CHAPTER: 49: THE BRINK OF DESPAIR

The heat that had threatened to spill from his eyes and the lump that constricted his throat faded away, leaving behind a stark and numbing cold that wrapped its icy tendrils around his heart. All semblance of feeling drained from him, and the shadows of the abyss danced before Harry's feet like thick, dark smoke caught in a capricious wind. With resolute determination, he approached the precipice and peered into the unfathomable depths. A multitude of ghostly faces stared back at him, their whispers drowning out the thunderous crashes and their wide, pale eyes shining brighter than the fleeting green flashes of lightning.

"If there're no dreams left," Harry murmured, his voice barely a whisper in the shadowy chorus. "Then what's the point?" With a hint of despair, he dipped a tentative toe into the inky void that clung to his skin like icy tar. "I may as well just disappear after all."

The myriad faces in the abyss whispered back, their collective murmurs swelling over him like a great, dark wave, and the tattered shadows of fingers reached out for him from the swirling black.

"But then they win," Harry whispered, a newfound resolve coursing through him. He wrested his heart back from the clutches of the darkness. "I vanish. I become nothing." He took a step away from the precipice, turning his back to the abyss. "And I won't go back to that. Never."

As the memory of the haunting dream slowly receded into the recesses of his mind, a piercing, bright green light seared across Harry's eyes, jolting him upright into the harsh reality of his dormitory.

"Fuck. Right. Off," he muttered, hastily pulling the gap in the hangings closed and burying the fading impressions of his nightmarish dream somewhere deep within his subconscious. "I'm going to put a sticking charm on these tonight," he grumbled, his frustration evident. "I swear they come open every night."

Nev, roused by the commotion, called out, "Who were you talking to?"

Harry sighed. "Just myself."

Nev let out a sleepy yawn. "First sign of madness, that."

Unfazed by Nev's jest, Harry donned his robes and brushed the hangings aside. "Seen any hairs on the palms of your hands?"

Nev snorted. "I suppose I should get up and go for breakfast."

The red and gold hangings on the other side of the room rustled, and with a rattle, they were drawn open. Nev, who had just begun to get up, managed to get entangled in them and tumbled to the floor.

"Morning, Nev," Harry quipped, stepping over his friend's prone form and making his way towards the door. "Breakfast?"

"Yes," Nev replied, now upright and slightly disheveled. "I've got loads of stuff to tell you. My gran found out a whole bunch of things in an emergency Wizengamot session last night."

Harry concealed a small, thin smile. "Oh?"

"Apparently Rita Skeeter was killed in her home, and the Dark Mark was conjured over the top," Nev relayed, his voice carrying a mixture of sadness and intrigue. "Which is awful, of course, but they found all sorts of interesting stuff in her house."

"What did they find?" Harry inquired as they made their way downstairs.

"Some article about Lucius Malfoy and Death Eaters that she was going to put in her column," Nev replied.

Harry glanced up and down the stairs, ensuring their privacy. "So Malfoy was the one who did it then?"

"His associates, Gran reckons," Nev explained as they continued toward the passage leading out. "Malfoy's got an alibi, but he probably just asked some of his friends to cloak up and do it for him."

"So he escapes justice once again," Harry remarked bitterly.

"Yeah," Nev replied, gritting his teeth and balling his fists. "But that's not the end of it. Gran said Amelia Bones, Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, has been working her office round-the-clock since the aurors got through the wards on Skeeter's home. Almost a hundred Ministry officials resigned or were fired this morning. There were a lot of former Death Eaters among them."

They reached their destination, the filing cabinet where Harry stored Rita Skeeter's belongings. Harry couldn't help but feel tempted, but he sighed and adhered to his earlier promise not to tamper with her stuff. "It's a shame I swore not to mess with her stuff, or I would've been able to take it."

Harry shrugged and led the way, ducking out through the Fat Lady's passageway. "Good riddance to them, then. Best they aren't somewhere they can cause trouble."

"Does mean they're probably all off kissing Voldemort's arse, though," Nev said, his voice tinged with disdain.

"What's the Prophet saying?" Harry asked, stepping over the familiar trick step.

Nev, however, fell victim to the tricky stair. "Damn…"

"Every time," Harry sighed, drawing his wand and freeing Nev. "I'm honestly not even sure why we have these trick steps. Someone must have broken an ankle in one before."

"Cheers," Nev said, cautiously testing the next few steps with his toe before fully committing to them. "The Prophet tried to make it look like it was Sirius Black and his band of rogue Death Eaters, but that excuse is wearing thin. Half of London saw the Dark Mark. Gran said their emergency Wizengamot session was largely an attempt by Fudge and the few people stupid enough not to jump ship to convince everyone that Voldemort hadn't returned. His days as Minister are numbered, apparently."

"Does your Gran tell you everything that happens in these sessions?" Harry asked, genuinely curious.

Nev groaned. "Yes. The Wizengamot seat is hereditary, and she's just my proxy, which means that once I'm seventeen, I have to go myself. Gran wants to be sure I know what I'm doing, so she spends an hour talking to me after every meeting."

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "That sounds wonderful."

Nev's response was deadpan. "I don't know why you're laughing. I'm fairly sure you have at least one seat yourself."

"At least one?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "How is that democratic?"

Nev shrugged. "It's not. The Ministry is meant to make the rules now that we have the Statute of Secrecy. The Wizengamot are the bunch of powerful families that ran things before, and they get to veto stuff they think isn't okay."

Harry frowned. "And they passed Umbridge's decrees?"

Nev nodded. "Yeah, they did."

"So how do I have more than one seat?" Harry asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Your family absorbed a few other prominent names and accrued a lot of political weight," Nev explained. "Gran mentioned that once you're of age, you'll be one of the most politically powerful wizards or witches in Britain, especially with your fame. Dumbledore's the same."

Harry muttered, "That sounds fun."

Nev offered a glimmer of hope, saying, "Hopefully, he'll be in Azkaban by then."

"Or I'll be dead," Harry quipped.

Nev chuckled. "Probably preferable, that."

Harry decided to construct a towering bacon sandwich from the platters of breakfast nearby, cramming crispy bacon between slices of toast.

"I'm not sure you'll be able to bite that," Nev observed, measuring the sandwich's height with both hands. "Not without unhinging your jaw and terrifying Ernie Macmillan with the idea that you're actually half-magical snake creature."

Harry attempted to take a bite but quickly realized it was a daunting task. "I can certainly try," he mumbled, attempting to stretch his jaw to encompass the monstrous sandwich. "Damn…" He then reached for a knife and fork. "Oh well. Plan B."

Nev nodded in agreement. "Probably for the best. You don't need to substitute for Ron's table manners when he's away."

Harry offered a faux-apologetic expression. "My sincerest apologies." He then changed the topic. "So, what are you doing today? Nobody comes back until tomorrow."

"Professor Sprout offered to let me help her in the greenhouses. I brought Hannah in to show to her," Nev explained.

"Hannah?" Harry blinked, then a mischievous grin spread across his face. "That's not really how you're meant to introduce your girlfriend to people, Nev. But congratulations for finally asking her out, everyone knows you like Miss Abbott."

Neville emitted an undignified squeak and turned the color of an overripe pomegranate. "I named my Mimbulus Mimbletonia Hannah," he muttered, embarrassment clear in his voice.

"Oh?" Harry's grin widened. "Well, if you want my advice, I'd make sure Hannah, the girl, that is, knows how much you love your cactus, before she finds out you named a slimy, spiky, stinky sap-shooting monster of a plant after her and takes it badly."

Neville gulped. "You think she won't like it?"

"I think she'll like it once she knows how much you love the plant," Harry reassured him. "If she doesn't know that, though, then you're going to be spending a whole lot more time with the less attractive, green version of Hannah than with the pretty, pigtailed one."

"And when you said everyone knows?" Neville squeaked.

"I meant that literally every person in the school knows that you like her," Harry teased as he divided his sandwich. "I wouldn't be surprised if Professor Dumbledore's end-of-year speech mentions it. If he's still here."

"So Hannah knows?" Neville inquired, his voice laced with anxiety.

"I think she was one of the first to notice, Nev," Harry replied with a mischievous glint in his eye. "You spend a lot of time staring at her, then you start getting really dreamy-eyed and go all red. What do you start thinking about?" He attempted to mimic Gabby's suggestive, playful gaze.

Neville hurriedly crammed the last of his breakfast into his mouth and gulped it down. "I think I need to go see Professor Sprout."

Harry offered a parting suggestion, "You could just ask Hannah to Hogsmeade. She might say yes, you know."

Neville shot Harry a glare and then scurried away between the tables.

Harry finished his sandwich and decided on his next course of action. "I suppose I should check on Dobby and then go speak to Sirius. See if he's ready to tell me things now."

He swung himself off the bench and began to wander in the direction of the Chamber of Secrets. "Dobby," he called out.

A loud crack echoed down the corridor, and Dobby appeared, bobbing his head back and forth. "How have you been, Dobby?" Harry inquired as he ascended the stairs and walked along the corridor toward Myrtle's bathroom. "Well?"

"Dobby is good, Master Harry Potter," the elf responded. "Dobby is happy that his master has managed to strike back against that family. Dobby knows the nasty green lady. She's a friend of Dobby's old master."

Harry nodded in understanding. "She wasn't a very nice person. But what happened was about making sure your former master's master doesn't win."

"Dobby understands," the elf agreed, bouncing along in Harry's wake. "Master Harry Potter is very noble; he tries to protect everyone however he can."

"Thank you, Dobby," Harry said, though the weight of being seen as noble didn't sit well with him. "Have you been watching Professor Umbridge for me?"

"Dobby has," the elf replied. "The nasty pink lady has tried to harm students over and over again, but Dobby has been making sure she can't. But she is getting suspicious of Dobby now, there is much more magic around her office than there used to be."

"Can you still get in?" Harry inquired.

"Dobby won't fail Master Harry Potter," the elf vowed. "Master Harry Potter risked his life to save all the students from the monster of the Chamber when Dobby only tried to save one. Dobby knows better now. He will do what Master Harry Potter would've done and save them all."

"Thank you, Dobby," Harry said gratefully, kneeling in front of the entrance to the bathroom to clasp the house elf's hand between his own. "Your assistance is invaluable in keeping everyone safe."

"Dobby will not fail Master Harry Potter," Dobby assured him, nodding so vigorously that his long ears slapped against his cheeks. With a loud crack, he disappeared.

Harry couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for the loyal house elf. Heroes aren't real, he thought with a heavy sigh. I'll make sure loyal Dobby is well looked after.

He stepped over the puddle on the bathroom floor and addressed Salazar in the Chamber of Secrets. "Open," he commanded, and descended the steps past the serpent effigies. "I'm back."

"Alone? Or have you brought your French muse with you?" Salazar inquired.

"Alone," Harry confirmed, his mind momentarily drifting to the memory of Fleur. I won't see Fleur for a while now. She has exams, and I shouldn't distract her from them with my problems.

"Have you come to learn something?" Salazar asked. "Or are you going to tell me what happened yesterday?"

"I came to speak to my godfather," Harry said. "He's been shut up in that house he hates, watching people get sent to Azkaban or killed over whatever's down there. And now Rita Skeeter's been killed under the Dark Mark, and the Ministry's in turmoil."

"You killed her?" Salazar inquired, pursing his lips. "Was it worth it? Are they starting to believe?"

"I don't know," Harry mused. "I do know that a lot of wizards and witches who might have been Voldemort supporters or become ones no longer work for the Ministry after aurors discovered all the material Skeeter dug up."

Salazar nodded. "Then it was worth it."

Harry picked up the mirror from the desk and breathed his godfather's name onto it, pressing a finger to his lips.

"Harry!" Sirius greeted with a broad grin. "How are you? How was your Christmas? I have your present, but I can't seem to convince Dumbledore to give it to you."

"It was good," Harry replied, his jaw clenched. "Except for what happened to Mr. Weasley. Dumbledore sent him down there into danger."

"Yes," Sirius's grin vanished. "Arthur is dearly missed. Things have been subdued here."

"He shouldn't have had to die," Harry muttered.

"He died on duty for the Order," Sirius said. "Which is better than what I'm doing, rotting in here, not helping anyone. It's just like last time, but Dumbledore won't listen to anyone."

Harry seized upon this opportunity. "Nobody should be guarding things in the Department of Mysteries."

Sirius grimaced. "How do you know about the prophecy?"

Harry's resolve solidified. "I assume there was a good reason for me not being told and everyone being sent down where Voldemort would obviously attack them?" He raised both eyebrows. "It seemed like Mrs. Weasley felt it was somehow my fault, as if it wasn't Dumbledore's plan."

"Molly is just very upset," Sirius sighed. "How much do you know about this, then?"

"I've gathered that it's about me, that it's in the Department of Mysteries, and that Voldemort is clearly after it."

"That's pretty much all there is to it," Sirius confirmed. "We've been guarding it."

Harry pressed further. "I want to know why you haven't just broken, moved, or stolen it?"

"Only the person the prophecy is about can remove it," Sirius explained. "There are some very old and nasty protections on them. Prophecies cause a lot of trouble, so the wards are quite strong."

"So only Voldemort or I can take it?" Harry glanced at Salazar for guidance.

Salazar wound his serpent 'round his arm and peered down with a deep frown. "Keep going," he whispered.

"Sirius?" Harry said.

"Yes."

"So either I take it, or people keep dying," Harry said. "Surely the smart thing to do would be to just sneak in and grab it."

Sirius grimaced. "This is why Dumbledore insisted we not tell you; he was afraid you'd insist on coming to get it."

Harry wasn't about to let that logic slide. "Because that makes perfect sense," he jibed. "It's fine for you all to repeatedly risk sneaking in and possibly dying to guard it, but way too risky for me to sneak in once and just sort it for good."

"Well–"

"If you can secretly guard it, then I can secretly sneak in and destroy it," Harry insisted, his determination unwavering.

Sirius twisted his lips about, then sighed. "I'll talk to the Order."

Harry was quick to reject that idea. "No. Dumbledore will never agree. If he hasn't changed his mind after Mr. Weasley died, he's never going to listen to us. We can sneak in together under the invisibility cloak and tell him afterward. It'll be fine."

A weak grin spread over Sirius's lips. "You make it sound like I'm back sneaking out after curfew at Hogwarts."

"I don't know how to get in," Harry confessed.

"Oh, that's easy," Sirius said. "We'll go when Mundungus is on watch. He's had his eye on all sorts of bits and pieces from this house. I'll give him a bunch of stuff, and that'll be that. I'm sure nobody else will be about in that part of the Ministry after hours."

Harry had one last question. "How do I get to the Ministry?"

"Once you're here, I can apparate you," Sirius replied. "Everyone else already knows the secret. The Weasleys and Hermione were here over Christmas and in the summer to help clear the place up." He pulled out a tattered piece of parchment and showed it to Harry. "I kept this when Dumbledore gave it to me."

Harry examined the parchment, which bore the familiar elegant, slanted script. The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

"You kept the note he gave you?" Harry asked, a mix of surprise and disbelief in his tone.

"I haven't left the house, so if someone finds the note, then they're already inside, and it doesn't matter," Sirius explained. "When are we going to go?"

"I need to oust Dumbledore, then get rid of Umbridge," Harry declared.

"I don't know for sure," Harry replied. "I need to find a way to sneak out without Umbridge or Dumbledore realizing."

"I'll be waiting," Sirius said with a grin that lifted the shadows from his face. "I feel younger just thinking about doing this. It'll be good to have some excitement again."

"And to destroy that prophecy," Harry added.

"That too," Sirius agreed. "Have you heard about what's happening at the Ministry today?"

"Not really," Harry admitted. "Nev said the Wizengamot's not happy with Fudge."

"Yeah, old Augusta's just a proxy, so she'd've had to tell him," Sirius explained. "Guess I'd better explain some boring stuff to you about wizarding politics. The Wizengamot's just the collection of noble families that ran this country's magical side for nearly a millennium. The Ministry got set up to uphold the Statute of Secrecy and has kind of turned into government on the back of it. A lot of the old families didn't like that, but it's done and probably for the better."

"So that's why purebloods hate Muggles?" Harry asked.

"Part of it," Sirius said with a shrug. "Muggles and wizards have been killing each other for a lot of different reasons for a long time. Anyway, the Ministry makes and upholds all the laws these days, but they can't just toss the Wizengamot out because the families are still influential and powerful, and they have a right of veto over anything that's passed. That right of veto is very important for stopping anything stupid from being made into law."

The pieces of the puzzle began to click into place in Harry's mind. "So the Ministry tries to push its agenda through the Wizengamot all the time."

"Right, but most often the Wizengamot's too split to ever pass anything major, just how the balance of votes works," Sirius explained. "I can't remember the exact details. Regulus loved this stuff, but I'd rather chew my own leg off than listen to it. Right now, it boils down to the fact that Fudge just about had the Wizengamot on his side, but all this recent stuff is losing him that. My cousin, Tonks, said Amelia Bones has turfed out a whole load of Ministry people on the back of the Rita Skeeter murder. A good swathe of them were key people for Fudge."

"So he's screwed," Harry summarized.

"Won't last more than a month if he doesn't get some kind of miracle," Sirius predicted.

Harry couldn't help but smile and feel a rush of triumph. Fudge will be looking for a miracle, and he'll leap at the chance to catch Dumbledore up to no good. This is perfect.

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