Harry Potter and the Labyrinth of the Mind

HARRY POTTER AND THE LABYRINTH OF THE MIND

Chapter 16 - Lost In the Maze

It seemed to Harry that life had come to some horrible, painful precipice. However, rather than turning back or even going over, he felt they remained balanced on the edge, their lives becoming a twisted high wire performance in a circus of Voldemort's dark, perverse devising.

Classes began again and Dumbledore resumed his duties as headmaster the day after the memorial service. He was weak and sick looking, but the students and certainly, the faculty, seemed to draw consolation from the old face seated at the head table. Harry thought he must be the only one not reassured until he noticed the intense expressions on the faces of both Professor Snape and Annwyl. Instinct made him turn to look for Malfoy at the Slytherin table. Though the pale, sharp features were calm, the grey eyes darted with nervous frequency toward the head table. Harry watched Malfoy throughout breakfast that morning but saw nothing which enlightened him in any way.

Among the students, there seemed to be an uneasy, unspoken agreement of silence on the subject of the Hogsmeade disaster. For several days after classes resumed, The Daily Prophet ran front page stories regarding the attack, the aurors involved, the victims, their families, and the efforts to rebuild and return to some semblance of routine in the village. Although many of the students subscribed to the paper, there was none of the discussion of the subject that one might have expected. It was as if they had, as one, opted to bury their grief in small talk or no talk at all.

The only lasting, outward reminders a week later was the indefinite postponement of Quidditch and the increase of dueling club meetings. Dumbledore had explained this move four days after the attack.

"A dark road lies before us," he said, addressing the school at dinner that evening. "The way is strewn with obstacles. Prior to the horrific events of this past week, I desired we all maintain as much of our pleasing way of life as seemed practicable." The ancient blue eyes clouded and Dumbledore's shoulders sagged slightly. "I fear I have erred most grievously. As much as I would like to protect your youth, I cannot risk your future by so doing. Therefore, I am suspending inter-house competitions, including Quidditch for the remainder of term. The time and energy once devoted to these activities will be given to the dueling club which will meet three evenings each week. You must all prepare to defend yourselves as well as you can, though the thought saddens me greatly."

At any other time, such an announcement would have caused an outcry among the students, but in their benumbed state, the school submitted without comment. In a way, Harry was pleased to have more opportunity to learn defensive spells of all types. Still, deep down, he couldn't help a feeling of frustration. Their training was in the hands of Snape and Annwyl and the two clearly didn't intend to cooperate. Snape was certainly skilled in defense, but his manner was so irritable, learning was difficult for many students. Annwyl, while a more effective trainer, was not, in Harry's mind, trustworthy. They had, at least, continued the dueling in groups, but with stricter guidelines and tighter supervision. Harry knew that this was nothing like having to actually fight for one's life, but it was better than traditional magical dueling techniques.

So, it came about that after a couple of weeks of the new routine, Harry found himself staring out the window of Gryffindor tower which overlooked the Quidditch pitch. He was particularly restless that evening. Another full moon had come but Remus had sent word via an Order owl that his work carried him too far to return to Hogwarts at that time. The note did nothing to ease Harry's worry over Remus for it only made him wonder what sort of work could take Remus far enough away that he couldn't simply apparate back. His restlessness increased to irritability when Ron and Hermione entered the common room and settled at a nearby table with their books. Hermione was still trying to ease relations between Ron and Harry, but with mixed success. The two boys did speak on occasion now, but never more than necessary sentences and basic civility. Somehow, Hermione was able to take that as encouragement and pressed on at every opportunity. This evening, she had invited Harry to join them to study. A quick glance at the discomfort on Ron's face made Harry decline with what courtesy he could muster.

The need to clear his head drove Harry from the window and up to his dorm. Grabbing his Firebolt, he jogged back down the stairs and straight through the common room, ignoring the curious stares of his classmates. His pace never slackened until he had reached the Quidditch pitch. He estimated he had nearly an hour of light left and he intended to make the most of it. Kicking off from the springy turf, Harry relished the familiar sense of weight being stripped from him as he soared up to the goal posts on one end of the pitch. Bending low over his broomstick, he shot forward, zooming around the stadium faster and faster until he could hardly keep his eyes open against the force of his speed. Then, Harry tried every acrobatic trick he'd ever seen in books and at the Quidditch World Cup. He flowed through climbs, dives and rolls in an endless chain. At last, when the light had faded too much for safe stunt flying, Harry landed at the edge of the pitch, out of breath, but feeling more in control than he had in days.

Thereafter, any evening that the dueling club didn't meet, Harry headed straight for the pitch, Firebolt in hand and flew until it grew dark. The first four evenings, he was alone in the stadium, but on the fifth evening, he had flown only three laps around the pitch when he saw a lone figure on the ground, broom in hand and a quaffle under one arm, staring up at him. It was Ron. Harry hovered for a moment, uncertain, then dipped down a few feet above the redhead.

"Well," Harry said gruffly, "are you coming or what?" Ron only nodded in reply. Harry wheeled around and headed upward. When he turned back, Ron was level with him, hovering about five meters away.

"Fancy a bit of a catch?" Ron called, his voice studiously nonchalant. He tossed the quaffle over to Harry and started circling. Harry hooked the quaffle over one shoulder to Ron as he passed and so a silent game began.

The two boys said nothing, simply tossed the quaffle back and forth between them as they flew in increasingly complex patterns. They landed together as darkness fell. Still saying nothing and hardly even seeming to look at one another, they walked side by side to the edge of the pitch, brooms over their shoulders. Waiting for them was Hermione. She looked at them carefully, her eyes questioning. Ron merely smiled at her, dropping an arm around her shoulders and Harry fell into step on her other side. Harry knew, deep down, the wounds weren't healed, but perhaps, just perhaps, they weren't so raw any longer.

In the following weeks, Harry came to rely on those chances to fly. After Ron's arrival on the pitch, others joined them. At first, it was only other Gryffindor team members, but they were soon joined by other Gryffindors and even students from other houses. Impromptu scrimmages were not uncommon, with students rotating in and out of the various positions. However, just as often, students merely flew about, playing catch with the quaffles or batting bludgers back and forth. Those who did not choose to fly took to sitting in groups in the stands, chatting or studying until the light faded, bringing their airborne classmates to earth. Notably absent from this inter-house camaraderie was most of Slytherin house above first year and Ginny Weasley.

At first, Harry was unsurprised by this as Dean Thomas was often one of the players. Ginny would hardly want to be hanging about a bloke with whom she had so recently broken off. Still, after weeks had passed and so many students had begun to use the stadium seats as one great common room, it did seem strange that Ginny was never among them. His conversations with Ron were still somewhat tense and stilted and Harry was unwilling to bring up any overly sensitive subjects, so he turned to Hermione.

"I don't know, Harry," Hermione answered his enquiries with a frown. "I've tried to get her to come sit with me, but mostly, she seems to hang about in her dorm room, alone. I don't like it."

"Dean said she was just really upset about Percy," Harry replied, thoughtfully. Harry hadn't mentioned Dean's opinion that Ginny was angry with him to Hermione. The thought made him very uncomfortable. He felt if Dean could see it, then anyone could, as if her anger was a visible mark on him, a stain which no scrubbing could remove. He felt better avoiding the whole subject.

"Maybe I'll have a talk with Ron," mused Hermione. "Though, he does have enough to contend with right now and I hate to worry him." She frowned. "Maybe I should owl Fred, instead." Harry was partly relieved that Hermione agreed and partly alarmed at her reaction. Although she got on well enough with the Weasley twins, Hermione had never been in the habit of corresponding with them, so it was a measure of her worry that she would begin now.

Hermione must have followed through, for Ginny began receiving regular visits from the large barn owl the twins were now using. There was, however, no noticeable difference. Ginny still kept largely to herself, talking only with Ron and, occasionally, Hermione, who had been helping her prepare for her O.W.L.s.

Dueling was different, however. There, Ginny regained all her usual animation and though she was clearly not happy, she was attentive and unusually quick to learn. Before long, she had managed to cast some ugly hexes on a number of the other students. The Bat-bogey hex remained her best curse, but she could cast a very convincing Amputare jinx which was strong enough to even cause a twinge of pain, as if the appendage had actually been injured. When Annwyl discovered this, she took Ginny aside and began working with her separately. As they left the Great Hall later, Harry heard Ron ask her about the session with Annwyl and Ginny's indifferent response.

"I don't know, Ron. She just said that if I was casting spells with that much strength, I needed to be trained to focus it better so I didn't actually harm someone when I didn't mean to." Harry noticed that neither Ron nor Hermione looked at all pleased with the answer. That kind of interest coming from Annwyl was not exactly reassuring news.

In general, Harry could see that the additional dueling club sessions were having some good effects. Even Neville had managed to disable a few opponents and that boost to his confidence carried him as he learned several new jinxes with surprising ease. Hermione, always quick to pick up a spell, had improved her speed and stamina and was a real menace in a fight. Ron's strategy had only improved making him as effective as Hermione. After several weeks of mock fights, very few students were disarmed without casting several curses of their own. No one was going down without a fight. That knowledge eased Harry's mind just a bit.

April blended into May and the fifth and seventh years were beginning to show signs of strain as O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams loomed closer. The evening social gathering at the Quidditch pitch continued but fewer of the fifth and seventh year students joined in. Harry never missed the chance to fly, putting as much intense effort into the activity as in a team practice session. He was desperate to tire himself out, hoping that the fatigue would purchase an extra hour of sleep before the dreams began.

Since the violence in Hogsmeade, Harry had had no more lapses or strange visions. Instead, his dreams continued in the vague, formless way he had been experiencing for months. Indistinct images of destruction in places Harry didn't recognize blended with impressions of pain, anger and confusion. His scar stung and tingled on a nearly continuous basis, but never enough to warrant any particular concern. Harry attributed this to some modest success in his Occlumency lessons. These lessons continued on a nearly weekly basis, but they were overseen now by Professor McGonagall. When Harry asked why, Snape interrupted his colleague with an impatient bark.

"Rather than wasting time in idle speculation, Potter, suppose you leave the headmaster's concerns to the headmaster. Today, I desire you to repel me completely. I do not wish to observe even one word in your mind." Snape shot a quick glance at McGonagall. Harry barely had time to register this instruction before the attack came. "Legilimens!"

Now, Harry had been able to restrict his professor's access to just one word on numerous previous occasions. However, the strain of recent weeks and the restless sleep was catching up. Try as he would, Harry was unable to push Snape from his mind. At first, he was able to keep just one word in his head, but as the older man pushed, Harry began to tire. With the inevitability of a dam bursting, the mental block Harry had set cracked and finally burst wide. Images from Harry's lapses and visions flooded his mind. He could feel Professor Snape scanning them like so many magazine pages. Though resistance seemed pointless, Harry struggled against Snape's presence. He had no concept of time passing until a distant voice cut through the thoughts whirling through his mind.

"Professor! Stop this instant! Professor! What on earth...? FINITE INCANTATEM!"

Just as suddenly as it began, the assault on Harry's mind ended. He dropped heavily to his knees, his wand clattering to the stones beside him. In the sudden silence, Harry realized he must have been yelling. His throat was raw and his breathing was ragged. Slowly, he lifted his head. Professor McGonagall stood over him, her face red, her wand drawn. She wasn't looking at him, however, but Professor Snape. The dark man leaned heavily on the table, meeting her gaze with equal ire.

"Professor," he hissed, "you should know how dangerous it was to end that spell from outside the minds involved. You might easily have harmed either of us."

"And you should know that you had carried on quite long enough, Professor," she returned sharply. "It was obvious to anyone that you had broken into Potter's thoughts. You should have stopped the instant it occurred. Obviously, you did no such thing."

By this time Snape had recovered his usual icy composure. He listened to his colleague's tirade with a contemptuous expression and before answering, turned a speculative look on Harry. Harry struggled to his feet under that intense gaze, trying to meet it with a look which expressed his own fury at the man's behavior. The only response from the man was a trace of satisfaction quirking the corner of his mouth.

"My dear Professor, I am trying to induce Potter to take his instruction seriously. If he is to repel intrusion by the Dark Lord, he must be able to do so while under an onslaught of considerable strength. I assure you the Dark Lord will not relent because our hero is discomfited." Professor McGonagall, though still visibly shaken and more than a little angered by what had occurred, had no answer to make. Seeing this, Snape nodded slightly and turned to Harry. "Potter, I suggest you continue to practice clearing your mind. You must manage to apply yourself rather better than this if you expect to defend your thoughts from outside influence." He nodded curtly to Professor McGonagall and stalked from the room in a billow of black robes.

"Mr. Potter... Harry," Professor McGonagall said softly, "what we are asking of you is no simple task. Occlumency is very advanced magic and few fully-qualified, adult wizards ever study it, let alone master it." Harry didn't answer, but stared at the door through which Snape had disappeared. "I just thought you should know that," she finished and exited the room, leaving Harry to his thoughts.

In no gentle frame of mind, Harry made his way back toward Gryffindor tower. The encounter with Snape left him tired and angry. He was certain the lesson wouldn't have been conducted in that manner if Dumbledore had been present. Why had he stopped coming to the sessions? Harry had seen him in the castle only a short while before. Granted, the old man still looked on the peaky side, but surely he could have sat with them during the lesson. If it was so all-fired important for Harry to study Occlumency with Snape, one would think the headmaster could have made the effort.

Harry climbed another staircase and entered a long, empty corridor. The evening session at the Quidditch pitch had ended before his lesson and most students seemed to have returned to their respective common rooms for the evening. Even Peeves seemed unusually quiet. Harry was grateful for only a few days before, the unruly poltergeist had caught him unawares between classes and, with a particularly terrible yowl directly in Harry's unsuspecting ear, sent him sprawling, books scattered across the corridor. Harry was in no mood for a repeat performance.

"Tell me, Potter. If Snape is the Defense professor now, why are you still taking remedial potions lessons from him?" Harry jumped at the sound of Malfoy's voice coming from a darkened niche to his left. The blonde boy stepped out into Harry's path.

"Malfoy, you skulk around like some muggle movie gumshoe," Harry scoffed. "You really are going to have to work harder if you want to be menacing." He moved to step past and continue on his way, but Malfoy merely slid over into his path again.

"Ah, ah, ah, Potter. Not so fast, if you please. I asked you a question. Didn't those muggles you lived with teach you manners?" He sneered faintly. "Er, never mind. I think I answered my own question on that point, haven't I?" Harry's fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, but he kept his mouth tightly clamped shut. "What, no more witty repartee, Potter? I admit, I am disappointed, though I can't really think why."

"Shove off, Malfoy," Harry growled, his teeth clenched together so hard, his jaw creaked.

'An excellent suggestion, Potter..." Malfoy stepped forward suddenly, his shoulder catching Harry's roughly, sending him staggering to the side. The fury Harry had felt when accosted by Snape just moments before had not cooled and, when added to his constant state of irritation where Malfoy was concerned, Harry's anger flared up with ferocious suddenness.

The air seemed around Harry seemed to vibrate slightly and a bright red light flashed. With a simultaneous CRACK and Malfoy dropped gracelessly to his seat on the stone floor with a bone-jarring thump. Harry faced him, small flickers of reddish light, like St. Elmo's Fire, crackling in the air around him. However, before he could speak or Malfoy react, another voice rang out from behind them.

"Potter! Malfoy! That will be enough." Annwyl was striding toward them, her face clearly showing her anger. "There will be no brawling in the corridors." Malfoy scrambled quickly to his feet and Harry faced Annwyl, willing himself to calm down.

"You two may consider yourselves fortunate that the headmaster has suspended inter-house competition. Your behavior would surely have cost your houses dearly." She glared at the silent boys before her. "As it is, detention will have to suffice. Mr. Malfoy, you will report immediately to Mr. Filch. I understand he is working in several of the disused classrooms on the fourth floor, spraying for doxies. You will assist him with this and any other cleaning tasks he may have scheduled in those rooms this evening. Mr. Potter, you will come with me. I have some asphodel which is dry and ready for grinding and the second years are brewing sleeping draughts tomorrow. You will prepare it for me." She turned and headed back toward the staircase leading toward the dungeons. Malfoy stood a moment, looking as if he wanted to object, but with an odd shake of his head, he closed his mouth and strode off along the corridor, apparently to find Filch. Harry frowned and followed Annwyl down the stairs.

She didn't speak until they had reached the potions classroom. Once there, she summoned a mortar and pestle, a bushel basket of dried asphodel, and several stoppered dispensing jars.

"All right then, Mr. Potter. I want you to grind that asphodel and fill those jars. Be sure it is ground absolutely smooth. Lumps will cause the potions to simmer unevenly. When you have finished, see me in my office." She crossed the room, entered her office and sat down at the desk facing the door. Several stacks of parchment stood on the desk and she began reading and marking these. Harry sighed and went to work.

Nearly two hours later, Harry's arm was aching with exhaustion. The jars stood before him, filled with a fine pale purple powder and the basket was empty. He washed the mortar and pestle in the work sink in the corner and placed them on the shelf next to the others. He placed the jars in the basket and carried it to the open door of Annwyl's office and tapped on the frame.

"Professor, I've finished the asphodel. Would you like to check it?" Annwyl did not look up from her grading but motioned him to the seat before her. Frowning, he set the basket on the corner of the desk and sat. Much of his anger had been released as he pounded and ground the dried roots and he was left with a sullen sort of resignation. He knew it had been careless of him to let loose uncontrolled magic that way but he could not find it in him to care overmuch.

Annwyl finished marking the parchment before her, laid down her quill and looked at Harry. "Well, Harry, suppose you tell me what is troubling you so. Malfoy's a little runt, but hardly worth such a display." Harry had been expecting a tongue-lashing for letting Malfoy get to him and had prepared a tirade about the Slytherin's behavior, but Annwyl's calm curiosity rather took the wind from his sails.

"Nothing. That is, I...er, well, Malfoy caught me off guard and I just didn't want to..." Harry stopped, staring at the toe of his shoe. "There's nothing wrong, Professor."

"I'm Professor this evening?" Annwyl's brow quirked at this. "All right, Harry. Suppose I do some guessing. You tell me if I've got it all correct." Taking his silence for acquiescence, she continued. "Everyone has been out of kilter since what happened in Hogsmeade. In addition, since that time, you have not been on particularly good terms with Ron, have you? I know Ron is upset over his brother but that wouldn't have anything to do with you. So, the two of you must have had words over something else at about that time. Hermione's been nearly beside herself trying to bridge the gap between you. How am I doing so far?" Harry nodded without meeting her gaze. "Right. Well, then there is Miss Weasley. Frankly, I can't figure out much there because she's at odds with nearly everyone these days. Understandable, I suppose. She's been suffering over her brother for months.

"As for yourself, you obviously haven't been sleeping worth a hang. No, don't look all shocked. The bags under your eyes could carry Hermione's books. I gather from Albus that your Occlumency lessons are carrying on, with Professor McGonagall to supervise. Did you have a lesson this evening, Harry?" Harry nodded cautiously. "Didn't go frightfully well, did it?"

"What do you know about it?" Harry asked. "They're supposed to be secret."

"Yes, but Albus has told me and I ran into Minerva McGonagall just before finding you and Malfoy in the corridor. She was mad enough to chew nails. Simple deduction, I'm afraid. Care to talk about it?"

"Erm, I'd rather not, actually. You seem to know, anyway," replied Harry.

"Alright. Then, I guess I'll just have to lecture you," Annwyl sighed. "What more must I say to convince you, Harry, that you simply must learn to focus your energies. Magic is too dangerous a thing when you allow it to control you. It absolutely must be the other way round. Harry, don't you see how vulnerable you are when you lose yourself in that way? Let's say I had cast a curse you as you knocked Malfoy down. You were in no fit state of mind to defend yourself. Don't you see that losing control like that opens you for attack from another direction? And there you are, squandering your strength on noisy flashes of light!" She rose and stood before Harry's chair, causing him to look up and meet her eyes. "Complete control over mind and body at all times, Harry. It seems nearly impossible to achieve, I know, but you must strive for nothing less. Please, Harry. Listen. Get hold of yourself. There is too much at stake."

"That's nothing new, now is it?" Harry snapped, coming to his feet. "There's always too much at stake and it is always my problem. I know I've got to control my magic and I know what happened this evening could have been very dangerous. Will that do? May I go now?"

Annwyl sighed and stepped aside. "Yes, Harry. Go. I've nothing more to say to you."

***

The next morning, as Harry was leaving the Great Hall after breakfast, Professor Dumbledore appeared at his side. "Mr. Potter, may I have a word?" Harry silently followed Dumbledore to a more secluded area of the Entrance Hall. "Harry, our friend has returned to us and wishes to see you. Perhaps you can find a few moments after lessons this afternoon?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you," Harry answered, his eyes lighting up. "Could I be excused from lessons to go now, sir?" The old man gave a tired smile and shook his head.

"I understand your desire to visit, Harry, but our friend is tired. He needs rest before tomorrow evening. Give him a few hours to sleep and I am certain you will find him more companionable this afternoon." Professor Dumbledore turned to go, but took only a few steps before turning back. "Annwyl told me of your run-in with Mr. Malfoy. Harry, do be careful, my boy. Times are difficult enough without borrowing further trouble. Take Annwyl's advice to heart and do your best to master yourself, lest your anger harm you."

Harry's face darkened, but he nodded to the headmaster who, satisfied, headed toward the main staircase. Harry watched him go, noting the slow, shuffling steps of the once vigorous man. He shuddered involuntarily, hefted his book bag to his shoulder and struck off for Herbology lessons.

Lessons over at last, Harry hurried up to his dorm room to pick up his invisibility cloak and his map. Once away from Gryffindor tower, he had a little trouble getting to the dungeons unseen. Very few students had gone out to the Quidditch pitch as this was a Dueling Club night. Most were going in and out of classrooms, professor's offices, common rooms and the library. To Harry, who wanted only to get to Remus without bumping into anyone, it seemed every student in the school had opted to wander the corridors. More than once, he had to duck into a niche with a suit of armor or statue and wait for a larger group of students to pass before continuing. With a sigh of relief, he reached the lower dungeons and tapped his wand on the rune which guarded Remus' door. Once he was well inside, Harry swung the great door shut and yanked the cloak off his head. Remus stood on the hearth just putting away his wand.

"Harry! Ah, excellent! I was hoping you'd be by today," Remus welcomed him. "Come on, sit. I'll start some tea." Harry dropped into a squashy armchair before the fire as Remus floated a tray of tea things to the low table beside him. A fragrant thread of steam issued from the nose of the pot and a plate of biscuits sat beside it. Remus took the opposite chair and stretched his legs toward the fire with a contented sigh. "Now, this is something more like it. Well, Harry, tell me how you've been?" He glanced briefly at the silent boy across from him. "And don't lie because you look like hell. Haven't you been sleeping?"

Harry smiled a little. "I'm fine, Remus, really. A little tired, but I haven't had any lapses or visions for weeks. Not since... not since Hogsmeade." The smile vanished and Harry looked away into the fire. "Everyone is a little tired and peaky feeling since then, I guess."

"Annwyl told me about the lapse during the attack. Nothing since then, though, yeah? Well, that's a mercy, anyway. I understand you've been having a bit of flying, too." Remus smiled. "I'm glad. Seems a healthy way of coping for all of you."

The two sat in silence for some time. Remus poured their tea and they settled back, each with a cup, still saying nothing but simply enjoying a moment of peaceful companionship. Remus set his cup on the tray and moved to stand before the fire.

"I'm sorry, Harry," he sighed. "No one ever thought it would be like this. I should be here more."

"Remus, what are you talking about?" Harry asked, surprised. "You know if you spent any more time here you would be caught."

"I should be here for you to talk to," Remus insisted. His voice was thick with a dull sort of stubbornness. "You shouldn't have to keep so much to yourself. I should be checking in more often or something. Sirius would have found a way and the Ministry be damned."

"That's crazy!" Harry looked up at his father's friend in amazement and concern. "I have already spent more time with you this school year than I spent with Sirius in the previous two years. You know there is no way to see each other more than we do. Sirius would know that, too." His voice dropped and he looked away. "And, I'm not keeping anything to myself. Really, Remus. I'm okay. It's nothing more than the usual and we should all be used to that by now." Harry squirmed a bit. He didn't like lying to Remus but the man was so upset, Harry couldn't bear the thought of adding to his worries.

"Harry," Remus spoke, turning from the fireplace, "I want you to promise me something." Harry frowned, but Remus pressed. "I mean it, Harry. I want you to promise me that if anything else goes wrong or you have any more of your visions or whatever, you will go straight to Dumbledore and tell him everything."

"But, I..."

"No 'buts', Harry. I know you are holding something back. I won't try to make you tell me. I couldn't. But, I want you to promise me that you won't hold back any more. If anything else happens, anything, I want you to go to Dumbledore with all of it. Promise me!"

Harry stared at Remus, uncertain. Remus didn't know what he was asking, that was certain. If he'd seen what Harry had seen in those lapses, he wouldn't be so anxious for Harry to go to the headmaster. Harry was sure of that. Still, Remus was demanding a promise and it was clear he'd accept nothing less.

"Alright, I promise." Harry watched the older man relax and drop back into his chair. He was struck by the new streaks of gray visible in the light brown hair. The lycanthropy was hard on a person, but the fear and worry was taking an even greater toll. "And now, will you promise me something?" Remus looked up in surprise. "Promise that you'll take better care of yourself. I don't know what the Order is having you do, but it's too much. I might look tired, but next to you, I'm ready for the cover of Witch Weekly."

Remus grinned and looked at him speculatively. "You know, you might be ready at that. I hear they can charm the photo to fix features. I'm sure they could do something about that hair...Murmph!" His sentence was cut off abruptly as a sofa pillow caught him full in the face.

***

The dueling club met that evening, as usual, in the Great Hall. Divided into groups, some worked on various shield charms while others practiced full and partial body binds. Harry was in a group doing shield charms. He had mastered the simpler charms the previous year and found the more advanced charms much more interesting. It wasn't long before the Armoratus Barrier became his favorite and strongest charm. The Armoratus Barrier was able to surround an area, rather than merely and individual, as with Protego. The person casting Armoratus had to be able to speak some boundaries, followed by the actual spell. This meant that if one chose people as boundaries, the shield would flex and move as the people themselves moved. The drawback to the charm was the amount of energy required to sustain it against any attack. Setting the barrier was one thing, but holding it against the power of spells striking it was another altogether. Still, Harry saw its value and put particular effort into mastering it.

They had been working nearly two hours when Harry noticed Malfoy leave the Hall and return several minutes later. Rather than rejoining his practice group, Malfoy went straight to Annwyl on the other side of the room, drawing her away from the group she had been testing. They were too far away for Harry to hear any of their conversation and he was unable to see Malfoy's face clearly, but the effects of his words on Annwyl were indisputable. She grew quite pale and, just as quickly, her color returned in an angry flush. She silenced Malfoy with a gesture and sent him back to his group. She then went to Snape who was working with the group next to Harry.

"Professor, I find I must leave the students in your capable hands for the remainder of the evening. Some work which I had hoped to complete this evening requires my immediate attention." She was striding out the door before Snape could respond.

Harry watched in amazement as Annwyl hurried from the Hall. Looking back at Malfoy, he saw the blonde boy was only going through the motions of the shielding spells. His attention was, quite clearly, wandering. The haughty, pointed chin was lifted and a strange glow of excitement brought a slight flush to the otherwise pale features. Something excited him very much and, from the expression on his face, Harry couldn't help but think that this was anything but cheery news. He watched the Slytherin surreptitiously for the next half hour without getting any further clue. Harry's unease only increased with Malfoy's obvious satisfaction. By the time Snape had dismissed the students, Harry was so wound up with nerves he was nearly twitching.

Hermione, Ron in tow, approached Harry as the students filed from the Hall. "You've been watching him, too" she stated simply. Harry was too nervous to even show surprise. "Is Remus back in the castle? I think I saw Annwyl head toward the dungeons when she left. Maybe she told him what Malfoy was up to. Let's go ask." Harry agreed readily and glanced at Ron.

"Yeah, I think we should all go," Harry said quietly. "D'you mind?" He looked hopefully at Ron who, after a nervous glance between Hermione and Harry, nodded solemnly and they set off.

They waited in the shadow of a row of suits of armor for the Slytherin students to reach their common room and clear the dungeon corridors. Then, they moved silently down the stairs and hurried to the deeper passages where Remus' chambers were. Harry began to get an uncomfortable sensation of dread as they approached the rune-marked door. They passed a small, shadowed side passage and, with a strange sense of deja-vu, Harry remembered hiding there with Remus and Snape, only to find the noise they heard was Annwyl approaching. Now, as the memory came back to him, he recalled another sound. Softer, closer and never explained. Directly across from the passage was another walkway, also deeply shadowed. Snape had appeared from that direction that night. Only now did Harry find this curious. Surely, the passage was coming from the wrong direction to be another entrance from the main Entrance Hall above. Yet, Snape said he was returning to his chambers. Harry rubbed his scar thoughtfully for a moment. In a flash of intuition, he was gripped with a sudden urgency and began to run toward Remus' door.

"Harry, wait!" Hermione hissed from behind. "Someone will hear us!"

Harry plunged ahead, heedless, and reached the door a dozen paces ahead of Ron and Hermione. He touched his wand to the rune and the door swung inward. The sight which greeted them seemed almost inevitable. Chairs and tables were overturned, books pulled from the shelves and pages scattered, and the inner doors of the chamber hung crazily from their ripped and bent hinges. Remus was nowhere in sight.