The Veil of Memories

Chapter 10

Friends in the Darkness

Hermione sat down next to Lavender, too weary to fight or even talk to her roommate. Lavender's pale cheeks were flushed and she panted with nervous energy as though she had been running a race. Hermione, however, felt a horrible draining malaise start to come over her as though she was too weak to act or even think about acting. Looking around, the walls of the prison seemed to grow even higher and Hermione couldn't escape the feeling that she was sinking into a narrow ravine with no hope and no way out. She could still hear the sounds of the netball game going on right next to her but they seemed to grow more and more distant with each passing moment as though they were part of a shadowy alter-reality far removed from the dense terror in which Hermione now found herself.

Still consumed by her morose thoughts, Hermione heard Lavender give out a small gasp. She looked up to see Dean walking slowly toward them from the other side of the playground. Lavender got to her feet, closely followed by Hermione, whose attention was now closely fixed on Dean. They had taken a few steps forward when they noticed, for the first time, that Umbridge's petite frame was slowly trailing Dean. Lavender froze, but Hermione tugged at her arm and, propelled by an energy which had been lacking moments before, urged her to continue walking forward.

Their quick strides took them across the playground much faster than Umbridge and Dean were walking toward them. At first, Hermione thought that Dean might have been slowing down for Umbridge but as they neared, they could see that he was walking slowly, almost gingerly toward them. Hermione felt like a hard rock had descended into her stomach the nearer they walked, but she forced herself to go faster until finally they had met.

"I have finished with Mr. Thomas now," said Umbridge sweetly. "I trust I didn't keep him from you too long."

Hermione ignored Umbridge and looked up closely at Dean. He had an odd look on his face like he was forcing his eyes open. A moment later, he flinched.

"Dean!" said Lavender as Hermione felt the color drain from her face. "Dean, are you all right?"

Dean winced again and Hermione noticed he was bending over slightly. Ignoring Umbridge, she and Lavender steered him to a nearby bench.

"It's all right," Dean said hoarsely. "I'll be all right."

But Lavender did not seem very convinced. Ignoring Umbridge, she quickly sat down next to Dean and put her hand on his shoulder. She had no sooner done this when Dean winced and bent over. His sweater and shirt pulled upward slightly to reveal the beginnings of several criss-crossing scars on his lower back.

Lavender gasped.

"Wh - what - what are those?" she asked.

Dean quickly straightened up and tucked his shirt roughly into his trousers.

"I said I'll be all right, Lavender!"

"Mr. Thomas is quite correct," said a honey-coated voice, as Hermione turned around to see that Umbridge had drifted up noiselessly behind them. "I doubt there will have been any permanent damage although Headmaster Snape did get quite cross when Mr. Thomas stubbornly refused to scream. Now, I'm afraid I will have to take my leave as I have other matters that require my attention. If either of you should see Mr. Creevey, perhaps you would be kind enough to inform him that I would like to see him this time tomorrow. Of course, should you decide to come and see me first, Hermione, that meeting may prove itself unnecessary. It's all up to you, you see, my dear."

Umbridge turned to leave but before she could, Hermione had leapt forward after her. Lavender just noticed what she was doing in time to grab hold of her arms before she could free either of them to strike the nun.

"You horrid little toad!" Hermione snapped, struggling to free herself from Lavender. "You wretched, evil - let me go!"

But Lavender continued to restrain Hermione's arms with all her might.

Umbridge's smile diminished only slightly as she turned around to face Hermione.

"Have a care, girl," she said, in a tone of voice that was as quiet as it was nasty. "You're not above a good thrashing yourself. I'll be waiting for my answer."

"You won't succeed, you know," said Lavender, very quietly, almost as though she hoped that Umbridge wouldn't hear.

"Oh, I rather think I shall, Miss Brown," Umbridge said, her smile returning. "Although I hope Miss Granger does not take too much more time. I would hate to have to harm an attractive creature like yourself. Good day."

Hermione and Lavender watched Umbridge turn her back on them and slowly walk away, apparently confident that neither of them would attempt any move against her.

Hermione shoved herself out of Lavender's grip and turned around to face her. Before she could say anything, however, it became apparent that her attempt to attack Umbridge had created quite a crowd of students. Fortunately, it was Sister Owens' turn on playground duty that day. She bounded over quickly. Hermione wondered for a moment if the nun who had once been the only friendly person to her at St. Brutus's was finally about to turn against her. But Sister Owens hurried the other students along quickly, saying nothing to Hermione and Lavender.

Hermione watched her go for a moment and then swung around to face Lavender.

"What did you do that for?" she hissed, as loudly as she dared. "And now look, you've gotten yourself into trouble, just as I said - "

"Excuse me!" Lavender shot back, "but you're not the only one who makes decisions around here! If you'd gotten a punch in at Umbridge, you'd be far worse for it and probably so would I! You might think I'm no smarter than a puff of air but I've chosen my ground and now I'm going to stand on it!"

And before Hermione could respond, Lavender sat down on the bench next to Dean who was still bent over, his hands between his knees.

"Let me see," she said, taking his shirt in her hands.

"No! Leave me alone, Lavender!"

"Please, I only want to help. If the skin is broken, it might - "

"It wasn't broken, I can tell. Now just - "

"Dean," said Hermione, sharing a hesitant look of agreement with her roommate. "Lavender's right. It's best if we have a look. There's no one else around. Sister Owens shooed them all away."

Dean sighed for a moment and said nothing. Lavender seemed to take this to indicate his agreement and slowly began to lift up the back of his shirt. Dean made no move to stop her.

"Oh, God," she said and quickly put the shirt back down again. "They're beasts!"

She turned back to look at Hermione only to find that her face had turned the color of wax. She quickly clutched hold of her stomach and bolted for the building.

"That bad?" asked Dean, with a half-smile.

"Well, you're right," said Lavender, trying to sound better than she felt. "I suppose the skin is not broken."

"Honestly, Lavender, I've had worse scrapes playing football. You should see the scar on my - "

"This wasn't football!" Lavender's blue eyes quickly filled with tears. "This - this - " She balled her fists in her lap in frustration.

Before he had realized what he was doing, Dean had placed a hand on her shoulder. Lavender looked up at him, tears falling down her cheeks but her eyes slightly surprised.

"I would have thought you would know by now," said Dean darkly, "everything about this place is mean and cruel."

Lavender looked up at him for another long moment.

"No," she finally said. "Not everything."

And then without leaving his eyes, Lavender gently placed the tips of her fingers in Dean's palm. He looked at her in turn for a moment longer, then slowly closed his hand around hers.

***

Snape looked down at his own hand: wiry, thin, and ghostly-white as he replaced the long cane into the drawer by the side of his desk. The hand was trembling again. Snape quickly grabbed it with the other, as though to both stop the trembling and force down with it the growing unease in his heart.

He wasn't old, Snape decided. How had he suddenly become so weak? He started to think more seriously than he had before that perhaps he should go to seek a doctor. The symptoms could be the sign of something more serious, after all. Yet still something inside him continued to resist. Admitting his illness to others, to say nothing of himself, would seem so weak when he was needed to be so strong.

The shaking had started again when he was caning the Thomas boy. Perhaps it was the exertion that did it. But no, Snape decided, that couldn't be right. He still ran twice around the barb-wired perimeter of the school each morning and felt no strain from that. Perhaps it was the conflict in his heart that had brought on his condition again, Snape decided, but this idea terrified him even more. This was a prison school, after all. How could a prison school operate if not for the ever-present scepter of corporal punishment? He could have hit Thomas much harder if he'd wanted to and it was not as though the boy had done nothing to deserve it after all. Could it be, Snape wondered, that he himself had gone soft?

The trembling started again without warning. This time it was not just in Snape's hands but all over his body. A sudden image arose in his mind of Granger and her group of insubordinates raiding his office, ridiculing his ineffectual protests, tying him up like a mutinous captain, and laughing as they burned down the school and escaped. Then another image exploded unbidden into Snape's mind: he was standing in front of a large, burning mansion, screaming as zealous figures in many-colored robes ran chaotically through once-beautiful gardens, struggling against ropes that had suddenly curled around his body, watching powerlessly as his parents were carried out from the house in the arms of the crowd, crying their terrified but futile protests.

Snape took a deep breath and forced himself to stay calm. He reassured himself that the illusion wasn't real, that no such place existed, that his parents, as he knew full well, were still safe and sound in their home. He was not sure where the mental image had come from or how it had suddenly presented itself in his mind. Could he be going mad?

The question still hung sharply in Snape's mind as he heard slow, measured footsteps approaching his office. He knew that it would be Sister Umbridge returning and he was sure he could not afford to succumb to an attack in front of her. He forced his heart to stop pounding and his mind to clear. By the time the nun had opened the door without knocking, Snape had found his stoic face once more.

***

Hermione continued to sit on the toilet long after she had disgorged her lunch into its bowels. She knew that she should have gotten up and immediately returned to Lavender and Dean, yet her body had seemed to decide of its own accord that it had taken enough abuse and that, barring any attempts for her forcible removal (and Hermione had no illusions that she would not be allowed to remain locked away in a cubicle forever), she simply could not budge.

The outer door opened. Hermione felt her hands clench and her heart begin to pound loudly. She tried to force herself to stay calm; it was probably just another student. Hermione checked that the latch on her end of the cubicle was securely fastened and tried to reassure herself that she could get through all this somehow. She looked up at the makeshift wooden walls surrounding her and felt her mind sinking into the ravine again. She remembered vividly the desperate fear that had seemed to consume her when she had finished burning down that house: how she hadn't been able to eat or sleep for days, filled with remorse and fear, how it had finally seemed a relief when the police had found out it had been her. At least then her fate had been clear. Now, she had no idea what she could possibly do. Umbridge had her completely trapped, which was exactly what she had intended. On the one hand, she couldn't turn in the other members of the group but on the other, she couldn't continue to see her friends suffer.

Light footsteps snapped Hermione's attention quickly back to the present. Whomever had just entered the girls' room was not, in fact, going about their business but was continuing to creep forward gingerly. She had now seemed to stop right in front of Hermione's stall.

Hermione began breathing quickly again. She considered whether she should open her mouth to say something when an unmistakably familiar small girl's voice called out:

"Hermione?"

It was Arabella.

Hermione was too shocked to respond for the moment. She wondered whether she should pretend that she wasn't there when Arabella said again:

"Hermione, I know you're in there! Don't pretend you're not. You can't stay in there forever."

"Arabella, go away!"

"No!" came the defiant response. "I'm not leaving unless you come with me!"

"Are you mad? You can't be with - Umbridge - there could be cameras in here, did you think of that?"

"There aren't," replied Arabella, matter-of-factly. "I checked."

"But you can't be - don't you - we can't be seen together, do you know that?"

"No."

Hermione sighed heavily and then forced her voice lower.

"Umbridge doesn't know you were in the group and if they find us talking, they're going to suspect you were!"

"I don't care!"

"Arabella, don't you understand? You don't think they're going to hurt you just because you're little and you're a girl? They're far worse than that!"

"I didn't say I thought that and I don't think that! In fact, me and Dennis have been talking and we think we're just going to go and tell Snape we were in the group. That way, no one else is going to get hurt."

"No, Arabella! No, no, no! Do you think they won't hurt you just because you tell them? It's all lies! They're just trying to lure us all out and then they're going to do even worse things to us!"

"Did you ever think about why, Hermione? Why is it that a group of kids making wands out of sticks is so threatening to them?"

"Because they think we're devil worshippers or something. God only knows how these people think! That's not the point, we've - "

"But it is the point, Hermione! Don't you see they're afraid of us? Don't you see they're afraid of us because we've become something human? Something not beaten down, something that still has a will to fight and to live! Do you know why I'm in this prison, Hermione?"

"No, Arabella, and I don't want to - "

"I killed my father."

There was a sudden, deafening silence in the bathroom. Hermione was very sure she was going to be sick again.

"He would come home from the pub - drunk," Arabella went on, her voice suddenly very quiet. "It wasn't every day he did it; mostly on weekends, although it started to get worse towards the end. He could be quite nice and kind otherwise. But after he had been drinking, he could never see too much sense. The same thing would happen nearly every time: my mother would complain that he'd been too long, that he was never home with the family, then they would get into a row, then he would start to hit her, sometimes with his hand, sometimes with whatever else was handy. I would cry at him to stop but he wouldn't listen. I would even beat him with my fists but you can imagine how much that helped. Then one day, they had a row in the kitchen. My father hit her hard with a rolling pin - and he kept hitting her, on the back, on the head. I was trying to grab onto him to make him stop but he just ignored me. My mother kept screaming. It was horrible. Finally, I saw a knife on the table, a sort of long sharp knife that my mother always used to cut big vegetables. I picked it up and plunged it into his back. I was just trying to stop him. He turned around and looked at me. He was so surprised. I - I - I don't think I killed him then, but I - I couldn't stop." Arabella started to sob. "I just kept on striking him with the knife. I think my mother tried to stop me but it was too late. All I could remember was his blood all over my hands and my shirt, I - "

Arabella finally stopped talking. Hermione sat dumbstruck on the toilet for another moment, then stood up, pulled up her trousers, and opened the door. She pulled Arabella's head to her chest, feeling once again the now unfamiliar sensation of human touch and let the girl cry the rest of her tears into her pullover. When she was finished, Hermione crouched down so that her face was across from her short friend and said softly:

"Oh, Arabella, how did you ever end up here? Surely the police must have understood. Surely your mother - "

But Arabella shook her head.

"They pretended pity, of course, but I think they were terrified of me. Even my mother. She could never see what my father did wrong; she would always make excuses for him even when he hurt her. They justified putting me here because it was nicer than a juvenile prison; I suppose it was because it sounded nicer to them. I don't think it can really be nicer, though."

"It probably isn't," said Hermione sighing.

Arabella wiped her tears away in the sleeve of her shirt and looked up at her older friend.

"Do you see why we've got to tell them now? Do you understand?"

"I - I - no!" said Hermione suddenly. "No, I don't understand!"

Arabella looked up at Hermione pityingly.

"Because our group was the first thing in a long time that's made me feel like a real person again, that's made me feel something other than - than - than a killer, all right? I can survive whatever they do to me but I can't survive not being worth anything again."

"B - but, Arabella, we can't actually continue the group now. I mean, if nothing else...."

Hermione paused as she looked down into the younger girl's dark brown eyes, the trust and hope within them completely transparent. She remembered how she had written in her diary almost exactly the same thing that Arabella had just told her, about feeling human again, about feeling something other than a criminal or a reject, about having a real gift.

And sharing it with others.

And just as though she could hear Hermione's thoughts in her head, Arabella added quietly:

"This isn't just about you, Hermione, it's about all of us. And you are not alone."

Hermione paused for a moment, then nodded, almost imperceptibly.

Arabella nodded, too, and they hugged one last time. They were still in each other's embrace when a loud buzzer outside signaled the end of the students' brief and constrained time in the playground. They both turned to leave but Hermione took hold of Arabella's arm at the last minute.

"Arabella, just - just don't do anything yet, all right? Promise me? Umbridge gave us until tomorrow before she starts doing anything to Colin."

Arabella looked up questioningly at Hermione for a moment, and then nodded.

"All right, until this time tomorrow then, but not a moment longer."

Hermione nodded herself and the two girls left the bathroom.

***

"Are you quite all right, Headmaster?"

Snape felt a sudden unexplained rush of dislike as he looked down at Umbridge's mouse-like head and listened to her sickly falsely-sweet voice. He wasn't sure quite what had given rise to the feeling and he quickly decided it was both inappropriate and unwelcome. The next moment he realized that he had not responded to Umbridge's question and that her face seemed frozen in a plastic smile.

"I'm - I'm fine, thank you, Sister," he managed in a slightly forced voice.

"Are you quite sure?" cooed Umbridge, looking searchingly into his eyes as though trying to fathom some undeclared secret. "Running this sort of school is such an enormous responsibility. If you were to suddenly grow unwell, well - " Umbridge paused. "We definitely wouldn't want that to happen now, would we?"

"No," replied Snape with a little more authority. "No, we wouldn't."

Umbridge looked at him for a moment longer and then turned her head away and walked toward Snape's desk, sitting down behind it. Snape suppressed another rush of dislike at the presumptuous way in which she had taken his headmaster's chair but he succeeded in forcing it down more quickly than he had the first time.

"I've told the Granger girl that we're giving her until tomorrow to bring us the names of the other students. I'm sure you'll agree that I have been most generous."

"Indeed." Snape straightened himself up. "Perhaps too generous," he added icily, and not without a note of challenge.

"I think not," replied Umbridge vacantly, either not noticing or choosing to ignore Snape's tone. "She is a stubborn creature but given time for her despair to set in, she might then be more likely to come to her senses. She is also likely to remain less defiant if she feels we are being more lenient than we might."

"And supposing Miss Granger comes forward with the information you request, what then?"

Umbridge smiled again. "I believe you can leave that to me, Headmaster."

Snape considered for a moment whether Umbridge had the authority to keep him out of disciplinary decisions altogether and briefly considered mentioning it but something made him refrain.

"You've done very well, Headmaster," said Umbridge sweetly, smiling as though at his non-response. "I feel quite confident that - "

Umbridge broke off suddenly, her smile fading. Her eyes wandered to another part of the office and she briefly touched the side of her ear as though listening to something.

"Are you quite all right, Sister?" asked Snape. "Perhaps it is I who should be concerned with your well-being."

"Quite all right, I assure you, Headmaster," replied Umbridge after a moment's pause, but her smile did not return. "Perhaps I will consider your suggestion," she said, as though her mind were elsewhere. "Perhaps a larger change of plan is in order, in fact. I will keep you informed."

Snape frowned, baffled at Umbridge's sudden, unexpected behavior. Before he could reply, however, the nun had gotten quickly to her feet and had left his office.

***

1 December 1996

I'm not really sure what more to write. I'm still convinced we're in a horrible pickle now, though somehow I can't help but feel somewhat encouraged after my talk with Arabella this afternoon. At least it seems we weren't discovered (so far, that is).

I'm not sure at all what to make of Lavender. I think she may have really gone mad. I thought she would try and talk to me and I was thinking of all sorts of ways I could fend her off. (Of course, I'm trying to remind myself that Arabella was right, really. I shouldn't try and do everything by myself and it feels better knowing that, really. I suppose I'd been so used to only trusting and depending on myself for so long. But I still didn't want to talk to Lavender or listen to any of her annoying and no doubt futile suggestions for what we should do next).

But still, it seems I don't have to worry about that after all. She hasn't said a word to me all day. She had a funny smile on her face all during Sister Barnes' lesson this afternoon. It was so noticeable that the dragon queen herself came over and asked her what she was so happy about (I'm sure Sister Barnes couldn't possibly imagine happiness like that. Perhaps she thinks she'll find it in heaven or some such place; who knows. Perhaps also though, she's been told that Lavender was part of the group. Yes, I suppose on thinking about it, that must be the case). At any rate, just as I was wondering what Lavender was so happy about, she spent most of the time between lessons crying in the bathroom. Then she missed clean-up after dinner. I tried to cover for her; I don't know whether I was successful at that, either. When we got back to the room, she was crying again. I was certain she must have been cross at me but I went over and gave her a hug and she didn't resist. But she still didn't say anything either. She's in bed now, pretending to be asleep, though I doubt she is. I suppose Umbridge has really terrified her. I told her not to get involved but she's so predictably dense. Now, I can't help feeling sorry for her, though not nearly as sorry as I feel for Dean and Arabella, and then not nearly again as sorry as I feel for myself.

Hermione stopped writing for a moment and looked down carefully at the last sentence she had written, wondering whether or not she had succeeded in deceiving herself. She had not written that she also felt horribly guilty and responsible for what had happened to Dean, a terrible consuming guilt. But perhaps, yes, it was still true that she felt sorry for herself as well. Somehow, she couldn't help but think that, under the circumstances, her self-pity might prove healthy, especially if she could transform it into something almost like righteous indignation. Hermione picked up her pen and continued.

I don't know what I'm going to do now. I felt strangely confident after I talked to Arabella though now I'm not sure why. I feel like there's a death sentence hanging over Colin and I've only got until tomorrow to prevent it. If only I had more time.

Hermione had sooner dotted the letter "i" in time when the lights went out around her. The authoritative voice of Sister Jones rang out in the corridors making it very clear (as if needed be) that it was bedtime. Hermione protectively tucked the diary under the pillow beneath her head as she did each night. But she did not sleep. She did not even close her eyes. All she could do was churn her dilemma around in her head over and over again, each time without result. Even in Hermione's anxious state, fatigue grew around her, slowly but inexorably. Without expecting or wishing it, she finally fell into sleep.

The figure had been waiting in the darkened corner of her room for some time. It had arrived silently and remained unnoticed. The barred windows and locked door had meant nothing to it. Finally, as the soft sound of Hermione's rising and falling breath made it clear that she had last fallen asleep, it silently crept to the side of her bed. It gingerly drew back only the very top corners of her sheets, exposing the diary under the pillow. It waited to make sure that neither Hermione nor Lavender would wake. Then, with the practice of an artist of stealth, it slowly lifted the diary into its hands. A second later, it had disappeared.

***

"Ginny?"

The only response was a soft groan.

"Ginny! Come on, you've got to get up; we'll be late for Potions! What are you doing down here anyhow?"

Amanda shook Ginny's prone form and her eyes quickly snapped to life. She grabbed her hands around one of the cushions and looked at it closely, as though surprised to see it. She then looked back up at her roommate.

"Come on!" repeated Amanda again. "We'll be late!"

Ginny looked quickly around the common room as though there was something she had lost.

"Harry!" she exclaimed. "What about - did he - where's Harry?"

Ginny tried to conceal her alarm as an unpleasant fear formed in her mind.

"Harry?" asked Amanda. "Who's Harry? Not Harry Brown, the second year? What do you - "

"No, Harry!" said Ginny, more loudly, panic rising in her voice. "Harry Potter!"

"Harry Potter?" repeated Amanda, her face creasing in confusion. "Who - wait, Ginny, where are you going? We're going to be late!"

But Ginny was on her feet. Not even brushing back her matted, slept-on hair and paying little attention to the fact that she was still wearing the creased robes she had slept in on the sofa the night before, she tore out of the portrait hole and ran down the corridors, her mind spinning much faster than it could tell her legs to carry her. Panic and despair threatened to explode forth from her heart and tears gush from her eyes but she forced all of them down: she needed to remain calm. There was too much at stake for her to collapse now. Far too much depended on her.

Ginny was still trying to calm herself when she realized she was running aimlessly. It had seemed more important for the moment for her to get away from Amanda and the unwanted questions of any of her other housemates than it had been to think about where she needed to go. When she finally reached a dead end, Ginny forced herself to turn around and head back in the direction of Dumbledore's office. She took great gulps of air as she felt a stitch grow in her side from the hard purposeless running. She would talk to Dumbledore: he would have a plan. He would get Harry back. He would get everyone back. They knew everything now; everyone knew everything. They were close to winning. It wouldn't be long before all of Voldemort's desperate acts were finished.

Ginny tried to tell herself all of these things but she could not keep a cacophony of doubting voices from forming a brash chorus in her mind. She ran again, clenching her hands into purposeful fists, hoping that the voices would go away, that she could keep herself from falling into an abyss of despair.

Ginny had nearly reached the office when a sober voice in her head silenced all of the others. It reminded her that if Harry was no longer at Hogwarts - or in the mundane world at all - then it was highly unlikely that Dumbledore would be still be around himself. Hadn't Sirius heard Malfoy and Wormtail say unmistakably that they were planning to get rid of both he and Professor Lupin? Surely if they had banished Harry, they wouldn't have allowed them to remain, would they?

At this thought, Ginny came to a quick stop, her feet sliding awkwardly on the polished stone surface of the corridor. A short distance away from the stone gargoyle, she regarded it cautiously: there was no telling who or what was in that office now. But where could she go then?

Of course, she realized to herself with a clarity borne of necessity. Sirius. He can't have been banished. The Death Eaters didn't know how.

Ginny tore back down the corridor in the direction she had come. She bounded down the stairs and ran up the same hallway Harry had crossed the night before, the trace of his footsteps now absent even from the cold, watchful eyes of the castle walls themselves. She sprinted into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and ran panting up the small staircase to the office of Professor Janus. The door was closed, which made Ginny slightly more worried. She couldn't remember it having been shut at any other time during its present occupant's tenure at the school, probably because he had never really slept.

There was no answer right away. Ginny felt her heart beat even faster than it had while she had been running. She banged loudly and impatiently on the door again and did not stop. After what seemed like a knuckle bleeding eternity, the door opened.

"Miss Weasley! Indeed!" declared the strident masculine voice of Professor Grubbly-Plank. "What in Merlin's name is all the racket about?"

"Where's Professor Janus?" Ginny demanded shortly, still breathless.

"Be careful of your tone, girl!" came the reply. "And what is it that you're so out of breath about?"

"Where is he?" repeated Ginny, not finding herself in the mood for civilities.

Professor Grubbly-Plank looked Ginny up and down in a disconcerted manner.

"Professor Janus has been taken ill. Professor Umbridge just called me this morning to - "

"Professor who?" hissed Ginny. Where just a moment before she had been unable to stop breathing, she now found herself scarcely able to take in a breath at all.

"Professor Umbridge!" repeated Grubbly-Plank with difficulty. "The headmistress of this school. If you - "

But Ginny had heard enough. Leaning onto the railing outside the office for support, she forced herself back down the stairs.

"Where are you off to now?" demanded Grubbly-Plank, her lilt still aroused. "Come back here and speak to me with a civil tongue, Miss Weasley! Whatever is the matter with you?"

But Ginny ignored Grubbly-Plank completely. She reached the classroom door and, panting again, pushed it open, running back out in the direction she had come.

Sirius gone? It scarcely bore thinking about. Perhaps the Death Eaters had found a way to get rid of him after all. Then Ginny really would be the only one.

Trying to shake off the thought, Ginny ran up the stairs back to Dumbledore's office, her mind racing with possibilities and fears. Umbridge hadn't been able to get into Dumbledore's office before, had she? But that was before Voldemort had learned how to make people disappear, an ugly voice reminded her.

Ginny's rapid thoughts were stopped as she mounted the stairs and found herself standing in front of the stone gargoyle.

"Sherbet Lemon!" she shouted.

The gargoyle did not move.

"Fizzing Whizzbees!" Ginny yelled again. "Treacle Tarts! Custard Pudding! Marmite Pie! Flam - "

The gargoyle sprang open.

Ginny looked at the door for a moment, baffled, but then started to move onto the winding staircase. She quickly noticed, however, that it was running downward and, as she looked up, she saw why: like a horrible scepter, Dolores Umbridge was descending to the foot of the stairs. Ginny stepped back slowly as Umbridge walked out into the corridor wearing the ill-fitting robes of a Hogwarts headmistress and her most cruelly false smile.

"Why, Miss Weasley, whatever seems to be troubling you so? I've only just finished speaking to Professor Grubbly-Plank by Floo. She was most distressed about your uncharacteristically rude behavior to her. Have you come here to explain yourself?"

If Ginny was fazed by Umbridge's wide innocent eyes and sugary voice, she did not show it. Without hesitation, she took out her wand and aimed it at the interloping headmistress.

"Where's Professor Dumbledore? Where's Harry? What have you done with them?"

"My dear child," purred Umbridge. "Whatever is the matter with you? And who are these people you're talking about? Normally pointing a wand at a Hogwarts professor would be an expellable offense but I'll admit I'm predisposed to show you some sympathy in this case. Very obviously, you are not well. Perhaps it would be best if you went to see Madam Pomfrey. I fear - "

"There is nothing wrong with me!" spat Ginny through gritted teeth. "Now I'll ask you one more time: where is Professor Dumbledore? What have you done with him?"

"I'm afraid there's no such person as Professor Dumbledore. Perhaps you could enlighten me - "

"Professor Dumbledore is the rightful headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, nemesis of dark wizards everywhere, champion of Muggle-borns, the conscience of the wizarding world! And you're nothing but a useless old bag who was put out to pasture by your superiors. But Voldemort has found other uses for you, hasn't he? DON'T LIE TO ME!"

Umbridge's smile faded quickly. "I regret to say Miss Weasley that you seem, once again, to be slipping into your fantasies about Muggle-borns at Hogwarts. I'm afraid that if you cannot stop these lies, I may have no choice but to schedule you for another round of detentions."

"Lies?" repeated Ginny. "You would know! And it doesn't matter how many you tell, I'll never believe they're the truth! You just arrived here and I've never been in your office for any detention!"

"Oh, my dear child," replied Umbridge, her smile returning. "Are you so very sure? Couldn't it be, instead, that you are suffering from a slight loss of memory?"

Ginny was about to respond when her wrist exploded with pain. She looked down at the back of her hand and saw in horror that a scar was forming, a set of blood red lines in her own handwriting that read:

THERE IS NO MUGGLE-BORN MAGIC

Ginny rubbed her other thumb over the words as if, in doing so, she could prove that they were not real but the pain in her sensitive hand only increased.

She looked up at Umbridge whose smile had taken on a distinctly cruel and nasty character.

"How did you...."

"I did nothing, Miss Weasley. You made those marks. Can't you see? I'm so glad you've recovered your memories. I'll see you again on Monday at 8 o'clock in my office. And this time, we'll try to make sure you don't forget quite so easily."

***

"You should be the first, Miss Granger. After all, as you said, it was your group; the burden of punishment must fall first on you." Sister Umbridge roughly took hold of Hermione's wrist with one hand and primed the needle with the other.

"Stop! What are you doing?" Hermione forced her hand away and tried to sit up.

"Professor Snape!" cried Umbridge.

Professor? thought Hermione.

Snape stepped forward from where he had been standing in the corner. There was an odd, glazed over look in his eyes as if they didn't belong to him.

"Headmaster, please!" cried Hermione. "Don't do this!"

At this, a fire seemed to flicker into Snape's eyes which only a moment before had seemed lifeless. His lips curling into a snarl, he roughly pushed Hermione back down onto the bed.

"That's right, Professor," said Umbridge, shifting in the strange black robes she was now wearing. "Hold her still."

Hermione struggled in place but Snape's grip on her shoulders only intensified and now the fierceness in his eyes was unmistakable. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut as she felt the cool of the needle plunge into the side of her head.

And then woke up.

Sunlight streamed in through the bars of her window. She looked across and quickly saw that Lavender was still sleeping in her bed. In the strange moment of wakefulness that came after sleep, Hermione tried to cling onto her nightmare as horrible as it had been. Hermione did not particularly believe in intuition but yet there seemed to be some important detail her mind was telling her to remember amidst all of the pain and horror her sleeping self had experienced. But whatever that detail had been, it had now seemed to vanish from her mind, much like the dream itself.

Then another memory returned to Hermione, almost as though it had been recalled from a corner of her brain rather than from the experiences of her body and mind. She had been caught trying to escape. She and the others: Dean, Lavender, Colin, Dennis - and Arabella.

It had been her idea, of course. And that's what made it seem most painful. Barbed wire ringed around the outside of the school but underneath the fence there had been a gap. It had been just behind the shed where the playground equipment was kept, not much of a gap but the ground had been soft just below it. Dean had found it when he had gone to get the footballs from the shed and he had told her about it. It had been her idea to put the plan into action. She thought she would be so clever. All that was needed was to wait for a few solid days of rain (a fairly frequent occurrence) and then they could make their move. She had finally waited until a Friday evening when the staff had been in a meeting and only Sister Lewis had been on duty. Then they had all assembled behind the shed and tried to dig their way out.

They knew there were guards outside the fence, watching the exits to the school, and a few inside, too, of course, but for some reason, Hermione had felt so sure they wouldn't be watching the area behind the shed. It seemed totally foolhardy now. Hermione wondered why she hadn't realized it at the time even when Dean had repeatedly cautioned her against taking any action. And even if they had succeeded, where would they have gone? What kind of existence could they have reasonably have expected to have enjoyed - as fugitives? It wasn't like their parents could have just welcomed them back in with open arms as if the whole thing had been some horrible nightmare best forgotten.

Yet Hermione now realized she had thought of none of these things at the time. She had just been so desperate to escape, so desperate to leave this horrible school somehow.

The buzzer rang loudly, startling Hermione out of her thoughts. Lavender groaned in protest and, for once, Hermione found herself feeling sorry for her roommate. She slowly got out of her bed and picked up her wash things from her side table. As she did so, her head turned, almost of its own accord, to her pillow. Hermione looked at it for a moment, fighting back the strange sense that there was something else she'd forgotten. Then, as though it would rid of her of any lingering impression of forgetfulness, she fluffed her pillow and straightened her sheets.

As she washed herself under the permanently lukewarm school water and gathered with the other girls on the floor to begin the Saturday morning cleaning of the dormitories under the watchful eye of Sister Jones, Hermione found her mind wandering painfully back to the memories of the recent few days.

They had caught them all easily, of course. They had barely begun to use their makeshift trowels to dig. The students only discovered later that there were hidden cameras everywhere. The nuns had known Hermione was the ringleader, of course. They had seen them talking. They had brought in her parents and then this Sister Umbridge - the specialist nun for dealing with disciplinary matters. They had made all manner of threats to her and the others but, in the end, they had only settled for one punishment - caning Dean. But Hermione had no illusions that it had been calculated to inflict as much pain on her as it had on him: she had begged with Umbridge that it was she who had been responsible, not Dean. They had wanted her to feel what the consequences of her actions would be on the others who had supported her. They had wanted her to feel guilty, although Hermione could not but think that they couldn't possibly have appreciated themselves what it meant to her for a friend to suffer for her own actions.

Still, at least it was over now. Umbridge had left and Snape had made it clear that there would be no further punishment, although he had added, his beady eyes flickering back and forth furiously, that the school would be keeping a very close eye on the six of them. Colin had also told Hermione that the area behind the shed had now been walled off and Hermione had little doubt that the school authorities had made sure that there would be no future opportunity for her - or any of the other students - to attempt escape. They were stuck here in this school and although Snape had not said so, Hermione could not help but think that it was now very uncertain when they would ever be released - and where they would be released to.

Hermione's ruminations carried her through most of morning study in the library, a time she usually found she enjoyed. Catherine was ill with the flu and still in the hospital wing. At least it had seemed to convince everyone that she had not been mixed up in all this mess but Hermione still found herself hesitant to go and see her friend in case it would cast suspicion on her. When the lunch buzzer sounded the end of the study session, Hermione still remained in the library for as long as she could, dreading any social contact. Eventually Sister Trent shooed her out. She slowly made her way downstairs to the kitchen and put a bit of food on her plate, though she was sure she didn't feel like eating anything. She went into the dining hall to find Lavender and Dean sitting together. Lavender still seemed very talkative even after all that had happened the day before. Hermione considered sitting next to them but then thought better of it. Arabella was sitting with a group of girls her age. She caught Hermione's eye but Hermione shook her head slightly and went over to sit at a table by herself, hoping that no one would come to bother her.

And no one did.

Saturdays meant a longer time on the playground and then afternoon sports. This, too, Hermione normally welcomed as much for the deceptive freedom that came from being outside in the fresh air as anything else. But, on this day, as soon as Hermione walked out and felt the damp chill of a British December creep into her bones, she very much wished to find herself back in the comparatively warm library. She also felt little desire to stay near the crowds of her playing schoolmates whose eyes she did not want to meet.

But Hermione knew she was not likely to slip unnoticed anywhere now. She sighed and sat down on a bench, wrapping her arms around herself to keep from feeling cold, and wishing the noisy sounds around her into the background. She found her attention wandering to a long gnarled stick next to the bench. There was something about it that seemed oddly familiar. Hermione frowned, then jumped as a hand moved into her field of sight and closed around the stick.

"I suppose it is a bit funny-looking."

Hermione looked up as the owner of the hand sat down beside her, still looking at the stick thoughtfully. She supposed it must have been the shock of all that had happened during the past few days but for a very odd moment, Hermione had the unmistakable feeling that she did not recognize the person who had sat down next to her. But then her best friend in the school managed a small smile.

"Don't look so surprised," said Harry. "I came over to see how you were doing. I tried to get your attention at lunch to come and sit next to me but you weren't looking."

"I - I - " Hermione found herself staring at Harry in disbelief.

Harry looked around furtively and leaned forward.

"Is everything all right, Hermione? I mean - you haven't even talked to me since, well...." Harry's voice trailed off.

Hermione suddenly felt anxious.

"Harry, maybe we shouldn't be seen together talking like this. They'll think you had something to do with the escape, too. They'll think - "

But Harry shook his head.

"We've been best mates ever since they first put us in this place, Hermione. Everyone knows that. Besides," he added, his jaw hardening. "If they think I'm going to walk away from my friends, they're wrong."

Hermione must have looked stricken then for Harry frowned. She tried to open her mouth to respond but a horrible lump formed inside it. Hermione heard herself sniffle and felt tears swarming in her eyes even as she tried to restrain them. Through her now blurred vision, Hermione could see that Harry seemed a little surprised at her sudden outburst and was very uncertain how to respond. He settled for a tentative hand on her shoulder but Hermione quickly pulled him into a hug. To his credit, Harry did not flinch but held onto her protectively. Hermione stopped trying to hold back her tears and let them roll in a flood down her cheeks and into Harry's pullover. Hermione was not sure why but she felt as though something that had been strangling her was finally let free.

"Oh, Harry," she sobbed. "I - I - I'm s-so glad you're here."

***

The remaining students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry awoke on Sunday morning to find a thick carpet of snow covering the grounds. The weather owls had reported it that it would only get heavier as the day went on. Most of the Gryffindor Quidditch team were still to be found indoors, a little grateful for the chance to study for their pre-Christmas holiday exams but mostly disappointed that the weather had proven too awful even for the hardy team.

A Gryffindor and a Ravenclaw, however, bundled up from head to toe and sustained with all the warming charms they could find, had made their way out onto the school grounds, arm in arm. They had passed alongside the lake and were heading in the direction of the small cluster of trees on the far bank.

"C-c-c-an w-w-we go in now, p-p-please?" said Neville, moving his frozen jaw only with great effort and pain.

"But we're nearly there!" protested Luna, sounding as though she were out for a walk on a pleasant spring day.

"I-I-I'm f-f-f-f-reezing! C-c-can't w-w-w-we come out a-another t-t-t-t-ime?"

"No, I told you, Neville. The spotted gumbleweek only comes out when it's very cold and snowy. Otherwise, it hides. We'll never be able to see it on a warm day."

"C-c-c-can't we go out when it's w-w-w-warmer and l-l-l-look for it in its hiding place?"

"It's hiding place is in another dimension, Neville. Besides, it gets even colder there; I don't think you'd like it."

"H-h-h-ow do you know this, a-a-a-a-anyway?"

"I read about it. The Quibbler has been running a story about them for months."

Neville remained silent after that. Luna's spirits seem to only get higher as they trudged through the small forest and even deeper snow, her gloved hand in Neville's, even though they had yet to spot a single bird of any variety, much less something from another dimension.

But as they reached the clearing on the other side and the tall spires of the school came once again into view, Neville thought he heard another sound.

"Stop!" he said immediately to Luna.

Luna stopped walking.

"What is it? Did you spot one?" she added excitedly.

Neville put a finger to his lips.

"I thought I heard something."

But now it seemed there was only silence. It must have been the noisy sound of their boots on the snow or the rustling of the leaves in the windy storm that had caught Neville's attention. He was about to continue walking forward when he heard the sound again. It sounded like a moan or a cry.

"Did you hear that?" he said to Luna.

In response, Luna jumped up and down and squealed in delight.

"That's it!" she exclaimed. "That's a Gumbleweek! Oh, Neville, you're so clever!" Luna reached over and kissed him quickly on the cheek. "Now," she added quickly, taking hold of his arm. "We must be very quiet. Come with me."

Luna led Neville into another side of woods, which he was fairly certain was not in the direction of the cry. Nevertheless, he reluctantly followed. They had only walked a few steps, however, when there was another moan. This time Neville was certain that it had not issued from a multi-dimensional bird.

Neville tugged back at Luna's arm and pulled her in the direction of the beech tree at the clearing.

"Wait! Where are we going?" she demanded. "Don't be so noisy. You'll scare it away! Neville! Where - "

But Neville continued to tug hold of Luna's arm and, ignoring her protests, pulled her around the beech tree so that they were facing the side near the clearing. Only when they arrived did he let go.

There, lying in a heap of folded robes and blankets, her hair and eyelashes covered with snow, lay Ginny, a handkerchief at her frozen face. Tears rolled down her cheeks and her occasional cries were punctuated with cathartic sobs. When she saw Neville and Luna, however, she looked surprised and straightened up slightly.

"Ginny, what's the matter?" asked Neville, leaning down beside her.

Ginny looked up at Neville, her bloodshot eyes in indecision.

"It's okay," she finally said, very weakly. "I - I - just - I just need to be alone - please. Thank you but there's nothing you can do or say to help me. You wouldn't understand. No one will understand."

"You can't talk like that!" protested Neville. "We're your friends! Let us help you."

"And you can't stay out here in the cold! It's freezing!" declared Luna, kneeling down beside her and apparently not noticing the look of mild disbelief Neville had just shot in her direction. "And if the Gumbleweeks find you, they might drag you off to their lair! They're stronger than they look, you know."

"I'll be all right," muttered Ginny, very unconvincingly.

"Just tell us what's wrong," said Luna, her eyes taking on an unusual clarity. "We're not leaving until you do."

Ginny looked as though she was about to get up and leave but then she stopped herself and sighed. Her tears ceased momentarily and her eyes took on a faraway look.

"Two nights ago - I sat here - with Harry. I - I was never cold when he was with me. He took me into his arms and told me to sleep. He said that no one else would disappear but then he did!"

"Wh - who's Harry?" asked Neville, sensing even as he did so that this was not the right question to ask.

Ginny rounded on him sharply.

"Only your roommate! One of your best friends for six years! But you don't remember him, do you? None of you are going to remember him!"

Ginny began to wail and fresh tears fell down her face.

"You don't understand! Neither of you understand! And everything's ruined now; everything is one big horrible mess; everyone's left and no one remembers but me!"

Neville looked both puzzled and stricken.

"I - I - I'm sorry, Ginny, I - " He looked across helplessly at Luna and was surprised to see a sage-like expression pass over her face. He had only seen Luna look this way a few times since he had known her and he wasn't altogether sure it was a good sign.

"Don't you see, Neville?" she said. "She has insights we don't. She remembers people who used to be here but have gone."

"What?"

Luna nodded. "Yes. They've been taken by the alien xenophobes, you see. And it all fits together. I always thought your room was a bit large for only three occupants."

"What do you mean? Our room's a matchbox!"

Luna ignored Neville and turned to Ginny.

"Don't cry, Ginny," she said calmly. "I'll help you find your friends. I've read a lot about these aliens and I'm certain we can make them see reason."

"There are no aliens!" snapped Ginny in response.

"Well, whoever it is, then. We won't rest until we find them." Luna took Ginny's hand into hers and tapped it affectionately.

Neville was still extremely confused but, under the circumstances, he thought he had better nod.

"You're not alone, Ginny," he said. "We might not understand what's going on but you're not alone. We're still your friends."

Luna nodded. "Come on," she said. "Let's go back inside. I don't think the Gumbleweek is going to come out today after all."

Ginny looked up at Luna, then back at Neville. Then she suddenly flung herself into Luna's arms and began crying again. Luna held onto her silently for several minutes in the blowing cold and snow, Neville looking on. Then all three of them slowly got to their feet and walked back to the school.

***

The door to the Room of Requirement opened and Umbridge entered.

"Your report," said Malfoy brusquely, his face half-covered in darkness.

"The school is secure. The staff does not suspect anything."

Malfoy paused significantly.

"We must continue to proceed very cautiously, Dolores. We only had to fool one true wizard in the bubble dimension; there are many more here."

"I am not as naïve as you assume."

"I assume nothing."

There was another pause.

"You are aware, of course, that Dumbledore and the werewolf are still unaccounted for," Umbridge went on, a quiver of uncertainty in her voice. "They have not re-appeared in the bubble dimension. And Black has disappeared completely."

"I did not ask for your report on matters of which I am already aware," Malfoy replied impatiently. "What about Ginny? Has she been to see you yet?"

Umbridge smiled sweetly. "Oh, yes. She found me quite quickly, wand in hand. But she didn't get very far."

"What do you mean?" asked Malfoy, with a very slight edge to his voice which Umbridge, consumed for the moment with her own cleverness, appeared to miss.

"I merely reminded her that her memories were slightly confused. That in fact there was no such person as Albus Dumbledore and that there were no such things as Muggle-born witches and wizards."

Malfoy did not respond so Umbridge went on.

"Of course she did not believe me. Her confidence was no doubt buoyed when that idiot hound revealed himself to Potter and she knew she had apprehended the truth all along. So I gave her further reason to doubt. A very simple curse but effective on the naïve mind. She knew I held the wand in my hand but she did not see me flick it; the work is all in the fingers, you see." Umbridge held up her hand, obviously pleased with her success.

"What curse?" said Malfoy in a low voice. "What did you do to her?"

"Just a little reminder that she had been in detention last week after telling her horrible lies. The scar and the pain will be an effective antidote to her bloated self-esteem. And if not that, then I will have to make sure that her new round of detentions next week will leave a particularly lasting impression."

This time, even Umbridge did not fail to notice the venom in Malfoy's voice.

"You will do no such thing," he hissed. "You will reverse the spell you have performed on her and you will cancel all remaining detentions. Is that understood?"

"I'm not sure there's a counter-curse," Umbridge replied breezily. "I've never had to use one before. Besides, I am now Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It is up to me to decide when and how students shall receive detentions."

There was another, much longer pause.

"I don't think you could have heard me correctly, Headmistress," said Malfoy, his teeth clenched. "I gave you an order. Ginny is not to be harmed. She is part of a much larger plan which you do not understand. We need her on our side."

Umbridge's smile faded.

"I think I understand a great deal more than you think!" she declared. "You may have the mind of a powerful wizard in your head but there are far too many teenage hormones in your bloodstream for that mind to function well! Your infatuation with the Weasley girl is endangering everything we have worked for! You may have isolated her from her friends but if you do not break her spirit then she will find a way to grow stronger and resist you. And if you think she will ever abandon Potter for you then you are very much mistaken!"

"CRUCIO!"

The force of the curse hit Umbridge in the chest and sent her sprawling backward onto the floor of the room. She let out a scream and writhed epileptically, her arms and legs twisting back and forth. Malfoy stood over her, his wand held high like a puppeteer, angry pleasure in his eyes. At last, he released the curse and stepped backward, then folded his arms and waited.

Umbridge's face continued to twitch for several moments longer. The frames of her glasses were broken from the force with which she had hit the floor. Malfoy winced as spittle drooled from the corner of her mouth and down the side of her face.

"You - you beast!" she snarled up at him. "You uncivilized brute!"

"You may call me what you like, Dolores," said Malfoy calmly, his anger now sated. "But remember one thing: there is no we. You are the servant of Lord Voldemort. And if I fall, then you will fall even harder. So it is very much in your best interest to see that my plan succeeds. NOW GET UP!"

Umbridge awkwardly raised herself to a standing position.

"Good," said Malfoy. "Now, I suggest your direct your immediate energies to finding a counter-curse for Ginny's scar. Leave Dumbledore to me. And do not doubt my abilities, Dolores. If you do not succeed, I can assure you the pain you have just experienced will be only the beginning."

Umbridge said nothing in reply, a look of pain and confusion now written over her normally self-assured face. She stared at Malfoy for as long as she dared, then slowly turned around and exited the Room of Requirement.

Malfoy stood by himself, alone for the moment. He wondered why the room was still dark then realized that he didn't really need light. He felt a fresh surge of anger as he thought of Ginny's beautiful hand marred by one of Umbridge's obscene scars. She would truly pay dearly if she did not find a way to remove it without a trace.

She understood so little, of course. Ginny was part of the destiny of wizard kind, a destiny far more glorious than anything Umbridge could comprehend in her pitiful imagination. Still, Malfoy reflected to himself. He needed Umbridge and he needed her bubble world - for the time being. When the time was right, though, and he was ready to make his final triumphant entrance into the world beyond the gateway, he would collapse it. And he would make sure that when he did so, Umbridge was with the mudbloods on the other side.

What did it matter about Dumbledore, Malfoy reassured himself. He was, at best, separated from his power and authority and he still remembered nothing. With any luck, he might even be dead. Potter was helpless and ignorant and split forever from Ginny. It would only be a matter of time before she accepted the fact. There was very little now that could get in the way of his plans.

But there was one thing neither Draco Malfoy nor Lord Voldemort (assuming that one could reasonably be separated from the other) could understand, or had ever understood: there was another strength that his opponents possessed even in their weakest hour. Had he seen Ginny lifted up by her friends and returned to the castle or Hermione cry away her despair into Harry's arms, Malfoy would have dismissed them as displays of the most pathetic sort of weakness, a weakness his opponents nearly always showed him before he sealed their final defeat. But for all his mastery of knowledge and fear, Lord Voldemort had yet to destroy the true love of friendship. And it was in that friendship, however desperate, that the seeds of his final defeat had been sown.