Harry Potter and the Labyrinth of the Mind

HARRY POTTER AND THE LABYRINTH OF THE MIND

Chapter One-

The night was dark and sultry with impending rain. Since late afternoon, the dark clouds had been gathering, fitful gusts of wind tossing the trees of Privet Drive. Now, at nearly one in the morning, the winds had stilled and everything was hot and hushed, waiting for the storm to break.

The windows of Number 4 were, at this hour, dark and shuttered. That is, all but one. One upper window, though dark, had its shutters flung wide and a boy sat at it, watching the gathering storm. The boy's dark hair stood wildly on end, as if the winds had already been at work inside the house. The pale face was visible in the faint green light of a luminous alarm clock. His features had the uncertain look of a boy whose physical maturity was making a desperate attempt at matching the emotional experience which showed in the deep green eyes below the thin, white scar. For this boy was Harry Potter and the somber expression in his eyes and the visible remains on his forehead of the failed killing curse were indications of how much it cost him to be the Boy Who Lived.

Harry had sat at this window every night for nearly a month now. He wasn't really expecting to see anything, although there had been a few owls from his friends bringing him whatever news there was to be had. No, mostly, Harry just sat and thought. At first, his mind replayed the sequence of events leading up to Sirius' disappearance through the veiled arch in the Department of Mysteries. However, after a week of hopeless brooding, even Harry had to admit there was nothing he could have done, nothing anyone could have done to prevent it. It was hopeless, pointless, and stupid, but Sirius was gone and there simply wasn't anything more to say.

Of course, that fact didn't fill the dark hole inside Harry. Even though he had never actually had much time with Sirius, he had come to think of his godfather as family even more his own than the Weasleys and certainly more than the Dursleys had ever been. Harry may have accepted that Sirius' death wasn't all his fault (though he wasn't entirely sure he had accepted it), but he still grieved deeply for the dynamic, restless man he had come to love almost as a father.

The turbulence of his feelings over the events of the past year was still painfully great. After nights of turning everything over in his mind, Harry had found some measure of comfort in Professor Dumbledore's confession after Sirius' death. There was still some anger over all that had been hidden from him for so long, but that was gradually fading into indignation and, Harry knew, would probably subside given more time. It would not, however, be forgotten. Harry couldn't help feeling gratitude toward Dumbledore for the affection and esteem the old headmaster had for him, but something had changed in the headmaster's office as the sun rose that desperate morning.

Once, Harry had held Albus Dumbledore in awe as an all-powerful and all-seeing presence - at once, guide and hope of survival for all the wizarding world. Now, however, the image had shifted. Dumbledore was still a powerful wizard and a force to be reckoned with, but he was no longer all. He was a great man, but a man, just the same, with strengths and failings like any other. With the knowledge of the prophecy came the knowledge that Harry could no longer dismiss his worries in the comfortable belief that as long as there was Dumbledore, all would be well. He had seen, first hand, that this couldn't be. Dumbledore had not been able to protect the school from Dolores Umbridge and that had nearly cost Professor McGonagall her life. Dumbledore had been in the same room as Sirius fell through the archway but there had been no miraculous magic to save him.

After that, Harry's thoughts turned to Voldemort and Professor Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix. Thanks to a few carefully selected, heavily charmed owls, there had been more news in the letters he received. From Hermione, Harry learned that members of the Order were on 24 hour guard at her family's home and would remain so indefinitely, even once Hermione had returned to Hogwarts. It was a real relief to Harry to know that Hermione and her parents wouldn't be left alone with Death Eaters on the move.

Ron was at The Burrow and, although Mrs. Weasley was expert at keeping her younger children out of earshot of Order business, Ron had seen enough comings and goings to know a little of what went on and he owled it all to Harry.

"...It seems like bloody chaos around here, really, Ron wrote. "Dad, Bill, and Charlie are in and out of here at all hours. They can't Disapparate or floo from the house because of the ward charms, so the they have to walk down to a safe place near the village. Bill is still working for Gringotts, but I think that really means he is working on the goblins. Can't say more here. Charlie is back home for the summer, but he'll go back to Romania in September. I don't know what he gets up to. The twins are running their joke shop in Diagon Alley and Lee Jordan is helping them. I guess sales have been pretty good. They're looking into adding an owl post order catalog. I'm still working on Mum and Dad to get you here to The Burrow soon. They're bound to crack. Mum worries herself sick over you with those muggles..."

There had even been an owl from Lupin. It was brief, just letting Harry know the Order had established new Headquarters and that all was well. Harry could tell Lupin didn't have the heart for chatty notes these days, but the last bit of his letter did make Harry smile.

"...Remember, Harry, what we told your relatives. If they aren't treating you well, send word to Mrs. Figg right away. I actually think Tonks is looking forward to getting news like that from you. I think she's been visiting the Weasley twins..."

However, tonight, the heavy gray sky above Privet Drive was owl free and even Hedwig had opted to cut short her nighttime roving and return to Harry's window before the rain.

So, as Harry watched the sky, he thought about Lupin's reminder. Surprisingly, the Dursleys had taken the threats of the older wizards rather well. There hadn't been any discussion of what was said at King's Cross. Harry had expected Uncle Vernon to have something to say - he generally had - but instead, he chose to ignore Harry altogether. Looking back, Harry couldn't remember a single word from Vernon Dursley directed at him all summer. This suited Harry rather well. Dudley, Harry's porky and brutish cousin, had mercifully copied his father's behavior toward Harry to the letter. Aunt Petunia, on the other hand, had surprised him a good deal. True, she rarely spoke to Harry at all, but when she did, her tone was no worse than civil disinterest. In fact, there had been a few times, when Vernon and Dudley hadn't been around, when her voice warmed to near amiability and once, she nearly smiled. This last, most shocking, occurrence had been just before dawn about two weeks into summer holidays. Harry had been sitting, as usual, at his open window and had fallen asleep, his head resting on the sill. He started awake when he heard a slight movement behind him. He jerked upright and stared in bleary surprise at his Aunt Petunia. She almost never entered Harry's room so it was something of a shock.

"I, er, thought I felt a draft and figured you must have left your window open wide all night again," Aunt Petunia said, uncomfortably.

Harry stared dumbly and she went on, a little sharper this time.

"See that you at least close the screens each night. I won't have bugs buzzing about while we're trying to sleep."

She turned on her heel and marched to the door, pausing slightly as she drew the door shut behind her. "Try to get some sleep in a proper bed, Boy..." The door clicked shut and she was gone.

Harry didn't move - just sat looking in wonder after his aunt. Even now, nearly a fortnight later, he wasn't sure what he'd seen as he opened his eyes. When he started awake that morning, he thought he'd seen Aunt Petunia smiling as she watched him sleep.

Well, Harry reflected, as he watched the first drops of rain spatter on the walk below, it hasn't been so bad, really. Still, I hope someone can convince Dumbledore to get me out of here, soon.

Harry was anxious to be in the wizarding world again, to see something of what was going on. He had given up his subscription to The Daily Prophet in disgust nearly a year before and didn't see the point in resuming delivery this summer. It wasn't as though what they printed was trustworthy and anyway, the owls only irritated Uncle Vernon.

The rain was really coming down now and with it, the wind had risen again. Vivid forks of lightning showed flashes of trees bent nearly to breaking by the wind and rain. Harry reached up to lower the casement when he saw a shadow detach itself from a large oak and slip over to a clump of holly at the end of the drive. Harry blinked and leaned out a bit to get a better look, but only succeeded in getting his head and shoulders wet from the dripping eaves. Another flash of lightning showed the shadow moving, not so easily this time, right toward the front door of Number 4. Harry yanked the window closed, grabbed his wand from the bedside table and ran from his room.

He was already halfway down the stairs when the doorbell shrilled through the house. Bounding down the last few steps and fairly leaping across the foyer, he pressed his face to the door, staring out the peephole. He saw only a huddle of rain soaked cloth, half leaning on the porch rail. Wand drawn, Harry cautiously reached for the doorknob, hoping to get a bit of a jump on the figure outside. Just as he turned the handle, a loud clatter on the stairs behind him, followed by a hoarse shout, informed Harry that Uncle Vernon was up and wasn't happy.

"You, Boy! What in blazes do you think your doing? Was that the door? What imbecile would go about ringing bells at this hour?" he grunted as he reached past Harry and flung the door wide.

Uncle Vernon's angry tirade at the "worthless intruder" was cut short s the sodden figure stumbled toward his nephew, gasping, "Order... Lupin... need Remus..." and collapsed in Harry's arms.

Harry stood, stunned, staring at the figure in his arms. But after three heartbeats of amazed immobility, he leaned slightly to look out the door for any sign of other figures. He could see nothing through the sheets of rain.

Harry then turned his attention to the person hanging limply in his grip. In the dim light of the entry, he could see it was a woman, probably not much older than the oldest Weasley son, Bill. The woman had masses of dark hair which spilled wildly from under the drenched cloak hood. She was very pale with her eyes nearly closed and her jaw slack. Then, Harry noticed the vicious-looking wound showing through the torn neck and shoulder of her black clothing. Her shoulder and neck looked cut, burned and hexed all at once. Seeing this, Harry's mouth went dry.

A frightened gasp caused Harry and Uncle Vernon to turn toward the staircase. Aunt Petunia stood a few steps up, taking in the sight of the injured woman. The sight of his wife's shocked face restored some of the bluster to Harry's uncle.

"Wh, what are you about, Boy, bringing a common hobo into this house? One of your freak friends, I suppose?" he growled.

Harry began to retort that he wasn't the one who'd opened the door without so much as a glance out the peephole, when Aunt Petunia's voice stopped him.

"Well, you can't leave her there, probably bleeding to death. Harry, carry her up to your room and lay her down. Then, you'll figure out what to do."

Later, Harry thought back and felt he should have collapsed from shock, himself, but at the moment, he could only wordlessly obey.

Harry had grown quite a bit over the past year, but, he realized, even if he had not, he still wouldn't have found carrying the woman upstairs an impossible chore. She was a small woman, perhaps only a few inches over five feet tall, and slender. Lifting her, Harry inexplicably thought of carrying Hedwig.

Reaching his room, Harry laid the woman on the bed gently as his aunt followed him in carrying a towel and a blanket.

"Harry," she said, crisply, "I want you to do whatever it is you do to contact your, er, friends." As she spoke she drew off the woman's tattered and soaking cloak, covered her with the blanket and began toweling off the wild, wet mane of hair.

"I'm not going to let her suffer from those injuries - whatever did that..." her voice quavered, but recovered, "but I won't have her here longer than absolutely necessary. You can just see she's trouble."

Having finished her ministrations and said her piece, Aunt Petunia left the room, beckoning for a stunned and speechless Uncle Vernon to follow. A moment later, Harry heard their bedroom door click shut. He was left alone, hearing only the rain, and, amazingly, his cousin's snores. Dudley hadn't even stirred.

Harry was definitely faced with a problem. The only way he knew to reach Remus Lupin was by way of one of the specially charmed owls with which Dumbledore had supplied the Order. Hedwig, if she could find Lupin, wasn't safe enough for the purpose (Harry hadn't forgotten how Hedwig had been injured just months before) and Harry had no other owl at the Dursleys just then. Of course, on a night like this, sending any owl out would surely bring the wizarding equivalent of the SPCA or something, and he felt he really couldn't blame them. So, what to do? Then, it came to him - Mrs. Figg! Lupin had told him to contact her if something went wrong at the Dursleys. Well, this wasn't quite what he had meant, but Harry felt it was all very wrong, indeed.

It was only the previous summer that Harry had learned his cranky, cat-loving sitter was really a guard placed by Dumbledore himself to keep an eye on Harry. Mrs. Figg was a squib - a non-magic person from a wizarding family - but she'd certainly have a way to reach Remus Lupin and the rest of the Order. And Harry knew just how to reach Mrs. Figg.

Harry threw a quick glance at the unconscious woman on the bed and stepped into the hall. He hurried to the small table at the head of the stairs and picked up the telephone. It was a horrible time of night to be phoning anyone, but he knew Mrs. Figg would understand once he'd told his story. He expected a groggy response, but instead, the greeting from the other end of the line was wide awake and anxious.

"Er, Mrs. Figg, this is Harry Potter, " he began, "I'm awfully sorry to.."

"Harry!" exclaimed Mrs. Figg, cutting short his apology, "Thank goodness! I've been so worried. Look, just sit tight. The Order is on the way."

There was a clatter of a receiver being slammed down followed by the buzz of an empty line. Mrs. Figg had known something was happening, but how? And, wondered Harry, what in the world do I do now?

Nothing useful came immediately to mind, so Harry went back to his room. He reasoned that someone ought to keep an eye on the stranger in case she woke up. Still, he wasn't keen on being alone with an unknown witch - if she was a witch. He didn't even know that.

Just as Harry reached his bedroom door, the threshing of the doorbell brought him round again to face the stairs. He ran down the steps, wand in hand, and peered once again through the peephole. Relief swept over Harry in a rush as he beheld lime green spiked hair which could only be Nymphadora Tonks. Her companions shifted slightly and Harry saw top-hatted Dedalus Diggle. Then, the faint light caught the third visitor's face and Harry's relief turned to joy. It was Remus Lupin. In one quick motion, he had the door open and yanked Tonks, Diggle and Lupin into the house.

"I'm so glad to see you lot. Weirdest thing has happened, " Harry exclaimed, "Hey, how did you know to come, anyway?"

"Slow down and take it easy," Lupin cautioned. "Suppose you tell us what happened."

So, Harry recounted all that had led up to their arrival, including the non-conversation with Mrs. Figg.

"Oh, brilliant, Harry, to think of a telephone," Tonks beamed at him. "Haven't seen one in years! My dad used to have a blue princess model..."

"Another time, Tonks," said Lupin, looking puzzled. "Dedalus, perhaps you could go check on our guard. I could do with knowing how this woman got here without so much as a murmur from Hestia Jones. It's not like her to miss anything on her watch."

Diggle, who had been grinning delightedly at seeing Harry again, suddenly sobered. He turned back to the door.

"I'll find her, Remus, but I may need a bit of time. Give me, say, twenty minutes. I'll bring Hestia back here or, at least, check in." With a flick of his top hat, he went out, shutting the door carefully behind him.

"Right," said Lupin, turning to Harry, "I think you'd better take us up to see the mystery woman you've been keeping in your bedroom."

Harry frowned and Tonks snorted with suppressed giggles, but Lupin merely gestured them toward the stairs, one corner of his mouth lifted slightly. With one last disgruntled look, Harry led them up to his room.

"Tonks," Lupin spoke up, "you're better with first aid charms than I am. Maybe, you'd better look her over and get her ready to be moved."

Tonks nodded and moved past Harry into the room. It took only a moment, even in that dim light, for her to see the strangers injuries. With a gasp and murmured, "This will take a bit," she dropped to her knees beside the bed. Harry turned on a small bedside lamp and retreated to the foot of the bed. Lupin, after a quick glance around the room, joined him and looked down at the unconscious woman.

As Tonks turned the patient's head to better reach the wounded neck and shoulder, the light shone full on the woman's face making it completely visible for the first time. Lupin's eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped and the blood drained from his face. Harry turned to him to ask some questions, but they were forgotten when he saw Lupin's face.

"What is it, Professor Lupin," Harry asked, his voice tight with surprise, fingers tightening on the bedpost, "do... do you know her?"

"I... thought so... for a moment," Lupin answered, shaking his head. "But it can't be. She looks very much like someone I once knew, but she died... she was killed in a raid to round up Death Eaters nearly 15 years ago, right after Sirius..."

He swallowed convulsively and closed his eyes. After a deep breath, he opened his eyes again and moved to stand next to Tonks, avoiding Harry's eye.

"Merlin's beard," breathed Lupin, looking over Tonks' shoulder as she knelt over the woman. "She does look like Annwyl."

"Who's Annwyl?" the other two demanded in unison.

Lupin shot them each a look of surprise, then nodded with understanding.

"Right, you'd both be too young to know her. Annwyl King was a member of the Order. She had just finished training and was the youngest Auror in Ministry history. She was killed in a raid rounding up the remaining Voldemort supporters," Lupin said, his eyes still on the woman. "It's just amazing how much this woman looks like her."

"Well," Tonks spoke up, "I've done what I can to stabilize her and she's coming round. You could ask her if you'd like."

Tonks rose and stepped back to stand beside Harry. She flashed him a compassionate smile and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Alright, Harry?" she questioned lightly, "Bugger of a night for you."

Harry only nodded in reply and kept his eyes fixed on Lupin who had taken Tonks' place, kneeling beside the woman. After taking a close look at her injuries, Lupin seemed to be examining her face. Then, he gently lifted the woman's right arm, pushing up the sleeve of her black shirt to bare her wrist. Harry could see a long, thin scar running in an arc from the inner wrist to the outer forearm. Lupin eased the sleeve back into place and released her hand. The motion caused her to stir, her eyelids fluttering slightly.

"Hullo there," spoke Lupin softly, causing the woman's eyes to open at last. "I don't suppose you could tell us who you are or how you happened to be here."

The woman's eyes were unfocused and Harry could tell it was an effort for her to keep them open at all. So, it surprised him when she actually managed a weak answer.

"Need to reach the Order...Remus...know what to do...Harry...Remus..." she spoke wearily as her eyes began to drift shut again.

"What is your name?" Lupin pressed her, wanting to glean something before she lost consciousness again.

The eyes pulled open once more, but with only a slight indication of understanding. Her strangled voice spoke as if from rote.

"King, Annwyl, Lieutenant," she rasped, "Auror, third grade. I.D. number 37853."

Lupin came to his feet, backing away from the woman who was again unconscious. He stared thoughtfully first at her, then at Tonks and Harry. His mouth opened as if to speak, but shut again, as if he'd thought better of it. He inched back toward the wall, staring as if he expected the woman to suddenly pop to her feet, declaring this all an elaborate ruse.

"Wyl? How on earth..." Lupin breathed, still shaking his head in disbelief.

The sound of the front door opening and closing brought all three of them from their stunned state. Dedalus Diggle appeared in the doorway, his face ashen and his hands shaking. Lupin, Tonks and Harry looked at him questioningly.

"I've found her, but... well, you'd better come see," quavered Diggle, "I've never seen anything like it."

"I'll come, Dedalus," said Tonks, moving toward the bedroom door. "Is she badly hurt?"

Diggle put out a hand to stop her, but avoided her eye.

"It's too late for your healing charms, Tonks. She's dead," he said, heavily. With a glance at the bed, he added, "I'd say whatever did that to her, got to Hestia as well."

Lupin's face went slack with shock, his eyes unreadable. Tonks wavered slightly and Harry could see her begin to shake.

"I'll come," Tonks said again, sadly. She nodded in the direction of her patient. "Remus, I've stabilized her for now, but she really needs Poppy."

"Alright, we'll wind things up here," answered Lupin. "You two stay and scout around. Oh, and keep an eye on the Dursleys. You never know. I'll send back reinforcements as quickly as possible."

With acknowledging nods to Lupin and what were meant to be encouraging smiles to Harry, Diggle and Tonks turned to go. As she reached the head of the stairs, Tonks turned back and called softly,

"Remus, she's going to be in a lot of pain when you move her. Maybe, well, I think you'd better stun her for the trip."

As the front door closed behind Tonks and Diggle, Lupin looked over at Harry.

"Well, time to get moving. Pack a rucksack or book bag or something with just what you'll need for a day or two and bring Hedwig. Bung the rest into your trunk. Someone will bring it along later. I need to leave a note for the Dursleys."

Lupin sat down at Harry's desk and helped himself to the quill, ink and parchment lying there. Harry just stood in the middle of the room, looking as if he wasn't quite grasping what was going on, which, in fact, he wasn't. Lupin looked up from his writing in mild surprise.

"Harry, we've really got to get moving. I've got to get in touch with Madame Pomfrey and I can't do that from here."

"So, I'm going too?" questioned Harry, finding his voice at last.

"Of course, Harry. There hasn't really been time to explain, but there's been some dark activity tonight," Lupin gestured toward the bed, "as you may have guessed. So, for the moment anyway, the safest place for you is at headquarters."

For a fleeting instant, Harry considered pushing for the whole story right away. However, the sight of the injured woman on the bed and the drawn, gray face of Remus Lupin made him think better of that. Wordlessly, he began loading books into his trunk. After a few minutes, though, he did hazard a question.

"Professor Lupin, you said Annwyl King was dead. How did she turn up, alive, and on Privet Drive?"

"I'm not your professor anymore Harry, so I think it had better be Remus and that seems to be the 60,000 pound question of the day. Look, the sooner you pack, the sooner we can get out of here. This is all a long story which I would feel a lot better about telling once I've got you safely at headquarters. You hurry with your things and I'll leave this where the Dursleys will find it."

Remus left the room to find a visible place for his letter and Harry was left alone with the woman who claimed to be a deceased Auror and member of Dumbledore's own Order. As he crammed his cauldron and the last of his books into his trunk and began filling his book bag with what he would need for a day or two, Harry speculated about her.

If she really was Annwyl King, what had happened? Who had been killed in her place? Where had she been all these years and why hadn't she been in contact with anyone in the Order? How could she be dead and yet, turn up at the door of the Dursleys' home, of all places? Was there an explanation of all this that could show her to be a loyal member of the Order? Harry was having a hard time imagining what that could be. So, why had she come? The same question could be asked even if she wasn't Annwyl. Where had she come from and why was she here?

Harry finished his packing and closed his trunk. He looked around his room in disbelief. He was leaving and July wasn't even quite over yet. He had more than a month of holidays still, but he wasn't going to have to spend it with the Dursleys, waiting and wondering what was happening. No, he'd be spending that time at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Harry knew from experience that he wouldn't be in on much of what went on, but there was no doubt he would hear more than he was getting on Privet Drive.

And, thought Harry grimly, this time around I intend to get some answers when I ask what's going on. I'll not just be tucked away in some back room and be quiet 'like a good child.'

Child no longer. Harry would be sixteen in just two days - tomorrow, actually, he realized with a glance at the clock - and just a month ago, he'd been learned of the prophecy that had set him apart from the outset. The ultimate defeat of Voldemort was, quite literally, in his hands...

A stirring from the bed and the sound of Remus' footsteps on the stairs mercifully shattered Harry train of thought. He sighed and hefted his bag over his shoulder and reached for Hedwig's cage as Remus re-entered the room. Remus noted Harry's face.

"Harry, I..." he began, his eyes dark with worry, "I know this has all been hard. Maybe, having you close by for a bit and all... maybe we'll have time for some talk, yeah? I feel as if maybe we both need it."

Gratitude and sullen sorrow fought for dominance in Harry's eyes. Gratitude won out after a moment's hesitation. He nodded acknowledgment, not trusting his voice to answer.

Clearing his throat, Remus turned back to the now semiconscious woman on the bed.

"I guess Tonks was right," he said, gesturing toward the fitful patient, "though I do hate to stun someone who is unarmed. Well, better that than leaving her in pain. Stupefy!"

Harry winced as the thin jet of red light hit her in the abdomen. Her fretful stirrings ceased and she lay, huddled in the blanket, looking, Harry had to admit, quite a bit more restful.

Remus drew an ordinary wooden ruler, such as a child might carry in a pencil box, from a pocket of his cloak.

"Portkey," he explained, seeing the question on Harry's face. "Since Fudge has to admit, publicly, that he was wrong about Voldemort, he's been very reluctant to interfere with anything Dumbledore wants to do. That means a few luxuries for the Order, such as the safe owls and some emergency portkeys."

Remus bent and gently lifted the woman from the bed. With her supported in his arms, he held the ruler pointed toward Harry. Obeying a gesture from Remus, Harry stretched out his hand and touched the proffered ruler. As his hand made contact, Harry felt the tug at his navel and his bedroom on Privet Drive was whisked from sight.