Harry Potter and the Last Goodnight

Chapter Fourteen: Crisis In London

Occlumency was draining Harry. Every day he had it, after his classes were over, he would hurry to the library and try to finish all of his homework for the next day. He could barely make it back to the dormitory after Snape's invasion of his mind, let alone concentrate on his schoolwork.

Flitwick had given the entire class extra homework for performing badly on an advanced summoning charm. Everyone but Hermione, of course. They had to do an extra essay about the art of the Peragro charm, which was summoning items through obstacles, like walls, without damaging the object or the obstacles themselves.

He was running late as he sprinted down the dungeon stairs. He didn't even bother to catch his breath when he burst into the Potions classroom. Snape was already there, wand in hand, and waiting.

"You're late, Potter," he snapped. "Five points from Gryffindor."

"Sorry, sir," Harry replied, breathless.

"Let's begin." Snape sneered at him, as though he were insulted by his apology. He raised his wand. "Legilimens!"

Harry assumed the position, still trying to catch his breath. He pulled his wand from his robes and braced himself. He tried to clear his mind, but Snape hit with the spell and it was too late.

He couldn't catch his breath. The familiar pain had returned to his leg. This time he was in the graveyard with Cedric. Running away, carrying his body, limping to the trophy. He reached out, grasped it, and felt something pull behind his navel.

He was on the floor, Snape standing over him. "I am very disappointed, Potter. You are weak. Get up."

Harry got to his feet, taking his breath in sharp inhalations. The pull of the Portkey had turned into a pain in his ribcage. Or was it because of Snape's spell? He hoped to regain his composure before Snape hit him again, but as soon as he reached his feet, Snape turned on him and pummeled him. "Legilimens!"

The pain in his leg returned, and suddenly he was in the amphitheater in the Department of Mysteries. It was his dream. He was dancing with the shadowy figure, and for a moment, felt comfort in her arms. But the security soon disappeared.

"Dance," Sirius's voice called, "before you forget how."

Whimpering, Harry called out for his godfather, then realized he was once again on his back on the cold, hard dungeon floor.

Snape, however, did not have the look of complete triumph on his face that he usually did when he took Harry off his feet. He looked smug. "You didn't write that dream down, Potter."

Harry jumped to his feet. So Snape knew of the first vision of Voldemort and Wormtail. Perhaps he did have the counterpart of his Diary Dupuliquer. "I... I didn't think it was important."

"Important?" Snape spat. "I told you, Potter, to write down every damn thing that you dream about in that diary! I expect you to share everything about your dreams, whether they are about some invisible girl or your dearly departed loved ones."

"It's not fair that everyone gets to see into my private thoughts. My private dreams," Harry replied. If Snape knew about his dreams, he didn't know how many others did.

"It is a sacrifice for the Order, Potter," he declared. "In times like these, we must make sacrifices."

Harry sighed. "Okay, okay. I'll write it down."

"Don't bother with this one now," Snape replied. "He's dead. He is not worth dreaming about."

Anger welled up inside of Harry. He took a step forward, about to launch himself at Snape.

"Tsk, tsk, Potter. How will you ever master Occlumency if you cannot even control your own anger?"

Harry's fists curled at his sides. He was shaking with hatred. How could Dumbledore expect him to study with a man who hated Sirius so much? A man who was probably overjoyed that the only parent Harry could even remember was dead?

Snape could see the hesitation in Harry. "Good, Potter. It looks like some of my lessons may have been penetrating through that thick skull of yours."

Harry couldn't get violent, but he had to defend Sirius's honor. If he didn't, he would never forgive himself. He couldn't let Snape walk all over him like this. He was too proud. "You will never be half the man that Sirius was," Harry spat.

Snape's eyes were cold. He raised one greasy eyebrow in Harry's direction. "Odd, considering that he was only half a man himself."

Harry's anger caught in his throat. He was boiling over. He had to leave - he had to get out of the dungeon. If he didn't, he would do something he would regret. He knew that Snape had taken it too far, and that in return, Harry wouldn't be able to control his actions. Harry took a step towards the door.

"I'm done," Harry whispered. "I'm leaving."

Snape sneered. "Quitting, Potter?"

"For today," Harry replied. He put his wand back inside of his robes and didn't look back as he stepped out of the dungeon door. He just couldn't tolerate another second of Snape's hatred without ripping the bastard apart with his bare hands.

* * *

The Indian summer had vanished from Hogwarts. The leaves began to change colors and fall from the trees, decorating the grounds in colorful beds of red, brown, and orange. Winter was on its way.

Classes seemed to be taking their toll on all of the students. Everyday, Harry was given more and more homework to complete. He barely had time to eat, let alone for Quidditch and Occlumency. He felt fried from all of his studying and was looking forward to the field trip on Halloween. It would be one night where he wouldn't have to worry about his homework or Snape seeing inside of his mind.

And when he wasn't studying, he was sleeping. But his slumber was littered with dreams of the amphitheater and Sirius's voice. He'd had the dream nearly every night. It was like he was stuck in a perpetual state of sub-consciousness. He had no clue who he was dancing with, but he didn't care. He was just trying to decipher his godfather's message.

It was Wednesday, and Harry was having a good day. The very first meeting of the year of Dumbledore's Army was set to take place in the Room of Requirement that night. And also, because it was Wednesday, it meant that Mr. Weasley was visiting their Muggle Studies class. He always had such interesting stories. Their entire class had embraced Mr. Weasley, and those who had viewed him as a crackpot, obsessed with Muggles, were now treating him with respect. Ron wasn't the slightest bit embarrassed to have his father in class.

"You know, mum always tells him he should write a book," Ron said as he and Harry walked down the first floor corridor. "She says it'd be a number one bestseller in no time."

"Well, Lockhart did it," Harry replied. "Your dad shouldn't have a hard time."

"Knowing Lockhart, he probably coerced somebody into writing it for him and then modified their memory after it was finished."

They were a few minutes early and the first to arrive in Muggle Studies. Professor Avis was sitting at her desk and Mr. Weasley was standing near the dry-erase board. He was drawing different colored lines on the board in no specific patter. "Oh, hello boys," Mr. Weasley greeted.

"Dad, what are you drawing?" Ron asked.

"Oh, we're going to talk a little bit about plumbing in today's lesson." He put the cap on his marker. "How's things?"

"Fine," Ron replied. "How's mum?"

"Good. She's about ready to strangle the twins, though," he added. "Zonko's finally agreed to drop the complaint, but now George and Fred want to give them an inquiry as well." He shook his head. "Those boys are too ambitious for their own good..."

"Arthur! Are you there?"

Suddenly, the Minister of Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge, appeared in the classroom fireplace. Or rather, his head did.

"Fudge!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed and sprinted over to the fireplace. "Yes, I'm here. What's going on?"

"We've got a problem," Fudge replied. "I hate to interrupt your little talk, but this is an emergency. Henry Wilkens is at it again! This time, he opened up some sort of plant shop in London. It's called Henry's Herbs, over on Reynolds Boulevard. He opened it to the public - including Muggles."

"Oh dear." Mr. Weasley ran a hand through his thinning red hair. "That Henry is always stirring up trouble for me."

Henry's Herbs. Now why did that sound familiar to Harry?

"That's not the worst of it. He's got a Muggle working for him. He claims that he thought she was a squib because she didn't use magic, but she knew the names of several wizarding plants. He's just saying that because he's knows that he'll be facing an inquiry to shut him down after this. Anyway, somehow, she ended up battling against a clump of Devil's Snare. Things got out of hand. Arthur, it doesn't look good. You've got to get over there and do some damage control. I've already called in the Obliviators, but it looks like we'll have to deal directly with the Muggle's family."

"Oh dear. This isn't good. I'll be there right away, Fudge."

"Hurry, Arthur. There's no telling what will happen if some Muggle television station gets a hold of this. It could be a repeat of the Petrova incident all over again!"

"Yes sir," Mr. Weasley said. Fudge's head disappeared into the fire. "Is this hooked up to the Network?" he asked Professor Avis, gesturing to the fireplace.

She nodded. "Just re-installed last week." She handed him a bowl, which Harry assumed was Floo Powder. "That Umbridge had it removed last year."

"Just in time then." He turned to Ron and Harry. "Sorry to take off boys, but duty calls. I'll see you next week." With a nod and a handful of powder, he shouted, "Reynolds Boulevard, London!" and disappeared into the flames.

Harry and Ron settled into their normal seats in the classroom. The rest of the students were piling inside, wondering where Mr. Weasley was. "Too bad about that emergency," Ron said sadly. "Plumbing is one of dad's favorite subjects."

But Harry wasn't really paying attention. He had just recognized the name of the flower shop. Nora's sister had mentioned it in her letter. In fact, she was working at the shop.

Harry had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as Professor Avis began her lecture on using a telephone. How many Muggles did this Henry Wilkens have working in his plant store? What if the Muggle in trouble was Nora's sister? 'It doesn't look good,' Fudge had said. Was she in real danger? Nora's sister appeared to be her entire life. If something happened to her, Nora would probably never smile again.

Suddenly, Harry knew what he had to do. Dumbledore had said that anytime he had something on his mind, he could come to him. Well, Harry definitely had something on his mind. And he was still feeling guilty for not writing his dream about Sirius down in the diary. It was time he did something right. He was going to go to Dumbledore and tell him the situation.

He was very thankful that he happened to have some of Fred and George's Nosebleed Nougat in the pocket of his robe. He took it out, laid the two candies on the table, and caught Ron's attention. Ron wouldn't understand why Harry would want to get out of Muggle Studies, the easiest class in their entire schedule, but he nodded to Harry in a silent agreement to take care of his books.

Harry took a deep breath, as it was hard to breathe when blood was gushing out of one's nose, and plopped one of the candies into his mouth.

Instantly, Harry felt a tickling sensation in his nose. Before he could sniff, blood came pouring out. He stood up from his desk, holding it. One of the Ravenclaw girls screamed when she saw the blood.

"Ah, Professor..." Harry began.

"Oh my goodness!" Professor Avis cried when she caught sight of him. "Harry, dear, you'd better get the Hospital Wing straight away. Oh dear, that looks terrible. That's the worst nosebleed I've ever seen!"

Harry didn't need telling twice. He turned around and hurried out of the Muggle Studies classroom. As soon as he was out of sight, he popped in the other candy, and immediately his nose dried out. The blood stopped gushing. He made a quick stop in a nearby loo and cleaned up as best he could, then sprinted to Dumbledore's office.

"Ton-Tongue Toffee!" he cried, praying that the password to his office was the same as it had been a few weeks ago. The huge stone gargoyle twisted to reveal the staircase. Harry took the stairs two-by-two until he reached Dumbledore's office door. He knocked loudly.

"Come in."

Harry burst through the door to find Nora sitting in the same chair he'd sat in so many times before. She was looking very frightened and very small.

"Harry, is something the matter?" Dumbledore asked.

Now Harry felt very foolish. How could he have been so stupid? Of course Dumbledore knew about the flower shop. Dumbledore knew everything. Fudge had probably talked to him right after sending Mr. Weasley out on the job.

He recognized this as his need to save people. He was ashamed. This was the very same behavior that got Sirius killed, and nearly all of his friends as well.

"What is it?" Dumbledore pressed.

More angry at himself than embarrassed, Harry looked down at the floor. "I... I just heard from about the flower shop. Mr. Weasley was in Muggle Studies when Fudge gave him the message."

"But how did you know...?" Nora began.

"I read the beginning of your letter," Harry replied. "That day in the Owlery." He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, this isn't my place. It's private. I should have known... I shouldn't have come."

"No, it's okay," Nora said. "I'm glad you came."

"Please, Harry, have a seat." From somewhere, Dumbledore conjured up an extra chair next to Nora's. Harry sat down, his face flushed. "As I was saying, your sister has been transported to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries," Dumbledore said. "Her condition is unknown at the moment."

"Please, Professor, I have to see her," Nora begged. "If something happens to her..." Her voice trailed off. "I just have to see her."

Dumbledore nodded. "You will. I will have someone escort you by Portkey to St. Mungo's, where you will be permitted to spend the night at your sister's bedside, regardless of her condition." His eyes were dark. Harry wondered if Dumbledore was worried that she was dead.

"Can Harry escort me?" Nora asked suddenly.

Harry stared at her incredulously. "But... I can't... Seamus, he's your cousin, he should..."

"She won't see him," Nora spat. "Please Harry, come with me. I don't want to go alone. You're my only friend here."

"But I...I have things going on tonight," Harry said, turning to Dumbledore. Tonight was the very first D.A. meeting. Harry couldn't' cancel it.

Dumbledore continued stroking his beard. "I can take care of those things," he replied. He sat up suddenly. "It's settled. Harry, you will escort Nora to St. Mungo's. Nora, please run back up to your dormitory and pack an overnight bag. Be quick about it."

"Yes sir," Nora replied. She stood up and rushed out of Dumbledore's office.

"I hope you won't mind?" Dumbledore asked.

"No, sir," Harry said. He had no reason to object except for the sneaking suspicion that an eleven-year-old had a crush on him. "Should I go pack a bag too?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, you will not be spending the night. After escorting Nora, Mr. Weasley will take you back to the Burrow where you will meet up with the rest of the Order to discuss your vision."

Harry was beginning to think that Dumbledore had planned this whole incident in the first place. "Our first D.A. meeting was supposed to be tonight."

"I'll alert Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley. I'm sure they'll spread the word." His eyes twinkled with delight. "So, you have reconsidered your teaching position?"

Harry nodded. "I want them to be prepared more than anything."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, "everyone will need to prepare for what is to come."

Harry had the distinct impression that Dumbledore was trying to warn him about something - to bring something to attention. The two of them sat in silence until Nora returned.

She was breathless and had a bag strapped across her shoulders. "I'm ready," she declared.

Both Harry and Dumbledore stood up from their seats. He produced a sterling silver tennis bracelet from his desk drawer. "Once the two of you touch this bracelet, you will be transported by this special Portkey to St. Mungo's. Then, Nora, you are to wear this bracelet until noon tomorrow, when, no matter where you are or what you are doing, you will undo the clasp and be transported back here to my office." Dumbledore lifted the bracelet and held it out to the two of them. "Are you ready?"

Without a moment's hesitation, Nora took a step forward and grabbed one end of the chain. Harry took the other.

Instantly, he could feel the familiar tug behind his belly button. Dumbledore and his office itself became blurry, although Harry distinctly heard him say, "Wish Eva well for me." And for some reason, Harry thought the comment was directed towards him.

Who's Eva?