This chapter is full of chewy bits of information and plot development,
just to keep you on your toes until the next one.

Standard disclaimers apply. Harry Potter, all related characters, and
various media incarnations are copyright of the very talented J. K.
Rowling, Scholastic, and other international companies involved in its
creation and distribution. Will Stanton and "The Dark Is Rising" series
are both copyright of the wonderful Susan Cooper.

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Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Light
A Harry Potter/The Dark Is Rising Sequence Fusion
By: Gramarye

Chapter Twenty-Two - And Then There Were Five

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"Datta, dayadhvam, damyata."
(Give, sympathise, control.)

-- Brihadaranyaka Upanishad (Hindu sacred text)[1]

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They seated themselves around the table. Will took a chair from the
row that stood along the bookshelf and placed in at the end of the
table closest to the fire. The five children took their places after a
moment's confused shuffling; Ron, Ginny, and Neville sat along one
side of the long table, and Harry and Hermione sat on the other.

Will waited until they had settled down before he began.

"With the addition of Miss Weasley here, I think that we can begin to
turn our efforts toward the development of a real system of defensive
and offensive spells. I have a few ideas that we can try, but those will
come later. First of all, I need to establish a link with you."

"Link?" Neville repeated. "What kind of link?"

"If we are going to develop these new spells to a useful extent, the
five of you must be able to call upon the power of the Light even if
I am not physically present. To do that, you need a link. Your bodies
already have the ability to control wizarding magic, but not the ability
to tap into other, older kinds."

Hermione nodded. "So the link will allow us to properly combine the
different types of magic?"

"I certainly hope so."

"Great," Neville said eagerly, rubbing his hands together. "What do
we do?"

Will smiled. "Well, first I want you to sit very still for a minute. Try to
empty your minds, and not think of anything. Keep quite, quite still.
Just relax your body, and let your mind follow...."

His placid voice passed over them, wiping the little distractions from
their thoughts. It was a nice, drowsy feeling, like the daze that settled
over one's mind just before one fell asleep at night. The conflict and
tensions that had preyed upon them not half an hour before drifted
away on a sea of murmured words.

"Now, then," Will said in the same low, dreamy voice. "Join hands."

With the slow single-mindedness of sleepwalkers, they did as he asked,
each taking the hand of his or her neighbour. Ron and Harry found that
Will had taken their free hands. Hermione reached for Neville's hand
across the table to complete the physical link.

"Close your eyes."

Harry's eyes were drooping and half-shut already, but at Will's command
they closed all the way. His breathing was light and shallow.

After a moment, he felt an odd tingle running through his body. It wasn't
unpleasant, merely a little ticklish, a warm prickling in and under his skin
that was almost like having gooseflesh. Gradually, the strange sensation
grew stronger, flooding his body with warmth. Harry shivered as the
tingling feeling intensified, building deep inside him and running through
his nerves like the steady flow of an electric current.

Just before the tingling reached the point where it might have become
painful, a sudden flare of brilliant, blinding white exploded inside his
mind, thousands of colours leaping and dancing behind his closed
eyelids. The air around him crackled, singing with energy. His entire
body felt as though it was enveloped in a column of light far too bright
to look at.

Dimly, from far away, he heard himself gasp in delight and awe. Was
this the master that Will served? Was this Merlin's legendary power?
Was this the Light?

The overpowering blaze began to fade, and it was all Harry could do
to keep from crying out at its loss, which felt as real and painful as the
loss of an arm or leg. The delightful tingle dwindled as well, fading until
the only hint of its presence were tiny shivers that occasionally spiralled
up his spine.

His heart still raced from the experience. He felt oddly energised,
full of life. He was sure that he could have run a mile without being
winded, or played an entire Quidditch match by himself. It was a
giddy, almost delirious feeling.

Will released his hand.

Harry allowed himself to let go of Hermione's hand. He opened his eyes
and looked around.

To his surprise, his friends looked as fresh and energised as he felt.
Their cheeks glowed in slightly flushed faces, and their eyes sparkled.
Will, on the other hand, looked rather tired, but a weary satisfaction
softened the lines of exhaustion on his face.

Can all of you hear me? he asked, speaking directly into their minds.

Yes.

Yes, sir.

Yes.

Yes.

This is really weird.

Will's deep laughter rippled in warm waves that spread through their
minds. I'll take that as a 'yes', Miss Weasley.

Ginny's already flushed face darkened in embarrassment. Apparently,
the idea of telepathic communication would take some getting used to.

"Now that the link has been established, you will be able to draw upon
the Light to a limited extent," Will said, speaking aloud once again. "I
place a special stress on the word 'limited', at least until you become
more comfortable with it. But don't worry, we'll have plenty of time to
practice."

His voice took on a more serious note. "Now, as to the specifics of
defence and offence. I must remind you that the Dark prefers to work
by very subtle, insidious methods. It will use your fears, doubts, and
insecurities against you in a natural way. You would not even know
that you were being controlled. It would rather creep into your mind
and slowly, methodically turn you against your friends rather than
possess you body and soul like the Imperius Curse. It would rather
place you in a situation where you ran the risk of being injured or
killed, rather than having an agent or a servant of the Dark waltz in
and attack outright."

"Tell that to You-Know-Who," Ron said under his breath.

Hermione's ears were sharp enough to catch his words.

"Ron!" she said ominously.

Will frowned. "There's no need to be crude, Mr Weasley. The Dark
Lord quite willing to kill, if that's what you mean. One doesn't forget
fourteen years of forcible exile. Whether he can or not is another
matter."

Ron didn't look convinced. "Of course he can."

"In that sense, yes. He has the power to do so. But I meant 'can'
in the sense that the power of the Dark will permit it." He tapped
lightly on the table, emphasising his words. "He tried once, and was
punished. He will not receive a second chance. However, he would
gladly suffer the inevitable if it produced the desired result."

The discussion of Voldemort's means and ends continued, but Harry
wasn't listening. He was preoccupied with a little idea that had sprung
up in the back of his mind. It had been there for a long while--at the
very least, since the attack on St Mungo's--but had never found a
proper voice until that moment.

He had to tell them, allow them to consider it, but the prospect of
putting it into words terrified him. What he was about to advocate
was...well, it was something he didn't really want to think about,
but it had to be put forward. It was as likely--no, it was more
likely--to work than any other plan.

"I think I know what we have to do," he blurted out.

The conversation came to an abrupt, shuddering halt.

"Yes, Mr Potter?" Will said, prompting.

Harry took a moment to gather his thoughts. He would have to get
this statement exactly right. He doubted he would get a chance to
explain it again once the words had been spoken.

He kept his eyes focused on a worn spot on the wood of the table,
because he also doubted that he would be able to finish his statement
if he looked anyone full in the face.

"I think...I remember you told me that only the Dark can defeat the
Dark, and that the Dark isn't allowed to kill people. That's what
nearly finished Voldemort off last time, right? Because of what he
did to my parents, and what he tried to do to me. So that's a link
there. And since it was my blood that helped bring him back, I've
got another link to him, a direct link."

He would start babbling if he didn't get to his point soon. "So if
I...well, I don't know, taunt him or trick him or something like that,
and make him use the Killing Curse on me, then that should finish
him off for good and all. I mean, he'll be doubly punished because
I don't have my mum's protection on me anymore, and that will...."

He looked up, and his voice failed him as he saw his friends' faces.

They were staring at him with varying degrees of astonishment, shock,
and sheer horror, as if they couldn't believe what they had just heard
him propose.

Will was the first to speak, breaking the shocked silence.

"Have you developed a death wish, Mr Potter? Because if you have,
I think we would all be very interested in hearing the inner reasoning
behind it."

"I...yes...NO!" he spluttered, his mind spinning. Will's hard, critical
gaze made him feel very small.

"Then what?"

"It's just...it's just that...well, what other choice is there?" he finished
angrily.

"One that doesn't involve self-sacrifice, perhaps?" The sarcasm was
bitter, not joking. "I think you've heard too much of this 'Boy Who
Lived' nonsense. You're thinking of martyrdom, not warfare."

"But if it's the only way--"

"'Only way'? That's not a way, it's a way out. You can go down
young in a blaze of glory, or you can die in your bed at a ripe old
age. But you're dead either way."

"I don't WANT glory!" he cried out, pounding his fist on the table.
"I just don't want anyone else to die!"

"And yet your death would suddenly, magically fix everything?" Lines
of age and sadness, as deep and noticeable as scars, replaced the anger
on Will's face. "Too many people have died already, Harry. Don't add
to that suffering."

"But--"

"Harry, stop it," Ron said sharply. "You're scaring Ginny."

Ginny didn't look the least bit scared. She looked puzzled, as though
she'd never seen Harry before and had no idea who he was.

"Fine," he said. "All right."

Will, hearing the slightly sullen tone in his voice, fixed him with a
fierce look that would have struck fear into the heart of the most
brooding, rebellious undergraduate student.

"Are you going to abandon this objectionable idea, or do I have to
declare this an 'extenuating circumstance' and ask Mr Weasley and
Mr Longbottom to take you outside and end this discussion in a
more...persuasive fashion?"

Harry shook his head quickly, and stared down at his lap. Judging
by the expressions he had seen on Neville and Ron's faces, they
would be only too willing to carry out the Old One's request.

"Thank goodness for that," Will said, his voice tinged with a trace of
fatigue. "Your parents would never forgive me if I went and got you
killed."

Harry's head snapped up. "My...?"

The corner of Will's mouth quirked in an ironic manner, one that hinted
at everything but told him nothing.

"You'll not be suicidal on my watch, young man." The hint of a smile
faded, and he closed his eyes wearily. "Hmph. I think I should have
phrased that better."

The rest of the session passed quietly, skipping through various topics
of conversation slightly related to the aborted topic of offence and
defence.

Ron related bits and pieces of Ministry information he had received in
letters from his father and Percy. All departments, no matter what
their area of concern, were working extended hours to prepare for any
emergency. The officials in the Department of Magical Catastrophes
were on mandatory overtime. There was talk that all Aurors--active,
inactive, and retired--were to be called up and pressed into service
to counter the Death Eater threat. Security measures had increased
at Gringotts' Bank, the Ministry building, and other likely targets
for an attack. The manhunt for Sirius Black was still on, though no
new leads had been found. Overall, a definite wartime mentality had
developed among the Ministry members.

Hermione declared her intention to do further research into alternative
forms of magic that might be useful to practice in future sessions, and
Neville offered to help her.

Ginny volunteered to check back editions of the Daily Prophet and
other wizarding papers for information that might help them learn more
about the Death Eaters and their past methods.

Ron took occasional notes, writing down ideas for discreet questions
he could ask the older members of his family.

Will sat silently and listened to them talk. He didn't comment on
their suggestions or offer any ideas. He merely sat, absorbing all
the information.

Harry was also silent. He knew as well as they did that his plan
would work. It would take care of the matter with little to no
chance of failure. He had promised not to consider it, but that
didn't mean the idea would go away, or become any less of a
possibility.

It was a quiet, solemn group of Gryffindors that left the little room
off the library later that night. Not until they were nearly back to
their dormitory did Harry's friends voice their concerns.

"You had me scared in there, Harry," Hermione said in a small voice.
"You sounded like you meant it."

He sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose. "I did mean it...or at least
I think I did. I just don't know anymore."

Ginny rested a hand on his shoulder. "Will's right, Harry. Too many
people have died."

"Even one person was too many," Neville added softly.

Harry felt he had to make a token protest. "I just thought--"

"You think too much," Ron huffed, his eyes narrowing. "All of you
do. And I swear, if you start thinking that you're going to do this
alone, I'll...I'll...."

"You'll kill me?" Harry said dryly.

Ron glowered at him. "You know what I mean."

* * *

That Thursday night may have brought new questions and problems to
light, but one long-standing problem had been solved. Harry and Ron
were fast friends again.

Things were back to normal between them. Yet this wonderful news
posed another, more delicate problem, one that could have compromised
the secrecy of their mission.

The rest of the school might have wondered how two people could
have gone from loathing the sight of each other to being best of friends
again in the space of one night. The strange turn of events might have
raised uncomfortable questions that could not be explained away easily.

The five of them had considered this as well, and after a short conference
just outside Gryffindor Tower they had formed what was nothing short
of a brilliant plan.

Luckily, the trickiest part of the situation--the Fat Lady--had solved
itself for them.

Harry and Ron hid around the corner as Hermione, Neville, and Ginny
approached the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. Hermione
smiled apologetically at the Fat Lady, intending to explain everything
to her. However, the Gryffindor portrait informed them that she had
left her picture only moments after the argument had begun. She 'didn't
much care to listen in on other people's troubles', she said with a haughty
sniff, and therefore had not heard the outcome of the quarrel. They had
been so absorbed in the argument that they hadn't even noticed her
departure.

Hermione gave her the password and the three of them hurriedly entered
Gryffindor Tower, much relieved. When she left the tower that night to
complete her nightly rounds as prefect, she had Harry's Invisibility Cloak
concealed under her arm. And when she returned fifteen minutes later
and gave the password again, she stooped down to remove a non-
existent pebble from her shoe. This gave her compatriots just enough
time to slip unseen into the common room and hurry up to bed.

Early the next morning, they put the plan into action. Neville started
things off by spreading a rumour that Ron and Harry had gone out to
the Quidditch pitch the night before to fight out their disagreement. No
wands involved, no wizard's duel, just fists and feet. Since everyone
who had been in the common room at around seven o'clock had heard
their voices raised in the initial stages of the argument, the story was
only too believable.

When she arrived downstairs for breakfast, Hermione added to the
brewing drama with her own prize-worthy performance as the prefect
who had caught them brawling. She informed her surprised hallmates
that she had docked twenty House points each from Harry and Ron
for fighting and for breaking curfew. While this prompted a raised
eyebrow or two, the Gryffindors knew there was nothing to worry
about: Hermione could and would regain their lost points single-
handedly with correct answers to questions in class. And as for
Hermione, a cutting remark about 'idiot boys' here and a disgusted
rolling of eyes there was enough to sustain the fiction.

A few props rounded out the story marvellously. Obviously, the two
of them could not have walked away from their knockdown, drag-out
fight unscathed. They had to add a scathe or two, and to do so Harry
had raided the Quidditch team's first aid supplies for the needed
materials.

The next day, he swathed his right wrist and arm in yards of bandages,
and Ron covered one side of his face with a liberal amount of sticking
plaster. Suitably attired, they went down to breakfast, laughing and
joking together as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Of course, they added a few personal touches for the proper amount
of realism. Harry chose to affect a limp. Ron spoke slowly and with
difficulty, like he'd taken a punch to the jaw. But as far as anyone
else was concerned, they'd fought the matter out and all was forgiven.
To use a jolly, if outdated, Muggle phrase, everything was ship-shape
and Bristol fashion.

* * *

"I would like to apologise most sincerely for my behaviour these last
few weeks. It was rude, unsporting, and unacceptable. There are no
excuses I can supply that will make up for the way I acted. I would
be very grateful if you would consider allowing me to practice with
the team again, but I will understand completely if you do not.

"I would also like to make a personal apology to Harry for my selfish
and intolerable behaviour. He has always been a good and supportive
friend, and a valuable member of this team. I was wrong to blame him
for my problems. I hope that he can find it in his heart to forgive me."

Harry blinked. That hadn't been part of the script.

He and Ron had spent the better part of an hour--when they should have
been reviewing for Charms class--working out exactly what he was going
to say to the Gryffindor team when they assembled later that afternoon.
Ron had been ready to walk in and wing it, but Harry quickly convinced
him that it would be better to draft and re-draft a proper apology.

As far as he was concerned, Ron was back on the team and welcome.
He'd missed having Ron around, and he knew that the team needed his
skills and expertise on the pitch. But making an arbitrary decision like that
would be pushing his authority as captain. Ron had quit the team, and
the whole team had to decide whether Ron would be allowed to return.

But at the moment, it wasn't looking very promising.

The members of the Gryffindor team had assembled in the boys'
changing rooms to make their decision. Eight expressionless faces
stared at their former team mate, weighing his statement in their minds.

Harry cleared his throat, a little nervously.

"Right, you've heard him," he said. "Would you like a little time to
think about it, or do you want to vote now?"

"We'll vote now, if you don't mind," Fred replied blandly.

"By show of hands," added Colin.

"And it has to be a unanimous decision, otherwise it's no-go," Angelina
interjected.

Harry was more than a little taken aback. He hadn't expected them
to go right to the vote without any discussion, but if that was the way
they wanted to do things....

"Okay," he said, trying to sound noncommittal.

"I suppose that's only fair," Ron agreed meekly.

Harry noticed that Ron's face had gone rather pale, and his hands were
tightly clenched behind his back. He had to get this ordeal over with
as soon as possible. Otherwise, the tension was liable to make him
faint...or make Ron explode.

"All those in favour of allowing Ron to rejoin the Gryffindor House
Quidditch team?" he said hastily, hopefully.

No one moved.

Harry's heart nearly stopped.

A soft sound that was close to a whimper escaped Ron's lips.

Then, with a deliberately agonising slowness, the eight team members
raised their hands.

Harry felt a silly, relieved grin spread across his face. He heard Ron
let out his tightly held breath in a loud whoosh.

"All opposed?" he said, deadpan.

Eight hands fell to their owners' sides.

His silly grin grew wider. "Thanks, guys."

"Thanks? Thanks for nearly giving me a bloody heart attack!" Ron
wheezed, clutching at his chest and glaring furiously at his team
mates.

Fred chuckled. "Any time, brother of mine. But there's one condition
that comes with your return."

"And what's that?" Ron demanded, suspicious.

Fred raised a finger, shaking it back and forth teasingly. "You can't
play the upcoming game against Ravenclaw. That's Tommy's game."

"We've already printed the programmes and notified his parents and
put Madam Pomfrey on stand-by alert and everything," Beatrice said
with a snicker.

"What's the one after that?" Ron asked.

"Slytherin," said Colin.

A cold light glinted in Ron's eyes.

"That's fine with me," he said slowly. "It'll be a pleasure to give Draco
Malfoy a beating he won't soon forget."

Harry didn't like the sound of that statement, or the look in Ron's eyes.

"Let's get out there and practise," he ordered, changing the subject.
"And if you want to have dinner tonight, you'll be quick about it."

With a few unnecessary comments about Harry's physical attributes
and his taskmaster attitude, the Gryffindors picked up their brooms
and trooped out to the field. Just before Ron could collect his broom
and follow, Harry caught hold of his friend's arm, stopping him.

"Nice job on the speech," he said, smiling. "Though I don't remember
writing that last bit."

Ron looked away. Two faint spots of colour stood out on his cheeks.

"Hermione's idea," he said roughly.

Harry raised a knowing eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

"Of course!" Ron snorted, rolling his eyes. "D'you really think I'd
write that sort of drivel about you, much less be able to get through
it with a straight face? Not on your life!"

"You didn't have to do it."

"Like I said, it was Hermione's idea, all right?"

"I forgave you a long time ago, Ron."

The spots of colour deepened to a burning crimson, but Ron kept his
composure. "You...so you mean I said all that for nothing?"

Harry's smile softened.

"No. Not in the least."

* * *

"...and it's due Thursday at the beginning of class and it has to be
four feet long and I've NEVER written a four-foot essay before and
I really, really, really need to do well on this one because I did just
AWFUL on the last one and I'm so scared and I don't know what
to do!"

Harry exhaled loudly, wondering if Natalie had really finished talking
or if she was merely taking a rest before continuing.

He was impressed by her lung capacity. Not even Colin had been able
to go off on one subject for so long without a single breath. He had
been holding his own breath during Natalie's little speech, and his
chest ached with the exertion of keeping the air in.

"Calm down." Hermione put down her Transfiguration textbook, and
smiled patiently at Natalie. "It can't be as bad as all that."

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Natalie were holed up in the library late
on Sunday afternoon. Hermione was going through the Transfiguration
textbook, adding extra information to the margins of her notes. Harry
and Ron were supposed to be reviewing their class notes on the I Ching
system of Divination, but their minds had wandered far from thoughts of
ancient China. Ron's eyes had glazed over a good ten minutes before.
Harry was more interested in the numerous doodles he had drawn during
Divination, squiggly lines and boxes and stick figures doing gymnastics
all down the page.

"It is too!" Natalie contradicted, lower lip quivering.

Hermione sighed quietly. Her smile became less patient and more
long-suffering. Natalie McDonald's fear of Professor Snape was
quickly replacing Neville Longbottom's reputation, and not without
reason. The poor girl was shaking at the mere thought of having to
produce written work for his evaluation.

I hope she keeps a spare cauldron handy in class, Harry thought
idly.

"What was the essay about again?" Hermione asked.

Natalie looked down at her notes. "The uses of the various parts of
leeches," she read dully. "Comprehensive, fully detailed. Must be
four feet exactly."

Ron coughed, jerking out of his daze.

"Oh, that essay," he remarked absently. "I remember that one.
Got the worst mark I'd had in a long time. Percy was livid about
it."

Natalie wailed, and Hermione gave Ron a dark look.

"What?" he said. "I told him to shove it. Percy was always going on
about nothing. He still does."

"Thank you for that entirely unhelpful statement," she said icily.

"Suit yourself." Ron returned to staring at the ceiling and trying to
balance his empty quill on the tip of his nose.

"Four feet exactly..." Natalie repeated miserably, propping her chin
on her hands.

Hermione's smile now bordered on desperate, but her eyes suddenly
lit up as inspiration struck her.

"I know!" she crowed. "Look, go back to the tower, go up to my room
and find my trunk. That essay should be in there. You might have to look
for it...just put everything back the way it was."

Natalie didn't stay to ask questions. She was out of the room in a flash,
sprinting as fast as her knobbly legs could carry her.

Hermione leaned back in her chair.

"Whew..." she breathed.

Ron had a very odd look on his face. "Hermione, we wrote that essay
almost three years ago."

"So?"

"You kept it?"

"Of course," she said with a little nod. "I keep all my old papers.
Why, what do you do with them?"

Ron folded his arms across his chest. "Throw them out as soon as
possible, what else?"

"You throw them out?" Now it was Hermione's turn to give Ron a
strange look.

"Well, it's not like I'm going to use them again."

"I've always saved mine," Harry said.

The worry lines left Hermione's brow as she visibly relaxed. She gave
Ron her best superior 'you see?' smirk and turned to Harry. "And have
they come in handy?"

Harry nodded very seriously. "They're good for lining Hedwig's cage
during the summer. Or at least that's what I always used to use them
for. This summer I tried using them as fire starters at Mrs Figg's house.
The pilot light on her gas cooker kept going out."

Ron grinned broadly at Hermione's expression of utter dismay.

"Did it work?" he asked, overly polite.

"Not really," Harry replied, grinning as well. "Paper was too stiff.
But it was fun to watch that one assignment for History of Magic
go up in flames."

"The one on the politics of banning flying carpets?"

"No. The one about the Werewolf Code of Conduct."

Thoughtfully, Ron scratched his chin. "I never liked that one anyway."

"Didn't you write it the day it was due?" Harry pointed out. "During
Transfiguration?"

"Yeah." Ron picked up his quill and twirled it in his fingers, the
point resting on the tabletop. "Fastest I ever wrote a paper. Even
I couldn't read my own handwriting. But it passed, and that's all
I care about."

Hermione rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Please remind me why I continue
to associate with you."

"Because we keep you sane," Ron said promptly.

"Or because you're a glutton for punishment," Harry added with a
mischievous smile.

Hermione was about to let them have it, but just then Natalie came
running up to the table, breathing heavily.

"I couldn't find it," she said.

"What?" Hermione looked at her sharply. "I'm sure I brought it."

Natalie shook her head, mousy plaits flying about her face. "I looked
everywhere. I even checked the lining."

"That's strange," Hermione said, more to herself than to Natalie.
"I remember packing it...I think...."

"I'll go look again," Natalie offered, painfully eager.

The older girl waved a hand. "No, no, that's all right. I'll look later,
after dinner. My essay's just for example. Right now, the important
thing is to get some ideas down on paper."

"Okay." Natalie took her seat, and pulled out a fresh piece of
parchment.

Hermione flipped through her Potions text. "We should probably start
with the internal organs--do you have the diagram that Snape drew on
the board?"

"Here it is."

"All right. Now, the secretions from leech intestines can be used as
an anti-coagulant to dilute potions that contain animal blood...."

With that savoury observation, all non-school conversation came to
an end.

The rest of the time until dinner flew by. The tutor and her protégée
delved deeply into the workings of Hirudo Medicinalis--the common
European leech. Ron's eyes took on their former faraway opaqueness
as he chewed on the end of his battered quill. Harry looked down at
his Divination notes, concluded that he wasn't going to make much
sense out of them, and picked up his borrowed copy of Kennilworthy
Whisp's newest Quidditch bible, The Trouble With Snitches.

Four typical students, prepping for their classes.

* * *

Will opened their next session by removing a small and worn leather
bag from his briefcase and setting it on the table. The battered, crudely
made pouch was tied shut with a thin strip of braided cord, and looked
rather anachronistic next to the modern leather of his briefcase.

"I have something for all of you," he said. He lifted the pouch and
began to undo the knot in the cord that held it closed. "The Dark can
disguise itself, take different forms to serve its purposes. You will
not see the same thing twice. That is why it is absolutely essential
to be on your guard at all times."

"Constant vigilance," the five of them chorused, smiling slightly.

The cord dropped onto the table. "Exactly. But even that may not be
enough--as I'm sure you know. No, the best way to guard against the
Dark is to have early warning of its presence. Our Mr Potter here has
something of an internal early warning system, but it only works in
connection with the Dark Lord."

Harry squirmed, as uncomfortable as he always was when he was
singled out as an example.

"When the Dark comes, anywhere or at any time, you must feel it,"
Will continued. "And that is what these are for."

He tipped the bag over the table. Five small light-coloured stones,
each no larger than the ball of his thumb, poured onto the wood with
a delicate chittering sound.

Hermione extended her hand tentatively and picked up the one closest
to her. She rolled it in her fingers, testing its weight, then held it up for
a better look.

"Quartz?" she asked, turning to Will.

"Close enough," he replied. "These stones have been enchanted for a
specific purpose. If you are in the immediate presence of the Dark,
or one under the influence of the Dark's power, the stone will become
very cold."

Harry took the stone that had landed nearest to him. It looked and
felt like an ordinary pebble, worn smooth in places but rough and
unpolished in others. It wasn't cold to the touch, but it wasn't warm,
either. He couldn't sense anything out of the ordinary about it.

"What should we do with them?" asked Ginny.

"Keep them with you at all times, but take great care," Will said
warningly. "In the presence of the Dark, it will be cold enough to
severely burn exposed skin. For that reason I suggest you carry it
in a pocket, or keep it somewhere else to prevent direct skin contact."

Feeling a little nervous, the five of them gingerly put the stones in the
pockets of their work robes.

"The detection spell is inherent in these stones," Will said. "However,
your particular situation demands more than my magic can provide. That
is why I paid a visit to someone who has more practical experience with
the Dark Arts--Mr Alastor Moody."

Their chorus of 'constant vigilance' didn't sound so funny anymore.

"I met with him some time ago. Perhaps you may recall the date--I was
very nearly late meeting with him." He paused to let his words sink in.
"Mr Moody has added his own touch to the stones, a special charm.
They will vibrate very slightly if you happen to be around someone who
has recently suffered under one of the Unforgivable Curses. The charm
can detect the residual energy of these spells for a short period of
time."

"How long?" Hermione pressed, ever precise when it came to details.

"Twelve hours. Twenty-four, if the curse was particularly strong or
used for a prolonged period."

She nodded understanding.

Something in his behaviour changed, signalling a shift in the topic of
conversation. "Mr Longbottom, would you be so kind as to poke
the fire? It's a little cold in here."

Neville obediently rose and moved over to the grate. The scrape of
the fire irons mixed with the crunch of burning and charred logs.

"Now, to continue with last Thursday's discussion--"

He was interrupted by a loud, urgent knock on the door.

The children froze in mid-action, creating a tableau that would have
been highly amusing if the situation had not been so dire. Hermione's
hand hovered over her Charms textbook. Ron had paused in the
middle of an extensive stretch, one arm tucked behind his head and
the other extended in front of him. Neville held the poker over the
grate, arrested in the act of pushing a clump of ashes to one side.
Ginny had reached up to push her hair back, fingers tangled in the
thin red strands. Harry, who had not been moving, simply froze in
his chair. His breath caught in his throat.

Once, twice, three times. The knocking came again, louder.

"W-who...who is it?" Hermione called out, her voice quavering.

"Professor McGonagall."

Relief washed over Hermione's face. "Just a minute, Professor!"

She stood and headed for the door. Her fingers were inches from the
doorknob when Ron sprang out of his chair. The chair tipped backward
and fell to the floor with a crash.

"Don't open it!" he hissed. He was wringing his right hand, twisting
his fingers as if a wasp had stung him.

"What?" Hermione stared at him, mouth open in shock.

"It's the Dark! You heard me...don't open that door!"

Harry and Ginny were on their feet in a flash, wands out and ready.
Neville gripped the poker and lifted it, prepared to use it if another
weapon was required.

"Ron, are you sure?" Ginny asked fearfully. "What is it?"

Ron massaged his hand, rubbing his fingers roughly. "Can't you feel
it?" he said in a ferocious whisper. "Cold...so cold...."

Harry slipped a hand into his pocket, searching for the tiny charm.
The tips of his fingers brushed across woven fabric, digging deeper
until they came upon the roughness of stone.

It was ice-cold.

Remembering Will's warning just in time, he jerked his hand away.

"Ron's right," he said, keeping his voice down.

"Miss Granger, is everything all right in there?" McGonagall asked,
knocking on the door.

"Yes, Professor, I'll be right there!" Hermione replied loudly.

"Stall her!" Ron ordered.

"But I--"

"Say something, anything! Just STALL HER!"

Hermione turned back to face the door.

"Umm...we're a little b-b-busy in here, Professor," she said, not very
persuasively. Ron growled at her, and she made a helpless, agitated
gesture in reply.

There was a noise from outside the door, the sound of shuffling and
fierce whispering. Then, a second voice spoke--a cold incisive voice
that the five students knew all too well.

"I'm certain that whatever you are doing can wait, Granger."

"Snape!" Harry gasped, redundantly.

Ginny covered her mouth with a shaking hand. She looked to be only
moments away from being sick.

Neville had gone white as a sheet. The poker fell to the ground with
a clang. He hid his face in trembling hands and moaned what they
were all feeling:

"We're going to die."

After a dizzy moment, Professor McGonagall spoke again, more firmly
this time. "Miss Granger, there is something very important that we
must discuss."

"Minerva, please, let me handle this," Snape said impatiently. His
voice sounded fainter than before, as if he had turned aside to address
McGonagall in a more private manner.

There was a brief rustling of garments, and then his voice returned at
its original volume--low, silky, and very dangerous. "Granger, if you
do not cease this childish behaviour and open this door by the time I
count ten, I can promise you that you will regret it."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out.

The count began. "One...two...."

Hermione whirled around to face the others. Real, hopeless fear lent
a desperate light to her eyes. "Harry, we have to--"

"I'm telling you, it's the Dark! DON'T LET THEM IN!" Ron screamed
his whisper, his voice hoarse and thick with panic.

Snape's warning tones drifted through the door. "Three...four...."

"We're all going to die," Neville moaned again.

"Will you STOP that!" Hermione, Harry, and Ron snapped at him in
deafening unison.

"Five...six...."

Ginny grabbed the sleeve of Harry's robe. "Harry, do something!"
she implored, clinging to him like a distressed limpet.

"Do WHAT? What am I supposed to do?" He tried to pry her off,
but she held fast.

Something wasn't right--well, a number of things weren't right, but
one thing in particular bothered him. If the voices outside were really
those of the Dark or of Voldemort's servants, his scar should have
been hurting. As it was, there wasn't so much as a twinge. But the
burning coldness that seeped into his clothing from the little charm
in his pocket contradicted his assumption, informing him otherwise.

"Seven." The Potions Master continued to count, inexorably. He
sounded bored by the whole ordeal. "Eight...."

"You're not--"

"--something--"

"Don't let--"

"--listen to--"

"I said--"

"Calm yourselves."

Will's firm command echoed in the suddenly silent room.

The sound of counting from outside had stopped as well.

Slowly, very slowly, they turned to look at Will.

The Old One sat quite still in his chair. He was perfectly composed,
regal in his calmness. The fire burning in the grate cast a warm halo
of light around his chair, but there was a strange, hazy white glow
surrounding him that did not come from the firelight behind.

"Well, Miss Granger, what are you waiting for?" He lifted a hand in
a gesture that somehow managed to be both imperious and pleasantly
sociable at the same time.

"Please...show them in."

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[1] For further elaboration of this theme, I refer you to an annotated
version of T. S. Eliot's poem The Wasteland, Part Five ("What the
Thunder Said"), in the note to Line 402.

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Gramarye
gramarye@postmaster.co.uk
http://gramarye.freehosting.net/hp/harry2.htm
May 23rd, 2002