The Prophecy of Absconditus

Chapter Four: Taken By the Enemy

The scream pierced the darkness, and pulled Ron from his sleep. He blinked, willing his eyes to adjust. Shadows in shades of black and grey bounced before his eyes. He felt his pupils grow, eclipsing blue. The screaming continued, and Ron ripped back his curtains in hopes of finding the source. He stumbled out of bed, and ran into another body shuffling across the room. They fell to the floor, entangled.

"Ron?"

"Seamus?"

"What is that noise? Is that you?"

Ron arched an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side. Dark grey planes filled in Seamus's features with help from the moonlight that streamed into the dormitory. Seamus took in Ron's expression, shrugged, and glanced around the room.

"Whass goin' on?" said Neville, sticking his head out of his curtains. He rubbed at his eyes with a fist. "Who's that?"

"I think -- I think it's Harry," said Seamus.

The last bit of sleepiness in Ron's body melted at Seamus's words. Residue hissed like steam, rose through his limbs, and permeated through his system. His body burned, skin tingled, and he forced his lungs to work when they screamed for oxygen. He tried to walk, but his feet felt heavy, like blocks of lead attached at his ankles.

Harry claimed he couldn't sleep in the Head Boy room, so he moved back into the dormitory several days ago. This was the result. In a way, Ron was happy. At least he could be here. How much screaming had Harry endured until now? Ron gasped.

Seamus broke through the gripping sensations first. He disentangled from Ron, and ran over to Harry's bed to kneel on the floor. Ripping back the curtains, Seamus gripped Harry by the shoulders and shook him. Harry thrashed beneath the sheets, which were soaked with sweat and wrapped around his legs like binds. He threw his head back, exposed thin scratches along his throat, and screamed.

"Gods, Harry," said Ron. His mind reeled as he ran to the other side of Harry's bed. Sitting, he pushed back Harry's bangs, which clung to his forehead. Blood caked the scar on his forehead and formed rust-colored stains on the skin surrounding it. Ron tried not to scream. His teeth caught on his tongue as he bit back sobs, and a soft metallic taste spotted the roof of his mouth.

Panic gripped Seamus, spreading to the tips of his fingers and center of his body. He shook Harry harder, screaming himself, and cried for Harry to wake up. As the minutes passed and Harry continued to struggle, Ron felt his own sense of dread and panic. Every ounce of self-control rose to the surface, begging him to keep his mind sane. Only one person was allowed to lose their mind at a time, thank you.

For one terrifying second, Harry's body shook without Seamus's grip, and seemed on the verge of spontaneous combustion. Ron wanted to scream, wanted to run, or at least hide some place where his best mate wasn't the most frightening thing he had ever seen. Just as it began, it was over. Harry lay limp in Ron's arms. Seamus stared at Ron, his breath bated, before slumping over and hugging his knees to his chest.

"Harry?" said Ron. He continued to hold Harry's hair back from his face with his left hand, and now scooped his right around Harry's shoulders. Inky eyelashes fluttered, kissing the ashen apples of Harry's cheeks, and then a medium grey met Ron's own. Harry touched the scar with the tips of his index and middle fingers and brought them eye level. He looked from the bloody flakes to Ron.

Ron didn't know what to expect. Nothing changed, but then why did everything feel so different? For one of the few times in his life, Ron didn't know what to say. It wasn't often that he found himself at a loss for words, but this was one. He tried not to cry. Harry never saw him cry before, and Ron didn't want it to become a habit any time soon. Still, the tears were there, and replaced the adrenaline that ebbed from his bloodstream. They were in Harry's eyes, too, glistening in a way that was almost beautiful.

"Nightmare?" asked Ron. Harry nodded.

"Nightmare."

"You-Know-Who?"

"Voldemort."

Questions would have to wait until morning, Ron decided. He hesitated only a moment before pulling Harry into his arms. Resistance met him, but Ron refused to let Harry out of his grip. It didn't take Seer Intuition to know that Harry needed someone, anyone, and Ron wasn't about to abandon him. Seamus watched the exchange, then shuffled away from the bed and patted Neville on the head.

"He okay?" asked Neville.

"He's fine. Go back to sleep."

Harry buried his face in the crook of Ron's neck, and gripped at the thin material of his shirt. Fingernails sunk into cotton and skin, engraved half moons on flesh. Words of comfort that Ron wasn't even aware of drifted from his mouth in murmurs, silent prayers for Harry to cling on. Body heat mingled between them as they rocked, and Harry remained captured in a best friend's arms. No words were said, but Ron never got back to sleep that night. Neither did Harry.

*

By morning, Harry sunk into Ron's lap and feigned sleep. Ron wasn't fooled, but pretended that he didn't notice. After last night, it would only make for an awkward situation that Ron wasn't prepared to deal with. He, too, pretended to be sleeping, and even got into a doze when the dormitory started to wake.

Neville was out of bed first, followed by Dean. They made so much noise that Ron's prayers of catching a little sleep went unheard. Insomnia was not becoming on Ron, but he found that he wore it more and more frequently. Giving up on his dreams of a deep slumber, Ron shifted beneath the blankets, moved Harry's weight off his own body and onto the mattress. Sliding out of the bed, Ron pulled the curtains closed. He hung by the bed for a few seconds, pondering what happened last night.

Behind the curtains, Harry remained still. Ron crept from the room and made his way to the bathroom. Neville was there with a few younger students, going in and out of showers, and Ron grabbed a rag. He ran it under a stream of cold water, wrung out the excess moisture, and folded it in his hands. Leaving the room, he climbed the stairs to the dormitory. Seamus was still asleep as Ron returned to Harry's bed.

Harry remained in the position Ron left him. He looked asleep, but after years of sleeping in the same room as Harry, Ron knew his breathing pattern. This was not the breathing pattern of a sleeping Harry. Shaking his head, Ron held his breath for a moment, and then sat on the mattress. His fingers brushed over Harry's forehead, which was sticky with residue of sweat and blood. Pieces of black hair stuck to the skin, last night's perspiration working as an adhesive. Sighing, Ron pressed the damp cloth to Harry's forehead. Harry's eyelashes fluttered, and then he stared up at Ron. His eyes looked greener than usual, large and round like a small child. Ron grinned.

"Morning."

"Morning." Harry touched Ron's wrist, curling his fingers around the bone. "You don't have to do that."

"I know."

"Thanks."

"No need."

"I think I'm going to go see Dumbledore today."

"I think that's a good idea. You should tell Hermione, too. Keep her busy looking it up in the library. That'd give us plenty of time for Quidditch and putting off our school work."

"Now that's a real idea."

"Just out of curiosity -- you don't have to answer me if you don't want --"

"You want to know about the dream."

Ron shrugged.

"I'll tell you just . . . can it wait until after I get back from seeing Dumbledore? I don't want to think about it right now."

"Sure. No problem."

Removing the cloth from Harry's forehead, Ron dropped his eyes to it. Marks of blood stained the white terry cloth in strange patterns. Morbid fantasies played out in Ron's head where these stains formed pictures like clouds often seemed to on a summer day. Only in this game you didn't lay on your back with crisp grass beneath your skin, and you didn't look for rabbits or birds. Folding the rag, Ron left the dormitory.

*

Laughter filled the Great Hall as Ron worked his way through his second helping of dinner. Harry babbled about the latest Quidditch practice to Seamus, who insisted that the team showed promise. On his left, Hermione comforted Neville's simpering. That made Ron thankful. The last thing he wanted on such a good day was Neville whimpering like an injured puffskein. It was irritating. Just because he had another run-in with Snape, it did not mean that he could ruin everyone else's good mood.

Across the Hall, the Slytherin table was close to silent. Hushed whispers passed between them that Ron wouldn't even know existed if they didn't move their mouths with such large gestures. Malfoy kept his head ducked; his skin was brilliant pink. Pushing his goblet away, Malfoy stood and headed for the doors, his shoulders slumped. His feet seemed to drag as he walked, and he raked his fingers through his hair until it stuck out at odd angles.

"That was odd," Ron said.

"What's odd?" asked Hermione. Ron shook his head.

"Nothing."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, glanced across the hall, and went back to Neville. Turning the fork over, Ron stared at the reflection of the enchanted ceiling. The skies were cloudy, dark, and a soft shadow fell over the metallic surface just before the rumble.

"What was that?" said Neville. Damn it if he didn't simper, too.

"What was what?" said Harry. Hermione started to roll her eyes. "What? What did I say?"

"Nothing, Harry," said Hermione.

All the lights went out at once; the darkness amplified the screaming that followed. McGonagall tried to obtain some order, and Ron heard her voice along with Snape's as they tried to calm the students enough to be heard. His wrist throbbed as Hermione wrapped her fingers around it. She tugged on his arm to follow her, perhaps to assist McGonagall or head for the safety of the common room. Ron didn't dare to budge. There was too much commotion, too much chaos as everyone frenzied for a shelter. He wouldn't let her go, either, and he reached out to find Harry, meeting his fingers halfway there.

The rumbling continued to get louder, and the seat beneath him began to shake. At first it was only a small shudder, but it began to grow. Soon, it was trembling without relent, threatening to throw Ron clear across the Gryffindor table, and maybe across the Hall once it really got started. Snape and McGonagall's voices reached a din, but all the magic in the school couldn't make them heard. They threw tables over and ducked behind them, or like Hermione, just wanted to escape.

Double doors of the Great Hall snapped open. The lights flared up brighter than they had ever been. Ron ducked his head between his legs, closing his eyes until they hurt beneath the lids. Hermione gasped, released her grip on Ron's wrist, and she slid to the floor.

"Oh, Ron," she said, clawed at her lips, and then at his legs. "Ron. Thousands, Ron. There's thousands."

Among the screaming, Ron wasn't surprised that he could pick out Harry. He was louder than the rest; Ron bet it had to do with the scar on his forehead. Fingernails dug into his palm -- Harry's fingers -- and Ron lifted his head.

There weren't thousands, but there was no doubt about who was in control. Hooded figures swarmed across the Hall, wands drawn, and they threw curses at anyone who showed signs of resistance. He watched in horror as one cloaked figured with crimson eyes walked with the kind of grace Ron wished he possessed to the center of the Hall. Two blonde women stood by his side. One was bound and gagged, held back by the other. Sleeves too long for the arms they cased slid back to reveal bony fingers and pallor skin, a hand extended in some bizarre friendship by the red eyed man. Harry's screams died when Dumbledore took Voldemort's hand.

Ron couldn't hear the exchange that passed over the screaming. Voldemort said something to Dumbledore to which the headmaster laughed and glanced to the bound woman. The smirk Dumbledore gave the girl crawled along Ron's skin like an infection. He turned from Voldemort, crossed his wrists behind his back, and remained still while he, too, was bound and gagged.

The blonde woman lowered the bound blonde to the floor as Voldemort did with Dumbledore. For a moment, she continued to struggle, and then they both laid still. The Death Eaters had done their job as a silence spread over the Hall. Anyone who screamed was hoarse, silenced, or rendered unable to speak by their measure. Both bound bodies shivered for a moment, and now it was Dumbledore who struggled. Voldemort undid the girl's gag.

"Well?" said Voldemort.

"Simple," she said. "I told you I'd succeed."

"And how can I be sure that you are who you say you are?"

"How could I be who I say I am if I haven't claimed identity at all?"

His lips tugged at the corners.

"Well done. You shall be rewarded. First, do something about this." Voldemort kicked at Dumbledore's shin. When he looked up, he surveyed the area, taking in all the eyes and ears paying him attention. "Students and faculty of Hogwarts, know that you have been hoodwinked. Under your very nose I've taken your headmaster from you, and now I return him once he is useless. Now there is no Albus Dumbledore to save you, and soon, there will be no Harry Potter, either."

He extended one of those bony fingers that Ron detested, pointed it at Harry, and curled it toward him. The blondes freed Dumbledore from his bindings, and stood at Voldemort's side like whores. With the beckoning motion done, they walked toward Harry. His scar split open again; blood ran down his face, past the bridge of his nose, and just past the corner of his mouth. Ron reached out for Harry, but they got there first. He had nowhere to run, not with all the Death Eaters training their wands on him.

"Sad that it's come to this," said Voldemort. "You could have had talent if you knew how to develop it."

One of the blondes grabbed Harry by his hair and yanked his head back to expose his throat. Tremors ran up the side of his face as he grinded his teeth together.

"Which way would you like it, Harry? Slow and painful? Quick and painless? Messy? Clean? Or would you prefer to go out the way your parents did when your mother tried to sacrifice herself for you? Stupid, really, now that I have to kill you anyway."

"What my mother did was honorable, something you clearly know nothing about."

"Clearly. If you really want it that way . . . I did hope it wouldn't come to this. Ah, well. Avada Kedavra!"

*

The oxygen was cold in his lungs. It was painful to breathe, but Ron sucked on air until he was hyperventilating. His shoulders shook with every spasm of his lungs and diaphragm. Sharp jagged pangs shot through his side, burned from his ribcage up through his chest like a wildfire. He clutched at his throat with one hand and tightened his fingers of the other in soft plush.

"Ron, what's wrong?"

Harry -- that was Harry's voice, and Ron had never been so happy to hear it. If he could breathe, he would jump out of his horrid position and throw his arms around his best mate until it was Harry that couldn't breathe. His fist tightened around the cushion, and he sucked in a long stream of air. When he opened his eyes, they twitched across the room, and stilled only when they landed on Harry.

"Ron, say something. Ron!"

"I can't breathe."

Later, Ron thought that maybe that hadn't been the best thing to say, but it was the only thing that came to mind. Except for the image of Voldemort with his wand pointed at Harry's heart, that is. The others in the Gryffindor common room watched Ron struggle. Someone said something about Dumbledore, but Harry stopped them from going any further. Harry continued to mumble, and stared hard at Ron, like trying to heal him with his eyes. As this picture passed in Ron's mind, he caught his breath long enough to make a snort of laughter.

Breathing came easier after that. He imagined Harry's pupils diminishing until they were nothing but green. Once he got to that stage, Harry tried to kill Voldemort by staring at him with those pure green eyes that could not see (because once your pupil is gone, how are you ever going to see a thing?). The focus allowed him to take in oxygen one breath at a time until the burning in his chest was gone. It took longer for the air to warm up; Harry already tried to make conversation by the time his lungs didn't feel frozen.

"Vision?" asked Harry. Ron nodded.

"Yeah."

"I don't know if these are good for your health."

Ron managed another snort of laughter. "I do. They aren't. They're terrible for me, actually. It's okay. I'll get used to them. This is all still new to me."

"Why would you want to get used to this?"

"Because it's the only choice I've got. What am I supposed to say? 'Thanks, but I don't want foresight anymore. Take it back.' "

"Sure."

"That would be like you asking someone to take back your scar. Just because it would make things easier, no one is going to do it."

"Was that supposed to be a Ron Weasley pearl of wisdom?"

"Think so. Still got a bit of sand in it if you ask me."

"Nice try. Think you're spending too much time with Hermione?"

"Probably. Where were you? Just come back from Dumbledore?"

The thought of Dumbledore made Ron wince. He saw Voldemort shaking Dumbledore's hand, putting Dumbledore in the binds, and then the blonde releasing him. Voices rang in his head, Voldemort's arrogance in fooling the Hogwarts faculty and students.

Harry hesitated, his eyes breaking their connection with Ron's. He picked at the hem of his sleeve.

"Yeah."

"Did you tell him about your nightmare?"

"I started to."

"But?"

Harry sighed. "But -- this is going to sound crazy, Ron. I don't want to talk about it."

"Come on, Harry. You can tell me anything."

"Not this."

"Harry --"

"You're going to think I went off the deep end. I don't know. Maybe I did. Ron . . . it's just so confusing."

The only analogy Ron could make was that it was like being pummeled by an angry Malfoy. Only, that didn't begin to describe this feeling. In a fraction of a second, Ron had little need for the questions he was about to ask. He knew everything that he wondered, but he couldn't describe how he knew it. The knowledge was just there, sitting in his mind like when you search for something and you realize that you've had it all along, only it was hidden.

Could he trust this? It was common for Ron to be wrong about his instincts. Then again, he couldn't call this instinct. Instinct wasn't this insistent about things. He tried to think of something to say, but nothing felt right. Ron never had been good with words.

"If I tell you about my vision, will you tell me what happened with Dumbledore?"

Harry paused. Well, and why not? It wasn't often that Ron volunteered information on his visions, and Harry was rabid when it came to finding out about them. He asked Ron questions about them without relent, most of which Ron refused to answer. This frustrated Harry. He didn't possess a natural ability with patience, especially when he was twitching with anticipation. After what seemed like careful consideration, Harry nodded.

It took a few minutes until Ron sorted out what he wanted to say and how he was going to say it. Sometimes he had a tendency to jump headfirst into things without consideration, and this tactic often left Harry bewildered and confused. Once he sorted his words into coherent sentences, Ron took a deep breath.

"We were at the Halloween feast. Everyone was laughing . . . having a good time. You were talking about the Quidditch team, and how you thought we had a lot of promise this year. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary except for the Slytherins. They whispered back and forth a lot, but were quiet otherwise. Malfoy was by himself, doing nothing. I remember how flushed he looked, because he's usually so pale. Then, for no reason, he got up and left.

"After Malfoy was gone, there was this rumble sound like thunder. I ignored it at first, but then it came again. All the lights went out; people were screaming. Everyone was running around. It was chaos. Then, the lights came back on, and Death Eaters stormed into the Great Hall. There were so many of them. We didn't have a chance."

"The siege," said Harry, paling. Ron nodded.

"The siege. You-Know-Who was there with these two blonde women. One was tied up and being led by the other. It was terrible . . . You-Know-Who crossed the hall and then -- he and Dumbledore -- they shook hands, Harry."

Harry's expression stayed calm, his eyes fixed on a point just over Ron's shoulder. He sighed, nodded, and dug his fingers into his hair.

"It's not even him, Ron. I trust Dumbledore. I always have. I mean, there have been times when I've been angry with him, but going there today . . . it was uncomfortable. He didn't talk like Dumbledore. I mean, he did, but it was forced. Like he was pretending to be Dumbledore."

"Like she was pretending to be Dumbledore."

"What?"

"In my vision, after they shook hands, You-Know-Who put him in binds. Then he seemed to have fallen asleep. The next minute, they released the blonde girl. You-Know-Who said something about us being tricked. That he took our headmaster out from under our very noses."

"So . . ."

Ron bit his lip.

"We need to go see Professor Leiss."

"Who?"

"My Prognostics teacher. I think she might be able to help."

*

"So let me get this straight," said Professor Leiss, leaning on the table, "first the blonde was in binds, then it was Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes."

"And neither one of you thinks that Professor Dumbledore is who he says he is?"

"Right."

"Those are some heavy accusations, Ron."

"He wanted me to use a Pensieve," said Harry. "A Pensieve to put the memories of my dreams and anything else I thought might be useful in working against Voldemort. Dumbledore would never ask me to do something like that. It's too risky."

"What were your nightmares?"

"The siege. Exactly like Ron described."

"You're making it hard for me to argue with you."

"I don't want to argue. I want to know what you think."

"What I think?" Professor Leiss sighed. "I think we've got a problem on our hands. What you're describing -- the blonde would have to be a Switcher, or capable of switching." She chewed on the fingernail of her thumb, and walked over to the fireplace. Grabbing a handful of glittering powder, she tossed it into the fire. "Phoenix? A word?"

Moments later, Professor Valmont stepped out of the fireplace, brushing soot from his robes. He glanced from Harry to Ron to Professor Leiss.

"You called for me, Rebekah?"

"Yeah. We have a problem."

"That sounds pleasant. What sort of problem?"

"A Death Eater, we're all going to die sort of problem."

"Explain."

Professor Leiss explained Harry's nightmare and his visit with Dumbledore. She went through the finer points of Ron's vision. When she got the part about Malfoy, Valmont's face turned into a closed expression.

"It sounds like a Switcher," said Valmont.

"That's what I thought. Whether it is or not, precautions need to be taken. Harry has a history of nightmares about the future thanks to that scar of his. Ron's a certified Seer. They both saw Death Eaters taking over Hogwarts at the Halloween feast. Something has to be done."

Valmont stared at the floor, and sat on the corner of Leiss's desk. His eyes narrowed as if he were trying to make out something in the distance which kept swimming out of focus.

"We won't be able to stop it. There's too many of them. The only option I see is to get out of here."

"How do we do that when Dumbledore is gone? If the Death Eaters have someone inside, we're done for. They'll know something's up."

"It's going to have to be low key. Not all of us will be able to go. Not everyone will believe us. The faculty will have to be alerted. I'd start with Minerva and Sev. They can take care of everyone else. Some people are going to have to stay. After they take over, the Death Eaters are going to give Dumbledore back to us."

"The most important thing is to make sure that they don't figure out what we're up to," said Leiss. Valmont nodded.

"Rebekah, go fetch Minerva and Severus. Tell them what you know and see what they say." Leiss nodded and left the classroom. "Harry, Ron, listen to me. If Death Eaters take over, we're going to have to fight and try to take it back. This has to be low-key, so tell anyone that you think will believe you. What I think is going to happen is that Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, Professor Leiss, and myself will inform all the students who will be able to fight and will believe. Just because they know Voldemort's back doesn't mean they'll believe Dumbledore could be gone. We're going to have to set up a hideout, maybe two or three. We're going to take back our school. I'll notify you if anything changes about the plan, and I'll let you know when we're leaving. Until then, act as if nothing has changed. Life has to go on as normal as it was before."

"Yes, sir," said Harry, nodding.

"Good. Go back to your common room. And remember: tell only who you can trust. I'll keep you updated."

Phoenix disappeared through the door, leaving Harry and Ron alone.

"At least they took us seriously," said Ron.

"Come on. We need to find Hermione."