Chapter 40: Memory
Grimmauld Place, November 2nd 1997
It's been a month, and there's nothing; no visions, no findings about Horcruxes. Nothing.
Our days have been going by with the same routine: breakfast, duelling and spell practice – Hermione insists that I need to practice casting with my left arm, since even one month later, my right arm still starts to ache in a duelling practice – and after lunch, there's research and planning; more planning than research, as I doubt that there is a book in the Black library we haven't read by now. Then, every night after dinner, Regulus and I practice Occlumency.
And after that…Regulus keeps his distance. Which is somewhat disappointing. It's not that I'm expecting us to jump into long and intense snog, since we're both completely exhausted after the practice. I know we ought to concentrate on finding out about the Horcruxes, but – what if there will never be time? What if we die trying to win Voldemort, and our last months are spent being thoroughly obsessed with the mission? What if we fail to find anything from Voldemort's mind? If we fail to find the Horcruxes?
What if Voldemort completes the prophecy, and kills me? Would he then be indestructible? The prophecy did say there was only one with the power to 'vanquish the Dark Lord', didn't it?
I let out a weary sigh and stare at my bare feet against the wood, kept warm by a charm, before pulling my knees closer to my chest.
I have tried to open the connection, and only succeeded to get brief glances of unknown villages and mountains. Voldemort must be searching for Grindelwald, and whatever it is that Grindelwald has. What if he has the wand, and if Voldemort finds him? What then? Do we even stand a chance if Voldemort has an unbeatable wand?
I feel frustrated, I feel like I need to do something, to go somewhere. To fight. Sitting here, at Grimmauld, all day, every day – even if it is safer than anywhere else – has started to get to me. It has started to get to all of us; it feels like the moments outside our schedule, we either argue with each other, or keep our distance.
Ron has taken the annoying habit of clicking his Deluminator on and off, whenever he is in the mood, infuriating the rest of us. Ron even confessed he had expected Regulus and me to succeed sooner – something that had led to a harshly spoken argument between Ron, Hermione and me.
Hermione, on the other hand, has been bickering with everyone, even Regulus. She's been spending many nights in the library, unable to believe that there is nothing in the books that could help us.
And Regulus…he's been quiet. Watching us, and when he is not, his mind has been somewhere far away. Always thinking.
It has been difficult getting out of the house, as there is constantly a pair of Death Eaters patrolling the streets. We have no Portkey; no safeguards to escape through an anti-apparition ward. It is too much of a risk to venture outside only in the hopes of spying on people, since Voldemort and his followers have all the power of the Ministry now. And the possibility of another trap is too likely.
No one from the Order has tried to contact us, and we all agree it is not bad, but not necessarily a good thing either. The Prophet cannot be trusted anymore, but the paper hasn't mentioned any Order members in the past months. I can only hope they are all safe.
I stare silently at the white garden, gaze up to the clouds as the snow swirls above me and slowly falls down. It will be gone by the morning, I reckon, as it is only the beginning of November. But seeing it, seeing snow, still makes my mind drift to last year. To Hogwarts. I wonder what is going on in there…I doubt that the first day of snow there is filled with laughter and joyous snowball fights. Not when the Death Eaters rule the school.
I lift the parchment and tap it with my wand.
"I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good," I whisper, and stare as the familiar Map reveals the place I used to call home.
After a long examination, I find all my friends – at least those I know to be at Hogwarts – tucked into their beds.
I wonder if they are suffering there…I wonder if the Carrows – the brother and sister, who were in the Astronomy tower the night Dumbledore died – hurt them. If the Carrows torture them.
Regulus told me all about them, how the siblings were both young, like him, when they first joined Voldemort's cause. How they quickly took positions in Voldemort's inner circle – his most trusted Death Eaters – by following his orders blindly, losing all independent thinking and opinions. Regulus told me how they both seemed to rely on using unrestrained violence to compensate their lack of intelligence.
"Do you miss it?" Regulus asks, pulling me from my thoughts, making me scamper up in surprise and almost throw a curse at him.
Regulus watches me as I try to steady my speeding pulse and lower my wand. "Thought you'd be sleeping…" I mutter and bend down to pick up the parchment from the terrace, where it flew after Regulus's unexpected arrival.
"I can leave if you'd prefer to be alone," He says expressionlessly.
I quickly shake my head. "No, no…I was just surprised, is all," I tell him and then see his eyes flickering over the Map.
"Why would I miss something that is not what it used to be?" I say wearily, and open the Map for him to examine.
Regulus takes a step closer to me, his eyes moving over the parchment, stopping for a long moment at the small dot that displays 'Severus Snape', before moving on. "I've seen your mind, Harry," he says quietly and watches with interest at the empty Slytherin common room.
He has. And I do miss Hogwarts, I suppose. It's the only home I've ever known. But it's gone. Another thing Voldemort has taken from me.
Regulus clears his throat. "So, this is what my brother poured all his academic capability into," He says, eyeing the Map closely before turning his gaze at me.
I give him a small grin. "Well, there was that thing about him succeeding in taking an Animagus form," I say with a pointed look.
Regulus rolls his eyes. "That and pranking. Or so I've heard."
I let out a sound of disbelief. "You're saying he never pranked you?" I ask with amusement, and then flick my wand at the parchment, muttering the words to close it before pushing it back to my pocket.
Regulus arches a brow at me. "He wouldn't have dared," he says primly, but then frowns and turns away, to stare the snowy grass in the garden.
After a short silence, he sighs. "I suppose he didn't want to be recognised as my brother. He didn't really want anything to do with me, or our family," he says, before continuing very quietly, "He was always different. Better than me."
I watch him carefully, and then move closer to him, taking his hand. Regulus grabs mine with purpose.
"You know that he didn't think like that. Not really…" I say quietly, watching how his jaw works.
Regulus dips his head down an inch and nods. "I know. He tried. Tried to take me with him, before he ran away from home," he says, turning slightly to look at me.
His expression is unguarded, vulnerable. "But I wouldn't go. I told him that I would do what he was too weak to accomplish," he says, his voice cracking slightly before he closes his eyes and shakes his head.
My chest aches for him. And for me. In the end, the hole that Sirius's absence left in both of us cannot be dismissed. It is always there, as is the uncertainty and the anxiety of not knowing if he will come back.
I place my hands over Regulus's shoulders and pull him closer, into a warm embrace. Like those reassuring ones my godfather gave me when he was still here, when I felt lost and didn't know how to continue with Voldemort inside my head.
His warm breath puffs against my neck, and the next moment, everything in my head turns upside down.
My scar bursts with pain, burning so intensely, I almost pass out.
A landscape expands itself in front of my eyes, and through the agonizing pain, I see clearly a large, tall building – a tower; grey and decaying. And I'm aware of his every thought.
I am him.
As I start to glide towards the structure, feeling nothing but elated excitement, overjoyed that I've finally found it, found him –
I push hard, forcing Voldemort away, closing my mind from his thoughts and pulling myself back to Grimmauld Place.
"AAAAH!" I yell and collapse onto my knees on the terrace, holding my head between my hands, fighting against the burning pain on my forehead.
"Harry?" I hear Regulus asking, his voice sharp, his hands pulling me upwards.
I grit my teeth together, trying my best to keep myself present, with Regulus. This is it, now is our chance.
"Reg – " I gasp, taking in deep breaths, keeping my eyes closed and Voldemort out of my mind. "H-He's there," I breathe, and feel Regulus's fingertips squeezing my arms. "He's there, and you need to – to," I croak, shivering as a savage slash burns across my forehead.
"I know," Regulus says sharply, not letting go of me. "I know. I – " he says, voice faltering, and I can hear him take in a deep breath, "Look at me."
My jaw clenched, I slowly lift my head up – and his hand is there, against my cheek, soft and gentle.
"Open your eyes, Harry," Regulus whispers, fear evident in his voice.
I do as he says, and for a moment, there's only a pair of grey eyes, gazing back at me with intensity; affection, worry and dread all mixing in them. I hear him whisper the familiar words, feel him sinking into my mind, and the next moment, I slip back into Voldemort's, unable to resist the pull of his thoughts.
I walk silently outside of the dark fortress, until I find the spot. I turn my head up, at the highest tower and the topmost window, focusing at the target –
And Regulus is there; I feel him moving in my mind, I feel him searching. I blink and I'm back at the terrace, and see him with my eyes – see him staring at me with absolute focus. My scar is searing with pain.
There's a flash of something – a man with dark hair and white skin, sitting at the end of a table; a satisfied curl on his lips, eyes red and menacing. He's watching intently a scene at the other end of the table; where two hooded and masked figures lift their wands, aiming them towards three, horrified girls. There is no sound – the girls' mouths are distorted into silent, tormented screams. The smile deepens on Voldemort's lips. He feels satisfied by the performance of his newest members – feels they will both do exceedingly well.
I gasp out a wretched sob – my head feels like it's splitting open. "No," I breathe. "I can't," I grunt weakly, and slip back into Voldemort's mind, the pain in my scar overcoming me once more.
I'm flying upwards, keeping close to the dark stone, my gaze fixed at the small windows where I know he will be. I wonder if he is expecting me to come. He must know I would be here…he must know what Lord Voldemort would come to collect. Through the window – the small slit in the dark stone – I see a figure; an undernourished and frail man, lying in a small, hard bed. Is he dead? Or is he sleeping?
Another slash of bright pain against my forehead, and I hear myself panting, feel myself trembling against the wooden terrace, against Regulus. "No, no, no…no more," I groan with a raspy voice, trying to swallow, trying to make it stop.
And I see something again – not the tower, not Grimmauld Place – Voldemort, in a dimly lit hall, listening carefully, watching closely as his three followers give him reports of the most recent raid. Two from his inner circle, and one; whom he thinks is the most promising one yet, even with his young age. The boy carries the same efficiency, the same power, and the same coldness than his cousin – but he seems calmer, steadier, more…obedient. There are some small lingering doubts, but Voldemort knows that he too was still in school, when he murdered his parents. He praises Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy and Regulus Black.
A scream of pain bursts out from my lungs, and I hear Hermione's voice, yelling my name, like she is deep under water.
I focus on the small hole in the stone, focus on changing form, focus on transfiguring myself, before pushing through the small window. I'm inside the cell. The moment I'm back in my form, the figure moves under the blanket, turning to look at me, unsurprised, and lifts up to sit on the bed. The skeletal man stares at me with hollowed eyes, with an empty gaze. He smiles – most of his teeth are gone. "So, you have come. I thought you would, one day. But your journey was pointless. I never had it," the man says, his voice long gone, only a whisper now.
I feel anger bubbling inside me. "You lie!" I hiss, and lift my wand, see the white, long fingers holding it in a tight grip. "Legilimens."
A flurry of images soar through my mind; two boys, young and carefree, laughing together. Two men; Dumbledore and – and Grindelwald, both looking pained and betrayed, duelling. A room with black-cloaked and hooded figures. A village filled with screaming people running into every direction, as hooded and masked figures move with raised wands. I feel both Voldemort seeking Grindelwald's mind, and Regulus, moving through Voldemort's. But I can't think. I can't speak. I can't move. I'm trapped in the middle, feeling only the pain and terror in those memories.
I'm in a dark room, an office of sorts – Voldemort is sitting behind the desk, watching with sharp eyes as a hooded and cloaked man walks away from him. His plans are moving on in an agreeable pace. Another one will be placed into safety. He can soon focus on creating the last one… Bellatrix Lestrange walks into his office, watching him with pure worship in her eyes, interrupting him from his thoughts, asking about her cousin. She has turned out to be a valuable follower. She has been with him for a quite some time, now. She knows many things about him, matters he has not shared with the others. He knows she would rather die than betray him. And Lord Voldemort has rewarded her service with praise and utmost trust. He tells her she ought to be proud of her kin – that he expects the young Black to rise quickly in his ranks. He tells her Lord Voldemort has trusted Black with a task he will be most appreciative for.
I'm wrenched back to my own body, shivering, screaming in pain. I plead it to be over, that the pain would end – and then I'm him.
I'm Voldemort again, fury rising inside me, as the frail man laughs at me.
"Kill me then, Voldemort. I welcome death! But my death will not bring you what you seek. There is so much you do not understand…"
I lift my wand at the man, feeling nothing but anger and hatred towards him.
"Kill me, then!" The man demands, "You will not win, you cannot win! That wand will never, ever be yours –"
I let out an enraged snarl, my wand slashing across the air; green light blazing in the previously darkened room; the fragile man lifts up in the air from the force of the spell; the lifeless body falling onto the hard, stone floor in an unmoving heap.
"HARRY!" Ron and Hermione both yell, and I'm back at Grimmauld Place, lying on the terrace, panting, shivering, tasting bile in my mouth.
My scar is burning, blinding my vision, making me sick with pain. I throw up violently, begging for the agony to stop.
"Bloody fuck!" Ron grunts, and moments later, the foul smell of vomit disappears. I take in shuddering breaths; the clear, cold air filling my lungs.
After what feels like eternity, the excruciating pain in my forehead lessens into a steady prickling one.
"Harry?" Hermione asks urgently, and I feel a soothing hand on my back. "Harry, please tell me you're all right?" She asks, her voice thick.
I force my eyes to open slightly, and see Ron, on his knees in front of me, watching me with a terrified look. Next to him, is Regulus – lying on his side, his eyes closed.
Panic flares inside me, and I try to stand up, but both Hermione and Ron force me to stay down.
"Regulus?" I croak, reaching out to him, grasping his hand.
Hermione's fingers squeeze my shoulder. "He is unconscious, but steady. I did the diagnostic charms, but we didn't have time to revive him before you started shaking all over and scream your head off."
"How are you, mate?" Ron asks worriedly, peering at me.
I shake my head, feeling dizzy, feeling overwhelmed. My head is throbbing with pain, and I know that it's not all coming from the scar; it must be from connection, from the several presences in my head. I hope to bloody Merlin that it worked.
"Wake him up," I mumble, managing to swallow hard.
Ron exchanges a look with Hermione, before he nods at me. He then stands up, turns to Regulus, and points his wand at him. "Rennervate!"
I watch as Regulus slowly blinks his eyes open – he looks weak, overpowered. His eyes immediately find mine.
"Harry?" He says, his voice close to a slur. "You okay?" He asks, worry and guilt taking over his features.
I give him a small nod, and wince as the movement causes another flare of pain to slash through my brain. "'m fine. Just need to rest my head a bit," I mumble.
"Regulus?" Hermione asks carefully, as Regulus pulls himself into a kneeling position.
Regulus doesn't answer to her, but drags himself closer me, and pulls me up; into a trembling embrace. I can feel him shaking against me, can feel him taking shuddering breaths against the crook of my neck.
"I'm sorry," He mumbles against my skin.
It takes me a moment to realise what he said. "It didn't work, did it?" I ask, my voice gravelly.
Regulus shakes his head slightly.
Ron swears loudly. I watch as Hermione swallows hard, looking overcome by worry.
After a moment, she clears her throat and gives me a scrutinising look. "Do either of you feel different? Like you would be possessed? Can we assume you are safe?" She asks, chewing the inside of her cheek with an anxious expression.
I want to laugh. But I'm too tired. I have no fucking idea if we are safe. I don't know if Voldemort realised what happened when he went to kill Grindelwald, if he knew that both Regulus and I were inside his mind. I can only hope he didn't.
Regulus pulls away from me, and helps me to sit on the terrace. He gives me a searching look, then looks at Hermione and Ron. "I didn't detect anything that would hint to the Dark Lord noticing what I did."
I glance at him, and don't even try to remember what went through in the last – who the bloody hell knows how many – minutes. My eyes feel heavy, and my head is spinning. "I feel like myself," I grunt, and press my palm against my burning forehead. "But I feel like shit."
Hermione nods quickly. "I think you both should get some rest. It is quite late, and I suppose we could go this over in the morning," she says, worrying her lip. "Should I ask if Kreacher could bring you something – something for the pain?" she asks unsurely.
When both Regulus and I give her noncommittal grunts, she nods again and turns to tell Ron to help us upstairs while she goes to find the elf.
As we pull ourselves upstairs – with difficulty, even when Ron half-carries us there – I can only think of one thing; Voldemort was there, in Nurmengard, to retrieve the wand. The Elder wand. Grindelwald didn't have it, and I would bet my Firebolt that Dumbledore had won the wand from Grindelwald.
But Dumbledore is gone, and if the wand is supposed to be won by duel – by killing the opponent – does that mean Voldemort lost his chance to claim it to himself?
Grimmauld Place, November 3rd 1997
I have been awake, lying in my bed, for quite some time, watching him. Watching Potter. The Dark Lord's memories I saw last night have been intruding into my every thought. I wonder, if he felt my presence? I wonder, why those memories? Why memories I was somehow connected into? If Lucius and Bella had been his most trusted followers, and he had given one of his Horcruxes for Lucius to keep safe, does that mean Bella was trusted with a similar task?
What were his plans regarding me?
I shiver as I remember it; the dark room; the table, and the cloaked figures around it; the Muggles, and – and the terror. I remember the despair. I remember causing the pain. The torture.
Potter groans next to me, shifting closer to me. "Morning," he mumbles, his back against me.
I wonder where the Dark Lord had been last night? I know he killed someone – I felt the darkness and coldness in his mind – but who had it been, and where; those images were distorted, hidden behind his other memories.
"Good morning," I say quietly, and watch Potter; in my bed, so close to me, looking so comfortable, that I wish we could stay here, and forget everything else.
Potter reaches out a hand and when he finds mine, he pulls it over his chest, dragging me closer to him. My fingertips rest against his skin, and I press my face against his neck, close my eyes and breathe him in. Potter lets out a soft hum.
"You know we need to tell Hermione and Ron what you saw, right?" Potter asks after a short silence, his voice tentative.
"I know," I whisper against his skin. There are events in my past I do not wish to revisit, but it seems that it is necessary.
Potter's fingers squeeze mine, and then he turns around, facing me, placing his hand over my hip. His eyes move carefully over my face, searchingly. "Do you want to talk about it before we go downstairs?"
I swallow hard, watching Potter for a short moment.
"You saw what I did," I say quietly, looking down, unable to face the innocent, bright green gaze, that is somehow even more intense without the glasses.
Potter nods slowly. "I saw," he says with a hint of disappointment in his voice. "Do you regret it?"
I look at him, and see him watching me with an unsure look. "Serving him? Torturing people?" I ask weakly. "Of course, I do."
"Then that's what matters," he says simply, green eyes blazing with intent, as if it would be enough to pay for all the horrible things I've done in my past.
I let out a weary sigh, knowing that it is not as simple as Potter makes it sound.
After a short silence, Potter's hand curls around my neck, and he pulls me slowly closer to him, so close our lips are almost touching. "Now, if you stop sulking for a bit, I can snog you senseless before we have to go to Ron and Hermione," he says, smiling against my lips, while his other hand is busy tugging at the waistband of my pyjama bottoms.
I swallow down a groan and instead arch a brow at him. "I wasn't aware snogging included the loss of one's clothing," I mutter, and I'm about to tell him not to mention his friends when he is in my bed, curled against me, but my words are replaced by a soft moan as Potter's lips press against mine, and his hand slips under the waistband of my bottoms.
"Good morning," Hermione greets as soon as Potter and I step into the kitchen.
It is still quite early, but Kreacher is already preparing the full English breakfast. Potter and I both reply to her accordingly, and take our seats at the table, opposite to her.
Hermione watches Potter carefully over the rim of her tea cup as she takes a sip. "Everything okay?" She asks, her eyes moving between us.
Potter shrugs dismissively. "We're fine…Should we wait for Ron before we start going through last night?" He asks, glancing both Hermione and me.
A slight frown appears between Hermione's brows, but then she inclines her head. "We can wait. He'll be downstairs in a moment."
Potter gives her a curt nod. "Anything in the paper?" Potter asks, looking at the Prophet that is displayed before her on the table.
Hermione purses her lips, "The usual rubbish; they try to defame the Order, blaming them for the 'unnecessary uproar in the Wizarding Britain' and supporting – well – you," she says, looking unsurely at Potter, "For killing Dumbledore."
Potter bristles next to me, but takes in a deep breath before he speaks, "So, nothing new, then?"
Hermione gives him a weak, helpless smile.
Kreacher brings us breakfast and soon Ronald joins us.
"So," Ronald grunts, after swallowing a half sausage. "Didn't work, huh?" He asks, watching both Potter and me with disappointment.
I can practically feel the anger flaring inside Potter, but he doesn't have time to response, before Hermione clears her throat loudly.
"Not that that is your fault," she says meaningfully at Potter and me, before giving Ronald a sharp look.
Ronald looks slightly embarrassed and scratches his neck, his ears turning red. "Yeah, no. I mean, it's too bad, yeah?"
Potter frowns at him. "It did not not work, either," he tells his friends, and then glances at me, "Regulus did see some memories…"
I put my cup down and take in a calming breath before I start to explain what was it that I saw in the Dark Lord's mind. Everyone stays silent, until I finish.
"Why do you think you saw those memories?" Hermione asks, watching me with a contemplative look.
I move my gaze at the table, going over the same question that has been spinning in my mind since last night. Why did I see those memories? What were the Dark Lord's plans regarding me? There is, of course, the simple option; his subconscious recognised me, and offered memories that were somehow connected to me. The ones that I too remember.
But then, I shouldn't have been able to see the last one – the one that seems to be the most crucial one; the one that was about his Horcruxes, the one hinting that the Dark Lord trusted my cousin over everyone else.
I tell Hermione and the others my presumption. There is a long pause, during which she watches me darkly, evidently thinking about the first memory. The one where I, alongside Amycus Carrow, tortured innocent people. Muggles.
Potter clears his throat before he speaks, ending the uncomfortable silence. "If Malfoy had one to be kept safe, and Vol – You-Know-Who," he corrects, as Ronald lifts his brows at him, "used you to hide another one, when he asked you to give him, um, Kreacher," he says to me with a small cringe, "Could that mean Bellatrix had something to do with one as well?"
Hermione nods slowly. "That doesmake sense," She mutters, a small frown between her brows. She lets out a weary sigh and rubs her temples. "It is a pity that you didn't see it," she says, and then gazes at Potter and me, "Not that – not that this doesn't help us already!" She adds hastily.
Potter grunts in agreement. "Well, I suppose we know what to search for now?" He asks, giving me a questioning look.
Ronald arches an incredulous brow at his friend. "We do? Because that sounded an awful lot like 'us not having a clue what to search, or where to search'."
Potter sniffs. "I meant, when we try the Legilimency again," he says pointedly.
"We will?" I ask quietly, at the same time as Hermione lets a disbelieving voice.
"You will?" She asks, her brows lifting up in surprise.
Potter gives me a long look. "I think we should," he says, watching each of us in turn. "I think we are close, I mean, Regulus did see a memory of Vol – him thinking about his Horcruxes," Potter continues with a serious look.
Hermione looks unsure. "I don't know, Harry…you were both more or less unconscious after that. What if – if something worse happens the next time?"
It could happen – there is no way to prevent it, if the Dark Lord becomes aware of my and Potter's presences, and decides to take control. Neither of us is simply strong enough to fight him, not like that, not when our minds are open and vulnerable.
"I'm sure he wasn't aware of anyone else's presence in his mind last night. I would've seen something, felt something. And we might not have any other choice," Potter says, eyeing me with a studious look.
"What do you mean?" Hermione asks curiously.
Potter turns to look at Hermione. "What I mean, is that soon, he will be too powerful for anyone to fight him. He killed Grindelwald," He says grimly.
Both Hermione and Ronald gasp quietly. I am somewhat taken aback, even after Potter had told about the Dark Lord searching for the man.
"And it was important to him – perhaps more so, than anything else, because…because he finally found the wand. The Elder wand," Potter says wearily, and all of us stare at him in shock.
"He w-what?" Hermione asks slowly, her eyes widened with fear.
Ronald lets out a choked sound, "The wand is real? Does You-Know-Who have it?" He asks hurriedly.
Potter shakes his head. "He doesn't have it, not yet."
Both Ronald and Hermione watch him incredulously. I frown at Potter. If Grindelwald did not have the wand, that could only mean –
Hermione gasps, "Dumbledore!" She says quickly. "Dumbledore took it from Grindelwald when he won their duel!"
Potter gives her a serious nod.
"So – what?" Ronald asks, watching each of us with a deep frown between his brows. "Dumbledore had it?" He asks, his voice rising, excitement flickering into his eyes.
Hermione worries her lip. "He was, oh, Harry, he was buried with his wand!" She says anxiously.
Potter looks at the table, his expression strained. "I know."
"What do you mean, you know?" Ronald asks suddenly, dread evident in his voice, "If we know where it is, we should – we should get it! Before he does! Harry?" He asks, looking ready to jump up from the table and storm towards Hogwarts, towards Dumbledore's tomb.
Potter shakes his head, frowning at his half-empty plate, looking somewhat pale. "No…he's…he's already there," he whispers, pressing his eyes closed.
"What?" Ronald asks, gaping at Potter.
"Harry?" Hermione asks quietly, looking at him with worry.
Potter winces, his brows furrowing into a deep frown. "I think – I think I need to lie down," He mumbles, and stands up abruptly, staggering in his feet.
I jump up just in time, and catch him before he collapses to the floor. "Harry!" I yell, shocked, my mind whirling.
The Dark Lord is at Hogwarts? Potter is seeing into his mind?
Potter shudders in my arms, gritting his teeth together, holding his head between his hands, "No, no, no…!" He moans, shaking his head.
I vaguely notice how both Hermione and Ronald quickly move closer, their wands at the ready.
"Harry," I say with a stern voice, forcing myself to calm down, knowing that I need to focus.
I need to succeed. I need to clear my mind, but right now, it feels as possible as asking the memory from the Dark Lord himself.
"Regulus!" Hermione says sharply, after Potter lets out a moan of anguish, his eyes rolling in his head. "What can we do?" She asks desperately.
I glance at her and Ronald, and then at Potter, forming a plan. "Keep him still," I mutter, and then lower Potter on the floor, pushing him to lean against the wall behind the chairs.
Both Hermione and Ronald quickly move closer to take a hold of Potter, who gasps, his face scrunching up with pain.
"Harry?" I ask quietly, taking his hands, pulling them away from his head. "Harry, I need you to stay with us for a moment. Look at me," I tell him hastily.
My mind is empty, and then – then there is nothing but the bright green gaze, watching me in dread.
"Legilimens."