The two wizards froze on the stairs, not daring to breathe. Both focused completely on their hearing, craning desperately for any sound of movement within the mansion. All was still, or so it seemed; the noises from the street seemed outrageously loud, more than capable of covering up the delicate padding of stealthy feet.
Harry moistened his lips without thinking, wincing at the tiny click made when he opened his mouth. They had just been talking, for Merlin's sake; there was no need to get all worked up over that little sound. But his mind was in overdrive, eager to seize hold of anything concrete that would free him from thinking about the werewolf lurking somewhere in the dark silence.
He couldn't stop the rapid rate of his breath, but he forced himself to keep it shallow and quiet. He stretched his hand behind him, hoping Malfoy could see it in the dark stair--the last thing he wanted to do was bump him unexpectedly and startle him into jumping, or yelling, or both. A few seconds later, the other wizard took his hand, and Harry could project to him through that link.
Can you hear anything? Harry waited for a response, then clenched his jaw in frustration; naturally Draco couldn't answer with his mind like Tura could. Squeeze my hand, once for yes, twice for no.
Cold fingers clamped down on his own, much harder than necessary, two times.
Me either. But he's here. It's the only explanation why it's so quiet.
One squeeze.
Where could they go? Harry knew some locking spells and wards, but unfortunately all of them worked only as long as the door itself held together. He doubted that the door to the little playroom was strong enough to withstand an onslaught from a ravenous wolf. Lady Black's bedroom door might; after all, Buckbeak had never managed to escape from that room. Of course, Buckbeak was trapped inside, on the same side as the hinges--he needed to pull the door inwards to get past it, which required a bit of dexterity. A werewolf, bashing against the door from the outside, would have a distinct advantage.
Harry thought again about the playroom and the little crawlspace at its entry. It was possible Lupin wouldn't even fit through the tunnel, and if he did, he'd be confined to a small area. A few painful hexes right in the face might deter him for a while. It would certainly be easier to strike at him while he was wriggling through the tunnel than if he smashed down the bedroom door and bounded into the room.
Back up. We'll hide in the playroom.
Malfoy rapidly squeezed his hand twice.
Harry clenched his own fingers and gave him a little shove backwards. Move it! Our best bet is to hold him off in the tunnel.
Malfoy gave him another pair of squeezes, then another and another. Harry really wasn't in the mood for it, but there wasn't much he could do. Without eye contact, he couldn't skim the other wizard's thoughts, and he couldn't risk even thirty seconds of numbness in order to do real Legilimency. We don't have time for this! Harry projected. You'd better have a bloody good reason!
Malfoy went motionless, then gripped his hand with a single firm squeeze. In lieu of a noisy huff, Harry pressed his teeth together as tightly as he could.
Back to the drawing board. If they couldn't go back up, they had to go forward. The fireplaces in the drawing room and the kitchen were both on the Floo Network, but both were several flights of stairs away. Harry knew that some upper floor rooms had little balconies with French doors; he'd noticed them from the outside. If they could find such a room, they could climb down or even jump if they had to. That seemed like the best plan, but just as Harry got ready to convey it to Malfoy, he realized the flaw. The windows would undoubtedly be warded shut to keep Lupin inside.
If you're thinking about going out a window, I have a feeling they're locked up.
A pause, then a single squeeze.
Think we should try one anyway?
Another pause, but before Malfoy replied, both of them froze as the distant clacking of claws on wood indicated that an animal had just mounted the stairs.
"This way!" hissed Malfoy, darting past Harry, still clutching his hand like a lifeline. Harry jerked along after him, his legs unwilling to propel himself closer to the werewolf, but he had no better option. Malfoy hit the fourth floor landing and darted down the short hall on the left, flinging open the door to a small conservatory and yanking Harry inside. "Lock it!" he cried as he slammed the door.
Harry already had his wand in hand. "Clausura!" he shouted, then immediately sought the biggest, heaviest object in the room to move in front of the door. "Mobili--" he began, stopping in mid-spell. He swore, then looked at Malfoy. "What's Latin for 'piano'?"
Malfoy's jaw fell open. The two wizards stared at one another, panting, as the cautious clicking on the stairs transformed into a thudding gallop. There was no doubt they'd been discovered. "I don't know; I think Latin was invented before pianos! Forget it!" roared Malfoy. "Use the armoire instead!"
Harry pointed at the large cabinet. "Mobiliarmarium!" he cried, flicking his wand toward the doorway. The cabinet slid across the hardwood floor with a groan and a noxious scraping sound, but not a moment too soon; it had barely settled into place when a tremendous crash shook the door.
Both of them remained still another moment, awestruck by the sheer power behind the blow. Malfoy smiled wanly. "Good show! I'm glad you knew that one."
"I didn't. Faked it," said Harry, shrugging. His knees suddenly felt like rubber.
Malfoy gaped. "In that case, I'm glad I said 'armoire' and not 'dresser'."
At that point, the wolf began to growl, scratching viciously at the door. Both wizards snapped out of their momentary relief and turned as one to the wide French windows. "Alohomora!" said Harry with a flick of his wand, not really expecting them to open, but crossing his fingers anyway.
Malfoy reached the gilt handles first and gave them a mighty tug, but they didn't even turn. "Try Dissero." Harry pointed his wand and said the word. "Merlin's wand, Potter, you never learned that?" said Malfoy impatiently. "Oh, let me!" He snatched the wand from Harry's hand and cast the spell with a graceful unfurling of his wrist. The doors clattered but remained closed.
"Patefacio!" said Malfoy with a slicing gesture. "Insectus! Disruptus! Adflictavi!" He swung Harry's wand as though he was conducting an orchestra, but the doors remained stubbornly closed. "Who in seven hells charmed these shut?" he finally panted, eyes wide in disbelief.
"Probably Mad-Eye Moody," Harry groaned.
Malfoy dropped his wand arm in defeat. "We're doomed."
A yip followed by a particularly nasty snarl issued from the hallway; apparently the wolf had injured himself while shredding the door with his claws.
"Can you Apparate?" asked Harry.
"Um, not really. I was kinda preoccupied last year, while everybody was getting lessons."
"Right," said Harry, deliberately leaving off the "planning Dumbledore's murder."
There was a brief instant of silence, then a splintering crash as the wolf hurled itself against the door. Both eyed the armoire apprehensively as the scratching resumed. It was still in place, but the door was clearly giving way.
"It'll never hold," gasped Harry. "We've got to get to a fireplace."
"Right," grunted Malfoy. "Maybe you can conjure up a nice thick steak so we can distract him?" He handed back Harry's wand.
Harry shook his head. "Won't work. He'd rather kill his dinner himself than accept a handout. Wolves don't exactly trust gifts."
"I really wish I'd paid more attention in Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Malfoy miserably.
That was just too much for Harry. Despite the circumstances, he laughed, loudly and vigorously. Draco stared a moment, affronted, then broke into laughter himself. It lasted only until the next bout of scratching at the door, but it somehow cleared their heads a bit.
Malfoy gritted his teeth and fixed Harry in a firm gaze. "I think we both know how this ends. You Apparate, Potter. Now."
Harry shook his head. "Hark at you! When'd you turn into a Gryffindor? I'm not just going to leave you to get eaten alive!"
Malfoy rolled his eyes in utter contempt. "Better me than both of us! Look, if you go now, maybe you can find someone who can come back for me--someone who can do Side-Along Apparation. Unless you can do it?" Malfoy added hopefully. The answer showed in Harry's eyes, and Malfoy nodded and turned away.
"I'm not leaving," said Harry. "I don't know where people go while Lupin's like this. Even if they're on Diagon Alley, it could take hours to find them--it's not like the entire Order can just crowd into a booth at the Leaky Cauldron for the night! Wherever they are, they're probably laying low!"
"And they might be right outside in the courtyard, sitting around a campfire! It doesn't matter, Potter; get out of here! I'll take my chances." Harry didn't even dignify that with an answer, just a scoff.
Again the scratching stopped and a splintering crash issued from the door. The wizards turned as one toward the great dresser, which shook but remained in place.
"Mother of Merlin!" whispered Malfoy.
A flash of fire between the wizards sent both of them leaping backwards. Harry recovered first, recognizing a familiar face as the flames flickered out. "Fawkes!" The phoenix landed on his outstretched arm immediately and spread his wings, wrapping them around Harry.
"No! Draco too!" Harry said, pushing the wings away from himself. Malfoy stared at the spectacle in confusion, even as another crash shook the dresser. Knowing there was no time for explanations, Harry simply yanked Malfoy's wrist to draw him close, and turned back to Fawkes. "Now," he said, undisguised relief in his voice.
Fawkes, however, leaned back as far away from Malfoy as he could. "What?" Harry said, baffled.
Fawkes made a sad keening sound, pointing with his beak at Malfoy. He brought the sharp tip within a hair's breadth of Malfoy's throat, but did not touch him. He was aiming straight at the Dark Mark.
"Uh, Potter, what's he doing?" Malfoy stammered.
Harry sighed. "I'm not sure. I think your Mark is too much for him; it's a corruption of his magic." Malfoy scowled incomprehendingly. "Volde--er, You-Know-Who's wand has a feather from Fawkes in it. My guess is he can't bear to touch you with that Mark on."
It was Malfoy's turn to scoff. "Figures."
Once again, the wolf hurled its body against the bedroom door, and this time the armoire lurched forward an inch. Fawkes hopped up onto Harry's shoulder and again attempted to envelop him in his wings. "No!" Harry said, gripping Malfoy's arm. "I won't just leave him here!"
The wolf's muzzle poked from behind the dresser. Both it and Fawkes growled menacingly, but then all went silent as blue flame exploded about the three of them.
It was pitch black where they landed, but Harry was too excited to care. "Fawkes! I knew you could do it," he said joyfully as he lit his wand.
They were standing beside the Black Family Tapestry. Harry groaned when he recognized it. Fawkes had only been able to move them a short distance and buy some time. They weren't safe yet.
"Incendio!" cried Harry, aiming his wand at the fireplace. As the flames illuminated the drawing room, he cast a locking spell on the door. "Come on, Draco, we're not done yet!" He glanced back at the other wizard and froze.
Malfoy was blackened from head to toe. His clothing and hair were singed, covered completely with a fine layer of ash, but that was not the worst of it. Every last bit of Malfoy's exposed skin had been burned away. His hands, neck, and face were left with nothing but a slick sheen of sooty fluid over the raw, pink dermis. Malfoy looked dangerously close to fainting from the shock, and frankly Harry didn't feel too steady at the sight either.
Muffled crashes came from overhead, followed by pounding footsteps, as the wolf broke into the conservatory at last and sought in vain for his prey. As if all that weren't enough, Fawkes, staring at Malfoy in horror, let out a strangled, sorrowful cry and burst into a brilliant fireball himself.
The phoenix flames were uncomfortably hot, but did not burn Harry; nonetheless, he batted the flaming mass from his shoulder reflexively. It bounced off the tapestry, which immediately caught fire, then landed on the wool carpet. The initial flare had already subsided, however, leaving a pile of ash on the rug.
"Oh, Fawkes," wailed Harry. He dropped to his knees before the coals and picked up the wrinkled chick as gently as he could. This was nothing short of a disaster, but he had no choice but to keep moving. The wolf presently recognized that his meal had somehow escaped him, and his snarl of outrage carried through the two intervening floors. It was followed immediately by more footsteps, this time coming down the stairs.
Leaping to his feat, Harry reached for Malfoy's shoulder, then hesitated; if all of the other wizard's skin was burnt away, he might not be able to withstand being touched. At that moment, however, Malfoy's knees gave way and he lurched to steady himself. As he did so, part of his burnt sweater crumbled away, revealing intact skin underneath.
"Heavens above, Draco!" Harry put his hand in the center of Malfoy's back and urged him toward the fireplace. "Come on! You have to walk, you can do it!" Malfoy was already shivering hard and stumbling over his own feet.
The racing paws of the wolf made clicks and scratches through the ceiling overhead. It was hunting for them, only one floor away. "Move, move, move," Harry chanted frantically, stuffing Fawkes inside the remains of Draco's sweater so he could have both hands free to push the other wizard along. There was no point in remaining silent or trying to hide; the smell of burnt skin would soon be like a radar beacon to the wolf.
They were barely a meter from the fireplace when Malfoy finally collapsed in shock.
Harry caught him by the shoulders, but had no choice except to set him down. The Floo Powder was kept in the rolltop desk near the hearth; he had to fetch it before they could go any further. Harry flung up the tambour and immediately found the powder in its usual spot. "Thank you, Remus," he breathed, knowing that it was Lupin's penchant for order and simplicity that kept such things organized and in their places. If the man's tidiness saved them from becoming the werewolf's next meal, so much the better.
Harry snatched up far more Floo Powder than necessary in his haste, and flung it into the fire. The wolf was once again thundering down the stairs. The tips of the flames had not yet changed from yellow to green when Harry put his head in the fireplace and shouted, "The Weasley Burrow!" He had never tried to send an unconscious person through the Floo, and hoped that the connection would keep as he fetched Malfoy.
As he raised Malfoy's body with the Mobilicorpus, a head appeared in the fireplace. "Harry? What's--" The speaker, Arthur Weasley, was cut off as the wolf reached the drawing room door and drowned his question with a tremendous crash. There wasn't even time to turn around and check the door. Harry simply shoved Malfoy into the fireplace, feet first, right into poor Mr. Weasley's face. Several voices shouted through the Floo as Malfoy began to emerge into the Burrow's kitchen.
The Floo was not meant to be used this way--one was supposed to step completely in to the first fireplace and climb out of the other, not straddle the two of them at once. They were supposed to share a magical link, not a physical one, yet Malfoy's horizontal stance forced them into a real alignment. The chimney creaked in protest and clouds of soot began to whirl, throwing sparks and ashes into Harry's face. He held his wand steady and pushed on Malfoy's shoulders with all his might.
There was another mighty smash against the door, this time accompanied by the unmistakeable sound of splintering wood.
Harry had just enough time to place his hand on top of Malfoy's head and give it a final shove when the strain on the chimney overwhelmed the bricks and mortar. The entire structure imploded, sending a huge, dense cloud of soot and dust billowing out of the fireplace.
Coughing, blinded, and utterly alone, Harry turned to face the wolf.
He strained to listen. There was nothing at first but the clattering of bricks tumbling down inside the fireplace. The wolf snorted and coughed as well, and Harry realized that it, too, was handicapped by the cloud, at least for the moment. Dust clung to the cold sweat covering his body; for a brief instant, he had an absurd mental image of himself so encased in soot and powdered masonry that the wolf mistook him for a statue.
Fat chance. Harry cast the Aguamenti Charm wordlessly and rinsed the filth from his eyes, following with a Bubble-Head Charm to keep them clear. The dust and darkness made it impossible to see, but at least he could breathe--and more importantly, the wolf could not. For the moment, anyway, Harry thought grimly.
He could hear it pattering around, but that was little comfort; that only meant it could hear him as well. Judging by the sounds, the wolf was pacing back and forth before the doorway. He's not stupid. He's blocking my escape, thought Harry. All the wolf had to do was wait for the dust to settle, and he'd have a straight shot at his prey.
Harry knew he had to Apparate out of here while he still had the advantage, but the threat of immediate, deadly peril had his heart racing and his thoughts whirling. He could barely wrap his mind around a Destination, let alone the Determination and whatever-the-heck that last "D" stood for. Harry vowed to hex Wilkie Twycross and his useless mnemonic the next time he saw him--if he survived the wolf, that is.
Keeping his wand at the ready, Harry tracked the movements of the wolf, still sneezing and snorting to clear his nose of dust. Maybe I can face him off till morning like this, if I just keep the dust moving and stay out of reach. The trouble with that plan was that Harry had no knowledge of any dust-levitating spell, and the wolf was both larger and more agile than he. He gnashed his teeth--more thinking along those lines and he'd work himself into a panic.
He was so startled by the sound of a human voice that he stumbled and fell.
"HARRY!" It was Ondossi, calling from the kitchen downstairs. Claws gouged the floor as the wolf ground to a halt, uncertain whether he should abandon his trapped quarry to pursue something potentially easier to actually find. Ondossi let out a wild sound that rumbled throughout the house, which was undoubtedly the call of a sick moose or some similar animal. The wolf came to an abrupt halt and made its decision; it spun about noisily and bounded down the stairs.
Harry swore, picking himself up and bolting after Lupin. He hadn't let Malfoy sacrifice himself so he could escape, nor would he let Tura do it either. He dashed past the screeching portrait of Lady Black, thinking, "Oh sure, NOW you make some noise," and rounded onto the kitchen stairs.
He took the last few steps in a single leap, but froze at the bottom. The wolf was on top of the long table, poised to leap at Ondossi, but it had stopped short, hackles raised on the back of its neck. Glancing beyond it, Harry saw why: Ondossi was in the process of morphing into a cobra. Already her head was that of a snake, her throat flattened into the flaring hood. Her arms, however, were still fading into the side of her body, which was elongated and coiled in a rather gruesome manner. Harry watched, spellbound, until the transformation was complete.
With a low growl, the wolf took a step backward, then another and another, until its back foot slipped off the edge of the table. This was Harry's chance to sidle over to the fireplace, emerald flames still flickering within, welcoming him to the Floo and safety. He edged toward it, but unfortunately, the predator in the center of the room had sized up the situation and decided to revert to its original plan of devouring Harry. It whirled around with a vicious snarl, and prepared to spring.
Harry heard the sound before he saw anything, and it took him a moment to realize what happened. The wolf was a flurry of fur and claws and snapping teeth, yelping and scrambling back to the other side of the table. The cobra had slithered beneath the table and risen between the wolf and Harry. She must have spat venom right in the wolf's face, which was now stinging its mouth and eyes.
We're OUTTA HERE! Harry thought, hooking an arm around the snake and charging toward the fireplace. Before he managed a single step, however, white-hot pain exploded in his shoulder.
"Tura!" Harry croaked. At first he thought the werewolf had bitten him, but no, it was on the other side of the room, frantically licking its nose and wiping its eyes. It wasn't Remus who bit him, it was Ondossi. He regarded her in wide-eyed horror.
A flash of comprehension appeared in the snake's eyes, followed by a most un-reptilian look of horror and chagrin. "Harry! Oh, no! I wasn't expecting--"
He staggered, nodding in understanding; her reflexes were those of the snake, not the human, and she had reacted on instinct. "S'okay," he gasped, dropping to his knees, his hand gliding over her waxy scales. "Le's jus' get to the Floo."
This was no easy feat, with venom flooding his veins. It burned like a Cruciatus curse and his limbs felt wobbly and weak. Ondossi was absolutley beside herself, blathering in apology as she wriggled protectively beside him. "Even though I just spat, that was still full of venom, but I have the antidote at Hogwarts. I'll get it as soon as you're safe. I'm so sorry! Elbereth, Harry, NEVER grab a snake by the middle like that, haven't I taught you anything?"
He rolled his eyes and steadied himself against the wall, doing his best to follow her persistent tugging toward the hearth. She suddenly whipped out from his grasp and twisted away, her hood flaring again and jaws open wide. Harry knew without looking that the wolf had recovered enough to pursue him again. "Don't bite it!" Harry demanded. "Just spit, or you'll kill him!"
She rose up menacingly to strike the wolf, which obviously intended to prevent his escape, snake or no snake. "Gee, ya think?" railed the cobra. "Get out, so I won't have to bite!"
Foggy from the pain, her command seemed logical to Harry and he crawled toward the fireplace. He did not look back at the sounds of scuffling and spitting behind him until he entered the hearth. "The Weasley Burrow," he said, raising his head at last to grab the cobra and escape.
The sight made him cry out. The wolf's fur was matted with venom; he'd been able to dodge her spit. Worse still, he'd managed to maneuver between her and the fireplace. With one lucky snap, he could bite her in half, and now her escape route was cut off. Tura was going to have to fight for her life against Remus. Neither was likely to survive the confrontation.
A tear trickled down Harry's cheek, and with a groan of agony, he lurched back into the kitchen.
"NO YOU DON'T!" Hands reached from the emerald flames behind him, yanking hard on his robes.
"Sirius," Harry gasped softly, wondering how much worse this was going to get. "They'll kill each other," he panted. "Can't let them. Gotta use Legilimency. Something."
Sirius ignored him, pulling him into the Floo Network. "No!" he cried again, leaning against his godfather's grip. He knew what Sirius must be thinking; he never really liked Ondossi anyway, and he'd sussed out that she was the cause of Harry's recent misery. Sirius was probably happy to let the wolf devour her. "You don't understand!" he implored. No one but Ron and Hermione knew about the cobra; Sirius had no idea that Remus was in as much danger as Tura.
"Knock it off, Harry! Stop fighting me!" It was as though Sirius had gone deaf; he didn't acknowledge Harry's plea with so much as a flicker of his eye.
In despair, Harry jerked his head toward the standoff not a meter away in the kitchen. Sirius looked up at last. His jaw dropped, then he swore. "They'll kill each other!"
Harry closed his eyes and nodded, in too much pain to say, "Ya think?"
Sirius pulled him to his feet. "Go, Harry. The Weasley Burrow!" he shouted into the Floo. He shoved Harry toward the Network, but Harry gripped his wrist.
"Won't leave them! My fault!"
Sirius froze, staring as though seeing him for the first time. "Mother of Merlin, Harry... you've been BITTEN!" His eyes widened and he flinched, but to his credit, did not let go of his godson's forearms.
Harry stared back in confusion, then snapped to. "Snake," he panted, "not the wolf." The venom had spread to his diaphragm; it hurt to breath.
Sirius held him at arms' length a moment longer, then nodded. "Snake bite. Venomous, no doubt."
Harry knew he was only seconds away from being tossed into the Floo. "I won't leave them Sirius!" he said, his tone as low and firm as he could muster.
Sirius rose to his full height, his jaw set in determination. "You need a Healer. I'll handle these two." He gave Harry a tremendous shove, which he was too weak to resist. Harry whirled off in a vortex of emerald flames, barely aware of his arms swinging wildly about him, scraping iron grills and chimney bricks along the entire length of the Network.
He stumbled backwards out of the fireplace at the Burrow, but never hit the ground; a dozen hands caught him and hauled him into the kitchen. Harry tried to protest, but someone picked up his knees as another threaded strong arms under his shoulders, and they carted him off to the living room in an instant. "He's been bitten!" one of them shouted. A green-robed Healer was already at his side, her wand pointed at his heart. A tall, slender man with long braids (who seemed to be her assistant) laid his hand on Harry's shoulder.
Harry felt a tremendous pull, as though the hand were some sort of vacuum sucking the venom from his blood. It worked; the pain cut back considerably, boosting his courage at the same time. "I'm all right," he quickly gasped. "Let me go back!"
The room had gone silent at the news of the bite, and now every eye was fixed upon him in horror. "Oh, for pity's sake!" he said. "It wasn't the wolf--if it was, I'd be changing, wouldn't I?" What was the matter with these people?
"Harry, shut up and calm down!" It was Malfoy, calling hoarsely from somewhere on the other side of the room. A ripple of activity began to spread from the direction of his muffled voice.
"Bugger that! Sirius is back there, between a werewolf and a cobra!" Harry struggled to sit upright despite the venom remaining in his system, until the crowd parted and he caught sight of Malfoy. His face and hands were wrapped in bandages, leaving only a slit for his mouth and nose. Even his eyes were covered.
"Potter, you idiot, shut up!" Malfoy rasped again. "You're speaking Parseltongue!"
Oh.
Harry gazed around the room once more, taking in the wide, frightened stares. Of course he was speaking Parseltongue--he always did in the presence of snakes, and he never noticed when he was speaking it or hearing it. That's why Sirius didn't listen to me, he thought in self-reproach. It was all just hissing to him.
For the first time, Harry noted the grim chill in the Healer's eyes. He looked closer and skimmed her thoughts, learning that the wand poised over his chest was not there to heal him, but to kill him if the need arose. It was widely believed, after all, that only the Darkest wizards were Parselmouths.
Harry eased back down onto the couch, concentrating on his language. "It's all right. I was bitten by a cobra. An Animagus who became a cobra. It's all right." The wand remained pointed at his chest, but her expression softened. "Sirius... He's still back there, with both of them," he said entreatingly. A quick look beyond her eyes told him how to ease her concern. "I've, ah, always been a Parselmouth," he added sheepishly. All the faces he could see either cringed anxiously, or nodded with a knowing glance at his forehead.
At last the Healer nodded too, and waved her wand over him in a complex pattern. "You've been poisoned, Harry Potter," she said, her voice soft and soothing. "You must rest."
Her magic was stronger than a sleeping potion. Harry raised his head and whispered, "Please," but his energy drained away. The Healer smiled reassuringly and brushed his eyes closed with her hand, and Harry was out for the count.
He didn't remember sleeping, or dreaming. When he woke, the room was dark and empty. The Healer dozed in an armchair beside his bed, and her apprentice stood leaning against the sill of the main window, a silhouette against a pre-dawn sky tinged with a hint of red. Harry reckoned the lump of blankets on the other couch was Draco Malfoy, judging by the mummy-like hand dangling from the cushion.
Harry tried to sit up, but the Healer's eyes snapped open as soon as he moved. "Be still," she said, placing the tip of her wand delicately on his chest. A warm wave of magic passed through him, relaxing his muscles so deeply that he gave up all thoughts of rising, but he had to speak.
"Tura... Reem?" He didn't have the energy for the "s-es" in "Sirius."
The Healer hushed him with a wave of her hand. "One moment," she said, and scurried to the kitchen, returning with Molly Weasley.
Even in the dim and shadowy firelight, Harry could tell she'd been crying despite her stoic smile. She bustled to the couch and knelt beside him, stroking his hair. "By the blood of Merlin, Harry! What a fright you gave us all!"
"He still needs rest," said the Healer gently, "but you can talk for a few minutes." She slipped quietly off to the kitchen.
Harry could talk, but his limbs still felt too heavy to move. "Please," he said, "what's happened to the others?"
Mrs. Weasley shook her head, her smile fading. "We don't know, Harry-love. We don't dare risk opening the Floo again--not until morning. When you came through, we could hear the wolf, it was... Let's just say it sounded very, very angry. And close. We couldn't risk it following you back here. Or worse, getting caught in the Network and stepping out Merlin-knows-where."
"But Sirius--"
"I know, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley said tearfully. "I know. Arthur and Bill tried to stop him, but you know how he is. We should have put him in a Body-Bind after Draco turned up, but no one thought of it in all the chaos. The kitchen was full of people from the Order, finishing up their dinner and the day's business, and suddenly this horribly wounded boy just pops out of the Floo! With those burns, we didn't even recognize him at first.
"No one knew where he'd come from. We always check every single room in Headquarters before closing it up for Lupin's time. Arthur and Sirius had assumed you'd skipped off with Draco--they were furious with you! They reckoned you'd forced him to take you to You-Know-Who, once and for all. A team was assembling here to follow you.
"Ondossi was supposed to be their guide. She put her hand on Draco's head and forced him awake." Mrs. Weasley paused gritting her teeth. "That was quite unpleasant, Harry, with his burns... Anyway, he blurted out 'House of Black' before he, ahem, fainted, and next thing we knew, she was diving into the fireplace like nobody's business."
She paused to rub her own forehead for a moment. "Well. You can imagine how that went over. Arthur had heard you, so we knew you were back there, too, but no one knew what to do. There's a strict rule, Harry, set down by Remus himself. NO ONE is to go into Headquarters during 'his time.' The last one out is supposed to block the Floo so no one can accidentally wander in. He's determined not to spread his lycanthropy.
"You must have dislodged the block when you opened the Floo from the other side. It was only a one-way block; no one ever worried about the wolf using the Floo Powder to get out, after all. Even if he managed to find it, he'd probably just eat it, or roll in it... Anyway, as I said, Remus made most people swear an oath not to enter the house under any circumstances during the full moon. Arthur couldn't follow, or Kingsley, or Tonks of course. But apparently Remus never got around to Ondossi.
"Of course, the whole house was in an uproar, but Arthur loudly reminded everyone of their oaths, and also that Fawkes would never let any harm come to you. That calmed people down a bit. Arthur stood guard at the Floo, ready to pull you through if you entered, or shut it down if the wolf tried to go in." She shuddered at the memory; it would take some very fast thinking to slam the Floo shut in the wolf's face.
"I couldn't bear to just stand there watching, so I started to tend to Draco's burns, and that's when I found poor little Fawkes inside his shirt. I should have just quietly tucked him into my apron, Harry-love, but I was so surprised when something moved like that..."
Harry nearly sat up in panic. "Where is Fawkes?"
"Shh, hush, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said quietly. "Hagrid has him. The poor little fellow was just beside himself; he just curled up on your chest and howled his little heart out until Hagrid arrived. There wasn't a dry eye in the living room for a while. But Hagrid calmed him down and put him on his beard, and Fawkes just burrowed right in. He's fine."
Harry sighed. "I'm a terrible caretaker." He silenced Mrs. Weasley's protest with a sharp look. "I forced him to move me and Draco away from the wolf. That's how Draco got burned, and right afterward, Fawkes burned up as well."
"You saved Draco's life, Harry."
"I hurt Fawkes," he said flatly.
After a moment of heavy quiet, he spoke up again. "Let me guess: As soon as Sirius realized Fawkes was here and not with me, he plowed into the Floo before you could even blink."
"Just so," said Mrs. Weasley, dabbing at her eyes with a hanky.
Harry grimaced. This was a nightmare. "Has there been anything at all since then?"
"Nothing," she said, but she glanced away and he knew that wasn't the full story.
"There's more," said Harry. She sat back a bit and turned her head. "Mrs. Weasley, please don't make me pull it out of you," he added, hating how cold he sounded.
She sat up with a sharp intake of breath, then held her chin high. "Very well, Harry," she said, her voice dignified and sad at the same time. "Arthur did barricade himself in Hagrid's cabin, so he could use that Floo and keep an eye on things without endangering... anyone else. But as I said, he's heard nothing. By the time he settled in, the house had gone silent. He's been checking in all night, but there's nothing to report."
Mrs. Weasley dabbed her eyes again. "The sun's just coming up; he, Hagrid, and Poppy will go in as soon as it clears the horizon." She paused, studying him, then leaned forward to kiss his forehead. "You must try to rest, Harry-love. We'll all know soon." She stood and padded softly to the kitchen.
We'll know they're all dead, Harry thought miserably. If either Sirius or Tura had somehow survived, they would have come back. As for Lupin, if the wolf were alive, it would have come sniffing whenever Mr. Weasley popped his head through the Floo. Even if it had gorged itself on fresh meat all night, it would still be curious.
The Healer's apprentice came to Harry's side with a bowl of steaming liquid. Harry made no protest as the man sat down and dipped his fingers into the bowl, then began dabbing the potion onto Harry's face and chest, tracing unknown runes on his skin.
It smelled flowery and metallic, unlike anything Harry had ever made in Potions. Every whiff of it seemed to lighten his mood, but Harry didn't want to cheer up at a time like this. The Healer noticed his furrowed brow and painted a figure-eight over it with a fresh dollop of the warm elixir.
"You feel such pain," he said in a strange accent, "yet none here know what transpired on this night. You assume the worst, but you do not know. This balm is for your heart as well as your body, young one. If you permit, it will help you find your courage and faith."
Harry eyed him skeptically. "What is it?"
The tall man smiled. "It is nothing you have seen before. Something special from my home, far away." The Healer spoke with such quiet confidence that Harry meekly accepted the explanation.
The man's long, dark hair fell forward as he bowed his head and placed his hand on Harry's wounded shoulder. He muttered something Harry could not understand, and once again a warm, gentle pull seemed to reach into his very veins to coax out any toxins that remained. Even his scar began to tingle, a very startling sensation from an area that rarely felt anything but pain.
Harry regarded the stranger with newfound awe. "Who are you?"
The man smiled again, with a faraway expression. "None have asked my name in many, many years, nin ion," he said, returning to his efforts with the potion. "You might call me 'Peredhil.' That is my title, I suppose; it is hard to translate."
Harry looked beyond the man's eyes without really meaning to, but he was curious what this "title" meant. What he found from this skimming was very much like the rich, dynastic memories he always received from Fawkes. "Half-Blood?" he said hazily, not quite sure how he'd derived that idea.
The man laughed merrily. "I believe that is as accurate as any I could devise."
Harry blinked a few times, still reeling from the depth of the memories he'd glimpsed. This was no ordinary wizard; no human mind he'd ever touched looked anything like this one. "Why have you come?" Harry whispered, suddenly afraid.
"Curunir firion!" he chastised, though Harry had no idea what the words meant. "It is true that I once was a warrior, but I am a Healer. I have come to help you, not to slay you." He raised his brows. "If you would reach into the minds of others, little wizard, you must either be very thorough, or withhold your judgement," he chided gently.
Peredhil studied him carefully, then picked up the bowl and took a sip of the potion. He dipped one finger in it and pressed a drop to Harry's mouth, then sat back expectantly. Harry reckoned he'd drank it himself to prove it was safe, so he cautiously licked the cooling droplet from his lip.
Harry closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the rush of what seemed like liquid health in his mouth. This stuff was to Pepperup Potion as Legilimency was to exchanging hastily scribbled notes in class. Nonetheless, he fought not to swallow it, unwilling to accept such comfort for his wounds while Tura, Sirius, and Remus lay dead because of him. The Healer simply sat and watched a moment, then put another drop on his lip.
"There will be plenty of time to mourn your friends if they are truly lost," said Peredhil quietly. "But there are many ways this night can end, more than you can even imagine. Only a small number of these possibilities end in grief. There's no point in languishing in it yet, young one. Learn the truth before deciding the facts."
It was hard to argue with this eloquent, haunting wizard, but Harry managed a weak scoff. "There may be other endings, but it's most likely they're all dead."
The Healer cocked his head and regarded him sternly. "The flaw in your argument, nin ion, is that you cannot use the odds to predict the outcome of a single event. Improbable things happen every minute. Magic is proof of that; life itself is also proof. You do not know what has happened, but you have assumed your friends are dead. Consider for a moment that it is just as easy to assume your friends have survived the night, as to assume they have not. Or, if you cannot summon that much hope, then perhaps it is best to assume nothing."
"Easier said than done," mumbled Harry.
Peredhil smiled wanly. "Indeed, young one. But it will come more naturally with time. Tonight, however, you must make a leap of faith. The potion will help you. You must recover quickly, if for no other reason than your beloved lithpelos--Fawkes, you name him--needs your strength. He has rebirthed far too many times in recent years, and he grows weary."
A tear formed in Harry's eye, but the Healer clicked his teeth. "Nay, nin ion, this is no fault of yours. It is your bad luck to live at the cusp between two Great Ages, and such times are inherently dangerous. Fawkes came to you to serve, and he will weather it, but he, too, suffers, and can feel despair. Let your heart be at peace tonight, and recover your strength for tomorrow. Indeed, tomorrow has almost arrived." He indicated the morning twilight with a broad gesture toward the window, then rose from his seat, handing the bowl of potion to Harry.
"Drink, little curunir. You are not the first to confront great evil, nor will you be the last, and it is indeed a cruel fate. There are forces at play that neither you nor your enemy fully understand. I wish you luck, Harry Potter." He turned away.
"You're leaving?" said Harry.
"I came to you on behalf of the lithpelos. But I will not be far, nin ion." The Healer made a motion of sipping from an invisible cup, and Harry obediently raised the bowl and drank its entire contents. He fell back to the pillow as the potion coursed through him, filling him with clean, healing magic.
When Harry opened his eyes, he thought at first that he was literally glowing with golden light. He blinked a bit, slowly realizing that he was bathed in sunlight. It seemed like no time at all had passed, yet it must have been hours already. He bolted upright; by now someone must know what happened at Grimmauld Place!
"Harry!" It was Ron. Harry turned left, toward the voice, and with an even greater start, realized he was no longer at the Burrow. Ron had leapt up from the next cot in the familiar row of beds of the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts.
"What happened?" Harry was startled by the strength and clarity of his own voice--he'd been too groggy and weak to do much more than mumble the last time he spoke.
"You've been out more than a day, mate! Madam Pomfrey's been going crazy trying to figure--"
"No, no," Harry burst out over him, "at Headquarters? What happened at Headquarters? Sirius, Tura..."
"Ooh, right," said Ron comprehendingly. "Well, if you turn that way..." he pointed to Harry's right. Harry spun around instantly, to behold Sirius, Lupin, and Ondossi, lined up like dominoes in the next three beds. All three looked battered and worn, but Sirius and Lupin both raised their heads and grinned at him.
Harry leaped to the edge of Sirius's cot in one bound. He said nothing as he pulled his godfather into a crushing hug, so great was his relief to see him alive and whole. When he finally let go and ran round to Lupin's cot, he found his voice long enough to say, "Remus!" before throwing his arms around him. Breathing in with his face pressed into Lupin's shoulder, he realized that Lupin's hair smelled just like the musky, earthen scent of the wolf. It made him shudder and grip more tightly at the same time.
"I can't believe it! I thought I'd lost all of you!" Harry said breathlessly, standing up straight again. He looked at Ondossi, but her eyes were closed; she seemed to be asleep, although it didn't seem possible after all the commotion. He wanted so much to run to her side and scoop her up anyway, but like a sledgehammer to the chest, he was hit with certainty that she wasn't asleep, she just wanted him to leave her alone.
The smile vanished from his face, and his hands fell uselessly to the edge of Lupin's cot. It lasted only a second or two, long enough for Sirius and Lupin to exchange a knowing glance, then Harry recovered his composure and turned his gaze back to his friends. "I'm so glad you're all right," he said, deeply sincere but without quite as much joy as a moment before.
Lupin bowed his head sheepishly, but Sirius just laughed. "Ah, you and your worrying. I told you I'd handle these two, didn't I? You know I never lie--at least not to you."
Ron came up behind Harry with a chair in each hand, and the two of them sat between the two cots. Harry looked at them and shook his head. "So tell it! Somebody--anybody!"
In an uncharacteristic fashion, Sirius bowed his head with a shy grin, and Lupin took over. "Well, I don't exactly remember the specifics, but it seems that Sirius's magic finally came through when the chips were down."
Harry's jaw fell, and Sirius actually blushed, still grinning and studying the hem of his sheet. "You Morphed?" burst Harry. "Snuffles is back?"
"Looks that way," Sirius said, raising his eyes at last. "I guess I just needed a little extra push to wake up the wizard in me again." For a moment, all four of them just sat and grinned.
"Oh, Harry, you should've seen Headquarters!" said Ron. "Someone needs a bit of training about keeping off the furniture! It looks like they chased each other all through the house and then some. Not to mention the drawing room--bits of chimney all over everything. But the best part is the portrait of Lady Black." He gave Sirius a knowing grin, and a bark of laughter immediately followed.
"If only we'd known before, eh, Reem?" said Sirius. "It was spelled against everything you could expect in a proper Pureblood household, but Mummy Dearest never imagined a werewolf would set 'paw' in her house. Ondossi got up on top of the portrait and the wolf just went berserk! Ripped every last thread out of the frame and left it all in a shredded, silent heap on the floor. No more screaming hysteria, ever!"
Harry joined in the satisfied laughter, then asked, "What was Tura doing on top of the picture?"
Again, Lupin lowered his eyes with a guilty frown. He and Sirius both glanced at the last bed, then Sirius answered somberly. "She sort of needed to escape, Harry. Moony--that is, the wolf--managed to catch her a couple of times. He, ah, got a claw in her at one point and did some real damage." Harry felt the color drain from his face and reminded himself that she was alive, right there, just a few feet away.
Sirius continued. "But the picture frame was the perfect spot; she just laid herself out across the top of it, all stretched out and flat. She stayed up there while Moony jumped up after her over and over--he was pretty angry over that whole spitting business. Once the portrait was ripped out, he couldn't get any purchase along the wall, so he gave up and took out his frustration on the canvas instead. Really, it all worked out in the best possible way. I'd chased and fought with him all over the house, just as Ron said, but I was getting so tired I could hardly hold my shape. But once he finished with the painting, he just howled a few times and went to sleep. I think my mother was bad for his digestion."
Lupin nodded. "Tasted horrible, too. And from a wolf, that's really saying something."
Harry bit his lower lip and looked at Ondossi again. "How is she?"
Lupin and Sirius exchanged another glance. "She, ah, hasn't really woken up yet," said Sirius, as Lupin, too, bit his lip. "Now, Moony..." said Sirius firmly, but Lupin raised his hand for silence.
"Hagrid cared for her all day yesterday; they just moved her in here this morning," he said, holding his head up, though he looked like he'd rather dive into a deep hole. "She couldn't transform right away. She was... One of her wounds was too severe. The clawing, it ripped her open from what would be her chin to her belly button."
"Usually wounds don't matter much," said Sirius. "A lot of them just disappear when you re-Transfigure yourself, and even the bigger ones will heal to some extent. But you do have to have a certain level of structural integrity to transform. She probably would have turned inside-out..." Sirius fell silent as Harry paled even further.
Ron patted him on the back. "But she's right as rain now, Harry. Hagrid saw to her the whole time, when he wasn't feeding Fawkes. He put her in a big basket with a lid, and a pillow inside, and kept her right next to the fire so she wouldn't be chilly. Fang tried to sniff her once and she spat on him. It got all over Slughorn, too; he was bringing her a potion at the time. So you know that made her feel better."
Harry smirked. That would have cheered her up.
"You startled us all a bit, though," said Sirius. "Molly said you'd been awake that morning, but when she went to tell you the good news, no one could rouse you. Madam Pomfrey's been wracking her brains trying to figure out why; all her spells said you were the veritable picture of health."
Harry shrugged. "I was. I took that potion that Peredhil gave me; I guess it was a bit too strong."
The other wizards suddenly frowned. "Peredhil?" said Lupin.
"Maybe you haven't met him yet," said Harry. He turned to Ron. "That tall Healer with the really long hair? The one who took the poison out of my shoulder?"
Lupin looked at him with increasing alarm. "Harry... the only Healer in the Order is Madam Lumbago."
"I went home that night as soon as I heard," added Ron uneasily. "She was looking after you, Harry. I never saw any strange bloke at the Burrow, tall or otherwise."
Harry Potter and the Heirs of Slytherin by fawkes_07
Chapter Notes: Summary: Desperate times and desperate measures on several fronts.
A/N: For those of you who have been looking at the pictures (posted in the MNFF Forum), you've probably noticed I haven't been keeping up on the artwork. I finished the art for this chapter, however, and it might give you a hint about Peredhil's identity...
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