FIC: Of Dreams and Dragon Lords - Chapter 5
To: ladychi
Title: Of Dreams and Dragon Lords - Chapter 4
Author/Artist: ladywhizbee
Pairing: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Neville/Hannah
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3718
Summary: To know that one has a secret is to know half the secret itself.
Author/Artist's Notes: Thank you again to stmargarets and magglenagall for your wonderful advice and beta help. I really appreciate your insight so much.
Sorry for the ridiculous delay in posting this next chapter. Summer schedules have been a bit crazy, but now here's the next chapter in my little H/G adventure. Only one more chapter to go. I do hope that you're enjoying this story so far. *g*
Thanks again to r_becca for her patience and encouragement.
Chapter One: community.livejournal.com/takingitinturns/29211.html#cutid1
Chapter Two: community.livejournal.com/takingitinturns/34247.html#cutid1
Chapter Three: community.livejournal.com/takingitinturns/39403.html#cutid1
Chapter Four: community.livejournal.com/takingitinturns/40312.html#cutid1
And without further ado:
Chapter 5
In this dream Ginny is flying. The air glides across her skin as she courses through the night sky, buffeted by the current, soaring weightless through the stars. She does not know where she is going and she does not care. The moon illuminates the dark sky and the stars mingle in its glow. It is peaceful here, where the world glimmers pristine and beautiful in its light.
It is not long before she sees a massive structure looming ahead on the horizon. She recognizes it at once: Hogwarts. The spiraling towers, the arched windows, the glowing warm light welcome her. She flies on past the large gates, past the shuttered greenhouses, along the shimmering lake to find a brilliant white structure nestled above the shoreline surrounded by a small circle of trees.
Dumbledore’s tomb.
Ginny lands without a whisper just outside the ring of trees. The silence around her penetrates, yet she is quieter still. Reverent. This is sacred ground.
The grass feels damp and cold beneath her feet as she steps toward the tomb. Her nightgown lies soft against her skin. And she is quiet as a mouse. As her feet propel her on, she wonders why she is here-this place. It holds so many memories…yet she has no idea.
Reaching out, she gently brushes her fingers across the cold white marble of the tomb, caressing the letters etched there, deep indentations in the smooth stone. As the tips of her fingers come in contact with his name the tomb begins to split open from head to foot. Ginny gasps, stepping back, her heart pounding in her ears.
She wants to run, to flee, but something holds her there like glue. This is Dumbledore, Dumbledore’s tomb-neither a stranger nor a monster. She swallows as the grating stone stops, tomb fully open, and once more silence pervades. A warm glow emits from its center and very faintly she hears the soft sound of a phoenix’s song. It soothes and she wants-she needs-to look inside.
She takes a single step forward.
On the precipice, the glowing light of the tomb brushes her skin, lighting her face, her hands, and gown. With eyes wide, she leans a fraction, just enough to see over the edge. The purple velvet cloth that wraps Dumbledore is no longer surrounding him, but instead cushions him like a soft blanket laced with stars.
He looks as if he is merely asleep, his glasses perched askew on his nose. On his chest he holds his wand, his long fingers still holding it lightly. It looks familiar, but not, and then she remembers…it’s the wand that she held in her dream last night. Harry’s wand. Ginny tilts her head to study it more closely, confused.
So why is Dumbledore holding it?
The truth comes to her simply, as if a breath. It makes all logical sense.
The Elder Wand.
She never knew what Harry did with it-she never asked. Her relief that the war was over and the mingling of so much grief completely blotted it from her head. It didn’t matter, then or now. But here it is…and now she knows.
Mystified, she reaches out. She wants to touch it.
A voice fills her head. “Bring me the wand.”
Her heart lurches in her throat. Gasping, she retracts her hand and reels away, pressing back up against a tree. The coarse bark cuts into her skin but she does not care. Her frantic gaze whips around the small circle of glowing light to find her tormentor.
“Bring me the wand.”
The immense pressure of the voice hurts her head. She has no choice but to cover her ears. “I won’t!”
“You will.”
“I won’t.” Ginny grits her teeth. If the voice is truly in her head, she must know. “Who-who are you?”
There is a pause, and just as she begins to lower her hands from her ears the voice jolts through her again. She presses her ears.
“I am Zmeu, the Dragon Lord. You will bring me the Death Stick or Harry Potter will die.”
Ginny’s world spins.
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
*****
Hermione’s office looks as if a whirlwind has passed through. Various piles of books and scattered parchment clutter up every available space, while Hermione sits hidden behind a stack of books with a tome the size of London open in front of her. She pores over it looking for anything and everything on Dragon Lords.
Her notes thus far are few. There is very little written, certainly very little verified, and it all seems rather sketchy-and if she hadn’t seen with her own eyes a rough drawing of the three-headed dragon in a very old reference book she would have believed all of it to be utter nonsense.
But it isn’t. And Harry and Ron are in danger.
Hitching up her parchment, she scans the few notes that she’s written so far:
Anthropomorphic traits: human legs, arms, can use weapons, but can also return to original dragon form
Abilities: is a wizard, can shape-shift, fly, has supernatural strength
Desires: Power, will steal something of great value to demonstrate power, will kidnap/seduce a beautiful woman to produce an heir
Weaknesses: Treasure
Hermione rubs her forehead. Dragon Lords are formable creatures…. Weaknesses, though, weaknesses. He must have more weaknesses. Determined to find something, she pulls another book from the stack. It’s very slender and old. She reads the title:
Prâslea the Brave and the Golden Apples.
She frowns at the title. It sounds like a fairytale, but experience tells her that a surprising amount can be learned from fairytales. Turning the book in her hands, she opens it and begins to read:
Once upon a time, there was a king who had in his garden a tree which made golden apples; but he never succeeded in tasting them, because someone used to come and steal them.
In that moment her concentration is broken by the appearance of a weasel Patronus that lands on top of her book. It speaks urgently and with the voice of Arthur Weasley.
Ginny kidnapped. Come to the Burrow immediately. Be careful.
Hermione’s heart leaps. Ginny kidnapped. Her gaze immediately lands on her notes, the word ‘kidnap’ glaring out at her in bold brazen letters.
Kidnap. Kidnap. Kidnap.
Grabbing her notes, her bag and the book with the fairytale, she pauses only a moment to collect her thoughts. Without giving it a second more consideration she Conjures a Patronus of her own and whispers her message to it. With any luck it will find Ginny. With any luck it will find only Ginny. And with any luck it will help.
*****
Think, Harry. Think.
He throws himself to the ground, exhausted and out of breath. He should have known-he should have realized. Even Charlie warned him. This is all a part of the plan. He’s right where the Dragon Lord wants him to be, and so is everyone else.
Trapped.
Even more alarming, those who were trapped in the past had not lived to tell the tale. For the moment though, everyone is alive and well, and the Dragon Lord has left the Labyrinth to do something else-what, exactly, he has no idea-while the rest of his team buzz around like glowflies in a jam jar with no means of escape.
The only glimmer of hope that he feels is the knowledge that the Dragon Lord meant for Harry to be inside the smoke-not outside-and yet he isn’t. He was able to push through it, though he has no idea how or why, and because of this he and Ron can work together to break through the spell. Harry grips his wand tightly. Taunting him, the smoke hovers over the Aurors’ camp like a gnawing disease. He has to do something-anything-but what?
Ron works where Harry just left off, attempting to dig a tunnel under the wall of vaporous smoke to the other side while those trapped inside do the same. Progress is incredibly slow. There is a thick layer of bedrock two feet down, and even in regular conditions the Drilling Spell is difficult to hold. Through bedrock it’s excruciating.
Thankfully, Ron had not been angry about Harry shutting down the Floo. As expected, he had overshot the camp to land on a strange grate at the base of the mountain, but as he was hiking back he could see the smoke and knew something had happened.
Another Auror drops in exhaustion and the last in their small rotation picks up where she left off. Harry will be up next. Ron throws another counter-curse at the wall of smoke to see if it will take, but nothing happens. No spells have worked against it all day, and Harry is running out of ideas.
Ron plunks down next to him on the snow. “I dunno about this tunnel, mate. How long has it been now, and we’ve only gone two feet. There has to be some other way of getting them out of there.”
“Yeah, but what? No curses or counter-curses work. It’s unbreakable.”
“Charlie said he thought the smoke was a potion.”
Harry nods.
“Well, if that’s true, then it must have an antidote, right?”
“Charlie!” Harry scrambles to his feet and yells through the smoke barrier, raising his voice against the smoke’s sound-dampening effect, “Charlie!”
Charlie looks up from where he’s drilling and jogs over to the barrier between them.
“You said you thought this stuff is the smoke-potion the legends speak of, yeah?” Charlie nods, motioning McGetchin to come over and join them. He no longer limps, his leg repaired by the Healers on staff. “Do you know if there’s an antidote?”
“No.” Charlie shakes his head. “No one in living memory has come in contact with the smoke and lived to tell about it, so no one has dissected it.”
“We’ll have to take a sample of it then,” Harry says to Ron. He opens his rucksack and rifles through until he finds his empty potion vials in his supply kit. He hands one to Ron and keeps one for himself. “The lab should be able to break it down for its ingredients and create an antidote.”
“Yeah, but how long will that take?” Ron looks grim. He siphons off a bit of the smoke and puts it in the vial. “Hermione might be able to help-but even then…”
“There’s a plant.” McGetchin speaks up, his voice muffled by the smoke. “It’s only ever mentioned once in all the texts-but some ol’ wizard used it to keep the smoke from takin’ his sheep to the Dragon Lord.”
“I completely forgot about that,” Charlie says. “I don’t know where you’ll find it-it’s extremely rare.”
“Iraq,” McGetchin tosses out. “It won’t completely get rid of the smoke, but the sap’ll burn a hole right through.”
“What’s it called?”
“Mimbulus Mimbletonia.”
Ron snorts and shares a look with Harry.
“How much do we need?” Harry asks.
“I dunno-we’ve never had to use it before, have we?” McGetchin shrugs. “Maybe three or four plants-enough sap to break a decent size hole.”
Ron turns to Harry. “Are you going or am I?”
“I’ll go,” Harry says, dipping his vial into the smoke. He stoppers it. “You take these samples to the Ministry and to Hermione. See if they can dissect them and create an antidote. I’ll go get the plants. Maybe they’ll help us get them all out of there.”
“Right.”
A screeching cry pierces the sky, ringing through the valley and echoing off the mountains to each side. Harry looks up to see a dragon, then another, and another, their numbers increasing until he can no longer count how many there are. They circle, their calls shattering the quiet wilderness, hovering above the enclosed camp like vultures waiting for their prey to finally die.
“Go.” Charlie looks back at them, holding his wand tightly. “They’re just posturing right now. We’ll build up our defenses as best as we can and hold them off when they start to attack.”
“Charlie, you can’t possibly-”
“Just go, Ron!” He looks fierce. Weasley fierce. “We need that antidote and that sap. Go and get it.”
Ron locks eyes with his brother, his jaw muscles popping. Finally he nods and twists on the spot.
Harry calls out orders to the two other Aurors left on the outside of the bubble of smoke and they begin setting up outer defenses. Just as he is about to Disapparate to obtain the plants, an earsplitting voice fills his head. He sinks to his knees from the pain of it, covering his ears.
“She’s mine!” the voice says.
Pivoting on his knees he sees no one-no enemy, no Dragon Lord, no Fire Bird-nothing that would declare such a thing so loudly in his ears. Harry’s pulse hammers. The voice was in his head.
In my head.
His muscles shake violently. Anger sears through him, and he feels so nauseated he wants to hurl. Nothing-nobody-no one-is supposed to be able to access his brain. Never again. He made certain of it. Yet he heard a voice. A voice that wasn’t his.
Harry stands.
Time is limited, and someone else-she-is in trouble. He clenches his eyes shut, his lunch curdling in his stomach. He is unwilling to think who "she" might be, unwilling to humor those horrifying thoughts. The Dragon Lord is toying with him. He has to focus. Focus. He has to go to Hogwarts to get the plant.
The plant, first. Second, the Dragon Lord.
*****
Ginny wakes with a start. Her recent dream still pulses in her head but fades quickly as she attempts to gather her bearings. The light is bright as she opens her eyes. It is day. Mid-day, most likely; the sunlight pours in the room around her, warming her rather than frightening her. A ceiling fan rotates in slow circles on the high ceiling. For a brief moment it gives her something to focus on.
A breeze rustles the sheer curtains on her bed. It’s nice…warm…tropical….
Puzzling over this, she turns her head and gasps. Her sunlit room is lined with large windows thrown open to frame a brilliant blue sky and even brighter blue ocean. The white curtains billow softly, letting in the salty sea breeze and the sound of the waves crashing along the shore. She blinks.
Where am I?
Sitting up, she runs her fingers across the creamy white linen and slides from the center of the bed to the edge. The smooth limestone floor feels cool under her feet, and it is then that she notices she is dressed in a gown of gold. The fabric shimmers. Mesmerized, she touches it. It’s like nothing she’s ever felt before. It is light and airy, hugging every curve, but if she lifts the fabric away from her skin it has weight like spun gold. The length of the skirt pools around her feet, swirling around her legs as she walks, but it does not trip or confine her. It is as if this gown is made only for her.
The mirror on the wall confirms this as she sees herself for the first time. Momentarily stunned, she wonders if she might still be dreaming. The dress glows like honey, enhancing her skin, her hair, her breasts; as she twirls she realizes, uncharacteristically, that she doesn’t mind how far it plunges in front or in back. The soft line of it is so flattering that she wouldn’t change a thing.
The bandages on her head are gone. Stepping forward, she tilts her head and inspects her temple for any signs of trauma. There are none, and all the tenderness is gone. She stumbles back.
How long have I been asleep?
Reality starts to thud a bit more loudly in her ears.
Striding to one of the windows, she looks out and sees she is quite high up, several hundred feet in fact, over a sandy beach and the expanse of deep blue ocean. The waves roll and crash against the shoreline. There is nothing else to see out any window-except sand, beach grass, and ocean-and while it is quite breathtaking, Ginny realizes she is on an island. Her luxurious room is actually in a circular tower and she is perched at the very top. And even more alarmingly…
There is no door.
My wand, where is my wand?
Tearing about the room, she opens drawers, throws back linens, tosses back rugs, but it is nowhere to be found. Just as her panic is about to fully set in, an otter Patronus appears in front of her. She gasps, falling to her knees. Hermione.
We’re looking for you. The Dragon Lord’s mortal weakness is treasure. He’s after Harry. Use this.
Ginny sinks all the way to the floor processing Hermione’s words. A Dragon Lord. What is a Dragon Lord? Surely she would have heard of one before, but not even Charlie…. Wait…. A Dragon Lord. A speck of a memory is triggered, then she remembers the voice from her dream:
“I am Zmeu, the Dragon Lord. You will bring me the Death Stick or Harry Potter will die.”
Ginny stands. The Dragon Lord wants the Death Stick, and he’s going to use her to retrieve it.
Thoughts race through her mind as she paces the room. What is she going to do? The Death Stick is a formidable weapon. She can’t let the Dragon Lord have the wand or Harry. How can she stop him? The first thing she needs to figure out is why the Dragon Lord needs her-certainly he could go and retrieve the wand himself. What does he want with her? If she can figure that out, then she’ll know what to do.
Think, Ginny. Think.
A dot on the horizon catches her eye, and Ginny stops pacing to study it. It is graceful in its movements, up and down, and as it grows nearer she can tell that it is a bird. An immense bird with a massive wingspan, and it’s coming her way. Instinctively she reaches for her wand, then realizes once more that it isn’t there. Not knowing if the bird is a friend or foe, she scans the room for something-anything-and then she spots a candle holder. It towers above the others on the table. Tossing the candle aside, she grabs the stand and takes refuge behind the bed. Considering surprise, she stuffs the candle stand under the covers just as she hears a soft rustle at the window ledge. Ginny looks up and all her breath escapes.
The feathers of the large bird perched there look like fire, brilliant burning fire. Reds, oranges and yellows glowing with such depth and intensity that it seems as if she should be able to reach her hand in and never reach the bird itself. She has never seen anything more striking or beautiful. The bird seems to be made of fire and light. A soft hum fills the air, one that is soothing and warm, and as the bird tilts its head to consider her all of Ginny’s fears dissipate. It’s holding her wand in its beak.
My wand.
With one flap of its wings it lands on the bed, but where she cannot touch it and it cannot touch her. The glow of the bird is intoxicating, emitting light and heat, and its eyes follow her every breath. They are gentle, and-wild animal or not-there is definitely depth there. Human emotional depth. Love, admiration and perhaps even a little awe.
It looks upon her as if she is a beautiful treasure.
Without a sound the bird drops her wand on to the bed and gently nudges it towards her. Ginny swallows. Instinctively her fingers itch to grab it, but not wanting to make any sudden moves she stands still. Tilting its head, the bird waits, watching. Then, reaching out again, it nudges the wand closer. Ginny quietly takes it.
Immense relief washes over her. Her wand. Now she feels complete.
“Thank you.” Her voice sounds rough to her ears, so she clears her throat and tries again. “Thank you.”
The bird lowers its head, a bow of sorts. It is a simple gesture, but it warms her. She can’t help but be reminded of Fawkes.
But this isn’t Fawkes, she reminds herself, watching the bird just as thoughtfully as it watches her. It can’t be the Dragon Lord, either-it seems too gentle. Perhaps it’s the Dragon Lord’s pet?
The bird hums that soft soothing sound again and instinctively Ginny lifts her arm, stretching out her hand. Slowly the distance between them disappears as the bird leans forward and softly nudges her hand with its head. Ginny stands perfectly still, waiting. Then the bird moves again, nuzzling, and Ginny smiles. Its feathers feel as soft as silk and as warm as dying embers. She fully opens her hand, running her fingers across its glossy head and down its back.
When her fingers reach its tail feathers, the room spins. Her body spins, her head spins, and she is no longer aware of where she is until she lands. The impact causes her to stumble.
Hogwarts.
How had they got here? They didn't Apparate. They didn't fly either, yet Hogwarts looms ahead of her, the lake beside her and to her left.
Ginny’s breath flies in and out of her.
Dumbledore’s tomb.
The bird sits on top of it, eyes glittering. It is sunset, and in the dying light of day the bird creates a bright circle of light. She steps forward, feelings of betrayal coursing through her. “Why did you bring me here?”
The bird says nothing, though its eyes gleam. A low, repetitive chuckle reverberates from the back of its throat.
Rage fills her. How could she have been so naïve? This bird isn’t innocent, it isn’t kind, it wants to deceive and manipulate. The hairs on her neck stand on end as a new thought strikes her: Just like Tom Riddle.
Tightening her grip, she raises her wand steadily and grits her teeth. She asks again, “Why did you bring me here?”
The bird hums and tilts its head. It can’t answer, yet Ginny feels as though it would if it could. As if to prove her point, the bird begins to sing. Its song fills her, resonating somewhere deep within her, pooling and then rushing through her veins to find escape into the night.
Then a ringing crack reverberates around her.
A fissure has formed in Dumbledore’s tomb. As the bird continues to sing, the crack deepens and widens until it has opened completely. Ginny staggers backwards.
The song of the Phoenix now rises out of the tomb, softly at first and then more urgent, filling the air around her. It mixes with the song of the Dragon Lord’s bird in a strange duet that is both harmonious and horrible, building into a cacophony that is terrible, beautiful, and pounding. Her head feels as though it will split just like the stone and no amount of covering her ears will stop it.
Evil, evil, evil-how to get away? How to make it-
“Stop!” Ginny screams.
Mercifully, it does. The bird of the Dragon Lord stills to watch her again, eyes glittering. Her hands fall to her sides, and the bird of fire blinks at her. It is expectant, waiting for her to move. She swallows her anger and fear willing herself to think, calming her shaking hands.
In her silence the voice from her dream fills her head. “Bring me the wand.”
No! Is her first thought, though it is her heart that leaps into her throat. This time it isn’t in her dream. This time she can’t just wake up.
Training her wand on the shadows, she searches out the voice. Where is it coming from? Where is the Dragon Lord? But nothing moves, nothing emerges, nothing is there but the bird.
The bird.
Her gaze narrows in on it. It can’t have that wand. She’ll do anything to protect Harry. Gouge out its eyes, turn the wand on herself, be consumed by fire spit from its mouth, but it-he-simply can’t have the wand.
*****
“Hiya, Harry.” Neville beams as he opens the greenhouse door.
“You got my owl, then?”
“’Course I did-come in, I was just potting the plants for you.”
“Thanks, Neville.” Harry strides in and closes the door behind him. “I’ll bring them back to you as soon as I’m done.”
“Nah, I have plenty of them now. Keep ’em.” Neville shrugs, wiping his hands on his apron. “Though, I will be curious to know if the sap is able to break down the potion. There's so little documentation on the Mimbulus Mimbletonia-we’ve really only scratched the surface with it.”
Harry nods, but he has to wonder at Neville’s sanity. The pulsating gray cactus hardly appears miraculous-and the nauseating smell of rancid manure seems more suited for the bin than for science-but if it helps Harry dispel the smoke, who knows what else is possible?
“So,” Neville says, putting another plant on the work table. “You said you need four of them, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“How are you going to travel?”
“Apparate.”
“Right then, I’ll put them in a proper travelling case so they don’t squirt sap all over you when you go. I think I have one back here, hold on.”
Neville trots off to the back of the greenhouse, while Harry waits on a high gardening stool. The greenhouse is quiet, and just outside Harry can see the sun starting to set over the lake. It’s been a while since he’s been to Hogwarts, even longer since he’s visited the greenhouses, but it still feels the same.
Like home.
Two things happen at once. First, Harry’s wand produces a warning alarm that causes him to jump to his feet. Secondly, the silence of the grounds outside the greenhouse rends apart with the resonating song of a bird-a bird that he does not recognize, but one whose song fills him from within. Like the song of the Phoenix.
He does not know where the bird is, but he has a feeling it's related to the alarm from his wand, set to warn him if someone or something tampers with Dumbledore’s tomb.
“Neville!”
He's already advancing down the center of the greenhouse. “What is that?”
“I dunno.” Harry moves towards the door. “But it’s coming from Dumbledore’s tomb. You fancy a walk?”
“Yep.” Neville nods, discarding his garden apron and pulling out his wand.
The strange song is now joined by the song of the Phoenix, which can mean only one thing: Someone has broken into Dumbledore’s tomb. Harry’s pulse hammers.
“Wait-hold on, Neville.” They’re approaching the tomb, which seems to be emitting an unearthly glow. “Put a Disillusionment on so they can’t see you.”
“Won’t work, not on Hogwarts’ grounds.” Neville shakes his head. “I’m fine, Harry. Should we split up? I could go to the far side, approach from behind-”
“No. Wait. Here-” Harry wrestles with his rucksack and pulls out his Invisibility Cloak. “Put this on.”
Neville frowns, rejecting the Cloak. “What’s going on, Harry?”
Harry sighs. “The Elder Wand. Someone is here to take the Elder Wand, which means they want me-not you-and I don’t want them to see you.”
“No, look. You wear it. If it’s you they want they won’t care if they see me, right?”
Harry thinks nothing could be further from the truth, but in his moment of indecision, Neville starts to climb the embankment toward the tomb. He then stops, staring ahead.
“Is that Ginny?”
No! Harry’s heart drops. Ginny. No, it can’t be. He races up the small embankment to join Neville.
But it is her…looking stunningly beautiful in some sort of shimmering gold dress her fist clenched and wand pointed at.... Harry falters. Before her on the tomb is a gigantic bird-one he doesn't recognize-that appears to be made of fire.
The Fire Bird.
And with a jolt he remembers the voice from earlier that day: She is mine.
Anger sears through Harry and his muscles shake, but before he can move Neville throws an arm across his chest.
“Put on the Cloak. Go and get her. I’ll take care of the bird.”
“That’s not just a bird-that’s the Dragon Lord.” Harry seethes, fighting against Neville’s arm.
“Fine then, Dragon Lord. You go and get Ginny. I’ll take care of the Dragon Lord.”
Harry doesn’t take time to consider how ridiculous that sounds. All he wants is Ginny as far away from the Dragon Lord as possible. Throwing the Cloak on, he skirts the tomb so he can approach her from the side, keeping the Dragon Lord in front of him and in view.
“Oi!” Neville bellows, striding forward. He stops just outside the ring of light glowing from the tomb.
The Fire Bird lowers on its hind limbs, its eyes narrowed to consider its new prey.
Ginny spins, pointing her wand at Neville, and gasps when she recognizes him. “Neville?”
“Hi, Ginny. Strange sort of pet you’ve got there.”
Harry can see that Ginny is shaking. “Neville-please-it isn’t safe.”
Neville tilts his head, holding his wand securely in his hand. “I’m not so certain about that.”
Harry is next to Ginny now-within a hair’s breadth. He can see every freckle, every frantic breath, and he has never wanted her more. But he watches and waits. Hang on, love…
As if on cue, Neville flicks his wand.
A swarm of yellow canaries dive bomb out of the sky, attacking the Fire Bird like tiny missiles. It pirouettes, caught off guard while Ginny spins toward it and attacks the bird with a powerful hex. Harry moves, sweeping the Cloak over Ginny and pulling her to him.
Fists flying, she beats against his chest before realizing it’s him. “Harry?”
“Come on!” He takes her hand and they run away from the Fire Bird towards Neville just as a guttural sound fills the air. It’s the sound of a dragon, not a Fire Bird, and Harry acts instinctively.
“Scutum incendii!“
A wall of protection erupts from his wand, doming around Ginny, Neville and him just as a burst of flame explodes in the air licking across the dome, burning the trees, and annihilating Neville’s canaries.
The hot fire fades, and the bird is left heaving and incensed, glaring in their direction. Harry holds the protection around them even though it gives away his location. The Fire Bird's beady eyes narrow in on him. Harry knows the Dragon Lord cannot see him through the Cloak. Nor can he see Ginny, which is just how Harry wants it to be. Instinctively he pulls Ginny closer, feeling her chest heave just as much as his. She has her wand trained on the Dragon Lord, and her jaw is set in fierce determination
.
Then she gasps. Her hands rush up to cover her ears, and Harry’s concentration breaks. His shield wavers, but Neville surges forward, taking over and holding it around them. Harry turns his full attention to Ginny.
Her hands cover her ears and she shakes her head violently, a thin glimmer of sweat glistening on her forehead. She screams, “I won’t! I won’t do it!”
Harry grabs her arms. “Do what? What is it?”
She continues to shake her head without response and Harry looks over at the Fire Bird. It’s low on its hindquarters, glaring at her. His world reels. He's talking to her. The Dragon Lord is communicating with her. Just like the he did with him.
Fierce anger flares within him, and he tightens his grip on her arms. “What is he saying to you?”
Her eyes narrow in concentration as she listens, and her lips thin to white line of rage and pain. Harry wants to Apparate her away so badly it hurts. But he can’t, not here. Not on Hogwarts’ grounds.
In that moment a startling caw rends the air and the Fire Bird vanishes in a brilliant burst of flame, leaving them all breathless, their adrenaline pumping. The light dims to only that coming from Dumbledore’s open tomb.
Ginny sags against him, and Harry wraps his arms tightly around her kissing her hairline. “It’s all right. He’s gone.”
She shakes her head against his chest; he can feel her shoulders begin to shake. As tears course down her cheeks, his momentary relief vanishes. It isn’t over yet.
“What did he say to you?”
She grips his shirt tightly in her fists.
He pulls back so he can look her in the eyes. He has never seen her look so shaken, and it guts him.
“What did he say?”
“I-I have to take him the Death Stick,” she whispers. “Or he’ll kill you.”
This doesn’t faze him. “It’ll be okay. I’ll just-”
“No! No, it isn’t okay!” She shoves against his chest, pushing him away. Her whole body is shaking with nerves and anger and she crosses her arms tightly, creating a barrier between them. She glares at him. “You don’t understand-he wants to kill you, Harry. Kill you. He wants to control the wand-and you.”
Harry already knows this. This is not news. But hearing Ginny say it out loud and seeing the look of pain in her eyes adds weight that he wasn’t expecting…and, worse, he isn’t certain how to handle it.
“There’s more.” She stops, looking away when he doesn’t say anything. Her breathing is shallow and quick. “That isn’t all.”
“No?”
“No.” She swallows. “I also have to-I’ve got to go to him-to his labyrinth and-”
She takes a deep breath. Dropping her arms, she swipes her eyes and composes herself. Harry reaches out to touch her arm. Finally she looks up at him, meeting his worried gaze. She takes his hand in hers.
“He wants me,” she says with an angry tremor, squeezing his hand so hard it hurts. “He wants me to produce him an heir, or else he'll kill me.”
Title: Of Dreams and Dragon Lords - Chapter 4
Author/Artist: ladywhizbee
Pairing: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Neville/Hannah
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3718
Summary: To know that one has a secret is to know half the secret itself.
Author/Artist's Notes: Thank you again to stmargarets and magglenagall for your wonderful advice and beta help. I really appreciate your insight so much.
Sorry for the ridiculous delay in posting this next chapter. Summer schedules have been a bit crazy, but now here's the next chapter in my little H/G adventure. Only one more chapter to go. I do hope that you're enjoying this story so far. *g*
Thanks again to r_becca for her patience and encouragement.
Chapter One: community.livejournal.com/takingitinturns/29211.html#cutid1
Chapter Two: community.livejournal.com/takingitinturns/34247.html#cutid1
Chapter Three: community.livejournal.com/takingitinturns/39403.html#cutid1
Chapter Four: community.livejournal.com/takingitinturns/40312.html#cutid1
And without further ado:
Chapter 5
In this dream Ginny is flying. The air glides across her skin as she courses through the night sky, buffeted by the current, soaring weightless through the stars. She does not know where she is going and she does not care. The moon illuminates the dark sky and the stars mingle in its glow. It is peaceful here, where the world glimmers pristine and beautiful in its light.
It is not long before she sees a massive structure looming ahead on the horizon. She recognizes it at once: Hogwarts. The spiraling towers, the arched windows, the glowing warm light welcome her. She flies on past the large gates, past the shuttered greenhouses, along the shimmering lake to find a brilliant white structure nestled above the shoreline surrounded by a small circle of trees.
Dumbledore’s tomb.
Ginny lands without a whisper just outside the ring of trees. The silence around her penetrates, yet she is quieter still. Reverent. This is sacred ground.
The grass feels damp and cold beneath her feet as she steps toward the tomb. Her nightgown lies soft against her skin. And she is quiet as a mouse. As her feet propel her on, she wonders why she is here-this place. It holds so many memories…yet she has no idea.
Reaching out, she gently brushes her fingers across the cold white marble of the tomb, caressing the letters etched there, deep indentations in the smooth stone. As the tips of her fingers come in contact with his name the tomb begins to split open from head to foot. Ginny gasps, stepping back, her heart pounding in her ears.
She wants to run, to flee, but something holds her there like glue. This is Dumbledore, Dumbledore’s tomb-neither a stranger nor a monster. She swallows as the grating stone stops, tomb fully open, and once more silence pervades. A warm glow emits from its center and very faintly she hears the soft sound of a phoenix’s song. It soothes and she wants-she needs-to look inside.
She takes a single step forward.
On the precipice, the glowing light of the tomb brushes her skin, lighting her face, her hands, and gown. With eyes wide, she leans a fraction, just enough to see over the edge. The purple velvet cloth that wraps Dumbledore is no longer surrounding him, but instead cushions him like a soft blanket laced with stars.
He looks as if he is merely asleep, his glasses perched askew on his nose. On his chest he holds his wand, his long fingers still holding it lightly. It looks familiar, but not, and then she remembers…it’s the wand that she held in her dream last night. Harry’s wand. Ginny tilts her head to study it more closely, confused.
So why is Dumbledore holding it?
The truth comes to her simply, as if a breath. It makes all logical sense.
The Elder Wand.
She never knew what Harry did with it-she never asked. Her relief that the war was over and the mingling of so much grief completely blotted it from her head. It didn’t matter, then or now. But here it is…and now she knows.
Mystified, she reaches out. She wants to touch it.
A voice fills her head. “Bring me the wand.”
Her heart lurches in her throat. Gasping, she retracts her hand and reels away, pressing back up against a tree. The coarse bark cuts into her skin but she does not care. Her frantic gaze whips around the small circle of glowing light to find her tormentor.
“Bring me the wand.”
The immense pressure of the voice hurts her head. She has no choice but to cover her ears. “I won’t!”
“You will.”
“I won’t.” Ginny grits her teeth. If the voice is truly in her head, she must know. “Who-who are you?”
There is a pause, and just as she begins to lower her hands from her ears the voice jolts through her again. She presses her ears.
“I am Zmeu, the Dragon Lord. You will bring me the Death Stick or Harry Potter will die.”
Ginny’s world spins.
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
*****
Hermione’s office looks as if a whirlwind has passed through. Various piles of books and scattered parchment clutter up every available space, while Hermione sits hidden behind a stack of books with a tome the size of London open in front of her. She pores over it looking for anything and everything on Dragon Lords.
Her notes thus far are few. There is very little written, certainly very little verified, and it all seems rather sketchy-and if she hadn’t seen with her own eyes a rough drawing of the three-headed dragon in a very old reference book she would have believed all of it to be utter nonsense.
But it isn’t. And Harry and Ron are in danger.
Hitching up her parchment, she scans the few notes that she’s written so far:
Anthropomorphic traits: human legs, arms, can use weapons, but can also return to original dragon form
Abilities: is a wizard, can shape-shift, fly, has supernatural strength
Desires: Power, will steal something of great value to demonstrate power, will kidnap/seduce a beautiful woman to produce an heir
Weaknesses: Treasure
Hermione rubs her forehead. Dragon Lords are formable creatures…. Weaknesses, though, weaknesses. He must have more weaknesses. Determined to find something, she pulls another book from the stack. It’s very slender and old. She reads the title:
Prâslea the Brave and the Golden Apples.
She frowns at the title. It sounds like a fairytale, but experience tells her that a surprising amount can be learned from fairytales. Turning the book in her hands, she opens it and begins to read:
Once upon a time, there was a king who had in his garden a tree which made golden apples; but he never succeeded in tasting them, because someone used to come and steal them.
In that moment her concentration is broken by the appearance of a weasel Patronus that lands on top of her book. It speaks urgently and with the voice of Arthur Weasley.
Ginny kidnapped. Come to the Burrow immediately. Be careful.
Hermione’s heart leaps. Ginny kidnapped. Her gaze immediately lands on her notes, the word ‘kidnap’ glaring out at her in bold brazen letters.
Kidnap. Kidnap. Kidnap.
Grabbing her notes, her bag and the book with the fairytale, she pauses only a moment to collect her thoughts. Without giving it a second more consideration she Conjures a Patronus of her own and whispers her message to it. With any luck it will find Ginny. With any luck it will find only Ginny. And with any luck it will help.
*****
Think, Harry. Think.
He throws himself to the ground, exhausted and out of breath. He should have known-he should have realized. Even Charlie warned him. This is all a part of the plan. He’s right where the Dragon Lord wants him to be, and so is everyone else.
Trapped.
Even more alarming, those who were trapped in the past had not lived to tell the tale. For the moment though, everyone is alive and well, and the Dragon Lord has left the Labyrinth to do something else-what, exactly, he has no idea-while the rest of his team buzz around like glowflies in a jam jar with no means of escape.
The only glimmer of hope that he feels is the knowledge that the Dragon Lord meant for Harry to be inside the smoke-not outside-and yet he isn’t. He was able to push through it, though he has no idea how or why, and because of this he and Ron can work together to break through the spell. Harry grips his wand tightly. Taunting him, the smoke hovers over the Aurors’ camp like a gnawing disease. He has to do something-anything-but what?
Ron works where Harry just left off, attempting to dig a tunnel under the wall of vaporous smoke to the other side while those trapped inside do the same. Progress is incredibly slow. There is a thick layer of bedrock two feet down, and even in regular conditions the Drilling Spell is difficult to hold. Through bedrock it’s excruciating.
Thankfully, Ron had not been angry about Harry shutting down the Floo. As expected, he had overshot the camp to land on a strange grate at the base of the mountain, but as he was hiking back he could see the smoke and knew something had happened.
Another Auror drops in exhaustion and the last in their small rotation picks up where she left off. Harry will be up next. Ron throws another counter-curse at the wall of smoke to see if it will take, but nothing happens. No spells have worked against it all day, and Harry is running out of ideas.
Ron plunks down next to him on the snow. “I dunno about this tunnel, mate. How long has it been now, and we’ve only gone two feet. There has to be some other way of getting them out of there.”
“Yeah, but what? No curses or counter-curses work. It’s unbreakable.”
“Charlie said he thought the smoke was a potion.”
Harry nods.
“Well, if that’s true, then it must have an antidote, right?”
“Charlie!” Harry scrambles to his feet and yells through the smoke barrier, raising his voice against the smoke’s sound-dampening effect, “Charlie!”
Charlie looks up from where he’s drilling and jogs over to the barrier between them.
“You said you thought this stuff is the smoke-potion the legends speak of, yeah?” Charlie nods, motioning McGetchin to come over and join them. He no longer limps, his leg repaired by the Healers on staff. “Do you know if there’s an antidote?”
“No.” Charlie shakes his head. “No one in living memory has come in contact with the smoke and lived to tell about it, so no one has dissected it.”
“We’ll have to take a sample of it then,” Harry says to Ron. He opens his rucksack and rifles through until he finds his empty potion vials in his supply kit. He hands one to Ron and keeps one for himself. “The lab should be able to break it down for its ingredients and create an antidote.”
“Yeah, but how long will that take?” Ron looks grim. He siphons off a bit of the smoke and puts it in the vial. “Hermione might be able to help-but even then…”
“There’s a plant.” McGetchin speaks up, his voice muffled by the smoke. “It’s only ever mentioned once in all the texts-but some ol’ wizard used it to keep the smoke from takin’ his sheep to the Dragon Lord.”
“I completely forgot about that,” Charlie says. “I don’t know where you’ll find it-it’s extremely rare.”
“Iraq,” McGetchin tosses out. “It won’t completely get rid of the smoke, but the sap’ll burn a hole right through.”
“What’s it called?”
“Mimbulus Mimbletonia.”
Ron snorts and shares a look with Harry.
“How much do we need?” Harry asks.
“I dunno-we’ve never had to use it before, have we?” McGetchin shrugs. “Maybe three or four plants-enough sap to break a decent size hole.”
Ron turns to Harry. “Are you going or am I?”
“I’ll go,” Harry says, dipping his vial into the smoke. He stoppers it. “You take these samples to the Ministry and to Hermione. See if they can dissect them and create an antidote. I’ll go get the plants. Maybe they’ll help us get them all out of there.”
“Right.”
A screeching cry pierces the sky, ringing through the valley and echoing off the mountains to each side. Harry looks up to see a dragon, then another, and another, their numbers increasing until he can no longer count how many there are. They circle, their calls shattering the quiet wilderness, hovering above the enclosed camp like vultures waiting for their prey to finally die.
“Go.” Charlie looks back at them, holding his wand tightly. “They’re just posturing right now. We’ll build up our defenses as best as we can and hold them off when they start to attack.”
“Charlie, you can’t possibly-”
“Just go, Ron!” He looks fierce. Weasley fierce. “We need that antidote and that sap. Go and get it.”
Ron locks eyes with his brother, his jaw muscles popping. Finally he nods and twists on the spot.
Harry calls out orders to the two other Aurors left on the outside of the bubble of smoke and they begin setting up outer defenses. Just as he is about to Disapparate to obtain the plants, an earsplitting voice fills his head. He sinks to his knees from the pain of it, covering his ears.
“She’s mine!” the voice says.
Pivoting on his knees he sees no one-no enemy, no Dragon Lord, no Fire Bird-nothing that would declare such a thing so loudly in his ears. Harry’s pulse hammers. The voice was in his head.
In my head.
His muscles shake violently. Anger sears through him, and he feels so nauseated he wants to hurl. Nothing-nobody-no one-is supposed to be able to access his brain. Never again. He made certain of it. Yet he heard a voice. A voice that wasn’t his.
Harry stands.
Time is limited, and someone else-she-is in trouble. He clenches his eyes shut, his lunch curdling in his stomach. He is unwilling to think who "she" might be, unwilling to humor those horrifying thoughts. The Dragon Lord is toying with him. He has to focus. Focus. He has to go to Hogwarts to get the plant.
The plant, first. Second, the Dragon Lord.
*****
Ginny wakes with a start. Her recent dream still pulses in her head but fades quickly as she attempts to gather her bearings. The light is bright as she opens her eyes. It is day. Mid-day, most likely; the sunlight pours in the room around her, warming her rather than frightening her. A ceiling fan rotates in slow circles on the high ceiling. For a brief moment it gives her something to focus on.
A breeze rustles the sheer curtains on her bed. It’s nice…warm…tropical….
Puzzling over this, she turns her head and gasps. Her sunlit room is lined with large windows thrown open to frame a brilliant blue sky and even brighter blue ocean. The white curtains billow softly, letting in the salty sea breeze and the sound of the waves crashing along the shore. She blinks.
Where am I?
Sitting up, she runs her fingers across the creamy white linen and slides from the center of the bed to the edge. The smooth limestone floor feels cool under her feet, and it is then that she notices she is dressed in a gown of gold. The fabric shimmers. Mesmerized, she touches it. It’s like nothing she’s ever felt before. It is light and airy, hugging every curve, but if she lifts the fabric away from her skin it has weight like spun gold. The length of the skirt pools around her feet, swirling around her legs as she walks, but it does not trip or confine her. It is as if this gown is made only for her.
The mirror on the wall confirms this as she sees herself for the first time. Momentarily stunned, she wonders if she might still be dreaming. The dress glows like honey, enhancing her skin, her hair, her breasts; as she twirls she realizes, uncharacteristically, that she doesn’t mind how far it plunges in front or in back. The soft line of it is so flattering that she wouldn’t change a thing.
The bandages on her head are gone. Stepping forward, she tilts her head and inspects her temple for any signs of trauma. There are none, and all the tenderness is gone. She stumbles back.
How long have I been asleep?
Reality starts to thud a bit more loudly in her ears.
Striding to one of the windows, she looks out and sees she is quite high up, several hundred feet in fact, over a sandy beach and the expanse of deep blue ocean. The waves roll and crash against the shoreline. There is nothing else to see out any window-except sand, beach grass, and ocean-and while it is quite breathtaking, Ginny realizes she is on an island. Her luxurious room is actually in a circular tower and she is perched at the very top. And even more alarmingly…
There is no door.
My wand, where is my wand?
Tearing about the room, she opens drawers, throws back linens, tosses back rugs, but it is nowhere to be found. Just as her panic is about to fully set in, an otter Patronus appears in front of her. She gasps, falling to her knees. Hermione.
We’re looking for you. The Dragon Lord’s mortal weakness is treasure. He’s after Harry. Use this.
Ginny sinks all the way to the floor processing Hermione’s words. A Dragon Lord. What is a Dragon Lord? Surely she would have heard of one before, but not even Charlie…. Wait…. A Dragon Lord. A speck of a memory is triggered, then she remembers the voice from her dream:
“I am Zmeu, the Dragon Lord. You will bring me the Death Stick or Harry Potter will die.”
Ginny stands. The Dragon Lord wants the Death Stick, and he’s going to use her to retrieve it.
Thoughts race through her mind as she paces the room. What is she going to do? The Death Stick is a formidable weapon. She can’t let the Dragon Lord have the wand or Harry. How can she stop him? The first thing she needs to figure out is why the Dragon Lord needs her-certainly he could go and retrieve the wand himself. What does he want with her? If she can figure that out, then she’ll know what to do.
Think, Ginny. Think.
A dot on the horizon catches her eye, and Ginny stops pacing to study it. It is graceful in its movements, up and down, and as it grows nearer she can tell that it is a bird. An immense bird with a massive wingspan, and it’s coming her way. Instinctively she reaches for her wand, then realizes once more that it isn’t there. Not knowing if the bird is a friend or foe, she scans the room for something-anything-and then she spots a candle holder. It towers above the others on the table. Tossing the candle aside, she grabs the stand and takes refuge behind the bed. Considering surprise, she stuffs the candle stand under the covers just as she hears a soft rustle at the window ledge. Ginny looks up and all her breath escapes.
The feathers of the large bird perched there look like fire, brilliant burning fire. Reds, oranges and yellows glowing with such depth and intensity that it seems as if she should be able to reach her hand in and never reach the bird itself. She has never seen anything more striking or beautiful. The bird seems to be made of fire and light. A soft hum fills the air, one that is soothing and warm, and as the bird tilts its head to consider her all of Ginny’s fears dissipate. It’s holding her wand in its beak.
My wand.
With one flap of its wings it lands on the bed, but where she cannot touch it and it cannot touch her. The glow of the bird is intoxicating, emitting light and heat, and its eyes follow her every breath. They are gentle, and-wild animal or not-there is definitely depth there. Human emotional depth. Love, admiration and perhaps even a little awe.
It looks upon her as if she is a beautiful treasure.
Without a sound the bird drops her wand on to the bed and gently nudges it towards her. Ginny swallows. Instinctively her fingers itch to grab it, but not wanting to make any sudden moves she stands still. Tilting its head, the bird waits, watching. Then, reaching out again, it nudges the wand closer. Ginny quietly takes it.
Immense relief washes over her. Her wand. Now she feels complete.
“Thank you.” Her voice sounds rough to her ears, so she clears her throat and tries again. “Thank you.”
The bird lowers its head, a bow of sorts. It is a simple gesture, but it warms her. She can’t help but be reminded of Fawkes.
But this isn’t Fawkes, she reminds herself, watching the bird just as thoughtfully as it watches her. It can’t be the Dragon Lord, either-it seems too gentle. Perhaps it’s the Dragon Lord’s pet?
The bird hums that soft soothing sound again and instinctively Ginny lifts her arm, stretching out her hand. Slowly the distance between them disappears as the bird leans forward and softly nudges her hand with its head. Ginny stands perfectly still, waiting. Then the bird moves again, nuzzling, and Ginny smiles. Its feathers feel as soft as silk and as warm as dying embers. She fully opens her hand, running her fingers across its glossy head and down its back.
When her fingers reach its tail feathers, the room spins. Her body spins, her head spins, and she is no longer aware of where she is until she lands. The impact causes her to stumble.
Hogwarts.
How had they got here? They didn't Apparate. They didn't fly either, yet Hogwarts looms ahead of her, the lake beside her and to her left.
Ginny’s breath flies in and out of her.
Dumbledore’s tomb.
The bird sits on top of it, eyes glittering. It is sunset, and in the dying light of day the bird creates a bright circle of light. She steps forward, feelings of betrayal coursing through her. “Why did you bring me here?”
The bird says nothing, though its eyes gleam. A low, repetitive chuckle reverberates from the back of its throat.
Rage fills her. How could she have been so naïve? This bird isn’t innocent, it isn’t kind, it wants to deceive and manipulate. The hairs on her neck stand on end as a new thought strikes her: Just like Tom Riddle.
Tightening her grip, she raises her wand steadily and grits her teeth. She asks again, “Why did you bring me here?”
The bird hums and tilts its head. It can’t answer, yet Ginny feels as though it would if it could. As if to prove her point, the bird begins to sing. Its song fills her, resonating somewhere deep within her, pooling and then rushing through her veins to find escape into the night.
Then a ringing crack reverberates around her.
A fissure has formed in Dumbledore’s tomb. As the bird continues to sing, the crack deepens and widens until it has opened completely. Ginny staggers backwards.
The song of the Phoenix now rises out of the tomb, softly at first and then more urgent, filling the air around her. It mixes with the song of the Dragon Lord’s bird in a strange duet that is both harmonious and horrible, building into a cacophony that is terrible, beautiful, and pounding. Her head feels as though it will split just like the stone and no amount of covering her ears will stop it.
Evil, evil, evil-how to get away? How to make it-
“Stop!” Ginny screams.
Mercifully, it does. The bird of the Dragon Lord stills to watch her again, eyes glittering. Her hands fall to her sides, and the bird of fire blinks at her. It is expectant, waiting for her to move. She swallows her anger and fear willing herself to think, calming her shaking hands.
In her silence the voice from her dream fills her head. “Bring me the wand.”
No! Is her first thought, though it is her heart that leaps into her throat. This time it isn’t in her dream. This time she can’t just wake up.
Training her wand on the shadows, she searches out the voice. Where is it coming from? Where is the Dragon Lord? But nothing moves, nothing emerges, nothing is there but the bird.
The bird.
Her gaze narrows in on it. It can’t have that wand. She’ll do anything to protect Harry. Gouge out its eyes, turn the wand on herself, be consumed by fire spit from its mouth, but it-he-simply can’t have the wand.
*****
“Hiya, Harry.” Neville beams as he opens the greenhouse door.
“You got my owl, then?”
“’Course I did-come in, I was just potting the plants for you.”
“Thanks, Neville.” Harry strides in and closes the door behind him. “I’ll bring them back to you as soon as I’m done.”
“Nah, I have plenty of them now. Keep ’em.” Neville shrugs, wiping his hands on his apron. “Though, I will be curious to know if the sap is able to break down the potion. There's so little documentation on the Mimbulus Mimbletonia-we’ve really only scratched the surface with it.”
Harry nods, but he has to wonder at Neville’s sanity. The pulsating gray cactus hardly appears miraculous-and the nauseating smell of rancid manure seems more suited for the bin than for science-but if it helps Harry dispel the smoke, who knows what else is possible?
“So,” Neville says, putting another plant on the work table. “You said you need four of them, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“How are you going to travel?”
“Apparate.”
“Right then, I’ll put them in a proper travelling case so they don’t squirt sap all over you when you go. I think I have one back here, hold on.”
Neville trots off to the back of the greenhouse, while Harry waits on a high gardening stool. The greenhouse is quiet, and just outside Harry can see the sun starting to set over the lake. It’s been a while since he’s been to Hogwarts, even longer since he’s visited the greenhouses, but it still feels the same.
Like home.
Two things happen at once. First, Harry’s wand produces a warning alarm that causes him to jump to his feet. Secondly, the silence of the grounds outside the greenhouse rends apart with the resonating song of a bird-a bird that he does not recognize, but one whose song fills him from within. Like the song of the Phoenix.
He does not know where the bird is, but he has a feeling it's related to the alarm from his wand, set to warn him if someone or something tampers with Dumbledore’s tomb.
“Neville!”
He's already advancing down the center of the greenhouse. “What is that?”
“I dunno.” Harry moves towards the door. “But it’s coming from Dumbledore’s tomb. You fancy a walk?”
“Yep.” Neville nods, discarding his garden apron and pulling out his wand.
The strange song is now joined by the song of the Phoenix, which can mean only one thing: Someone has broken into Dumbledore’s tomb. Harry’s pulse hammers.
“Wait-hold on, Neville.” They’re approaching the tomb, which seems to be emitting an unearthly glow. “Put a Disillusionment on so they can’t see you.”
“Won’t work, not on Hogwarts’ grounds.” Neville shakes his head. “I’m fine, Harry. Should we split up? I could go to the far side, approach from behind-”
“No. Wait. Here-” Harry wrestles with his rucksack and pulls out his Invisibility Cloak. “Put this on.”
Neville frowns, rejecting the Cloak. “What’s going on, Harry?”
Harry sighs. “The Elder Wand. Someone is here to take the Elder Wand, which means they want me-not you-and I don’t want them to see you.”
“No, look. You wear it. If it’s you they want they won’t care if they see me, right?”
Harry thinks nothing could be further from the truth, but in his moment of indecision, Neville starts to climb the embankment toward the tomb. He then stops, staring ahead.
“Is that Ginny?”
No! Harry’s heart drops. Ginny. No, it can’t be. He races up the small embankment to join Neville.
But it is her…looking stunningly beautiful in some sort of shimmering gold dress her fist clenched and wand pointed at.... Harry falters. Before her on the tomb is a gigantic bird-one he doesn't recognize-that appears to be made of fire.
The Fire Bird.
And with a jolt he remembers the voice from earlier that day: She is mine.
Anger sears through Harry and his muscles shake, but before he can move Neville throws an arm across his chest.
“Put on the Cloak. Go and get her. I’ll take care of the bird.”
“That’s not just a bird-that’s the Dragon Lord.” Harry seethes, fighting against Neville’s arm.
“Fine then, Dragon Lord. You go and get Ginny. I’ll take care of the Dragon Lord.”
Harry doesn’t take time to consider how ridiculous that sounds. All he wants is Ginny as far away from the Dragon Lord as possible. Throwing the Cloak on, he skirts the tomb so he can approach her from the side, keeping the Dragon Lord in front of him and in view.
“Oi!” Neville bellows, striding forward. He stops just outside the ring of light glowing from the tomb.
The Fire Bird lowers on its hind limbs, its eyes narrowed to consider its new prey.
Ginny spins, pointing her wand at Neville, and gasps when she recognizes him. “Neville?”
“Hi, Ginny. Strange sort of pet you’ve got there.”
Harry can see that Ginny is shaking. “Neville-please-it isn’t safe.”
Neville tilts his head, holding his wand securely in his hand. “I’m not so certain about that.”
Harry is next to Ginny now-within a hair’s breadth. He can see every freckle, every frantic breath, and he has never wanted her more. But he watches and waits. Hang on, love…
As if on cue, Neville flicks his wand.
A swarm of yellow canaries dive bomb out of the sky, attacking the Fire Bird like tiny missiles. It pirouettes, caught off guard while Ginny spins toward it and attacks the bird with a powerful hex. Harry moves, sweeping the Cloak over Ginny and pulling her to him.
Fists flying, she beats against his chest before realizing it’s him. “Harry?”
“Come on!” He takes her hand and they run away from the Fire Bird towards Neville just as a guttural sound fills the air. It’s the sound of a dragon, not a Fire Bird, and Harry acts instinctively.
“Scutum incendii!“
A wall of protection erupts from his wand, doming around Ginny, Neville and him just as a burst of flame explodes in the air licking across the dome, burning the trees, and annihilating Neville’s canaries.
The hot fire fades, and the bird is left heaving and incensed, glaring in their direction. Harry holds the protection around them even though it gives away his location. The Fire Bird's beady eyes narrow in on him. Harry knows the Dragon Lord cannot see him through the Cloak. Nor can he see Ginny, which is just how Harry wants it to be. Instinctively he pulls Ginny closer, feeling her chest heave just as much as his. She has her wand trained on the Dragon Lord, and her jaw is set in fierce determination
.
Then she gasps. Her hands rush up to cover her ears, and Harry’s concentration breaks. His shield wavers, but Neville surges forward, taking over and holding it around them. Harry turns his full attention to Ginny.
Her hands cover her ears and she shakes her head violently, a thin glimmer of sweat glistening on her forehead. She screams, “I won’t! I won’t do it!”
Harry grabs her arms. “Do what? What is it?”
She continues to shake her head without response and Harry looks over at the Fire Bird. It’s low on its hindquarters, glaring at her. His world reels. He's talking to her. The Dragon Lord is communicating with her. Just like the he did with him.
Fierce anger flares within him, and he tightens his grip on her arms. “What is he saying to you?”
Her eyes narrow in concentration as she listens, and her lips thin to white line of rage and pain. Harry wants to Apparate her away so badly it hurts. But he can’t, not here. Not on Hogwarts’ grounds.
In that moment a startling caw rends the air and the Fire Bird vanishes in a brilliant burst of flame, leaving them all breathless, their adrenaline pumping. The light dims to only that coming from Dumbledore’s open tomb.
Ginny sags against him, and Harry wraps his arms tightly around her kissing her hairline. “It’s all right. He’s gone.”
She shakes her head against his chest; he can feel her shoulders begin to shake. As tears course down her cheeks, his momentary relief vanishes. It isn’t over yet.
“What did he say to you?”
She grips his shirt tightly in her fists.
He pulls back so he can look her in the eyes. He has never seen her look so shaken, and it guts him.
“What did he say?”
“I-I have to take him the Death Stick,” she whispers. “Or he’ll kill you.”
This doesn’t faze him. “It’ll be okay. I’ll just-”
“No! No, it isn’t okay!” She shoves against his chest, pushing him away. Her whole body is shaking with nerves and anger and she crosses her arms tightly, creating a barrier between them. She glares at him. “You don’t understand-he wants to kill you, Harry. Kill you. He wants to control the wand-and you.”
Harry already knows this. This is not news. But hearing Ginny say it out loud and seeing the look of pain in her eyes adds weight that he wasn’t expecting…and, worse, he isn’t certain how to handle it.
“There’s more.” She stops, looking away when he doesn’t say anything. Her breathing is shallow and quick. “That isn’t all.”
“No?”
“No.” She swallows. “I also have to-I’ve got to go to him-to his labyrinth and-”
She takes a deep breath. Dropping her arms, she swipes her eyes and composes herself. Harry reaches out to touch her arm. Finally she looks up at him, meeting his worried gaze. She takes his hand in hers.
“He wants me,” she says with an angry tremor, squeezing his hand so hard it hurts. “He wants me to produce him an heir, or else he'll kill me.”