Boo
Harry walked along the corridor, wandering aimlessly. Ron and Dean were at a quidditch practice, Hermione was studying with a Ravenclaw, and he couldn't find Luna. Classes had ended for the day, so he was just avoiding going back to Slytherin.
The past month he had avoided talking to his housemates when it wasn't necessary, and he was almost 100% sure they had said nothing about Damian. Quidditch practice was surprisingly amazing, Flint’s devotion to the sport was rivaled only by Wood and the team worked really well together, so Harry was having a good October. His first game against Hufflepuff was three days from now, and he thought they could maybe win.
Harry wandered dispiritedly toward the library, but halfway there he changed his mind; he didn't feel like working. He turned around and came face-to-face with Filch, who had obviously just had a run-in with Peeves, if the smell of dung bombs was any indicator.
"What are you doing?" Filch snarled suspiciously.
"Nothing," said Harry truthfully.
"Nothing!" spat Filch, his jowls quivering unpleasantly. "A likely story! Sneaking around on your own -- why aren't you in your dormitory?"
Harry shrugged.
"Well, get back to your common room where you belong!" snapped Filch, and he stood glaring until Harry had passed out of sight.
But Harry didn't go back to the common room; he climbed a staircase, thinking vaguely of visiting the Owlery to see Hedwig, and was walking along another corridor when a voice from inside one of the rooms said, "Harry?"
Harry doubled back to see who had spoken and met Professor Lupin, looking around his office door. "What are you doing?" said Lupin, though in a very different voice from Filch. "Where are Ron and Hermione?"
"Busy," said Harry, in a would-be casual voice. Why was everyone so concerned about his whereabouts? Maybe the others should reveal he was Damian Riddle tomorrow on Halloween, Harry jokingly thought. Then they would all stay far away.
"Ah," said Lupin. He considered Harry for a moment. "Why don't you come in? I've just taken delivery of a grindylow for our next lesson."
"A what?" asked Harry. He followed Lupin into his office. In the corner stood a very large tank of water. A sickly green creature with sharp little horns had its face pressed against the glass, pulling faces and flexing its long, spindly fingers.
"Water demon," said Lupin, surveying the grindylow thoughtfully. "We shouldn't have much difficulty with him, not after the kappas. The trick is to break his grip. You notice the abnormally long fingers? Strong, but very brittle."
The grindylow bared its green teeth and then buried itself in a tangle of weeds in a corner.
"Cup of tea?" Lupin asked, looking around for his kettle. "I was just thinking of making one."
"All right," said Harry awkwardly. Lupin tapped the kettle with his wand and a blast of steam issued suddenly from the spout.
"Sit down," said Lupin, taking the lid off a dusty tin.
Something of Harry's thoughts from before seemed to have shown on his face, because Lupin said, "Anything worrying you, Harry?"
"No," Harry lied. He drank a bit of tea and watched the grindylow brandishing a fist at him. "Yes," he said suddenly, putting his tea down on Lupin's desk. "You know that day we fought the boggart?" Harry asked, thinking back to the lesson a week ago where Lupin had stopped him.
"Yes," said Lupin slowly.
"Why didn't you let me fight it?" asked Harry abruptly.
Lupin raised his eyebrows. "I would have thought that was obvious, Harry," he said, sounding surprised.
Harry, who had expected Lupin to deny that he'd done any such thing, was taken aback. "Why?" he asked again.
"Well," said Lupin, frowning slightly, "I assumed that if the boggart faced you, it would assume the shape of Lord Voldemort."
Harry stared. Not only was this the last answer he'd expected, but Lupin had said Voldemort's name. The only person Harry had ever heard say the name aloud (apart from himself) was Professor Dumbledore.
"Clearly, I was wrong," said Lupin, still frowning at Harry. "But I didn't think it was a good idea for Lord Voldemort to materialize in the staffroom. I imagined that people would panic."
"I didn't think of Voldemort," said Harry honestly. Although, he probably should have. His ‘father’ was rather scary. "I -- I remembered those dementors."
"I see," said Lupin thoughtfully. "Well, well... I'm impressed." He smiled slightly at the look of surprise on Harry's face. "That suggests that what you fear most of all is -- fear. Very wise, Harry."
Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he drank some tea.
"So you've been thinking that I didn't believe you capable of fighting the boggart?" said Lupin shrewdly.
"Well... yeah," said Harry. He was suddenly feeling a lot happier. "Professor Lupin, you know the dementors --"
He was interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Come in," called Lupin. The door opened, and in came Snape. He was carrying a goblet, which was smoking faintly, and stopped at the sight of Harry, his black eyes narrowing. "Ah, Severus," said Lupin, smiling. "Thanks very much. Could you leave it here on the desk for me?"
Snape set down the smoking goblet, his eyes wandering between Harry and Lupin. "I was just showing Harry my grindylow," said Lupin pleasantly, pointing at the tank.
"Fascinating," said Snape, without looking at it.
"You should drink that directly, Lupin."
"Yes, Yes, I will," said Lupin.
"I made an entire cauldron full," Snape continued. "If you need more.”
"I should probably take some again tomorrow. Thanks very much, Severus."
"Not at all," replied Snape, but there was a look in his eye Harry didn't like. He backed out of the room, unsmiling and watchful. Harry looked curiously at the goblet. Lupin smiled.
"Professor Snape has very kindly concocted a potion for me," he said. "I have never been much of a potion-brewer and this one is particularly complex." Lupin picked up the goblet and sniffed it. "Pity sugar makes it useless," he added, taking a sip and shuddering.
"Why --?" Harry began. Lupin looked at him and answered the unfinished question. "I've been feeling a bit off-color," he said. "This potion is the only thing that helps. I am very lucky to be working alongside Professor Snape; there aren't many wizards who are up to making it."
Professor Lupin took another sip and Harry had a crazy urge to knock the goblet out of his hands. "Professor Snape's very interested in the Dark Arts, Harry blurted out.
"Really?" asked Lupin, looking only mildly interested as he took another gulp of potion.
"Some people reckon --" Harry hesitated, then plunged recklessly on, "some people reckon he'd do anything to get the Defense Against the Dark Arts job."
Lupin drained the goblet and pulled a face. "Disgusting," he said. "Well, Harry, I'd better get back to work. see you at the feast later."
"Right," said Harry, putting down his empty teacup. The empty goblet was still smoking.
-
On Halloween morning, Harry awoke before the rest and went down to breakfast, feeling thoroughly depressed, though doing his best to act normally.
He sat down in between Fred and George, who talked his ear off about their new ideas for, what they affectionately called, ‘Weasley products.’
"Yeah, maybe," said Harry in response to one of Fred’s questions. The Great Hall had been decorated with hundreds and hundreds of candle-filled pumpkins, a cloud of fluttering live bats, and many flaming orange streamers, which were swimming lazily across the stormy ceiling like brilliant watersnakes.
The food was delicious; even Hermione and Ron, who were full to bursting with Honeydukes sweets, managed second helpings of everything. Harry kept glancing at the staff table. Professor Lupin looked cheerful and as well as he ever did; he was talking animatedly to tiny little Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher. Harry moved his eyes along the table, to the place where Snape sat. Was he imagining it, or were Snape's eyes flickering toward Lupin more often than was natural?
The feast finished with an entertainment provided by the Hogwarts ghosts. They popped out of the walls and tables to do a bit of formation gliding; Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had a great success with a reenactment of his own botched beheading. It had been such a pleasant evening that Harry's good mood couldn't even be spoiled by the fact that he didn't know if Malfloy and the others would be revealing his identity tonight. Harry followed a group of older Slytherins, including Flint and Clearwater, along the usual path to the dungeons, and Harry walked to his dorm.
Ten minutes later, though, after the other boys had each gone to their individual beds as well, Flint burst in.
“Come on, we have to go back to the Great Hall,” Flint said with a bit of urgency.
Harry just stared blankly back at him, very much not wanting to do that, and he was pretty sure the others all wore the same expression. Pretty soon, though, Clearwater came in and yelled the same thing, and the boys begrudgingly got up. Penelope Clearwater was scary.
Harry followed the rest of the Slytherins back to the Great Hall, and saw all of Gryffindor standing and looking a little shell-shocked while Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students were all standing around, looking equally as confused as Slytherin.
Harry walked over to Ron, Hermione, and Dean, and was about to ask them what happened before Dumbledore spoke. "The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle," Professor Dumbledore told them as Professors McGonagall and Flitwick closed all doors into the hall. "I'm afraid that, for your own safety, you will have to spend the night here. I want the prefects to stand guard over the entrances to the hall and I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge. Any disturbance should be reported to me immediately," he added to Percy, who was looking immensely proud and important.
"Send word with one of the ghosts." Professor Dumbledore paused, about to leave the hall, and said, "Oh, yes, you'll be needing..." One casual wave of his wand and the long tables flew to the edges of the hall and stood themselves against the walls; another wave, and the floor was covered with hundreds of squashy purple sleeping bags. "Sleep well," said Professor Dumbledore, closing the door behind him.
The hall immediately began to buzz excitedly; the Gryffindors filling in the rest of the school on what had just happened.
"Everyone into their sleeping bags!" shouted Percy. "Come on, now, no more talking! Lights out in ten minutes!"
"C'mon," Ron said to Harry, Hermione, Dean, and Seamus; they seized five sleeping bags and dragged them into a corner.
"Do you think Black's still in the castle?" Hermione whispered anxiously after telling Harry what happened. Apparently, the Fat Lady had been slashed apart by Black and she had fled, screaming about insane killers demanding she let them through the Gryffindor Portrait hole.
"Dumbledore obviously thinks he might be," said Ron.
"It's very lucky he picked tonight, you know," said Hermione as they climbed fully dressed into their sleeping bags and propped themselves on their elbows to talk.
"The one night we weren't in the tower...." Hermione trailed off.
“I reckon he's lost track of time, being on the run," said Ron. "Didn't realize it was Halloween. Otherwise he'd have come bursting in here." Hermione shuddered.
“Do you think he could have assumed Harry was in Gryffindor? He only just got switched,” Dean said.
“Maybe,” Ron said, eyeing Harry warily as if Black would burst through any moment.
All around them, people were asking one another the same question: "How did he get in?"
"Maybe he knows how to Apparate," said a Ravenclaw a few feet away, "Just appear out of thin air, you know."
"Disguised himself, probably," said a Hufflepuff fifth year.
"He could've flown in," suggested Cormac McLaggen.
"Honestly, am I the only person who's ever bothered to read Hogwarts, A History?" asked Hermione crossly to Harry and Ron.
"Probably," said Ron. "Why?"
"Because the castle's protected by more than walls, You know,,, said Hermione. "There are all sorts of enchantments on it, to stop people entering by stealth. You can't just Apparate in here. And I'd like to see the disguise that could fool those dementors. They're guarding every single entrance to the grounds. They'd have seen him fly in too. And Fitch knows all the secret passages, they'll have them covered...."
"The lights are going out now!" Percy shouted. "I want everyone in their sleeping bags and no more talking!" The candles all went out at once. The only light now came from the silvery ghosts, who were drifting about talking seriously to the prefects, and the enchanted ceiling, which, like the sky outside, was scattered with stars. What with that, and the whispering that still filled the hall, Harry felt as though he were sleeping outdoors in a light wind. Once every hour, a teacher would reappear in the hall to check that everything was quiet.
Around three in the morning, when many students had finally fallen asleep, Professor Dumbledore came in. Harry watched him looking around for Percy, who had been prowling between the sleeping bags, telling people off for talking. Percy was only a short way away from Harry, Ron, and Hermlone, who quickly pretended to be asleep as Dumbledore's footsteps drew nearer.
"Any sign of him, Professor?" asked Percy in a whisper.
"No. All well here?"
"Everything under control, sir."
"Good. There's no point moving them all now. I've found a temporary guardian for the Gryffindor portrait. We’ll be able to move them back in tomorrow."
"And the Fat Lady, sir?"
"Hiding in a map of Argyllshire on the second floor. Apparently she refused to let Black in without the password, so he attacked. She's still very distressed, but once she's calmed down, I'll have Mr. Filch restore her."
Harry heard the door of the hall creak open again, and more footsteps. "Headmaster?" It was Snape. Harry kept quite still, listening hard. "The whole of the third floor has been searched. He's not there. And Filch has done the dungeons; nothing there either."
"What about the Astronomy tower? Professor Trelawney's room? The Owlery?" Dumbledore asked.
"All searched," Snape confirmed.
"Very well, Severus. I didn't really expect Black to linger," Dumbledore said.
"Have you any theory as to how he got in, Professor?" asked Snape.
Harry raised his head very slightly off his arms to free his other ear, "Many, Severus, each of them as unlikely as the next."
Harry opened his eyes a fraction and squinted up to where they stood; Dumbledore's back was to him, but he could see Percy's face, rapt with attention, and Snape's profile, which looked angry. "You remember the conversation we had, Headmaster, just before -- ah -- the start of term?" said Snape, who was barely opening his lips, as though trying to block Percy out of the conversation.
"I do, Severus," said Dumbledore, and there was something like warning in his voice.
"It seems -- almost impossible -- that Black could have entered the school without inside help. I did express my concerns when, you appointed --"
"I do not believe a single person inside this castle would have helped Black enter it," said Dumbledore, and his tone made it so clear that the subject was closed that Snape didn't reply. "I must go down to the dementors," said Dumbledore. “I said I would inform them when our search was complete."
"Didn't they want to help, sir?" asked Percy.
"Oh yes," said Dumbledore coldly. "But I'm afraid no dementor will cross the threshold of this castle while I am headmaster."
Percy looked slightly abashed. Dumbledore left the hall, walking quickly and quietly. Snape stood for a moment, watching the headmaster with an expression of deep resentment on his face; then he too left. Harry glanced sideways at Ron and Hermione. Both of them had their eyes open too, reflecting the starry ceiling.
“What was all that about?" Ron mouthed.
-
The school talked of nothing but Sirius Black for the entire next day. The theories about how he had entered the castle became wilder and wilder; Hannah Abbott, from Hufflepuff, spent much of their next Herbology class telling anyone who'd listen that Black could turn into a flowering shrub.
And worse, everyone thought the man had been after Harry.
He was now being closely watched. Teachers found excuses to walk along corridors with him, and Percy Weasley (acting, Harry suspected, on his mother's orders) was tailing him everywhere like an extremely pompous guard dog.
To cap it all, Professor McGonagall summoned Harry into her office, with such a somber expression on her face Harry thought someone must have died. "There's no point hiding it from you any longer, Potter," she said in a very serious voice. "I know this will come as a shock to you, but Sirius Black --"
"I know he's after me," said Harry wearily. "I heard Ron's dad telling his mum. Mr. Weasley works for the Ministry of Magic."
Professor McGonagall seemed very taken aback. She stared at Harry for a moment or two, then said, "I see! Well, in that case, Potter, you'll understand why I don't think it's a good idea for you to be practicing Quidditch in the evenings. Out on the field with only Your team members, it's very exposed, Potter --"
"We've got our first match tomorrow!" said Harry, outraged. "I've got to train, Professor!"
Professor McGonagall considered him intently. Harry knew she was deeply interested in the Gryffindor team's prospects, and probably had no reservations against preventing him from practicing on Slytherin.; it had been she, after all, who'd suggested him as Seeker in the first Place.
He waited, holding his breath. "Hmm..." Professor McGonagall stood up and stared out of the window at the Quidditch field, just visible through the rain. “Well... I'd be happier if a teacher were present. I'll ask Madam Hooch to oversee your training sessions."
The weather worsened steadily over the day as the first Quidditch match drew nearer. Undaunted, the Slytherin team was training harder than ever under the eye of Madam Hooch. Then, at their final training session that night, Flint gave his team some unwelcome news.
"We're not playing Gryffindor!" he told them, looking very angry. "Wood’s just been to see me. We're playing Hufflepuff instead."
"Why?" chorused the rest of the team.
"Wood’s excuse is that their Seeker Teddy Taylor’s arm's still injured," said Flint, grinding his teeth furiously.
"But it's obvious why they're doing it. Don't want to play in this weather. Think it'll damage their chances...." There had been strong winds and heavy rain all day, and as Flint spoke, they heard a distant rumble of thunder.
Later, after practice and when Harry was trying to fall asleep, Draco spoke up.
“Do you think Sirius Black was after you?” Draco asked from a couple of beds over.
“Shut up Draco,” Harry said, turning into his pillow.
“Your father could find him and kill him,” Theo offered, sing-songing the kill part.
“You’re not funny,” Harry said.
The others had tried to get closer to him over the past few weeks, but if anything, Harry had strong boundaries and a great ability to avoid people.
“Seriously though, Harry, you have to be careful. Sirius Black got into the castle. He can do it again,” Blaise warned.
“Why do you care anyway? Isn’t he acting on Voldemort’s orders? Him being a loyal Death Eater and all?” Harry asked.
They all laughed. “Harry, even if we didn’t want you to die, you should know that Sirius Black has absolutely nothing to do with us or your real dad. He’s just a madman trying to kill you for whatever reason. He was loyal to Dumbledore, not your dad,” Theo said.
“No, Sirius Black betrayed my parents, Ron told me the whole story.” Harry said, very confused now.
“That never happened. Sirius Black is just insane, all of the Blacks are, just like you and Draco,” Blaise said.
“Hey!” Draco exclaimed, offended.
Harry didn't respond.
None of this made any sense.
“So, how did Voldemort find my parents that night?” Harry asked.
“Peter Pettigrew,” Draco easily replied.
Peter Pettigrew…Ron had told him all about that man. He was in school with Harry’s parents and Sirius Black, they were all friends.
“Listen mate, you're not really supposed to know this, but Peter Pettigrew betrayed your parents and Sirius Black confronted him. They both died that night in a way, just Pettigrew actually died and Black went insane. Uncle Reggie says that Sirius must have gone insane because of the dementors. We weren’t sure if he was trying to get to you until the attack on the Gryffindor portrait,” Theo said.
Uncle Reggie? Like Regulus? His godfather?
Harry had so many questions, but he stayed silent. This information shared was like their attempt at making him involved with them, like part of their family. At least, that's how it felt to Harry, and he was not okay with that.
So Sirius Black was loyal to the Potters until the very end. And how could Harry even trust their claims that Sirius was insane? Maybe Sirius wasn’t insane, maybe he was just an innocent man evading jail. Maybe…just maybe
-
Harry woke extremely early the next morning; so early that it was still dark. For a moment he thought the roaring of the wind had woken him. Then he felt a cold breeze on the back of his neck and sat bolt upright -- Peeves the Poltergeist had been floating next to him, blowing hard in his ear.
"What did you do that for?" asked Harry furiously. Peeves puffed out his cheeks, blew hard, and zoomed backward out of the room, cackling. Harry fumbled for his alarm clock and looked at it. It was half past four.
Cursing Peeves, he rolled over and tried to get back to sleep, but it was very difficult, now that he was awake, to ignore the sounds of the thunder rumbling overhead, the pounding of the wind against the castle walls, and the distant creaking of the trees in the Forbidden Forest.
In a few hours he would be out on the Quidditch field, battling through that gale. Finally, he gave up any thought of more sleep, got up, dressed, picked up his Nimbus Two Thousand, and walked quietly out of the dormitory. As Harry opened the door, something brushed against his leg. The noise of the storm was even louder in the common room, despite being underground.
Harry knew better than to think the match would be canceled; Quidditch matches weren't called off for trifles like thunderstorms. Nevertheless, he was starting to feel very apprehensive. Flint had pointed out Cedric Diggory to him in the corridor; Diggory was a fifth year and a lot bigger than Harry. Seekers were usually light and speedy, but Diggory's weight would be an advantage in this weather because he was less likely to be blown off course. Harry whiled away the hours until dawn in front of the fire, getting up every now and then to look at book titles on the shelves. At long last Harry thought it must be time for breakfast, so he headed through the Slytherin entrance alone.
“Oh little Potty is wandering alone…Sirius Black! Where are youuu!” Peeves called out from down the hall.
"Oh, shut up," Harry yawned, walking to the Great Hall. He revived a bit over a large bowl of porridge, and by the time he'd started on toast, the rest of the team had turned up. "It's going to be a tough one," said Flint, who wasn't eating anything.
"Stop worrying, Marcus," said Theo, "we don't mind a bit of rain." But it was considerably more than a bit of rain. Such was the popularity of Quidditch that the whole school turned out to watch the match as usual, but they ran down the lawns toward the Quidditch field, heads bowed against the ferocious wind, umbrellas being whipped out of their hands as they went.
None of the other boys had said anything about revealing his identity, thank Merlin, so Harry’s only focus was the game.
The team changed into their emerald robes and waited for Flint to speak to them, but it didn't come. He tried to speak several times, made an odd gulping noise, then shook his head hopelessly and beckoned them to follow him. The wind was so strong that they staggered sideways as they walked out onto the field. If the crowd was cheering, they couldn't hear it over the fresh rolls of thunder. Rain was splattering over Harry's glasses. How on earth was he going to see the Snitch in this?
The Hufflepuffs were approaching from the opposite side of the field, wearing canary-yellow robes. The Captains walked up to each other and shook hands; Diggory smiled at Flint, who merely nodded back.
Harry saw Madam Hooch's mouth form the words, "Mount your brooms… He pulled his right foot out of the mud with a squelch and swung it over his Nimbus Two Thousand. Madam Hooch put her whistle to her lips and gave it a blast that sounded shrill and distant.
They were off.
Harry rose fast, but his Nimbus was swerving slightly with the wind. He held it as steady as he could and turned, squinting into the rain. Within five minutes Harry was soaked to his skin and frozen, hardly able to see his teammates, let alone the tiny Snitch. He flew backward and forward across the field past blurred green and yellow shapes, with no idea of what was happening in the rest of the game. He couldn't hear the commentary over the wind. The crowd was hidden beneath a sea of cloaks and battered umbrellas. Twice Harry came very close to being unseated by a Bludger; his vision was so clouded by the rain on his glasses that he literally didn't even need.
He lost track of time. It was getting harder and harder to hold his broom straight. The sky was getting darker, as though night had decided to come early. Twice Harry nearly hit another player, without knowing whether it was a teammate or opponent; everyone was now so wet, and the rain so thick, he could hardly tell them apart.
With the first flash of lightning came the sound of Madam Hooch's whistle; Harry could just see the outline of Flint through the thick rain, gesturing him to the ground. The whole team splashed down into the mud.
"I called for time-out!" Flint roared at his team. "Come on, under here --" They huddled at the edge of the field under a large umbrella; Harry took off his glasses and wiped them hurriedly on his robes. "What's the score?"
"We're fifty points up," said Flint, "but unless we get the Snitch soon, we'll be playing into the night."
"I've got no chance with these on," Harry said exasperatedly, waving his glasses. At that very moment, Clearwater appeared at his shoulder; she was holding her cloak over her head and was, inexplicably, beaming.
"I've had an idea, Harry! Give me your glasses, quick!"
He handed them to her, and as the team watched in amazement, Clearwater tapped them with her wand and said, "Impervius!"
"There!" she said, handing them back to Harry. "They'll repel water!"
Flint looked as though he could have kissed her. "Fucking brilliant!" he called hoarsely after her as she disappeared into the crowd.
"Okay, team, let's go for it!" Clearwater’s spell had done the trick. Harry was still numb with cold, still wetter than he'd ever been in his life, but he could see. Full of fresh determination, he urged his broom through the turbulent air, staring in every direction for the Snitch, avoiding a Bludger, ducking beneath Diggory, who was streaking in the opposite direction.
There was another clap of thunder, followed immediately by forked lightning. This was getting more and more dangerous. Harry needed to get the Snitch quickly - He turned, intending to head back toward the middle of the field, but at that moment, another flash of lightning illuminated the stands, and Harry saw something that distracted him completely, the silhouette of an enormous shaggy black dog, clearly imprinted against the sky, motionless in the topmost, empty row of seats. Harry's numb hands slipped on the broom handle and his Nimbus dropped a few feet. Shaking his sodden bangs out of his eyes, he squinted back into the stands. The dog had vanished.
"Harry!" came Flint’'s anguished yell from the Slytherin goal posts. "Harry, behind you!"
Harry looked wildly around. Cedric Diggory was pelting up the field, and a tiny speck of gold was shimmering in the rain-filled air between them - With a jolt of panic, Harry threw himself flat to the broom handle and zoomed toward the Snitch.
"Come on!" he growled at his Nimbus as the rain whipped his face. “Faster!" But something odd was happening. An eerie silence was falling across the stadium. The wind, though as strong as ever, was forgetting to roar. It was as though someone had turned off the sound, as though Harry had gone suddenly deaf -- what was going on? And then a horribly familiar wave of cold swept over him, inside him, just as he became aware of something moving on the field below...
Before he'd had time to think, Harry had taken his eyes off the Snitch and looked down.
At least a hundred dementors, their hidden faces pointing up at him, were standing beneath him. It was as though freezing water were rising in his chest, cutting at his insides. And then he heard it again.... Someone was screaming, screaming inside his head... a woman... "Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"
"Stand aside, you silly girl... stand aside, now...."
"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead, you don’t want to do this! You don't know who he is --"
Numbing, swirling white mist was filling Harry's brain.... What was he doing? Why was he flying? He needed to help her... She was going to die.... She was going to be murdered.... He was falling, falling through the icy mist.
"Not Harry! Please... have mercy... have mercy....”
A shrill voice was laughing, the woman was screaming, and Harry knew no more.
"Lucky the ground was so soft."
"I thought he was dead for sure."
"But he didn't even break his glasses."
Harry could hear the voices whispering, but they made no sense whatsoever. He didn't have a clue where he was, or how he'd got there, or what he'd been doing before he got there. All he knew was that every inch of him was aching as though it had been beaten.
"That was the scariest thing I've ever seen in my life."
Scariest... the scariest thing... hooded black figures... cold ... screaming... Harry's eyes snapped open. He was lying in the hospital wing. The Slytherin Quidditch team, spattered with mud from head to foot, was gathered around his bed. Ron and Hermione and some other Gryffindors were also there, looking as though they'd just climbed out of a swimming pool.
"Harry!" said Fred, who looked extremely white and soaking white. "How're you feeling?"
It was as though Harry's memory was on fast forward. The lightning -- the Grim -- the Snitch -- and the dementors... "What happened?" he said, sitting up so suddenly they all gasped.
"You fell off," said Fred. "Must've been -- what -- fifty feet?"
"We thought you'd died," said Pansy, who was shaking.
Hermione nodded next to her, her eyes were extremely bloodshot.
"But the match," said Harry. "What happened? Are we doing a replay?"
No one said anything. The horrible truth sank into Harry like a stone. "We didn't -- lose?"
"Diggory got the Snitch," said Blaise. "Just after you fell. He didn't realize what had happened. When he looked back and saw you on the ground, he tried to call it off. Wanted a rematch. But they won fair and square... even Flint admits it."
"Where is Flint?" asked Harry, suddenly realizing he wasn't there.
"Still in the showers," said Theo. "We think he's trying to drown himself."
Harry put his face to his knees, his hands gripping his hair. Fred grabbed his shoulder and shook it roughly. "C'mon, Harry, you've never missed the Snitch before."
"There had to be one time you didn't get it," George added.
"It's not over yet," said Draco. "We lost by a hundred points"
"Right? So if Hufflepuff loses to Ravenclaw and we beat Ravenclaw and Gryffindor --."
"Hufflepuff'll have to lose by at least two hundred points," said Theo.
“Oh so now you like math?” Blaise accusingly said.
"But if they beat Ravenclaw..."
"No Way, Ravenclaw is too good. But if Gryffindor loses against Hufflepuff..."
“Hey! Who said Gryffindor is losing?” A twin exclaimed.
"It all depends on the points -- a margin of a hundred either way."
Harry lay there, not saying a word. They had lost... for the first time ever, he had lost a Quidditch match. After ten minutes or so, Madam Pomfrey came over to tell the team to leave him in peace.
"We'll come and see you later," Fred told him.
"Don't beat yourself up, Harry," Hermione whispered.
The team and the others trooped out, trailing mud behind them. Madam Pomfrey shut the door behind them, looking disapproving.
“I have never seen Slytherin and Gryffindor unite so fiercely before,” Madam Pomfrey observed.
Ron and Hermione moved nearer to Harry's bed. "Dumbledore was really angry," Hermione said in a quaking voice. "I've never seen him like that before. He ran onto the field as you fell, waved his wand, and you sort of slowed down before you hit the ground. Then he whirled his wand at the dementors. Shot silver stuff at them. They left the stadium right away... He was furious they'd come onto the grounds. We heard him --"
"Then he magicked you onto a stretcher," added Ron. "And walked up to school with you floating on it. Everyone thought you were --" His voice faded, but Harry hardly noticed. He was thinking about what the dementors had done to him... about the screaming voice. He looked up and saw Ron and Hermione looking at him so anxiously that he quickly cast around for something matter-of-fact to say.
"Did someone get my Nimbus?" Ron and Hermione looked quickly at each other.
"Er --"
"What?" said Harry, looking from one to the other.
"Well... when you fell off, it got blown away," said Hermione hesitantly.
"And?"
"And it hit -- it hit -- oh, Harry -- it hit the Whomping Willow." Harry's insides lurched. The Whomping Willow was a very violent tree that stood alone in the middle of the grounds.
"And?" he said, dreading the answer.
"Well, you know the Whomping Willow," said Ron. "It -- it doesn't like being hit."
"Professor Flitwick brought it back just before you came around," said Hermione in a very small voice. Slowly, she reached down for a bag at her feet, turned it upside down, and tipped a dozen bits of splintered wood and twig onto the bed, the only remains of Harry's faithful, finally beaten broomstick.
Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping Harry in the hospital wing for a couple more days. He didn't argue or complain, but he wouldn't let her throw away the shattered remnants of his Nimbus Two Thousand. He knew he was being stupid, knew that the Nimbus was beyond repair, but Harry couldn't help it; he felt as though he'd lost one of his best friends.
He had a stream of visitors, all intent on cheering him up. Hagrid sent him a bunch of earwiggy flowers that looked like yellow cabbages, and Ginny Weasley, blushing furiously, turned up with a get-well card she had made herself, which sang shrilly unless Harry kept it shut under his bowl of fruit.
Luna came and gave him various things from the forest, his favorite being a blue flower that shone like moonlight. The Slytherin team visited again on Sunday morning, this time accompanied by Flint, who told Harry (in a hollow, dead sort of voice) that he didn't blame him in the slightest. Ron and Hermione left Harry's bedside only at night- But nothing anyone said or did could make Harry feel any better, because they knew only half of what was troubling him.
The other boys in Slytherin, of course, knew about his identity, but they couldn't understand. He hadn't told anyone about the vision of his parents death with the Dementor, not even Ron and Hermione. The fact remained, however, that it had now happened twice, and Harry felt sick and humiliated every time he thought of them. Everyone said the dementors were horrible, but no one else collapsed every time they went near one. No one else heard echoes in their head of their dying parents. Because Harry knew who that screaming voice belonged to now. He had heard her words, heard them over and over again during the night hours in the hospital wing while he lay awake, staring at the strips of moonlight on the ceiling. When the dementors approached him, he heard the last moments of his mother's life, her attempts to protect him, Harry, from Lord Voldemort, his real father, and Voldemort's laughter before he murdered her.... Harry dozed fitfully, sinking into dreams of petrified pleading, jerking awake to dwell again on his mother's voice.
"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead, you don’t want to do this! You don't know who he is --"
Did Harry’s mom know? Know that Harry wasn’t a Potter? She must have, and Harry didn't know what to think about that. And Voldemort…he hadn’t known that he was Damian.
Harry didn't want to think about it, so it was a relief to return to the noise and bustle of the main school on Wednesday, where he was forced to think about other things. On one hilarious occasion, Ron finally cracked and flung a large, slippery crocodile heart at Draco, which hit him in the face and caused Snape to take fifty points from Gryffindor.
"If Snape's teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts again, I'm skiving off," said Ron as they headed toward Lupin's classroom after lunch. Apparently when Harry was in the hospital wing, Snape had filled in for Lupin because the man was sick.
"Check who's in there, Hermione." Hermione peered around the classroom door. "It's okay!"
Professor Lupin was back at work. It certainly looked as though he had been ill. His old robes were hanging more loosely on him and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes. Nevertheless, he smiled at the class as they took their seats, and they burst at once into an explosion of complaints about Snape's behavior while Lupin had been ill.
"It's not fair, he was only filling in, why should he give us homework?"
"We don't know anything about werewolves- two rolls of parchment!"
"Did you tell Professor Snape we haven't covered them yet?" Lupin asked, frowning slightly. The babble broke out again.
"Yes, but he said we were really behind he wouldn't listen --"
"-- two rolls of parchment!"
Professor Lupin smiled at the look of indignation on every face. "Don't worry. I'll speak to Professor Snape. You don't have to do the essay."
"Oh no," said Hermione, looking very disappointed. "I've already finished it!"
They had a very enjoyable lesson. Professor Lupin had brought along a glass box containing a hinkypunk, a little one-legged creature who looked as though he were made of wisps of smoke, rather frail and harmless looking.
"Lures travelers into bogs," said Professor Lupin as they took notes. "You notice the lantern dangling from his hand? Hops ahead -people follow the light -- then --" The hinkypunk made a horrible squelching noise against the glass.
When the bell rang, everyone gathered up their things and headed for the door, Harry among them, but -- "Wait a moment, Harry," Lupin called. "I'd like a word."
Harry doubled back and watched Professor Lupin covering the hinkypunk's box with a cloth. "I heard about the match," said Lupin, turning back to his desk and starting to pile books into his briefcase, "and I'm sorry about your broomstick. Is there any chance of fixing it?"
"No," said Harry. "The tree smashed it to bits."
Lupin sighed. "They planted the Whomping Willow the same year that I arrived at Hogwarts. People used to play a game, trying to get near enough to touch the trunk. In the end, a boy called Davey Gudgeon nearly lost an eye, and we were forbidden to go near it. No broomstick would have a chance."
"Did you hear about the dementors too?" asked Harry with difficulty.
Lupin looked at him quickly. "Yes, I did. I don't think any of us have seen Professor Dumbledore that angry. They have been growing restless for some time -- furious at his refusal to let them inside the grounds.... I suppose they were the reason you fell?"
"Yes," said Harry. He hesitated, and then the question he had to ask burst from him before he could stop himself. "Why? Why do they affect me like that? Am I just --?"
"It has nothing to do with weakness," said Professor Lupin sharply, as though he had read Harry's mind.
"The dementors affect you worse than the others because there are horrors in your past that the others don't have." A ray of autumn sunlight fell across the classroom, illuminating Lupin's gray hairs and the lines on his young face. "Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them. Even Muggles feel their presence, though they can't see them. Get too near a dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself... soul-less and evil. You'll be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life. And the worst that happened to you, Harry, is enough to make anyone fall off their broom. You have nothing to feel ashamed of."
"When they get near me --" Harry stared at Lupin's desk, his throat tight. "I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum." Lupin made a sudden motion with his arm as though to grip Harry's shoulder, but thought better of it. There was a moment's Silence, then -- "Why did they have to come to the match?" said Harry bitterly.
"They're getting hungry," said Lupin coolly, shutting his briefcase with a snap. "Dumbledore won't let them into the school, so their supply of human prey has dried up.... I don't think they could resist the large crowd around the Quidditch field. All that excitement ... emotions running high... it was their idea of a feast."
"Azkaban must be terrible," Harry muttered.
Lupin nodded grimly. "The fortress is set on a tiny island, way out to sea, but they don't need walls and water to keep the prisoners in, not when they're all trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single cheery thought. Most of them go mad within weeks."
"But Sirius Black escaped from them," Harry said slowly. "He got away..."
Lupin's briefcase slipped from the desk; he had to stoop quickly to catch it.
"Yes," Lupin said, straightening up, "Black must have found a way to fight them. I wouldn't have believed it possible.... Dementors are supposed to drain a wizard of his powers if he is left with them too long...."
"You made that dementor on the train back off," said Harry suddenly.
"There are -- certain defenses one can use," said Lupin. "But there was only one dementor on the train. The more there are, the more difficult it becomes to resist."
"What defenses?" asked Harry at once. "Can you teach me?"
"I don't pretend to be an expert at fighting dementors, Harry, quite the contrary..."
"But if the dementors come to another Quidditch match, I need to be able to fight them --"
Lupin looked into Harry's determined face, hesitated, then said, "Well... all right. I'll try and help. But it'll have to wait until next term, I'm afraid. I have a lot to do before the holidays. I chose a very inconvenient time to fall ill."
What with the promise of anti-dementor lessons from Lupin, the thought that he might never have to hear his mother's death again, and the fact that Ravenclaw flattened Hufflepuff in their Quidditch match at the end of November, Harry's mood took a definite upturn. Slytherin was not out of the running after all, although they could not afford to lose another match. Flint became repossessed of his manic energy that reminded Harry of Wood, and worked his team as hard as ever in the chilly haze of rain that persisted into December. Harry saw no hint of a dementor within the grounds. Dumbledore's anger seemed to be keeping them at their stations at the entrances.
Two weeks before the end of the term, the sky lightened suddenly to a dazzling, opaline white and the muddy grounds were revealed one morning covered in glittering frost. Inside the castle, there was a buzz of Christmas in the air. Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, had already decorated his classroom with shimmering lights that turned out to be real, fluttering fairies. The students were all happily discussing their plans for the holidays. Both Ron and Hermione had decided to remain at Hogwarts, and though Ron said it was because he couldn't stand two weeks with Percy, and Hermione insisted she needed to use the library, Harry wasn't fooled; they were doing it to keep him company, and he was very grateful.
And above all else, the Slytherin boys seemed to be leaving the fact of his secret identity all alone. Maybe everything would be okay.