Fanfiction

Harry Potter and the Eye of Power--by Berilac

Chapter Four: The Kidnapping
Author: Berilac
Rating: PG

Summary: A mysterious cloaked stranger whisks Harry away from Privet Drive to some unknown place in a deep and old forest. Did he kill Mrs. Figg? More importantly, what does he want? The answer isn't soon forthcoming, and Harry begins to fear that he's trapped with a madman whose dichotomy of concern and contempt for himself, Voldemort, and the Wizarding world in general may lead to a blacker evil than any he's known.

CHAPTER FOUR:
THE KIDNAPPINGCHAPTER FOUR:
THE KIDNAPPING

Harry stood stock still; his feet felt like lead over the linoleum tiles. The grip that the hooded man possessed was nothing less than iron firm. The man continued to gaze piercingly at Harry, his line of sight upon his lightning-bolt scar. He nodded solemnly and made a slow calculating step backwards toward the back door.
Mrs. Figg remained next to the stove, standing around a jagged pattern of shattered porcelain dishes, staring in a stupor, her hands clasped firmly together, unsure of what movement to take.
"Potter," the hooded man said again with the same silky voice. "There's no need to dally around this place any longer. Let's go..."
But Harry didn't move. Not one inch.
"Where are you taking me?" he asked nervously.
"That's of no importance at the present time," the hooded man answered, his eyes continually sparkling like polished emeralds. "Come with me. Now!"
The various kneazles and cats started to edge closer to Harry and the hooded man, hissing and spitting warningly at him. Mrs. Figg continued to stay where she was, her face lined with fear and apprehension at what was to come. A long pause followed.... The three of them stared at each other, waiting for at least one of them to make the next move.
"Enough of this!" the hooded man finally shouted. "I've lingered here far too long!"
He made the first movement and started to drag Harry in his direction, out the doorway. Right on cue, Mrs. Figg ventured forward quickly with a shout of fury.
"You will not steal the Potter child!" Mrs. Figg screeched, raising her hand, which tightly held a large black frying pan.
The hooded man did not react quickly enough. Mrs. Figg let out another reverberating screech and pelted him over and over again with the larger-than-normal pan, the metallic clangs bouncing off the walls loudly.
"You. Will. Not. Take. Him. Away!" she screamed with all her might continuing her onslaught over the hooded man.
Harry ducked out of the way. He dashed back away from the dual... and slipped over the broken dishes still lying on the kitchen floor. The kneazles that were stalking around the tableau leapt away in fright. Harry's lower back throbbed with pain from the fall. He closed his eyes wishing for something to appease the pulse coursing through him.
And before he could open his eyes, a mind-numbing shriek issued forth from Mrs. Figg, much worse than her frenzied squeals only a moment before. Harry opened his eyes and saw Mrs. Figg spread-eagled on the floor, her eyes wide open, her body lifeless.
The hooded man stood over her with his wand pointed directly at Mrs. Figg, his hand shaking horribly from the sudden brawl. His hood had fallen down, revealing a disheveled mop of dark hair and a face that was already reddening from the continual thrashings that had been administered by Mrs. Figg's frying pan.
"Wh-what did you do?" Harry managed to gasp. "You-"
"There's no time to talk," the man said with an utmost severity. "I've probably caused too much of a disturbance already. You're coming with me NOW! No arguments!"
He quickly pulled the hood over his head and pointed the wand at Harry.
"You ready?"
Sparks began to issue forth from the wand. Then, without warning, ropes lurched out of the wand toward Harry, wrapping around him tightly until he was unable to move an inch.
Before Harry could react verbally to this action, the hooded man shouted a curse loudly through the air.
"Invisiblia!"
With that, the hooded man vanished. Harry looked around wildly, first at the place where the hooded man had been, then down at the body of Mrs. Figg, still sprawled out on the linoleum floor. Was she dead? It didn't appear that she was breathing....
"Okay! Now that we're both invisible-" the man shouted out of nowhere. Harry looked down and made a loud gurgling noise. He was completely invisible also; it was as if he was wearing his father's Invisibility Cloak!
At that precise moment, Harry felt dizzy. Mrs. Figg's kitchen became an indistinct blur. The half-open door in Harry's line of sight began to sway oddly, bending and swerving so violently that Harry's insides started churning into overdrive. Suddenly, the floor dropped out from underneath him, he was floating in midair-!
Then, a blast of ice-cold air collided with Harry's face; it was as if he was riding a fast-moving carnival ride on an extremely windy day. The wind stung his cheeks with its bitter cold fingers; Harry's hair blew haphazardly as he careened to some unknown location. Blurry blues, whites, and grays whirred past him at an unbelievably fast clip, the nausea that Harry possessed continuing to intensify. Stronger and stronger it increased until... he started slowing down.... The blurs became darker and darker; the brightness of Harry's surroundings faded away as sunlight does stealthily after dusk. The world through Harry's eyes kept on diminishing until only an incalculable darkness pervaded throughout him. The wind stopped. Harry felt no movement; he still couldn't move freely because of the tightly bound ropes around him. So he relaxed. And closed his eyes. To another blackness that seemed to never end....
* * *
"Potter! Wake up!"
Slowly and gradually, Harry forced open his eyes. The first picture he glimpsed upon was the same man who kidnapped him, his face now masked by candlelit shadows. Harry then looked around to find out where he was. It was a seemingly out-of-the-way place a little lower than the forest around it, like a miniature hollow. Dense branches arched overhead, blocking the moonlight or anything else from falling down upon the two of them. Numerous wide orange floating candles hovered around Harry and the hooded figure, providing the only illumination. At the present moment, the man was sitting on a gigantic decayed log; Harry was sprawled out on the floor, the ropes now gone, his body sore as if he had just run a long distance.
The man was not wearing a cape any longer; he did wear a tattered beige overcoat that was too small for him-that along with black pants and shoes. He also wore fingerless gloves that hadn't been washed in a good long while. The man sat there looking at Harry, illuminated faintly by the mysterious light of the candles.
"Are you all right?" he asked Harry, his face encased with concern.
"Y-yes- I guess..." Harry said faintly, not fully recovered from the ride from Mrs. Figg's.
A paused followed. Harry peered around for a bit, totally clueless as to where he was. He then looked back at the man.
"Who are you?"
"Well-" he paused looking at Harry with an intense concentration. "Let me put it to you this way: if I tell you my name, would you believe me?"
"I-I guess I would..." Harry said hesitantly, unable to decipher the hidden meaning behind the man's question.
"Because I could very well be lying, you know...." the man said, his eyes still ablaze, staring straight at Harry.
"Well, what other choice do I have?" Harry said irritably. "You've kidnapped me; you've brought me to this-this place! You've even killed Mrs. Fi-"
"Now wait just a minute!" the man hissed urgently. He got up from the log and crouched down, edging closer to Harry, who, in reflex, inched slowly back against the earthy floor.
"You killed her," Harry shouted angrily. "I saw her staring into space! I know what dead people look like!"
Harry's thoughts swam back to the end of his fourth year; Cedric Diggory was lying motionless on the ground in Harry's direct view, his face blankly staring out in shock; a snake-like rasping voice in the background flew at him, as if Harry had been transported directly to the graveyard just then. Harry blanched and shook his head violently, trying to suppress the reminiscent thoughts.
"Potter! You all right?"
At those words, Harry clasped a hand against the scar on his forehead. He looked at the man whose eyes were not even reflecting the candlelight. The green eyes glowed iridescently, like a glow-in-the-dark night-light.
"I-I'm...okay...." Harry lied. He tried not to look directly at the man's face.
"Your caretaker is not dead," the man said. "She's merely stunned for a longer amount of time. It'll wear off eventually...."
"I didn't hear the curse for it," Harry said scathingly. "You say ‘Stupefy' to stun someone."
"You're a smart little guy, you know," the man said, a slight amusement smothered in his words. "Well, they're not skiving off on teaching you at all, those slugs at Hogwarts. They're still teaching the important stuff there, sort of."
"Who are you?" Harry said abruptly. "You still haven't told me."
"Oh," the man smiled meekly and stood up straight, towering into the darkness that the enormous forest trees had showered down. "Well, I guess I shouldn't remain anonymous any longer...."
He walked a few steps away from where Harry lay and took off his gloves, stuffing them into the pockets of his overcoat. He faced Harry. A few of the candles that were levitating got in the way of a clear view of the man, but Harry didn't mind. If the eyes were covered, he felt safer. The eyes were too vivid to be allowed.
"My name is Yorick Hades," he said finally, his voice almost a whisper, as if afraid to invoke any outsider response, if there was any. "And I'm what the people in my line of work call an Authentic Unspeakable."
"Authentic?" Harry said, finally getting to his feet. "You're an Authentic Unspeakable? So you're related with the Ministry of Magic!"
"Oh no, no, no!" Yorick walked toward Harry making the candles float away with a brush of his hands. "I am in no way related to those incorrigible, unintelligent Neanderthals of the wizarding world!"
Harry stood shocked at the words that were flowing out of Yorick's mouth. Defaming the Ministry and talking horribly about it, as if it were rubbish, a complete abhorrence to his eyes...?
"What's the problem, kid?" he said with a surge of derision in his tone. "Can't realize the truth when it cuts deep?"
"What d'you mean?" Harry said dolefully. His eyes continued to stare down at the dirty ground around him and not at the man who had kidnapped him.
"You know perfectly well what I mean," Yorick said. Harry looked up and saw him standing next to the enormous log, about to take a seat down upon it.
"The Ministry's done some stupid things before," Harry said carefully, unsure of Yorick's true place in the wizarding world. "But-but they're not horrible! Well, most of them aren't horrible. There are a few people that are...are..."-(he remembered Dolores Umbridge, his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher last year, only for a moment, before smudging her out of his memory)-"...I mean, the Ministry's on our side now. You're on our side, right?"
"Ah, you mean against Voldemort?"
Yorick said the name with such power and, surprisingly, with such an enthusiastic vindictiveness that Harry shuddered and pulled even further away from him.
"What's the matter, Potter?" he sneered. "Afraid of his name, are you?"
"I-I'm not afraid of Voldemort's name," Harry replied, with a diminutive bravado. "I was just surprised that you'd-that you have such a vendetta against him."
"Well, he's a piece of filth, he is," Yorick said with unbelievable loathing. "Trying to use every evil trick in the book to be immortal. Trying to be bad, trying to be such a fearsome figure, trying to gain power over everyone and everything. But he's nothing. He's nothing to me."
Harry remained where he was, somewhat baffled thoughts frothing in his brain. Inside of himself, Harry laughed at the absurdity of what Yorick was saying. Not afraid of Voldemort? Throwing him completely away as nothing? As a weakling? How powerful is this guy? And what does he know really...? Harry himself had faced Voldemort five times already! Who was Yorick to tell him he was afraid of him?
"I'm freaking you out, aren't I?" Yorick said, his polytroposian tone of voice changing yet again. This time, he was calm, almost fatherly. "C'mon over here, Potter. You're probably wondering why I brought you here, right?"
Harry stood immovable, unwilling to move an inch toward Yorick.
"I'm not going to bite you or anything," he confirmed, sliding over on the upturned log so that Harry could sit down.
Harry walked slowly over, bent around a few of the floating candles, and crouched nearby, not looking at Yorick but still wordlessly paying attention.
"I told you that I'm not part of the Ministry. Well, that's true, I'm not. But I was a long time ago. Decades ago. Before you were born...."
Harry looked over at Yorick now; the man wasn't peering directly at Harry this time around. He was casting glances into the woods and at small crevices in the hollow wall, making sure that no one was listening on what he was saying.
"Before you were born Potter, I worked in the Department of Mysteries. It's a very secret place, holding many secrets from ordinary wizards. It's a place where I, and a handful of others, used to do experiments and answer imponderables and oddities that astounded even the smartest of wizards. Nowadays, new insights have ebbed slowly away; there are only about six or seven people who now work at the Ministry's department. Less actually after last year-"
Yorick paused, took out a tissue and blew his nose. Harry readjusted his legs and continued to gaze askance at Yorick, still avoiding his eyes.
"Potter, what I'm saying is that when Voldemort began to gain power, when he started his so-called ‘reign of terror', I was excruciatingly tempted to join him."
"You almost sided with Voldemort?" Harry yelled in alarm, utterly repulsed.
Yorick lurched forward and clasped Harry's mouth shut.
"Are you insane?" Yorick hissed angrily. "Do you want people to hear you?"
Harry tried to escape from Yorick's hold, but he gave in. That was when Yorick let go and walked away from the candlelight. Harry spoke up once more.
"So, you're telling me that you broke away from the Ministry and decided to-to side with Vol-"
"No! I didn't side with Voldemort!" Yorick said quietly, but still with great indignation. "I will not side with that trash! When I learned more about him! And who he worked with! I mean, his outlook on life's repulsively grim; he doesn't grasp the sacredness of life-that it shouldn't be toyed around with. He killed the innocent; he tortured his followers! What kind of rôle model's that?"
Harry's eyes began to water, thinking continuously of wanting to leave. He hated Yorick and he didn't really know why. Perhaps it was the fact that he didn't take Voldemort lightly. Maybe it was because of his unexplainable kidnapping of Harry from Mrs. Figg's home. Or it might have just been his eyes. The eyes completely frightened Harry. They were so piercing, so garish-that they caused Harry severe unrest. He felt unsafe and exposed. Like Moody's magical eye, those eyes could penetrate through objects; they could see what might be on the other side. And Harry didn't like that at all....
"You're afraid of me aren't you?" Yorick smirked nastily. This sudden question made Harry whirl around.
"What d'you mean? How'd you-?" Harry was thunderstruck.
"I know this seems a bit of different territory for you, since they don't teach this at Hogwarts-"
"You know Legilimency?" Harry asked, immediately knowing why Yorick knew.
"In way, yes. I am," Yorick smiled devilishly, his green eyes twinkling brightly. "But I don't use it most the time, in respect really. I've been able to completely control my Legilimency powers. I'm able to use it without even using any of those arduous spells that mundane wizards do."
"You what?"
"Most spells are really unnecessary if one puts their whole self into their work. One has to empty himself fully of the Muggle-ish tendencies inside of him, until what's left is mere body cavity. Then, one can use all the energy at his disposal."
"I don't get you," Harry said, his eyes narrowing. "I don't get you at all. So you say that wizards should have and could have been doing spells for all these years without incantations?"
"Oh no…" Yorick laughed and put an arm around Harry. Harry flinched but let the arm stay there. "No, Potter. There are spells one has to use the incantation for. But sometimes, one can use his entire energy and think upon the spell he is able to use. And perform it. Without any need of word of mouth. But, let me tell you, it's quite difficult. Hardly any wizard is powerful enough or intelligent enough to do that. For one, Dumbledore has it mastered well, in his own way. Not fully, but I applaud him well enough for it...."
At the sound of Dumbledore's name, Harry flinched again and drew slightly away from Yorick.
"You said you were going to tell me why you brought me here," Harry said quickly, trying to suppress the bitter feelings he was having at the present time as much as he possibly could.
"Oh yes," Yorick said. "I was going to give you some background first. About who I am-er-and was...."
There was a slight pause in Yorick's speech. He looked around once again and shook his head sullenly.
"We have to go someplace else. I don't feel safe here right now."
Yorick steered Harry forward, toward a gradual slope up out of the hollow. When Harry and Yorick reached the top, Yorick turned back toward the hollow, rose his right hand and snapped. The floating candles extinguished themselves and disappeared on the spot.
"Magic like that," Yorick said, with a touch of arrogance in his voice.
He pulled out his wand, set it ablaze inaudibly and walked into the woods; Harry followed slowly at his heels. As they ventured deeper into the woods, Harry began to feel contained and forcefully compressed as if the trees were leaning in upon him and trying to stop him from advancing further. From Yorick's wand light, the trees appeared ghostly pale but alive and haunting. They towered far above them stretching to the obscured heavens, to the skyless world overhead.
"Where are you going?" Harry questioned, striding fast now to keep up with Yorick's enormous strides.
"Far from where we just were, that's all you need to know right now," Yorick said after a few moments' silence.
Suddenly, as if it had magically appeared out of thin air, a large entranceway loomed in front of them. Trees were scattered in dense bunches all the way up to this entrance. On both sides of the opening were rocky cliffs that shot straight up to an undetectable height. The trees helped in concealing how far the dank walls reached.
"So, what's this place?" Harry asked as he reached the side of Yorick, who was inspecting the doorway in rapt silence.
Yorick reached out his left hand and touched one of the wooden edges of the door; a faint click sounded and the door slid to one side. An atrocious stench rushed out at them as the door opened. Harry clutched his nose tightly and tried not to breathe as much as he could. The odor was so powerful he could taste it.
Yorick looked down at Harry in slight amusement and walked through the doorway.
"You're not going to stay there, are you?" he asked amusedly.
"N-no," Harry said, gasping for any breathable air.
"Good," Yorick said. "You'll enjoy these caves. They're quite interesting...and safe...very safe...."
With that Harry made a step into the caves. The door immediately shut behind him as he made a couple more steps in Yorick's direction. He was stuck inside now, no way of going back.
"Follow me, Potter," Yorick said.
And so he did. The damp caves reeked with something fierce, mildewed and ancient. Water trickled through miniature perforations in the walls. The narrow path they traversed zigzagged left and right, at times over enormous chasms and through air-tight tunnels. Faint light would filter through certain overhead openings; faint gusts of bitterly cold winds would viciously tear over these openings as well.
To Harry it seemed like hours, walking through the many passageways and dead-end crawl-through spaces; the silence was unbearable, except for an occasional drip-drip of a faint stream alongside one of the paths. And then, finally, they reached what appeared to be an enormous arena-shaped room, cut out unevenly from the rock. The center of this room sported an enormous geyser. Water burst from underneath the floor and outward, creating a small circular moat around the fountain-like geyser. Benches wound around the geyser and more floating orange candles surrounded the geyser over some of the benches. Many different tunnels and walkways were etched out of the walls to this one space. Harry looked up at Yorick who peered down at Harry, smiling in a vague manner, his eyes sparkling mysteriously at him.
"Have a seat, Potter. Others might come and go while we're here, but we need not fear them...."
"Okay..." Harry said hesitantly, shivering madly. He had no coat or cloak on him; all his belongings still remained in Mrs. Figg's house.
He walked down the cracked and eroded steps toward one of the benches nearest to the geyser and the moat. He sat down and felt the frigidity of the seat coursing through his body. Why was this place so damp-so cold?
But Harry couldn't think about the temperatures of this inner room of the cave. Yorick had followed Harry and stood in the aisle looking down at him. He had extinguished his wand and was now placing it in one of his overcoat pockets.
"So, Potter," he said emotionlessly. "I guess I'll have to finish my explanation. I said I'd tell you why I brought you here."
Harry nodded slowly and edged over on the seat. Yorick sat down and drew a deep breath. At that moment, something inside of Harry made him shiver. It wasn't the cold; it was a premonition. Something that Yorick was about to say was going to be big. Harry could feel it.
Yes, it was going to be monumental; but it was not going to be pleasant. Not one bit...

Harry stood stock still; his feet felt like lead over the linoleum tiles. The grip that the hooded man possessed was nothing less than iron firm. The man continued to gaze piercingly at Harry, his line of sight upon his lightning-bolt scar. He nodded solemnly and made a slow calculating step backwards toward the back door.
Mrs. Figg remained next to the stove, standing around a jagged pattern of shattered porcelain dishes, staring in a stupor, her hands clasped firmly together, unsure of what movement to take.
"Potter," the hooded man said again with the same silky voice. "There's no need to dally around this place any longer. Let's go..."
But Harry didn't move. Not one inch.
"Where are you taking me?" he asked nervously.
"That's of no importance at the present time," the hooded man answered, his eyes continually sparkling like polished emeralds. "Come with me. Now!"
The various kneazles and cats started to edge closer to Harry and the hooded man, hissing and spitting warningly at him. Mrs. Figg continued to stay where she was, her face lined with fear and apprehension at what was to come. A long pause followed.... The three of them stared at each other, waiting for at least one of them to make the next move.
"Enough of this!" the hooded man finally shouted. "I've lingered here far too long!"
He made the first movement and started to drag Harry in his direction, out the doorway. Right on cue, Mrs. Figg ventured forward quickly with a shout of fury.
"You will not steal the Potter child!" Mrs. Figg screeched, raising her hand, which tightly held a large black frying pan.
The hooded man did not react quickly enough. Mrs. Figg let out another reverberating screech and pelted him over and over again with the larger-than-normal pan, the metallic clangs bouncing off the walls loudly.
"You. Will. Not. Take. Him. Away!" she screamed with all her might continuing her onslaught over the hooded man.
Harry ducked out of the way. He dashed back away from the dual... and slipped over the broken dishes still lying on the kitchen floor. The kneazles that were stalking around the tableau leapt away in fright. Harry's lower back throbbed with pain from the fall. He closed his eyes wishing for something to appease the pulse coursing through him.
And before he could open his eyes, a mind-numbing shriek issued forth from Mrs. Figg, much worse than her frenzied squeals only a moment before. Harry opened his eyes and saw Mrs. Figg spread-eagled on the floor, her eyes wide open, her body lifeless.
The hooded man stood over her with his wand pointed directly at Mrs. Figg, his hand shaking horribly from the sudden brawl. His hood had fallen down, revealing a disheveled mop of dark hair and a face that was already reddening from the continual thrashings that had been administered by Mrs. Figg's frying pan.
"Wh-what did you do?" Harry managed to gasp. "You-"
"There's no time to talk," the man said with an utmost severity. "I've probably caused too much of a disturbance already. You're coming with me NOW! No arguments!"
He quickly pulled the hood over his head and pointed the wand at Harry.
"You ready?"
Sparks began to issue forth from the wand. Then, without warning, ropes lurched out of the wand toward Harry, wrapping around him tightly until he was unable to move an inch.
Before Harry could react verbally to this action, the hooded man shouted a curse loudly through the air.
"Invisiblia!"
With that, the hooded man vanished. Harry looked around wildly, first at the place where the hooded man had been, then down at the body of Mrs. Figg, still sprawled out on the linoleum floor. Was she dead? It didn't appear that she was breathing....
"Okay! Now that we're both invisible-" the man shouted out of nowhere. Harry looked down and made a loud gurgling noise. He was completely invisible also; it was as if he was wearing his father's Invisibility Cloak!
At that precise moment, Harry felt dizzy. Mrs. Figg's kitchen became an indistinct blur. The half-open door in Harry's line of sight began to sway oddly, bending and swerving so violently that Harry's insides started churning into overdrive. Suddenly, the floor dropped out from underneath him, he was floating in midair-!
Then, a blast of ice-cold air collided with Harry's face; it was as if he was riding a fast-moving carnival ride on an extremely windy day. The wind stung his cheeks with its bitter cold fingers; Harry's hair blew haphazardly as he careened to some unknown location. Blurry blues, whites, and grays whirred past him at an unbelievably fast clip, the nausea that Harry possessed continuing to intensify. Stronger and stronger it increased until... he started slowing down.... The blurs became darker and darker; the brightness of Harry's surroundings faded away as sunlight does stealthily after dusk. The world through Harry's eyes kept on diminishing until only an incalculable darkness pervaded throughout him. The wind stopped. Harry felt no movement; he still couldn't move freely because of the tightly bound ropes around him. So he relaxed. And closed his eyes. To another blackness that seemed to never end....
* * *
"Potter! Wake up!"
Slowly and gradually, Harry forced open his eyes. The first picture he glimpsed upon was the same man who kidnapped him, his face now masked by candlelit shadows. Harry then looked around to find out where he was. It was a seemingly out-of-the-way place a little lower than the forest around it, like a miniature hollow. Dense branches arched overhead, blocking the moonlight or anything else from falling down upon the two of them. Numerous wide orange floating candles hovered around Harry and the hooded figure, providing the only illumination. At the present moment, the man was sitting on a gigantic decayed log; Harry was sprawled out on the floor, the ropes now gone, his body sore as if he had just run a long distance.
The man was not wearing a cape any longer; he did wear a tattered beige overcoat that was too small for him-that along with black pants and shoes. He also wore fingerless gloves that hadn't been washed in a good long while. The man sat there looking at Harry, illuminated faintly by the mysterious light of the candles.
"Are you all right?" he asked Harry, his face encased with concern.
"Y-yes- I guess..." Harry said faintly, not fully recovered from the ride from Mrs. Figg's.
A paused followed. Harry peered around for a bit, totally clueless as to where he was. He then looked back at the man.
"Who are you?"
"Well-" he paused looking at Harry with an intense concentration. "Let me put it to you this way: if I tell you my name, would you believe me?"
"I-I guess I would..." Harry said hesitantly, unable to decipher the hidden meaning behind the man's question.
"Because I could very well be lying, you know...." the man said, his eyes still ablaze, staring straight at Harry.
"Well, what other choice do I have?" Harry said irritably. "You've kidnapped me; you've brought me to this-this place! You've even killed Mrs. Fi-"
"Now wait just a minute!" the man hissed urgently. He got up from the log and crouched down, edging closer to Harry, who, in reflex, inched slowly back against the earthy floor.
"You killed her," Harry shouted angrily. "I saw her staring into space! I know what dead people look like!"
Harry's thoughts swam back to the end of his fourth year; Cedric Diggory was lying motionless on the ground in Harry's direct view, his face blankly staring out in shock; a snake-like rasping voice in the background flew at him, as if Harry had been transported directly to the graveyard just then. Harry blanched and shook his head violently, trying to suppress the reminiscent thoughts.
"Potter! You all right?"
At those words, Harry clasped a hand against the scar on his forehead. He looked at the man whose eyes were not even reflecting the candlelight. The green eyes glowed iridescently, like a glow-in-the-dark night-light.
"I-I'm...okay...." Harry lied. He tried not to look directly at the man's face.
"Your caretaker is not dead," the man said. "She's merely stunned for a longer amount of time. It'll wear off eventually...."
"I didn't hear the curse for it," Harry said scathingly. "You say ‘Stupefy' to stun someone."
"You're a smart little guy, you know," the man said, a slight amusement smothered in his words. "Well, they're not skiving off on teaching you at all, those slugs at Hogwarts. They're still teaching the important stuff there, sort of."
"Who are you?" Harry said abruptly. "You still haven't told me."
"Oh," the man smiled meekly and stood up straight, towering into the darkness that the enormous forest trees had showered down. "Well, I guess I shouldn't remain anonymous any longer...."
He walked a few steps away from where Harry lay and took off his gloves, stuffing them into the pockets of his overcoat. He faced Harry. A few of the candles that were levitating got in the way of a clear view of the man, but Harry didn't mind. If the eyes were covered, he felt safer. The eyes were too vivid to be allowed.
"My name is Yorick Hades," he said finally, his voice almost a whisper, as if afraid to invoke any outsider response, if there was any. "And I'm what the people in my line of work call an Authentic Unspeakable."
"Authentic?" Harry said, finally getting to his feet. "You're an Authentic Unspeakable? So you're related with the Ministry of Magic!"
"Oh no, no, no!" Yorick walked toward Harry making the candles float away with a brush of his hands. "I am in no way related to those incorrigible, unintelligent Neanderthals of the wizarding world!"
Harry stood shocked at the words that were flowing out of Yorick's mouth. Defaming the Ministry and talking horribly about it, as if it were rubbish, a complete abhorrence to his eyes...?
"What's the problem, kid?" he said with a surge of derision in his tone. "Can't realize the truth when it cuts deep?"
"What d'you mean?" Harry said dolefully. His eyes continued to stare down at the dirty ground around him and not at the man who had kidnapped him.
"You know perfectly well what I mean," Yorick said. Harry looked up and saw him standing next to the enormous log, about to take a seat down upon it.
"The Ministry's done some stupid things before," Harry said carefully, unsure of Yorick's true place in the wizarding world. "But-but they're not horrible! Well, most of them aren't horrible. There are a few people that are...are..."-(he remembered Dolores Umbridge, his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher last year, only for a moment, before smudging her out of his memory)-"...I mean, the Ministry's on our side now. You're on our side, right?"
"Ah, you mean against Voldemort?"
Yorick said the name with such power and, surprisingly, with such an enthusiastic vindictiveness that Harry shuddered and pulled even further away from him.
"What's the matter, Potter?" he sneered. "Afraid of his name, are you?"
"I-I'm not afraid of Voldemort's name," Harry replied, with a diminutive bravado. "I was just surprised that you'd-that you have such a vendetta against him."
"Well, he's a piece of filth, he is," Yorick said with unbelievable loathing. "Trying to use every evil trick in the book to be immortal. Trying to be bad, trying to be such a fearsome figure, trying to gain power over everyone and everything. But he's nothing. He's nothing to me."
Harry remained where he was, somewhat baffled thoughts frothing in his brain. Inside of himself, Harry laughed at the absurdity of what Yorick was saying. Not afraid of Voldemort? Throwing him completely away as nothing? As a weakling? How powerful is this guy? And what does he know really...? Harry himself had faced Voldemort five times already! Who was Yorick to tell him he was afraid of him?
"I'm freaking you out, aren't I?" Yorick said, his polytroposian tone of voice changing yet again. This time, he was calm, almost fatherly. "C'mon over here, Potter. You're probably wondering why I brought you here, right?"
Harry stood immovable, unwilling to move an inch toward Yorick.
"I'm not going to bite you or anything," he confirmed, sliding over on the upturned log so that Harry could sit down.
Harry walked slowly over, bent around a few of the floating candles, and crouched nearby, not looking at Yorick but still wordlessly paying attention.
"I told you that I'm not part of the Ministry. Well, that's true, I'm not. But I was a long time ago. Decades ago. Before you were born...."
Harry looked over at Yorick now; the man wasn't peering directly at Harry this time around. He was casting glances into the woods and at small crevices in the hollow wall, making sure that no one was listening on what he was saying.
"Before you were born Potter, I worked in the Department of Mysteries. It's a very secret place, holding many secrets from ordinary wizards. It's a place where I, and a handful of others, used to do experiments and answer imponderables and oddities that astounded even the smartest of wizards. Nowadays, new insights have ebbed slowly away; there are only about six or seven people who now work at the Ministry's department. Less actually after last year-"
Yorick paused, took out a tissue and blew his nose. Harry readjusted his legs and continued to gaze askance at Yorick, still avoiding his eyes.
"Potter, what I'm saying is that when Voldemort began to gain power, when he started his so-called ‘reign of terror', I was excruciatingly tempted to join him."
"You almost sided with Voldemort?" Harry yelled in alarm, utterly repulsed.
Yorick lurched forward and clasped Harry's mouth shut.
"Are you insane?" Yorick hissed angrily. "Do you want people to hear you?"
Harry tried to escape from Yorick's hold, but he gave in. That was when Yorick let go and walked away from the candlelight. Harry spoke up once more.
"So, you're telling me that you broke away from the Ministry and decided to-to side with Vol-"
"No! I didn't side with Voldemort!" Yorick said quietly, but still with great indignation. "I will not side with that trash! When I learned more about him! And who he worked with! I mean, his outlook on life's repulsively grim; he doesn't grasp the sacredness of life-that it shouldn't be toyed around with. He killed the innocent; he tortured his followers! What kind of rôle model's that?"
Harry's eyes began to water, thinking continuously of wanting to leave. He hated Yorick and he didn't really know why. Perhaps it was the fact that he didn't take Voldemort lightly. Maybe it was because of his unexplainable kidnapping of Harry from Mrs. Figg's home. Or it might have just been his eyes. The eyes completely frightened Harry. They were so piercing, so garish-that they caused Harry severe unrest. He felt unsafe and exposed. Like Moody's magical eye, those eyes could penetrate through objects; they could see what might be on the other side. And Harry didn't like that at all....
"You're afraid of me aren't you?" Yorick smirked nastily. This sudden question made Harry whirl around.
"What d'you mean? How'd you-?" Harry was thunderstruck.
"I know this seems a bit of different territory for you, since they don't teach this at Hogwarts-"
"You know Legilimency?" Harry asked, immediately knowing why Yorick knew.
"In way, yes. I am," Yorick smiled devilishly, his green eyes twinkling brightly. "But I don't use it most the time, in respect really. I've been able to completely control my Legilimency powers. I'm able to use it without even using any of those arduous spells that mundane wizards do."
"You what?"
"Most spells are really unnecessary if one puts their whole self into their work. One has to empty himself fully of the Muggle-ish tendencies inside of him, until what's left is mere body cavity. Then, one can use all the energy at his disposal."
"I don't get you," Harry said, his eyes narrowing. "I don't get you at all. So you say that wizards should have and could have been doing spells for all these years without incantations?"
"Oh no…" Yorick laughed and put an arm around Harry. Harry flinched but let the arm stay there. "No, Potter. There are spells one has to use the incantation for. But sometimes, one can use his entire energy and think upon the spell he is able to use. And perform it. Without any need of word of mouth. But, let me tell you, it's quite difficult. Hardly any wizard is powerful enough or intelligent enough to do that. For one, Dumbledore has it mastered well, in his own way. Not fully, but I applaud him well enough for it...."
At the sound of Dumbledore's name, Harry flinched again and drew slightly away from Yorick.
"You said you were going to tell me why you brought me here," Harry said quickly, trying to suppress the bitter feelings he was having at the present time as much as he possibly could.
"Oh yes," Yorick said. "I was going to give you some background first. About who I am-er-and was...."
There was a slight pause in Yorick's speech. He looked around once again and shook his head sullenly.
"We have to go someplace else. I don't feel safe here right now."
Yorick steered Harry forward, toward a gradual slope up out of the hollow. When Harry and Yorick reached the top, Yorick turned back toward the hollow, rose his right hand and snapped. The floating candles extinguished themselves and disappeared on the spot.
"Magic like that," Yorick said, with a touch of arrogance in his voice.
He pulled out his wand, set it ablaze inaudibly and walked into the woods; Harry followed slowly at his heels. As they ventured deeper into the woods, Harry began to feel contained and forcefully compressed as if the trees were leaning in upon him and trying to stop him from advancing further. From Yorick's wand light, the trees appeared ghostly pale but alive and haunting. They towered far above them stretching to the obscured heavens, to the skyless world overhead.
"Where are you going?" Harry questioned, striding fast now to keep up with Yorick's enormous strides.
"Far from where we just were, that's all you need to know right now," Yorick said after a few moments' silence.
Suddenly, as if it had magically appeared out of thin air, a large entranceway loomed in front of them. Trees were scattered in dense bunches all the way up to this entrance. On both sides of the opening were rocky cliffs that shot straight up to an undetectable height. The trees helped in concealing how far the dank walls reached.
"So, what's this place?" Harry asked as he reached the side of Yorick, who was inspecting the doorway in rapt silence.
Yorick reached out his left hand and touched one of the wooden edges of the door; a faint click sounded and the door slid to one side. An atrocious stench rushed out at them as the door opened. Harry clutched his nose tightly and tried not to breathe as much as he could. The odor was so powerful he could taste it.
Yorick looked down at Harry in slight amusement and walked through the doorway.
"You're not going to stay there, are you?" he asked amusedly.
"N-no," Harry said, gasping for any breathable air.
"Good," Yorick said. "You'll enjoy these caves. They're quite interesting...and safe...very safe...."
With that Harry made a step into the caves. The door immediately shut behind him as he made a couple more steps in Yorick's direction. He was stuck inside now, no way of going back.
"Follow me, Potter," Yorick said.
And so he did. The damp caves reeked with something fierce, mildewed and ancient. Water trickled through miniature perforations in the walls. The narrow path they traversed zigzagged left and right, at times over enormous chasms and through air-tight tunnels. Faint light would filter through certain overhead openings; faint gusts of bitterly cold winds would viciously tear over these openings as well.
To Harry it seemed like hours, walking through the many passageways and dead-end crawl-through spaces; the silence was unbearable, except for an occasional drip-drip of a faint stream alongside one of the paths. And then, finally, they reached what appeared to be an enormous arena-shaped room, cut out unevenly from the rock. The center of this room sported an enormous geyser. Water burst from underneath the floor and outward, creating a small circular moat around the fountain-like geyser. Benches wound around the geyser and more floating orange candles surrounded the geyser over some of the benches. Many different tunnels and walkways were etched out of the walls to this one space. Harry looked up at Yorick who peered down at Harry, smiling in a vague manner, his eyes sparkling mysteriously at him.
"Have a seat, Potter. Others might come and go while we're here, but we need not fear them...."
"Okay..." Harry said hesitantly, shivering madly. He had no coat or cloak on him; all his belongings still remained in Mrs. Figg's house.
He walked down the cracked and eroded steps toward one of the benches nearest to the geyser and the moat. He sat down and felt the frigidity of the seat coursing through his body. Why was this place so damp-so cold?
But Harry couldn't think about the temperatures of this inner room of the cave. Yorick had followed Harry and stood in the aisle looking down at him. He had extinguished his wand and was now placing it in one of his overcoat pockets.
"So, Potter," he said emotionlessly. "I guess I'll have to finish my explanation. I said I'd tell you why I brought you here."
Harry nodded slowly and edged over on the seat. Yorick sat down and drew a deep breath. At that moment, something inside of Harry made him shiver. It wasn't the cold; it was a premonition. Something that Yorick was about to say was going to be big. Harry could feel it.
Yes, it was going to be monumental; but it was not going to be pleasant. Not one bit...

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Dante's Prayer by Carfiniel

Title: Dante's Prayer
Author name: Carfiniel
Author email: carfiniel@yahoo.com
Rating: PG

Summary: -- Harry considers the war so far, the darkness that has swallowed him, and the curse that seems to surround his love.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Dante's Prayer is owned by Loreena McKennit, The Inferno was written by Dante and translated by Ciardi.

Dante's Prayer
Music and Lyrics by Loreena McKennit

When the dark wood fell before me
And all the paths were overgrown

There have been days when I thought this war would never end. There have been days when I thought my life would never end. Even worse, there have been days I have longed for both. Then there are times when I know that feeling that way means I'm approaching the edge of madness...but there's nothing I can do about that, is there?

I have been through a darkness so profound that its very memory gives shape to fear.

The most frightening thing about that darkness is that I found it within myself. I remember Tom Riddle telling me--and he was right--how much like him I am: "Both half-bloods, orphans, raised by Muggles. Probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since the great Slytherin himself. We even look something alike...But after all it was merely a lucky chance that saved you from me...." And I'd have done well in Slytherin.

He meant it was a lucky chance that saved me from him when I was a baby. I don't think there are any lucky chances left for me. I've gone too far down that dark forest path; I hope it isn't too late to save me from becoming him.

When the priests of pride say there is no other way
I tilled the sorrows of stone

I know Dumbledore said it was our choices that show who we truly are, far more than our abilities. But looking back at the choices I've made, that isn't much comfort. One little choice of Gryffindor over Slytherin doesn't count for much, when I consider all the rules I chose to break, all the times I returned Draco's malice with malice of my own, the burning desire I had to murder Peter Pettigrew. What about the choice I made to share the Triwizard Cup with Cedric? That got him killed. Or the choice I made not to tell Cho how I felt about her, and those last careless words between us that sent her into danger and got her killed? What about the choice I made to send Minerva McGonagall to Malfoy Manor, to learn what the Death Eaters were planning? She was caught, tortured, and sent back to us a broken woman--broken in spirit and broken of heart, even if her mind was whole.

I was the one who chose to approve Draco's plan to conduct guerilla-style warfare out of the Highlands. I was the one who chose his death for him. How he would hate it, to know that I take the blame for that. "Give over, Potter," he'd say. "As if you ever had any control over my life or death." But we both would know he was wrong.

I was the one who chose to run off in a futile quest for allies, leaving Dumbledore to defend the school by himself. I, who thought to walk so blithely through death's kingdom--untouched through Voldemort's domain. And I left only death behind me.

It's odd how everyone was given a military rank except Dumbledore. He was always content for us to call him the Headmaster.

I did not believe because I could not see
Though you came to me in the night

I have this recurring dream that started several months ago. I dream it nearly every night, that my parents come to me and put their hands on my shoulders and say, "Well done, Harry." And I know, in my dream, that I'm dead, and that makes me happy. That's what makes me believe I truly am mad. I live in a mad world anyway, why shouldn't I be mad along with it? Then perhaps it will all start to make sense to me again.

Was there ever a time the world made sense to me? I feel as though I've been frightened and confused my entire life.

When the dawn seemed forever lost
You showed me your love in the light of the stars

But, somehow, it's always when I'm having my darkest moments that Sirius comes back. His life is one of constant danger, and he spent thirteen years in Azkaban, and yet he can still smile. He's even kept his sanity--clinging to it with bloody fingernails perhaps, but even so. When he's here, the darkness has less substance. My parents chose well when they named him my godfather. We need each other to remind us of something. Sometimes I think they, knowing Voldemort was after them, made me his responsibility to give him something to live for, after they were gone.

Whenever Sirius is in Glen Famhair, he attracts people like a magnet, and sighs turn to laughter. George and Fred have that effect on the younger ones, but Sirius can bring a smile to Lupin's face, and that's rare these days, even with his family.

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me

Sirius is one of the few people who really makes me feel like myself...and Ginny, of course. When I'm with her, I know I must be better than I believe I am, because she knew Tom Riddle--knew him more intimately than any of the rest of us ever could--and she hated him. She could never love me if I were truly like him. And, God help her, she does love me.

How did a hero-worshiping little girl with a tendency to squeak and drop things when I looked at her, turn into one of the shining beacons of hope in my life? I suppose the same way a baby who was lucky enough to be loved by his mother turned out to be the tarnished hero who saved the girl from destruction. We have needed each other, in ways no ordinary man and woman could understand.

I have tried not to show it when other people are around, because I have considered my love to be a curse. So many people whom I have loved have died. My parents, Cho, Draco, Dumbledore. Even worse if they have loved me, too. My mother's love for me was the reason Voldemort killed her. I don't want that for Ginny.

Then the mountain rose before me
By the deep well of desire

I know my distance frightens Ginny. It isn't that I don't love her; I do, with every fibre of my being. I need her with a terrible, fierce need that scares me. She's so warm and bright and loving, and I'm not. I'm lost in a dark wood of despair, and so cold I feel like my bones are shaking sometimes, and as for loving--well, I remember that I love people, I know in my head that I love people. I just...don't always feel that love in my heart. There have been so many lost, and too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart.

Hermione watches me. I know she knows some of what is going on inside me. I think she believes I don't feel the losses, but I do--I think I do. Each face, each name, is graven in my heart until the day I die.

From the fountain of forgiveness
Beyond the ice and the fire

She loved Draco. Of course she did. It was funny how we all found out we could love someone we had hated...because even though we were still adversaries in a way, I loved him. I felt bad for Ron, because he took it so hard. But Hermione helped him with it. Ginny was the one I really worried about, but there was nothing I could do to help her. We didn't see much of each other; she runs the camp like her mother runs the Burrow, and I run the war, along with General Lupin...and Headmaster Dumbledore, before.

But Ginny acted bright and cheerful whenever she caught me looking at her, as if she were afraid I was too brittle to handle her supposed betrayal, and her grief. The odd thing is, I understood. It didn't bother me, somehow, that she had loved Draco. It reassured me that if I died in this war, as I seem likely to do, she could go on living without me. It made me more free to love her, not less, because she wasn't solely dependent on me for all her happiness.

And she couldn't understand that, couldn't see why the less she needed me, the more I could love her. It took a long time for us to get that sorted. Finally, when we all thought Ron had vanished, and Hermione was walking around with her heart ripped out, and Ginny could finally grieve openly, I realized I had to make things rights between us. I had to give her complete honesty, and ask for the same in return, because alone we were slowly shattering.

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me

I have too much blood on these hands, some of it Draco's. Amazingly, she proved herself merciful in that--she refused to allow me the blame.

When I went searching for her, on the same evening that Ron was fated to return home safely, I found her on the battlements of the dun, her flame-coloured hair flying loose about her, her blue robes sweeping off her shoulders and making her look like a fierce Celtic queen. Her brown eyes--fiercely dry--were fixed on the horizon, watching for Charlie to return from London with news from Percy.

Though we share this humble path, alone
How fragile is the heart

It had taken Ron's disappearance for Percy to believe this was truly a war, that Voldemort truly had risen, that Fudge had deceived himself for so long that his inaction furthered Voldemort's rise. Percy had firmly gathered up the reins of power in the Ministry, ousting Fudge and declaring himself Minister-in-Interim, and no one had come forward to speak against it. Immediately he sent aid to us, and promised more as he could scrape up the resources. With the Ministry on our side, we had a new hope of victory. But that help was late in coming, when the uneven tombs covered the even plains and our silent dead shouted reproach that they had fallen while we stood alone. So many wasted years, so many wasted lives. So many broken hearts.

She stood like a queen, like a goddess, facing the wind with defiance and hope struggling on her face. She was not crying, but I could see she was only a hair's breadth from it. I waited for her, minutes lengthening to hours, as the mountains swallowed the sun and the red stormclouds built in the distance, too far from us to break the drought that had parched the Highlands that summer. For a long time we didn't talk. When finally I told her I knew she had loved him, she turned to me and buried her face in my chest. I held her while she cried, and for the first time in years I shed some tears myself, relieving the huge horrible pressure that had been building in my chest for months.

And, as if in answer, the thunder rumbled above us, and a huge gust of wind swept across the battlements. We saw a dragon settle flawlessly into the courtyard, two people jump down, and one head for Phoenician quarters behind the dun. The other stayed to tend the dragon; and then the heavens opened and the rain sheeted down on us. We stood there together for a long time, letting it wash over us, diluting the pain of the past, but finally excited shouting in the courtyard below made us curious enough to descend.

Ron had come back to us, and he was going to marry our Hermione.

Oh give these clay feet wings to fly
To touch the face of the stars

Ron and Hermione's wedding gave us all a bit of renewed hope. Life seemed a little less futile, because they believed in each other strongly enough to make themselves into a family. Even the Minister-in-Interim managed to attend. Hermione's parents--I always feel sorry for the kind, confused Grangers--poor Muggles caught up in a war they don't understand, just because their daughter is my best friend. But they accepted the Fidelius Charm with equanimity, and they were truly happy to see their daughter marry Ron.

"Aren't you afraid?" I asked Hermione, half an hour before she stood with Ron in the misty dawn, to speak her vows before God and witnesses.

Hermione has never been one to feign ignorance. "Of course I'm afraid, Harry. The more a thing is perfect the more it feels of pleasure and pain." She put a hand on my cheek. "But that's no reason not to strive for perfection."

Isn't it?

Breathe life into this feeble heart
Lift this mortal veil of fear

Their first child was born barely a year after their wedding, a handsome little fellow with thick red hair and covered in freckles, whom Ron named Draco. Hermione said dryly that the original Draco was rolling over in his grave at having a Weasley named after him, and Ron actually laughed. "All the Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford," he said, glancing at me.

I was surprised and--I admit it--hurt when Ron pulled me aside and told me they were naming Seamus as Draco's godfather. I tried to speak around the lump in my throat, tried to pretend it was all right, but Ron knows me too well. He leaned closer to look me in the eyes and gripped my shoulder hard. "I'll only say this once, Harry, so listen well. I'm naming Seamus as Draco's godfather, instead of you, because I expect that within the year you'll be his uncle." He shook his head when I began to protest. "She loves you, you crazy git. And I know you love her. Don't let it pass, Harry. Don't let someone that wonderful slip through you fingers. You have no idea--" He stopped talking and cleared his throat.

"Don't you understand that I have work to do?" I asked him, wishing I felt angry, instead of tired and afraid. "The human race, wizards and Muggles alike, faces an enemy more terrible than they understand. Someone has to stop him, and somehow I'm the one who has to do it. That's my work. And if I were selfish and stupid enough to marry my widow and father orphans on her, it would only distract me from that work. If I fail, how many millions of people will die?"

"Because I love you, I won't kill you for saying that," Ron said, narrowing his eyes at me. "But if I hear you talk about my sister like that again, I will."
I dropped my head and looked at the ground, because he was right. I knew it, and it scared the hell out of me, but he was right. Then he slapped me on the shoulder. "Go on, mate. Don't think Draco would be holding back, if he were still around."

Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears
We'll rise above these earthly cares

Ginny was the one who came looking for me, later that day. She found me where I'd found her the year before, up on the battlements, staring at the empty horizon and wishing for a battle to fight instead of the slow, grinding stalemate we had endured for the past five months. "You wear yourself out with these self-recriminations," she said in a low voice.

I turned to face her. "Do you ever fear that we're just pawns, living out a life that's already been scripted for us? That everything we do is pointless, because we don't have any choice but to do it?"

She shook her head. "I believe in freedom, Harry. We choose the friends we will love and the battles we will fight. In the end, perhaps the only thing we don't choose is how we die. But if we truly live, isn't that what matters, more than how we die?"

I went to stand in front of her, aching to put my arms around her, but afraid to embrace the life I truly wanted. "I'm afraid to lose you, Gin."

She smiled. "You think the dead we have loved ever truly leave us?" she whispered, and a chill ran down my spine. Those had been Dumbledore's words, my third year, when he spoke of my parents. I felt tears gathering in my eyes, and perhaps she misinterpreted them, because she said, "Our love is sacred, Harry. This has been willed where what is willed must be. You and I are meant for each other. And if you won't admit that today, I'll wait until you do. I'll wait forever if I have to."

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea

It doesn't mean the war is over. Even with the Ministry's help, we're still a long way from defeating Voldemort and his minions. But our list of allies grows, as more and more people realize that the only way to defeat this evil is to work together. We have the advantage, too, that betrayal is elemental to the darkness. One of the last times I saw Dumbledore, he reminded me of Peter Pettigrew, the traitor beside whose guilt Lucius Malfoy's sins shine like virtue--reminded me that I had saved Pettigrew's life, and that the bond between us would cause Pettigrew to turn on his master like an abused dog.

All the same, we're not out of the darkness. The dawn is still far off, and the night has been full of tears. I've begun to believe that perhaps the night will end. I've begun to hope that I will live to see it. I've begun to see that even in the darkest night, you can find the light of the stars.

When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me

Please remember me. Not because I'm leaving you, or because I'm exiling myself from this world, not because I'm yearning for the end of my life anymore--but because perhaps, if you remember me, then I won't forget myself. Tell our story. Then perhaps we will not have lived in vain.

Please remember me

A/N: Many sources contributed to this fic, most heavily, Ciardi's beautiful translation of The Inferno by Dante Alighieri (an obvious choice, I think!).

"its very memory gives a shape to fear" is from The Inferno.
"Both half-bloods, orphans, raised by Muggles. Probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since the great Slytherin himself. We even look something alike...But after all it was merely a lucky chance that saved you from me...." is from Chamber of Secrets.
"who thought to walk so blithely through death's kingdom" is from The Inferno.
"Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart," is from a poem called "Easter 1916" by W. B. Yeats; the poem is about the heroes who sacrificed so Ireland could escape British rule and become the Republic.
"the uneven tombs covered the even plains" is from The Inferno.
"The more a thing is perfect the more it feels of pleasure and pain," is from The Inferno.
"The human race...faces an enemy more terrible than they understand. Someone has to stop him, and somehow I'm the one who has to do it. That's my work. And if I were selfish and stupid enough to marry my widow and father orphans on her, it would only distract me from that work. If I fail, how many millions of people will die?" is from Shadow Puppets by Orson Scott Card.
"You think the dead we have loved ever truly leave us?" is from Prisoner of Azkaban.
"This has been willed where what is willed must be," is from The Inferno.
"the traitor beside whose guilt...sins will shine like virtue," is from The Inferno; it was originally said of Judas Iscariot.

Telefone Pastoral Care- by Crocky Wock

Title: Telefone Pastoral Care
Author: Crocky-Wock
Rating: PG

Summary: Snape is having strange fainting spells and mood swings. The symptoms of repressed memory, perhaps? McGonagall recommends phone counseling, but what happens when Snape begins to confront the memories he buried so long ago? And what will the counseler do with all these weird references to "The Dark Lord" and "Potions" and "Hogwarts"?

Psychological Telephone Counselling

Hello?
. . .
Is that the - PTC?
. . .
My name is Professor Severus Snape. Who are you?
. . .
What do you mean not supposed to tell?
. . .
. . .
Oh. Well. . . yes, I see. Anyway, I have got a problem and I would appreciate if you could give me some advice, I. . . What do you mean that's your job?
. . .
. . .
'Psychological Telephone Counselling'?!? Oooh. Hmpf. Oh, I see! . . . Wait till I get you, Minerva, you- what? I am not aggressive! What gives you that idea? I merely. . . I lost a bet.
. . .
No.
. . .
No.
. . .
No, my problem is that I need to talk to you for exactly half an hour. Do you mind?

. . .
I am not joking. If I don't, I will have to invite her for dinner, which is decidedly worse. So. . . can we just talk about the things you usually discuss with your. . . err. . . clients and leave it there?
. . .
. . .
Minerva. McGonagall.
. . .
No, I won't.
. . .
. . .
Aren't you going to ask me questions. . . or anything? What's this nonsense? There's nothing wrong with my life!
. . .
Well. . . she might think there is, but. . . she's wrong!
. . .
. . .
I am teaching. At Hogwarts.
. . .
Yes, a boarding school. And a damn good one, too.
. . .
What do you mean 'irascible'? Excuse me? You are talking to a grown-up person here.
. . .
. . .
Yes, that's right. I used to attend Hogwarts myself. Some twenty years ago. Why?
. . .
. . .
Uh.
. . .
. . .
Hm.
. . .
. . .
What good will it do if I tell you about it?
. . .
Though. . . come to think of it. . . I might as well.
. . .
. . .
Are you sure you possess the appropriate qualifications for this job? Is this your area of expertise?
. . .
It is most certainly my business whether you can give a professional statement on my inner thoughts or not. I have to cope with you for another. . . twenty-five minutes.
. . .
. . .
What is that supposed to mean?
. . .
. . .
Ridiculous!
. . .
. . .
I do not have to do this, you know. Come to think of it. . . it is just dinner, after all. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
Yes.
. . .
Yes, but thank you anyway for your. . . err. . . support.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
Bye then."

"Hello? This is Professor Severus Snape again. Who's speaking?
. . .
. . .
Right, listen. Could you pass the receiver to that woman I was talking to yesterday?
. . .
. . .
I don't care!
. . .
. . .
Oh yes, you can. All you have to do is ask your colleagues.
. . .
Yes.
. . .
. . .
Yes, I'm waiting.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
Hello?
. . .
Yes, it's me again, I. . . what are you laughing at???
. . .
. . .
This is NOT a joke. I have a serious problem here!
. . .
. . .
. . .
Hm-mm.
. . .
. . .
Damn you, I am not going to tell you about my childhood! I told you that it'll be no use! But I have decided to prove to Minerva that this is rubbish. . . Minerva McGonagall, yes. Hold on - you can recall that? You don't have many clients, do y- oh. Yes, I understand. Have you noted anything else about me? Good.
. . .
Hm? Yes.
. . .
. . .
Well, I suppose I might. You see, all this began with me collapsing in class.
. . .
. . .
Yes, sorry. I expected you to start laughing again.
. . .
. . .
Don't be so sociable. It makes me nervous. As I said, I collapsed. And a couple of students brought me up to the hospital wing - probably the worst moment of my career.
. . .
They're brats. Must have been doubling up all the way upstairs. - What?
. . .
In the dungeons. - What're you laughing at???
. . .
No, honestly. I am not joking. Will you listen now?
. . .
Hmpf.
. . .
The school nurse told me I should sleep more. Stop eating so much liquorice and all that. The usual stuff. - Will you stop interrupting me? Yes, liquorice. I am fond of that stuff. Used to consume tons of it before. . . all this started - What? No, of course that wasn't the solution. Would I be talking to you if it had been? I collapsed again after a week or so. At a staff meeting. That was also when the headmaster stepped in and told me to take a break. But I refused. Naturally. Can't let any of the others take my lessons. They are useless when it comes to the more sophisticated arts.
. . .
What I am teaching? I don't think I will tell you, actually. I can hear you writing all the time. Makes me nervous, by the way. Would you please stop it?
. . .
Thank you. Well then - I've had these fits for seven weeks now and, quite honestly, I am sick of them. So when I was talking to one of my colleagues last weekend. . . Minerva, yes. She was the one who suggested I should phone you. And here I am, telling you to make it go away.
. . .
. . .
. . .
I won't! How's that going to help?
. . .
Mmm.
. . .
Hmm. Ridiculous.
...
No, I am not. Try me.
. . .
I grew up in a castle. Near the North Sea. . . . Yes, a proper castle. With towers, battlements, a moat. . . and a drawbridge - we even had a crocodile.
. . .
Yes, in the moat.
. . .
You sound amused. I don't like that.
. . .
. . .
Shut up. Do you want me to continue or not?
. . .
Well, then. . . the castle was surrounded by fields and woods belonging to my fa- family. And a lake. We had a huge, beautiful, glittering lake.
. . .
. . .
. . .
I don't want to tell you about this. Why am I?
. . .
No! Shut up!
. . .
. . .
I - I've got to go. Goodbye."

"Hello?
. . .
. . .
Professor Snape. Severus Snape.
. . .
Yes. Yes, that's right.
. . .
Thank you.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
Hello? Professor Snape speaking.
. . .
. . .
Yes, I have decided.
. . .
. . .
I am sorry - but it really isn't my fault if you keep asking. . . yes. Yes, I understand. Listen, we make a deal: I tell you whatever you want to know and you try to supply me with some useful advice for a change.
. . .
Yes.
. . .
No, this is probably useless, but I. . . I am desperate.
. . .
What?!? No!
. . .
Yes, I had another fit, so what?
. . .
. . .
Are you suggesting I am scared? Have you any idea who you are talking to?
. . .
Seriously, I'd go and see a doctor if I considered them life threatening. But I don't- I expect it's got to do with stress or anything. One of these simple, obvious solutions no one ever seems to think of.
. . .
Why I keep calling? Well, certainly not because of you, Miss Sassiness.
. . .
Shut up! Have we got a deal?
. . .
Yes, very well. Now listen, we can talk about anything except my father. I know you people always want to, but I am telling you: I won't discuss him.
. . .
. . .
No.
. . .
. . .
I won't. There is no reason. I just don't want to. Full stop. At least not as long as my sister's breathing down my neck. What? Yes, I have a sister. Surprised?
. . .
I bet. Yes, she's here. For a visit. Lives in Hogsmeade. I can't have her live in the castle, you know.
. . .
Yes, the school is situated in a castle. Did you figure that out all by yourself?
. . .
Stop laughing this instant!
. . .
. . .
. . .
She moved abroad at the age of. . . sixteen or so. Guess she wanted to bring as much distance between herself and my fa- the castle as possible. . . . No, I haven't seen her yet.
. . .
Because I haven't had the time. I am a very busy person, my dear. There's more to teaching than telling a bunch of insufferable little brats not to burn their robes, you know. - Though. . . you wouldn't, probably. Have you ever even seen a school from the inside?
. . .
. . .
Yes, yes - I am sorry. You needn't - What??? I have NOT been avoiding her! Why should I?
. . .
VERY funny, Miss Smartass.
. . .
. . .
Oh, have you got a number of your own, by the way? Can I call you directly? Or will I always have to deal with one of your quick-witted colleagues before I can talk to you?
. . .
Well, I. . . expect this'll take a while, won't it?
. . .
Yes, I'd appreciate that.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
Got it. Thank you.
. . .
. . .
. . .
My sister? Why, certainly.
. . .
Her name is Luciana. She's older than me. Three years. Haven't seen her for ages. As I said - she moved.
. . .
Very young, yes. She had a couple of problems with. . . with us, so she went away. Ages ago.
. . .
. . .
No. She's the only sister I have. She. . . was the only person I could talk to. Very smart, you know. Very strong, too. Although a bit feeble - physically. But extremely good-hearted. And highly intelligent.
. . .
You know - we used to share a bedroom. A bed, actually. . . . No, a big one. One of these huge four-poster beds which- inherited, yes. My grandmother. A witch.
. . .
No, I didn't. . . I meant what I said. It wasn't supposed to sound rude. You - what kind of Muggle are you?
. . .
Never mind. I didn't mean to offend you. Where would Minerva have got your number if you weren't our kind, ey? Ha ha ha.
. . .
. . .
Yes, yes, very funny. Do you want me to continue or not? As I said - the bed was inherited and. . . what? Yes, the two of us. As if two weren't enough. There wasn't that much space, you know.
. . .
Well, I'd usually wake up at around six. We had this huge grandfather clock, you see, and its strikes would wake me up in the mornings.
. . .
. . .
I remember, all right.
. . .
How could I forget her soft, black hair, her delicate hands and limps. . . I'd wake up seeing her body covered with this huge blanket. . . You could make out its outlines only just, because she used to be so tiny.
. . .
Her small, thin leg sticking out from under the blanket. . . twitching every now and then - though she was fast asleep - to keep the cradle going.
. . .
Yes, a cradle.
. . .
. . .
Why, the baby, of course.
. . .
Hers? Are you mad? We were children! Luciana was only. . . thirteen - fourteen, at that time. No, it was. . . the baby. Just 'the baby', really. She didn't have a name. Well, she had, but I can't remember. We used to call her 'baby'. Or 'Sil' sometimes. - What? SIL. Short for 'silly'.
. . .
What do you mean 'disagreeable'? Have you ever had to feed or wash an endlessly howling little monster? Have you ever been scolded for what your nine years younger sister has done?
. . .
Shut your trap, then.
. . .
. . .
I. . . no! I have not been lying.
. . .
I-I did??
. . .
. . .
. . .
No, it was. . . actually. . . I didn't think you'd- never thought of Sil as my sister, rea-
. . .
. . .
I have to go. I. . . I'm sorry.
. . .
. . . "

"H-hello?
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
Yes. Yes, it's me.
. . .
I. . . I am calling because. . .
. . .
I want you to accept my apology.
. . .
. . .
You must understand - it is not easy for me to. . . to tell you all this. I've never talked to anyone about it before. About Luciana and. . . and the baby. Not even to the Headmaster. And I think I've told him about everything else.
. . .
. . .
Thank you.
. . .
. . .
Yes, it is- no!
. . .
Not at all painful. I said it isn't easy, but I didn't say it wasn't a great relief as well.
. . .
Yes, that's it! It is. . . comforting. In a way. You know when I was telling you about the baby yesterday? And about Luciana keeping the cradle going?
. . .
Well, I had to think of these mornings when. . . are you interested at all?
. . .
I thought you'd say that.
Well then. . . as I said I would always be the first to wake. Never moved, of course, just lay there, listening to Luciana's even breathing and the huge grandfather clock striking. . .
one. . .
two. . .
three. . .
four. . .
five. . .
six times. Luciana would make a sleepy movement or two, then outstretch her arm as if to keep me from leaving.
'Not yet, Severus,' she'd say, 'just a few more minutes.'
I'd get up anyway, of course, which would make her put an arm around me in an effort to force me back again. But I'd shake her off and get to my feet. She'd not be pleased.
'If you wake the baby,' she'd say, 'I'll make you regret it for the rest of your life.'
'Shut up then!' I'd reply.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
Pardon? Ah, no - I was distracted.
. . .
Yes, it always happened like that. She would scowl and I'd explain that I needed to see Wock.
. . .
The crocodile. The crocodile in the moat I told you about. Have you even been listening? Our vegetarian crocodile.
. . .
. . .
I want to be taken seriously. If you want to laugh about everything I tell you, I am going to hang up.
. . .
. . .
Yes, I AM! Why would I be joking about this?
. . .
. . .
Never.
. . .
Well, let me explain it to you.
. . .
. . .
My. . . uhm. . . my father needed a crocodile in the moat to. . . err. . . get rid of unpleasant guests. If someone would not agree to his suggestions or was generally getting on his nerves, he'd just throw him in, basically, for Wock to eat.
. . .
No, honestly.
. . .
. . .
I said what???
. . .
Well, uhm, that would be because. . . because Wock wouldn't. . . err. . . wouldn't eat them. He'd just. . . make sure they drowned.
. . .
. . .
. . .
No, it was my fault. I didn't make myself clear.
. . .
. . .
Anyway, Wock never failed to do his duty. No one ever survived a journey into our moat. . . no one except him, that is.
. . .
What? Oh, you know who.
. . .
. . .
You're a bit slow, aren't you? Come on, YOU - KNOW - WHO!
. . .
I don't want to talk about it anyway. Ask me something else.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
The baby?
. . .
Sil, yes.
. . .
Well, she didn't have a proper one. She was just never named.
. . .
. . .
I think my mother was going to, but. . . didn't for some reason.
. . .
. . .
Don't know. Probably just forgot about it. Used to be a very strange person, my mother. In the mornings at least. Some time around six he'd come home and she'd become more sensitive. Watchful, I should say. As if waking up from a long and unpleasant dream. They even tried to talk once.
. . .
. . .
Once. In many years, yes.
. . .
I do remember bits and pieces of that conversation. You sure you want to hear them?
. . .
. . .
Very well, then. It went like this:
'You've come late today.'
'Where's the boy?'
'Upstairs.'
. . .
. . .
'You have more than one child, you know.'
'Shut up. What's that?'
'Bordeaux de Clavier 1877.'
'Pass me the bottle!'
'I'd like to talk for a change.'
He gave a grumpy growl. But for some reason didn't refuse, though, so she went on, 'I've been thinking about our life, Lance, and I seriously don't think we can carry on like this.'
No answer.
'I can't handle three children all by myself,' she continued, 'I need someone to look after the baby. And. . . and I need help for my drinking problem.'
'Who says you've got a drinking problem?'
'I. . . ' And suddenly she seemed to have lost all her confidence at once. But he didn't even let her finish.
'Is that another barrier you intend to set up between us? Or is it just another strange mood of yours?' He was very upset by then. I think they haven't. . . had a very good marriage up to then. Anyway, my mother's never mentioned anything about a drinking problem ever since. I do think she was a bit confused that evening. Because he'd stayed away for so long again. Do you think she might have been confused?
. . .
. . .
He said. . . I can't remember, really. I only know that he was very upset, he. . .
. . .
Someone's coming. I've got to go. Can I talk to you again tomorrow?
. . .
Thank you.
. . .
Goodbye."

"Hello. This is Severus Snape.
. . .
. . .
Yes, I know I said I'd call again sooner, but I. . . couldn't bring myself to do it. . . somehow.
. . .
. . .
I am sorry.
. . .
. . .
. . .
Yes, it does upset me. I've never. . . done it before. But I intend to continue. If you're still interested, that is.
. . .
. . .
. . .
No, I. . . honestly, I don't remember very well. Only that whatever he did made my mother hide in her room for the next six days at least. Caused a bit of trouble, because the baby needed feeding. That was when Luciana started using the bottle, I think.
. . .
Don't know.
. . .
I don't know.
. . .
. . .
Well, I. . . expect she had some help from Mum'ary and perhaps some of the house-el- what? Mum'ary. The cook. We used to have a real cook. Human, I mean. Haven't I mentioned her?
. . .
Strange. Well, Mum'ary was always there when. . . my mother wasn't, basically. She did all the cooking, supervised the cleaning and all that, but she also. . . just sat there and listened whenever either of us had a problem. And she looked after the baby when Luciana was too tired and fed up.
. . .
. . .
. . .
I. . . of course I could, but. . . that's going to be difficult. There's not much to tell about Mum'ary.
. . .
. . .
She was huge. Or on second though. . . she wasn't, probably. I was just very small. . . but she was black. I am sure she was. Tried to make us believe that if she ever had a baby of her own she'd be able to feed cocoa to it instead of milk. And she was always wearing a tea towel around her head.
. . .
A red one.
. . .
Just red, yes.
. . .
. . .
We used to visit her. Luciana and I. We sat in the kitchen. . . , which was underneath the surface. Next to the dungeons, actually, and-
. . .
Not cold, no. There was always a fire. A cracking fire, gleaming sparks. . . and flickering flames changing from a soft blue to bright orange. . . yellow. . . white. . .
. . .
There was a cauldron on top. A big black one. Made of brass and copper. . . very stable. One of those high quality ones which were still available in the early seventies. They stopped making them in 1983, unfortunately, due to some dumb law trying to standardize size the thickness of cauldrons within Britain. Completely pointless if you ask me. - What? No, of course you have never heard of it. Hardly anyone has. This just happens to be my area of expertise.
. . .
. . .
What to you mean by 'chemistry'? There is no such subject. Not at Hogwarts, at least.
. . .
No.
. . .
. . .
. . .
I've lost track now. What was I saying?
. . .
Oh yes. Mum'ary. The only person on this planet, perhaps, whom my father would listen to. Sometimes, at least. Thanks to her I finally got out of that place.
. . .
. . .
Which part didn't you understand? I said 'Thanks to her I finally-' Yes. Yes, it has to do with that stranger who survived the moat. Heavens, you are slow. Haven't you guessed by now?
. . .
No, actually, he did not throw him in. Managed to make it look like an accident. I don't think he would have outlived the day if the Dark Lord hadn't believed his weak tale. 'Oooh. . . the drawbridge hasn't been checked for ages. Did you get very wet? I'm so sorry, Mylord. Let me take your cloak. . . '
. . .
. . .
Of course. What else? He had already changed his name at that time. 'Mylord' was the proper way of addressing him. I've never called him anything else, although. . . although I am no longer in his service, of course.
. . .
I was sixteen when the Dark Lord took me away from the castle. Luciana had long left us and the baby was. . . well. . . not a baby anymore. Father wasn't happy. Shouted after me when I followed my Master across the drawbridge.
'You will never return to this castle, Severus! I will kill you if you dare come near it again! Do you hear me? I WILL KILL YOU!'
. . .
. . .
. . .
I have never seen him again.
. . .
Glad? I'm not sure if I could say that with honesty. Yes, perhaps.
. . .
. . .
I. . . think he still lives, yes. Not sure, though.
. . .
Yes. Yes, my mother. . . too, she. . . she's in. . . in St. Mungo's. I don't visit her.
. . .
A hospital, yes. St. Mungo's. Don't you-
. . .
Well, she. . . she went insane, so they had to. . . had to take her, I. . .
. . .
. . .
I'm so sorry!"

". . .
. . .
. . .
Yes. Yes, I'm me. I'm Snape, I mean. I. . .
. . .
You must hate this.
. . .
. . .
It's just. . . You've got to understand that it is my fault. She went insane and it is my fault.
. . .
Yes, it is. You don't know the whole story. Haven't heard everything. I. . . shouldn't have left them when I knew exactly. . . was well aware of. . . I could have refused. Ought to have. . . refused. . .
. . .
. . .
No, I am not-
. . .
No, I. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
What - you mean a pleasant memory?
. . .
I. . . I don't think there are many of them, actually. . . uhm. . . the mornings were good. And the times when I could go out by myself. Stroll around restlessly. . . wander through the woods and fields looking for. . . searching something. I can't remember what exactly. Guidance, perhaps. Or safety.
. . .
. . .
There are some. . . good things. Everything to do with Mum'ary was nice, now you mention it. There's one specific evening that came into my mind today.
. . .
We were sitting in the kitchen. Mum'ary, Luciana, me and the baby. The baby was quiet, for a change, because Mum'ary had just fed her. She was giggling and trying to catch Luciana's finger, but Luciana wouldn't let her.
'Mum'ary,' she'd say, 'why're you cooking? You ain't no house-elf. Why don't you get a proper job?'
'You are no house-elf,' Mum'ary corrected kindly, 'or "You aren't a house-elf." Ain't isn't a word.'
'Yeah, right,' Luciana replied impatiently, 'I ain't interested in language problems, you know. Come on, why-'
'Because I like it,' Mum'ary interrupted, 'as I must've told you about a hundred times, Luciana. Tell me - where's your mother at the moment?'
'Sleeping, I think,' Luciana replied and shrugged. I nodded. 'I've seen her walk upstairs. She took her wand.'
'I don't like it,' muttered Mum'ary. 'Perhaps I should go and see what she's up to.'
'She'll be angry,' Luciana said shakingly. 'Remember how mad she got last time you left the kitchen?'
'She didn't get mad because I'd left the kitchen but because I'd entered her room without knocking,' said Mum'ary, 'and I won't do that this time.'
'Mum'ary,' said Luciana thoughtfully, 'doesn't she love us just a bit?'
'You mother has a lot of problems,' Mum'ary replied thoughtfully, 'and she's trying to make them disappear using the only method she can think of. But she loves you. Oh yes, I know she does. I helped her give birth to all three of you. Oh yes, I did. And she was damn proud. Each time.' She smiled. 'And so was I.'
'What about father?' I said, well aware that my voice was barely more than a growl. 'He doesn't love us.'
I noticed Luciana's quick glance in my direction and saw her expression change. She drew a deep breath and leaned back, watching the two of us with a hint of suspicion, though seemingly as eager for an answer as I was. For the first time that day, though, even Mum'ary didn't seem to know what to say.
'Your father is a bit difficult,' she finally admitted, looking very undecided, 'I do think he needs help, too.'
'Well, why don't you help them?' asked Luciana sounding more sarcastic than ever.
'All I can do is advise them to get some help,' the cook sighed, 'All I can do is open the door. They'll have to cross the doorstep by themselves.'
'Ploblems,' said the baby and we jumped. Three pairs of eyes were all of a sudden staring in Sil's direction. It was the first time she'd ever spoken. 'Ploblems,' she said again and giggled.
Mum'ary produced a squeak of delight and took the small girl into her arms. 'She speaks!' she said, obviously close to tears, 'I've been so worried.'
'She's only one and a half,' I muttered. 'What need was there to. . . ' But no one listened to me. Luciana stroke the baby's head, called her 'sweetie' and 'good girl' and Mum'ary finally gave in to her tears.
'WHAT IS ALL THIS NOISE ABOUT?' said a sharp voice from the door. All of us turned. Luciana quickly recoiled behind Mum'ary. The baby squeaked and I took a step backwards. What was he doing down here? He'd never entered the kitchen before. Mum'ary put the baby back in her high-chair and bowed her head.
'Welcome home, Master,' she said.
'Severus,' my father said without taking notice of the cook's words. 'Come.'
I approached him at a snail's pace, wondering what I could possibly have done this time and watched his expression with the utmost caution.
'You received a letter, Severus,' he said, 'from Hogwarts.'
I gasped. Hogwarts! Could it be true? So I was a wizard. I would be doing magic. Mum'ary's eyes filled with tears again, but she didn't say anything out of consideration for Luciana's feelings. My father, on the other hand, didn't bother.
'My son, I hereby declare you heir of this property and everything I possess,' he said briskly, 'I am. . . very proud.'
Luciana whimpered. Her eyes filled with tears, too, but these weren't tears of joy. With a sudden jolt of - was it despair? - she rose from her seat and stormed out of the room. My father didn't even try to hold her back.
'The baby spoke today,' I informed him, unable to fight back a broad grin.
'Fascinating,' he replied without looking at her. 'I expect dinner will be ready soon, Mary?'
'Won't be a minute,' she said, bowing her head obediently. 'Ready when you are.'
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
You've gone very quiet. I'm not used to people listening like that.
. . .
. . .
This must be very boring for you.
. . .
. . .
Indeed? I am surprised.
. . .
No, honestly. I don't think I would be interested if you told me all this about yourself.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
You didn't understand what? The part about my sister? Why, what. . .
. . .
Oh.
. . .
. . .
Very well, I. . . I'll tell you. Because I trust you won't-
. . .
. . .
She was a Squib. Luciana has never shown any signs of magic."

July 27th, 1995 - case 010442 "Severus Snape", counsellor: "A. Whitaker"

We have made some progress in this case. Severus seems willing to remember bits and pieces of his childhood and has even given me some information about his father, though very reluctantly.
It seems difficult for him to accept that he was kicked out at an early age, possibly fifteen or sixteen. There is more than hatred in his voice when he talks about his parents. Curiously neither fear nor any specific criticism. Just utter loathing. His sister appears to suffer or have suffered from an incurable illness. (There is still no evidence for her being alive.) At this point, however, it is impossible to find out further details, because Severus has covered everything related to her in a veil of imagination.
I believe that every time he talks about 'magic' and magic-related things he is actually trying to drive out unpleasant memories. These are memories concerning his sister, but also the rest of his family and the secondary school he went to. A rather conservative boarding school, apparently. Being admitted to Hogwarts, as he calls it, must have been the key to another life. Something he once again describes using terms like 'wizard' and 'magic'. There is a good chance, however, that he will dispose of these fantasies without me interfering and eventually comes out with the truth about what happened.
There is, however, one aspect that troubles me quite a bit. When reaching a state of liberation we had not achieved before Severus told me about a "vegetarian crocodile" his father seems to have used to get rid of unpleasant visitors. As far as I can judge he is trying to forget a very crucial moment of his past or, more likely, has witnessed a murder. I am not sure, if such a disturbance at such a young age can be overcome via telephone counselling. I am no professional, after all. Perhaps I will have to advise psychological supervision.
For now, I will be responsive to his explanations and hope that he opens up at least partly without me pressing on.

"Morning. This is Severus Snape.
. . .
. . .
Yes, yes, don't you get sentimental. It's been almost a week, I know. So what?
. . .
Are you exceedingly busy?
. . .
That's good to hear.
. . .
No, I had to think about what you said and. . . I must make a confession. Wock-
. . .
Yes. How do you know?
. . .
. . .
Uh. Well yeah, he did eat people, occasionally, but he was no. . . wild animal, you see. We didn't have a monster in the moat. He would merely eat what he was given and. . . yes, of course I saw it.
. . .
Several times, actually.
. . .
. . .
Tell you about it? Are you sure that will be necessary?
. . .
. . .
Uhm. Every detail?
. . .
Yes, yes. Very well then. . .
. . .
There were countless times. - No, never anybody I knew. Strangers, mostly. Except. . .
. . .
. . .
Yes, hang on.
. . .
There has been someone I knew, actually. He was the father of one of my friends. Later at Hogwarts, you see. I believe he and my father used to be on friendly terms as well. Before that day. But something changed. I still haven't quite grasped what happened. I. . . never thought very highly of that man anyway.
. . .
Unpleasant, yes. Couldn't have put better. As I said, he was visiting my mother, when-
. . .
My mother, yes. What are you implying?
. . .
Keep those distasteful comments for yourself. And no, he wasn't. My father used to be at work at this time of the day.
. . .
But he returned. An hour early. I do believe he was in a very good mood, originally. Seemed very calm, in any case. And even Luciana appeared less reluctant that usual. He approached us, kissed her on her cheek and put his hand on my shoulder.
'Where's mother?' he asked in what was almost a cheerful voice, 'not still in bed, I suppose?'
'She's got a visitor,' I said and shrugged, primarily in order to get rid of his firm grip. 'Don't know his name, though. Haven't seen him before.' It was true. I hadn't. His hand painfully seized my shoulder for a brief moment, then loosened when the door swung open.
'Lance,' the surprised voice of a man said. I couldn't see him because he was standing behind the door of the wardrobe. 'I. . . have come to see Teg.'
'I noticed,' was all my father replied.
'I. . . uhm. . . have recommended her an excellent doctor,' the man continued. 'If you haven't noticed she's very ill, Lance - I have.' He stepped forward so that I could see him now. He was blonde and a bit taller than my father. Strangely enough his robes showed a large Slytherin coat of armour on the backside. I hadn't yet had much to do with that matter then, of course. I was only five years old after all. I remember liking the colours, though.
. . .
. . .
It is one of the Hogwarts houses. My house, actually. I am Head of Slytherin.
. . .
. . .
Yes.
. . .
My father managed to keep his composure although I could feel he was fuming. Luciana had taken refuge in the kitchen, but I couldn't bring myself to leave the place. I wanted to see it. Perhaps my sister's just cleverer than I am. I don't know. Anyway, my father put on a rare smile and asked the stranger to follow him to his office. The latter seemed to assume they'd be having a drink there. Possibly overcoming old disagreements at last. But I was certain that no reunion was about to happen. I saw the loathing in my father's expression, although unable to understand his reasons. I was, in any case, aware that the stranger was falling for something I had long stopped trusting. He would end up in the moat like the rest of them.
. . .
. . .
A trapdoor? Pfft. How would that have worked? Naa - it was much simpler than that. He just tossed him out of the window.
. . .
Pardon? No, I am not grinning. - No, I do not think this is funny. Though I must say the idea. . . It is quite something to just throw people out of the window if you want to get rid of them, isn't it?
. . .
You're right. I shouldn't say that. I can hear my father speaking. Can you believe it? He was never very considerate when it came to interpersonal relations.
. . .
. . .
I saw the stranger fall out of the window straight into the moat. He hit the roof with his left arm, slumped against a stonewall and glided down another roof into the musty green water. Head first. I thought he had drowned immediately. Many did, because the water was quite sticky. You couldn't really move in there, you see, let alone swim. But then the man's head turned up once more. His hair had lost its fair colour and he was covered with mud and seaweed.
'You will pay for that one, Snape!' he yelled. 'You can't just throw everyone you dislike into your moat, you know! I have friends! Powerful friends! And they will take your wife from you! And your children, and. . . ' He stopped. The huge, green backside of a crocodile came into his sight, gliding towards him almost elegantly, but without hurry. All of a sudden his voice seemed to fail him.
'Help,' he whispered, 'Snape, there is a crocodile in here!'
'Perhaps,' a loud voice came from the window next to mine and I quickly ducked as to not to be seen by my father, 'your precious friends will never know that you have ever paid a visit to my castle. That you tried to obliterate the piece and harmony of MY FAMILY. I should think they never will, Marius Malfoy!' And he laughed.
'You can't have that beast kill me,' Malfoy gasped staring into a heavily toothed maw right next to his face, 'I haven't. . . ' But what he had not we never found out. Wock's jaws clutched around the man's neck and with a single bite his head was severed from his. . .
from. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
Teeth. . .
. . .
There was. . . teeth. . . and a crack, when. . .
. . .
. . .
I am fine, don't - don't worry.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . . "

"Good evening. This is Professor McGonagall. I am very sorry for bothering you at this time of night, I-
. . .
Yes. Yes, the one phoning you about Severus a few weeks ago. Have you been talking to him only a minute ago?
. . .
. . .
He collapsed.
. . .
. . .
I came to his room half an hour ago and heard him speak to you, so I decided to withdraw without bothering him. He, however, seemed very upset. Stammered something about teeth and a crack, panted heavily, slammed the receiver down and fainted. He is still unconscious. Would you mind telling me what upset him so much? I've never seen him like this. He -
. . .
what do you mean 'data protection'?
. . .
. . .
Now really, don't you think this is a bit ridiculous? It was me who asked you to help him in the first place. I am worried about him. We are very close friends.
. . .
. . .
Because he is unconscious, for Merlin's sake!
. . .
. . .
. . .
Listen, all I asked you was to see if there was something in his past that might cause these fits. I never-
. . .
Yes, of course.
. . .
. . .
I never asked you to get involved so much! Let alone put him into any immediate danger. If this is not entirely safe, I won't have it anymore.
. . .
. . .
Hm.
. . .
. . .
. . .
I see.
. . .
. . .
Oh, I see.
. . .
. . .
Hmpf. Well, thank you anyway.
. . .
Yes.
. . .
. . .
Yes, I understand.
. . .
Goodbye."

"Good evening.
. . .
. . .
Yes. It is me.
. . .
Yes, it. . . it is good to hear you, too.
. . .
. . .
I am not interested in what she says. I am not interested in what anyone says.
. . .
. . .
. . .
Oh. I understand.
. . .
Asked you to what? Look if there was something wrong in my. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
Yes, I am still there.
. . .
I get the feeling that Minerva knows me quite a bit better than I expected.
. . .
. . .
Oh, for years. We've known each other ever since I came to Hogwarts. She was my teacher, you know. Transfiguration. I wasn't exactly very. . . talented when it came to changing animals into water goblets and all that stuff, so she gave me extra lessons. Helped me with my exams and all that. She even scolded Potter once, because he'd shot a nasty remark at my feathered guinea pig.
. . .
. . .
Don't tell me you're writing down his name.
. . .
. . .
Well, it is a waste of time, because I am certainly not getting into the subject. He was an arrogant piece of scum and I do not wish to discuss him or any of his annoying friends with you. They belong to a part of my life I'd rather not be reminded of.
. . .
. . .
My time at Hogwarts, yes. More precisely, my time as a student there.
. . .
. . .
No.
. . .
Forget it.
. . .
Not falling for it.
. . .
. . .
Still not falling for it.
. . .
. . .
Well, if you must know - I hate them because every time I met one of them something would happen to me, such as my books vanishing out of the blue, my robes suddenly catching fire, or. . . even more unpleasant things. I hate them because every time we met I had to endure nasty remarks about my looks, the way I moved or the house I lived in. In short, I hate them, because they made my life a living hell. And they haven't stopped. One, you see, is a werewolf and needs a potion every full moon to keep him sane, and-
. . .
. . .
More interested in Potter, are you? I should have known. I shouldn't have mentioned him. He was a bastard. Believed himself a cut above the rest of us. But- no, he is dead.
. . .
. . .
You sound surprised.
. . .
Well, I can't say I was terribly upset. Shocked, yes. But. . . in some ways he deserved it. Got stabbed in the back by his best friend, you see. Nothing like that could ever happen to me.
. . .
That remark was neither funny nor clever, missy.
. . .
Very funny. No, there is some truth in it, but I chose this life. I chose to be alone. Not to make any friends. Not long ago, by the way. I abandoned all my former friends and didn't. . . bother making new ones, basically. Friends are most people's greatest weakness.
. . .
Minerva? Oh yes.
. . .
Friends, yes. But that's something entirely different. You can't. . . can't really get rid of her once she's decided to bless you with her friendship. I tried. Several times. But I just. . . it just didn't work like with all the others. She simply. . . refused to take offence at my remarks. Quite astounding, come to think of it. A remarkable woman.
. . .
Yes, I suppose you could say that I - I like her. She's a very capable colleague and an excellent chess player.
. . .
Yes, and a very good friend. Now stop this nonsense.
. . .
. . .
You won't give up on him, will you? James Potter was an annoying little brat! Nothing more! He certainly never played an important role in my life! And neither did that. . . that Black fellow. Now, could we talk about something else, please?
. . .
Thank you. Though. . . is there anything left I haven't told you? I seem to think not.
. . .
. . .
The stranger, ey? I was sure you'd come back to that. Well, all right then. I'll tell you what happened the day I left my home. Is that what you want?
. . .
I thought you'd say that.
. . .
. . .
Actually, it all began the evening before. It was some time near the end of July, and I was sitting in our bedroom on the four-poster bed, reading an excerpt from "Liquids to Love" from Arsenius Jigger. You know him?
. . .
Hm. Well, all of a sudden the door bursts open and my father enters, rigid with fury. He grabs me, beats me up and shouts a lot of stuff I don't understand. I was busy covering my face, you see. Ever since he'd broken my lower jaw I have been more interested in avoiding his straws than in hitting back. I -
. . .
Yes, of course he did. What did you expect? You think he was a loving husband and father? Haven't I told you enough by now? Can't you estimate what our life was like when he was there?
. . .
Yes. Yes, he had a reason. For a change.
. . .
It was - about my grades, you see. The exams didn't go very well. I - I think. . . He'd expected some more O.W.L.s. Arithmency didn't work out. Nor did Transfiguration.
. . .
Yes. Yes, he did. That's what he was like, you see. Brutal. And highly inconsiderate. If Mum'ary hadn't stopped him. . . why, who knows what might have happened? Don't know how she did it, myself. She just entered and. . . He was surprised, I suppose, because she told him that a guest was waiting in the hall. The Master had arrived.
. . .
. . .
Listen, I am really telling you quite a lot already. So would you please stop trying to persuade me to say his name? Because I won't. No one does. I have no idea why you haven't heard about him, but let me tell you that he was. . . no, sorry, that he is the mightiest wizard in the world - apart from Albus Dumbledore, that is. Now, if you consider yourself equal to someone who performs the killing curse twice an hour, I am happy to hear you say the name, but I won't.
. . .
Of course I saw him. I told you. But not. . . I didn't go downstairs immediately. I was bleeding too badly. Mum'ary helped me get up and dragged me into the bathroom so that she could look after my bruises before allowing me to go downstairs.
. . .
My father and the Master had gone into the living room. I made to follow them, but Mum'ary held me back.
. . .
'Don't,' she whispered. 'He'll kill you.'
So I stopped and moved closer to the door, to be able to overhear the conversation.
'You still owe me an answer,' said the Master. 'I won't wait much longer, Snape.'
'Well, it's not an easy decision to make is it?' replied my father almost haughtily. 'You give me reason to believe that you won't. . . err. . . stay within the limits of decency with your plans.'
'It is not a matter of decency,' the Dark Lord hissed irritably, 'It is a matter of taking sides now, Snape, before it is too late. Once the war is decided I will not forget those who believed in me. But I won't forget those who did not either, be sure of that.' It sounded like a threat. My father laughed nervously.
'Now, you are not really going to challenge old Dumbledore, are you? I have never seen a mightier wizard, and I've met quite a lot.'
'Are you going to join or not?'
'Not if you're going to openly defy Dumbledore.'
'You do not believe me when I tell you I'll kill him as soon as I get the chance? You do not believe I am perfectly capable of getting rid of that Muggle-loving fool who prefers to stay headmaster when he has been offered the Minister of Magic post? You think he cannot be defeated?'
'That is indeed what I think,' said my father.
'You realize that in case of a war I'll have to kill you then,' the Dark Lord whispered. 'You - and your entire family.'
The door burst open. I fell backwards. From the back of the room my father was watching me with some surprise.
'Severus,' he then hissed, 'I believe I told you to stay in your room?' He had. I stared at him, without answering. The Dark Lord's eyes gleamed at the sight of me. My father, however, ignored him, grabbed my collar and pulled me back to my feet. He took my face with a pincer-like grip, made me look straight at him and hissed:
'You just wait until we are alone.'
'No,' I panted, 'I won't. I will leave. Today.' I turned towards the Dark Lord, who didn't await my question.
'Yes,' he said, 'you may come with me, young Snape, and pay the tribute your father refuses to give me.'
My father went pale. 'You won't. . . I don't allow it!'
'The boy is all I demand for recompense. I shall not burn your home if he comes with me,' the Dark Lord said and gave a hissing laugh. My father shook his head. I'd rather see this castle destroyed in war. He stays!'
They argued for a while, but my decision was made. I was going to leave. And so I did. Only half an hour later.
. . .
. . .
. . .
Pardon? No, sorry, I. . . oh, I see.
. . .
No, he wasn't happy. I told you what he shouted after me - he'd agreed to let me go at first, you see, but changed his mind. And I believe it was Mum'ary who put him off following us and starting another fight. Anyway, that's how things went. That's how I came to join the Dark Lord. Not exceedingly spectacular, I should think, but that's how most people came to join him. Through situations like this one.
. . .
. . .
. . .
Your silence is very off-putting. But I need to go anyway. It is very late. And if Minerva finds out I am still calling you. . .
. . .
Yes, I know I said I don't care. But that. . . that was a lie. Good night.
. . .
. . . "

"You know what? I regret it. I have no idea how you did that, but my iron-cast opinion that leaving my home was the right decision has been wavering the past days, and that's your fault!
. . .
Yes, hello. How kind of you to remind me of preserving good manners. - Severus, yes.
. . .
Yes, yes, it is nice speaking to you again as well. Did you take in a word of what I just said, though? Rub out that sense of guilt you have filled me with. Make it disappear at once!
. . .
I am not joking. You see, I made a promise to my sister, and - to Luciana, yes, and I didn't keep it. I betrayed her memory, can you believe it? I am- what???
. . .
Furious? Why would I be. . . well, I suppose I am just slightly. . .
. . .
NO, I WILL NOT TELL YOU WHAT EXACTLY I PROMISED! IT IS BAD ENOUGH THAT YOU HAD TO REMIND ME OF IT!
. . .
. . .
. . .
Yes. I know I am not being sensible. Would you be? I betrayed my sister's. . . I mean. . . I failed her. Somehow.
. . .
. . .
I hate you.
. . .
. . .
Oh, very well then. It was the evening before she left. I was thirteen or something. She had just turned sixteen - and was really unhappy. I could sense it, so I asked for what reason. She didn't reply immediately.
'I have my reasons,' she said after a while, 'but I am not sure you'll be able to understand them. I've been thinking today. And I think I have finally made up my mind.'
I nodded.
'Did you hear mother and father fight this morning?' she enquired. 'That's what got me started. I thought, we can't continue like this.'
I shrugged. I hadn't noticed the latest fight, but nothing about it struck me as exceedingly unusual.
'Well,' Luciana continued, her voice now sounding strangely hoarse, 'they were fighting about me. Seems that I am not. . . that father's not. . . my father after all.'
'How can that be?' I asked stupidly. She sighed.
'I knew you wouldn't be able to understand it,' she said, 'and you needn't yet. The point is that father's asked me to see him tonight.'
My heart sank. 'Again?' I said. 'But - you told me you didn't like it.'
'No,' she said quickly and blushed. 'It's not. . . it's not that. He asked me to see him in his office.'
I shook my head. 'That makes no sense.'
'Well,' Luciana muttered, 'perhaps it does. But again, you needn't understand about that now. I-' she stopped and sighed. 'I will be gone for a while, Severus. I may return, but perhaps I won't, and in that case I want you to promise me something.'
I stared blankly at her, but nodded after a while.
'I want you to promise me that you will look after Sil,' she said, 'and I don't mean feeding her. You might have noticed that she doesn't need that any longer.'
I grinned. Luciana smiled.
'I want you to protect Sil,' she said, rising from her chair, 'from father.'
It took me a while to grasp what she had just said. 'You mean. . . '
'I mean,' she interrupted, her voice shaking slightly, 'that he must never ask her to come. . . to come to him in the evenings, do you understand me, Severus? I want you prevent that! And I want you to leave this place as soon as you get the chance and. . . and to take her with you. Please take her with you. Don't worry about mother. She's strong. She's. . . got a choice. Take Sil. Under no circumstances leave Sil alone with father and mother, do you understand me, Severus? Do you understand that?'
I nodded.
'Will you promise to look after Sil?'
I nodded again.
'Say "I swear"!'
I did. The clock struck seven. She left.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
Where she went? Why, I told you - she left us. N-never seen her again. I. . . excuse me for a moment.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
She - she's dead, isn't she?
. . . "

"Hello, Professor McGonagall speaking. I have a few questions you'll have to answer to, my dear. There's something decisively wrong with your therapy. Severus has been hiding in his laboratory for three days now. He frankly refuses to come out, let alone talk to anyone. I demand to know what happened. What have you been talking about?
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
I - I understand. And you cannot tell me any more than that? Will he be all right again?
. . .
Well, that's something at least. So you think the therapy has been successful?
. . .
What do you mean by 'astoundingly yes'? It was my idea after all.
. . .
. . .
. . .
No, he. . . he might need some time to get over the sudden. . . realization. I will see what I can do. Least, I suppose, is keeping students away from the lab.
. . .
Yes, term's started again. But don't worry. We'll be fine here. You said he'll just need some time, didn't you?
. . .
. . .
I - excuse me, please. I cannot - thank you enough for all you did. - Pardon? Yes, of course you have questions. I expect you must be very puzzled to find that a world like ours exists, don't you? Well, I have an explanation, but you need to listen closely, because this is going to quite difficult, given that you're not actually standing in front of me. Give me just a second to get hold of my. . . ah, yes. Ready?
. . .
"Obliviate".

Shades of Surrender--Chapter 4

Title: Shades of Surrender--Chapter 4: Blood and Tears (part 2)
Author: Wandwaver
Rating: PG

Author's Notes: A couple of things to mention. Some of the information regarding the goblins stems from Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. I put my own slant on the legalities of the race. Hermione's little political reminder is the result of an argument I found on Sugarquill - I just put it in "Herm speak". The Dreaming is inspired by the necromancy spell contained within Laurell K Hamilton's Guilty Pleasures - I rephrased the wording to encompass bringing back the shade of Tom Riddle. Also - the names of the Lestranges are consistent with the first chapter of my fic, posted before Ootp was published. As such, they're now inconsistent with canon. Consider it part of the AU aspect of the fic. In all other respects the characters tally with canon unless specifically stated.

The Great Hall - Several Weeks Later

The clamour of noise in the hall had reached its usual deafening pitch when all at once a lone owl descended upon the head table at which the staff were sampling various dishes served by the house-elves. Dumbledore looked upwards, following its faltering flight, and, as it grew closer, extended his arms upwards to receive its burden. Its wing was held at an awkward angle and several feathers were missing. "I thank you for the effort which has been expended to reach us, little one," Professor Dumbledore told the owl. "You're safe now." He beckoned to Professor Grubbly-Plank. "Please see that our feathered friend receives adequate treatment. We are indebted to him for his service." His face grew grave as he read the all too brief contents within the letter. "So. It has at last started as I suspected it would," he muttered. Dumbledore raised himself to his feet and cleared his throat. As the various tables of pupils saw their Headmaster standing an uneasy silence spread throughout the throng. "Students," he began. "It is my unhappy duty to inform you there was a concentrated attack upon the Ministry headquarters in London at between 4 and 5 o'clock this evening. The building was heavily damaged in the fray and several sections are beyond restoration. Some persons are missing, believed dead. Identities have not yet been confirmed," Dumbledore continued relentlessly. "There is no further news at present," he finished. "We must merely wait."

The Trio had exchanged glances as the headmaster began his speech but, by its conclusion, Ron was studiously avoiding the gaze of either of his friends. He was watching Ginny who was seated some five places away from himself. Hermione had found herself placing her hand upon Ron's shoulder which appeared to be trembling slightly, although she was unsure whether he was consciously aware of the fact. The Weasleys would not be the only family at Hogwarts affected by the magical blast. The consequences would extend far beyond their immediate circle.

Suddenly the deathly silence gave way to a slow but steady buzz. The children murmured amongst themselves.

"Was your father working today?" Hermione voiced the Trio's concerns sharply.

"I think so," Ron nodded, feeling slightly sick.

"You don't know so though."

"No."

"There you are then!" she stated decisively. "I'm sure it'll all turn out all right." The anxious way her hands were twisting in her lap, however, gave her words the lie. As Hermione considered the potential aftermath of the attack, Professor Dumbledore fixed a penetrating look upon the table at which she was seated with the others. She knew it wasn't possible for him to converse directly with them in detail regarding the incident. He had already stated that there was no news. If there had been, he would have spoken to the Weasleys. Her stomach gave an unpleasant lurch as the Headmaster beckoned to Ron. He returned shortly.

"He'll let us know," he stated absently. Ron wondered briefly if Dumbledore would employ his network of portraits in an attempt to discover precisely what had occurred. He wondered how many would be able to function in whatever was left of the ministry building. Such random thoughts to occupy his mind in order to stop the blank panic which threatened to overwhelm him.

Ginny had darted across to her brother's side to give him a brief hug. "Isn't there any way to try and find something else out?" she asked helplessly. "I'll go mad simply waiting and wondering."

Ron shrugged dejectedly.

Ginny turned towards Harry. "I know we may be fighting, Harry, but I need your support through this otherwise I'm going to start screaming and I'm not going to stop," she stated bluntly, refusing to make eye contact with him. "Can you just lie to me for a little while and pretend everything's all right?" The words were harsh.

"Ginny," Harry whispered. "It doesn't matter," he confirmed. "It was a stupid argument." His brow furrowed. It was the closest he could come to an outright apology. He hated the fact that Ginny had thought he would harbour ill feeling for so long over a petty dispute.

"Let's play Quidditch," Harry stated. The two Weasleys looked at him blankly. "It's better than doing nothing," he said sympathetically. "Ginny's right. The waiting is the worst thing. If you occupy your thoughts the time will pass all the quicker until we hear something."

Ginny nodded briefly at him. Ron muttered, "I can't believe we're going to go practice for some sodding Cup match while . . ." He broke off, shaking his head. "You're right. Let's do it. Hermione, you're making up numbers today."

"It's obvious you don't value your . . .life," she quipped nervously and gulped as she realised the full meaning of what she had said. "Ron . . .I didn't mean . . ." she began.

"Leave it, Herm," he grimaced. "Move on." Ron's voice was strained.

"What position am I playing?" she questioned, although the idea of trying to co-ordinate her movements whilst astride her Cleansweep scared her something stupid. The unvoiced fear that Ron's father might have been at the heart of the Ministry altercation was more terrifying, however, and it was this thought which prompted her to face the prospect of flying for her boyfriend's sake. If it would help it was worth it.

*******

Some half an hour later, cold and wet to the skin, Hermione was questioning her own wisdom. The match wasn't exactly being closely fought - although to call it a match was stretching the truth somewhat since they had too few members to make up a team. It was more a case of practising the manoeuvres. Hermione was performing on sufferance. Harry was on superb form as usual although she knew his heart wasn't really in the game, there to cover a shot if anyone messed up. Mostly that was herself - and Ron. It was clear his mind simply wasn't on the game. Ginny was doing well enough. Hermione could see all the more now why she had been picked for her current position. She didn't have the significant speed on impulse necessary for a Seeker but she was light and nippy enough to manoeuvre back and forth with the Quaffle and her aim was good. She also had plenty of stamina for the relentless pace necessary for constant goal scoring. Ron was missing even the easy passes and failing to block his goals stolidly enough. It reminded Hermione of his first team match when nerves had served to get the better of him. "Let's give it a rest, shall we?" she suggested