Can't you see he's trying to rile you up?" whispered Hermione, grabbing her arm.
Well, it was working. Ruby fumed silently through the rest of Anthony's presentation and the questions, stewing in directionless anger. For a few precious seconds, there was the reprieve of Babbling's quill scratching out the last marks on the rubric before she looked up, surveying the classroom. Someone sneezed.
"Another volunteer?"
The classroom rang with silence before Babbling spoke again.
"Miss Potter, perhaps you'd like to go next?"
Ruby tore her eyes away from Anthony and Daphne, who were discussing something again, fingers brushing. Now, her legs felt like jelly when she stood up, knees locking, heart pounding, head spinning. The distance from here to the front of the classroom seemed insurmountable. She tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, but she seemed to have forgotten how to walk and nearly tripped over her shoelaces. With her luck, she'd end up setting something on fire, too.
It was hardly surprising. She'd been up all night making sure it worked, after all. Couldn't risk embarrassing herself.
"I'm presenting—" There was an awful, eye-itching sneeze in her throat. Professor Babbling looked on serenely, along with every other peering face. Daphne turned her head to whisper something to Anthony.
"I'm presenting an artifice."
Her hands were shaking. Ruby slipped a hand into her pocket. It seemed that Anthony's eyes looked straight through her, eyebrows lifted, smiling slightly.
She nearly dropped it — and then that would have been a disaster. Nott Senior's monocle — hers, now — sparkled in her hand. It had a handsome gold frame and chain, now, with a gilt salamander arcing over the looking-glass itself.
Theodore leaned forward; could he have recognised it?
"Miss Potter, you were saying?" asked Professor Babbling, quill poised above the rubric. The hourglass beside her continued to filter sand.
"Oh, right. Sorry." Most of the points, naturally, came from a successful demonstration. Ruby breathed out through her nose, and in through in her mouth, the monocle's looking glass cupped in her hand.
Oops, that's the wrong way.
"Lux."
A flame snapped into existence a few inches above her cupped hand, warming her hand. A few coughs echoed through the room, a whispered "So many cheap tricks today."
"I prefer to scry with fire," said Ruby, sounding far away to her own ears. The room was strange, too, as the distances were warping. It sounded too bare a thing to admit. "But I have trouble focusing it. My scrying, I mean. My goal was to make the fire adaptive. The harder I try to pull, the more resistant it gets. At a certain point, it'll extinguish itself. But if you're not into Divination, it's also handy if you like to go camping."
No one laughed.
"So—" Great, now her mouth was dry "—I can demonstrate."
Ruby fixed her eyes on the fire in front of her, orange and red dancing before her eyes, burning her vision faintly green.
She was never going to need to ask Tee for help again. She wasn't a stupid little girl who couldn't control her visions. She was a True Seer, whatever he said, and she was going to prove it, incontrovertibly, beyond a shadow of a doubt.
The snapping flame pulled her into a trance, burning redder and brighter, the warmth so different from Mordred's cold, Pensieve-coloured eyes. It was as if her eyes were opening — really opening — and then she Saw.
Two red planets stared back at her; no, two red irises, redder than blood, brighter than the flames surrounding them. They were unmistakably the eyes of Lord Voldemort. Look away, Ruby told herself, but she just couldn't.
Her skin prickled with goosebumps, the next breath catching in her throat. She only barely heard herself speaking, low and smoky as the grey cloud coiling around her head.
"Beware, beware; the emerald stare. To follow ghosts is then to err. For enemies, you must prepare."
The fire puffed out of existence, slamming her back into reality. Five rows of bewildered students stared back at her. Anthony's mouth was slightly parted, brow furrowed with concern; Hermione was half out of her chair. Theodore was scribbling something down on a scrap of parchment.
"So," said Ruby, still unsteady on her feet, heart pounding, "you can see it works, and it shut itself off just then. Otherwise you can say Nox to extinguish the fire."
She stole a glance at the hourglass. It looked like she had about three minutes left. Breathing deeply again, she picked up the piece of chalk rolling around under the board.
What did all of that mean? Why did I scry Voldemort, or at least part of him? Is something going to happen?
Ruby faced the class again, recalling finally the words she'd rehearsed. "I had a clear starting point, because sulphur is the average value of straif…"
Gryffindor losing the Quidditch Cup to Ravenclaw felt like only the beginning of bad luck, Harry thought, halfway through their second-to-last Defence lesson of the year. He couldn't even bring himself to appreciate the satin-green grass rippling as far as the eye could see or the miraculously blue sky dotted with sugar-spun, wispy clouds.
Lessons had been strictly revision for the past few days. They'd been drilling Transfiguration harder than anything else, and his head felt completely full of complex spell models and theories, as if he didn't have room for anything else. When Fay Dunbar had asked him what a cellphone was, he'd just blinked stupidly at her, not quite processing that he'd even been asked a question, until she'd decided to walk away.
At least he hadn't worked himself up into the state Hermione was in. She drifted around listlessly, muttered under her breath, only spoke one word at a time, and looked as if she had stuck a fork into an electrical outlet. Ruby seemed off-kilter, too.
"Harry?"
"Yeah."
She had given him an insistent stare. "Don't follow any ghosts, alright? And something about an emerald. I don't get it yet."
Clearly, the stress was shaking everyone's screws loose.
"Er, okay?"
At least Parvati and Lavender were on speaking terms again. Or, at least, he assumed. Lavender had slunk up to Parvati's armchair last night to ask if her definition of Substantive Charms was correct, and she hadn't snapped at her to go away. It was definitely progress.
Now, Ron was standing beside him in Defence, sifting through a stack of parchment covered in chicken scratch as they waited for their turn in the practice-practical. Neville was fumbling his way through a set of fourth-year level counter-jinxes, getting progressively redder in the face under Bill's watchful eye. Every so often, he wrote something down on the piece of parchment spread in front of him, his face betraying no emotion.
Ron nudged him. "You're next."
"Sorry?"
"Harry?" called Bill, scratching the back of his neck. "Come to the front of the class, please."
He unstuck himself from the wall he had been leaning against and stepped forward, very aware that everyone had stopped whispering and shuffling to watch. A single cough resounded through the quiet classroom; a warm, ticklish breeze wafted out of the window.
Bill was still studying the notes he had written down for Neville, his quill wobbling back and forth between his fingers.
"Alright," he said, looking up at Harry. A chill went through his spine. "You should know the drill by now, five minutes. We'll begin with the Boggart-Banishing Spell, when you're ready."
Harry wasn't quite sure he was ready. The last and only time he'd faced a Boggart was with Lupin in his third year. And why him? Why did he get the Boggart?
There was no way out but through. Harry rolled his shoulders back, eying the desk drawer.
"Ready."
The drawer sprang open as if it had been spring-loaded, and his hopes were dashed in an instant. A wisp of dark smoke curled out from it, rising into the air, blacker than charcoal. Anguish erupted in Harry's chest as the monstrous thing poured out from the drawer, less viscous than water, condescending into an oleaginous tempest of shadow, roiling and howling, and out from it stared two burning green eyes. The scent of ozone filled the air as it tore molecule from molecule.
It was nothing less than pure destruction — an Obscurus.
His Obscurus.
Muttering rose in the back of the class; the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood up, his gaze locked to the monster, his breath stolen, his blood cold. It was only then he realised that Bill was moving to intercept, wand drawn.
"No!"
Bill turned on his heel, shock written across his face.
"No," Harry repeated. "I can do it myself."
He could beat it. He could vanquish it. It no longer had any power over him. That sickly, crazed child of the public's imaginings was nonexistent. He wasn't a danger to anyone anymore, and he could prove it.
"Alright, then," said Bill, looking around the room, taking in the students' expressions — some scared, some intrigued, all silent.
Ron glanced between the both of them; his hand placed on Hermione's shoulder as if to keep her back. Ruby was worrying the inside of her cheek. Most could only stare at the Obscurus. Only Theodore was smiling.
Breathing in, trying to calm the tremors going through his limbs, Harry lifted his wand, staring down the shadow. Only a shadow, he told himself. A silhouette of himself under illumination. Nothing more.
He stared down the length of holly, the phoenix feather bright and warm under his fingers, glowing faintly.
"Riddikulus," he breathed.
The monster faltered. Then, with a snap, it flattened itself against the wall like a pop-up book unfolded, and it was only his own, ordinary shadow.
He realised he was still shaking a little, sliding his hands down the sides of his robes to steady them. And Bill was giving him that look of concern that he so loathed.
"Alright," said Bill, softly. "If we could move along to the Impediment Jinx, and then—" He checked the roll of parchment. "a Body-Bind Curse."
Harry did so, only going through the motions. He got on alright — well, even — but neither his head nor his heart was in it, and he was relieved to hear Bill decide to move on to the next person. Even when he went back to his spot along the wall, his mind was still drawn to the form the Boggart had taken.
I thought it was gone.
That was a forlorn hope — a stupid one — ignorant of the evidence. No, he knew there were remnants, wisps and shards of shadow that would probably never leave him as long as he lived. But he hadn't been prepared to see the Obscurus itself ever again.
"Didn't think we'd ever see that again," said Ron, his eyes searching Harry with the same concern Bill had, but somehow, it annoyed him less.
"Yeah," said Harry, his voice rattling emptily in his chest. "I didn't either."
He leaned his head against the cool surface of the wall, only half-watching Hermione's practical, and drifted off. It was O.W.L.s stress getting to him. It would be over soon.
If I can just make it to the end of next week, it'll all be fine.
For four years, Harry had been a mere observer of the terror that gripped the Great Hall on the second Sunday evening of June. Now, he found himself the victim, watching Hermione push around bits of food on her plate while alternating between staring into the distance and disappearing behind a stack of books.
"—if you don't eat a decent meal, you're not going to sleep, and if you don't sleep—" Ron paused his tirade, as Hermione had just caught sight of something — "What?"
Harry turned around, expecting to see the examiners, whoever they were. But instead, a cluster of familiar people were standing in the entrance hall: he saw Lupin, Bill, Tonks, Andromeda, and Moody. He felt a sudden sinking feeling, then realised he had been searching for Sirius and reprimanded himself. It was risky of Sirius to have come here once, never mind a second time.
Nonetheless….
"Let's go," said Harry, already getting up.
"But—" Ron started, gesturing at Hermione's still mostly-full plate.
"I think Hermione could use the distraction."
That, and he wanted to know why so many of the Order were here.
"Mmmm?" Hermione's head appeared over the top of Achievement in Charming, her eyes bleary and unfocused*.* Ron tossed the book away from her limp hands on the pile.
"You're just whipping yourself up into a state, you got a hundred-and-twelve on one of our Charms exams!" he said, shaking a finger at her.
Hermione gave Achievement in Charming one last, longing look. "Fine," she muttered, rubbing her eyes before following them out of the Great Hall. Harry tried to shut the door quietly, but it slammed, causing everyone gathered in the entrance hall to look towards them. The conversation was silenced in an instant.
"Evening, Potter," said Moody gruffly, his electric eye swivelling towards the trio. "Prepared for your exams?"
"Er—" Harry took in the rest of the Order, who all looked drawn and tired, shifting their feet side-to-side as if to keep themselves awake. "What are you all doing here?"
"Order business." Moody clearly was not going to elaborate any further.
Tonks twirled a piece of bubblegum-pink hair around her finger, chewing on the inside of her mouth. She wasn't the only one who looked nervous. Harry still wasn't sure why they were all here, but it certainly couldn't be good.
But Hermione beat him to it. "Something's going on, isn't it?" she asked, pushing forward past Harry and Ron to stare up at Moody. "The last time you were here, Voldemort was at Hogwarts."
A flicker of irritation passed over Moody's face, his normal eye twitching. "He'd be foolish to try that again, right under Dumbledore's nose."
If only he knew, thought Harry.
"We're merely here to meet with Dumbledore about something purely theoretical," said Andromeda smoothly. "It's —" Her eyes lingered for a second on Hermione, her demeanour almost apologetic "—about the Blood Purity Bill."
Harry knew about it, of course, but it didn't feel quite real. The newspaper clippings Hermione had spread across the dormitory floor had to have come from an alternate reality. Ron had spent the past few weeks reassuring her that Dumbledore would protect Muggle-born students from getting called up, but none of them were fully convinced, not even Ron.
"The Blood Purity Bill isn't 'theoretical,'" said Hermione, giving Andromeda a disapproving look. "It's been passed by a majority vote in the Wizengamot."
"I know that! Ted was sent his registration number last week!"
Oh. The thought rattled around in Harry's brain like a pinball. So it's really happening. He was only marginally aware of Ron squeezing Hermione's shoulder.
"They're actually going through with it?" asked Ron.
"Not if the International Confederation has anything to say about it," said Tonks brightly.
"The International Confederation involving itself in domestic disputes is unprecedented," said Lupin.
"They're already involved," said Tonks.
"Voldemort won't be stopped by a trade embargo, which is the most the International Confederation will dare enforce."
Just then, Moody turned around, looking them up and down. "Enough gawking. You three have exams tomorrow morning. Back to dinner, and then bed."
Harry very much did not appreciate being spoken to as if he were five years old, but there was nothing he could say or do. He could not even bring himself to respond to Tonks' cheerful "Good luck!" as he watched the Order members head in the direction of Dumbledore's office.
A beat of silence passed.
"Aren't we going to follow them?" asked Harry.
"Really?" Ron scratched the back of his neck, looking unsure.
"You've already dragged me away from revising for Charms," said Hermione, crossing her arms. "We might as well go the whole way."
There was probably a flaw in the logic somewhere, but Harry was willing to accept the premise and conclusion as is. After glancing around to check they were alone in the hallway, he pulled out the Invisibility Cloak. They were all getting almost too tall to fit comfortably under it, but it did the trick. Navigating through the hallways with all the grace of participants in a three-legged race, they finally made it past the stone gargoyle guarding the stairs and up into Dumbledore's office; no one seemed to have noticed the door opening and closing behind them.
"According to Mafalda—"
It was Tonks speaking. Harry nudged both Ron and Hermione, and together, they started tiptoeing around the edge of the room to find a spot where they could hear and see everything, trying not to disturb any of the instruments littering the office as they went.
"—Well, she thinks getting the International Confederation involved and Dumbledore meeting with Umbridge might have pushed Narcissa too far, and it's destabilized her. It looks like, from her end, the International Confederation might do something, so they're planning to do something big."
They crouched beside a mahogany bookcase just as Dumbledore steepled his fingers with a far-away expression. "Yes. I have heard something similar from my own sources."
Then again, 'something big' was vague to the point of meaninglessness.
"Isn't the Blood Purity Bill 'something big' enough?" asked Bill.
Andromeda frowned. "If I know Narcissa, the sky's the limit. The secrecy only makes me more certain of that."
"And more certain, perhaps," Dumbledore added, "that this next move is not solely under Narcissa's control."
"Does he think You-Know-Who—" Ron whispered.
"Shhhhhhh."
Harry was beginning to get uncomfortable, sandwiched between them and crouched next to a bookcase. At least the silky fabric of the Cloak was cooling.
"—I think that is fair to assume, as well as that the scheme likely lies outside the purview of the Ministry."
"Why? Isn't the Ministry what he's interested in right now?"
"To the contrary, Remus. Voldemort has the Ministry of Magic under his thumb, and only coordinated heroism from the member nations of the International Confederation would have a serious chance at ousting him from power. No, the Ministry is secure, so he must look elsewhere, to his only remaining opponents. That is, us, of course."
"Are you sure?" asked Andromeda, leaning forward in her chair.
"Assassination attempts on those who could have power consolidated behind them is enough proof. Besides, we are no stranger to this."
Harry remembered his and Lupin's discussion in the back room of the library. Whole families… And Voldemort-as-Quirrell, too, recounting the events of the war, revelling in the power he wielded as he spun Harry tales of destruction and death.
"I agree," said Moody. He placed an arm on the table, then paused, his prosthetic eyes whizzing around to catalogue every inch of the room. "Constant vigilance is necessary."
Bill started to raise his hand as if they were in class. "But don't we need some sort of strategy."
"Can't strategize without information," said Moody. "It's what you'd call a limiting factor. Mafalda's got to do better. Or perhaps—" he gestured at Dumbledore "—your source."
Dumbledore looked pensive. "I am afraid I might risk his cover if he pries any more than he already has."
"Who's Dumbledore's source?" whispered Hermione, her hair brushing again Harry's face as she turned her head.
"No idea." Harry's foot was starting to get pins and needles.
"—if the war is anything to go by, we're just about due for an escalation of violence."
"We can't go by the war," said Moody sternly, slapping his hand on the table and making Lupin jump and Andromeda glare while Dumbledore looked on impassively. "He's no longer acting outside the bounds of the law. He is the state. There's no telling what he has planned. The whole reason we're here, having this discussion, is because we lack intelligence. Mafalda isn't enough. We need to go the other way around and recruit someone from their side."
How could you trust anyone on Voldemort's side? thought Harry. He felt sick at the idea. It was bad enough having Tom Riddle walk the halls of Hogwarts, Unbreakable Vow or not.
"A dissatisfied employee, so to speak?" asked Dumbledore, his mouth twisting with amusement. "However, I fail to comprehend what would sway one to defect from the winning side, and I would be wary of any 'gift' that falls into our laps."
Yeah, like Riddle. Harry tried to take some of the weight off of his foot.
"Could—" Tonks paused when everyone swivelled around to look at her "—could Mafalda identify if there are any… dissatisfied employees?"
Andromeda shook her head. "Not unless she somehow gets enough trust to take the Dark Mark. The Dark Lord has many followers, but only a handful are allowed to know anything useful. It's a very effective hierarchy."
"Well, we don't want that to happen…" Tonks trailed off, looking a little green.
"Debate it however you want," said Moody, "but intelligence dictates who will win or lose. It's simple arithmetic."
Just then, Moody's prosthetic eye whizzed towards the bookcase, oscillating back and forth. The breath caught in Harry's throat, and he felt Ron and Hermione tense beside him.
"We're not alone."
Each step towards them felt damning, everyone turning to stare at Moody as he stormed towards them, until he snatched up the silvery fabric of the Invisibility Cloak. Bill started in shock; Lupin started laughing until Andromeda glared at him; Tonks waved.
"Potter," said Moody. "Do you know you have a remarkable talent for being everywhere you shouldn't be?"
"Yes," said Harry. He could not help but steal a glance at Dumbledore, who looked amused, if anything. "We just wanted to know what was going on."
"In that case, I hope your curiosity has been satisfied." Moody's expression hardened. "Out."
"I told you two to leave it alone," Ron muttered, looking at Bill. "Please don't tell Mum, she'll go ballistic."
With Moody's glare following them all the way to the door (and probably through it as well), they headed back down the stairs, Harry stuffing the Cloak back into his bag.
"Just our luck," Ron groused as they emerged out into the hallway.
Harry was still mulling over the conversation. What Dumbledore had said implied there was a spy in Voldemort's ranks. Was that even possible?
"We should get some sleep before tomorrow," said Hermione, striding ahead of both of them. "Our first exam's at eight-thirty."
This revelation made Harry's already low mood sink to the centre of the earth. By the time they got to Gryffindor Tower, none of the fifth and seventh years were anywhere to be seen in the common room, having already turned in for the night. Ginny and a few other fourth years were playing a loud game of Exploding Snap and didn't notice when they came in. A few sixth years, including Cormac McLaggen, were sprawled out by the fire.
Not that he deserves to be relaxed like that after he lost us the game, thought Harry. Despite Angelina's training and McLaggen's bluster, he was still no match for the Ravenclaw Chasers.
"Lucky buggers," Ron muttered.
Hermione said goodnight hurriedly and dashed up the stairs to the girls' dorms. Ron turned to Harry.
"You know she's gone up there to read Achievement in Charming cover-to-cover one more time, don't you?"
Harry nodded. He was actually beginning to feel a bit sick, he thought, as they began to climb the stairs. The buzzing in his head nearly managed to drown out Neville wishing he had some Felix Felicis and Dean and Seamus quizzing each other from three beds down as he laid awake, staring at the ceiling and realising he had forgotten to brush his teeth. He was half-afraid that dreams of Voldemort awaited him. And while this 'something big' was coming, the Order was stretched impossibly thin, flying blind.
Maybe he'd ask Sirius about it tomorrow if he could get a moment alone.
"Ron?" he whispered.
"Urgh— Yeah?" came the groggy response. "You want to talk about the Order meeting, don't you."
"Sorry," said Harry, squinting at the Ron-shaped blob in the darkness. "I just can't get to sleep."
"There's nothing we can do about any of that stuff," said Ron. "Moody told us to leave it alone, so they wouldn't want our help even if we had anything to offer them."
On a purely logical level, Ron was right. But there was a part of Harry that rebelled against slipping into complacency.
"So that's it? What about when Hermione gets a letter in the mail?"
"She won't," said Ron. "Dumbledore—"
"Dumbledore's one man, Ron! He can't be everywhere and do everything— he's — " Harry faltered, realising his voice had risen to a shout and that Dean and Seamus had fallen silent "—human."
"I'm not disagreeing with you, mate." Harry heard the rustle of blankets as Ron sat up. "I just have no clue what we can do about it."
Harry didn't either. But people should care, and they didn't, and they were acting like everything was normal. He didn't have the luxury of sticking his head in the sand — and nor did all those Muggle-borns.
"There's got to be more of us than them," he said. "People are just too scared to stand up to Voldemort."
That was, after all the point of Dementors and Inferi and Dark Marks. Harry knew firsthand the paralytic power of fear.
"Go to sleep, Harry," said Ron, turning over and pulling the blankets over his head.
Rolling onto his back, Harry went back to staring at the ceiling. Sleep did not come, even as the sky outside darkened to pure black and whispering turned to snoring. He felt tired, but even as he shut his eyes, nothing beckoned but swarming questions and a sense of dread.
After about an hour, his scar started to burn, too. It started as a tingle, progressed into an itch, as if it were trying to heal, and blossomed into stabbing, searing pain. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth as Madam Pomfrey had taught him, but it did nothing to assuage it. If he had been asleep, he would probably be dreaming of Voldemort…
Wait. Maybe that was a good thing. His scar hurting, and these glimpses of Voldemort, they always seemed to occur together. Maybe Voldemort was revealing his plot to Harry right now. He must get to sleep.
Taking care not to make too much noise, Harry leaned over the bed, his hand shifting clutter until he touched the cool surface of a stoppered vial.
"Lumos," he whispered, and his wand glowed blue-white, illuminating the contents of the vial — just what he was looking for, the soothing purple of Sleeping Draught.
It was when he straightened up that he got the shock of his life. His thumb brushed over the ouroboros ring, and then he saw her.
The vial of Sleeping Draught slipped out of his fingers and fell to the ground with a crash as the breath left his lungs, violet liquid pooling in the slanting light of the waxing moon. It illuminated her too, catching reflections in her eyes.
It was dark, true, but she was unmistakable. And far more solid than a ghost. He had memorised her, staring at every picture for far too long, every detail of her face etched into his mind.
She was real. He had never been more certain of anything in his life. Not immaterial like a Pensieve memory, but real. Her hands could have cradled his face, just like in his dream.
Not daring to move, to speak, to blink, to even breathe, Harry stood rooted to the floor, frozen, his eyes locked on the apparition. His eyes filmed over with tears, flooding his eyelashes and streaming down his face. His throat threatened to close around the impossible word. Did he dare to speak it?
He was either mad or dead, neither of which bothered Harry.
She brushed her long, red hair away from her face and smiled.
"Mum?"