Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists
Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.
AN: This story is AU after OOTP.
What You See Is What You Get
The last resounding echoes of the mysterious scream had not yet faded away before Ron, Luna, and Ginny were all moving toward the source of the noise, their faces determined, but set.
"If I get myself killed because of that ruddy git…" Ron muttered, not finishing his threat, but leaving his implication clear.
"He's in no danger," Luna said calmly. "He just saw something that he did not wish to see." They descended the staircase, and rounded the corner into the large room in which they took their meals, their footfalls echoing loudly on the marble floor.
Ron stopped abruptly. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting to see - Malfoy curled up in the fetal position, sobbing, maybe, with something seven feet tall and really freaky-looking looming over him - but it wasn't Malfoy standing at the large window, with his back to them, hands casually in his pockets. Ginny did notice that while the arms were slack and relaxed, the hands hidden in his pockets were knotted into fists.
Malfoy's suddenly more alert stance made Ron fully aware that the other boy knew of their presence, but the Slytherin did not turn.
"You all right, Malfoy?" Ginny finally ventured, her voice sounding high and hollow, as it carried across the cavernous room.
"What do you care?" Malfoy said rudely, his voice somehow less strident than it usually appeared.
"Look, you sodding git," Ron exclaimed, finding his tongue, "she was just asking, because we heard you screaming your head off like a bloody girl. We just wanted to make sure you weren't dead." Ron's tone made it clear that he had been sorely disappointed in this matter.
"What did you see, Draco?" Luna said, in that dark, elegant voice. The sourceless wind wound around the Hall, ruffling everyone's hair. Malfoy turned then, wheeling furiously, as if he would attack Luna, but he reined his emotions under iron-tight control. Ron squinted at him, curiously. From this angle, it looked almost like - like Draco Malfoy had been crying. Not bloody likely! Ron thought, shaking his head with disbelief.
"Does the - that thing - foretell the future?" Malfoy asked, not answering Luna's question, as he tried to sound as apathetic and disdainful as he usually did.
"Sometimes," Luna said cryptically. "At other times, it shows that which is possible, or that which is most desired, or…."
"Okay, I follow your general idea," Malfoy said sarcastically. "We have no bloody way of knowing what it shows." Luna leveled him with an icy gaze that would have sent Ron fleeing for his room, quaking in his trainers. "It could be a bloody hallucination."
"Yes, a blot of mustard or a crumb of cheese," Luna replied with unbelievable equanimity. Everyone else in the room stared at her with undisguised bemusement. "Perhaps I could enlighten you," she continued, "if you would tell me what you saw." Malfoy looked at her dubiously, and sighed, his gaze seeming to ask what he really had to lose at this point.
"I saw my mother," he said, with a quick look at Ron, as if daring him to laugh. "She was - someone was hurting her." A strange kind of spasm passed over his face. "She was being… ripped apart." His voice was strangled, as his throat closed over the hideous phrase.
Ron was looking at him with a sort of disgusted fascination. Ginny's face was that of begrudging sympathy, and Luna's face was a mask, completely unreadable.
"Where was she?"
"At Malfoy Manor."
"Who was hurting her?"
"My father." At this bald admission, Ginny gasped audibly, and Malfoy was refusing to meet any of their gazes.
"Why?"
"How the hell should I know?" Draco burst out angrily. Luna merely blinked at him placidly, keeping her eyes fixed on him. Ron watched this battle of wills with undisguised amazement.
"You do know…don't you?" the blond girl insisted serenely. Malfoy moved so quickly that Ron was forced to lunge between the boy and Luna. Even as Ron arrived at his destination, though, Malfoy had checked his movement, and was standing once again at the window, staring out at nothing, apparently.
"He was doing it because he told him too," Malfoy finally said, in a weary voice that sounded a thousand years old. There was no need for him to elaborate about the antecedents to his pronouns. They all knew who he was talking about. "My family has always been loyal to the Dark Lord, always," he said.
Yeah, except when your sniveling cowardly hides were in danger, Ron thought derisively. Malfoy turned and met his gaze with such a quelling stare that Ron worried suddenly that the Slytherin had read his mind.
"We know how to protect our interests," he said stiffly. "But as soon as he'd returned, my father was at his side! It got him arrested!"
"We already know where your lousy father was the night Cedric died, and the night Sirius died," Ron sneered.
Malfoy's eyes were wide and glazed, as if he were still seeing the vision from the Oracle, and he spoke as if he had not heard Ron's rejoinder at all.
"If this is how he rewards loyalty, faithfulness, and aid, then…" his voice trailed off, and became so low that Ginny was not sure that he'd intended to speak aloud at all. "Then what's it all for?"
The two Weasleys stared at him, unsure how to respond to that comment. Luna hummed a tuneless song, and picked at a loose thread on her sweater sleeve.
"You've a choice, Draco," the nymph-like girl spoke suddenly, her eyes focused on the wayward strand of yarn. "You can change that vision, keep it from happening," she looked at him then, and her wide blue eyes were intent, seeming to produce a light of their own.
"And just how I am supposed to do that?" Draco inquired, trying to scoff, but not quite succeeding.
"The path on which you now walk leads you to that end," she said, and drifted from the room still humming.
"Well, there you have it, Malfoy. Clear as crystal," Ron said cheekily, an irrepressible impish part of him still rather enjoying Malfoy's discomfiture.
"Go to hell, Weasley!" Malfoy snarled, before striding angrily from the room as well, his hands still buried deeply in his pockets. Ginny's eyes followed him, before returning uncertainly to her brother.
"Maybe I should go talk to him," she ventured, rocking on the balls of her feet.
"Why would you want to do that?" Ron was incredulous. "He'll just insult you, me, our family, wonder why in the hell you'd want to help him, and assume that you've got something to gain by it." He sniffed disdainfully. "Just because that's the way he operates."
"Look, Ron, he's obviously upset. He's apparently seen something terrible. Why shouldn't I go try to make him feel better?" Ginny asked, sounding for the moment more plaintive, than angry.
"Because he's - he's - he's Malfoy!" Ron spluttered, swinging his hands wide as if it were patently obvious. "He's practically not even human. And you just heard him admit to backing Voldemort."
"I heard him admit that his father backs Voldemort," Ginny answered, a little more stridently.
"Great Merlin's Ghost!" Ron swore. "You're not going to start being nice to him too? Where is Harry when you need him?"
"He is a complete and utter git," Ginny admitted. "That's never been up for debate. But he's stuck here, just like we all are, and he probably just wants to go home, and he just saw - just saw his mum…" she trailed off.
"He says he just saw his mum," Ron muttered. "How do we - "
"I'm going now!" Ginny sing-songed, in an "I'm not listening" tone. She walked purposefully from the room in search of Malfoy. Merlin, that's weird, Ron thought, as the click of his sister's shoes died away.
Only then did he realize that he was standing alone in the middle of this enormous room, where Malfoy had been screaming bloody murder only a few moments ago. He cleared his throat somewhat nervously, and tried to nonchalantly stroll for the door. He had covered about half the distance to the entrance, when there was a sudden noise like rushing wind or water and a blinding purple light.
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Hermione walked toward the pulsating crystal slowly, as if transfixed. She reached out her hand, fingers extended, but stopped before actually touching it. She was actually able to feel the power that emanated from it.
"You know of the Claviomnis then?" Gryffindor asked, from where he leaned against the doorjamb. Hermione nodded, uncertain about saying anything further, and definitely not wanting to say anything about the disappearance of the artifact. "It is a highly powerful magical object, rumored to have been made by Merlin himself." He said this with a distinct air of pride, and Harry suddenly remembered their mutual supposed descent from King Arthur.
"What does it do, my lord?" Hermione asked, and Harry could see her neck muscles quiver as she swallowed hard, trying to sound casual.
"There are many rumors…" Gryffindor smiled. "I confess there have not been a large number of incidents wherein it has been used. In fact, there have been none at all, in recent memory…save one."
"Why?" Hermione asked.
"The stone is so powerful that only the very powerful can control it. To safeguard against its misuse by one of evil intent, Merlin placed within it the constraint that four of pure bloodlines must use it with harmony of purpose. This would also prevent a Mûr-gahl from being able to wield it unknowingly."
Harry could feel the thoughts in Hermione's mind flow past him at a dizzying speed. Her eyes were narrowed, as she thought furiously.
"You've already built it!" she blurted suddenly, her voice a little wheezy from excitement. Gryffindor looked mildly surprised, but nodded.
"Hogwarts?" Harry said, with somewhat more than mild surprise.
"Yes, and there, unfortunately, was where our harmony of purpose ended. Thus, the establishment of the school has gone no further than the erection of a structure."
"Slytherin?" Harry said, his voice grim and certain. Gryffindor nodded.
"Slytherin," he affirmed.
"What will you do now?" Hermione asked quietly, her hand still outstretched toward the Claviomnis, as if she'd forgotten about it.
"I know not," Gryffindor replied, looking uncharacteristically glum. "After what the fiend did to you both last night, besmirching both the honor and the hospitality of my house in the process, I must confess I wonder whether any school with which he is associated can ever hope to be a positive force in the world."
"No!" Hermione said quickly, startling both of the men. "Slytherin may be many things, but he does - will have important insight to offer young minds. He must be associated with your school."
If he ousts Slytherin, there is no telling what Hogwarts would look like or be like when we get back, she said, in response to Harry's mental question. We've already risked enough alteration.
"We shall see," Gryffindor said, looking unconvinced. She decided to drop the subject for the time being.
"But this?" Hermione said, gesturing again toward the stone. A slight smile graced her face. "You never did say what it did."
"It serves merely as a focal point for magical energy. The more power that is channeled through it, the more power it can emit. It can be used for anything its wielders desire: creation, destruction, life, death…."
Voldemort, Hermione spoke suddenly in his mind, causing Harry to jump.
What? He said, with utter lack of comprehension. Gryffindor was still speaking.
"In fact, I've thought of moving it to my estate in Normandy. There are several who know of its residence here, and there are those among that number who are…less than trustworthy. There are many places there where it could veritably disappear."
At his last word, Hermione reached out and clutched Harry's arm, gripping through his sleeve so painfully that he winced.
Disappear! This is it, Harry. Don't you see? This is what we're supposed to do. He saw her face grow brilliant with excitement, and knew that she desperately wanted to speak to him alone and aloud.
Harry moved toward her side, somewhat convincingly managing to mold a look of confusion into one more like concern.
"I fear my wife has overtired herself, sir," he said, looking up at Gryffindor respectfully. "Pray, allow me to escort her back to our chamber for a period of respite."
"As you wish," Gryffindor said, with a small bow, standing aside so they could pass from the treasury. As Harry moved near to the door, he saw another curious object, shining silver, lying atop a small table. It was whirring softly to itself.
"I beg your pardon, but what manner of magical device is this?" Harry asked, curiously, reaching over and picking it up, unable to say quite why this drew him so.
"It is a Dream Beacon," Gryffindor said, cocking one eyebrow at his descendant. "Through it, one can supposedly channel one's presence into the dreams of another, though I have never personally heard of an instance where it worked. It is a curiosity…perhaps, a trinket or a novelty for a child. There are very few in existence."
Harry and Hermione's eyes had met and locked during his speech, and in this instance, at least, Harry knew exactly what was going on.
"How is it supposed to work?" he pressed further.
"In theory, if one holds it in moonlight and focuses on a certain person, one will project oneself into that person's dream. But I do not see - "
"Might I take it, my lord?" he asked tentatively. "For a closer examination?" He tried to keep the desperation out of his voice, sounding casual. Gryffindor looked amused, as if he could not understand why Harry would want to waste his time looking at a child's plaything.
"Certainly, if that is your wish," Gryffindor answered, inclining his head magnanimously.
"Many thanks," Harry said, trying not to look inexpressibly relieved. Straining to keep their steps light and their faces calm, they made their way back up to their room. Gryffindor left them on the main level, citing business of the keep that needed tending to, and added that he would see them at the noon meal.
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By the time they made it back to their chamber, Hermione was practically bouncing up and down from excitement.
"What on earth is the matter with you?" Harry teased, watching her sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks with something more than a teasing air.
"Don't you get excited when you figure something out?" she retorted, managing, at the same time, to look rather self-conscious. "Or does that not happen very often?"
"It happens quite a bit, if you're around to enlighten me," he admitted, pulling her into his arms, and smiling down at her.
"Well, obviously we're going to use the Dream Beacon to contact Luna, and let her know about making the portkeys to set all of this in motion," she began.
"Well, obviously," he snorted, mocking her tone.
"And then we need to steal the Claviomnis," she added. Harry looked at her dumbfounded.
"Excuse me?" he asked, shaking his head, as if there had been water in his ears.
"You heard me," she answered stiffly, not meeting his eyes.
"Hermione, have you seen that treasury? It's under guard. It's warded against anyone other than Gryffindor. How do you think we'd get in there anyway?"
"I thought that maybe you could open the door," she said, suddenly sounding tentative and uncertain. "You are of Gryffindor blood."
"I have his blood, not his palm print!" Harry replied sarcastically.
"We don't know that it was keyed to his palm print!" Hermione sounded shrill. "Don't you see? We know it disappeared a thousand years ago…which is now. Maybe we're the ones who made it disappear!"
"And maybe we're not!" he retorted, feeling odd at being the one to take this side of the argument. "Maybe Gryffindor makes it disappear to Normandy!"
"What if Slytherin takes it? Gryffindor all but said that he expects Slytherin to try and steal it."
"He didn't say anything of the kind!"
"He most certainly did!" Hermione's voice was getting prim now, and she was aghast to find her eyes welling up with tears.
"If - if Slytherin was able to steal it, don't you think we'd know?" Harry countered. "Wouldn't he have taken over the world or some such rubbish?"
"Don't you think his heir's been trying?" Hermione asked archly, giving him a rather desultory look. Harry sighed in annoyance.
"What I'm trying to say is that if he had it, wouldn't Voldemort have succeeded already?"
"I don't know!" Hermione said, in very nearly a wail, sitting on the bed with such force that the blue material of her dress billowed and rippled around her.
"Look," Harry said hastily. "I don't want to fight with you about this. So let's focus on what we do know. We know we need to use that Dream Beacon to contact Luna, so how do we do that?" Hermione shrugged expansively.
"All I know is what Gryffindor said. But we'll have to wait until tonight."
"What could we do with all this intervening time?" Harry said, eying her suggestively. She glowered at him.
"Don't you even try. I'm still mad at you. Besides! Going and telling Gryffindor I was `overtired' when the whole keep probably knows what we did last night, thanks to Slytherin's interruptions! It's completely mortifying…" she stopped when Harry laughed.
"All these knights probably think I'm the luckiest bloke on the planet!" he said, with a triumphant grin, but his eyes suddenly sobered. "I am the luckiest bloke on the planet." Hermione felt her stomach lurch pleasantly at the look on his face.
"Still mad at me?" he said, with a hopeful little boy look on his face. Hermione slumped, as if disappointed.
"How can I stay mad at you when you say lovely things like that?" she asked. Harry assumed it was a rhetorical question, because she was kissing him before he could have even hoped to postulate an answer.
They spent the remaining time until the noon meal in quite a pleasant manner indeed.
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Draco Malfoy's shoulders stiffened as he heard the soft sound of footsteps on the stone of the front steps of Avalon. The wind whipped through his blond hair, and carried his haughty words quite clearly back to the intruder.
"Go away, Weaselina." But instead of going away, Ginny ventured closer, until she had sat down beside him on the cool gray rock. He looked imperiously at her. "What part of that don't you understand? I would have thought it was fairly self-evident, but then you are a Weasley."
"Don't feel you have to insult me just to keep up appearances," Ginny said companionably. "There's nobody here to impress - nobody that's ever been impressed by you, at any rate."
"Have you ever thought that it's not to keep up appearances at all, but just because I don't like you?" Draco rejoined.
"Look," Ginny sighed, her voice sounding hesitant. "I just thought, if you wanted to talk about it at all, then I'll listen. I mean, Ron probably couldn't speak civilly to you if his life depended on it, and Luna just - well, she's Luna. She'll tell you some cryptic nonsense about the flight of the Tufted Warblebeak along known migratory routes, and it won't help you at all. Trust me, I know." Draco snorted suddenly, and appeared to be trying to compose his features as Ginny looked at him closely.
"Did I just make you - ?" she began, but Malfoy cut her off hastily.
"Shut up, Weasley," as the tips of his ears turned red. Ginny's smile broadened into a grin, but she wisely said nothing more.
"So, what are you going to do?" she asked in a conversational way. Draco looked at her sharply, as if he were surprised that she was still there.
"About what?"
"About the - the vision you saw," she prodded carefully.
"What do you mean `what am I going to do'?"
"For Merlin's sake, Draco, this is not a N.E.W.T.-level question!" she burst out in exasperation.
"What do you think I'm going to do? What am I supposed to do?" Malfoy asked, throwing his hands up theatrically. "I'm too far down the path now. There's no turning back." He smiled mirthlessly, extending Luna's metaphor.
"There's always time to turn back," Ginny said softly.
"No! No, there's not. I don't know what sodding fairy tale world you live in, but sometimes you make choices, and there's nothing you can do to fix them or change them or undo them. You just have to live with the consequences."
"Or try to escape them?" Ginny suggested mildly, her face bland. Draco glared at her.
"There is nothing wrong with trying to make the best of a bad situation!" He sounded defensive. He hated that.
"Oh, lemons out of lemonade?" Ginny sounded amused. He didn't like that either. "Is that what your family does? How very optimistic of them!" A muscle in his jaw quivered, as he looked at her with barely concealed fury.
"You don't know a damn thing about my family, Weasley!" Ginny felt her the last shred of her timidity melt away, and she looked Malfoy straight in the eye.
"Neither do you about mine, Malfoy," she countered. "You take a few facts, more assumptions, and your own selfish, arrogant, slanted perspective on life, and you think you've got me all figured out." She paused thoughtfully. "And I suppose I do the same thing to you. Sort of." Her admission startled Malfoy, who looked at her curiously. "What?" she asked. "Didn't expect me to admit it? I'm not that much like you."
"What do you think I should do?" he asked, mostly trying to startle her as she had him. She didn't react visibly, but stared off into the slate gray ocean, twirling a strand of copper hair around her fingers.
"I think you should stay allied with Voldemort," she said softly, after a moment. Draco's eyes widened. Whatever he had expected her to say, it was not that.
"But you - you heard what happened in the vision!" he stammered slightly. "You should have seen it, heard it. She was screaming," he sounded haunted. "Why would you - ?" he stopped, as he looked up and saw the small, enigmatic smile playing about her lips. The wind spun her hair around her shoulders like a fiery nimbus. His eyes narrowed, and his lips twitched in grudging admiration.
"Well played, Weasley," he muttered. "I suppose now you're going to say something about how I exposed my true inclinations on the matter, in my protests of your pretend opinions."
"But you just said it so well!" Ginny smirked, and Draco felt an unwilling smile tug at the corners of his mouth. She could be a worthy adversary when she set her mind to it. His mind flitted back to the horrors he had seen, and his eyes darkened again.
"You don't know how it is," he said in a hollow voice. "You don't just - just cut ties with - with him. He wouldn't content himself with just hunting down and killing me. He'd kill my family too. As many of them as he could. And while most of them probably wouldn't be a great loss, I wouldn't - wouldn't want anything to happen to them. Maybe changing sides is what gets my mum killed."
"When I said you should stay allied with Voldemort," Ginny began, speaking slowly, as if she were choosing her words carefully. "I meant it. To openly oppose him at this point is dangerous for anyone. It'd be especially dangerous for you. You'd be more useful if you - "
"You think I should become a traitor and report to your side?" Draco asked.
"An agent," Ginny protested.
"A turncoat."
"A spy for the Light," she insisted, and Draco looked at her ruefully and gave up the word game.
"What makes you think anyone on that side would even trust me as far as they could hex me? I know Potter wouldn't. And neither would your illustrious brothers." The last sentence was tinged with sarcasm.
"People would do what they had to do, for the greater good of the Wizarding World. If making an alliance with you helps defeat Voldemort, then they'd do it without question."
"They wouldn't like it," Malfoy muttered. Ginny shrugged.
"I never said they would like it." Draco conceded her point, and a long moment of silence followed. They could hear the faint whistle of the wind, as it blew down the beach.
"Why did you come out here? Why do you care at all what I do or how that vision makes me feel?" He finally asked. Ginny looked at him suddenly, her eyes seeming deep and penetrating.
"Because I know the effect that Voldemort can have on someone's mind," she said clearly, but the look on her face forestalled any progression along this line of questioning. Draco saw it, and didn't even bother trying, though he was mightily curious.
She stood to her feet, then, and Draco found himself at eye-level with the faded legs of her jeans. He also, inexplicably, found himself wishing that she wouldn't go.
"If you did," she blurted quickly, "Decide to switch sides, I mean - you know everyone - we'd - we'd watch your back, even if we couldn't show it. Harry already is." He'd been ready to dismiss her statement with a derisive smile, "yeah, right," but her last sentence caught him off-guard.
"What do you mean, `Harry already is'?" he asked imperiously.
"He hasn't told anyone about your father being out of Azkaban." Draco covered up his surprise by asking rudely,
"Then how do you know about it?"
"Well, he did tell Ron - and Hermione too, I suppose. He tells them everything," she shrugged. "And I listen at doors."
"How very Slytherin of you, Weasley!" Draco drawled. Ginny narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, but a smile glinted there as well.
"Coming from you, Malfoy, I'll take that as a compliment."
He sat out on the front steps of the ancient castle long after she'd gone inside, sat out there deep in thought, until the chill wind and darkening skies drove him inside.
Could he really turn spy for the Light? Did he even possess within himself the courage it would take to do so? Draco Malfoy wasn't sure at all that he did.
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The moon slanted white beams of translucent light through the window in Harry and Hermione's room, leaving milky splashes of shadow on the floor. They were both seated on the bed, watching the window pensively, the Dream Beacon on the mattress beside them.
"Well, are you ready?" Hermione asked, looking worriedly at Harry.
"I guess. Do you think it'll be like when we went into Draco's memories?" he asked anxiously.
"I think so," she replied, trying to sound confident, and not as if she had already answered this question four times since they arrived back in their room after the evening meal. "It's the Beacon itself that channels it into the dream. You just have to come up with the person. And the time, I guess, since this is the future we're talking about."
"Should I think of a date?" Harry sounded even more uncertain.
"Do July. It's got to be before we go to Flourish and Blotts for the schoolbooks, so make it July, just to be safe. I don't know if this thing is very accurate."
"We don't know if it even works," he retorted.
"But we do know it works!" She told him triumphantly, as the parallel occurred to her. "It's just like you casting the Patronus charm third year. You knew it would work because you saw yourself do it. We know this will work, because Luna got us here."
His green eyes gleamed as he thought of the truth of her words, and he stood up with more alacrity than he'd displayed since supper.
"All right," he said, holding out his hand to her. "Let's do it."
They stood in the wash of moonlight by the window, holding the shiny, swirling, engraved tubing of the Dream Beacon in between them. Harry looked at Hermione somberly, noting how the light flecked her eyes with silver and gilded the ends of her hair. She nodded at him seriously.
"Go," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I'll be right behind you."
Harry closed his eyes, concentrating on the feel of the smooth metal surface beneath his fingers, and reached out with his mind. He was aware of the stretching-rubber-band sensation as he focused with all of his mental and magical power on Luna Lovegood and July 1996. The tension grew as the rubber band grew taut.
Suddenly, they were in a room, painted blue-white in moonlight, with a small brass bed in the center of it. There was a person curled up in the bed, on her side, and pale hair cascaded over the pillow. A necklace of butterbeer corks hung on the bedpost.
Harry looked excitedly around for Hermione, who was standing behind him.
"We did it!" he said, sounding both surprised and elated. She grinned at him, but her eyes were dark and purposefully serious.
"Yes, we did," she conceded. "But I don't think we have much time. Remember what happened with Malfoy."
"Right," Harry said, with determination. He stepped over to Luna's bedside, as his eyes fell on the bulletin boards lining her walls. Each board was covered in newspaper clippings, both Muggle and Wizarding, as far as he could tell. It sort of looked like her walls were done in papier maché. He found himself looking at one bulletin board, trying to make out the articles in the dimly lit room. He would be interested in what Luna Lovegood found interesting.
"Harry!" came a whisper from behind him. He shook his head, trying to recall himself to the task at hand. He reached behind him, and pulled Hermione up beside him. His head was beginning to ache.
"Luna!" he called, in a stage whisper. "Luna!"
And just like that, they were in her mind. It was sort of like being adrift amid all kinds of flotsam, Harry thought to himself. There was probably some pretty brilliant stuff in here, if one could get past all the bizarre minutiae.
"Harry, focus!" came Hermione's voice, and he could just barely feel the cold Dream Beacon still beneath his fingers. It all seemed very far away.
-Luna, it's Harry!-
-Hello, Harry.- Luna did not sound at all surprised or upset to see him suddenly in her mind.
-Please listen very carefully… - he outlined for her everything that she would need to do, hoping against hope that her dotty, distracted air was just that - an air - and that she would be paying very close attention. Several minutes passed, and as he came to the end of his instructions, Luna interrupted him by asking placidly.
-What's that in your hand, Hermione?-
Harry looked back at her, and could barely look at the glowing light she held. The brightness of it almost blinded him, and swathed her entire figure in a white glow. She was staring down at her own hand in bewilderment, as if she had no idea how it had gotten there.
They both promptly let go of the Dream Beacon.
It clattered noisily to the floor, and Harry immediately began trying to stanch the copious flow of blood from his nose with his sleeve. Hermione was staring at the Claviomnis with something like confused horror.
"How the hell did that get there?" Harry asked, his voice somewhat muffled by his arm. Blood was dripping on the floor.
"I - I don't know!" Hermione said. "I was just thinking that it would be nice to have it here, so Luna could see it, and know what we were talking about. And then - then it just was here. Merlin, Harry, your nose!"
There was a sudden very loud pounding on their door.
TBC
Getting close to the end now. Hope you've enjoyed this chapter, even though they've been getting really long!
You may leave a review on your way out, if you like.
Oh, and Luna's line about the `blot of mustard' was from Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol!
Happy Reading.
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