Time of the Turning -- Chapter 11 Part Two
Disclaimer: The usual rot about this being free for people to read, and how I'm not JKR and thus don't own much aside from my sorry hide.
Written: 2003 sometime, revised 2004, 2008...
Rating: I'll let you decide this one.
Genre: Teh Adventure
Type: Multi-chapter. Novel-length.
Title:
The Time of the Turning
Chapter Eleven: Wasteland, Part the Second
The double doors closed behind him and he turned around to see how the tent looked from the outside. An eyebrow quirked up. Instead of the igloo-shaped tent he had set up, he saw a boulder that could not be told apart from the remainder of the scenery.
Sirius, you’re a genius, he thought appreciatively at the sight. He’d have to mark the spot, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to find his way back here.
He suppressed a shiver. After the comfortable warmth of the tent, the cold breeze that made his Invisibility Cloak billow around his feet made goosebumps rise up his arms and neck.
Pausing to listen for any sounds around him other than the scattered birdsong, he mounted his Firebolt and took off in a swirl of fog, as noiselessly as an owl.
He rose as high as he dared and turned a wide circle around the mark he had left before the tent, taking in the wild scenery. Keeping the sun to his right he looked northwards, slightly unnerved by the lack of noises. His senses almost painfully sharp, he saw some tall mountains, covered in thick woodland and looking for all the world like islands in this desolate part of the world.
The nearest peak caught his attention, and he found himself flying towards it before he caught himself. Drawing his Omnioculars from his pocket, he focused them as sharply as they would go and pressed them against his glasses.
Not quite knowing what to look for, he scanned the entire mountainside, but all he saw was a thick cluster of treetops... Clearly, the place was not inhabited. Still... he felt drawn to it, the desire to explore it growing by the minute.
Just like back then, when I had those dreams about the Department of Mysteries...
Wrenching his eyes from the mountain and reminding himself that it could well be another trap set by Voldemort, Harry resolutely turned his Omnioculars eastwards, and then, finding no signs of life there either, turned towards the west.
All he could see was an equally vast expanse, but this time it was the sea. He had only seen it once before, and back then he had not really had the opportunity to take in the sheer enormity of it. He focused his Omnioculars once more, marvelling at the dark blue mass, that went on, on, until it was lost in the horizon, where a low, dark rain cloud indicated a storm in the brewing...
A chill ran down his spine, and he suddenly felt small, too much in the open.
Afraid.
With a shudder, he turned away from the sea, a growing sense of urgency and unease taking hold of him as strongly as the peaceful dawning had not an hour earlier.
They really needed to get away from here, and soon.
He shuddered once more, but resumed his scanning of the southwards landscape, undeterred. If there were mountains north and east, a dark sea to the west, his only option was going south. He flew higher, until he was almost five hundred feet above the ground, pressing his Omnioculars so hard against his eyes that his glasses dug into the bridge of his nose.
He could only make out vast extensions of the same barren, rocky landscape, bathed in the same sort of thick fog, for miles ahead.
Then he saw it.
A signpost, with a faded and bent shield on it, the only sign of civilisation he had encountered so far.
WELCOME TO INVERARRAY, it read, along with the usual indications of which highway to take. There was a town close by. 13 Miles, his Omnioculars informed as he twiddled the dials.
Heart drumming against his chest and hands almost numb with cold, Harry refocused his Omnioculars past the sign, trying to make out some shape of a building or other, but all he saw was the same thick, swirling fog.
A sudden, strong gust of wind blew his Invisibility Cloak up and caused it to flap against his back, but he didn’t mind overmuch: the wind blew some of the fog apart, lightening it enough to let him make out a cluster of houses.
Without wasting another moment in the open, he flew towards the ground as fast as he dared, picked up the mark he had left to indicate the location of the tent, and sprinted inside.
The suits of armour that guarded the entrance hall leapt back with much clanging of their metallic joints, reassuming their positions before the double doors as soon as Harry had entered, blocking the entrance like wardens.
A few steadying breaths later, Harry managed to control his trembling hands enough to untie his Invisibility Cloak, deep in thought as to what the next step would be. He had never heard of Inverarray, and his knowledge of geography was limited to the greater cities of each region.
So we’re back where we started out from, he mused, leaning his Firebolt against the nearest wall. He was so absorbed in thought, that he almost overlooked the antics of one of the pegs on the wall, which was shaped like a very life-like stag and trying to catch his attention.
“What is it, you?” he muttered, giving a small chuckle as the stag stretched its antlers towards him, in an unmistakable gesture. Harry obligingly hung his Invisibility Cloak on them, and watched with mixed feelings as the stag trotted proudly towards the door, holding the cloak ready for him.
“Back already, are you?” Tingly’s voice came from one of the cabinet panes over the counter as soon as Harry set foot in the kitchen.
“Yeah,” Harry muttered neutrally, deciding he could use some food and fixing himself a cold chicken sandwich to go with his butterbeer.
“So? How did it go?”
“Well, we are indeed in the middle of nowhere,” Harry replied, taking a bite of his sandwich and plopping down on the nearest chair. “Have you ever heard of a place called Inverarray?” he asked hoarsely in between munches.
“Inverarray?” Tingly echoed, a frown rippling the glass surface. “Sort of rings a bell... but no, I’m afraid I can’t really remember where that is-sorry.”
“You don’t happen to know if there’s a map in here, do you?” Harry prodded, undeterred.
“There should be one in the war room,” Tingly provided helpfully. Upon seeing Harry’s blank look, he added, “The library. I like to call it the war room, though. Gives it an extra spice to it, don’t you agree?”
Rolling his eyes at the mirror with a snort, Harry got to his feet again and shuffled out of the kitchen, taking his sandwich along and ignoring Tingly’s chiding about food in the library.
* * *
“It’s worth a try,” Mad-Eye growled, his magical eye surveying the Weasley Twins closely. “Has the drawing of memories from a phoenix ever been attempted before?”
“Not that I know of,” Bill answered promptly. “But I think it would make sense. That way we could see where it was that Fawkes went.”
“It will take a while, though.” McGonagall’s face was drawn, yet determined. “Fawkes is an old bird, he will have scores of memories to draw from.”
“Get to it, then,” Lupin said. “I’ll be at the library... in case it doesn’t work.” With these words, he activated the portkey to Hogwarts, accompanied by Kingsley Shacklebolt and Dumbledore, who would retrieve his pensieve from his office.
* * *
It was nearly noon when Harry cared to look at his watch again. He had entered the library in the search of a map, but had been unsuccessful. Not that his visit to the study and library was a waste of time, however. Quite the contrary. He was soon distracted by the books on the shelves; by all looks of it, there wasn’t one book that did not have to do with anything other than magical warfare. There was a wide selection, divided by topics such as Dark Magic, Creatures, Duelling, Defence, Offense, Strategy, Transfiguration, Charms... Whatever he could think of ever needing, it was here.
He was presently lounging comfortably in an overstuffed armchair in the living room, absorbed in ‘The Hit-Wizard’s Guide to Advanced Duelling’, a pile of books on the floor around him and the remains of his breakfast (and lunch) next to the perfectly still Sneakoscope on the coffee table by his side.
It seemed to have been one of his dad’s or Sirius’ old schoolbooks, to judge by the amount of scribbling and moving doodles that decorated almost every single page and which sometimes pointed out important things, or - Harry had been rather shocked to see this - mistakes in the book, along with the necessary corrections.
If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought Hermione had been the owner. Except that Hermione did not doodle on books, or have entire written conversations on the margins, nor did she draw Quidditch strategies or the effects of a curse or other in every blank space left. He turned a page. Or support the Kenmare Kestrels.
Every now and then, Harry would glance out the window, or stand up to check the wards, at which point Tingly would pop up in any of the polished surfaces, to tell him everything was still in order and berate him for not going to bed.
Although his body was all but begging him to make good use of his fancy new bed, Harry’s mind was almost painfully alert, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to bat an eyelid, so why bother going at all?
He had decided it would be safest to travel by night, make their way to this Inverarray town first and then travel to Surrey from there. Of course, that meant hiding all day, but Harry was ready, the wards were in place, and Voldemort had still not given the slightest indication of his presence yet, which Harry found more worrisome by the hour.
“The lump is up,” Tingly said loudly, causing Harry to give a start and automatically reach for his wand.
Tingly raised an eyebrow and chuckled softly. Harry shot the silvery face a pointed look.
“Where?” he asked shortly, not in the mood for more taunts about his jumpiness, however good-natured they were.
“He’s clunking and wobbling this way as we speak,” came the smug reply. “Want to watch?”
Watch...?
“Er...”
Before Harry could answer, the tapestry right before him changed from a landscape that oddly resembled the one outside, to the now familiar hallway of the tent.
“Wicked...” Harry whispered.
On it, Dudley could be seen, plainly hesitating between going left, right, or through the vaulted corridor that led to the living room. Harry watched, fascinated, as the tapestry Dudley approached a statue, his bandaged leg proving quite a hindrance to his movement, only to leap back with a jerk as the stone Prongs snorted and shook his head.
Tapestry Dudley hurried down the vaulted corridor, and Harry’s ears caught the clunking Tingly had told him about. And some whimpering too, as he drew closer.
“Morning, Dud, had a nice lie-in?” Harry asked in as pleasant a tone as his hoarse voice would allow.
What he didn’t expect was Dudley to skid to a halt, shriek like a girl and try to run for it on his bandaged leg. Predictably, he crashed to the floor hard enough to make the tent shake, and frantically struggled to stand while shooting Harry terrified looks over his shoulder.
So much for the Calming Draught, then.
“What is it with you?” Harry asked, rising from his seat and approaching his cousin, who roughly resembled a giant dung beetle on its back.
“G-get away from me!” Dudley shrieked, backing away from Harry.
“Wh...?”
“G-g-ghost!” Dudley stammered, still unable to stand. Harry looked down at himself and groaned. He’d forgotten to cancel the Disillusionment Charm!
“I’m not a ghost, you fat idiot,” said Harry with annoyance. “This is a Disillusionment Charm I cast-never mind.” He stepped closer, with the intention to help Dudley to his feet.
“H-Harry?” Dudley squeaked, still trying to back away from his cousin.
“Yeah, it’s me,” said Harry, beginning to loose his patience. “It’s me, Harry. Now stop acting like the bonehead you are and-stop that.” He grabbed one of Dudley’s wrists, effectively making him desist in his attempts to run from him.
“B-but you’re see-through!” Dudley stammered, aghast.
“That’s the point of the spell, Diddy.”
“You... you look like... like the Predator,” Dudley said in a small, awed voice.
It was Harry’s turn to look lost. The what?
“The... what?” he echoed his thoughts, when Dudley’s expression did not change.
“You know, the alien that hunts down all sorts of creatures in the universe and collects their skulls,” Dudley said in a rush, making Harry wish he’d never asked. “There’s a movie and everything.”
“Er... right,” Harry muttered, rapping his wand on his head and cancelling the charm to Dudley’s startled gasp. “It’s a camouflage spell, well, sort of. It makes you almost invisible.”
“Like the Predator,” Dudley nodded emphatically.
“Whatever you say, Dud...” Harry sighed, all but heaving Dudley to his feet, who promptly plopped down on the nearest armchair.
Somewhere above his line of vision, he heard a muttered, “Pathetic...”, courtesy of Tingly.
Harry couldn’t help a ghost of a smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth, taking in the sight of a boneless lump Dudley provided.
* * *
“So.” McGonagall stated neutrally.
“So.” Kingsley echoed, running a hand over his bald pate. What to make of this new information?
“Potter is an enigma and no mistake,” Mad-Eye threw in, his magical eye scanning the scene before, or rather, underneath them.
“To put it mildly,” Dumbledore agreed quietly, pushing his half-moon spectacles up his nose and squinting around. “Does anyone know where we are?”
“I can’t see a thing in this dratted fog.”
The four of them were floating in midair, pulled along in the wake of Fawkes’ memory, and looked down onto a barren wasteland covered, quite liberally in fog, as Mad-Eye had said. The visibility was so reduced that it was amazing that Fawkes had managed to find the tooth at all.
“How did he manage to find the tooth in this?” McGonagall voiced her doubts, closing her eyes briefly as the phoenix began its sharp descent.
“Fawkes sensed Harry, which is the way of magical birds to find whomever they are sent after,” Dumbledore explained, seemingly unruffled by the sharp downwards movement they were making along with Fawkes. “What I cannot understand is why Fawkes came here and Harry is nowhere to be seen.”
“Maybe he apparated elsewhere?” Kingsley muttered, holding McGonagall steady as the memory Fawkes made his ascent, every bit as abruptly as his descent had been.
“Fawkes would have gone straight to Harry, if that were the case.” Dumbledore’s words were defeated. “If we only knew where we are...”
Moody looked around for one last time. All he saw on the horizon were some nondescript, rather uninviting-looking hills covered with rocks to the North and East, peeking over the fog like ruinous beacons in the middle of the sea. To his left, he made out water, but the rest of the world was shrouded. Even as the memory ended and they returned to the Dursley living room, neither of them could suggest fitting places.
They had been the first to enter Fawkes’ memory, in the hopes of spotting any kind of clues as to Harry’s whereabouts, and although the remaining Order members were to watch next, they held little hope of finding anything useful.
Lupin entered the house, a crumpled piece of parchment in his hand, looking worn out and drained.
“Any luck?” he asked quietly, gritting his teeth at the answer provided by the faces around him. He gratefully received a cup of strong coffee from Molly, whose eyes were red-rimmed and raw. She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, although it was plain that she, for one, had given up hope already.
“I shall conjure up the memory for all to watch,” Dumbledore said. “There is little to see, but perhaps one of us can spot anything useful.”
The memory unfolded once more, issuing from the pensieve that had been placed on the coffee table, showing clouds, the rocky wasteland, what lay beyond-
There was a shocked gasp from Lupin, followed by the clatter of china breaking on the floor.
All eyes turned to the werewolf, who stared at the scene as if petrified.
“Remus...?” Dumbledore shot him a sharp glance.
“Do you know where that is?” Moody shot at Lupin, motioning for Dumbledore to freeze the image.
Slowly, Lupin peeled his eyes from the memory, swallowed, and gave them an uncertain nod.
“Yes. No. I can’t tell for sure.” He ran a hand through his hair. “For a moment there... I thought... but...”
* * *
“Your leg must be mended just fine already,” Harry muttered after Dudley had finally finished choking on his Calming Draught. Ignoring the clueless look his cousin shot at him, he proceeded to tap his wand against the plaster, making it disappear.
“No, wait...!” Dudley gasped, but it was too late. The plaster had dissolved into thin air before he could react, and his leg bent as normal. Dudley whimpered, his face constricted in what could only be imaginary pain, clutching his thigh with his bear-like hands.
This dramatic display, guaranteed to make Aunt Petunia melt like chocolate with worry for her son, did nothing more than earn him a faintly amused look from Harry.
“Try and stand up, Diddykins,” Harry said firmly. “Your leg is just fine.”
“B-but...”
“Just stop whingeing and stand up,” Harry said slowly and clearly, and though his tone was calm, it held an unmistakable hint of impatience.
“H-hey, it doesn’t hurt anymore!”
“And it only took you half an eternity to realise it. Dud, if you think any faster, your brain may blow from the strain.”
Dudley did not, however, so much as glare at Harry. He was gaping at his leg, bending and stretching it, with a look of utmost bewilderment that would have made a gorilla with down syndrome beam with pride.
“Wow...” Dudley got to his feet, and when he had established his leg would indeed carry his weight without giving way, did a sit-up, just to make sure. Harry uttered a soft chuckle.
“Those drinking things really worked,” he said, unable to draw his sight from his mended leg.
“Did you doubt it for a moment? The nurse at my school can heal fractures in a minute,” Harry replied, unable to keep a certain degree of smugness from his tone. “This was positively slow going, but I’m no Healer.” He returned to his previous seat and opened his book again.
“What about sore muscles?” Dudley asked, suddenly keen. “How long does it take her to heal those?”
“A blink. Why?”
“Your freaky stuff is not all bad, Harry,” Dudley said, slumping back down on the armchair and giving a contented sigh. His next words, however, made Harry give a snort.
“What’s for breakfast?”
That’s Dudley Dursley for you, Harry thought, rolling his eyes and scratching his scar.
He didn’t know for sure when it had started to sting, but he actually welcomed the discomfort-or rather, the knowledge that came with it. Things were back to normal, apparently, and it was this more than anything else, that had helped him calm down further. Voldemort was confused by something, but also anxious to get something done. Oddly, blessedly, Harry knew it had nothing to do with him for once.
“I said: what’s for breakfast?” Dudley repeated in the tone he had addressed Harry in during the long years before Hogwarts, making Harry wonder which Dudley was more annoying: the one who gibbered and flinched whenever he moved, or the one that was so exceedingly at ease with everything he forgot to be afraid of him. He’d have to be extra careful with the next dose of Calming Draught, though. The tone Dudley presently was using was sure to grit on his nerves rather quickly.
“Whatever you want,” Harry said, turning a page to read up on a Night-Vision Charm he thought would come in handy that night. “Food’s right there in the pantry, fix yourself something,” he added indifferently, ignoring Dudley’s disbelieving look.
Harry sincerely doubted that spoilt, bullying Dudley had ever so much as turned on the stove in his entire life.
“Wh-what?” Apparently Dudley thought so, too.
This would be fun to watch.
“Do you mean I have to... cook?”
The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched, and a slow, wicked smile spread across his face, even as a soft chuckle reached his ears from overhead.
“This’ll be a laugh,” Tingly whispered so low that only Harry could hear.
Most definitely.
* * *
“Again.” Lupin’s voice was tight with strain, yet firm. With a sigh, Dumbledore activated the pensieve once more.
Lupin had watched the memory thrice over, and, although he insisted there was something he tried to recognise, as much as he racked his brains, he couldn’t remember what it was.
For the fourth time that day, Dumbledore found himself swallowed into Fawkes’ memory, soaring high in the overcast sky.
“What do you see over there, by the mountain?” Lupin pointed at one of the rocky hills.
“Remus, that cluster of rocks can hardly be termed a mountain,” Dumbledore said reasonably. “A hill, yes, but not a moun-”
“That’s it!” Lupin exclaimed suddenly. Almost at once, his face turned ashen. “Merlin save us...”
“Would you explain yourself, Remus?”
“Albus... that over there, is a mountain covered with a thick forest,” Lupin pointed at the rocky hillside. Without waiting for Dumbledore to protest, he pointed shakily downwards at the barren landscape that stretched far beneath their feet. “And those... those are the Wastes of Azkaban.”
* * *
TBC.
Written: 2003 sometime, revised 2004, 2008...
Rating: I'll let you decide this one.
Genre: Teh Adventure
Type: Multi-chapter. Novel-length.
Title:
The Time of the Turning
Chapter Eleven: Wasteland, Part the Second
The double doors closed behind him and he turned around to see how the tent looked from the outside. An eyebrow quirked up. Instead of the igloo-shaped tent he had set up, he saw a boulder that could not be told apart from the remainder of the scenery.
Sirius, you’re a genius, he thought appreciatively at the sight. He’d have to mark the spot, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to find his way back here.
He suppressed a shiver. After the comfortable warmth of the tent, the cold breeze that made his Invisibility Cloak billow around his feet made goosebumps rise up his arms and neck.
Pausing to listen for any sounds around him other than the scattered birdsong, he mounted his Firebolt and took off in a swirl of fog, as noiselessly as an owl.
He rose as high as he dared and turned a wide circle around the mark he had left before the tent, taking in the wild scenery. Keeping the sun to his right he looked northwards, slightly unnerved by the lack of noises. His senses almost painfully sharp, he saw some tall mountains, covered in thick woodland and looking for all the world like islands in this desolate part of the world.
The nearest peak caught his attention, and he found himself flying towards it before he caught himself. Drawing his Omnioculars from his pocket, he focused them as sharply as they would go and pressed them against his glasses.
Not quite knowing what to look for, he scanned the entire mountainside, but all he saw was a thick cluster of treetops... Clearly, the place was not inhabited. Still... he felt drawn to it, the desire to explore it growing by the minute.
Just like back then, when I had those dreams about the Department of Mysteries...
Wrenching his eyes from the mountain and reminding himself that it could well be another trap set by Voldemort, Harry resolutely turned his Omnioculars eastwards, and then, finding no signs of life there either, turned towards the west.
All he could see was an equally vast expanse, but this time it was the sea. He had only seen it once before, and back then he had not really had the opportunity to take in the sheer enormity of it. He focused his Omnioculars once more, marvelling at the dark blue mass, that went on, on, until it was lost in the horizon, where a low, dark rain cloud indicated a storm in the brewing...
A chill ran down his spine, and he suddenly felt small, too much in the open.
Afraid.
With a shudder, he turned away from the sea, a growing sense of urgency and unease taking hold of him as strongly as the peaceful dawning had not an hour earlier.
They really needed to get away from here, and soon.
He shuddered once more, but resumed his scanning of the southwards landscape, undeterred. If there were mountains north and east, a dark sea to the west, his only option was going south. He flew higher, until he was almost five hundred feet above the ground, pressing his Omnioculars so hard against his eyes that his glasses dug into the bridge of his nose.
He could only make out vast extensions of the same barren, rocky landscape, bathed in the same sort of thick fog, for miles ahead.
Then he saw it.
A signpost, with a faded and bent shield on it, the only sign of civilisation he had encountered so far.
WELCOME TO INVERARRAY, it read, along with the usual indications of which highway to take. There was a town close by. 13 Miles, his Omnioculars informed as he twiddled the dials.
Heart drumming against his chest and hands almost numb with cold, Harry refocused his Omnioculars past the sign, trying to make out some shape of a building or other, but all he saw was the same thick, swirling fog.
A sudden, strong gust of wind blew his Invisibility Cloak up and caused it to flap against his back, but he didn’t mind overmuch: the wind blew some of the fog apart, lightening it enough to let him make out a cluster of houses.
Without wasting another moment in the open, he flew towards the ground as fast as he dared, picked up the mark he had left to indicate the location of the tent, and sprinted inside.
The suits of armour that guarded the entrance hall leapt back with much clanging of their metallic joints, reassuming their positions before the double doors as soon as Harry had entered, blocking the entrance like wardens.
A few steadying breaths later, Harry managed to control his trembling hands enough to untie his Invisibility Cloak, deep in thought as to what the next step would be. He had never heard of Inverarray, and his knowledge of geography was limited to the greater cities of each region.
So we’re back where we started out from, he mused, leaning his Firebolt against the nearest wall. He was so absorbed in thought, that he almost overlooked the antics of one of the pegs on the wall, which was shaped like a very life-like stag and trying to catch his attention.
“What is it, you?” he muttered, giving a small chuckle as the stag stretched its antlers towards him, in an unmistakable gesture. Harry obligingly hung his Invisibility Cloak on them, and watched with mixed feelings as the stag trotted proudly towards the door, holding the cloak ready for him.
“Back already, are you?” Tingly’s voice came from one of the cabinet panes over the counter as soon as Harry set foot in the kitchen.
“Yeah,” Harry muttered neutrally, deciding he could use some food and fixing himself a cold chicken sandwich to go with his butterbeer.
“So? How did it go?”
“Well, we are indeed in the middle of nowhere,” Harry replied, taking a bite of his sandwich and plopping down on the nearest chair. “Have you ever heard of a place called Inverarray?” he asked hoarsely in between munches.
“Inverarray?” Tingly echoed, a frown rippling the glass surface. “Sort of rings a bell... but no, I’m afraid I can’t really remember where that is-sorry.”
“You don’t happen to know if there’s a map in here, do you?” Harry prodded, undeterred.
“There should be one in the war room,” Tingly provided helpfully. Upon seeing Harry’s blank look, he added, “The library. I like to call it the war room, though. Gives it an extra spice to it, don’t you agree?”
Rolling his eyes at the mirror with a snort, Harry got to his feet again and shuffled out of the kitchen, taking his sandwich along and ignoring Tingly’s chiding about food in the library.
* * *
“It’s worth a try,” Mad-Eye growled, his magical eye surveying the Weasley Twins closely. “Has the drawing of memories from a phoenix ever been attempted before?”
“Not that I know of,” Bill answered promptly. “But I think it would make sense. That way we could see where it was that Fawkes went.”
“It will take a while, though.” McGonagall’s face was drawn, yet determined. “Fawkes is an old bird, he will have scores of memories to draw from.”
“Get to it, then,” Lupin said. “I’ll be at the library... in case it doesn’t work.” With these words, he activated the portkey to Hogwarts, accompanied by Kingsley Shacklebolt and Dumbledore, who would retrieve his pensieve from his office.
* * *
It was nearly noon when Harry cared to look at his watch again. He had entered the library in the search of a map, but had been unsuccessful. Not that his visit to the study and library was a waste of time, however. Quite the contrary. He was soon distracted by the books on the shelves; by all looks of it, there wasn’t one book that did not have to do with anything other than magical warfare. There was a wide selection, divided by topics such as Dark Magic, Creatures, Duelling, Defence, Offense, Strategy, Transfiguration, Charms... Whatever he could think of ever needing, it was here.
He was presently lounging comfortably in an overstuffed armchair in the living room, absorbed in ‘The Hit-Wizard’s Guide to Advanced Duelling’, a pile of books on the floor around him and the remains of his breakfast (and lunch) next to the perfectly still Sneakoscope on the coffee table by his side.
It seemed to have been one of his dad’s or Sirius’ old schoolbooks, to judge by the amount of scribbling and moving doodles that decorated almost every single page and which sometimes pointed out important things, or - Harry had been rather shocked to see this - mistakes in the book, along with the necessary corrections.
If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought Hermione had been the owner. Except that Hermione did not doodle on books, or have entire written conversations on the margins, nor did she draw Quidditch strategies or the effects of a curse or other in every blank space left. He turned a page. Or support the Kenmare Kestrels.
Every now and then, Harry would glance out the window, or stand up to check the wards, at which point Tingly would pop up in any of the polished surfaces, to tell him everything was still in order and berate him for not going to bed.
Although his body was all but begging him to make good use of his fancy new bed, Harry’s mind was almost painfully alert, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to bat an eyelid, so why bother going at all?
He had decided it would be safest to travel by night, make their way to this Inverarray town first and then travel to Surrey from there. Of course, that meant hiding all day, but Harry was ready, the wards were in place, and Voldemort had still not given the slightest indication of his presence yet, which Harry found more worrisome by the hour.
“The lump is up,” Tingly said loudly, causing Harry to give a start and automatically reach for his wand.
Tingly raised an eyebrow and chuckled softly. Harry shot the silvery face a pointed look.
“Where?” he asked shortly, not in the mood for more taunts about his jumpiness, however good-natured they were.
“He’s clunking and wobbling this way as we speak,” came the smug reply. “Want to watch?”
Watch...?
“Er...”
Before Harry could answer, the tapestry right before him changed from a landscape that oddly resembled the one outside, to the now familiar hallway of the tent.
“Wicked...” Harry whispered.
On it, Dudley could be seen, plainly hesitating between going left, right, or through the vaulted corridor that led to the living room. Harry watched, fascinated, as the tapestry Dudley approached a statue, his bandaged leg proving quite a hindrance to his movement, only to leap back with a jerk as the stone Prongs snorted and shook his head.
Tapestry Dudley hurried down the vaulted corridor, and Harry’s ears caught the clunking Tingly had told him about. And some whimpering too, as he drew closer.
“Morning, Dud, had a nice lie-in?” Harry asked in as pleasant a tone as his hoarse voice would allow.
What he didn’t expect was Dudley to skid to a halt, shriek like a girl and try to run for it on his bandaged leg. Predictably, he crashed to the floor hard enough to make the tent shake, and frantically struggled to stand while shooting Harry terrified looks over his shoulder.
So much for the Calming Draught, then.
“What is it with you?” Harry asked, rising from his seat and approaching his cousin, who roughly resembled a giant dung beetle on its back.
“G-get away from me!” Dudley shrieked, backing away from Harry.
“Wh...?”
“G-g-ghost!” Dudley stammered, still unable to stand. Harry looked down at himself and groaned. He’d forgotten to cancel the Disillusionment Charm!
“I’m not a ghost, you fat idiot,” said Harry with annoyance. “This is a Disillusionment Charm I cast-never mind.” He stepped closer, with the intention to help Dudley to his feet.
“H-Harry?” Dudley squeaked, still trying to back away from his cousin.
“Yeah, it’s me,” said Harry, beginning to loose his patience. “It’s me, Harry. Now stop acting like the bonehead you are and-stop that.” He grabbed one of Dudley’s wrists, effectively making him desist in his attempts to run from him.
“B-but you’re see-through!” Dudley stammered, aghast.
“That’s the point of the spell, Diddy.”
“You... you look like... like the Predator,” Dudley said in a small, awed voice.
It was Harry’s turn to look lost. The what?
“The... what?” he echoed his thoughts, when Dudley’s expression did not change.
“You know, the alien that hunts down all sorts of creatures in the universe and collects their skulls,” Dudley said in a rush, making Harry wish he’d never asked. “There’s a movie and everything.”
“Er... right,” Harry muttered, rapping his wand on his head and cancelling the charm to Dudley’s startled gasp. “It’s a camouflage spell, well, sort of. It makes you almost invisible.”
“Like the Predator,” Dudley nodded emphatically.
“Whatever you say, Dud...” Harry sighed, all but heaving Dudley to his feet, who promptly plopped down on the nearest armchair.
Somewhere above his line of vision, he heard a muttered, “Pathetic...”, courtesy of Tingly.
Harry couldn’t help a ghost of a smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth, taking in the sight of a boneless lump Dudley provided.
* * *
“So.” McGonagall stated neutrally.
“So.” Kingsley echoed, running a hand over his bald pate. What to make of this new information?
“Potter is an enigma and no mistake,” Mad-Eye threw in, his magical eye scanning the scene before, or rather, underneath them.
“To put it mildly,” Dumbledore agreed quietly, pushing his half-moon spectacles up his nose and squinting around. “Does anyone know where we are?”
“I can’t see a thing in this dratted fog.”
The four of them were floating in midair, pulled along in the wake of Fawkes’ memory, and looked down onto a barren wasteland covered, quite liberally in fog, as Mad-Eye had said. The visibility was so reduced that it was amazing that Fawkes had managed to find the tooth at all.
“How did he manage to find the tooth in this?” McGonagall voiced her doubts, closing her eyes briefly as the phoenix began its sharp descent.
“Fawkes sensed Harry, which is the way of magical birds to find whomever they are sent after,” Dumbledore explained, seemingly unruffled by the sharp downwards movement they were making along with Fawkes. “What I cannot understand is why Fawkes came here and Harry is nowhere to be seen.”
“Maybe he apparated elsewhere?” Kingsley muttered, holding McGonagall steady as the memory Fawkes made his ascent, every bit as abruptly as his descent had been.
“Fawkes would have gone straight to Harry, if that were the case.” Dumbledore’s words were defeated. “If we only knew where we are...”
Moody looked around for one last time. All he saw on the horizon were some nondescript, rather uninviting-looking hills covered with rocks to the North and East, peeking over the fog like ruinous beacons in the middle of the sea. To his left, he made out water, but the rest of the world was shrouded. Even as the memory ended and they returned to the Dursley living room, neither of them could suggest fitting places.
They had been the first to enter Fawkes’ memory, in the hopes of spotting any kind of clues as to Harry’s whereabouts, and although the remaining Order members were to watch next, they held little hope of finding anything useful.
Lupin entered the house, a crumpled piece of parchment in his hand, looking worn out and drained.
“Any luck?” he asked quietly, gritting his teeth at the answer provided by the faces around him. He gratefully received a cup of strong coffee from Molly, whose eyes were red-rimmed and raw. She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, although it was plain that she, for one, had given up hope already.
“I shall conjure up the memory for all to watch,” Dumbledore said. “There is little to see, but perhaps one of us can spot anything useful.”
The memory unfolded once more, issuing from the pensieve that had been placed on the coffee table, showing clouds, the rocky wasteland, what lay beyond-
There was a shocked gasp from Lupin, followed by the clatter of china breaking on the floor.
All eyes turned to the werewolf, who stared at the scene as if petrified.
“Remus...?” Dumbledore shot him a sharp glance.
“Do you know where that is?” Moody shot at Lupin, motioning for Dumbledore to freeze the image.
Slowly, Lupin peeled his eyes from the memory, swallowed, and gave them an uncertain nod.
“Yes. No. I can’t tell for sure.” He ran a hand through his hair. “For a moment there... I thought... but...”
* * *
“Your leg must be mended just fine already,” Harry muttered after Dudley had finally finished choking on his Calming Draught. Ignoring the clueless look his cousin shot at him, he proceeded to tap his wand against the plaster, making it disappear.
“No, wait...!” Dudley gasped, but it was too late. The plaster had dissolved into thin air before he could react, and his leg bent as normal. Dudley whimpered, his face constricted in what could only be imaginary pain, clutching his thigh with his bear-like hands.
This dramatic display, guaranteed to make Aunt Petunia melt like chocolate with worry for her son, did nothing more than earn him a faintly amused look from Harry.
“Try and stand up, Diddykins,” Harry said firmly. “Your leg is just fine.”
“B-but...”
“Just stop whingeing and stand up,” Harry said slowly and clearly, and though his tone was calm, it held an unmistakable hint of impatience.
“H-hey, it doesn’t hurt anymore!”
“And it only took you half an eternity to realise it. Dud, if you think any faster, your brain may blow from the strain.”
Dudley did not, however, so much as glare at Harry. He was gaping at his leg, bending and stretching it, with a look of utmost bewilderment that would have made a gorilla with down syndrome beam with pride.
“Wow...” Dudley got to his feet, and when he had established his leg would indeed carry his weight without giving way, did a sit-up, just to make sure. Harry uttered a soft chuckle.
“Those drinking things really worked,” he said, unable to draw his sight from his mended leg.
“Did you doubt it for a moment? The nurse at my school can heal fractures in a minute,” Harry replied, unable to keep a certain degree of smugness from his tone. “This was positively slow going, but I’m no Healer.” He returned to his previous seat and opened his book again.
“What about sore muscles?” Dudley asked, suddenly keen. “How long does it take her to heal those?”
“A blink. Why?”
“Your freaky stuff is not all bad, Harry,” Dudley said, slumping back down on the armchair and giving a contented sigh. His next words, however, made Harry give a snort.
“What’s for breakfast?”
That’s Dudley Dursley for you, Harry thought, rolling his eyes and scratching his scar.
He didn’t know for sure when it had started to sting, but he actually welcomed the discomfort-or rather, the knowledge that came with it. Things were back to normal, apparently, and it was this more than anything else, that had helped him calm down further. Voldemort was confused by something, but also anxious to get something done. Oddly, blessedly, Harry knew it had nothing to do with him for once.
“I said: what’s for breakfast?” Dudley repeated in the tone he had addressed Harry in during the long years before Hogwarts, making Harry wonder which Dudley was more annoying: the one who gibbered and flinched whenever he moved, or the one that was so exceedingly at ease with everything he forgot to be afraid of him. He’d have to be extra careful with the next dose of Calming Draught, though. The tone Dudley presently was using was sure to grit on his nerves rather quickly.
“Whatever you want,” Harry said, turning a page to read up on a Night-Vision Charm he thought would come in handy that night. “Food’s right there in the pantry, fix yourself something,” he added indifferently, ignoring Dudley’s disbelieving look.
Harry sincerely doubted that spoilt, bullying Dudley had ever so much as turned on the stove in his entire life.
“Wh-what?” Apparently Dudley thought so, too.
This would be fun to watch.
“Do you mean I have to... cook?”
The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched, and a slow, wicked smile spread across his face, even as a soft chuckle reached his ears from overhead.
“This’ll be a laugh,” Tingly whispered so low that only Harry could hear.
Most definitely.
* * *
“Again.” Lupin’s voice was tight with strain, yet firm. With a sigh, Dumbledore activated the pensieve once more.
Lupin had watched the memory thrice over, and, although he insisted there was something he tried to recognise, as much as he racked his brains, he couldn’t remember what it was.
For the fourth time that day, Dumbledore found himself swallowed into Fawkes’ memory, soaring high in the overcast sky.
“What do you see over there, by the mountain?” Lupin pointed at one of the rocky hills.
“Remus, that cluster of rocks can hardly be termed a mountain,” Dumbledore said reasonably. “A hill, yes, but not a moun-”
“That’s it!” Lupin exclaimed suddenly. Almost at once, his face turned ashen. “Merlin save us...”
“Would you explain yourself, Remus?”
“Albus... that over there, is a mountain covered with a thick forest,” Lupin pointed at the rocky hillside. Without waiting for Dumbledore to protest, he pointed shakily downwards at the barren landscape that stretched far beneath their feet. “And those... those are the Wastes of Azkaban.”
* * *
TBC.