Chapter Eight: Flight of the Fat Rat
Term started up again right after New Year's. Ron and Neville spent their free time tirelessly trying to find a case where a hippogriff went to a trial, but got off. Hagrid was so grateful that he was beyond tears. It made Ron sore to know that this whole incident was caused by his brothers. He was really getting to the point where he hated them now as well as their Death Eater friend. Ginny being sorted into Slytherin didn't help matters.
The two boys had checked numerous books out of the library and then sat by the roaring fire, reading silently. The quiet was only broken when one of them found something worth noting.
"Here's something…there was a case in 1722…but the hippogriff was convicted—look what they did to it—that's cool…sorry."
"This might help, look—a manticore savaged someone in 1296 and they let the manticore off—oh—no, that was only because everyone was too scared to go near it…"
Just then the evil ginger menace stalked into the room. Ron bolted up and dashed to the dormitory, closing the door behind him. He did not want Scabbers to be terrorized.
BAD-KITTY-BAD-KITTY—NO-SCABBERS-NO!
Harish was ahead in all of his classes. He had studied ahead enough that he didn't really need to study all that much anymore. Because of this, he decided that he needed practice on his patronus charm on a real dementor. Or at least the closest thing he could find. That was why he could be seen in a disused classroom with a chest that held a boggart in it.
Harish unlocked the trunk with a flick of his wand. Immediately, the temperature in the room plummeted and a thick fog swirled around him.
"Expecto patronum!" he exclaimed, imagining in his mind receiving his Nimbus 2000. The fog swirled thicker and denser.
"Not, Harry—no!"
Harish bolted upright. He was lying on the ground with his wand beside his head. The dementor had been dragged back into the chest the moment Harish lost consciousness. He had cast a spell on it to where it wouldn't escape out into the castle.
The teenage boy groaned and checked his watch. Then, he cursed under his breath, grabbed his book-bag, and dashed out of the room. From there he ran straight to Transfiguration and made it just in time before the bell rang. He was still panting heavily when Professor McGonagall entered the room. She began a lecture about who knows what. As she spoke, Harish's attention swam and he shivered uncontrollably.
Finally Professor McGonagall stopped and asked, "Mr. Blake are you quite alright?"
Harish knew that he was clammy and vaguely sick feeling, but he denied feeling ill. McGonagall would not have any of it, though and she sent him straight to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey hadn't asked, simply tsked at him and handed him a huge brick of chocolate.
SHE'S-DEFINITELY—GIVEN-UP
Having just finished a recently assigned paper, Remus Lupin sat back in his desk and surveyed his class of third year Gryffindors. They were all reading out of their books, as they were supposed to be doing. Remus let out a soft, tired sigh and looked down at his desk.
Sitting facing him was a picture. In it were he, James, Sirius, and Peter. Beside it was a picture of James, Lily, and Harry. Lily was holding the baby, and James was bending over, making it laugh. Baby Harry's emerald eyes were lit up with sheer happiness. Seeing the picture of Harry, it made Remus think back to a revelation he had reached on the train as soon as the Blake boy opened his eyes.
The first thing Remus had noticed, was that they were shaped exactly like Lily's. They weren't such a vibrant shade, but they were most definitely green. The second thing he noticed was that the boy had features of Lily's in the eyes and the shaped of the head. Lastly, the boy's hair, though not the black of James's, stuck up at the back just like the man's did.
The only conclusion Remus could come to was that this boy was Harry Potter. The only thing was, if this was Harry Potter, who should he tell? And who would believe him? Plus, Remus may not have even been right. So, he never told anyone his suspicions.
GETTING-WARMER—TWO-PEOPLE-NOW
Ron walked back from Defense Against the Dark Arts class to find Neville already standing outside the common room.
"I wrote them down! I must have dropped them somewhere!" Neville was saying.
"A likely tale!" Sir Cadogan roared.
"What's going on?' Ron asked his friend.
"I've lost the passwords!" Neville told him miserably. "I made him tell me what the passwords are for the week because he keeps changing them, but I must've lost the list."
"The password's Oddsbodikins," Ron said. Sir Cadogan's painting swung forward to let them inside. Then he told Neville, "Come on. I need to go give Scabbers his rat tonic."
The two of the bounded up the stairs to their dormitory. Ron let a strangled yell when he caught sight of his bed. Neville stepped forward to see what the matter was with curiousity. On it was something that looked horribly like blood. Beside the blood, sitting on the sheets, were several thick ginger hairs.
DON'T-FALL-FOR-IT—THE-RAT'S-NOT-DEAD
That afternoon, Harish returned to his abandoned classroom, now armed with half of an enormous slab of chocolate. The Slytherin boy practiced the charm and the wand movement over and over again. Then, he flicked his wand, and once again the trunk holding the boggart flew open. Freezing water filled the teen's lungs, causing his to gasp.
The dementor swooped out, turning to face Harish. Even though he paled, Harish exclaimed, "Expecto patronum!"
A small wisp of silvery light shot out of the end of his wand. The woman screaming faded to the background, sounding more like a broken radio. Harish smiled weakly. It was stronger. But not strong enough. The teen decided he needed a stronger memory. He searched all of his good memories until he found the perfect one.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" he shouted.
A small seven-year-old boy sat with his legs curled underneath him. He licked his dry lips and wiggled his fingers as they fell asleep again; the boy's hands were chained to the column behind him. Young Harish Blake sat brooding, as there was nothing better to do in that dark room.
He had always known that there was something wrong with his father. He was broken—like a toy. Voldemort never showed any emotion, any affection. He was never happy, always seeming slightly haunted. On top of that, he had a temper that no one could compete with. The smallest thing would happen, and he would blow up.
Harish felt sorry for his father. He loved him very much.
Just then, a loud thump came from above him. The young boy swiveled his pale green eyes upward, toward the ceiling. He tilted his head and listened very intently. Footsteps were walking across the floor above. Then, they moved down into the hallway outside. A flash of bright light crept under the door and a grunt escaped into the prisoner's room.
Then, the door was blasted away.
Harish's father dashed into the room, easily melted the chains binding the boy with a swish of his wand, and scooped his son into his arms. Kneeling down, the Dark Lord hugged Harish tightly. Harish sat there, in shock. The Dark Lord had never shown any sign that he loved the son that adored him so much.
"You are safe," Voldemort murmured softly.
Harish looked up at the man, his hair falling into his pale, grimy face. Was he supposed to hear that? Surely not…His father swiped the hair out of his son's eyes and Harish was surprised that when he looked into his father's icy blue ones, they reflected…relief?
"Of course I'm safe," Harish whispered as soon as he found his voice again. "I knew you would find me."
Harish hugged his father tightly, burying his face in the man's dark robes. Even though Voldemort was broken, the fact that he loved Harish was all that counted.
Out of the end of his wand blasted a smooth body. It started out small, but then it grew and grew until it was the size of a house. The basilisk displayed its razor sharp teeth, stared the mock dementor down, and the creature of sorrows fled. Harish guided it back into the chest and locked it inside. Then, he straightened up and wiped tears out of his eyes.