Harry Potter and the Sect of the Serpent

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: Stunned

Checking the map once he was in flight, Harry flew around the perimeter of the castle, carefully avoiding any lighted windows, until he reached Ravenclaw Tower. The night was black and moonless, but Harry kept well away from any lighted windows - just in case anyone was to look out and catch a glimpse of him flying though the darkness.

A momentary hesitation caught Harry as he wondered what to do if Gwyn were not in her room or if he couldn't find her room; luckily, the map told him that Gwyn was alone in her dormitory on the fourth floor.

When he reached her window, he hid near the wall and glanced inside. The Ravenclaw dormitory was very similar to his own, only done in blue and silver instead of red and gold. On the bed nearest the window, Gwyn was sitting playing scales on her violin.

Harry reached out and quickly rapped on the window pane as loudly as he dared. It was enough, and Gwyn's head snapped around to stare at him through the glass. Her eyes went wide as she leaped up and rushed to the window.

"Harry!" she whispered, throwing open the window. "What the hell are you doing?"

He could tell that she was trying to look cross, but she wasn't doing a very good job at it. Her eyes were shining with excitement in the torchlight, and her cheeks were just barely flushed. Harry quickly reminded himself why he was there.

"I have to talk to you," he said seriously. "It's important. Can I come in?"

Gwyn nodded, but as he started to fly in through the window, she held a hand out and pushed him back. "Wait!" she hissed, turning her head towards the door. Harry could hear voices outside in the stairwell. Luckily, they passed by Gwyn's door without stopping.

"Not here!" she whispered excitedly. "The others could be back any second. Meet me at the Room of Requirement in ten minutes."

"You could come with me..." Harry suggested, his heart beginning to race at the thought of Gwyn's arms wrapped around his waist as they flew. Concentrate! he admonished himself, shaking his head slightly to clear the daydream away.

Gwyn was also shaking her head. "Padma will notice that I'm gone. I'll think of an excuse." She made to close the window, and Harry backed his broom away. "Ten minutes!" she whispered as the window closed and latched.

Harry nodded and directed his broom back out into the safety of the darkness. His mind was racing. It couldn't be Gwyn. It just couldn't. Hermione and Tonks didn't know anything. They didn't know the way she looked at him, the way she smiled at him, the way she made him feel. They didn't know anything.

Then why were you so eager to talk to her? an uncomfortably logical voice in Harry's brain wanted to know. Why aren't you asleep in your warm bed if you're so almighty sure she's innocent?

For that, Harry didn't have an answer. Despondently, he turned his broom and headed for the seventh floor.

Finding an open window through which to re-enter the school turned out to be more difficult than he had expected, however. The days were growing ever warmer, but the nights remained brisk, and most of the windows were shut for the night. Before long, Harry was wishing he had brought his cloak.

He finally located an open window on the fifth floor and had to run, carrying his broom and checking the Marauder's Map, up two flights so that he would not be late to meet Gwyn. Harry jogged around the corner into the seventh floor corridor and skidded to a halt when he saw a figure standing near the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. But it wasn't Gwyn.

It was Phillipe Fontaine.

"'Allo 'Arry," Phillipe said. His wand was drawn and pointing directly at Harry's head.

"Phillipe!" Harry panted, clutching his chest in surprise. "What are you doing here? I--"

"Étourdir!" Phillipe said suddenly, and a bolt of red light shot out of his wand. Instinctively, Harry ducked to one side. The bolt missed him by inches.

Dropping his broom and his map, Harry plunged his hand into his robes and drew his wand.

"Harry!"

Regaining his balance, Harry straightened up into a dueling posture his wand pointed directly at Phillipe. "Stay behind me, Gwyn," he said without turning to look at her. Phillipe was standing very still, watching them, his wand still pointed directly at Harry. "What do you want, Fontaine?"

"I should 'ave thought it would be obvious," Fontaine replied, a strange lopsided smile working its way across his face. "it is you that I want, 'Arry."

Harry frowned at him. "Me?" But suddenly, comprehension descended on him with a sickening thud. Hermione had been wrong.

"It's you," he said with an air of resignation. "It's been you all along." Phillipe inclined his head in a gesture of quiet assent. Suddenly, Harry smirked. "And you think you can beat me in a duel?" he asked, his voice thick with incredulity. He had seen Phillipe's dueling in Defense classes all year, and he was definitely no match for Harry.

Phillipe shook his head slowly. "It is not necessary, I think." He smiled a little more broadly. "I 'ave been watching you the whole year, you see. I know all of your... faiblesses -- your weaknesses. I know, for example, that I do not 'ave to beat you."

With a subtle movement, Phillipe shifted the aim of his wand slightly until it was pointing just over Harry's right shoulder. Harry didn't really need to turn to guess where it was pointing, but he did anyway.

Over his right shoulder, Gwyn was standing very still, staring at Phillipe with wide and frightened eyes.

"Let her go," Harry said, turning back to face Phillipe.

"Drop your wand," Phillipe countered.

Neither seemed inclined to comply.

"Let her go and I'll put down my wand," Harry said after what seemed like an eternity. "Otherwise we're at a stalemate."

Phillipe shrugged. "I 'ave never been good at the chess, so I think you will put down your wand and then we will walk." He glanced at Gwyn. "All of us."

"We're not walking anywhere," Harry said fiercely.

Phillipe hunched his shoulders in a Gaelic shrug. "Very well."

With a sudden burst of speed, his wand swung around and pointed at Harry again, and before Harry could react, he heard the strange incantation, "Étourdir!" and everything went completely black.

~

The first thing Harry noticed when his consciousness came swimming back to him was the throbbing pain in his temples. He tried to put a hand up to his aching head, but his arm wouldn't obey him. Panicking, he began to thrash about. He could not move his arms or his legs.

"Struggle as much as you like." Phillipe's voice cut through the static in Harry's brain like a hot knife. "It will do no good."

He was right. Harry's arms, legs, and torso were tied tightly to an old, straight backed chair.

Harry looked up from the thick ropes that bound him and saw Phillipe sitting against the wall of a dull grey room. He had his knees pulled up to his chest, his arms circling them tightly. He sniffed. "I charm the knots."

"Where are we?" Harry asked groggily. His head felt thick and heavy, like it was filled with hot liquid that tended to slosh around painfully if he moved too quickly.

"A shack," Phillipe replied with a shrug. "They gave me a map. Drawn by a friend of your father, I think."

Harry groaned. "The Shrieking Shack." Phillipe raised an eyebrow at him. "Where's Gwyn?" Harry asked.

"She cannot 'elp you, if you think to escape," Phillipe said quietly. "She will not."

For a moment, the two boys stared at each other across the room.

"Why have you been trying to kill me?" Harry asked dully. "I mean, I think I know why everyone else wants me dead, but why you?"

"No," Phillipe said quickly. He scrambled to his feet and began to pace. "No. I do not try to kill you. They want you alive. The potion..." He shoved his hands in his pockets.

"It was -- 'ow you say? -- out of the 'and."

Harry followed him with his eyes. "Who's they?" he prompted. Phillipe glanced at him sideways.

"They will be 'ere soon," he replied. "Then you will see." Abruptly, he turned and marched to the door. "Until then..." He closed the door heavily and Harry heard him mutter a locking charm on the other side.

Harry hung his head and groaned at the pain still throbbing between his temples. From somewhere behind him, another groan echoed his.

"Gwyn!" Harry called, straining to see over his shoulders, but unable to locate the source of the sound. "Gwyn! Is that you?"

"Uhh..." She groaned again. "What hit me?"

"Gwyn!" Harry said again, turning the other way, still trying to see her. "Listen to me! Are you hurt?"

"I don't think so," she said gloomily. "Where are we?"

"We're in the Shrieking Shack--" Harry began, but he stopped abruptly when Gwyn walked around in front of him, rubbing the side of her head. She wasn't tied up at all. Harry stared at her. Why would Phillipe have gone to all the trouble of tying Harry to a chair, but have left Gwyn free?

"Gwyn, did Phillipe take your wand?"

"No," she said slowly, "I--"

"Quick! Do something about these ropes. Then we can see about the door."

Gwyn shook her head. "He didn't have to take my wand, Harry. I didn't bring it with me."

Harry blinked at her. "What?" He couldn't quite comprehend. "Why didn't you bring your wand?"

"Why should I?" Gwyn asked, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. "I didn't think I was going to get kidnapped, now did I?"

"But you don't just leave your wand--" Harry stared at her. "Unless you knew what was going to happen," he said in a low voice, trying desperately to put the pieces together in some way that would make sense. "How did Phillipe know where I was going to be? Did you tell him?"

"Don't be an ass," Gwyn snarled. "Why would I do something like that? You think I wanted to get kidnapped? Do you think I wanted you to be..." Her voice trailed off as a look of comprehension passed over her features. "You do," she said quietly. "You think I had something to do with this, don't you?"

Harry felt his stomach squirm as he saw the hurt in her eyes. "Hermione thought so," he admitted.

"That's what you wanted to talk to me about," she said, turning away from him and starting to pace. "That's why you flew up to my window in the bloody middle of the night -- not to be spontaneous, or romantic, or--" She whirled around to glare at him. "Hermione told you she thought I was trying to kill you, and you believed her?"

"No!" Harry cried. "We had a huge fight about it. I told her that it couldn't possibly be you--"

"Only now you've changed your mind?" Gwyn demanded.

Harry scowled. "No. It's just..." He fought for the right words through a fog of conflicting thoughts and emotions. "If you didn't know what was going on, how did Phillipe find us? Why didn't you bring your wand?"

"I don't have any idea how he found us!" Gwyn cried, throwing up her hands. "I've barely said two words to him all year. And I never carry my wand with me -- you know that."

Harry frowned at her, but then it hit him. He tried to think back, but he couldn't remember a single instance in the entire time he'd known Gwyn that he'd seen her use magic outside of class.

"So go ahead and blame me if you want to!" Gwyn continued, her voice beginning to border on hysterical. "I thought you were different -- I thought you understood. But you're just like everybody else."

"Gwyn," Harry began, hoping to say something to calm her down, but she whirled on him, eyes blazing, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I didn't ask to be born a freak!" she screamed at him.

Harry blinked at her. "You're not a freak."

"No? So the rest of the normal population can do magic then, can they?"

Harry shook his head, quite sure that he wasn't following the sudden turn this conversation had taken. "Well, not the Muggles," he admitted, "but--"

"Exactly!" She glared at Harry through her tears. "We're not normal, Harry. None of us is! And everything that's wrong in our lives can be traced back to one thing -- magic!"

Harry stared at her as she leaned against the wall and slid down it to crouch on the floor. He started to shake his head. Everything wrong in his life...

But she was right.

If he had been born a squib, or if his parents had, none of the horrible things in his life would have happened. If it wasn't for magic, there would never have been a prophecy, his parents would be alive. He would have had a normal childhood, a normal family, a normal life...

A life without magic.

A horrible feeling wormed its way into his stomach. Would he give it all up to have that kind of a life?

"My mother is a Drab," Gwyn said suddenly, sparing Harry from his uncomfortable thoughts. "When she married my father, he didn't tell her what he was. What I was." She sniffed and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. "She thought she was going crazy; lights turned on and off when nobody was in the room but me, toys that she thought she'd put away would end up in my crib again. Eventually, my father had to tell her the truth. And she left." Her lip began to tremble. "She left me because I was magic."

Harry lowered his eyes as Gwyn began to cry in earnest. "That doesn't make you a freak," he said softly.

"It does to her!" Gwyn retorted. "I never wanted this! I wouldn't even be here, except--" She sniffed loudly. "My father and I have a deal," she said in a dull voice. "I finish school with good grades, and he'll help me attend a Drab university where I can forget about magic forever."

"You can't change who you are," Harry said bluntly, "and magic is part of who you are. It's like saying that your life would be better if -- if you didn't have blonde hair."

"I can change the color of my hair," Gwyn said, lifting her chin defiantly.

"You can dye it," Harry agreed, "or you can Transfigure it, but that doesn't change what color it is underneath."

And suddenly, Harry had a flash of realization. "Magic may be the cause of a lot of pain in your life," he said, "and you're right that it's caused a lot of pain in my life..." He took a deep breath. "But I wouldn't give it up for the world. It's part of what makes me... me."

Gwyn opened her mouth to reply, but she was cut off by sounds from the other room. Scrambling to her feet, she quickly moved away from the door. Harry could hear voices on the other side, but he couldn't make out more than a few words at a time.

"...done well... ...is he?"

"In the other room." Harry recognized Phillipe's voice. He still sounded weary.

"...see him..."

Harry heard an incantation and the click of the lock on the door.