The Last Sanguimagus

The thestral rocketed into the air obediently, and Harry held on for dear life. The cold air whipped around him, and even the Warming Charm that Dumbledore had cast could not keep it out entirely. The creature was moving fast, covering a huge distance efficiently, the great beat of its wings the only noise beside the howling of the wind.

He held on tightly. The moon had set, and the stars were blanketed behind a thick wall of clouds. The sky was dark. He wondered if any Death Eaters had been watching, waiting for him to emerge from Privet Drive. If so, Dumbledore's presence must have frightened them off, because he saw and heard nothing when they mounted the thestral. He was relieved. He just wanted to get to Hogwarts without mishap.

They landed abruptly in a deserted alleyway, and Harry was so surprised he nearly fell off. Dumbledore dismounted carefully and spoke a few words in the thestral's ear, and it took off again, the wind from its wings nearly flattening Harry.

"Nearly there," said Dumbledore cheerfully.

"Where are we going?" asked Harry.

"The Leaky Cauldron," answered Dumbledore. "I have a room set up for you there. In a few hours the Weasleys will call on you and you will be able to procure what you need for the school year." He turned and began to walk.

Harry followed. The maze of streets was bewildering, but in a few moments Dumbledore entered the inn, and Tom showed them to room nine, leaving immediately afterwards.

"Professor Dumbledore..." began Harry hesitantly.

"No doubt you have questions, Harry," smiled Dumbledore.

"What is Voldemort--er--doing?"

"Voldemort has spent the summer attempting to heal himself. He was--damaged by the events at the Ministry. He has been in a--state of suspension, while his Death Eaters do all they can to repair him." He paused and conjured an overstuffed chair for himself and one for Harry and sat down. "He is beginning to awaken now, and it will not be long before he tries to hurt you again, Harry."

"Or my friends," said Harry glumly.

"Yes," answered Dumbledore simply. "I am afraid that your lethargy this summer was connected to Voldemort's--magical coma. With his possession of you at the Ministry of Magic, the bond has grown deeper. It is only a matter of time before he misuses it again."

Harry felt fright grip him. All of the terrible thoughts that had plagued him during the summer, the fear that Death Eaters would overrun the Burrow, his friends, even Hogwarts--

"The important thing is to remain calm," said Dumbledore. "We are all working in this together, and we still have hope. We are not about to stand back and let Voldemort hurt you or your friends." He pulled out his pocket-watch suddenly and consulted it, frowning. Harry caught a glimpse of twelve hands before he put it away again. "I regret that I must leave now. The Weasleys will be here to collect you soon." He stood up. "Should you need anything, Tom will be available. And if anything untoward happens, use your wand to set off red sparks. Moody is keeping an eye on you."

"Um--okay," said Harry, a bit overwhelmed.

"I will see you tomorrow at the Sorting Ceremony," said Dumbledore, walking out the door.

And just like that, Harry was alone. And bewildered. Had he really been lethargic this summer just because Voldemort had been--He shook his head. Thoughts whirled in his head.

***

Sarah walked through the nearly deserted corridors. It was strange to be here again. Hogwarts seemed so much smaller than she remembered.

Now that she was one of the teachers, she had become privy to many of the secrets of the castle. Secrets that, as a young girl, had seemed mystical and astonishing were now shown to be simple charms and spells. The odd statue of Phaedrus Philodendron that had always sang a little ditty about the house of nearest student turned out to be a little bit of magic from a bored Headmaster. The fountain that seemed to contain a girl crying that would suddenly laugh and splash water at you was triggered by proximity. It seemed to somehow diminish, just a little, the school's inherent wonder for her.

Then again, what could ever measure up to childhood dreams? Certainly her life had not at all progressed the way she had imagined it. Once she left Hogwarts she had expected to work for the Ministry. She never could have predicted the dark turns her life would take.

She came to the top of the nearest stairs and looked around. She could see no one nearby, so she gingerly took the first step down. Had she not required something from the library to consult for her lesson plan she would not have bothered leaving the ground floor. She gritted her teeth against the immediate, familiar pain. If Madam Pince had allowed house-elves to check out books for her she could have sent Dobby. She took another step. She had no one to ask for help but Dumbledore, and she certainly was not going to waste his time in retrieving reading materials for her. Her right hand gripped the banister tightly, helping her ease her way to the next step.

She heard someone approaching the top of the stairs, and she winced mentally at the image she must present, face flushed, moving like a snail. Sighing, she brushed it off. Sooner or later someone would see her tortuously ascending or descending. She just hoped that she would be able to avoid it while students were present.

The footfalls grew nearer, and Minerva walked past, studiously ignoring her. She collected herself again and focused on the next step.

***