Harry Potter and the Silent Siege

Chapter 5

Plans and Revelations

It was with great reluctance that Madam Pomfrey gave Harry a clean bill of health and allowed him to leave. Once gone, Harry did not go straight away to his first class but instead made his way down to find Professor McGonagall. He tried her office and the Transfiguration classroom first and then finally found her in the staff lounge. Dismissing her protests that students were not allowed inside, Harry asked her the one question that had been burning in his mind and had kept him awake for most of the night: did she have any news about Dumbledore and Sirius? McGonagall's attitude had softened with this question, particularly after she had to tell him, quite truthfully, that she had heard nothing and that she would tell Harry the moment there was any news. She then told him, not unkindly, that he had better make his way down to the end of his first lesson, Care of Magical Creatures.

Harry half-walked, half-trotted across the lawn to await his fellow Gryffindor and Ravenclaw sixth-years near Hagrid's hut. Hagrid looked to be in the middle of explaining the properties of a slimy-looking bright orange creature about the size of a dog with a nose shaped like a giant trumpet. The creature kept blowing horn-like sounds into the air while Hagrid was holding it, making it very difficult to hear whatever he was trying to explain. It was impossible to tell whether the creature was indignant, nervous, or simply happy.

Hagrid caught sight of Harry and waved to him. He then tried to continue with the lecture but within seconds found himself overcome with emotion. He soon broke down in wrenching sobs that rivaled the trumpet-like creature in noise.

"I can' go on," he finally told the other students. "It's too much."

The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws tried not to sound too relieved at the premature end of class, but rapidly made their way back to the castle, several shaking their heads and scratching their ears on the way out. Ron and Hermione stayed.

"Yeh better take Beethoven." Hagrid handed the bright orange creature to Ron and drew Harry into a bone-crushing embrace.

"Thought yeh died." Hagrid wailed on.

"It's all right, Hagrid," Harry managed as he felt his skull being crushed.

Hagrid finally let go of Harry and blew his nose loudly into an enormous handkerchief. "Come on in ter the hut," he said. "I'll make yeh all some tea."

Ron, Harry, and Hermione accompanied Hagrid to the hut and sat down to enjoy a surprisingly good tea and some unsurprisingly awful rock cakes. Hagrid wanted to hear the whole story from Harry. Ron and Hermione were a little anxious that he would have to relive it but somehow for Hagrid, Harry didn't seem to mind (although he was forced to leave out the parts about Sirius). Ron added the part about he and Hermione's encounter with Malfoy in the hallway.

"Rotten ter the core, the whole lot of 'em," Hagrid said of the Malfoys. "An' ol' Lucius blackmailin' his way back as school guv'nor, I tell yeh. These are dark times, they are. Well, Draco's not gonna get away with much in my class, yeh can be sure o' that. I don' care who his father is."

"Maybe that's what Malfoy was going on about," suggested Ron, wincing as Beethoven trumpeted in his ear.

"No, that happened last year," said Harry.

"Don' yeh let him get ter yeh, it ain' worth it," advised Hagrid.

"Hagrid," said Hermione. "Do you know who the new headmaster is?"

"I do, o' course," replied Hagrid, "but can' tell yeh, I'm afraid."

"Oh, come on, Hagrid," said Ron. "You can tell anything to us."

"An' a lot o' trouble that's put yeh all in, I can tell yeh. No, no, not this time. Yeh'll find out tonight at the feast. Yeh got ter trust Dumbledore; he knows what he's doin'. Great man, Dumbledore."

They talked a little while longer and then Hagrid looked at his watch.

"Blimey! Is that the time? Yeh lot better be goin' on, yeh'll be late for yeh next class! What is it?"

"History of Magic," groaned Ron.

Harry let out a groan in kind. At least he might be able to get some sleep.

"Oh, good," replied Hermione, hastily gathering her things. "I've been meaning to ask him a question about the new Goblin Rebellions book I bought over the summer. I'm sure there's a mistake on page 433."

"Yeh migh' find today's class a little more interesting than yeh think," said Hagrid, rubbing his hands.

"Don't tell me you want me to take Beethoven along," said Ron.

"Yeh'll find out," was all that Hagrid said and then ushered them out of the door and back along the grounds to class.

Hermione led the way back up through the main entrance and the now familiar staircase to the History of Magic classroom. Ron and Harry had to struggle to keep pace.

"Hold on, Hermione," said Ron, stifling a yawn.

"Honestly, Hermione," said Harry, yawning himself. "I don't know where you get your energy from."

"It's a new day of classes!" replied Hermione, as if this should make it obvious. "You must at least be a little excited to be taking new lessons after a whole summer of holidays."

"No," replied Ron flatly, yawning again.

"Why are you two so tired, anyway?" asked Hermione.

Harry didn't say anything for a moment. Then he muttered in a quiet voice that only Ron and Hermione could hear. "I couldn't get much sleep last night. I kept thinking about Sirius."

"It's all right, mate," said Ron. "If anyone can find him, Dumbledore will."

"That's right, Harry." Hermione leaned over encouragingly. "There's nothing you can do. It's best to just concentrate on your lessons."

"I know," replied Harry. "But it doesn't stop me from worrying."

"I couldn't sleep a wink last night either," said Ron, trying to change the subject from Sirius, but instantly regretting it.

"And why was that?" asked Hermione, a slight hint of disapproval in her voice.

Harry watched Ron as he turned back to look at Hermione and for an instant he could have sworn there was an expression of menace on his face. Then he looked back down to the ground and said:

"I - I just couldn't get to sleep. Just thinking about things. It's nothing. I'll tell you later," he said to Harry although it was Hermione who had asked the question.

Harry nodded to Ron and so did not notice when a tall blond blur cannoned into him and knocked him down to the ground.

Draco Malfoy stood over Harry, flanked by his twin bodyguards Crabbe and Goyle, who laughed at Harry's predicament.

"Careful, Potter," said Malfoy. "Wouldn't do to lose those instincts come Quidditch season."

Hermione raised her thick History of Magic book in her hand like a weapon. "You did that deliberately."

Malfoy smiled. "Just trying to help Potter get into shape."

Ron flung his books to the floor and walked over to Malfoy, sticking his chest out. "I thought I warned you, Malfoy."

"I thought I warned you, Weasley," said Malfoy, as Harry got to his feet, his eyes stinging with malice. "I'll have to report your insubordination."

Ron laughed. "Report my insubordination? To whom? You can't report me."

But Malfoy did not smile. "I think you'll find I can." He pointed to his breast and flashed a shiny badge in Ron's face.

"You're a prefect?" gasped Hermione.

"That's right," replied Malfoy. "I told you things were going to change around here this year."

"You won't get away with this Malfoy," said Harry, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

But Malfoy just laughed and walked away down the corridor with Crabbe and Goyle in tow.

Ron and Harry moved to follow him and Hermione held them back. "Ignore him. Ignore him," she said. "He'll get what he deserves one day soon. Come on, we're going to be late."

Hermione led Harry and Ron to the History of Magic classroom. The class had indeed already started but Professor Binns did not seem to notice their lateness. Their only ghost teacher was droning on about the twelfth century troll wars. Ron kept dropping to sleep and snoring next to Harry who kept elbowing him in the ribs to wake up. Even Hermione found it difficult to feign attention for very long and she soon found her eyelids drooping heavily. Professor Binns had a way of sucking all of the energy out of even the most well rested person. Harry wished that Binns could be around to tell him bedtime stories when he needed to sleep at night.

"My," said Professor Binns suddenly, his tone of voice not wavering from his usual monotone. "Is that the time?"

This caused mild interest among the students. Harry saw Neville checking his watch to see whether it was truly the end of class only to find that it had gone missing.

"We've about ten minutes left," declared Professor Binns, as if in answer. "And it's time for me to turn to today's special announcement."

And then to everyone's surprise, Professor Binns, for the first time in anyone's memory, got up from his desk behind the classroom, walked to the front, and sat down casually on a non-existent chair just in front of the first row of desks.

And then Professor Binns' face broke into a prunish smile. This most remarkable set of circumstances had gotten everyone's attention. Even Ron sat up, now wide-awake.

"You're all in for a special treat this year," Binns said. "Who can tell me who Henrietta Handsdowne was?"

Professor Binns never fielded questions from the class. The last time anyone had spoken was when Hermione had asked a question about the Chamber of Secrets three years ago. It was Hermione again who raised her hand to this time.

"Yes, miss, er," Binns went back to his desk to fumble through a parchment with a list of student names. "Miss, er, McGonagall. No, that's an old list. Let me see - " Binns went behind his desk to fumble through some more yellowing papers.

"Granger, sir," replied Hermione. "Hermione Granger."

"Yes," said Binns, smiling again. "Miss Granger, of course. Go on."

"Henrietta Handsdowne was the witch who sided with Guy Fawkes and his fellow conspirators during the gunpowder plot to blow up the British Parliament, in protest of the king's anti-Catholic and anti-wizard policies. Her name is usually left out of official Muggle histories of the event. They were also rumored to be romantically involved. Fawkes eventually abandoned her for another woman and then she refused to take her part in the uprising. The event was considered significant because, had the conspirators succeeded, it would have been the first time that wizard-kind had used violence against the Muggle state which had so often persecuted them."

"Very good, Miss Granger, very good," said Binns and Hermione beamed. "Ten points to Hufflepuff." Binns then looked up wistfully at the ceiling, not noticing that Hermione's smile had abruptly disappeared. "Of course, it was I who had to console her when Fawkes was eventually captured."

Hermione could swear she saw a little color rise in Binns' cheeks - if such a thing were possible - as he seemed to lose himself in an ancient memory. The students looked around to each other in astonishment. Just how long ago was it that Binns had lived?

Professor Binns suddenly snapped back to attention. "Well, now, yes," he said. "I shan't keep any of you in suspense much longer. This year, on Guy Fawkes night, Henrietta Handsdowne herself - well her ghost, of course - will be coming here to Hogwarts!"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione shrugged and exchanged glances.

"Is that what Hagrid thought we should be so keyed up about?" whispered Ron.

"And," added Binns. "She and I, along with the other Hogwarts ghosts, will be hosting a fireworks display followed by..." Binns paused for dramatic effect, "a Guy Fawkes ball!"

This time there were genuine murmurs of interest in the class. Harry could hear Parvati and Lavender tittering behind him.

"Now, of course, all of you lads will have to invite a young lady. Don't be shy." He unexpectedly walked over to Ron and tried to nudge him playfully on the shoulder but his fist went right through. "Of course, I'm afraid we won't have any of those modern dances you young people go in for. What is it called, the lindy hop?"

Harry looked at Ron baffled, but Ron just shrugged, none the wiser himself.

"We will be playing the period music of the time," Binns continued. "Henrietta herself, who was quite a singer in the day, will accompany The Ghostly Ghoul Orchestra, who performed the lament at her funeral." He sighed. "I just hope all of you realize what a rare thing is for them to consent to play for those outside the non-corporeal community. Well," he looked at his watch. "Now I'm afraid it is really time to go. Don't forget I expect a report on the Troll Wars Treaty by Wednesday! And, gentlemen," he added. "Don't leave it too late to ask those ladies; two months can go by much sooner than you think!" Binns disappeared through the blackboard.

"The Ghostly Ghoul Orchestra?" said Ron as he walked out of the classroom with Harry and Hermione and in the direction of the Great Hall for lunch.

"Well, you never know," said Hermione. "It's certainly different." She frowned. "I suppose I'd better try to talk to him tomorrow about getting Gryffindor's points back away from Hufflepuff."

"I shouldn't worry, Hermione," said Harry. "Since he thinks McGonagall is still a student, it might be a little hard for him to make a report."

The trio entered the Great Hall led by Ron, who was eager to eat, having slept through breakfast. Harry couldn't help notice a slight frown form on Hermione's face as the generous helpings of food found their way magically onto their plates.

"Slave labor, slave labor," Harry could swear she heard her muttering under her breath. Harry suddenly remembered his conversation with Winky and wondered whether he should bring it up, then decided against it.

"So," said Hermione, reluctantly nibbling at a roast potato. "Who's everyone inviting to the ball then?"

"Don't know yet," replied Ron, his mouth full of chicken and beans.

"Didn't you hear Binns?" retorted Hermione. "There's only two months and you did leave it a bit to the last minute last time."

"We've only just found out," complained Ron. "Go on, then, tell me who you're inviting."

"I'm not going, at least, not to dance that is," replied Hermione matter-of-factly.

Ron and Harry looked up in surprise.

"I thought you said it would be interesting," said Harry.

"I did and it will." A shrewd smile came over Hermione's face. She moved her half-eaten plate to one side and took out a small box with the letters S.P.E.W. written in black quill on the outside.

"Haven't you given that up yet?" asked Ron.

"No," replied Hermione defiantly. Her eyes narrowed. "We've have a few setbacks in the past, I admit."

"Chief among them being the house elves' reluctance to be liberated," quipped Ron.

Hermione glared at him. "But this year we're going to get militant. This Guy Fawkes Ball has given me an excellent idea."

Ron and Harry stared at each other again.

"Hermione," said Harry. "You're not going to crash this party, are you?"

Hermione didn't quite look Harry directly in the eye as she replied. "Crash is such a strong word. We're going to make everyone aware. They will have to realize that the party, this food, everything they enjoy at Hogwarts is owed to the tireless, thankless labor of the house elves. I'm sorry to have to tell you both this." She looked up at Harry and Ron. "But I'm afraid the pair of you haven't made the best treasurer and secretary. Fortunately, I've managed to recruit some new assistants this year."

As if on cue, Neville Longbottom and Colin Creevey walked up just behind Hermione's chair.

"Oh, good," said Hermione, smiling. She took two sheets of parchment from out of the holder and handed them to Neville and Colin. "Please make sure that these are magico-graphed into forty copies to be distributed to the elves. And I've had another new idea," she added, a little bossily, Harry thought. "Would six o'clock tonight be convenient for us to convene another meeting?"

Neville and Colin just nodded.

"Good," replied Hermione. "I shan't keep you then."

Neville and Colin nodded again and walked off to their seats.

"I see," remarked Ron. "Students without dates."

This time even Harry thought that Ron had gone a little too far. He also wasn't sure quite why Ron was interested in goading Hermione quite so much. Colin had actually grown quite tall and with his shock of curly blond hair was beginning to attract a lot of attention although admittedly he seemed oblivious to it. Even Neville had grown a little thinner around the face this year although Harry wasn't sure he any less clumsy or nervous.

Hermione angrily shut the box and stared at Ron. "Well, then. In that case, it seems you'll be joining us after all. Now that Fleur Delacour has left the campus, it doesn't seem you'll have much choice."

Ron moved his mouth up and down but no sound came out. Finally, his face flushed red and he turned to Harry and said:

"Go on, then, Harry, who are you going to ask?"

Harry finished chewing his carrots and peas, and then answered. "Cho," he said, as if he had been forced to swallow a bottle of foul-tasting medicine.

If this had been a ploy to distract Hermione's attention, then Ron had certainly succeeded. Both of them forgot about their argument and exchanged uneasy glances. So intent were all three in this announcement, that none of them noticed Ginny, who was sitting with her roommates and Colin three chairs away and bending her head ever closer to listen in on the conversation, suddenly spill pumpkin juice all over her Wizard burger and chips.

It was Ron who replied first. "Do you really want to ask her? I - I mean I'm sure there's lots of girls who will go with you, Harry." Ron cupped his hand to his face as soon as he had finished. That had definitely not come out the way he had planned.

"Of course I want to ask her," replied Harry, a little more sharply than he had intended. "It's been more than a year now since Cedric died." He sighed. "And I still like her," he added quietly.

Ron and Hermione looked at each other again. They knew better than to ask what this had to do with Cedric. But Hermione said: "Harry, the ball is supposed to be fun. Why don't you ask someone that you can have a good time with, who'll make you feel, well, comfortable?"

"What makes you think I won't have a good time with Cho?" asked Harry, a little hurt.

"Well, you don't really know her, for one thing," replied Ron.

"Isn't that the point of going to the party, so I'll get to know her?"

"Look, mate, Parvati probably won't go with you again, I'll admit, but why don't you just ask Ginny? You know each other and you'll have a good time."

This time Harry, Ron, and Hermione, along with most of the Gryffindor table did not miss the loud crash that resulted when Ginny, a dumbstruck expression etched across her face, dropped her entire plate onto the floor.

"Oh, oh, I'm really sorry," said Ginny. She turned to Catherine. "Did it get on your robes?"

"No, no, Ginny, it's OK," she replied, exchanging a worried glance with Amanda as Ginny bent down to look at her own robes.

"I - I'll just go and enchant a brush and dustpan." Ginny walked off to the other corner of the hall.

"No, Ron," said Harry, his attention returning to his best friend's question. "I'm going to ask Cho." He paused. "I - I know you're both trying to help, but my mind's made up."

"All right, then, Harry," said Ron, a little more softly. "You go for it then. Don't wait till the last minute, though, this time. Ask her before someone else does."

Harry swallowed hard. "I will." He shoved a large bite of potato into his mouth and stood up. "I think I'd better go. Quidditch practice will be starting soon and I still haven't finalized the team." He tried to smile at Ron and Hermione but they both noticed his face had turned the color of a giant beetroot. He turned and walked away, sidestepping the ownerless brush and dustpan which had returned ahead of Ginny to clear up the mess on the floor.

Ron turned to look at Hermione and found stern displeasure staring him back.

"What?" he asked.

"It's a pity they don't have lessons in tact at this school."

"I was only trying to help," protested Ron.

Hermione sighed. "Come on, then." She picked up her S.P.E.W. box and swallowed a forkful of peas. "We'd better go after him before he starts brooding about something. Since you won't know what to do, Ron, might I suggest you invite him for a game of Wizard chess?"

"I thought he was busy planning the Quidditch team?" said Ron, getting up.

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "Ron, I just hope that whichever girl you ask to this dance has a good sense of humor."

Hermione motioned to Ron to walk ahead of her and turned to follow. As she left, she glanced at the brush and dustpan still clearing up the remains of Ginny's plate. "Honestly," she muttered under her breath. "Boys are so thick."

***

Ginny decided that she could not face returning to the table. After making sure that the magical brush and dustpan was doing its work, she went off to the place she always went when she needed to get away from every one and every thing in her life. It was during Ginny's second year, after a day when Fred and George had teased her mercilessly, that Ginny had struck the idea of the perfect hiding place, a place where Ginny was sure that no one could find her because they would never imagine that she would dream of going there.

Ginny sat on the ground of the out-of-order girls' bathroom on the first floor, leaning up against the out-of-order sink that Ginny now knew hid the sealed entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. It wasn't that Ginny had overcome her fear of the Chamber. Her nightmares were still proof of how the events of her first year still haunted her. It was just that this bathroom never featured in her nightmares. After all, while she had apparently opened the Chamber of Secrets herself from this very spot, she could not really remember having done so. The only memory she had of this bathroom was a happy one, that of returning to Hogwarts with Ron, Harry, and Professor Lockhart after Harry had rescued her from the Chamber.

Ginny drew her legs up against her body and rested her chin on her knees. Anyone who might have seen her at that moment would have thought she was in a trance, no less powerful than that to which she had once been subjected by Tom Riddle. But Ginny simply valued the chance to think clearly and without interruption.

But as Ginny herself had observed only the day before, solitude was a very rare prize in the magical community.

"Oooh!" said a young girl's voice startling Ginny. "Come to brood, have we?" The ghost of a teenage girl, slightly younger than Ginny and wearing a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, floated up out of an out-of-order toilet.

"I'm not brooding," replied Ginny tartly, looking warily at Moaning Myrtle. "I'm thinking."

"Don't talk to me about thinking." Myrtle frowned suddenly. "I have all the time in the world to think - by myself." Myrtle's face suddenly creased up and tears fell down her cheeks. "No one cares about miserable Moaning Myrtle. No one comes to visit her, not even those whose life Myrtle helped to save!" Myrtle swooped down so that the rim of her glasses was only centimeters away from Ginny's face.

"I - I come to visit you a lot, Myrtle," replied Ginny.

"But you don't ever talk to me, do you?" Myrtle folded her arms crossly. "You just come here to think!"

Ginny didn't reply.

"I know what it is you're thinking about, too." An evil grin began to spread across Myrtle's face.

"What?" Ginny did not manage to avoid rising to the bait.

"You're thinking about a boy, aren't you? I know that look. Olive Hornby used to get it after I'd haunted her boyfriend so terribly well that he'd had to leave the school." Myrtle finished her account with a silly giggle.

Ginny moved her legs down. It was time to think about finding somewhere else to be.

"I know who it is, too." Myrtle giggled again.

"Who?" asked Ginny.

"It's Harry, isn't it?"

Ginny tried to turn her head away but not before Myrtle caught her blushing and let out a sickeningly stupid laugh. "I still remember the way you looked at him when you all came out of that chamber. Ooooh, we are smitten, aren't we? Oh, don't worry. I don't blame you. He is a bit dishy. I remember the time he went swimming with the golden egg in the prefects' bathroom. I keep hoping he'll die so that he can share my toilet but he never quite seems to make it." Myrtle finished her sentence through gritted teeth.

Ginny stood up to leave the bathroom. The conversation was definitely starting to get ahead of her.

"Fine," said Myrtle, starting to sob again. "You just want to leave, don't you? You tire so easily of listening to poor Myrtle's moaning." She began to cry pitifully then abruptly broke into a grin and moved to block Ginny's exit.

"I can help you, you know," she said. "That is if you really want him to like you and don't just want to sit in my toilet and brood about him all day, which is fine also."

Ginny knew Myrtle was baiting her again but her challenge had given Ginny pause for thought and raised her curiosity.

"Don't tell me you plan to haunt the whole school until there's only the two of us left."

"Oooh, that is a lovely idea." Myrtle giggled again. "I was actually thinking about how Olive Hornby found her boyfriend before I chased him away." Myrtle's eyes flashed dangerously before she broke into a smile again.

"How then?" Ginny put her hand on her hip impatiently.

"It's very simple. You have to find a friend."

Ginny lowered her shoulders in disappointment. "All my friends know."

"Not your friends." Myrtle swooped over and poked Ginny through her chest. "His friends."

Ginny took a cautious step backward and kept looking at Myrtle. "What good is that going to do?"

Myrtle smiled mischievously. "They know what he wants, don't they? And they might know if he fancies you, too."

"And have you ever thought they might tell him what I feel?"

"Of course," replied Myrtle. "That's exactly what happened to Olive Hornby, but it worked."

Ginny was beginning to think much less of Myrtle's plan. "I can't very well go asking my brother."

"Oooh, that would be interesting." Myrtle's eyes widened. "Actually, I was thinking about that other one he always runs around with. Big hair? Looks like an oversized chipmunk?"

"Hermione," said Ginny pensively.

"She would know, wouldn't she? Of course," Myrtle added wickedly. "Maybe she fancies him."

"I see," said Ginny flatly. "Thank you, Myrtle." She made her move toward the door, wondering whether she could escape without another outburst.

But Myrtle flew in front of Ginny's path again, her arms folded in indignation.

"I've helped you today, again. I don't expect you to be grateful for long." Myrtle's voice started to crack and Ginny sensed more sobbing was soon to follow. "You're welcome to the noble Harry Potter while he's still alive, which I doubt will be for long, but if he dies, he's mine!"

Ginny did not respond. Her eyes narrowed and her fists clenched and unclenched. Ignoring the rush of cold air that passed over her body, she walked straight through Myrtle and out of the door.

***

Harry had agreed to the games of Wizard Chess but he had been beaten badly by Ron in all three. It was clear his mind was elsewhere, whether on the conversation at lunch or on Sirius, Hermione could not be sure. At least it had been a try. Now the trio packed their things up and went down the moving staircases into the bowels of the school faced with the dismal prospect of double potions with the Slytherins. The only consolation Hermione took from this was that at least Snape had a way of bringing wayward minds back to attention more effectively than Wizard Chess.

Even their trip down to the dungeons was fraught with setbacks. The staircases seemed to be shifting even more than usual. Then, running down the last staircase, now dangerously close to the time class was scheduled to begin, the trio ran into Peeves, who had erected a barricade of chairs and tables from a vacant classroom and refused to move them unless Ron, Hermione, and Harry provided him with a "password" that only Peeves himself seemed to know. Finally, Ron and Harry levitated an opening through the chairs and tables which then fell back into place with a loud crash and the trio moved through, ignoring Peeves' protests.

Running hard to the dungeons, now two minutes late, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sure that Gryffindor would move into the unenviable position of moving into negative points on the first day. As they rounded the last corridor to the front of the classroom, they expected to hear Snape's intimidating drawl from inside but all that could be heard was the clatter of their own footsteps. Finally, as they reached the entrance, they could see a small piece of parchment hanging the air outside the classroom.

Ron snatched the parchment out of the air. He was about to read it when the parchment flew out of his hands and transfigured into the ghostly likeness of Professor Snape.

Ron let go and gasped, taking a step backwards into Harry and Hermione.

"All students are hereby notified that there will be no Potions lessons this week," the ghostly Snape muttered. "Students will be told when class is to be held again. In order to make up for time lost, you are expected to read the entire first volume of Potente Poisons and their Antidotes by Gwendola Grim. And I should be careful with any pumpkin juice at dinner time." Snape's mouth curled up in a sneer. "You never know when I might decide to see whether you have been keeping up."

Ron gulped.

"By the way," Snape went on. "Whichever students have just accessed this message arrived five minutes late for class. Five points will be deducted for each of you from your respective houses."

"How's he going to know who we are?"

No sooner had the question left Ron's lips that the image of Snape transfigured itself again into a camera which snapped an unflattering photograph of the trio. Hermione turned around, her heart sinking as she saw the clock on the wall behind them which clearly showed that it was five minutes past two.

"Well," said Ron, as the camera transfigured itself back into a floating parchment, "It could be worse then, couldn't it?" He grinned. "A whole week with no Snape. Maybe he's been sent on assignment by Dumbledore. Maybe he's ill."

Ron's smile faded as he noticed the uneasy expressions on Harry and Hermione's faces.

"I don't know, Ron," said Harry, a nasty suspicion forming in his mind. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"Don't tell me your scar's hurting?"

"No," said Harry queasily, "but my stomach is."

***

A cool autumn breeze blew over the entrance to a small cave along the other side of the ridge from the southern edge of what those in the wizarding community would call the Forbidden Forest. For Jacob McClelland, they were just the woods past the farm that his family had owned for centuries. He remembered as a young boy always being told never to go near them and sitting down around the kerosene lamps outside the old barn listening with his brothers and sisters as his father told the strange tales of old: about the goblins, wizards, and giants that lived in the forest and ate any children who went too near. He also remembered the vivid nightmares he had dreamed on the summer nights that his window was open and only the haunting sounds of the wind rustling the leaves on the trees in the forest could be heard. Jacob had grown up to tell the same stories to his own sons, and then to his grandchildren, but each generation had grown less interested; skepticism now took root at an earlier and earlier age. It seemed to Jacob that modern children had very little room left for wonder.

Jacob would like to think that the nothing would change on this land; that his family would still continue to herd sheep over the rock-strewn highlands for generations, but he had known for a long time now that this would not be so. Neither his children nor his children's children had much time for farming. Both his sons had placed into university, one at St. Andrews, the other in Glasgow, much to the pride of their mother (god rest her soul). Jacob had known full well that they wouldn't come back. Both did well, of course: they both ended up in Edinburgh, one a lawyer, the other a university dean. Jacob's grandchildren had enjoyed visiting the country at first, though they often spoke about the funny way granddad talked, but as they got older (and not all that old) Nintendo started to take away their interest in the old stories. Jacob knew that after he died the farm and his sheep would be sold, though, he thought, with a chuckle to himself, whoever thought they could tame this land was welcome to try.

As he dragged his increasingly non-cooperative legs up the side of the mountain, Jacob was pulled away from his reflections momentarily when two or three of his sheep stopped at the mouth of the cave and started bleating persistently.

Jacob whistled. "Come on, you there; come on then," he ordered. "'Int nothin' in that ol' cave."

Two of the sheep lost interest and moved to follow the others up the mountainside but one kept bleating away and even stuck its head a little way inside the cave.

"I said come on." Jacob flicked the long whip he was carrying and the animal grudgingly moved away from the mouth of the cave. The sheep finally followed Jacob further up the mountain and their bleating grew more and more distant.

"Fascinating animals, sheep," murmured an ownerless voice from inside the cave. "Only one of three creatures, along with bats and giraffes, that can see right through an invisibility cloak."

There was a small groan in reply from another ownerless voice.

"How is your leg now, Sirius?" asked the first voice.

"A bit better," replied the second. "I think the Skele-Gro is finally working, Dumbledore."

Seen only to Sirius, Dumbledore nodded in reply.

"It's Buckbeak I'm more worried about," added Sirius.

Dumbledore nodded again. Both he and Sirius knew they could not disapparate until Buckbeak recovered. Left on his own, the Hippogriff would certainly stand little chance in his current state.

After the Death Eater had rammed straight into his side and Buckbeak's wing had torn, he and Sirius had lost altitude rapidly. Fortunately for both of them, Buckbeak's left wing had managed to keep up enough wind resistance so that they did not pitch into the ground at the speed of a free falling object. But they nonetheless had hit very hard. Sirius had been thrown off of Buckbeak, narrowly missing a tree on the edge of the forest. He could tell right away that both his right arm and right leg were broken and a heavy gash spilled blood from his own side. Sirius honestly doubted whether Buckbeak could have survived but as he had slowly stood up from where he had fallen, he had heard the Hippogriff moaning pitifully. The high moon had illuminated the magenta-colored blood that had seemed to pour out from the Hippogriff like a burst spring. Wincing in pain and maneuvering himself over to where Buckbeak had been lying, Sirius had taken off his cloak and tore it in two, wrapping the larger piece around Buckbeak's wounded side and the smaller piece around his own wound. There he had laid next to Buckbeak, listening to the Hippogriff's ever-quieter moans and feeling the pain throb through his own body like liquid steel. Sirius had seen the Hippogriff's eyes falter and had urged him to stay awake, fighting his own impulse to lose consciousness. The only thing that had kept him going was the thought that Harry might have survived the Death Eaters and was on his way back to Hogwarts.

Then, Sirius had heard another moan. He realized that one of the Death Eaters he had stunned was waking up from the ground. He hadn't known whether the Death Eater would have the strength to attack him but he also hadn't been prepared to wait and find out. Struggling to his feet, and using his good arm to support him, Sirius had found his wand was not broken. He had used a levitation charm to maneuver Buckbeak into the forest and onto a small clearing just inside near a fallen tree. He doubted whether his hiding place would fool anyone for long, but sheer exhaustion had prevented Sirius from moving any further. From his position, he had still heard the moans of the Death Eater echoing into the night, but after a time, they grew fainter and fainter like the siren of a ship moving ever further into sea. Sirius had not neither known nor wanted to know why. After a time, he had no longer felt the strength to keep rousing a weakening Buckbeak who had started to fall into a dangerous sleep. Soon, Sirius had felt his own pain start to recede, replaced by a numbing delirium that had swept over him like a dark cloud. Finally, he had lost the battle to stay awake and had drifted into unconsciousness himself.

Sirius might have never awoken were it not for the timely appearance of a wolf, who had sniffed Sirius' face in much the same way that Buckbeak had sniffed Harry's earlier in a very long evening. Failing to revive Sirius, the wolf had begun licking his forehead and nose insistently causing Sirius to abruptly drift back into consciousness, now with a pounding skull to match his aching broken bones. As dimly aware of reality as he was at that moment, Sirius knew that being awoken by a wolf licking his face was not a very good sign, but then the wolf in question swiftly transformed itself into a long white beard and a lined face framed in half-moon spectacles. Sirius had dimly become aware of the familiar-seeming figure transform a small pack that the wolf had carried on its back into a sack too enormous to have been carried by anyone. Haphazardly turfing the contents of the bag onto the ground, Dumbledore had returned with a large flask of water which he had placed to Sirius' lips. His mind fighting through the cobwebs that still enveloped him, Sirius had watched Dumbledore take out a large medical kit and begin to bandage Sirius' wounds.

"Buckbeak," Sirius had managed to groan. He was not about to forget the Hippogriff with whom he had spent so much of his life for the past two years.

Dumbledore had nodded. "Rest. Don't talk," he had said.

After finishing Sirius' wounds, Dumbledore had turned his attention to Buckbeak. The normally sensitive and proud Hippogriff had merely purred like a cat as Dumbledore enchanted him onto his side, poured magical ointment over his wounds and bandaged his wing. Finally, seeing that neither Sirius nor Buckbeak were in any fit state to move themselves, Dumbledore had quickly transfigured himself back into a wolf and levitated both of them out of the forest where he feared the Death Eaters might return to look for them.

Sirius had drifted in and out of consciousness as he felt himself gliding just above the forest floor. Soon he became aware that he was no longer in the forest but out in the open air. After dozing for several more moments, Sirius found that he, Dumbledore, and Buckbeak were now moving up the side of a hill. He could hear Dumbledore's breath hard in his ear now and a blurred glance upwards had told him that Dumbledore had been forced to revert to human form. Even without the pressure of sustaining two spells at once, something that many full-grown wizards could not have accomplished, Dumbledore was beginning to tire.

That was the last thing Sirius remembered for some while as the ointment in the dressing Dumbledore had used on his wounds finally forced him to collapse into a long sleep. When he awoke, it was daylight; he, Dumbledore, and Buckbeak (himself still unconscious but breathing, if a little shallowly) were resting in a small cave in the side of this hill on a Muggle farm, just outside the forest. They were still perilously close to the forest and they knew it wouldn't be long before the Death Eaters would start to search for them but they could not move in their current condition. Dumbledore did not have the strength to take them far on his own and Sirius' leg had been so badly broken that Dumbledore had had to administer Skele-Gro, reminiscing all through Sirius' agonized moans about the time Madam Pomfrey had been overwhelmed during a particularly nasty Quidditch match and he had had to administer some Skele-Gro himself.

Fortunately, Dumbledore had come prepared not only with medical supplies but also with a giant invisibility tent which he tied to the top of the cave, leaving open only a flap in the front where he could go in and out to fetch water, transfigured as a dog.

Slowly, throughout the day, Sirius' strength had recovered to where he was now able to move about the cave enough to pour himself some water when he needed it. And after finally resting, and now narrowly avoiding the intrusion of Jacob's sheep, Sirius began to ask Dumbledore about Harry, and then realized quite quickly that there were a great many things Dumbledore needed to explain.

Dumbledore began by telling Sirius what had happened to Harry. Sirius listened with great interest to his detailed account, letting out a small cry when Dumbledore explained how Lucius Malfoy had summoned Harry's Firebolt.

"So he's safe?" Sirius asked finally. "He's back at Hogwarts. No one can touch him there, can they?"

Dumbledore sighed. Such was the agony in Sirius' question that he did not have the heart to deny it. But then he forced himself to look Sirius in the eye and say:

"I hope so. Perhaps he is. But I cannot depend on it. You know that, Sirius."

"But surely there must be something we can do?" Sirius demanded, the color rising in his face. "And why did you leave Hogwarts? Surely there must have been someone else besides you who could have rescued me? Someone you could trust? Aren't you putting Harry in danger by coming out here? What if Voldemort attacks while you're gone?"

Dumbledore did not reply at first. He simply looked Sirius squarely in the eye.

"I have, of course, thought of all of these things," he said quietly. "I came here myself because it was very important that I find you and save you myself. It was a very delicate operation that required a lot of magic and although I say so myself, I was not prepared to leave it to others. I have a plan to stop Voldemort. It is not a safe plan; in fact, it is very, very dangerous, and if I thought there was another way I could stop him, I would. But I do not believe there is."

And so Dumbledore told Sirius his plan, including both his own role and the part that he hoped Sirius himself would play. Sirius stared wide-eyed during Dumbledore's entire account. In the end, he found his head spinning. He marveled at the complexity of the plan and also its acute danger. In the end, he wasn't sure whether he should admire Dumbledore for his ingenuity or damn him for his recklessness.

He finished up by simply continuing to stare dumbly at Dumbledore until he realized how he must have looked.

"But - but, Dumbledore, surely there must be another way. I just risked my life trying to get Harry out of danger and - "

"And I am preparing to do precisely the same thing, for Harry, and for each and every one of my students. I'm asking you to join me, Sirius."

Dumbledore's determined gaze seemed to bore into Sirius, but Sirius wasn't going to be deterred so easily.

"But the risk!" he protested. "The danger you are planning to put Harry in, and the others. Are you sure about the information you have gathered on Voldemort? Your plan seems to depend very much on it."

If Sirius was looking for reassurance, he was not going to gain it.

"No," replied Dumbledore. "I was wrong about Voldemort's plan to attack the Muggles. I could be wrong about this. I believe you know very well, Sirius, how difficult it is to know whom to trust. I still do not know, for instance, how Voldemort was alerted to this location when he attacked you and Harry. I can only infer that there is still someone at Hogwarts giving Voldemort information, someone I do not know about."

"Then how - "

Sirius stopped at the sight of Dumbledore's raised palm. "Because all of the alternatives seem much worse. If you have a different plan, Sirius," he said, in an almost defeated tone. "I would be very glad to hear it. I mean that in all sincer-"

Dumbledore suddenly broke off and frowned.

Sirius looked up, his instincts aroused and his eyes sharp and searching like a hawk's.

"What is it?" he asked.

Dumbledore motioned for him to keep silent.

And then Sirius heard it to. The sound of a voice. It was the sheep farmer talking from somewhere up on the mountain behind them. And he was getting louder.

"What in the name of Jesus - Oy!" Jacob cried. "You lot! What d'ya lads think yeh doin'? This is private property. No trespassin'."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Answer me then?" came Jacob's voice, louder and more insistent. "What the hell yeh playin' at, dressed like that? 'S a bit early for Halloween now."

Silence again.

"What's that yeh got there? If yeh threatenin' me, I warn yeh - "

The last of Jacob's words seemed to die in his throat. There was a whooshing sound and then the sheep farmer let out a loud tormented scream ending in an ominous gurgle that made Sirius' blood curl.

Jacob McClelland's childhood nightmares had finally caught up to him.

Sirius looked to Dumbledore and saw that he was thinking the same thing. The Death Eaters had returned.

***

Deep in a dark forest in a part of the world where it was already night, all was very quiet. The beautiful brilliant white unicorns who normally roamed the forest in large families had fled in fear to the outer reaches of the woods, risking detection by wizards and even Muggles.

For something deep within the forest was killing unicorns. Something dark, unseen, and unthinkable.

And at that very moment, the silence was deceptive. A unicorn lay on the ground, its powdery skin reflecting eerily in the moonlight. The unicorn no longer had the strength to cry out. It silently lifted its rear leg in a final protest and then felt its soul ebb away into darkness.

Panting and rasping for breath, Lord Voldemort bent over the slain unicorn and hungrily sunk his teeth into the animal's flesh, taking in huge gulps of its blood like a man about to die of thirst. Large globs of the silvery liquid dripped down the front of Voldemort's robes as he chewed further into the unicorn's neck, trying to break into its carotid artery.

No one, not his closest supporters, or even his snake Nagini, knew where the Voldemort was at this moment. And none would have recognized their master. Gone was the self-assured Dark Lord who controlled both his friends and foes in a delicate cocktail of loyalty and fear and in its place was a half-human monster who could not even control his own appetite. Voldemort no longer needed the animal's blood to survive as he had once done. He was strong, even stronger than ever. Moreover, he knew that with every drop of pure unicorn blood he ingested, he subjected himself to a cursed life.

But the truth was that Voldemort had grown used to it. There was a raw, animal power that coursed through his veins from brutally killing a unicorn and feeling its life's strength flow into him, a power that Voldemort could never completely gain from his subtle manipulations of the Death Eaters.

Finally, when he was sure that he had drunk every last ounce of the unicorn's life force, Voldemort sank back against the thick trunk of a dead tree, feeling the energy surge through his body like the jolt of an electric shock. Voldemort's pounding heart quieted slowly. Finally, when he had caught his breath again, Voldemort felt his feeling of power melt away, replaced by a loathing self-disgust that he could sink to such depths, that he could endanger the very power and immortality for which he had strived his whole life for a fleeting thrill.

But as Voldemort's sense of reason and calculation slowly returned, he realized that loathing his own frailties could serve no purpose. Manipulating himself as masterfully as he had manipulated others, Voldemort channeled all of his anger and disgust onto the person who had created his dependency in the first place, the person who had made it necessary for him to forage for unicorn blood when he was merely a parasite on the body of another, the person who had reduced him from the most powerful sorcerer wizard-kind had ever known to a creature on the edge of existence: Harry Potter.

Voldemort reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out the diary he had once enchanted all those years ago. Tom Riddle had been shrewd beyond his sixteen years but his knowledge of magic had still been limited to that of a student. He had not known when he had enchanted the diary of the limitations of the magic he had used. When, in later years, Riddle had discovered the diary's danger, he had simply recovered the book and hid it amongst his old school belongings, never to be used again, let alone found by anyone else.

But Voldemort had not counted on his own demise at the hands of a mere toddler. He had not imagined that his Death Eaters would go rifling through his personal belongings and that Lucius Malfoy would take control of the diary, ignorant to both its power and its danger, and use it for his own nefarious purposes. When Voldemort had regained strength and Malfoy had presented him with the destroyed diary, it had taken all of the Dark Lord's self-control not to annihilate him where he stood.

As far as Malfoy had been concerned, the diary had been destroyed: the essence of what had once been the preserved memory of Tom Riddle had seeped out harmlessly onto the floor of the now-sealed Chamber of Secrets thanks, once again, to the meddlesome Harry Potter. But it was not for nothing that Voldemort had become the most powerful wizard ever. The magic of the diary might be gone but its torn pages still contained the secrets it once hid. For one as powerful as Voldemort, the past was not a barrier but merely a veil that could be lifted with the right magic.

Few of even Voldemort's closest followers knew that the Dark Lord could hold a single pebble in his hand and learn not only whatever creature had walked over it for hundreds of years but also smell the air and taste the hopes and fears of those creatures as though they were his own. Every object in the universe, however dead, left a kind of magical imprint that could still be read if one was powerful enough to learn how. And Voldemort had made it his business to do so. For he had learned long before he had given up his Muggle father's name that whomever had knowledge also had power in equal sum.

It was a dangerous magic to be sure, and one that Voldemort did not practice lightly, but if there was one thing Voldemort could not tolerate it was ignorance and he knew full well that Malfoy had limited his account of the diary's adventures to what his own vanity could withstand.

And so Voldemort had taken the diary in his hands, run his fingers over its dusty broken pages, and opened up its secrets. He had learned, as has sixteen-year-old self had learned before him, of Ginny Weasley, the silly eleven-year-old girl who loved Harry Potter for all of the same reasons that Voldemort hated him. He had learned of Malfoy's ill-conceived plan to place the blame for the re-opening of the Chamber and its consequences on the girl's father, satisfying, in the process, his petty workplace grudge. And Voldemort had learned a great deal about Harry himself, the boy who spoke Parseltongue, whose ingenuity, nerve, and disregard for rules had led him to defeat Tom Riddle and violently destroy the diary's magic. It was a pity that Harry had chosen to work against Lord Voldemort for he would have made such a powerful ally.

Voldemort had known of the danger of the diary's magic and had hoped he could control it, but it was not until after he had devoured its secrets with the same appetite that he had consumed the unicorn's blood that Voldemort realized he had succumbed to the trap his younger self had unwittingly set. He was bonded to Ginny Weasley, not only her past but also her present self with all the dangers that such a crude link brought with it. If he was cautious enough, however, he could use the strength of the link without succumbing to any of its weaknesses.

Voldemort placed his hand over the diary, closed his eyes, and concentrated on Ginny. He could feel her memory flow from the diary into his mind. Then he tried to reach out further through the link to Ginny's present self, as he had every night in her dreams that summer.

But just as he could begin to make out the shadows of her conscious thought, Voldemort found himself blocked. He tried with all of the power at his disposal to go around the block, then through it, but finally he knew it was futile. He opened his eyes once again and allowed himself a smile. Of course, it would not do to underestimate Dumbledore too much. After his attempts to keep Harry safe in his home had been thwarted, Dumbledore had obviously found some way to reinforce the magic that kept Hogwarts safe from outside intrusion even when he himself was not present in the castle. It was no matter: Voldemort knew he could be very patient.

Voldemort's smile remained as he allowed himself the rare luxury to reflect on his own student days. He remembered as if from a distant existence the handsome prefect that had told only a few close friends of his true ambitions. His face had not always inspired fear and disgust. He was once handsome like Harry and he had attracted the attention of many girls just as weak minded as the pathetic Ginny. He had not been interested in any of them, of course; his thirsts could not be satisfied by any childish romance. He did not know whether Harry felt the same but it did not matter. He knew that Ginny would try to cling to Harry just as those tittering, giggling Slytherin girls had tried to cling to him so many years ago. She would know wherever Harry was. And once the link was opened, Voldemort would take all of the foolish hopes and dreams that Ginny and her family believed in so fervently and use them against her: she would lead Voldemort right to Harry without ever realizing what she had done.

And then Voldemort would kill him.