Realizations

Chapter 32: Now You See Me, Now You Don't

---

July 26, 1995

Harry closed his eyes in relief and let his head droop back to the floor. A horrible bone-numbing exhaustion washed over him but he didn't care.

He'd made it.

He didn't know why, he wasn't sure how, but he'd done it.

He'd found Professor Dumbledore.

Am I at Hogwarts? he wondered, frowning when he became aware of worried voices babbling above him.

"What on Earth--?"

"Albus, what are you doing down there?"

"Good Lord, has something happened?"

"Gently now, don't overwhelm him," Dumbledore cautioned, effectively silencing the others. "Harry? Harry lad? Are you with us?"

"Sort of," Harry mumbled, wondering belatedly what on Earth he'd done to himself. A shock ran through him as he struggled to prop himself up on his elbows and noticed his forearms seemed to be in a state of flux. One second they were translucent--more so even than the ghosts at Hogwarts--the next they were so transparent he could hardly see them at all.

Worse yet was a new and unwelcome sensation of something pulling on him--dragging him back. With an eerie sense of deja vu, Harry forcibly recalled the end of the Second Task--kicking desperately toward the surface of Hogwarts Lake while fighting to overcome Ron and Gabrielle's combined deadweight--but this time there was no water to push against, no clear goal in sight, and he had no idea how or even if he could overcome it.

Before he could panic, Dumbledore spoke, his voice gently commanding. "Concentrate, Harry. Push forward. Visualize yourself here with me," the old wizard instructed, somehow seeming to know what Harry was experiencing.

Ready to try about anything at this point, Harry ground his teeth together and did as he was told. The end result was pretty pathetic looking, and he still felt like he was barely hanging on by his fingernails, but at least he wasn't phasing in and out anymore. When he finally felt stable enough to raise his head, he found himself nose to beak with Fawkes the Phoenix. Professor Dumbledore was kneeling just beyond the firebird, keeping several witches and wizards back with a sternly upraised hand.

Mindful of his errand and frankly unsure how long he could hold out, Harry met Dumbledore's worried gaze. "Professor...go t'the Burrow! Go now!" he warned, trying to convey as much urgency as possible. He waited expectantly for Dumbledore to spring into action, but the old wizard just frowned and shook his head, a puzzled look crossing his lined face.

"Borrow? You need to borrow something?" he guessed, before abruptly switching gears. "No! Wait, Harry! Push forward!" he called, an unaccustomed note of urgency in his voice.

Nonplused, Harry watched as Dumbledore braced himself on the floor with one hand, and reached out with the other, as though trying to make a grab for him. Instinctively he reached out to touch the older wizard's hand, breaking off with a gasp as his concentration slipped and he lost a little ground to the pulling. Reapplying himself he focused on staying where he was and managed to re-stabilize himself--or so he thought. He could still see Dumbledore, who was looking uncharacteristically bleak, but for some reason his headmaster no longer seemed able to see or hear him.

Confused, Harry waved a hand in front of Dumbledore's face. "I'm here, Professor! I'm right here!" he called, willing himself closer. For a second, it seemed to work. Dumbledore's face lit up with a relieved twinkle and smile. Seeing this, Harry tried again to warn him before his strength gave out entirely.

"The Burrow!" he urged as his vision began to blur, and the pulling sensation became almost impossible to resist. He glanced up hoping that he'd managed to convey his message, and nearly howled in frustration when Dumbledore shook his head and lifted his hands in a pose of helpless confusion. He wasn't going to be able to do this much longer. The effort required was simply more than he was capable of at the moment.

"I can't understand--Fawkes!" Dumbledore blurted, snapping his fingers as though remembering something and turning to the phoenix beside him. "Fawkes! Help him!"

The firebird favored Dumbledore with an indignant look before leveling his penetrating stare on Harry. I sense division in you, fledgling, he observed, tilting his head to one side. You may return to your body without speaking to my human if you do not wish to do so.

Growing giddy from exertion, Harry shook his head and reached out a desperate hand. "No! Please Fawkes," he managed between pants, "I have to warn him!"

Fawkes seemed to consider this for a very long time before nodding gravely. Very well, fledgling. Harry managed to hang on long enough to see the scarlet and gold bird start toward him, then his vision grayed completely and he felt himself begin to fall.

---

The dim image of four men moving through tall grass and weeds scintillated in the depths of the mirror. A wave and murmured Auditis and the voices of the men drifted from the crystal surface, tinny and rather high-pitched.

"Blimey, what a wreck! Looks like the whole thing could go any second."

"And yeh were expectin' what, lad? A fine summer cottage by the sea?"

"Wouldn't be the first time, old man."

"A cheery blaze will improve it, wot?"

"Settle down, you lot, and mind those torches. His Nibs says it's time to go in."

"About bloody time! What took so long?"

"Meh. Addin' more bloody bottles to the supply box."

"Those? But they're empty!"

"'Pears so, don't it? We're to place them around the house and chuck a couple up the stairs."

"What? The old boy's barking!"

"Have to agree with yeh there."

"Look, I just repeat the orders. I don't explain them."

"That's one cold fish, that one. Don't trust him a'tall."

"Don't have to, wot?"

"Aye. Stop yer whinin'. Yeh have to do a job, not be his best mate."

"But--"

"Pipe down! He wants empty bottles scattered about that's what he'll get. Now spread out and check the doors and windows. Sooner it's over, sooner we can go back to the pub for a pint."

The thugs did as they were told, although with varying degrees of enthusiasm. When they separated, the scene in the mirror split in two to follow them.

"Oi! This window's open!"

"Now you're talkin'! Still, don't suppose anyone would bother lockin' up a place like this.

"GAH! What's that?"

"It's a bird, you bloody pillock!"

"Hah! Fancy bein' scared of that tiny thing!"

"I'll show you who's scared!"

"Ease off, it's gone now."

"All right you lot, once we spread the Petrol, the fumes'll be thick. Work from the inside back toward this window or the door, understand? Hey now! No yawning!"

"Sorry boss. Still groggy from the ride over, I reckon. Blue's for the walls?"

"Blue's for the walls, yellow's for the fl-floor...blimey...now you got me doing it. Here now. Take some bottles and get to work."

The watcher nodded, a little sneer twisting his lips. The Dark Lord's plan was genius, but his own modification would add a bit of personal insurance--especially since he was saddled with Muggles and untried dunderheads. He continued tracking the Muggles' progress, frowning in annoyance when the ghostly image of a cloaked figure overlaid the scene in the mirror. Irritated, he spared a quick glance at the trainee who was bending down to speak into the window of his classic Mercedes-Benz.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

Lucius reacted instantly, glaring thorough his Deatheater mask and jamming the tip of his wand against the intruder's throat.

"Quiet, idiot! No names! Forget again and I'll leave your corpse here as a warning to the others!"

"S-sorry, sir," the trainee squeaked. "The Muggles are inside," he offered, clearly trying to placate his superior.

"Yes, I am aware. We shouldn't have to wait much longer," Lucius said, with an air of dismissal. When the other wizard didn't move, he glared up at him again. "Was there something else?"

"Begging your pardon, sir, but a few of us were wondering, why are we going to all this trouble?"

"Trouble?" Malfoy's silken voice held a subtle threat.

The unlucky spokeswizard must have heard, because he swallowed audibly and looked less sure of himself before inquiring, "Well...yes sir. The Ministry isn't watching over this house like Potter's, are they? We shouldn't be in danger of tripping any alarms."

"Ah, I see. No, the Ministry isn't monitoring this property, but Weasley, along with being a Muggle-lover, is known to be associated with Albus Dumbledore. The Dark Lord chose to proceed with caution based on that fact."

"Oh. V-very wise of him, s-sir. Very wise indeed."

"Hmm. There may be hope for you after all, provided you survive your training period. The Dark Lord has little patience for those who question his orders. Be grateful I am more forgiving."

"Th-thank you, sir. S-shall we watch for the Muggles coming back out, then?"

"What makes you think they're coming back out?"

The junior Deatheater hesitated for a long moment. "Erm, nothing, sir. N-nothing at all."

"Very good. Tell the others to get into position. As soon as the Muggles finish spreading the potions, it will be time to make our move," Malfoy ordered, allowing himself a cruel smile when the trainee fled.

---

"What is this? What do they think they're doing? "

Severus Snape, grateful now for the full body bind the Dark Lord had cast on him, dedicated all his concentration to keeping his mind perfectly blank while his master stalked over to the scrying mirror and tapped it with his wand.

Malfoy appeared in a small section in the lower left quadrant, just barely in Severus' line of vision. "I specifically told you to use the paralyzing gas at the next target," Voldemort growled in his best "This Better Be Good" voice, gesturing irritably at the wall.

Unable to make out Malfoy's reply, Snape frowned inwardly, trying to discern his "colleague's" intentions. He was privy to the "public" part of the Dark Lord's plan, but he didn't know all of the particulars. Not that it mattered. Lucius had obviously deviated a bit, but to what purpose? Only a fool invited the Dark Lord's wrath, and Lucius Malfoy, whatever else he might be, was no fool.

Turning his full attention back to the mirror, Snape watched the Muggles. The empty-looking bottles they were tossing about weren't the ones he had filled with paralyzing gas. Those would have immobilized them on the spot. Judging from the Muggles' progressively slower movements and the frequency of their yawns, it seemed to be a gradual sleep agent.

Snape considered that, raising a mental eyebrow. The Dark Lord clearly wasn't expecting trouble on this mission, but he supposed Lucius could be taking a few extra precautions if he thought he could get away with it. The group Malfoy was leading had little to no experience, but their trainee status would only go so far in deflecting the Dark Lord's displeasure if something went wrong.

Still, Severus was having trouble believing Malfoy was afraid. True, Weasley's brats were clever enough when they bothered to apply themselves, and Molly could probably take out a trainee or two with the power of her voice alone, but the whole family was asleep. Further, they weren't expecting trouble. Taken unawares they should pose no real threat, so why the sleeping agent? Snape grappled with the maddening feeling he was overlooking something as Voldemort walked back to his seat and Malfoy faded out of sight. He couldn't help noticing that the Dark Lord was looking very pleased about something.

"Will Malfoy be punished, Master?" Pettigrew wondered hopefully, making Snape want to groan and roll his eyes. It was amazing how the man's so called "Gryffindor Courage" manifested itself in an appalling inability to keep his mouth shut. With Voldemort, it was far better to gain knowledge by observation--a lesson the smaller wizard seemed incapable of learning.

As though to prove Snape's point, Voldemort turned on Wormtail, making the little man cringe and throw up his hands in an unconscious gesture of defense. "Punished? I think not. Lucius has engineered an opportunity for our new trainees that I admit I did not see."

"H-he did, Master?" Pettigrew squeaked, glancing involuntarily at the mirror where the Muggles had begun smashing bottles of ward weakener against one living room wall, and pouring the highly flammable firebomb fluid on the floors.

Voldemort nodded, smiling a vicious smile. "Indeed. Tonight we shall discover if they are worthy of the name Death Eater."

Snape felt his stomach drop. He had been away too long. He had forgotten what it was like to serve under Voldemort and win his favor. Obviously Lucius had not.

Killing was not as easy as some people seemed to think. Many a new recruit had frozen at a critical moment. By the time Severus had been initiated, it had become something of a tradition to test a new Death Eater's taste for blood by ordering them to kill a helpless target. Lucius was actually killing two birds with one stone.

No wonder the Dark Lord looks so pleased! Snape had assumed, foolishly perhaps, that the Weasleys would be awakened when the attack began. There might be some casualties, but it was equally likely that they might get out, or have sense enough to run for help. Molly could apparate, and if he wasn't mistaken, the twins could as well.

If the entire family was in a drugged sleep...well, that put a whole new slant on things. Realistically, their chance of survival was practically zero.

Malfoy was taking out insurance all right, but it was for himself, not the mission. Now, no matter what happened at the Burrow, he would be essentially blameless. He had simply set things up. How well the trainees performed was on them.

Sighing inwardly, Snape groped desperately for a flaw, but found nothing obvious. It was a well laid plan, he conceded, his frustration tinged with a certain grudging admiration. Unfortunately, it practically ensured Arthur Weasley would lose his home and most of his family tonight. Bound and observed as he was now, there was absolutely nothing Severus could do about it. Indeed, at the moment, his own survival was far from assured. If this plan went off without a hitch and the Dark Lord condemned him as a traitor...

Stop! Snape growled inwardly, cutting that line of thinking off before it could go anywhere. This situation is not hopeless, he reminded himself. As long as the Dark Lord harbored some doubts he had a chance. Throwing up a mental wall, he worked on keeping one side carefully blank while thinking furiously behind it. Pettigrew had taken his wand, but he still had his little vial of poison. He sincerely hoped it wouldn't come to that, but he had an out if he needed it. The Dark Lord would have to release him from the body bind if he expected him to answer any questions--or wanted to hear him scream and beg. That was all the opportunity he would require.

Contingency plan firmly in place, Severus started working on less... permanent ...alternatives. There had to be another way, but try as he might, he couldn't think of it. This information needed to be acted upon now and at present, he was silenced. Even if the Dark Lord released him, by the time he could reasonably manage to get back and report it would be far, far, too late. Snape had always disparaged partners as an unnecessary liability, but he had to admit some backup would have been useful tonight.

Ironically, now that the Dark Lord had shifted his focus away from Potter himself, he might have hit upon the best way to hurt the boy. Snape considered this, watching clinically as the Muggles began to succumb to the fumes in the house. Weasley was obviously target one, and he was prepared to bet Granger was target two. If Diggory's death was anything to go by, this could be a crippling loss for Potter. Voldemort might as well choke off two of the boy's major arteries. In fact, it might be kinder if he did--

Wait! Potter!

Growling inwardly, Snape quickly masked the sudden wild hope that bloomed in his chest. Perhaps the situation wasn't lost after all. He didn't pretend to understand the mechanics behind it, but Potter had managed to gather some information from the Dark Lord this summer. He'd seen it himself in the boy's letters to Albus. It was a long shot, but then the little brat had also survived a Basilisk bite... If Potter could warn Dumbledore in time...

Snape winced inwardly, once again cutting off his line of thought with savage swiftness. He would have sneered in profound disgust at the absurd direction his musings had taken if he'd been able to move his mouth. Further, if someone had told him this morning that he'd be actively pulling for Potter to save the day yet again through sheer dumb luck he would have personally admitted them into St. Mungo's for rest and observation.

On the other hand, at this point it was Potter or nothing. As much as it rankled, all Snape could do was mentally cross his fingers and hope for the best. I hope you're watching now, boy, he thought, as he stared blankly at the scrying mirror, for Weasley's sake as well as your own.

---

Unfortunately, at that moment, Harry was still losing ground despite his efforts to halt or at least slow his backwards slide. Wind teased his hair and ran cold fingers across his scalp, while a gray mist closed in on all sides, cloaking any potential hand or footholds.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry clenched his fists, trying to figure out how to turn off or at least cope with this new dynamic. Before, when he'd been observing Voldemort, he'd actually been rather stationary until he decided he wanted to go somewhere. This bloody backwards pulling was making any attempt at mental control worse than useless.

"Stop!" he finally railed, swinging his fists at the misty nothingness that surrounded him. "Stop, damn it! Stop! STOP!"

Peace, fledgling. Be calm.

"F-Fawkes?" Harry stopped his blind shadowboxing and looked up, hardly daring to believe it when warm talons closed on his wrist. "Fawkes!" he said gratefully when the phoenix began to beat his wings, slowing, then stopping his backwards motion. "Fawkes, please! Professor Dumbledore! The Burrow!"

Hush, young one. Conserve your strength, Fawkes counseled, adjusting his grip on Harry's wrist so he was facing forward again, then towing him back in the direction they had come from. Or at least Harry hoped it was the direction they had come from. If your need is so great, you shall speak to my human.

Pacified, Harry tried to obey, but their progress seemed agonizingly slow and it was hard not to fidget impatiently. Fawkes was pulling against the same force that was trying to draw him backwards, but still! This was the same bird that had pulled Ron, Ginny, Lockhart, and himself out of the Chamber of Secrets without any noticeable strain.

Patience, fledgling. I may go no faster without the risk of damage to your astral link. Fawkes remarked, making Harry wonder guiltily if his thoughts were entirely private in his current state.

Then he registered what the bird had said.

"Excuse me, did you say, 'damage'?" he asked, hoping against hope that he'd misunderstood.

I did. The Astral Plane is not a place where younglings may frolic unattended, Fawkes informed him sternly. My human is rather talented in this area--much more so than the Melodramatic One he employs. When you are strong again, he and I will tutor you.

Harry frowned as Fawkes' words tickled a memory. "Melodramatic? Astral...oh of course! How could I be so stupid?" Harry exclaimed, as the maddening feeling that he should know this from somewhere finally made sense.

Professor Trelawney! Harry hit his forehead with his free hand. Astral Theory was one of her pet topics. Technically it wasn't in Harry's current Divination curriculum, but if she finished her lesson early and had a few minutes to fill, she liked to talk about Astral Projection--or more precisely the gruesome fates which could befall unwary travelers.

Harry shivered a little, suddenly wishing he'd paid more attention. Since Astral Theory was extraneous information and not included in homework assignments, practicals, or exams he'd let the information drift in one ear and out the other. The only reason he remembered this much was because he and Ron had found the idea intriguing. Astral Travel wouldn't do when one's hands were needed, like sneaking into the kitchen for example, but both of them had thought it might be dead useful for exploring, nicking answers off Hermione's homework papers, or maybe even copping a peek in the girls' dorm.

Sighing, Harry pulled his thoughts back to the present. Neither of them had taken the matter very seriously. It had simply been an enjoyable way to send some time. Now it looked like the subject had more merit than Harry had given it credit for...assuming the old fraud knew what she was talking about for a change.

Her tales are a trifle overdone but there is truth in them, Fawkes commented, snapping the straw Harry was grasping.

Brilliant. Feeling a bit shaken, Harry swallowed tightly, involuntarily glancing over his shoulder at the mystical rope behind him. Before, there had been a certain amount of slack in it, and it had stretched back toward the horizon with a gentle undulating motion. Now it was taut as a bowstring--and the tension was increasing steadily.

Harry forced his gaze forward again with a shudder, as the image of a rubber band stretched to the snapping point teased his mind's eye. "No one's ever been able to see me before," he ventured at length, trying to gather his tattered wits and get his mind on other things.

You have never crossed over into the Physical Realm from the Astral Realm before.

"Sorry?"

Astral Forms are not normally visible in the Physical Realm, Fawkes supplied patiently. Humans who possess the strength and will may overcome the limitation for brief periods, but it is not an easy task. I believe you discovered this for yourself just now.

Harry grimaced recalling the debilitating exhaustion he'd experienced. "Does it ever get easier?"

In time, fledgling, in time.

"Time? But I need Professor Dumbledore to understand me now!" Harry blurted in an unreasoning swell of panic. "I could barely get three words out before!"

Fawkes didn't reply immediately with words. Instead, he opened his beak and sang a soothing note. Harry felt his eyes close and his body relax as the music flowed around him. When Fawkes finally spoke, his tone was mildly reproving. I promised you would speak to my human, fledgling. I am taking you to him as we speak. What further assurances do you require?

"I...nothing Fawkes," Harry replied meekly, feeling like the most insufferable prat living. "Thank you. I promise I'll be quick."

You are kind, fledgling, but I must point out, you are in more peril than I at the moment.

Harry wasn't sure he liked the sound of that, but rather than risk insulting Fawkes again he decided to change the subject.

"Are you a projection too?" he wondered, glancing curiously at the solid-seeming talons encircling his translucent wrist. "Is that why you can touch me?"

I am Phoenix, Fawkes replied as though that explained everything. I am simply governed by a different set of rules. You shall learn about that in the fullness of time. For now listen closely. We are almost there.

Immediately at attention Harry nodded, watching as the misty grayness began to resolve itself into definite shapes. Before long he was able to recognize Mrs. Figg's living room, with its crocheted afghans and many cats. When he could almost hear what the people inside were saying, Fawkes came to a halt, beating his wings to hover rather than push forward. "Erm, why are we stopping, Fawkes?"

Shifting his grip on Harry's wrist again, the firebird turned to face him. We are about to cross over into the Physical Realm, fledgling. The force you feel drawing you back is your body's summons. I will get you as close as I can for as long as I can, but eventually you must return or risk not being able to do so. Do you understand?

Harry nodded again, wishing that the firebird would just go already. "I understand. Please hurry, Fawkes. It's very important."

As you wish, fledgling.

As they neared, Harry noticed his headmaster was having problems of his own. Professor Dumbledore, now seated in one of Mrs. Figg's comfortable armchairs, was surrounded by a knot of worried-looking witches and wizards. If the situation hadn't been so serious, Harry might have snickered at the look on Dumbledore's face as he waved off warm blankets, reassuring pats, and hot cups of tea from Mrs. Figg, Professor McGonagall, and Mr. Weasley, while Mad-Eye Moody and a pink-haired witch Harry didn't recognize, looked on from the side.

"Why don't you get some rest, Albus," Moody finally suggested, carefully studying Dumbledore with his good eye, while his magical one moved restlessly in its socket. "We can manage without you for a bit."

"I know what I saw, Alastor." Dumbledore's words were mild enough, but the look he threw the old Auror held a touch of impatience. As Harry watched, wondering how long it would take him to become visible again, Dumbledore caught his eye and smiled an enigmatic smile. "In fact, if you'd be good enough to turn around, you can see him too."

"What are you on about--bloody hell!" Moody exclaimed in surprise, drawing everyone's attention. Here we go, Harry sighed in resignation, already anticipating the inevitable flood of questions and reprimands as the group surged forward and clustered around him.

"Well done Fawkes, very well done indeed!" Dumbledore congratulated the firebird, while McGonagall focused her attention on Harry.

"What on Earth are you doing, Potter?" she questioned anxiously. "Do you have the first idea how risky self projection can be?"

Harry shook his head and lifted his free hand in a pacifying gesture. "Professor! Professor please listen!" he broke in urgently, overriding McGonagall and heading off the others before they could start. "Professor Dumbledore! Go to the Burrow! You need to go to the Burrow now!"

Dead silence met his announcement for perhaps two or three heartbeats, then the room exploded with frightened questions and stern demands for him to explain himself immediately. The hubbub rose to such a degree Professor Dumbledore had to fire several sparklers from the end of his wand, making his companions jump, and Mrs. Figg's cats dive for cover.

"What about the Burrow, Harry?" he asked, his quiet voice unnaturally loud in the resulting silence. Harry quailed a bit in spite of himself. This Dumbledore was dead serious and not at all like the good humored, slightly dotty headmaster he was more accustomed to dealing with.

"Voldemort just sent some of his Death Eaters there!" Harry replied urgently, making anxious little flapping gestures with his free hand. "They have Muggles with them! They'll get through the wards! Please! You have to go and stop them!"

Dumbledore immediately drew what appeared to be a large pocket watch out of his robes and peered at it intently before shaking his head and turning to Mr. Weasley. "Arthur?" When Harry glanced over, he saw Mr. Weasley was consulting a similar device, holding it in trembling hands.

"The wards aren't picking up anything unusual," Mr. Weasley confirmed after a few tense seconds. "Are you sure, Harry?" he asked, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbing at his brow.

"Yes!" Harry asserted. When only Mr. Weasley glanced nervously at the fireplace, he frowned and tried a different tack. "You can't go by those!" he pleaded, pointing to the devices Professor Dumbledore and Mr. Weasley still held in their hands. "The wards won't help!"

"Harry, I assure you, the wards on the Burrow are quite sensitive. I placed several of them myself," Dumbledore said in his most pacifying tone, clearly considering the matter settled. "We would know if anything was amiss."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and felt his patience shatter. "It doesn't matter who set the wards!" he roared, making the assembly in front of him draw back in surprise. "Don't you get it? If they can't detect Muggles they're useless!"

Dead silence.

Again.

Harry raked an agitated hand through his hair and wondered pettishly how otherwise intelligent people could be so thick. They were lost. Clueless. Completely dumbfounded. Clamping down hard on his temper he took a deep breath and tried again.

"Voldemort is using Muggles to get inside without activating the wards," he explained, enunciating very carefully and precisely. "Once inside, they're supposed to scatter potions about."

That broke Moody out of his paralysis, but his reaction wasn't promising. "Snake Face use Muggles? Don't be daft, boy!" he scoffed, making Harry bristle like a spitting cat.

"Wait Alastor," Dumbledore cautioned, holding up a hand and frowning in concentration. "The potion, Harry, what color was it?" he questioned abruptly, drawing Harry up short.

"Erm, I saw two...a blue one, and a yellow one. They're supposed to throw the blue on the walls and pour the yellow one on the floor. Why? What's wrong sir?" he asked in alarm when Dumbledore swore softly under his breath and fired five silvery spells out the window.

"Alastor, Arthur, summon the others...no Arthur! Not alone!" Dumbledore commanded, but Mr. Weasley was no longer listening. As Harry watched, he broke away from the main group and made a dive for Mrs. Figg's fireplace, scooping up Floo Powder and shouting "The Burrow!" as he went.

Dumbledore closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then shook his head irritably and continued issuing orders. "Minerva, cover him until the others catch up to you! Severus was ordered to brew ward weakeners, firebombs, paralyzing gas, and Veritaserum so be on your guard! Arabella! Help Alastor! Tonks! Go to the Ministry and alert the Aurors. Summon the fire brigade as well."

As the gathered witches and wizards scrambled to carry out their assigned tasks, Dumbledore turned to Harry. "As for you, Mr. Potter," he said, raising an eyebrow at the young man who was still dangling from Fawkes' talon, "I want to know as much as you can tell me about what Voldemort is up to, and how you found yourself in your current...situation."

---

Arthur Weasley tumbled out of the Burrow's main fireplace, wand at the ready and all senses on high alert. Listening intently, he tried to identify any unfamiliar sounds or voices, but there were none. Even the ghoul was silent. Automatically, he sought out the luminous face of the locator clock, sagging in relief when he saw Molly and the children’s hands all pointing calmly at "Home" with his own on the way to join them. The only thing out of the ordinary was a faint, slightly acrid odor in the air, but then again Fred and George had been "inventing" all summer. Most likely it was the result of their antics, and there would be new "products" to show in the morning.

Or rather, for Molly to confiscate.

Torn between exasperation and thankfulness, Arthur pocketed his wand and released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, as the obvious answer occurred to him. A nightmare. Harry must have been dreaming, poor lad. He was clearly still frightened out of his wits about You Know Who, and probably missing Ron as well.

He turned back to the fireplace, then froze with his hand hovering indecisively over the Floo Powder. As long as I'm here, it won't hurt to have a quick look 'round, Arthur decided, shaking his head as he tried to puzzle through Harry's behavior of late. Why hadn't he just agreed to come to the Burrow a few nights ago? If he had, perhaps this could have been avoided. If not, then at least he would have had someone nearby when he awakened.

"Arthur?" someone called from somewhere in the vicinity of his feet. Arthur jumped before his brain caught up with him and he recognized Minerva's voice. Peering into the hearth, he saw the Transfiguration professor's head looking up at him. Minerva looked immensely relieved, then became all business once again. "Stand clear, I'm coming through," she warned in her best no-nonsense voice.

Arthur grimaced, realizing the extent of his own folly. Charging in here alone probably wasn't the brightest thing he'd ever done. Had Harry been correct, he could have found himself horribly outnumbered, but blast it all! It wasn't always easy for a wizard to think clearly when his home and family were at risk!

I'd better get out of the way, he thought, taking a few confident steps forward. Thanks to all the odd hours he'd worked over the years, he was quite accustomed to moving about in near darkness. Molly helped, too, by making sure the floor was always clear, so Arthur was taken by complete surprise when his foot caught on something solid. His surprised gasp quickly turned into a howl of pain when he threw out both hands to catch himself, and wound up with two palms full of shattered glass for his trouble.

Minerva must have heard him. He caught sight of her familiar silhouette for a second before the flames died, her stance tense and rigid. "Arthur? Arthur! Lumos!" she called, anxiety making her Scottish burr more pronounced than usual.

Arthur grimaced again, this time in pain. "I'm here," he answered, lifting a cut and bleeding hand to shade his eyes from the strength of her spell.

"For Heaven's sake, Arthur! What happened?" Minerva demanded, more glass crunching under her feet as she hurried over to him.

Arthur was still trying to get his eyes to open properly. "I don't know, there were no indications...even the clock...and Good Lord!" he gasped, when his eyes cleared and he really looked at his living room for the first time.

"Yes, I'd say that covers it," Minerva agreed grimly, while Arthur surveyed the mess in open-mouthed dismay. Empty potion vials, both shattered and intact littered the floor. Four Muggles, including the one he'd tripped on, lay unconscious--seemingly dropped in their tracks. A viscous blue fluid bubbled and fizzed on one wall, and the floor was cris-crossed with wet trails of a yellowish substance. Now that he was on the floor, Arthur could identify that as the source of the smell he'd noticed earlier.

He was right! Dear Lord, he was right! Arthur gibbered, turning his hands over and staring blankly as the yellow potion burned its way into the cuts on his palms. He barely noticed Minerva's banishing charm or the hiss and clink of sliding glass, blinking only when fingers snapped uncomfortably close to his face.

"Stay with me, Arthur," McGonagall admonished, studying him with a little frown on her face. "Potter's warning was timely but we have to hurry. Albus said this attack force is heavily armed with Severus' potions. It looks like they poured firebomb fluid on the floor and concentrated the ward weakener on the east wall," she said, indicating the large blue splotch with her wand.

"Oh, did they now?" Furious, Arthur gripped his wand as best he could. "Scourgify!" he snarled, throwing a cleaning spell at the mess on the wall, but to his irritation it didn't even make a dent.

"No, Arthur!" Minerva, said, holding up a hand. "Arthur, listen to me!" she shouted when he fired another spell over her shoulder. "We don't have the tools or the time to get the potion off the wall. The wards will most likely be breached. We have to wake Molly and the children and get them out now!"

"But the Burrow--"

"May be a loss!" she snapped impatiently. Seeing his heartbroken expression, she added more gently, "Arthur, Albus is sending help as fast as he can! We'll do everything possible to save your home, but if worse comes to worse the house can be repaired or replaced! Your family can't!"

Arthur opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again and nodded as sanity began to return. What was he thinking? She was right. There was no time to waste. "You're right Minerva, " I don't know what came over me..." he said, trailing off when he staggered woozily. "Sorry...dizzy..."

"It's quite all right, Arthur, you've had a shock," McGonagall said, hiding a yawn behind her hand. "Oh, do forgive me," she apologized, looking horrified.

Arthur shook his head, dismissing her concern with a wave. She was exhausted--they both were. "Not at all," he said, gesturing toward the stairs. The sooner they got Molly and the kids out the better. "It's beyond me why no one came down to see what all the commotion was about, though."

Minerva shrugged. "Let's not question it. With luck we'll be able to get the children out of the house without them being the wiser--" she said breaking off with a startled yelp when something hit the Burrow with a colossal *WHUMP*, knocking them both off their feet and shaking the house down to its foundation.

Oh, that's done it, Arthur groaned inwardly, struggling to get back to his feet. Any second he expected to hear sleepy, confused voices and footsteps on the stairs.

Minerva seemed to be thinking along the same lines. Raising her voice she called for Molly and the children to come to them, but still no one appeared.

By now they had reached Ginny's room. Frightened, Arthur flung the door open, about half expecting to see his youngest child murdered in her bed, but by all appearances she was sleeping peacefully. Swearing softly, he gripped the doorframe as another wave of dizziness washed over him, followed by a huge yawn. "Ginny!" he called, "Ginny, love, wake up!" Turning his shouted up the stairwell, "Fred! George! Molly! Ron!"

"Arthur!" McGonagall called from below, as another spell pounded the house. When Arthur turned back toward the foot of the stairs, he saw her looking anxiously up at him, one hand on the wall for support. "The Muggles are all unconscious! Albus mentioned paralyzing gas, but this looks more like a sleep agent," she informed him, starting shakily up the stairs. "We'll have to get Molly and the children out one by one!"

Arthur paled, clinging to the doorframe as the most savage blow yet shook the house. "Minerva...I feel...I'm not certain I can Apparate!" he confessed.

"Nor I," McGonagall replied, drawing her wand and trying a Bubble-head Charm with no success. "We'll have to use our portkeys," she decided, drawing her phoenix pendent out of her summer robes. "Hurry! We haven't much time!"

Nodding, Arthur staggered through Ginny's door, while Minerva shifted into her cat form and, dashed up to the next landing.

---

"Hey."

Startled out of a light doze, Janet Wright yelped and sat straight up in her chair, nearly falling out of it in the process. Recovering, she glanced guiltily at the still form beside her, then gave her husband a sheepish smile. "Hey yourself."

Steve raised an eyebrow at her. "You should go to bed," he chided, coming over to stand behind her chair. "You're going to be miserable tomorrow."

Janet grimaced, knowing he was right, then closed her eyes and sighed contentedly when he reached out and began to gently massage her neck and shoulders. "You have five years to stop that, just in case you're wondering," she commented, leaning back into his hands.

"Might take that long to get you straightened out. You have a knot back here the size of my fist," Steve grumbled, gripping her shoulders more firmly and working the tense muscles with his thumbs. After a few minutes he stopped and dropped a kiss on the side of her neck. "Come on, babe, you're wiped. The kids are all sleeping now. We should get some rest while we can."

Janet sighed and crossed her arms. "I know," she acknowledged, but shook her head when he came around to face her, and tried to urge her to her feet. "I'll come to bed soon--I promise. I just...I just want to make sure everything's okay."

"Jannie..." Steve wiped a hand down the middle of his face then tried again. "Jannie, he's been sleeping for two solid hours now. Hasn't moved once."

"Yes, I know. That's what's worrying me," Janet admitted, leaning forward and reaching out a hand...yes. It was still there. Stronger, too. She didn't even have to touch Harry's skin now. The air above the mark on his forehead seemed to crackle and pulse with energy, like a magnetic field or a patch of static electricity. "Look at my arm. See how the hair's standing on end? There's something really weird going on here," she said, watching as Steve frowned and stretched out his hand to join hers, and smiling in spite of herself when he jerked back with a curse.

"What is that?" he asked, shaking his arm a bit before smoothing the hair back down.

Janet shook her head. "I don't know." Reaching out again, she thumbed open one of Harry's eyelids, trying not to shudder at his complete unresponsiveness. He might as well have been made of wax. Taking her hand back, she shrugged helplessly. "It's creepy...like he just isn't in there," she said, watching as Steve knelt by the mattress.

He extended a hand, as though to feel Harry's forehead, then hesitated and laid the back of his hand on Harry's cheek instead. Janet couldn't claim to be surprised. Steve had quite a bit more body hair than she did. He'd probably felt the tingle all the way to his toes.

"He's still warm."

"Yes, his fever still hasn't broken," Janet agreed, watching as Steve followed the path she had earlier--fingers going straight from Harry's face to his carotid artery.

"Nice strong pulse...even breathing...doesn't seem to be in pain..."

Janet nodded again. "His color's good, too, all things considered." She indicated her home medical guide which was laying on the floor by her chair. "The book gives a list of things to watch out for with prolonged unconsciousness, but they don't seem to apply in this case."

Steve sat back on his heels and looked up at her, a puzzled frown on his face. "Okay, I give up. Does he need to go to the hospital or not?"

That was the same question Janet had been asking herself over and over again. "I don't know, Steve. I don't even know if this is something a normal hospital could cope with."

"Well if there are magical pubs and schools there must be magical hospitals, too," Steve pointed out. "Maybe we should go ask Tom what to do."

"Do you think that didn't occur to me?" Janet snapped in annoyance. "I was going to go wake Tom and ask his advice, but that bird got all weirded out and wouldn't let me out of the room."

"Hedwig?"

"Yeah." Janet crossed her arms again and glanced reproachfully at the snowy owl. She was fully aware that the pose made her look like a pouting child, but at the moment she was beyond caring.

Hedwig was significantly calmer than she had been earlier, but Janet noted she was still watching them carefully, as though hanging on their every word. "I made the mistake of thinking out loud," she told Steve. "As soon as she knew what I was up to, she flew over and blocked the doorway. Wouldn't move until I promised not to go--stupid as that might sound."

She'd half expected Steve to laugh at her for allowing herself to be bullied by an owl, but he surprised her, rubbing at the short beard on jaw and taking the matter very seriously. "Maybe she's concerned about him being caught out in a public place--as himself, I mean, and not Jim," he suggested. "You saw what happened with that reporter in the Leaky Cauldron. These magical folk seem a tad high strung where their 'Boy Who Lived' is concerned."

Janet started to say that Steve was giving a bird an awful lot of credit, then reconsidered. Hedwig had been touchingly protective of Harry since her arrival, and barring that one instance, she hadn't interfered with either Steve or herself as they tried to tend to him. Magic was a factor here as well. Who was she to say that the owl wasn't capable of more complex thought processes?

"Could be," she finally admitted, deciding to focus on one thing at a time. "In the meantime I...well..." she faltered, coming back around to the reason she'd been sitting at Harry's bedside instead of catching some sleep in the first place. She wasn't sure she could adequately describe the "calm before the storm" sensation she was feeling, but it reminded her of the eerie silence that fell right before dark clouds boiled in, and the sky turned greenish black.

"I want to stay a little longer--just to be sure," she finally finished. "Why don't you go get some sleep? God knows one of us is going to have to be alert tomorrow."

He squeezed her hand. "We'll manage. Want me to go put on the kettle?"

Janet nodded. A cup of tea sounded heavenly. "Thanks, sweetie," she said, smiling as he snapped her a jaunty salute and vanished into the hall. Once he was gone she regarded Hedwig again. "I'd feel better if someone looked at him, and I reserve the right to get medical assistance if he gets worse," she asserted pugnaciously, feeling ridiculous as she did so, then blinking in surprise. Did the owl just nod? She watched as Hedwig studied her closely, something like sympathy in her yellow eyes, before spreading her wings and fluttering through the doorway. Before Janet had a chance to wonder where she'd gone--or take advantage of her absence--she was back, with something clenched tightly in one talon.

"What do you have there?" Janet asked, trying not to flinch too noticeably when the owl landed on her lap. Hedwig was surprisingly gentle, though, gripping Janet's leg with minimal force, and balancing on one foot with practiced ease. When Janet finally registered what the bird was offering her, she almost laughed aloud. It was the small pad of paper and pen she kept near the downstairs phone.

Well, Tom did say wizards send messages by owl... Janet mused, taking the paper and pen from Hedwig with an automatic "thank you." The only problem was, she had absolutely no idea who to contact. Harry and Tom were the only wizards she knew. Surely she wasn't suggesting writing a letter to Tom...not after the way she'd acted. Besides it seemed silly when he was so close by.

Hedwig pecked at the paper, then flapped a wing at Harry.

"What? What do you want me to do?" she asked blankly, before the pieces clicked. I reserve the right to get medical assistance, she'd said. "Do you know someone I could contact to look him over? Someone safe?" she asked, relief overriding her annoyance when Hedwig looked at her like she was the class dunce. "Hey, cut me some slack, here," she complained, clicking the top of the pen to expose the writing point, "I've never done this before."

---

Sirius Black knelt across from Dumbledore, more frightened than he'd ever been in his life. Between them, Fawkes, the headmaster's phoenix, sang soft soothing notes as he tried to anchor Harry's ghostlike form.

Stifling a sigh, Sirius raked a hand through his hair. It was a good thing Arabella had met Remus and him at the door and held them back long enough to explain what they were about to see. First sight of Harry in his current state was bad enough with advance warning. Even the usually unflappable Remus Lupin had been unable to completely hide his horror and concern.

Sirius hadn't even tried. Seeing Harry there looking about as substantial as dandelion fluff had been off-putting to say the least.

Naturally, he'd wanted to know what the bloody hell was going on, but there hadn't been a lot of time for explanations. Harry had been finishing up a report on what Voldemort was up to when they'd arrived. The short of it was, Voldemort had selected alternate targets, and two homes were now at risk.

As soon as Dumbledore had an idea of what Voldemort's plan was, he'd immediately dispatched Moony and Mad-Eye to the Granger residence as a precautionary measure--a decision that left Sirius feeling jealous and guilty by turns. Mrs. Figg was put to work relaying all new information to the team at the Burrow via Order parchment. Respecting present company, Dumbledore had claimed Sirius was being kept behind for his own protection, but the animagus knew that wasn't the only reason. Harry very obviously needed someone right now.

So now they all found themselves in Sirius' least favorite place to be: sitting helplessly on the sidelines and waiting for any bit of news from those who were in the thick of things. Arabella grew fidgety and went to the kitchen to make tea, leaving the three wizards keeping their vigil by the fireplace.

Grimacing, Sirius glanced at his godson. He had no idea what to say or do. Already distraught about the Burrow, Harry hadn't taken the possible threat against Hermione very well at all. Before today, he hadn't known that ghosts could go paler, but somehow Harry had managed it.

Still, even as diminished as he was, Harry hadn't lost any of his fight. Rather like James in that regard, Sirius mused, a fond smile touching his lips. Once he'd gotten over the worst of his shock, Harry had turned to Fawkes and begged the bird to take him to Hermione's house so he could spread the alarm. Sirius wasn't exactly sure what the phoenix had said in reply, but judging from the bird's tone and the injured look on his godson's face, he reckoned the short version was "no" or perhaps more closely, "are you out of your bloody mind?"

Dumbledore had stepped in and put an end to that nonsense by sending the others to the Granger house instead.

Wait... Said? Sirius raised his eyebrows and glanced speculatively from the scarlet and gold phoenix to the older wizard across from him. Unsurprisingly, he found Dumbledore studying Harry as well, a thoughtful expression in his legendary blue eyes. He opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but Dumbledore caught his eye and ordered him to silence with a slightly raised hand and an almost imperceptible slight shake of his head. Later. Not now.

Finally sighing out loud, Sirius tried to put a hand on Harry's shoulder, catching himself with a startled yelp as his hand passed completely through the boy's insubstantial body. "Sorry," he said sheepishly, gladdened to see a flash of amusement, no matter how brief, appear in Harry's eyes. Harry had seemed okay in the beginning--a bit overexcited and see-through, maybe, but essentially all right. Now...

Now he wasn't looking so good.

Sirius regarded his godson again, hating that he was having such a hard time of it, and wishing there was something he could do to help. Initially, Harry had knelt in front of Arabella's fireplace, back straight, eyes alert, and stared into it with an intensity that was almost frightening. As time passed, the amount of effort he was expending became more and more obvious. Harry's attention was still riveted to the fireplace, almost as if he was trying force a firecall by the strength of his will alone, but his posture told a different tale. Now he was seated on the floor with his legs in a "W" position, back hunched, head drooping, and breath coming in little pants. Sirius reckoned he couldn't last much longer before toppling over completely, and wondered how on Earth he was going to catch him when he did.

Instinctively he tried to grasp Harry's hand, clenching his fist in frustration when his godson's intangible state made that quite impossible. In fact, the only creature present who was able to touch Harry was Fawkes. The phoenix had Harry by the wrist, and, according to Dumbledore, was literally holding him in place. He might even be lending the boy some of his own strength.

Fawkes also seemed well aware of Harry's distress, and was trying to soothe it in his own birdlike way, for which Sirius was grateful. Every now and then he would sing a fortifying note, gently groom Harry's untidy hair, or else nuzzle him with his beak.

Finally unable to stand the near silence anymore, Sirius asked his godson the question he was dying to know the answer to. "Harry? Is Wormtail among the Death Eaters at the Burrow?"

Harry slowly turned toward him and shook his head, a regretful look on his face. "He stayed behind...with Voldemort...and Professor Snape."

Dumbledore frowned at this. "You didn't mention Professor Snape, although I did wonder why he hadn't contacted us."

"He couldn't." Harry closed his eyes and seemed to marshal his resources. "Voldemort took his wand...and put him in a full body bind," he explained, the strain he was under showing clearly in his face and voice.

Dumbledore hesitated, as though gauging how far to push. When he finally spoke, it was clear he was preparing himself for bad news. "Are you saying Voldemort suspects Severus?"

Harry seemed to consider this, frowning a bit as he mulled it over. "Some of his Death Eaters do," he finally admitted, opening his eyes again.

If the situation hadn't been so potentially dire, Sirius would have laughed at Dumbledore's flabbergasted expression. "Why didn't you mention this before?" the headmaster demanded.

Harry shrugged as he turned to face the older wizard. "He's...safe enough, I think. Voldemort doesn't really want to kill him."

That makes him the only one, Sirius grumbled to himself.

"Besides...no one knew about the change of plan...and Snape's been silenced all this time," Harry pointed out with some effort. "Voldemort can't exactly blame the Order's arrival on him now...can he?"

"Professor Snape, Harry," Dumbledore corrected automatically, but Sirius didn't think he looked too fussed. It was hard for anyone to buy that stern "Headmaster" face when his eyes were twinkling like that.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied dutifully, turning to listen when Fawkes chirped at him in an oddly scolding way. "Fawkes says I need to shut up now if I want to stay," he translated, giving his companions an apologetic little half smile.

"You understand him?" Dumbledore asked, looking intrigued, then surprised when the phoenix turned on him, flapping his wings and screeching angrily.

"Really, Fawkes, it isn't as bad as all that," Harry tried to soothe the bird, earning a baleful glare and another scolding for his trouble.

"Arabella? Albus?" a voice called as the fireplace flared.

Shaklebolt! Sirius grinned eagerly. Finally!

"It's over," Kingsley reported, cutting immediately to the chase after returning Dumbledore's greeting. "The Burrow sustained some structural damage, but it should be fixable. More importantly, we managed to get the family out before anyone was hurt."

"Where is Minerva?" Dumbledore asked, obviously wondering why she hadn't been the one to make the call.

"Unconscious. The house was filled with some sort of anesthetic. It appears the Death Eaters' plan was to sedate everyone, including their Muggle accomplices, and burn the place down. Luckily, Minerva and Arthur used their Order portkeys and managed to get Ginny, Fred, and George out before they went under. Madam Pomfrey diagnosed the cause and got word back to us before anyone else fell victim to it."

"Was anyone else hurt?" Arabella called from the kitchen doorway. Shaklebolt shook his head.

"Not physically, though it looks like Voldemort tampered with the Muggles. We have some people trying to sort them out but it doesn't look promising. McGonagall, the Weasleys, and the Granger girl should sleep until morning. Professor Sprout is looking after them now."

Harry's head shot up at the mention of Hermione's name. Sirius gave him a reassuring look and addressed the Auror in the fireplace. "Kingsley, what's wrong with Hermione?"

"Her family was fetched as a precautionary measure so it didn't occur to her that the Weasleys had actually been attacked. She had a nasty shock when Remus portkeyed her and her family to the Hospital wing and she saw all the Weasleys unconscious. Professor Sprout gave her a mild Calming Draught. She probably slipped a few drops into the tea she served the parents as well. At any rate, they're all asleep now."

"Professor Sprout? Wait, where is Poppy?" Dumbledore asked with a frown.

"She got an urgent owl, that's all I know."

"I see. And the Death Eaters?"

Kingsley shrugged. "It wasn't much of a fight. If someone hadn't touched off the firebomb fluid Weasley would have escaped almost completely unscathed. We managed to catch a couple, but most of them were portkeyed out when we arrived. From the looks of them, they were mostly new recruits with maybe one or two senior members keeping an eye on them. They didn't appear to be expecting any resistence."

"Hmm, yes, well if we hadn't had a very timely warning, they probably wouldn't have gotten any," Dumbledore said, turning to smile proudly at Harry, then interrupting himself with a startled gasp.

Frowning, Sirius turned and immediately saw what the matter was.

Fawkes was collapsed on the floor already deeply asleep, and Harry was gone.

---

It is time, Fledgling. Farewell...

That was it. All the warning he'd been given. Before Harry even had time to process the statement, much less respond to it, the firebird opened his golden talons.

Once that occurred it had all been over. With nothing to anchor him and no chance to brace, Harry had found himself at the mercy of his overextended Astral link. When Fawkes let go it was akin to firing a catapult, or perhaps a crossbow. He'd been flung backwards with terrific force, flashing across the empty miles and slamming back into his body before he could even draw breath to shout.

"Harry?"

"What is it? Is he coming around?"

"I'm not sure...he jerked a little but doesn't seem to be seizing again. Harry?" the voice asked, sounding cautiously hopeful.

Shivering violently, Harry tried to respond, but couldn't manage more than a pathetic-sounding whimper. Now that the shock of impact was fading, he was becoming more and more aware of his own body. Or, more specifically, the level of discomfort he was experiencing. He ached all over and his head was splitting fit to burst. Worse yet, his comfortable bed which had been soft and warm before, was suddenly hard and cold. Beyond cold. Bloody freezing was more like it.

"Good! Keep talking to him. He seems to be responding to your voice."

"Okay... Harry? Sweetie? Can you hear me?"

Swallowing painfully, Harry managed a tiny nod, squeezing the hand that held his own as he fought to get his bearings. The aches and pains that seemed to ooze up from his very bone marrow were far more acute than they'd been before. It actually felt much closer to the Beaten-From-Head-To-Toe-Hurts-To-Even-Think feeling that followed multiple castings of--

"Crucio!"

Wha--? Harry sucked in an agonized gasp, feeling his back arch and his muscles clench as Voldemort's rage and frustration sizzled across their link. The connection was still open, fueled entirely by his enemy's wrath. He caught a quick impression of Voldemort stalking among his bedraggled, terrified followers, firing off blast after blast of punishing magic. Fools! Incompetents! Crucio! Dissendium! Crucio! Avada Kedavra!

"It's happening again!" the voice beside him snapped, seeming to address someone else, before returning its attention to him and speaking urgent encouragement in his ear again. "Hold on, sweetie, I'm right here. You're going to be all right. Just hang on..."

Making a sound like an animal in pain, Harry did just that, gripping the hand in his like a lifeline. A second later what felt like a numbing spell tingled mercifully across his sensitized skin.

"Steady, Mr. Potter, there's a good lad..."

Voldemort had an impressive capacity for anger, but even he couldn't remain angry forever. Gradually his fury diminished, leaving icy disappointment in its wake. Harry watched his enemy lower his wand and order his followers from his presence in tones of deepest disgust before the link finally failed, leaving him laying sore, freezing, and utterly spent in his unusually hard bed.

"Harry?" The voice sounded tearful now, and not so far away. "Come on, sweetie...you can do it..."

Harry swallowed again, still shuddering convulsively. This would never do. Tugging his hands free, he groped blindly about before wrapping both arms around himself in an effort to conserve warmth. "C-cold," he managed, unable to shake the feeling that something was not quite right here. Where on Earth were his blankets? "Hurts."

"I'm sure. Poor thing. You've had a hard night." Harry made an effort to open his eyes, and found himself looking into Janet's red-rimmed ones. She gave him a tearful smile before slipping an arm behind his shoulders and pulling him close. "Welcome back, sweetheart. Thank God...oh thank God..." she murmured, rocking him gently.

"May I take a look at him, dear?"

"Oh, of course! I'm sorry, doctor," Janet said, sounding rather abashed. She gave Harry a kiss on the temple and one last squeeze, then set him back against his rock-hard pillows with a little splash.

Wait.

Doctor?

Splash?

Oh, no. Oh, nonono.

"Why Mr. Potter, if I didn't know better, I'd swear you weren't happy to see me," Madam Pomfrey said, heating the bathwater with a wave of her wand. Hedwig sat on her shoulder with his Order portkey dangling from her beak.

Oh, God... Harry thought with a mortified moan, hiding his face in his hands, and sliding under the water until only his knobbly knees were sticking out.