The blanket darkness did not frighten Harry. It did not awaken in him the desire to fight it. Gentle sounds rolled over him like a light breeze, barely penetrating his consciousness, never even getting close to pulling his addled brain into the light.
He couldn’t think. He found that he did not even find this remotely disturbing. For now he had no other wish other than keeping his eyes closed and allowing his mind to remain blissfully blank.
He had no idea how long he had been like this, caught somewhere between sleeping and waking, but unable to give himself fully to either state. No feelings, no emotions or worries coursed through him. He just couldn’t think.
“Why isn’t he waking?” a shuddering voice whispered in the corridor. “Why?”
“He has been unresponsive since he arrived here Mr Lupin,” came the quiet, calm reply from the Healer.
“But he is breathing on his own,” Lupin persisted, “his heart, his lungs “ they are all functioning and sometimes his eyes seem to open slightly but they don’t seem to see anything... What is your diagnosis?”
Slowly the Healer shook his head, taking in the worn appearance of Remus. “He was exposed too long, far too long. He had already been pushed to the edge of consciousness by the Dementor attack before he managed to repel them. This would not normally be life threatening, but I fear that his condition may have something to do with whatever memory the Dementors took hold of as his worst. He seems to be catatonic. All we can do for now is hope.”
Lupin sank into a chair, finally letting his trembling legs give up the battle of supporting him.
He thought back to the events of the day still feeling shocked and horrified by what had occurred. He had gotten quite a shock when Molly had Apparated right beside him, grabbing him without explanation and transporting them both back to Grimmauld Place. Mr Weasley had Apparated there milliseconds beforehand.
Mrs Weasley had immediately cast her worried eyes around the kitchen and began calling for Ginny. Lupin couldn’t understand what was wrong. Mr Weasley, it seemed didn’t have a full picture of what the problem was either. It was then that they heard it, the high-pitched and anguished scream of Ginny Weasley.
Taking the stairs two at a time Lupin charged to the third floor, the Weasleys at his heels. He tore down the corridor following the sounds of anguished sobbing.
He froze at the doorway, his heart seeming to stop at the sight before him. He tried to take it in, but simply couldn’t. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione lying still and straight, staring straight ahead still caught in the full body bind. He could see Ron lying behind the door, his arms wrapped around his head protectively.
And there in the middle of the floor sat Ginny Weasley cradling the head of a pale and staring Harry Potter.
In seconds he was on his knees beside the pair, tears glistened on Harry’s face where they had fallen from Ginny’s eyes. She clutched him tightly to her and rocked gently, the eerie and anguished sobs still issuing from her throat.
Harry’s wand lay nearby, discarded.
Lupin had tried to pull himself together. What he was seeing could not be right. It just couldn’t be. He reached out and touched Harry’s face. It felt cold like marble.
And then Lupin felt it. It was just the mere whisper of a breath passing Harry’s lips, but it was enough to allow him to hope. He physically pulled Harry into his arms, away from Ginny and roared at Mr Weasley to help.
Within moments Ron and Harry were in the confines of St Mungos, Mrs Weasley arrived moments later with Hermione and Ginny. Dumbledore was there to meet them, his face grave.
As soon as the Healers had begun to examine Harry, Dumbledore turned to Hermione and said, “Miss Granger, we need to talk.” Hermione looked frightened. She protested at first, wanting to know how Ron was, how Harry was doing, but Dumbledore would not heed arguments. He swept down the corridor to a private room, beckoning her to follow while the others sat in wait.
Entering the room in Dumbledore’s wake Hermione meekly sat in a chair, her eyes downcast, studying her nails.
Dumbledore paced for a moment, as if trying to calm his mixed emotions. Eventually he came to stop directly in front of Hermione. “Do you want to explain what has been going on in Grimmauld Place?” he asked.
For a moment Hermione thought of trying to deflect the question. Just for a moment though. For once she raised her face and looked in Dumbledore’s eyes she knew without question that if she did, he would not hesitate in using his legilimency skills to discern the truth. She knew that her only hope of redemption now was to explain. Yet, words failed her. She didn’t seem to know where to begin.
Dumbledore sighed audibly. Hermione had never seen him with so little patience. “Do you want to start at the beginning, or move straight to the point at which you found yourself about to reveal the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix to Lord Voldemort, Miss Granger?” he asked.
Hermione quaked and quickly looked away, her eyes beginning to fill with tears.
“I never intended on…. I never intended on revealing anything. You’ve got to believe me. I don’t know what came over me. I feel like I have been walking around in a daze for this past three weeks,” she said in a shaking voice.
“And yet you knew you were doing wrong. You must have suspected as much, knowing the lengths that Ron went to in order to try and keep an eye on you. Look, I think it best that you start at the beginning. Time is short but I think we need the full story before we proceed. If you like I can help,” he added gently.
Hermione knew what Dumbledore meant “ she could just let him read her mind to discover the details, rather than have to go through the humiliation of talking about it.
Hermione shook her head. “Thank you Professor, but I would rather tell you about it,” she said. Dumbledore nodded. He knew what an effort it would take for Hermione but was glad that she had not taken the easier path.
Hermione took a deep breath and began her story.
“As soon as I arrived in Grimmauld Place, I felt a change in the atmosphere. I don’t know how to explain it really. It just felt like there was a much greater sense of foreboding and general malevolence that any of the previous times I have visited there. I couldn’t understand why “ Mrs Weasley had made great strides in making the place more habitable, but there just didn’t seem to be any way to shake the gloomy atmosphere that seemed to take hold in the house.
“I threw myself into work at first, helping Mrs Weasley, Ron and Ginny. There was a lot to do, so I ended up working on my own a lot. I didn’t really mind. After the initial uneasiness of the atmosphere in the house, I seemed to get over it and just get on with the job. It was around then that I first ventured up to the third floor.”
Hermione stood and began to pace around the room, her face frowned in worry, twirling a curl absently between her fingers. “I still don’t know why I did. I mean I already knew that it was forbidden and you know I’m not one to break rules lightly Professor. But I couldn’t seem to help myself. It happened one day when I was about to join the others for a break in the kitchen, I was wandering past the stairway on the second floor, when I guess curiosity got the better of me and I went up.
“At first all I did was quickly open each room door and have a glance inside. There was a library up there, which I was a little fascinated with and resolved to go back to in order to look through the books. I came across a bedroom “ it must have been sirius’s. I remember seeing some photos by his bed. When I came to one of the last rooms on the corridor I found it to be bright and cheery, so different from any of the others. The room was relatively empty and I walked over to the window to look outside.
“When I did, I could hardly believe my eyes. I was looking out into this beautiful garden, with trees and shrubs and a little pond at the far end of it. I had been cooped up in Grimmauld Place continually and couldn’t help but stand and stare at it. I wondered why we couldn’t access the garden from downstairs. It did look like it was part of Number Twelve but I knew there was no back door opening on to it.
“Looking out there was like looking from a negative onto its coloured photograph. There was none of the darkness or worry that seemed to invade Grimmauld Place present in that Garden. I couldn’t help just stand and stare at it. I was amazed, I suppose. Amazed that something so beautiful could be accessible from some place so tortured and sad.
“I realised that the only way one could access the garden “ was through looking at it from this window. It may not have been the same as actually being outside, but was such a relief from the oppressive darkness that permeated the rest of the house, that I resolved to keep the discovery to myself. It would be my place to come and visit when I needed a release. I felt I wasn’t doing any harm. I hadn’t touched anything and there didn’t seem to be anything dangerous in that particular room anyway.
“I eventually went downstairs not realising that I had spent hours up there staring out the window. Ron was curious as to where I had been, and a little worried when I didn’t seem to want to give him a straight answer. I told him to stop bothering me, I accused him of being a prat and that seemed to shut him up. I knew I had hurt his feelings but that room was too important to me. I couldn’t let him come between me and it.”
“And so as the days went on, I would find myself more and more drawn to the third floor. I found I couldn’t concentrate on my work anymore. I would slip up there as often as possible to gaze out the window. By now, there was something else in the room that had attracted my attention. It was the mirror.”
Hermione shivered involuntarily, running a hand up and down her arm to dispel the goose bumps.
“It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen it during my earlier trips to the room, but I supposed I had just overlooked it in my haste to catch a glimpse at my little part of heaven outside the window. There was nothing so unusual about it after all. It was just an old Mirror attached to the top of an equally old and dusty dressing table. I had passed it day after day on my way into and out of the room and had never even spared it a glance.
“I still don’t even know what made be look at it. After all one could hardly see oneself in it with the layer of dust and cobwebs, but one day I glanced at it when leaving the room. Ron was on the second floor yelling for me because I was supposed to be helping him. I just glanced at it, and almost fainted with fright. I was looking straight into the eyes of sirius Black.”