Subplot

26 - Harry

It was as if the blood in his veins itself had frozen up. When he tried to raise his hand to his scar in a vain attempt to counter the searing pain through his touch, he found that his limbs were no longer at his command. Cho's left hand and right shoulder slipped through his weakened fingers; he tried to hold on to her, but could not prevent her gliding to the floor. Around him in the lightless Hall, students were screaming and moaning. Someone or something shoved him against an unknown object. Robbed not only of his sight but also of his sense of touch, he could not make out who or what had prevented him to hit the floor.

Here and there, the light of a wand flared up, only to die an instant later. Calling for help would not do - everybody in the Hall appeared to be screaming in panic. If only his scar would stop hurting, Harry thought. He tried to call out to Cho, but found his vocal chords as disobedient as his limbs.

Icy Fingers - now Harry understood what had given the curse its trivial name. It was much, much worse than the last time he had experienced it, a hundred times worse than the laboratory simulation of the curse. Glacial digits crawled up his spine, slipped under his skin as if it was a garment, dug through his muscles and sinews until they poked into the very marrow of his bones. He had the distinct sensation of a layer of frost gathering on the inside of his mouth, making its way down into his throat. He was far too cold to fight or even to shiver.

Something was chafing his numbed fingers, but he could not feel what it was; neither could he see, smell or taste it. Even his ears seemed to close up at the piercing screams and the noise around him. Utterly robbed of any sort of useful perception, he found nothingness beckon to him at the end of a very long and dark tunnel. Behind it, there would be ... nothing.

Then there was pain, pain in his left arm. He welcomed it as something that he could feel, something other than the cold that permeated his whole being. If only he could determine what kind of pain he felt, he'd have re-gained some sort of perception, however meagre. That way, he might gain access to the world again, he decided with a brain that felt as if icicles hung from it. He tried to tug at his aching arm, commanding joints and muscles to do their job. His shoulder felt like an ancient, never-oiled machine, but after what seemed an eternity, he managed to enhance the pain in his arm. Something was holding it, evidently; if he wasn't mistaken, his arm was held by sharp teeth.

Then there was a nose in his face, a weight on his chest and paws scratching at his hands. It had to be Sirius, Harry realised. Sirius was sitting on his hands, trying to warm them. A tiny, canine whine escaped from the deafening level of noise. Harry managed to move his thumb over Sirius' front paw. It felt like an immense success to him.

A thin, blue flash of light ran over the ceiling in the fraction of a second, the first visual signal in what seemed to be an eternity. Harry started to wonder why nobody had re-lit the magical lamps to install some kind of order. Could it be that nobody was able to lift the darkness from the Great Hall? What about Flitwick, what about Dumbledore - couldn't they give the school a light, at any rate?

Through the screams and moans that filled the Hall, Harry could hear an alien kind of noise. Somebody was playing a drum, he realised. He could not make out whether the rhythm was played on a part of the Muggle drum set or on Ginny's Shaman drum, but he did notice that it sounded irregular, almost tortured. Again and again, it ceased altogether. Quivering notes from Varlerta's guitar and Neville's flute flared up, only to fade before they could form a tune or build up a protective wall of sound. They've got to save us, Harry thought. What will we do if they can't protect us, now that we need it most?

When the music died altogether, a shudder seemed to run through Sirius. Then the large, furry dog barked loudly. Harry could feel him struggle with something, but could not make out what it was. Where was Dumbledore now, he wondered -could the headmaster still save them, or had he already fallen prey to the vicious curse? Where was Professor McGonagall - where was Snape? Was there no one who could save Hogwarts now?

Suddenly Harry heard a voice right next to him call out with great urgency:

"Sirius, you have to Transform and help me. I can't make it on my own, but maybe you can. If we can't, I think we're all going to die in here." The dog yowled in reply.

It must be Professor Lupin, Harry realised when their icy hands met on Sirius' paw. He tried to say his name, but all that left his frozen lips was a strange noise.

"Harry!" Lupin exclaimed and shook his shoulders. "We've got to counter this curse. You have to help me. I think - I think Sirius can't Transform because the curse is blocking him."

Harry moaned. His scar hurt indescribably, and his body and mind were numb with the cold. He knew he should try to sit up and do something, but somehow it seemed so much easier just to stay where he was, to give up and to die. Sirius growled softly, while Lupin mumbled something in a comforting voice. Then the wizard moved; Harry guessed that he had struggled up into a kneeling position.

"Taovéta," Lupin uttered feebly. It sounded like a resigned lament rather than a powerfully exclaimed counter curse. Harry tried to sit up. Raising his aching head was an effort greater than anything Harry could remember to have accomplished in his whole life. Half-sitting, half-lying, his head resting against Sirius' back, Harry tried to make sense of the chilled, ink-black world around him. Lupin was bracing himself against his shoulders, readying himself for another attempt to Counter the curse.

Suddenly a blinding flash lit up the Great Hall for a moment, reflecting on the walls which were covered with a shiny layer of ice. It split into about a dozen branches which shot into every direction. Just as the blazing light died, screams of pain were heard all over the Great Hall. Now the ice on the ceiling and the walls was cracking noisily, showering everybody with cold, painfully sharp fragments of icicles. Suddenly Harry was wide awake: One of the people who had screamed was Ron, he was absolutely sure of it.

"Ron," Harry whispered. Then he thought of Cho, who had been dancing with him a minute ago - a lifetime ago. He thought of all his friends, of Hagrid, of Hermione, who had to be somewhere in this dark world of chaos. "I'll try to help you," he whispered to Lupin, wondering how he could be helpful in any way, weakened as he was.

Lupin pulled him up to his knees; Sirius nudged him from behind with his head. Harry's legs felt as if they consisted of melting cheese. He bit his bottom lip and tried to ignore the pain. Staring into the impenetrable night yielded no new information. His hands groped for Cho in the darkness. He found her face and her soft hair somewhere on his left. The girl did not react to his touch; she did not move at all. Harry's fingers were too numb to tell him whether she was breathing, even whether she was alive or already frozen stiff in this icy hell.

He felt his throat close up; he would choke if he didn't do anything about it. Something was happening to his robe; Lupin, he realised, was trying to get his wand out. Then the wizard closed Harry's insensitive fingers over the smooth, long stick that felt alien and lifeless.

"Try, Harry. Please, try to Counter it. Remember how we practised it. Remember, Taovéta. Taovéta, Harry!" the wizard urged him. Sirius yowled as if in agreement. Somewhere in the distance, a guitar chord struggled through a speaker, trembled and disappeared as if it had never been played.

"Taovéta," Harry murmured weakly. His lips stuck together in the cold; his vocal chords seemed freeze-dried. How could he do any better than a grown wizard like Lupin, he wondered?

Another magic flash hit the Hall. In the briefest moment of blazing light, Harry could see its branches feather out and aim at students and teachers. Then the light exploded in his eyes; one branch was approaching him at the speed of light, shooting into his face and -

He hit the floor with a thumb that knocked the breath out of him. His side hurt; no, everything hurt. Sirius was making noises that sounded like he was being tortured. Harry struggled to his knees, his fingers searching the darkness for any clue to what had happened. Lupin, Harry realised. Lupin knocked me over; in turn, he was hit by the flash. Sirius was licking Lupin's face in a frantic effort to get a reaction from his friend.

Harry thought of the curse, of the way it hit people in the place where they were most vulnerable - in the place where they were open for caring about each other. All of a sudden he felt a terrible anger overwhelm him. This was Lord Voldemort's doing. Voldemort had killed his parents, had killed so many people - now he was going to get Hogwarts, and everybody in this Hall, and Harry wasn't doing anything about it. He found he was still clutching his wand, ready to do whatever he could to prevent it.

Somehow Harry managed to get up on his feet; surprisingly, his aching legs consented to carry him. Icy air filled his lungs and cleared his head. All he had learned about the Icy Fingers curse was present in his mind now. He could feel the structure of the curse in every molecule of icy air, in each of the numerous threads building the fine-spun web of human relations. The counter curse was made to destroy this structure, and to protect the web. Harry pictured it in his mind once more and took one last deep breath. Suddenly it all seemed to come into focus, as if someone had adjusted a lens in his head. When he raised his wand at the ceiling above, he felt absolutely sure of himself.

"Taovéta!"

For a moment, the Hall fell into complete silence. Then, one by one, the magical lamps lit up, emitting a dim, but slowly brightening light. On the walls, the ice started to thaw; drips of cold water were falling from the ceiling like a slight spring rain. Harry wiped a thin layer of ice off his glasses and looked around in a mixture of wonder and terror. All around him on the slippery floor lay the bodies of students and teachers; some were covered with translucent sheets of ice, while others were showing first signs of motion. Harry felt a bit of warmth return to his face; suddenly he could feel his fingers again. The curse had been Countered, had been turned off as if by a switch.

Harry looked down at Lupin and Sirius. Lupin was as pale as death, but alive, he saw to his immense relief. A thin string of blood was running from his smiling mouth. Sirius lay next to him; his large, black, furry head touched Lupin's cheek, but his dark eyes glanced up at Harry with a look that might well be pride. Harry touched his fur very briefly. Glad as he was that both Sirius and Lupin were alive, there were so many other people he cared about in this Hall. He had to find out whether they were well.

Cho was lying next to Harry, so it was easiest to check on her first. She was unconscious, but breathing. Harry touched her cold, chafed face, then withdrew his hand, suddenly feeling guilty. "Hang in there, Cho. You'll be fine," he whispered to her, hoping that he was right.

About twenty feet across the room, a dark, dishevelled figure struggled to her feet, wiped a mop of black hair out of her face and said in a shaky voice:

"Students and teachers - the danger appears averted. We will all do our utmost to protect you. Would all of you that are able to sit do so, please, so we can find out who is worst off."

It took Harry a while to realise that this grimy figure was Professor McGonagall. Never had he imagined seeing her in such a state.

Very slowly, some students and teachers raised their heads and sat up. Many seemed to be hurt. Harry was straining to see any of his friends. Nearby, one of the twins and Angelina sat over the immobile body of another red-haired figure. Harry crawled closer, noticing that the pain in his scar started to recede.

"Say something, Fred, come on, say something." The red-haired young wizard was shaking his pale twin. When Harry saw tears streaming down George's face, cold fear gripped his heart. Angelina saw him approach; she was crying, too.

"He's breathing, but something is wrong with him," she whispered, shaking icy shards out of her black hair. "That flash-thing hit him." She put a hand on George's arm, who seemed to be beyond noticing.

"Ron," Harry croaked. Angelina shrugged, wiping over her eyes with the back of her hand. "Hermione," she whispered and pointed before returning her gaze to the motionless figure on the ground.

Harry's eyes followed Angelina's finger. Hermione was crouching only about fifteen feet away from him, but in the crowded, chaotic Hall, this seemed to be an immense distance. Far behind her he saw Hagrid leaning against the wall; the half-giant appeared to be holding several of the smaller students in his broad lap. Although dirty and bleeding, Hagrid did not look much hurt, which was at least something.

To get to Hermione, Harry had to make his way through a solid mass of students lying on the floor, many of them hurt. One of the Patil twins - he wasn't sure which one - lay flat on her back and stared upwards at the ceiling, uncomprehending. Harry put a hand on her shoulder.

"Parvati? Padma?" he asked. The girl did not reply. Her black eyes were still directed at the stars which glimmered above once more as if nothing had happened in the world underneath.

"Are you okay? Do you need help?" No reaction. Harry looked around apprehensively. She needed help, needed Madam Pomfrey straight away, that much was certain. Where was the Matron when they needed her most? What if she was hurt herself? Who would help them then?

"Help will come soon, Parvati," he said, wondering if any of his words were true. He felt so tired. If he could only rest for a minute, he thought longingly. Instead, he gave the girl an awkward pat before he got up to look for Ron and Hermione, only to find himself facing little Dennis Creevey.

"Oh, Harry, you are a hero, you performed a miracle and saved us all," the Gryffindor third year piped enthusiastically.

"Thank you," Harry said stupidly, hoping to get rid of the boy as soon as possible. "Have you seen Ron anywhere?"

A look of desperation returned to Dennis' face. "Harry, you have to help my brother Colin. I can't wake him up, but I'm sure you can make him alright with your magic." The apprehension in his eyes made room for an air of absolute trust.

Harry felt as if the ground below him was swaying ever so slightly. What did the boy expect of him? He would have liked to send him away, because he knew he could do nothing for Colin, but somehow he couldn't tell little Dennis so. The boy pulled at his sleeve, urging him through the crowd, regardless of the many motionless or moaning students who were still lying on the floor. Harry cast a desperate look back towards where he had last seen a glimpse of Hermione.

The Gryffindor Prefect was sitting among hurt students, her eyes scanning the room. When she spotted Harry, her face lit up for a moment, only to assume a very, very anxious and pleading look. "Ron," she mouthed, pointing at the figure on the floor. Horror-struck, Harry tore his sleeve from Dennis' grip.

"I've got to look after Ron," he said.

"But my brother," Dennis said stubbornly. "You have to help him, he is ill or something. Please, only come and look at him!" He took hold of Harry's arm again.

Suddenly a loud noise startled everybody in the room: Professor McGonagall had hit one of the Muggle drummer's large cymbals with a blast of magic. Behind her stood Sprout and Vector, both visibly worse for the wear. In the back of his mind, Harry wondered where Dumbledore was. He looked around for more teachers. Sinistra was apparently still out cold. Snape, he saw, was struggling to his feet near the stage, at the same time picking the shards of a broken potion phial out of his bleeding hand. Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen.

Professor McGonagall's voice boomed across the Hall, commanding and controlled. "Students, sit where you are, please. We need to install some semblance of order so we can help you. We have called a team of mediwizards and Aurors who will be here soon. I understand that you are all hurt and terribly upset, but we must ask you to stay where you are."

Helplessly, Harry looked back and forth between Dennis and Hermione. He saw that both were crying now, and knew that he could help neither of them. Why did so many students look at him as if he had done something extraordinary, as if he was special? True, he had managed to Counter the curse, but he had no idea how he had done it. And of course, he had never been able to help a sick person in any way, so what did Dennis expect of him? Suddenly fatigue overwhelmed him.

He sat down where he stood and hid his face in his hands, trying to keep the Hall from spinning around him in never-ending spirals. Nausea rose in his throat; from behind, a blackness fell over him like a heavy, smothering blanket.

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Harry awoke in a familiar place. His first thought was that they might as well give him a private bed in the hospital wing, as he needed it so frequently. For a while, he was well pleased with the world: A warm patch of sunshine warmed his pillow, and outside, a few birds were singing. He was not in pain or discomforted in any way. So why was he lying here in the hospital wing, a nagging voice in his head asked, forcing him to focus on his memories. The feast. Icy Fingers. The Countering of the curse. So many people hurt - or worse?

Harry fumbled for his glasses until he felt them in the familiar spot on the bedside table, put them on and took a look around. He found himself alone in a curtained cubicle that opened towards a window where the sun was already high in the sky. Afternoon sun, he realised. He should have left on the Hogwarts Express hours ago, unless - unless there was no Hogwarts Express anymore. Fear flooded Harry's mind. He sat up rapidly and swung two pyjama-clad legs over the edge of the white hospital bed, determined to find out what had happened to all his friends. Weakness and nausea hit him like a wet sandbag. Resisting the urge to sink back into bed, Harry buried his head in his hand and tried to compose himself.

After a while, he felt better. Alright, he was obviously slightly inconvenienced, so he had to move carefully. Apprehensively, he put his bare feet on the cool, tiled floor and lowered his weight onto them. Bracing himself against the bed, he was able to stand. The room danced around him another little bit, then came to a halt. Harry looked around for his clothes, but found none. Alright then - the pyjama would have to do.

The hospital room was deserted, but next to his cubicle he saw another one with the curtains almost drawn. Harry peeked through the gap and found Lupin propped up in bed, holding a torn, leather-bound tome. As knocking on the curtains would not have been any good, Harry asked apprehensively:

"Professor Lupin?"

Lupin looked up from his book and smiled at him. Harry realised that his former teacher had never looked worse: He must have lost a few pounds, and his eyes looked like they had sunk deeper into his waxen face. "It's good to see you up, Harry," the wizard said quietly.

Harry approached his bed, careful not to betray how weak he felt. Gratefully he let himself fall onto the chair that was placed next to Lupin's bed. He took a deep breath. This was no time to be polite, even if Lupin did not look any healthier than Harry felt himself.

"Professor Lupin, please tell me what happened. Is everybody - alright?"

Lupin sighed and put his book on the bedside table. "No, they are not, Harry," he said gently, "but at least everybody came out of this alive. Thanks to you, I should say."

Harry felt relieved, but not very relieved. "What happened?" he asked.

Lupin rubbed the deepened lines around his eyes. Harry noticed that under his threadbare pyjama, the wizard wore a bandage around his right shoulder. "Most are fine, apart from minor frost bites and similar ailments. They left on the train after a thorough check by Madam Pomfrey. I suppose many of them are down with a bad cold now, and I heard that a Hufflepuff third year had to have three toes amputated, because not even magic could save them anymore. The others -" Lupin swallowed. Then he continued:

"A few people have been hit by some kind of ice missile. They fainted and had to be taken to get surgery at St. Mungo's to have the ice particles removed. Now they are all better, it seems, though the mediwizards and -witches are still not sure whether the ice missiles will have any side effects that so far have not been discovered. Luckily, no one was hit in the head or in any vital organ. That would have been death, I suppose."

"Ron." Harry knew it with a sudden certainty. "Fred. Cho Chang. Colin Creevey. Parvati Patil."

"Padma, actually," Lupin corrected. "Rhonda Celps, Terry Boot, Millicent Bulstrode, a few younger students whose name I've forgotten because I've never taught them myself. Someone called Baddock, a boy named Cauldwell, a girl called Gwenwyfar-something. Flitwick was hit, and so did was Hagrid, even though he never even seemed bothered by it. Hagrid was quite amazing, actually - they tried to persuade him to go into hospital, but he wouldn't hear of it, so the splinter had to be removed here. Right after the surgery, Hagrid got up and left for his hut, just like that."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Lupin's face, but receded as quickly as it came. "Dumbledore was hit, too, and rather badly. If that was accidental, then I'll eat my robe. Poppy said he will live, and he has briefly regained consciousness yesterday, so there is hope that he will get well, but...." Lupin bit his lips.

Harry fought down his worries. There was no way that Dumbledore could die; that simply wasn't possible.

"How is Hermione?" he asked anxiously, remembering how worried she had looked when he had last seen her.

"Hermione wasn't hurt, so she went home to her parents," Sirius said. "She was extremely upset about you and Ron and had to be persuaded to leave. She left you a note on your bedside table, and she said she would owl you soon."

Harry knew he should feel relieved that at least someone was well, but worries were still overwhelming him. Ron was at St. Mungo's; Fred was there, too; so was Cho. He pictured their pale faces between white sheets, the bandages they would have after surgery. When he thought of 'unknown side effects' that might still bother his friends in the future, fear gripped his heart. He tried to put it aside, because there were so many things to worry about right now, so many things that appeared to have happened while he had been out cold. Just to receive confirmation, he asked:

"I was unconscious for more than a few hours, wasn't I?"

"About five days," Lupin said with a lopsided grin that looked ghastly on his thinned face. "Mind you, I wasn't around for all of it, either."

Suddenly Harry remembered something. "You saved my life," he said. Then he looked at Lupin's bandaged shoulder. "And you got hit for it."

Lupin grimaced. "You saved us all, I repeat. Glad I could be of service."

"Why aren't you in St. Mungo's to get treatment then?" Harry's eyes strayed back to the bandage. "Did you get the missile removed?"

Lupin's pale face blushed slightly. "It's not like Poppy couldn't fix such a bagatelle injury," he said without looking at Harry.

"They wouldn't admit him, the cowards." Harry turned abruptly: The voice behind him belonged to Sirius. His godfather looked far more healthy than Lupin, although slightly bleary-eyed. He sat down on the edge of Lupin's bed and said:

"Remus transformed the day before yesterday. Poppy had to do surgery on his wolf shape, which apparently caused some minor difficulties. He'll have one helluva scar." Sirius lightly clapped his friend on his unwounded shoulder. Then he put his other hand on Harry's arm and fixed him with his stare. "Are you alright, Harry?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "I think I'm fine, just a bit wobbly, though I don't even know why. What happened to me?"

Sirius grinned, and even Lupin chuckled.

"Dear godson, take my advice to your heart: Never be a hero again. It's not good for you," Sirius said with a hint of irony. Lupin shook his head in agreement. Then the two wizards exchanged glances. Lupin shrugged, then nodded.

Sirius got up and fetched a blanket which he wordlessly draped around Harry's shoulders. Harry accepted it gratefully; he hadn't even noticed that he had been shivering in his pyjamas. Sirius walked over to the window and leant against the windowsill; Harry had to half-turn to look at him.

"It is not altogether surprising that of all people it was you who managed to Counter the curse," he said. "You seem to have a special ability to draw strength from the surroundings in emergency situations, and to cast spells that are far beyond your normal strength if you really need them. It's supposed to be some kind of a family trait - James was good at it, that's why he wanted us to work at countering Icy Fingers. You are better than him. Your Countering was nothing short of amazing. None of us could have done it."

"I think you did something similar when you conjured up your Patronus on the night we learned about Sirius' innocence," Lupin said. "When you needed the strength, you found it readily. I talked to Varlerta about it, because it's the exact thing she's trying to teach - Strengthening at the highest level. She said she believed that while you'll always be rubbish at Coaxing, you have a natural talent for drawing strength when you need it."

Harry drew his blanket tighter around his shoulders. "You said my father could do the same?"

Sirius nodded. "Not quite as spectacularly as you did at the feast, but in a similar way. He did some... amazing things when we were young, and he never even knew himself how he did it. It's a rare talent. Dumbledore believes that besides your mo- well, that it's one of the reasons why you could survive Voldemort's curse when you were a baby. Maybe it's one of the reasons why Voldemort was after you and your parents in the first place, too - maybe it's even the reason for Trelawney's prophecy that you will be Voldemort's downfall."

Harry thought he had misheard. "Excuse me?" he asked apprehensively.

"Sirius, you oaf," Lupin chided. "Dumbledore warned us not to tell him, remember? Besides, Harry is ill, and you are worrying him with all these things."

"I'm sorry," Sirius said in a subdued voice, shrugging apologetically. Then he broke out: "Dumbledore with his damn carefulness. Look where it's gotten him, or us, for that matter. I don't believe that keeping anything secret among ourselves is a good idea anymore."

"What did Trelawney say?" Harry said in a quiet voice.

"Just this: that a Potter would be the downfall of the Dark Lord," Lupin replied. "Your parents went into hiding with you straight away after they heard. You know the rest - you are the last Potter left alive."

"What happened to the rest of the Potters?" Harry asked. Somewhere in the back of his mind he saw a large family with black, dishevelled hair and knobbly knees, as seen in the Mirror of Erised.

Sirius sighed and looked at Lupin; Lupin shrugged in reply, as if to refuse responsibility.

"There weren't so many to begin with. Your father had a brother and a cousin who were killed by Voldemort before they could hide. The Potters were neither a large nor an old wizard family, though they had a bit of money among themselves. Rather they were a progressive bunch with a reputation for marrying Muggle-borns, for being reckless Aurors or dedicated scientists. No one ever knew why they should be the ones to bring down Voldemort." Sirius looked out of the window for a moment. Outside, the golden sun of early evening was blazing. He blinked as if the light stung into his eyes.

"We never knew why you survived Voldemort's attack, because in spite of your mother's protection, it was really unheard of. We never knew what talent of yours would be the reason for Trelawney's prediction. Now I think we might have gotten a glimpse of it." His voice faltered almost imperceptibly. "Your parents would have been very proud of you."

Harry drew his feet up on his chair and hugged his legs under the blanket. Right now, he felt very small and completely devoid of any special talents. He did not want to talk about his parents for now, nor of any kind of prophecy, so he asked:

"So is there any news about the ones that were hit? Do you how they are - Ron, Fred and -?" His voice faltered when he tried to ask about Cho.

"Ron went into hospital and had his ice fragments removed like all the other students and teachers who were hit," Sirius explained. "Like most of the other students, he's much better; he sent Pigwidgeon with a letter for you this morning. I plead guilty of opening your mail this once, because I was so anxious to hear how he was - I hope you'll forgive me, Harry."

Harry nodded impatiently. "Sure, just don't let it turn into a habit," he replied off-handedly.

Sirius kneaded his chin. "Fred is not so well, and the whole family is rather worried. It seems he is recovering, but not as quickly as the other students. Right now, everybody is kept at St. Mungo's so they can look out for potential side effects. They are worrying about the missiles inducing a magical disease, but couldn't spot any yet. Hopefully, they never will. - Ginny and George weren't hit, at least, though Ginny caught pneumonia on the frozen stage. The whole Weasley family is camping out at the hospital, it seems, except for Arthur, who practically lives at the ministry right now. The whole place is in disorder - the whole British magic community is, as a matter of fact."

"What will happen with me then?" Harry said. "Are you going to send me to -"

Sirius shook his head. "We can't, I'm afraid - it's too dangerous. All these years you were protected by old Mrs. Figg, who also was your Secret-Keeper. Well, as you heard, she was killed by Voldemort last summer, and so was her daughter. It was agreed that Quibster would take her place during the holidays, but Quibster betrayed us, and now he is gone. Flitwick is ill, and so is Lupin, besides the fact that a Muggle town is not the best place for a werewolf to live. There wasn't really anyone else who could have done the job. I'm not sure what Dumbledore would have us do in this situation, but we can't very well ask him now, so I persuaded Professor McGonagall to write to your aunt and uncle and tell them you aren't coming for now. I hope that's alright with you - as far as I understood you, there's little love lost between you."

Harry nodded mutely. "How are the other teachers? What will happen to the school if Dumbledore - is ill?"

Sirius shrugged. "Professor McGonagall will be headmistress for now, until Dumbledore is well again. For now, his illness is a secret, because we can't let Voldemort know how weakened we are. Hogwarts is not a safe place anymore, and I have no idea what will happen next year. However, we will do our best. Some of the teachers - Vector, Sprout and Sinistra for example - are working on an enhanced protection of the castle and the grounds." Sirius grimaced; Harry inferred that without mentioning him, he was also talking of Snape.

"Professor Varlerta and her band have left for the States as she planned to do," Sirius continued, his eyes on the floor. "I believe that there's more to their departure than just music, though she insisted they are going into a recording studio. She and Roary are - up to something, I believe. I wish they would have trusted me enough to tell me. She said she'll owl me, and her apprentices, and -" He looked quite unhappy for a moment. Then he shook his head as if to clear his thoughts.

"I thought maybe you would like to stay here with me for now, as there does not seem to be much choice. Perhaps you could visit the Burrow later during the holidays. Remember, you are invited to a prestigious Weasley wedding that is scheduled for August, at least if everybody is well again by then. For now - do you think it would be okay with you to stay at Hogwarts and help me and Lupin with the counter curse? There's still plenty of work to be done until we've got Taovéta into a shape that is usable for the rest of us as well. Who knows, with your mysterious talents, maybe you are just the person we need. - I know it's not what anybody would choose to do during the holidays, of course, but right now I can't do any better, I'm afraid. I wish I could offer you a proper home in these difficult times."

Sirius had said all this rather quickly and quietly; now he looked at the floor. Lupin moved as if to say something, but then thought better of it.

"I couldn't wish for anything else, really," Harry said, smiling at his godfather. "You and my friends are the only family I have, and Hogwarts is my only home, but I am glad of both."