Harry Potter and the Labyrinth of the Mind

HARRY POTTER AND THE LABYRINTH OF THE MIND

Chapter 10 - Pain and Suffering

Harry had no sooner registered the fact that he was seeing through Percy Weasley's eyes, than another realization swept over him.

I made Percy turn! I can make him stop and maybe stop the others!

Without really knowing what he was doing or having any plan in mind, Harry concentrated as hard as he could on Percy's wand arm. If he could just get Percy to put away his wand for a moment, maybe he could get turned around and out of this place. Slowly, painfully slowly, Percy's arm began to lower. Just as Harry felt Percy's hand fall limply to his side, a searing jolt of pain shot through Harry's scar, making him cry out. Harry felt Percy stagger, as if from Harry's pain, then straighten, wand again raised.

Harry could feel that he wouldn't get another chance to stop Percy. The horrible fighting raged on around him as Percy resumed torturing people with curses. Harry didn't know how his consciousness had come to be there, nor did he know how to escape. It seemed he was doomed to a front row view of the destruction. He was aware of Death Eaters around him, calling out to one another between curses. He saw Percy step casually over several bizarrely disfigured and, seemingly, lifeless bodies as the fight moved through the corridors.

Harry was beginning to get desperate. He'd never been caught in one of the visions this long. The pain in his scar was still sharp, making it difficult to think. Then, as Percy turned the corner into another corridor, Harry saw a group of people approaching. In the group, Harry could see Kingsley Shacklebolt nearly a head taller than the others. Seeing, then, that they were aurors made Harry's heart leap. He saw Percy's wand lift and heard Percy's voice cry out several jinxes. Then, Harry felt an odd dissolving sensation and everything went black.

***

Voices. There were many voices, all talking at once in that tense undertone Harry had come to loathe. As if it could shut out the voices, Harry squeezed his eyes more tightly shut. He tried to roll over, away from the sounds, but his eyes popped open despite his efforts when he found he was unable to move.

Even without his glasses, even in his semi-alert, immobile state, Harry could tell he was in the Hogwarts hospital wing. That realization stirred something in his memory. Harry frowned, trying to remember. He had just been in a hospital, it seemed, but surely the school hospital wing didn't have so many corridors as he was remembering. St. Mungo's? He'd only ever been there the one time, last Christmas when Mr. Weasley... - Weasley! Percy! Everything Harry had seen through Percy's eyes rushed over him in a torrent of horrible memories. Harry tried again to move, to rise. His whole body felt leaden and cold. He began to panic, but a warm hand on his shoulder stopped him abruptly.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice was high and tight with nervousness. "Oh, I'm so glad you're awake, at last. No, don't try to move just yet. Madame Pomfrey said it would likely be bit before you could, anyway."

Harry saw her blurred figure shift and felt his glasses slide into place on the bridge of his nose. It was a relief to be able to focus, although, beyond that, Harry found little to be glad about. The ward was full and several unfamiliar people, presumably, medical personnel, bustled to and fro. To his surprise, Harry even saw Professor Flitwick working alongside Madame Pomfrey. Hermione must have noticed his look.

"The attack left such a mess at St. Mungo's that they've had to shift a number of patients to other facilities. Plus, there were so many injuries and casualties. Madame Pomfrey has called on several of the professors with some medical training to help."

Looking around, Harry found he was now able to turn his head on the pillow. His voice was weak and rough, but leaning in, Hermione seemed to hear him.

"How long...?" he rasped. "When... what? My voice?"

"The attack was last night, Harry," Hermione answered. "It must be nearly three in the afternoon, now." She paused. "You really frightened everyone last night. We knew it was another vision, but we couldn't seem to bring you out of it, not even Professor Dumbledore. You yelled a lot of things we couldn't quite understand. I think you must have strained your voice. Then, you blacked out. You've been out every since."

"Where's Ron?" Harry croaked.

Hermione frowned. "He was here until early this morning. Then, Professor McGonagall came to get him. She said something about needing to find Ginny, as well." Her frown deepened. "No one will tell me what's happened."

They were quiet for awhile - Hermione lost in her displeasure in being uninformed, Harry, because he was still finding it difficult to speak. The medi-wizards and witches continued to hurry back and forth between patients. Harry saw several patients released, only to be replaced by new patients. After awhile, the hectic pace slowed and a few beds remained empty once their occupants were released. The sun was slanting through the western windows when Professor Dumbledore approached and sat down opposite Hermione.

"Miss Granger, Harry." Dumbledore's face was gray with fatigue and his greeting, lacking in warmth. "Harry, my boy. I'm glad to see you awake. Last night's episode was disturbing, to say the least."

"Sir," Harry began, his voice unsteady as much with emotion as weakness, "Percy Weasley -"

"Yes, Harry, I know. In fact, I have received a fairly complete report of last night's events. I shall be able to allow you to recuperate fully before requiring you to relive it all."

"Excuse me, sir," spoke up Hermione, "but, can you tell us about Percy? Is that why Ron was called away?"

Dumbledore nodded sadly. "I'm afraid so. Percy Weasley was involved in last night's attack at St. Mungo's and all appearances indicate he was with the attackers, not the Ministry."

Hermione gasped, her eyes filling with tears. Slowly, she shook her head in disbelief.

"He couldn't. He wouldn't. Sir, he must have been under Imperius. He'd never... oh, Harry."

"Something was off about him, sir," Harry whispered. His voice cracked making him cough. "I was seeing it all through his eyes. For a moment, I was able to make him lower his wand."

"Indeed?" Dumbledore's eyebrows knit in thought. "While not entirely hopeful sounding, it does make it seem that he was not acting of his own volition." He thought for a moment. "Yes. Well, I'll certainly need to hear any details you can give me, Harry, but that must wait until you are up and about again."

The headmaster laid his hand lightly on Harry's shoulder for a moment. Then, standing, he bade them both a quiet good day and left the room. Madame Pomfrey had been waiting nearby, and as Dumbledore left, she approached, carrying a goblet of something.

"Mr. Potter, it is time you got some rest. Miss Granger, you could do with some sleep, yourself. As dinner isn't for another two hours, I want you both to sleep until then." Madame Pomfrey raised Harry's head and shoulders a bit and helped him drink the potion she'd brought. "This should help your voice."

"Madame Pomfrey," Hermione wheedled, "please let me stay. I'm not tired and I don't like leaving Harry." Her brown eyes were pleading.

"Well," the nurse relented, "you can stay if you'll take that empty bed and rest there." She pointed to a vacant cot across from Harry. Hermione nodded and obediently took her place. Madame Pomfrey smoothed Harry's sheets and nodded to them both. "Now, no more talk. Rest!"

***

Madame Pomfrey did not let Harry go until the following evening. Only then, after much complaining on Harry's part and much poking and prodding on hers, did the nurse finally, although somewhat reluctantly, allow Harry to go down to the Great Hall for dinner. Harry made his way, slowly, down the great staircase and entered the Hall. He was greeted with curious stares and whispers and was genuinely relieved to drop into an open seat beside Hermione. Ron and Ginny had not yet returned. Knowing how much Mrs. Weasley worried about her children and how upsetting Percy's situation must be, Harry felt pretty certain the Weasley's would not be in a rush to send their two youngest back. Still, he felt both he and Hermione would be the better for having Ron with them again.

Talk at dinner at the Gryffindor table was subdued and shied away from what had happened at St. Mungo's. Harry's classmates were treating Harry with the nervous kindness one often accords to a recovering invalid. While he didn't really want the sad, sympathetic smiles and pats on the shoulder, Harry found he preferred such attention to stares and questions. To be sure, Seamus had started to ask for details when Harry first sat down, but a nudge from Neville and a look from Dean silenced him.

Later, when they had returned to their common room, Harry was the one to approach Hermione, his book bag in tow.

"Hermione, please," he said earnestly, dropping onto the couch beside her, "I know Madame Pomfrey told me to take another day before going back to lessons, but I'll go mad if I don't have something to keep me busy. Help me catch up what I've missed?"

Hermione looked up from her potions text in surprise.

"Well, of course, Harry. You know you needn't even ask."

More than two hours later, with most other students having gone up to their dorms for the night, Harry finally felt as though he had a handle on the material he had missed. Now, he and Hermione sat watching the fire.

"I wonder how the Weasleys are doing," Hermione said softly.

"I wonder where Percy is now," was Harry's grim reply.

Behind them, the portrait hole opened and they turned to see Ron and Ginny crawling through. Hermione was on her feet in an instant and grabbed, first Ron, then Ginny, then Ron again, in a fierce hug. Ginny patted her back absently and stepped away, but Ron sighed deeply, his cheek resting on the top of Hermione's head.

"Blimey, you can't think how good it is to see you two," he said, looking over to Harry. "You looked like nine shades of hell when I saw you last, mate."

Harry came to stand beside them, giving Ron a grim sort of smile. He gripped his friend's shoulder, but couldn't find words. The gesture seemed enough, though, and Ron nodded wordlessly.

Turning away to give Ron and Hermione a moment, Harry looked to Ginny. She was standing before the fire, hands outstretched to the blaze.

"Ginny," he said, walking toward her, "it's good to have you back." As he got no reply, he swallowed and hazarded another attempt to speak to the silent girl. "Er, I know Dean has been anxious to see you. Would you like me to go get him? He's only just gone up a little while ago."

"No, thank you, Harry." She settled on a pouf opposite Harry, her eyes still fixed on the flames.

Hermione had led Ron to the couch where she and Harry had been studying. As they sat down, Harry caught Ron's eye, jerking his head in Ginny's direction, his eyebrows raised. Glancing at his sister, Ron frowned, shaking his head slightly in answer. Ginny didn't seem to take any notice.

"Ron," Hermione said sympathetically, "you both look worn out. How is your family?"

"Well, Mum's been crying a lot. She thinks it's her fault for fighting with Percy, that she should have kept him home. Dad's taking it hard, but he's holding up. You know how he is. Tough to keep down. He's sure we'll find Percy, lift whatever curse is on him and prove he didn't do any of that of his own free will." His face looked strained with uncertainty. It had been a long time since he and Percy had gotten on together, but this looked like more than Ron could take in.

"But, maybe he didn't!" cried Hermione excitedly. "It was all in Harry's vision."

"That's right," agreed Harry. "I saw the whole thing through Percy's eyes. I even made him lower his wand once. Something dodgy had to have been going on."

"Does Dumbledore know?" asked Ginny, looking up at last.

"Yes," answered Harry, "I'm supposed to see him in the morning to give him all the details."

They were all quiet a moment, then Ginny stood.

"I think I'm off, then," she said, too casually. "There'll be so much to make up tomorrow. Good night." Quietly, she made her way up the girls' staircase and out of sight. Ron watched her go, shaking his head.

"She's been too quiet. She wouldn't even talk to Fred. Usually, she'll tell Fred anything."

"Maybe she'll be better in the morning," Hermione said hopefully. "You know, you could do with some rest, too, Ron and I know Madame Pomfrey would have a snit if she knew Harry was still up."

They bade each other good night and made their way to bed.

Nearly three weeks passed with no new news of Percy. Ron went to lessons, studied with Hermione and worked hard at quidditch practice. However, everything he did lacked the enthusiasm Harry was used to seeing in his friend. Ron didn't avoid the subject, however, and talked often with Hermione and Harry about how Percy might have come to be at St. Mungo's and how he might have been controlled.

"It must have been Imperius," he said for the umpteenth time.

"But how was Harry able to influence him, then," Hermione asked again. "Harry said Dumbledore thinks Harry couldn't have made him lower his arm if another person had Percy under Imperius."

Harry nodded absently in agreement. His attention had been drawn to a lone figure at a table on the far side of the room. Ginny Weasley was surrounded by books and parchment, just as the other fifth years revising for OWLs, but for more than ten minutes, she hadn't turned a page or written a word. Harry looked around, but Ginny's usual friends were seated in groups in other parts of the room. Dean was not in sight.

Excusing himself, Harry went up to the sixth year boys' dorm. As he expected, he found Dean seated cross-legged on his bed, studying.

"Hey, Dean," Harry said casually. He made a pretense of searching his trunk for a spare quill. "Studying alone tonight?" Dean only nodded, but Harry took a deep breath and forged ahead. "Ginny's managed to get a table downstairs. I'll bet she'd like some help with her OWL revision."

"Harry, thanks for trying," Dean said, looking up, "but she's asked for a little time to herself. I don't like her being alone so much, but I can't force myself on her. Not much I can do."

Harry was silent a moment. "I see your point. But, Dean," he said as he turned to go, "don't back off so much that she can't find you when she's ready, you know?" He closed the door softly and went back downstairs.

It was well past midnight when Harry woke from yet another indistinct nightmare. He tried to just close his eyes but only tossed about, unable to relax back into sleep. Giving up, he thrust his feet into his trainers, shrugged into his dressing gown and headed downstairs. Waving his wand at he fireplace to ignite the logs, Harry sank onto the couch, his legs stretched onto the hearth. A small sound from the window seat behind him caused him to whip around, wand poised.

"Ginny!" his voice cracked in exasperation. "Merlin's beard! I nearly petrified you! What are you doing here?"

"Hush! Do you want to wake the whole tower? I wasn't sleepy, so I came down to watch the lake." She shrugged. "It's pretty in the starlight."

Harry looked at her shrewdly. Her face was pale and pinched with dark shadows around her eyes. She looked as though she hadn't had a proper night's sleep in some time. She seemed thinner, too.

"Ginny, would you like to talk?" Harry asked tentatively. "If you'd rather have Ron or Dean, I could go get them."

"No, Harry, thank you. I'm fine, really. I just didn't feel sleepy. It's okay."

"You really ought to talk to someone. Anyone can see you're not happy," Harry answered doubtfully. "Let us help."

It was as if his words were sparks to kindling. Ginny's wan face suddenly glowed, her eyes snapping. Harry saw the change with blank amazement. She was furious.

"It's a bit off - you giving advice on 'sharing the burden,' don't you think, Harry?" He gaped at her but her angry voice swept on. "You've got everyone that cares about you nearly frantic over your visions and episodes. Did you notice that you always seem extra tired before a vision? Hermione knows and is worried to death, but you never talk to her, so you wouldn't know that. Do you know you suddenly come over all sullen and moody and don't talk - sometimes for hours at a stretch? Mum and Ron have been watching you for ages. They are still owling one another about it, hoping you'll say something. But, NO! If you said something, you'd have to bloody well admit you feel something! Really, Harry, don't you ever get tired of playing hero?"

Harry stared at her, his own face as red as hers. He felt anger such as he had not felt since the morning after Sirius' death, when he wrecked the headmaster's office in his rage and despair.

"Look, I haven't exactly asked for any of this! Do you think I'm enjoying this? That I like 'playing hero' as you put it?" Harry was so worked up now, he felt he'd been running for miles. He was panting with the emotion of his tirade, his legs shaking. "Ginny, you have no idea -"

"That's right, Harry," she interrupted, her voice suddenly cool. "We have no idea. That is just precisely the point."

She turned and disappeared silently up the stairs. Harry watched her go, suddenly deflated. Somehow, that conversation hadn't gone the way he figured.

***

November went out with a blast of ice and snow. Hogwarts Castle looked like a model of itself done in white sugar. Inside, the students and professors were preparing for end of term exams. Although the sixth years found their load somewhat easier to bear after their wild OWL year, Harry, Ron and Hermione found they were busy enough. The first Saturday of December found them in the library, ostensibly working on an essay for Professor Flitwick on the theory and use of the Escribet charm which allowed one to carve words and images into hard surfaces with a wand.

Ron was writing busily and Harry turned the pages of an enormous Charms book, scanning for any further information to help them. The Qwiktate Qwil Hermione had given him for his birthday scribbled busily across the parchment as he murmured facts to it. Hermione was staring at the table before her.

"Harry," she said, looking up suddenly, "how did Annwyl know she would find you on Privet Drive over the summer?"

"Huh?" Harry looked blank. "Dunno. I guess she figured it out while she was spying. It couldn't be that hard to find."

"But it is, mate," Ron spoke up. "I heard Dad talking to Mum a couple of years ago. She was fussing about you being all alone with those relatives of yours and Dad told her that the location was a big secret. If you hadn't told me about Privet Drive, the twins and I would never have found you to fetch you away before second year."

"But, Voldemort knows Dumbledore put me with the Dursleys," Harry frowned. "He told me so when I was in the graveyard. And, Umbridge knew where to send those dementors. Plus, there were those notices about underage magic. I don't think it was as secret as your dad said."

"Dad might have been trying to unruffle Mum," Ron conceded.

"Okay, so it really wouldn't have been hard for her to find you," Hermione said. "So, what was she doing there? If she had information about Voldemort, as she told the Order, why didn't she go straight to Dumbledore? It doesn't make sense."

They sat thinking for a moment. Then Hermione spoke again.

"I just feel like we're missing some bit of information that would explain some of this mess. Harry, how are you feeling? Think you're up to an extended Memorarae charm?"

Half an hour later, they were seated on the floor of a disused classroom, the door locked securely behind them. Harry balanced his Contemplation Sphere carefully on his upturned palms.

"I know it's a lot, Harry," Hermione was saying, "but I think we should have a look at all your memories of Annwyl. Maybe we'll pick up some clue we've missed."

Harry nodded and took a deep breath. "Memorarae Annwyl King."

More than two hours later, Harry set down the sphere and flopped back onto the stone floor. He had been unable to maintain the charm more than about fifteen minutes at a time, so he'd had to cast it a number of times until they'd seen all Harry's memories. Now, he was too exhausted to even begin to think about all they'd seen. After several minutes, Ron spoke.

"Did anyone else notice Annwyl never calls him Voldemort? Odd, isn't it for Dumbledore's goddaughter? Generally, she's been calling him Dark Lord." Ron looked at the others and shrugged. "Just struck me, you know?"

"I wonder how I could find out about that Hufflepuff she dueled with," mused Hermione. "It won't be easy to find."

"Hagrid was here then," Harry said wearily. "He might know."

"Yes, that's so. I'll try and see him tomorrow," Hermione said. "But, I'm going to make sure I have and excuse not to go with him to visit Grawp." She pulled a face.

"Well, if you wait until after quidditch practice, Harry and I could go with you," Ron answered. "I don't suppose there's anyway to find out about that Exilae charm Annwyl claims they used to banish her. If it's a dark spell, I don't think it'll be in Flitwick's text."

"I'll poke around in the library while you two are at practice. There are a few other things I want to check." Hermione turned to Harry. "Ron and I will see Hagrid, after. Maybe you could check back issues of The Daily Prophet, Harry. Madame Pince had every issue printed bound and shelved. I'd like to see the account of Annwyl's disappearance and if we split up the work, it'll save time. Besides, after this much of the Memorarae charm plus a quidditch practice tomorrow, I think Harry will have had enough."

Helping Harry to his feet, they made their way back to Gryffindor tower in thoughtful silence.

The next morning after breakfast, Harry led the quidditch team out to the pitch for practice. It was a still, bright day but bitingly cold. That was fine with Harry. All the better reason for cutting practice short so he and Ron could get back to help Hermione. Despite the cold, the team looked good, Harry had to admit with some pride. Ron had settled into a consistently reliable keeper. Dennis Creevey amazed everyone with his ever-increasing repertoire of flying tricks which made it difficult for beaters to mark him. Ginny was still their strongest chaser, even in her recent abstracted state of mind.

Lately, however, Harry had noticed a bit of a lift in her gloom. She was still too quiet and rather pale, but she could, again, be seen Dean's company, studying each evening. Toward Harry, she maintained a stiff, unrelenting disdain. Generally, she ignored his presence and on the quidditch pitch, she spoke only of the game, addressing him as "Potter" in a completely impersonal way. Ron noticed but refrained - Harry figured it was Hermione's influence - from saying anything. Harry, himself, was still angry enough to prefer it this way.

Harry broke up practice when his fingers were too cold to feel the snitch clutched in his fist. Moments later, Ron headed toward Hagrid's hut to meet Hermione and Harry made his way back toward the castle. The others had gone on ahead and Harry was alone. It was amazing that in the stillness, he hadn't heard them approach.

"All alone, Potter?" a voice drawled from behind him. "How unusual and believe me, I should know."

"Following me, are you, Malfoy?" Harry's voice curled in disgust. He turned to face the Slytherin, finding him, as usual, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy had grown taller which accentuated the haughty lift of his narrow shoulders and pointed chin. In contrast, Crabbe and Goyle had only grown more to resemble animated boulders - slightly animated, at that. Harry watched them carefully, wondering how he'd get his wand out of his pocket before Malfoy jinxed him. The sneering pain-in-the-arse already stood poised with his wand drawn. Malfoy saw Harry eyeing his wand tip.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, Potter I am. And you needn't worry," he added, lowering his wand but not putting it away, "I'm not here to curse you, more's the pity. I just thought it'd be more fun if you knew. You might be inspired to put on a better show."

"What are you on about?" Harry growled, glowering.

"I mean," Malfoy replied, "I am watching, waiting for the right moment to act. I told you before, I haven't forgotten what you did to my father, to my family. Retribution is coming, Potter, in the fullness of time." One blond eyebrow lifted. "In the meantime, I thought if you were aware I am watching, you might make an effort to be more interesting. I'm getting tired of the library and the quidditch pitch. Although, yesterday, when you stole away to that old classroom with the Great Lovers, I admit, was more interesting. Isn't it touching how those who really haven't much of anything will share what little they have with those they care about?" Harry grabbed his wand as he heard the derisive amusement in the drawling voice, but Malfoy carried on as if he hadn't noticed. "I would have thought Weasley was too Neanderthal to share that. Still, I imagine the little mudblood has enough energy for the two of you." Harry's blood was pounding in his ears and he shook with fury, but Malfoy kept on. "Pity I didn't have time to place a surveillance charm or something. I would've liked to listen in. Kinky..."

Something in Harry broke loose at that point. Behind the three Slytherins, an old tree stump blasted apart, splinters flying, making them flinch and duck. Harry was only dimly aware of this as he advanced on Malfoy, his mouth already forming the words of the jinx.

"Amputare lips and -"

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

Harry felt his wand pull free and zoom back over his head toward the angry voice behind him. He knew before he turned around that, somehow, Snape had arrived on the scene.

"Mr. Malfoy, you and your companions have cost your house five points a piece for baiting the volatile Mr. Potter. You should have had better sense. Now, straight back to the castle." The professor took Harry roughly by the collar. "And you have cost your house seventy-five points for your inability to control your temper. You shall, also, serve detention with me. Immediately."

They set off for the castle, Snape still gripping Harry's shirt collar. Harry didn't bother trying to explain or justify himself. He didn't particularly want to repeat Malfoy's words to Snape, of all people and even if he did, Harry knew very well, it would make no difference. He never should have lost control of his magic that way. Harry was ushered to a chair at a small table as the door shut behind them.

"Potter, tell me I don't need to explain how dangerously stupid it is to allow yourself to lose control that way. You are very fortunate the stump was your only victim."

"Yes, sir," Harry answered, teeth clenched.

A roll of parchment, quill, and ink pot appeared on the table before Harry.

"Small wonder you are still struggling so with Occlumency. Potter, you will learn to keep hold of yourself or risk mistakes you can ill afford." Snape moved behind his own desk and sat down. "You will now write a foot of parchment explaining why you must master your mental focus. Your detention ends when you have completed this assignment to my satisfaction. Begin."

An hour later, Harry left Snape's office, no less angry, but definitely resolved to keep himself in check. Snape had been unfair, as usual, but Harry grudgingly admitted that it had been dangerous to get so angry at Malfoy. With a sigh, he gave the password - fortunately changed to "gooseberry fool" - to the Fat Lady and entered the common room. Ron and Hermione were waiting for him.

"Harry! What happened?" Ron asked. "We heard Snape dragged you off to his office."

Harry recounted what had happened, although he left out the insults toward Ron and Hermione. The threat of some future attack was enough to worry them as it was.

"I don't blame you for losing it," Ron said. "Wish I'd seen you blow up that stump, though." He and Harry grinned at each other.

"It isn't funny, you two," Hermione snapped. Her reaction was predictable. "I know Malfoy has always been just so much wind, but Harry, he's never had so much reason to hate you before. He blames you for his father being in Azkaban."

"I know, Hermione, I know," Harry sighed wearily. "Look, let's drop it, for now. I just can't bring myself to take Malfoy seriously. What did you two learn?"

"Nothing from Hagrid," Ron answered, "but he did say he hadn't had any luck finding a 'lady friend' for Grawp." He rolled his eyes. "That was a relief, anyway."

"I spent some time trying to figure out Annwyl, herself," Hermione said. "You know how I feel about divination, but there are some things we can consider, using Arithmancy." The boys looked puzzled, so she explained briefly. "It's similar, in a way, to muggle Numerology. Each letter is assigned a numerical value and dates are written in numerical form. The numbers one through nine each have different characteristics associated with them. You can put together a rather interesting picture of a person with those numbers.

"So, you've put together a numerical profile of Annwyl?" Harry asked, still looking confused.

"Essentially, yes. Here, take a look," she spread some parchment out in front of them. "This first number is the total of the number values of the letters in her name and gives her general character. The sum is forty-nine. Now, everything gets reduced to a single digit, so we add the four and the nine to get thirteen and the one and three to get her character number which is four. Using different combinations of letters from her name, her hear number - that is, her inner self, was a one. Her social number ended up being a three."

"So, what does that mean?" Ron asked.

"Well, the four is good. Four is stability, firmness, hard working, logic, that sort of thing. On the down side, it can also mean stubbornness and a tendency toward a hot temper."

"Well, I guess we saw that when she cut Snape," Harry said. Hermione nodded.

"Now, the one is interesting," she went on. "One is independent and focused but can also be self-centered and egotistical. Frankly, that tallies, as well. Her social number, three, is a good one. Three is completeness. It indicates talent, energy, social ease, and so on. But a three runs the risk of being unfocussed."

"She sure seems to run by contrasts," Ron remarked.

"Yes, and really, that's our whole problem with her, isn't it?" answered Hermione.

"So, do the numbers apply to other things?" asked Harry.

"Oh yes, you can reduce the letters of anything to numerical values. In theory, a person is most compatible with thing and people that share their number."

"I don't feel like we've learned anything," Ron complained.

"Well, I guess we have some interesting slants on her behavior and personality," Harry answered doubtfully.

"I suppose so," sighed Hermione, scooping up her parchments. "D'you know, I even check her auror I. D. number. I took it from your memory, Harry. 37853 reduces to an eight. That's the most unpredictable number there is. The potential for great success or utter failure is equally great. Haven't a clue what to make of that."

"Nothing, for now," answered Harry. "The next time we can write to Remus, we can try to get him to tell us more about her. Wish we knew where he was."

Remus had not spent the last full moon at Hogwarts and Harry had had no letter from him in weeks. He was more than a little concerned.

"Well, then, let's go down for dinner," Ron proposed. I'm starving."

Dinner was nearly over when the evening edition of The Daily Prophet arrived. Hermione scanned her copy, then sighed.

"Well, at least it is quiet," she said. "Nothing seems to have happened since that attack at St. Mungo's."

"It's the quiet that worries me," answered Harry, looking thoughtfully first at Annwyl and then at Draco Malfoy. "That is definitely what worries me."