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The Dark and Winding Path
By SSHENRY

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Category: Post-HBP
Characters:Harry/Ginny
Genres: Drama
Warnings: Dark Fiction
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 338
Summary: *** The author has been reminded via the e-mail address on file that this story is listed as incomplete and has not been updated in over 2 years ***

"He did not feel the way he had so often felt before, excited, curious, burning to get to the bottom of a mystery; he simply knew that the task of discovering the truth about the real Horcrux had to be completed before he could move a little farther along the dark and winding path stretching ahead of him, the path that he and Dumbledore had set out upon together, and which he now knew he would have to journey alone." ~HBP NOTE: THIS IS NOT AN EXTENTION OF THE S.S.POTTER SERIES, BUT IS AN ENTIRELY NEW STORY. Enjoy!
Hitcount: Story Total: 130187; Chapter Total: 4186







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One need not be a chamber to behaunted;
One need not be a house;
The brain has corridors surpassing
Material place.

Emily Dickinson





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Losing Luna

Term began with a spate of very nasty weather; icy rain and bone chilling winds that whipped down out of the mountains and coated all of Hogwarts with a three inch layer of ice that grounded the owls and inspired the students to make the trek through the drafty corridors bundled up in their cloaks, hats and gloves and Hermione found that she had a new outlet for her knitted elf-hats.



“Blimey, Hermione, that’s the fifth one you’ve sold this week!” said Ron appreciatively as Hermione pocketed the six silver sickles Neville had just handed over for a gaudily striped peach and lime concoction.

“Well, its cold,” said Hermione logically, “and the hats, the uniform hats, they just don’t keep a person’s head warm.”

Harry agreed wholeheartedly. Not only were the pointed wizards hats seemingly pointless, they were damned uncomfortable and a downright nuisance if one was trying to do anything more strenuous than sitting in a classroom.

He hadn’t worn his own wizards hat in such a long time that it was most likely way too small now. He hadn’t bought a new hat since third year. Come to think of it, he hadn’t worn the hat since third year.

“Don’t cover the ears is what they don’t do,” grunted Ron in agreement as he gave the blue and white striped stocking cap he was wearing a grateful tug. “These hats are brilliant. This weather keeps up, Hermione,and you could make a bundle.”

“I hope it does keep up,” said Hermione brightly. “The sale of these hats is doing more to support S.P.E.W. than anything else has.”

Ron missed a step, landing on the trick step which Neville almost always forgot to jump. He sank up to his knees and had to be tugged loose by Harry and an exasperated looking Hermione.

“What did you think, Ron, that I’d just binned S.P.E.W. seeing as that no one was interested?” asked Hermione coolly as they turned into the corridor that led to the dungeons.

Ron wisely said nothing, but exchanged a significant lookwith Harry. That was exactly what he’d thought, and Harry knew it. What with Voldemort’s return and Sirius and Dumbledore’s death, Harry, like Ron, had assumed that Hermione had simply had other, more important things to think about than elf rights.

“What are you going to do with the proceeds, Hermione, fund another leaflet campaign?” wondered Harry idly.

“Don’t be a prat, Harry. Honestly, do you think that I am going to waste my time giving out papers that will end up scattered all over the castle and being used as kindling?” Hermione’s tone was condescending, but there was a smile on her face.

“What then, going to buy a house elf?” asked Harry.

“No, of course not. I’d have to sell more than a few dozen hats to buy a house elf. Besides, buying a house elf would sort of defeat the purpose of S.P.E.W.”

“Well, what then?” blurted Ron. “I mean, how are you going to help house elves by selling hats?”

Harry stifled a groan. That was the last thing he needed on a morning like this, to be treated to a ten minute lecture on elf rights.

“Don’t pretend to be interested in S.P.E.W. all of a sudden, Ron,” said Hermione sweetly.

“Never said I was interested in S.P.E.W.,” said Ron defensively. “I’m just curious as to what you’re going to do with the money.”

“Is that all that matters to you?” snapped Hermione, flaring up immediately.

Harry did groan then. Not three days into term and they were already rowing.

“What, you don’t want to hear about S.P.E.W. either I suppose?” said Hermione acidly, rounding on Harry.

“I never said anything about S.P.E.W.” said Harry shortly. “I just like it better when you two are snogging instead of arguing.”

Hermione, who had just opened her mouth to retort, closed it again abruptly and turned a shade of scarlet that would have made Uncle Vernon proud.

“The fact that the elves have been brainwashed into believing that this is what they want, well, it just goes to prove that she was going about it the wrong way,” came a new voice from behind them. “What she needs to do is find a way to re-educate them without their realizing that they are being re-educated, right Hermione?” came a new voice from behind them.

“Now don’t you start!” snarled Ron as Ginny joined them. She was wearing her cloak and one of Hermione’s hats (a purple and orange striped one that clashed horribly with her hair) but no gloves. She slipped her icy hand into Harry’s who gasped at the contact.

“Going to sign up for S.P.E.W. Ginny?” asked Hermione, beaming at her.”

“Don’t have the money,” said Ginny shrugging. “But I have some ideas.”

“That’s good enough for me,” said Hermione happily. “I’ll add you to the list!”

“God, Gin, you’re freezing!” said Harry, chafing both her hands between his.

“Bad in the dungeons?” asked Ron, barely blinking when Harry unfastened his cloak and pulled Ginny in against him before wrapping the cloak around the both of them.

“Not as bad as it is outside,” said Ginny, wrapping her arms around Harry’s waist and slipping her ice-cold hands under his jumper. “Luna’s went down to Care of Magical Creatures and forgot her gloves, so I lether borrow mine.”

“Your hands got that cold that fast?” wondered Harry.

“Well, actually, she borrowed them yesterday,” confessed Ginny with a sheepish grin.

“And she hasn’t given them back yet?” asked Hermione curiously.

“Well no. To tell you the truth, I haven’t seen her since I loaned her the gloves at the end of Charms yesterday. We’ve got a free period after lunch, and she was going down to help Hagrid with the Knarls for the third years.”

“Stupid, boring gits, Knarls,” muttered Ron.

“Yeah, well, she’s really good with the younger students,”said Ginny with a shrug. “And we all know that Hagrid can use the help.”

It was true, too. Hagrid had been stretched pretty thin overthe last week. Besides his classes, the drop in the temperature had caused all sorts of problems for some of the less hardy creatures living in the forest. Four Acrumentlas had been found dead, seemingly of natural causes (not that Harry was bemoaning the loss much) and had been buried with much fuss and many tears by Hagrid. The Bowtruckles were having to be fed (seeing as that theirusual diet of grubs and woodlice were buried beneath the sheets of ice) and theUnicorns had taken to lining up outside of Hagrid’s hut every morning so thatthey could have the ice brushed out of their manes.

“Now, now, Miss Weasley,” came Slughorn’s jovial voice fromthe dungeon doorway. “Best you be getting along to Transfiguration or Professor McGonagall may be wondering as to what’s keeping you.”

Ginny untangled herself rather reluctantly from Harry’s cloak and, ignoring Slughorn, gave Harry a swift kiss on the cheek before heading up the stone staircase that led to the Entrance Hall.

Harry watched her go, wishing that they both had a freeperiod, and then wondering where they would possibly be able to find a moment’s privacy even if they did.

Is that all you think about? Came Ginny’s teasing thought as she disappeared around the twist in the staircase.

Of course not, but Gin, after spending nearly every night with you for three weeks-

Two weeks. Ginny corrected. You were in the hospital wing that last week, in case you don’t remember

Yeah, well, you spent half of that with me anyway, Harry reminded her ashe followed Ron, Hermione into the dungeon and began unpacking his bag.

It’s only been four days, Harry.

That’s all?

Harry paused, considering. Slughorn was going on about something to do with the preparation of base potions as a means of being prepared for the quick production of more complex recipes.

Seems longer.

Only four days. Ginny assured him.

Too long by half. Harry decided, and grinned to himself as he felt Ginny’s responding flicker of lust lick at the edges of his awareness.

“. . .so what do you think, Mr. Potter?” Slughorn’s jovial voice cut through to Harry’s conscious brain with a rather painful abruptness.

“Sorry Professor, what was that?”

“I asked if you were feeling up to a challenge?” repeated Slughorn looking rather put out that his star pupil hadn’t been hanging on his every word.

“Er . . .?”

“Good man. Now then, using base potion 2311, that’s this one here,” he said, pointing to a large cauldron that was steaming gently beside his desk. “I want you to whip up the Reverse Attunement for Posterior Reduction. Remember to start where the base potion leaves off. Extra ingredients will reduce or reverse the effect. Miss Granger, using the same base potion, you will provide me with the straight Attunement for the same potion. Mr. Weasley . . .”

Harry gave a heavy sigh and, ignoring Hermione’sself-satisfied smirk, pulled out Advanced Potion Making, hoping against hope that Snape had written something, anything, that would allow him to maintain his status as top student in Potions.

* * *

It was cold in hell. The iciness was a part of him now. It had crept beneath his skin, chilling his blood and enshrouding his very soul in its crystalline shadow. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. But he could see, though with eyes that weren’t his own . . .

The room was dark, its window covered by dark and heavy drapes. The only light came from a fire flickering in the large stone fireplace and a lone candle sitting in a puddle of wax on the table pulled up beside the tattered wing chair pulled up before the guttering fire.

“It is a pleasure to have you here Master.” The voice coming from his throat was nasal, petulant.

Liar.” The high, cold voice filled the room, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “You were not expecting me, Wormtail. You did not want me to come.”

“That’s not true my Lord, as you can see, I have kept your room just the way it was against your return.”

The laughter emanating from the shadowy armchair echoed off the walls, making his heart beat faster inside of its cage of ice-encrusted ribs. In the depths of the shadows a figure moved, shifting position until the light of the candle fell across its flat, snake-like features, a sight hideous enough to make him bend nearly double to avoid having to look at it. He was looking down, down at ragged rug, the wide cracks in the age-darkened floors,the hem of his own cloak and his hands, one which had rather stubby fingers with flat, square nails; the other slim and long-fingered and glowing silver in the flickering light of the fire.

“You haven’t even stepped foot inside this room since I left, Wormtail.” It was a statement, not a question, but Voldemort’s voice seemed amused rather than angry. “Not that it matters. I did not come for the small comforts you offer, Wormtail. I have come to tell you that you will soon have a guest . . .”

Harry woke with a start, not only with his scar burning, as was usual when he had these kinds of dreams, but an odd, aching pain in his left arm, almost in the exact location where Wormtail (better known as Peter Pettigrew, the man who had betrayed his parents and pinned the blame for their murder on his best friend, and Harry’s own Godfather, Sirius Black) had pierced him with his blade three years ago as he struggled, bound and gagged, in the graveyard of Little Hangleton. That could mean only one thing — the eyes through which he had been seeing were not Voldemort’s, but Peter’s.

Harry found himself sitting bolt upright as the realization of what this meant. He’d been dreaming of the cold for nearly a week now, ever since he’d felt Ginny’s icy hands down there in the dungeon. He’d seen the room in some of these dreams; seen it as if he were looking through someone else’s eyes, but until tonight there had never been anyone else in the room,and until tonight no one had spoken.

Now he knew. He’d had dreams like this before; dreams where he’d been in Voldemort’s body, looking out as the Dark Lord spoke to his underlings or revealed secret plans or meetings. He’d even had that one dream, or vision rather, where he had been in Nagini, the giant snake who was one of Voldemort’s closest companions. He had been Nagini as she had attacked Mr.Weasley outside of the Department of Mysteries.

This had been different. He’d been looking not out of Voldemort’s eyes, not out of Nagini’s, but Peter’s. That could only mean one thing. He’d been sharing Peter’s mind, his thoughts. Harry felt something thick in the back of his throat and felt as if he were going to gag. He’d been in Peter’s mind? The thought of sharing anything with that foul little-

“Harry?” Ginny’s voice was thick, groggy with sleep. “Harry, what is it? You’re shivering!”

A low murmuring then, Ginny renewing the imperturbable charm on the hangings. And then her arms, her soft warm arms were wrapped around him, drawing him back down into the sleep-scented bedclothes.

“Harry, what was it? Was it the dream again?” murmured Ginny, her breath warm against his neck.

“Yeah, well, not quite.”

“Not quite?”

“There was more this time,” Harry wrapped his arms around the slim form, drawing her tighter against him, luxuriating in the heat radiating from her skin. “This time it wasn’t just the cold or the rooms ofthe Riddle House. This time He was there.”

“He?”

“Voldemort. He was there. He was speaking to someone, to me.”

“To you?”

“Well, to Wormtail, but I was Wormtail. I was seeing the room, Voldemort, everything through Wormtail’s eyes.”

It was Ginny’s turn to shiver. “So this wasn’t like the other dreams. It wasn’t just the cold and the dark rooms. You were seeing through Peter Pettigrew’s eyes? Why?”

Harry paused, considering. Why indeed? A memory surfaced;slowly, sluggishly, Dumbledore’s voice, his calming, reasonable voice calming the disgust and fears of a thirteen-year-old wizard.

…When one wizard saves another wizard’s life, it creates a certain bond between them . . .this is magic at its deepest, its most impenetrable . . .

“I saved his life Ginny, like I saved yours. I remember, Dumbledore said that when one wizard saves another wizards life it creates a bond between them.”

“You mean like what we have?”

“No, not like we have. I didn’t shed any blood when I saved Peter’s life, I just stopped Lupin and Sirius from killing him.Dumbledore told me that in saving his life I’d created a bond between us, but I’ve never felt anything, not before tonight.”

“But Harry, if you share a bond with him, even if it’s just a thin one, why haven’t you felt him before?”

“Perhaps I didn’t need to,” said Harry, thinking hard. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever needed anything that a bond between us could give. . .” Harry shivered again. Did that mean that there was something he needed from Petigrew now? Ginny was speaking again.

“Did you see anything? I mean, besides the room and Voldemort? Did he, did Voldemort say anything . . .?”

“He said . . .” Harry paused, trying to remember. “He said that Wormtail obviously hadn’t been expecting him, and that . . .something about expecting a guest.”

“A guest?”

“Yeah, weird, isn’t it?”

“Very weird.” Ginny agreed.

They lay, arms and legs entwined for several minutes before Harry realized that while his brain may have been picking at the riddle of his dream, the rest of him was becoming rapidly distracted by the feel of Ginny’s body warm against his.

“You know what else is weird,” whispered Harry, propping himself up on one elbow so that he could look down at her. He could just see the outline of her face in the ray of moonlight that had found its way through a chink in the hangings.

“Hmm?”

“This time last year if someone had told me that I’d be here, with you, like this, I would have laughed in their face.”

“I thought you said that you liked me all of last year,” said Ginny poutingly.

“Well yeah, but my imagination only went as far as possibly getting a kiss from you — I hadn’t thought of, well, you know…”

“Of this?” whispered Ginny, her hands running over hisbody, eliciting shivers of an entirely different kind.

Harry rolled onto his back, pulling her with him until she was laying on top of him, her long silky hair falling about them like a living thing.

“Or this,” he whispered, pulling her down to his kiss, luxuriating in the feel of her skin against his, the taste of her mouth, the scent of her skin. Ginny shifted on top of him, and Harry found all thoughts of the dream evaporating like mist in the light of a summer’s dawn.



* * *



The cold snap lasted the whole week, as did Harry’s dreams. But it was Luna’s continued absence that had everyone concerned now. No one had seen her since the day Ginny had loaned her the gloves and the rumors were flying thick and fast.

“Well, we can rule that one out,” said Ginny, smiling grimly as they passed a knot of fourth years on their way to supper who were assuring each other that Slytherin’s monster was once more loose in the castle. “What I don’t understand is how she could possibly have disappeared between the castle and Hagrid’s — and in broad daylight too!”

“That — that thing disappeared,” Harry reminded her. “The one you . . .er . . . took care of.”

Malfoy you mean? said Ginny sub-vocally.

Harry nodded.

“Yeah, well, he’s dead, isn’t he? It can’t be him!”

“But what if there was more than one?” Harry said, frowning at a group boisterous Slytherins who cut in front of them.

“What do you mean?”

“Voldemort,” said Harry, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “How do we know that he didn’t use that same charm on someone else?”

“Hagrid,” said Ginny, shaking her head. “According to him security around the forest has been beefed up considerably. The alarm went off just last week because a mooncalf tripped the boarder ward. We’d know if someone had gotten in through the forest.”

Harry sighed heavily as they pulled up seats at the Gryffindor table. There was nothing he could do; not without more information to go on, but the thought of the dottily charming, selectively naive Luna at the mercy of someone like Malfoy was enough to make his stomach churn.

He toyed listlessly with his Shepard’s Pie, hardly noticing when Neville collapsed onto the bench beside him.

“You okay, Neville?” asked Ginny, leaning over Harry to address Neville.

“Yeah. It’s just . . .” he swallowed hard, not looking up from his empty plate. “Have you heard what people are saying?”

“A load of codswollop,” said Hermione primly as she and Ronslid onto the bench across from them. “They don’t know what they’re talking about, Neville.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Neville heavily. He looked dreadful. He’d lost a good deal of weight in the last week, and his thinning face wasn’t complimented by the dark, purplish shadows under his eyes. He looked, thought Harry, as if he were haunted.

“I’ve talked to Luna’s father. He was here just yesterday to talk to Professor McGonagall,” continued Neville.

“He must be going spare,” said Ron around a mouthful of steak. “She’s the only family he’s got.”

“Yeah, I remember her telling me about her mum dying in some sort of spell accident,” said Harry, his forehead furrowed.

“Luna was nine,” said Ginny quietly. “And her mother was trying out a new combination of ingredients, they didn’t take.”

“Exploded in her face actually,” said Neville heavily. “Luna was right there — she saw the whole thing.”

“Poor kid,” said Ron, shaking his head as he helped himself to another baked potato.

Harry felt a chill touch his heart as he remembered Luna’s telling him about her belief that her mother and Sirius and the others were waiting for them just behind the continually shifting veil of the death arch. He felt responsible somehow, as if he could have kept this from happening.

If it was Voldemort that was responsible for Luna’s disappearance, then he was responsible. This was why he had set out to find the Horcruxes to begin with — to destroy Voldemort once and for all, to keep things like this from happening, to keep the innocents like Luna from falling prey to the Dark Lord’s insatiable appetite for violence and fear.

But why Luna? Harry toyed with his goblet of pumpkin juice, surreptitiously watching Neville pretend to eat as he did so. Why would Voldemort take Luna of all people?

Harry stared at the goblet in his hands, at his distorted reflection in its curved surface. Harry but not Harry, as if another Harry, a Harry very similar to himself were waiting, lurking, just under the surface of the goblet’s skin. He removed one hand from the goblet’s stem to tuck an unruly lock of hair behind his own ear and froze in mid-motion.

His hand glowed gold in the light of the hundreds of candles hovering over the four house tables. He could almost imagine that his hand was made of gold, the same way that Peter Pettigrew’s hand was made of shimmering silver . . .and Luna . . .wherever she was, at least her hands would be warm, providing of course that she still had Ginny’s gloves . . .

Harry stood so abruptly that the bench on which he had been sitting tipped backwards, spilling Neville and Ginny unceremoniously to the floor.

“Harry?” Hermione was on her feet, her hand stretched outto him across the table, her pale white hand, slim and supple, a pleading gesture. “What’s the matter, Harry? Harry, stop!”

But Harry couldn’t answer, he staggered from the Great Hall, his head spinning, his breath coming in great, shuddering gasps. He had to go . . .now . . .before anyone stopped him.

“Harry?”

A hand on his shoulder, Neville, his eyes uncharacteristically sharp and shrewd in his pale and thinning face. Neville’s hands were on his shoulders, turning him around, pinning him with his gaze. And behind him, Ginny, her robes askew, eyes wide with comprehension as she felt Harry’s realization rush through her. Ron and Hermione on his other side now, Ron’s arm under his elbow, Hermione’s mouth moving, but he couldn’t hear, he couldn’t hear anything but the pounding of his own heart and the thundering realization: He knew where Luna was. He knew who had her. There wasn’t amoment to lose.

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