Shadowed

It had only been a few hours when Harry awoke with a start. He thrashed around for a second, until he realized that he was safe, and in his own bed.

“Harry? What is it?” Ron demanded. He was sitting up in bed, eyes wide. His hand shakily clutched his wand.

Without thinking, Harry reached over to grab a cigarette and lighter. “It’s nothing. Just another nightmare.” Just like usual, he had been trapped inside Voldemort’s body and forced to watch as he tortured and killed people. It was almost surprising how long the trail of bodies behind the Dark Lord was. How, every night, he seemed to have more and more people needing to be dealt with.

Ron’s shoulders slumped in relief. He nodded, not questioning what had been in Harry’s dream. Most of the Order was aware that Harry commonly had dreams from behind Voldemort’s eyes. One time, after Harry had had one, Ron had asked what it had been about. Harry had snapped at him so fiercely that Ron didn’t speak to him for a few days after. He never asked after that.

A clock on the wall read near seven thirty. In a half hour, there was an order meeting to discuss a possible prison raid near Cheshire. There were fourteen Resistance members inside, along with other powerful duellers that could help the cause. Harry was tempted to throw his pillow over his head and delve back into his memories, but he didn’t know how long that would take. If he managed it smoothly, it might only take twenty minutes. On the other hand, if he became trapped in his head, it could last an hour. If one day, he happened to become trapped in an old memory forever, what would happen to him? Would he lay on his bed, half asleep, until his body rotted away? Would he relive the past years of his life while imprisoned within his own mind? Harry frowned at the thought, taking a deep inhale of the cigarette smoke while thinking. Perhaps Snape would know. He grimaced at the thought of seeking out Snape and talking to him. It would be worth it, though, if Snape knew anything of self legilimency and the risks.

Harry found Snape browsing through the closet of healing supplies on the second floor. Before Harry could say anything, Snape said, “Mr. Potter. What can I do for you?” His brow was furrowed, like Harry was an annoyance he was in a rush to get rid of.

“Have you ever heard of self-legilimency?”

Snape grabbed a small vial from within the closet, and turned to fully study Harry. “I have. Why?”

“Because I’ve discovered that I have that ability, and I want to know the risks that accompany it.”

“There are plenty of risks that accompany delving into one's own memories, Mr. Potter. Only fools would attempt such a thing. Though it is rare, it is a very real and very dangerous act. Most wizards who perform self-legilimency become trapped within their own mind. They are forced to relive their life until their physical body gives out. Once fully imprisoned in the mind, there are no ways to escape.” Snape’s eyes narrowed. “No spell or potion will free you if you unwisely decide to try self-legilimency and fail.”

Harry glared in return into the cold eyes that seemed to be unable to possess emotion. Snape had always been a cold bitch to him in school– being in the middle of a war made him no different, to Harry’s slight disappointment.

Snape sighed, and then, as if he was being forced to say this, asked, “Is there anything else you want?”

“I want to know how you’re still in the Order.” Harry snapped. “All you do is walk around and glare at everyone like they’re in your way, when, really, you’re in ours. No one wants you here. No one likes you. Why don’t you just run back to Voldemort like you always do. Stop pretending like you’re on our side.”

“I pity those who burden themselves with being your friend,” replied Snape in a monotone. Without a blink, he spun and walked off, making his way to the stairs. Harry had no doubt he was going down to the dining hall, where the Order meetings were held. However, instead of following, he waited a few minutes, eyeing the closet supplies curiously. He didn’t know what most of them were. In the corner was a short glass bottle, which held sprigs of a plant with small white flowers. Harry vaguely remembered seeing a plant like that during Herbology in the third year. On a shelf near the top was a row of green bottles, with thick corks acting as stoppers. He could see the shadow of a thick liquid inside. That one had to be flobberworm mucus. One year at Hogwarts, Neville had somehow managed to spill it all over his robes. It smelled vile, and the scent lingered in the Gryffindor common room for ages. Besides those two, Harry didn’t see any potions or ingredients that he easily recognized.

By the time he arrived downstairs, most of the Order was already seated around the dining room table. It was silent. Harry pulled out his chair, wincing at the sharp sound it made against the floor. Kingsley and Moody were at the head, as per usual, while Harry was expected to sit near them. A chair was left open for him. He was glad that Ron always sat at his left. It made him feel more at ease.

A few minutes passed. A few final members arrived. There were light whispers around the table while people waited for the meeting to begin. Harry spaced out and looked at the wooden grooves of the table. He felt someone lightly tap his shoulder.

“Hey, Harry?” Ron asked, making sure he was listening. He looked alert, like he had at last gotten some rest. Harry wondered if he looked any better.

“Mhm?”

Ron lowered his voice. “I just, I’m sorry for being so moody last night. I don’t actually think any of that. I was just tired, you know?”

Harry nodded even though he knew he was being lied to. Ron’s words had been full of truth. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve all been there.” He said reassuringly.

Ron gave a tight lipped smile out of courtesy. Nothing more was said by either of them in the time before Kingsley began to speak. In front of him was a scroll that would magically record everything that was said. He opened the meeting by informing everyone that there was a prison located between Cheshire and Wales, carefully avoiding mentioning how that specific information had been retrieved. No one asked. He continued on by saying things that were already common knowledge: how many Resistance fighters were imprisoned, that it was located half underground to help conceal it due to the flat fields, that it had three floors, and that there was a heavily guarded entrance located underground that was only accessible via elevator (which was also heavily guarded). He held up a map that showed the approximate dimensions and hallways within the building. Nothing on it was for certain.

After he was satisfied with the introduction, Kingsley sat up straighter in his chair. Compared to the rest of the Order, fidgeting and squirming and tapping their shoes lightly against the floor, he was completely still. His face was blank. He reminded Harry of a machine, almost. Unapproachable and unreasonable, yet wise beyond his years.

“So, a conclusion has been reached that an attack and rescue on this facility would greatly benefit the Resistance. We would gain back some of our best fighters, such as Leanne, Cormac, and Elphias. From what we’ve seen, there doesn’t seem to be any experimentation occurring inside. Does anyone have any propositions for attack plans?”

Tonks, a few chairs down from Harry, spoke. “Are we sure that there’s no experimentation going on inside? With the Norfolk prison, you said the same thing, and yet most of the people were mutilated beyond repair.”

Hermione, who had become a healer for the Order at Kingsley‘s request after the death of Slughorn a few years back, nodded at Tonks comment.

“We made a mistake at that time and trusted unreliable sources. For this, all of our information is firm.”

“Maybe that’s why we have close to none.” Ron scoffed.

Tonks continued. “I don’t think it’s wise to stage another rescue like Norfolk unless we know more about the layout of the prison. There’s no point in risking the Order to get our own members out, and then returning with more bodies than living people.”

“I think it’s worth the risk to attack.” Bill argued. “If what Kingsley said is right, and our sources are more reliable now, I don’t think there’s any reason to doubt if these prisoners will be in fine health.”

“They wouldn’t be in fine health,” Hermione pointed out. “If they’ve been experimented on, it means they’ll die. Barely anyone saved from a research facility has lived overnight. On the other hand, most prisoners live. In Voldemort’s prisons, they use intense interrogation methods. If Kingsley’s information is true, the prisoners will live, but most will likely have permanent damage.”

“Without proper confirmed information, such as the interior layout and the welfare of the prisoners, we can’t possibly perform a rescue.” Tonks said.

Moody’s eyes turned to Snape. The rest of the Order’s gaze followed. “Severus, would you be able to get more details regarding the Cheshire prison?”

After a brief pause, Snape shook his head. “My intelligence is limited to new curses, potions, and technology that the Dark Lord is preparing. I have little access to knowledge of prison layouts, or guard rotations. On occasion, I am sent to a specific prison to select prisoners to transfer to more highly guarded locations, but I am unable to specify which location I want to select them from. Asking questions about Cheshire would put possible suspicions upon me.”

Of course Snape was of no help. Harry thought back to their argument earlier, and began to survey the room, wondering how many people actually wanted Snape to remain a member of the Order. The Weasley’s had scowls on their faces, which showed where they stood. Remus and Tonks looked no happier, though Remus was doing a far better job of hiding his distaste. Moody looked stern as usual, and Kingsley’s face still lacked emotion. The only person he saw who visibly didn’t mind Snape was Hermione. She was eying Snape, not with anger, but with curiosity, as if she was considering what he was saying. Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“We have to strike somehow.” Bill protested. “Every time we go out, for supplies or food or scouting, they manage to find and attack. Their prisons are steadily filling up with our fighters. Meanwhile, we have so little prisoners, we don’t even need more than one facility. We can’t just sit and wait until we need to go out again, and watch as more of the Resistance is lost. Either we need to retrieve more of our side, or we need to somehow take out some of theirs.”

“We could possibly attack a camp. The Death Eaters are staking out massive forests all throughout Europe, massacring centaurs.” Remus said.

Snape locked his fingers together and rested them on the table. “That may be true, but each camp is made up of thirty to fifty Death Eaters. They’re built specifically so that there are both strong and weak wizards in every group. There are werewolf packs with most of the camps as well. Some of the Death Eaters leave during the day to hunt centaurs and other creatures on the side of the Resistance, but the werewolves stay behind. You would have no chance against them.”

“How do you know all this, Snape? I thought your intelligence was limited to potions only?” Harry asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“The Dark Lord requested that I join these hunts. I refused. I had too much work to do to help your Order. ” Snape bit back. The way he said your Order made Harry even more enraged. Harry already knew that the fate of the Order and the Resistance rested on his shoulders. He didn’t appreciate being reminded of it from someone who probably had no clue what he was even talking about.

“Well, we either attack a camp or conduct a prison rescue.” Sturgis said. “Right now, the camp attack seems to have the best odds, since we have more information about it, and it’s less risky.”

“There’s been a potion created for the Death Eater armies. When consumed by a werewolf that’s been so for a specific amount of time, it turns them into a wolf, regardless of the moon stage.” Moody said gruffly.

“So we’d be up against a pack of transformed werewolves, and around forty Death Eaters?” Ron wondered with a frown. He opened his mouth to say something, then looked up in thought. “If we somehow managed a surprise attack, the werewolves wouldn’t have time to consume the potion, right?”

To Ron’s annoyance, Snape replied. “The rapid transformation potion takes almost ten minutes to work.”

Ron ran a hand through his hair as he continued to think aloud. “If we manage a complete surprise attack, we could be in and out by the time the potion would take effect. That’s achievable. Risky, but achievable.”

Harry nodded, and the rest of the Order followed suit. Only one member didn’t seem to appear with Ron’s plan. Hermione’s lips were pursed, like they got when she was on the edge of bursting with rage. After the Order continued to detail the plan, which would happen near the end of March, Hermione suddenly stood up. Her chair fell over with a loud bang, causing some of the members to jump.

“If you go on this mission,” She said rather quietly, through gritted teeth, “I will not heal a single one of you. I will not stand by, and watch you all get mauled by curses, only to attack back with expelliarmus or some silly stunner.” Her voice slowly grew in volume. “Do you all really think that you can face that many dark wizards, and still survive using only light magic?”

Harry felt a sudden wave of anger. Over the years, with more and more stress building up on his shoulder, he had found himself prone to anger outbursts, especially in the tense environment of an Order meeting. More than once, he had stormed out over an argument with Kingsley or another member. He was not in the mood to have this conversation with Hermione.

Luckily, Kingsley took over. “No, Granger, you will heal us. That is your duty. As one of the Order’s primary healers, it is your job to doctor whoever needs it, regardless of your personal opinion.”

“Yes, but I don’t want to heal people who are getting hurt just because they refuse to use dark magic. If we used dark magic, maybe we wouldn’t be needing to perform so many prison rescues. The hospital ward would probably be reduced by over half.” Hermione argued.

“You think we should stoop to their level? Go out onto the battlefield to torture and kill, and hope it helps us win?” Harry asked. In his head, a reel of memories played themselves out: his nightmares of Voldemort. How he watched his own hand, casting curse after curse on people he didn’t even know. He had watched good people die, all because of the side they had chosen in the war. The idea of cursing people all because they happened to be on Voldemort’s side, by choice or by force, seemed immoral.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying!” Hermione cried.

“The point of the Order isn’t to try and keep us alive. It’s to try and win.” Tonks said gently. “Besides, most of the dark curses cast don’t permanently impair us. They just hurt a lot.”

Hermione looked up and began to blink quickly, trying to vanish the obvious tears from her eyes. “I’m in the hospital ward all day. All I see is hurt people. There wouldn’t be so many injuries and casualties if the Resistance used more effective spells while fighting.”

Harry’s fists clenched in a way that made him realize that unless he got out of the meeting immediately, he was going to begin yelling at any second. Wordlessly, he stood up, turned, and walked out.