Harry Potter and the Ancient Secret of War

Chapter Fourteen

Mind of the Enemy

Harry followed Professor McGonagall to her office as she had told him to. When he entered, McGonagall asked him to sit down and she herself took the chair facing him. She surveyed him from her seat behind the desk. Harry glared at her, although it might not have been really directed at her. In truth, a part of him was still fuming at Malfoy, something that was indeed understandable.

Finally, it was the Transfiguration teacher who spoke, "Mr Potter, what were you thinking?"

"Professor-" Harry said. "You heard what Malfoy said. You couldn't expect me to keep silent after all the rubbish about Hermione that came out of his mouth."

"No, I couldn't expect that, could I?" Professor McGonagall stated wryly, "Especially seeing that you haven't been able to do so on more than one occasion in the past."

A brief silence hung over the room, and Harry remembered some of the time he had been in here - sometimes being reprimanded for mischief, sometimes in need of assistance. The last time, he'd been a witness to a full-fledged fight between McGonagall and Umbridge over the possibility of him taking up an Auror's career after Hogwarts. That argument had eventually ended up in the Deputy Headmistress proclaiming that she would help Harry become an Auror even if that meant she would have to coach him day and night.

Professor McGonagall spoke up again, "Mr Potter, I do not condone Mr Malfoy's provocative remarks, but the truth is that you might as well have to learn to live with them. If you start retaliating at every offensive remark that is thrown at you, you will end up in prison someday."

"I don't care what anyone says about me." Harry protested. "But Malfoy...he insulted Hermione. I couldn't stand that."

"Indeed. But Mr Potter," McGonagall reprimanded him, "I daresay that Miss Granger is a very capable witch herself and can hold her own against anyone." Her expression softened a little as she added, "I know you love her, Harry. Although I believe that such relationships among people your age are shallow, I know that your relationship with Miss Granger is an exception. You remind me a lot of your own parents, Harry, I know it is difficult hearing such things as you did from Mr Malfoy, but that is something that you were supposed to have accepted when you made the news of your relationship public. Regard it as jealousy, or regard it as something else; but the truth is, Harry, that the very fact that Miss Granger is now the most important person in your life is going to bring many perils before her. You cannot hope to shield her from anyone who says something bad to her. That just isn't possible."

"So you want to say that I've put her in danger." Harry said bitterly.

"No, not at all," Professor McGonagall replied. "On the contrary, I believe that it was entirely Miss Granger's decision and you did not have any say in it. I have enough faith in her judgement and in her sensibility to know that she has not chosen wrongly, and already that is visible. But whether you want to accept it or not, both of you are now privy to an unspoken contract which fuses your lives together. Hence, your perils are now hers too."

"Why are you telling me this?" Harry asked, wondering what McGonagall, as a spinster, knew about love.

"I just want to tell you, Harry," McGonagall said, "that you need to control your temper. I've known your parents ever since they first came to Hogwarts. I've known you ever since you were born. I was there that night when Professor Dumbledore left you on your relatives' doorstep. I know enough about you, Harry, to gather that you are exceptional, not in the least because of the path fate has laid before you. And your temper, Harry, is one of the obstacles that stand in your path."

Harry nodded. He understood at last. He realised once again, that by doing what he had, he had played right into Draco Malfoy's hands. In the process, he had also revealed to his enemies, the intensity of his feelings for Hermione. That was, indeed, Draco's game. He smirked; he taunted; and he drew the prey up onto him; always enclosing his prey in jaws of steel, even while he did not realise that it was indeed, he himself that was being preyed upon.

McGonagall continued, "For your outburst in the Great Hall, forty points from Gryffindor, and be glad nothing else happened to Mr Malfoy or the consequences might have been disastrous for you. And a week of detentions as well, barring Monday and Thursday when you will continue your sessions with Professor Snape. Do I make myself clear?"

Harry nodded. Professor McGonagall resumed, "Very well then. I hope this does develop some sense in you about not losing your temper. You can go back to Gryffindor tower now and do try not to get into any more trouble, will you?"

Harry exited Professor McGonagall's office only to find Ron and Hermione standing outside the door of the office, with pensive looks on their faces. Evidently, what he had done was very serious. It was clear also from the flustered look on Ron's face that he had heard of what had happened and had come over as quickly as possible.

"Harry, what happened? What did she say?" Both Ron and Hermione rushed to Harry's side as he emerged from the Deputy Headmistress' office.

"Nothing. Just told me off a bit and deducted forty points. Gave me a week worth of detention besides," Harry informed them.

"Well, it's worth it, I tell you," Ron said. "And from everything I gathered from what really happened, I think Malfoy was only too damn fortunate that I wasn't there or he might have had to contend with two hexes instead of one."

Harry nodded appreciatively at this, and Hermione managed to give a weak smile at Ron's statement. The pall of gloom was still upon her, not due to Malfoy's taunts but due to her thoughts - her thoughts about Harry.

"Anyway," Ron continued, "From what I heard, I daresay Malfoy has learnt a valuable lesson from all this. I don't think he will try to trouble you now."

The three of them made their way outside and lounged in the shade of their favourite beech tree. It was still warm, but not overly so - the perfect weather for outdoors.

Harry could feel the adrenaline that had coursed into his every pulsating being, flowing still. He was almost having difficulty sitting straight and not engaging in something, that could just help him shrug off his over-activeness. He was currently lounging with his back against the tree trunk and Hermione nestled between his legs and her back against his chest. Ron lay back on the grass nearby, and soon, dozed off. Harry felt that Ron was lately sleeping a bit too much than normal.

Harry played around with a strand of Hermione's hair, but his mind was a confounding whorl filled with glimpses of his encounter with Malfoy and the various permutations and combinations attached with him. He knew that he had used wandless magic then. He knew it for sure; he would have known it even if it had been the first time he'd used it. But the question was how he could have done such an advanced form of wandless transfiguration, when he had never been able to do so with even his wand.

As his thoughts went on and he continued playing with his girlfriend's hair, he felt a calm gradually envelope him and the adrenaline beginning to subside. He twirled a strand of her lock in her fingers. Its aroma came to his senses and washed him away. It never ceased to amaze Harry, did Hermione's hair - it was all bushy and unmanageable but from close range, it seemed that every strand of her hair was distinct, as if each one of her locks had its own identity.

Hermione's eyes moved across the lake, taking in everything in her line of vision. There were many students out and about, lazing and warming outside. 'Harry's outburst in the Entrance Hall must be a hot topic for conversation', she thought. It appeared that a few of them were even pointing in their direction.

Hermione turned her thoughts towards Harry. She had always known that he was special. Of course, you had to be special to be able to bring down a Dark Lord - a terror that every sane adult in the world was afraid to even name - when you were a toddler aged one. Indeed, now that she knew about the prophecy and Harry's mother's charm, she knew how he got the protection. She knew how the bond of blood gave his the power to survive. However, she seriously doubted that such a charm would have worked if Harry didn't possess a store of his own latent magical energy from the beginning. The actual evidence of all this - something solid and concrete - had come when they set out to rescue the Philosopher's Stone. Whether he realized it or not, Harry had been recklessly brave and the courage that he showed gave everyone a glimpse of what lay inside him - a peek beneath his skin, where one could find heaps of potential wanting to be sparked and lighted.

As the years rolled on, Harry had given more signs, more indications of what he could possibly do. But today? Today was an eye-opener. Hermione knew a fair bit about many of the conflicting theories related to wandless magic that had evolved over the years in the annals of wizardkind. The enigma surrounding this obscure ability was great and no one knew definitively, what was true in this matter and what wasn't. Yet the one thing on which most of the theories agreed upon was that wandless magic required huge amounts of magical energy and strength of mind, not to mention physical fitness, for its proper execution; and that most witches and wizards rarely had this ability. That clearly meant that what Harry had shown today was exceptional, something that rarely happened even once in many blue moons.

However, shadows fell on them now and this brought her out of her thought-driver reverie. Hermione looked up to see Ginny, Luna and Neville standing over them - the remaining three members of the group that had fought in the Department of Mysteries. Their arrival also awakened Ron, who asked at once, "Ginny, what are you doing here? I thought you were studying in the library."

Harry got the sneaky suspicion that Ron was trying not to look at Luna, for some reason.

Ginny replied sullenly, "Well Ron, just because we are in fifth year doesn't mean that we have to be in the library all the time. Even we have the right to relax, you know...My God Hermione, I don't know what all you did to secure 18 OWL's but I really need some help from you, even if I want to get half of that. I am already drowning out there will the torture that everyone is dishing out to us. They seem to be bent on burdening us to death."

"Funny," Ron quipped, "I don't remember us complaining last year, do I, Harry?" Harry kept silent; he wasn't feeling all that well and his scar had started to ache for some time now.

But evidently, Ron had asked a rhetorical question - one on which he didn't expect Harry's answer.

"Ronald," Luna said all of a sudden, "You know I found a book on Kissing Humpbacks in the library..."

Ron turned beet red at this, as if he were deeply embarrassed. Harry threw him a questioning glance, something he could do without making himself feel worse for the wear. But Ron muttered, "Inside joke." Harry wondered since when Ron had started sharing 'inside jokes' with Luna Lovegood.

Neville spoke up as everyone else ignored Luna's comments as one of her wild dreams or something like that, "You really did Malfoy in, Harry." He laughed. "But I heard him talk with Crabbe and Goyle afterwards. He said that he was going to get back at you. You'd better watch out."

Harry looked at Neville. A gradual metamorphosis in process, if ever there was one, that's what Harry thought of his friend now. Somehow, Neville had grown surer of himself, more confident and begun to show better aptitude at school (Maybe the new wand also had a hand in that). For a fleeting moment, Harry wondered what might have been, had Neville been the one Voldemort had decided to mark as his equal. But even as he thought of it, he suspended the thought. There was no point in thinking of what might have been. What was important was that Voldemort had marked him, or rather scarred him for life. This was his path to tread, his road to make, his test to give and his destiny to fulfil. And even though Voldemort had taken away his parents and godfather and mired his life in sorrow, he could never take away his will to live, his life force, his zeal, his love.

Harry lost the thread of the conversation that was now on, among his friends. He zoned out completely and before he knew it, he lost all consciousness.

* * * * *

It was a cool evening, and he found himself in a forest, an open forest glade. It was a clearing almost like a circular meeting room. It seemed to have been shaped by hand, yet something told Harry that it was not so. The place had a distinct old-world feel to it and seemed to Harry that the alcove by the lake where Hermione and he had spent her birthday was a mere extension of the land he was in at the moment.

He was surrounded by tall trees, whose bark was magnificent silver and leaves golden. It looked like the trees were covered with gold - such was the dazzling splendour of those precious leaves. The sun was fading, and the stars were gathering their light - to shine once more when all worlds went dark.

Harry moved about himself in the glade. He could see nothing except for the trees around him, the exposed darkening sky above and the grass beneath his feet. The moon rose; even as the sun faded away completely and its light disappeared from the walls and the floor of the glade. It was a breath-taking sight as the glade was filled with moonshine. Harry felt as if he was walking on silver and surrounded by walls of silver capped with god. Here, were jewels of the world, wrought by nature.

The glade did not need any light - such was the pure white light that emanated from the waning moon. Around it, the stars were twinkling merrily. Their light was overcome by that of the moon, yet they could be seen ever so clearly, glittering against the dark background.

Though Harry could not see any living soul within sight, he now started haring gentle voices ringing with unknown melodies in an unknown language. It was like the soothing murmur of the wind, and appeared to have encompassed within itself the very life-force of the earth. Harry could distinctly feel within the song, the rustling of the leaves, the sound of flowing water, the merry crackling of a warm fire and the calls of innumerable and unnamed birds and beasts. All these sounds of the earth were all inter-woven as one in that heavenly music and a single melody was formed - rich, varied, articulate and beautiful - the song of the earth itself.

The voices that sang this beautiful symphony were rich as if melody to them was of second nature. They seemed to Harry, to linger just beyond his range of vision, just beyond the distance which his eyes could pierce and perceive.

It seemed to Harry that the music was a celebration of the earth and the life that it nurtured in its womb. But a while later, the tone changed, as did the music that flowed from the lips of those mysterious singers. As the new melody began, Harry felt the visions of stars and moons cloud his eyes. He felt himself walking in strange and distant lands - in places where the stars were different, and the moons strange. Yet he felt the sorrow that those voices contained. It was as if they were all mourning for something that once was - something they gave up - something they sacrificed.

Suddenly, a white light began shining to Harry's tight. Even though he did not understand the language that the songs were being sung in, Harry felt the joy and wonder the latest melody contained make a way into his own heart and fill his mind with a sense of anticipation and reverence.

The white light was coming closer every minute and Harry now saw the outline of people walking towards him. But it was the person at the fore that caught his attention. He could decipher not a single face anywhere, but that person, seemed heavenly. The very sound of that person's coming to enliven his spirits and raise the anticipation in his heart.

One step closer and he'd see the face, yet suddenly all became dark and Harry found himself altogether removed from the glade.

* * * * *

Harry found himself in a small room, lit only by the light of a fire that was burning in the grate. He was sitting in a high-backed chair with the regal manner of a king perched on his throne. He now knew where he was. He was inside the mind of Lord Voldemort.

The room was bare and dark. The walls did not have any furnishings; neither did the floor have a carpet. It was cold and paved with stone. This was clearly a loathsome place and that was why it was Lord Voldemort's lair.

A door opened nearby and a man stepped forth. He was tall, well-built and had blonde hair. He wore a heavily-embroidered golden coloured cloak that looked a bit weather-worn and travel-stained. It seemed as if the man had just arrived from some long, and maybe, hazardous journey.

The man came in and bowed low before Lord Voldemort, even as Harry was trapped inside his enemy's mind. "Master..." he said.

"Devlin," came a high-pitched voice that seemed to come from Harry's own lips. It was dripping in cruelty and sardonic evil. Harry knew that voice. It was the voice that haunted so many dreams in the wizarding world. It was the voice of Lord Voldemort.

"Get up," Voldemort commanded.

Devlin did so, yet his gaze was directed at Voldemort's feet rather than his snake-like countenance.

"What news have you brought?" Voldemort asked.

"Master," began Devlin, "The giants started to show some discontent against our side. It was as you foresaw. We had the Gurg killed and another one installed in his place. They are calm now."

"Very good," Lord Voldemort said. "What of the Dementors? Are they ready to do their part?"

"Indeed, master," Devlin replied. "They're completely under your control and are impatient as to when they will begin to play their part."

"Send them word to wait a while further," Voldemort said with a laugh, "Then they will have more souls to feed on than they could ever hope for."

"As you wish, master," Devlin replied. But it did seem that he was hesitant to broach the next subject, something that Voldemort noticed.

"And..." Voldemort hissed. "I know you have something more to tell."

"Master," Devlin began, shaking with fear. "The centaurs...they have gone against us. They have refused to join the war on our side."

"Very well," Voldemort proclaimed grimly, "Then they have chosen their own extinction, like their masters."

"You may go now," Voldemort commanded Devlin now. "And send Lucius in."

Devlin exited the room and for a while, Harry was left alone inside Voldemort's mind. Part of him wanted to try and sever the connection that was currently working, but part of him wanted to hear the enemies' plans, the part that said it was the way to protect his friends.

"Bella-" Voldemort hissed and Bellatrix Lestrange emerged from the shadows.

Bellatrix came and bowed low before her master.

"Bella," Voldemort commanded. "The Black family estate, where is it?"

"I remember, it's somewhere in London, master," Bellatrix answered.

"I want to know everything that there is to know about it," Voldemort said. "Even beyond whatever little you could tell me. I want all knowledge of it brought to me."

"But master, I already told you-" Bellatrix began.

"You told me all that you know, Bella," Lord Voldemort said. "I need to know more."

Bellatrix nodded. "As you wish, master," she said and Apparated out of the room. The Apparition wards inside the villa where they were located, was so arranged that only her master and she could Apparate in and out of the Death Eaters stronghold.

A moment later, the door opened again and Lucius Malfoy stepped in. Like Devlin before him, he bowed low before Lord Voldemort and murmured, "Master..."

"Indeed, Lucius!" Voldemort hissed. "It's been a while since I saw you now, hasn't it? I gather that the fools at the Ministry were unable to extract any information from you. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, master," Lucius replied, his gaze still fixed down to Voldemort's shoes. Why they were all afraid to look directly at the Dark Lord, Harry could not fathom.

"It is just as well for you," Voldemort said. "Yet I cannot deny that you disappointed me by failing me in the Department of Mysteries, and that too, not for the first time."

Lucius dared to look up at his master's face for just a passing second and recoiled visibly. The master's shrill laughter rang painfully like the striking of a gong inside the small room.

"Master," Lucius begged. "I am deeply regretful. I am-"

"That will be enough, Lucius," came Voldemort's voice, "All that you have done in the last months, or shall I say, not done, gives me enough reason to punish you. Yet I gather that you bring me some valuable information at this hour. Let's see if that information can help your buy your safety here."

"Master..." Lucius began. "It's about Potter. I have some important news that might be of great use in our plans."

Voldemort hissed, "Then speak quickly. Already, my patience wanes and the time of my rest draws near."

"Master, Potter has fallen in love," Lucius said.

"Love, ah yes," Voldemort said more to himself than to the Death Eater before him and his laugh echoed around the room. After a while, he stopped laughing and said, "Love...yes...Potter's family does quite have the passion for 'love'. A weakness...yes....another weakness for us to exploit...for getting him out of the way without troubling ourselves...yes..." Turning back to Lucius, he said, "Who is it?"

"One of his best friends," Lucius replied. "The mudblood girl. Her name is Hermione Granger."

"Yes, I remember," Voldemort said slowly. "We attacked her home over the summer, didn't we? Another occasion when my Death Eaters disappointed me and failed to fulfil my commands."

"I ask your pardon, master," Lucius said. "Had I been there, I would have seen to it that your wishes would have been successfully fulfilled."

"You flatter yourself, Lucius," Voldemort said, with a cackle that said the words had been of jest to him, "And you think too much of yourself for that matter. I hardly need to remind you that I have overlooked many of your shortcomings and left you with many liberties that I, ordinarily might not have given to anyone."

"You are merciful, master," Lucius said, shaking slightly.

"Indeed, I am Lucius," Voldemort said and laughed his bone-chilling laugh once again, "Mercy to the loyal...Pain to the adamant...Death to the avengers...that's what I give...that's my justice...Anyway, the very fact that you have come here so soon after your release was secured tells me that I do not need to remind you of my cause."

Lucius bowed to the Dark Lord once again.

"So," Voldemort began once again, "This information that you give me, Lucius, about Potter and this mudblood, how do you know it is indeed true and not just a rumour? Are your sources reliable?"

"Yes master," Lucius replied. "It is my son himself, Draco, who has informed me of this. The news is doing the rounds at Hogwarts. Evidently, Potter managed to keep it all a secret affair for nearly two months."

"Two months!" Lord Voldemort said, his evil mind beginning to thing of new possibilities and ways of carrying out his plans. "It seems then that in failure lay out success and victory." He turned to Lucius and said, "Go now, Lucius. I will summon you when I will need your services. Till then, ensure that your skills with the wand do not wane."

Lucius bowed low one last time and went out of the room. Lord Voldemort got up from his chair and walked across the short length of the room, the genius of his mind analysing, planning and perfecting all the moves that his pawns made. It was a despotic rule, where he held the reins and everyone complied to his commands. It was his power and his aim. He could not afford to let his followers mess it up for him.

He walked on until he reached a wall and looked into his own reflection in the mirror hung there. What looked back from the mirror was the most hideous face anyone could possibly ever see. All the flesh that had earlier stuck to that cruel, cold-blooded face had now been seemingly torn off. There were fresh scars everywhere on the face, seemingly painless but distorting the facial structure to make it seem even more hideous. Only the skull could be seen, swathed only by a layer of gaunt, white skin. But the eyes were still the same - red and full of malice.

This was the new face of the Dark Lord, his new instrument of terror, which drove fear into the hearts of the living and filled even his own supporters with so much dread that they dared not look up at their master any more. What brought about this change, no one knew, but the fact was it only raised Lord Voldemort to new levels of spreading terror and panic in the wizarding world.

Voldemort looked into his own reflection and surveyed himself. Suddenly, he said, "Yes, I have changed quite a bit, haven't I, Potter? This is but one of my intermediate forms for soon, I shall gain immortality and invincibility."

There was a hissing sound from the corner of the room as a giant snake came and curled itself up beside the Dark Lord, all the time spitting its venom around the floor.

"Yes, and then we shall have vengeance, Nagini. You and I, we shall have vengeance," Voldemort said and let out a loud, shrill laugh that made the blood run cold.

At that moment, Harry Potter's scar burnt hotter than fire and he sat up screaming, even where he lay.

* * * * *