The Temple of Le Fay

Chapter Fifteen: Harry's Greatest Fear

Harry was released from the hospital wing on Friday morning, just in time to begin a full day of study. He was able to scrape through Herbology class with Hermione's notes open under the desk, and was grateful to make his to Care of Magical Creatures, where Hagrid had a pack of wolves on display for them to study.

"'Course, these ain't just any wolves," he said.

"They're not werewolves, are they?" Neville asked, a little nervously.

"'Course not. 'Onestly Neville, you were taught by a werewolf, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," Neville said, colouring slightly.

"Anyway," Hagrid went on. "Look at 'em. You know the differences between a wolf and a werewolf. Do they look like werewolves to you?"

The sixth years looked at the wolves. No one seemed prepared to say one way or whether the animals were just wolves or whether they were werewolves. Hagrid sighed.

"Right then, ten points to anyone who can tell me three ways you can tell the difference between a real wolf and a werewolf."

Hermione's hand shot up.

"'Course you can, Hermione," he said, looking at the others. "'Onestly, you all learnt all this in yer third year. Go on, Hermione."

"A true wolf differs from a werewolf as it has a more pointed snout, round pupils, and a sleek tail. A werewolf has a short, stubby snout, cat-like pupils, and a bushy tail."

"Yeah, right. Ten points to Gryffindor," Hagrid said. "'Onestly, sometimes I wonder about you lot. Now, write down what Hermione just said. These are real wolves, got it? See the tails? I won't ask yer to get close enough to look into their eyes. We'll save that for next week when we do the practical part."

Neville's eyes widened in horror.

"What's up with Hagrid?" Ron asked Harry as they scribbled down the differences between wolves and werewolves. Harry shrugged.

The wolves began to grow tired of being held captive, and started to whine and growl. Hagrid thumped the pen they were in hard, and the wolves fell silent.

"Overgrown puppies," he sighed. "Shame to put 'em in a pen, but it's not fer long."

"Are they very magical, Hagrid?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, yeah they are," Hagrid replied. "Alright you lot, listen up. A wolf's got a fair bit of natural magic about it. For a start, it's absolutely in tune with its habitat. Not many creatures are, but a wolf can tell if someone new has bin nearby in the last week or so. Not just a good sense of smell, right? It can sense distortions in the magical field. They're got amazing memories, as well. They can remember someone who was kind to them, or bad, for years, long after most other creatures'd forget. Worth bearing in mind, that, case you're ever nasty to a wolf.

"Oh, yeah, they've got the howl, too. The howl'll spread word for miles around, and each wolf can pick it up and send it on. It don't matter where in the world a wolf comes from, it can understand the howl. That's part of their magic, too. You can drop an Alaskan timber wolf in the middle of Russia and it'd be able to chat with the locals as easy as you lot chatting about Quidditch. 'Course, these wolves are even smarter than yer normal wolf, bein' as how they hang around Hogwarts. Bit more magic in the air for 'em to use, see?

"Right, get that written down. Now, the feeding of wolves is dead simple, and that's what we'll be doing next lesson. What you do is, you take a friend you've had a bit of an argument with, knock him on the head, and chuck him in the pen."

Hagrid looked around the shocked faces and chuckled.

"I'm jokin'," he laughed. "'Onestly, the looks on yer faces. No, we'll be feeding them on fresh meat. Got ter be fresh, see? Wolves are dead picky about what they'll eat, and frozen or rotten meat is no good. 'Course, they prefer to kill their food, but they won't say no to a bit of fresh deer if it's offered.

"Now, yer homework is two feet on the wolf packs and the way they choose a leader. That should be enough to be going on with."

The class began packing up and getting ready to go in for lunch. Harry took the opportunity to go up to Hagrid and ask if he was okay.

"Yeah, not bad, not bad," Hagrid replied. "Jus' had a bit of bad news las' night is all."

"What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"Shouldn' really say," Hagrid muttered, looking around to see if anyone was watching. "I suppose it can't hurt to tell you a bit. You know Olympe - Madame Maxine - an' me were talking to the giants for Dumbledore?"

"Yeah, how's that going?"

"Well, we thought it was going okay," Hagrid sighed. "Seems we mighter bin wrong about that. See, we've bin going up to them most weeks since last summer, ever since we found out where they were."

"Where were they?"

Hagrid looked around before answering. "Up north some, 'not too far away from here, actually."

"Oh," Harry replied. "I wouldn't have thought that giants would want to be so close to humans, especially wizards."

"They wouldn't, normally. Don't think they'd been there long when we found 'em. Thought they were in Russia at first, that's where they were last time they were heard of."

"They went from Russia to Scotland? How'd they manage that?"

Hagrid's beetle black eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Harry, some of 'em are twenty-five feet tall. You think they have much trouble getting about?"

"Oh, no, I suppose not," Harry said. "twenty-five feet? How big are you?"

"Twelve feet two inches," Hagrid said. "'Course, me Dad was on'y a normal human, and a short 'un at that. On'y the really big ones are twenty-five feet, though. Most are twenty-one, twenty-two, tops."

"So, what was the bad news?"

"They've moved, an' without tellin' us an' all."

"Oh. Will you have trouble finding them again?"

"Could be, yeah," Hagrid said. "They're pretty good at hiding, well, they have to be if they don't want everyone coming to have a look at them."

"What are they like, Hagrid?"

"Vicious," Hagrid said immediately. "Absolutely vicious. Why d'you think people treat me the way they do? They think I'm like them."

"Aren't you scared, then?"

"Well, yeah," Hagrid said. "It helps having Olympe around, 'cause she can do a lot more magic then I can, but most giants don't like that. They sorta trust me more, 'cos my Mum lived with them for a bit, so they've heard of me."

"Is your Mum not with them any more?"

"No, she died about twenty years ago," Hagrid said, a little sadly.

"Oh. I'm sorry, Hagrid."

"It's okay. She weren't much of a Mum. Didn't really know her, don't remember much of her. Just a big woman, you know? She left when I was three."

"Is Madame Maxine going to follow them?" Harry asked.

"She can't, really," Hagrid said. "She has to work at Beauxbatons. I might have to take some time off and try an' find them myself. Shouldn't be too bad. Professor Grubbly-Plank or someone can cover. Besides, it only takes a few minutes to Apparate most places."

"Yeah, it won't be the same without you here, though, Hagrid," Harry said.

"Cheers, Harry. I gotta admit, I don't like bein' away from here either."

*

Friday turned into Saturday with indecent haste. Harry struggled through Sprout's Herbology assignment and Flitwick's Charms work, but he enjoyed Hagrid's essay. As well as being short, it reminded him of Lupin and Sirius. He wondered what the two friends were up to.

By the time Saturday dawned, Harry was awake and in the common room once more. The flagstones were cold against his bare feet as he sat by the window, watching the sunrise as he scribbled furiously at the Potions essay Snape had assigned him the previous day. Harry was already sweating over it, despite the cool air, and got up to get himself a goblet of water, yawning tiredly as he did so. Then he saw something that made him stop, mid yawn.

"Dobby?"

Dobby was staggering across the common room, a full rubbish sack over one shoulder and another dragging behind him as he walked. The house elf looked up with a start, and seemed horrified at getting caught.

"Harry Potter sir, Dobby is not seeing you there."

"Dobby, what's going on? Why are you doing all this yourself?"

"Dobby. . ." Dobby tailed off, staring at one of the rugs on the floor. "Dobby does not like to say sir. Dobby does not want to cause trouble, Harry Potter sir."

"Dobby, are you in trouble? Did you have to punish yourself?"

"No sir. Dobby is punishing himself much less frequently now he no longer works for Mr. Malfoy."

"Then why are you doing all the work here by yourself? Couldn't Winky or someone help?"

"Ah, Harry Potter sir, Winky is still not feeling right about being given clothes by Mr. Crouch."

"Really? Have you spoken to anyone about it?"

"It is very sad, sir. Winky is not wanting anyone to know.

"But Dobby, it's been two years!" Harry said. "You should see Madam Pomfrey, or Professor Dumbledore. I could ask Hermione, she knows loads about house-"

Dobby flinched.

"Dobby? Is something wrong?"

"No sir," Dobby said, starting to work again. "Dobby is running very late, Harry Potter sir. Dobby must clean all of Gryffindor Tower before helping with breakfast."

"Dobby, has Hermione done something?" Harry asked, staring intently at the house elf. Dobby stopped his work, and looked timidly over his shoulder.

"Dobby is sure mistress is acting for the best, sir," he said. Harry sunk into an armchair.

"It's S.P.E.W. isn't it? That's why you have to do all the work up here by yourself. What's Hermione done?"

"Mistress is trying to help, sir. But the other house elves is not appreciating this. They is not wanting to come up here in case she is talking to them."

"What's so wrong about talking to them?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Mistress is. . . asking questions, Harry Potter sir."

"What sort of questions?" Harry asked.

"The sort of questions that is embarrassing a lot of house elves," Dobby said. "Questions about how much they is earning here, and how much they would like to be earning. About whether they is having any time off, or whether they is being looked after when they is too old to work, but a house-elf is never too old to work, Harry Potter sir."

"So they won't come up here now?"

"No sir."

"And you have to do all the work? How many elves would normally clean up in here?" Harry had taken off his glasses, and was rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"Dobby is not minding sir. Dobby is enjoying working at Hogwarts."

"How many, Dobby?" Harry pressed.

"Normally four house elves is doing the cleaning up in here, sir."

"Four. Okay, Dobby, I'll have a word with Hermione. I'm sure she didn't know she was embarrassing people."

"Harry Potter doesn't have to do that, sir."

"No, it's okay Dobby," Harry said, glancing longingly over his shoulder at the stairs up to the dormitory and his nice warm bed. "I'll talk to her. I'm sure it can all be sorted out in no time."

*

In fact Harry didn't see Hermione that morning. She had stayed up late working, and was enjoying a rare lie in. Ginny stopped off to kiss Harry good bye, and wish him good luck for his talk with Cho. She headed off through the portrait hole, linking arms with Vickie and Dean, glancing back with a wink just before she disappeared from view. Harry was still smiling when the clock on the common room wall ticked on to a quarter-to-eleven. With a nod to Ron, who mustered a sympathetic grin before going back to his Potions essay, he headed slowly out of the common room and towards the Quidditch pitch.

Along the way, he passed Mr. Filch, who threw him a filthy look but couldn't say anything against him. Stepping out into the autumn air, he took a deep breath and made his way down to the pitch.

Cho was waiting for him.

"Thanks for coming," she said. "I know you were ill."

"My scar," he said. "Do you want to sit down?"

She nodded, and they made their way up into the stands.

"Your scar made you ill?" Cho asked. Harry nodded. He had decided to tell the truth to Cho, and part of that would include telling her about himself and Voldemort.

"I don't know if you saw the Prophet on Thursday," he said. "There were some attacks. I dreamt about Voldemort giving the order to carry them out. He was laughing, and it made my scar hurt."

Cho was looking him with a hint of concern in her eyes. "Er. . ."

"I know, it sounds mad. I still have trouble believing it, but it's what Professor Dumbledore says."

"You can see what Voldemort is doing?" she asked.

"Not always," he said. "Most of the time, nothing. I can feel when he's feeling really angry, or when he's really close.

"I nearly passed out on the night of the third task," he said quietly.

"When he. . . when Cedric. . ." Cho stammered, her voice uneven. Harry nodded.

"We got carried away by the cup, it was a Portkey and it dumped us in a graveyard. Before we knew what was going on, we were attacked by one of the Death Eaters, a man named Peter Pettigrew. He had Lord Voldemort with him, and Voldemort told him to kill Cedric. Neither of us had the chance to react. Pettigrew hit him with the killing curse. I'm sorry."

Cho sat quietly, staring out over the pitch for a long time.

"He really liked you," she said at last.

"I'm sorry?"

"He liked you. He thought you were an honourable person, telling him about the first task, not making a fuss when we started going out. . ."

Harry looked at his feet.

"If I hadn't been so honourable, Cedric'd still be alive," he muttered.

"What do you mean?" Cho asked.

"At the end of the third task, I convinced him we should take the cup together. If I'd been selfish, I'd have taken it myself. He wouldn't have stopped me."

"You couldn't have known," Cho said immediately. "His parents told me that part. Professor Dumbledore told them that you were blaming yourself, but I thought you would have realised by now it wasn't anything to do with you."

She blinked several times. Harry looked away as she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

"He was in the wrong place at the wrong time," she said, shakily. "You can't blame yourself."

"I don't," he said. "Not really. I blame Voldemort."

She nodded, and managed a half-laugh.

"I never noticed before," she said. "You of all people, you say his name. We're bought up to say You-Know-Who, but you say his name."

"Professor Dumbledore always says-"

"-'fear of the name increases fear of the thing'," she smiled. "It's hard to overcome that fear when you've been brought up to see, well, him as the worst thing in the world.

"I know he's the worst thing in the world, I am scared of him, but I don't see any reason why I should make myself any more scared," Harry said.

"You're braver than I am," Cho said. Harry smiled.

"Can I be honest with you about something?"

"Of course," Cho said curiously.

"Everyone seems to think I'm incredibly brave, that when I face Voldemort, or Lucius Malfoy or whatever, I'm cool, calm and collected."

"And you're not?"

"No." He grinned ruefully as he stared out over the pitch. "I'm terrified, and it's not getting any better. The more times I escape, the more I start to wonder whether my number will be up next time. Voldemort is still out there, and he's after me. I don't want to have to be the one who faces him, but it seems at times like that's the only way it's going to happen. I'm going to come up against a much more powerful wizard, and I'm going to die."

They sat in silence for a time.

"Does anyone know you feel like this?" Cho asked eventually.

He leant forward, resting his arms on the seat in front, and let out a great sigh.

"No. It's stupid, isn't it? I've been best friends with Ron and Hermione almost for ever, it seems like, but they still have this incredible faith in me, like they think I can do anything. I have Ginny, who's amazing, and makes me think that I can do anything. When I'm with her, nothing else matters, because I have her. But she suffers because of me. She was so scared when I was ill, and one day-"

He glanced quickly back over his shoulder at Cho, who was sitting in the row behind him, before staring out at the pitch again.

"I'm sorry. We're here to talk about other things, aren't we?"

"It's okay," Cho said, quirking a smile. "You need to let these feelings out, believe me. If you don't, they'll eat you up."

Harry nodded. "For what it's worth," he said. "I'm sorry about Cedric. He was a good guy. He didn't deserve what happened to him."

Cho nodded. "No one does. That's what makes it so horrible. Look at you, you're sixteen, you've lost your parents, you don't even entirely trust your friends. . . Harry, I lost my boyfriend to Voldemort, and for a long time I blamed you. But when I came back to school last year, and I saw you, I knew how wrong that was. I wanted you to suffer for surviving, and as soon as I saw you, I knew that you did suffer, that you were suffering. And you still are suffering. It's all because of V-Voldemort."

She stared at nothing for a long time, chewing on her bottom lip. Then she asked: "Why do you think you'll have to fight him yourself, Harry?"

"Because I always have done," Harry said with a mirthless laugh. "Because it seems like a year without a battle against Voldemort or Death Eaters is a year without any sense to it. Because he only has to be right once, and he'll catch us all off guard."

Cho looked at him, sympathy shining in her eyes. "But the same applies to our side, surely? I know that you know that Professor Dumbledore is organising a resistance against Voldemort."

"How do you know that?" Harry asked, slightly surprised.

"Ravenclaw," she said, pointing a thumb at herself. "We're the ones with brains, remember? Not much goes on around here that one of us doesn't know about, and what one of us knows, we all know."

"Right, yeah, smart people," Harry said, with a small smile. "Okay, so Dumbledore's organising a resistance. I still have to be me, I still have to be an example."

"Fine, so be that example, but don't let the pressure squash you flat. I know you know this. You're not trying to do everything in the Duelling Club, you made your friend co-captain of the Quidditch team. You just have to take the next step."

"What step is that?" Harry asked, finding himself interested almost in spite of himself. Cho doesn't understand, but it can't hurt to listen, I suppose.

"You have to trust people to be able to look after themselves," she said. "You can't do everything, so have faith in other people."

"I do have faith in other people," Harry said, sounding slightly offended.

"Prove it," Cho said. "Trust other people to worry about Voldemort. It doesn't have to be your worry alone."

"But it does have to be my worry," he said. "No one else is walking around with a target on their back. And because I'm a target, so are my friends. Hermione was nearly killed last year by the Dementors."

"Last Christmas? They weren't there for you, were they?"

Harry paused.

"No," he said slowly. "But it's all because of me. It's because of me that Voldemort's back, it's because of me that people are suffering, it's because of me that my best friends spend half their lives walking on eggshells around me, in case I snap. Hagrid said it once. Everything happens to me. I'm Voldemort's target, I'm the Boy Who Lived. I never asked for it, but it's the way things are. I have to accept it, and I have to make the best of it. It's my responsibility, and I have to face it the best way I know how."

Cho stood up.

"Cedric would have said the same," she said quietly. "Just remember something, Harry, Gryffindors may be brave, but you can't do it all alone. Remember what I said. Be like Cedric in another way. Be loyal to the others. I'm sure you've got a lot of power, but your friends can be your greatest strength. Trust me, there's nothing worse than not having someone to go to when you need it."

Cho walked away, leaving Harry to stare thoughtfully out over the Quidditch pitch for a long time.

*

Harry was more than usually quiet over the next few days. His sleep was mercifully uninterrupted by further visions of Voldemort, but he found himself waking at odd times, and staring out of the dormitory window, his eyes hungrily searching the night sky as though he were seeking a Golden Snitch among the silvery stars.

Even Ron was moved to comment on Harry's quietness by the time Halloween dawned on Tuesday morning.

"Harry, you do not look good," he said as they sat across the table from one another at breakfast. "Seriously, mate. Get an early night tonight or something."

"No, I'm fine," Harry said dully. "I just need to sleep through the night. It's like I'm expecting an owl or something to show up."

"Well, you said that you heard from Snuffles last week, right?"

"Yeah. I haven't even had time to write back. I've been trying to think of a way to use the Boggart-"

"Speaking of which, Mr. Potter," came a voice from behind Harry. He turned in his seat to look up at Professor McGonagall. "I assume that you will be collecting the one we have for you in the staff room cloak cupboard at some point? I assure you that the faculty members are becoming rather tired of having to use levitation charms to hang up their cloaks."

Harry smiled. "I'll collect it tonight before the feast, if that's okay?

"That will be fine," she said. "Oh, and Potter?" she added as she went to walk away.

"Yes Professor?"

"Get yourself a decent nights sleep, for heavens sake. You look dreadful."

Ron snorted into his cup of tea as McGonagall strode away toward the staff table. Cleaning up the mess with a napkin, he paused to look up at Harry.

"See? It's not just me who thinks so. Anyway, you're not taking on that Boggart on your own, okay?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. "I don't have a problem with Boggarts."

"Right. And I'll beat Hermione on the next Potions test. Look, the thing'll turn into a Dementor if it see you, right? But if it sees me, it'll turn into a spider. So, that way, it'll be much easier to deal with. No arguing, Harry."

"Yeah, okay," Harry said, reluctantly. "Thanks."

"What're friends for?" Ron said easily, although Harry could tell from the expression on his face that he didn't relish going up against the giant Boggart-spider again. He frowned. Another time Ron would do something he didn't want to because of his loyalty to Harry.

No, I'll take the Boggart alone. Thanks, Ron, but no need for us both to get scared, even if it

is Halloween.

*

Thursday was an easy day for Ron, only two classes, one of them a single period. His mind kept wandering to the fantastic feast that would be awaiting the pupils at the end of the day, and even knowing that he would have to face an Acromantula before the feast barely dampened his spirits. They'd barely begun their paired Herbology work after break when his stomach started growling. This made Neville come over with a fit of giggles as they tried to make headway on the Homorphus plant, the leaves of which went into a potion that would turn an Animagus back into their human form. Ron scowled at Neville before making a side note that the Homorphus plant wouldn't work on a werewolf who had been bitten. Something to put in Hagrid's essay, he thought as he tried to ignore the hunger pangs.

By the time lunch came around, Ron was so hungry that he barely paid attention to the conversations going on around him. He joined in half-heartedly with the male protests when Lavender, Lisa Turpin and Hannah Abbott tried to start a discussion about whether there would be a Ball that year, but was otherwise silent as he worked stolidly through the chicken and ham pie, mashed potatoes, carrots, pork chops, sprouts and lasagna that made up his various courses. Hermione watched on in mixed fascination and horror while Harry and Ginny, well used to Ron's eating habits, discussed Quidditch and the upcoming Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff match that would take place the following weekend.

As the meal drew to a close, Ron looked up at Harry, who was slowly collecting his things for Transfiguration.

"Harry, what time do you want to do this thing tonight?"

"Hmmm? Oh, er, about half-six, I suppose. Dinner's at seven, right?"

"Yeah, okay. Shouldn't take more than a few minutes, should it."

"No. Right. See you then."

*

Halloween was Ron's favourite holiday, even above Christmas, simply because the Halloween feast was just incredible. Toffee apples, liquorice bats, huge lollipops in the shape of zombies, ogres and ghouls. . . All that before the starters even appeared on the table. A small part of him longed for Halloween all year around. Even his mother's lavish feasts rolled in second to the sumptuous spreads laid on for staff and student alike every October the 31^st.

Ron was also well aware that he was in his sixth year. He only had two Halloween feasts left before he'd have to leave Hogwarts, maybe never to return. It was almost worth considering taking a teaching post here to come back for the Halloween feasts.

Well, maybe if I don't make it as a pro Quidditch player,

he thought, before glancing at his watch again.

Six forty-five. Harry's not normally late.

Ron's stomach growled as he bounced impatiently up and down on the balls of his feet outside the staff room. This, as much as anything, was enough to convince him to go inside and try and tackle the Boggart without Harry.

"He probably fell asleep," he thought as walked towards the door. "He could use a good nights sleep," he added as he pushed the door open.

*

"Oh, wow," Seamus said as he and Dean walked through the doors to the Great Hall. "Every year this place just gets better. I'm coming back here as a teacher. No doubt in my mind."

"Come on," Dean said. "Before the first years get it all."

"No chance," Seamus said, grabbing a plate of liquorice bats as he took his seat. "Hey, where's Ron? He's usually elbow deep by now."

"Dunno," Dean shrugged. "Think him and Harry had something to do for the Duelling Club before coming here."

"Shame," Seamus managed, around a mouthful of partly chewed lollipop and toffee apple. "He loves this feast."

"I imagine he'll make up for it. Hey, here come the girls."

Ginny and Hermione came in with Vickie, Lavender, Parvati and Katie. They had made a point of adding appropriate adornments to their robes, and the silvery half moons, stars, lightning bolts and wands glinted in the light from the hundreds of pumpkin lanterns that hovered above their heads.

"Looking good, ladies," Seamus said, swallowing half a toffee apple as Lavender sat next to him.

"Thanks Seamus," Hermione said, who was feeling very cheerful after the Ministry wizards agreed to lift the ban on students taking out books of Arthurian legends. She had quickly checked out five books on Morgan Le Fay and was eager to restart her research. "Where are the others?"

"Well, Neville said something about meeting Daniella," Dean commented as he passed Katie a tureen of creamed pumpkin soup. "I suppose they might make it down here for dessert."

Ginny giggled, and Dean smiled as he caught her eye.

"I dunno where Ron and Harry are. Think they had something to do for the Club."

"Oh, they're probably going after the Boggart that Professor McGonagall found," Hermione said.

"Brrr. . . Rather them than me, then. Remember that banshee it turned into when I faced it?" Seamus asked. "Halloween is no night for fighting one of them things."

"They'll be fine," Hermione said with a wave of her hand. "Ron's really good about his arachnophobia now and, well, I don't see a Boggart being a problem for Harry."

There was general agreement among the others. Even after careful tuition both in Defence Against the Dark Arts the previous year and in the Duelling Club, no-one could produce a Patronus anywhere near as powerful as Harry's. More than powerful enough to beat a Dementor, they were sure it would be no problem for Harry to beat a Boggart-Dementor with it.

"So, what form does your Patronus take?" Hermione asked Seamus.

"It's a bear," he said, grinning proudly. "Dunno why, mind, not many bears back home. Doesn't last more than a few seconds, anyway."

Hermione smiled, before looking over at Lavender. "What about you?"

"A duck," she said, with a giggle. "I don't even know if it would work against a real Dementor. During the fight last spring I was so busy just trying to stop a Death Eater attacking a group of third years that I didn't have a chance to fight one. Besides, a duck? It's a bit silly, isn't it?"

"Not at all," Seamus said loyally. "Ever been attacked by a duck? I have. Nearly pecked my hand off."

"A fowl deed," Dean commented to appalled groans from the others.

"What about you, Dean?" Parvati asked. What's your Patronus?"

Dean stared at the table, before muttering something inaudible to the others.

"What was that?" Seamus asked, enjoying his friend's discomfort.

"I said that I can't cast a Patronus," Dean bristled.

"Nothing to be ashamed of," Katie said quickly. "Mine's just a mist."

"Hey, Dean, if you'll help me with my fencing, I'll help with your Patronus," Ginny said. "I know that it helped me a lot when Harry gave me private lessons. It would be good to try and help someone else."

"That'd be good, Ginny, thanks. What's your Patronus, anyway?"

Hermione smiled into her goblet as Ginny blushed a deep crimson.

"It's, er, it's-"

But before Ginny could finish her sentence, the doors to the Great Hall swung open and Ron stumbled in, carrying something large and heavy in his arms.

"It's Harry," Seamus said. "But-"

"Harry!" Ginny and Hermione gasped together.

"Someone help!" Ron yelled, as he moved towards the staff table, Harry's pale, lifeless body in his arms. "He won't wake up. He won't wake up!"

To be continued. . .