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Author: Delfino Story: The Invasion Rating: Young Teens Status: WIP Reviews: 3 Words: 40,666
It soon became quite obvious that the Death Eaters knew something. Even more so when Harry, Ron, and Hermione were given permanent guards that stayed with them at all times. Pettigrew called Harry into his office twice and tried to force information out of him, but was unsuccessful. Hermione kept giving him "They know something" looks between the bulks of their bodyguards. This thought had already occurred to him. Had Blaise finally caved in? Had he finally told Pettigrew that Harry was planning to escape? Rebellious thoughts drifted through Harry's mind every time he saw a caged window or a sobbing student. There was a deep burning inside of him with each snicker directed his way from Crabbe or Goyle. He despised being treated this way as if he were some sort of animal on display for amusement. As each minute passed, the air became colder, sending slight chills through the castle walls for all captive students to suffer. The pale sky stretching above the turrets and towers became constantly darker and the clouds shed their tears as the odd Dementor sliced through the air. The lush hills surrounding Hogwarts began to decay under the frigid glare of death and questions of survival and rationing food began to seep through the very floors of the castle. "I haven't had a decent meal in weeks," Ron complained one night in the Great Hall. Harry and Hermione looked up from their plates littered with stale pieces of bread with cold sardines lathered on top. The stench of the food filtrated all the way up to the highest tower. Harry, although he hated the food, was starving and thus had already eaten everything he had been given. Because of her many travels with her parents, Hermione was accustomed to many kinds of food. She had managed to eat what she could of the rank provisions before almost gagging with the effort. But Ron… The Gryffindor in question subtly scraped the raw fish off the bread and attempted to bite into it. No such luck—the bread was rock hard. Ron scowled. He cast a casual glance behind him to see if their guards were listening in on their conversation. Satisfied that they were not, he leaned forward, whispering, "They're running out of food. I heard Rookwood talking to Avery last night—he said that there's enough food to feed maybe one of the four houses, but not for the whole school and them. Avery kept saying everything would work out all right and that 'they' were coming to help. He wouldn't say who 'they' were, though." "How'd you hear all that without being caught?" Harry demanded. Ron shrugged. "Last night was my shower night, wasn't it? Crabbe took me down to the water hose and waited outside. I heard the whole conversation through one of the air vents." His eyes suddenly lit up. "Maybe if they run out of food, they'll let us go." "Don't be stupid, Ron," Hermione said briskly, taking a sip of her water. She grimaced at the taste. "They wouldn't let us go even if your father offered them a million galleons. They've gone this far, haven't they? They want us in their possession." "Why can't they just conjure up food?" Harry frowned. "I remember seeing Dumbledore doing that." A sharp jab pierced his stomach at the thought of the Headmaster, but Harry ignored it as Hermione fixed him with her exasperated stare. She let out a loud sigh. "After all these years, didn't you two ever read Hogwarts, A History?" she asked impatiently. Harry and Ron shared incredulous looks. "Obviously not. Well, it stated that if a witch or wizard ever conjured food inside the castle, the food itself would come from the kitchens. So if food were running low in the kitchens, then they wouldn't be able to conjure much, could they?" she finished with a smug smile. Ron glanced over his shoulder again, but the guards were indulging themselves in an interesting conversation about Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. "How's this," Ron said in a hushed voice. "The Death Eaters go outside the grounds, conjure up food, then bring it back inside the grounds for us to eat. Then they could keep us here for years!" The thought of this deeply troubled Harry. He wondered if their captors had already found plans of bringing more food into Hogwarts. And who was this 'they' Ron had mentioned? Hermione, eyes alight with the possibility of displaying her knowledge, shook her head at Ron. "Food conjured outside the castle is not really food. Conjured food tastes empty after a while and contains almost no nutrients. If all we ate was conjured food, our stomachs would be satisfied, but our bodies would not. We would have no strength and we wouldn't be healthy at all." She bit her lip. "Which doesn't sound like a positive outcome." Ron seemed torn. "But we would be full though, right? We wouldn't go hungry or die of starvation. Maybe I should suggest the idea to Lesterange, maybe she'd listen to me." "No," Harry said sharply, speaking for the first time since the topic was brought up. "I'd rather die by starvation than be kept here." ~*~ No one's ever understood me like you, Tom. I'm so glad I've got this diary to confide in… "Little Ginny's been writing in it for months and months, telling me all her pitiful worries and woes—" It's like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket… "It's very boring, having to listen to the silly little troubles of an eleven-year-old girl." Dear Tom, Percy keeps telling me I'm pale and I'm not myself. I think he suspects me… "Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of my secrets, to start pouring a little of my soul back into her…" There was another attack today and I don't know where I was. "Of course, she didn't know what she was doing at first. It was very amusing." I think I'm the one attacking everyone, Tom! "Ginny Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets. She strangled the school roosters and daubed threatening messages on the walls. She set the Serpent of Slytherin on four Mudbloods, and the Squib's cat." The dark figure loomed in front of her, its red eyes glowing as it smiled widely. "Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four." "NO!" Ginny sat up straight in her bed, panting heavily, sweat dripping down her forehead. Her sheets were twisted around her like a cage, her voice still screaming in the horror of her own memories. "NOOOO!" Her stomach lurched and Ginny rolled on her side and vomited over the edge of her bed. "Ginny? Ginny!" Her mother's voice. Her mother's footsteps—her gentle tough easing her head back. Her cool hands pressing firmly against Ginny's flaming cheeks. "Shh, Ginny, it's alright," Molly Weasley whispered. She cradled Ginny softly in her arms, as she had done so many times over that dreadful summer after her first year. Ginny knew she was crying. She could feel the hot tears burning down her cheeks, mixing with the salty sweat from her forehead. But she didn't care; she didn't even mind that her brothers were standing in the doorway, watching in fascinated horror. "It's alright," Molly murmured again, stroking Ginny's hair. Her daughter was shaking uncontrollably, small whimpering noises escaping her lips every few moments. It was silent for a long, ten minutes, during which Ginny's heartbeat slowly calmed to a normal pulse and her forehead was no longer sweating. She tried to sit up, but her mother pushed her back down again. "Fred, George," barked the woman. "Go downstairs and wet some towels in the sink. Charlie? Fetch the wool blanket in the wardrobe in Ron's room." The brothers whisked off quickly in their given destinations—slightly disturbed at seeing their sister so unstable. Bill remained in the doorframe, his eyes wide. Percy and Arthur stood beside him, they too with expressions of amazement. It had been a long time since Ginny Weasley had ever shown any kind of weakness. Molly sent them a piercing glance. "What're you three looking at? Off to bed with the lot of you, work at the ministry begins at five tomorrow morning." Without a word, the three grown men went to bed, greatly fearing a Weasley woman's wrath. Fred and George came back quickly with a bowl of steaming wet cloths and Charlie a moment later had placed the blanket at the foot of the bed, and then closed the door quickly behind him. Clucking like a mother hen, Molly swiftly cleaned up the mess Ginny had made with a quick swish of her wand. The entire time, however, she kept a firm grip on her daughter's hand, who wiped away her tears with the sleeve of her pajamas. Realizing that she was being treated like a child, Ginny let out a helpless, watery laugh, sinking back into the pillows. Molly smiled and gently pressed one of the cloths on Ginny's forehead. "Better now?" she asked kindly, stroking her hair. "Seems like only yesterday you had those nightmares every night and this was a nightly routine, hmm?" She tucked the wool blanket around Ginny's ankles and up near her neck. "I almost missed it for a while. When you couldn't go back to sleep, we would talk all night," Ginny remained silent, taking in the fresh night air…the warm smell of cinnamon that seemed to always claim her mother's features…the calming wet cloth on her forehead. She closed her eyes, enjoying this moment of peace. "Was it about…him?" Ginny's eyes snapped open. She looked at her mother, whose hair was slowly coming out of its pins—allowing its wild tendrils to escape their confinements. Its deep auburn, now, was streaked with a grey that Molly claimed came from raising the twins for all these years. Her eyes were tired and sagged with the night's waxing hours. Ginny nodded. "With Harry," she said simply. She needn't say more. Her mother understood what she meant. In the Chamber of Secrets, with Voldemort, age sixteen, and a Basilisk and… And Harry. Ginny bit back more tears, turning away from her mother's penetrating stare. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice shaking. "I shouldn't have woken you up, it was childish of me. I'll be alright now—" She started to push her mother's hand away, sitting up with a cold, determined expression. She would not be coddled. It was bad enough that she seemed to melt at any thought of Harry. She needed more spine—she was an Auror for Merlin's sake! But her mother would not allow it. She pushed Ginny back down into the bed with a firm and motherly look that only she seemed to posses. "Ginevra Weasley, I will not hear this nonsense," Molly said, raising her eyebrows. "You just vomited on the floor—" "I told you the kidney pie didn't agree with me last night," Ginny interrupted stubbornly. "But you still made me take second helpings." "Ginny," said Molly. "We both know the reason why you were sick. And I don't think it was the kidney pie." Ginny looked down shamefully at her knees. Well, of course it wasn't the kidney pie—Ginny loved kidney pie. It did not take a genius to figure it out. "I keep having these dreams," Ginny admitted hoarsely. "Dreams that I had back then…after the Chamber incident. And I've had other ones too, and…" she trailed off, frowning. "What, dear?" Molly probed. "And…I think Harry and the others are escaping." Silence. "Well, that's just preposterous," Molly said briskly, straightening the corners of the woolen blanket. Ginny noticed that her mother was avoiding her gaze. "Everyone knows…common knowledge…absolutely impossible…" Molly muttered incomprehensible sentences under her breath as she continued on to straighten all of Ginny's blankets and changing the wet clothes lying on her daughter's head. "Mum," Ginny said quietly, sitting up and peeling off the soaking rag. "Don't know where you'd get that idea…" Molly murmured almost frantically. Ginny frowned and grabbed her mother's hands, stopping her from folding Ginny's sheets over for the third time. "Mum, why—?" "Honestly—" "Mum!" Ginny snapped, slowly becoming annoyed. "Listen to me!" "You really shouldn't speak of those things—" "Mum! Stop! Why does everyone avoid this topic? Why doesn't anybody try to save them?" "Because, Ginny!" Her mother's face was suddenly contorted in the moonlight, furious with the incomprehensible thoughts going through her daughter's head. "Lives have been lost in the attempt to penetrate those walls! The ministry is failing! The wizarding world is tiring! One of the greatest wars just ended, one that caused the slaughter of millions of innocent people!" Ginny stared at her mother with disbelief, who never talked this way. Yet now that she had started, Molly seemed unable to stop. "Merlin! We, as parents, thought that horrible nightmare was over eighteen years ago! And then, with the second war…and Harry and your brother and Hermione…" "Mum—" "They were the heroes, Ginny! Young children that faced You-Know-Wwho and survived. And then, months later, as we finally felt relief—they were captured. Our hopes were crushed as the undefeatable were suddenly taken from us! All of this puts wear on people. You can't expect us all to be willing to try and fight anymore, to cause more bloodshed!" She was panting heavily, as if her speech had taken all the breath out of her. She kept wringing her hands as if to scour the dirt of bad memories from her body. Her eyes were wide—wide with panic and indignation. "So what you're saying," Ginny said slowly in a low voice, "is that because you're tired of fighting, you're going to let them die?" Molly stared at her daughter in stillness for a long while, her mouth slightly agape. Then, finally, she stood up without a word and left the room, closing the door behind her. ~*~ On Halloween night, the Death Eaters within the castle took up their masks and black cloaks, shrouding themselves in the same horrifying images that shot fear into others' hearts. Torches of fire were placed sparingly about the Great Hall, giving the room an eerie, grave-like appearance. Black curtains whispered gently in the wind, fluttering like the wings of a dark angel. The full moon hid behind the dense clouds, its silvery fingers yet to impale onto the grass—leaving the night cold and without light. The students shivered beneath their blankets, fearing the worst. They remembered the last Halloween. The screams, the fire, the darkness. How could one forget? This festival of horror and fright seemed to be made for their captors. And as each moment passed…as each minute flew by…time brought those horrifying images closer to midnight—the witching hour. "We should lock the doors," Hermione glanced at the back of the Fat Lady's portrait. "Remember what happened last year—?" "I doubt they'll go as far as that," Ron objected, not at all convinced with his argument. He felt a familiar shudder sweep through him and he shivered. "Right, Harry?" Harry, who was pacing the room, shrugged. The fire in the common room was so low that only the embers burned, casting dark shadows on the inhabitants' faces. Parvati and Lavender sat in a corner, whispering to each other. Neville remained by himself, writing in a tattered notebook. A few Gryffindors from Ginny's year were beside the window, attempting to distract themselves with a game of chess. But the atmosphere was tense. All the other Gryffindors had barricaded themselves inside the dorms, refusing to let anyone in unless they were their own classmates. Harry snapped his fingers, trying to break the silence. The castle was entirely and completely still. And, as Mr. Weasley had always said in reference to his wife's temper: 'the calm before the storm'. "They don't have nearly as much food," Harry murmured as he continued to pace. His mind raced with the uncontrollable terror that seemed to invade his body more and more often these days. Hermione gave an impatient hiss, nervously straightening the creases of her skirt. "What does food matter?" she snapped. "They still have plenty of victims for their little ceremony. And three guesses which house they'll pick from this year!" Her voice was high-pitched: a clear sign of fear. Harry shot her a glance. "We don't have time to panic, Hermione," he said firmly, steadily holding his gaze. "They go for the ones who are scared," Hermione slumped visibly, but nodded. "You make them sound like animals," she said miserably. Biting her lip, she glanced at the windows and let out a deep breath. Her chest constricted with the effort to breathe. In and out, Hermione, She reminded herself, Breathe in, breathe out. "In a way, I think they are," Harry said quietly. He tried to give Hermione a reassuring smile, but it came out more like a grimace. Seeing his effort, she returned it, but her eyes betrayed her true emotions. How could he seem so calm? But bravery never came in shortages in consideration of Harry, as he had displayed during the Final Battle. But even this situation could shake the strongest of consciences. Hermione remembered when, as soon as Harry had killed Voldemort in the Chamber of Secrets, the walls had collapsed. How the ceiling and stone slabs had incased her and Harry inside a small, dark space that hardly had any air. How she could hear the screams of crushed fighters beside her. And the waiting, hour after hour, to be rescued. But most of all, Hermione remembered Harry. How he had, even in the extreme state of weakness and pain, kept Hermione calm, even making her laugh. And when she had started crying, saying that she would never see Ron or her family ever again, Harry had started singing a song that was not only out of tune, but was entirely stupid as well. Oh, how she had laughed! When rescuers finally came, they rushed Harry to St. Mungo's, but Hermione wasn't worried. For she knew her best friend and how even in the darkest of times, he could find the light. Hermione smiled to herself as she lost herself in her memories. But the moment was short lived. Ron, standing in front of the window, peered through the glass panes and his face went stark white. "They've started," he breathed. "Don't slouch, Draco. Mind to keep yourself on your best behavior." I'm not a child, anymore. "Yes, Father." Draco Malfoy glared contemptuously out of his mask to his father who, luckily, could not see his expression. Cloaked Death Eaters stood in a circle around the bonfire lit on Hogwarts grounds. There was a faint hum of excitement among the crowd and hands were anxiously drawing towards their wands—ready to begin their annual celebration of Halloween. From the crowd stepped Peter Pettigrew and a number of Death Eaters rolled their eyes behind their masks at the sight of the bumbling fool. "My friends, fellow servants to the Dark Lord." His voice was loud and squeaky like that of his animal alter-ego. A few voiced their opinions with snorts of laughter. Pettigrew sent a half-hearted glare around the group, but it was useless. Although Pettigrew fancied himself as head of the Hogwarts prison, he was nothing but a dim-witted figurehead in front of a dangerous embassy. Slowly, out of the shadows, came the slim figure of who could only be Draco's aunt, Bellatrix. She removed her mask smoothly, her black eyes staring coldly out towards the quivering Death Eaters. A smile curved up on her lips and she spread her arms wide. "Brothers," she called out. "Brothers of the Darkness!" The crowd roared its approval. Bellatrix's eyes were alight with the fire. "Tonight is our night. For many months we have toiled under the hope of discovering the Dark Lord. And I feel it necessary to inform you that we have almost succeeded!" Draco's face paled in shock. The Dark Lord? Risen back into the world? Again came the hungry growl of the servants, waiting to relish in the fear of others once more. "How appropriate for us to celebrate this new possibility than with our very own traditional…Hollow's Eve feast." The Death Eaters cackled. "We know the duty of tradition. We seek not only to conserve and to maintain that tradition, but to do whatever it takes to see that it not only survives, but also flourishes and lives up to what we consider to be our destiny. We are in a war, one that we personally have begun in the interest of the futuristic world. One that has been thrust upon us as an extreme responsibility. We will see it through to the end. Our forefathers tamed this land and controlled all other continents. We will not walk silently unto defeat. We will preserve what we have built. We will preserve what we have invented, and we will protect our own. We are upholders of a noble cause—that with which we must exercise our powers over those beneath us. Those who do not even deserve to lick the grime from our shoes." "Hear, hear!" someone called. "It is time!" Bellatrix crowed. "The light of our truth will blind the weak, awe those that seek truth, invigorate the strong and burn those with treason in their hearts. It is time to remind them who are the ones with the power—the ones with the mighty, noble blood rushing through our veins!" The tumult grew louder as adrenalin pumped through each heart. "Begin…the hunt!" The Death Eaters rushed forward, wands drawn. Torches blazed through the night sky, making streaks across the stars as sparks flew. They rushed towards the doors of Hogwarts, up the steps, and into the hallways, searching…always searching… Searching for their prey. "Close the curtains," Harry ordered Ron. He immediately obeyed. People in the common room stood up abruptly in alarm. The chanting and roars from the Death Eaters below in the castle began to echo up to the Gryffindor tower. "They've started?" Neville asked nervously. Hermione gave him a curt nod, tearing the curtains of the arched windows shut as quickly as possible. "Get to the dorms," Harry ordered the panicked Gryffindors. They were standing in the room, frozen with fear, like deer in the headlights. "Lock yourselves in and push whatever you can against the doors. Keep all windows shut and don't make one sound. Do you understand?" They nodded and rushed up the stairs. Neville, however, paused. "What about you three?" he asked, worried. "If we barricade ourselves in…" Hermione looked at Harry desperately. "Harry, please don't tell me you're going to—" "I have to," Harry snapped, starting to drag one of the large armchairs over towards the portrait hole. "This is the only time when we don't have guards breathing down our necks." "What?" Ron demanded. "You don't mean…?" Harry nodded. "You're going…out there?" "There's a third-year who has Dragon Pox, Ron. She's got to be cured before it spreads. I saw some of Madam Pomfrey's old potions in the hospital wing. And we could do with a few extra blankets—" "Can't we nick those things some other time?" Ron begged, glancing nervously towards the windows. "Harry, mate, you'd have to be absolutely mental to want to go out there…" "I'm going out there," Harry said firmly. "You know you can't stop me." Ron, Hermione, and Neville stared helplessly at their friend. They knew very well that when Harry set his mind to something, he would do it. "We're coming with you, then," Neville said decisively. Harry shook his head. "Stay here with everyone else. Protect them. I'll be fine on my own." He turned and started to go for the portrait hole. "Push as many things as you can against the entrance as soon as I leave." "How will you get back in?" Ron demanded. But Harry didn't answer. The portrait hole swung open and the screams and chanting and pounding of footsteps reverberated into the common room. Hermione reached out and grabbed Harry's arm just as he was about to leave. "Harry," she said in a low voice, "you know the purpose of this ceremony of theirs? You know that the whole reason they're doing this is to torture people and possibly even kill them?" "I know, Hermione," Harry said patiently. "Be careful, won't you?" she asked, taking a step back. "You're not immune to death, contrary to popular belief." Harry stepped through the portrait hole and winked at Hermione as it closed. "Oh? And how would you know?" ~*~ As his fellow Death Eaters pounded up the stairs, Draco could not help but become caught up in the moment. He soon found himself laughing happily at the sight of screaming house-elves, shuddering paintings, and fleeing students. He was alive! Alive with the night and its darkness. Breathing in deep, Draco smiled as the group of hunters split in two different directions, surging down the hallways. Draco found himself being shunted to the left, and ran to stay up with those in front of the crowd. Their bellows were bouncing off the walls, shaking suits of armor and the screams of students trapped outside their common rooms pierced the ears of even the most deaf. "UP! UP!" roared one of the Death Eaters, pointing to the stairs. The others followed him without question. They were madmen, thirsty for the taste of blood, eyes keen to any movement that was not from one of their own. Those who were too slow were pushed out of the way—trampled under foot. There was no time to breathe, no time to think. This was the Hunt! As they rushed up the stairs and turned right, Draco vaguely recognized the paintings and realized that they were on their way past Gryffindor tower. But the thought was soon pushed aside. Draco licked his lips and ran harder, howling like a werewolf. Harry could hear them rushing up the steps and knew that if he was seen, he would most definitely be murdered on the spot. He quickly ducked behind a tapestry, making certain that he was completely hidden from view. The floor began to vibrate as the Death Eaters came rushing up the stairs, and their voices were an incomprehensible scream that pounded into Harry's skull. He pressed himself hard against the wall, hardly daring to breathe. A small bead of sweat trickled down his forehead and he longed to wipe it away, but knew that any movement would cost him his life. He remained frozen. "Where to?" shouted a loud, obnoxious voice over the chanting. Another responded in an equally thunderous tone. "To the Ravenclaws!" they shouted. "Let us see how smart they are!" The murderous crowd roared its approval and, through the threads of the tapestry, Harry watched them turn left into a spindly corridor. For a moment, he hesitated. He had the opportunity if needed. He could go back to the common room and sit in the safety of his dorm. But then, the image of the little third-year with Dragon Pox flashed into his head. He remembered how pitiful she had looked, lying weak in her four-poster bed, covered in marks. Quickly, and without thought, Harry slipped out from behind the tapestry and ran to the right, hoping to reach the infirmary. However, if he had waited a bit longer, that night might not have had such a tragic ending. It could have ended a little happier, with a great deal less pain and fear. If Harry had waited a bit longer, Draco Malfoy would not have seen him run the opposite direction of the search party. ~*~
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