Harry Potter And The Fall Of Childhood

Chapter 10

Children of War

"In the silence of night I have often wished for just a few words of

love from one man, rather than the applause of thousands of people."

- Judy Garland

***

Harry squeezed Padma's hand tightly as they wove their way through the jubilant crowd and back towards the castle entrance. She was practically bouncing as she walked, a silly grin plastered across her face.

"And Cho caught the Snitch so fast! Oh, that was fabulous, the look on Malfoy's face when he realized Slytherin had lost."

Harry laughed at her complete abandonment of composure. The two of them were sharing Padma's Ravenclaw scarf, having wound it about their arms and clasped hands. Harry had seen other couples doing that at pretty much all the Quidditch matches, but he'd never thought he'd have the opportunity to do it himself.

Impulsively he bent and kissed Padma, effectively halting their progress. Her hands snaked up around his neck, drawing their joined hands into his hair as he tasted her lips and then the inside of her mouth.

"Oi! Get a broom cupboard!"

They broke apart quickly, both flushing as they saw the group of students watching and laughing.

"What was that for?" Padma asked, quickly turning them away from the crowd and back towards the castle.

"Just because. You're really pretty when you're excited." Phrases like that were coming more easily to Harry now. He was actually starting to believe Padma's assertion that he was indeed charming when he didn't think too hard about it.

"Of course I'm excited." She gave a little skip. "I mean, Slytherin's beaten us in every Quidditch match since I've been here. It's wonderful to see the Ravenclaw team getting some back." She elbowed him playfully. "If only someone would just miss the Snitch..."

"Hey, now," Harry defended playfully, "I thought we agreed not to let House loyalty come between us."

"Of course. We wouldn't want to Romeo and Juliet ourselves."

"Over Quidditch?" Harry snorted. "I can see it now. 'Oh Snitch, Snitch. Wherefore art thou Snitch?'"

They were still laughing as they escaped the cool November winds, slipping into the entrance hall and heading in for a late lunch. It was a blustery Saturday in early November, and the ceiling of the Great Hall was a glowering, yet oddly beautiful, grey. Clouds skittered across the ceiling at a nearly alarming rate, blown by the ever-strengthening winds.

Harry and Padma untied and unclasped themselves reluctantly as they reached the Hufflepuff table. Padma turned right for Ravenclaw and Harry bore left, scanning the Gryffindor table for his friends. He didn't spot Ron or Hermione, or even the twins. Shrugging, Harry slid into a seat across from Lavender and Parvati, nodding politely at them.

"Well, that was marvelous," he said, studying the food laid out. "It's nice to see Slytherin put down a bit."

"So you were there."

Harry looked up in surprise at Parvati's tone. She sounded almost accusing.

"Er, yes. Of course I was there. I pretty much always go to Quidditch matches."

Parvati sniffed. "Ron and Hermione and that youngest Weasley girl were looking for you. Nobody in the Gryffindor section saw you."

"That's because I was sitting in the Ravenclaw section." Harry returned his gaze to the table, inwardly groaning. He thought with little guilt that he could probably forego eating this time, seeing as none of his keepers were about to tattle. And really, the salad and sandwiches were making his stomach positively tumble. He'd been good over the past few weeks since his collapse, eating sparingly but healthily. His friends made sure of that. Harry loved them for their constant concern, but the inevitable "don't you think you should have more than just half a sandwich?" was getting a little old.

In fact, it almost felt like eating did more harm than good. He brought up about half of what he ate, anyway, though he wasn't about to tell Ron or Hermione that. They were happy with his stabilized weight, even though everybody from Madam Pomfrey to the now-departed Sirius claimed he was still too thin. Until Dumbledore figured out what the curse or whatever was, there was nothing to be gained by telling them about his continued stomach upset.

"Of course you were." Parvati's acid tone snapped Harry back to reality. "Sitting with my sister, no doubt."

"Well, yeah." Harry frowned across at her. "We are dating, you know."

"Oh, I know. It's pretty obvious from the way you guys are holding hands and sucking each other's tongues off all the time."

Harry set down his water glass and stared at her. He'd been under the impression that hand-holding and snogging were just what Parvati and Lavender considered the important things in life. ?They certainly talked about it enough.

Harry considered pointing this out, but reigned in the urge. "Right," he said simply, standing and leaving his untouched plate. "If you see them before I do, tell Ron and Hermione I'll be in the common room."

He made his way out of the hall, waving to Padma and feeling Parvati's glare on his back. Girls, he decided, were very strange and mysterious. The only possible exceptions to this rule were Padma and Hermione, and sometimes he really didn't even understand them.

***

The air burned in Harry's lungs as he pounded along, whipping his already messy hair and stinging his unprotected cheeks. It was one of those in-between days, neither winter nor fall, bitingly cold with masses of clouds scudding across the sky before the strong winds. The branches of the trees over Harry's head were mostly bare, with only a few solitary and pitiful-looking leaves clinging on. The lake to Harry's left looked positively frigid, and Harry knew from his frequent early morning runs on the days when there was no Quidditch practice that it was beginning to ice over during the nights.

Harry lengthened his stride, making sure to keep it steady and his breathing even as Moody had insisted. He rounded the last curve and put on a final burst of speed as he spotted Moody waiting on the front lawn, pocket watch and parchment in hand.

"Excellent, Potter." Moody jotted Harry's time down on the parchment and nodded. "You're improving steadily and your stride is much more even now. Any more problems with ankle pain?"

"No, sir." Harry breathed in and out carefully, determined not to gasp. His legs were burning but he continued jogging lightly in place, knowing it would hurt more later if he didn't.

"Good, good." Moody's real eye flicked behind Harry. "Ah, and here comes Mr. Thomas. He's only a minute behind you today, Potter."

"I think he's been exercising outside of class, too, sometimes." Harry glanced over his shoulder, and indeed there Dean was, pumping away up the lawn, his scarf trailing out behind him in a crimson wave.

"Yes. Speaking of extra-curricular activities," Moody said, fixing both eyes on Harry, "I would appreciate it if you would come to my office this evening, Potter. Say half an hour after dinner? That will give the corridors enough time to empty out some."

Harry blinked up at him. He had no idea what Moody was getting at, but his phrasing implied that Harry was not to be seen on the way to this visit.

"Yes, sir. I'll be there." Harry walked away to the top of the lawn to finish the cool-down routine. Crouch had known about Harry's Invisibility Cloak, but did Moody? Did he want Harry to use it that night? What did he want to talk about in the first place? Harry hoped fervently that Moody wouldn't sit him down and talk very seriously to him about his weight and exercise as Professor McGonagall had done. That had been nearly unbearable.

Ron and Hermione agreed with his assessment when they straggled in six and seven minutes later, respectively.

"Ugh, you'd think I'd be more used to this by now," Hermione said, letting herself collapse bonelessly onto the grass after the cool-down.

"It's because we only do it twice a week." Harry sat beside her and began doing sit-ups. "I have this feeling Moody planned it like that on purpose. You can't make real progress too quickly working out only two hours a week. I think he wants us to work outside of class without him having to make it required."

"Tricky bugger," Ron grumbled. "If he did assign it, then at least he couldn't make us do those long essays."

"I think that's the point." Harry rolled over after his set and started on push-ups. This wasn't part of Moody's proscribed routine, but Harry had made it part of his own, and the run around the lake had given him unexpected energy.

"Harry, maybe you should take it easy," Hermione began.

Harry groaned, banging his forehead down into the fragrant grass.

"Leave it alone, Hermione, please. I've heard it all from everybody."

"But I really think--"

Harry rolled back over and glared. "I know what you think. I've heard it pretty much every day for the past three weeks." He knew this snappishness was unlike him, but he really couldn't help it. "Look," he added, as he saw Hermione's patented stubborn face, "The strengthening potions and stuff are really working. I haven't collapsed again, have I?"

"Well, no." She glanced down at the admittedly loose school robes covering his torso. "But you're still way too skinny." Her tone was nearly pleading, and Harry honestly didn't know how to respond to that. Practical Hermione he could deal with, or even belligerently stubborn Hermione, but not sad, upset Hermione.

"Anyway," he said quickly, "Moody asked me to go to his office tonight. He sort of implied he wanted me to be secretive about it, too."

"Oh?" Ron seized on the change of topic with relief. Harry hoped Ron understood now how Harry felt when the other two fought. "What for?"

"No idea." Harry pillowed his hands behind his head and gazed up at the sky. Only the vaguest hints of blue were visible now as the clouds moved in. "He said something about extra-curricular activities."

"Maybe he wants you to cut down on your exercising." Harry could see the firm set to Hermione's mouth out of the corner of his eye. "And it wouldn't be a bad idea," she added. "Maybe he can get you to listen, since you haven't been listening to me or Ron at all."

"I doubt it." Harry's tone was forcibly amiable. "Doesn't seem his style." He rolled up and stood as he heard Moody calling them down. The last stragglers had come in (Parvati and Lavender, looking as if they had just taken a leisurely stroll around the lake--which was just what they had done). "Come on, he's giving out the homework."

The other two followed him, Hermione glowering and Ron looking torn.

***

Harry looked furtively up and down the deserted corridor. Nobody but Moody, and probably Dumbledore, could possibly spot him when he was using his Invisibility Cloak, but he didn't want anybody hearing his knock at Moody's door. He felt somewhat silly, sneaking about like this just to see a professor, but he had been guided by the same instinct which had insisted that he conceal his visit to Snape earlier in the year. Silly, really, to be hiding trips to see teachers. He could just claim homework help or something.

But that might not pan out, he reminded himself, not with the way Padma had him studying half the day. His marks had steadily improved over the past term, thanks mostly to her gentle nagging. Of course, he wouldn't call it bribery, not even when she dangled the prospect of a long snogging session in the Astronomy Tower before him like a particularly delightful carrot.

Harry shrugged off such thoughts and turned back to Moody's door. He wondered if the professor's paranoia was rubbing off on him. It wasn't like Voldemort himself was hanging around in school hallways, waiting to listen at keyholes or interpret Harry's completely out of character visit to Snape. And it wasn't like he even knew what this meeting was about. It could be something about his mark or his performance or any number of innocuous things.

Harry lifted his hand to knock, firmly ignoring the memory of last year. "Crabbe and Goyle," Voldemort had said. "Lucius," also. Harry wondered if their children would...they were Slytherins after all--but they were only kids. So are you, a small voice said. And that hasn't stopped you from getting involved in this war.

The door swung open before he could touch it. Moody poked his head out and swept the corridor with both eyes. He did not speak, only made the slightest beckoning motion with a finger. Harry slipped by him, guessing that Moody wanted it to look like he had just heard something.

"Good lad," The professor said after he had closed the door and performed a silencing charm. "I was hoping you'd use that cloak of yours."

"Why?" Harry cut straight to the point as he removed said garment and sat himself in the chair before Moody's desk.

"There are eyes and ears everywhere, Potter, especially now." Moody settled slowly into his own seat. "Anyone and everyone can be a spy, willing or ... otherwise."

Harry winced at the echo of his dark thoughts. "Do you really think..." He hesitated, twisting the cloak in his lap, "Do you really think any of the students would serve Voldemort?"

"I don't think." Moody's scarred face twisted into an expression of what could have been sadness. "I know. They are just children, after all. Not very skilled at deception. It's all a game for them, tell daddy or mummy what they want to know about movements and people around the castle, get praise and the promise of future rewards." He laughed bitterly. "Most of them don't even know what they're doing, what's in store for them."

Harry frowned. "Most?"

"There are always exceptions when dealing with people." The sadness was etched clearly now. "Some...some have made that choice, whether it is out of true loyalty to evil or simply to family or friends." He paused a moment, looking thoughtful. "But that is not the reason I called you here tonight."

Harry wanted to ask who exactly they had been talking about. He had his suspicions, of course. There were the obvious, some of the Slytherins, children of Death Eaters Harry had seen with his own eyes. But it was still troubling him. He wondered where Malfoy fell in all this, whether he was just playing along with his father's wishes, or whether he had already pledged himself to serve Voldemort. But then Moody was speaking again and he had no more opportunity to ask.

"I have asked you here tonight to discuss your Christmas holidays."

Harry blinked. That had been about the furthest thing from what he had thought Moody would say, not that he had really known what to expect. "Beg pardon?"

"Are you staying at the castle?" All sadness was gone from Moody's face. He looked professional and businesslike.

"Yes, I always do."

"Good. That's what I thought. All to the better, especially now." Moody frowned thoughtfully. "Although the magic that protected you with those Muggles was very strong."

"Not strong enough." Harry regretted it as soon as it was out. Moody looked suddenly angry, his lips set tightly. Harry wondered if Moody himself had helped cast those spells and if he'd just offended the Auror.

"No, not strong enough, which in itself is ... worrisome. That magic should have--well then." Moody straightened again. "That's beside the point right now."

"What is the point?" Harry was getting frustrated.

"Over your Christmas holidays, the Headmaster has asked me to assist you in ... some extra studies."

"Studies of what?" Harry was pretty sure he knew what was going on now, but he had to ask.

"Defense, mostly." Moody gave Harry a twisted smile. "From your past record it seems you have a habit of getting yourself into difficult situations. The Headmaster has asked me to begin instructing you on how to get out of them more easily."

"I've done okay so far," Harry said, somewhat annoyed.

"Yes, you have survived."

Harry froze at that, then lowered his eyes. Moody was right, of course, as was Dumbledore. Harry himself had survived, barely sometimes. But ... others ... had not been so fortunate. And maybe next time...

"Will we have to keep this a secret too?" he asked, more to buy time than anything.

"Yes." Harry could have sworn Moody sounded apologetic, probably for his harsh reminder. "The Headmaster feels that you will be involved in some of the conflicts to come, and I have to agree with him based on your history. Best to take them by surprise with skills a fifteen-year-old should not have."

"Makes sense," Harry murmured. His mind was whirling. He knew he should do this, that it could someday save his life, or perhaps more importantly somebody else's. But that reluctance and irritation remained, and Harry finally understood why: agreeing to study with Moody would be taking a real step towards the battle. It would be admitting that he would definitely be playing a part. As much as he had resented Dumbledore's decision to leave him out of things, the reality of his situation was sobering. And frightening.

Harry remembered somewhat guiltily the promise he'd made to himself only a few months ago. "I won't be passive," he'd said. Now here he was, reluctant to even start. He wondered dismally what kind of warrior he'd make.

"Potter?" Moody looked oddly gentle. "You can tell me later, of course."

"No." Harry sat up, marshalling the inner troops. "No, I'll do it."

"Excellent. I'll send you a schedule when the break begins. Be sure to be covert when going to the locations I specify."

"Can I tell other people about this? My friends, I mean?" Now that he had committed, Harry felt oddly hollow, almost empty.

Moody hesitated a moment. "I would rather you didn't, but the Headmaster said you would ask that and he seems to feel that it would be alright for your closest friends to know." He looked disgruntled at that.

"Thank you, sir." Harry rose, securing his cloak about himself. He felt a sudden urge to get out of there, to return to the common room where people played chess and Exploding Snap, and didn't think about preparing for war.

"Good night, Potter." Moody nodded, removing the silencing charm and waving Harry out the barely opened door after he'd checked for observers.

***

It was something of a surprise for Harry to feel the approach of sleepiness barely an hour later. He'd returned from Moody's office and installed himself at Hermione's corner table in the common room, pretending to study but really just people-watching and feeling alternately resentful and guilty. Luckily, his friends had left him alone after only a few rebuffed attempts at conversation, so it had been a relatively calm evening, aside from Ron and Hermione's concerned looks.

Harry really hadn't expected to be able to get to sleep for quite a while that night. He'd anticipated lying awake in his bed and listening to his roommates snoring away, while he himself just stewed in his own thoughts. So it was with great surprise that he found himself stretching and letting loose with a spectacular yawn.

"Goodness, Harry. It's not even ten yet." Hermione put her parchments aside and eyed him carefully. "You usually don't get tired for another hour or two."

"I'm not tired," Harry said. The effect was only ruined by the second yawn, which punctuated his statement like a damning comma.

Harry had no idea why, but a leaden ball of dread had settled in his stomach at the very idea of going to bed. He was determined to stay up as long as he could.

"Right. Why don't you just go to bed? You had Quidditch early this morning. I can see Ginny falling asleep by the fire, and she didn't even have Moody's run today." Hermione appeared to be entering full-fledged Mrs. Weasley mode.

"I'm really not--"

"If you don't go to bed this instant I'll write to Sirius and tell him you're not eating enough."

Harry froze. That truly was a terrifying threat, and he could tell from the thin line of her lips that it was no joke.

"Right. Bed it is." Harry rose, gathering his untouched parchments and books. "You staying down here, Ron?"

"Sure." Ron's eyes flicked to Hermione, something sparking in their depths. Harry suddenly saw the wisdom in a quick retreat. He could just stay awake in the dorm, after all.

"Good night, then."

He headed up the stairs with his books, hearing his friends fall into a somewhat stilted discussion about the Herbology quiz. He grinned a little, wondering how long the peace would last, and hoping all along that maybe they could make some sort of progress on their own. Maybe Ron would even get up the courage to--no, that wasn't about to happen, not with Ron sputtering and stammering at the very notion, let alone the deed.

Harry changed quickly, settling into his bed with his lit wand and the homework he'd ignored downstairs. He was determined now to dedicate himself to Charms to the exclusion of all else, particularly those pesky waves of drowsiness.

Half an hour later, Harry admitted defeat. He'd written all of two lines, and, looking back on them, he found that even those made little sense. He kept slumping over his book, jerking up only when the wand, tucked behind his ear and shedding a diffuse glow, slipped and plunged his bed into darkness. It was no use, the unaccustomed exhaustion couldn't be ignored. And after all, it was just sleep. Nothing could happen to him in his sleep, and it was something of a relief from the nearly constant queasiness in his stomach.

Harry was too tired to get up, so he simply pushed his book and parchments off the bed onto the floor and tossed his wand after. He'd pick up in the morning. The shroud of sleep claimed him only moments after he lay down fully, leaving no more room for anxieties. Not then, anyway.

***

It was a very strange feeling, and horrifyingly familiar. It felt like a slow-motion Portkey, like a string had been tied behind his naval and he was being reeled in like a fish on a hook. The sensation of traveling, of movement, made Harry nauseated even though he knew quite well he was lying safely back in Gryffindor Tower, in his warm bed. Or at least his body was. His mind was somewhere far away, both racing towards and fighting to resist this magnetic pull.

It was no good. He was going and there was nothing he could do about it, and Harry knew, he just knew with a premonitory twinge in his forehead, what was about to happen.

It was a surprisingly well-lit room that he finally found himself in. Harry would much have preferred it dark, even with the menacing effects of shadows. No shadow, no trick of shape and dark could ever terrify him as much as the clearly lit form before him.

He'd hoped, with a doomed sort of desperation, that maybe he'd never have another dream like this. The long silence throughout the summer and the first months of school had bolstered that notion, and Harry had half-convinced himself that it was different now that Voldemort was really alive again. Maybe his scar only worked when Voldemort was a spirit creature, more essence than form.

But that theory was shot to hell now. His scar was throbbing, nearly pulsing. It felt like the only solid part of himself, like the only physical thing that had come with him on this nightmare journey.

"I become impatient." The icily hissed words snapped Harry out of his paralyzed trance.

He looked about for the first time, taking in his surroundings as carefully as possible. He was here now, there was no doubt of that, and Dumbledore would want to know everything, and Harry would give him every minute detail. The room was rectangular, much longer than it was wide. It was lit by closely spaced torches in wall-brackets, all burning with deceptive cheeriness. The room, which was almost a hall, was furnished only with a high-backed chair set before a massive fireplace. The chair was occupied.

"We are here, Master," a smoothly cultured voice insinuated itself into the room, followed shortly by two figures in Death Eater robes. Harry knew them both, and each held a special place in the small part of himself that Harry reserved for unadulterated hatred.

"You are late. I have not the time for your dawdling." Voldemort sounded dangerously irritated, and Harry saw the answering flash of fear as Peter Pettigrew and Lucius Malfoy approached their seated lord and sank to their knees. "Lucius, first." Voldemort said, pointing a long and ghostly white finger at the man in question.

"The attempt was unsuccessful, my Lord," Malfoy said, his eyes lowered. "There was little response."

"I wasn't particularly expecting one." Voldemort looked thoughtful. "But some little response, yes."

"Perhaps ... perhaps it didn't work because the treatment is no longer...?" Malfoy trailed off under Voldemort's focused scrutiny.

"I doubt it." The Dark Lord looked suddenly murderous. "It infuriates me that my brightest followers have been taken from me. And I'm left with--" He flicked his fingers at the two before him, the gesture more contemptuous than any words. "The treatment will be effective, Malfoy. Make no mistake of that. My loyal followers who served me to the very end would make no errors in this, the most important of matters."

"Yes, My Lord." Malfoy looked properly chastened, a bizarre expression sitting on those arrogant, aristocratic features. "Shall there be a second attempt?"

"Not now. There would be no point." Voldemort sat back again in the chair, his wand appearing in his hand from some hidden recess. "I was merely curious, merely testing things. It will wait for the proper moment, and the proper ... trigger."

If he could have, Harry would have shuddered at those words. He had a horrible suspicion that he should know what they were talking about, and that it was remarkably unpleasant. But as it was, he could only wait and watch, trapped there like a bug in a jar.

"And you?" Voldemort turned his attention to Wormtail, who flinched at the very touch of the red eyes. Harry couldn't really blame him. "How are things progressing with the photographs?"

Wormtail looked like he was walking to his death, which he very well might be. "A-actually, it seems like it's s-slowing d-d-down. Not h-having quite so m-much effect--"

"What!" The wand flashed out, pointing unerringly between Wormtail's eyes. "Why was I not informed of this earlier?"

"I was going to, M-my Lord, b-b-but I hoped ... it was going so well at first--"

"Crucio!"

Wormtail shrieked, and Harry writhed with him, hands he didn't have scrabbling at his exploding scar. He expected to wake, begged his body to take him back and end the pain, but he was not so lucky. The curse was only held for a few seconds, leaving Wormtail a crumpled heap and Harry a still present observer.

"How long has the progress been slowing?" Voldemort spoke slowly, as if to a half-wit.

"Maybe--maybe two, three weeks." Wormtail's speech was a hoarse and broken slur. "It seems he is r-r-resisting, Master."

"And you didn't see fit to inform me of this?" The wand rose again, inexorably.

"I'm sorry! I hoped things would improve--"

Both Harry and Wormtail writhed again, both wracked with unspeakable torment.

"In the future," Voldemort said, his wand disappearing as rapidly as it had appeared, "You will do well to inform me the very instant there is a change. Is that understood?"

"Master? If I may?" Malfoy looked sickeningly unmoved by Wormtail's suffering, indeed even a little satisfied. Voldemort gestured him on curtly. "As it seems Pettigrew is incapable of relaying information reliably, would it not be wise to ask our comrade at Hogwarts to keep an eye on this project as well? I'm sure he could--"

"No, we will do nothing of the sort." Both Malfoy and Harry stiffened, waiting for the wand to appear, and both relaxed fractionally as it did not immediately do so. "This matter is much too delicate, too important to trust to that--that particular one of my servants." Voldemort's practically non-existent lips pursed in distaste. "He has yet to prove his loyalty, and I will not compromise this project with his involvement."

"Yes, Master." Malfoy looked like he didn't entirely agree, but he wasn't about to say so.

"You both are dismissed," Voldemort said suddenly. "Wormtail, I shall increase the force of the spell, but watch that you do not neglect your duties again. Timing is everything here, and if you fail me again you will not live to see the end of this project."

"Yes, my Lord," Wormtail said, scuttling backward much like his Animagus form would.

It was with consummate relief, then, that Harry felt the room slipping away, felt his consciousness streaking back toward his body. It was almost as uncomfortable returning as leaving, his mind returning to his sleeping body like a piece of a puzzle changed, no longer fitting quite right.

Harry jerked up, his bed swirling and spinning around him as he alternately clutched at his scar and his throbbing temples. He sat there for a long few moments, concentrating all his focus on the sounds of the other boys sleeping. He matched his raspy breathing to Ron's, felt his heartbeat regulating, settling into a more comfortable rhythm.

It was only then, when a semblance of calm was restored, that Harry allowed himself to think about what had just happened. There it was, it had started, really started. Harry felt suddenly small, and incredibly frightened. It was a war, Dumbledore had said so, and Harry himself knew the truth in that.

He'd heard so much about war all his life, an innocuous sort of noun usually accompanied with words like "horrible" or "bloody." Now it wasn't just a noun, now it was a living, moving thing, hungry and greedy. And Harry felt for the first time like he maybe understood what Dumbledore and Remus and Sirius, hell, even Snape, had been trying to explain when they spoke of Voldemort's last rise. It was the ripping away of a shield he hadn't even known was there, a sudden exposure to forces and concerns that should not be his.

A shudder took Harry, wracking his body and wrenching a quavering sort of keen from him. Beside him he heard Ron stir, mumble, then settle back into his snoring.

Harry clenched tight and still for a long moment, trying and failing to reinstate his calm. He moved finally, slipping out from beneath the sweaty sheets and the no-longer-comforting blankets. His foot struck something hard, something that rolled, and Harry bent, scrabbling about until his fingers encountered the smooth assurance of his wand. He grasped it, breathing a sigh of relief at the little spark he always felt when he held it.

He stood again, then tiptoed out of the dorm. He considered stopping at the loo and splashing water on his face, but the very idea of the bright lights made him shiver. He needed it to be dark right now.

He went all the way down the stairs to the common room, deciding to pass the remainder of the long night in his favorite seat before the fire. He could stay warm there, warm and awake. He was surprised to see that the fire was still burning. It was guttering low, granted, but by all rights it should have gone out shortly after the last students went up to bed, which usually happened around midnight. It was a little after one o'clock now, a fact which filled Harry with exhausted dread. It was going to be a long night and day.

He rounded the sofas, crossed the room, and nearly sat down before he realized his intended chair was occupied. He jumped back, startled and embarrassed, but she didn't even seem to notice.

"Hermione?" he asked softly, not wanting to startle her. Her eyes were open, but she was just staring vacantly into the fire, her mind obviously far away.

She jumped, her head snapping around and her shoulders slumping as she saw who it was.

"Can't sleep?" she asked, then squinted at him more sharply. "Or sneaking out? Harry, if you were planning--"

"Nightmare."

She fell silent, her face clouding over and her hands clenching on the arms of the chair.

"One of ... those nightmares?"

"Yes." Harry sank down on the hearthrug, leaning his back against the sofa facing Hermione. "One of those."

"Oh, God." She squeezed her eyes shut a moment, and Harry guessed she was feeling quite a lot like he had just a few minutes ago. But she recovered quickly, sitting up straight and focusing her considerable attention on him. "Tell me about it?"

Harry blinked, a little surprised at himself. He'd been so caught up in the fact of the nightmare that he'd almost completely forgotten its content. He paused, mind unwillingly retracing the path, recalling the room ... and its occupants.

"Actually, there isn't much to tell." He laughed, surprised to hear a brittle, nearly hysterical note in his voice. "Nobody died, nobody tortured except those who deserve it."

"Harry?" Hermione looked startled. Harry knew the vitriol was unlike him, knew Hermione had rarely heard him angry, let alone hateful. But he couldn't be bothered now to curb his tongue, to employ the discretion and silence he'd learned growing up at the Dursleys'.

"Just Wormtail. Cruciatus." He paused, caught by a thought. "I wonder which hurts more, the actual curse or the response in my scar. I've felt both, but it's hard to compare--"

"When did you feel Cruciatus?" Hermione leaned forward, her expression stricken.

"Last year. Third Task. A few times, I think. I try not to--well--"

She slid to the floor and right up to him, wrapping him in her arms tight enough to nearly crack ribs. Harry didn't complain, just burrowed into her neck and concentrated on breathing.

"You don't need to tell me, but I'd like to know." She took a deep breath. "What happened last year? All I know is that you touched the cup with Cedric--" her voice hitched, "and came back with his body. And then Voldemort was back." She paused, taking shelter in her analytical mind. "Or at least I assumed You-Know-Who came back then. We didn't hear you say much in the hospital wing, but Dumbledore announced it at the feast and it was the only logical--"

"Hermione, please. Just--be quiet."

Her arms tightened convulsively around him and they were silent for several long moments, Harry collecting the shattered remains of his thoughts, memories and fears, and that dream...

"Just let me tell you about the dream." He sat up against the couch again and regarded her steadily. "The stuff from last year--I'd like to tell you and Ron at the same time. I don't think I could ... not twice..."

She nodded, apparently still obeying his wish for silence, but her eyes were full enough.

"Right." Slowly, haltingly, Harry outlined the dream, retracing his way to put in details as he went along ... the way Voldemort's wand had seemed to appear in his hand ... the look on Malfoy's face as Wormtail had screamed. He was glad he was telling it now, as it compacted and organized the information for later when he'd have to tell it again to Dumbledore.

He didn't look up until he was all done, so it was a surprise to him to see the look of mild panic on Hermione's face.

"Oh my God," she said again. "Harry, there's a spy at Hogwarts, a Death Eater here."

Harry sat bolt upright, nerves jangling. "Where's my brain?" He clutched at his hair, his thoughts whirling. "I didn't even notice that. I was so distracted--"

"It's alright, alright." Hermione clasped his knee firmly. "Just go to Dumbledore tomorrow morning, tell him everything. I'm sure he can do something, Veritaserum maybe."

"But who could it be? There's no new teacher this year, just Moody. And they wouldn't do that again, replacing someone. Probably couldn't get away with it, either." Harry reached desperately for logic, aware that neither of them was thinking clearly.

"What if--what if it's a student?"

"I talked to Moody about that." Harry stared fixedly at the softly dancing flames. "It's possible, of course. Possible, but ... but I really hope not."

"Me too." Hermione moved closer to him, and he put an arm around her for both their comfort.

"Maybe I should talk to Snape again. He helped me out a bit before with Crouch and stuff."

"Why would you go to--" Hermione jerked away, her eyes widening. "Snape! Harry, it's Snape!"

"But it can't be. I mean, he has the mark but Dumbledore trusts him." Something cold and horrified curled in Harry's gut.

"Dumbledore trusted Quirrell too, and Crouch. What if Snape has been waiting here all along? Just waiting to kill Dumbledore...or you?"

"Wait, that doesn't make any sense." Harry started ticking off on his fingers. "Snape saved my life in first year. The broom, remember? And he was trying to stop Quirrell and Voldemort. And he's had any number of opportunities to kill me, probably Dumbledore, too. Just a slip-up in Potions class, Snape drops in a little too much of something and blames it on me after I'm dead."

"You're right." Hermione's features smoothed, composed themselves in contemplation, before opening up again in surprised comprehension. "What if he's a spy? Dumbledore sent him to do something at the end of last year--it sounded awful. And we both know he used to be a Death Eater."

"That must be it." Harry was oddly relieved at Snape's vindication, a strange emotion considering its subject. "And he's been looking so tired." He shivered. "Do you think he's been going to Voldemort all along? Wait, Dumbledore said something in the summer, something about how his spies have found little..."

"Still, tell Dumbledore about the dream." Hermione leaned against him, relaxing a little. "And what about that business with the photographs? It obviously refers to something at Hogwarts, but that could be anything. What if--no, that's not magically possible. And whatever Malfoy was talking about, it sounded like a long-range sort of plan. That can't be good."

"Okay, okay." Harry raised a hand to forestall her. "Let's forget that. I don't want to talk about it anymore. I'll just go to Dumbledore and let him figure out the weird bits." He frowned down at her, suddenly realizing something. "Hey, what are you doing down here? You should be asleep."

She made a dismissive gesture. "Just more strange dreams. Nothing too important."

"Still?" Harry frowned in concern. "Are they the same?"

"That and more." She drew her knees to her chest and Harry reached automatically to stoke the fire as he saw her shiver. "Same people, the man in the mask and that woman's face. But now I get these sequences where I'm being carried by the man, then laid on some sort of couch. It feels like I got hit with a Petrificus Totalus or something." She paused, chewing her lip. "And it's all so familiar, the place I mean. But it's not enough, just little segments and bits, I can't figure out where." She gripped the fabric of her pajama bottoms, obviously frustrated.

"Sounds like neither one of us will be getting much sleep tonight," Harry observed wryly. "I'd planned to just come down here and wait until morning."

"I just wanted to sit here until I got tired enough. I'd planned to study, but..." She shrugged eloquently.

"Right. So, want some company in the brooding?"

"Definitely. Staring vacantly into the fire is much less depressing when there's someone else around."

They snuggled up again, Hermione tucked under Harry's chin as he half lay against the couch. He reached up and pulled down a cushion, tucking it behind his sore back and then reached for another for Hermione's side.

They stayed that way for unmeasured minutes and hours, just watching as the fire burned down, guttered, and finally died. They didn't need to speak, but they both knew how grateful the other was for the company in their vigil. It wasn't until they were awakened the next morning that they realized they had fallen asleep.