"Righ', so I wan' you all ter get separated inter groups and start lookin' after yer Wyrms," Hagrid said as he gestured towards a row of steel trays. Harry gulped. The 'Wyrms' Hagrid was referring to were the Voracious Wyrms, a distant cousin of the Flobberworm. Unlike their docile counterparts, however, they were absolutely ravenous and had mouths that were ringed with several rows of razor-sharp teeth. Needless to say, Voracious Wyrms preferred meat over lettuce.
Ron, Harry, and Hermione picked up a tray and settled it in the grass nearby, peering into it to see the Wyrm tear apart a hunk of meat twice its size. It made a buzzing sound as its teeth cut apart the flesh.
Gates was watching them from under the boughs of a large elm tree, his stance betraying indifference. Ever since Harry's wand got jinxed, he had been keeping a closer, more scrutinizing eye upon them, the magical bond probably reinforcing this behavior. The Hit Wizard had made good on his word that he would personally guard Harry during the night, and, sometimes when he woke up, Harry could see Gates, his frame silhouetted in the cold, dim light, his stance alert and primed.
"So what're we supposed to do?" Ron asked with a hint of trepidation.
"Feed it," said Hermione.
Since Hermione and Harry came together two weeks ago, they have been, in public, stalwartly pretending that nothing between them had changed, and, for the most part, succeeding. Cho alone seemed to be aware of the sudden change, and whenever they came across her in the halls, she would sniff and whisper something into Marietta's ear, who would then vehemently nod. Harry carried her books from class to class (Or at least as many as he could handle) and thankfully Ron did not mention anything. Besides some discrete, brief physical contact, no one would known the difference. However, when they were alone in the common room late at night, they would sometimes stay up to midnight talking with each other, or even simply holding hands, with Hermione buried in his chest, watching the fire. Despite the intimacy, Harry felt that it was somehow ruined by Gates's leering presence, his eyes boring holes into his back.
Ron stared at the Wyrm as it devoured the last of the meat. The entire process took barely more than ten seconds.
"You're not serious. How much do they eat?"
"According to Hagrid," said Harry. "we're going to have to feed them at least once today. And then observe and record the Voracious Wyrm's actions."
Malfoy, flanked by his cronies Crabbe and Goyle, came over and sat down, their foreheads contorted into an expression of dull amusement. Pulling a paper out of his pocket, he threw it to Crabbe, smirking and casting a knowing glance towards Harry and then to Hagrid. A moment later, Crabbe started guffawing loudly and tossed the paper back to Malfoy. They were little more than a meter away and Harry could see that the paper was an issue of the Daily Prophet.
"Any particular reason you're sitting there Malfoy?" Ron asked with a trace of annoyance.
Draco looked at them as though just noticing their presence. "As a matter of fact, yes. Catch." He flung the newspaper over to Ron, who picked it up and read it. The nasty sneer on Malfoy's face told Harry all that he needed to know.
"Too bad this is a fake," said Ron. "I read today's issue already. This isn't it." Ron waved it in the air and carelessly threw it aside.
Malfoy laughed. "You can keep it, I have extras. But actually that is tomorrow's issue, you see," He turned his full attention onto Ron. "Mother, after reading that article on that monster the half-breed is keeping in the forest, decided to assist Miss Skeeter in getting the ministry to act upon it. You know how slow the ministry can be on these sorts of things…I mean, with them hiring mudbloods and muggle-lovers nowadays."
"Are you going somewhere with this Malfoy?" Harry snapped. With the amount of time Draco was taking to get the point, it must be something truly awful. It was like Malfoy was savoring every second.
"Did I touch a nerve?" Malfoy asked innocently, looking back from Hermione to Harry. "Well, anyway, my mother donated a some money to Skeeter and she in turn will use it to…help the ministry get its priorities straight. We can't have filthy, dangerous half-breeds blundering around, doing whatever they like." He looked towards Hermione. "Don't you agree? I hear you're quite the authority on all things dirty."
Anger flared in the bowels of Harry's stomach and he went for his wand. Hermione grabbed his arm and whispered "Don't." Harry conceded and just glared at Malfoy, promising himself that when the Dueling Club began the tournament he would beat the Slytherin.
Draco laughed again, harder. Crabbe and Goyle exchanged smirks. "Right," Malfoy continued, tossing a stray bit of meat into his tray which was instantly swallowed by his Wyrm. "So Skeeter forwarded us an issue so we can see her handiwork. She wrote a good bit on how the ministry allows dangerous creatures to stumble around a school full of students. And, well, I hear she's become very influential."
"So she's joined the Malfoy payroll, has she?" said Ron viciously.
"Yes, I do believe she has," Malfoy drawled. "That's what they refer to as a 'connection', Weasley. Or don't you know about those?" He smirked. "No, I suppose you wouldn't. After all, those things require money, and-" Malfoy eyed Ron's robes. "-your fortune has definitely not changed, though everything else has…or is about to."
"What's that supposed to mean," Ron demanded dangerously.
"You don't know?" Malfoy said with exaggerated surprise. "The Weasley's are becoming more
ignorant by the hour, though they are in that little mudblood-lover club. What's it called? Oh, yes, the
Order of the Phoenix. You can't really afford to ignore this warning, Weasley." Malfoy returned to
his Wyrm, a conceited sneer on his face.
"How does he know?" Ron asked in a low voice. Hermione was biting her lip.
"I don't know," Harry said, not looking up. "I don't bloody know." He dangled a mangled piece of Flobberworm flesh over the tray and watched as the Voracious Wyrm tore it from his hand. It was amazing how far the Wyrm could jump when it did not even have legs.
"Maybe the ministry won't do anything," said Ron. "They have their plates full enough as it is-"
"Oh come on Ron," said Hermione, aggravated. "That's the point. They're pulling the ministry in so many directions they won't be able to respond to Voldemort." The Wyrm in the tray seemed to shiver when she spoke the name. "See? Distract them with complete nonsense so Voldemort can go on his merry way. The ministry is old and weak like a rotten log, and all it'll take is a good push for it to cave," she continued, her voice becoming almost panicky. "It's-just-so-stupid!" She angrily picked up a hunk of meat out of a pale and threw it into the tray. The Wyrm caught it in midair.
"Hermione-" Ron began, but Harry eyed him and cut him off. Harry placed a reassuring arm on Hermione's shoulder. It was best if she let it out now. The threat to Hagrid, the ministry's continual incompetence, and Rita Skeeter had slowly been building up a reservoir of frustration.
"And it's that Skeeter woman," Hermione continued viciously. "She doesn't know what she's doing. Does she know she's helping Voldemort? And poor Hagrid…it's always Hagrid."
Harry could not find any words to say, because in fact he shared the same views as Hermione. He turned and looked at Hagrid, who was currently bending over a cluster of Gryffindors, whose Wyrm had evidently gotten loose. How could Hagrid extract himself from this situation?
"It might not even be true," Harry said without conviction. With the way this school year was going, he was beginning to just expect the worst. Hermione shook her head.
"Mudblood's taking it hard," Draco sneered. "I suppose it always hurts when a mudblood loses one of its own. I mean, a half-breed isn't that far off from a mudblood, is it?" Crabbe and Goyle snorted with thick laughter.
Harry gritted his teeth and focused his eyes on Hermione, ignoring Malfoy's taunt. "Thank you," she whispered, and smiled. Harry nodded, but just barely, and eventually found himself smiling back. His eyes irresistibly flickered towards Ron. He hated himself for deceiving his best friend, but what else could he do?
. Malfoy burst out with more laughter while Ron looked slightly bewildered.
"Don't worry Weasley, I'll let you figure it out for yourself," Malfoy said and laid back in the grass.
I never liked that boy, Pseudo-Snape said. He thinks he's far smarter than he actually is, he's egocentric, and dark magic runs in his family bloodline. Watch yourself, Potter.
The class proceeded without any injuries from the Voracious Wyrms, and when Hagrid dismissed them, they immediately went on to Transfiguration.
The next morning, the long awaited issue of The Daily Prophet arrived via a large, ancient owl that looked much like Errol. On the front page, typed in bold print, was the article that Harry had been dreading. Malfoy was not lying, as he had so desperately hoped. Fortunately, it seemed that Malfoy's threat concerning the Order carried little weight, as there was no mention of it at all.
A Gigantic Threat
By Rita Skeeter
Nearly three weeks ago, this reporter wrote an article concerning a wild, untamed Giant that was currently lurking within the Forbidden Forest near Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite overwhelming evidence-
Harry nearly spilled his drink. What evidence?
-that there was, indeed, a Giant being harbored by a Hogwarts professor, no action has been taken by the Ministry of Magic to remove this threat to the students. Can Hogwarts be considered safe when a full-blooded Giant lurks upon its very grounds?
Further evidence shows that the Giant is being nurtured and protected by a half-giant named Rebeus Hagrid, who teaches the Care of Magical Creatures course. Of all the wizards within Hogwarts, should not this one be the most aware of the creatures inherent danger to society?
Rebeus Hagrid, known as simply Hagrid to his students, became a professor three years ago when his predecessor retired due to numerous injuries and loss of limbs. Since his appointment to the post, Hagrid has come under continuous watch by the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures,, which had investigated and convicted a Hippogriff which had attacked a student during his class. Additionally, Rebeus Hagrid had been fired from his post last year for displaying 'extreme incompetence and inability to fulfill his duty'. Instead of accepting the judgment, the half-giant attacked Hogwarts staff and fled from the school. He was later acquitted of the charges-
Harry threw the paper down, tired of reading Rita Skeeter's usual nonsense. He knew, though, that the 'nonsense' would be believed by nearly every witch and wizard in Britain, and that the Ministry will almost certainly be investigating the accusations. He looked over at Ron, who had a glum expression on his face.
Charms class went particularly fast that day, as Professor Flitwick finally let students summon magical creatures, which had some rather unique effects. When one of the Raven claws (whose name Harry later discovered to be Benjamin) summoned a Thestral, several people exchanged confused glances, as they were the ones who could not see it. Hermione gave Harry a sympathetic look.
After barely ten seconds, the Thestral disintegrated into smoke and vanished, and Flitwick asked Benjamin for his observations, and he noted that he could not see.
"That, class," Professor Flitwick explained. "is because Thestrals are blind. When the creature you summoned cannot see, neither can you. That is an important fact to keep in mind when choosing which creature to summon."
"But Thestrals have eyes," someone said.
"Yes they do," continued Professor Flitwick. "But they rely far more on their sense of smell. So much, in fact, that their sight has deteriorated into near-blindness. For all intents and purposes, however, Thestrals are completely sightless."
After class ended, Luna came up to them during lunch and eagerly asked if anyone in the class had summoned a Snockle-Lock. She had heard they had begun conjuring magical creatures in Charms class from Ron. Hermione had lightly replied that summoning a Snockle-Lock would be impossible, as you need to picture the summoned animal in your mind, and, as far as she knew, there were no pictures of Snockle-Locks.
"Well, maybe you haven't seen one," said Luna in her drifting voice. "But father and I have seen plenty during our trips to Asia. Perhaps next year…" She floated away from the Gryffindor table, Hermione watching her leave with incredulous eyes.
"She doesn't give up, does she?" said Hermione disbelievingly.
"Sort of like you and club S.P.E.W., right?" Harry said, grinning.
Hermione sent him a warning eye. "At least you didn't say spew." Harry laughed.
"P'ss te' 'olls, p'ease," said Ron without looking up from his plate. Hermione rolled her eyes tossed him a bun. "Gotta kee' my str'th up f'r t'h D.A."
"You should," Harry said. "You'll need it all for the Boggart."
"Bigert?" said Ron, jerking his head up and swallowing his food. "Where did you get one?"
"The Room of Requirement evidently produces them as well. Gates had me fighting mature Blast-Ended Skrewts last week."
Ron shuddered at the mention of Hagrid's former armor-plated pets. " What for?" he asked uneasily.
"We're going to do them again. We're all going to be afraid in a duel," Harry said. "We need to be able to master our fear."
"We're not going to be dueling ten foot spiders though," Ron argued, stricken at the prospect of encountering a manifestation of his worst phobia.
"It's the fear we're fighting not the boggart," Harry said, going back to his food. "It'll be tonight."
Ron put down his fork, no longer having an appetite. His eyes briefly met with Gates's gaze, and his body stiffened and froze. Breathing becoming labored, he moved to stand up but Harry quickly grabbed his hand. Ron almost did not notice.
"He's doing it again," said Harry flatly.
Ron snapped out of his trance. "It doesn't matter," he said bitingly. "Look, I'm fine, alright. So what if he goes into my head once in awhile? It's not hurting me."
"Occlumency-" Hermione began.
"No," said Ron with a tone of finality. "I have to-"
"-play Quidditch," Hermione finished for him. Ron glared and left.
"After tonight's meeting," Hermione said. "whether he likes it or not." Harry nodded, exasperated, seeing no other choice. Ron had to build up some resistance; Gates's influence over him was becoming absurd.
When the time for the D.A. meeting came around, Harry, Hermione, and Ron left the common room (followed closely by Gates) and began climbing to the seventh floor. They were passing the staff room when Harry heard two voices: Dumbledore and Snape.
"-Dark Lord could not have entered the school," Snape was saying, his voice neither silky nor sarcastic. It was clear that they were discussing Voldemort, from the tone their voices were taking.
Harry intentionally dropped his books so that he could continue listening. Hermione caught on instantly while Ron bent down to help him clean up. He did not dare turn around to see Gates's expression. Harry hoped that the Hit Wizard was far enough away that he could not overhear the voices, as he did not want Gates to stumble onto any information regarding the Order or the Prophecy.
"-wards are completely intact," Dumbledore sighed. Harry strained his ears. "They've detected nothing."
"Didn't the Centaurs claim that the Dark Lord himself crossed through the Forbidden Forest?" Snape insisted. The Potion master's voice was almost fearful.
"Calm yourself, Severus," Dumbledore said. "I have spoken with Bane myself. He claims that merely an entity with evil intent walked through the forest, not Voldemort himself." Harry could feel Snape shudder through the wall. "And the wards were not tampered with."
"And tell me, headmaster," said Snape. "What exactly do the wards do?"
"Any magical artifact that passes through the wards is detected and registered," Dumbledore replied. "You cannot bring so much as an enchanted pen into Hogwarts grounds without the wards detecting it and alerting me. Additionally, Hogwarts is protected by wards that were erected in the founder's time. Not even Voldemort can tamper with those. No wizard can come onto school grounds without my explicit permission."
"And the Fat Lady? Did you ask her if she saw anyone? Anyone who enters the tower must go through that portrait hole."
"Yes," Dumbledore said. "Of course I have. She says she remembers the entire night clearly, and that no one went through. I found no evidence of any memory charms."
"Then how did the Dark Lord jinx Potter's wand?" Snape hissed.
Harry leaned slightly closer to the wall, not even breathing for fear that he would miss Dumbledore's response.
"I don't have the faintest idea."
Harry finished gathering his books and they continued up to the Room of Requirement. He looked at Hermione, asking "Did you hear?", and she nodded meaningfully at him.
When they reached the seventh floor, they found Professor Whams engaged in a conversation with Barnabas the Barmy, who had evidently taken a break from being beaten by a troll. The troll, who Barnabas had supposedly been teaching ballet to, was off in the distance, scratching its head as it stared at its reflection in a mirror. Percy stood nearby, leaning against the wall, his expression and posture expressing weariness.
"-hardly believe that's necessary, Barnadous," said Whams cheerfully. "Did you really have to bring them all the way from Asia?"
"It's Barnabas, Henry," said the stooped, disheveled figure of Barnabas the Barmy. He glanced fearfully over his shoulder, as though expecting the troll to be there any moment. "And Asian trolls are far more mild-mannered. Though, I admit, it's rather refreshing to have a respite like this. The troll's resistance to learning is almost insurmountable." Harry was irresistibly reminded of Hagrid's attempts to civilize Grawp.
"Professor," Percy said pleadingly. "The second-years' exams have been sitting on your desk for nearly two weeks now." He looked down at his watch and shook his head. "If we start now, we might be able to finish them tonight."
Whams turned towards Percy with mingled shock and irritation on his face. "Perseus, don't be so rude. Don't you see I'm speaking with Barnadous-"
"-Barnabas-"
"-concerning his work with trolls? I've just stopped by!"
"It's been nearly an hour now," Percy said weakly.
"And it's rare for me to have a conversation with anyone outside the student body," Barnabas said a little defensively.
"Percy," Harry interjected. "We're going to use the Room of Requirement for an, err, meeting. Is that all right?" Ernie Macmillian and Hannah Abbot came down from the other end of the hall, and then stopped to eye Percy suspiciously.
Percy blinked. "Why wouldn't it be? Ah, and hello Ron," he said somewhat tentatively.
Ron returned a curt greeting and Harry paced back and forth near the wall, and, on the third passing, the familiar oak door appeared and they stepped through. Despite the thick, wood-paneled walls, they could still hear Whams's discussion on the other side, though the words were unclear. Gates automatically walked towards the far corner, covering himself in the shadow of a bookcase, the niche specially set aside by the room for the Hit Wizard's purposes.
As Harry had planned, there was a closet on the far side of the room, the doors of which shook violently from an enclosed Boggart as more of the D.A. filed into the room. A few members exchanged quizzical glances, not knowing what today's lesson was going to be about. When Terry Boot entered, Harry did a brief roll call and then stood up front, less than two meters away from the Boggart's closet. He cleared his throat and began.
"Right, so we're working with Boggarts today," said Harry to the disorganized group of Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, and Ravenclaws. A few surprised murmurings arose at this announcement. "I decided that we should start out with something easy before we move on to the bigger creatures. Besides, this will serve a dual purpose. Facing the Boggart is facing your fear, and, to win a duel, you're going to have to control your fear."
From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Gates stir in his niche, and began to feel his piercing eyes focus on his head. The closet doors shuddered from a particularly forceful kick from the Boggart within.
"So, any questions?" Harry ventured. He looked towards Ron, and saw that he was not at all eager to encounter a giant spider again.
Some of the D.A. glanced fleetingly at Gates, their expressions varying from intimidation to embarrassment. Harry gazed in Gates's direction and saw that the Hit Wizard was looking them over, one by one, like an officer inspecting his troops; everything inanimate. His eyes locked with Neville's, and, for a while, they stared unblinkingly at each other. Though Neville was putting up a good front, his legs were quivering from underneath him.
"Is something wrong?" Harry almost-snarled, his eyes fixed on Gates. The Hit Wizard broke eye contact with Neville and then turned to Harry, his mouth, barely upturned, being the only feature that betrayed any sort of emotion. It was amusement.
"Why does he have to be here?" Terry Boot asked, nodding his head towards Gates. "He's your bodyguard, isn't he? Send him away." There were various murmurs of agreement from the rest of the D.A. Neville sent Harry an understanding look, while Hermione appeared to be slightly unnerved by the question. From the silent glances people were exchanging, Harry guessed that the D.A. had been harboring a secret distrust concerning Gates's and Harry's association; which had been meticulously scrutinized ever since Rita Skeeter wrote an article saying that the Hit Wizard was his personal bodyguard. The difference between her column and the truth was, of course, that Harry had no choice in the matter.
Harry hesitated. He knew that Terry's question was going to come up sooner or later, but he had never managed to formulate an appropriate response.
No time like the present, Potter, Pseudo-Snape said.
"I don't have a choice," Harry admitted, not wanting to divulge the details to too many people. He knew he could trust the D.A., but he felt somewhat ashamed of his connection with Gates. His response, while evasive, seemed to satisfy most of the D.A. members. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Distantly, he heard Professor Whams speaking loudly with Barnabas about Ogres and Giants.
"So," Harry continued. "Everyone remembers the spell Riddickulus?" At their nods, he said, "Any volunteers?"
The room went quiet. No one seemed eager to face their worst fear, especially since it had likely matured and become more terrible since their third year. Harry severely doubted that he would see any mummies or zombies or other juvenile manifestations of fear.
"I'll go first, then, to refresh everyone's memory," Harry said, figuring that he should be the one to go first anyway. "Also," he added with sudden thought. "If any of you feel…excessively uncomfortable with facing the Boggart, don't step up." He looked meaningfully at Neville when he said this, knowing what fears lurked in the round-faced Gryffindor's mind. In order to counter the Boggart you had to laugh, and how could someone laugh off that sort of manifestation? Neville's face betrayed nothing.
Harry stepped up the closet's rattling doors, taking in a deep breath, apprehensive of the…thing he was going to meet on the other side. How could he make a Dementor less horrifying? Gates eyes were locked onto the closet, expectant and waiting.
I have to do this, Harry said to himself. How can I ask them to do something I can't?
He knew that once he opened the closet, he would hear his mother's screams and his father's shouts. The strong, groping cold would lash at him, and Voldemort's high-pitched laughter would cut through his brain. He worked to steady his breathing, preparing himself to incant the Riddickulus spell as soon as the Dementor manifested itself.
Harry found himself intently studying the woodwork. There were ancient runes carefully carved into the closet doors, almost like the kind marking the entrance to some sort of religious sanctuary or tomb. He could not make any of them out, and fleetingly thought that maybe Hermione would be able to interpret them. Realizing that he was only delaying the inevitable, he reached out and grabbed the handle. With a quick jerk, the closet door flew open and a towering, black Dementor drifted out, filling the room with its freezing presence.
Harry backed away, holding his wand in the air, trying desperately to think of the incantation but unable to recall the words. Invisible claws grabbed at his arms, constricting them. His chest became very tight, and his vision began to dim. There was no other sound except the faint gasping of the Dementor's breath, its decaying face only barely visible underneath its hood. The surrounding air and light seemed to bend towards its ebony shape, as though it was sucking in its surroundings like an insatiable maw. It extended its one, long arm, as if it was trying to touch Harry's shoulder, like an old friend would do. Harry saw the grotesque tips of its fingers and he stepped backwards, almost stumbling in his haste.
"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off-"
A voice cackled and echoed, a flash of green light blinding his eyes.
Harry gathered himself, shutting and opening his eyes rapidly as he tried to organize his bearings. The Dementor still hovered close to him, and, had it been a real Dementor, it would have surely kissed him by now. The Riddickulus spell surfaced in his mind, and he raised his wand to shout the incantation, but remembered he needed a vision to accompany it. How could he make a Dementor less threatening? His wand quavered and nearly fell to the ground, but Harry managed to tighten his grip. His mother screamed in his head, resonating in his skull.
The Dementor seemed to laugh, its rippling robes shuddering as though in bouts of strong humor, though Harry knew, in the recesses of his mind, that Dementors could not laugh. Harry, petrified, thought he saw its rotting mouth twisted into a grin.
Its flowing black robes fluttered above the ground as though pushed up by air, and Harry stared at them for a moment, entranced. Everything was taking on a darkish hue; even the walls, which were formerly shining with polished oak panels. The lights dimmed even further, and Harry sensed his vision failing. His mind raced with ways to make the Dementor appear silly, but his thoughts were clouded by piercing, feminine screams. He wanted to shout out to silence the voice, but he found that he could not.
Suddenly, an idea presented itself. Picturing the Dementor's robes turning into the frilly, red dress robes that Ron wore his fourth year to the Yule Ball, Harry bellowed "Riddickulus" and forced himself to laugh weakly. The laughs were in sharp contrast to the cries and pleas that echoed throughout his head.
Instantly, the Dementor's robes went from black to hot pink, and its edges were fringed with Victorian lace. Though it did not look exactly like Ron's old dress robes, it was close enough. Harry managed to laugh again, this time more earnestly. The Dementor's freezing spell vanished, and the light returned with an even greater power and a warmth spread throughout Harry's body. The Dementor wavered in the air, confused.
"Next…someone, next," Harry managed, stepping away and leaning against the wall. The physical effort involved was exhausting, and his heart pumped wildly, the tightness in his chest loosening and then disappearing. Hermione laid a comforting arm on his shoulder.
"Here's some chocolate," Hermione said soothingly. Harry took it gratefully, biting into it and letting it course through his body. He could only assume that Hermione had foreseen this scenario and had come prepared.
"Thanks," Harry said at length. His reactions to Boggarts were becoming worse, not better. Was his connection with Voldemort making the experience more terrible?
Surprisingly, Ron was the next one to face the Boggart. He evidently wanted to have it done and over with as soon as possible. He timidly approached the Dementor, clearly regretting every step, and, when he was fully separated from the group, raised his wand, but then paused. The shape the Dementor took was more bizarre than anything Harry had ever witnessed.
Bewildered, Pseudo-Snape asked: Potter what the hell are we looking at?
It seemed that the Boggart was trying to become a giant spider and Gates at the same time, as though trying to satisfy two fears at once. From the head to the torso was the sneering, crimson-robed body of Alexander Gates, his wand raised in a manner that inspired mortal fear. Below his waist, however, were eight long, spindly tarantula legs that bristled with stiff hairs. It was a dual transformation. However, there could not be a dual transformation without the Dementor being confused by two peoples' individual fears, and Ron was the only one standing there. Unless…
"Oh my God," Hermione murmured, reaching the same conclusion as Harry. Was it possible that the brain that had possessed Ron's mind in the Department of Mysteries confused the Boggart so that it had shown two fears in one transformation?
"The brain-" Harry began. Hermione immediately caught his meaning and nodded, verifying his suspicions. The half with the spider's legs had been a display of Ron's worst fear, while the half presenting Gates had been the brain's worst fear. What had the brain, or personality, experienced in its lifetime to warrant its fear of the Hit Wizard? "I thought Ron's…problem…was supposed to get better instead of worse? Didn't the Healers say it gets better over time?"
Ron stood there, dumbfounded, more confused than frightened. He gave them a quizzical look and then said "Riddickulus", almost lazily, and then gave a weak laugh. The spider's legs got tied in a knot and the Gates-half of the Boggart tripped fell onto its face. Ron stared at the struggling Boggart as if to say: "That's it?"
The real Gates was just as bewildered. Then, slowly, the same conclusion that Hermione and Harry attained dawned on him. A shadow crossed his face.
Ron retreated back into the crowd, and Luna Lovegood confidently emerged from the back.
When she stood before the Boggart, it instantly turned into a massive issue of the Daily Prophet. As a headline, it said "Tabloid The Quibbler Goes Bankrupt", followed by a lengthy article examining the reasons behind the shut down of the paper. One paragraph, Harry noted, said that the magazine had never been the same ever since the original founder, Elizabeth Lovegood, died due to an experiment that combined magic with muggle electricity.
Luna, after apparently reading the column, smiled faintly and waved her wand and murmured "Riddickulus" under her breath, though her eyes seemed slightly less protuberant and more withdrawn. A moment later, the ink on the newspaper began to run and soon the text was illegible. Serenely, Luna turned joined Ron nearby.
Next, Neville stepped up, a look of determination written on his face. He held his wand tightly by hid side, and approached the Boggart in five apprehensive strides. He licked his lips, and then steadied himself for what he knew was coming.
The Boggart wasted no time in transforming into, as Harry had foreseen, Frank and Alice Longbottom. Both lay motionless on the floor, side by side, their eyes wide and facing the ceiling, their expressions showing only terror. Besides him, Hermione stifled a sob.
The room went deathly quiet. The D.A. was watching Neville, pitying him, the situation the epitome of sadness. Despite the fact that Frank and Alice had been tortured to madness, and, for all purposes, dead to the world, Neville's worst fear was losing them. Harry felt like he was witnessing some sort of religious rite or ceremony. He had the strong urge to leave, as if his presence had somehow defiled the moment.
Neville raised his wand, his mouth inaudibly shaping the word but producing no sound. His new wand, the one he had received from his grandmother, drooped downwards slightly, as though holding it had become too physically taxing. Neville's brow was wet with perspiration, and he lowered his wand even more. Finally, he dropped it to his side, and it became apparent that he was lost, and had completely forgotten that he was in the Room of Requirement and that he was facing a Boggart.
Harry could almost guess what was running through Neville's mind. How could Neville attempt to make his parents' deaths any less horrifying? Would not laughing to destroy the Boggart be an insult to their deaths? Harry decided that Neville was facing a manifestation far worse than any Dementor.
Harry, deciding that enough was enough, stood up to intervene.
"Come now, Neville," Gates said smoothly. Harry felt his hands tighten into fists. "I already told you, they're vegetables. Why, death would even be a step up for them. Surely you can take care of a Boggart without Potter having to come to the rescue."
Neville appeared not to have heard him. His eyes were still locked onto his parents' bodies.
"But we're all just children here, Mr. Gates," said Luna, her ethereal voice drifting up from the cluster of D.A. members. She eased her way to the front and stood before them. Gates's head snapped to her direction, his expression turned scornful.
"Perhaps," Luna continued. "you could teach us how to deal with a Boggart. Why, you are the illustrious Debauched-Savior."
Gates sneered defensively. "I have little I need to prove."
"Oh, but you do," Luna said matter-of-factly. "From what I've heard, you almost failed with your duty twice."
Gates glowered. "I have failed at nothing," he snarled dangerously.
"Then could you explain why you are afraid to face the Boggart?" she said sweetly. "I didn't know the Gates family line carried cowards."
That did it. Gates bristled and his body became rigid. "Longbottom," Gates ordered. "Step away."
Neville snapped out of his trance and, as if just realizing where he was, stepped backwards four paces. Gates stepped forward, holding his wand stiffly at his side, his face stony and cold.
Harry watched him advance upon the Boggart, and he felt Hermione gripping his arm. He made no attempt to remove it though he was intensely aware of it.
Gates took a solid step forward, sneering arrogantly.
Now what does that bastard fear? asked Pseudo-Snape rhetorically.
The Boggart, noticing his presence, gathered itself up and turned into a woman. Shocked, Gates staggered backwards, his black eyes wide in an expression of terror, his wand now loose by his side. Whatever the Hit Wizard was expecting, it was obvious that he did not expect this. His teeth were clenched so tightly together that Harry thought he was going to break his jaw.
The woman was turned away, staring directly at the Hit Wizard, her face visible to no one except Gates. Long, straight black hair fell down her shoulders and back, not styled in any way. She wore a regal ebony dress, designed more for comfort than appearances, that trailed on the floor, almost like a feminine form of a Dementor's robe. She watched Gates for another minute before pointing an accusing finger at him, and she spoke soft, inaudible words. Harry never thought he would see it, but the Hit Wizard was petrified.
Like Neville, Gates seemed to have forgotten that he was facing a Boggart, and not an actual person. He began speaking in low assuring tones, his face very pale and his eyes desperate for something. His hands were trembling and his back was slightly arched forward, as though he was trying to persuade her and ward off allegations. Like a defendant pleading before a judge. She shook her head and Gates's brow furrowed.
Harry tried to move to get a better look at the woman's face, but found that his feet were frozen to where he stood. The exchange was having a profound effect on the rest of the room. Nobody was moving. They all stared at Gates and the woman, enraptured in what they were seeing.
Gates's pleading became more intense. It was like he was begging for his life. The fear in his eyes was evident now and he drew his wand up to his chest, not in a threatening gesture, but as a sort of defense. He was clutching it as if it was going to shatter into splinters at any moment.
Harry managed to catch the woman's voice. Though he could not make out the words, her tone was soft and soothing, like someone speaking to a small child. Gates, however, took each one as if they were nails into his coffin. He extended his hand and she backed away yet again, possibly offended by it. The Hit Wizard was quivering yet he continued in a faster, more hushed voice. He was completely oblivious to his surroundings.
She held an aristocratic aura about her, and made small, barely noticeable movements; a step there, another step here, but never being more than a full pace away from her original spot, almost like a little dance, with her face never visible to anyone besides Gates. She carried herself with a patrician air when she moved, never clumsy, but impeccably graceful. The Hit Wizard seemed to have run out of words, as he stood there, his mouth opening and closing, a myriad of emotions passing over his face. Harry had never seen him quite so…human.
His wand fell and clattered to the ground, and he looked helplessly at her. She rose up, the aristocrat aura turning into a menacing one, and raised her hand, and then brought it slashing down through empty air. Gates watched her, his face blank.
As though entering a dream, Luna walked forward and approached the woman, her eyes sad. When she looked into the woman's face, she nodded understandingly and then gazed fleetingly at Gates, who appeared stricken. Luna tentatively placed her hand onto the woman's shoulder, and the woman instantly transformed into an edition of the Daily Prophet. With another Riddickulus spell, the Boggart cracked and vanished completely.
Gates showed no reaction. His glazed, dead eyes remained fixed on the place where the Boggart was, possibly expecting the woman to come back. When it became clear that she was no longer there, Gates bent down, picked up his wand, and studied it silently.
Luna waited there for a moment, watching him sympathetically, and then said, "I think you should be alone for awhile Mr. Gates."
Gates's head jerked up, as though he had just remembered that he was in a room full of people. Pocketing his wand, he grunted something and swept out of the door and into the corridor, where Professor Whams was still engaged in a lively conversation with Barnabas. He might have died, just then.
The monster has a weakness, then, said Pseudo-Snape.
"Hermione," Harry said, looking down at where Hermione still gripped his arm. It was cutting off the circulation.
Hermione looked distant. "Hmmm?"
"If I could detach my arm and give it to you, I would," Harry said, grinning.
"Oh!" she said, and let go, embarrassed.
Since Luna destroyed the Boggart, the D.A. began to practice various hexes and curses to train for the upcoming Dueling Tournament. Neville had recovered from his encounter with the Boggart, and was now performing excellently again. He would certainly win the first few matches of the tournament, anyway.
At then end of the meeting, Harry motioned Ron to stay behind and discretely nodded at Hermione, who instantly took the hint and proceeded to stand near the door. Once the last of the D.A. left, she locked it with Colloportus.
Ron saw this and rounded on Harry. "What's this about?"
"Ron," Harry said with a touch of exasperation. "You need some Occlumency training."
Ron's eyes flashed. "I already said that-"
"We can't wait until Quidditch season is over Ron," Hermione interjected. "You can't let Gates walk all over you like he does."
"What?" retorted Ron. "I'm fine, really. It's not like he's doing anything. Whenever I break eye contact the feeling goes away. It-doesn't-matter."
"The reason I was tired after Occlumency lessons had more to do with Snape than the session itself," Harry continued. "I won't be piercing your mind like a knife. I'll take it easy and you will probably be able to sleep it off."
"Have you ever done this before?"
"No," Harry admitted. "But we've got to try something, and I think it's safe to say that Snape won't help."
Ron seemed to be running out of arguments.
"What's the real reason you don't want to Ron," Hermione said calmly, taking a step towards him. "This isn't about Quidditch, is it?"
"No," he said in a voice just barely above a whisper.
"Then what is it?"
"I've-" Ron stammered, as though unable to form words. He turned away from them. "Well, what if-" He kicked the floor with his foot. "What if you see some of the memories of how I am in my…fits? I don't-" He abruptly stopped, his eyes lowered to the floor.
"Ron," Harry began, seeing his friend's plight. He actually felt the same thing. What if Hermione and Ron had seen him attempt the Cruciatus Curse? "We're not going-"
"You don't know that!" said Ron snappishly. "I hate everything so much when I am…him…and if he had control he would kill anyone in the room just for the fun of it! I can feel his anger." His voice trembled as he spoke, his eyes begging them to understand. "He's sick," Ron continued, dropping his voice. "Disgusting."
"Then maybe Occlumency would help with that too," Harry said. "I mean, that's what Occlumency is, right? Blocking your emotions and controlling your mind."
Ron glared then nodded, defeated. His shoulders sagged and he exhaled a long held breath. "Right, so, when do we start?"
"Now," Harry stated. "Are you ready?"
"No, but let's begin anyway."
"Eye contact is required for this," Harry said, hoping to give Ron some help. "So, if possible, don't make eye contact with Gates in the first place. The secret to Occlumency is to become absolutely emotionless. Concentrate on a rock if you have to, or focus on memories that have no emotional value. That's how I practiced in the beginning. When you become good you will be able to do this without even thinking about it."
Ron looked up and met Harry's gaze. Trying to remember Snape's wand movements, Harry stared back at him. He had never performed Legilimency before, but from what he read, it sort of like Occlumency in reverse. The tension in the room grew, and Harry aimed his wand directly at Ron's eyes, as Snape had done to him. He muttered, "Legilimens!"
The room fell away and everything suddenly went black. Ron's mind unraveled before him like a roll of film, snapshot images flashing and vanishing like sparks, and it dawned on him that he was seeing into Ron's memory. Harry saw himself sitting in the compartment with Ron; their first train ride to Hogwarts. Several indecipherable pictures flew by, and Harry could not interpret any of them. A few were merely smears of light as though someone had badly smudged a freshly painted portrait.
The memories went deeper and became more personal. He felt a surge of jealousy (Ron's jealousy) as he saw Hermione with Krum, standing across the great hall in the Yule Ball. The images became slower and more distinct. Ron had just learned that Scabbers was gone, the blood on his bed indicating that Crookshanks had devoured him. Suddenly, Harry felt himself being pushed back. Ron was resisting.
It was incredible how clear Harry could feel every one of Ron's emotions. As he became further entrenched into the mind, he was better able to focus on certain memories and images, and then move on when they revealed something far too personal. It was strangely like changing channels on a television. Vaguely, it disturbed Harry that anyone could have such insight into another's mind. With the amount of times Snape had probed into Harry's, he likely gained intimate knowledge of his mind. Far more knowledge than what Harry was comfortable with him having.
Then, Harry found a weak point and he pried it open and dived in, now sensing that Ron's front was buckling. An image emerged and played itself out like a video.
Ron and Hermione were staring daggers at each other, obviously furious about something. Though Harry could not make out the words, he could clearly see that Ron had said something that had put Hermione on the defensive. Her arms were crossed and he could feel Ron's pain and hurt. The image was fading fast, and Harry could not make out the words, but Ron was experiencing rejection. Before Harry could analyze the scene further, it dimmed into blackness and joined a swirling whirlpool of faces and colors and locations.
Another scene presented itself, though it was much different than any of the previous images. It sucked Harry in, as though it was demanding his attention, and engulfed his senses in a flurry of light, sound and emotion. At that moment, Harry literally felt like he was standing in a dungeon of a dark, abandoned tower. No other memories or scenes were interfering with this one, giving it unprecedented clarity. Shackles hung on the stone walls. Nearby, water dripped onto mossy stone. Feeling slightly apprehensive, Harry studied the surrounding room, and saw a dark-robed man with shocking green eyes staring at him from deep, sunken sockets. His face was pallid and peeling, as though he had been dead and decaying before coming to life again. What was this room doing in Ron's mind?
"You're Potter," the man said, taking two steps forward. Harry's heart froze. How could a memory speak to him? Something is not right. He tried to pull away, but found that he could not.
"What?" Harry tried to mouth the words, but, as he was merely an invisible spectator, he was not sure whether he made any sound.
The man's jade eyes flickered with excitement. Despite himself, Harry found himself staring at a pile of crumbling rock in the corner of the room, the edges jagged and rough as though they were merely smaller pieces from a larger rock that had recently been shattered. The figure turned to where Harry was staring, and, with surreal power, the rocks split and broke and disintegrated into piles of dust on the floor. It was not normal magic that he was seeing, Harry knew, but the figure had somehow sped up time in that specific area of the room, forcing thousands of years to take place in only a few seconds, pulverizing the ancient stone into fine sand.
"This is my niche, my memory," rasped the figure. "I can do whatever I wish." The man's eyes locked back onto Harry and the decaying face split into a grin. "I've been looking forward to meeting you. I knew I would, eventually. Those few seconds in the tavern don't really count, I think."
Harry hovered there, paralyzed, feeling the figure search him with his eyes. He was horrified to realize that the man, whoever he was, was actually going back into Harry's mind and reading his memories.
"Alexander Gates," the figure murmured, and sounded almost afraid. "An old friend. Well, he certainly complicated things. I will deal with him later. But first…"
"Who are you?" Harry managed. He found it excessively difficult to form words.
The figure jerked his head towards him. "You aren't easily controlled, are you? Well, no matter. You've opened the lock, now all I need is to go through the door." He raised his hand stiffly, his fingers outstretched, and bellowed: "Out!"
Harry felt himself being thrown away, the images flashing away at lightning speed. Wanting to end the Occlumency instantly, he pulled away and opened his eyes. He found that he was now in the Room of Requirement again, and Ron was now doubled over, clutching his stomach as though someone had impaled him with a spear.
"Ron?" Harry gasped, his breathing ragged. "How long was I in there?"
"Not more than ten seconds," Hermione said quickly. "What happened? He started muttering something and - Oh my God!"
Ron was now standing up, wielding his wand in his right hand with a newer, more confident way. His eyes clouded over with dark mist which served as a frame for two snake-like slits of green. Harry instinctively stepped in front of Hermione and drew his own wand. A high, wicked laugh erupted from Ron's throat.
The walls in the room began to bend and warp into stone, as though trying to accommodate a new power. The bookcase transformed into a rack, and chains and leg irons thrust themselves out from the walls. Staggering amounts of energy surged through the air, and it seemed that it was making the room's enchantments go haywire. It was slowly forcing itself to take the shape of a dungeon; the same one that Harry had seen in Ron's head. The ceiling lowered and created organic tendrils and veils that hung down like wet rags. Old runes carved themselves into crude wooden tables. Unless Harry was greatly mistaken, it was turning into a Necromancy chamber.
"Get out of here Hermione," ordered Harry. "Unlock the door and get help. Now!"
"That won't be necessary," said Ron in a raspy, painfully loud voice. His words echoed off of the bare stone walls and drilled into Harry's brain. "Give me your wand, Harry Potter."
Ron reached out and grabbed Harry's wrist, trying to pry the wand out from his fingers. When his own hands touched Harry's skinned, he screamed and recoiled, clutching his hand as though it seared with pain. Harry suddenly remembered the ring that he kept in his pocket.
Ron's eyes turned an even more violent shade of green. "I will not-"
Just then, someone shouted "Reducto!" and the now-iron door to the Room of Requirement burst into fragments, and Gates and Whams leapt through, both wands drawn. Despite the serious situation, Harry could not help but think: Hasn't Gates ever heard of Alohomora?
"He's in a fit," snapped Gates, extending his wand. Ron jumped sideways, putting Harry and Hermione between himself and the Hit Wizard's wand. "Move to the side, Whams!"
Whams, his face tightened with an expression of unusual concentration, cautiously sidestepped, his wand never leaving Ron's head. Harry grabbed Hermione's arm and pulled her away to the side of the room. Ron made no move to stop them.
"Ron," Hermione said in a quaking voice. "Are you there?" Harry readied his wand, preparing himself to conjure a deflecting charm in an instant's notice.
Ron's vibrant eyes flashed in Hermione's direction and he looked ready to fire a curse. "Shut up, you silly child," His eyes rested on hers for a moment, as though seeing her for the first time. "It's a mudblood." He said scornfully, sneering and raising his wand. "I am much, much more than Ronald Weasley."
Whams and Gates slowly advanced upon him, trying to come within range to fire a mind possession curse. Ron, however, backed away, holding his wand in front of him like a ward.
"I can kill you with a word," he snarled, then jerked his wand downwards while muttering an incantation. Nothing happened.
"Still not have enough control for a Killing Curse?" Gates spat, eyes flashing. The diamond necklace sparkled with a new light, radiating its power like heat. Old excitement flared up into his pupils, the lust for the duel hijacking his mind and rationale, passionate fervor coursing through his veins.
"Oh, no I don't in fact," Ron rasped and Harry saw his face contort into an expression of vast amusement, his luminous green eyes with the cloudy obsidian background highlighting his features. "But then again, we didn't need a Killing Curse to destroy your parents, did we? I always like Katashi's way best." His grin broadened mockingly, as though relishing the moment. The fathomless green eyes threatened to suck them in.
Gates's face hardened and Harry never saw such intense hate in anyone's eyes. "So that's who you are, Dren? Mentis Dolor!" he said, spitting the curse with absolute venom.
White light slammed into Ron's forehead, sending him reeling to the ground, wand thrown aside. Struggling on the ground with successive convulsions, Ron gasped for air, as though his lungs were perpetually empty and could never be filled. After a long moment, he grew still and his eyes closed. The fit passed, and Harry breathed again.
Gates strode up to Ron's motionless form, unbridled fury fuming off of him. For a long minute, the Hit Wizard stood over the body, his wand clutched so tightly that Harry was sure that it was going to snap if he did not release it. Whams ran over, almost dropping his wand in his haste, and bent down to Ron's side and pulled open his eyelids. They were clear. He studied Ron's form and then straightened again. He nodded to Gates, who did not reciprocate any sort of response, and then picked him up.
Harry turned and saw Percy in the doorway, his face stark white.
The hospital wing was spotless. Sanitized. Harry had never been able to fully appreciate the cleanliness as he was usually the one unconscious on one of the infirmary's beds. This time, however, Ron was the one who was injured, and Harry was now experiencing the same painful waiting that his friends had also undoubtedly suffered.
Hermione's head was buried in his chest, and he gently smoothed her hair as he gazed at Ron's face. He did not appear to be in any sort of pain or discomfort, and actually looked rather placid; his facial complexion even and colored, the freckles no longer starkly pale. Percy sat across from them, hair ruffled and unkept. He had been taking his youngest brother's injury the worst. Harry fleetingly wondered how Professor Whams was getting along without him.
"I thought it was supposed to get better, not worse?" Hermione murmured, referring to Ron's fits. She had not spoken for so long that Harry was startled to hear her voice.
"I thought it was too," Harry said quietly. "Could the Healers have been wrong?"
Hermione shook her head. "What if- What if Gates's probing into Ron's mind had made his brain more susceptible to outside influences; like the personality the brain had imprinted onto his mind," She bit her lower lip. "So now his own mind is succumbing to the outside personality?" It was both a statement and a question, and Harry could not respond to it.
Ron stirred in his bed.
"Madam Pomfrey!" Percy called out instantly. "Ron's waking!" Hermione pulled her head away and watched.
The nurse hurried over, carrying two vials of potions in her hands. Bending over Ron, she searched his eyes and then busily shifted his head and uncorked one of the vials. Slowly, she fed it into his mouth. Ron sputtered but then was silent.
"He's showing good progress, very good," Madam Pomfrey said to a worried Percy. "He should be fully awake in an hour. He's recovering quite rapidly." She once again shifted Ron's head. "Using an Edward Skinner on a sixteen year old boy. What's the world coming to?" she muttered under her breath.
"His recovery is that fast, Madam?" said Gates from across the room. Harry had nearly forgotten about the Hit Wizard's presence. When she nodded he continued, "Almost like he's…building up a resistance the curse, wouldn't you say?"
Madam Pomfrey glared at him, thoroughly despising Gates's presence in the infirmary. "That is possible, but that would require repeated encounters with the curse, which is unlikely for a boy this young."
Just then, the hospital wing doors flew open and Professor Whams swept in, his silk purple robes gleaming in the bright light. His thick and heavy spectacles bouncing on the bridge of his nose as he walked, wearing a cheerful smile that faded when he saw Ron.
"Poor boy," Whams said, sounding genuine.
"Is there something you need, professor?"
Whams's tone did not change. "You are dismissed from your duties for today and tomorrow, or until your brother wakes up. I believe I can manage my classes by myself for a little while," he said with a weak smile.
"Remember to follow the schedule I gave you," Percy said without looking up. "And follow the floor plan, as well. I traced the hallways that you need to take to get to each of your classes and to the great hall. I made several copies of your daily lessons, which should be sitting on your desk. And remember to give back the homework that's been sitting in your top left drawer for the past five weeks."
Whams nodded, though it was apparent that he did not have the faintest idea of what Percy was talking about.
"You," Ron muttered accusingly, opening his eyes and pointing a finger at Whams.
Whams looked more perplexed than usual. "Please?"
"Get away," Ron murmured, eyes squinting and dazed. Then, in a louder voice, "I KNOW YOU. DUMBLEDORE TOLD ME-" His voice faltered, and then his head fell back into his pillow, where he fell back to sleep.
"Perhaps I should come back later," Whams said. With a short bow, he turned and left.
"This brings back memories from last year," Hermione said softly. "When Ron was recovering from that brain attack, and from this summer, after Diagon Alley."
"He'll be all right," Harry assured her. Her back was tense and began rubbing it. "He'll get better," A thought hit him. "How do we know that he won't still be possessed when he wakes up? I mean, we can't be sure, can we?"
Gates looked at him as if he was the world's biggest idiot. "The mind possession curse rarely fails, but as a precaution, I have checked the map. It shows the name of the conscious, not the entity," His eyes flitted down to a slight bulge in his pocket. The Marauder's Map. "If the Weasley was still possessed, his name would not show up on the map. Rather, Dren's would." he added, his voice tapering off.
Harry remembered that Gates had called Ron 'Dren' back in the Room of Requirement. He heard the name before then, he was sure of it, but where?
Then, it hit him.
Dren was one of the wizards that killed Gates's parents. Corlov Dren. Dumbledore had told him their names during their discussion. How would Dren have ended up as a brain in the Department of Mysteries?
Dren was the only one Gates killed. He sent it to the ministry to gain a position as an Auror. The ministry must have…kept his body and had given it to the Unspeakables, where they…
The rest was too disgusting to comprehend. What would the ministry need with dead dark wizards? More importantly, what is Gates going to do now that he knows that one of his worst enemies is living inside Ron's body. Harry remembered the hate Gates had in his eyes when he spat the Edward Skinner Curse.
Looking over to where the Hit Wizard now stood, Harry saw that his face was carefully blank, as though he was fighting an inner battle with himself. On one hand, attacking Ron would be attacking, in his mind, a weak, underage boy, which goes against his strict code of honor. However, Corlov Dren was in Ron's mind! Harry could only begin to imagine the two thoughts warring against each other.
Madam Pomfrey bustled over again with ice and a bottle. "Sometimes muggle remedies work better than wizarding ones," she explained, and then placed the ice underneath Ron's head. "He's improving."
But Harry was not listening. His emerald eyes were focused on Gates's glittering black ones.
(A/N: I think this chapter turned out rather well; loads of information stringed throughout it.
I know this is going to be a FAQ so I'll answer it now: if Dumblebore knows everyone coming in
and out
of the castle, doesn't that mean he would have known about Sirius, Pettigrew, and (possibly) Tom Riddle in
various books?
Answer: No, he wouldn't of. The wards detect magical artifacts, not people. Sirius and Pettigrew weren't carrying wands, so they wouldn't be detected. (And neither would Crouch, for that matter) Tom Riddle in the book would be detected, but it's merely registered as a magical artifact being carried on the train to Hogwarts; nothing unusual. In other words, whoever came through wasn't carrying any wards, books, mirrors, or whatever.
Next Chapter: A rather amusing prank leaves Snape angrier than he had ever been in his life; and leads him to do something that he has been promising to do ever since GoF, with some interesting results.)