Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Light

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Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Light A Harry Potter/The Dark Is Rising Sequence Fusion By: Gramarye

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Devils on Horseback

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Consider, when you are enraged at any one, what you would probably think if he should die during the dispute.

    -- William Shenstone

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Harry's vision, made fuzzy by excruciating pain, had cleared at last. Enough to see through the mirror, into the office...enough to see Will.

The Old One stood stiff and very straight, as white and motionless as a marble statue. He had paused in the act of removing his academic gown; the muted dark grey of his suit was a stark contrast to the black stuff material that hung crookedly on his shoulders, half on and half off. His right hand was closed in a death grip round his left forearm. The expression on his face froze Harry's blood--cold rage and endless anger held in tight check, the face of Wrath Incarnate.

"Safe running," he muttered. "Of course. It would be so." He was staring off into the near distance at something only his eyes could see. "But no hostages this time, not for them. Ideal for the purpose, though the benefits of elimination hardly seem to outweigh the costs. But the chance is there, and they needs must take it...."

Then he was looking at them, and speaking to them in a high, remote voice that sent shivery echoes reverberating in their minds.

"One of you, notify Headmistress McGonagall that the passengers on the Hogwarts Express are in grave danger. The train will not make it to London. I will do what I can, but there is the chance that the Dark may already be upon them."

He slipped his arm back into the sleeve of his gown, and before their eyes it shifted and changed, the dull black of academia transforming into billowing robes of midnight blue. "Once you have found her, stay with her until I send for you. As for the rest of you, remain here. DO NOT LEAVE THIS ROOM."

With that command, his entire body seemed to ripple, shimmering like heat waves rising from burning sand. He vanished.

The long mirror went empty, blank and slate grey. A heartbeat later, it returned to its normal reflective state.

That heartbeat was all the time the five children needed to recover.

"Gin, you're fastest," Ron said, pointing at his sister. His face, though paler than normal, was calm, and his tone was straightforward and business-like. "You'd get to her before any of us could."

"Check her office and the Transfiguration classroom first," said Neville, equally straightforward.

"No, don't," Hermione contradicted. "She wouldn't be there now. Try the staff room."

"If you can't find her, look for Snape." Harry rubbed his forehead. The throbbing ache was there, but after what it *had* been nothing short of a full strength Cruciatus Curse would bother him. "If Will and I felt it, then HE probably knows something's wrong, too."

Ron added crisply, "If you can't find him, try to get hold of Dad or Percy, someone at the Ministry. On second thought, get hold of them anyway, even if you do find Snape."

"Right." Ginny nodded, and ran for the door.

"Wait!" Hermione shouted. She ripped the glittering prefect's badge off the front of her robes, ignoring the jagged tear it left in the fabric. "Take this."

She tossed it to Ginny. Ginny caught it.

"That should be enough if anyone tries to stop you," she said as Ginny lopsidedly pinned the badge onto to her own robe. "And if you show it to the painting of the milkmaid outside the staff room and tell her that it's an emergency, she'll let you in without asking for the password."

Ginny clutched at the badge, gripping it like a protective talisman. Her worried gaze flitted past all of them to land on her brother, where it sharpened to a fretful glare.

"Don't...don't you go doing anything brave!" she cried harshly, though 'foolish' or 'stupid' or 'suicidal' would have been better fitted to the tone of her voice. "That goes for all of you!"

Before Ron could make a suitable comment, she hiked her over-long robes up to her shins and rushed out of the room. The door slammed shut. The clatter of running feet receded into the distance.

"Now what?" Neville asked, turning away from the door to face his friends.

Harry pushed himself to his feet. His legs were shaky, but his head was clear.

"We find out what's going on," he said resolutely.

With an indifferent sweep of his arm, he cleared the massive table of books and parchment and writing utensils. The grease-spotted napkins that held his dinner fell to the floor, their cold contents forgotten. The chunk of chocolate cake had served its purpose; there was no need for it now.

They took their places round the table: Ron at Harry's right, Hermione and Neville on the opposite side, facing the mirror. Harry planted both hands on the table, partly to steady himself and partly to add force to his words.

"This isn't just Voldemort," he declared. "There's something else going on, something I've never felt before. And we've got to know what it is."

"But we can't leave!" Hermione exclaimed, aghast. "You heard Will!"

"Leave?" He frowned at her. "Who said anything about leaving?"

The moment he had heard that the Hogwarts Express was in danger, his mind had been working quickly, sorting through and discarding possible options and plans. Once they had been ordered to stay in the room, however, all of those options had been narrowed down to one: the stone. If it could show the inside of a draughty Transfiguration classroom, it could certainly show all of them the terrible crisis at hand--the next best thing to being there. And if all four of them used their stones at the same time, they would see it as it happened, second by second, the battle unfolding as fast as the mysterious artist could lay down brushstrokes.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small white pebble. Cupped in his open palm, it was warm to the touch. The Dark wasn't in the room with them; it was out there, doing who knew what. Well, soon *they* would know.

"Do you have yours?" he asked, holding out his hand to show them the stone.

Ron, Hermione, and Neville scrabbled in their pockets, hunting for their stones. Ron had to do a little more searching than the others, and growled in panic as he dug deeply into his robes, but the next second his eyes lit up and he held his stone aloft in grinning triumph.

"Right." Harry closed his hand round the stone, pressing it into his palm. "We can use these to see what's happening on the train. There's no reason why we shouldn't know what happens."

"How?" Ron asked.

"Close your eyes," he replied. "Listen to it. Do what it tells you to do."

Praying they would understand, he closed his eyes and waited for the familiar feelings to stir within.

The pain in his head faded into near nothingness as the Light's power took control, breaking the hold that the Dark had over his body. First came the outlines of words, Will's spell-speech chanting into his ears and the eerie prickling that ran through him as he recited the spell. He thought he heard other voices speaking with him, male and female, high and low wreathing through the magic, but what happened next put all thought from his mind.

The two times he had used the stone, the rapid-fire series of images and emotions had formed in his head with delicate precision, the work in progress of an unknown, unseen artist. He had learned by now how to read the shifting pictures. He was able to piece together the events for the greatest comprehension, never lingering too long on one vision.

But this time, it was as if the artist had already completed the full painting--and had shoved it in his face.

Blazoned across his mind's eye was the empty corridor of a train car on the Hogwarts Express. From the look of things, the artist had been standing well toward the back of the car to paint the picture. To the right was the neat row of closed compartment doors. To the left were the long windows of the corridor, most closed, some opened a crack in the hopes of letting some air into the stuffy car. The globe lamps on the walls between the compartment doors had not been lit; the windows faced west, and the sun had not yet dipped below the horizon.

From where he was, he could see outside the train as well. They were passing through one of the more desolate stretches of their journey, travelling across the wild moors and tilled patches of farmland in southern Yorkshire. The setting sun had streaked the sky with an array of colours not often found on an artist's palette. No human hand could mix paint with enough precision to capture that exact shade of vivid crimson. To Harry's reeling mind, it looked like the sky was bleeding.

The entire image was far more lifelike and detailed than anything in his past visions. It was accurate down to the most unflattering of details. The fitted carpet of the train corridor was faded, worn down the centre with the passing of countless feet and spotted with grease where food had been spilled. The wood and metal of the car, though well cared for, showed black marks and scuffs. The moorland flashing by the windows was distorted with grey smudges left by fingerprints on glass. It wasn't a painting--it was more like a wizarding photograph.

And like a wizarding photograph, it was moving. The image of the car seemed to rock and sway with the rhythm of the train. Within seconds, Harry found that he was rocking and swaying as well, unconsciously adjusting the motion of his body to match that of the train.

And then his world blinked, or it seemed to blink, or anyway he was conscious of a sudden and unexpected *shift*, and he opened his eyes to discover that he was no longer seeing a picture of a train.

He was IN the picture.

He was ON the train.

And Ron, Hermione, and Neville were on the train, too.

Naturally, he staggered at the abrupt transition from standing on solid stone to standing on a moving train, and nearly lost his balance. Neville, on the other hand, was so shocked that he *did* lose his balance. Harry had to catch him to stop him falling on his face.

"Wha...whah...?" He clung to Harry like a frightened child grasping its mother's leg.

Completely disoriented, Ron kept looking from side to side and up and down, turning round in uneven circles. "Where--where are we?"

"It's the train." Hermione pushed her hair back with trembling hands. "We're on the *train*."

"It can't be!" Ron cried, though the dismay on his face showed that he knew perfectly well that it could be--and it was.

He looked to Harry for explanation, but Harry wasn't listening. He was staring at the stone in his palm. The stone that was no longer warm to the touch. The stone that seemed to be growing colder by the second.

"They're coming," he said. Hurriedly, he put the stone back in his pocket before it could burn his hand. He motioned to the others to follow suit.

"Does that mean Will couldn't stop them?" whimpered Neville.

"I don't know." Harry shivered. The stone was safely in his pocket, but the chilly tingle it had left on the skin of his hand had not gone away. If anything, it was spreading, raising gooseflesh on his arms and the back of his neck.

"Are *we* supposed to stop them?" Hermione asked.

"I don't *know*." His head was starting to hurt again; irritation sharpened his voice.

"Malfoy," Ron growled, baring his teeth in a carnivorous snarl. "It's Malfoy again, isn't it?"

"I don't KNOW, all right?!" Harry yelled. "I don't--"

"Hey, what's with the shouting?" a muffled, sleepy voice called out.

"Oi!" grumbled someone else. "Shut it out there, can't you?"

Preoccupied with more immediate problems, the five of them had not realised that the volume of their conversation had increased with each passing minute. Their argument had attracted the attention of the rest of the train. Compartment doors were opening all down the car as the curious, annoyed passengers stuck their heads out to see what was going on.

"Who's making all that racket?"

"What's going on?"

"Is something wrong?"

"Hey, it's Harry! Harry Potter!"

"Harry?" A door close to the front of the car opened, and Colin Creevey's head poked out into the corridor. His eyes went round as saucers.

"Harry!" he exclaimed, his voice and face torn between delight and worry. "How did you--?!"

But Harry didn't hear him. His scar had started throbbing again, a sick, fast rhythm that kept even pace with the driving thrum of the train. *The Dark is coming for you,* it seemed to hiss. *The Dark is coming for you...coming for you...coming...coming...coming....*

"Everybody, get away from the windows!" he bellowed.

"WHAT?" he heard a girl scream.

"Get DOWN!" he shouted, and acting out of pure instinct he shoved the person nearest at hand--Hermione, he later found out--to the floor of the corridor. "GET DOWN!"

He dove for the floor, but as his feet left the ground there was a ghastly, ear-splitting squeal like the sound of a thousand fingernails on a thousand chalkboards, and he *didn't* hit the floor but kept on going, suspended in puzzled mid-flight--

--until his right shoulder collided with what felt like a wall and he spun sideways, still moving--

--and then his body twisted, flipping head over heels to crash to the floor, and he was sliding across the floor on his back, still moving--

--and something else, something HEAVY that wasn't a wall, collided with him and it seemed to be on top of him, and there was a silvery sound of glass shattering, but he was sliding, skidding, and still moving--

--and then he and the something HEAVY--which wasn't directly on top of him any longer, thank goodness--hit *another* wall and he finally stopped.

He wasn't knocked out, but the impact jolted every bone in his body, worst in his legs and back where he had landed against the wall. After a moment's stunned immobility, he opened his eyes, only to quickly squeeze them tight shut as a light patter of broken glass rained down upon his head.

Once the stinging shower had ended, he raised himself to a sitting position. Gingerly, he brushed needle-sharp shards out of his face. His hand came away damp and pink, covered with tiny scratches.

Looking round groggily, he saw that he had travelled the entire length of the car and come to rest against the door that led to the next car. There was glass all round him, but the only thing damaged was the light fixture directly over his head. The glass globe had shattered. The windows on both sides were intact, though. Nothing else appeared to be broken--including him.

The compartment doors had all been flung open by the sudden stop, and Harry saw that other passengers were dragging themselves into the dim corridor. Some grunted and groaned; others turned the air blue with cursing; a few of the youngest students wailed, terrified. Many were bleeding from cuts on their faces or hands. All were badly shaken.

He heard a low, wheezing moan close by, and spun round.

Lying next to him was Neville, face contorted, groaning as he tried to sit up. Judging by where and how he had landed, he had been the something heavy that had crashed into Harry. But unlike Harry, Neville had hit the far wall almost head on. He looked like he had picked a fight with Crabbe, Goyle, and a Bludger--and lost.

"Neville!" Harry crawled over to his friend, picking his way through the glass.

"Arm...*hurts*...." Neville gasped. He rolled onto his back. His left arm hung uselessly at his side.

"Is it broken?"

"Don't know...oh, DON'T!" he cried, pulling away as Harry tried to feel for broken bones. "Hurts too much--"

"Harry! Neville!"

Ron tumbled out of a nearby compartment; he had been flung sideways by the sudden stop. With a nimble twist of his body, he used the momentum of his forward roll to right himself. He ran to them. "You all right?"

Harry took the hand that Ron held out to him. "I'm fine," he said as he got to his feet, "but Neville's--"

A shrill scream rent the air, tearing down the length of the corridor.

Ron whirled round. "That's Hermione!"

He sprinted away, flying past stunned passengers, shoving them aside as he checked compartment after compartment in his single-minded search. Somehow, Harry lifted Neville off the floor and propelled him along as they chased after Ron. Neville's moans became yelps when the running jarred his injured arm, but he let Harry guide him. They were not far behind when Ron came to an unexpected halt in front of a compartment near the back end of the car.

Ron took one look into the compartment and recoiled, flattening himself against the opposite wall. Alarmed, Harry and Neville hobbled forward to see what had startled him.

Neville was first to look inside. He uttered a word that Harry hadn't thought he knew.

Filled with dread, Harry looked as well.

He fought an urgent need to be sick at the sight of Natalie McDonald's prone, still form sprawled on the floor of the compartment.

The fact that she was lying there and not moving was bad enough, but there were other, worse things to consider. Her fragile-looking body was bent at an unnatural angle. There was blood everywhere: oozing sluggishly from gashes on her face, crusting in her hair, puddling beneath her body, filling the air with its sickening coppery stench. Her head lolled to one side. A thin, pinkish fluid seeped from her ears.

Hermione was curled up on the seat nearest the compartment door, hands over her eyes and screaming fit to wake the dead.

"Ron!" Harry shouted hoarsely, though he had no idea why.

Ron, though, seemed to know what Harry was asking of him. He did not need to be asked twice.

He hurried into the compartment. Taking Hermione (who screams showed no signs of letting up) very firmly by the wrist, he dragged her out and down the corridor, removing her from the gory scene.

Harry wondered *how* Ron would be able to calm her down. It seemed an impossible task. He watched as Ron put a hand on Hermione's shoulder and pulled her close. It wasn't an embrace, or even a comforting hug. There was no proper name for it; it defied all of Harry's attempts to describe it. Ron's lips were moving, though Harry couldn't hear what was being said.

Miraculously, whatever he said and did worked. Within a matter of moments Hermione's shrill screams had stopped, replaced by loud, violent sobbing. She slumped against the wall, held up by Ron.

Satisfied that Hermione was in good hands, Harry took one last look at Natalie. Staring at her limp, broken body, he felt horribly guilty. She may have been a cheater and a liar, but no matter what she had done no one deserved to die that way.

Sick at heart, he was about to close the compartment door and leave her where she was, but a tap on his shoulder made him look round. Neville was peering over his shoulder, his eyes clear and bright with a thoughtful, incisive intensity.

"Harry, could you step aside, please?" he said briskly.

Mutely, Harry moved to one side.

Carefully cradling his bad arm with his good one, Neville strode into the compartment. He knelt down at the side of the unconscious girl. He did not touch her, but his eyes swept up and down, looking more closely at her face and bending over to study the congealing pool of blood that had soaked the carpet. His fingertips brushed her limp wrist, feeling for a pulse, then checked her neck for the same. Harry could only watch in silent awe as Neville, this strange brisk Neville who seemed to know exactly what he was doing, examined Natalie with a physician's trained thoroughness.

After a minute, he sat back on his heels.

"She's not dead," he proclaimed. "Out cold, but not dead. Not yet, at least."

"But...but there's so much blood!" Harry spluttered, horrified and light-headed with relief.

"It's all from these cuts on her face. She must've scraped herself something awful when she hit her head." He stood up. "Doesn't look good, though. She still breathing, and her heart's still going, but only just."

"We've got to get her out of here," Harry said.

"No." Neville shook his head. "We can't risk it."

"Why not?"

"What if her neck's broken? Even a Mobilicorpus spell could kill her!"

"Well, we can't just LEAVE her!"

"Of course not," Neville snapped. The shouting made him grimace, and he pressed his injured arm against his side, holding it as immobile as he could. Then, with his uninjured hand, he whipped out his wand. He drew a deep, steadying breath. "DEFENDO LUX!"

Instantly, both he and Natalie were surrounded by a faint white glow that illuminated the entire compartment, bringing light to the rapidly darkening room.

"Anything that comes in here'll have to deal with me," he said. The determination in his voice was like a steel rod, straightening his spine and squaring his shoulders. "Go and help the others."

Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second too long, and Neville's eyes flashed steel to match his voice.

"Go ON!" he ordered.

Harry hastily scrambled out of the compartment, only to run smack into Ron and Hermione. Hermione was still weeping loudly, great heaving sobs that no amount of soothing could quiet. Ron had been trying his hardest to do so, and he was more than a little desperate.

Hoping that Hermione would listen, Harry came right to the point. "Natalie's not dead," he said. "She's still alive."

Hermione broke off in mid-sob. "Wh...what?"

"How do you know?" demanded Ron.

"Neville...he looked at her and said she wasn't dead. She's hurt, but she's alive."

Hermione burst into fresh tears.

"Where's Neville now?" Ron asked, patting her arm.

"Looking after her," Harry said. "Natalie, that is."

Ron looked very relieved. "Ah, good. He'll know what to do."

"He will?"

Ron smiled wanly. "Hey, you'd learn a thing or two about injuries if *your* family kept dropping you out windows and chucking you off--" He stopped short, staring out the window. "Harry, look! Outside!"

Harry looked, following Ron's gaze. He saw nothing. The rolling, windswept moor was bleak and empty in the crimson twilight. Only a few stunted and stubbly trees broke the desolate monotony of the landscape. There was nothing and no one for at least three or four miles, not even a stray sheep.

"What am I supposed to be looking at?" he asked, straining his eyes to see into the distance.

Hermione sniffled, wiping her nose with the sodden edge of her sleeve.

"Don't you see it? Look, there!" Ron pointed. "Look at the sun."

Harry squinted, shielding his eyes to block the worst of the glare. He saw--or thought he saw--a small dot on the horizon, compact against the blood-red setting sun. He thought it was another tree very far in the distance. But as he stared at it, the dot began to increase in size. First it was a dot, then an irregular blot, then a widening smear of blackness that coalesced into a group of shapes, a knot of dark figures.

They weren't growing in size--they were coming toward them.

He blinked rapidly to rid his vision of the coloured spots that the sunlight had left on his retinas. As he rubbed to clear his eyes, he felt something odd. The Hogwarts Express was stopped, but he could feel vibrations under his feet. It wasn't the rumble that would have indicated the approach of another train. It wasn't the tremor of footfalls. It was a different feeling, a measured, rhythmic cadence that made the earth tremble.

The beat of many hooves.

The repeated rhythm of horses at full gallop.

"Riders," he said suddenly.

Ron blinked, confused. "What?"

Harry stared out the window, watching the dark figures draw nearer. They were widening still, fanning out, forming a sweeping curve that threatened to encircle the stalled train. "They're riding horses, but they're not...."

"Not what?"

His head felt funny; he couldn't think properly. "They're not--"

His words were cut off as a cacophony of noise erupted inside his head. Screaming, yelling, pleading voices, indistinguishable from one another except for the odd word or half-sound; Hermione's voice melting into his mother's which melted into Colin's which mingled with Ginny and Ron and his father and others he couldn't identify, drowning each other out as they fought to be heard.

The cries of friends and family were so loud that he had to shout to hear himself. "Ron, they're Dementors!"

Hermione gasped, tears forgotten. She pressed her face to the train window, flattening her nose against the glass and leaving a smudge.

"They're on horses," she said. That was what Harry assumed she had said by the way her lips moved. He couldn't hear her. "They're *riding*."

"But Azkaban's hundreds of miles away!" Ron yelled. Harry could hear him, but dimly, as if they were shouting to each other underwater. "What are they DOING here?"

His question wasn't made to be answered, and would not be as long as the Dementors and their mounts held Harry's full attention. The horses were all of a uniform coal-black, galloping furiously, tails and manes whipping against the wind. Their fiery eyes rolled wildly in their heads and their sides were flecked with foam, but their masters spurred them on without mercy.

And the masters were themselves the stuff of nightmares, the demons who stalk childhood's darkest dreams--black cloaks streaming behind them like great banners heralding death and destruction; the bony, clutching hands stretched out in blind search of their prey as they rode, soundless in the chase. Deep black hoods drawn low concealed the faceless horror beneath the cloth.

"Are they going to capture us?" Ron said fearfully. "Is that why they stopped the train?"

"No hostages." He didn't care if he could hear his own voice. An awful realisation had come crashing down upon him like a tidal wave. "That's what Will said, right?"

Ron shuddered, filled with nameless fear. "You...you don't think--"

Harry smiled mirthlessly. "How's your Patronus looking, Ron?"

A nervous giggle escaped Ron's lips.

"Never mind," Harry continued, quite calm now that he knew what they were up against. "One happy memory, that's all you need. It's not as hard as you think."

Ron saw the lie for what it was, but accepted it.

"I-I'll try," he said.

"I can..." Hermione began to say, but shook her head. "No. There has to be someone to stay with the others. They'll listen to me. And as I can't do a proper Patronus, I'll go and keep everyone together so you two can get on with things."

Harry and Ron were shocked into silence at Hermione's open admission of her problem with the spell. Hermione, however, took their silence for reluctance, and her eyes narrowed.

"Well, come on!" she said impatiently. "I can keep up a defence wall better than either of you, in case you've forgotten. Go and hold them off as long as you can!"

With that, she ran to the front end of the train.

Harry and Ron, not wishing to waste any more time, ran to the back.

Harry went right and entered the empty compartment closest to the rear of the train. He opened the compartment window, wriggling his torso to slide through the narrow opening.

Ron veered left and threw open the door that led outside the car. He gripped the polished handrail with his left hand and swung like a door on a hinge, most of his body hanging out over the tracks.

They were in the last car of the train, so there was nothing behind the train but a long stretch of empty rail--and the approaching Dementors. There were at least a dozen of them. They were about five hundred metres away from the train, rapidly closing in.

Out came the wands, and two strong voices shouted into the twilight:

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

The brilliant stag leapt from Harry's wand and charged the closest of the Dementors. The black horse reared, screaming with an almost human voice, and the Dementor had to fight to keep control of the animal and to avoid the sharp antlers of the Patronus at the same time. The Dementor yanked at the reins so viciously that the horse reared again, hooves pawing the air, and horse and rider turned away with the stag in full pursuit.

"Ron!" Harry shouted as the Dementors shied away from the stag. He had not heard any sound of failure or success, and panicked at the thought that something might have gone wrong. "Are you--"

"I DID IT! I DID IT!"

Harry grinned broadly. Panic gone, question answered. Concentrating as fiercely as he could, he turned the Patronus round to attack the next Dementor.

"Can you keep it up?" he asked.

"Long as I have to," Ron retorted gleefully. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

Harry managed to drive off two more Dementors before he had to recast the spell. The sheer joy of seeing the magnificent stag rout their attackers was enough to make him laugh aloud. The screams that had battered his mind were gone. The Dementors weren't affecting him at all.

Harry caught a brief glimpse of Ron's Patronus as it as it chased away two Dementors at once, and it was a breathtaking sight. For a Patronus Ron had conjured a mounted knight that could have come straight off a chess board. It did not wear armour, only a simple tunic and cloak, but it expertly wielded a massive sword, cutting a wide swath through the charging black horses. Unencumbered by the weight of armour, the knight's spectacular combat skill and horsemanship showed through. It was awesome, majestic. Any king would have been proud to have such a warrior.

"Good one!" he whooped as Ron's Patronus sent three Dementors flying away as fast as their horses could run. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

He and the stag scanned the area, but no enemies were in sight. The Dementors, it seemed, had fled.

"That the last of them?" Ron called out.

"I think so." He let the spell fade away and cautiously slid back into the compartment. His ribs ached from keeping his full body weight on the thin ledge of the windowsill. Casting a Patronus so many times in succession was tiring work, and as long as they had a bit of a breather he might as well make use of it.

"See anything?"

"No."

"Good."

"You tired?"

He heard Ron sigh. "A little. I just hope Hermione's oka--AH!"

Harry spun round in time to see Ron's body disappear through the open door. At first he thought Ron had slipped or lost his balance and had fallen out, but from the way he fell...it looked like he had been *pulled* out.

"Ron!" he shouted. "RON!"

There was no reply.

Gripping his wand, he ran over to the open door, fearing the absolute worst. They'd missed one of the Dementors, one had slipped past them, he was going to look outside and watch it suck the soul out of his best friend--

--but it wasn't a Dementor.

It was Wormtail.

And he had Ron by the throat, both hands wrapped round Ron's neck.

He had dragged his captive about ten feet from the train, well out of Harry's reach. Ron's body was between Harry and him, and even though Ron was almost a head taller, Wormtail had him in such a way that only the very tips of Ron's toes touched the ground. In that position Ron couldn't fight back without running the risk of losing his precarious footing...and strangling himself.

"Let him go!" Harry shouted, stupidly.

Wormtail peered round Ron's head, wisely using the boy as a shield.

"Stay where you are!" he commanded. "You don't want to startle me. I might *slip*...."

To make his point, his fingers twitched convulsively. Ron let out a loud, gasping squawk.

Harry inhaled. He couldn't stop himself from shaking, but he had to keep fear out of his voice. "Let go of him."

"You're hardly in any position to be giving orders to *me*, boy," Wormtail sneered.

He looked away from Harry and started talking to Ron, a smooth stream of words that were spoken with his voice but which definitely did not sound like him. It was too rehearsed, too fluid to come from his own mind. The Dark--not Lord Voldemort, but the true force of the Dark-- was speaking through its servant's mouth.

"Well, then, young master. I would hazard a guess that right now your dear friend is wishing with all his heart that he had killed me when he had the chance. And he would have, too, for all his talk of nobility and friendship and family honour. I saw it in him, in his eyes. How terrible and heartbreaking to see cold-blooded murder looking at me through his Mudblood mother's eyes.

"But you could have saved me, you know, back there in the Shrieking Shack." His voice took on a childish, petulant tone, wheedling and sulky. "I *begged* you, my good, kind master, to save me. I had hoped that all the years I spent as your faithful pet would have possibly meant something to you." His lips curled back, revealing a set of yellowed and uneven teeth. "I was wrong."

The rambling words gave Harry hope--and an idea.

"Wormtail, *I* saved your life two years ago." He spoke forcefully but persuasively. "Remus and Sirius would have killed you as soon as looked at you. You owe me, both for that and for what you did to my parents." He stood very straight, filled with the white-hot fire that teeters on the razor edge between fury and panic. "You owe me a wizard's debt, and I'm claiming it now. LET GO OF HIM!"

He was sure that it would work, but Wormtail only laughed.

"Saved my life?" he said, incredulous. "Do you even hear yourself?" He turned back to Ron, addressing him once more. "Can you believe the boy? Whose life did he save?" His face contorted in a sudden spasm of pain. "*I* know it wasn't mine."

Harry felt a cold hand close over his heart, much as Wormtail's hand encircled Ron's all too fragile neck.

"Let him go," he said again, though with nowhere near the force and confidence he had felt a moment before.

Wormtail ignored him. "But enough of that," he said to Ron, who by this time was making little burbling sounds as he struggled to draw breath. "It's time for me to pay back the only debt I owe--so I'm going to take my time with this."

He began to walk forward, pushing Ron ahead of him, carefully stepping from the brittle grass of the moor onto the loose gravel that lined the railway tracks. Step by step, he backed Ron up against the train. Planting his feet firmly apart, he braced himself for his task.

"Yessss," he hissed, sibilant with pleasure. "Yes, I'm going to enjoy wrapping my fingers round your nasty little throat, feeling your dying pulse throb against my palm, listening to you gurgle your last breath awa--"

He got no further. Just as he started to tighten his hands, a great flash and a crackle raced through the air, as if lightning had struck the train.

Reflexively, mindlessly, Harry threw up his arms to shield his eyes. The premonition saved his sight, because in the next moment a great wall of flame, searing white, leapt up from the ground to form a blinding barrier on either side of the train.

Dazzled by the brilliance, he saw the white light spread, following the straight line of the train tracks on both sides. It stretched parallel before and behind the train as far as he could follow, forming a road edged with fire. The road traced a path across the moor, leading who knew where.

He and Ron and Wormtail and the whole of the Hogwarts Express were enveloped in an open tunnel of cold white light.

Wormtail screeched suddenly, shrilly, and released Ron. He crouched down, covering his head with his arms, screaming with the voice of the damned.

Gagging and coughing, Ron fell to the side, toward the open door. In one movement Harry reached out and grabbed Ron's robe, hauling him back onto the train's platform and to safety. He held Ron close, keeping his wand trained on Wormtail. If the traitor recovered and tried to attack again, he would be ready.

Wormtail did not recover. His cries were abruptly cut off as he changed form, so quickly that it could not have been voluntary. All that was left was a large and dirty-looking rat, squealing and rolling on the ground, kicking up loose gravel as it scuffled.

Then Harry blinked, or thought he had blinked, because he felt an odd sensation similar to the one he had felt when he had been transported onto the train. All he knew was that one moment he was sitting on the train and Ron was coughing his lungs out beside him, and in the next moment Will was with them as well, standing over Wormtail and watching him writhe in his torments.

A look of the most profound contempt passed across the Old One's face as he stared at the rat, but icy neutrality closed over his features, wiping away emotion like a fresh eraser passing across a chalkboard.

He took a step back and swept his cloak, the dark blue almost black against the blinding whiteness surrounding them, up and away from one shoulder. With great dignity, he made a deep, reverent bow--to no one. Yet as he straightened up, the flames on either side of the train flared high. The uppermost part dipped and curved inward, as if it was returning the bow.

And then, with the ceremony completed, the barrier of light vanished, leaving them alone in the deepening twilight.

With the disappearance of the light, Wormtail stopped moving. His grimy pink tail twitched feebly and was still. To all appearances he was quite dead, though Harry knew he wasn't.

Staring down at the rat, Will extended his right arm, the fingers of his right hand spread wide. He pointed at Wormtail, and commanded:

"Show me his...human form."

There was a loud pop, and Wormtail was human once more. He was cowering on the ground with his arms over his head. He lifted his head, saw Will and froze, red-rimmed eyes glazed with terror.

"So," Will said, voice quiet and deathly cold. "Peter Pettigrew."

At the sound of his name, Wormtail flinched as though he had been struck.

"Go back to your master." The coldness sharpened, honed like the blast of a winter wind. "Go back and tell him that the Watchman of the Light bids him remember the fate of those who Ride with the Dark. And pray that this message will give him enough cause to spare your neck, when you return and report the news of your failure here...and he learns how you have overstepped your authority."

He lowered his hand, and as if a spell had been lifted, Wormtail snapped out of his frozen state. He turned tail and fled, scrambling on all fours at first and then transforming into his Animagus form to get away faster. The last Harry saw of him was a dark dot streaking across the moor.

Once he was satisfied that Wormtail had gone, Will turned to Harry and Ron.

"I'm not going to ask how you ended up here," he said mildly, far from the harsh scolding they had expected to receive. "I really should have known better when I left you--even with my very explicit instructions to stay put. You should consider yourselves lucky."

Harry gulped. "Lucky to be alive?"

"Lucky that I'm not going to take you to task for recklessness that could have got you killed." He sighed, if the dry, depressed noise that came from deep in his chest could be called a sigh. "Come to think of it, we seem to be going for dramatic re-enactments here. New cast, a little choice role-swapping...though using Dementors as Riders was rather theatrical. A bit over the top. But not bad, considering."

"But did we do it, Will?" Harry pressed. "Are they gone?"

"Gone?" Will raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yes, they're gone. You and Mr. Weasley drove them back. And very efficiently, I might add." His eyes shone with rare emotion, filled with calm but nonetheless open pride. "You have an excellent way with a Patronus, Mr. Weasley."

The tips of Ron's ears turned bright pink with flustered delight.

Will let them savour the compliment, but his next words were sobering. "However, your triumph came at a cost--one I had hoped to avoid."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry.

"Lord Voldemort had enough foresight to know that an attack of this nature would provoke a response from the Light. He has, in essence, forced me to show my hand."

Ron scratched his head. "But didn't he know about you before?"

Will frowned. "He would be a fool not to know. No, this attack was both a challenge and a confrontation, a pointed reminder to me that I alone of the Light stand between your world and his plans for a new Rising." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "And a reminder that I am...somewhat restricted in my approach."

Harry didn't like the sound of that. "So...what happens now?"

"Now, Mr. Potter, you and the others must find the sixth person and complete the Circle. And in that, you must be alone. I cannot help you in this search."

Ron made a soft, despairing noise.

Will's mouth twitched in the ghost of a smile. "Come now, Mr. Weasley. I have a feeling you'll find it easier than you imagine. By Monday fortnight, after the Easter holidays, you'll have your sixth companion. And the end of your own quest will be near. But first...."

He beckoned to them, and they slid from the train and jumped to the ground; not a long jump, but enough to be startling.

"First," he said wryly, "we'll have to think of what to tell them."

He pointed to the front of the train. A large number of black-robed figures were scattered around the front cars, looking in the windows and running about, gesticulating wildly. The babble of voices raised in argument drifted down toward them. Harry didn't recognise any of them until he saw a stretcher floating away from the train--and Madam Pomfrey bustling along beside it.

"Ginny did it!" Ron said proudly. "I knew she was the right one."

"Miss Weasley did her job well." Will pulled his cloak closer about him. "They arrived sooner than I would have hoped, even figuring in a time delay for the news to spread."

Puzzled, Harry looked at his watch. It was seven twenty-two.

"Twenty minutes?" Impossible--it had felt like a lifetime.

"Harry!"

He looked up, and saw that Remus Lupin was running toward them. The Defence Against the Dark Arts professor had kilted his baggy robes almost to the knee, and they flapped behind him as he ran. He slowed down, skidding on the gravel, and came to a jerky halt.

"Hi, Remus," Harry said sheepishly.

"What the devil is going on?" Remus demanded between heaving breaths. He looked like he could not decide whether to hug Harry or shake him soundly. "What are you doing here? *How* did you get here?"

"Uh..." Ron began, but Remus wasn't finished.

"I'm sitting in the staff room, trying to relax and enjoying a nice cup of tea, and out of nowhere YOUR SISTER--"--this to Ron--"--comes running in yelling something about attacking the Hogwarts Express and drags me to find Professor McGonagall. And I get dragged along some more and then told to Apparate to Doncaster, *Doncaster*, of all places, and we get here and find ten students hurt and two dozen more talking about Dementors and walls of fire and--" He broke off suddenly as he realised that Will was standing to one side, listening to him yell. "Who are YOU?"

Nervously, Harry glanced at Will, only to discover that the older man's critical gaze had gone through one of his lightning-fast and very disconcerting changes of expression. Where there had been grave scrutiny and distrust, there was a wondering, almost pleased light.

"My word," he said softly. "Can it be Remus Lupin?"

Remus's jaw dropped.

There was an uncertain beat.

"Should...should I know you?" Remus asked.

Will smiled at him. "I would be very much surprised if you did. It's been quite a while."

Harry felt that he should step in and try to make the best of an awkward situation. "Remus, this is...."

"A friend," Will interrupted. "Who is just leaving." And true to his word, he turned away, but paused. "Until next Monday, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley. Enjoy your Easter. And may I say that it was good to see you again...Professor."

He winked at Harry and Ron, and nodded to Remus, who returned the nod as if his neck had rusted.

With that, Will started to walk away from the train, heading across the moor with a steady stride.

Harry watched him walk away, waiting for him to vanish with a shimmer into the evening. But Will kept walking steadily into the distance, and instead of his body, it was the landscape in front of him that seemed to shift and change. The vivid purples and oranges and scarlets of the evening sky and the contrasting grey span of moor rippled, blurring like warm air rising from a fire.

Slack-jawed with astonishment, Harry saw two massive wooden doors-- larger than the great entrance doors of Hogwarts--materialise upon the wild moor. They were not there one moment and there the next, as if they had always been there and no one had seen them until that moment.

The doors opened slowly as Will approached, revealing a darkness that held no threat, only the promise of welcome. As he passed between them, they slowly swung closed.

Once shut, they disappeared.

A high thread of bell-like music twisted and twined its way across the moor. It filled Harry with a strange yearning, a desperate need to hear more, but as soon as it had come it was gone, whirled away and carried aloft on the wind.

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Gramarye [email protected] http://gramarye.freehosting.net/hp/harry2.htm July 13th, 2002