Harry awoke from a nightmare in a jarring jolt, but only remembered the terror he’d experienced. He looked frantically around for his friends, but found only rumpled blankets and pillows. “Thanks for waking me,” he grumbled, sure they must be just downstairs.
His trek down to the Great Hall was slightly delayed by a moving staircase and his protesting neck. He felt like he’d performed a miraculously long head stand the whole time he was asleep.
As he entered the Great Hall (thoroughly famished), his neck was the last thing on his mind. Harry’s hair prickled all along his arms and on his head. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong; students were chattering, happy to be on the Hogwarts express quite soon, and those at the staff table to talking amongst themselves. Still, a sense of foreboding hung over Harry, and Harry alone. Upon a second glance, he noticed his professors were whispering animatedly. Hurriedly. It carried over to his ears in a hiss that reminded him of a particular wizard with whom he shared a power or two.
He scraped his heels over to where Ron and Ginny enjoyed their meals, and smiled rather dully at the latter. He couldn’t shake the negative feeling, even in the presence of . . . he didn’t want to think about that.
“Ah, I see you’ve managed to open your eyelids, finally,” Ron said, allowing the mixed assortment of foods in his mouth to peep into view.
“Morning, Rip Van Winkle. You slept like a log. We tried to wake you, but it was impossible. We’d thought you’d taken a wicked sleeping draught.” She paused for a minute before sighing. “We weren’t even up in time though . . . to see Hermione off, I mean.”
“She had to have left before dawn. Really, that girl needs to straighten her priorities. Sleep is much more important than getting off early and leaving without saying goodbye,” he scowled.
“Well, she did tell us,” Harry said.
The students all fell quiet as Dumbledore stood from his chair at the center of the staff table. His mere presence was commanding and imperial. Harry was feeling ill, as if something terrible was going to happen. He recalled the same tone from the headmaster close to a year ago . . .
“All right, everyone. If you all are sufficiently full with the excellently prepared breakfast, please proceed to the Entrance Hall where Mr. Filch will check you off the holiday leave list.”
The Weasleys stood, and Harry met them. Ginny threw her arms about his neck and pulled him in closely. “Take care of yourself,” he whispered tenderly to her.
She only smiled halfway. “I do what I can.”
“Have you both got your mirrors?” he asked, keeping his tone low. Ron nodded quickly, but Ginny evaded Harry’s eyes. “Where is it then?”
“I gave it to someone who would need it, should anything happen to me.” Her chin was thrust out, challenging Harry to disagree with her decision.
He only stared at her for a minute, unthinkingly. He felt . . . unfeeling. If anything happened . . . Instead of mulling it over, he decided to let her go, trusting her in the hands of fate.
“Goodbye, Harry,” smiled Ron. “Stay out of trouble. If anything happens, call me in our way.”
He declined his head in agreement and waved his friends off.
Harry spent a majority of his day in a brave attempt to write an essay that was due immediately upon return from Easter Break. It was a lost cause. His mind kept drifting back to an unsettled emotion. He wasn’t even sure what was going on, as he felt excited, anxious, nervous and a vast sense of doom all at once. It was as if there was information right at the tips of his fingers, and he couldn’t see it. It was palpable.
Finally, he’d decided to roam out of the library, and find a place where he wouldn’t be watched. He wanted to try to find Sirius in the mirror again. He’d tried it many times in the past couple of months. At times, he could just hear his happy laughter. Other times, there was only a feeling of hope radiating from the burningly cool white light. And once “ just once “ three days ago, his godfather had shouted a crippling warning over the eons that separated them. Over the rumble of the voices, Harry heard, “She came! She’s coming! You know!”
It was immensely frustrating. It seemed as if, in the other dimension, Sirius couldn’t figure these things out. Cryptic hints did him absolutely no good. It probably didn’t help that Hermione tapped on Harry’s door at that exact moment. That should have felt like the simple answer Sirius was driving at, but instead, Harry only grew more uncomfortable.
It turned out to be a ‘shining bright hope’ moment for Sirius. Again.
Harry looked about him, and noticed he was once again at the threshold of the Great Hall. His nose twitched when he saw the only other student there, reading a book “ McKee. Apparently, evil hung around on holidays as well. He ignored her presence entirely and stepped awkwardly toward the staff table, where all of his aged, experienced professors flitted about in conversations like common children. Harry was looking for answers, and somehow, these adults looked as if they had fewer than he did. As he stepped closer, he heard the tale end of a sentence escaping Professor McGonagall’s mouth. “But where, and how?”
Dumbledore put up a hand, silencing his coworkers. “Yes, Harry?”
“What’s happening? Something has happened, and no one is telling me about it, and I can’t tell what it is, so tell me.” Dumbledore favored him with a stern look. “Er . . . Professor.”
The elder seemed to sift through his thoughts, weighing his options. Each, he seemed to be throwing away as delicately as the last. Finally, he said, “I do not wish to involve you in this matter, Harry.”
“What matter?” he persisted in a brash tone.
There was a pregnant silence lurking around each professor. None wanted to say, he knew. Harry further surmised that he was likely the one person who should know whatever it was they were valiantly trying to hide. He made a mental checklist of anything and everything that could have happened. It was a sick activity that made his stomach churn.
Whatever hard line that was just gracing the face of the headmaster was now gone.
“Albus, are you sure that it ““ Professor McGonagall began.
“Yes, Minerva. It is . . . the only option.” He turned his face toward Harry once more. “The matter . . . of Hermione’s departure.”
No! Nothing happened to Hermione. She’s with her parents. “She left early. What of it?” His voice held more strength than his belief in the words. The tone had dropped along with what felt like all his innards. He suspected what would spew from Dumbledore’s mouth next. He wanted to run. He wanted to run away, and make it untrue.
“No, Harry. Hermione was taken.”
“How?” he roared, echoing McGonagall’s most recent question. “I thought this was the safest place in Britain!”
“’Arry, please “ “ Hagrid chimed in ineffectually.
“When did this happen. When?” he demanded.
“Very early this morning.” There was a pronounced hitch in his voice. “Whilst you and the Weasleys slept next to one another.”
“No.”
“Yes.” It was barely a whisper, but it pounded in his mind.
“She can’t bleeding be gone! I had a prophecy! I should have understood it. I should have figured it out! She should have. She’s the bright one! It can’t happen again. I can’t let it happen again!” He was rambling to himself, eliciting concerned looks and pitiful stares.
“It’s not your fault, Harry. No one can be prepared for every ill thing that crosses our life’s path.”
“Then what good are prophecies? I had one. I could have! But I didn’t! I thought . . . I thought wrong. Shit! I should have known. I should have woken up. I should have stopped it before . . .”
“It does not help to speculate. We will do our best to bring her back, Harry.”
“No! This is my fault. I will bring her back! Where is she?”
“I can’t let you go, Harry.”
His eyes searched for a sympathetic soul behind that long wooden table that was on his side, that understood. His eyes caught Lupin’s. “You understand, don’t you? I have to go.” To his dismay, the shaggy hair of his guardian shook slowly and determinately.
His breath caught. “I . . .” he swallowed heavily, “I can’t . . .”
Harry had to look away from a pair of glassy eyes before he lost control. Hermione. She can’t be gone. She was a part of him. He looked pleadingly at the headmaster.
“We will bring her back to you, Harry. We will not fail you.”
“Quite a nice show back there, Potter,” an unwelcome voice drifted into Harry’s ear.
“What the hell do you want, McKee? I’m not in the mood.
“Really, just to give you applause for your ridiculous honesty. After all, you may have been able to actually do something if you’d kept your mouth shut.”
“Thanks for the information,” he spat. Now was not a time where he tried to be civil. He had more important things to deal with than a snotty little fifth year.
“Pull your head out of your arse and listen to me! I know what you should do “ “
“And I can tell you what you should do. Shut it and stick it “ “
“Watch your back!” she shouted at him, but strangely, the course edge to her voice was gone. He stared at her curiously with an annoyed twist to his features. “You bastard!”
Only when he realized the last bit wasn’t to him, did he spin around. The view was blurry and indecipherable, but he heard the horrid screech of a woman among claps of pounding hooves. Centaurs? he thought numbly. An incantation was shouted and Harry tried to counter, but without vision, his aim was horribly awry. He fell backwards and saw the mystic trees towering imperiously over him, giving way to a suffocating ton of fur. Stop, I can’t breathe!
Oh, is that all?
Ron’s earlier sarcastic comment was the first thought to arrive in Harry’s brain upon awaking. He wasn’t quite sure, immediately, what he was seeing. After all, the darkness enveloped him wholly. It was when he banged his head on hard wood that it became clear to him. They’ve locked me in a box! The answer, at least, was simple enough. He pulled out his wand and muttered the incantation to blast the box apart, but to no avail. “Oh god,” he muttered in awe of his predicament.
The centaurs. Had Voldemort really turned them to the dark side? What could they have offered? What could they have offered and made it seem like they weren’t offering anything, but really giving them something they wanted?
Only one thought steeled his gut, and brought his mind into focus. Only one thought made him sure he had to press on. Hermione. They would bring him to her, he was sure. Then it would be a fair trade. Someone they wanted, they could have, and Hermione would be free.
But why do they want her? Did they really go through all that trouble just to get me? That doesn’t make any sense. What would they want her for?”
He unwittingly kicked hard at the back of the box, sending streaks of pain up his legs. A panic seized his gut as he realized how confined he was. There wasn’t room for movement. He was stuck. He began to breathe quickly through his nose, fearing suffocation.
Suddenly, something large feel on the wood centimeters above his wide eyes. “Wittle Hawwy Potter. You’ll want to make sure to breath great big breaths. You might as well enjoy the air while you have it. Oh, don’t worry, I can’t bring you to the dark lord, dead. That would defeat the purpose. I’m monitoring you,” she whispered through a gap in the wooden planks. “Don’t try any “ “
Harry sent his knee hard into the top of the box, eliciting a cackle from Bellatrix. “We’ve . . . magically enhanced your humble abode there. You’re not getting out.”
“What’s the matter, Bella? Are you afraid I’ll beat you in a duel?” He decided that playing brave may well be his best bet.
“Your godfather was a miserable dueler, and you’re worthless in many more spectacular way than he was. But really, I should have made that death last longer. Perhaps I should have slowed it down, and really made sure you had a good look at his face every bit of the way down.”
Harry beat his rage out on his surroundings, not in an effort to get out, really, but to release his rage at her. She was a despicable excuse for life.
“Sit tight, little one. It’s rather clever to have you riding through the country side by Muggle transport. Who would suspect?”
“You’re not all that bright, are you?” Harry shouted from his muffled tomb. “With a portkey, at least no one would see. Why don’t you just get on with it?”
She leaned close to the wood; Harry could feel her proximity. Her lips had to be touching the box top. “Oh, no,” she purred. “The irony is simply too wonderful. There’s also a lovely ceremony for your little girlfriend being held right at this moment. We wouldn’t want to interrupt.” She snickered cruelly. “And you need time to think about what a bad little boy you’ve been.”
He heard the creaks and groans of the planks as she crawled off. But that wasn’t all the noise he was hearing. He heard a harsh whisper. Someone was calling his name.
It was only then he felt the piercing cold against his robes. In an inside pocket lay his mirror. He’d kept it with him just in case something happened. Across distance, Harry wasn’t going to let anything happen . . . or he didn’t plan on letting anything happen. A lot of good that did.
He pulled it out slowly, and found Ron’s pinched face looking at him.
Hope. There it was. He felt it. Perhaps he wasn’t alone.
“Harry. Tell us where you are!”
“I don’t know . . . I’m in some kind of box. Wood. Planks.”
“Harry,” he heard Ginny in the background, “we need a clue. Anything! Hurry!”
Her panic pained him and only heightened his own.
“It . . . I don’t know!,” he hissed. “It smells a bit like feet . . . no, fish! It smells like fish!”
“Oh my gosh, Ron. Somewhere by the sea . . .” The sound faded in and out, and he couldn’t catch a word.
“Ron! Watch out for the centaurs! Watch “ “ but the mirror went dark. So did the small flame of hope Harry was carrying. It was the very one that used to tell him everything would turn out all right.