Chapter 32: What's Good
The Burrow, August 1st 1997
I'm standing at the edge of a large white marquee, a seating plan in my hand, waiting for the wedding guests to arrive. Even though I came back early in the morning, the day has gone quickly with the last-minute preparations. And now I'm feeling too warm and uncomfortable, wondering if it is because the Muggle, I have disguised myself into, has a solid forty pounds of weight on me, without any mentionable height difference. Even breathing seems to be breaking a sweat.
The garden looks completely different to what it was before; there's a vast, white marquee with long rows of thin golden chairs on either side of a long, purple carpet. The supporting poles of the marquee are entwined with white and gold flowers, and the ceiling is a mix of fairy lights and a magnificent flower bed. Two large bunches of golden balloons stand on each side of the point where Bill and Fleur will become husband and wife. The garden is trimmed into perfection, everything is blooming, and there isn't even a hint of garden gnomes, chickens, or the old wellington boots that usually decorate the lawn.
"When I get married," Fred grits through his teeth, while trying to straighten his dress robes, "I won't be bothering with any of this nonsense. You can all wear what you like, and I'll put a full Body Bind Curse on Mum until it's all over."
George gives his brother a contemplative look. "She wasn't too bad this morning, considering…cried a bit about Percy not being here, but who wants him."
Ron snorts quietly, while Hermione arches a brow at the conversation.
"Oh blimey…brace yourselves, here they come, look."
The first batch of wedding guests have apparated at the end of the lane, where the apparition point is set up. Everyone is wearing bright colours and rather unusual designs with different patterns in the fabric. Some have real flowers and vines curling up their arms, while others have shining diamonds embellished to their robes and hats. There is a definite hum of excited chatter as the group approaches the marquee.
"So…Barny," Fred says pointedly, after guiding the group of Fleur's relatives to their correct seats. "How was it with the cousin-whatshisname?" He asks innocently, although, I can detect a sly twinkle in his eyes.
Regulus is not here yet, but he too has been supplied with Polyjuice Potion with a stolen hair from another redheaded villager of Ottery St. Catchpole. We're both being explained as some distant cousins of Bill.
"What do you mean?" I ask with narrowed eyes, feeling irritated by the meaningful look the twins exchange.
George shrugs unaffectedly. "You seemed awfully blissful this morning," He quips, while Fred snorts, and they both start to snigger. Ron coughs loudly, his face turning into the shade of a ripe tomato – matching perfectly mine.
I try to stammer something to their merciless teasing, but I'm saved by Hermione who gives the twins a threatening glare. "Exactly how old are you?" Hermione asks with a sniff, and plasters a polite smile to the next batch of approaching guests.
Both Fred and George school their features, their expressions turning into grave ones. Until, twenty minutes later, when Regulus arrives.
George throws a similar line at Regulus, as he did for me, but both he and Fred are rendered speechless when Regulus merely replies, with a blank look, "Why don't you accompany us the next time? I'm sure there is plenty of room for gentlemen like yourselves." He gives the twins a small twitch of a smirk before he moves to join the rest of the wedding guests and takes his seat inside the marquee.
Hermione chuckles silently next to me, while Ron and I stare at Regulus's back with our mouths open in amazement. Fred and George on the other hand, are both red-cheeked with embarrassment, standing there with completely dumbstruck looks.
"That was…fun. I think I'd like to join your cousin for a while, if that is okay with you," Hermione says, giving the rest of us an amused look before walking towards the marquee and Regulus.
Fred and George excuse themselves, to help out some of Fleur's Veela cousins, and Ron speaks after a short silence. "Mate. He's officially invited to every family gathering we have," He says with a serious look.
I snort and shake my head in exasperation. "Whatever you say…"
"Ronald, is that you?" An old witch with a beaky nose and red-rimmed eyes approaches us, giving Ron a scrutinising look. "Your hair's much too long, Ronald. For a moment I thought you were Ginevra," she says and glances at a wizard walking past us. "Merlin's beard, what is Xenophilius Lovegood wearing? He looks like an omelette. And who are you?" she asks me with a demanding voice.
I swallow audibly, and luckily Ron's response is quick. "Oh yeah, Auntie Muriel, this is our cousin Barny."
Ron's great-great aunt gives me a narrow-eyed look. "Another Weasley? You breed like gnomes," she comments, and then arches a brow at Ron. "Isn't Harry Potter here? I was hoping to meet him. I thought he was a friend of yours, Ronald, or have you merely been boasting?"
Ron clears his throat, stammering slightly his reply, "No – he couldn't come –"
Muriel lets out an exasperated huff. "Hmm. Made an excuse, did he? Not as gormless as he looks in press photographs, then," She says and glances at me, "I've just been instructing the bride on how best to wear my tiara," she says primly. "Goblin-made, you know, and been in my family for centuries. She's a good-looking girl, but still – French," she mutters, with a small twitch in her nose. "Well, find me a good seat, Ronald, I am a hundred and seven and I ought not to be on my feet too long."
Ron gives me a suffering look as he leads her away, and I let out a relieved breath.
"Wotcher," a voice says partly behind me.
I turn around with a smile, recognising Tonks's voice, and give her a once over. "Hey Tonks. Nice hair," I say with a grin.
Her hair is blonde and straight, reaching down to the small of her back. Lupin's with her, giving me that strained smile again. I wonder if everything is okay with him…
"Arthur told us you were the one with the curly hair," she whispers as I lead them towards their seats. "Everything went okay?" She asks conspiratorially, evidently hinting towards last night.
I wish everyone would just drop it. It's none of their business. But there's no teasing in Tonks's eyes, so I merely give her a nod. "Yeah, it was okay."
"What are you talking about?" Lupin asks curiously, talking for the first time.
Tonks gives him a look, as if she is explaining something to a child. "I'll tell you another time, honey."
Tonks winks at me, and then she and Lupin take their seats, on the row in front of Regulus. This gives me the opportunity to exchange a quick look with him. Even if I hadn't met him in his disguise of a redheaded, long-limbed teenager, I'd instantly recognise him from the familiar blank expression and rigid posture. I give him a small grin, to which he replies with an amused twitch of his lips.
Tonks doesn't miss our exchange, and subtly glances at Regulus, before turning back to me with an arched brow, as if telling me how obvious we are. I hastily go back to the front of the marquee, to see if I'm still needed with guiding the guests.
Instead, I bump into Ron, who is talking with the most peculiar looking wizard; slightly cross-eyed, with shoulder-length white hair, and robes of an eye-watering shade of egg-yolk yellow – the man Ron's aunt called Xenophilius Lovegood. This must be Luna's father, then.
I introduce myself, and immediately fix my eyes to the odd symbol, something like a triangular eye, dangling in a golden chain against his chest. Luna joins his father, and greets us with a glowing smile, somehow recognising me through the Polyjuice potion.
There's a rather awkward discussion about Gnome saliva, before Luna and her father leave to take their seats.
Hermione joins us then, looking slightly flushed. "I just met your Great-Aunt Muriel. You know what she said to me?" She asks Ron, who grimaces.
"Do I want to hear it?" Ron asks tentatively.
Hermione lets out a quiet, dry laugh. "She said, 'Oh dear, you are the Muggle-born, aren't you?' and then, 'Bad posture and skinny ankles.'"
Ron lets out a quiet wince and looks apologetic. "Don't take it personally. She's rude to everyone. Said I look like Gin…can you imagine that?" Ron says incredulously, and when Hermione gives him an assessing, contemplative look, Ron grumbles, "Don't answer that."
Hermione sniggers, and Ron clears his throat. "Seriously, you look amazing, Hermione," He says gently.
I too take a glance at her; the floaty, lilac-coloured dress with matching heels, and her shiny, straight hair, and voice my agreements.
Hermione blushes slightly, and gives us both a smile. "Thank you."
"Nightmare, Muriel is," Ron mutters, after glancing around us to make sure she's still seated inside the marquee, "She used to come for Christmas every year, then, thank God, she took offense because Fred and George set off a Dungbomb under her chair at dinner…"
"Talking about Muriel?" George chuckles, approaching us with Fred. "She's just told me my ears are lopsided. Old bat. I wish old Uncle Bilius was still with us, though; he was a right laugh at weddings."
Hermione frowns at the twins. "Wasn't he the one who saw a Grim and died twenty-four hours later?"
George shrugs. "Well, yeah, he went a bit odd towards the end."
Fred nods in agreement. "But before he went loopy, he was the life and soul of the party," he says, a reminiscent look in his eyes. "He used to down an entire bottle of Firewhiskey, then run onto the dance floor, hoist up his robes, and start pulling bunches of flowers out of his –"
"Yes, he sounds a real charmer," Hermione says dryly, while Ron and I burst in laughter.
Ron wipes his eyes, still chuckling. "Never married, for some reason."
Hermione rolls her eyes. "You amaze me."
We continue to joke around until it is time to sit down – the ceremony is about to start.
The wedding ceremony itself goes without anything particular occurring. Bill and Charlie – who is now accustomed to his new, brutally short haircut – stand side by side, waiting. Then, the bride glides up the aisle with her father escorting her.
As soon as Fleur meets Bill at the end of the aisle, all nervousness disappears from Bill's eyes, and there's only adoration and happiness in his gaze.
During the ceremony, I detect several witches sobbing quietly into scraps of lace, or discreetly wiping their eyes. Finally, the couple is bonded for life with a shower of silver stars that fall upon them, surrounding them as they share a loving kiss in front of the crowd.
The chairs are soon moved aside by magic, gathering around small tables, making room for the dance floor in the centre, and the vast buffet table, that appears on the other end.
"Smooth," Ron says, nodding in approval as the waiters emerge from each side, carrying silver trays of pumpkin juice, butterbeer and Firewhiskey, as well as an assortment of small tarts and sandwiches.
Most of the guests queue up to congratulate the couple, but Ron pulls us away, towards the buffet table, explaining that we'll have time later. We grab some food and sit down at the table in the far corner. Thirty minutes later Luna joins us, telling us everything that happened during some exploration trip she's had with her father to study Merpeople in the beginning of the summer. My focus starts faltering at some point during the conversation, as I subconsciously search Regulus in the midst of the wedding guests. Luna seems to realise that I'm not actually listening, and she gracefully leaves to search her father.
Some time later, after everyone has visited the buffed table for their second – or in Ron's case, third – helpings, the band starts to play, and soon Bill and Fleur glide through the dance floor. The couple is followed by Mr. Weasley, who leads Madame Delacour onto the floor, and Mr. Delacour, who offers his arm to Mrs. Weasley.
"You mind, mate?" Ron asks quietly from me, glancing at Hermione and the dance floor.
"No, not the slightest. Have fun," I say lightly, and my friends take off to the dance floor, as do most of the guests.
For a moment, I stare at them, feeling rather lonely. Then, with a jolt, I realise Regulus has sat down into Ron's empty seat.
"You enjoy dancing, Potter?" He asks almost inaudibly.
I let out a shaky breath, and glance around us, making sure no one has heard him. "Um…dunno. I'm not very good at it…" I say with a shrug.
Regulus gives me a long look, and it is a bit weird, with the disguise and everything. "I can teach you if you want," He says with a low voice.
I want to snort and tell him how odd all of that sounds coming out of the redheaded villager's mouth, but I'm interrupted by Viktor Krum, who drops to sit down on my other side.
Regulus immediately stiffens, but Krum doesn't notice, as he is busy staring at Hermione and Ron on the dance floor, and questioning me about their relationship status. He brings up Luna's father, asking if I know the man. Krum then explains some worrisome opinions about Luna's father, especially about the sign the man is carrying upon his chest – Grindelwald's sign, Krum tells me.
"Grindelwald…the dark wizard Dumbledore defeated?" I ask incredulously.
I can practically feel Regulus's calculating look trained at Krum and the back of my head.
"Exactly." Krum says, clenching his jaw. "Grindelvald killed many people, my grandfather, for instance. Of course, he vos never powerful in this country, they said he feared Dumbledore – and rightly, seeing how he vos finished. But that," He says, pointing at Xenophilius, "that is his symbol, I recognised it at vunce. Grindelvald carved it into a vall at Durmstrang ver he vos a pupil there. Some idiots copied it onto their books and clothes thinking to shock, make themselves impressive – until those of us who had lost family members to Grindelvald taught them better."
"Oh. I'm…are you sure that it's Grindelwald's sign?" I ask, feeling puzzled. If that is actually his sign, shouldn't someone else have recognised the symbol?
"I am not mistaken," Krum says coldly. "I walked past that sign for several years, I know it vell."
Regulus clears his throat. "It could be so, that Mr. Lovegood doesn't know what the symbol means," he says politely.
Krum looks at Regulus with surprise, as if only realising he's sitting there. Krum shrugs and gives me a dark look, and then draws out his wand, twirling it between his fingers. "I really hope so," He murmurs, and then leaves with a huff, moving towards the drinks table.
I stare dumbly after him. Then something strikes my memory. "Gregorovitch," I whisper, excitement coursing through me.
"What?" Regulus asks, bemusement in his expression.
"Gregorovitch!" I whisper again, urgently, waving my hand towards the direction Krum disappeared to. "Krum's wand was made by him – he's a wandmaker!"
Regulus gives me a scrutinising look. "And?"
"He's, um…" I mutter, glancing around us, before leaning towards Regulus. "I saw something, in a dream. He's looking for Gregorovitch, and I couldn't figure out the name, until now. He already has Ollivander, and now…he's looking for another wandmaker…" I whisper quickly to his ear.
Regulus pulls slightly back, his jaw tight. "You never told me about Ollivander," he says mutedly.
"Oh…" I mutter, and then glance at the table, recollecting the conversation between us at the Burrow. "I must've forgotten."
Regulus gives me a searching look. "How often do you see into his mind?" Regulus asks quietly, reserve in his eyes.
I frown at him, not understanding why he's interested in that, when we now know that Voldemort is after wandmakers. It has to have something to do with how he was unable to duel me, and how my wand acted on its own.
"I…I dunno. Does it matter?" I ask, feeling irritated.
Regulus's expression hardens. "It does."
I let out a surprised huff, and then decide that I need to see my friends and tell them the news – maybe they will be more interested to hear what Voldemort is doing. I stand up quickly, tell Regulus that I'm going to go find Ron and Hermione, and move hastily away from the table, before he can say another word.
Two minutes later, I feel like a bloody git, for acting like that. Hermione and Ron are nowhere to be seen. Cursing inwardly, I turn to look back at the table I left Regulus in, but find it empty.
With a sigh, I finally sit down at the nearest table, accompanying an old wizard, who looks vaguely familiar. After a closer look, I realise that he is Elphias Doge, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and the writer of Dumbledore's obituary. I lean in to whisper to the man, explaining who I really am. Mr. Doge seems surprised, but delighted, and we start discussing Dumbledore, and his obituary. I mention Skeeter to him, and Doge seems angered by Skeeter's suggestions about Dumbledore twiddling with the Dark Arts when he was young.
We are then accompanied by Ron's Auntie Muriel, who overhears us talking about Skeeter. Then. Then I learn the most shocking bit of news.
Dumbledore's sister – the one who died – Muriel mentions that she was kept in a cellar by their mother. Apparently, Ariana had been different, and thus kept out of sight.
Like I had once been, by the Dursleys.
Had Dumbledore really left her like that, at their mother's mercy, while he went off to Hogwarts to enjoy his freedom and education?
It gets worse.
Muriel hints that it was Ariana who killed their mother, and then, that Ariana's death – which happened soon after their mother's – was actually Dumbledore's fault.
What I heard in the forest, when the locket was creating false images to torment Dumbledore – they were…were they not false? I remember Dumbledore's crumbled expression, and the pleading look in his eyes when his brother told Dumbledore that he was the reason she was dead. That Dumbledore gave her away for the greater good…Nausea twists in my stomach, and I'm struggling not to throw up.
Had Dumbledore really killed his sister?
According to Muriel, there was a coffin-side brawl at Ariana's funeral, where Aberforth – Dumbledore's brother – had shouted that it was all Albus' fault that Ariana was dead and then punched him in the face. Apparently, Dumbledore hadn't even defended himself in front of the others.
I'm beyond shocked. I don't know what to think. Mr. Doge merely sits there, trying to defend Dumbledore's actions and memory, in a feeble manner.
Then I hear the final straw; the Dumbledore family lived in Godric's Hollow.
After that, I don't really register anything Muriel or Doge says. I don't even know if I'm entirely aware of my surroundings anymore.
I feel empty. Kind of betrayed. Dumbledore never mentioned it, that we had once lived in the same place… Is his family buried next to mine? Had Dumbledore seen their graves? Why hadn't he said anything? Had he thought that it didn't matter to me?
Well, it did. It does. He could've taken me there. Or at the very least, tell me what the place is like. But he chose not to include me in his personal life. He chose not to give me something that would've meant a great deal to me.
I excuse myself from the table, feeling too dazed to sit and listen to any more of that. I stumble forward, and finally find Hermione, who is sitting on a chair next to the drinks table, in the middle of tending her undoubtedly sore feet, while her shoes lie forgotten next to her on the floor.
"I simply can't dance anymore," Hermione says and lets out a quiet groan as she rubs the sole of her foot.
I slump to sit down next to her, as she continues, "Ron's gone looking to find more butterbeers. It's a bit odd. I just saw Viktor storming away from Luna's father, it looked like they'd been arguing –" She says, and then turns to look at me.
"Harry? Is everything okay?" She asks quietly, worry edged into her voice.
I open my mouth, not knowing where to even begin, but I don't have a chance to say anything, because right then, a silvery form appears through the ceiling of the marquee, slowing down and finally, stopping in the middle of the dance floor.
A Patronus.
There's a tense silence, and many of the guests back away from the silver lynx. The lynx opens its mouth, and the deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt starts to speak.
"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."
Time seems to stop for a couple of seconds, before everyone realises what was said. Then, people start to panic, to scream, to rush away from the marquee. Hermione and I both jump up from our seats, glance at each other with panic written in our expressions.
"Find him! I'll find Ron! We'll meet you at Grimmauld," Hermione says quickly, her voice trembling with fear.
I give her a jerky nod, and just then, several dark figures apparate inside the marquee, creating more panic and chaos. The wards of the Burrow are broken. Many guests disapparate the moment they realise it is possible, but several stay behind, running aimlessly towards safety, while wands are drawn and spells are being cast.
Shit.
I can hear Hermione screaming for Ron, and I look wildly around me, trying to find Regulus, but unable to yell his name, since there's the risk of someone hearing me. I push forward towards the other side of the dance floor, and see that some of the Death Eaters are shooting spells towards the guests.
"Protego!" I hear someone yelling, and then see Lupin and Tonks raising their wands against some of the intruders, trying to protect the guests.
I'm being pushed by people, and end up stumbling through the crowd as occasional jets of light fly above me. "Shit…where the hell are you?!" I curse under my breath, and try to move towards the other side of the room. I hear more spells, more shield charms being cast, and I pray that Hermione and Ron have already escaped into safety.
What if something's happened to them? Or Regulus? Bloody hell, we should've stayed together!
Then, after what feels like a long moment, I finally see Regulus, gazing wildly around the room, trying to find me. Relief fills my chest and I run towards him. As soon as we meet, Regulus grabs my hand in a tight grip and I feel him turning on the spot.
The world spins around me, darkness pressing in upon me, and then we land on the top steps outside of Grimmauld Place. Immediately, Regulus pushes me inside and follows me after gazing at the street behind him.
Regulus flicks his wand in the air, his eyes moving around the entrance hall. "We're alone." He mutters, turning to look at me.
"D-Did you see Ron? Hermione?" I ask quickly, my voice faltering. I try to swallow the tightness away from my throat. "Hermione said…she said that they'd be here. What if they got caught, what if – "
"Calm down, Harry," Regulus says with a hard voice. "I'm sure they'll be here any moment."
We stay in the hall, both staring at the front door, our wands outstretched.
I chew the inside of my cheek, and soon I'm tasting blood. Seconds turn into minutes, and for a moment, I wonder if I clench my jaw any harder, will my teeth break?
Then, finally, the door opens, and my friends are there.
"Bloody hell," I grunt, and rush forward, throwing myself towards them and pulling them both into a bone-crushing hug.
Hermione lets out a quiet sob, while Ron wheezes slightly, "Mate, you're crushing my windpipe…" He mutters, and I eventually pull back.
"I-I thought…I thought – " I gasp, and Hermione nods, her eyes glistening slightly.
"I know," She says shakily, and pulls me into another hug. "We're safe now."
Ron pats me on the shoulder, and moves past us, further into the hall where Regulus is waiting.
"Let's go downstairs," Regulus mutters the moment Hermione and I pull away from each other.
The three of us follow him to the kitchen, where Kreacher puts together some tea and sandwiches for us.
"The others – everybody at the wedding –" I say, the first to break the long silence. It must be getting close to midnight already.
We're sitting at the long wooden table in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, with Hermione and Ron opposite to Regulus and me.
"We can't worry about that now," Hermione says with a small frown, her fingers playing with her cup. "It's you they're after, Harry, and we'd just put everyone in even more danger by going back."
Ron nods. "She's right. Most of the Order was there, they'll look after everyone."
I rub the bridge of my nose. "Yeah." I mutter, even though the mere thought of leaving everyone behind makes my chest ache with fear.
"Is there some way we can find out what's going on…?" Ron asks, glancing at Hermione and then Regulus.
Regulus's brows twitch slightly. "If he has taken over the Ministry, there is not much to find out. We cannot trust anyone…" He says mutedly, a contemplative expression in place.
Ron lets out a frustrated sigh, and Hermione takes his hand, giving it a small squeeze. "They'll be okay, Ron, I'm sure of it," she whispers.
Her words go to deaf ears, as Ron stands up and starts to pace in front of the fireplace.
"Should we try to send a message to them?" Hermione asks, eyeing Regulus and me with a hesitant look.
Regulus licks his lips in thought. "It might cause harm to them – I think we should wait for them to contact us – "
Regulus's voice fades away as a sharp, searing pain fills every corner of my mind. I let out a loud shriek of pain, grabbing my head with my both hands. There's a large shadow in front of my closed eyelids, and fury that is not my own, poisoning my veins.
"Harry!"
I blink my eyes open, realising that Regulus is holding my head between his hands, while my own are clenched into tight fists on my lap. There's a deep worry edged on Regulus's face.
"What did you see?" Ron asks immediately, leaning against the end of the table. "Did you see him at my place?"
"No…" I mumble, "I just felt…anger. He's really angry," I mutter, my head still pounding.
Regulus eyes flash with something, and he glances at Ron, and then Hermione.
"But that could be at the Burrow," Ron exclaims. "What else? Didn't you see anything? Was he cursing someone?"
I feel the weariness spreading into my bones. "No, I just felt anger – I couldn't tell –"
"Harry? Your scar is hurting again? Why didn't you say anything? I thought…I thought that the vision of Ollivander was the only one…an exception. But…has there been more than that? Is the connection still open?" Hermione asks, her voice alarmed.
I grit my teeth against the dull pain on my forehead. "It did close, for a while," I mutter, closing my eyes to concentrate better on the present. "I – I think it's started opening again whenever he loses control, that's how it used to –"
"But then you've got to close your mind!" Hermione says harshly, sounding frightened. "Harry, Dumbledore didn't want you to use that connection, he wanted you to shut it down, that's why you were supposed to use Occlumency! Otherwise he can plant false images in your mind, remember –"
"Hermione, enough." Regulus says quietly, his hands dropping away from my head.
Hermione falls silent, and so does everyone else, and I'm glad for it. I don't need the reminder how the connection – how me trusting the visions I've seen – led us into a trap before, and how because of that, because of me, my godfather is now alone in a place we cannot access, not dead, but not living either.
I let out a small sigh and mutter my excuses as I stand up. I need to freshen up a bit. Splash some cold water on my face, as my forehead feels like it's burning.
As I make my way to the first-floor bathroom, I can't help but regret that my friends and Regulus saw what happened. I wish I hadn't told them about the connection, as I'm sure they will discuss it in detail while I'm gone. Resisting the urge to throw up, I rinse my face with cold water, wash my hands and go back to the kitchen, the pain in my scar building up. I know that the connection is going to open up soon – I can feel Voldemort's rage shimmering behind my consciousness.
Right after I step back into the kitchen, Hermione lets out a small shriek. Everyone draws their wands at the ready, but the only thing that happens, is a familiar looking, silver Patronus appearing on top of the table.
A weasel. Ron's father.
There's a frozen silence as we wait for the Patronus to speak.
"Family safe, do not reply, we are being watched."
The Patronus disappears then, and Ron lets out a relieved noise, slumping down on his chair, dropping his head against Hermione's shoulder and closing his eyes. "Thank bloody Merlin…" He whispers.
Ron gives me an apologetic look, and starts to speak, but I don't give him a chance, and instead wave it off with a tired nod. Right now, my entire skull feels like it's on fire – the pain shooting from temple to temple – and I even though I can see Hermione speaking, her voice doesn't get through my cotton-stuffed ears.
"I think I need to lie down," I mutter, my voice unsteady. I stand up for the second time, swaying in place.
Regulus stands up too, and steadies me. "Kreacher can take you," I vaguely hear him saying.
There're some words exchanged, and then, the weirdest thing happens as Kreacher side-along-apparates me into Regulus's room – it feels completely different from human apparition. Almost easing the pain for a moment, before it returns with a full force as the elf disapparates.
I collapse on the floor to my knees, the pain threatening to rip my head into pieces. I don't know if I'm whimpering, or if the person in the vision is, as the image clears up and a firelight lit room appears around me.
I lift a white, bony hand with an unfamiliar wand, and whisper with a cold voice, "Crucio."
The giant blonde Death Eater at my feet starts to scream and writhe in pain. After a short moment, I lift the curse. "More, Rowle, or shall we end it and feed you to Nagini? Lord Voldemort is not sure that he will forgive you this time…You called me back for this, to tell me that Harry Potter has escaped again? Draco, give Rowle another taste of our displeasure. Do it, or feel my wrath yourself!"
The vision finally starts to fade away, and the last thing I see, is Malfoy's terrified white face. I blink at my surroundings, panting as if I've run several miles.
Regulus is there, kneeling in front of me, his eyes widened with shock.
The moment Kreacher disapparates with Potter, I turn to look at his friends. "How often has he had visions?" I ask from Ronald with a demanding stare.
The boy gives a half-shrug. "Not as often as before…But every now and then…" He mutters, and then frowns at the floor.
"Regulus…?" Hermione speaks, eyeing me with a worried look. "What if he can see into Harry's mind? He'll know everything. About the Horcruxes, about you…Even without him causing false visions, it's…it's dangerous."
"I know."
"We have to do something," Hermione continues anxiously, worrying her lip.
"I know. I'll speak with him," I say wearily, running a hand through my hair.
This has been quite the evening. The Death Eater attack at the wedding, finding out that Potter's connection to the Dark Lord is still going strong…How can we make sure that Potter's mind is not open to him? That the Dark Lord is not already there?
Ronald lets out a loud yawn, and Hermione says something about not wanting to stay alone tonight. I tell Kreacher to set up a room for them on the first floor – the same one she and Ronald's sister stayed in some time ago.
We walk upstairs in silence, and the two of them offer their good nights, quietly, both looking utterly worn out, before they disappear through the door.
I make my way towards my room on the topmost floor, and freeze in place as I see him.
Potter is kneeling on the floor, in the middle of the room, gasping, a look of agony stretched over his features.
"Circe…" I whisper, and quickly move closer, to kneel in front of him.
He whimpers, and then…blinks his eyes open, looking anguished, tired, relieved.
"Hey," Potter croaks. "Sorry."
I frown at him, wanting to shout at him to not apologise for this. I want to shake him to fight it, to make him unable to do this to him. Instead, I clench my jaw and pull him to stand up.
"You need to rest, Potter," I say quietly, guiding him towards my bed.
I strip him from his robes and slacks, and then push him to lie down on the bed, after drawing the covers away for him.
"…Tryin' to get me into bed?" Potter mumbles as his head hits the pillow, his eyes closed, a hint of a smile on his lips.
I shake my head in mild amusement and pull the comforter up to his chin. "I already did."
Potter snorts, but soon drifts off to sleep.
I watch him for a long moment, before I retreat into the bathroom, letting the heat of the shower wash away the anxiousness and the heaviness – the guilt – lingering in my chest.
After freshening up, I pull on a pyjama, and then crawl into my bed, next to Potter.
He lets out a soft sigh, but doesn't stir.
I know it is wrong, what I'm about to do. I need to make sure, to find out if he is there, in Potter's head, trying to feed him visions, trying to control him. I need to know.
I take in a deep breath, and then focus on him. "Legilimens," I whisper, staring at his head, seeking access into his mind. Potter doesn't react, and soon enough, the events from tonight start to flicker in the forefront of his mind.
I rifle through them, one by one, layer by layer. Not focusing onto them more than is necessary – I'm doing enough wrong as it is – and finally, I find the vision he saw. It's him…Potter is seeing his consciousness. The Dark Lord, torturing, who looks like…Rowle. Then he orders Malfoy into the task. But before that…Rowle – reporting to the Dark Lord about the attack at the wedding. How they were unable to find Harry Potter there. How they are now in the process of locating the places of Potter's known associates. Something…Something about Potter leading them to him, by using the Dark Lord's name.
The rest of it is a blur, and for a moment, I hesitate. I know there are more. More visions. What if there's something Potter hasn't seen? Or realised? But I know I can't. There is a possibility that he will not forgive me for this.
I close my eyes, retreating from his mind, and then, as the heaviness and apprehension start to gnaw at my chest, I pull him closer, his back tightly against my chest, my arm thrown protectively over him, his scent in the air, calming me.
I finally fall asleep.