The Darkness of the Soul

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - The Prisoners of Azkaban

The article had reminded Harry that, although he didn't feel the way for Ginny that she seemed to feel for him, she was his friend, and that she'd never given up on him. She'd suffered for him, and if she were going to be imprisoned now, it would also be for him.

Harry's broom had never gone as fast as it was right now. The article said that Ginny had been found guilty two weeks ago, but that they had waited for February 15th for the sentencing hearing. The article's reporter had said that she would receive at least a year in Azkaban, but that the tribunal could consider sentencing her as if she had committed the Unforgivable Curse herself. That would mean at least life in prison, if they didn't have her Kissed by a Dementor.

The Dementors were still guarding the prison. No one had figured out anything else to do with them, or anything better to do with the prisoners, as far as Harry knew. Harry had thought that finding a better way would have been on the Ministry's to-do list, but he hadn't exactly kept up with the Ministry, and he figured he was probably higher on their list at the moment. Ginny might live through her sentence, but her sanity would be unlikely to survive.

Harry had to stop Ginny from getting to the prison. The article had been remarkably helpful in describing where she would be tried, and in describing how she would be brought to Azkaban. The prison had been warded against both Apparations and Port-keys, and could be reached only by boat, according to the article. After the trial, she would be taken on a special Ministry train, similar to the Hogwart's Express, from Charing Cross station, to the port where she'd catch a boat to her cell.

His concern was hampering his concentration, and he forced himself to think of nothing but speed. He couldn't keep out his emotions, though, and in the mass of his feelings; he felt the presence of the powerful anger, waiting to be used.

Harry tried to tap into the power, for the first time consciously reaching out towards it. It felt like he was drinking from a sewer, but the broom went faster as the power bled into it, and Harry forced himself to maintain contact.

At dawn, he pulled his Invisibility Cloak over his head. He had put other charms on himself and his broom to make it harder to detect, and hoped it would be enough. He would have liked to have just Apparated to London, but he knew that the Ministry spent far more effort tracking Apparations than they did Broomsticks, due to the dangers of splinching and the revenue associated with the licensing process. If he Apparated in, he'd trigger so many alarms that every Auror in England would know he was there. Assuming, of course, that they hadn't set something up to temporarily block anyone from Apparating in, which he expected might be the case.

He had another reason for using a broomstick as well. He expected that he couldn't rescue Ginny alone if he faced all of the defenders at once, at a station. He was planning on repeating the events of his second year, when he and Ron shadowed the Hogwart's Express from above. This time, rather than just following it, he'd actually land, and take the train. Apparating into a moving object was just about impossible, so Harry expected that he'd be safe from guards if he could get onboard while it was still moving.

Harry hovered over the station for about a half-an-hour, watching for the train to leave. When it started to leave, he had no trouble identifying it. It was a steam locomotive, like the Hogwarts Express, but it was bigger, more solid. Harry didn't count, but it looked like it must have over a dozen wheels on each side of the engine, which was a shining black steel.

There were only three cars behind the engine, one of which Harry readily identified as the coal tender, where the fuel was contained. The last looked like a pleasant coach car, with loads of windows, with a rounded section. Harry could make out people moving around in there, but figured it wasn't likely to contain a prisoner.

The car in the middle, he felt, was likely to contain Ginny. It had no windows. The doors were barred from the outside - Harry hoped that meant that it had no guards inside.

As soon as it cleared the station, Harry zoomed down towards it. He followed it until it started to go through a series of bridges, and then quickly pointed his wand at each target in turn, casting levitation spells.

With the first spell, the trailing car came uncoupled from the prison car, and began falling behind. With the second and third spells, guards that Harry had spotted standing between the cars floated off and dropped to the ground next to the bridge. Harry didn't know if they survived or not, but that wasn't a primary concern.

His last spell disconnected the prison car from the lead tender and engine, and he leapt to the platform as it slowed. The train ahead didn't seem to have noticed yet, but even if it did, Harry didn't think much could stop him. He pulled the beams off, and saw that there was only one person inside. She had a hood over her head, and Harry could just barely make out her feminine form under the black cloth that obscured her. She was manacled to a chair, with leather straps holding the cloak in place. Harry levitated the chair out and balanced it on his broomstick by its back, ignoring the muffled yelps from inside at the sudden changes in position.

He wasn't sure it was Ginny. It had to be, but he couldn't believe that she'd lost as much weight as it appeared. She'd have to be barely skin and bones under the cloth.

Harry didn't fly far before he descended into a group of woods. As fast as he was, he knew that he'd covered several miles, and that would make the search difficult. He also knew that if he flew anywhere settled, the chair would gather attention. His charms and cloak only made him invisible; they didn't stretch to his passenger.

As soon as he'd set her chair down, Harry removed the straps and manacles, followed by the hood, and then stopped, dumbfounded. This wasn't Ginny.

The face that looked back at him had once been pretty, in the same way that porcelain china was, but hadn't ever held any true beauty. The look that was permanently fixed on it, a look like Petunia's face after Harry had burned the bacon when he was six, removed any chance of him thinking her beautiful.

She was tall, and even slimmer now than when Harry had first seen her, at the Quidditch World Cup some years ago. Her platinum hair, framing her face, was now slightly tinged with mere white, which must have been an awful disappointment to her, much like her son.

Narcissa Malfoy looked almost as amazed to see Harry Potter as he was to see her.

~.~.~

After a few moments of stunned silence, Narcissa had started making demands on Harry. She seemed not totally ungrateful for her timely rescue, but she was too used to giving orders to sit silently, and Harry was too accustomed to favoring reaction over action to cut her off.

She had just been sentenced to life imprisonment at Azkaban with her husband. He was almost totally mad by now, even as compared to what he had been before. Harry didn't voice that observation, but he wasn't sure she would have disputed it. She didn't seem at all loving of her husband in the way she talked, but then, he had managed to bring her from wealth and fortune to almost nothing during the war.

When she asked him why he'd rescued her, Harry handed her the article. She laughed, after a moment. "Give me your wand, boy!"

Harry shook his head, and she thrust the article back at him. "End the enchantment on this yourself, then."

Harry murmured, "Finite Incantatum," while tapping the article, and he saw the words and pictures change. Ginny's face was replaced with Narcissa's, and the wording moved around.

"She's not on her way to Azkaban," he asked, feeling some degree of hope.

"No, she's already there. Her trial was complete before mine, open and shut. They sent her there for twenty-five years."

Harry's heart sank. He was too late. He wasn't sure what to do about Narcissa, and his indecision showed.

"Are you planning on bringing me back to Durmstrang with you?" Narcissa asked.

"I was actually trying to figure out how to turn you back over to the Aurors," he said, keeping his eyes on her.

She breathed in deeply. "Don't you have any pity on an old woman? After all you've done to me?"

Harry's face grew red. He might have had pity for her if she hadn't claimed it. Reminding him of her family's "suffering", which was nothing more than just, wasn't a good move on her part, however.

She sensed his anger, and backpedaled. "Are you still interested in saving Ginny?"

"Yes."

"Why? I thought your heart was reserved for someone else. Certainly, all the trouble that our friends went through at Hogwarts seemed to have been a waste."

"I don't desert the people I care about." Harry said, and he saw her lips twitch.

"I think I may have heard otherwise in the past," she said, but she cut of his retort, "but be that as it may, I can help you."

"Why would you?"

"Because, if I do, you will agree not to turn me in. You will find me a wand, and you will help me with one other thing."

"I won't promise anything without hearing about it," Harry said, "if I need to, I'll get Ginny some other way."

"Yes, but what will be left of her when you do? You didn't see her at trial, still shaken up by her pain of last summer. You didn't hear her in the next cell, crying from her nightmares, screaming out that she was all alone. That everyone had left her behind."

Harry could almost hear the echoes of her screams. He didn't trust Narcissa, but didn't think she was lying. "What else do you want?"

"While you're risking your life for that worthless red-headed excuse for a witch, you can get something more valuable. Bring me Lucius."

Harry was surprised. He had expected something darker, some deliberate act of violence or Dark Magic. He was too startled to even respond to the insults to Ginny. "Why would you want me to get him out? I thought you were well and done with him."

She kept her temper, but he could tell it was difficult. "I don't desert my own, either."

Harry shook his head. "What exactly can you do to help me? I'm not giving you a wand until Ginny's out."

"I'm not surprised. I can do something else for you, though. I can get you into Azkaban."

There was nothing Harry could do but to agree. He didn't trust her, but he couldn't think of another option that would let him rescue Ginny, or of any other way to settle things with Narcissa without exposing him to the Aurors.

Narcissa explained the way, as she mounted the broomstick with him. "There's a passage into Azkaban. I can help you find the outside end, then you can enter." She gave him a run-down of the details, and he committed them to memory.

"Why haven't you used it before now?"

"Because, I never had a brainless young Mudblood to do it for me," she snapped back, but he didn't rise to the occasion. He had beaten himself up too much lately, for his actual faults, for her almost clichéd insults to do anything to him. She followed her statement, more softly, with something that did touch him. "Besides, I can't cast a Patronus."

Harry knew that wasn't an admission of a lack of wizard ability. If she'd been a squib, or even just less than extremely powerful, Lucius never would have selected her as a bride. With his emphasis on wizard's blood, any mate of his would be chosen more carefully than a mate for a prize racehorse.

It was an admission of one of two things - either her fears were so bad, so awe-inspiring, that they debilitated her too much to choke out the spell, or she could think of no memories happy enough to ward them off. Given the Malfoys' lifestyle, either one was believable, but still sad.

The rest of the flight was silent, with just an occasional finger point from Narcissa to show the way. By the time they got to the castle, it was evening. Harry had been flying since the night before, and his Cushioning Charm had just about given up trying to keep up.

"It's through there," Narcissa pointed when they landed, and Harry followed her directions, bringing the broomstick with him. The island looked deserted, except for the old fortress that made up the prison. The ground was rough and ragged, with small rock faces worn by water at various intervals. There was a gap in one of the rock faces, and it was here that Harry entered.

The cave ended after a dozen feet, but Harry was prepared with the password. "Noncompus," he said softly, and the rock face slid open, providing a smooth path under the island, which Harry quickly walked, his wand at the ready, Invisibility Cloak covering him from head to toe.

~.~.~

Harry's exhaustion was getting to him. He was finding it more and more difficult to stay conscious as he forced off the Dementors. Fortunately, the Dementors didn't seem interested in raising an alarm, and he hadn't found any Aurors in the lower levels of the prison.

He no longer heard his parents when he got to close to the Dementors. Or rather, he no longer heard only them. They were joined by other voices that he'd never hear again. Cedric, Hagrid, Sirius, and Ron were all there, a virtual chorus of people that he'd failed, every one of whom had died because of him.

Each of them spoke their piece, each memory relived in turn. Harry found it difficult to keep the good memories in mind, as each of them starred someone who he heard dying as he concentrated. Harry struggled through the cold, but somehow managed to make it through the lower levels to the prison towers.

He had used a variant of the Four-Point charm that Hermione taught him back in fourth year to point his way towards Ginny. He found that relying on a pointer to find anything in a three-dimensional building was difficult at best, and wished that he had something more like the Marauder's Map. He wasn't going to try to walk every inch of the prison though, to manage it.

Ginny was being kept in one of the higher towers. In a Muggle prison, this would have been a sign of her importance as a prisoner - here, it was a sign that she wasn't here for a life sentence, since the tower kept her away from the mass of Dementors that ranged the ground floor.

A pair of Aurors guarded her door, and Harry noticed that they looked exhausted. He supposed that the chill of the Dementors permeating this place must really get to them, even up here. He was right to worry about Ginny - he couldn't leave her here!

Harry studied the door for a moment from a distance, but didn't see a keyhole or bar. There was no obvious way to open the door. He'd have to resort to asking.

"Petrificus Totalus!" He said forcefully, and one of the guards stiffened, falling back against the wall. The other pulled his wand, but Harry was faster, moving next to him and holding his wand towards his head.

"Open the door." Harry said.

"Do it yourself," the guard responded, seemingly to thin air. Only Harry's wand was outside the Cloak, unnerving as it was.

"How?"

"Bugger off," the guard responded.

Harry heard the sound of boots in the hall below - someone must have heard his spell, or detected the magic. He was out of time. The guard was annoying him, and he felt for the power to do something about it. "Imperio!"

The guard opened the door at Harry's command, and then went to make noise somewhere else, hopefully drawing off any guards. Harry went inside, and what he saw turned his stomach.

Ginny was thinner than Narcissa Malfoy, mere skin and bones. Her freckles had mostly faded, and her skin was paler than he'd thought possible. She might have only spent a few weeks inside Azkaban, but he realized she'd spent very little of the last year not inside some sort of captivity. She was lying haphazardly on the floor, dressed in a prison robe, striped with black and white.

She didn't look up when he entered, but she didn't sound asleep. He walked over to her, and leaned over, looking her in the eyes. They were open, gazing up, slightly glazed. There was a spark of recognition as she saw his face. "Harry!" He hoped, but then she turned her head slightly, and kept talking. "Harry, you didn't care about me. Harry! You saved me because I was Ron's sister. Harry!..." she grew quieter again, muttering under her breath. Harry wasn't sure if she'd recognized him, or if she regularly listed all the ways that he'd failed her.

He carefully picked her up and put her over his shoulder, than covered both of them with the Invisibility Cloak, before pointing himself towards Lucius' cell, which turned out to be in the basement.

He found it surprisingly easy to get there. The havoc created by the cursed Auror had guards running around the building, knocking back Dementors to clear their own paths as they went. Harry didn't have to summon a single Patronus on the way down, which he was very thankful for. Ginny kept up a running litany, and he was having to tune her out.

Lucius' cell was unguarded, and locked by a simple padlock. Apparently, the miasma created by the Dementors was enough for them to avoid guards at this level. Harry opened the lock with a simple Alhomora, and led Lucius out by the hand. At least he was able to walk, even if he was convinced that Harry was a house-elf bringing him to a bath.

Leaving through the passage was almost anti-climactic. The drain of the Dementors vanished behind him, and Harry lurched the final steps towards the end of the cave, where Narcissa was waiting. She grabbed Lucius in her arms, holding him close, and Harry could see that she was crying. He chose not to recognize her emotion, but moved forward on the broom, so that she could help Lucius on behind him.

The short flight across the water would have been frightening, but after a visit to the home of the Dementors, Harry just couldn't find the idea of balancing four people, two of them nutters, on a small piece of wood in the middle of the night over the water anything but relaxing.

He came to an abrupt landing on the shore, and almost fell off the broom. The entire episode had taken every scrap of energy that he'd had, and only his raw determination to go on had prevented him from falling down before this.

.~.~.

Harry awoke some time later. He hadn't consciously decided to sleep, and panicked for a moment, as he realized that he'd left Ginny to the tender mercies of Narcissa. When he sat up, though, he saw her lying nearby, half-covered with the black cloth that had been used for Narcissa.

The Malfoys were also nearby. Narcissa was propped up on one shoulder next to Lucius, while he slept peacefully. She had obviously spent most of the time that he'd been asleep crying.

They were in a building. Harry assumed Narcissa had moved them here. It looked like a boathouse, although both of the berths were empty. Harry hoped that the occupants wouldn't be returning any time soon. He stood up, stretching, and wasn't surprised to see the sun through the cracked windows. It had to be nearly noon - he'd slept at least twelve hours, he thought.

Narcissa gradually looked up at him, and he saw emotions flicker in her eyes. What truly amazed him was that for the first time ever, she truly looked beautiful to him. Her normal mask of disdain had fallen, and she didn't seem to look on him with the hatred that he was accustomed to.

She wasn't meeting his gaze. "Thank you," she said, simply.

"I didn't do it for you," he said with a little more force than he'd meant to.

"No one ever does," she said, taking a tone almost reminiscent of McGonagall. "No one ever does anything for anyone except themselves."

"I did it for her," Harry responded, looking at Ginny.

Narcissa shook her head. "Call it a philosophical difference. I don't think you would understand if I explained. Perhaps I can leave this for another day."

Harry snorted. The chances of him ever having a deep philosophical conversation with anyone named Malfoy were almost vanishingly small. She seemed to sense his thought, and changed the subject.

"What are your plans now?"

"I'm not sure," Harry said, looking at Ginny. "I'd like to find a way to help her, but I'm not sure what to do."

"She needs professional help," Narcissa agreed, nodding her head as if she cared. Harry doubted it very much, but appreciated her avoiding confrontation. "I'd suggest St. Mungo's, but I doubt they'd do anything for her. I don't suppose you know any good mediwitches?"

Harry thought. "The only ones I've worked with were at St. Mungos, Hogwarts, and Durmstrang. I don't think I can go anywhere near St. Mungo's or Hogwart's."

"And Durmstrang's right out." Narcissa continued.

He stared back at her. "Why?"

She goggled at him. "I never thought you were a genius, but surely you're not that dense, are you? Durmstrang's a trap for you, you can't risk going there, especially as angry as you've been."

Harry felt thickheaded, but snapped back. "I'd like to see how good you are at strategy after riding a broom across Europe and breaching Azkaban. Could you just tell me what you're talking about?"

Her disagreeable look was coming back, and Harry regretted having snapped at her. He didn't like Narcissa, but he really didn't need to anger anyone else right now. She replied, her lips pursed, "Girard is one of Lucius' old associates. He wasn't a follower of Voldemort, but only because he felt that the Dark Lord should take on England before he tried to assault the rest of Europe. He was ready and waiting to assist in any way possible."

She continued, "When Lucius was exposed as a follower of the Dark Lord, Girard kept in contact. Much more than I did, in fact. I was angry with Lucius, and I didn't plan to lift a finger to help him out."

Her voice soft, almost below where Harry could hear, she whispered, "I didn't realize until he was gone that I cared for him."

After a pause, she said, more loudly, "It's been clear in his last few appearances that Lucius isn't a threat to anyone anymore. I begged, pleaded with the Ministry to let him out. Finally, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I went to speak to Girard, to see if he'd help me get Lucius out."

Harry spoke up. "You were there the night of the Death Eater attack."

She looked at him sharply. "How did you know? I was Polyjuiced at the time. I should have been impossible to recognize."

"I'm no genius," Harry responded dryly, "but I'm not as dense as I look."

Narcissa did something that he never would have expected - she laughed. He saw Lucius smile widely at the sound in his sleep. "Apparently not, boy."

She continued her story. "I got there before the Death Eaters did - I arrived to talk to Girard, and found him talking with another pair of Dark Wizards that I'd known before. I confess that I listened for a few moments. He said that those that were captured would be released after you made your choice, and that there was no risk. He also said that Ivan was out of the way, and that he might have to dispose of other Death Eaters who weren't willing to follow the new Dark Lord to come."

"I wasn't sure what that meant," Narcissa said, "but it didn't seem to bode well - so I decided to leave. Unfortunately, my return to England did not go unnoticed. I was returning to Knockturn Alley, where I planned to change back into my normal clothing, but I arrived in the middle of an Auror raid. I changed back while they were there. They assumed I had something to do with the items they found during the raid, but I was just using the backroom of the store to change. I was guilty of using Polyjuice, though, and they had me dead to rights on that."

Her narrative seemed to be wandering now.

"Was it Burgin and Bourkes?" Harry asked, remembering the store he'd dropped into in second year.

"You're making a habit of surprising me. How did you guess?"

"Lucius was one of his best customers," Harry said, trying to pretend more knowledge than he really had. "He sold Burgin things that he didn't want to keep around the manor, when the raids started getting fierce."

Narcissa seemed pleased with his knowledge, and a little surprised. "He didn't tell me what he was doing with them. I was just glad that he was getting most of it out of our house. Using Dark Magic is one thing, but keeping those artifacts in a house with children was irresponsible. Someone could have gotten hurt!"

"Someone did," Harry said softly, looking at Ginny, and Narcissa's gaze followed him.

"I don't understand," Narcissa asked, slowly. "Are you blaming my husband for her incarceration?" She seemed genuinely curious.

"No, that falls on me. I'm blaming him for something a little further back." Harry told her, in short sentences, how Lucius had masterminded the reopening of the Chamber of Secrets in his second year.

"No wonder you hate him," Narcissa said, softly.

"I don't know if I have room left to hate him," Harry said, shaking his head. "I could have, once, but there's just been so much else that's happened since then. I wouldn't have rescued him if it hadn't been for Ginny, though, so that's two he owes her."

"And you wouldn't have rescued either one, if you hadn't rescued me. And that wouldn't have happened if you hadn't come by that article. I suppose I have Girard to thank for that?"

Something bothered Harry, and he looked up, wide-eyed. "I can't believe I didn't think of it. Girard didn't give me the article. Viktor did."

"Krum? Girard's been trying to turn him for years. I always thought he was crazed to try - Ivan had filled his head with lectures of the cost of turning to the Dark. Utter hogwash mostly, but Viktor seemed to buy it. Besides, he always liked that Mudblood from Hogwarts."

"Her name is Hermione," Harry responded. Hermione. Viktor had said the message was from her, but it couldn't have been. If it was from Girard, then Viktor was on the other side - and if he was on the other side, then Hermione was in danger. Even more than usual.

Narcissa stared at him. "What is it? You're turning whiter than Draco, and it doesn't look as good on you."

"I think she's in danger. If Krum's on Girard's team... he saw her, the night I left. I don't know..." Harry was babbling, but Narcissa seemed to understand.

"You think he might have her?" Narcissa asked. He nodded. "Then you'll be off to rescue her, I gather."

He started to go after Ginny. "Leave her here," Narcissa commanded, and Harry looked up at her oddly. "I'm not going to hurt her," she said, looking wounded by the suspicion in his eyes. "I don't even have a wand yet, if you'll remember. We should be safe enough here at the present. Just go a bit out to sea before you try Disapparating, so they can't trace you back here."

Harry didn't think he had any choice. There was something ironic in trusting a Malfoy after learning to distrust everyone else, but contemplating it would slow him down too much. He'd already been gone from Durmstrang for almost two days - even if he Apparated back to save time, he had little hope that he'd be in time if they had any intention to hurt Hermione. He had to try, though.

.~.~.

Harry Apparated to near Durmstrang, and flew the rest of the way in under cover of invisibility. He'd gathered from what Girard had said before that the school didn't cooperate with any particular government in the area, so he hoped that his appearance wouldn't gather any attention. He landed on one of the switchbacks leading up to the gates, which still had a hole in them, and strapped his broom to his back. He had many hopes running through his head, among them the hope that Girard hadn't changed the wards that prevented invisible attackers from gaining access.

Harry took a deep breath as he stepped through the hole in the gate, but he wasn't instantly flung back to fall into the river or eviscerated. As soon as he entered the grounds, Harry pulled out the map. He looked through the different levels of the map, hoping that he'd find Hermione. He saw her circle moving in the inner courtyard next to Girard's and Victor's, and then they all vanished.

He almost cried out, but it occurred to him what must have happened. There must have been a door that he hadn't gained access to, which they'd all been brought through. He heard a pulsing, a beating, that he hadn't heard since the previous fall. Looking at the map, it quickly became clear what it was. The Gauntlet had been reopened, as it had during the Choosing, and Hermione had been taken into it.

He raced to the Gauntlet, and was surprised to find the door still open. He hoped that Girard had just gotten sloppy, and that he wasn't waiting for reinforcements, or worse, for Harry.

Walking through the portal, Harry felt like he was in a different world. The map still showed the rest of the castle, though, so he knew he was still on the grounds, and that the strange landscape that surrounded him was some sort of illusion.

He seemed to be in a rust colored valley, surrounded by hills in all directions, sporadically covered with red grass. There was no portal behind him. Dusty paths went off in nine directions, covered with red and black gravel. Eight of them looked well used, the gravel kicked out of place, but the ninth looked like it had been well raked, with crisp borders. A sign lay on the ground near it, having been ripped from the ground - it read "No Admittance" in every language he knew and in a few others.

Harry was fairly sure that this was the path. He was also fairly sure he was expected, and wondered what Girard's game was. He took his broomstick off his back, but put it back when it refused to jump in his hand. No broomstick here, then. He also noticed that he was visible, his cloak looking like a gray-silver cloth. He folded it and put it away. Apparently his magical equipment was useless here.

Harry decided to follow the path.

It seemed like he had been walking for hours when he finally crested the hill in front of him. Looking back, the path looked far longer than it had when he first set foot on it, and he couldn't see any of the other paths. This place was definitely trying to play with his head.

At the top of the hill, he saw the gravel road change to bricks ahead of him, as it entered a close and forbidding forest. The bricks were red clay, and he could see words engraved in them, but they were hard to read. He could only make out the word Vorhaben, which he didn't recognize.

He heard a roaring ahead of him, like a great animal, but the road was too twisting to see what was there. He started to run in that direction, reflecting that what Ron called his "hero thing" was probably going to get him into more trouble again shortly.

As he turned a corner, he saw a pair of children cowed by a pair of lions. They wore Durmstrang robes, cut in a style he didn't recognize; they were floor length instead of ankle length, and were gathered around their wrists. Both of them wore their hair in curls with a long tail. He thought they were both boys, but it was hard to tell, and he had other things to worry about.

They cried for help when they saw Harry. He quickly levitated them both into the trees, at which point the lions turned on him. Harry wasn't sure how well traditional curses worked on lions, but he decided to try them anyway. He tried to jelly-legs the first one, but it ignored the curse. Then he tried the tickling curse. It failed as well, and both lions were now directly in front of him. They weren't attacking yet, though. They just sat there, growling, and waiting.

One of the children in the tree yelled down. He was speaking Latin with a very thick accent, and Harry understood at least the sense. "You have to hurt them!"

"What do you mean," Harry asked in the same language, watching the lions warily.

"The last people that went by, one used Cruciatus, and the lions moved out of the way. He told the other that you needed to be able to cause pain to get by."

"Why are you still here?"

"We couldn't hurt them. I didn't know anything that worked well enough."

Harry pointed at one of the lions' tails. He cried, "Incendio!" The lion's tail blazed, and it ran off. The other lion stood to the side of the road.

Harry moved to under the tree, and helped the children down. The unhurt lion started to rush at them, but Harry waved his wand at it, and the lion backed down. "They're with me," he said.

Both of the children thanked Harry, and they stuck close to him as he walked along the path.

The path emerged from the forest with little warning, and he saw an unsafe bridge crossing a great chasm, framed by a pair of large stone idols. The bridge was made up of three ropes, two for hands, one for feet, which were occasionally connected by other ropes to hold them together. The ropes looked frayed with age. The chasm's bottom seemed to be covered with a slow, viscous, liquid.

The idols were taller than Harry, and they looked like large heads with open mouths filled with pointed teeth. As he approached the bridge, they turned to him, and their mouths moved. "All must pay the toll," they chanted in Latin, "to cross the bridge."

"What toll," Harry asked them, but there was no response. He looked back at the children, who both shrugged. Then he saw - the idols were made of red-brown stone, but the stone on their bottom lips was stained a deeper red. He reluctantly reached out a finger, and grimaced as it came away sticky.

"The toll is blood," Harry said, and the children grimaced. Before Harry could react, one of them held his hand slightly in the idol's mouth, and yelped as it closed quickly. When the mouth re-opened, Harry saw that one of the boy's fingers was bleeding profusely. The boy tore off some of his robe and wrapped it around his finger, and then stepped towards the bridge. The idols spoke. "You may pass."

The boy spoke, trying to sound brave. "They're with me."

The idols rebutted him, speaking in stereo. "You only may pass. All must pay the toll to cross the bridge." Harry and the other child both put their hands towards the idol's mouth - Harry intentionally using his off-hand - and both yelped at the sharp cuts made, which Harry thought might be almost to the bone.

They both followed the first child across the bridge, holding tightly to the ropes. The ropes swayed as a sudden wind came up. Harry wished his broomstick worked down here, as it would be much better to be able to fly than to depend on these ropes.

One of the children retched, but he didn't seem to have anything left to vomit. Harry wondered how long they had been down here. It occurred to him belatedly that the children might have been part of the place, or friends of Girard, but he didn't know how to prove either one.

Across the great chasm was a castle. It was nothing like either Durmstrang or Hogwarts, instead it looked uninspiring and vaguely two-dimensional. It was short, with modest turrets on each corner of its squarish walls, and a small keep inside. It had a large portcullis, which was currently down.

"Guards!" One of the boys said, pointing up. They were completely still, and they'd just faded into the dark red sky when he first glanced at the castle, but he could see them now. They looked well past their prime - several hundred years, he thought. Each was little more than a skeleton, but they somehow stood as if at attention. They had dulled rusted helmets with pointed tops, and each held a spear.

From the look of them, Harry shouldn't have had anything to fear, but he didn't expect that he would be that lucky. Sure enough, one of the skeletons looked down at him. "Who goes there," it asked, again in Latin.

Harry shouted up, "I'm seeking someone who has come this way. Let me in!"

The skeletons started talking with each other softly, then looked down at him. The spokesman talked. "Have you given pain to those who blocked this trail?"

Harry thought about the lions, and shouted up, "Yes!"

"Have you felt pain?"

"Yes! Let me in."

"One final test remains - you must each cause pain to one of your companions." It pointed at the children.

Harry was fairly confident that the two children were part of this place, but he wasn't entirely sure.

"They aren't my companions!" He shouted back up. "They were just walking this way!"

"One who has fought past the lions must harm a companion to enter. If you do not claim them, they may return to the lions and wait for one that will. If you do not harm them, you may wait for another to claim you here."

"Go ahead," the child who had gone first at the bridge said softly. He looked like he was steeling himself for a deathblow. He looked a little like Ron at the same age, expecting to be treated as nothing special. Harry reached out and squeezed his nose.

The boy sputtered, and Harry smirked. "I caused him pain! Let us enter." The children quickly tweaked each other's noses. The skeletons started laughing, and banging each other on their heads, beating the hats like drums. The portcullis started to rise, and Harry saw an open portal in the middle of the courtyard.

As he walked into the courtyard, three skeletons clawed their way out of the ground. Each wore an amulet around their neck, with a picture of a winged snake on it. The skeletons approached the three, and each pulled off an amulet, presenting them to Harry and the two that he'd claimed.

"Welcome to House Dragojilovic," each skeleton rasped in a weak Latin, and clasped the amulets around their necks.

Harry had never heard of House Dragojilovic. He wasn't even sure he could pronounce it. It wasn't one of the eight houses. Harry had never heard of a ninth house.

A ninth house. The Ninth. A part of the prophecy became clear - the Ninth at Durmstrang must have meant the ninth house. Girard must have meant for this to happen. Harry looked at the amulet closer - on the back was a Latin inscription, "Tutus quod Temerarus". Expedient and Bold, Harry translated, with some difficulty, although he thought that the last word might have had connotations of foolhardiness. Well, that seemed like the place for him.

The portal still stood open before them, and the two children ran through. Harry wasn't sure if he should leave or not, though. The skeleton that had faced him still stood there, and it gestured towards the portal. "You must leave, now. You have been chosen."

"I am looking for someone," Harry responded slowly. "Did you see others come through here?"

"There were three that passed through. One held the Key of Durmstrang - he chose to allow his group to bypass the third trial and the Choosing. They have already left." Harry thought to look at his portal - he saw that Hermione was still with Viktor and Girard, moving towards the Highly Restricted Section. Girard probably meant to imprison her.

Harry ran through the portal. The two children were still standing outside, looking around wildly. "It's so different," one of them muttered under his breath in a barely recognizable German.

Harry didn't see any obvious changes, but he had a thought. He spoke in German, since he'd heard one of them speak in it, and his German was better than his Latin. "You are both eleven years old?" He was trying to sound casual. "Then you were born in what year?"

They looked at him oddly, probably trying to discern if there was a reason he couldn't subtract eleven from some number. He didn't think their answer would be 1988, however.

"I was born in December of 1632," one answered proudly, and the other stated, "March of the Year of our Lord 1633."

"You have been gone for some time," Harry told them. "I'm afraid I don't know what to tell you to do now. I'd suggest speaking with the Headmaster, but he's going to be unavailable very shortly." He did have one thought. "For now, try to find Professor Karkaroff, and ask her to take care of you." The two looked confused, but Harry couldn't spend more time on them right now. He was fairly sure that they'd be all right if left alone, so he started moving towards the Highly Restricted Section.

His trials of the last few days were taking their toll. It was now late at night, and he'd spent almost every waking moment in the last forty-eight hours either walking or on a broomstick. His thighs and calves were killing him, and Harry regretted that he hadn't taken up something athletic when he stopped playing Quidditch. The little bit of flying that he'd done while coaching hadn't kept him in his previous shape.

It took him precious time to get to the Highly Restricted Section. When he got there, he opened the door from the side. A voice called out from the interior. "Welcome, Mister Potter. We have been expecting you."

At one time, Harry would have proudly walked in the door, with his wand out. At one time, though, he had done just that, alongside Cedric Diggory, and Harry hadn't liked that ending.

"How about a deal?" Harry shouted back.

"But of course, Mister Potter," Girard's voice was still calm and in control. It left no doubt that he thought he could bring this to a satisfactory ending. "I can think of nothing I would like better. Please, come in, and sit. I'm certain that Miss Granger would be happy to see you."

Harry called back. "I'd rather not have her see me die, if it's all the same to you. I would like to bargain from out here."

"And what do you have to bargain with?" Girard's tone held just a tinge of acid. "Will you offer to return the book that you have stolen from this room in exchange for the girl? That would be valuing her far too little, as I'm sure you are aware. Come now, do not hesitate. I will not harm her. Here, you may hear her again."

"Harry! Don't come in here. Just go, please." Her voice became muffled again, but Harry was glad that she was still alive.

"Despite her request, Mister Potter, I would request that you do enter, at present. I am well aware that I can no longer stand against you in battle, even now that the reluctant Mister Krum has joined my side."

Harry couldn't see any other way for it. He looked down at the amulet hanging from his neck - entering wasn't expedient, but it was certainly bold. He thought of the house of Gryffindor, which the Sorting Hat had placed him in with rather more forethought than the strange Gauntlet of Durmstrang, and knew he had to act. Harry put his wand inside his shirt sleeve, and walked through the doorway.

"Excellent!" Girard greeted him. He had his hand on a wand, which was pointed at Hermione. She was laid on a coffee table, which didn't look like it belonged here, her hands and legs bound. A gag was in her mouth, and her beautiful ball dress was torn and ripped. Her eyes were downcast, with tears welling in them, and something that looked like shame on her face.

Viktor sat nearby. He looked like he'd been pursued by demons instead of just Harry, his hair a total mess, his face scratched. His left eye was bruised, and there were tears in his shirtsleeves. He wasn't looking at Harry or Hermione.

Harry looked at him. "Looks like she showed you how she really felt, eh?" He was rewarded by a look of gratitude from Hermione, and an equal look of hatred from Viktor.

Girard laughed. "I must thank you, Mister Potter, for your inability to control your tongue. It may make working together more difficult, but I could never have convinced Viktor to help if he had not heard us in the garden. Please, sit down, and let me explain. We have plenty of time."

He gestured to a chair, and Harry sat. His blood boiled as he sought action, but Girard could curse Hermione before he could do anything useful. Harry thought about just kicking the wand out of Girard's hand, but Viktor could overpower him easily.

"Plenty of time before what?" Harry asked.

"Before the consecration of the next Dark Lord," Girard smiled benignly. "It doesn't need to happen until the afternoon of the 19th. We have almost two days. You returned more quickly than I thought you would."

"You want me here for this consecration?" Harry asked, not totally surprised. He wasn't usually on the guest list for evil rituals, except as an appetizer for the guest of honor or a spell component. He kind of expected one of the two in this case.

Girard laughed, "Yes, but of course! I'm sure that your friend here has figured it out." He poked Hermione with his wand, and she looked scared.

"Tell me, Harry, you who have taught Dark Arts at two of the finest institutions in Europe. What makes a Dark Lord?"

"Not sugar and spice and everything nice," Harry snapped back. "If I'd been in the mood for a philosophical confrontation, I would have stayed with Narcissa."

"I am pleased to see that you have a healthy temper, Mister Potter. I've done my best to develop it. But it would be helpful to think on this question. It might help you to understand why this whole charade was necessary."

Harry answered. "Dark Lords are people who've heard too many fairy-tales, and think they look good in black. They're just dark wizards with power and a bunch of followers." Girard's almost avuncular manner was like a caricature of Dumbledore.

"That is true for many of them, Mister Potter, but most such people don't have prophecies told about them. The true Dark Lords have been granted incredible power through the Dark Arts, and they find it difficult to avoid using it.

"Those people act like sources of power for Dark Magics. They collect followers because they can do so much more together. There are things that I have dreamed of doing for years, but I could not gather the power for them. That will not be a problem after the rise of the Dark Lord."

"That assumes that he'll have anything to do with you," was Harry's retort. "And that he won't Cruciate you out of hand for trying to control him."

"I don't think that will happen," Girard smiled. "This is a kinder, gentler Dark Lord, if you will. It will probably take him years for the Dark power to rot his brain enough to strike out like Voldemort was wont to do, as long as I don't give him an excuse. And I am very much hoping not to."

Harry shook his head. "You are crazy to think that you can control him."

"I don't." Girard responded. "I merely hope to profit from him for a short time, and then get out of his way. I believe that, like Voldemort, he will be more occupied with England than with the rest of the world. I have a small home in another hemisphere, ready for me."

"I want Hermione released, now." Her hands and feet were turning an alarming color.

"Let us compromise, shall we? You may untie her, Viktor, but leave the gag for now. I do not want her chiming in." Viktor, looking sullen, obeyed. He seemed to be especially careful when untying her hands. Harry noticed that several of her nails were broken, and guessed how that had happened.

Harry spat at him, "What do you want, Girard?"

"I want to be your friend, Harry," Girard responded. His smile was slightly mad.

"Why could you want that, Girard? You've been trying to kill me all year!"

"I have not, Harry. I've never wanted you hurt," Girard said. Definitely mad, Harry thought, and not in the somewhat good way that Dumbledore was.

"Then what was with all the Death Eaters?"

"They weren't really Death Eaters, just Dark Wizards. There's a difference, you know."

Harry laughed. "What, they have a different secret handshake?"

Viktor's eyes grew wide. "You know about that?" Girard and Harry both ignored him.

"Not what I meant," Girard said. "These are all just Dark Wizards hoping to find more power for their magic. Some of them are hoping that the new Dark Lord will overthrow the Ministry of Magic in England, since he has no reason to have love for it. None of them are following Voldemort, which, as he is dead, speaks well for them."

The banter with Girard was wearying Harry. "What did they want with me, if they didn't want me dead?"

"They wanted to help you, Harry. They wanted you to reach your potential. They wanted you to use the Dark Arts, to depend on them, to learn to feed your hatred and anger. That is why we arranged to have the Orpheus curse used on you last year - it opens the doors more effectively than any other. We were sure that you would survive it, and you did."

Harry didn't like what he was hearing. "I don't have to use the Dark Arts. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't need to use them. You don't need to use any magic. Tell me, how did you make it through the gauntlet? Did you Cruciate the young children who have been trapped in there for so long, left there just to test those like you? Did you kill the lions that were trying to attack them?

"You don't need to choose to kill, to destroy, to cause pain, but you have done so. With each choice, you'll find a little less reason to avoid it. Using the Dark Arts is so much easier, not because the power is easy to use or to learn, but because it is so much easier to just shout a spell that has such final effects than to think your way out."

Girard was on a roll now, and Harry wasn't sure if he could interrupt if he tried. "You have many problems in your way, Harry. Your Ministry will hate you, and many others will despise you. From your earlier comments, I assume that you've rescued Narcissa Malfoy. I doubt that even those that had sympathy for you before will care the least bit for you now. Even Miss Granger here will never forgive you for choosing to save Ginny, leaving her here, after you saw what Viktor was doing to her in the Library. You will find yourself forced into expediency, because you will be too bold to run again. Expediency will lead to more use of the Dark Arts, until it becomes second nature. You are well and truly trapped."

"I didn't know," Harry denied, looking at Hermione. "I thought you wanted to be with him. I'm sorry, I didn't know." He wrenched his gaze back towards Girard. "Why do you care? Why are you doing this to me? Were you afraid I'd interfere?"

"No, Harry." Girard's eyes looked delighted. "I just needed you to be ready for your consecration. You're the member of the Ninth, one of only three since the prophecy was given, and the only one who matches the rest of the prophecy. You're the one to be consecrated. You are the new Dark Lord."