Author's Note: My heartfelt THANK YOU to my fab betas (Melissa and Jane) who turned this around so quickly in an effort to get this chapter posted before flying off to the "Big D" to convene the first ever meeting of the TOV!
22 hours and 30 minutes….
The history teacher in me couldn't help but be excited that I finally got to the long planned history lesson in this chapter. Special recognition to Sweetman (Eric) from the Snitch - who I believe is on the TOV too - who figured this plot twist out as soon as I planted it - probably 250 pages ago. I think a few others have suspected it along the way…but Eric came right out with it in a review.
Here's your "hidden agenda," Eric. I hope you like it.
If you follow my LJ you know that I've undertaken the challenge of the National Novel Writing Month (all of the TOV has). That challenge starts in November. Hence…I have made a promise that The Triumvirate of Resolve will be complete by October 31, 2004. Happy Halloween!
Only one chapter to go after this…the light at the end of the tunnel grows brighter.
Chapter 23 - Five Days
Harry, Ron, and Hermione flew down the corridor in silence. They spun around corners and ran along the corridors until it was apparent to Hermione that they had no idea where they were going.
She was disconcerted by the fact that every bustling portrait was devoid of its occupant, but she was terrified of something else…there were no doors in the corridor! Classroom doors, lavatory doors, even the broom closets where she'd evicted multitudes of snogging couples were replaced with smooth stone walls that left no indication a door ever existed. Equally perplexed, the three slowed to a halt and stood, dumbfounded, in the ninth floor corridor.
"What do we do now?" Hermione panted. Ron turned in place while Harry absentmindedly ran his hand along the corridor wall. A shiver ascended Hermione's spine as she struggled to find a solution and none presented itself.
"What about the Room of Requirement?" Ron suggested. Hermione couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it sooner. But there was a critical question that leapt to her mind as soon as Ron mentioned the secret room.
"Do you think the door will open?" she asked.
"I dunno," Ron replied. He looked to Harry as if to ask his opinion and appeared to think better of it. He inclined his head toward him and Hermione looked around. She expected Harry to be as frightened as she was; she expected him to be sorrowful over the loss of Hagrid. At the very least, she expected him to be concerned about their situation. What she found, however, was none of the above.
Harry's face was a complete blank. He broadcast no emotion whatsoever. He didn't appear the least bit concerned the castle was under attack, nor did he reflect any anger or sorrow over what he'd just witnessed. He was nothing but an empty shell, emotionless, drained…waiting for the inevitable.
No amount of advancing Death Eaters could have inspired the fear that rose from her soul as she looked upon his hollow eyes.
"Harry?" she inquired. She cast a fleeting look toward Ron when Harry didn't respond. "Harry," she reiterated as she reached out for the hand dangling by his side. He might have been mistaken for catatonic had he not squeezed his eyes closed when she grasped his hand in hers. Before she had the opportunity to pounce at his reaction, a resounding explosion echoed through the corridors and the floor shook beneath them. Her head snapped around and her eyes peered down the darkened path they had just traversed. The cacophony of approaching footsteps set her heart hammering inside her chest.
"Run!" Ron shouted. Hermione, still clutching Harry's hand in hers, took off at a sprint down the corridor, pulling him along behind her. They reached a crossroad as a group of Death Eaters thundered down the corridor behind them. A stream of red light shot past Hermione's head and exploded into the corridor wall ahead of her. She screamed, more from the fright of hearing the spell whiz past her ear than watching it blacken the remaining stone. Harry's arm descended around her shoulders and pulled her down a connecting corridor. The three ran toward a darkened spiral staircase. The farther they scrambled down the winding stairs, the better Hermione felt. She couldn't hear the Death Eaters behind them. She couldn't feel their heightened emotions beating a dirge against her psyche. She managed to catch her breath as she realized they'd lost them.
If ever there was a time Hermione hated being wrong….
They dropped onto the eighth floor landing and turned down the east corridor. Harry, who had managed to take the lead, slid to a halt as a dozen cloaked figures approached from the shadows ahead. Instinctively, they turned to run in the opposite direction and saw a near mirror image approaching from behind. The thunderous roar from the stairs above could mean only one thing.
They were trapped.
Hermione's mind went blank. She couldn't think, nor could she react. She understood they were outmatched ten to one, but she was helpless to surmise a defense. She realized her hand had turned ice cold but it was sweaty, because the heat from Harry's hand, still grasped in hers, was the only thing warming her. She felt the cold stone of the corridor wall through her robes as both Harry and Ron stepped in front of her. The boys exchanged a pointed glance and Ron grabbed Hermione's other hand. The familiarity of that, more than anything else, roused her from her mental paralysis.
Hermione stood tall and stepped between the boys, presenting a united front to the Death Eaters whose heckling had already begun to resonate from the corridor walls. Neither predator nor prey required introductions; they'd all met before.
"We should thank the little hero for our stroll down memory lane." The unmistakable voice of Bellatrix Lestrange echoed from the corridor walls, followed closely by the cackles of her advancing cohort. "It has been some time since I've been in these corridors after hours."
"Let's hope the head boy doesn't give us detention," a deep voice chided from beside her. Darkened figures blotted Hermione's vision along every viable means of escape. In front of them, five Death Eaters, led by Lestrange, approached. They drew to a halt mere feet from where the trio stood. Through stubbornness of will, Hermione kept her eyes trained on Lestrange and her back straight, but it wasn't lost on Hermione that her hands were shaking uncontrollably. It was obviously clear to Harry and Ron as well. They tightened their grip as that of a vice and Harry's voice soon filled the silence between them.
"What do you want?" he asked. The dark figures running the length of the corridor exploded in laughter. Lestrange threw her head back with such mirth that her hood slipped down to her shoulders revealing the same darkened face Hermione had once memorized from the pages of the Daily Prophet.
"That's the problem with education today," Lestrange said, wiping a tear from her eye. "These professors will have you believe there's no such thing as a stupid question." Her audience bellowed again. She took a menacing step toward Harry. "The Dark Lord has come for you, Potter."
Hermione couldn't contain the shiver that slipped through every cell in her body. The moment she realized the castle was under attack, she knew that the prophesied battle was close at hand. But something about hearing Lestrange verbalize Voldemort's intentions gave the prospect a chilling finality. What's more, it was a finality she wasn't willing to accept. "Well, he can't have him." For a fleeting moment Hermione thought to look for the source of those words…until she realized it was her own voice mingling among the laughter of the assembled Death Eaters.
"Enough talk, Bellatrix," the same deep voiced man barked. Hermione could see enough of his features beneath the cloak to recognize him as Antonin Dolohov. He advanced toward them. Hermione, remembering her last duel with Dolohov, instinctively stepped back until she was leaning against the wall. Harry and Ron, still holding her hands, moved in front of her as the remaining Death Eaters closed their distance as well.
"No!" Lestrange shouted as Dolohov raised his wand. She threw up her hand and knocked his wand to the floor. "I gave my oath to the Dark Lord that I would not allow this boy to escape me for a third time. The glory will be mine…" she locked eyes with Harry, "…and mine, alone." The rest of the Death Eaters in the corridor halted their advance and waited for Lestrange to take the lead. She leveled her own wand toward the trio as her eyes sparkled with excitement.
"You can't kill me," Harry said flatly. Both Hermione and Ron snapped their heads toward his. For one, Hermione couldn't believe his arrogance. They were outnumbered, trapped, and facing a throng of Death Eaters far more skilled in the dark arts, and Harry had the audacity to challenge Lestrange. "Unless you'd like to steal that glory from your master." Hermione tried to crush his hand in hers if only to get him to shut up.
"I have no intention of killing you," Lestrange replied as her wand flicked toward Ron and Hermione. Ron straightened up and Hermione felt the breath escape her lungs. Lestrange jabbed her wand along Ron's throat, forcing him back against the wall where he stood next to Hermione. They were holding each other's hand so tightly she was sure they'd cut off the circulation to their own fingers. "I'm so indecisive. Which one should it be, Potter? The redhead or the mouse?"
Before Hermione could gasp the breath that eluded her, Harry's wand erupted with a streaming jet of light. She'd barely heard the incantation, but recognized the impedimenta jinx as she watched Lestrange hurdle through the air. She landed with a sickening thud against the opposite wall and slid into a heap at the foot of the gathered Death Eaters. Dolohov ran to where she lay. She was already struggling to her feet when he attempted to help her stand. She threw his arms off of hers and glared at Harry across the distance. The sanctity of silence was absolute. For a seemingly interminable moment, no one spoke or moved.
Hermione looked from one opponent to the next. Lestrange was livid. Her eyes flashed with a raw hatred Hermione had never seen before. The emotion was so consuming it wafted from her as aroma from morning coffee. The impact of her fury on Hermione was in direct contrast to Harry's disposition. From him, Hermione felt nothing. Even though his shoulders were squared and his eyes burned with indignation, she couldn't feel the emotions that were driving him. Hermione worked to break through his shield when Lestrange's voice distracted her.
"You had your chance," she growled. Before Hermione could react, Lestrange's gray eyes burned through her own. Time seemed of no consequence. The world as Hermione knew it slowed to geologic pace. As she watched Lestrange's mouth open, the words issued forth with a warped liquidity that barely registered as intelligible. As the end of Lestrange's wand erupted with a blinding green light, Hermione gasped at the realization she'd observed this scene before. She knew what would happen next - she'd watched it for months - but she never saw its resolution.
She didn't want to see it now.
Hermione heard her own voice screaming. Her eyes were not locked on the advancing curse, but on Harry's body. Just as had happened in her dreams, he threw himself in front of the curse…still grasping her hand.
She'd been witness to the killing curse once before. She'd watched Harry die at the hands of Damien Keres…or so she thought at the time. She couldn't watch it again. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut in a futile hope that when she opened them this would all have been a horrible nightmare. She felt her entire body tingle with palpable electricity as she heard Harry's voice groan. His body collided with hers and her wrist popped as the force of them falling backwards together strained the grip she maintained on Ron's hand. In a burst of dancing light, fireworks exploded in her darkened field of vision as her head collided with the stone floor.
The sheer absurdity of it awakened the nagging logic in her head. How could she hit the floor if she was pressed against the wall?
Her eyes popped open. The wall in front of her appeared translucent. Parts of it were crumbling to rubble and there was an obvious indentation where the curse blasted part of the stone away. The muffled voices of every Death Eater erupted in furious argument while the expression on Bellatrix's face morphed from triumph to terror.
Hermione didn't breathe. They were laying only feet away from their determined enemies. The only thing separating the mass of aggravated Death Eaters from the three of them was a stone wall that seemed entirely opaque. Apparently, she was not alone in her distress.
"Can't they see us?" Ron whispered.
"Shhhh!" Hermione hissed, terrified the Death Eaters would realize their folly and jump through the wall in the manner the trio had somehow managed.
"Impossible!" Bellatrix cried. "The curse went straight through him!"
"Where did they go?" another Death Eater demanded.
"They must've apparated!" another voice insisted. Ron shushed Hermione before she had the chance to spout passages from Hogwarts: A History.
"No one can apparate on Hogwarts grounds, you idiot!" Lestrange barked. Hermione harrumphed as the muffled words echoed in the corridor.
"Unless we intend to tell the Dark Lord they can fly through walls, we'd better split up and search for them!" Dolohov commanded. Without further commentary, the assemblage of Death Eaters divided and set off in different directions. Only Lestrange was left. She was staring directly into Hermione's eyes…yet apparently saw nothing. Hermione didn't breathe. She didn't blink. She couldn't believe it when Lestrange cursed aloud and ran down the corridor in search of those who were, literally, staring her in the face.
"What in bloody hell…" Ron began. Hermione understood his confusion at their startling escape and felt positive that was the direction of Ron's query. If she hadn't been so infuriated, she would've ventured a hypothesis.
"You won't stop until you're dead, will you?!" Hermione rounded on Harry. The simple nonchalance of his features changed immediately to one of marked confusion. "Don't give me that look like you don't know what I'm on about, Harry Potter!" she blasted. Harry's mouth opened to respond but Hermione was not about to let him offer a word in his own defense. "First, you play the hero for Dudley Dursley, and now you're leaping in front of killing curses on my behalf!" A muffled rebuke issued from Harry's throat but Hermione continued to chastise him. "I can take care of myself! I don't need you to off yourself to complete your hero complex!"
The color rose to Harry's cheeks and his eyes darkened. A tenuously held rage seeped through the steel curtain of his psyche. It was obvious he'd heard enough. "And what a bloody good job you were doing of taking care of yourself…had your jaw been any lower to the floor you could've swallowed the killing curse!" he shouted.
Hermione startled at the callousness of his tone. "Well, excuse me if I wasn't born to be savior to the entire bloody world!" she retorted. She felt a hand grasp her upper arm and in a distant corner of her consciousness recognized Ron's efforts to get her to calm down. But there was no stopping her now. She wasn't even sure why she was so angry, but it made little difference. Harry's emotions were erupting through his carefully constructed façade, and be they good, bad, or indifferent, the important thing was that she could feel him again. It was a connection she'd lost for a terrifying, albeit brief, moment, and she wasn't about to let it go again.
"Well, I must be the only savior that is throttled for having a 'saving people thing,'" he snapped as he turned his back on her and stormed to the window.
"Don't turn your back on me, Harry!" she yelled and wrangled out of Ron's grip. She chased after Harry and grabbed him by his left arm, spinning him toward her. "You're not leaving me that easily," she sputtered as her throat constricted. They stood facing each other, her words still beating a repetitive echo against the walls, and she realized the true nature of her fury.
She wasn't angry at all. She was terrified.
The full measure of what they'd done, what they'd witnessed, and what lie ahead crashed into her with horrifying clarity. For all she'd experienced, she considered herself one of the luckiest girls in the world. She'd not only found her soul mate, but she'd done so at a young enough age to orchestrate a long and fruitful life together. But the events of the past hour reminded her that she was no more ordinary than he was…and the life that she envisioned had a very good chance of ending before it ever got started. Tears stung her eyes as her vision glassed over. She felt Harry's arms wrap around her as he crushed her to his chest. She felt the contact shatter his resolve. The veneer of indifference he'd constructed on the Astronomy Tower collapsed as he crumbled to the floor with her still held in his embrace.
"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry," Hermione pleaded against his chest as they rocked back and forth together. "I'm so sorry," she repeated. It was all she could think to say. She was sorry for her words, she was sorry for Hagrid, she was sorry for the sum of a fatidic life that would've destroyed most grown wizards. It was all she could do to mutter the same apology over and over. It was apparently all he could do as well. Hermione stayed, happily clutched in his arms, until their tears ebbed away.
"All right, Ron?" Harry's voice resounded in the ear Hermione had pressed against his chest. Feeling sheepish for having forgotten the presence of her other best friend, she lifted her head to see Ron staring out of the window. He turned, unable to mask the emotion from his features, and offered a less than satisfactory response.
"I'm fine," he answered. Harry and Hermione exchanged a significant look and rose from the floor.
"Ron?" Hermione asked as she crossed the room toward the window. She didn't need to ask the question; the answer was obvious. "She's all right, Ron. I'm sure of it."
"How do you know that?" Ron cut his eyes toward her. "Are you the first empathic seer at Hogwarts?" he said sarcastically. Hermione, blessedly incapable of another emotional outburst, drew a calming breath. "No, I'm not. But I have to believe she's all right. What else do we have?"
"You have him." He glanced toward Harry before returning his attention to the darkness outside.
***
Merc had read her share about deities. She'd read about those associated with muggle religion and she'd read about the mythology of uncounted ancient cultures across the world. As she passed Barnabus the Barmy three times, she prayed to every deity in recorded history that the door would appear.
Praise the gods.
She seized the handle and threw herself into the room before the mirage dissolved into nothingness. She spun around and slammed the door in its frame. Pulling her wand from her robes, her voice echoed with the colloportus charm and the door locked before her. She stood there, frozen, daring to believe she was safe from the Death Eaters. Her heart, still lodged in her throat, pounded as she whipped around to survey the room with her wand extended.
"Who's there?" she barked. It was an odd question to ask. She wasn't sure if anyone was in the room, or why they would answer her if they were, but it seemed a valid inquiry as she'd barged into the Room of Requirement without stopping to see if it was already occupied. To her relief, the only sound filling the room was that of her hastened breathing.
Her shoulders slumped as her wand hand dropped to her side. She slid down the locked door and buried her face in her hands. She wasn't normally one to let the tears fall, but the combination of the deafening silence and the desperate situation was too much to bear. Merc had run the gamut of emotions in the past hour and she still hadn't done the one thing she'd intended…she hadn't yet found Ron.
She scarcely remembered why she'd set out from the library at a run. After sprinting across the castle, the Fat Lady guarding Gryffindor Tower refused to give her any information. As a matter of fact, she acted as if Merc's questioning was no more bothersome than the blowing breeze. It wasn't until Dennis Creevey bustled out of the portrait hole that she learned that Ron, Hermione, and Harry were not there.
She had a sinking suspicion that she knew what they'd skived off to do but couldn't even hazard a guess as to their location. Without stopping to offer her gratitude to Dennis, she took off down the corridor toward destinations unknown. She had no idea where she was going, but she knew she had to find Ron. She'd paid little attention to anything as she flew down the corridors in search of any sign that would lead her to him…and to Harry and Hermione by default. The flash of red light that erupted before her didn't register in her mind as dangerous. The resounding footsteps and echoed screaming from the darkened corridors seemed like an alternate universe. Surely nothing terrible could happen here…not at Hogwarts! Surely, she would've had more time!
It wasn't until her eyes fell upon the lifeless body of a Hufflepuff third year student that reality set in. Staring with disbelieving eyes, her steps slowed and she stood in the middle of the corridor as obvious as a naked house elf.
Merc's head fell backward against the door with an intentionally painful thud. If she'd learned anything from Harry, Ron, and Hermione, it was the need to react quickly. She should've at least had the wherewithal to duck.
The spell came searing from the blackened depths of the corridor. The sound of it streaming toward her was the only thing that dragged her eyes from the body splayed on the floor in front of her. She looked to her left just in time to see an amber fireball hurtling toward her. While she'd sidestepped the lion's share of the impact, the spell glanced across her left arm. In the relative peace of the Room of Requirement, she suddenly realized the pain throbbing through her upper arm. She pulled her elbow across her body and surveyed her injuries.
The arm of her robe was torn, as was the sleeve of the jumper beneath it. The mist blue cashmere that once wrapped her arm in warmth now absorbed the blood still trickling from her wound. She sat upright, shrugged her right arm out of her robes, and gingerly shimmied them off her left. Her skin prickled and burned from where the flames had singed her. Along the center of the wound, her arm was sliced open from the top of her shoulder to the front of her bicep. Steeling herself for what was required, she reached for her wand lying on the floor beside her.
With her right hand, she waved the wand over her upper arm, gritted her teeth, and chanted, "mendicorpus." She let out a howl as the laceration appeared to zip back together and the blood stopped flowing to her elbow. The pain pounded through her arm as she ripped what was left of her jumper sleeve from her arm and wrapped it around the burned skin.
She mopped the tears from her eyes and shivered from head to toe. She wondered how much blood she'd lost and if her body was going into shock from the injury. Glancing back toward her arm, she reasoned that her injury, while painful, couldn't possibly cause such a significant reaction. She pulled her legs into her chest and coiled her own arms around them. Yet she was cold…and alone.
Perhaps that's why I'm cold.
For someone who'd set their personal worth by the standard of self-sufficiency, it was significant to note that the only thing Merc wanted were two strong arms to wrap her up and convince her everything would be all right. She'd settle for knowing whether or not he was alive.
With that thought, her forehead dropped to her knees and her sobs interrupted the silence of her isolation.
***
"Incendio!" Harry felt Hermione tense against his chest.
"Flamare!" She grabbed at his jumper and began grinding her teeth.
"Ignatio!"
"Ron!" Harry winced at the sharpness of Hermione's tone and sighed inwardly.
Round 4,570.
Taking his chances against the Death Eaters was beginning to look pleasant next to the prospect of refereeing another row between his best friends. He'd barely kept Ron and Hermione from scratching each other's eyes out over the course of the time they'd spent here. The only praise he gave this mysterious room was its apparent ability to remain soundproof. A few hours ago he'd had to scream to be heard above their bickering when the four o'clock patrol passed. The same two nameless Death Eaters, whose faces Harry now recognized as well as his own, didn't spare a glance toward them as they made their rounds of the castle. Hermione's voice drew his attention away from the translucent wall across from him.
"Are you incapable of learning!" she barked. "Those spells have never generated a puff of smoke, let alone a flame in that fireplace! You're driving me mad!" she shouted.
"Well, excuse me if Miss Know-it-All hasn't realized that it's bloody cold in here!"
"I know it's cold, Ron! I'm cold, too, but you're never going to get that fireplace to light!"
"What in bloody hell is that supposed to mean? I guess you think I'm too thick to know how to light a fire!"
"Knock it off!" Harry interrupted. Hermione snapped her head to his with a shocked expression. "That goes for you, too," he answered her seething glare. He looked back toward Ron who was standing menacingly over Hermione. Ron's face broke into a grin. Harry continued before he could escalate the argument. "I mean it, Ron. I've had it with the both of you!" Hermione clamored up from the floor and stormed to the other side of the room. She crossed her arms and stared through the misty window with her back to them both.
It would work…for a while. That's the pattern they'd fallen into. Harry noticed the fading sunlight glinting off of Hermione's hair and looked to the wall above his head. Ron watched as he picked up the sharp stone he'd been using and etched another mark into the wall.
Thus began day five.
Harry had started counting the days and nights after the first sunset following their escape from Lestrange and her overstuffed band of cronies. The trio spent the majority of the first day in either utter boredom or paralyzing fear, until they realized the Death Eaters on patrol could not see or hear them. Ron's rather inappropriate gesturing toward the hourly guardsmen kept the trio fully entertained through the second day. By the third, their situation ceased to be a joke. They'd lasted twenty-four more hours since that time and Harry was quite sure they wouldn't last much longer.
If they didn't kill each other, hunger or hypothermia would.
Although none of them spoke of it, they all understood what was happening: Hogwarts was under siege. Oddly enough for those orchestrating the invasion, they used one of the oldest muggle techniques in history. The security measures in the castle were far too daunting to overcome. Since they couldn't find a way to get to the students, they would force the students to come to them…or have them die of their own stubbornness.
During the last seventy-two hours, the castle had become bitingly cold. The fires would not light. The owls did not fly. The food did not come. They had done everything they knew to do and nothing helped. If they didn't leave this room soon, they'd die in it, and it wouldn't be the kind of death Harry considered befitting of his parent's sacrifice.
"We've got to do something," Harry said. Hermione's shoulders slumped and she looked toward her feet. Ron flopped down to the floor in resignation.
"Why hasn't anyone come?" he whispered. "The school is under siege and no one on the outside has noticed."
"I don't believe that," Hermione mumbled. Ron turned his head toward her.
"Do you see the Order? Do you see Dumbledore? Do you see the Ministry organizing their Aurors?" Ron questioned. "It's been four days, Hermione. How long do they think we can survive?" Ron's face contorted in a grimace and he rubbed his stomach. Normally, that look would've been associated with a vicious growl from his stomach, but their stomachs stopped growling two days ago. Although Harry was acutely aware of his own hunger, he was more concerned with the lack of water.
Hermione tossed a hand to her forehead and swayed dangerously. Both he and Ron jumped from the floor toward her, but she waved them off before they reached her. "I'm fine," she mumbled, steadying herself against the wall. She snapped her hand off the frozen stones and tried to shake the cold from her fingers. Harry wrapped his arms around her and drew her back to where they'd been sitting. "You're dehydrated," he said as the trio sat down together.
"We all are," she answered. "I'm completely knackered." She coiled in his lap and rested her head on Harry's chest. Ron sat down next to Harry and threw Hermione's legs over his own as he and Harry leaned into each other. It was the best they could do to stay warm.
"Take a kip, Hermione," Harry said as he kissed the top of her head. He looked toward Ron and continued, "We'll think of something to do."
"What?" Ron whispered.
"I don't know," Harry replied. "Something."
The trio fell silent. If there was anything calming about their situation it was the inherent predictability of it. Every hour of every day was the same. They blurred together; time dissolved. Harry found himself watching the sunlight to keep grounded in the passage of time. After the first day, it was the real purpose behind keeping a tally on the wall. It was his connection to reality.
He felt Hermione's breathing become slow and steady and before long Ron followed her in sleep. Harry sat propped against the wall, unwittingly running his fingers through Hermione's hair as he thought. He replayed the various arguments that had transpired between Ron and Hermione over the past few days. Each had valid points.
They weren't entirely sure how they got into this room, so the mere act of getting out of it was daunting. Although the walls appeared to be made of a misty haze, they were indeed solid. There was no door with which to gain egress. Even if they were able to traverse the stones in some manner, what was to say they'd be able to seek refuge here again?
That was another issue. They were hungry, dehydrated, and exhausted. He didn't expect any of them could sprint away from a well-fed and highly motivated Death Eater if given the opportunity. For the first time in his life, Harry felt truly weak. He was weak in spirit and he was weak in strength. That didn't bode well for defending yourself against an onslaught of attackers.
He ran through a tactical list of assets and liabilities. The list of assets was short. They had themselves. Their broomsticks and his invisibility cloak were forgotten on the roof in the wake of Hagrid's murder. The liabilities seemed endless. Aside from their physical health, he had no intelligence on the castle. The Marauder's Map was tucked safely in his trunk in Gryffindor Tower. He had no idea how many invaders there were, where they were, or what they were doing. Additionally, he had no reason to suspect the portraits had returned or the doors had been revealed. Ironically, after seven years in the castle, it was quite likely they would get lost the moment they set out. They had no means of communication. The fires were magically extinguished, apparition impossible, and he hadn't seen an owl flying about the castle since the siege began.
Harry closed his eyes and bounced his head against the wall willing his cobwebbed mind to devise some meritorious idea. He needed a means of getting information on the castle, a means to communicate with someone…anyone…that might be of some help. He needed a place to hide while they devised some sort of plan. His eyes popped open.
He needed the Room of Requirement.
His heart began to pound with some modicum of hope. They were on the eighth floor. The Room of Requirement was one floor beneath them. He remembered the first D.A. meeting where the room produced a whistle merely because he thought one would be useful. He dared to imagine the things the room could produce in this situation. He wondered if the room could manufacture heat or food based on the wishes of its occupants. He doubted whether anyone knew enough about that room to extend the same spells that the Death Eaters had used to control the rest of the castle. A mirage of shepherd's pie, pumpkin juice, and treacle tart erupted in his mind and watered his mouth.
He thought about the door. Would it be affected by the disappearing spells that Hogwarts had enacted? The door was never visible in the first place? The portraits may be missing, but Barnabus the Barmy is a tapestry. It doesn't move like the portraits and should still be visible to mark the door.
But would it open?
After four days of hunger, cold, and bickering…that was a chance he was willing to take, even if he had to take it alone.
"Hermione," he whispered, shaking her shoulders gently. Ron startled awake and rubbed his eyes. "Hermione," he reiterated. She began to stir and lifted her head from his chest.
"What's the matter?" she asked wearily.
"I've got an idea," he answered. Ron turned an interested face toward him and Hermione sat up straight. "I can't believe we haven't thought of it." The three looked at each other and Harry pled his case.
"You're not going alone!" Hermione argued after Harry finished explaining.
"If you go, we all go," Ron agreed. Harry looked between their stony expressions and felt warmer than he had in three days.
"So…" Harry hesitated to ask. "Are we going?"
"Well, I, for one, am not going to stay in this room like a coward and wait to die," Ron declared as he rose to his feet and stretched.
"Neither am I," Hermione echoed.
"Well, this is either a brilliant plan or a death wish," Harry laughed as he stood up.
"Why do you say that?" Ron inquired.
"The two of you just agreed on something. That's got to be a sign of the apocalypse if ever I've seen one." They dissolved into welcome laughter and upon settling down; Harry posed the key question for their task. "So how do we get out of here?"
"Well," Hermione said through chattering teeth. "I've given that a lot of thought." Harry and Ron exchanged a knowing glance. "We've always thought of the deliquesco charm as defensive because it allows spells to go through you unharmed, right?" They nodded in agreement. "What if it also allows you to 'act as the spell?'" She gestured quotation marks with the first two fingers on both hands for emphasis.
"What do you mean?" Ron asked.
"Well, if spells and solid objects can go through us…why can't we go through solid objects?" she offered.
"Like stone walls," Harry whispered.
"We had to get in here somehow," she answered. Harry turned to the wall and ran his hand across the stones in speculation. "If the spell does sublimate our bodies…in theory…it should work," Hermione finished.
"In theory," Ron echoed.
Harry turned around and drew a breath. "I don't have any other theories. Do you?" Ron shook his head. "The guards won't make their rounds of this floor for at least an hour." Harry said as he drew his wand from his robes and held out his hand to Hermione. She drew her wand and looked at Ron. They stepped toward Harry together as he turned back toward the translucent stone wall that had protected them for four days.
***
Merc lay on the small sofa in the same position she'd occupied for what seemed like an eternity. The Room of Requirement, either in its wisdom or folly, had not provided a window for her when she opened the room. Therefore, she'd lost all concept of the passing time. The lamps that burned dimly in the corners of the room served as her only company - the simple upholstered sofa, her only comfort. She'd wished, prayed, chanted, and begged for the things she desperately wanted. Alas, the room wouldn't provide her with sustenance, a fire, or the one person she couldn't stop thinking about.
She knew only a few things with certainty. She was hungry, she was cold, and she was alone. It had been this way for an interminable length of time. In the moments that her wits were sharp and her predicament fully realized, she dwelled in a hollow of despair where the tears fell and her lacking sense of self-worth reigned supreme. In those moments, this room became nothing more than a coffin from which she'd never be freed. In order to free her, someone would have to realize she was missing and put forth an effort to find her. She didn't believe that would ever happen. Her only confidence lie in the understanding that starvation would eventually send her to the waiting arms of her mother.
Oddly, it was in these despairing moments that she would begin to see Ron in her mind.
Either through exhaustion or sheer boredom, she imagined the majority of her hours passed while she slept. That was the reason she discounted sleep deprivation as the source of her illusions. Over the course of her captivity, she'd seen Ron in this room a hundred times. She'd spoken to him even more often. They'd discussed everything from politics to the flavor of their favorite ice cream. He'd made her laugh, he'd made her love and he'd given her the warmth this bloody castle failed to provide. And yet, somewhere in the far reaches of her mind, she knew that these conversations never happened. Ron had been nothing more than a meticulous production of a desperate imagination.
That's the reason she'd discounted his presence as quickly as she'd realized he was running toward her.
"Merc?" his voiced echoed across a distance. That was the last straw for her. If she was going to die here, she would die sane. She was tired of talking apparitions…she was tired of talking to them.
"No," her voice croaked aloud. She squeezed her eyes shut and covered her face in a vain attempt to block out the psychosis. "You're not real," she assured herself. "You're not real!"
"I am real," his voice called again.
"No, you're not!" She moved her hands over her ears and tried to shake the voice from her head. Her eyes popped open as two strong hands wrapped around her wrists and pulled her hands from her ears. She blinked several times, trying to clear his image from her vision. He wasn't going away.
Her heart began to pound in her chest. He didn't look like she'd envisioned him. His red hair wasn't combed and neat. He bore no smile. Rather, an anguished expression was etched upon his features that struck her to the core. His eyes were clouded with tears. He looked more scared than she'd ever seen him…and more serious. Moreover, he was doing the one thing her visions could never do…he was touching her.
She could feel the warmth radiating through her arms from his hands clasped around her wrists. Tentatively, she reached out toward his face, daring herself to believe the room had finally produced the one thing she required above all. Her hand brushed against his cheek and caught the tear that escaped the corner of his eye. "Ron?" she croaked. His face ignited and he nodded his response. Merc heard a relieved gasp issue from behind him and realized he was flanked by both Harry and Hermione.
"We're all here," Hermione said. Merc looked between the three of them as reality crashed into her. The tears sprang to her eyes as quickly as Ron pulled her from the sofa. He wrapped his arms around her and crushed her to him. The embrace was nearly painful, but Merc didn't care. She welcomed the ability to feel anything.
"It's really you," she muttered as he pulled her tighter. "I can't believe you're really here," she cried.
He pressed his lips to her cheek and muttered, "I didn't know what happened to you. I was scared you…you…"
She pulled back from him and caught his eyes. He had obviously feared the worst, just as she had done. Days ago, she'd made a promise to herself that she'd never speak the words aloud. She didn't want to hear them now. She pressed a finger to his lips. "Don't say it," she implored. "We're okay…we're both okay," she assured as the tears streamed down her cheeks.
Before she could say another word, he pulled her finger from his lips with one hand and curled the other around the back of her neck. If she didn't realize the full measure of her salvation upon hearing his voice, she felt it as he pulled her to him. Their lips met in a passionate exchange of both exuberance and relief.
She was saved.
***
"I don't know that we're any better off," Harry lamented as he flopped onto the sofa. He knew it was only his frustration speaking. At least half of their party was far better off now than before. His eyes floated across the room where Merc was curled in Ron's lap. They both appeared to be asleep, but the absence of Ron's snoring led Harry to believe that his eyes were closed simply because he was relishing in the moment. When Ron kissed her on the temple, Harry's theory was confirmed. His eyes floated over Merc. Not that he meant any disrespect to Hermione, but excepting the bandage around her upper arm, Merc seemed to have fared the ordeal a bit better…better than all of them.
"Harry, what are you looking at?" Merc's quiet voice wafted across the room. She popped one eye open and smirked at him.
"Er, nothing," Harry fumbled. He glanced toward Hermione. She was sitting in another chair, opposite Harry, and eyeing him suspiciously. Harry cleared his throat and tried to divert the conversation back to the topic that had taken most of their attention since reuniting. "So, the room won't provide a fireplace?"
"Not even a spark."
"What about food?" Ron mumbled.
"I have managed a bit of that," Merc replied.
"WHAT?" they chimed together. Merc startled on Ron's lap and looked around in amazement.
"You mean…you haven't had anything to eat?" she exclaimed.
"No," Ron answered. "And let me assure you that I have been thinking about it since we opened the door to this room."
"Me, too," Harry and Hermione responded together.
"So why hasn't the room produced anything?" Hermione wondered.
"That's just it," Merc replied. "Maybe the spells the Death Eaters cast are interfering with how the room operates. The food always appeared at odd times, as did the blanket and such. It was hardly ever what I'd been thinking about, but it was edible nonetheless." Hermione hopped up from the chair and started pacing. Harry had seen that look before. This problem had just elevated itself to a personal vendetta. She was not likely to rest before she'd discovered the answer. Meanwhile, Harry's frustration was burgeoning. He felt like an animal trapped in a cage merely waiting to be plucked out and meddled with. Before he knew it, he was on his feet pacing in time with Hermione's steps.
"You're both going to make me queasy," Ron argued. Harry, feeling his temper rise, glared at him and set back about his musings. If they couldn't find a way out, they at least needed to find a way to fight. He was not going to allow Voldemort to win by default, but he wasn't going to charge in unprepared either. However, his situation had not improved. His invisibility cloak was still on the Astronomy Tower with his broomstick. The Marauder's Map was still locked in his trunk, and he had no means of communicating with anyone outside the four corners of this room.
"Merc!" Hermione exclaimed. Harry whipped around at the shrillness of her tone. "Where did you get this?" Merc twisted in Ron's lap and looked to where Hermione was holding something up in the dim lamplight.
"The room," she answered nonchalantly. "I was cold and…"
"The room did not provide this for you," Hermione interrupted. Harry crossed the room to get a better look at what she was holding. The closer he got, the more he blinked his eyes in disbelief. Hermione was clutching a poorly knitted hat with lopsided earflaps and a knobby red pom on top. Harry recognized it immediately. Hermione caught his eye and handed it to him. "You do know what this is, don't you?" she asked.
Harry flipped it over in his hand and said, "I'd say it's an original Hermione Granger…circa October…you hadn't figured out how to do those crazy 'V' shaped ones yet."
"Or make the ear flaps the same length," Ron chimed. Hermione scowled and snapped it back from Harry's hand.
"It's called an 'elongated chevron' if you must know, and the ear flaps are harder to knit than they appear," Hermione growled as she inspected the elf hat she'd knitted during fifth year. Harry almost didn't hear her mumbling over his and Ron's laughter. "But, how did it get here?" Hermione began pacing again and stopped as abruptly as she'd started. "Hang on," she gasped. She looked at Merc and continued. "You said the room produced things at odd times?"
"Yes, why?" Merc asked.
"Because the room didn't produce any of it," she answered. Harry's chuckling ceased the second the words issued from her mouth. As if on cue, the answer to the quandary became painfully clear.
"Ugh!" Harry exclaimed as his knee buckled and he fell to the floor. He was pummeled by a short, poorly dressed house elf that was squealing his name and leaking giant tears all over his robes. "Dobby…" he croaked as the elf latched around his neck. "Dobby!" he gasped.
"Harry Potter!" Dobby exclaimed as he leapt backwards and bent over in a bow. "Dobby has been searching everywhere for Harry Potter and his friends! Dobby was distraught he could not find them!" the elf cried as he bent lower toward the floor.
"Dobby, please stand up," Harry said in exasperation. Harry got to his feet and brushed himself off, pulling Dobby up by the arm.
"All this time, you were bringing me the food," Merc questioned.
"Dobby brought Miss Beatrice the blanket and hats, too." Merc's eyes nearly exploded from her skull and Hermione gasped.
"Beatrice!" she shot an inquisitive look toward Merc. "Your real name is Beatrice?" Merc buried her face in her hand and grumbled something to Ron. He tried to restrain a chuckle as he answered her.
"No, I didn't. But honestly, how long do you think it would have been before they found out?" he responded. Harry looked back at Hermione and shrugged noncommittally. Although it was an interesting bit of information, he really didn't care too much for gossip mongering. He saw an opportunity in the house elf before him and wanted to exploit it as best he could. Unfortunately, that was not going to be easy.
Dobby's eyes were as wide as quaffles as he stared across the room toward Merc and Ron. "Dobby spoke out of turn! Dobby betrayed Miss Thompson's secret! Dobby must be punished!" Harry could only discern that he must be tired and hungry. Although Dobby sped directly past him, he was not fast enough to intercept the elf before he lunged headlong for the wall. As if watching his self-punishing behavior wasn't bad enough, Harry was sure the whole castle could hear Dobby throwing himself into the wall.
"Dobby! Dobby! Stop it!" Harry yelled over the elf's wailing. Ron leapt from the chair, leaving Merc sitting lopsided where he'd been, and crossed the room as Harry did. Ron wrestled Dobby from the wall and implored him to stop as well.
"Stop it, you bloody nutter!" he barked.
"Ron!" Hermione admonished.
"Well, he is! He's throwing himself into the wall, for Merlin's sake," he argued. At this, Dobby stopped fighting against Ron and looked up with mournful eyes.
"Dobby is aggrieved to betray Miss Thompson, sir," he wailed.
"You didn't betray anyone," Ron scoffed. "You saved her life by bringing her food and warm blankets." He set the elf down and brushed the dirt from the mismatched scarves coiled around his neck. Ron looked over his shoulder at Merc who was smiling at him in earnest and returned his attention to Dobby. "Thank you, Dobby."
After the ensuing fifteen minutes of hysterical house elf theatre, Harry was ready to set Dobby to more important tasks…like helping them devise a plan to save Hogwarts. "Dobby, are you able to get into Gryffindor Tower?"
Dobby finished mopping his eyes with his scarf and replied. "Yes, the kitchen elves have been sneaking into all the house dormitories with whatever food and blankets we can gather."
"Are all the students accounted for?" Harry asked.
"Except for Harry Potter and his friends, all but three are locked in their house dormitories," Dobby explained.
"What three? Are they missing?" Hermione pressed.
Dobby's bat-like ears collapsed around his face and his eyes dropped to the floor. "No, miss. They are not missing."
Merc's hand flew to her mouth as she gasped. "They're not…" she began. Harry interrupted before she could finish. It was obvious to him what the fate of those students was, and he couldn't bear to think about it. Aside from the fact, Dobby's enormous eyes were welling with tears again and he didn't have the patience for Act II.
"I need you to collect some things for us?" he ordered. Dobby perked up instantly and bounced in place. Harry took that as an affirmative response and began listing the things he'd been thinking about for the last four days. "First, my invisibility cloak and our broomsticks are at the top of the Astronomy Tower. I also have the Marauder's Map locked in my trunk. I'll also need the sneakoscope Ron gave me for my birthday…you can keep the sock I have it wrapped in." Dobby gasped with delight.
"Yes, sir! Dobby will collect your things right away, Harry Potter!" Dobby waddled toward the door and raised his hand. Just before he snapped his fingers Harry remembered something else.
"And the hand mirror! The glass is broken, but it might work anyway," Harry barked just before Dobby disappeared. He wasn't sure if the elf heard his final request, but he only need wait to find out.
"A mirror?" Ron lamented. "You couldn't have ordered a bit of shepherd's pie while you were at it, could you?"
***
"Remus Lupin," Harry said as clearly as he could.
"Oi, are you going to tell us what you're playing at?" Ron said. "You've been barking Lupin's name in that mirror for two hours." Harry looked up to see the three of them staring at him expectantly. The Marauder's Map was spread in front of them with the sneakoscope twirling by the door. Ron and Harry's broomsticks were standing in the corner and his Invisibility Cloak was obscuring the right arm of the sofa. He put the mirror down and took another bite of the ham sandwich in front of him.
"Sirius gave it to me," he replied. He noticed the darkened expression that crossed each of their faces in turn but paid it no mind. "He and my dad used to use them to talk to each other. I saw his at Grimmauld Place this summer. I guess I was hoping Lupin picked it up." Harry looked over to the spider-webbed glass that was held together with spell-o tape. "I reckon it won't work looking like it does." He wanted to chastise himself for having broken it two years ago, but it was merely a shot in the dark to think Lupin would've had the mirror anyway. It probably didn't matter that Harry shattered his in a fit of anger at Sirius' death. Harry cleared his throat and settled back to his place around the map. "So, what do we have?"
"Well," Hermione began. "Dobby's right. All of the students are in their houses. The teachers are divided up among them as well. But it doesn't look like there is any rhyme or reason to their location." Her eyes searched the moving dots on the parchment. "See here," she pointed to the map. "Professor Snape is in Hufflepuff's house."
"They must've ducked into the closest house," Merc proposed. She pointed to her own house. "Professor Tonks is in Ravenclaw."
"How many of them are there?" Harry asked. No one needed an explanation for his question. They'd counted the number of Death Eaters at least four times. The number never changed.
"Sixty-five," Ron answered.
"And where is he?" Harry asked whilst scribbling down the latest numbers on some parchment the room had produced.
"Harry," Hermione said mournfully. "We've been over this."
"I'm not buying it, Hermione. He's here. I know he's here."
"But he's not showing on the map," Hermione replied. "Didn't Lupin say the map doesn't lie?" Harry was shaking his head before she'd ever finished the sentence.
"I heard his voice. He's the one that killed Hagrid, Hermione. He's here."
"Maybe the map doesn't know where he is?" Ron offered. Merc was flipping the pages back and forth and scouring over the map as they spoke. Harry was about to ask who she was looking for when she interrupted him.
"He's there." The three of them hovered so closely over her wand tip they nearly cracked heads.
"Where?" Hermione asked.
"I don't see anything," Harry agreed.
"Of course you don't," Merc answered. Harry exchanged a skeptical glance with Hermione and wondered if Merc wasn't slipping into the state of delusion they'd found her in. "See this one dot moving here," she directed. "It doesn't have a label." Much to his amazement, Harry realized she was right. Of all the meandering dots of ink, each had a label to denote whom it represented. This one did not.
"Why wouldn't it be labeled?" Harry whispered.
"Just because it doesn't have a label doesn't mean it's him," Ron added.
"Yes, it does," Hermione looked at Merc and nodded. Harry was about to shout for an explanation when Hermione continued. "He Who Must Not Be Labeled." Harry's eyes shot back to the parchment. Suddenly, everything made sense. The wizarding world lived in fear of Voldemort's spoken name. The map has no voice; it speaks through the words imprinted on it. Is it so unreasonable to think it wouldn't label "Lord Voldemort" as plain as day?
He felt his spirits lifting. He may've had no idea what to do with the information, but he knew exactly how many Death Eaters were in the castle, who they were and where they were. And most importantly, he knew where Voldemort was. That was information the Dark Lord didn't appear to have for Harry's own whereabouts. What encouraged him more so than that was the occasional blink of a name from the edge of the Dark Forest. He'd already seen Remus Lupin and George Weasley appear for a flash before retreating back into the woods, where the map couldn't reach. The Order hadn't abandoned them.
They were here…and they were waiting.
***
He'd be more comfortable in saying they'd had a good night's rest if he actually knew what time of day it was. Without the engravings on the wall or any windows in the Room of Requirement, Harry lost track of the days they're been under siege. But he felt better than he had in months.
Dobby had been successful at sneaking them enough food and water to restore his energy levels and assuage the grumbling of his stomach. He'd brought Harry everything he'd asked for, and the room actually produced some of the more benign articles. He sat at a long table with sheets of parchment scattered around him bearing notes, drawings, names and anything else that marked their discussions over the past day or so.
Harry crouched over the Marauder's Map again, keeping a wary eye on the nameless dot that didn't seem to move much. Voldemort appeared to have taken up residence, ironically, in Tonks' office. The students were still massed in their houses and the teachers accompanied them.
He'd seen enough flashes from the Dark Forest tree line to safely assume that the entire Order of the Phoenix was assembled therein. He had even seem some names he didn't recognize and guessed (or hoped) they were Aurors with the Ministry. He unrolled a spare bit of parchment and drew a dividing line down the center. He labeled the left column 'assets' and the right 'liabilities.' Before he could begin listing the advantages and disadvantages of the situation, a sleek pair of arms ran over his shoulders and down his chest. Hermione curled over his back and nestled her chin on the top of his shoulder.
"Have you slept at all?" she whispered. Harry put down the quill he'd been using and pinched the bridge of his nose. He tried sleeping. He'd even managed a few minutes here and there, but his brain refused to turn off. Even in slumber, an idea or question would erupt in his mind and he'd be back at this table, hovering over the only intelligence he had, trying to come up with something.
"I've slept," he answered.
"And I'm the Queen," Hermione replied. Harry chuckled and ran his hands over her arms, kissing the inside of her elbows. "I'd ask you to take a break, but I know you too well." She kissed him on the temple. "What can I do to help?"
"You can go over this with me," he suggested. "I've been looking at it so long I know there's something I'm not seeing." Wordlessly, Hermione sat down next to him and began studying all the parchment he'd filled with his slanted, spiky handwriting. Harry dropped his head into his hands and waited for her appraisal before continuing.
"Well," she took the two-columned parchment from his hand. "We have the edge in total numbers."
"True, but I don't think you can count a first-year student as much of a match for a Death Eater," Harry lamented.
"No, but I'm sure they can be useful in another way," she added. "We have Order members both in the castle and outside the castle. They may already be communicating with each other and we just don't know it."
"I would classify that as a liability."
"As is the fact each House entrance is guarded by no less than four Death Eaters. I don't think anyone could get out of a portrait hole without being ambushed," Hermione posed.
"Not that we could organize anything in the first place," Harry growled. He stood up from the table and began pacing the floor. "If only we could use a fire or an owl!"
"Or Morse Code," a sleepy voice resonated from behind him. Harry turned to see Merc stirring.
"What is that?" he asked. She smiled and got up from the sofa.
"I was only joking," she retracted. "It was something muggles historically used to communicate, especially during the early wars of the twentieth century." She walked over to the table. "Still nothing?"
"Nothing," Hermione said in defeat.
"There's got to be something we can do," Ron said as he joined them at the table. He looked to Hermione in question.
"What?" she asked, apparently taken aback by his expression.
"Can you get a message to people in the different houses?" he asked.
"With what?" Hermione scoffed.
"That whole empath thing…"
"Ron, I've told you…it doesn't work that way," she admonished.
Ron threw up his hands in surrender. "I just thought I'd be thorough. We do know people in all of the houses. I just wasn't sure how well we knew them…that's all."
"Don't be silly. Just because we know people, doesn't mean I would trust them all. It's not like they all signed secrecy agreements on hexed parchment now, is it…" Hermione's retort drifted off.
"What?" Harry inquired.
"The D.A.," Hermione answered.
"So?" Ron prompted. Hermione waved her hands to silence him and continued.
"The coins! Harry, don't you see? The coins are still in the houses. Even the D.A. members that left Hogwarts saw it as a personal tribute to Umbridge's downfall to leave those coins here. I heard some of the third years talking about it a few weeks ago," she explained.
"Fred and George have theirs," Ron whispered.
The possibilities leapt to Harry's mind. He jumped from the table and started pacing back and forth trying to make some logical plan of this new information. However, their incessant chattering was not helping him form a cogent thought.
"Harry Potter," he heard a voice say. He threw his hands over his ears in the vain attempt to block it out. "Harry Potter!"
"Shut up!" Harry exclaimed.
"It's not us, mate," Ron defended.
"Harry Potter!" Harry whipped around in search of the intrusive voice and nearly fell over from shock. The face of Remus Lupin was shining in the cracked mirror. Harry hopped over the chair in front of him and picked up the mirror before Lupin disappeared.
"Remus!" he exclaimed. Before Lupin could respond, the other three had barreled across the room and surrounded Harry.
"Harry! Thank the gods! Where in bloody blazes are you? Minerva, Tonks, and Snape split up among the houses to locate you and no one knows where you are!" he blasted.
"We're in the Room of Requirement," he answered. "Ron, Hermione, and Merc are all here with me." Lupin's face softened and he broke into a genuine smile.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"We've been better. We're cold and hungry, but we're okay," Harry answered.
"They're using some very old siege works spells to dampen the fires and restrict access to food. Luckily, the house elves have been thwarting their plans. I don't think he expected the students to hold out as long as you have, but he clearly underestimated the house elves…if he thought about them at all," Lupin explained. Harry suddenly felt sick. He'd poured over the map for hours on end. He stared at names, wrote down patterns of patrol teams, matched numbers of students to enemies…never once did he think about the one hundred house elves that were working to keep them all alive. He shook the guilt from his mind and refocused his attention on the mirror. "We're trying to formulate a plan, but we're split up and outnumbered."
"We know," Harry said.
"What do you know?" Lupin asked with a furrowed brow.
"I've got the map," Harry answered. "We've been charting their movements and locations, but haven't been able to contact anyone."
"The Order can communicate with each other and there is one of us in every house but Slytherin," Lupin replied. Harry could tell from how his head bobbed in and out of the mirror's frame that Lupin was gathering material. He looked back at Harry and directed him to gather his own material so they could exchange information. Harry grabbed the mirror from the table and the group settled down at the table where they'd been working. As they hovered over the information they'd gathered, Harry felt lighter than he had in days. They were not going to sit idly by and allow the Death Eaters free reign of Hogwarts any longer. Surprisingly, an odd calm fell over him as he realized, win or lose, he could finally stop wondering about the outcome of his fate. He knew the day had arrived…and he was ready.
***
"I still don't like the idea of using students," Remus said as he looked around at the empty tent.
"We don't have to use students," Harry said with glaring eyes. Remus looked into the mirror and startled at the resemblance of his surrogate godson to his best friend. Harry was obviously frustrated and was running his hands through his unruly hair as James had done a thousand times in years gone by.
"Absolutely not," Remus replied.
"Why not?! He's after me! I know where he is. I don't see any reason to put anyone else in danger over this. It's between me and him…you know it is!" Harry argued.
"Have you lost your mind, Harry? Voldemort doesn't play by the rules. He has no integrity or sense of moral obligation. He will not let the students escape his grasp without making a statement…and he'll do that whether you give yourself up or not!" Lupin replied. "You're not going alone," he added with finality.
"I wouldn't be alone," Harry rebuked.
"No."
Harry growled aloud. "Then we have no other choice but to follow the plan we came up with…students and all." Remus was silent and Harry scoffed again. "Why do you think we're so incapable of handling ourselves?" he demanded.
Remus rubbed the pounding headache from his temples. He wasn't sure he could make Harry understand the answer to this question. It wasn't that he thought the students incapable…well, perhaps he did. After all, these are trained, malicious, evil to the core Death Eaters against mere children. His concern stemmed more from the fact he didn't want the students to have to do it. He didn't believe in sending anyone on a mission he couldn't undertake himself, and asking children to fight such a battle was even more disconcerting. "Harry, I have faith that you can handle yourself. I even believe Ron and Hermione are equally as talented. Maybe even a good number of seventh year students, but…"
"That's why we're not using anyone younger than fourth year," Harry countered.
"Right, because we certainly didn't engage in questionable activity prior to fourth year," Hermione's sarcastic voice echoed from the other side of the mirror.
"You're not exactly average students," Remus lamented as he drew a breath. Harry was right. They'd agreed to leave the youngest students in their houses, and without the additional help that only the students could provide, this counter attack was doomed to failure…if it wasn't already. "Right. Let's run through this one more time."
He could hear the harmonized groaning from the other side of the mirror.
Using the mirrors, Harry and Remus recanted the plan they'd devised over the last three hours. Hermione, Ron and Merc offered insight and suggestions as they continued, as did Fred, George, and Arthur and Molly Weasley from the other side. They'd combined their intelligence and come up with the only plan that seemed reasonably capable of working.
The siege works spells only applied to the creation of heat, food, and standard communication. All other magical capacities seemed relatively unscathed. The castle's own protections, namely the vanished doors and portraits, helped their cause. That being the case, Dobby would fetch the D.A. coins that Harry, Ron, and Hermione kept in their dormitories and Lupin would alert Tonks, McGonagall, and Snape to instruct the other students with coins to do the same. Those coins would be the signal for a simultaneous response around the castle. They could further coordinate with the Order members in the forest through the coins Fred and George already retrieved from their flat in Diagon Alley.
Fourth through seventh year students would be briefed by the Order member in their house. Based on the patrol patterns Harry, Hermione, Ron and Merc had charted, each group of students would be assigned to a team and a location. Their orders were clear - stun first, ask questions later.
In preparation for the inevitable, Hermione charmed one of Dobby's sickles with the same charm as the D.A. galleons. He would direct the full count of house elves to offer aid to any student or teacher that required assistance. Wherever possible, they would use the elf passages throughout Hogwarts to move injured students to the hospital wing. Those stationed in the forest (which consisted of a few Order members and a rogue band of Aurors that had scoffed at the Ministry fairy tale that all was well at Hogwarts) would attack from without while the students mobilized within.
Their plan had two key objectives. First, siege works spells must be cast, and maintained, by a vast number of wizards. Harry was, in part, relieved to understand that Dumbledore had lived in the same general state as the students during this time, and in part terrified that a wizard as powerful as the Headmaster was unable to combat the siege alone. Not even Dumbledore, who was monitoring their conversation from his office, would be able to disarm the charms by himself. The students would have to overtake the majority of Death Eaters in order to break the enchantments cast upon the castle. While they worked to regain control of the castle, Harry, Hermione, and Ron would be charged with finding Voldemort.
"Harry," Remus asked. "Are you sure about this?" The trio was silent on the opposite side of the mirror. Remus could only assume Harry was looking at Hermione and Ron as he contemplated the answer to his question. After a time, he nodded imperceptibly, and replied.
"I can't avoid this forever, Remus. I don't want to." Harry looked pointedly off the edge of the mirror and smiled. "I have plans for my life, and I don't want this bloody prophecy hanging over my head any more." He looked directly at Remus. "This ends tonight."
Remus nodded. "I understand, but Harry…we could wait. If we waited until tomorrow I could be of some help to you. I could fight with you!" Harry was shaking his head before Remus finished the sentence.
"No," Harry replied. "If I can stop this now, I will. The school is starving. We can't last another day."
Remus looked through the open door of the tent they'd constructed. His eyes fell upon the setting sun and shuddered to think what would replace it in an hour's time. He wondered if Voldemort knew the fortuitousness of his timing. The same anger he'd kept buried for years pulsed with renewed vigor. He wasn't there when Voldemort killed James and Lily. He couldn't stop Lestrange from killing Sirius. The damned lunar cycle aided Pettigrew in returning to Voldemort's side, and somewhere inside him he understood that Peter was behind the timing of the siege. By definition of his lycanthropy, Remus would be useless to help Harry face his fate.
He squeezed his hands into fists and fought the urge to beat something -anything - to within an inch of its existence. James had entrusted Harry to Sirius. Sirius had entrusted him to Remus…and Remus felt the cold hand of guilt closing around his throat.
"It's all right, Remus," Harry's voice broke through Lupin's anger. "We never would have made it this far if not for you," he continued. Remus felt the prickle of tears stinging the corner of his eyes. Now was not the time to lose his composure. With that thought in mind, he cleared his throat and spoke in a forcibly comfortable tone.
"So, that leaves the same question we had before," Lupin said. "This whole plan can only work with the element of surprise. There are Death Eaters at every House entrance. How do we get the students out?"
"Two problems," Lupin heard Hermione's voice from a distance. Harry turned to his left with a furrowed brow. "Both of you claim that we will need all of the students older than fourth year to succeed." Harry was nodding in time with Lupin. "We haven't designated any teams in Slytherin." The cacophonous argument came from both sides of the mirror. Lupin could barely hear the objections of Harry and Ron over those in his own head.
"Settle down!" Lupin shouted over the din. He kept his voice elevated to continue being heard over the muffled grumbling. "What's your point, Hermione?" Harry's face slid from view and Hermione's filled the frame.
"My point…" she glared off the opposite side of the mirror, "…is that a quarter of our student population is not involved in this at all. Dumbledore once said that the houses had to come together and I believe him. Even the Sorting Hat sang about house unity! If we don't include everyone…well…" she trailed off.
"Hermione," Lupin said gently. "Voldemort is the heir of Slytherin…"
"…so that means everyone in Slytherin is like him?" Hermione interrupted. "Excuse me for saying so, but you of all people should understand why it's so important to judge people for who they are…rather than what they are." Remus had nothing to say in response. Hermione was right. But they still faced a rather daunting logistical concern.
"We don't have any contacts in Slytherin," Lupin said, looking over the rolls of parchment where he'd been keeping his notes. "Snape is in Ravenclaw Tower."
"We do have a contact," Hermione corrected. Lupin could hear the explosion that came from Harry and Ron at the mere prospect of her suggestion.
"Like hell we do!" He heard Ron's voice bark. Hermione whipped her head to the side and her features darkened.
"This is more important that your testosterone-ridden obsession with protecting your sister!" she screamed.
"You're barking mad, Hermione, if you think we can trust fucking Malfoy for the time of day!" Ron's voice bellowed. Remus could tell from the scenery changing behind Hermione that she had gotten to her feet with the mirror in hand. He tried to calm them, but proved as effective as Harry.
"Sooner or later you'll have to realize that the world does not revolve around what you want, Ron! Ginny believes he's changed! Put your trust in her!" Hermione shouted.
"Right! The last time I did that, I ended up staring down a Gelidus Bear!" Ron's voice echoed. Just as Remus was about to shout over the both of them, the room fell oddly silent. Hermione's focus shifted and Remus could hear the quiet muttering of a fourth voice but couldn't make out the words.
"You can't believe you forgot to tell us what?" Hermione questioned. Remus strained to listen and found the effort wasted in a moment's time. Hermione's face zipped off the left side of the mirror and a wizened Merc Thompson appeared in the frame.
"Professor Lupin, you've got to get out of there!" she pleaded. Remus was sure his face couldn't mask his confusion. "The bear!" she stammered.
"What bear?" Lupin asked. In all, he thought this was a rather odd tangent to get sidetracked on. The full moon was beginning to rise and he had little time to finalize their plans before he would be effectively out of commission for the evening. While his mind was on the subject, he slugged back the last of his wolfsbane potion and tried to redirect the conversation from whence it came. "Its okay, Merc. Bears are notoriously more afraid of us than we are of them. If there's a bear in the woods, I'm sure it will keep its distance."
"No!" she shouted. "That's just it! That Gelidus Bear is not a bear at all!"
"What?" The question came from both sides of the mirror.
Merc took a gasping breath. "Something had been bothering me for days and I couldn't put my finger on it. It was something you said." She locked eyes with Lupin. "It stirred something in my memory and I ended up in the library. It's why I wasn't in my dormitory when the Death Eaters attacked." She gulped another breath and continued. "My father used to read to me from my mother's old mythology books. I loved the stories. He made up nicknames for me from ancient legend. He called me Athena and Persephone. When he couldn't brush my hair I became Medusa," Merc smiled in spite of herself. Remus looked through the open tent doorway and dread began to settle in his stomach.
"Get to the point, Merc."
"The point is, I found one of those old mythology books and it triggered my memory. I re-read the story in the back of the anthology. It was about a band of fierce warriors. No weapon could touch them, no enemy could best them. They fought in a frenzied rage and cast terror on the battlefields of Europe. Muggle history books refer to them as Berserkers. Oral history turned into written legend about their ferociousness and seeming immortality. They ran into battle with no visible sign of protection. They generally clad themselves only in bear skins! Muggle theorists thought they saw the skins as some conduit for the animal's strength. They thought the Berserkers wore them to channel the bear's spirit. What the muggles didn't know is that these men weren't men at all - they were wizards. That's why they were rumored to blunt swords with a single glare. That's also the explanation for why muggles saw them turn into bears on the battlefield."
"Animagi?" Remus wondered aloud.
"Yes!" Merc answered. "Even the word 'Berserker' is derived from the words 'bear' and 'shirt.' They were vicious warriors with no loyalty or principle. They would kill their own kind, rape their own women, and pillage their own communities as well as others."
Remus' heart began to pound in his chest. "Riley was right," he whispered to himself. "He's been here the whole time."
Merc nodded. "I overheard you telling Dumbledore about Norse fairy tales and something about Damien Keres fell into place. Berserkers are Norse legend. The wizard lines of Berserkers are Norse descendants."
"Are they as invincible as Muggle legend would have you believe?" Remus questioned.
"Wizard mythology claims they can only be killed by one of their own kind. When engaged in such frenzied battle, they lose their ability to discern family from foe. They are blood-thirsty warriors who will stop at nothing short of a kill," Merc explained.
"He'd kill his best friend if he got in the way," Lupin whispered. He looked back through the mirror to Merc's anguished face. She was nodding hesitantly, but Remus knew from the look in her eyes that she understood exactly what he did. "Two can play that game." Without giving a second thought to his actions, Remus tossed the mirror aside and ran out of the tent into the rising moonlight.