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Summer Story | ||||||
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Category: Post-OotP, Buried Gems Characters:None Genres: Action/Adventure, Fluff, General Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 392 Summary: Summer at the Dursleys’ is typical for Harry Potter who hopes his stay with his relatives will only last two weeks at most. In this sequel to You’re Still You and New Year, New Hope Harry learns that his role as “savior” of the Wizarding world is more complicated than he thought and that he needs his friends and mentors more than he ever imagined. Hitcount: Story Total: 135434; Chapter Total: 4283 |
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Chapter 17: Dumbledore Shares His Secrets _______________________________ _________ Captured, Part 2 Tears cascaded down Harry’s cheeks as he thought of their capture. Guilt ate at him as he lay still and silent in the dark; he had failed. He rubbed at the sore spot on his forehead, trying to make the sensation of dripping water go away. He wanted to be free of the feeling, but unless someone discovered the cave soon there would be no relief. The Death Eaters always took Dumbledore away as they threw Harry back in the cell and left him to his thoughts in the darkness... I failed... I didn’t fight hard enough... I failed to protect Dumbledore, failed to get us to safety. I only succeeded in getting us captured. These and other equally depressing thoughts had been his constant companions since the kidnapping. I’ll never see Ginny again... or if I do, she’ll pity me... She pities cowards and failures like me... I’m only fit to be killed by Voldemort. What mystified Harry (on the rare occasions when he was thinking straight these days) was that his captors had yet to take him to Voldemort, nor had they tried very hard to extract information from him, as he had expected them to do. They weren’t given to employing the normal methods of Death Eater torture, either. No one had levelled the Cruciatus Curse at Harry since that first day, leaving his body remarkably untouched except for raw patches on his wrists and ankles, the results of the hours he was forcibly restrained. As it was, time had ceased to exist because Harry and Dumbledore were seldom let out of the dark. If they were, they were blindfolded, magically immobilized–if they tried to put up a fight–and brought to another dimly lit chamber, which Harry had learned to dread more than the solitude of the cell. Only two Death Eaters had abused him physically, although there was a possibility that there was a third; Bellatrix Lestrange had come to the cave at least once to watch his “interrogation sessions” and had left abruptly when she wasn’t allowed to Cruciate him. In the meantime, Harry had come to fear being led or floated away from his cell by Carrow and Peter Pettigrew, whose love of physical violence made his existence as nearly unbearable as the hours he spent alone in the dank room that was his torture chamber. Harry’s puffy face and mouth full of broken teeth testified to his sessions with them. The first time he had been taken to the chamber, however, the Death Eaters had not blindfolded him. They had forced him to walk on his own, hands secured magically behind his back. They had wanted him to see what was in store for him from an upright position, to punish him as Voldemort had punished them. “The Dark Lord doesn’t take kindly to those who disappoint him,” snarled Peter Pettigrew, who held Harry in the vice-like grip of his silver hand. “He punished those in charge here severely, as well as those on the flight,” added a Death Eater who sounded suspiciously like Marcus Flint. “Now it's your turn.” They had taken Harry to a side chamber; he could hear a dripping sound before they entered. The little group had paused just inside the entrance so that Harry could see the entire layout of the room. At first, it looked like an ordinary cave lit by a solitary torch; then Harry took a second look. Several huge, dripping stalactites hung from the ceiling. Except for a large wooden table which had been tipped on its side, the chamber was bare of furniture. Harry stared at the table, apprehension turning his insides to mush; something about it filled him with dread. The table was a large rectangle, tall enough to stretch a man to his full height with his arms over his head. Iron rings had been set into the tabletop at regular intervals. His stomach churned as he wondered what they were going to do to him. He wrenched his arm out of Flint’s grasp and tried to escape. He didn’t get very far. “Behave, Potter!” commanded Pettigrew. He tightened his grip on Harry’s arm and smashed his fist into his nose. Blood spurted everywhere as Harry’s face exploded with pain. Seizing the opportunity, Pettigrew and Flint shoved Harry towards the wooden table. Harry kicked and flailed about, trying to get loose, screaming with frustration as his efforts proved vain. Pettigrew raised his fist and smashed it into Harry’s face again, while Flint applied a Sticking Charm to fix Harry’s back to the table and chains sprang from within the tabletop to encircle his torso, effectively extinguishing any hope of escape. The Death Eaters righted the table, and then grunting with the effort of restraining him, roughly positioned his arms and legs under the iron rings; at a tap of a wand, iron leg and arm restraints emerged from the tabletop and secured Harry to the table. “Careful, Potter, or you’ll end up with a face full of water for your efforts,” Flint snarled maliciously. Harry lay still, fear now knotting his stomach as blood from his nose ran down his face. Once Harry was restrained, the table was pushed under one of the dripping stalactites. As the Death Eaters lowered an oval-shaped hoop with a chin restraint across one end over Harry’s head, a huge drop of water hit the top of Harry’s forehead. The icy water caused him to squirm uncontrollably. “Thought you’d like that,” Flint snickered. He clamped the contraption at Harry’s chin in place with a tap of his wand and did the same with the curved bar encircling the top of Harry’s head. Laughing at Harry’s discomfort, the Death Eaters positioned the table so that the water dripped directly onto the centre of Harry’s forehead and left the room, shutting the wooden door with an ominous bang. Left alone and once again unable to move, Harry could only close his eyes and count the seconds between drips. That was precisely what he was doing now. The stalactite he’d been positioned under dripped erratically, sending a large drop of water down on the exact same spot on Harry’s forehead every four to ten seconds. At first, the dripping was only a small annoyance, but as time wore on, it began to frustrate him no end. Get me out of this thing! he cried within his mind. The drops were large and heavy and icy, and they caused the skin on Harry’s face to become cold almost immediately. The cold seeped into the rest of his body. He shivered uncontrollably as little rivulets began running down his forehead and through his hair. He longed to wipe the water from his eyes, to scratch the itching sensation in his scalp, but the restraints and Sticking Charm prevented all movement. Within minutes, a pool formed underneath his head and began soaking the back of his shirt. His shivering increased. His bladder reacted to the drips, embarrassing him greatly — an added amusement for the Death Eaters whenever they came to take him back to his cell. Harry began marking his time in captivity by the number of times he was taken to the water room. The Death Eaters usually left him bound to the table for hours. The tension of waiting for the next drop to fall caused his body to ache continuously. The table dug into his back and shoulder blades; no matter how much he squirmed or shifted he could never alleviate the discomfort. Not long after being put into the restraints, Harry’s arms and hands would numb. But the most painful of all were his shoulders which would throb for hours after the Death Eaters released him from the table. And as each ache made itself known, Harry’s anxiety increased exponentially. He wanted the dripping to stop. He wanted the pain in his limbs to end. He wanted to be taken off the table and allowed back in his cell. Wild thoughts began whirling around in his head as he waited... and waited... and waited for the next tormenting drop to descend from the tip of the stalactite. When it came, he screamed. The sound reverberated around the chamber. Another drip. More screaming. He screamed until he could scream no more, but the water kept up its silent, maddening drip. And Harry, now so frustrated with it all, began to cry so that his tears mingled with the cold water as it dripped... and dripped... and dripped. “I can’t take this any longer!” Harry yelled at the room during one particularly bad session. “You don’t have to, son.” The woman’s voice was gentle. Harry’s eyes shot open. Her blurry image swam before his eyes and he croaked, “Mum.” “Oh, my darling. My brave, brave boy,” Lily Potter murmured. “You’re enduring this ordeal with such strength. I’m so proud of you.” Lily Potter’s words were balm to Harry’s troubled mind. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I’m so glad you’re with me.” Lily reached behind her and held out a hand to a man with Harry’s messy black hair, a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose. “James,” she said, “Come see what a brave young man our Harry has become.” Harry couldn’t believe his luck. “Dad.” James took his place next to Lily. “I’m here. Hang in there, Harry. You can survive anything the Death Eaters do to you. I know you can.” Harry searched his father’ face, feeling encouraged, but still very doubtful that he could hold on to his sanity. “It’s so hard, Dad. I don’t know how much longer I can continue,” he confessed. James smiled sadly. “I know it is, but you’re a Potter and a Gryffindor, Harry. You are as brave a man as there ever was.” He glanced at Lily. “We will be with you whenever you need us. You deserve what little supp–” WHAM! Carrow’s blow to Harry’s jaw rattled his teeth and sent pain shooting through his head. Harry’s parents dissolved into nothingness, leaving him quaking and cowering in his restraints. “You’re just as worthless as that old man! You both are cowards, good-for-nothings! How dare you block us from your thoughts!” he screeched. Harry shrank from Carrow’s fist as much as the head restraint would allow. Several sessions after that one, Harry’s mind reacted similarly to the constant drip, drip, dripping. This time, Sirius swam into his consciousness. “Harry, I’m here,” he said. “James and Lily thought you’d like to have me with you.” Sirius’s presence calmed Harry, just as his parents’ visit had. “I need you, Sirius. Stay with me, please,” he pleaded. “I’ll be here as long as I’m able,” Sirius told him. He stayed with Harry until the Death Eaters appeared to take Harry back to his cell. As the Death Eaters left, Harry heard one mutter, “He’s nearly ready. The hallucinations are a very good sign. We will begin the assault in a day or two.” The other replied, “Very well. I will notify the Dark Lord.” Harry, feeling abandoned and scared, sank into unconsciousness as Sirius slipped away. And now, Harry was once again enduring the aggravating, painful dripping of the stalactite. The pain in his shoulders, arms, and back rivalled that of his continuously prickling scar and the bloody hole that had appeared in the middle of his forehead. He’d almost given up hope of ever being rescued and today, when his captors had come to get him, he had retreated into himself almost immediately. Harry... Harry, love... Are you there? The mental contact startled Harry. He groaned and automatically responded, I’m here, Ginny. Good. We’re trying to rescue you. Hurry, please! I don’t know how much more of this dripping I can stand... They’re not hurting you with spells? No, just water. The voice changed cruelly. Then, you’ll just have to tell us what you were doing at Godric’s Hollow that day... Harry’s eyes flew open and as he did so, he felt a forcefully digging Legilimency spell probing in his mind. “No!” he yelled, wrenching his eyes from the masked Death Eater standing next to his table. “You can’t have my thoughts!” A fist smashed into Harry’s mouth. “You will be silent!” the Death Eater ordered, levelling his wand. “Silencio!” Then the head of the table tipped towards the floor. Fear flooded through Harry as he tried to call up his Occlumency shield, tried desperately to find the comfort spot in his mind he was so dependent on these days. The Death Eater cast the Legilimency spell again. The presence of the magical barrier in Harry’s mind angered the man who hit him again and threw a heavy wet cloth over his entire face. “AGUAMENTI!” The spell was yelled with ferocity and hate and Harry fought for air as a tidal wave of water suddenly crashed over his head. He panicked. He couldn’t breathe; water poured through the cloth into his mouth and nose and just as he thought he was going to pass out, it stopped, leaving him gasping and shivering and very much aware that he had almost drowned. “Finite Incantatem, " the voice said, silky and full of menace, as the Death Eater lifted the silencing spell. "Are you ready to tell us what you were looking for the day you were in Godric’s Hollow?” “On... on... my birthday outing,” Harry sputtered just before more water drenched him a second time. He felt himself slipping from consciousness. A new voice suddenly cut through the water and Harry’s foggy brain. “ENOUGH!! Step away from the prisoner. He is to remain conscious; you needn’t drown a confession from him,” barked the new voice. It sounded like Yaxley’s. “Take him back to his cell. We have been summoned.” The cloth was removed from Harry’s face, but the head, arm and leg restraints remained in place. Two more huge drops hit the sore spot on Harry’s face and he began to cry; he couldn’t help it. He wanted out of the restraints, out of the dark, out of the cave. And as he lay on the table, Harry made a conscious decision: he would erect an inner wall around his mind and hide behind it. That was the best course of action to preserve what was left of his sanity until he was rescued. It would infuriate the Death Eaters, but that was just another thing he would have to endure. As the Death Eaters dragged him off the table and back to the cell he still shared with Dumbledore, Harry fitted the last few bricks in his Occlumency wall and withdrew from reality. * “Harry, wake up.” Dumbledore’s anxious whisper penetrated Harry’s new defences and he knew he was back in the cell. There was something in the old man’s voice that made him sit up too quickly. Pain lanced through his scar and jaw and he spat a glob of blood mixed with fragments of a shattered tooth onto the floor. He sat, holding his aching head, as Dumbledore offered him a cup of water. “Thanks,” he said gratefully. He took a small sip and immediately began to wretch. Dumbledore’s whisper was full of concern. “What have they done to you?” Shuddering at the memories, Harry explained the Death Eaters’ newest method of torture. When he finished, Dumbledore did something he’d never, ever done before; he hugged Harry. The simple gesture reminded him of the hugs he used to receive from Mrs Weasley and he broke down, sobbing into the Headmaster’s shoulder. They held each other for a long time. Finally Dumbledore said, “Harry, your wet clothes are making me cold and I imagine you are none too comfortable. Please allow me to dry you off.” Harry could only nod as he straightened up. A moment later, he felt the water leave his clothes and hair. He sighed as a warming spell suffused his body with healing warmth and a healing spell numbed the throbbing parts of his face, except for the dull, thudding pain in his scar. “Thank you, sir,” he said gratefully. Dumbledore laid a shaking hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I am so sorry that this has happened to you,” he said gravely. “It is my fault you are here. I should have had more faith in you that day and had you Apparate me back to Hogwarts, no matter how bad I was feeling. Instead, I was selfish and now our brooms are gone and we are in this hell hole.” “Yes, we’re here,” Harry responded, “but what I saw on my birthday is what keeps me sane when I’m strapped to that infernal table. I’m glad we had that day together, Professor.” His throat began to constrict and he swallowed hard; he hadn’t heard Dumbledore sound this tired since that weekend in the hospital wing. It scared him. “Even if we never get out of here alive I have you to thank for giving me a glimpse of the life I could have had, had my parents lived. It means a lot.” He scrambled to his feet, feeling the need to pace away the depressing thoughts that had begun ricocheting through his mind. “Harry,” Dumbledore’s voice made him stop pacing, for the soft tone was laced with emotion. “We need to talk. Are you up to it?” Harry had only heard Professor Dumbledore use this tone of voice one other time, on the night Sirius had fallen through the Veil and Dumbledore had revealed the contents of the Prophesy. “What is it, Professor?” Dumbledore waited to speak until Harry was again sitting beside him. “I am dying. The stress of captivity has reactivated the curse, Harry, and it is quickly taking over my body. I need to warn you that I may not be conscious for much longer. Professor Snape was correct when he told us the curse would attack the body but not the mind. Every day I am weaker; I can feel the curse eating at the inside of my body and often the pain is almost more than I can stand.” Harry sagged against the wall feeling horribly bereft. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked bleakly. “Yes, Harry, there is much you can do for me, but I must first explain the nature of this curse so that you understand what is happening to me.” He paused, breathing deeply, as if fighting his own emotions. “I cannot say this any other way: the pain I am feeling is the curse consuming my magic. Every day it eats away at my power, making every spell an excruciating experience.” Harry raised an eyebrow, even though he knew Professor Dumbledore couldn’t see the gesture. “When have you tried magic here?” “Every day I have warmed myself with simple charms, purified our water and dried your clothes when you came back from the water chamber,” Dumbledore said. He sighed and leaned against the wall, his shoulder touching Harry’s; the contact seemed to comfort him as much as it did Harry. “The spells take more effort each day.” “How?” A feeble light flared in the dark, filling the space between the two wizards. It came from a tiny wand, one just big enough to fit in a pocket. Dumbledore grinned boyishly at him as he whispered conspiratorially, “A present from Fred and George Weasley when I visited their shop on Opening day. It is one of their non-Summon-able defensive products, available only to the Aurors, and very hush-hush. They call this limited-use wand ‘The Captive’s Companion’. It can be used to cast five hundred spells. They have no idea how useful their invention is to me.” Harry’s smile mirrored Dumbledore’s. “Brilliant,” he murmured. “I quite agree.” Dumbledore’s smile slipped as he said, “But now to business. Any questions so far?” Harry collected his thoughts. “Is the curse why you were so reluctant to Apparate that... that afternoon?” he asked hesitantly. “Yes, it is. I regret deeply that I did not trust you that day. If I had, we would be free and I would only have become briefly ill, but could have recovered under Madam Pomfrey’s care. Now I cannot. I can feel the curse taking over my body, rendering me helpless with the power it has taken from me.” “You said I could help–” “Patience, please, Harry,” Dumbledore admonished quietly. “We’ll get to that.” He regarded Harry for a time, his face sombre in the dim light. Finally, he said, “I am afraid that very shortly I will have no magic left at all.” “How can you say that?” Harry interrupted again. “The evidence is the effort it took me to cast the three spells to make you comfortable a little while ago,” Dumbledore continued. “They have weakened me further. I know very soon I will have only the power of a first year; not long after that I will be no better than a Squib. “Harry, if we are found, please have our rescuers take me back to Hogwarts. It is my dying wish to be there when I go on to my next great adventure. I know that even if nobody is looking for me, the Weasley family is doing all it can to find you. When they do, they’ll find me, whatever condition I’m in. My request is that you help me stay alive until we are rescued. I... I... I want to die a free man. Can you do that for me?” Gulping down a new flood of panic, Harry whispered, “Yes, I will.” “Good. I know you will.” Dumbledore extinguished the wand. Harry heard the rustle of cloth as Dumbledore secreted it inside his robes again. There was a smile in his voice as he continued, “I know from our sessions together that you have begun using wandless magic. I need you to begin practicing certain spells.” “Which ones?” “Miss Granger’s Bluebell flame charm for the present. Do you know it?” Dumbledore asked. “Yes, she taught it to both Ron and me,” Harry answered. “Will you conjure some now, please?” It felt good to use his magic for something other than keeping the Death Eaters out of his mind; he wondered why he hadn’t thought to try simple spells wandlessly until now. Harry’s Bluebell flames sparkled into brilliance and for the second time since their kidnapping, Harry and Dumbledore looked at each other. Dumbledore smiled. So did Harry. Dumbledore located the cup of water he had given Harry earlier and the younger wizard laid the ball of flame inside it. As they put their fire between them and held up their hands to its warmth, Harry commented, “I’m feeling much clearer-headed than I was in the dark. I’m not as anxious... or scared... as I was when they brought me back.” “Light and warmth are essential for our happiness, Harry. Men were not meant to live in the dark,” Dumbledore said knowingly. “You have had terrible experiences since our capture that have taken light and heat from you. It is natural to feel uplifted by even this tiniest source and I urge you to use these Flames to help you stay sane once I am no longer coherent.” He cleared his throat, his blue eyes searching Harry’s green ones over the tiny fire. “Once I am incapable of doing magic, I will need you to care for me. Professor Snape gave me a supply of the potion he used to revive me when I became ill in July. The day we went to Godric’s Hollow I had several doses with me because I must take the potion every twelve hours and I did not know how long we would be gone. Like the wand, the Death Eaters did not find them, thank goodness.” Harry interrupted, “How have you kept track...” Again, Dumbledore smiled. “I have been observant, Harry. The Death Eaters change shifts twice a day. Our food and water, such as they are, are brought half way through each shift. I know that we are lightly guarded; most likely, spells have been cast on the hallway and the cell door, because I always hear muttering just before someone approaches.” “So there’s no hope of escape?” Harry asked. “No, I do not think there is, but I also think the charms will alert any rescuers that they have found the correct cell. Do you agree?” Harry nodded, feeling bleak again. Dumbledore seemed to sense Harry’s preoccupation and inhaled to speak just as footsteps and muttering came from the other side of the cell door. The two prisoners extinguished their fire and lay down, Harry feigning sleep. Through narrowed eyes, he watched the door open just enough for the Death Eater to shove two bowls and a pitcher inside the cell. The dishes left from their last meal were then levitated out the door, which closed with a slurping sound. When he was certain they were alone again, Harry approached the food and conjured the Bluebell Flame again; he was appalled at the sight of the rancid food they had been given to eat. The greenish water in the jug was no better. He turned to Dumbledore. “I can’t eat this,” he said, holding up one of the bowls. “You won’t have to once I teach you the proper charms, Harry. Bring our meal here, please.” Harry did what he was told as Dumbledore took out the tiny wand. He handed it to Harry saying, “The spell is ‘Purgo’. It gets rid of toxic moulds and bacteria that have been added to the food, although it does nothing for the taste. You can also use it to purify our water.” Harry repeated the spell several times in his head before handing the wand back to Dumbledore. “I want to try it wandlessly. It will save on the number of casts I use the wand for if I can do it that way.” He raised his hand over the bowls. “How do I know if the spell has worked?” “There will be changes,” Dumbledore said enigmatically. Harry couldn’t help smiling; his headmaster seemed to be at his teaching best at the moment. He cast the spell, hoping for a flash of coloured light or a sound of some sort. He was rewarded by a slight rattling of the bowls. Holding the cup of fire over the food, he peered into the bowls; the mould was gone from the chunks of meat and the broth at the bottom seemed less murky; he hoped it would be more palatable than it looked. He cast the same spell on the jug. When he held it to his nose, no funny odour assailed his nostrils and when poured, the water was clear. “Nicely done, Harry,” Dumbledore beamed. “Now we must transfigure the food into something more palatable. It’s already a stew of sorts, so let’s try to improve upon what we have.” He taught Harry two new incantations–one a liquefying spell for later, the other a transfiguration spell–which he again practiced before casting the transfiguration spell upon their meal. He was less successful at this and apologized profusely to Dumbledore. The old wizard looked at him with a kindly expression. “My dear boy, you have done more with this meal than I had hoped. With practice, you will become better at creating palatable meals. You have done well this first time,” he said as he took a small vial of brown liquid from his robes. “Now I must take my potion and you must cast a wandless Refilling Charm on the vial afterwards.” He quickly downed it, leaving a little at the bottom. He held it up to show Harry. “That should be enough. If you will kindly Refill the vial we can eat our meal.” Even with the decontamination and transfiguration charms Harry could barely swallow the food. Maybe it will be better liquefied, he thought as he tried that spell. It wasn’t. He finally resorted to holding his nose as he swallowed which made his companion chuckle and thank him for finding some humour in their situation. When they were done eating, Harry took the bowls over to the door and they each cleansed their palates with a long drink. “There are two last things we must discuss before I sleep, Harry,” Dumbledore said finally. At Harry’s questioning look he said, “I have named you as one of the recipients of my will. Please do not argue with me about this for there are specific reasons you must have these things. First, you will receive the sword of Godric Gryffindor. He is an ancestor of mine and the sword has been handed down in my family for many generations, just as you inherited your Invisibility Cloak from your father.” He sighed sadly. “My brother, Aberforth, has no desire to own the sword and I know you are a worthy owner for such a valuable relic. In addition, we have already put the sword to good use. You may need it again. “I am also bequeathing you my Pensieve.” Harry immediately protested, “But I have one, sir. I don’t need another.” Smiling feebly, Dumbledore said, “Right now, the one you have is adequate, but as you get older you will be happy to have the larger vessel.” “Very well,” Harry said, resignedly. “Thank you. I hope I’m worthy of these gifts.” “You are, Harry. And I now must ask one last favour of you. There is some information that I must ask you to guard with your life. We cannot talk about this openly, especially in here. May I...” he seemed nervous about asking his question, “May I give you the information using reverse Legilimency?” The request caught Harry off guard. “Will it hurt?” he reluctantly asked. “I know the Death Eaters have been very forceful with you and I promise to be gentle for I want you to accept this information willingly. If you feel any discomfort, I will withdraw and we can try again later,” Professor Dumbledore said. “May we begin?” Harry closed his eyes, stifling the urge to scream and fight against Dumbledore’s request. The thought of anyone intruding in his mind, even gently, was sending him into full-blown panic. “One minute, please,” he gasped, struggling to control his breathing. “Harry, if it’s too much we can leave it for another time,” Dumbledore said gently. “No, sir,” he said, still breathing hard. “I know this... is important... and your spell... will not be at all... like what the... Death Eaters have been subjecting me to.” Dumbledore laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder, lending him support. The contact was immensely helpful and soon Harry felt more in control. He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes and steadying himself for what was to come. “I’m ready,” he finally whispered. “Please look at me, Harry. It is the only way I can transfer the information.” Harry raised his head and looked directly into Professor Dumbledore’s eyes. A second later, a steady stream of images, sensations and even smells began filtering past his consciousness. He was thankful that it didn’t hurt; some of the more pleasant memories even lifted his spirits a little. When they were done, Dumbledore said shakily, “I tried my best not to damage your mind or cause you any emotional distress. Are you all right?” “Yes, sir, I am... and thank you. You were true to your word. I’ll guard this with all that I am,” Harry said bravely. “I am glad,” Dumbledore murmured quietly. The spell seemed to have made him very tired for he lay down next to the little Bluebell Flame and closed his eyes. Harry extinguished the fire and then scooted along the floor until his leg bumped into Dumbledore. As he lifted the old wizard’s head into his lap, Harry felt him sigh and relax. The two remained in this position until the changing of their guard signalled that another session in the water room for Harry was upon him, and as the Death Eaters dragged him out of the cell, he wondered if the Legilimency spell was Dumbledore’s last. Forty-eight hours later, by Harry’s calculations, Dumbledore slipped into unconsciousness, leaving Harry feeling very much alone. His grief made his torture sessions almost unbearable and he cried out aloud, and in his mind to Ginny, almost as soon as the water began dripping upon his forehead. The only thing that kept him from withdrawing permanently behind his Occlumency shield was his promise to Dumbledore; Harry kept it faithfully, caring for him as best he could, and hoping against hope that what he was doing would keep the old wizard alive until they were found. A/N: Many thanks to Aggiebell and Genesse, my betas, for encouraging me to make this chapter more magic-friendly. I also thank jedi34 and GhostWriter for their pre-beta help as well as Melindaleo for her suggestions as to where new magic could be inserted into the chapter. You’re all wonderful friends and I appreciate it that you all are interested in helping me to make my story the best it can be. |
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