Light's End

Chapter 2: Premonition

- 1 -

Tuesday.

"Come on, Euan!" called Harry from atop his broom. "Put some effort in!"

Euan Abercrombie flashed Harry an apologetic smile. He had just fumbled a direct pass from Ginny Weasley. "Sorry, Captain."

Sighing, Harry looked to the sky. Their first game was against Hufflepuff this weekend, and they were playing like shit. What Hufflepuff lacked in talent, they more than made up with in experience - if they were to have a ghost of a chance, they had to keep stupid fumbles down to a minimum.

Most Quidditch teams were practicing their hearts out. Gryffindor had the pitch from six to eight in the morning, Monday through Friday. Slytherin booked the pitch from four in the afternoon to five, and Hufflepuff from five to six. Ravenclaw's team was the exception, for they were very lax this year - Harry suspected they'd be a walkover. They practiced once a week, Sundays, for four hours. According to Oliver Wood, cram sessions were always nice, but they didn't have the effect of learning over time.

The weather was shitty again. Clouds covered every inch of the sky, threatening to piss rain and crap lightning bolts like no tomorrow at the slightest provocation. Harry muttered a curse when he felt a drop of rain on his head. Rain or shine, they practiced for the two hours. They had a very young team, full of potential but lacking in any practical experience. Only by working twice as hard would they be able to compete.

"Chasers," barked out Harry, like a commander leading his troops. "Fall in. We're going to run passing drills."

Ginny Weasley, Euan Abercrombie and Dennis Creevey fell into position, floating in front of him.

Harry turned and nodded to his Keeper, Cara Meers. Without needing to be told, she zipped to her position in front of the Quidditch pitches. Whenever he looked at his second year Keeper, he remembered last year's Keeper and sighed. Ron hadn't joined the team this year because of him. He could still hear the faint echo of the song 'Weasley Is Our King,' whenever he thought about that. Shaking his head free of it, he focused on the present.

"All right, I want to run a triangle formation," began Harry. He looked to Dennis and Euan. "If you two paid attention at all last year, you'll know what I'm talking about. Katie Bell came up with this - I want Creevey up front, Weasley at right and Abercrombie at left." He looked to Cara. "Meers, I want you to pass it up to Weasley. Weasley, I want you to toss a breaker to Abercrombie, and Abercrombie, I want you to lob it up to Creevey," He looked with a small amount of respect to Colin's younger brother. "You're our best shooter - take the shot when you have it, but don't force it."

"All right, Harry!" exclaimed Dennis, his eyes filled with all his brother's devotion; Harry shuttered.

He then spun to face his two beaters, two first years smaller than the beating bats they carried. Why did this have to happen to me? thought Harry, not for the first time and not for the last. During try-outs, it had been a close competition between Andrew Kirke, Jack Sloper and these two first years, Gabriel and Scotty - all of them were equally awful. Harry went with first years, however - they were only slightly smaller, much quicker and had ten times the heart as the other two fourth year beaters. Not to mention, if trained well, they'd have seven years to grow into their roles.

"Meanwhile," Harry drew his wand from his Quidditch robe and summoned a large box of plastic children's balls - the type Dudley used to throw at Harry non-stop when they were around six. "I'm going to send these at Weasley, Abercrombie and Creevey. These will be moving at about half the typical bludger speed - if so much as one gets through, I shall break my foot off in the place your mothers don't talk to you about."

The two first year beaters gulped and nodded, looking quite timid.

"All right," said Harry, summoning the Quaffle to his hand with some fancy wand work, all the while keeping his plastic playground balls levitated next to him. He tossed the Quaffle to Cara, who caught it with one hand (Harry had to admit, Cara was quite good. She had tried out last year, but she had not found her coordination and was quite bad. She must have practiced over the summer.). "Here we go," he said.

Cara started it up, accelerating forward and stopping dead. She launched the quaffle from her fingers. The effect was a catapulted pass, halfway across the pitch. Ginny dove for the quaffle, though she fumbled it about three times before she got a solid hand on it. Against Slytherin, that would have been an interception, thought Harry.

Harry waved his wand, casting a spell learned over the summer, reading an advanced DADA book.

"Expendentia!"

With that, Harry's wand grew an additional foot, and thickened up - a formidable club held in his hand. Wasting no time, he reached into the box next to him, drew one of his balls, and cranked it, sending the plastic ball zipping toward Ginny.

Gabriel was there, throwing his body in the way of the ball in an attempt to swing.

SWOSH! His bat was nowhere near it...

... to his credit, however, it hit him in the head and fell away, protecting Ginny nonetheless.

"Good effort!" exclaimed Harry, while Ginny passed the ball up to Euan. "But, if that was a real bludger, I'd be notifying your next of kin. Use the bat, not your head!"

Gabriel frowned, but accepted that with a nod. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," answered Harry, deadpan. "Just get ready for the next one."

Harry was proud to admit it - they had heart. While young, they wanted it as much as Harry did. Abercrombie lobbed it up to Creevey - Creevey took it in a one-arm snag and launched it through the large hoop, Cara just a hair behind it. As Dennis swerved back, Harry fired a plastic ball at him - Scotty Gorimir got a bat on it, deflecting it wide.

"Run it again," Harry repeated, as Cara swooped down, picked up the quaffle, and the same play repeated. "Cara, fly out more - cut off the angles. Good shot Dennis, and good cover Beaters."

As time went on and effort turned to sweat and sweat turned to blood and grim, Harry grew more and more proud of his boys. At the end of this practice, he was content. If they were to loose to Hufflepuff this weekend, it would not be on account of a lack of effort. There was nothing he could do about his team's inexperience except look to the future - by the time he graduated, these six would be leading the Quidditch league long after Harry had left Hogwarts.

It was the game against Slytherin that gave Harry pause. Needless to say, it would be an interesting event: His beaters, Gabriel and Scotty, would be pitted up against Crabbe and Goyle - the biggest mismatch in Quidditch history. The weight of both boys combined would add up half of what Goyle weighed, at best.

At eight, Harry called them in for a team huddle. The smell of sweat and body odor was strong - Harry kept it brief, for he wanted a shower before Transfiguration class.

"Good work today guys - Euan, I want you and Ginny to spend some time just throwing the quaffle back and forth. I saw a few fumbles that will cost us turnovers." Harry then looked to Dennis. "Dennis, tomorrow, I want you and Cara on the other side of the pitch, going one on one. Cara, work on your aggressive defense, and Dennis, I want you to go for the left and right hoops - Susan Bones is one of the best Keepers in Hogwarts, if you keep going for the center hoop, she'll be a step ahead of you every time." Harry took a calming breath. "And you guys..." He looked at the two, small beaters. He considered some lessons Fred and George Weasley had passed on last year for Harry to teach their replacements (Harry had to admit, he knew very little about beating), "Good effort, but you two aren't working as a team, especially on that last one - you almost took each other's heads off. Scotty, you are faster by a hair I think, I want you to cover Ginny and Euan. Gabriel, you are more..." Harry paused for a moment, trying to find the right word. "... hungry, I think. I want you to protect Dennis like your life depended on it."

And his words were like gold to the younger students. He could see it in their faces - they wanted nothing more than to make him proud. It made Harry wonder if that was how he looked when Oliver Wood first brought him out to learn how to seek. He had listened to Wood, and taken his words as gospel. Yes, Harry decided, if he had become an effective captain, he had one person to thank for that. Oliver Wood was one hell of a teacher. Had he actually played under Angelina for more than a week, he'd have probably said she was a good teacher too, but in truth, he just didn't know. Damn that Quidditch ban.

"Okay, hit the showers - you guys stink," said Harry, allowing a hint of a smirk to appear on his face. Cara and Ginny gave him a pout, while the younger boys laughed and complied, flying toward the locker room, gabbing in excited tones about their upcoming game.

Harry dismounted his broom, throwing it over his shoulder. He gave himself a good stretch - his seeking skills had been on today, as always. Halfway through the practice, Scotty and Gabriel had tossed about fifty golf balls around the arena. As typical, Harry hadn't missed a single one.

The rain had held out in a rare show of mercy, but now, it seemed that its patience was at an end. The drops began to fall, tapping a steadily increasing beat against the arena and the grass around Harry. His eyes were drawn to the Gryffindor section of the Quidditch pitch out of habit. He always looked up there to see if anyone had been observing the practice, other than Colin. Now that his younger brother was on the team, he was there for the whole time, without fail, snapping pictures of the team - especially of Harry and Dennis.

But, today, he was very surprised to see a face in the stands that he hadn't counted on seeing. Ron stood in the first row, his hands draped over the guardrail, staring at Harry. When Harry noticed him, Ron gave him a faint wave. At first, Harry was tempted to turn around and walk to the locker room, not even acknowledging him - did he think Harry was going to give him a free cookie for coming out here? 'Weasley Is Our King' began to play in the back of his head, but he ignored it. It was like a part of Harry that had been sleeping since Sirius's death awoke within him, and he returned Ron's wave with one of his own, and started over toward him.

Ron hopped down onto the field to meet him, moving with uncertainty - maybe even a bit of fear. What he was so afraid of, Harry wasn't sure. If Harry were going to hex him, he would have done so already. They stopped within five feet of each other, and for a moment, neither spoke. Ron was dressed in his school robes and his red hair was matted down cinnamon in the rain. It was tough for Harry to find some words, but after careful consideration, they came to mind.

"All right there, Ron?"

Ron nodded. "All right there, Harry."

Harry wasn't sure what else to say, but Ron helped him out. "For a bunch of kids, the team is looking swell," he observed, digging his toe into the turf with an unconscious action.

"They have heart - they just need experience," answered Harry, a note of detachment in his voice. "... could use a better Keeper, though."

Ron shuffled his weight, telling Harry all he needed to know. But, Ron tried an excuse anyway. "My broom wouldn't be able to compete with the newer models."

There was no need to point out that Ron was flying a new Nimbus 2001, courtesy of Fred and George, whose business had grown epically over the summer - last he heard, Angelina and Katie had been employed upon graduation and were expanding their franchise to France and America respectfully. In fact, it had been going so well that Harry had found a one thousand galleon pot of gold on his bed the first day of school. Sighing and reading the letter thanking him for the 'loan', Harry had accepted the money back and had put it toward making his D.A. meetings as memorable as ever by purchasing all sorts of new books, and had even arranged for purchase of a boggart from Professor Dorinthal, who had a collection of dark creatures in his museum. With the appearance of the boggart, Harry challenged it each meeting, turning it into a dementor. By now, more than half of his members could produce a patronus. He was even planning on taking a trip down to Knockturn Alley with a few D.A members (much to Hermione's objection) and seeing what sorts of things he might be able to buy.

"Mmm," was all Harry said, "Well, it was nice to see you out here, supporting the team."

Ron nodded, a dumb expression on his face. He turned to leave, but his step faltered, as if his knee had given out. Biting his lip, he looked back to Harry. "What happened, mate?"

Harry crossed his arms and fixed Ron with a stony expression. He didn't want to have this conversation now. It was a month overdue, and he was tired. He had busted his chops for two hours and was not in a mood to be rational. "You accused me of being a coward and punched me."

"I was so stupid," answered Ron, turning away and shaking his head. "I just thought you should know that."

Harry swallowed a lump in his throat, but steeled himself - Ron had sealed their friendship a month before. This was too little, too late. It was no secret that Harry missed his best friend something awful. In fact, he wanted to forgive him - he really did - but what would it prove? Could their friendship amend itself after such a fracture, or would Ron just continue being a jealous git, jealous of his scar, jealous of his attention, jealous of his fame, jealous of his wealth - jealous of Harry Potter?

If Ron wanted his friendship - he'd have to work a bit harder for it.

"Yes, you were."

Ron walked away. Harry let him.

* * * * * *

- 2 -

To Harry, Hogwarts was more than a home, it was liberation from a life that never suited him.

What did Hogwarts mean to him? Freedom: pure and simple. While every part of his day was subject to rules and regulations, within these boundaries, he was as free as a bird. And, on those rare occasions where he saw it fit to fly even freer, his Invisibility Cloak was ready for him.

A person born privileged never seemed to understand what they had. Ron, Seamus, Lavender and Parvati - they had been born knowing they were chosen ones. They were born into a world full of magic and knew, one day, they'd learn to command it. For Harry, it was a surprise that had gone beyond liberating. Liberating would have been Uncle Vernon putting him up for adoption and landing him a family that didn't treat him like piss. No, Hogwarts had been more. While every year of his life had been in mortal peril from an evil he didn't understand, he wouldn't trade Voldemort for Dudley any day of the week - Voldemort might even succeed one day, but if fate by his hands was the cost of six wonderful years of freedom, he'd pay it with only one regret.

That regret would be the inability to see his friends again - Hermione most in particular, but Ron too. Five years of friendship wasn't easy to forget. Ron had made the first five years of Hogwarts so much brighter. Even if they weren't friends now, and never would be again, Harry wanted Ron to be happy. And of course, Seamus, Dean and Neville in a smaller way still. Not a day went by where he didn't see Dean's smiling face, or Seamus's intense scowl - duty, duty, duty. And who could forget Neville, the other boy of the Prophecy, the one who could have been marked instead of him - the boy who had gone from a quivering mass of nerves to strong, upstanding fighter who'd stare at the face of death with Harry at his side? Even though Harry knew he'd only be gone for this semester and return with a wealth of knowledge to show off at D.A. meetings, making them even better, Harry missed him.

But, yet, despite all this freedom, companionship and liberation - something else was bothering Harry. Akin to the sharp pain in his scar whenever Voldemort was angry, there was a personal sense of danger, an itch deep in his chest. It was the kind of instinct that kept humans alive in the face of mortal peril. This same anxiety in his chest was the same substance that had saved him from a speeding car once when he was nine, forcing him to dive out of the road well before his brain has registered the action.

A premonition, maybe? Was Voldemort scheming once again to end Harry's life - would his plan come into effect at the beginning of the school year this time?

When Harry returned to school after showering and changing, every student was whispering. Harry sensed at once something was wrong, as he made his way to Transfiguration with the Hufflepuffs, and after that, it was onto Defense Against the Dark Arts.

This year, Defense Against the Dark Arts was being taught by Professor Dorinthal, a large built man who had a head shaped like the end of a q-tip, a fuzzy beard-like shadow over most of his face, and frizzy black hair. All in all, he seemed to know his stuff - in a way, he reminded him of what would happen if you crossed Lupin with Snape, a good teacher who gave off an unnatural and dark vibe - Harry didn't want to get to know him, but at the same time, was touched that Professor Dorinthal had taken such an interest in the D.A, and had devoted much of his time to securing them the things they needed as well as allowing them to use his office as they saw fit.

On the way, he ran right into Zacharias Smith and Hannah Abbott, who were talking in low tones - looking like scared church mice.

"What's going on?" asked Harry. He wasn't exactly close with either Hufflepuff, especially with Zacharias who he found quite annoying, but both were in the D.A and he had learned they weren't his enemies over the past few months.

Hannah twirled a lock of her blonde hair between her fingers and glanced at Harry. "They took Draco to the medical wing today."

"Draco?" remarked Harry. "... Malfoy?"

Zacharias snorted. "No, the other Draco in Hogwarts."

Harry ignored Zacharias, though entertained a white fantasy of punching him in the nose. "What for?" asked Harry, as he fell in step with Hannah. Zacharias followed a step behind them, looking sour.

"Madam Pomfrey is giving him a check up," said Hannah. "Seems Crabbe and Goyle found him on the ground of their dorm this morning - he'd brought down the curtains on himself and everything."

Harry scratched his chin, detaching himself. "Well, if someone had to mysteriously die, it couldn't happen to a better candidate."

Hannah gave Harry a very reserved look. "That's a horrible thing to say. Thankfully, he's not dead - he was breathing."

Zacharias shrugged, not committing anything. He gave Harry a look that suggested he shared his sentiment, however. Perhaps Zack wasn't all bad.

The three of them entered the classroom. Unlike most of their multi-house classes, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors associated with abandon. Parvati, Lavender and Ernie MacMillian sat together, while Seamus and Dean sat with Susan Bones. And Hermione sat with Ron and the Hufflepuff Seeker - something Quinn. She was glaring with unrestrained bale at Seamus, who didn't even seem to notice.

Harry was tempted to sit next to Ron. It had been a long time since they had all sat together. Ron was staring at him as well - it was a good bet he was wishing the same thing. For that reason, Harry found himself a seat with Zacharias and Hannah.

For one of the first times in Harry's recollection, Professor McGonagall was late. Harry checked his pocket watch just to be certain - for sure, it was twenty minutes past eight; she was five minutes late.

Harry tapped his wand on the table to make some noise. Nothing disturbed him more than a room so quiet you could hear yourself breathing. It reminded him of the cupboard back on 4 Privet Drive, creepy silence all the time save for one time a night Uncle Vernon clambered up and down the stairs after fetching a midnight snack. Soon after Harry broke the silence, whispered conversations sparked all around the room.

"Think this has to do with Draco?" inquired Zacharias, leaning over to whisper to Harry and Hannah.

"That'd be my guess," answered Harry, his eyes fixed on the door. "I don't think I ever remember Professor McGonagall being late for class."

Five more minutes passed and the students grew restless. There was no official rule saying when a student was allowed to leave in the absence of a teacher, but most students had formed the 'ten minute rule' on their own accord. So far, no one dared move for the door, however - few thought twice about using it to escape secondary, insignificant electives, but it would take a brave soul to duck out of Professor McGonagall's class.

About twelve minutes into the period, the door opened. Inside strode a familiar enough face, especially for the Hufflepuffs. Harry recognized him as Brian something - he was the Head Boy this year. Everyone began to murmur with disapproval.

"Settle down, everyone," the Head Boy said. "Headmistress McGonagall apologizes for her tardiness..."

"Headmistress McGonagall?" asked a voice from the other side of the room - Hermione.

Brian something nodded. "Yes," replied the boy. "Her position was thrust upon her just last night and she was unable to find a replacement for her class in such short notice. Therefore, her classes are cancelled for today."

"Where's the Headmaster?" asked Seamus, rising.

"Headmaster Dumbledore had urgent and sudden business to attend to in London," explained Brian. "Class will resume as normal tomorrow." Before any more questions could be asked, the Head Boy raised his hands, quieting everyone down. "That is all, everyone. Seamus, please come with me for a brief prefect meeting. Good day."

With that, the heavy-set Head Boy left the room. Seamus, wasting no time, gathered his books and followed him out.

The rest of the class followed soon after - Harry said good-bye to Zacharias and Hannah, and caught up to Dean on the way to the Great Hall, seeing as how he was the only one not involved in a conversation of any kind.

"Can you believe this, Harry?" asked Dean, glancing over to him. "First Malfoy gets sick, then Dumbledore leaves the school. Any idea what's up?"

Harry shook his head as they entered the Great Hall - at least Harry would get to eat some breakfast today. "Not a clue - I reckon Seamus'll tell us when he gets out of the meeting, though."

Dean nodded in agreement and sat down across from Harry. "They say Malfoy might have been stricken with a virus of sort."

"A virus?" asked Harry, conjuring himself up a plate of pancakes and muffins, followed by a cup of pumpkin juice and treacle. "Don't they just cure viruses with a spell in the Wizarding World?"

Dean shrugged. "I had thought so. Apparently, this is something different - maybe a Wizard virus that's immune to magic. Madam Pomfrey couldn't even wake him with the Enervation Charm."

"How'd you know that?" asked Harry, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

"Had to pick up my medication this morning," answered Dean. Harry knew Dean was had asthma, requiring him to fetch more medication once every few days - of course, it wasn't an inhaler but a potion, prepared by Madam Pomfrey. "Saw Madam Pomfrey and two seventh-year Ravenclaw Healers-in-training students working on him - you know it's serious when Madam Pomfrey can't handle it herself." Dean took a deep breath. "He looked like a corpse - you think he was pasty before, his cheeks were blue. It was like he had no blood in his body."

Harry considered this for a moment - indeed, it seemed most eerie. While his experiences with the Wizarding World were limited, anything that could keep a wizard bedridden and couldn't be treated by magic HAD to be serious.

He opened his mouth to comment, when Colin Creevey entered the Great Hall, smiled upon seeing Harry and hopped into the chair next to him

"Hiya Harry," greeted Colin. "Got time for that interview?"

Dean began to chuckle when Harry let his head hit the table in irritation.

"I told you I wasn't doing a bloody interview," snapped Harry.

Colin raised a finger. "You said maybe."

"You said maybe!"

"C'mon Harry!" begged Colin, fixing Harry with one of those looks that made Harry want to hit him. What did he owe Colin? "Stop keeping the witches of England in suspense! They have a right to know - stuff about you."

"Go interview Ron," muttered Harry. "He knows enough about me and would like the attention."

Colin gave that some consideration, scratching his chin. "Former best friend of The Boy Who Lived speaks his mind..." That was all he needed. He gave Harry a slap on his back and raced out of the Great Hall, door slamming behind him.

"You know," Dean said, "For the longest time, I thought he fancied you - now I think he's trying to be the next Rita Skeeter."

Harry sighed and said, "Well, he's annoying enough. All he needs is his own magazine."

Dean chuckled.

Next class for the sixth year Gryffindors was Charms. At the end of first block, Harry and Dean made their way with great expectations, not really for the class, but to meet up with Seamus and find out what was going on with Dumbledore. They made it five minutes early and found Seamus sitting alone, having been the first Gryffindor to arrive.

"All right there, Seamus," greeted Dean, sitting on one side of him - Harry took the other side.

Seamus nodded his greeting. "All right."

"So, why's Dumbledore gone?" asked Harry, as he sat down.

Seamus said plainly, "Well, I don't know all the details, but you all know Fudge resigned as the Minister of Magic, right?"

Both boys nodded - this was not news to Harry. About two weeks ago, the Minister of Magic had been forced out of office by a majority vote - seemed the Council of Merlin had had it up to their necks with Fudge's inability to deal with a resurrected Voldemort until a year after it had happened.

"Lemme guess, they want Dumbledore to be the new Minister of Magic?" asked Dean.

Seamus nodded. "It would seem so, but that's not the only reason - Dumbledore wouldn't have had to go just because of a nomination, after all."

"Why else did he depart?" asked Harry, looking concerned.

"I don't know," explained Seamus. "I only know what Professor McGonagall told us. Hogwarts has moved to a state of alert - sorta like the Sirius Black incident in our third year, when all the halls were patrolled by Prefects and Professors n' such." Seamus sighed, and must have seen that look of rage in Harry's eyes, because he spoke rapidly, changing the subject. "Me and Cho Chang have duty Wednesday - it's going to be a fate worse than death. In bed at 3 AM every night."

Dean scratched his chin, thinking. "That's going to stink. Wonder why the alert..."

"Probably because Dumbledore is gone, and Voldemort is out there, somewhere," explained Harry, forcing back his anger. Seamus cringed when Harry spoke his name. Harry and Dean were just about the only Gryffindor students who didn't flinch, with exception to Hermione, who had been making an effort since last year.

Seamus shifted his weight, looking more than just a bit uneasy. "If You-Kn... ugh... V-voldemort wants Hogwarts, I don't think me and Chang will be able to stop him."

Harry snorted, "Especially not, since Dumbledore isn't here."

Seamus heaved a deep, troubled sigh. It was painful to look into his eyes - Harry saw the fear hidden well, but there nonetheless.

"C'mon guys, cheer up. Do you really think Dumbledore is so far away?" asked Dean. "With a snap of his fingers, he's right outside Hogwarts. If we ever got attacked, he'd be back in minutes." Dean chuckled. "I mean, its not like Voldemort could stop him from coming back into Hogwarts, right?"

Harry couldn't refute Dean's sound logic. He must have been thinking about it all throughout their breakfast - Harry had to admit, it was quite reassuring. Voldemort could attack full force - all it would take was one ward to go off, just one, and Dumbledore would know. How couldn't he know? He's the greatest wizard of all time. No, as far away as Dumbledore was, he was only seconds away during times of trouble.

Ron and Hermione came in together - Ron avoided eye contact with Harry and sat behind him. Hermione, however, sat with Harry (it was his turn - last period, she had sat with Ron.)

"All right there, Harry," she said, sitting down next to Harry. At once, Harry realized he was sitting in between her and Seamus, and felt guilty.

After repeating the same greeting, Harry glanced over at Seamus - his face had gone red, and his eyes were staring straight forward with aggressive indifference, he was trying to avoid looking at Hermione at all costs. Looking back at Hermione, he found her trying to peer around his head to see Seamus. When she saw his expression, she bit her lip and began to fidget.

What on Earth was going on between these two?

* * * * * *

- 3 -

Charms class passed with typical speed - no class was ever too long when taught by Professor Flitwick. He always had a way of making the lessons fun and easy. Today, they had started a section that would take many weeks to finish - Hypnosis. While any muggle was able to put someone under the sway of hypnosis, only a wizard could truly tap that dormant state of mind to create the most powerful magical effects on Earth. Today was the first lesson of Hypnosis, however, and they just had fun. Parvati and Lavender, both obsessive with studies of the mind, had volunteered to be hypnotized by Professor Flitwick - by the end of the class, Parvati had thought she was a chicken and Lavender couldn't stop singing to lyrics to 'It's a Small World After All,'

With this lesson, of course, came a grave warning, there was a very fine line between hypnosis and the Imperius Curse. The difference between hypnosis and the Imperius Curse was one simple thing - no unwilling person could ever fall under the sway of hypnosis. However, to earn the trust of someone and to be exploited through use of hypnosis or permanently damaged could easily earn the hypnotist many, many years in Azkaban. For one of the first times, the diminutive Professor sent a chill down their spines: 'after earning the trust of Ms. Patel and Ms. Brown, I could have very well given them the impression that Mr. Thomas was a murderer, and they would have acted accordingly, perhaps restraining him - or maybe killing him.' He cautioned them strongly against accepting hypnosis from another student unless there was a bond of complete trust.

On that note, class came to an end, and all the Gryffindors - well almost all of them - were thrilled with how the class went.

"He so did not make me act like a chicken," Parvati said. "I'd have never done it in a million years!"

"And I can't sing!" added Lavender, looking violated.

"Well," asked Seamus, while Harry, Ron and Dean laughed out loud. "How do you explain why class only seemed like five minutes long then?"

"Time flies when you are interested in the subject matt..."

Hermione interrupted Parvati by stepping out from behind Ron, snagging Seamus by the ear, twisting it in a way at made Harry wince, and hauling him away. Before Harry knew it, Seamus and Hermione were out of sight, having gone down an intersecting corridor.

"I guess she didn't enjoy hypnosis either," said Dean.

* * * * * *

- 4 -

Day in, day out, yard work around Malfoy Manor - clip clip - laundry - slosh slosh - cleaning - scrub scrub - and sleep (snore, snore, though Weebee didn't know he snored). For the past two hundred years, Weebee had been exchanged through homes for both financial reasons and offers his previous masters couldn't refuse. Four years ago, Master Malfoy gave his former master an offer for Weebee. Master Dalton couldn't refuse and sold Weebee when the price of Master Malfoy's offer matched on Weebee's head in invisible ink only the extremely wealthy could read.

It wasn't that Weebee hated his life. Pleasing his masters was something Weebee loved to do. He also loved his work, always making the sounds associated with the task at hand. The elf would be sprawled on the floor, wet cloth in one hand and dry cloth in the other, muttering 'scrub, scrub, scrub' over and over again, just because he enjoyed talking so much. Master Malfoy didn't, however - Weebee never got to talk to anyone.

Master Malfoy had gone away for a really, really long time though. Now, he took orders only from Mistress Malfoy. He didn't miss Master Malfoy - he was not nice to Weebee, always kicking him and hurting him and making Weebee feel hurt. Not that the mistress was much better, but she wasn't as strong.

That morning, everything was as routine as clockwork - scrub scrub, clip clip, slosh slosh, but then there was a thunk! A thunk! Thunk thunk thunk! Weebee punched his hairless head with his tiny first, trying to remember what that sound meant. Thunking wasn't a sound that Weebee made, no sir, Weebee knew the sounds he made. But when there was a thunk, Weebee was supposed to do something. Oh! Post!

'Vooooooosh' was another sound Weebee made, whenever he ran as fast as he could. 'Vooosh' the wind said, racing past his long, floppy ears. The thunking continued at the door - Weebee opened it with a wave of his hand. Behind the door was a very ugly man; not an owl today. Someone was delivering the post by hand.

"I'm here to see Narcissa Malfoy," said this man - he looked like a five and a half foot tall house elf with a long, crooked nose. Wait, nope, couldn't be a house elf - way too much ugly, black greasy hair. Some ugly human. Yup. That was it.

"Mistress is very busy - nope, can't see the Mistress - the Mistress not expecting yous."

Grumbling, the ugly man put his hands on his hips all bossy-like and made an ugly face. "House elf, I must impress upon the urgency of this matter - this is in regards to her son, Draco. Let me in."

"Little Master?" asked Weebee, his ears perking at the mention of Draco. What a nice little master he was! Always throwing pillows at Weebee so he could sleep in comfort and calling Weebee funny names. How he loved his Little Master! "You know the Little Master?"

"Of course I do!" snapped the big ugly again. "Tell Narcissa that Draco's Head of House, Severus Snape, must speak with her! It's an emergency."

Weebee balled up his fists in anger. Disrupt his mistress? How rude! "Mistress is very busy and not expecting yous, Severe Snap!"

Severe Snap growled, his fists constricting at his side like he were going to hit Weebee. "Listen you..." he began, but he was too stupid to continue. Weebee wasn't going to let him in and he knew it. Word of how well Weebee served the Malfoys had gotten out! No one entered unless Mistress Malfoy was expecting them! The ugly man checked himself, and began speaking much more nicer and kindly to Weebee. "Listen... Little Master is in scary danger. I must speak to Mistress Malfoy, or Little Master might die. Don't you think that's important enough to let... 'Severe Snap'... in?"

Weebee's ears sagged low, and his jaw dropped. "Little Master in trouble?"

"Yes," muttered Severe Snap thickly. "Now lead me to your Mistress..."

Weebee was torn. On one hand, the Mistress couldn't be interrupted. To do so was bad and earned Weebee many hurts. But, Little Master was in danger, and if Severe Snap didn't get to speak to the Mistress, Little Master would die! Swallowing a nervous lump in his throat, Weebee beckoned Severe Snap with his small, pudgy hand, stained brown with grim.

He led him into the Manor, up the stairs - clip clop clip clop - and to his Master's private study.

"Knock, knock, knock," said the house elf as he pounded on the door.

The door swung open a second later. "You wretch - you better have a good reason for..."

Narcissa saw Severus Snape, former Death Eater and traitor to Voldemort's inner circle - one of the men indirectly responsible for her husband's incarceration - and nearly swooned with surprise.

* * * * * *

- 5 -

Seamus' palms sweat with nervous tension, while his legs dragged behind him. He had little need to use them, for Hermione was pulling him by the earlobe with enough force to haul a Norwegian Ridgeback from its roost.

"Hermione, what in blazes are you doing?" yelped Seamus, dignity going straight out the window.

Hermione spun Seamus around, grabbing his shoulders. "Look at me, will you?"

Stunned, Seamus did as he was told. What he saw first was Hermione's beautiful brown eyes, wide with a strange sort of desperation. Her straight, smooth hair was ruffled a bit from her stress and her proud, lean features were taut with tension, like she were being stretched on some kind of invisible rack. As always, she was breathtaking, her full, plush lips, her long eyelashes, her small, and button nose - everything about her just worked.

A second later, he had forgotten all about the pain in his earlobe and his confusion at being dragged away, in truth, he was glad.

"Hi," said Seamus, after her eyes held him for an entire minute.

Hermione relaxed visibly. She had seen in his warm, blue eyes the attraction she had been missing for too long. Perhaps he had spoiled her - it had been three days since they had been alone, and she already had missed it. How different he was from Viktor Krum! As nice as Viktor was, Hermione had always found an excuse to elude him, one way or the other. It couldn't be more opposite for Seamus, the boy who had been right under her nose for years. She sought him; she loved the way he made her feel.

"Hello," replied Hermione, as Seamus took her hands into his own.

Another minute passed - as close as they seemed, Hermione sensed this sort of distance between them that stemmed right from Seamus' eyes. Seamus could be open or closed at his own whim, and she desperately wanted to see in right now. But, she was being kept out - held at bay.

"Seamus," she said, rubbing the back of his fingers with hers. "What are you thinking about?"

Seamus gave quick looks to their sides - the corridor they were in led to nowhere in particular, they were not likely to be interrupted.

"Nothing," answered Seamus, and she believed him. "Not a thing."

As if to prove his point, Seamus took a step closer and descended an inch or two, putting their mouths on even level. Wanting nothing more than to reply in kind, Hermione allowed herself to fall forward, her eyes closing. Their lips met halfway, softly pressing against each other. She tasted the saline quality and loved it. Passion filled her like it had with no other and she gently wrapped her arms around his shoulders, caressing the back of his curly blonde hair. He felt his hand roaming the small of her back, pressing them even closer together.

She had to admit, making out in the middle of the corridor at Hogwarts was not the smartest of moves - but the risk of getting caught made it all the more exciting. Eyes closed and guided by her exploding sense of touch, she guided her tongue gently into his mouth.

And then, as suddenly as he had fallen into her, he pulled away, startling like a deer in headlights. Hermione opened her eyes, her breath coming in passionate gulps - his in labored gasps. His eyes frantically darted back and forth, his face as white as a ghost.

"What?" asked Hermione, her hands falling from behind his head, gently holding his hands, "Seamus, what's wrong?"

"I... I..." he stuttered, "Something's wrong... something just happened."

Hermione had half a mind to glance down at his pants and say 'it better not have' - but something about his tone suggested this was no joking matter. "What?" she questioned.

"I felt something... sharp..." he continued to stammer. "It wasn't you - it was like a third hand... something crawling up my back!"

At once, Hermione glanced around too. They were in an empty, dark, narrow corridor without doors. Somewhere on the first level, however, they may very well have descended a sloping passageway into the dungeons. It was cold and damp.

"Maybe it was Peeves playing a joke?" suggested Hermione, her words sounding hollow to herself.

Seamus shook his head. "No... it's still here..." His eyes went out of focus and his skill went from pale to ashen. "Hermione..."

Hermione's confusion turned to fear. She grabbed Seamus - his body weighed twice what it did before. "Stop it, Seamus. You're scaring me."

As scared as she was, it paled to the fright on Seamus's face. His legs began to fail him and Hermione struggled to keep him standing. His blue eyes glazed over, rolling into the back of his head. His hands went from hers, grabbing at his own throat. A scream shot out of Hermione's mouth as Seamus's throat constricted with spasms - it was like an invisible hand was crushing his larynx.

Soon, Seamus' weight was unbearable. He fell slack, slipping out of her arms, hacking and rasping. Hermione drew her wand, having no idea how to attack something she couldn't even see. The hairs on the back of her neck were erect - danger surrounded her.

And then the sounds of sprinting - something was moving from down the hallway, racing at her full force. More than one set of footfalls echoed from the direction they had come. Another scream built in her chest, and she let it fly. A dreadful foreboding chilled her spine to ice - something evil was approaching.

Seamus's eyes rolled into the back of his head and his hacking dimmed to a dull wheeze - his life was fading fast. Hermione, always one to be rational under fire, was disarmed and frozen in place. She couldn't attack what she couldn't see!

Hermione closed her eyes, thinking of the only spell she could - the only defense she could think of against an attacker with no form. Harry had taught her last year in D.A. - oh please God, let it work. It came out as a whimper - she focused hard, drawing up her happiest memory, her first kiss with Seamus.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A spark of silver energy formed at the tip of her wand, spilling out into the air around her, shaped in the form of an otter, covering Seamus with its protective flippers. Wind blew all around her - she hoped her Patronus wasn't weak. It seemed to do the trick, warding back whatever evil was choking the life from Seamus. The boy fell at peace, no longer flailing helplessly, but rasping in peace.

"Hermione!" called a voice from behind her, causing her to scream and loose her Patronus. It retracted into her wand, like dust caught in a vacuum.

Harry and Ron, running side by side, descended the corridor, rushing toward her, their wands extended. Ron went right for Hermione, his hand resting on her shoulder at once. Harry went to his knees, sliding the remaining distance to Seamus, checking him and shaking him.

"What happened, Hermione. Are you okay?" asked Ron, looking around wildly.

Whatever Hermione had felt before was gone - Harry and Ron must have scared it off. That was the only explanation.

"He's all right," confirmed Harry, hoisting Seamus's legs up on his knees, elevating them. "He fainted, that's all."

"What happened?" repeated Ron, hooking his hand around the back of Hermione's neck, holding her close in an embrace.

Hermione explained their encounter with brutal honesty, from the kiss to Seamus's sudden withdrawal - the talk of a hand crawling up his back and his throat constricting.

"All right, let's get out of here - this place is giving me the creeps," said Harry, waving his wand over Seamus. "Mobilicorpus!"

Seamus's body lifted from the floor - Ron's height and strength enveloped her, and she felt safe. Harry attended to Seamus, Ron helped Hermione and together, the four students fell back, fleeing this dark corridor for more familiar parts of the school.

* * * * * *

- 6 -

Watching from the shadows, it saw the four primates leave his territory. Good thing too... Master wasn't to be disturbed. It thought back to the soft flesh of the male - oh, he had wanted to kill that monkey! He wanted his flesh; he wanted to feast on him. But, Master had told him no fatalities. Not yet. His secret must be kept safe until he had fed completely on his target.

But, he had done what he had needed to. They would not come back this way again. Primates were so predictable - give them a scare and a slap and they'll never do it again.

It crept back into the shadows, satisfied.

* * * * * *

- 7 -

Hogwarts always had a lesson to teach. No matter how well Ron had thought he had known the school, another mystery humbled him to the floor. It had been freak coincidence that Harry and Ron had both responded at the same time to the scream. Ron had stayed after class to ask Professor Flitwick a question about hypnosis and had not strayed far from the classroom - well within earshot of Hermione's pronounced voice. When he had heard her cry, he reacted, rushing into unfamiliar ground. Seconds later, Harry had shot out of an intersecting corridor, all but crashing into Ron. Despite the situation, they had given each other long, appraising eyes, forgetting their original reason for being down here to begin with. The stubborn pride of a sixteen-year-old boy could numb any other concern, even the well being of a best friend. Then, she had screamed again. Agreeing to an unspoken truce, they both nodded and rushed for Hermione together, their wands out.

That few second delay might have cost Hermione her life if the situation were any different.

By now, he was very late for Divination, but he hardly cared. This would be an excused absence - not that he needed an excuse to miss Divination, anyway. Hermione had found her balance on the way to the medical wing but still clung to him in a way she had never done before. Feeling her warm body so close to his, her embrace depending so much on him, he couldn't help but feel a rush of passion. He had loved Hermione for as long as he could remember, but had never been bold enough to mention it. Now, the proximity to her was both rewarding and tantalizing, all in one mixed bag of shit that he would never act on, or inform Hermione about.

When they arrived at the medical wing, they were met with a very strange sight. The room was crowded, filled with familiar faces - half of which made him retch.

The focus of attention was Draco, resting on one bed. His serious condition was no exaggeration. A pale as a ghost, he looked dead - there was no better way to describe it. His eyes were sunken deep into his skull, bluish-black rings both above and below his closed lids. He chest rose and fell irregularly, as if his body were straining itself to continue respiration. But yet, in a most disturbing way, he was beautiful. His lips were rosy red, his skin was without blemish or imperfection, as if he had been given touched up with some of Lavender Brown's most prized makeup.

On one side of the bed was Narcissa Malfoy, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, one of her hands interlocked with Draco's.

On the other side, Professor Snape was speaking in a low voice to Narcissa, his words not reaching Ron. Next to him, Prof - er, Headmistress McGonagall kept a vigil over Draco. Madam Pomfrey hovered nearby, casting various spells on Draco and noting their results, namely none.

Madam Pomfrey saw them first, and she gasped. She rushed over, turning every other head in the room.

"Oh no, what happened?" she asked. "Is it another...?"

"Er... no, ma'am," Harry answered, cutting her off. "I think he's okay, he just fainted."

Madam Pomfrey took control of Harry's spell, guiding Seamus to the bed next to Draco. "I wasn't aware you had your certificate in Healing, Potter," replied Pomfrey snappishly and she set him down.

"What sort of incompetence is this, McGonagall," snapped Narcissa, scowling. "You've not been Headmistress for a full day, and already, my son and some other boy are in comas? How many more will be in dire straights before this day is up?"

Professor McGonagall set her jaw, clamping it firmly. "Mrs. Malfoy..." she hissed, and then whispered something across the bed.

Narcissa however, waved whatever she said away. "They should know how inept their Headmistress is!" She gesticulated to Harry, Ron and Hermione. "Safety at Hogwarts was the primary concern of my husband, and you, McGonagall are the problem, not the solution!"

The Headmistress shook with something - either anger or pain, Ron couldn't really tell because he'd only seen her angry, and this looked very much like anger. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was not her that got the first words out.

"Right, Mrs. Malfoy - your husband's concern was very noteworthy four years ago," said Harry, crossing his arms and glaring at him.

Narcissa swelled up like a balloon. She glared at Harry, daggers shooting from her eyes. "I don't know what this child is insinuating, but shall I add a failure of your students to respect a lawful authority to your ever growing list of accolades during your pitifully short administration, McGonagall?"

Ron looked to Professor Snape, who was watching the conversation but taking no part in it. He had even missed a chance to tell Harry to shut up, opting for silence instead of scolding him and taking points away. Ron wasn't sure what was going on her, but it all seemed very over his head.

McGonagall turned to Harry, her eyes full of anger. "Five points from Gryffindor."

"What?" shrieked both Harry and Ron at the same time - though Hermione didn't seem to care. She was watching Seamus and inspecting Madam Pomfrey and her two seventh year assistants, making sure they took good care of him.

"Mr. Malfoy is right," answered Professor McGonagall. "This is not a student matter. Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter, get to your next class - tell your professor your lateness is excused. After classes are through for the day, I will wish to speak to each of you in my office."

Opening and closing his mouth, Ron tried to think of something intelligent to say. Not only had she taken Mrs. Malfoy's side and deducted Gryffindor - her own house no less! - she was sending them both away, like they had nothing to do with this! Seamus was only alive because they had gotten there in time. There was no 'good work' or no 'thanks for your help, boys' ... just a 'get out of here, and I'll see you later at my personal convenience.' It was so unfair!

Harry turned around and left, leaving Ron alone. He still wanted to say something, anything that would remind their Head of House of the good they had done. But, before he could find those words, the Headmistress spoke again.

"You too, Mr. Weasley. Out."

Face scrunched up like a toddler denied his bottle, Ron stomped out of the hospital wing. Harry was waiting for him outside, a look of particular disgust on his face. Ron wondered if Harry would punch him in the face for some reason.

"Want to walk to Divination together?" Harry asked.

Ron wasn't sure what to say. A fierce streak of pride - part of him wanted to get Harry back for being so aloof after the Quidditch practice today. It would have been nice to just keep walking, passing him by and leaving his question answered without words. But, no... while he might have been able to do that to Hermione - and had before when she had angered him - this was Harry. Something told Ron if he did that, he'd never get another chance to set things right between him. He made no mistake about it, ever since Harry and him had stopped being friends, his life had been that much dimmer. Like a telebision (or whatever it was called - he had learned about them in Muggle Studies last year) on the verge of kicking it, his life had gone from colorful to black and white once Harry had no longer been apart of it. While Ron was no artist, he loved color.

"Yeah," answered Ron. "I'd like that."

And the boys did just that, though they couldn't words to exchange. It was going to be a long road back to friendship, if friendship could ever exist again, but Ron hoped that Harry was as eager to give it a second chance as he was. There was no way around it; Ron missed Harry. Even now, just walking side by side with him to Divination, over thirty minutes late, added color to his life - even if it was just for a short while.

He made a promise as they climbed the ladder, leading up to the Divination room - he would do whatever it took to restore that part of his life, no matter how long he had to work to do it.

* * * * * *

- 8 -

Even as a student, Narcissa Black and Lucius Malfoy had both been brats, just like Draco. Minerva McGonagall had been younger when she had taught them - about thirty years ago, give a few. Her face hadn't borne quite so many wrinkles, and her sense of duty had been just a bit stronger - when Lucius Malfoy was in school, it had been dark times indeed. Voldemort's reign had reached its peak and the First War was raging against him and his dark army. Now, however, it seemed the dark times were starting anew. Perhaps she'd have to dig deep and find that extra bit of strength, laid down like a bloody sword when the news of Voldemort's defeat had reached her, fifteen years ago.

Now that she was the Headmistress, she hoped she could still use it.

Narcissa had been one of those children who believed the only authority in the world had 'Black' at the end of their names. It didn't matter if 'McGonagall' or 'Dumbledore' or 'Flitwick' had thought she was wrong, as long as 'My Parents' approved. It was that sort of attitude that set future dark wizards apart from the rest of the flock. They only cared for their family name - let the rest of the world be damned!

It was the very rare Slytherin who won her heart as a teacher - most of them were all the same. When she spoke to first year students, she couldn't keep a thick, demeaning accent to her voice when she mentioned Slytherin House. God knows she tried to be impartial - she really did - but, what was the use of treating a house famous for producing dark wizards as something even with three other houses who produced fine human beings?

She couldn't count the hours she had debated with Severus in the years ago about the values of his house. Severus, too, had been one of her students, and just like all of her Slytherin students, he had won no place in her heart during his seven years at Hogwarts. He had kept to himself, mostly, and had few friends. When she called on him in class, he gave her the textbook answer in monotone, as if belittling the very nature of her question. She knew his photographic memory captured facts at a mere look. While his mouth spoke the correct answer, his eyes told her how little thought or care he had put into the words coming out of his mouth and how utterly useless of a teacher she was because he'd learn all he had to in order to get an A by staring at the book for seconds each night.

And even now, as Severus spoke to her in private, he could see that demeaning look in his eyes - that questioning of her capacity to run the school, even those his words spoke the contrary.

"Headmistress," he said, after having asked to speak with her alone in Poppy's office, while she attended to the newest casualty of circumstance. "What has transpired here has been out of your control. Pay no heed to the words of Narcissa Malfoy - she is ignorant."

Minerva, seeing through Severus's façade, spoke, "Nothing within this school is out of my control, Severus. I'll not have you believe that Narcissa Malfoy won anything over me. She drew no punishment from me in regards to Mr. Potter - he was to be punished the moment I could get a word in edgewise."

Severus made a show of recoiling, surprised that Minerva would even suggest he had questioned her capacity to deal with Mrs. Malfoy. Another façade, she noted. "I never implied..."

"Severus, we have more immediate concerns."

Severus allowed his retraction to go and nodded. "Very well. I suggest, until we determine the nature of Draco Malfoy's aliment, we enforce a strict curfew to all students in addition to the nightly patrols. No student is to be allowed out of their common rooms after classes until fifteen minutes before classes the next day. The House Elves will deliver meals to their rooms."

He was testing her - that much was clear. It angered her that Severus would be working against her now, trying to build on her reputation to overreact to danger when it came to her students. She forced herself to keep a level head. Right now, she was playing a chess game with Severus, and he had just checked her king. She had to be careful here - she couldn't allow him to enforce this policy, but nor could she give the impression she didn't care for the safety of her students.

"Such a radical safety precaution is just about without precedent," observed Minerva, in what she hoped was a casual tone. "This is a school, Severus, not a prison."

Severus cocked his head, looking at her with mock concern. "Would you not agree that the safety of our students is paramount to their freedom to carry on after hours?"

Minerva kept herself calm and in control - she couldn't seem ruffled, or Severus would wind this round. "I would say, until we have proof that there is a imminent threat to the school, their privileges must not be restricted in any real way. The last thing we need in this school are students who are too afraid to learn, Severus. The nightly patrols already have them whispering - while they are not experienced enough to see the greater picture, they are reasonable enough to know something is amiss."

Severus gave Minerva a slight nod of his head, making a show of conceding something - what that was, she could only guess. "And if Hogwarts takes out its second body in two years, will that not also terrify the students?"

He had slipped - he had checked her by moving his queen into a contested square. It was now time to strike.

"You forget yourself, Severus," she replied, her tone growing cold. "You are not the Deputy Headmaster (Professor Flitwick was acting Deputy Headmaster until Dumbledore returned) and are in no position to suggest something of that sort. While your feedback is valuable to me and this school, do not suppose for one minute that you are in a position to so blatantly question my judgment."

Severus also narrowed his eyes at the attack - Minerva decided at the last minute to change tactics. Making an enemy out of Severus at this time was not going to make things any easier.

"Our job and duty is to promote an environment where students have nothing to fear - if your prison-like curfew proves to be the sole method of keeping our students safe in the walls of Hogwarts, then it will be done, but not before we have exhausted every possible method of keeping our students safe and preserving the life and soul of our school - not a minute beforehand."

Severus again nodded. "And if it comes to that, after the fatalities of one, two or maybe even ten students, will you tell their parents their children were sacrificed for the soul of the school?"

"This meeting is over, Severus," snapped Minerva, opening the door to Poppy's office and stepping out. Upon seeing her, the plump nurse hustled over.

"Mr. Finnigan will be all right," Pomfrey whispered, taking care not to speak loud enough for Hermione, who was sitting at the foot of Seamus's bed, or to Narcissa, who was flashing her an angry glare. "But his eventual recovery both poses good and bad news, Headmistress."

"Go on," bade Minerva, as Severus left the Hospital Wing.

"Mr. Finnigan is... almost responsive to magic," she continued. "It is as though his body reacts to an Enervation spell, but something then forces it out of his system."

Minerva mulled over the implications of that - something churned in her stomach that made her feel ill. "Something forces it?"

"With each spell, the strength of the reflex subsides and the spell takes hold for longer and longer," A pensive expression crossed her face. "By my estimations, he will be free of this anti-magic thing by tomorrow morning."

This was good, but at the same time, the Headmistress couldn't help but feel a weary strain on her mind. Four years ago, during the basilisk attacks, she remembered thinking how glad she was that Dumbledore was the Headmaster. However, when the position was thrust upon her by his sudden removal from the office of Headmaster - she had panicked. Unable to see a solution, she had just about closed down the school. In a thousand years, the school had never been closed down. Had that happened, Hogwarts may have never been able to recover.

She had learned from her mistake - while she was Headmistress during a second crisis, she would not jump the gun again.

"And what of Mr. Malfoy?" asked the Headmistress, keeping her tone even.

Poppy shook her head. "I honestly don't know, Minerva. He might come out in a moment, a day, months, a few years, or never at all. When you speak to those who were last with Mr. Finnigan, make certain to ask them about any contact he had with Mr. Malfoy - if this is a virus, we need to know how it is spread."

The Headmistress nodded and put on a grim expression. "Just do what you can, Poppy. I'll speak with Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger after classes today." She glanced over at Hermione, who was holding one of Seamus's hand in both of hers. "And... quarantine Ms. Granger," she ordered, shaking her head, "Until we know this - thing - isn't spread by close proximity."

Poppy bit her lip softly and said, "May I make a suggestion?"

"As always."

"While I have no proof of this, I'm almost certain that this - thing - they have is not spread from person to person by contact or exposure," she began, "Or else, I believe Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle would be in here as well - they have been sleeping in the same room as him and moved him physically from the Slytherin dorms to the bed up here."

Minerva frowned and pinched her bottom lip in thought. "Do we know anything about an incubation period?"

Poppy shook her head. "No, which is why I can't say this with any certainty - however, there is also something else."

Taking a breath, Minerva prompted Poppy to continue.

"Mr. Finnigan's color is good - he was as white as Mr. Malfoy when he was first brought in, but now, it's returning. A simple blood sample shows that Mr. Finnigan has a low red blood cell count."

Minerva, who was no wise at anatomy herself, had to ask, "What would cause a low red blood cell count?"

"Many things," answered Poppy. "Poor diet, food poisoning, low-blood pressure... and the list goes on. I took Mr. Finnigan's vitals last year..." She waved of her wand, she said the words 'Paprius Expecto' - a scroll shot out from the tip, and floated into her hand. "Examine these."

Minerva did as she was instructed. "High-blood pressure, temperature 38 degrees."

"Right now, Mr. Finnigan's blood pressure is low, and his temperature is 35 degrees - a healthy body is 37... whatever is inside of him is slowing down his bodily functions, and is fighting to keep them low." She glanced up at Minerva. "For all I know, his naturally high blood pressure may be what is saving him from Mr. Malfoy's fate - Mr. Malfoy, I'm afraid, has always had low blood-pressure."

"What does this mean, Poppy?" asked Minerva. "In simple English, please."

The nurse sighed and looked to the two boys, lying in parallel beds. "It means if Seamus is fighting off these effects so quickly, based on his anatomy, and Draco isn't - Draco is going to get worse before he gets better, if he gets better at all."

"Thank you, Poppy," Minerva said. "Notify me immediately if their conditions change."

The nurse nodded and retreated to her office.

With that, the Headmistress left the hospital wing - she needed to get back to her office - Dumbledore's office - to think. The world felt so heavy on her shoulders and she needed a chance to piece together these events and come up with a solution for the current problem.

* * * * * *

- 9 -

By the end of the school day, the secret was out. Seamus Finnigan, a Gryffindor prefect, had followed Draco's sickness - and no one knew what was wrong with him. Again, the school was gripped by fear. Two students comatose in two days - those who were old enough to remember the basilisk did so, and retold the story to those who weren't.

Lisa Turpin forced herself to keep a level head, however - panicking like everyone else wouldn't lead to answers, just more confusion - the same kind of confusion that put lives in danger.

Hailing from a pureblooded family, Lisa knew some of the dangers that lurked in the Wizarding World, just as those born to Muggles knew how to work a T.V. or cook dinner in a microwave oven. Sure, Muggle Studies had taught her how to pick up a telephone and order a pizza if she were ever in downtown London, but for those who had no experience with the Wizarding World, like Terry, the lessons were only learned through experience. No one class could ever encompass the risks associated in a life plagued by the constant threat of Dark Wizards, sickness that even a miracle couldn't cure, ghosts, vampires, werewolves...

Born and used to these risks, it was the pureblooded wizards who got on much easier than their less experienced companions. But, this latest situation - striking a boy whose blood was as pure as Malfoy's and a boy who's blood was half claimed by Muggles - showed that no one was safe from this new threat.

But, Lisa reminded herself that she would not panic. It would just add more confusion - that same kind of confusion that put lives in danger.

It was approaching seven at night, the stained glass in the Main Hall had faded to black and she was getting antsy. She fiddled in the pocket of her robe, drawing the magical rune, given to her as a gift by Terry. Promising she'd mail it out today was, in fact, much easier than actually doing it. Was she ready to have her appearance, voice and style thrown on a slab and given a 'yay' or a 'nay' by total strangers?

She was only sixteen years old - wasn't there more time to learn before diving right in with both feet?

But, she reminded herself that there was no other time. If she sat on this now, for any excuse, it would become easier and easier to do so. Lying to yourself is the easiest thing to do, her Gran always used to say, do it once and you'll do it again.

And so, here she was, proceeding through the main hall to the school owlery, just outside of Greenhouse 4. It was time to be truthful to herself and send out her rune. Terry had put so much work into it - she wanted to make him proud.

Ignoring her anxious premonition, Lisa strode out into the darkness of the night. After all, there was nothing on the Hogwarts grounds at night that wasn't there during the day.

Cold, icy wind raced across her face - the clouds from earlier that day remained, blocking out the moon and the stars above. It was so dark, she was forced to draw her wand and murmur Lumos, so she could see where she was going. Shadows fled from the tip of her wand as she stepped onto the dying grass. Fall was choking the remnant summer vitality from the grounds and everything seemed to be dying except her. She began the slow, long trek around the wall of the school. She hugged it closely, so as not to miss the Greenhouse and the school owlery.

Crunch - crunch - crunch, each step she took echoed off the nearby wall, blocking out any other sound. No crickets chirped, no owls hooted, no wolves howled at the hidden moon. It was so quiet she could hear her own breathing, and she wasn't breathing hard.

But then, she heard something else - something that didn't seem to belong. It was loud, brief and scratchy, the sounds of claws raking against stone. Freezing, she looked up - the eastern wall of the school towered over her head, extending beyond the range of her simple light spell well before the top. Her muscles tightened, her pulse beat in her ears.

Chilling cold left her trembling. The wind picked up, tossing around her blonde curls, and on instinct, she tightened her scarf. She felt as though something were stabbing the inside of her stomach - she wanted to run back into the safety of the school. Scolding her own lack of fortitude, she reminded herself how foolish she was being. Perhaps an owl had just landed on the top of the castle - or maybe a piece of windswept debris had rubbed up against the wall. Or maybe, she had just imagined the sound as an excuse to get out of what she must do.

Deciding on the latter, she kept moving, passing Greenhouse 1. Get on with it, Lisa, just get on with it.

She was no more than ten feet further when she heard it again. No, that was not imagined - that was for real, and it was closer than before. The air smelled of potpourri, a pleasant and distinctive smell, out of place in such a cold night. And... yes, it was unmistakable, coffee - like the rich brews her father's Handy Housemaker would magically grind for his quick start in the morning. She had never smelt this curious blend of odors near the greenhouses before. But she gave the coffee and potpourri little consideration - she was more bothered by the fact something was after her tonight, hiding on the fringe of the shadows.

Picking up her pace, forcing the sound out of her mind, she jogged by Greenhouse 2. Two down, two to go, she reminded herself. Then, another curious sound accompanied the scraping of claws on stone - a giggle. To her, it was the kind of sound a child would make when he were up to no good. Cold, yet mirthful, it nonetheless deepened her overwhelming fear. It couldn't have been a trick of the air, or even a play of her mind. Something was above her, scaling stone, laughing with glee. It had to be horrible - ugly - terrible - and evil!

Unable to contain her terror any longer, she screamed and broke into a run, racing by Greenhouse 3. A rationally thinking person would have entered that building to seek shelter, maybe even hide - but she didn't dare stop for a second to fumble with the doorknob. She ran, and ran, yelling and crying for help. The laughing grew louder and louder - the scraping closer and closer, as if something was running along the wall, just above her head and out of sight.

Balance lost, she tripped over the stairs leading to Greenhouse #4, she struggled to rise, but it was too late...

She stiffened as arms grabbed her and wrapped around her back. Closing her eyes, she screamed again, blocking out all sounds and reason. The smell of coffee and potpourri faded, but the grip on her remained strong and oppressive, restricting her movements.

"What's wrong?" yelled a voice, right above her - a male, and not child sounding voice. It was filled with concern and even fear.

Lisa took a deep sniffle and dared look up. In the light of her wand, she saw a familiar boy with sandy blonde hair and sincere hazel eyes, reflecting the light of her wand back. She knew him, not personally, but by face and name - Zacharias Smith, a Hufflepuff in her same year and a known face from the D.A.

Lisa stood, pushing away from him. Her mind was spinning - she combed what little of the wall she could see, but saw nothing to suggest a night stalker, mounted on the wall.

Zacharias had his wand out and was looking where she was. "What's going on?" he asked, his hand shaking with a mild tremor.

"I - I - I don't know," she stuttered. "It was f-f-f-following me - didn't you hear it?"

The Hufflepuff boy shook his head. "No... I didn't hear anything."

Lisa sniffed several times, clearing the snot from her nose that had built up from the cold and her own fear. She blinked the tears from her eyes - tears that had been shed in fear. "P-p-pot-potpourri and coffee - it s-sm-smelled like p-potpourri and coff-ffee... it was so strong..."

Zacharias sniffed the air and shook his head. "I don't smell anything. I was inside the Greenhouse and heard you scream." Lisa swallowed and shook her head free of doubt. Zacharias took a step closer to her, looking at her with concerned. "You're Lisa, right?"

She nodded her reply.

"Look," he said, "Want to come in the Greenhouse for a bit and catch your breath? I was just finishing up planting some fire daffodils for extra credit." He glanced at the wall again. "Seems like whatever was chasing you stopped."

Lisa nodded again - she didn't want to be alone right now.

He extended his hand to her, and she took it, squeezing back gently as Zacharias escorted her into the Greenhouse, out of the cold night, and away from the danger she knew had lurked and had chased her. Whether or not the presence had been scared away by the appearance of Zacharias or not was hard to say, but she knew with all certainty that her life had about to end.

Once Zacharias closed the door behind her, she fell to the ground in a dead faint.

* * * * * *

- 10 -

Draco's eyelids opened and he gasped for air, as if a pillow had been held over his face for minutes. He coughed and gasped, trying to sitting up in bed, breathing in revitalizing air. It was no use, however. He felt like every muscle in his body had turned to mush - he could only lie in his pillow and stare into the oppressive, lonely darkness. He tried to use his voice to call out, but his throat was too dry.

He sensed he wasn't the only one in the room, but could see nothing. Irregular breathing in the bed next to him alerted him to the fact someone else was conscious and not far away. He tried to speak again, but his call came out as a breathy murmur.

It was enough, however, to attract attention. "H - hello?" asked a familiar voice, looking around. "Where am I?"

"Who..." breathed out Draco, just loud enough to be heard. He tensed up his frail body in frustration - he needed to know he wasn't alone tonight.

"Seamus," replied the voice in the dark. "Who's there?"

It didn't matter to Draco who it was. Seamus - Irish boy, Gryffindor - great. He needed someone, anyone, more than ever in his life. He was defenseless, he might as well have been bound and gagged, for he could hardly speak or move. It was as though his body was just a hollow shell, and his mind was the only part of him still working efficiently.

"Dra..." he began, his voice croaking as he tried to speak. He swallowed, and tried again. "Draco..."

"Malfoy?" asked Seamus, his voice grew stronger with every passing minute. "Where the hell are we?"

Are we... Draco liked the end of that sentence. It reminded him that he wasn't alone - him and another human were both experiencing the same situation from the same point of view.

"Don't..." Draco rasped, trying to tell him he didn't know - he was scared.

"Don't what?" pressed Seamus. By now, Draco's eyes had adjusted to the dark - he could make out a silhouette in a bed next to him, sitting up. There were beds everywhere - he was in a white, shadowless robe. The hospital wing - it had to be.

The next thing Draco heard was the shattering of glass from the eastern window, followed by the smell of potpourri and coffee. A shadow swung through the window, raced along the wall with speed Draco couldn't fathom and leapt atop of him. Too weak to fight, too weak to scream, he had to settle for being terrified. A child laughed in the back of his mind, had he the strength to move, he would have.

For the third and final time, he swam in the eyes of the raptor, and drowned in darkness.

* * * * * *