Harry Potter and the Sect of the Serpent

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: The Third Attack

"Where were you?"

Gwyn looked up at the sound of Harry's voice, surprised.

"I was looking all over for you!" he continued, rushing up to the Ravenclaw table. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Gwyn said, lowering her eyes. "Look, Harry, I'm sorry I didn't meet you like we planned..."

Harry blinked. He had completely forgotten that he had planned to meet Gwyn at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. He had been so preoccupied worrying about Remus that he hadn't even remembered to tell Gwyn that he wasn't allowed to go. He felt his face reddening.

"...I just needed some time to myself," she continued, stirring her stew slowly with her spoon. "I hope you understand."

"You didn't go to the village?" Harry asked.

Gwyn glanced up at him. "No. Didn't you?"

Harry shook his head, smiling with relief as he dropped down onto the bench opposite her. "I was so worried!" he said with a little huff of laughter. "Nobody had seen you and--"

"You didn't go to the village?" Gwyn repeated.

"Er, no," Harry said. "McGonagall told me I couldn't -- at the last minute."

Gwyn's expression was unreadable, but Harry noticed that she was gripping her spoon tightly. "Harry," she said slowly, "what's happened? Why didn't you go to Hogsmeade?"

"It's nothing," Harry said hastily. "I mean, it's nothing to worry about."

"Don't lie to me," Gwyn said tersely.

"I'm not lying," Harry retorted. "I can't tell you, okay? I can't tell anyone."

"Is it the same reason the dementors were in Hogsmeade?" Gwyn asked. "Were they after you?"

Harry stared at her, his mind reeling. He hadn't even considered that possibility.

"They were after you, weren't they?" she continued, her voice low. "He sent them after you..."

"You seem to know an awful lot about it," a voice suggested from behind him. Harry looked up to see Hermione, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, looking down at them.

Gwyn started and frowned. "What?" she asked, dropping her fork.

"Just, you seem to be well informed." Hermione shrugged casually.

Gwyn turned back to her plate, brow creased. Hermione seemed to be waiting for her to say something more.

"Excuse me," Gwyn said, finally turning back to her, "but Harry and I were having a private conversation."

Hermione's eyes bulged. "I'm sure it's nothing you can't talk about in front of his friends," she announced and sat on Harry's other side. "Right, Harry?"

"Er..." he stammered.

Hermione cut him off, addressing Gwyn. "So where were you all day? We've been looking everywhere."

"I was in my practice room," Gwyn said, shooting Harry a wary glance, "working on my music."

"Alone?" Hermione asked incredulously. "While everyone else went into town?"

Gwyn shrugged. "It's hard to find any private time around here," she said, looking at Hermione pointedly. "There's always someone butting into your business."

Hermione didn't back down. "And I suppose you were so engrossed in your music that you just forgot to come down for lunch?"

Gwyn clenched her jaw and dropped her hand to the table, making her silverware jump. "What is this, the inquisition? I don't have to explain myself to you," she said, pushing back from the table and getting to her feet. "I'll see you later, Harry. If your keepers will ever let you out of their sight."

"Gwyn," Harry began, but she turned on her heel and stomped away from them. He rounded on Hermione then, whose eyes were still blazing as she watched Gwyn storm out of the Hall.

"What the bloody hell was that all about?" Harry demanded.

Hermione turned her fiery gaze on him. "You tell me!" she said hotly. "How did she know about the dementors if she didn't leave her practice room all day?"

Harry frowned and opened his mouth to reply, but Hermione cut him off.

"Did you tell her about them, because no one else did." She gestured around at the nearly empty Ravenclaw table.

"You don't know that," Harry protested.

"And what was all that waffle about the dementors being after you?" Hermione snorted. "It sounded like she was trying to scare you."

"What's got your knickers in such a twist?" Harry asked angrily, standing up to face Hermione. "She was just concerned about--"

"Oh really?" Hermione interrupted. "She was so concerned that she forgot to tell anybody she wouldn't be going to Hogsmeade? So concerned that she let us spend all afternoon looking for her?

Harry looked away quickly.

"Just stay out of it," he huffed, pushing past Hermione and walking towards the Gryffindor table. "It's none of your business."

Several weeks passed. Hermione continued to act by turns distant and aggressive around Gwyn, and Gwyn insisted, much to Harry's embarrassment, that it was just jealousy.

Harry tried to go on as though things were getting back to normal, although there was still no word of Remus. The dementors cleared out of Hogsmeade, lessons became progressively more intense in preparation for spring exams, and it wasn't until Easter holidays that Harry had anything else to worry about.

It started as a regular dream, if not a particularly pleasant one.

Harry was flying on the Quidditch pitch, and masked Death Eaters had formed a circle around him, playing Piggy in the Middle with a Quaffle, tossing it back and forth around the circle, always just out of his reach. Only it wasn't a Quaffle, Harry realized; it was his Invisibility Cloak wrapped up like a ball. Angrily, he spun around as one of the Death Eaters laughed and tossed the bundle over his head.

Suddenly, the dream changed. Harry was inside the castle, and he felt as though he should be looking for something. He paced the corridors, finally coming to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He turned and saw that the entrance to the Room of Requirement was already there. A surge of certainty washed over him as he threw open the door.

There, standing on the opposite side of the room with his back to Harry, was Sirius. He was staring fixedly into the large Foe Glass, which hung over the table in the back. There's something I'm supposed to do, Harry thought as Sirius turned and beckoned him.

In a moment, Harry was standing beside him, staring into the murky depths of the Foe Glass.

"He's there," Sirius said sadly. "Right in front of you, Harry, but you don't see him."

"See who?" Harry asked. There was something I wanted to ask you... he thought.

Sirius shook his head.

They both turned back to the Foe Glass. It seemed to Harry that the fog reminded him of something, but it was too diffuse, too thin. He wanted to reach out and gather it together, like crumpling a piece of parchment into a ball.

"What am I looking for?" Harry asked, turning to Sirius. Sirius continued to watch the misty glass.

"You have to find him yourself," he said sadly. "You have to find him."

"Is it Remus?" Harry asked, ashamed. "I'm sorry I lost him, I--"

A shout woke Harry. The room was still dark, and his curtains were drawn tightly around his bed. He rubbed his eyes, cursing silently that he had failed -- once again -- to remain lucid through dream. As soon as he woke, he could remember all of the techniques Professor Lindell had shown him for centering himself and taking control. He had just begun to review them, when someone shouted again.

"Shuddup, Harry," Ron mumbled in his sleep.

"S'not me," Harry replied. He pushed his head through the curtains and squinted into the darkness of the dormitory. The little stove glowed faintly, and the soft patter of rain hissed like static at the windows. Neville moaned in his sleep.

Reaching for his glasses, Harry stumbled across the room towards Neville's bed. He could hear the other boy tossing and turning, tangling himself in his bedclothes. Pulling aside the curtain just a bit, Harry saw Neville's round face glistening with sweat, his brow furrowed and jaw clenched.

"Nev," Harry said hoarsely, reaching out to shake Neville's shoulder. "Wake up!"

"Expecto..." Neville murmured, tossing his head from side to side on the pillow. Harry shook his shoulder a bit harder and he gasped, eyes flying open. He recoiled from Harry in surprise.

"H-Harry? What...?" he stammered, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

"You were dreaming," Harry said, stifling a yawn. "Didn't sound like a nice one, either."

"No," Neville said, passing a hand wearily over his face. He looked up at Harry, embarrassment plain on his honest face. "Sorry I woke you."

Harry shrugged and perched on the side of the bed. "I've done it to you often enough," he replied.

"I haven't..." Neville started to say. He swallowed and shook his head. "I haven't been sleeping well the last couple of weeks. Not since... Not since Hogsmeade."

Harry nodded slowly. "Dementors will do that to you." He paused. "I dreamed about the first one I saw on the train for weeks. Hearing my--" he faltered, remembering the sound of his mother's ringing scream. "Hearing my worst memories over and over again," he finished.

Neville nodded, his expression exhausted and defeated.

"But you beat them," Harry reminded him. "Your Patronus drove them back."

Neville shrugged, not meeting Harry's eye. "I never dream about that bit," he managed.

Harry chewed on his lip thoughtfully. "You know," he said after a long moment, "Professor Lindell has been teaching me this lucid dreaming thing. It's supposed to help you control your dreams."

Neville looked up sharply. "Does it work?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "Well, not yet," he admitted, "but she's told me it takes practice. I could -- I could teach you what I know about it. If you wanted."

"You think I could learn it?" Neville asked quietly, picking at a stray thread on his duvet.

Harry grinned. "Course you can. Next DA meeting, we'll stay after and talk."

Neville smiled at him wanly. "Thanks, Harry."

"Yeah sure," Harry said with a yawn. "No more nightmares," he said, getting up to go back to bed.

"No more nightmares," Neville said quietly. He didn't sound entirely convinced.

Hermione was insufferable for the remainder of the Easter holidays. After an entire day of respite -- while she drew up their elaborate revision schedules for the exams -- she insisted that Ron and Harry each "buckle down and get some actual work done." Even Dor consented to do some of his work out of sheer boredom.

Three essays, two star charts, and six diagrams of the common Eurasian dragons later, and Harry couldn't wait to get back to lessons.

His opinion had changed by lunchtime on Monday afternoon.

"Bloody Charms," Ron growled. "When are we actually going to need to know how to conjure a feather anyway, I ask you?"

Hermione executed a complicated wiggle and swish of her wand, her face screwed up in concentration, and a small white chicken feather popped into existence directly above her tuna surprise.

"Perhaps when you need to stuff a pillow?" Dor suggested, plucking the feather daintily out of Hermione's lunch. He held out his own wand, and with a similar wiggle and swish, produced an enormous peacock feather. "Or perhaps when you need so sign autographs for being so almighty clever." He signed the air with a flourish.

"Show off," Hermione said dryly as Ginny came hurrying up the table towards them.

"Harry," she panted. "Harry, I need to talk to you." She grabbed his arm and yanked him out of his seat. "Right now, Harry."

Harry stumbled trying to disentangle his legs from under the bench, and Dor rose to follow.

"Stay where you are, Tonks," Ginny said under her breath, pointing a finger at Dor's head. "This is private."

Dor frowned and looked as though he wanted to argue, but Ron shook his head emphatically. "S'not worth it, mate," he said knowingly.

Still dragging Harry by the arm, Ginny led him towards a quiet corner of the Great Hall.

"Oy!" Harry complained, yanking his arm out of her grasp. "I can walk on my own, you know."

"Listen to me Harry," Ginny said gravely. It was only then that Harry realized how pale her face was. "Professor Lupin is in danger."

Harry stared at her. "I -- I know," he stammered. "I mean, I knew he was missing, but..." He grabbed her by the arms. "What do you know, Ginny?" he demanded.

"He's in danger," she repeated, her tone becoming desperate. "They've got him. I -- I don't know who, but he's..." A big tear rolled down one cheek and she wrenched her arms out of Harry's grasp so she could brush it away. "He's in a cage. A big cage--"

"For the full moon?" Harry interrupted. He thought frantically. "No. It was last week." He stared at her. "Why do you think he's in a cage?"

"I don't think it. I know it!" she snapped. "The same way I know that you--" She broke off. All around them, students were gathering their things and heading out of the Hall; afternoon lessons were about to start.

"Harry," Ginny said, her voice thick with emotion. "They're going to try to kill you again."

Harry took a step backwards, staring at her. "What?"

"I saw it," Ginny insisted. "In the fire." She shook her head as though she couldn't quite find the words she wanted.

"Ginny," Harry said in a low voice, backing her further into the corner, "do you know who 'they' are?"

Ginny shook her head despondently. "No, I..." She took a deep breath as more tears welled in her eyes. "There was someone, but his face..." She shuddered. "It kept changing. It never stayed the same and his eyes." She looked up at Harry. "It was horrible. I can't explain it."

"Are you sure it was a vision?" Harry asked her.

"A vision?" Ron strode up behind them with a curious expression. "Who had a vision? Trelawney?"

Ginny ignored him. "I'm sure," she said, looking directly at Harry. "It isn't something you can mistake."

"Wait just a minute," Ron blurted. "You had the vision?" He started to laugh. "What was it about? What color robes you ought to buy? What hair style you ought to get?"

"Shut up, Ron!" Harry said fiercely.

"No," Ginny said, turning a fiery glare on Ron, "I predict that you're going to get your face bashed in if you don't leave me alone!"

Ron shrugged but kept laughing. "Right, well, you have fun with your visions then. See you at dinner, Harry."

Ginny glared at the back of Ron's head as he made his way out of the Hall. "Do you believe me?" she asked Harry, desperately searching his eyes.

"I don't want to," he admitted, "but what you said about Remus -- there's no way you could have known..."

"What about Remus?" Dor asked. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Harry said quickly, glancing at Ginny. "Come on. We've got to get to Potions."

"Harry," Ginny said, worry lines still furrowing her forehead.

"We'll talk later," he replied. "After Potions, okay?"

When Ginny nodded, Harry turned and hurried with Dor towards the dungeons, hoping they would not be late to Potions. Luck, however, was not on their side.

* * *

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape announced as Harry and Dor entered the Potions dungeon out of breath.

"My fault, Professor," Dor said, holding up a hand. "Harry was just keeping me company. I'm still a bit slow, you see."

"Hardly an excuse," Snape replied without looking at them. "Kindly take your seats."

"I have a note," Dor persisted, "from Dumbledore. It says that--"

"I am perfectly aware," Snape said, turning sharply to look down his nose at Dor, "of your condition and of the special provisions that have been made, Mister Tucker."

Harry had a sinking feeling that Snape had either figured out, or had finally been told who Dor actually was. For a moment, Snape and Dor stared at one another, their expressions inscrutable, while the whole class looked on.

Abruptly, Dor's face broke into a wide smile. "Excellent," he said. "I'm so glad we finally understand each other, Professor."

Snape scowled and turned away. "Today," he said to the class at large, apparently choosing to ignore Harry and Dor, "we are brewing the Suspiro Suspension. It accelerates blood flow to the lungs, aiding and increasing the ease of breath." He flicked his wand irritably at the blackboard and the instructions appeared in his messy scrawl. He turned back to the students, who were all watching him intently. "Begin!" he snapped.

Before long, the dungeon was filled with the subdued sounds of knives against desks, bubbling cauldrons, and soft voices. Harry looked up from where he was making a careful chiffonade of the Coltsfoot and Skullcap leaves while Dor shredded the Nettles into their cauldron.

"Snape knows who you are?" Harry asked quietly when he thought the professor's attention was elsewhere.

Dor shrugged. "Apparently." He grinned, dusting the last of the nettles off of his palms into the bubbling sludge. "Just makes things more fun."

Harry frowned at him. "More fu--"

"Mister Tucker."

Dor swung around to look at the professor striding towards them. "Mister Snape," he replied in a similar tone.

Snape's black eyes blazed. The dungeon fell quiet as everyone in the classroom turned to look. Dor only smiled.

"While in my classroom, you will address me as professor," Snape said, his voice icy.

Dor grinned and shrugged. "Sure thing. Whatever you say, Professor."

Snape narrowed his eyes as he glanced down into their cauldron. "What is this?" he asked.

"It's a chocolate milkshake," Dor replied before Harry could even open his mouth. "My favorite."

Harry imagined that there weren't many human beings, much less students, who would dare speak to Snape in the tone Dor was using. He wondered if Tonks had ever done so when she was in his class -- the first time around.

"It's our Suspiro--" Harry began nervously.

"It is far too thin," Snape said, dipping out a ladle full of the solution and letting it slop back into the cauldron.

Harry frowned. As far as he could tell, the potion looked exactly the way it was supposed to. He and Dor had been meticulous about following Snape's instructions.

"It's fine," Dor replied, his voice flat.

Snape glared at him. "I will be the judge of that. And you will learn to hold your tongue in my classroom. Ten points from Gryffindor."

"That's hardly appropriate," Dor exclaimed, pushing back from the table and standing quickly. Unfortunately, the cuff of his sleeve caught the phial of Hyssop oil and it flipped in a neat summersault to the floor, spilling the slippery liquid everywhere. He cursed and jumped backwards as Harry leapt out of his seat.

Professor Snape watched from a safe distance, crossing his arms disdainfully, as Dor continued to swear and brush ineffectually at his damp robes. Snape began to tsk quietly as he slowly shook his head.

"Language, Mister Tucker. Five more points from Gryffindor."

Dor scowled and said another choice word.

"I suggest you return to Gryffindor tower and clean yourself up," Snape said, turning slowly and returning to his worktable at the front of the room.

"You know I can't--"

"Prolonged contact with Hyssop oil has deleterious effects on human skin," Snape interrupted. "Therefore, unless you would like to spend a prolonged period of time in the hospital wing..."

Snape turned away from the pair without a backwards glance. "Stay here," Dor hissed to Harry. "I'll be back before the lesson is over. Do not leave the dungeon without me."

Harry had just opened his mouth to agree when Dor pointed a finger at him. "I'm serious, Harry."

Harry frowned. "Go on, then. I won't disappear."

After another long, searching look, Dor nodded and limped to the door. As soon as he was gone, Snape whirled around to face Harry again.

"Clean up this mess, Potter," he snapped. "There are rags in the stockroom." His dark eyes narrowed. "And then, as your partner is so sure of himself, we shall see just how effective your potion is."

Harry scowled as he left his desk and went to rummage around in the dark stockroom for some clean rags. "Lumos," he said irritably, lighting his wand and poking at the parcels stored on the bottom shelves with the toe of his shoe. It was just like Snape to pull a stunt like this; wait until the person who could argue with him was gone, and then try to embarrass Harry in front of the entire class.

"Leave a vial of your potions on my desk for grading," Snape was saying, and Harry could hear the other students moving about as he finally located a bucket on the floor filled with old rags. Grabbing a handful, he returned to his desk and began scrubbing fiercely at the oil, which had spilled over just about everything.

"Ah, that's better innit, Potter?" Nott sneered at him. "Reminds you of home, I wager. Look lads, it's Cinderella."

Crabbe and Goyle snickered loudly, but Harry didn't even look up.

"Pipe down, Nott," Malfoy grumbled. "If you're going to insult someone, at least make it original."

"Mister Malfoy, kindly stop jabbering, turn in your sample and return to your seat," Snape ordered.

Harry looked up from his nearly clean workbench in surprise. Malfoy's head was down as he set his flask of potion on Snape's desk. Nott and the other Slytherins were sneering at him as he returned to his seat. Even Snape seemed to be watching him with contempt.

"The decisive moment, Mr. Potter." Snape held out a small, dusty glass to fill with his potion. Defiantly, Harry snatched it from his hand and filled it from his cauldron.

"What's it supposed to do?" he asked, eyeing the bluish green-glop with distaste.

Snape's lip curled into a morbid approximation of a smile. "Who can explain to Mister Potter the effects of the Suspiro Suspension?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air, but so did Padma's. At an incline of Snape's head in her direction, Padma began to speak. "The Suspiro Suspension is a blood flow accelerator, used to increase circulation to constricted vessels in the lungs. It is especially useful in treating chronic breathing conditions like asthma." She paused and glanced at Harry. "Though, I don't know what it will do if you don't actually have a chronic breathing condition..."

"We will be able to measure the capacity of his breathing with a simple spell," Snape replied. He pointed his wand at Harry, and before Harry could even react, he incanted, "Modus Animas!"

A sensation like a cold breeze passed over Harry, and he shivered. Looking down, he noticed that his body was glowing with a pale white light. Every time he inhaled, the glow brightened, and when he exhaled, the glow diminished.

"Your classmates are waiting, Mister Potter," Snape drawled, "with baited breath."

Harry took one final look at the potion in his glass and threw back his head, swallowing the glass full in a single huge swallow. A bitter taste stung his lips and he fought the urge to gag, managing to suppress all but a little cough. He met Snape's irritated gaze defiantly.

Taking a deep breath, Harry watched the strange pale glow around him brighten, then fade as he released it. His chest was itching. He reached up and scratched at the fabric of his shirt, just under his tie. He inhaled again, not quite so deeply. Was it his imagination, or was the glow ever so slightly dimmer?

"As you can see," Snape was saying, addressing the class, "the illumination should be increasing dramatically with each breath. It most clearly is not. Therefore, we can deduce that--"

"Professor!" Hermione interrupted, getting to her feet from her desk in the back corner of the room. "I think it's getting dimmer."

"Nonsense," Snape replied with a snarl. "And kindly refrain from interrupting me with your ridiculous--"

Harry stumbled backwards and sat down onto his stool with a heavy thud. His breaths were coming more quickly now, but each inhalation was shallow, insufficient. He rubbed his chest and neck where a frightening burning sensation was beginning to develop.

"Mister Potter," Snape said, turning his gaze back to Harry, but he didn't finish his thought.

Harry coughed and the sound was loud and hollow. The pain was like hot pokers trying to rip through the delicate maze of airways in his lungs. He clutched at his tie, desperately trying to loosen it as he listened to his own breath rattling in his ears.

The light around him was no more than a faint shimmer.

Deftly, Snape dipped his hand into the cauldron and tasted the tiniest drop of the potion on the end of his finger. Harry watched helplessly; he couldn't speak, he couldn't breathe. He could barely even manage to stay upright on the stool. He felt like he was drowning. What little breath he could draw rattled in his chest like a stone in a wooden box.

"Granger!" Snape called. "Eucalyptus oil, mustard seed, Doxy venom." For a moment, Hermione just stared at him. "Now!" he barked. The sound jolted her into action and she raced for the stockroom.

Little explosions of white light filled Harry's field of vision. Someone was behind him, helping him off of his stool and onto the floor. He lay back on the cold stone and stared at the black, soot stained ceiling, concentrating only on the rise and fall of his chest.

"Two grams of mustard seed, ground to powder. The rest of you stay back."

"Someone fetch Madam Pomfry."

"What's going on?"

"He is dying."

Harry wondered vaguely if he actually was dying as the white explosions gave way to blackness. He could no longer even hold his eyes open; all of his remaining energy was concentrated on the increasingly difficult task of simply breathing in and out.

* * *

"I leave for two minutes and--"

"If you hadn't been so intent on confronting me in front of the students, you wouldn't have had to leave."

"You aren't my professor any more, Snape."

"And you are no longer a rash adolescent, so kindly stop acting like one."

Harry groaned, trying to put a context to the argument going on around him. His head hurt terribly and his chest still burned and itched a bit. He coughed, but it was not the same painful desperate cough as before.

"Drink this, Mister Potter," Madam Pomfry's voice insisted. Harry squinted up at her and parted his lips as she pressed a glass to them. A now-familiar bitter taste filled his mouth and he spat it out.

"There now!" Madam Pomfry scolded, dabbing at the globs of potion he'd just sprayed across the bed. "This isn't what you had before. This is a fresh batch of Suspiro. Professor Snape brewed it himself."

Harry squinted at the two figures standing at the foot of his bed. They had finally stopped arguing. Professor Snape was staring straight at him, and Harry met his gaze. He nodded and accepted the glass from Madam Pomfry again, downing the potion even as he pulled a face at the horrible taste. Almost instantly, he could feel the tightness in his chest begin to ease.

"I will go report the headmaster," Snape announced as he turned on a heel and marched out of the room. The other figure hurried to Harry's side and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Tonks?" Harry said. "What are you doing? People will see..."

Tonks shook her head wearily. "I got flustered when I was arguing with Snape. But don't worry. There's no one else around."

"What happened?" he asked hoarsely.

"You were poisoned," Tonks replied bluntly. "Or at least, that's what Snape thinks. He's running some tests."

"That's ridiculous," Harry said, but a cough shook his frame and he began to reconsider.

"The Suspiro potion you and I made was fine," Tonks agreed, "but someone added something to it. According to Snape, simply adding enough powdered Monkswood would turn the Suspiro Suspension into the Suffoco Solution -- a deadly poison that constricts the airways and suffocates its victim."

She looked Harry over closely. "Did you see anyone near our cauldron?"

Harry frowned and shook his head before realization dawned. "I left the cauldron for a few minutes," he said. "While I was looking for the rags. Everyone was turning in potion samples." His face fell as he considered. "And everyone has access to Monkswood; it's a standard ingredient in our Potions kits."

Tonks sighed. "That makes things more difficult. But it does tell us one thing."

"What's that?"

Tonks looked grave. "It tells us that whoever is trying to kill you was one of the people in the dungeon this afternoon."