Seo Gerecednis

The dormitory was dark and still when Harry awoke. He lay behind the security and privacy of his hangings and listened to the steady breathing of his roommates as he waited for his heart to slow its wildly racing rhythm. If the dreams that had left him drenched in sweat, gasping for breath and shaking all over were any indication of the effect having Voldemort's forces encamped so close would have on him, then Harry was in for an unpleasant ride.

Slowly his heartbeat and breathing stabilized. His other responses took a little longer to return to their normal state, but eventually he was as calm as he ever could be.

He reckoned he was well used to the strange dreams he'd been having the past few years, dreams that sprang from his connection to Voldemort. And he reckoned he should be used to dreaming about girls on occasion, since that had been going on almost as long, and with equally as unsettling an effect.

The combination of the two, however, was significantly more than he was prepared to cope with. The images, and the sensations they produced, went far beyond the realm of unsettling and dove head-first into the abyss of disturbing.

Carefully, to avoid waking his roommates, Harry slipped his arms into the sleeves of his dressing gown and eased himself off his bed. The floor was ice-cold against his bare feet, so he shoved them into the slippers he kept by his bed, put his glasses on, and padded in near-silence down the staircase to the common room.

The fire had burned down to embers, so he rekindled it with a stream of sparks from his wand and slumped down on the settee facing the hearth. The light from the now-blazing fire provided the room's only illumination, casting eerie shadows against the walls as the flames danced and flickered. His arms folded tightly across his chest, Harry slid down even further until the back of his head would not have been visible to someone coming up from behind him.

For the first time in many weeks he found himself thinking about Sirius, though without the pang of grief and self-recrimination that had tortured him earlier in the summer. Harry still blamed himself for Sirius' death, but that burden had been lightened when Professor Lupin had assured Harry that he didn't blame him.

Harry desperately needed someone to talk to, someone he could confide in who might have just the sort of experience to help guide him through times like this. Last year, Sirius had been the obvious person to go to. He was gone now, however, and though Harry thought Professor Lupin would be more than happy to step in and provide the same service, the Floo network had likely been completely closed off by now and he didn't dare risk sending Hedwig or any other owl across enemy lines.

He was in the midst of weighing the merits of turning to Kingsley or Charlie for advice when he heard the door to the portrait hole open and someone step through. Astonished that anyone would be wandering the corridors at this hour, with Voldemort's forces gathered so close, Harry sat up and peered over the back of the settee.

Ginny almost shrieked. "Merlin's balls, Harry! You gave me such a fright." She picked up her bag from where she'd dropped it and came around the settee to sit in the chair closest to him. Her hair hung loosely around her shoulders and her eyes seemed almost feverishly bright. "What are you doing lurking about down here at this hour?"

"Maybe I should be asking you what you think you're doing, sneaking into Gryffindor Tower at this hour," he said.

"I was not sneaking."

"I wasn't lurking."

She smiled at him, then shook her head. "Whatever you say, Harry. If you must know, I lost track of time studying in the library. This is my O.W.L. year, you know, and even with all connection to the outside world cut off I've already got Hermione on my case about it."

Harry laughed through his nose. "Lucky you."

"Don't remind me," she said, laughing herself. "So that's my excuse. What's yours?"

He shrugged and picked at a loose bit of piping on the settee's arm. "Bad dreams."

"I'm sorry." She let go of the strap to her school bag and leaned forward. "You-Know-Who?"

One particularly vivid image emerged from the mire of his subconscious, making him shift in discomfort. "Sort of." He looked up to see her studying him. "I'd rather not talk about it right now, if you don't mind."

"You'd rather not talk about it at all, or you'd rather not talk to me about it?"

His lips pursed as he tried to decide whether or not it was worth the risk to answer that truthfully. Apparently he took too long, however, because Ginny made an indistinct sound and reached for her bag. "Suit yourself," she said as she stood and hooked the strap over her shoulder. "Good night."

Apprehensive, he watched in silence as she went up the staircase leading to the girls' dormitory. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't very well tell her that he'd been haunted by images of women, some of them with tousled red hair, freckled skin and bright brown eyes like hers, murmuring in his ear with her voice, laughing her deep, throaty laugh, their hands grasping and groping and caressing him. Nor could he tell her that other women in his nightmare had Bellatrix Lestrange's dark, exotic features and her heavy-lidded eyes, or Mrs. Malfoy's porcelain skin and her precise, clipped tones, or...

Harry groaned and bent forward at the waist, pressing his fingers at the corners of his eyes as though he were trying to push the images out of sight. No, he couldn't tell Ginny about any of that. He couldn't tell anyone.

The echo of a door closing upstairs had just rolled past him when he heard the portrait hole opening again. Almost immediately Harry recognized the uncertain tread on the carpet as Neville's.

"Now I doubt you got so caught up writing your Charms essay you lost track of time too," Harry said sardonically.

At Neville's splutter he removed his hands from his eyes and turned around. He supposed the flickering light could have been playing tricks on him, but he thought Neville looked unusually rumpled and flushed. "You okay?"

"Oh... er... ah... yeah. Yeah," he said. "Totally lost track of time. Yeah."

Harry wondered why Neville's gaze was darting everywhere, looking at anything but him, but shook it off. He stood up and stretched, working out the ache that had settled in his lower back from slouching for so long. "Poor bloke," he said. "C'mon, let's head upstairs before anyone else catches us down here."

* * * * *

The heavy, ominous clouds that had hung low in the sky the day before were gone and sunlight streamed into the dormitory as Harry dressed for that day's lessons. The morning seemed to mock him in its brightness, taunting his dark mood. Although the disturbing dreams that had awakened him in the middle of the night hadn't returned, his sleep had been no more restful. He had a feeling he wouldn't be sleeping much at all until Voldemort was gone, or dead.

Neville nearly knocked him over in his haste to leave the dormitory. "Sorry!" he called over his shoulder on his way out, not even waiting to hear if there was an answer.

"What's with him?" Seamus asked.

"Dunno," Harry said, staring after Neville. "He was acting rather odd last night, too."

"Last night?" Ron asked. "When did you see him last night? I had to fudge the check-in roster so McGonagall wouldn't catch on that he'd jumped curfew. Made me feel all bloody queer doing it, too, what with You-Know-Who lurking out there." He waved a hand in the general direction of the window that faced out on to the Forbidden Forest. "If anything had happened to him, you can be sure McGonagall would have my head on a platter."

"Maybe he has a girlfriend and was meeting her," Ace said.

Ron gaped at him. "Longbottom? He wouldn't know what to do with a girl if she came with an instruction manual."

"You're a fine one to talk," Seamus said.

"Sod off, Finnegan," Ron said in reply. "Snogging Lavender Brown hardly makes you an expert in the field."

Seamus puffed his chest out. "No, but I've got more 'hands on' experience than you do." Ron threw a pillow at him, which he caught easily and tossed back with a laugh.

Disinclined to join in the levity, Harry glanced over at Ron. "Your tie's uneven," he said.

Ron looked down and swore softly. "So what do we have this morning?" he asked as he hurriedly re-knotted it.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Ace said.

"Already? Blimey," Seamus said. "I still haven't recovered from the last time."

"Get used to it, mate," Ron said, looking grim. "Three times a week. They'll be sending us home in boxes come Christmas."

A chorus of groans and curses filled the dormitory and echoed in the stairwell as the boys clattered en masse down to the common room. Harry lingered behind, however, taking his time to gather his things. After a moment or two he heard familiar footfalls ascending the stairs.

"You coming, mate?"

Harry looked up to see worry creasing at Ron's face. "Yeah, hang on. Just forgot my Herbology book."

"You can get it after lunch. C'mon, I want to finish eating as soon as I can. I have a feeling I'll be seeing my breakfast again before Kingsley's through with us."

"Yeah," Harry said absently, staring out the window. He fancied he could see movement through the trees and wondered if it might be Death Eaters looking for chinks in the protective barrier surrounding the school. What of the centaurs and thestrals and other creatures living in the forest? Had the Death Eaters found Grawp yet?

"What d'you think he's waiting for?" Harry asked as he watched a flock of birds erupt from the treetops.

"You to fling the doors open and invite him in for tea and biscuits, what else?" Ron said. "Hey, that reminds me, I spoke to McGonagall when she stopped by last night while you were in detention. Charlie, Madame Hooch and Professor Flitwick are going to try to convert the Great Hall into a temporary Quidditch pitch."

Harry instantly felt as though a cloud had been lifted from over his head. The bright sun outside no longer seemed quite so derisive. "Really? Can they do that?" He grabbed his bag and followed Ron down the stairs.

Ron turned to look up at him. "Sometimes I forget you weren't raised among magical folk," he said. "Yeah, they can do it. It'll mean they'll have to adjust the rules some, particularly those involving the Snitch, and the matches won't be quite as exciting. On the other hand," he added, "you'll really have to be on your toes so you don't fly smack into a wall. But, yeah, it can be done. There's actually an indoor Quidditch league for people who are into that sort of thing full-time."

His spirits much improved, Harry accompanied Ron to the Great Hall, happily discussing strategy the entire way.

* * * * *

The morning passed quickly. Several of Harry's classmates had balked when Professor Shacklebolt attempted to lead them outside for that day's Defense lesson, citing fears about Voldemort's proximity and the increased risk Harry's presence raised. Their apprehensions were only slightly mollified when Kingsley pointed out the two dozen well-armed Aurors guarding the practice area. Those who continued to protest soon yielded, however, when faced with the threat of detention with Charlie -- most likely, Harry reckoned, because his hut was much farther away from the castle, and thus closer to Voldemort's hidden forces, than the spot Kingsley had staked out for the lesson.

Rather than run the boys through the obstacle course again, Kingsley instead drilled them on balancing exercises. As expected, Ace and Bogdo mastered the tasks before anyone else, but Harry wasn't far behind, nor were Zacharias Smith, Michael Corner and Theodore Nott. Poor Neville spent most of the lesson dusting off his bum, though Harry saw with wicked satisfaction that Crabbe fared even worse.

By the time the bell rang for lunch, they were all sweaty, dusty, sunburned and sore. Harry grinned as Ernie Macmillan and Anthony Goldstein walked stiffly past him, rubbing their backsides and grumbling about 'ruddy whip-cracking bastards'. Malfoy had to be half-carried inside, whining every step of the way even though Crabbe was in worse shape than he was.

Harry was about to fall in with Ron, Seamus and Peter to go inside for lunch when Kingsley approached him. "Do you have a moment?" he asked.

"Yeah," Harry said. He called out to Ron, "Save a sandwich for me, willya?" Ron waved in acknowledgement. "Is something the matter, Professor?"

"Not at all." He led Harry over to the steps leading into the castle and took a seat. "I just wanted to see how you were faring, what with recent developments."

"You mean with --?" Harry jerked a thumb in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. Kingsley nodded. "Fine, I reckon. Not that it matters, since there's bugger all I can do about it."

"I imagine that's the worst part, for you," Kingsley said. "Feeling hamstrung."

"That's one way of putting it. 'Hunted' is another."

Kingsley raised an eyebrow. "Listen, Harry, I know you think you're already the object of everyone's attention, but that is more true now than it has ever been before. People are watching you to see how you deal with this situation. If you show fear, then they will be afraid. If you show strength -- if you show them that you're not going to let You-Know-Who make a prisoner out of you -- then they will find the strength they need to carry on as though nothing is different."

Harry scowled. "Nice way to put the pressure on."

"I'm sorry to do it to you. I know you carry a burden heavier than any of us can imagine. But what I just said ties in with what I told you about leadership the other day. Like it or not, people here look to you for guidance. Fear is You-Know-Who's greatest weapon; if he can sow the seeds of fear and doubt among your fellow students, then Hogwarts is lost. It's up to you not to let that happen."

"Sounds like you're saying this is basically a high-stakes game of chicken."

Kingsley chuckled. "You could say that. Everyone's waiting to see who blinks first. We're counting on it not to be you." He slapped his hands against his knees and stood up. "Listen, before I let you go: we were able to exchange messages with Mad-Eye and Lupin. They asked me to assure you that they're looking for a way to dislodge You-Know-Who before any harm befalls you or anyone else at Hogwarts." He bent down to press his hand against Harry's shoulder. "Take heart, Harry: he will not win."

* * * * *

Kingsley's words echoed in Harry's head all through lunch and as he accompanied Ron, Neville, Ace, Seamus and Peter to Herbology. People here look to you for guidance. Fear is You-Know-Who's greatest weapon. If you show fear, then they will be afraid. He felt like a bug under a microscope, or a trained bear at the circus. Last year everyone was watching him because they thought he'd gone barmy and fancied himself the Greatest Wizard Ever. Now everyone was watching him because they were afraid he wasn't.

Harry thought he preferred the former.

The stocky gray-haired witch who'd been by his bed when he regained consciousness the other night was waiting by the entrance to Greenhouse Three as they trooped around the corner of the castle. She had a basket of greens at her feet and a pipe clenched between her teeth. Several of the girls who had been walking ahead of them stopped and stared at her in disbelief. Daphne Greengrass, however, after looking back over her shoulder at the others, strode forward and accepted the woman's outstretched hand. Soon the rest followed, each of them shaking her hand in turn and introducing themselves before entering the greenhouse.

When it came to be Harry's turn she stuck her pipe in a pocket and enfolded his hand in both of hers. Her skin felt warm and dry, like paper that had been heated just to the point of catching fire, and there was something in her pale blue eyes that struck Harry as oddly familiar and comforting. "Pruitt Tolliver, if you done forgot," she said in a broad accent that might have been highland Scots, or it might have well come from the moon. "Do you 'member me from t'other night?"

"Sort of," Harry said. "You're to be tutoring me and Luna Lovegood in wandless magic this term?"

"That's right. Whyn't y'all mosey on to my office tonight after supper?"

"Okay," Harry said, though it really wasn't okay. When was he supposed to get his homework done? He had an essay due for Potions tomorrow afternoon and another one to write before Transfiguration on Friday. He thought things were supposed to ease up a little after O.W.L. year.

"Don't you fret," Professor Tolliver said, reaching up to pat his cheek. "I'll make sure you git on home afore hit gits too late." She picked up her basket and ushered him inside. "Time to get these doin's started, so whyn't you fetch you a seat over yonder."

Harry shuffled his way through his classmates to the rear of the greenhouse, where Ron was holding a seat for him. "What was that all about?" Ron asked.

"Tell you later," Harry said, taking out a clean sheet of parchment and his quill.

Professor Tolliver stood before the gathered students. "This year," she began, and Harry heard with astonishment that her thick accent, though still present as an undercurrent to her voice, was not nearly as strong or colored with slang as it had been when she was speaking only to him, "we'll be studying American magical plants and herbs, particularly those of the Appalachian region."

A girl several rows ahead of Harry raised her hand. "'Scuse me, Professor, but why study American plants? Isn't what we've got growing here good enough?"

"It's not a matter of one being better than another, Miss --?"

"Brocklehurst, ma'am."

"Thank you. As you may have guessed from my way of speaking, I am American. In fact, I was born and have spent most of my life living in Appalachia, so the lore and traditional uses of plants growing in that region has become my specialty. More importantly, however, some of the plants you'll be studying this year have practical applications that can't be found in plants native to the British Isles. The berries of the dogwood, for example," she continued as she indicated a small tree in a pot near the door, "are plumb essential to the successful treatment of cat scratch fever." She scratched at the trunk until the tree shook its limbs like a dog might wag its tail. "Good boy."

"Why bother learning about them, if they don't even grow here?" Millicent Bulstrode wanted to know.

"Because I will also be teaching you how to cultivate them yourselves," she said, returning to the head of the class. "Any other fuss?" When no one spoke up, she said, "The first plant you'll be learning about is the single most important plant in Appalachian history after the chestnut tree, and that's ginseng."

She picked up something from the table before her and held it up. "This is the root of the ginseng. As you can see, it bears a striking resemblance to the human form." Harry had to agree with her; it looked like a slightly less ugly cousin of the mandrakes he'd studied during his second year. "In fact, both its Chinese and its Native American names mean 'like a man'."

"Like a naked man, she means," Harry heard Anthony Goldstein say with a snigger.

"A naked white man, maybe," Peter corrected, grinning at him. Several girls sitting within earshot quietly hissed their disapproval. Harry found it difficult to hold back a snort of laughter.

Embarrassed and raucous guffaws exploded throughout the greenhouse, however, when Tolliver went on to say, "You shouldn't be shocked to learn, then, that in many cultures, both magical and Muggle, ginseng is believed to enhance sexual performance in the male."