Darkened Waters

TWO YEARS LATER:

A pair of mad, gleaming red eyes stared impatiently at the servant as he walked into the darkened room. The master tapped his long, skeletal hands absently on the table, a chilly, hard clicking that sent shivers up the servants back. "Well?" he demanded harshly; the blond-haired, gray-eyed wizard before him flinched a little but quickly regained his composure.

"Master...it is ready. It only awaits your command to activate."

A cruel smile formed on Voldemort's lipless mouth. "Good. Do so. We proceed to the graveyard."

The servant's voice faltered a little as he spoke. "The--the one beside H--I mean, our target?"

Voldemort laughed, twirling his wand. The servant took an automatic step backward. "No, Lucius, you fool. We make for the Little Hangleton cemetery...it will give me great pleasure to raise the dead in the cemetery of my father."

The servant's pale face became utterly white. "My Lord, you do know that--"

"What?" hissed Voldemort venomously. The servant took another step backward. "Is there something you fools blundered with yet again?"

The man spoke quickly, as though he could somehow lessen the blow to himself by giving his information more quickly. "The cauldron only works on the newly Dead. We have experimented, and it does not bring back those who have been dead for more than a full cycle of the moon...28 days."

Voldemort began to laugh. "Lucius, my slippery friend, did you doubt the Dark Lord's knowledge?" Still laughing, Voldemort flicked his wand at several books on his desk, opening them to their relevant pages. "Matholwch knew little of the cauldron save that it could revive soldiers dead on the battlefield. I know that it can only raise the recently Dead, and I know more than that fool of a king ever could. Now, if you have finished wasting my time, prepare to leave."

"Very good, My Lord," said the servant, hastily bowing out of the room. As soon as he closed the door, Voldemort began to laugh, a horrible, hysterically high laugh. Finally, he would destroy the only one who stood between him and victory...and he would do so from within the only place the boy considered to be safe. As the laughter subsided, he hissed softly, "I will find you, Harry Potter, and you will beg for death before the end."

Voldemort barely noticed as they all Apparated to the graveyard; he looked among the graves, and there, by a damaged marble headstone, stood three wizards, hooded and cloaked, guarding what seemed to be a large black cauldron. The handles and feet were unadorned, as dark as the rest of the cauldron...the black of the metal was blacker than night...blacker than oblivion; it was the icy darkness of Death itself. Voldemort walked over to the cauldron and peered inside; it was half-filled with steely water, which kept rippling as though fed by a mighty current. Despite all the wards his Death Eaters had cast upon it, he could feel the icy grip of Death.

"Well done, my Death Eaters, well done indeed..." he murmured softly, examining the cauldron closely, being exquisitely careful not to touch the water. The Death Eaters gathered in a ring around him and the cauldron; he barely noticed the hiss of breath from them as he whirled his wand in the air, chanting a long-forbidden Dark spell. A stream of black lightning burst from the end of his wand, settling on the graves. It quickly disappeared as soon as it touched most of the graves, but it struck the two graves closest to the village, crackling around them like an unholy aura. Voldemort felt a cruel smile playing around his lips. He whirled his wand on the nearer of the two graves, and the half-rotten corpse of a Muggle man flew toward the cauldron.

There was a horrible crack and a hissing as the corpse entered the cauldron and met icy water...a man's shape began rising from the cauldron...first his head...then his shoulders...he stepped out of the cauldron, facing Voldemort, whose mad eyes were dancing with excitement and malice. The man was thin, balding, still wearing his funeral clothes. Voldemort faced the man, who immediately bowed. There was no free will to resist, no thought left in his eyes.

"You will serve me," said Voldemort harshly. The man bowed again, lower, but he said nothing.

One of the Death Eaters stepped forward, visibly trembling. "My Lord..."

"What?" snarled Voldemort, keeping his eyes on the revived Muggle. The Death Eater scuttled back, turning pale behind his mask.

"My Lord...all who are summoned by the cauldron are mute, to keep them from telling of the afterlife." Voldemort nodded, taking in this information. He laughed, striding forward and grabbing the dead man by the collar.

"It is well...I will not have to listen to you plead for your sorry skin." He pushed the man into his own gravestone; the Muggle winced as he hit the stone, something flickering in his dead eyes. "Is that fear I see?" hissed Voldemort softly as he raised his wand. "All the better...CRUCIO!"

"NOOOO!!!" yelled Harry as he awoke with a jolt. He was drenched in icy sweat, breathing hard, his scar on fire. He heard Ron fumble for a candle, and his curtains were suddenly pulled apart. Ron stood there with a candle in his hand, looking frightened and concerned.

"Another one, eh?" said Ron apologetically. Harry nodded and gratefully took the glass of water that Ron handed to him. "Well...I guess it could be worse...you're not having them as often, are you?"

"No." Harry drained the water and wiped his brow. "But...they're still so vivid, and I can't tell if they're real or not."

Ron squirmed uncomfortably for a moment. "You wanna talk about it, mate?" he said awkwardly. Harry shook his head, but not in dissent. He struggled to remember the dream...Voldemort had been torturing a Muggle man...he'd come out of a weird black cauldron...and the graveyard...Harry shook his head hopelessly as the dream began to slip away, but he could still hear Voldemort's voice, hissing...

"He was there...Voldemort, in the graveyard...torturing a Muggle...and there was this cauldron too."

"A cauldron?"

"Yeah," said Harry absently. "And it was really cold...bone-chilling cold...I could even feel it, even though it was just a dream." He shivered slightly, remembering the icy, gaping feeling as he'd seen the water in the cauldron. Noticing Ron's puzzled and alarmed expression, Harry shook his head and attempted a smile. "Whatever...it's just a dream."

"Sure," said Ron, sounding anything but reassured. "You want more water, Harry?"

"No...I'll just try to get back to sleep." As he drew his curtains, he heard Ron clambering into his own bed. He stared at his velvet curtains, a feeling of foreboding rising within him. He had to tell Dumbledore about the dream once his Occlumency lessons came around...Dumbledore would know what to do. The thought of Dumbledore offered some comfort as he rolled over and fell into an uneasy sleep.

"I will find you, Harry Potter, and you will beg for death before the end!" The chilling words echoes over and over in his head as he tossed and turned.

The boys found Hermione the next morning as they were walking down to breakfast. Harry filled her in, telling her about everything save for Voldemort's threat. By the end of his story, as Ron was shoveling eggs down his mouth, she seemed pensive and puzzled.

"What?" asked Harry as he buttered his toast. "You're not going to tell me off again, are you?" She shook her head slowly, suddenly staring off into the space below his left ear.

"What's up with you?" said Ron, swallowing his eggs. "You look like Harry just hit you in the face with a flobberworm."

Harry chuckled at the image as Hermione snapped out of her trance and glared death at Ron. "No, Ron, I'm not losing it, if that's what you're about to add."

"Well, what is it, then? Spill."

Hermione paused for a moment to take a sip of her pumpkin juice. "Harry..." she said slowly, "what did the cauldron exactly look like?"

"It was...well...it was pretty much just like a normal cauldron," admitted Harry. "There was nothing real special about it--" He froze as he remembered the darkness of the metal, and the icy, frosty, steely water within.

"What?" said Hermione curiously.

"Er...nothing." He took a bite of toast and continued. "Well...nothing special at first sight...it was black, but not like charcoal black. It was a deeper...sort of...evil black," he finished awkwardly. "And there was water in it."

Hermione screwed up her face in thought. "Anything special about the water?"

"Yeah...it was really steely looking...and unbelievably cold. I didn't even touch the water in my dream, but it left frost all over the inside of the cauldron...even the mist rising from it was cold...dementor kind of cold." He screwed up his memory. "And...it kept on rippling, even though no one was touching the cauldron."

"You never mentioned that to me," said Ron. Harry rolled his eyes as he finished his toast.

"It was two in the morning, Ron. You were barely awake, and so was I." He looked at Hermione, who was again staring off into space. Harry knew better than to interrupt her whenever she looked like that; it usually meant that she was either incredibly tired, or on the verge or realizing something.

Ron, however, was unfortunately not so perceptive. "You gonna tell us what's going on?" he said, watching her stare into nothingness. She ignored him, murmuring quietly to herself. "I think pressure of exams has got to her head," he said to Harry, not bothering to keep his voice down.

"Shut up, Ron," said Hermione dreamily. Both boys stared at her as she traced something in midair. "I think...maybe...but it couldn't be...but I'm sure of it..."

"You mind telling us what it is?" said Ron grumpily. Hermione threw him a dirty look as she got up and grabbed her bag. "Not the ruddy library again?"

"I never asked you to come, Ron," she snapped, reverting to her usual self. "But Harry...if it is what I think it is..."

"What?" said Harry stupidly. "Voldemort hasn't been messing with my mind again, has he?"

"Well...if it is...either he's been messing with you, or..."

"Or what?"

"We're all in a hell of a lot of trouble." She bit her lip and walked away swiftly.

"Did Hermione just swear?" said Ron incredulously, staring after her. Harry simply shook his head as they both stood up and started making their way to Charms. "D'you think she just had another brainwave? Or did she just have too much homework last night?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, if she didn't, I can always just ask Dumbledore tonight."

Hermione came walking into Charms just as the bell rang. Ron opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head and cut him off. She ignored Ron's attempts to ask her questions all through Charms and Transfiguration; by lunch, Harry decided that he was simply going to go ask Dumbledore. He ran this idea past Ron, who simply shrugged and said, "Better you than me."

Later that evening, Harry made his way up to the stone gargoyle; Hermione had dragged Ron off to the library, presumably to study for their Charms exam. "Cockroach Cluster," he said; the statue moved aside, revealing the spiraling staircase that lead to the headmaster's office. Harry sped up the staircase and paused before the door; he felt rather silly coming fifteen minutes early to his Occlumency lesson, just because of a weird dream, but he knew better than to downplay his nighttime visions. He knocked several times, trying to figure out what he was going to say.

The door opened, and Professor McGonagall stuck her head out. Harry bit back a gasp of surprise as she looked down at him. "Yes, Potter?" she asked quietly.

"Er--is Professor Dumbledore here? I need to talk to him," he said nervously; McGonagall always made him feel as though he'd been doing something wrong.

"Professor Dumbledore is currently busy," she said severely, looking down her nose at him.

"But--what about my Occlumency lessons?" She turned away from him for a moment, looking back into the room.

"Your lesson will be canceled; you'll have another lesson a week from now, Potter." He nodded, feeling rather disappointed at not getting an answer. He walked back down the stairs as Professor McGonagall shut the door, wondering if Hermione had turned up anything.

To his surprise, both Ron and Hermione were waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. He looked from one to the other, a little puzzled. "What's up?"

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The tall, thin, silver-haired wizard paced around his study, idly twirling his wand between his long fingers. At least a dozen pairs of eyes followed his progress, although there were only three other people present in the room.

"Albus...do you have any idea where he may have gotten such a thing?" said Professor McGonagall after he'd paced for a few minutes. He stopped pacing and sat down behind his desk, fixing his bright blue gaze on her.

"Several, Minerva, and each more impossible than the last. The cauldron was supposed to be destroyed centuries ago; I am frankly astounded that Voldemort has found it."

"If I may, Headmaster," said a thin, sallow-skinned man who had been largely silent up until now. Dumbledore nodded at him, and he stood up from his chair. "The Dark Lord has indeed found a way to revive the dead, and through the means of a cauldron, but he has not confirmed the cauldron's identity. It could merely be a cauldron that he charmed."

Tiny little Professor Flitwick gave a loud snort of disbelief; he overbalanced and toppled off his cushions. Professor McGonagall restored him with an impatient flick of her wand.

"Ah, my apologies, Severus, but such a spell would require years and years of research to find, as well as years of preparation. Necromancy was banned in Britain long ago."

"Which is precisely why we find ourselves in such a fix," said Dumbledore wearily. "Due to the banning of necromancy, counter-necromancy was never even developed." He got up and began to pace again. "How does one kill what is already dead?"

At that moment, someone knocked on the door. Professor McGonagall, who was closest to the door, stood up and opened it. Harry Potter stood in the doorway, looking a little out of breath. "Yes, Potter?"

He seemed slightly surprised by her presence. "Er--is Professor Dumbledore here? I need to talk to him."

"Professor Dumbledore is currently busy."

"But--what about my Occlumency lessons?" Professor McGonagall glanced at Dumbledore, who shook his head slightly and mouthed, "Next week."

"Your lesson will be canceled; you'll have another lesson a week from now, Potter." The boy nodded, looking slightly disappointed and worried. He walked back down the stairs as Professor McGonagall shut the door.

Dumbledore looked around the room after Harry left, particularly at the delicate, whirring silver instruments on his tables and in his glass cabinets. He watched them tick, as though wishing that one of them might hold the key to his dilemma. As he glanced toward a cabinet full of minute silver ornaments, the portrait next to the cabinet gave a loud, annoyed huff.

"Yes, Phineas?" said Dumbledore mildly. Phineas rolled his eyes melodramatically and gestured toward the cabinet.

"Don't tell me your memory's that bad, Dumbledore," he said irritably.

"What do you mean, Phineas?"

The portrait gave another annoyed huff. "You've been talking in circles for nothing these past few hours, Headmaster," he said with a voice dripping with sarcasm. "You do recall the fight with Grindelwald, do you not?"

"I do indeed," said Dumbledore with a slight warning creeping into his mild tone. Phineas blanched slightly, but he recovered with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Then you should remember the gift that the Abhor--" He stopped short at the look in Dumbledore's eyes.

"No. This does not concern him or his kind," he said firmly. "I refuse to put anyone in such mortal danger ever again." Nevertheless, he did look at the cabinet for a long moment before resuming his seat, his gaze fixed on the small handbell in the center of the cabinet.

The bell seemed innocuous enough, but he knew better. As he watched, he could see the strange marks swimming over the surface of the bell. He had placed a leather tongue and sheath over the bottom of the bell, keeping its clapper silent. Every time he looked at it, he could feel a cold, sapping presence in the back of his mind.

Dumbledore tore his gaze from the bell. Everyone else was silent; Professor Snape looked slightly puzzled, but Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had half-fearful expressions on their faces as they watched Dumbledore.

"At any rate," he said quietly, "the students must be warned."

There was silence for a few minutes, silence which was tentatively broken by Snape. "Headmaster...I would advise against such a measure. The younger students in particular will panic, and the older students do not need more to worry about."

"I understand your concern, Severus, but they will not be on the alert, and vigilance is more important than ever, if only because of the graveyard's proximity to the Hogwarts grounds."

"Vigilance? Headmaster, if Potter and his ragtag friends are alerted to this, they'll obviously try to take on the Dark Lord single-handed, and--"

"That will do, Severus." Snape fell silent, a frustrated expression looming over his brow. "If anyone should be alerted, it is Harry."

"Albus...wouldn't it be wiser to wait until we have found a way to deal with this problem? There's no need to get the students worked up over something they can't fight," said Professor McGonagall. Dumbledore considered it for a moment before nodding slowly.

"Which brings us right back to the original problem of dealing with this," said Snape sourly. "We could talk in circles all night and not be closer to a solution."

"Exactly, Dumbledore," said Phineas impatiently from his corner, "which is precisely my reasoning for using the Ab--"

"Phineas, that will do." Dumbledore's tone made it so obvious that that particular topic was closed and locked that Phineas disappeared from his frame, muttering to himself. "I refuse to consider such measures...unless there is no other way."

No one said a word. Finally, Professor Flitwick said tentatively, "Albus...I don't think there is any other way. We only defeated Grindelwald because of his help. Our magic just wasn't meant for such things."

"There will be another way," said Dumbledore, half to himself. "At least, I hope there will be another way."

"That gift was meant to be used within fifty five years," said Professor McGonagall. She walked over to the cabinet, looking at the bell. "The spell will wear off after such a time, and the bell will lose all power. That's what he said." She turned back to Dumbledore. "Albus, we've only got three years left in which to use it, and who knows how long it could take to come up with a counter-curse for necromancy?"

Dumbledore sighed heavily, staring at his fingertips. "I see that I am outnumbered...very well. But first, I shall put the question to the rest of the Order."

"The rest of the Order doesn't know anything about it," said Flitwick.

Dumbledore smiled grimly. "They'll have to be told, won't they?" Flitwick's face went pale. "I guess I'll have to do the telling...at tomorrow's meeting."

"T-tomorrow?" stammered Flitwick. "S-so soon?"

Dumbledore's grim smile disappeared. "Yes. Tomorrow. The sooner we come up with a solution, the more chance we have of opposing him. You do remember what happened Bran, do you not?" Everyone was silent until Dumbledore made a gesture to dismiss them. "I will see you all tomorrow at Grimmauld Place."

The teachers slowly filed out, silence hanging heavy on all of them. Minerva lingered at the doorway, watching Albus pace. Their eyes met for a long moment, each mirroring the other's doubt and anxiety. Finally, Minerva dropped her gaze and left the room, leaving Albus alone. The old man walked over to where Fawkes stood on his perch, absently stroking him. The phoenix cooed softly and nudged Albus's cheek with one soft wing. Dumbledore watched him unfathomably for a few long, quiet minutes.

"What right do I have to summon him, Fawkes? But what else can I do?"

*************************************************************************************************

Everyone at the table was completely quiet for a few moments; one could've heard the swoosh of an owl's feathers. "Merlin help us," said Molly Weasley finally. The rest of the Order was silent, their faces pale. "You...you surely don't mean to go through with this, do you, Dumbledore?"

"That is why I am asking for your feedback," said Dumbledore calmly. The adults at the table shifted uncomfortably; none of them seemed willing to speak, looking from one to the next.

Finally, Lupin spoke. "It doesn't seem like we have a choice, does it?" he said, frowning slightly. "We can't do much by ourselves...none of us have any talent for magical experimentation."

"We can, Remus," said Mrs. Weasley sharply. "I'm sure some of us could find a countercurse for this cauldron of You-Know-Who's without summoning...Merlin knows what."

"He is a person like you or myself, Molly," said Dumbledore quietly. "Why so against calling him?"

Mrs. Weasley flushed a little, but she spoke firmly, with only a hint of a waver in her voice. "Someone like that...he could be potentially more powerful than You-Know-Who, if his powers get out of hand. What if You-Know-Who found a way to get him to join the Dark Side? He already practices Dark Magic, after all."

Dumbledore sighed a bit. "Molly, the powers wielded by the Abhorsen are neither dark nor light." At the name "Abhorsen," a slight shudder went around the table; it was a name of secrets, a name of dark, hidden places which never saw the sun. "He was our ally against Grindelwald, and he is bound not to use his powers for ill."

"It's worth a try, Headmaster," said Lupin carefully. "That bell will be useless within a few years, so we may as well use it."

"Remus!" said Mrs. Weasley angrily. "Arthur...Arthur, back me up!" she said hurriedly to her husband.

Mr. Weasley squirmed uncomfortably for a few minutes under everyone's gaze. "Well...Molly, dear, I have to agree with Remus on this one." He paused for a moment, then hurriedly plunged on as Mrs. Weasley glared at him. "I mean...we definitely need help, and from what Dumbledore's told us, this chap seems to be the one who can do it."

"But what about the details? Where will this person stay? How will we keep him out of the Ministry of Magic's sight?" Dumbledore was silent. "He's not staying at Hogwarts...not with so many students there! A person like that..."

"He will have to stay either at Hogwarts, or here in Grimmauld Place. My guess is that he will be alternating between the two, with the majority of his time being at Hogwarts."

"But...why can't he just stay here in Grimmauld Place?" asked Mr. Weasley. Dumbledore gravely shook his head.

"I myself will be at Hogwarts during the terms, so Abhorsen will know how our plans are proceeding. In addition, the castle is one of the most vulnerable targets, due to the graveyard just outside the grounds. We will need his help most at Hogwarts."

Silence fell over the table. Clearly, everyone was uncomfortable abut such an idea.

"Well, we think it's a smashing idea," said two identical, slightly muffled voices. Mrs. Weasley went red with rage as Fred and George Weasley casually fell out of two large cabinets, knocking Lupin off his chair. "Sorry, Professor," they said, getting up and pulling him to his feet. Lupin laughed and clapped both boys on the back; the tension in the room broke, and nearly everyone exploded with laughter.

"Ah...Forge...we are in trouble with the law," said Fred, catching their mother's expression, which was growing more dangerous by the second.

"I see what you mean, Gred." George stood up, brushing the dust off of his robes. "Well, Mother, Gred and I would like to remind you that we are members of this Order as well," he declared grandly. "As such, we are also entitled to be present at such an important meeting."

"I TOLD YOU TO STAY IN YOUR ROOMS!" yelled Mrs. Weasley, leaping from her seat and advancing on her sons. "I TOLD YOU THAT THIS DIDN'T CONCERN YOU TWO! YOU--YOU--AFTER THIS MEETING'S DONE, YOU TWO WILL NEVER, EVER--"

Charlie Weasley leapt up and hurried over to his mother, easing her back into her seat. "Mother, let them stay, they're members too."

"They're too young, and besides, they aren't mature enough to deal with things like this!" she said furiously, glaring at Fred and George as they sat down on either side of Lupin.

"But they're members nonetheless, and they know more than they let on to," he said soothingly. Mrs. Weasley sat back down, glaring at her twin sons. Charlie resumed his seat, throwing Fred and George a quick wink.

"Spoken like a brother and a true Weasley," said Fred grandly. Both twins turned to Dumbledore. "Professor, we've been listening in, and--"

"--we think it's a superb plan."

"Not only do we get someone to help defeat You-Know-Who--"

"--but that Abhorsen chap gets to stay at Hogwarts."

"We, Gred and Forge, can show him the sights, make sure he doesn't slip up, or anything like that," said Fred with a twinkle in his eye. "Besides, what use'll you have for that bell if the spell wears off?"

"It'd make a nice paperweight," said George thoughtfully, stroking an imaginary beard. "But a paperweight's no good against You-Know-Who."

"Well, I suppose someone could always chuck it at him," said Fred. "A horrible end indeed, death by paperweight." He mimed a person being knocked out, narrowly missing Professor Lupin as he fell over, clutching his head and convulsing before falling still. Despite the serious nature of the situation, everyone except Mrs. Weasley and Professor Snape started to laugh.

Dumbledore chuckled quietly as the twins resumed their seats. "Ah, the clarity of youth. We who are old tend to look at everything through aged eyes...and often, we cannot see the forest for the trees." He rose to his feet. "All in favor of using the bell, please raise your wands." Every wand, save for Mrs. Weasley's, went into the air.

"Very well," he said as everyone stood up to leave. "Minerva and I shall summon the Abhorsen within a week."

"Smashing!" said the Weasley twins in unison as everyone stood up, talking gravely amongst themselves. They approached Dumbledore, who immediately shook his head, but not without a smile.

"The Abhorsen will be staying at Hogwarts most of the time, and you have your joke shop to mind." He caught Mrs. Weasley's expression and pointed in her direction. "I doubt your mother would be very pleased with me if I let you stay with the Abhorsen." Seeing their surly expressions, Dumbledore drew them over to a corner. "Don't let your mother see them," he said, and he set a very small leather pouch into George's palm.

"What are they?" said George with some puzzlement as the stuff in the bag began to squirm.

"Mandrake seeds, from Mundungus," said Dumbledore with a twinkle in his eye. "I heard that you needed them for some experimentation." With that, he winked at the twins and walked away. The brief minutes of levity vanished from his mind as he saw Professor McGonagall's worried expression.

"Albus...are you sure about going through with this?" she said anxiously.

"No, Minerva...but there seems to be no other choice. It could take us years to find countercurses; Abhorsen already has such tools at his disposal."

She swallowed hard. "And what if...what if Abhorsen is unable to come to our aid?" Both knew what she meant; Abhorsen had warned them of his possible imprisonment in Death or being too busy dealing with the Dead in his world...in that scenario, the bell would call the next of his kin, the Abhorsen-in-Waiting.

Dumbledore's normally sparkling eyes were grave and hard. "Then...we hope that the Abhorsen-in-Waiting is up to the task." McGonagall nodded gravely, still looking terribly worried. "Abhorsen mentioned his daughter to me."

"He has a daughter?"

"Yes...and she too is trained in necromancy and counternecromancy...but there is a catch."

"What's the catch?" said Professor McGonagall anxiously.

Dumbledore sighed heavily; he would feel a little less guilt if the Abhorsen-in-Waiting's circumstances were less innocent.

"She's just eighteen...she's barely older than Harry." The two adults exchanged rather haunted looks.

"She's only a child, Albus!" said Professor McGonagall anxiously. "You cannot mean to put her through this!

"She may well be the Abhorsen now, Minerva. It has been over fifty years. Still, time travels strangely between the worlds..."