Crimson Dragon's Scale

Hermione twisted around to stare at the door again. Still closed. Room still empty. Please Ginny don't follow me, she begged silently. Please Ginny, don't, don't.

Ginny didn't open the door. No one opened the door. She heard no footsteps on the stair and was grateful to them.

"Oh, Harry," she moaned to herself. "Harry. Harry. Why Harry."

Dumbledore's lead voice crushed her again, the image of his frantic, stunned, bleeding face ironed across her eyes. His voice...My God, they took him. I couldn't stop them. I couldn't stop them; I couldn't do anything. They took him, right in front of me, they took his wrists and he didn't look back. I have to go after him, but I can't. I can't do anything. I have to be stronger to get him out.

And the look on Ron's face, his mouth open, his eyes uncomprehending like they had been in second year when Ginny was missing. The eyes that realized this was a dream, the same eyes at the same time realizing it wasn't.

Ginny stumbling back from the Headmaster, tripping, running backwards into the wall. And whispering No.

Just a little word. Just a little word, but with all the weight of a mountain.

Dumbledore sinking into a chair, still looking stunned, still looking asleep, blood dripping onto the already crimson chair from the gash in his forehead, the wide gash, the mockery of Harry's scar. They must have used a twelve-man magic shield, and taken his wand, and bound him to do that, Hermione thought. They beat Dumbledore. How could they? It was impossible. He was all-powerful, wasn't he? He could do anything, couldn't he?

She remembered Harry's voice on the train on the way to school this year, stumbling words trying to describe the cold fury in Dumbledore's face that he had seen, and remembered imagining it.

They took us by surprise, Dumbledore had said. Harry just turned around, and they flung him backward hard and Stunned me. I thought he was dead. I thought they'd killed him...and when I woke up...

And he hadn't been able to continue. He had sat down in the chair then.

She remembered Ron saying something about Sirius, and then the strange feeling she had gotten, and Ron's faraway voice asking her what he could do, Hermione where are you going? Hermione!

The door still didn't open.

Chapter One: Blood of Seventeen

Voldemort stood in the center of the circle, one cruel, icicle hand on Harry's shoulder. Around them stood the circle of seventeen men, each wearing a black robe, each with their wrists bared, each trying to decide whether to smile or grimace. Only Danath Avery seemed to have decided, his chin high, his eyes on his master and his master's prisoner, a ready, confident smile on his face, his eyes grey steel.

Wormtail was the only one not in the circle. He stood outside the circle, deftly working with something...Harry had not seen as he passed. What he had seen was Pettigrew's sneer and the silver hand and his dark eyes. They were less watery than the first time Harry had seen them. They were more startling now. The contrast between his eyes and his pale face was strange, and the way they mixed was unpleasant.

Lucius Malfoy was gritting his teeth and staring at Harry. Harry was puzzled as to the reason they had not already killed him, and as he tried to twist to look at Pettigrew he thought of his parents, and of his wand that lay discarded on the ground still as far as he knew. At least Dumbledore had escaped. But the look in Dumbledore's eyes had been frightening. He hadn't been the radiating power source. Something had been wrong. He hadn't been ready.

Harry felt the hand on his shoulder tighten, and expected the equally frozen voice to speak in his ear. But it didn't. No one spoke. No one in the circle moved.

Harry thought of Sirius. He thought of Sirius and Hermione and Ron and decided that he had to do something. What was he doing? He was standing in one place, Voldemort's hand on his shoulder as if the Dark Lord was his father or uncle or teacher. They would kill him! They would kill him, and then there would be no hope. He had to do something. Thus, he would do something.

He hung his head then, and stared at his empty hand, and wondered what to do.

The snake, Nagini, hissed softly, her eyes staring up at the black-haired boy. Harry thought of snakes; of the Chamber of Secrets, of Nagini before, of Cedric Diggory and his grey eyes that haunted Harry, but then again of Nagini in the dream before the World Cup, and of the boa constrictor...

And he remembered staring at the glass, in the zoo, almost five years ago, and of wishing, wishing and hoping and praying that something would happen, because he had been angry.

Sometimes, he remembered a voice saying, a wizard can do magic without a wand. Without an incantation, some of them. And certain spells. But not all the time. Emotions spark it, of course. Strong emotions.

He thought of the anger that had coursed through him when Dudley had pushed him to the floor, and the wish that the boa constrictor could be free of its prison, and how it had been so.

He wondered how angry he could get, and tried again to look at Wormtail.

***

Hermione lay on her bed, almost lifeless, unmoving, her eyes closed, tearstains on her cheeks, her breath peaceful. Ginny sat down quietly on the bed next to her, miserable and frightened and cold...so cold, Tom...please, Tom, tell me what to do...what is happening to me...and Tom, he's so brave. I could never do what he did last year. I think I love him, Tom...I know he could never love me too. I'm his best friend's little sister. But Tom, I want so badly for him to care for me, to understand me...I know I'm young. But I want him to understand me like you do.

So cold, Tom...

Ginny's eyes rolled into her head with a gasp, and she fell limply to the floor like a discarded doll.

***

Ron pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged Harry's pillow to him. He didn't care how it looked when his tears fell on it, and he didn't care that he was fifteen and too old to cry. He just cried, and he cried, and he thought about meeting Harry on the train for the first time, and being stunned, and wondering what it must have been like for Harry. The surge of guilt that he had nothing to share back except dry corned beef.

The panic when Hermione woke him up in the chessroom and he saw Harry wasn't there, and the blood on the back of his head, and the look on Dumbledore's face. Nothing could compare to this. Nothing.

He wondered vaguely if Hermione and Ginny were all right, and set the damp pillow on Harry's bed and tripped down the stairs, and tripped up them to the girls' dormitory.

Ginny's room was empty, and he knew that they were in Hermione's. He stopped, his thin fingers inches from the knob, and heard nothing from inside.

He slowly opened the door and looked inside.

Hermione was asleep on the bed, her face damp, the back of her hand against her mouth limply, the other hand on her stomach. A shimmering warmth was on his back from the hallway, but the air in this room was cold, very cold. A single light cast a mockery of a warm glow around the room. It softened Hermione's features. A pale, harsh light would have fit more with the cold, and sharp grey steel shadows.

He walked in to pull a blanket over her and gasped.

On the other side of the bed, on the hard floor, was Ginny, hidden from sight from where he had been before. Her head was limp on the floor, her carrot-orange hair stained with a tint of blood, her skin translucent pale. He could see the light, almost nonexistent rise and fall of her chest, and her veins in her wrist, the blood pumping slower. The cold was radiating from her. The whites of her eyes were visible when he dropped to his knees and lifted her head, cradled it...her skin was like ice.

"Oh my God..." he whispered, feeling through her skin a slow, slow heartbeat... "Hermione!"

Hermione woke instantly and silently. Then - "Ron, what - oh my God! What's happened to her?"

"I don't know. I don't know. Go get help. Go get Dumbledore. Someone. Please."

She complied with only the slightest hesitation and a frightened stare back at Ron, cradling the limp form of his younger sister.

***

Harry felt the hand on his shoulder tighten as he twisted slowly around, imagining his mother screaming, his father's voice, the Priori Incantatem effect, but he couldn't see Wormtail anymore, and he knew he would have to see him to be truly, very angry, to get his blood coursing like hot poison through his veins.

But Voldemort still didn't say anything, and he still didn't move except for the tightening of his hand on Harry's shoulder.

Harry, Ginny's warm voice whispered suddenly in his head. Harry? What's going on? Where am I?

I'm dreaming, her voice said.

Ginny? Harry thought hard. Is this my imagination?

Harry? What's happening? ... she sounded frightened now.

Where are you, Ginny? Where are you?

I...I'm not here, where I'm seeing. I see you right in front of me, about a meter. But I was just in Hermione's room. I was just there, thinking about Riddle, and -

Wait. It's not possible, there's no way...do you think he remembered you, and kept some degree of his power over you all these years?

And then when I thought about him, he drew me here? Why?

I don't know, Ginny. Try to wake up.

But I'm not asleep, Harry... Now she sounded truly terrified. Harry, he's staring at me. He's staring right at me. Did he do it on purpose? He remembers me, I see it in his eyes, but he's surprised. Can't you see me? He can.

No, I...he must have drawn you here by mistake. Maybe his power is hard to control.

Harry, Dumbledore got back, he's bleeding, they cut him, and we're all terrified. Ron went into your room, crying...Hermione went white and bolted upstairs. I went up after her, about ten minutes later. She was asleep, and I thought about Riddle, and then I was floating in nowhere...I'm so cold...and then I was here.

Ginny, I don't know where I am, but you're back at Hogwarts. You need to get back there. Tell Dumbledore not to come after me. Tell Sirius they haven't hurt me. Tell Ron not to worry. Tell Hermione I've escaped him before and I'll do it again. Please, try to go back, think of Hermione. What if she wakes up? Where's your body? It's not here, Gin. Don't think of Riddle. Look at me. If you ever want me to get home again, you have to go back. Try...imagine the room exactly as it was...okay?

There was no answer. Ginny was gone.

Voldemort jolted, and the Death Eaters stared silently. His hand squeezed Harry's shoulder until his shirt tore and cold daggers tore into his skin. Harry flinched. Voldemort looked faintly surprised, as if he hadn't realized what he was doing.

From where Wormtail was, there was a dull thud, and Harry watched as a stone bowl was brought before him. It was not Pettigrew carrying it, but Lucius Malfoy. Harry tried to look at the substance inside it, but it looked like there was nothing there. Except the air inside the bowl kept rippling and shimmering.

Voldemort nodded his consent to begin whatever it was they were doing. Lucius took his place in the circle, and the Dark Lord turned Harry slowly to watch. Lucius took out a small knife with a silver hilt and an emerald on the blade. As he looked closer, Harry saw snakes entwined around the silver of the hilt. He winced, wondering what part of him was going to be cut now. Would he lose a finger? A hand? What were they doing to him?

But the Death Eater didn't slice into Harry's flesh. Instead he brought the sharp knife to his own wrist, and holding it over the bowl drew the knife slowly. His face was impassive.

Three drops splattered into the bowl, splashing before they hit the bottom. The bowl looked as if it held red, dusty air.

Lucius handed the knife and the bowl to the next Death Eater, Nott, who repeated the strange ritual. Nott handed it to Crabbe, who in turn slit his wrist and let the three scarlet drops fall and splash into red mist. Crabbe to Goyle. Around the circle the bowl was passed, and each of the seventeen men let three drops fall from their wrists.

Then with the final, a man Harry didn't know but who he thought had been addressed as Rowe Mabil, the air coalesced and a small pool of blood fell into the bowl, a bit silvery. Then in perfect unison, each of the Death Eaters whispered:

"We give our souls

We give our blood

Willingly accepting whatever fate has foretold.

We offer the blood of seventeen loyal servants to you, Master."

Lucius Malfoy brought the bowl forward. Harry stared at it with horror, willing himself to slap it out of Malfoy's hand. Then Wormtail stepped into view, and Harry got angry.

Chapter Two: Blood, Ink, and Tears

Dumbledore hurried into Hermione's room, his usual cool manner gone. Eerily, he had healed the wound on his forehead. It left a scar nearly identical to Harry's.

"What happened?" he demanded, kneeling swiftly beside Ginny, oblivious of the cold as he lay the back of a gnarled hand on her cheek.

"I don't know," Ron said. "I came in to talk, and Hermione was asleep. I didn't see Ginny at first. What is it?"

"I'm not sure," said Dumbledore grimly. "Has anything like this ever happened before? Anything at all? Even if it seems foolish..."

"Well, she was pretty cold when she came out of the Chamber of Secrets," Ron muttered. "But she's never fainted except that year, nothing like this. Nothing that I can think of...well, she started shivering like mad when she got around dementors too. But everyone feels cold near them, and I'd guess she was thinking about Riddle then."

"So our only connection is Riddle," said Dumbledore softly. "Riddle, who is now Voldemort, who has taken Harry. Could their minds have crossed? Could Voldemort been thinking of Ginny and drawn her conscience to him by mistake? Or on purpose?"

Ginny gasped suddenly, and a blast of heat swept about the room and back into her. Her eyes opened and she started up. Dumbledore put a hand on her head to hold her in place. "Miss Weasley," he said gently. "What happened?"

"I - sir, I don't know - I came in to see if Hermione was okay, and all of a sudden I felt cold, and then I remember falling...Then there was nothing, it was black, but I still felt like I was falling, and I was warmer, and still conscious of what was happening. Then I saw You - Vold - the Dark Lord, and everything else sort of appeared, fell into place. There was a circle of Death Eaters with Harry and him in the middle, and he could see me, but Harry couldn't and -"

"Harry?!" Dumbledore said suddenly, and coughed. "You saw Harry?"

"Yes, Professor. He couldn't see me, but I thought his name and he heard my thoughts. The Dark Lord wasn't expecting me to be there, and I talked to Harry for a minute, and he told me to imagine the room, because I had to get back...or he would die...I had to tell you not to go after him. And to tell Ron not to worry, and Hermione that he would get away again. And he said tell someone else...it sounded like he said Sirius. I don't know."

"And you came back?" Ron said hoarsely. He was very pale suddenly.

"Yes. But who's Sirius, or whoever? I thought Sirius Black at first but it must be some other Sirius..."

"No, it's Sirius Black." Ron's voice was heavy. "Of course - we didn't tell you."

"But - Black is out to kill Harry! He killed all those people -"

"No," Hermione said softly. "Ginny, he was framed - Sirius is innocent, he was never a Death Eater, Peter Pettigrew framed him."

Ginny looked at Dumbledore, incredulous, and the headmaster nodded gravely.

"What did he say to tell Sirius?" asked Ron. "Professor, have you found him, by the way?"

"Sirius is going to Call."

"He said to tell Sirius he was all right - that they didn't hurt him. I think. I was just so stunned. I thought maybe I was dreaming or something except I never fell asleep."

"Was Harry hurt at all?" Hermione asked. "Was he just trying to reassure us?"

"He looked tired. And Voldemort's hand was on his shoulder. But he didn't look hurt, not at all, just scared, and a bit angry." Ron started at his sister's mention of the name.

"They took his wand," Dumbledore said glumly. "I'll have to send someone to get it. He was trying to get angry. I told him about wandless magic. You need strong emotions. Was Pettigrew there?"

"I don't know...there was a man behind Harry, though. With a silver hand? Harry couldn't see him...he was doing something with a stone bowl."

"Well," said Dumbledore quietly. "It appears our work is cut out for us. Ron, make sure the common room is empty, and if Sirius Calls - in the fire - tell him what happened, I haven't yet or it would make him frantic. He's with Charlie and Bill Weasley and Remus Lupin and I didn't want him panicked or he and the others might start to take foolish action, and I need them for the search.

"Miss Granger, do you know how to Apparate?"

"Theoretically," she said, looking embarrassed."I've never tried."

"I'll tell you where. You'll have to get off the grounds first...go to Hogsmeade, the far end, off the grounds limits...and try to Apparate to the coordinates I'll give you, and find Harry's wand. Bring it back here. You might want to use the passage behind the witch that Harry uses so often. The owners know about the passage, so don't worry about getting caught.

"Miss Weasley, you come with me. I need you to describe to me everything you saw. Everything you remember. Then you're going to sleep. You need to rest. If your mind crossed Riddle's - Voldemort's - then your powers and his are attracted. I don't want you to use any spells, or even touch your wand. You might draw him here."

"But sir, if I drew him here, then he'd be like I was there."

"Miss Weasley, his powers are far too strong. If he realizes what is happening between you, then he will snap out immediately and draw you in a more...permanent...way. Do you understand? Any magic on your part could result in the meeting of your minds. He could twist you. Your thoughts and memories could get confused. And trust me, Miss Weasley, Voldemort's thoughts and memories would destroy you, even if the effects were reversed."

"I understand, Professor."

***

Harry twisted suddenly, a small pain jarring through his shoulder, and the bowl tipped. Harry felt a pain worse than the Cruciatus Curse in his arm - some of the blood had landed there, and it was burning his flesh. He scraped it off frantically with his shirt, screaming, burning a hole in that too, and heard a whoosh. Three of the seventeen in the circle flew backwards. He was angry, oh, yes. Voldemort looked calm. His impassive face sent a shiver through Harry's body, and an icy cold into him. There was only mild surprise, and maybe - maybe even a hint of pleasure? Relief? Harry convinced himself he was imagining it.

Pettigrew went for his wand. Harry found one in his hand but also found he didn't want it. The wand shot out of Wormtail's silver grasp into the darkness.

Four Death Eaters collapsed to the ground, clutching their heads, and two more were blinded by a spray of burning hot liquid.

Eight left, and Voldemort, and wandless Pettigrew. He did to three of the Death Eaters what he had to Pettigrew, and Stunned two. Three wizards with wands, and Voldemort, and four wandless but otherwise fine men, including Lucius Malfoy and the bulky but stupid Crabbe.

Harry used the Impediment Curse to send Crabbe flying, taking Wormtail with him and making Malfoy throw himself to the ground. Suddenly the latter was bound in black rope.

The three still with wands tossed hexes in Harry's direction, and Harry reflected them back to their owners with a Deflector Screen Charm. They were temporarily out of action. Now there was a wandless wizard, easily thrown back. He did that quickly, still furious. And Voldemort.

Voldemort had done virtually nothing. A cruel smile crossed his face, and he cast a bemused look to his groaning - or not groaning - Death Eaters. And he laughed.

Harry heard the laugh, and was paralyzed with fear. Then he snapped out of it - had it been a curse, or simply a reaction? - and ran.

Behind him, he heard the laughter cease, and a cry, but it was not Voldemort crying out. Harry sprinted away into the darkness and vanished.

Voldemort did not look angry. He looked satisfied. It had happened well. The poison was in the Potter boy's body, and it would not be long now.

***

Harry looked regretfully at his shirt, burned where the potion, the blood, had touched it, torn off around his stomach to bind his hand. It was cold now, and his clothes were anything but warm.

He was not angry any longer, and he had no wand.

He shivered and glanced around. He had no idea where he was, and his hand burned; it needed attention. He didn't know how long he had been going or how far they had come or which direction. He was completely and totally lost, and cold, and very alone. He kicked at stones and tried to be angry, or frightened. He could do neither one.

***

Dumbledore stared at the unyielding Pensieve, trying to focus, willing it to show him something. What Ginny Weasley had told him hadn't been much, but it shouldn't have been this little.

Maybe there is no link, he thought. Maybe there is no pattern or clue. Maybe I'm missing the key element. Something...some piece of information.

Why did they want him alive?

Nothing.

Why did Ginny's mind cross with Voldemort's?

The Pensieve swirled at last and showed a pale, eleven year old redheaded girl. Harry appeared, twelve, filthy, very tired, and said, "Riddle took Ginny down to the Chamber. He said she struggled and..." The voice faded.

She struggled, against Riddle. That was it, of course, the key that the Pensieve was giving him. She shouldn't have been able to struggle. He should have been controlling her mind entirely by that time. Unless he had given her a bit too much of himself, and she was linked to him, like Harry. Or unless she was a Mindweaver as well.

He considered the second one carefully. There had been three Mindweavers at Hogwarts before, to his knowledge. Gryffindor. A little boy named Casper Sace, who five hundred years ago had done great things. And Riddle, who didn't even know that he was one.

Who still didn't know, to Dumbledore's knowledge. And Ginny had said he had been startled, so he assumed he was correct...

It was still a chance in a thousand that they would draw to each other. But they had.

So maybe they had poured too much of their souls into each other, too. Maybe Mindweaving was what had drawn Riddle to Ginny in the first place.

There were many unanswered questions.

***

Ron shook his head and Sirius gritted his teeth. "We can't do anything, Sirius. Dumbledore's talking to Ginny now. We have to wait."

"But I could do something," Sirius groaned. "I could do a Locator."

"Dumbledore doesn't think it'll work. He thought he saw Voldemort shield Harry."

"I could still try. I want to do something, dammit!"

"So do I. C'mon, Dumbledore will be here anytime now. Are Charlie and Bill there? And Professor Lupin?"

"Yeah, of course. Listen, I'm going to put Charlie on and -"

"No, Sirius, don't. Dumbledore's got to talk to you. He has something he wants you to do. You can't do it if you don't know what it is."

"Dammit, Ron, Harry's out there!" Sirius exploded, and Ron jumped. "He's out there and Voldemort's got him. We have to do something. He's going to die, do you understand that, he'll die! They'll kill him! I've got to do something, I'm not waiting any longer! I've got to! Lily and James trusted me to keep him safe, and I will if I die saving him! I'm going out to find him. I'm going to do something, not just sit around until they torture him to death. Charlie -"

Charlie appeared and Sirius vanished. "Stop Sirius!" Ron hissed. Charlie vanished too, and Ron heard sounds in the background of someone falling, and a shout, and someone yelling for Charlie to get back, and Professor Lupin's voice yelling, "Stupefy!" Then there was a thud, and then silence.

Lupin appeared in the fire, panting. "There," he sighed. "I wish I hadn't had to do that. He's a bit unstable right now, I'd guess. Worried out of his mind, like the rest of us. Do you think Dumbledore could talk to me instead?"

"Probably. Did you hear the whole situation?"

"Of course. Despite the fact that you can't see the rest of them, we have your head sitting in our fireplace."

***

Harry stumbled and fell on his burned hand with a curse. Shivering like mad, he tried to get up again and failed, so settled for lying there in the long sharp grass and slowly feeling his entire body go numb.

He lay there, becoming stiffer and stiffer, and slowly realized that he would probably die here. He then slowly came to the conclusion that that was not what he wanted and that it was unacceptable, and stood very slowly up, trying not to fall again.

He settled for walking now along the roadside, completely alone, no cars passing, nothing happening at all. Several times he wondered it he was moving at all because everything seemed exactly the same. He thought of Ron and Hermione and Ginny - had he really spoken to her? Probably not. It had probably been all a dream - and imagined each of them, exclaiming at his state when he walked into Hogwarts, Ron's pale face and Hermione's look of deep concern and pity, and Ginny's blank, commiserating look.

Then he decided that that wasn't exactly what he wanted either.

He imagined their smiles and sighs of relief and cries of amazement that he was still alive. And then they would ask him what had happened. Well, aside from his hand, it hadn't been all that bad this time, considering.

Was that what he wanted?

He thought of their individual responses. Of Ron, gasping and crying out in amazement. Of Hermione, asking if he was all right. And Ginny, understanding completely.

That was what he wanted.

***

Dumbledore sighed. What he needed to do was done. What they needed to do, they were doing. Everything was going smoothly, except for the fact that Harry was completely Masked and they couldn't find him, and Voldemort had him.

He had considered Ginny's offer several times, turning it over and over in his head, wondering what would happen, and wondering if he could shield Ginny from its effects. He wasn't sure, and that was what unnerved him.

He twirled Harry's wand between his fingers. How had they known how to mask their approach? How had they guessed? How could they have done anything without him sensing? How had they found out about the one way they could take Harry?

There was only one answer. A traitor. Another traitor within those that he trusted.

He had thought that he could protect Harry, but the scar burning on his forehead thought otherwise.