A/N: There are two more chapters and an epilogue, so almost done. ;)
The Darkness Within
Chapter 12: A Spy In Need
Have you ever wondered what it feels like, to have death all around you? When everywhere you look, you see people lying like ragged life-sized dolls. On the floor, hunched against the walls. When you move through the corridors, up the stairs, you want to close your eyes so as not to see them, their glass-eyed, unmoving, accusing stare. But you have to look, you can't turn away from the lumps of skin and clothes, sometimes smeared with blood, sometimes not. You cannot look away, because somehow it would be worse.
Have you walked through air, so thick with the stench of blood and vomit, it's almost tangible.
Have you ever wondered that?
Harry doesn't wonder, he knows. It was a massacre at the Ministry of Magic. The Aurors were unprepared, the civilian staff untrained. Their mockery of a resistance was butchered.
A handful of volunteers stood in protection of the last unbreached door. Sacrificing their lives until the authority that kept the wizarding word operating escaped through an unmarked floo exit; members of the Wizengamot, department heads, the Minister himself.
When Death Eaters finally destroyed the last obstacle and entered the room, Voldemort was enraged, striking down the unfortunate wizards near him. But they were not to blame - the only people, who knew of the planned attack were Lucius Malfoy, Harry and Voldemort himself.
Punishments would be dealt with later, now it was time to retreat before the escapees sent reinforcements - highly trained Aurors, who knew the situation they were walking into.
Voldemort was the first to Apparate away, leaving behind his Death Eaters, who were to collect anything useful, and Harry with Hermione at his side. The young couple had spent the battle in a protective circle, sheltering them from an outright attack.
Hermione, no matter how smart, had no fighting experience and Harry was someone Voldemort simply couldn't allow to be harmed.
The only close calls was, when some Aurors determined, that such knot of Death Eaters - clearly guarding something important - was a worthwhile suicide mission.
The first blue-robed attacker, Harry had killed. The others did not even get close to their targets; stopped by the wizards surrounding Harry and Hermione. One Auror managed to hit a Death Eater, who was standing almost next to Harry, though, cutting away her hood, making her mask drop.
For Harry, the moment he realised Bellatrix Lestrange was standing within touching distance, was the clearest in the madness of battle.
He pointed his wand at her and muttered the slashing hex: he didn't want her dead, not yet; he wanted her hurt and bleeding. That proved to be a mistake. When the cut slashed across the side of her neck, she whirled around, searching with her eyes - dark from madness and pain.
Upon spotting Harry, the realisation she had been attacked by the person she was supposed to be guarding did not stop her from retaliating. Sharp pain soared up Harry's right arm, almost making him drop his wand.
He instinctively grabbed the source of discomfort with his other hand, and looking down, he saw blood oozing from between his fingers. His knees felt weak and through a red haze he saw Bellatrix approaching with a vicious, crazy smile on her lips.
He tried to lift his wand. Couldn't.
And then she stopped, a look of surprised confusion crossing her face. She was rising, slowly, feet first, robes billowing around her head. Her wand clattered to the ground.
About ten feet in the air the movement ceased.
With a yelp she met the ground, head first. Her eyelid twitched, there was a trickle of blood dripping from her ear.
Harry looked to his side; Hermione lowered her wand in a pale, shaking hand, she had bite marks on her lip. Bellatrix Lestrange died an almost innocent death - a simple first year spell, used for protection: Wingardium Leviosa.
Harry crumbled to the ground, eyes rolled back in his head.
Everything went dark.
He concentrated on his breathing - in and out, in and out. Something tickled his nose, hesitant fingertips run across his arm, flashes of pain travelled his body. Cautiously he opened his eyes and a pale, inhuman face swam into view.
Startled, he jerked backwards, dragging his body along on his elbows. But the thing with the white face was holding onto his robes; wasn't allowing his escape. It was talking, but the lips weren't moving.
He heard better now, the awful quiet pounding in his ears was receding. Out of the silence, he heard a girl call,
"Are you alright?" The hands were gripping his robes.
"Hush," she made calming noises. "Don't try to move, you were hit with a curse." The concern was evident in that girlish voice, coming from the white face.
And then he remembered again. It was just a mask, and …
"Herm -" His throat felt dry and his voice broke. Coughing he tried again. "It's alright. My head hurts."
He tried to lift it from the ground, but Hermione held him down.
Pain. Sharp pain carousing in his body. He hissed a breath and she let his shoulders go. With an air of detachment she stared at her fingers.
"You're bleeding," she remarked, almost in wonder.
Harry's head was clearing now, the haze was dissolving and the pain was sharpening.
"She hit me in the shoulder and the neck, I think," he said, touching the damp patch on his cloak.
He tried to find her eyes in the mask. "Bellatrix," he started, "did she … did you?"
"Bellatrix Lestrange is dead," she replied tonelessly. Then she seemed to snap out of it. "How bad is it? Should we use the portkey to Voldemort's mansion or can you go back to Hogwarts?" she asked.
"Go back?"
"Yes, the battle is over. We're retreating," she explained.
Harry pulled himself to a sitting position. "Retreating," he repeated. "Did we lose?"
"Not exactly, but the Minister got away and we are expecting Auror reinforcements to start arriving soon. Actually almost everybody has Apparated away, only the Death Eaters Voldemort left here, to make sure you were unharmed are still here." She pointed towards a group of black-robed figures a short distance away.
Harry looked in that direction, then he held out his good arm and said, "Help me up."
Clenching his teeth, he waited for the moment of light-headedness to pass and holding Hermione's arm stalked to the group in question.
They turned to face him.
"Leave," he ordered.
The nearest masked wizard inclined his head. "As you order, my lord."
The Death Eaters Dissaparated with a series of soft pops.
He turned back to Hermione, clasping her fingers tightly in his hand.
"Let's go home."
When they appeared in the small clearing in the Forbidden Forest, he shivered and lost consciousness for the second time that night.
When Harry next opened his eyes, he was surrounded by crisp white sheets and a heavy red duvet. And someone was calling his name.
Before he had time to gather his senses, the crimson curtains surrounding his four-poster bed were flung open - oh yes, the dormitory - and the time-lined face of Professor McGonagall appeared. She was holding her tartan robe closed, so as not to allow the students a glimpse of the old-fashioned white nightshirt she wore beneath.
It's strange; the details the mind notices, even in a moment of confusion or haste.
Her hair lay in tangled grey locks, protruding from underneath her nightcap. But her eyes were as sharp as ever, and her voice - familiar from the classroom - demanded attention.
Coming running through the common room, up the staircase, she had banged, hard, on the door to the boys' dormitory. Having alarmed the inhabitants to a female presence, she marched in with a cry of "Potter!" - straight to Harry's bed.
When she noticed the boy obviously waking from a deep and restful sleep, she calmed down somewhat. While Harry, blinking owlishly at her, fumbled around for his glasses, she said,
"Mr Potter, are you all right?"
Having found his glasses, Harry stifled a yawn. "Fine, Professor."
"Did you have any nightmares tonight?" she inquired.
"No," he said, "why do you ask? Did something happen?"
She chose to ignore the question. "Headmaster Dumbledore has asked for your presence in his office."
"Now?"
McGonagall nodded in the affirmative. "I shall give you some privacy to dress yourself; I'll be waiting in the common room to escort you to the Headmaster."
Harry threw his school robes over his pyjamas, wincing, when the rough cloth settled on his bandaged shoulder.
Walking down the stairs, a bout of dizziness hit him, but he managed to overcome it by pausing and breathing deeply. It could have been because of his injury, or due to the fact that Dumbledore had asked for him
Did he suspect something?
'Like a young murderer walking into his office?' That voice hadn't made an appearance ever since -
'Ever since you sold your soul away?'
No.
'Have you even looked him in the eye after that night?'
Harry was trembling and weak on his knees, but managed to reach Professor McGonagall without any give-aways.
His Head of House set a brisk pace through the corridors, and Harry trailed behind, striving to catch up and, at the same time, practising the blank expression he was determined to present Dumbledore with.
The Gargoyle retracted, as they neared, to reveal the spiralling staircase.
"In you go," McGonagall said. "Good night, Mr Potter." And disappeared behind a bend in the corridor.
He hesitated briefly, before knocking on the door at the top of the stairs; and entered, taking his time to close the door behind him, before turning around to face the twinkling blue eyes of Professor Dumbledore.
Only they weren't twinkling tonight, and he wasn't alone in his office. Seated in the corner chair was a quite terrified looking Cornelius Fudge, with a glass of amber liquid in a tight grip. Amelia Bones stood at Dumbledore's right hand behind the desk. Wizards and witches Harry did not recognise, were scattered around the room in small groups; he spotted several glasses distributed generously amongst them.
As his gaze travelled around the room, Dumbledore called for his attention.
"Mr Potter," he said, "I've called you here at this unseemly hour, to ask you some questions."
With a flick of his wand a padded chair appeared in front of the headmaster's desk. "Would you please take a seat."
The nervous energy in the room was making Harry's skin tingle and, settling in the chair, he felt very much in the centre of attention.
"Now then, do you feel alright? No headaches tonight? Nightmares?" Dumbledore asked.
Intently studying the Headmaster's white beard, he answered, "No, Professor, nothing."
"Hmm." He leaned back, scratching his beard, and tried to peer into Harry's eyes. "Are you quite certain?"
Harry nodded emphatically.
The slurred voice of Cornelius Fudge intervened, "The boy obviously knows nothing. Send him back to his room and let us continue with our business."
Harry took that as his cue, and stood up to leave the office, only before leaving he wanted to know, "Did something happen, Headmaster? Was someone hurt?"
"Yes, my boy," Dumbledore answered in a serious tone of voice. "I am afraid that something did, indeed, happen. The Ministry was attacked tonight."
"Tonight?"
"The Wizengamot was in all-night session to decide on the matter of the Emergency Auror Recruitment Act. Almost everyone of political importance was at the hearing, with a minimal attendance of security personnel. It was slaughter, Harry."
The green eyes were wide. "But they escaped, didn't they? The Minister is here and …"
"Yes, some people escaped, but -"
Cornelius Fudge made a sudden gesture with his glass, and the liquid - brandy, Harry thought - came sloshing over the sides, spilling onto his immaculate sleeves. "That is enough, Dumbledore. All this is Ministry business and not to be discussed with children."
Dumbledore waited him out. "As I was saying, some people escaped, but a great many did not. Voldemort has cause to be happy tonight."
"Is - Is Mr Weasley alright?"
The timeworn face relaxed a little. "Yes, Arthur was at home with his family when the attack took place."
Some of the tension left Harry's shoulders; thank god.
"Harry I would ask you not to discuss this with your dorm mates just yet. I shall deliver the news at breakfast."
"Yes, Professor. May I be excused?" Harry was already heading for the door.
"Of course, Mr Potter. Good night."
The door closed behind him, and Harry made his way back to the Gryffindor Tower.
When he climbed through the portrait hole, Harry glanced at his wristwatch; it was already fifteen to eight, and he felt certain, that soon his dorm mates would come traipsing trough the room on their way to breakfast. As he had predicted, merely minutes after he had made himself comfortable on the couch near the fireplace, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan came down the stairs.
"Alright, mate?" Dean asked.
"Yeah, I just don't feel like having breakfast today."
One by one students came from their dormitories and left through the portrait hole. Hermione had come down just before eight o'clock and sat next to him on the couch. They waited.
When the traffic finally died down, Harry turned towards her, asking, "What happened?"
"You fainted."
"I did not faint!" he bristled
"Fine," she scoffed, "passed out; the point is you lost consciousness and I had to get you back to your room."
"Yes, I'd gathered that," he said. "But how did you do it? I was sure we had been found out, when McGonagall came to my room."
"Professor McGonagall came to your dorm? What did she want?"
Harry brushed away her hand that had grabbed hold of his robes. "She took me to see Dumbledore, and he told me about the attack. But never mind all that, how did you get me back here?"
"Honestly, Harry, are we sixth years or not? I bandaged your wound and transfigured your clothes, then I levitated you to bed."
"Oh," was all he could say, as embarrassment flamed his cheeks. Then another thought came. "You said, you bandaged the wound. Why didn't you heal it?"
"Well." Her brow furrowed. "It seemed to be infected with something and I wasn't sure how to heal that."
"Infected?" Harry jumped up, and had to sit down again, as dizziness hit him full force.
She nodded. "I was planning to go to the mansion and ask Voldemort whether he knew a counter-curse."
"Yes," he said, "do that. Only, go after dark, tonight. I think Dumbledore will be keeping a close eye on the students today."
"I'll go tonight then."
Harry felt lulled to sleep as her soft arm closed around him and, leaning against her shoulder, he closed his eyes.
X X X
In another part of the castle an old wizard stepped into a fume-filled laboratory.
"Professor Snape," he called, walking carefully in the narrow pathways between cauldron-laden tables, where colourful glass vials and tubes were emitting a spectrum of smells, and smoky air settled heavily on robes and body alike.
When his eyes located the hook-nosed man, he came to a halt. The Professor ignored him for the time, carefully measuring green liquid from a small bottle and adding it drop by drop to the bubbling cauldron in front of him. He stirred thrice.
The task completed, he turned to face Dumbledore.
"Headmaster," he intoned his greeting, dark eyes unblinking. "What can I do for you?"
"I remember from your earlier report, you mentioned a new heir. That there are two people important enough to Voldemort to have his Death Eaters protect them in battle."
"The first heir," Snape said, "has been around for some time, but the second … The Dark Lord has made no mention of her; one day she just appeared at the first one's side. I think she must be more important to him, than to the Dark Lord."
Dumbledore thought for a minute. "A witch? Are you sure?"
"Quite."
"Well, nevertheless, a secret as closely guarded as this must be important. We cannot have it remain a mystery much longer."
Snape turned back to the cauldron, carefully lifting it off the flames.
"I shall go tonight."
... to be continued ...
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