Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists
Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.
AN: Please review. This is my first Harry Potter fanfic, so be kind.
Chapter Three: Dream a Little Dream of Me
When Harry and Hermione arrived at the Ministry, they were taken into separate rooms immediately by two dour-faced Ministry aides.
Ha! Hermione could hear Harry's laughter in her mind quite clearly. They don't want us to be able to coordinate our stories.
Harry, we don't have to coordinate our stories. We have the same story, remember?
I know, but even if we didn't, separating us wouldn't do those gits any good anyway. Harry was gleeful. Hermione sighed.
Honestly, you're such a child. She rolled her eyes, and realized that her escort, a tall pasty young man that reminded her of a glass of milk, was regarding her with some curiosity.
"What?" she asked blankly. The aide's expression was such that he clearly believed himself to be above this kind of duty.
"Miss Granger, will you please relate the details, as best as you can remember them, of this afternoon, beginning at 12:30." With a surly look at the Ministry employee, to assure him that she loathed this as much as he did, Hermione began repeating her story yet again.
Two doors down, Harry was doing the same thing to a wet-behind-the-ears aide, who was clearly terrified of him.
I'd rather be in Professor Binns' class. Harry sent to Hermione. With intellects like these in positions of authority, it's amazing that Voldemort hasn't taken over yet! I bet if I said `Voldemort', this bloke would wet himself.
Harry! Hermione's disapproval of his flippancy was clear; her tone was scathing even in his head.
"Excuse me?" the Glass of Milk said. Hermione looked at him stupidly for a moment, before realizing that she must have said Harry's name out loud.
"Oh, um…" Hermione blushed and smiled crookedly at him. "Harry - er - is Harry going to be released when I am?"
"Unless either one of you gives us a reason to keep you here," Glass of Milk said, looking at her with a threatening glower.
"Right," Hermione said, trying to look sufficiently cowed, but not quite achieving it.
Harry, you're right, these people are completely idiotic. This one practically threatened to detain me here.
Don't worry about it, `Mione. You'd have to pledge allegiance to Voldemort before Dumbledore would let you stay here.
I know. A pause. Harry?
Yeah?
I'm glad you're here. I mean - I - I'm glad I can -
I know what you mean.
Laughter rippled through Harry's mind like sweet music.
Of course you do!
"Are we quite finished here?" Harry asked imperiously to the aide cowering across the table from him.
"Yes, I believe we're done," said Terrified, in his best officious tone, stacking his paperwork up, and transporting it somewhere out of sight with a tap of his wand.
"Good. I'm sorry to have wasted your time," Harry said politely, although the implication that his time had also been wasted was quite clear.
Terrified bared his teeth to smile in an obsequious manner. "If there are any further questions, Mr. Potter?"
"I'll be at Hogwarts," Harry said. "You can contact Dumbledore, and he'll let me know." Harry's voice was short and business-like.
"Thank you, sir." Terrified said.
Hermione heard a snort of laughter in her mind.
Hermione, this prat just called me sir! He's got to be at least 10 years older than I am.
Oooh! Scary Harry Potter, intimidating poor hapless bureaucrats wherever he goes!
I do not! And you aren't funny!
Sure I am, Hermione said gaily, that's why you love me.
I do not! Harry protested childishly. That was when Hermione felt a heat seep into her subconscious, causing her own cheeks to flush. Harry was embarrassed. What had she said to….ohhhh.
Harry cringed, as he waited for Hermione to respond, and soon enough an answering wave of embarrassment reached him.
Sorry, Harry, Hermione said in a very small voice. I -
Forget about it, Harry said, in what he hoped was a matter of fact voice.
They exited the interrogation rooms at the same time, and met each other in the connecting corridor, suddenly not wanting to meet each other's eyes.
"We're going to have to tell Dumbledore about this!" Hermione hissed out loud. "What if you-if I-" she gave up and started over. "There are some things that maybe I don't want you to know! My thoughts are private." The last sentence was Hermione at her haughtiest.
Harry felt a flash of a mental image, before it was violently yanked away, like the picture of a television going dark when the plug is pulled out of the socket. He tried to recapture it, but it was gone.
"And quit doing that!" Hermione was angry now. "You think I can't tell that you're doing that?"
"Sorry," Harry mumbled, jamming his hands in his pockets, and shuffling his feet. He did not look at her.
"Well," said Dumbledore, rounding the corner, and smiling at them, while rubbing his hands together with a rasping sound. "Are we ready to depart?"
"Yes sir," they mumbled in unison, and then glared at each other briefly, before dropping their gazes.
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The Floo network deposited them in the expansive fireplace situated in Dumbledore's private office. They stepped out, and, as Hermione was brushing soot from the collar of her jacket, Harry headed for the door.
"Professor Dumbledore, there was something we wanted to tell you," Hermione began quickly, stopping Harry in his tracks.
Hermione, I don't think we should tell him yet!
Well, I do! she fired back. She could feel his irritation hit her like the blast from an open oven door.
Well, I don't! he responded.
I don't care! she said, and for some reason, felt a surge of hurt from him. It hurt him that she didn't care what she thought?
Yes, he replied, and she swore at him mentally, hating that he could read her so easily. You're my best friend. Shouldn't it hurt? Hermione felt guilty, and then felt angry because he made her feel guilty.
During the non-verbal exchange, Dumbledore had been standing quietly, observing them.
"Are you two finished?" he asked calmly. Hermione and Harry gazed at him, dumbfounded. They said nothing. "Please, take a seat. Tell me whatever it is you wish me to know." Harry and Hermione sat in the matching leather chairs arranged facing Dumbledore's desk. Harry noticed that they were a different color from the last time he had been there.
"Harry had a premonition about me," Hermione burst out all at once. She cleared her throat, and tacked on, "sir." Harry tried not to stare at her as if she'd lost her mind.
Hermione, what in the hell are you doing? She darted a look at him.
We're trying it your way. Work with me here.
"That-that's right, sir. Before I got to her house," Harry managed to add, feeling thoroughly unconvincing.
"I see," Dumbledore replied, raising both eyebrows. "And what form did this premonition take?"
"It was just an-an overwhelming urge to find her, and then I started to feel her - I started to panic." Harry corrected himself quickly.
Be careful, Harry.
"You became aware that she was in danger, even though you were not yet at the scene?" Dumbledore restated. "That's very interesting. Thank you for telling me." He opened a drawer in his desk, and fiddled with something inside.
"That's it? You can't tell us why that happened?" Hermione asked.
"Premonitions are very difficult to explain. They come in many different forms, visual, auditory, in dreams. Even Muggles have them from time to time. If this was just an isolated incident, there's nothing to be concerned about," the headmaster said placidly, but gazed at them with eyes that missed nothing.
Hermione looked like she was going to ask something else, but Harry grabbed her arm and steered her toward the door, all the while thanking the professor for his time. As soon as they descended the spiral staircase, and the gargoyle moved back to block the entry, they began bickering again.
"What were you doing in there?" Harry asked, in frustration.
"You didn't want to tell him, so I didn't tell him."
"You can't make up things like that at the last minute. I can't adapt that fast!"
"I didn't make anything up! You did have a premonition before you got to my house, didn't you?"
"It wasn't a premonition, and you know it." Hermione stopped, and blew a breath of air out between her lips, fluttering a few tendrils of hair. "Besides," Harry added, moving in for the kill, "you just lied to the headmaster."
Harry felt dread and shame sweep over him, and he had an urge to go back to Dumbledore's office and confess all. He was momentarily confused, but realized that he was feeling Hermione's emotions again.
Oh no you don't! he said, pulling her down the hall toward Gryffindor tower. There was a vague protest from Hermione that she hadn't been about to do any such thing. She just heard a snort of disbelieving laughter in her head, in response.
"Damn," said Harry, when they got to the portrait of the fat lady. "I didn't ask Dumbledore for the password."
It's Firebolt, Hermione said.
"Firebolt," Harry murmured, and the portrait opened.
How'd you know that? he asked her.
I pay attention. He rolled his eyes at her smugness, and she punched him playfully in the upper arm. He grabbed her hand as she was going for a second blow, and was surprised to feel sudden warmth shoot up his arm from his fingers.
They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, and then Hermione staggered unevenly away from him as if she'd been burned. They were both breathing heavily.
"Hey, mate!" came Ron's cheerful voice from the stairwell that led to the boys' dormitories. "I thought I heard somebody down here, and - " he rounded the corner and stopped short. "What's going on?"
"Nothing," Harry and Hermione said together, and Hermione winced at how uneven and breathless her voice sounded. They were both breathing hard.
"We thought - we thought we heard something," Harry said, and his voice cracked in the middle of his sentence. Ron sniggered, and Harry shot him a dirty look.
Are we going to tell Ron? Harry asked.
I don't think so, not yet. We need to figure out exactly what it is, and if we can reverse it. I need to go to the library… Harry felt a dreamy bliss waft his way, and he shook it off, annoyed.
I can't believe that's the way you feel about the library! Hermione glared at him, and Ron looked bewildered.
"Am I missing something here?" he asked, looking back and forth between the two of them.
Damn! Harry thought, this is not going to be easy.
Did you think it would be?
"No, Ron, we just thought we heard a noise, but it must have been you… or Ginny. Is Ginny here?" Hermione fled up the girls' stairs at Ron's nod. He watched her go, and shook his head.
"She's nutters," he said succinctly. Harry shrugged, in what could have been construed as agreement, not knowing what to say that Hermione wouldn't pick up on. They sauntered over to the sofa and sat in front of the fireplace, which was roaring beautifully. The weather outside was warm, and they were in short-sleeves, but the drafty dampness that was ever-present in the castle made the fire welcome.
"So, what happened today? Dumbledore talked to Mum and Dad, but they wouldn't tell us much. Just shipped us here."
Harry gave him a condensed version of the story, editing, as he had for Dumbledore, the part about his and Hermione's hearing each other's thoughts.
"Someone intercepted Hedwig on her way to the Burrow?" Ron asked. Harry nodded. "So someone is watching us too?"
"Probably." Harry leaned his elbows on his knees, and put his head in his hands. "You're here because you could be in danger. You're in danger because you're my friend. Was your mum upset?"
"Not a bit of it!" Ron said vehemently. "Safety's boring, anyway. Wouldn't trade it."
Harry managed a smile then. "Thanks, mate."
"Don't mention it." They sat in silence for a moment. "So, Hermione's okay and everything?" Ron asked.
"Yeah, Dumbledore thinks whoever put the Fantasma and the Dark Mark at her house was trying to warn her or make a point, but not to actually hurt her."
"Yet," Ron finished gloomily. "She's just as much your friend as I am." Harry realized that this was Ron's off-beat way of telling him that he was concerned about the danger Hermione was in.
"I know," Harry rubbed his scar with one hand. It ached vaguely; he had had a long day.
"D'you mind if I turn in? I'm fried."
"I'll come too," Ron agreed, standing to his feet and stretching. As they ascended the stairs, he felt Hermione's gentle touch in his mind.
Are you okay? she asked. She had obviously felt his dejection from her room.
Yeah, I'm all right, he replied, just trying to figure out how to have friends without getting them killed. Hermione said nothing else, but he felt her comfort, and was grateful.
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The room was a sickly green, flickering in the unearthly light of charmed torches. The walls were of rough stone and damp with moisture of the ages. Somewhere, in the distance, water dripped. The shadowy figure of a rat scurried along the edge of the room, and darted out of sight into a dark corner.
A figure in a black cloak was facing away from Harry, but he knew who it was before he turned. Voldemort. His lips thinned in the approximation of a smile, and he appeared to move toward Harry as if to greet him. Harry recoiled.
Then he whirled at the sound of a voice behind him.
"It is good to see you again, my Lord," came the smooth refined tones of Lucius Malfoy, standing with his black-gloved hands on the head of his walking stick. Harry's heart began to hammer in his chest, but it was obvious that neither man could see him.
"We are pleased that you arrived so quickly, Lucius," Voldemort said regally. Lucius bowed his head in obeisance. "Tell me what happened."
Lucius began to speak, but Harry no longer heard him, as the pain in his forehead became like white-hot shards driving into his skull. Voldemort knew he was there, could feel his mind…was driving him out. Far away, someone screamed.
Harry sat up in bed, drenched in sweat, breathing as if he'd just run a sprint. His scar felt like acid on his skin. He looked around wildly, his eyes dilated in fear, and for a moment, could not tell where he was.
"Harry! Harry!" Ron was in his face, shaking him by the shoulders.
"R-Ro-" Harry tried, his best friend's face swimming in and out of focus in front of him. He blinked, willing his vision back into focus, and scrabbled for his glasses on the side table.
That was when they heard the screaming from the girls' dorm. Harry sprang from the bed, untangling himself from the twisted sheets, and both boys left the room at a dead run.
TBC
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