Chapter Seventeen: Serpent's Search
It was silent. Not a sound could be heard in the small room. The flickering little fire gave almost no light.
Ron's eyes were locked on it though. Trying to void his head of all thoughts, as Asham'd told him to; he concentrated on the burning flames.
The silence was eerie.
Then, something happened.
Ron curbed his beginning panic when the fire consumed him, and then his confusion when he realised the little flame had not changed. It was still there, in the middle of the room, unchanged, and not the roaring fire he'd thought he'd felt burn him.
Again, he stared at the fire. And saw.
Orange, yellow, red and blue flames spread outwards, and he realised they did so in his own mind. It was as if he was in the midst of a fire, but he was not burnt.
Then the fire spoke to him.
It made no words, but he felt it. A heavy presence of something ancient, something wild but wise. Something uncontrollable and destructive, yet obedient and able to bring new life.
He felt its heavy burden. It was fully aware of how important it was. And fully aware that its importance gave it a huge responsibility.
The roaring fire gave way. He was a flame. A small, flickering light in a dark nothingness. He saw other small lights, like candles. Every one of them was a human, like himself, he realised. And some were not humans. He could sense them, and understood that there was a fire in all beings.
A flame that burnt, and which the person tried to keep a-light. A will to fight and to live.
And he understood, that the Element of fire watched over all this lights, saw them being born, and being blown out. The Element watched every one of them, both those who burnt steadily, those who tended to burst high and then fall low, and those who faded and flared.
And he understood. Fire had chosen him. He had a task she wanted him to do. Still, he did not know what it was all about, but he swore to find out.
~*~
There was a tunnel. A dark, narrow one. No light, absolutely no light could be spotted. It was as dark as death.
Yet, he could see: small cracks, stones, rocky outcrops, the roof above. He was rather big, he noticed, as his body glided across stones and gravel. A very long body. It made sounds. Scratchy sounds, as it moved across rubble and the un-even floor.
Here and there he heard the trickle of water.
It came so gradually that he nearly missed it, but suddenly he realised that it was lighter. It wasn't so dark anymore. His head lifted higher, wavered back and forth. A tongue slithered out of his mouth. The light seemed to come from just around the corner. It was very faint, only a certain greyness, which stemmed from glowing torches.
He moved forward…
"Harry?"
"Um, what?" Harry found himself staring into Hermione's concerned eyes.
"You zoned out for a bit," she said. "Are you all right?"
Harry shook his head, as if to clear it. "Yeah, just a vision."
"A vision? What about?"
"I don't know. It was someplace small and dark. I've had several of those before, where I'm moving through small, dark tunnels, but this was the first time I've ever encountered light."
Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Do you have any idea what it means?"
"No clue," Harry replied honestly. "But I guess I'll find out sooner or later anyway."
Hermione frowned, but said nothing. Both of them knew that his visions could be important, but as long as they couldn't decipher them they were of no use.
They were currently duelling, trying to perfect their skills. For this, they often had help from some of the Order's most skilled duellists, and in only a few weeks Hermione was getting quite good. Harry, who had always been better at Defence Against the Dark Arts, was improving at an alarming rate. As Harry sardonically told Mr Arlenmeier, a death threat was indeed a fine motivation.
This day however, they'd gotten out of bed early, trying out some moves, and duelling without a wand. If anyone had been looking, they would have enjoyed a very nice light show, as the two flung light beams in every thinkable colour at each other, and at the occasional dummy. Unfortunately, Harry had to slide into this now familiar vision. All he had done was to sit down for a second, while Hermione was blasting a wolf-like stone-gargoyle off to God-knows-where, and he fell into trance.
Annoying!
"Well, I suppose I have to go to breakfast," Harry sighed. As Professor Atos he had to make an appearance at meals, and he especially hated breakfast, when the newspaper came. Every day there had been a new attack. Not big, only a few casualties, but still they came every single day. If the Death Eaters were caught, it soon became apparent that they were very low-ranking. This resulted in despairing Aurors, since they never had a breakthrough, never caught any important, high-ranking guys, and never came any closer to finding Voldemort's lair.
Hermione had completely quit going to meals, after a few unpleasant encounters where she'd been required to use force. She'd had several curses flung after her, and only quick reflexes, earned from her fighting with Harry had saved her. The culprits had of course been punished, but Dumbledore and (especially) Harry still thought it was best if she kept away from the rest of the student body.
Silently, Harry shifted into Christian, and made his way towards the Great Hall. It was confusing really; only a few knew he was both Harry and Christian, so he had to be very careful with the way he spoke when there were other people around, and that he didn't give in to his slightly naughty impulses concerning Hermione, when he was Christian. Somehow, he wasn't so sure if that would go well with her. He sighed again. He was heading towards a serious identity crisis, no doubt.
~*~
"Harry, I still don't think this is a good idea," Hermione said.
"Relax, Hermione. We need a break once in a while, and besides, I've never been on a date with you before," Harry replied.
"So this is our first official date then?" Hermione asked, a smile tugging at her lips.
"Yep."
"Shouldn't my father know about it then?" she asked thoughtfully. "You know, wouldn't it be best if you asked for his permission to take me out?"
Harry stopped abruptly and turned towards her. "You think so?" he asked, alarmed.
Hermione laughed. "I'm sure he'll forgive you," she said, and gave him a quick peck on his lips.
"Tease," Harry muttered, but she ignored him.
"So, where are we going?"
Harry smiled. "A little Italian restaurant. I found it last year, when I lived around here."
"Oh! I love Italian food!" Hermione almost squealed. "Perhaps this is a good idea after all."
In all honesty, it was. Harry had suddenly decided that they needed a break from the constant Voldemort-worrying, so he'd asked Hermione out. He'd been very romantic about it, too, sending Hedwig (who was still disguised as a pretty, black owl) to her with three red roses, and a small note. 'Do you like surprises, Hermione? I have one for you. Seven o'clock, you-know-where. Muggle clothing. Love, Harry' Well, perhaps the note hadn't been overly romantic, but then, Harry had never been a poet either.
She had been very intrigued, and had of course been 'you-know-where' at seven o'clock. 'You-know-where' was in 'their' secret turret, where they went when they wanted some, er, privacy.
From there Harry had taken her to the outskirts of Muggle Oxford. And so, they ended up eating pasta in a cosy little place that reminded Hermione strangely of the Burrow. Even Hermione's faded Muggle jeans and blue turtle-neck fit in, somehow. She could see why Harry liked it.
"Don't do that," Harry said suddenly.
Hermione looked at him, startled. "What?"
"Suck the pasta into your mouth like that," he answered.
"Like this?" she asked, and with a 'slurp' sucked a long string of pasta (bathed in pesto-sauce) into her mouth.
"Yes, that," Harry said, swallowing visibly.
"Why not?" she asked.
"Because…" he faltered. "Just because."
Her eyes narrowed, and purposefully she repeated the action. Harry gulped and shifted, his own meal forgotten.
She looked quizzically at him. Why was he reacting like that? If he found it disgusting, why didn't he just say so? What did he mean by 'just because'?
Doing the same yet again, she observed him closely, looking for a reaction that could explain his queer behaviour. And this time, she did get a reaction.
Harry dropped his fork, (which he'd been holding) leaned over the table, cupped her cheek, and kissed her quite squarely on her lips. It wasn't a chaste or gentle kiss. It was hot, passionate, mind-scattering, and it lasted for quite some time. Shocked as she might be, Hermione found herself kissing him back, ignoring whatever stares they were getting from other people. The part of her brain which could think coherently cursed the table that separated them.
They pulled apart, breathing rather heavily, and grinning rather foolishly. "Please don't do that again," Harry said, his face colouring slightly. "You have no idea how maddening it is."
Hermione blushed, her mind still whirling, since he could be very maddening, too. Or perhaps irresistible was a better word. She was pleased with herself though; she'd never imagined herself able to draw such a reaction out of a male, just by eating.
~*~
There was a tunnel. A dark, narrow one. No light, absolutely no light could be spotted. It was as dark as death.
Yet, he could see: small cracks, stones, rocky outcrops, the roof above. He obviously had some kind of night-vision. He was rather big, he noticed, as his body glided across stones and gravel. A very long body. It made sounds. Scratchy sounds, as it moved across rubble and the un-even floor. He realised that it was his scales, rubbing against each other, which made that sound.
Here and there he heard the trickle of water.
A hissing sound made its way out of his mouth
It came so gradually that he nearly missed it, but suddenly he realised that it was lighter. It wasn't so dark anymore. Somewhere in front of him there was some sort of light source. His head lifted higher, wavered back and forth. A tongue slithered out of his mouth. The air further up the tunnel was obviously coming from some bigger room. It didn't have the heavy taste that filled the rest of the tunnel. It smelled dustier though. Less water apparently. The light seemed to come from just around the corner. It was very faint, only a certain greyness, which stemmed from glowing torches.
He moved forward. Something told him that the room was very big. Upon rounding the corner, he came out of the tunnel, and into a bigger space. Some kind of rock or boulder was blocking his sight.
His body slithered around it, and he looked into a room which seemed strangely familiar…
~*~
Harry woke up, his hand going to his scar immediately. It was stinging badly, but the pain was rapidly diminishing. He looked about in the dark room, automatically checking for possible enemies.
He moaned, and tried to remember the dream, trying to figure out whatever had made Voldemort so angry about that chamber.
Then he realised, that Voldemort hadn't been angry. He'd been triumphant.
He swore. There was something familiar about that room, but he hadn't seen enough of it to recognise it. But whatever pleased Voldemort so much about it?
"Harry?"
Harry shot up, his hand on his wand. "Hermione?" he said, confused. "Why -what are you doing here?"
"I sensed your pain," she replied. "What happened?"
He slumped back into his pillows. "Nothing. Just a dream."
She raised her eyebrows, well aware that it hadn't been 'nothing'. She laid her hand to his forehead, and he moaned softly again, but from pleasure this time, as her healing magic wafted through his body and left his body completely at peace.
"Do you mind if I make a Search?" she asked quietly. He grunted 'no', and forced himself not to block her out of his mind. He knew that her cool intelligence and logic could help him solve this riddle. Fortunately, she was very gentle, and he hardly noticed anything as she delved into his memory.
As she withdrew, he saw the expression he knew so well, the one she always had when she had a puzzle, and no answer. It showed her determination to get to the bottom, a will to continue searching until she found the correct answer. He smiled slightly, as he slipped back into sleep. His Hermione would never change.
~*~
When he woke next time, it was morning, and he was only slightly surprised when he found Hermione curled up beside him, sound asleep, and looking very, very cute. Gently, he brushed away some strands of curly, brown hair which had fallen into her face.
Silently, he got out of bed, and clothed himself. Outside the sun was shining, signalling that spring was coming. The snow had left a few weeks ago, but it was still rather cold, and heavy rainstorms were frequent.
Padding through the corridors, he arrived at an almost empty Great Hall. Oops… He thought, and decided to skip breakfast this morning, or else he would have to deduct points from himself.
He arrived three seconds too late, so it went un-noticed. Taking his normal seat at the edge of his desk, he made sure everyone had arrived. It was a group of fifth year Gryffindors this time, and after collecting their homework, (inwardly groaning at the work-load he would have to go through) he started on today's lecture.
"Let's start with discussing Parselmouths," he said aloud. This immediately caught the class's attention. "First, let get down some facts about them,"
"They're evil wizards," one of his students said.
"You-know-who is one," another added.
"Harry Potter is one," came a third student.
Christian raised an eyebrow. "Okay, that's enough. I was only interested in one of those facts, really. It is common to believe that Parselmouths are evil wizards." He looked at his class. "Why?"
The class was silent. Then Adam Peters raised his hand.
"They talk to snakes, sir."
"And that makes them evil?" Christian asked, faking astonishment.
"Snakes are evil creatures, sir," Adam added.
"Are they now?" Christian asked, and proceeded to draw a small snake out of his pocket, which he so banished to Adams desk. "This is a snake, a quite friendly little fellow, not dangerous at all." The snake hissed at Adam, who drew back, paling considerably. Christian walked forwards and picked it up. "Touch it, Mr Peters," he said kindly. "It won't hurt you, you know."
Hesitantly, Adam reached out and touched the scaly little head, before he smiled shakily. The little snake slithered up and curled around his arm, where it settled.
Christian hid a grin. "Could you take care of him till the end of this lesson?" he asked, and went back to his desk, not waiting for an answer. There, he found a basket, which had been hidden behind it. From it he drew a bigger snake; a Green Cobra. Those of the class who recognised it gasped, which drew the attention of the others, who realised that this probably was rather dangerous.
"This one," Christian continued, unfazed, "is a Green Cobra, a highly poisonous snake." He turned to the class. "Is it evil?"
The class looked at each other, and a girl raised her hand.
"Is it, Ms Vanne?" he asked.
"The snake isn't, Professor. It is just an animal, who fights for survival. It was born poisonous, and had no choice in the matter," the girl said.
"Correct, Ms Vanne. Why do we then assume that Parselmouths are evil?" He gave the question to the same girl.
"Because they talk to the snakes, and tell them to hurt others," she answered.
"Do all Parselmouths do that?" he asked.
That gave the class something to think about. "I would say no," Christian continued. "Not all Parselmouths misuse their gift, though we often hear only of those who do. Which brings us to the real point of this lesson."
He paused and put the snake back in its basket. "It is commonly believed that Parselmouths are evil. I don't think those who think so have thought very much about that, for it is a gift -or curse, you may say- the wizard or witch is born with. Does that mean that the little new-born toddler is destined to be evil, just because of something he or she is born with?"
The class shook their heads. That sounded terribly un-fair to them.
"Precisely, ladies and gentlemen," Christian beamed at them. "Everyone should think on that matter; for it is not only concerning Parselmouths this is applied. Werewolves, for example, cannot get a job in the Wizarding world, because the law says so. Werewolves are dark creatures, but only a few days each month. I trust all of you remember Remus Lupin, who taught here at Hogwarts in your first year. He was a werewolf, but he's never ever hurt anybody under the full moon." Harry decided not to mention anything about his escapades as a Marauder.
"Also," he continued, "here, at this very school, it is commonly believed, especially among Gryffindors, that the Slytherins are Death Eaters." The Gryffindors looked at each other. "Does that mean that everyone who is a Slytherin can't choose what he or she wants to be?"
"But Slytherins have chosen before they're sorted," one of his students told him stubbornly.
"Indeed. Did you have any thoughts on the matter when you were eleven, Mr Creevy?" Christian asked sarcastically. Dennis blushed and said nothing.
"You are what you choose to be, Mr Creevy. They say that Slytherins are ambitious and sly, not evil. There's a little difference there,"
"But very many Slytherins become Death Eaters," a girl objected.
"I know," Christian admitted. "But some are doing it under pressure from their families, or choose that path as a result of their upbringing. For it is true, that very many purebloods are sorted to Slytherin, probably because they're more ambitious than the Muggle-borns, who are trying to get used to a completely new society."
The rest of the class went to discuss the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry, and then he told them to write an essay, which they should head 'Prejudices'. He ignored the little voice that told him that this hardly was Defence Against the Dark Arts, and decided to disagree with it. Being aware of the difference between Light and Dark was perhaps the most important part of the subject.
All in all, it was a very nice start to the day. The only minus was that he was going to do the same class with the Slytherins next lesson.
~*~
It was evening, late April. The students of Hogwarts were in a frenzy for the exams, which were only two months away, and the teachers were rubbing their hands together, being altogether vindictive and evil. At least from the students' point of view.
Several of the teachers however, didn't have exams on their minds. For almost two months there had been low activity among the Death Eaters. It was almost certain that something big was going to happen soon. The silence before the storm. The more silent, the bigger storm.
"So what if he tries to storm Hogwarts?" one of the Order members present asked. "Would he be able too?"
The staff of Hogwarts looked at each other, before Dumbledore shook his head. "It is a possibility, but Hogwarts has always been impregnable before. We have to be on guard though."
Hermione was also present. Even though she was the Pectal, most of the Order looked at her as a little girl, so she spent the majority of the meetings listening. For Harry it was different; as Harry Potter he was still a child, who had spent two years on-the-run, but he was The-Boy-Who-Lived, and they listened slightly more to him than to her. As Christian Atos however, he was the Defence teacher, and a very bright young man, who looked older than his age, so they actually listened to him. That he hadn't mentioned that he was only seventeen probably had something to do with it, too.
But today, Hermione wasn't listening. She was pondering on a problem. Something nagged her, and she knew the feeling; she was missing something. Something important. But what?
It was that dream, she was certain of it. Every night since she'd seen that dream of Harry's, where he was a snake in a cavern, she'd dreamt about caverns. For three nights, she'd dreamt about the same thing. She started out in a tunnel, and followed the snake on its journey, before she came into a big cavern, which actually had statues and columns supporting the roof. And there was some kind of fight. A small child was fighting the snake, but that seemed strange, for the snake seemed so much bigger all of a sudden. Then the dream would switch, and she would see the face of Voldemort, or a lot of dark robed wizards.
The dream scared her, and somehow she knew it was significant, and that her sub-consciousness was trying to tell her something.
She snapped into reality again when Harry nudged her shoulder. "Hermione? Is something wrong?" he asked.
Startled she looked around, and noticed that everyone had left except Harry and Dumbledore. Both were looking at her curiously, and Harry seemed a bit concerned. She found that quite cute and lovable.
She opened her mouth to say 'I'm fine', but found the words stuck in her throat. She sighed exasperated. "I don't know what's wrong," she said truthfully, and Harry became more concerned. "It's a dream I keep having. I've had the same dream for three nights, and I keep dreaming about your dream," she told him, and his eyes widened slightly.
"You dream about it?" he asked. "Could you tell me about it?"
She recited the dream for him, feeling a bit stupid for putting so much thought in a dream. When she finished, he was frowning deeply. Then he shook his head.
"I can't decipher it. The clues are there, but there's nothing to tie them together," he said.
"It's only a dream, Harry," she said, fingering the hem of her sleeve. "I'm certain that it's not important. I'm just being stupid."
"You're not stupid!" Harry said vehemently. He laid an arm around her shoulder. "You're the smartest girl I know," he said gently, and leaned in to kiss her.
Behind them, Dumbledore gave a discreet cough, and the two jumped apart, blushing furiously. They'd both forgotten that he was there.
"Perhaps we should try to figure out that dream of yours, Hermione," he said, smiling his most annoying paternal smile.
"Er, well," Harry said. "Firstly, Hermione, your dream is important. You have something called a Dream Talent, which makes you able to See certain things while dreaming."
"You mean I'm a Seer?" Hermione asked, horrified.
Harry laughed at her outburst. "No, the Dream Talent is a very strange Talent. You have to know some facts, and then you dream about some facts you don't know. You can actually see the cover and title of a book, and then you dream that you're reading the book, and what you read is really what is written in the book." Hermione looked delighted at that thought.
"But there are other aspects to the Dream Talent," Harry continued. "You banished my nightmares just a few months ago. I haven't slept that peacefully in years."
And Hermione remembered other things that had happened. How she could have a nightmare and wake up practically screaming, and yet feel completely rested, and how the nightmare never came again. She had found that strange, since she had a tendency of having the same nightmare over and over again. She had had a nightmare following her since she was five. It didn't come often, but she had it at least a few times each year. Now she remembered that she hadn't had it for more than eight months.
And also… "I dreamt about you!" she exclaimed. "Before I found out that you were the Defence Professor, Harry, then I dreamt about you." She clutched Harry's hand excitedly. "My dreams tried to tell me about who you were, and that I-" She stopped. She had intended to say 'and that I loved you', before she remembered that Professor Dumbledore was in the room still.
Both of the two males had figured out what she didn't say however, and Harry squeezed her hand gently. She looked down and turned red for the second time that evening.
"We have to look into that dream of yours," Harry said. "But I don't know how, and somehow I feel that we should do it as soon as possible."
"But how?" Hermione asked, but Harry was as blank as she was. The only way they knew of, was going to sleep so she could dream again.
Luckily, Dumbledore knew what to do. "You could borrow my pensieve," he suggested, and both Harry and Hermione agreed. That would be quick and reliable, and they would be able to see the dream from different angles.
~*~
Hermione stared at the silvery liquid in Dumbledore's stone basin. That was her dream. Weird. She knew everything there was to know about pensieves, of course, but it was still weird to actually use one. With a deep breath, she touched the substance, and the floor tipped. With a lurch she was pulled into the pensieve, and landed on a dirty stone floor. A few seconds later she was joined by Dumbledore, and then Harry. Harry smiled reassuringly at her and took her hand. Then, they looked around.
Hermione looked up, as the snake slithered out of the tunnel she'd dreamt of. Of course, she realised. They couldn't actually follow the snake through the tunnel, since it was too small for a human several places.
Harry had stiffened. "Nagini!" he gasped and the two others turned to him.
"Yes," Dumbledore murmured. "Tom's snake."
Hermione turned to see if he could recognise the place, but just then, the scenes shifted to the one where the little boy fought the snake.
And now she finally understood. The boy waved a ruby-encrusted sword at a giant snake, who had blood running from its eyes, and a great golden phoenix flew about.
It was Harry, fighting the basilisk in his second year.
"The Chamber of Secrets," Harry breathed.
And then, the dream shifted to the third and last scene, of Voldemort and his Death Eaters.
Startled, both Hermione and Dumbledore turned towards Harry, who was broad-casting his emotions all of a sudden. He was clutching Hermione's hand so hard it hurt.
"Harry?" she asked.
"I dreamt about this," he said absently. "Several months ago, Voldemort was having a fit, and he said something like 'Nagini will find a way.'" His expression darkened. "It appears that she did."
"You mean that Nagini has found a way into the Chamber of Secrets from the outside," Dumbledore stated, and Harry nodded.
"She found it three days ago, and I dreamt about it. Soon Voldemort will be invading Hogwarts."
Hermione shuddered at that.
"Then we must go back and prepare the defence," Dumbledore concluded, his eyes void of the usual twinkle.
Harry didn't answer.
For some long seconds he stood quite still, his eyes looking at something no one else could see.
"It's too late," he said at last.
~*~
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I just love cliff-hangers. Don't you?
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR, this story to me, and it's beta-read by the-dreamer. Go us all.
Sorry about the cliffie, but I can't help it. I get this kick when I write them. It's sadistic, I know.
Anyway, thanks to those who reviewed. I'll go send those e-mails now, and get this onto Schnoogle, too. And yes, I'm working the next chapter (eleven pages now) and will get it out as soon as possible.
JonClift: You stole my trademark! -accusing glare- Thanks btw.
Slypiad: Progress? What's that?
Avalon: Why don't use the 'Notify Me' button? Sorry I didn't mail you this time. My trip to Germany interrupted my schedule… Thanks btw.
Sòven: Thanks. Swedish? Kjenner et par svensker… Går det an å si 'du er galen bra'? Won't work in Norwegian…
NEVEHA: -deadpans- It was long. Okaaaaayyyy. Readers usually complain about the opposite. Well, I don't mind changes. ;) Thanks, go you.
Kira: Okay, okay!
Eric Wilke: That is kind of the whole point…
Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Go you.
Rachel