The Silent Specter of Hogwarts

Chapter Eight – Resurrection

The next day at breakfast, Hermione was staring enviously at Parvati as she and Lavender giggled to themselves. “How does she do it?”

“Do what?” Ron asked through a mouthful of sausages and tomatoes.

“Get good information out of pure gossip?” Hermione caught the look Ron and Harry exchanged. “Do you remember what Parvati told us right after Professor Wright’s first Astral Projection class? About the rumors that the missing witch was his wife? Well, after last night it certainly seems like she was right.”

“So that makes a grand total of one,” Ron replied. “So far she’s neck and neck with Trelawney.”

“Her scorecard is much higher than that,” Hermione murmured but she said nothing further, leaving Harry to wonder just what other rumors Parvati was privy to. “Are you going to talk to Professor Wright today, Harry?”

“Dunno,” Harry replied. “I can’t figure a way to tell him and still hide that we were out of bed after hours, sneaking into the Professors’ Wing, using spells to get into a locked room, and eavesdropping on him. Do you know how many broken rules that makes?”

Even Hermione blanched at his words. “We can’t just do nothing. There has to be a way.”

Ron was thinking very hard. “If only there was a way to tell Wright that we’ve seen the body without admitting we were sneaking around. Don’t suppose he’d believe you took another trip around Hogwarts in the spirit, eh Harry?”

“I don’t much fancy that. I don’t even know if I could do it again.”

“Maybe he’ll be understanding if we just tell him the truth,” Hermione said as she gathered her Arithmancy books and stood to leave. But even she didn’t look like she believed it.

The fact that they had double Potions with the Slytherins, Quidditch practice before dinner, a four foot long essay due to Professor Binns, and that they didn’t have to see Professor Wright until the next day helped Harry delay what he knew needed to be done. His conscience was nagging him, urging him to end the unwanted task that had landed on his lap ever since the day the specter had recognized him. But the previous late night and the busy day made sure Harry was nearly asleep on his dinner plate. As they did their homework in the Common room that evening, Hermione offered to talk to Professor Wright herself, until Ron’s sarcastic innuendos made her blush in mortification and anger.

Harry didn’t have any patience for a round of arguments tonight. He packed up his quills and the barely started essay and bade them goodnight. It took him only minutes to draw the curtains around his four poster and fall deeply asleep.

Harry…Harry…

“Huh? Wha…” Harry struggled through his dreamlike haze as the voice called to him. “Ron?”

Harry groped for his glasses on the nightstand by the bed and noticed the faint shimmer of light by the door of the fifth year boy’s dormitory. A quick glance around the room showed four still sleeping forms. Neville was snoring, as were Ron and Seamus. Dean was lying facedown with one arm dangling off the bed, having forgotten to draw his curtains closed again.

Harry…wake up…

The voice was most definitely in his head. It was her, she was back. Snapping awake, Harry let out the breath he had unconsciously held as he watched her beckon to him from the doorway and disappeared through the wood to the stairwell beyond. He tried to will his heart into a normal rhythm as he slipped on his robe and slippers to follow her.

I’m sorry to wake you, she said in his head. But these visits are getting harder.

“I’m glad to see you,” Harry replied, wishing he sounded more sincere. “I think … well, I’m sure I’ve found your body.”

She wrapped her arms around herself in a very human, very physical gesture. Am I dead?

“No! You’re alive…at least your body is.” Suddenly there were a million questions clamoring inside Harry’s head. “Can you remember any more about yourself?”

Only that I have been lost…I was searching for something, someone…and I could not find my way home.

“Can you remember someone named Malcomb Wright?”

Malcomb. She said the name in his mind as if tasting the word. Was he someone special to me?

“I think you must have been someone special to him,” Harry replied faintly.

Her figure began to fade. I cannot stay longer. I grow tired. It is near the end for me, I think.

“Wait!” Harry said frantically. “You can’t give up now! You’re alive and we have to help you find your way. I can take you there.”

Too much energy wasted. Call me with your mind…like you did before. I will follow your voice.

“But I don’t even know what to call you!”

Abigail.  Her voice faded to merest thread of sound. I think my name is Abigail. And again she was gone.

Harry did not fall asleep again that night. Ron and Hermione found him the next morning, tired and hollow-eyed, sitting in deep contemplation in an armchair. He was already dressed for the day.

“Harry?” Hermione said with a soft touch to his shoulder.

“I saw her again last night,” Harry said without looking up. “She’s getting weaker.”

“You’re going to talk to Wright,” Ron said. It was a statement, not a question.

“Right after class,” Harry replied.

Harry deliberately lagged behind the other students as they headed to the Great Hall for lunch. Professor Wright had been taciturn today, giving them reading to do and saying very little. Hermione and Ron stayed, despite Harry’s urging them to leave it to him, and the three of them approached the professor’s desk.

“Professor Wright,” Harry started, “I need to talk to you…”

“Not today Harry,” Wright said distractedly, “I have to see Madam Pomprey about a personal matter.” He slammed his briefcase shut and hurried to the door.

“I have to talk to you about Abigail!” Harry yelled and his voice ricocheted off the walls.

Professor Wright came to a tense, skidding halt at the sound of her name. Slowly, he turned to regard the three teenagers still standing by his desk and then prowled to tower over Harry.

“What do you know about Abigail?”

Harry refused to take the step back that would have put a more comfortable space between them. “I’ve seen her. She needs help finding her way back to her body.”

Professor Wright sagged at his words. Taking slow steps, he went to the desk and sank down on the chair. “I think you’d better start from the beginning.”

With one last look at Hermione and Ron, who nodded encouragement, Harry told him everything. He stumbled a bit when talking about their trip to the Professors’ Wing, but unapologetically soldiered to the very end. Wright listened quietly, never once interrupting, looking stunned by all he heard.

“She is so close, we can’t let her down now,” Wright murmured.

“Professor?” Hermione said softly, breaking into the other man’s thoughts. “Is she the same person you told us about in class?”

“Yes,” He replied. “Abigail was brilliant. The most talented witch I had ever met. She had mastered the Astral Projection process far beyond anyone in history. We met because we were asked to work together on a special project. She was so full energy, so very vibrantly alive. I married her within a month. By that Halloween, she was gone.”

Halloween. The date sent a shiver of premonition through Harry. “Sir? Why does she know me?”

Wright’s eyes sharpened. “What did she say about where she’s been?”

“Only that she was searching for someone or something. She couldn’t remember more.”

Wright sighed. “Abigail and I were recruited to spy on Voldemort and the Deatheaters. We used our out-of-body forms to listen in on their plans and report back to Dumbledore. On the day,” he hesitated and sent Harry an apologetic glance, “the day you defeated Voldemort as a baby, the whole magical world celebrated. Except for a select few -- Dumbledore, your parents’ friends, and Abigail. We knew, better than most, what Voldemort was capable of. And after fighting for so long, it was hard to believe that he was truly gone. So when Dumbledore left to take you somewhere safe, Abigail wanted to try again and make sure he was truly gone. We fought bitterly about it and in the end, she waited until I had stormed out of the house. She sought him out alone.”

“And she never came back?” Ron whispered. “Sir, that must have been awful.”

“More than you will ever realize,” Wright said and ran a shaking hand over his eyes. “Our last words to each other were terrible, angry things. When I got home that night and found her lying so still and quiet,” His voice broke off. “I’ve been waiting and hoping for so long, Harry. Please don’t be wrong about this.”

“I don’t think I am. But we have to hurry. She said she can’t hold on much longer.”

Wright paled again. “Her body’s beginning to fail. If we don’t reunite it with her soul soon…” He looked at each of the three students in turn. “Will you help?”

“Yes!” They replied.

“I need to talk to Dumbledore. But expect to hear from me shortly.” He stood up again and made his way to the doorway before turning to them for a last word. “One last thing, if you were there in the room, why couldn’t I see you?” Harry’s mouth opened and closed once before Wright held up a hand. “Nevermind, I don’t think I really want to know.”

The note from Wright did not come until after the last class of the day. It said only to go to the Infirmary and to bring Hermione and Ron with him. Professor Wright met them there and bade them to follow him.

He took them to the Professors’ Wing, making sure they remained undetected. “I hope for your sakes that Dumbledore doesn’t use a Memory Charm on you. Students aren’t supposed to know where the professors’ quarters are.”

“We promise not to tell,” Hermione said quickly and nervously.

“I’m sure you do,” Wright replied with a small smile that showed he was only teasing.

“That’s the great thing about Memory Charms,” Ron quipped. “You’re always making new friends.”

Dumbledore and Madame Pomprey were waiting inside the chamber, a small hospital cot set up beside the bed. Dumbledore had a welcoming smile on his face as he peered at them over the rims of his half-moon glasses.

“It seems I am always surprised to find the three of you involved in the deepest of Hogwarts business. Perhaps I should put you on the payroll.” The Headmaster gestured to the cot. “Harry, since it is you Abigail has chosen as her messenger, we must impose upon you to lead her here.”

Harry obligingly stepped forward but couldn’t control the apprehension that threatened to choke him. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You’ve already done it, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “Just relax and let your mind remain in control.”

“Please,” Wright said as he sat on the bed and took one of Abigail’s hands. “Just do what we did in class. Let yourself go and hover on the ceiling. If she can hear you, call to her and lead her back to us. We’ll be here waiting.”

“What if I can’t find my way back?”

“We’ll make sure you come back, Harry,” Hermione said. “Listen for us.”

“I’ll scream the walls down till you hear me,” Ron said.

“Now that is a threat to be reckoned with,” Dumbledore said. He patted Harry’s head, much as he had done when Harry was eleven. “Now, time is of the essence.”

Harry did his best to relax and forget that five people were staring down at him. There was very little sound in the room other than the metronome Dumbledore had put in motion. The rhythmic clicking helped focus Harry until that was the only sound he heard and his limbs began to relax. Soon he felt the familiar tug of his mind, a small disconnection that brought a familiar, peaceful disinterest. He opened his eyes and once again found himself looking down on his own face.

Wright and Dumbledore were leaning over him and speaking quietly. Ron had reached over and gripped Hermione’s hand, both of them waiting in a corner of the room. Completely calm, Harry focused his mind and called out.

Abigail! Abigail, where are you?

Harry… Her reply was faint, strained.

Listen to my voice! Follow it! I can bring you home!

Where are you? She called. Where are you?

He pushed himself off the ceiling and began to drift to the door, through the wood paneling and down the corridor, all the while calling her name. He counted his steps very carefully, knowing this time he had no map to guide him.

What do you see around you?

Candles floating on the ceiling. Long tables filled with chattering students.

The Great Hall. Move to your right, through the door and down the path. There is a stairwell at the end. Come up to the next flight. I will meet you.

Harry surprised himself with the burst of speed that immediately followed his thoughts. The sudden knowledge that his will was his most powerful resource propelled him faster.

Almost there, he called to her.

So tired…

Don’t give up on me, Abigail. Malcomb is waiting.

So very tired…

Just a little bit further. HANG ON!

He met her by the portrait of Edgar the Demented, who did a hopping dance of excitement as Abigail’s whispery form faded in and out of view.

I can see you now. Can you still hear me, Abigail?

Yes.

Just a little bit further. Follow my voice.

I’m scared.

I’m right here with you. We can be scared together.

Harry did his best to keep a running conversation, describing where to turn and what to look for. Abigail’s form continued to fade as she wended her way through corridors and stairwells, sending the occasional student screaming at the sight of her. Abigail looked concerned at the reactions she was getting but Harry peppered his instructions with a running commentary on the people she bumped into.

Ignore that one. She screams when she looks in the mirror every morning.

Harry…I can’t hang on.

You must, we’re so close. Just through this portrait. Come on now. We’re so close. Harry’s spirit was ready to weep with relief as they neared the door to her chamber. This is it. Just step through the door.

Once again he found himself hovering over the room’s occupants. He saw them all turn as one as Abigail drew closer. Professor Wright reached a hand out, as if he expected to touch both her spirit and her body at the same time. Abigail stared at him for a long time, unblinking until a memory returned and a light began to shine in her eyes.

“Come back to me, sweetheart,” Wright said softly. “Let go. You’re no longer alone.”

Abigail seemed to sigh and with a brief shimmer, she disappeared.

ABIGAIL! Harry’s mind screamed.

It’s all right, Harry, love. Her voice was stronger. Confident. I know what to do now. I remember.

Suddenly Abigail’s head jerked on the pillows and she drew a great, heaving breath that nearly lifted her off the mattress. Professor Wright let out a broken cry of thanks as Madame Pomprey rushed forward to assess her patient.

“Now you, Harry,” Dumbledore said to the ceiling. “Time to come back.”

Harry hovered a little while longer, unsure of what to do. The last time he had been dragged back to his body. Now he floated like a balloon bumping against the ceiling. He watched Hermione and Ron rush to stand over him. Dumbledore leaned to them and said a few words and almost immediately, they began to call his name. It was only when Hermione reached down and tearfully shook Harry shoulder that he felt that visceral tug downward. Ron grabbed hold of one of his ankles and shook him again, and suddenly Harry was back in his body, gasping for air and willing his head to stop spinning.

As soon as he was able, Harry turned his head, craning to see if Abigail was all right. Her eyes were open, her body weak and limp. But as he watched, she slowly lifted a hand to her husband’s cheek and murmured his name.

Satisfied, Harry sat up with Ron and Dumbledore supporting his arms. He rubbed the back of his neck and stretched the muscles on his back, hearing the pop and crackle that accompanied the movement.

“All right there, Harry?” Ron asked anxiously.

“All right.” Harry gave a small smile to Dumbledore. “May I suggest, sir, that you consider taking this class off the required list.”

Dumbledore smiled beneath his beard. “I will give your suggestion long and thorough consideration, Mr. Potter. Right after I change the password to this wing of the castle. Professor Snape will be ecstatic.”