The Search For Life and Death

THE SEARCH FOR LIFE AND DEATH

XVIII

Into the Realm

"Oh, Ginny, dear, are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine, Mum." Ginny hugged her mother back when the woman squeezed her tightly. "The dementors just made me… it all came back, but I'm okay now. Really."

In truth, the dementors had brought to the forefront of her mind every miserable thought of her first year at Hogwarts. Every moment of doubt, every instance of fear, and the growing comprehension that she had been the one attacking people. It had made her sick with fear all over again. A good long hug from both of her parents and a large chunk of chocolate had gone a long way to making her feel better, but she couldn't deny that the guilt and fear were still lingering. Worry over her brother and Harry, however, eclipsed those old feelings. Both of them were still unconscious even though it had been hours since the attack on Diagon Alley.

Of all of them, those that had gone with Elena and the Weasleys whom had also been present in Diagon Alley, Harry and Ron had suffered the worst from the attack. It was hard to remember what had actually happened, because the dementors had done such a fine job of taking her back into her first year, but Ginny did recall Harry's collapse, how his body had twitched and jerked. She could still see the dementor, face inches from Harry's, reaching for its hood with long, scaly fingers. It's mouth had moved closer, almost touching Harry's...

And then Ron had come leaping out of nowhere, screaming like a madman – he had been saying something but Ginny couldn't remember what it was, if she had even understood it at the time. She only remembered the dementor swooping away with a shriek after Ron had leapt upon it, and then wizards apparating into Diagon Alley by the dozens.

She had briefly seen Sirius, a look of terrific horror on his face as he had whisked Harry into his arms and disappeared. And then Dumbledore had appeared by her side and used a Portkey to transfer her and Ron to the Hospital Wing. It had all been a blur of movement after that; people coming and going in the infirmary, chocolate being passed around, potions administered, and then her parents appearing.

Ginny was glad her mum and dad were with her, but part of her wished that she hadn't been released from the Hospital Wing. Stuck in Gryffindor Tower, she couldn't see how Ron and Harry were doing. Her parents meant well, she was sure, but they refused to tell her anything and it was infuriating.

She remembered how worried Sirius had looked, bent over the hospital bed in which an unconscious Harry lay. He hadn't stayed, however, instead choosing to leave not long after Ginny and Ron had arrived in the Hospital Wing. She wondered where he was now, and if someone was keeping him informed on Harry's condition, and if Harry or Ron's conditions had changed.

She didn't dare mention her thoughts to her mother. Although her father had been angry when they heard about Remus and Sirius disappearing with Harry, her mother had been furious. And Ron, first not telling them his suspicions, and then being so flippant with them, had not lessened their mother's temper. Ginny had rarely seen her blow up at her youngest brother like that, but she had held nothing back when it came to ranting about Remus and Sirius being unfit guardians. Ginny couldn't claim to know either Remus or Sirius very well, but she thought her mum was being far too harsh. She wondered if her parents' opinion of the two was what had kept the man from staying with Harry in the infirmary. If it was, that was very unfair and she really hoped it wasn't the case.

Ginny looked over at her father, sitting in an armchair across from the couch she and her mother were sitting on. Upon entering the Common Room, Ginny had found the seat closest to the fireplace. Despite the chocolate that she had received a moment after appearing in the infirmary, she still felt cold. Part of her didn't want to leave the warmth of the couch and her parents' presence, but a larger part wanted to be alone with her thoughts. Wrapping herself up in her blankets sounded comfortable and warm, and with Ron in the hospital wing yet, Ginny doubted her parents would be far off come morning.

"Mum, is it okay if I go to bed?" 

"Of course, dear." Mrs. Weasley ran her hand over Ginny's hair and smiled down at her slightly. Ginny felt a little guilty for wishing to be away from them, but the part of her that desired a quiet space to think didn't let her guilt get too great of a hold.

"You lie down and get some rest. Your father and I are going to see how Ron and Harry are doing."

Ginny nodded and climbed the stairs to the Gryffindor fourth year girls' dormitory. As she stepped inside, she found that the house elves had been busy moving her trunk from the Burrow to Hogwarts, and everything, including her text books, was already at the base of one of the four poster beds. 

Ginny opened her trunk and pulled out a thick blanket that her mother had made for her. It was done in Gryffindor colors, striped across and continually alternating red, gold, red, gold, red, gold. Ginny remembered that her mother had started knitting the blanket the week prior to her starting her second year. She had suffered a particularly vicious nightmare about Tom Riddle, the diary, and her brothers. Ginny hadn't actually told her parents (or anyone) all that had occurred in the dream, but what she had said had been enough to reveal how troubled she had been over what had happened. They had thought that she had overcome it, but Ginny had only been doing her best to hide it and distract herself over the summer. She had been doing fairly well, but the imminent return to school had triggered her fears full-force. 

Unfolding the blanket, Ginny tossed it across her bed. The pattern was very tight, the yarn her mother had used thick but very soft, and the blanket was warm. Ginny kept it folded on the end of her bed at home when she wasn't using it, but she had packed it in her trunk along with the rest of her things this year. She was glad she had. 

She opened her trunk once more, pulled out an old tome that she had "borrowed" from the library at Grimmauld Place over the summer, while her parents were in one of those meetings and she had been trying to find out who Aceso was. 

She slid under the covers, pulling the blankets around her and opened the book as she lay back against her pillows. Some of the chapters were very boring and didn't seem at all useful, but others were very intriguing and Ginny found that she was learning quite a lot she didn't know about the Wizarding World that had existed long before even Hogwarts had been built. In a way, it was very humbling. She, like all pure-blood wizards, was aware that the Wizarding World stretched back generations and generations, years and decades and centuries and millennia. Back far enough that magic and human knowledge of it had been lost. There was a lot that wizards didn't know, but Ginny had thought she was fairly knowledgeable about history. The Ageless Arte of Borrowing Magick, however, was proving her wrong. 

Turning to the chapter that she had marked when she last closed the book, Ginny began to read. 

The common wizard has oft been known to make the mistake of thinking that his magick is the most powerful. The foolish wizard has often been mistaken in believing that his magick is the only magick. Both the beliefs of the common and the foolish wizard are incorrect. The magick of the wizard is neither the only magick, nor the most powerful. 

The most powerful of magicks will never belong to a wizard, for man does not have the strength to house them. Wizards are creatures of flesh and bone. It is this that limits them from full power, for flesh can bear magick, but it is itself not magick. This same limitation comes to those other creatures who once claimed superiority. Goblin, dwarf, and elven-kind each bear this limitation, for they, too, are creatures of flesh and bone. Even the immortal elves are non-exempt, for it is not immortality that grants power, but the magick.

Only three species hold the power that men and mer both have attempted to claim. Although they appear as creatures of flesh and bone as the rest, and indeed they have bodies, the Three's magick is their life. Men and mer and lesser creatures all will succumb to death should their souls be torn from their bodies. The Three do not claim this weakness. Their souls are housed within their forms of flesh and bone, but not bound. Should their body being destroyed, the soul may live on, and magick with it, for the magick is the soul, in the Three and in the men and mer and lesser creatures all. 

It is only the Three who can claim themselves to be the most powerful of magicks, for they do not bear the magick, but are. Luck be with us that the Three can grant the bearing to men and mer alike, so that we are not granted the state of them, but may be granted the power. It is this, and only this, that has preserved the existence of our kind and our cousin-kind throughout the disasters of our past. May it continue on through our future and we be blessed evermore by the Three.

"Frostbite?"

"That is what Poppy has discovered is causing young Mister Weasley so much pain," Dumbledore commented lightly. It was clear he was trying to use his easy tone of voice to reassure Molly Weasley that her son was in no great danger, but he might have known it wouldn't be that simple.

"How in the world did Ronald manage to get frostbite on both of his arms?"

"I daresay it is an unexpected occurrence," Dumbledore said, and glanced toward Madam Pomfrey's office. "Poppy has informed me that she detected no magical residue from a curse, and that this is easily taken care of with a salve that Severus is currently finishing as we speak."

"But how do you explain something like this, Headmaster?" Arthur asked, putting an arm around his wife to try and calm her.

"I would like to give you a simple explanation, Arthur, but I was not present in Diagon Alley when this occurred, and Elena was not with the boys when the dementors attacked."

Molly Weasley opened her mouth, surely to say something about that, but Arthur squeezed his arm around her and quickly said, "Well, of course, none of us were expecting an attack. Fred and George were running around, as well. I suppose we're lucky they were in Zonko's and away from the initial attack or we might have had two more boys in here."

His words seemed to have swept Molly's anger out from beneath her and the woman shuddered slightly at the thought of more of her children being in the infirmary because of those wretched creatures.

"How in the world, though… dementors in Diagon Alley?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm afraid I do not have an answer for you, Arthur. I've made some inquiries with some friends at the Ministry, but as yet, I've received nothing to tell us how they managed to get there."

"It'll be in the papers."

"Oh, yes. I imagine the press has its hands full at the moment, preparing for tomorrow's edition of the Daily Prophet. I'm afraid we will have to consider the consequences this will have on those returning to the school. There are students who still need to buy their things."

"Yes. We need to get the rest of everyone's school supplies," Arthur noted, glancing toward the beds where his son and Harry were sleeping.

"I'm afraid I've gone and gotten ahead of myself in that regard." The headmaster glanced down at his long beard, appearing quite sheepish, though his words were not quite as believably so. "You see, I was already in Diagon Alley, searching for anything that might suggest the reasons for the attack, and I got it into my head to get the rest of the supplies young misters and miss Weasley and mister Potter needed."

Arthur and Molly both looked startled by this, but Arthur began to stammer, his ears turning red. "He-headmaster, you didn't have to—"

"Oh, it's an old man's folly, I'm afraid. When I get these ideas in my head, I simply can't shake them. I suppose it's a sign of old age, but there's little to be done about it. The shopkeepers in Diagon Alley do have a no return policy, and I'd hate for these supplies to go to waste, so I'm afraid I'll have to ask your children to take them off my hands for me. I've had Minerva package them and she'll be delivering them to everyone's room tomorrow morning."

Molly and Arthur looked like they wanted to argue, but were a little afraid to, and so didn't know what to say. Dumbledore, for his part, looked completely oblivious to their predicament and was gaily studying a bird fluttering outside of the Infirmary windows.

"I suppose… thank you, Headmaster."

"No, Arthur, Molly, thank you. I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have people like you to take these things off my hands. Why, my office would be even more cluttered than it is at the moment, and I can't help but think I'm already testing the weight limits of the tower's floor…"

The sound of the Headmaster's voice eventually faded away like the footsteps moving with them, and the sound of a door closing told Ron that he could open his eyes safely, without being seen. Had his brothers been there, he might have made an excuse about not wanting to deal with his mother's fawning over him about his Prefect badge, but only because he was fairly sure that Harry had been unconscious since he arrived and hadn't heard anything his mother had said. He'd rather it stay that way.

Whether he had been conscious and Madam Pomfrey had chosen not to say anything, or if he had been in that halfway state between consciousness and slumber, Ron didn't know. What he did know was that he had heard his mum arguing with his dad about Sirius and Remus. He had heard a good bit of things, actually, some of which didn't make a whole lot of sense to him, like their talking about some sort of potion a bunch of people were taking that night and having Dumbledore oversee. But his mum's rant about Sirius and Remus and what she would do if Sirius dared to show up to see Harry had made him glad that his best friend wasn't awake to hear it. Ron was pretty sure the only reason he hadn't reacted like he had before was because he was just too tired to get worked up about it, and his arms hurt far too much to move.

Frostbite, Madam Pomfrey had said.

Ron looked down at his arms. They looked like he had been cooked over a fire, not frozen. His skin was dark, almost black, bubbled and charred and sick looking. Ron tried not to stare too long, as he imagined he could smell burning flesh (even though that didn't make a bit of sense) and it made his stomach roil. There was a spell surrounding his arms, faintly blue in color. Ron found that he couldn't move his arms and he realized it must be some kind of stasis spell Madam Pomfrey was using until Snape was finished making whatever that salve was that he would need. He wished the spell relieved the pain a little better. There was a prickling sensation that dotted his arms, like red-hot needles were being poked into every pore and kept hot, making his arms ache and burn from the inside out.

The Frostbite must have been a result of jumping on that dementor. Ron remembered the pain that had shot through his arms when he'd done it, but he never would have expected to get Frostbite from it. He'd never heard of such a thing happening before. What exactly were the dementors that they could cause that kind of reaction? 

"A mystery for another time, my young friend."

What? Ron gasped as the Hospital Wing around him began to fade, the color of the world around him dissolving. There was a light glowing in the center of his vision and it began to grow brighter and larger, taking up his entire vision. 

"Be not afraid, my chosen. Only seek that which you have been called to seek."

"Turris…"

Come, my chosen. It is time.

Fall into a world divine.

Follow me to the Realm of Dreams

And seek and find by any means

That which I know your heart desires.

Sleep peacefully, as it all transpires…

There were nine children who heard these words echoing in their minds. Nine children, who felt the magic reverberate like a cymbal in their soul and drag them down, down, down, into a world of slumber and light.

Lying in her bed in the fourth year Gryffindor girls' dormitory, Ginny's hand slipped on the pages of The Ageless Arte of Borrowing Magick, and she blinked sleepily. Beneath her cheek, a page displayed a young witch with wand held aloft. The woman pointed her wand at the sky and shouted mutely at the clouds. A stream of magic swirled downward, coalescing at her wand tip. Behind her, lightning flashed, turning the picture a brilliant, glowing white.

Ginny saw none of this display, and after a few moments, the image stopped repeating itself and went still. Ginny Weasley slept on.

Sitting on her bed in the fifth year Gryffindor girl's dormitory, Hermione hugged Crookshank's to her chest tightly, as she thought of Ron and Harry, still in the Infirmary. The large, fluffy cat purred loudly in her arms, and dropped gracefully on his feet when Hermione's grip went slack and she relaxed against the wall. Purring, the half-kneazle circled lazily, before settling down next to the sleeping girl and taking a nap himself.

Fred and George were standing in the secret passage that ran to the back room in Honeydukes, trying to figure out if there was any way for a dementor to use the secret passage to gain access to Hogwarts the way that they were able to get out. Both of them yawned loudly at the same time, but were determined not to fall asleep, just as they had been determined to keep themselves busy in order to avoid worrying about their little brother.

A moment later, Fred collapsed to the ground, and George fell on top of them. George grumbled lightly under his breath, and Fred let out a great snore.

Draco, for all his great talk about being better than Potter, especially during third year after the dementors attacked the train, had no idea what to do with himself now that he was alone in the Slytherin Common Room. Potter was in the Infirmary due to the dementors, and Weasley… Weasley was there, too, though Draco was still more hung up on the fact that the weasel had been quite decent to him in Diagon Alley. More than decent, in fact.

He didn't have long to ponder this fact. A moment later, a light settled over him and Draco slipped sideways off the arm he had been sitting on and collapsed onto the couch cushions, fast asleep.

Neville was smiling to himself as he knelt in front of one of the newest additions to his greenhouse. The small plant had thin, tentacle-like vines that waved aimlessly. They would flower on the Winter Solstice and Neville couldn't wait to see them. For the moment, however, he was gently moving the rich soil with his hands, being sure that the plant was aptly covered.

A wave of drowsiness overcame him and Neville yawned widely. He briefly wondered if the soporific effects of the plant were actually active beyond its flowering stage, but hadn't time to consider it further, before he let out a loud snore and fell back on the grassy floor.

Lying on her back in the middle of a field, Luna smiled absently at the darkening sky. Around her, she could hear the wind blowing, birds chirping, and a soft chanting, echoing with the power of multiple voices speaking at once.

Luna let out a soft, happy laugh, and slipped off to sleep.

Lying unconscious in the Hospital Wing, Harry distantly felt his body take on a weightlessness, and then a bright light lit up his vision. A moment later, it faded, and Harry found himself standing in a circle of nine people. Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, Fred, George, Luna, and Malfoy all looked as confused as he did.

"The hunt… begins."