Harry Potter and the Fifth Element

Chapter 37 - The Boy Who Lived?

A dozen heavily armed and decidedly jumpy goblins eyed their three highly unusual charges with all the deep suspicion that their race held for wizards. In turn, the visitors gawked at the massive edifice that loomed before them.

"Cor, would you look at that!" Hlr. Huxley exclaimed with undisguised admiration. "I've been to the magical communities in Petra and Cappadocia, but I've never seen anything comparable to this."

"I seriously doubt that any of us have," Dumbledore added, as he also regarded the imposing structure. Chiseled directly into an underground deposit of deepest black obsidian, its main entrance was inlayed with jewels and semiprecious stones of all shapes, sizes, and colours. Whilst richly appointed, the building was also designed for practicality - the practicalities of war. Each level was fully fitted with battlements, and several score more heavily armed goblin warriors stared at the visitors through the crenels.

"We are probably the first of our kind ever to gaze upon the threshold to the palace of the goblin kings - let alone to enter it," Dumbledore added gravely. "None of the Ministry's diplomats from Goblin Liaison has ever set foot here. I daresay that is why our escorts are so nervous."

Indeed they were - and that apprehension had been increasing since Dumbledore, Hlr. Huxley, and Hlr. Hypatia Bosworth had first passed into Goblin territory directly from the Chief Goblin's office at Gringotts. This unheard-of wizard incursion had been arranged and organised on extremely short notice. No accepted protocols existed. Every step both sides were taking was unprecedented.

The leader of their goblin escort party tugged on Dumbledore's sleeve and let loose in staccato Gobbledegook.

Dumbledore translated for the rest of the party. "Prince Maragnok bids us to hurry. Mister Potter's medical situation is believed to be grave, and not everyone here is inclined to make us welcome."

With no additional conversation, the goblin prince who had become Harry Potter's blood brother ascended the shiny black steps. The rest of the party followed. Dumbledore doffed his hat at the entryway - an act taken as much out of necessity as from diplomatic considerations. The entrance, whilst grand by goblin standards, was not designed for much taller wizards. Had he not removed it, Dumbledore's high pointed headgear surely would have fallen victim to the lower ceilings within the palace.

The others followed suit.

With everyone's footsteps echoing off the carved stone passageways, their hosts led the three wizards through the mazelike corridors of the ebony palace for several more minutes. Presently, they reached what appeared to be the main dining hall, but it was not set for a feast.

Instead, the expansive chamber was a hastily converted sick room. Several tables were shoved together in disorderly fashion. Surmounting them were what seemed like every pillow, cushion, and pouffe in the palace. Atop of this padding, swaddled in clean sheets soft enough to have come from the king's own bedchamber, lay Harry - or least someone, or something, who resembled Harry.

He was being attended, remarkably lackadaisically, by a number of goblin Healers. As the wizards arrived, these goblins were chatting anxiously among themselves, but did not appear actually to be trying to treat Harry.

What truly brought the wizards up short was the remarkable protuberance from Harry's back. It was bright red and almost ten metres long - a wing - a single, badly broken wing.

"What in Merlin's name happened to him?" Hlr. Huxley burst out, practically involuntarily. "I thought the reference to a 'wing' in Dumbledore's note from the goblins was a typo - a mistranslation."

"Well, typo or not, I'm very pleased you saw fit to act on it and bring me along," Hlr. Bosworth replied as she heaved her heavy black bag of potions, charms and other healing devices onto her shoulder. "It looks like my speciality will be necessary after all."

"What do you make of it?" Hlr. Huxley asked the witch who occupied the position of Department Chief at St. Mungo's for Transitory, Charmonium-Mediated, Epigenetic Phenomena.

"I've read articles devoted to this sort of syndrome," Hlr. Bosworth replied, shaking her head as if she could not believe what she was seeing. "And I once had a patient that sprouted antennae, but never have I seen a case anywhere near as serious as this...."

"And what is this?" asked Hlr. Huxley urgently.

"Unless I miss my guess," Hlr. Bosworth diagnosed, "we are faced with a case of spontaneous partial Animagus transformation. In all probability it was brought about by the extreme stress that this patient experienced at the end of his Death Eater captivity - but that's just a preliminary conclusion based purely upon the gross morphology."

She turned to Dumbledore, who had been listening in, and asked him, "Has Mister Potter ever shown signs of Animagus abilities before now?"

"None that I am aware of," Dumbledore responded, struggling to recall something - anything - that might have been a harbinger of the sight before him. "He is a year away from any serious cultivation of such skills. At Hogwarts, even preliminary assessment of Animagus ability is conducted only in the second half of the Sixth Year. His father was an Animagus, though...."

"Well, it's not known to be hereditary, but I have no other explanation for how that wing could have gotten there," Hlr. Bosworth replied, stroking her chin in thought. "Symptomatologically it all fits. The Animagus transformation must have been incomplete, and the transformed appendage suffered serious injury before the process could revert to its usual state. That prevented the injured wing from retracting once the transient emergency that prompted its existence had passed. It does look very horribly mangled - fractured in at least three places, one of them compound."

She turned back to Hlr. Huxley. "Healer, why don't you see to stabilizing the patient's condition? I'm going to concentrate on healing his wing so that it is capable of undergoing reversion. The physical structure is so extensive that its persistence is taxing Mister Potter's condition. His body is not acclimated to supporting it."

Dumbledore held back as the two wizard Healers moved forward to take charge of their badly injured patient. Hlr. Bosworth made to examine Harry's damaged wing more closely. Hlr. Huxley confidently shooed the goblins out of the way as he withdrew several diagnostic runes from his own black bag.

Almost immediately, they determined why the goblin Healers had seemed lost - and why they had so uncharacteristically requested the assistance of wizard practitioners.

They could not touch Harry - at all. A rogue Shield Charm prevented any physical access to his body. The harder Hlrs. Huxley and Bosworth pressed against the shield, the more powerful a defensive shock they received. Hlr. Bosworth quickly resorted to a variety of spells after being repulsed. Hlr. Huxley persisted in using direct pressure until his entire right arm was numb and the shield was glowing faintly yellow.

Nothing worked.

Dumbledore strolled up behind Hlr. Huxley, as the Healer was trying to take readings with a diagnostic rune from thirty centimetres distant. "What is your prognosis, Healer?"

"Extremely grave," Hlr. Huxley replied with frustration tingeing his voice. "Beyond that, it's hard to say, since all of these bloody runes are charmed for direct contact. These readings are unreliable, but they indicate extremely low concentrations of charmed baryons. He's losing what's left of his magic.... It's just flowing out of him, and I don't know how to staunch it. There's no magical equivalent of a tourniquet."

"If we don't find some way of lifting this Shield Charm, and soon, we'll be burying him," Hlr. Bosworth added urgently. "Look underneath - it's repelling his body from the cushions on which he's lying. I tried levitating the wing a bit and whilst I could move it, the shield still precluded direct contact. It's consuming what little reserves he has left. It's as if he's sacrificing everything to maintain the shield. What must he have been through?"

Dumbledore saw no alternative. He shed his deep brown travelling robes, revealing beneath them the gaudy Hawaiian shirt he had thrown on in a rush after hurriedly replacing the clothing he had scorched earlier. The Headmaster extended his hands - the intact one and the badly burnt and blackened one - and placed them as close to Harry's chest as he could.

Hlr. Huxley tipped his hand to shush Hlr. Bosworth, who gaped in shock at the Headmaster's own injury. "I don't think direct pressure will work," he whispered to Dumbledore. "I've tried everything."

"Mister Potter does not recognise you or your aura," Dumbledore replied. "I just hope he can still identify mine."

His brow furrowed and his face reddening in concentration, Dumbledore brought his hands closer and closer to Harry's burnt, battered, and bruised body. He mumbled under his breath, "Harry, this is Albus.... It is all over, Harry.... Albus Dumbledore.... You have known me for years.... Albus.... I want to help you.... I need to help you.... You know I would never hurt you.... Albus Dumbledore.... You are safe here.... Let me through, Harry...."

Everyone - human and goblin - stopped what he or she was doing and watched in tense silence as Dumbledore sought to work his unique brand of magic.

At first the shield surrounding Harry glowed yellow, just as it had done in thwarting all of the Healers. But as Dumbledore kept mumbling soothing words, slowly the colour changed - first to orange, then to red, and then to ever deeper red, as the shield began to fade away. Finally with a barely audible hiss, it dissipated altogether, and Dumbledore's hands gently went to Harry's torso. The Headmaster's facial expression relaxed noticeably when he made physical contact, but otherwise he kept up his soft stream of words.

"...Good Harry.... Stay calm.... I am going to help you now.... Albus.... I have brought Healers - good ones.... To help bring you back.... Albus Dumbledore.... You are safe now.... You have been rescued...."

The ancient wizard slid his hands - one good and one burnt as badly as any spot on Harry's body - up to Harry's head. He brushed away what remained of the injured boy's charred and filthy black robes. Soon his hands rested on Harry's cheeks, cradling his slack-jawed face. The scar that emblazoned Harry's forehead was hot to the touch, but the rest of his face was algid and clammy with hypomagusic shock.

"I am bringing the Healers now.... They will help you.... It is over Harry.... You are with Albus.... With friends...."

Never moving his hands from Harry's face, the Headmaster nodded his head to his compatriots, letting them know that they could approach and start tending to Harry's perilous condition. Several of the goblin Healers swarmed forward as well, and began daubing the boy's prominent burns with a milky blue salve that was cool to the touch and smelled strongly of camphor. Hlr. Huxley had never seen this particular concoction before, but let the goblins carry on. He had more serious healing to attend to.

"What on Earth did you just do, Albus?" he asked.

Dumbledore looked back at him philosophically. "Fortunately, whilst Mister Potter no longer trusts me in many ways about many things, it appears that he still trusts me with his life."

"Well, that's the most important thing," Hlr. Huxley reassured.

"Perhaps not. As I have discussed with you before, there are things far worse than dying - and things more important than living," the Headmaster reminded his friend. "The degree to which I have truly regained this boy's trust remains to be tested."

Hlr. Huxley would have liked to explore Dumbledore's typically maddening comments, but he had a patient to treat.

Dumbledore offered but a single additional question to the Healers. "Do you think you can save his life?"

"Yes," they replied in unison, and with that they set to work.

The two Healers were in their element now, and they lost no time. Hlr. Huxley employed a non-stick, Apparating magical catheter to access the cubital vein in Harry's arm. He began an IV push of as much charmonium (Ω⁺⁺⁺) enhanced Blood-Replenishing Potion as Harry's rather depressed system could handle. He mixed together a Restorative Draught of Phoenix Tear Extract and Mandragora for Harry to take per os. It was the most potent mixture he knew. Because Harry was unconscious, Hlr. Huxley had to massage the boy's throat to stimulate an involuntary swallow reflex.

So much needed to be done, possibly in very little time. Hlr. Huxley's next step was to mix tincture of dragon liver with powdered ginger roots in a solution of sparkling water in order to purge Harry's system of an excess of black bile. Then he would need to set his patient's badly broken ankle.... After that, he had to treat Harry's fever.... Perhaps he had an infection?

Dilute Green Absinthe, perhaps? Or maybe an Invigoration Draught? Thank Merlin he had kept some of the Phoenix Tear Extract he had received from that Granger girl....

Hlr. Bosworth was similarly busy. Her most immediate concern was to reduce and heal the fractures in Harry's remaining wing. First, she soaked warm poultices in hospital-strength Skele-Gro to create an infusion that would penetrate the skin - the skin of whatever beast or fowl Harry's Animagus actually was. In fifteen years of practice, she had never had to immobilise anything quite so large. She was a Healer, not a veterinarian.

Next, to produce the necessary splints, she used the Engorgio Charm to enlarge the splinting material she had brought with her. As she was treating a victim of spontaneous Animagus transformation, she could not affix any splints in the usual way. Successful healing of the spontaneously generated appendage would eventually prompt an equally spontaneous reversal of the transformation. Anything too strongly attached would get in the way of the reversal, possibly causing reinjury. She settled on a cantilevered, hypoallergenic Sticking Charm. It would let the entire splint pop off in a fail-safe manner once the wing began to transform and withdraw.

Harry's wing was so large and badly broken that the end result of Hlr. Bosworth's efforts resembled nothing so much as an encasing scaffold. It took over an hour of frantic labour to construct, and it had to be kept in traction. Taking advantage of the providential appearance of a goblin translator, she asked for something she could use as a counterweight....

Hlr. Bosworth almost did not believe her eyes when, less than a minute later, several goblins pushing a handcart presented her with a gigantic aquamarine crystal that weighed over twenty kilos. The goblins who brought it batted nary an eye when she used a Drilling Charm to punch a hole clean through the massive gemstone so she could run a hoisting lanyard through it.

Even with these orthopædic labours completed, there was no rest for the weary. Hlr. Bosworth's successful external fixation meant only that she could turn her attention from broken bones to ruffled feathers. She boiled a decoction of powdered blue Moonstone in salamander blood to produce mucilage for restoring order to Harry's bent and broken plumage. The same potion, albeit far weaker, was the active ingredient in Sleekeasy's Hair Potion - but instead of hair, Hlr. Bosworth had to straighten out feathers that were as much as a half metre long.

Both Healers were totally engrossed in their work. They did not notice when a goblin dressed in a sumptuous grey uniform beckoned Dumbledore out of the room.

Dumbledore acknowledged the high-ranking goblin as soon as they were alone and could not be overheard. "Greetings, General Barduk. Congratulations are in order, I understand."

The goblin general deflected Dumbledore's praise. "Nothing, it was," he pronounced. "Except strange ... exceedingly strange. In ruins the castle was, verily before we attacked. Mopping up we were, nothing more. Whatever happened, already had. Quite small were the opposing force remnants - and divided, I think."

"Well, you rescued Mister Potter, and that was what really mattered," Dumbledore persisted. "For that I shall always be deeply and profoundly grateful - and of course chastened. I should have remembered to ask for your help at Malfoy Manor. That oversight was solely and entirely mine."

General Barduk remained dismissive. "All water under bridge. What happened is the paramount question. More immediately, though, tell us you must what to do with your traitor."

Dumbledore did a double take. "What?"

The general smiled slyly. "Yes, your traitor, captured by us he was. To death we thought of sending him immediately like every other live Death Eater we caught, but strangely this ... Snape, I believe he calls himself ... was acting, so to wait I ordered."

"You have captured Severus Snape?" the Headmaster asked, now genuinely concerned.

"To see you, he requested. Repeatedly, he did," the general confirmed. "To spare him, enough that would not have been, except for in battle odd his behaviour was."

"I would like to see him as soon as possible," Dumbledore requested, trying not to betray too much eagerness to the goblin. In the past, goblins had been quick to demand ransoms in such situations, and the Headmaster did not want that complication. "In what way was he acting oddly?"

"Killed one of his own men, he did, when the other on Harry Potter trained a wand. Also something to give Potter, he was trying it seemed. Succeed that did not. Here it is. This." General Barduk removed a small object - the hasp from a wizard cloak - from his vest pocket and offered it to Dumbledore.

The Headmaster recognised it immediately. It was one of Professor Snape's forms for concealing the miniature Portkey he had developed. The same persistent shield that had stymied Harry's medical treatment must have also prevented Snape from rescuing the boy.

"Yes, I do wish to see Professor Snape," Dumbledore told the goblin. "He is of interest to me."

"And to me as well," General Barduk confirmed. "Saved his own life, he did. Suspicious he was. Perhaps for you he is truly working?"

Dumbledore made a snap decision that the goblin general was worthy of his confidence. "You must keep this a secret," he said in a low voice. "He was - and is. It would be extremely beneficial to the war effort were that to continue."

The goblin nodded and said no more. He bade Dumbledore to follow. They passed through several of the palace's labyrinthine, low-ceilinged corridors. These were not the glistening, highly polished walls of the formal sector, but rough-hewn and occasionally jagged to the touch. Not only did the Headmaster have to remove his hat; he had to stoop to pass through. Shortly, they arrived at another of the goblin mirror surfaces. A featureless black sphere mounted on a stele stood beside it. Running his leathery hands over the sphere, General Barduk swivelled it this way and that whilst it.

"Go we now," he yapped at Dumbledore. The tall wizard and the goblin less than half his height passed together through the shimmering surface.

Emerging on the other side, Dumbledore found himself in what was obviously a goblin prison of sorts. It has only a few cells, as goblins usually did not keep prisoners unless money was to be made. Most prisoners met the same fate as those Death Eaters - other than Snape - who had not been so fortunate as to perish before the goblins took them.

General Barduk barked out some orders in rapid-fire Gobbledegook. From how the other goblins responded, it was obvious that, as the rescuer of the missing goblin prince, he was the goblin of the hour. He received congratulations from everyone.

"This way," the general impatiently motioned Dumbledore after being diverted one time too many by some glad-hander. The Headmaster was led to a windowless, featureless stone cell no more than three metres cubed. Except for two stone blocks on opposite sides and various sized metal rings driven into the walls, the cell was totally unfurnished.

"Do privacy you require?" the general asked.

"That would be best, yes," Dumbledore responded, grateful to be given the choice. "The fewer who know about this, the safer we all are."

"Do any guards you wish?" the general asked again.

"No, I do not find Severus Snape dangerous," Dumbledore commented, "except perhaps to himself."

"Down the corridor await I will where first entered we did," General Barduk informed the Headmaster. "Attend to matters I must."

Within a minute, Dumbledore heard a shuffling noise, followed by what sounded like epithets in Gobbledegook. A battered and bleeding Severus Snape was roughly shoved into the room, clad only in his undergarments. Chains restrained his arms, legs, neck, and midriff. His captors followed and began methodically trussing Snape to some of the rings in the wall. When Dumbledore protested in Gobbledegook, the goblins looked at one another, shrugged their shoulders, and left without a word.

Snape sat down heavily on the stone opposite the Headmaster. He looked a fright. The goblins had were plainly none too gentle in their treatment of their rare wizard prisoner. Snape's face was bruised and battered. His ordinarily prominent hooked nose had been broken, probably more than once. He was bleeding from at least two scalp wounds, and from where his goblin-forged manacles had cut his skin. Nevertheless, Snape was lucid.

"Forgive me, Headmaster, I have failed you," Snape declared, surprising Dumbledore with his articulateness. "I had my opportunity, but Potter did something characteristically unusual. I could not bring the Portkey into contact with him. Then I was captured. If you wish to invoke the vow, I am ready."

"Nonsense, Severus," Dumbledore chided. "You have many years of useful life ahead of you. Mister Potter has been successfully rescued, and is undergoing medical treatment as we speak. I have just come from his sickbed."

"And so my distasteful mission is over," Snape half asked and half told the Headmaster. "What now? It seems that I have wasted what little standing I had acquired in the greater community for little or no benefit."

"It limits the scope of your usefulness, but I believe also deepens it," Dumbledore sagely replied. "How is your standing with Tom these days?"

Snape sighed. "As always, he finds my skills useful. The Dark Lord trusts me more than before, if only because one result of our backup plan was to deprive me of other options in his eyes. Thus, I am privy to some things, but not everything. I can confirm his fixation upon, and reevaluation of, the original prophecy. However, I have never been allowed to see it myself, so its contents remain mysterious. On another matter, I am reasonably certain that Lupin is correct - the Dark Lord is negotiating with the Triads. Unfortunately, I do not know who his counterpart is, or how far the talks have progressed."

"Have you been able to learn anything of the circumstances of Mister Potter's kidnapping?" asked Dumbledore.

"Some," Snape replied. "I can confirm absolutely that Potter was not taken by Death Eaters.... At least not by anyone working for the Dark Lord...."

"Not taken by the Death Eaters?" Dumbledore repeated with scepticism. "But Tom himself was present when we assaulted the kidnappers' lair. Are you certain?"

"Completely," Snape affirmed testily. "That was merely a remarkable coincidence. We've been over this many times before. The Death Eaters did not take Potter. The Dark Lord was as surprised as anyone at that turn of events. Thereafter, he tried as frantically as the Ministry to locate the boy."

"Truly interesting - and worrisome - that evidently some other game is afoot," Dumbledore conceded, whilst kneading his brow anxiously. "Any intelligence as to whom, or why?"

"Unfortunately, none," Snape admitted bitterly. "The Dark Lord does not include even me in such confidences. From his attitude, I gather that he views the perpetrators as renegades and spectacularly lucky amateurs. However, the Dark Lord has kept their identities a closely held secret."

"What do you know of the circumstances of Mister Potter's escape?" Dumbledore asked with keen interest, craving first hand information. The Headmaster knew only that some sort of cataclysmic explosion had taken place, liberating a helter-skelter, but nevertheless powerful, combination of Light and Dark magical elements. The effect of the magical shock waves upon the Hogwarts wards established as much. Beyond that, available details remained sketchy. The goblins had control of the site and were permitting nobody - wizard or Muggle -access to it before completing their own thorough search.

"Again, relatively little," Snape confessed. "The Dark Lord expected he would be disposing of Potter imminently and was quite excited. I never saw the boy beforehand, but a report arrived that he had freed himself with Death Eaters in hot pursuit across the moor. They never caught him, apparently, and made the excuse that Potter had escaped by sprouting wings and flying over the cliffs at the end of the valley. At the time, I thought it preposterous."

"Understandable, but quite wrong," Dumbledore corrected. "I have seen the evidence with my own eyes. Mister Potter has previously undiscovered Animagus abilities - abilities that involve a large flying creature."

"Oh, spare me," Snape snorted. "So Potter becomes even more insufferably special than before. At least I doubt I shall be around to bear witness to it."

"Quite true, I'm afraid," Dumbledore agreed. "Do you know any more about what happened?"

"I was ordered to lead reinforcements into the valley to ensure the boy's capture," Snape continued with his story. "I had no desire to go, as that created the possibility that Potter might be apprehended and even dispatched by the Dark Lord in my absence. I purposely delayed, and I believe that delay saved my life."

"The explosion?" prompted Dumbledore.

"The explosion," confirmed Snape. "I was deep in the bowels of the castle with my team. A detonation the likes of which I have never experienced took place. It threw us all to the floor, and even in so protected a place brought down parts of the ceiling and walls. Most of the castle itself evidently collapsed, as we found our way out blocked."

"The power.... I don't believe anything short of the Fifth Element could have produced the utter destruction I witnessed. Not only was nothing left alive in the valley, but every trace of life had vanished completely. The rocks themselves were hot, and they bore melted crusts. The stream had evaporated. The usual fog and low clouds had altogether disappeared. In their place was a tremendous pillar of dust and debris. Free magic coursed through the air, forming various rather ... eye-catching ... patterns. It was unlike anything I have ever seen."

"Where was Mister Potter?" Dumbledore wanted to know.

"Nowhere to be found," Snape answered. "Nor were any of the two score or thereabouts Death Eaters who had been trying to apprehend him. I deployed my group of ten widely, separating them on the excuse of looking for the others. From the evident force of the blast, I thought I knew where Potter might be, and I was correct."

"Where was he?" Dumbledore asked again.

"The explosion had propelled him far into the air. I can't even speculate how far," Snape answered. "I saw him falling back to Earth - with that useless wing of his. His progress was being slowed by ... something ... a something that turned out to be some sort of shield that prevented my ultimate success. He was an easy target for Arresto Momentum, and I brought him safely to Earth. He had not been on the ground for more than a few seconds when our lovely allies attacked."

"So the goblins arrived after the fact?" Dumbledore questioned.

"Entirely," Snape spat. At the moment his attitude towards the goblins was hardly charitable. Snape had suffered more than enough pain and torture at the hands of the Dark Lord to tolerate with equanimity any more inflicted by supposed friendlies. "They swarmed us. I ordered a retreat, but not all of my men made it even that far. A few did, and when someone, I think it was the one called Louth, attempted to execute Potter in advance of us being overwhelmed, I had no choice, and I acted."

Dumbledore continued his inquiry. "You killed this Death Eater Louth?"

"I killed Mister Louth, yes," Snape confirmed. "I am still fully capable."

"Obviously," Dumbledore observed, saying nothing further on that subject.

"I attempted to fulfill the mission," Snape continued. "Potter was barely, if at all conscious, but he remained enveloped by the shield. The Portkey would not function without physical contact. I continued to try, unsuccessfully, until our so-called friends put a stop to it, and I wound up here."

"A remarkable tale indeed," Dumbledore observed. "One for the history books."

"You would do well to take care, Headmaster," Snape warned. "The Fifth Element is dangerous and poorly understood. The boy is impetuous, if not unstable, and can generate great, but uncontrolled power. I saw the immediate aftermath. If such a thing were to happen at Hogwarts, the Castle would be leveled, and I doubt anyone would survive. I know how you feel about the boy, but he should be expelled for everyone's safety."

"Duly noted," Dumbledore responded in the kind of non-committal way that Snape knew, from long association, meant that the Headmaster would ignore his advice. "And about yourself?"

"I am collateral damage, so it appears," Snape replied sarcastically.

"On the contrary, Severus," Dumbledore answered. "I believe you are still of great value. The goblin commander informed me that you are the only survivor of your men. From what you tell me, it is highly improbable that any of the Death Eaters previously present could have survived the event. If you are quietly freed by the goblins, nobody need be the wiser. You can return to Tom. Do you know where he is likely to be?"

"I doubt the Dark Lord is capable of being killed in that manner - thus one of several places," Snape speculated. "He is probably injured, so that narrows the options still further. I shall, of course, do your bidding."

"Come, then," Dumbledore motioned towards the door. "I shall arrange your release."

* * * *

When Dumbledore returned quietly to Harry's improvised sickroom, he at once noticed the improvement. The Headmaster cheerily sidled up to Hlr. Bosworth, who was engrossed in mixing some light blue potion. "My dear Healer Bosworth, it appears that your medical skills are every bit as great as your reputation suggested. Mister Potter's wing is no longer with us."

"Well, it's no longer evident," she mumbled back, not taking her eyes off the potion. "In a sense, it's still there, though - lying dormant until he triggers the transformation again, whether consciously or unconsciously. The wing finally healed enough to achieve disformation about five minutes ago, and just like that it spontaneously vanished."

"Any surmise as to what manner of Animagus Mister Potter might be?" Dumbledore asked with interest.

"With only one wing to go on, it's hard to make a definitive diagnosis," Hlr. Bosworth replied distractedly as she added a precise amount of Murtlap Essence to the potion. "Could be one of several things, but my best guess, from what little I know about Mister Potter, is a griffin of some sort. It would be fitting, and very little concerning Mister Potter seems to happen by chance."

"What are you mixing now?" Dumbledore asked again. "I thought your work here would be just about complete."

"An antipyretic," Hlr. Bosworth replied curtly. "We've had trouble getting Mister Potter's fever down. I'm assisting Healer Huxley. He can tell you more."

Dumbledore shuffled off see Hlr. Huxley, whom he found anxiously watching the colour patterns emitted by several of his diagnostic runes. "Problems?" the Headmaster asked, with growing concern.

"Some," Hlr. Huxley told his old friend. "On the good side, his burns are healing apace, his ankle's been fixed, his charmonium count and other magical indicators are steadily increasing, and, of course, the wing's gone - which has greatly eased the stress on all of his systems. On the bad side, I can't seem to get this fever down, his pulse and breathing are racing, and he's shaking. I suspect he is also hallucinating. If you look closely at his eyes...."

"But his eyes are closed," Dumbledore observed in frustration. "If something else is important, I am afraid my eyesight is not what it used to be." The Headmaster pushed his half-moon glasses back up his nose with his good hand.

"Give me your hand, then," Hlr. Huxley requested. The Headmaster complied and the Healer's practiced guidance drew the fingers on Dumbledore's good hand to a very light touch on Harry's closed eyelids. "Do you feel that?" the Healer asked.

The Headmaster's eyes registered surprise at the unexpected amount of activity he sensed. After a moment's pause he responded, "Yes, what does it mean?"

"Rapid eye movement," Hlr. Huxley explained. "That's diagnostic of hallucinations, or at least extremely intense dreams. None of it responds to standard magical cures. Therefore, something non-magical must be involved, but I just can't put my finger on it."

As the Healer turned back to his latest attempt - a Sobering Solution - much grunting and rustling of sheets occurred.

"He might be coming out of it," Dumbledore informed his medical friend urgently.

Just as Hlr. Huxley wheeled about, Harry groaned loudly, sat halfway up and opened his eyes. The boy's eyes met the stares of two very surprised goblin Healers who were changing some of the burn poultices on his leg.

Harry screamed.

"DEMONS!! I'M IN HELL!!"

Dumbledore tried to get the howling, disoriented boy's attention. "Harry, it's alright. You're safe. It's over...."

"URRRRRK."

The sound of violent vomiting interrupted Harry's screams. His eyes rolled back into his head. His body stiffened as he once again lost consciousness. He fell back heavily and started jerking about uncontrollably. Even though unconscious, Harry uttered another strangled scream. His breathing became irregular. His lips turned blue as he went cyanotic. Harry's thrashing about ripped the catheter out of his arm, tearing his skin and spattering the sheets with blood.

"Parry, do something," Dumbledore pleaded.

Hlr. Huxley was well ahead of the Headmaster. Pointing his drawn wand at his writhing patient, he incanted, "Petrificus Totallus."

Harry stopped moving abruptly, and the Healer rushed to examine him

"What do you make of that?" the Headmaster asked nervously. All around them, goblins were staring. To them, Harry was a prince of the royal blood - and royal blood was not to be spilled.

"That was a textbook tonic/clonic seizure," Hlr. Bosworth interjected.

Hlr. Huxley, meanwhile, was saying nothing. He had a far more immediate task - making sure the boy's airway stayed clear. After about thirty seconds of frantic efforts, he looked up at Dumbledore, the situation now stabilized.

"Once again, my magic was useless - except for stopping the most obvious external symptoms," Hlr. Huxley growled. "Something bizarre is going on.... Wait a minute.... Fever, tremors, elevated respiration, hallucinations, seizures.... It can't be.... The Death Eaters would never do that...."

"Would never do what?" Hlr. Bosworth asked. She knew Hlr. Huxley's methods from interning with him years before. He was plainly onto something.

Hlr. Huxley rummaged through his bag. He pulled out a daytimer, and opened it to what appeared to be a series of coloured squares accompanied by tiny writing. Flipping pages, he came to the square he wanted and touched his wand to it. Instantly a softbound book appeared, and Hlr. Huxley seized it.

"Now that's unorthodox indeed," Dumbledore remarked whilst watching the Healer conduct his research.

"You'd be surprised some of the cases that come through St. Mungo's," Hlr. Huxley replied distractedly. "Sometimes magical issues are only a minor part of the problem."

"But Parry," Hlr. Bosworth reproached, "surely you have something more authoritative than the High Times Encyclopædia of Recreational Drugs?"

"Not for this, I don't," Hlr. Huxley replied, continuing to flip pages until he poked an authoritative digit at an entry. "There, it all fits."

"What fits?" asked the Headmaster, genuinely perplexed.

"Mister Potter is exhibiting all the symptoms of withdrawal from barbituric acid poisoning - that means he's been fed illegal Muggle drugs for quite some time, and he became physically dependent ... in a word, addicted. I can't believe that Death Eaters would deign to use Muggle methods, but there you are.... Hype, can you round me up a blood sample to confirm?"

"Certainly, Healer," Hlr. Bosworth assented, reverting to her long-ago role as the master Healer's intern. She drew her wand, and waved it at the blood-soaked blankets surrounding Harry, "Tergeo," she recited. Instantly she had collected enough blood to complete the necessary tests.

After a couple of minutes, Hlr. Bosworth exclaimed, "Parry, you're a bloody genius! Barbituric metabolites are present in this blood. I can't tell exactly what isomer, though."

"Doesn't matter," Hlr. Huxley replied triumphantly. "Now that I know what it is, I know how to treat it."

The two Healers whipped up another set of potions in less than ten minutes. By then the worst of Harry's seizure had passed. They freed him from the spell and administered the brew. Then they waited.

The next three-quarters of an hour were not a pretty sight, glutted with Harry's moans, groans, sweat, and other bodily excretions. Harry's body bucked violently as under the influence of a strong Counter-Addiction Potion, he purged himself of the remnants of the poisonous cocktail to which he had been subjected for weeks.

On more than one occasion, the scene grew exceedingly tense. Through his goblin counterparts, Hlr. Huxley had to plead with his hosts to avoid imminent violent intervention. Harry's torment perturbed many goblins, who regarded what was happening as unpardonable lèse-majesté. The Healer's words and assurances probably would not have sufficed if the goblins had some even remotely plausible alternative to his treatment.

After what seemed like forever, Harry's movements gradually started to lessen and his breathing normalized. The boy enjoyed a few minutes of calm rest before beginning to stir. His eyes fluttered open, and his gaze fell on the Headmaster.

"Whahr.... Mye?" he choked out.

Dumbledore put his ear close to Harry's mouth as Harry repeated, "Whahr.... Mye?"

"You are safe," Dumbledore said slowly and softly. "You have been rescued by the goblins. We are in their stronghold, and you are finally among friends."

"Wha'appen?" the boy asked weakly.

"That I am not sure. I believe you escaped, and when Death Eaters tried to recapture you, you had another incident of spontaneous magic - very powerful."

"Whahr.... V'mrt?"

"What?" Dumbledore asked.

"Whahr.... V'mrt?" Harry repeated, with a little more insistence. The boy struggled to lift himself up.

"I cannot tell you where Voldemort is. Nobody here can," Dumbledore relayed. "You destroyed his castle, I believe. You may have injured him."

"Uhhoh," Harry sighed. He fell back on bed, still exhausted. "Errk.... Whahr H'mnee?"

Again, Dumbledore did not understand. Holding Harry's burnt hand in his own, the aged wizard leaned in as closely as he could to hear Harry's faint and slurred words.

"Whahr H'mnee?" Harry struggled to form the words, his faint breath barely rustling the Headmaster's beard. "Shii.... Shii camfrmeee."

"You mean Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked slowly. This was not good. Harry was still terribly weak. He could never stand the horrible truth in his enervated condition. Right now, above all, Harry needed his will to live.

Harry nodded, and the barest flicker of a smile passed his face as the Headmaster said Hermione's name. "Rii...." The reply was so soft that Dumbledore could barely hear him. "Mus' sii'er. Camfrmeee.... Mus' polgiy...."

Hope and fear registered in the boy's eyes, battling for supremacy. Again he struggled to sit up, but without much success. With a weak smile of his own, the Headmaster reached out to touch Harry's chest and bid him to be still.

"Harry, you are too weak to have any visitors right now," Dumbledore instructed. "Concentrate on recovery ... on healing yourself. As soon as I can, I shall take you to her. I promise." The Headmaster squeezed Harry's burnt hand in his own and repeated. "I promise."

The boy's eyes became almost pleading in their quality. "Yllll ... ta'me ta hr...?" he rattled whilst gazing up at Dumbledore's face. After a couple of more raspy breaths, he added, "Pleeez...?"

"As soon as you are well enough to be moved, I shall take you to her...." Dumbledore felt a cup being pressed into his far hand. He glanced over and saw Hlr. Huxley. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, and Parry nodded. The Healer silently mouthed the identity of the potion.

The boy let out an audible sigh and closed his eyes. Tears seeped out as Harry began to imagine what the promised reunion would entail.

Dumbledore continued without missing a beat. "Right now, Harry, I need you to take this potion. It will preserve your strength and allow you to heal. It is equal parts Dreamless Sleep Potion - like you have had before - and Draught of Peace. After all you've been through, trust me you need it."

Harry said nothing, but nodded his acceptance. The Headmaster cradled the boy's head in the crook of his right arm as he brought the cup to Harry's lips. It was not easy. Harry was still terribly weak and could barely open his mouth wide enough. But with effort, he managed to drink the entire cup, with only a little dribbling down his chin.

A tranquil expression came over Harry's face. He relaxed, and fell - finally - into undisturbed, dreamless sleep.

After a few minutes, Hlr. Huxley whispered. "He has normal pulse rate and respiration. What are you going to do now, Albus?"

"Keep my promise," Dumbledore replied.

* * * *

It had been one of the strangest afternoons anyone could remember at Hogwarts. The first magical wave had slammed into the school, knocking everyone for a loop, just as the N.E.W.T.-level students were switching from one double period to the next.

Ron Weasley, however, was not where he was supposed to be. Instead of going to his Charms class, he had arranged an amorous rendezvous with Cho Chang in the deserted Ravenclaw Quidditch locker room. It had been over a week since they had last been intimate - in the room Cho had rented in Diagon Alley - and both of them were almost insanely randy.

They were outdoors, almost at their intended destination when the first wave hit. It knocked them to their knees and temporarily disoriented them, but did nothing to cool their ardor. If anything, the incident seemed to inflame their passion still further.

A tocsin sounded.

Together, they watched from behind the referee's shed as everyone in the vicinity obediently flocked back to the school - teachers and students alike. The last to pass was a line of Third Years led by Hagrid, who had hastily called a halt to their Care of Magical Creatures class.

Ron and Cho never made it to the locker room. Taking advantage of the sudden absence of others, they made their love on the grass in a secluded corner of the Quidditch pitch. They were fully engaged when the second, and more ominous appearing, shock wave struck. This second magical disruption was enough to cause even those two ardent lovers to call a halt to the proceedings and make their way back to their respective common rooms.

Ron was quite out of sorts when he reached the Gryffindor portrait hole. The halls of Hogwarts had been oddly deserted for a weekday mid-afternoon, and he had not known why until encountering that new Potions professor, Slughorn. Ron was docked fifteen points for violating the shelter in place directive that was in effect.

It had been bad enough that McGonagall had called him a slacker and practically forced him to add Potions to his schedule (Snape's entry requirements having vanished with him), but now he had lost points before ever attending the ruddy class.

Stepping into the common room, Ron was instantly the center of attention.

"Ron! Thank Merlin! Now maybe we'll get some answers," Katie Bell exclaimed as she jumped to her feet, her Prefect badge askew.

"Where's Hermione?" Morgan Maryknoll, another Seventh Year, asked urgently.

"What made the lights almost go out?" Lavender Brown interrupted with her own breathless question.

"Where's Ginny?" inquired Demelza Robbins, a classmate of Ron's sister.

"What in blazes happened this afternoon?" a Third Year chimed in.

"Where's Neville?" Parvati Patil joined in the chorus.

Numerous other questions tumbled into one another - far too fast for Ron to answer, even had he known the answers. Ron seemed to shrink as the crowd of curious housemates backed him into a corner. He had his hands protectively outstretched and was genuinely unsure how to provide information he plainly did not have.

Mercifully, the Seventh Year male Prefect, Geoffrey Hooper, stepped in. He put a stop to the babbling and imposed a semblance of order. Addressing Ron, he explained, "Everyone's on tenterhooks about the strange goings on today. We're all clueless. Nobody's told us anything, but we all sense something major is happening. We're all confined to our dormitory and with the four of you all gone missing, it's only natural that we figure...."

The burly Cormac McLaggen interrupted the Prefect. "What he's trying to say is that we're all being kept in the bloody dark. With golden-boy Potter out of the picture, Dumbledore only tells you boom-wins what's what...."

Ron never held McLaggen in much regard, particularly once the older boy had let it be known that he was planning a challenge for Ron's Keeper's position - Denmark or no Denmark. The redhead started feeling warm in the face. "And just what is a boom-win?" he spat, fists clenched.

"Bloody ... Order ... of ... Merlin ... winner," McLaggen spat right back, emphasizing every word.

"I'll show you bloody ... you overgrown sideline sitter," Ron sneered as he boiled over. "We earned every bit of that.... Nearly got ourselves killed...."

Ron lunged at McLaggen, swinging wildly. The Gryffindor common room once again descended towards chaos. In the shouting and shoving that ensued, nobody noticed the portrait hole opening again.

"That is QUITE ENOUGH!!" Professor McGonagall's magically enhanced voice boomed over the din. "Everyone sit down where you are - at once."

Ron and McLaggen disentangled themselves whilst the Gryffindors grudgingly complied. As their Head of House ended her Amplification Spell, the rest noticed that she had Neville and Ginny in tow. Neville was ashen faced. He seemed barely able to stand and looked to be on the verge of losing what little lunch he might have eaten. Ginny's puffy eyes and damp cheeks betrayed that she had been crying.

Ron duly noted who was not present. "Oh shite," he muttered under his breath. "Merlin help her now." He did, after all, have some inside information. Thus Ron had no doubt that something had gone terribly wrong with Hermione's undertaking. He managed to attract his sister's attention.

'Harry?' he mouthed silently.

Ginny gave her brother a curt nod of the head and mouthed, equally silently, 'later.'

Professor McGonagall saw none of this. Although furious at the unruly conduct she had just witnessed, she nevertheless acted oddly drained - as if maintaining her own composure were no easy task. Thus, no points were taken.

"As you know, I do not usually frequent the tower," she began. "But in light of what has happened, I believe that you all deserve an explanation of what we know about today's events ... since they affect Gryffindor House most peculiarly. It is my sad duty to report to you all that a terrible accident involving...."

"WHOOOEE!"

"ALL RIGHT!"

Professor McGonagall's attention abruptly shifted. She had been interrupted by whoops from upstairs in the boys' quarters. Two sets of feet pounded down the stairs.

"Listen to this.... Sonorus!"

The artificially loud sound of a Wizard's Wireless filled the room.

"...AS OF YET WE HAVE NO INDEPENDENT CONFIRMATION. WE REPEAT, THE GOBLIN NATION HAS JUST MADE THE ANNOUNCEMENT, THROUGH GRINGOTTS BANK, THAT HARRY POTTER HAS BEEN RESCUED FROM CAPTIVITY AND IS CURRENTLY IN GOBLIN HANDS. FURTHER BULLETINS AS MORE INFORMATION BECOMES AVAILABLE...."

Scattered spontaneous cheers broke out as Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas burst into view, grinning madly. Coming face to face with Professor McGonagall's fierce countenance, they skidded to an abrupt - and meek - halt. The Wizard's Wireless had reverted to regular programming, and a public service presentation on Perfecting Your Patronus now droned incongruously in the background.

With a wave of her wand, Professor McGonagall silenced the Wizard's Wireless.

The Gryffindor Head of House caught her breath audibly. "That is truly welcome news," she agreed, "and I sincerely hope it turns out to be true. Regrettably, however, it does not lessen the gravity of the other news that it is my sad duty to convey...."

Ron could hold it in no longer. "Oh Merlin," he burst out uncontrollably, "she's gone.... Dammit! Nothing's worth this...! Nothing!" He turned on his heel and started to storm away.

"No, Mister Weasley," Professor McGonagall replied firmly. "Stop right there! You are mistaken. You are correct that the news concerns Miss Granger, but you quite wrong to believe she is deceased. Now please restrain yourself, or I'll have to deduct points...."

Actually, McGonagall was in full agreement with Ron's sentiments - for weeks she had emphatically expressed similar views to Dumbledore and others - but she did not want a student's overwrought emotions revealing precisely what her favorite student had done. The Deputy Headmaster's candor, whilst genuine, was not going to be entirely candid.

Both Ginny and Neville shook their heads at Ron, their eyes promising a fuller explanation later. With difficulty, the redhead managed to regain his mental balance. The enormity of Hermione's sacrifice briefly had him thinking dark thoughts - pounding Harry to a pulp (if indeed he had been rescued) merely because his plight had brought this about.

A little more thought, however, led Ron to realise that Harry would undoubtedly be his own worst critic - just like he would be if something similar ever happened to Cho.... But Harry had already lost so many, and had so little left in the way of people he truly cared about....

The voice of Professor McGonagall, who was once again beginning to speak, drew Ron back to the present. She resumed the announcement she had rehearsed so thoroughly that it practically sounded like a written statement:

"It is my sad duty to report to you all that a terrible accident has befallen Miss Hermione Granger. Some time ago she volunteered to help test some experimental magic for the Headmaster. This afternoon, whilst she was engaged in these tests, the magical impulse that I'm sure all of you felt passed through Hogwarts. The spellwork malfunctioned under the strain. Miss Granger was badly injured as a result - too badly, I'm afraid, for our Hospital Wing to treat. She has been moved elsewhere to receive more intensive medical care."

"As I said earlier, she is not dead. However, her condition, whilst stable, is grave. At present I do not know if or when she will recover, and thus I cannot tell you whether, or when, she will be able to resume her studies. I hope that the situation will be clarified in the coming days. For now, I am not replacing Miss Granger as a Prefect."

"Mister Longbottom and Miss Weasley were present when Miss Granger was injured. Fortunately, their own injuries were minor. However, they were exposed to a very traumatic situation, and I would request that you not make enquiry of them. They have a right to choose whether and when to discuss it."

"I will now take your questions."

A forest of hands erupted from the audience, but Ron's was not among them. He could tell from Professor McGonagall's remarks that she was not going to discuss what really happened. That conversation was promised by Neville and Ginny - who had taken their leave without waiting for him.

Ron stood quietly in the back with his hands in his robes, watching his Head of House. She answered precise questions with precise answers, but those answers in no way revealed that Hermione had been searching for Harry when the worst (almost) had happened. Yadda, yadda, yadda....

Ron felt a tap on his shoulder. He whirled around and saw - nothing. Then he heard Ginny's disembodied whisper, "Sixth Year boys' dormitory, as soon as you can without being conspicuous." That was it. She was gone.

Affecting boredom, Ron slouched away. When he was out of view of the crowd, he sprinted up the stairs and burst into the room.

"Bloody Hell, Ginny," he panted, "where did you get Harry's mfffbbblt...?"

Neville planted his hand firmly across Ron's big mouth whilst Ginny sealed the door and cast an Imperturbable Charm on the room.

"From Luna, who got it from Hermione," Ginny answered impatiently. "How Hermione got it, I don't know, but that's not important."

"You're right in one," Ron agreed. "What's really going on?"

"It was horrible," Ginny wailed. "Well, not at first. Hermione actually did it. She found Harry - mentally that is. She was sort of in his mind, calling out what she was seeing through his eyes.... Then somehow V-V-Voldemort was there.... She mentioned his name. That was just about the last thing she said that I could understand. Then there was that ... that.... What did McGonagall call it?"

"Impulse," Neville offered.

"Magical impulse," Ginny repeated. "It hit the school and Hermione at what seemed like the same time. It was awful.... Hermione, she ... she...."

Ginny could not finish the statement. She leaned into Neville, stricken. "Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit," she repeated in a furious half-whisper as she turned towards Neville. Ignoring her fists pounding his chest, he held her tenderly. Ron looked at him too, but Ron's usual overprotective affectations did not come.

"Basically ... Hermione started burning up," Neville said softly. "She caught on fire."

"Oh, Merlin," Ron groaned.

"Pomfrey was knocked out. I managed to put Hermione out, but I thought she was going to die then and there, right in front of me. Luckily, Luna kept her wits about her and summoned Dumbledore. How he got there so quickly I don't know. He did something with that phoenix of his that kept her alive somehow. Then he revived Pomfrey. Whilst we were being treated for our own injuries, some Healers came in - it looked like they were from St. Mungo's - and took Hermione away. Later, they let us see her for just a bit. She's in the Room of Requirement in some kind of yellowish bubble. Nobody would tell us anything about her condition except that she's alive and stable. That's it. Now you know as much as we do."

"What do we do now?" Ron asked, mostly rhetorically.

"What can we do now?" Ginny shot back, at what she plainly thought was her brother's stupid question.

"Wait, I suppose," Neville answered disconsolately. "The damn shelter in place remains in effect until further notice.... More of a lockdown actually.... None of us is very good at sitting...."

"Wait," Ginny yelped, cutting Neville off. "There is one thing we can do.... Assuming that announcement is correct, I'm sure Dumbledore's going to have Harry brought back here, where it's safest. I think we can keep watch for that. Then we can go to the Headmaster and demand to see him."

"How do we do that?" Ron asked.

"Last night and today Hermione had Dennis and Colin handing out the mirrors to all of last year's D.A. members, not just Gryffindors," Ginny informed her brother. "It's a good reason to test the network. Also, you need to learn from them how to work the central station, since it looks like you're the senior D.A. member left here at the moment. It falls to you to run things then ... unless you don't want to."

For a brief moment, Ron almost felt queasy at the prospect of taking over for his fallen friends.

But only for a moment.

Steadying himself with one arm against his four-poster bed, he took a deep breath.

"SMACK!"

Ron slapped himself hard across the face. Now looking determined, he set his jaw and replied, "Okay."

* * * *

With the bulk of Gryffindor house looking on - and with Colin and Dennis by his side for technical advice - Ron nervously spoke into the large screen that directed the D.A.'s Castle-wide communication system, "Brilliant Blue, come in, this is Red Leader, do you read?"

He held his breath, but after a brief silence, the screen flickered and the speakers crackled to life. Luna's voice came across, faintly at first, but then loud and clear as Dennis adjusted a connection in the magical equipment. "Red Leader, this is Brilliant Blue. The system works. However, we've nothing to report here. The front of the Castle is quiet."

"Thank you Brilliant Blue," Ron replied, more relieved than he let on. "Same here. All quiet on the rear front ... er.... You know what I mean. I'm patching in Hufflepuff. Mellow Yellow, this is Red Leader, do you read...?"

For a while Ron thought that nothing more would be accomplished beyond a shakedown cruise of the new communication system. In front of a clot of admiring housemates, he put the various written, automatic, and spoken functions of the equipment through their paces. For the first time in his life, Ron thought that the Creevey brothers were "bloody brilliant."

Shortly after midnight, with Hogwarts' mandatory lights-out requirement scattering the bulk of the group, Ron finally learnt something substantive. Oddly, it was from Hufflepuff, the only one of the three D.A. houses without a broad tower view. "Red Leader, this is Mellow Yellow," Justin Finch-Fletchy's tense voice announced. "Our portrait is reporting activity in the hallway leading to the Quidditch pitch entrance. Several people, presumably staff, are exiting."

"I copy," Ron said. He alerted Ravenclaw to increase the watch, and sent Ginny and Neville to rouse the Gryffindor D.A. contingent. Soon several dozen eyes - most of them using Omnioculars - were scanning the horizon. Ravenclaw reported the first sighting.

"Red Leader, Luv, this is Brilliant Blue" - Cho's image in the mirror gave Ron a mischievous wink. She had taken over from Luna, who had switched to observing. "We've spotted something ... several somethings, actually ... in the general direction of Hogsmeade. There's something really large flying this way. It's hard to make out, but we think it's being escorted by a number of other, smaller flyers, but not brooms, at least not all of them."

Cho kept a running commentary over the open mirror as a flying caravan approached. Its centre was a large rectangular object, with no visible means of power except several glowing crystals on its underside. Along side it flew maybe a dozen broom riders and an equal number of "child-sized people" astride what might have been small dragons - although none of the ordinarily knowledgeable Ravenclaws could identify the type.

"It doesn't look like they're stopping on this side," Cho informed Ron less than a minute later. "They're swinging around to yours. Be ready."

Soon several of the Gryffindor mirrors began signalling simultaneously. The caravan was in sight. Parvati was the first to spot the rest of the welcoming committee. "Look there, behind the greenhouses," she blurted. "There must be thousands of them.... But they look really small."

Neville and Ginny cried out almost as one, "Goblins! It looks like a whole army of them."

"How could they get here?" Lavender asked. "We have wards to stop that kind of thing."

"Harry and the goblins, they're...," Ron began before catching himself. What he had been on the verge of announcing into the master mirror was not common knowledge. "They rescued him you know."

"Nice save, Ron," his sister's sarcastic voice crackled.

"I am the King," Ron replied without missing a beat.

"Nobody could have forced the wards so quickly and silently," Neville commented. "That means Dumbledore must have let them in. If Dumbledore's out there, then I'm sure Harry is too."

"Mission accomplished," Ron sighed contentedly. "It's time for bed. Tomorrow, if Dumbledore doesn't come to us, we boom-wins will go to him."

With a big grin, Ron turned to the Creeveys, "Abso-bloody-lutely fantastic guys. I've never seen anything like this. Can you make me one? I've got Ministry reward money coming, and I'd like to connect the Burrow."

Colin and Dennis were noncommittal. Ron's request was only the latest of several such enquiries. After the way the system had performed, similar entreaties from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were inevitable. They had no choice but to take Hermione's advice to meet with Harry's solicitor about patenting and selling what they had put together - but not before both Harry's and Hermione's situations were clarified.

* * * *

The gentle, muffled sound of phoenix song hung in the background of the Room of Requirement.

It was well after midnight when Hlr. Huxley at last gave his medical approval after running his diagnostic runes over Harry for what seemed like the hundredth time. The Healer had been doing nothing but treating Harry since they had taken off in a hastily converted goblin ore transporter hours ago.

"Albus, you may wake him, but keep the curtains up for now," Hlr. Huxley instructed. "I agree that this is the best of some rather poor choices, but above all be gentle. Don't overwhelm him. He's got to stay calm, and from what you've let on, that won't be a soft option."

"He's stronger and more responsible than yeh might think," Mad-Eye Moody commented testily. It had been a very long day for the old Auror. The morning began with plans to recapture the newly released Death Eaters, moved abruptly to dealing with the aftermath of the magical surges that bowled across the British Isles, and finished with Dumbledore's summons that Harry was returning to Hogwarts. Moody's presence, as Harry's designated guardian, was urgently requested.

"We shall soon find out," Dumbledore replied calmly to Moody. "Understood, Parry," Dumbledore acknowledged his old friend and physician. "Here goes.... Ennervate!"

Almost immediately, with a groan, the dark-haired figure between the white sheets began to stir.

Ignoring the protests from his almost 150-year old knees, Dumbledore knelt down beside Harry's hospital bed. "Harry, this is Albus. You are home - at Hogwarts. It is all over. You are safe."

The boy's eyes opened, closed, and opened again, blinking rapidly. "H'master Dumbledrrr...," he choked out, still rather woozy. "Wha' happnd? Wha' happnd to th' goblins? Voldemort?"

"Please, after all this, call me Albus," Dumbledore gently requested. "As best I know, what happened is the goblins rescued you, but only after you all but obliterated a castle full of Death Eaters. How, I don't know.... The goblins called me because you were very ill...."

Dumbledore noticed Harry's eyes roaming. "Harry, that is Paracelsus Huxley, an old friend of mine and one of the foremost Healers in the country. He has been tending to you for hours...."

Harry's eyes began to focus better as Potion-related sedating effects continued to wear off. He turned his head fully to face Hlr. Huxley and said, "Thanks, Healer."

"You're quite welcome," the Healer replied. "Your case was challenging and unusual - a bit like the curse of living in 'interesting times.'"

Hlr. Huxley's allusion evidently went over Harry's head, as the boy said nothing in response. He blinked some more and took in his surroundings.

"Room of Requirement?" Harry asked perceptively.

Dumbledore beamed, "Quite correct, Harry...."

"Figured," Harry cut in. "I know the Hospital Wing ceiling by heart, even without my glasses, and this wasn't it. The Room's the only other logical place...." With the mention of logic, Harry's voice trailed off, as he seemed to be thinking.

Dumbledore's soothing voice filled the silence. "Harry, have Alastor Moody with me. After you were ... taken ... we found amongst your things the unposted letter appointing him as your guardian. He has accepted the position."

Harry squinted around and his eyes fell on a semi-blur that he supposed was his new guardian. "Thanks, Mad-Eye."

"I'm honoured, Harry ... son...," Moody replied with uncharacteristic hesitance. He had broken in hundreds of candidate Aurors, but had nothing he could call "family" since before the Great War - the first one.

Dumbledore reached into his pockets. "Harry, I have some things that I believe belong to you - your wand, an Auror's ring, and a new pair of glasses that arrived whilst you were ... indisposed."

Harry took the glasses first, then the ring, which glowed slightly as it adjusted itself to his finger, and finally his wand. The wand was still in the remnants of its invisible holster, which Harry felt, even though he could not see it - just his wand through the rips and holes.

Memories of the circumstances under which he had last taken the holster off came flooding back.

Harry's chest hitched and his voice cracked. "Oh Merlin," he blubbered. "She's dead ... because of me.... I should never have...."

Dumbledore placed his hand on Harry's forehead and softly pushed him back to the pillows. In his calmest voice, he intoned, "No she is not. She is here - alive, if not well. I promised you...."

"What do you mean she's not dead?" Harry replied, confused but no less distraught. "The first thing the Death Eaters did was kill her in cold blood. I was petrified, but I heard the leader curse her...."

Dumbledore realised that they were not discussing the same woman. "You are referring to Miss Eliza Brookings?" he asked gingerly.

"Y-y-yes...."

"I apologise, Harry, I misunderstood," Dumbledore confessed. "Miss Brookings is missing and presumed dead. We assume that her body was consumed in the fire. You have my condolences...."

Uncomprehendingly, Harry asked, "What fire?"

Dumbledore blinked. He had stumbled again. The aftermath of the great fire that had reduced a large portion of Central London to smoking ruins was constantly on his mind and demanding his attention. He had forgotten the blaze's coincidence with Harry's kidnapping - and that Harry may be the only person in England who knew nothing of it.

"A serious fire happened in London shortly after you were taken," Dumbledore explained. "It destroyed the building in which Miss Brookings resided. We will need to pool our memories over the coming days, but for now I need to tell you about the critical importance of remaining calm at all times...."

"Where's Hermione?"

"In a moment, Harry, but first I have to impress upon you the magnitude of what has just happened...."

"You said Hermione was here, but that she's hurt. We can talk all you want, but I want to see her first. You promised...."

"Very well," Dumbledore surrendered. "She is in this same room behind that curtain." He gestured at the white floor-to-ceiling drapery behind Harry. "She is not well ... not at all. She is unconscious and cannot speak to you."

Harry's chest hitched. He felt like he was being strangled. His tongue felt huge, his eyes started to burn. He dropped his head into his hands. He did not want to cry - especially in front of Dumbledore.

So he did not.

Falling back upon his Occlumency training, Harry willed his emotions to go blank. Clenching his fists, he stilled his trembling jaw. His face became a mask as he tried to come to grips with what he had just been told.

It was happening again - just like it had happened to his parents..., to Sirius ..., to Bill ..., to Eliza.... But this was the end. Nobody else was quite like Hermione. She had come for him, and from the sound of things, she had paid a horrible price. Hermione was the last person on Earth he could say that he truly loved. But he had never been able to tell her that.... Now it appeared that he might never get the chance.

Finally, Harry slumped into a chair that the Headmaster had conjured. The adults allowed themselves to relax just a bit. The news had not been met by any sort of outburst. The boy was not angry; he was desolate.

"Harry, I'll do everything in my power ta get her back," Moody's gravelly voice pronounced softly after a few minutes. "We all will. I promise."

"Y-y-you, you w-w-will?"

"I swear on my honour as an Auror and on my responsibility as yer guardian."

"I do as well," Dumbledore affirmed, "and to prove it I will go one step farther."

Harry just looked at the Headmaster blankly.

"I offer you an Unbreakable Vow," Dumbledore declared. "I will do everything in my power to restore Hermione to you, and to us all, healed and uninjured. I will bring in the best Healers in the world. I will leave no stone unturned...."

Both Moody and Huxley were staring wide-eyed at the Headmaster, but neither said a word. Harry did not notice them.

"What's this unbreakable thing?" Harry asked, his puzzlement clearly registering.

"If I fail to carry out the vow, I die," Dumbledore replied.

A pregnant pause.... "No! I don't want that!" Harry recoiled. "Too many people have died in my place already. Your regular promise - the one you just made - is quite enough."

Another uncomfortable silence followed, which Harry eventually broke.

"Can I see her?"

"Yes," Dumbledore replied gravely, "but as I said before, you must remain calm. I shall explain more fully - perhaps as soon as tomorrow - but neither you nor I can afford another of your uncontrolled magical outbursts. You know Occlumency now. You must use it, and use it constantly, to purge yourself of strong emotions. If you do not, you will be endangering everyone in this Castle, including Miss Granger, as well as the school itself, your future at this school, and thus my ability to ensure that you learn what you need to know. Do you understand that?"

"Yes sir," Harry replied soberly.

Dumbledore looked him straight in the eye. "Can you do that?"

"Yes sir."

"Very well," Dumbledore responded as the twinkle in his eye returned. He started to make a gesture to the curtain when Hlr. Huxley broke in.

"Mister Potter, please do not try to touch anything. The fluid is sterile, and any introduced infection would lessen Miss Granger's chances of recovery."

"Okay," Harry instantly agreed.

With a wave of Dumbledore's good hand the curtain fluttered as if caught by a wind, lifted over everyone's heads, and vanished. The sounds of phoenix song became more distinct, soothing Harry and lifting from his mind, ever so slightly, the black clouds of despair.

Suspended in midair against the darkened background of the Room was an orb of softly glowing, pale yellow fluid within which Hermione's body was plainly visible. Streams of tiny bubbles constantly formed at the bottom of the orb, floated through it, and exited through the top. Several massive spheres of shimmering opal were beneath it, likewise glowing and changing patterns constantly.

Hermione's form floated freely in the orb, and the tiny bubbles would attach themselves to her for a time when they encountered her. She was not moving - not even breathing - and her eyes were closed. Left to its own devices, her body had more or less curled in upon itself, as if seeking protection from anything and everything that lay beyond the sphere. She was hairless, or almost so.

Harry sat bolt upright in his own hospital bed, transfixed by the sight. He said nothing - simply staring at the person who meant more to him than anyone else in the world, and contemplating her present condition. After maybe 45 seconds, he found himself getting distinctly uncomfortable with the situation. Hermione, after all, was quite naked, except for the Auror's ring she wore, like him, on her right hand.

"You can bring the curtain back," he murmured. "I really shouldn't be seeing this."

Another wave of Dumbledore's hand restored the curtain.

Harry realised something. "The ... the phoenix song.... It's ... it's coming from Hermione."

"Five points to Gryffindor, Harry," Dumbledore replied. "It is indeed. To save her life I had to sacrifice Fawkes. Fawkes has become a part of her."

"Phoenix song is so beautiful," Harry observed sadly - whilst thinking the same thing about Hermione. "What's happening to her?"

"I shall give you the thumbnail sketch now, and all the details I know tomorrow," Dumbledore said, his voice turning sombre again. "You remember what you just promised me about using Occlumency to keep your emotions tightly in check?"

Harry flinched just a bit, but answered, "I do," in a somewhat shaky voice.

"Please prepare yourself, then," Dumbledore requested. "Parts of this story are not pretty."

In general terms, Dumbledore described Hermione's determination to use the emotional affinity that existed between them as an avenue to locate Harry and try to bring him back. He explained that a set of spells that would do just that existed, but were exceedingly dangerous. He had tried and failed to dissuade her. His need for her cooperation in the Death Eater trial had forced his hand, and compelled him to permit her to recruit fellow students to help her research. Dumbledore had tried hiding the necessary literature from Hermione, but she had bested his efforts and located the missing books. When Hermione had been determined to go ahead, even if Luna Lovegood had to cast the spells, Dumbledore had agreed to perform them, since it was safer that way.

Harry listened silently and raptly to Dumbledore's story until the Headmaster had described what happened after Hermione had successfully reached him.

"....She mentioned Voldemort, went silent, and then tried to say something, but it ended in a scream. At that same moment a tremendous burst of magical energy hit the school, and from what I have gathered, emerged simultaneously from Miss Granger. That resulted in the injuries from which she now is healing. Healer Huxley constructed the healing device you saw, because Miss Granger needs to regenerate much of her outer body, skin, fingernails, hair, ears, corneas...."

"How did the ... the energy ... get into Hermione in the first place?" Harry asked, with a thoughtful look on his face.

"I cannot say for sure," Dumbledore answered, again looking Harry straight in the eye, "but I can offer you my best hypothesis."

"Please," Harry answered. He could feel Dumbledore testing the strength of his Occlumency. For once, he did not begrudge the old man doing so.

The Headmaster found it sufficient, because he answered, "I believe that the energy originated with you - generated by whatever you did - and that it traveled through the affinity that the two of you share...."

"I thought as much," Harry said calmly. "I did it, after all.... Would the affinity let me go ... go and try to reach her?"

"Unfortunately not," Dumbledore answered glumly. "The direction an affinity operates is determined by the order of in which the underlying spells that created it were cast. Whilst it may be modified in some respects, an affinity cannot be reversed repeatedly."

Harry thought about this for a moment. "Then I want you to cut the link," he instructed. "It's simply too dangerous for her - and probably for me too."

"I can do that, Harry," Dumbledore answered, secretly relieved. The existence of the affinity had long worried him as well. "In fact I offered to do so several...."

Harry cut the Headmaster off. "And I deferred to Hermione and she decided to keep it. That choice nearly killed her. It's just too dangerous for her to be that close to me, with me being the way that I am...."

Dumbledore did not agree with all of the implications of Harry's expressed sentiments, but he heartily agreed with his immediate decision. A consult with Hlr. Huxley produced his agreement, since the spell Dumbledore had in mind could be performed without harm to her - even in her present condition.

Holding his wand between his hands and pointing it at Hermione, Dumbledore gently placed both hands on the back of Harry's head. The Headmaster then chanted a lengthy Latin incantation. Harry felt what seemed to be a cool breeze blow through the inside of his head.

"There you are, Harry," Dumbledore said softly. "The affinity is now broken. In some ways I wish I could have convinced the both of you sooner, but of course you would not have survived to be here had that been the case."

"Hermione wouldn't have been hurt, though," Harry said softly. "A fair trade."

"Very few would agree with you," Dumbledore replied. "Least of all Miss Granger."

Harry was not really paying attention. As the Headmaster withdrew his hands from Harry's head, the boy had noticed something.

"Your ... your hand.... It's all blackened, shriveled, and burnt...."

"That it is," Dumbledore answered calmly.

"What happened to it?" Harry asked.

"Later, Harry," said Dumbledore. "That is truly a story for another day."

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C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.ch37 boy who lived.doc 09/11/05

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