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Author: Myth & Legend Story: The Shadows Of Silence Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: Completed Reviews: 4 Words: 113,891
Chapter 15: Discoveries "Dreams tell us truths That we dare not perceive. Their missive is honest, But do you believe?" "Introduction To The Meaning Of Dreams" ~ Jorin Bedarest ‘It's over!' Ron exclaimed as they emerged from their last lesson of the term. ‘Two whole weeks of holiday!' ‘A fortnight of homework more like,' Harry grumbled as he packed the last of his books into his bag and stood back, allowing Hermione to slip her hand into Ron's. ‘Are either of you going home?' ‘And leave you here by yourself to have no end of adventures without us? No chance.' Ron swung Hermione's bag onto his shoulder. ‘I reckon Mum will show up here, and Fred and George. Professor Dumbledore has extended an invitation. She hasn't stopped talking about it since Halloween.' ‘What about you Hermione?' For a minute she looked as though she were going to cry, but she shook her head and gave a little sigh. ‘My mum and dad are abroad for Christmas. They've mailed me loads of presents, and they did ask if I would like to go with them, but I don't feel safe out there. I wish they could be here instead.' ‘Why are you frightened to go home?' ‘Harry, what would you do if Ron or I were captured by Death Eaters?' ‘Come and get you,' he replied without hesitation. ‘And would you do anything to keep us alive?' ‘Of course!' ‘Even die? Don't you think Voldemort knows that? It's a miracle he hasn't used us to get to you yet. He already used your emotions for Sirius. I'm scared that they would see me as the weak one, a witchling without a magical family. I don't want to be the cause of anything, and I know they wouldn't hesitate to kill a couple of Muggles like my parents.' For a minute Harry didn't know what to say; his eyes met Ron's over her head, but the ginger-haired boy just shrugged hopelessly. ‘I'm sorry, Hermione.' ‘It's okay, I just miss it sometimes, you know, the Christmas tree and sitting around the fire and opening our presents all together.' ‘Cheer up,' Ron urged. ‘We'll see what we can do.' The suits of armour were singing raucous renditions of "Deck the Halls" as they walked past. It seemed that although remembering the words wasn't a problem, the melody was more optional, and the result was painfully flat. Professor Flitwick was standing on a tall chair in front of one of the main perpetrators, scolding in a squeaky voice. ‘I said C major, not A minor! Melodius!' His wand shot a bright beam of yellow light, and within it Harry could see a stream of crotchets and quavers that slipped through the visor and echoed around in the metal casing. The singing began again, double time and high pitched so it sounded like an old vinyl record being spun too fast. The Professor sighed and shook his head before giving up. The front doors to the castle were open, revealing the lawns and one small figure running towards them. ‘The lake's frozen over, you can walk right across it!' Dennis Creevey gasped as he hurried up the steps and into the hall. His nose and cheeks were bright red from cold and his scarf was coming unwrapped from his neck so that he kept stumbling over the trailing end. ‘The squid keeps pressing itself against the ice! You can look right into its eyes. People are even ice-skating!' Obediently the three followed the younger Gryffindor out across the snow-covered grounds. There was a large trail of footprints to and from the lake, and other, smaller paths criss-crossed in random directions. There were still broad stretches of unspoilt snow, and despite himself, Harry had to fight the childish urge to jump into the middle of the fluffy white expanse. The lake was one large mirror, flat and still. The more courageous students were striking out across the ice, gingerly tapping it with their feet as they went. One girl - Harry thought she was in Ravenclaw - was pirouetting on skates near the closest shore, laughing and showing off to her friends. Ginny was standing with Neville, and both of them were regarding the scene with distrust and suspicion. ‘It's not going to be like that all the way across,' Hermione stated as they approached one of the little rowing boats used to take the first years across the lake. The ice had a firm grasp on its hull, and an icicle hung from the crude prow like a glass figurehead. ‘There are small tributaries and run off streams so the water current will have some movement. I hope no one falls in.' ‘The squid will pull you out if you do,' Dennis laughed, jumping onto the ice and skidding towards his older brother. ‘Don't worry about it, Hermione,' Ron said soothingly. ‘Hagrid's watching, and so is Professor McGonagall.' He inclined his head towards where the older woman sat stiffly on a bench, her gloved hands folded tightly around her wand. ‘But we're prefects, isn't this a case of the students putting themselves at risk? Shouldn't we stop them?' ‘Come on, it's nearly Christmas! Why don't you forget you're a prefect, just for one day?' She opened her mouth to argue but seemed to change her mind at the last minute and inclined her head in agreement. With a small sigh, she leant closer to Ron, and Harry quietly made his departure. He was really happy for both Ron and Hermione, but over the past weeks he had begun to feel like he was getting in their way. They had been very lovey dovey and had suffered various childish comments from other students such as "get a room" at any sign of affection they showed one another. More than one teacher had scolded Ron for distracting Hermione during lessons, and whilst her schoolwork didn't seem to be suffering, it took her longer than usual to complete. ‘Two's company, three's a crowd,' Harry mumbled to himself and shrugged, a crooked smile on his lips. It was bound to happen one day. They'd been friends for six years, and whilst neither danger nor strife had driven them apart, some bonds had grown stronger than others, and now he felt very much the third wheel. The castle was practically deserted. Most students were either outside in the last hours of daylight, playing on the lake and having snowball fights, or they were in their common rooms, packing for the long journey home for Christmas. He could go and sit by the fire in the Gryffindor Tower, but he didn't like the idea of being in the middle of all the hustle and bustle of people preparing to leave, so instead his feet turned him towards the library. His schoolwork was still in his bag, but he decided to leave it there and went to sit in one of the bay windows that overlooked the forest. The sun was starting to sink and the sky had turned a fragile yellow as snow clouds piled in on the horizon. In a few days it would be Christmas Eve and the first Christmas since Sirius had died. He scowled at his reflection in the glass and shook his head to himself. It wasn't as if he'd really ever had a festive season with his godfather anyway, not really. What difference would this year make? His grief had begun to fade. Sometimes he would go for days without thinking of Sirius, but inevitably the revolution would continue and he'd be back to square one, bitter and angry at the injustice of it all. He pulled himself away from the window with a rush, as though by tearing himself back from the vista he could also detach himself from his thoughts. Madam Pince frowned at him over the top of her book when he swore softly and began to pace amongst the shelves, staring blindly at the spines of each book in turn. More and more these past few weeks he had found himself yearning for a different life. He wished he could be someone different, someone normal. He wished he could blend into a crowd and not be picked out as an individual. He was tired of trying to find out secrets and mysteries from the people who thought he was mature enough to handle the Dark Lord but too much of a child to know the full truth. He clenched his fists at his side and tried to suppress a hot surge of anger, but it was too late. The books on the top shelf were shivering, wiggling closer and closer to the edge before a dozen or so fell to the floor. ‘What are you doing?!' Madam Pince shrieked, standing up at her desk and scowling fiercely. ‘Do you have no respect?' ‘I- I'm sorry. I must have knocked the bookcase.' ‘Pick them all up and get out. The library is closing,' she growled before marching away. Harry bent down to retrieve the tomes, stacking them gently on top of one another. There were seven copies of Hogwarts: A History, a thin black book with no discernable markings and over two hundred blank pages, and a leather-bound brown thing, which looked distinctly ragged around the edges. Opening the front cover, he read the words and gave a quick grin. Hermione had been looking for this book for ages. She had found in the catalogues a book entitled Magicki Cerebrum, or magical minds, and had been almost positive that every known Cerebral would be listed within its covers. Obviously, it had been put back in the wrong place, a crime that would earn any student a weekend in the dusty archives if the head librarian caught them. Harry checked the book out, trying not to meet Madam Pince's furious gaze as he apologised for a second time and made his escape. He settled on the stairway that lead from the entrance hall up towards the higher levels of the school, confident in the fact that it wouldn't start moving at any time. The singing armour had been silenced, and there was just the twinkling of fairy lights on the surface of iridescent baubles to distract him. More than once he caught himself staring off into space, his thoughts elsewhere as the book failed to hold his interest. Finally growing bored of the copious introduction, he flicked through the pages, trying to pick out any names he knew. It seemed that over the years, there had been many suspected witches and wizards with cerebral tendencies, but few had been confirmed. Aurora Black was the first ever confirmed Cerebral in 978 AD. The next didn't appear for over two hundred years. ‘Harry!' He lifted his head up to see Ron standing at the bottom of the stairs looking up at him, an expression of surprise on his face. ‘Are you reading?' ‘Yes, Ron, you should try it sometime.' ‘Ha ha, very funny mate. The teachers have said that fifth years and above can go into Hogsmeade one last time before it shuts for Christmas, are you coming?' A wicked grin crossed Ron's face. ‘Ginny's going with us.' ‘Why would that help make up my mind?' Harry asked, trying to appear nonchalant. ‘Well, put it this way; several sources claim to have seen you and my little sister slipping into alleyways and staggering home after curfew.' ‘We weren't doing anything, unlike you and Hermione.' Ron gave a snort of disbelief, ‘Look mate, are you coming or not?' ‘I think I'll stay here if it's all right. I've got nothing to do in the village, anyway.' For a minute Ron stood in silence, a puzzled little frown on his face before he climbed the stairs and sat next to his friend. ‘Are you all right?' ‘Yeah, why?' ‘You just seem a bit quiet. I can't really remember the last time I had a proper conversation with you.' ‘Really, Ron, I'm fine. Just a bit tired.' ‘Have you been having nightmares?' The question was so natural to his friend, so instantaneous that Harry rolled his eyes. ‘No I haven't. I've just been restless, that's all, and I've been really busy with Occlumency on top of all my other lessons.' ‘I thought you'd finished those?' Harry shook his head as he rubbed a hand over his eyes. ‘I'm still seeing Professor Dumbledore once a week to practice.' ‘If you're sure you're okay…' Ron trailed off, still looking doubtful before Harry shooed him away. ‘Go on or the girls will leave without you.' ‘Maybe I should stay.' ‘Ron!' ‘Fine, I'm going, we'll see you later.' Harry watched as his friend walked back down the staircase and across the entrance hall before disappearing out of the door. He shifted his weight uncomfortably on the step, acutely aware that the chill of the stone was seeping into him, making him shiver and causing goose pimples to race up and down his skin. After a few minutes indecision he resigned himself to the crowded common room, settling on one of the sofas by the fireplace and vainly attempting to shut out the rest of the frantic world. Crookshanks was perched next to him, and watched with one bright eye as Genie jumped up next to him and settled down to watch Harry with interest. The two felines seemed to have reached an unsteady truce, and whilst the flat-faced ginger tom would tolerate Ginny's young cat, the part kneazle never hesitated to whack her with his paw should she step out of line. Tickling the pair of them idly behind the ears, Harry opened the book once more and started to flip through the pages. After a few minutes he reached into his pocket and pulled out the list of names he had discovered in Snape's office. One by one, he matched them up to confirmed or suspected Cerebrals listed in the book, scribbling notes and dates next to the names. It was early evening by the time he'd finished. His eyes were heavy and his stomach growled with hunger as he read through the list: Zina Vincan – Female Cerebral (Confirmed) 1179-1234 Tuan Mivok – Male Cerebral (Confirmed) 1312-1330 Kalea Lenninstoff – Female Cerebral (Unconfirmed) 1501-1549 Elkama Thinsdale – Female Cerebral (Unconfirmed) Dates uncertain Archimedes Ancun – Male Cerebral (Confirmed) 1560-1600 Elladora Kettridge – Female Cerebral (Suspected) 1656 – 1729 Harry shook his head in confusion, not knowing what to think. He was almost certain that Snape was working as a spy for Dumbledore, reporting back Voldemort's actions and deeds, but why would the Potions Master have a list of dead Cerebrals? Harry had checked through the book, and none were listed beyond the nineteenth century, suggesting the trait had all but died out. The list suggested Snape was researching the phenomenon, but to what purpose? Around him, people were saying their farewells and wandering back and forth through the portrait hole (much to the annoyance of the Fat Lady), exchanging gifts and embraces. Someone had put some mistletoe above the doorway, and whilst the younger students shrieked and laughed in their attempts to avoid it, some of the older students were using it as an excuse to steal parting kisses. One by one they trickled away, quitting the castle and hurrying into the carriages to return home. The common room was eerily quiet; the only sounds were feline purrs and the occasional crackle and snap of the fire. Ron, Hermione and Ginny had been gone for hours, and Harry felt a trickle of chilly unease run through him. Hermione's words had stuck in his mind, and he couldn't help but fear that down in the village, the Death Eaters lurked, waiting to strike from the shadows… With a shake of his head, he leant back into the soft cushions, trying to ignore all the little nagging anxieties and just relax. He shut his eyes, feeling the bite of exhaustion as the warmth of the room lulled him into a doze; the sounds of the room became exaggerated, and the line between reality and fantasy blurred. He thought he could hear Ginny's laughter. The familiar sounds brought a rush of relief and another, hot emotion he could not begin to identify, but as he strained his ears to listen more closely, the laughter became tears of fright and pain. The window burst open and the snow and wind howled around the room, whipping at his face and pushing him away as he tried to move towards her. The walls fell away to show him the panoramic view of the mountains that surrounded Hogwarts. He could just make out Hogsmeade, half hidden in the dusk. He could hear screams of pain and see the lights of shops and houses being extinguished, one by one. There was a woman, standing in the street. Tears were running down her face, and her hands were clenched tightly into fists at her sides. The familiar black robes of a Death Eater enshrouded her thin frame, but her face was unmasked. She stood proud and tall as she was taunted and abused, by the men in robes. People died before her, but she did not turn away. With each flash of light another sob would rack her frame, and words he could not hear began to escape her lips. She turned to look at him, her dark eyes wide and her skin pale. Her face became furious, as though he were doing something wrong. She made as if to move towards him, to claw at his face with her nails until she drew blood, until he lay before her, humbled in death. She opened her lips and the voice was strong. It was not a request, but a command: ‘Leave him alone.' A physical feeling crossed his mind, one of chains tightening around him, trapping and enslaving him. He felt choked and nauseous; other images clashed in his mind, as though something was burrowing deep into his head… In a second the dream faded. His mind became a blank slate as the smell of snow diminished and the walls of Occlumency encased him. The imprisoned feeling vanished and left him staring wide-eyed at the mirror above the fireplace. For a second he could only frown at his reflection, not comprehending what he was seeing. His bright green eyes shone intense amber, and a streak of his hair, rather than black had bleached pure white. His skin looked pale, as though he had experienced a terrible fright, but in the blink of an eye his appearance returned to normal, and his reflection was its familiar self. He must have been struggling in his sleep. Cushions were strewn across the floor, and some were precariously close to the flames of the fire. He'd knocked over an empty mug and his robes were in disarray. He rose to his feet and strode across the common room, intent on going down to Hogsmeade and finding his friends. The Fat Lady squealed as he pushed her open and scolded his retreating back. ‘Where are you going at this time of night?' ‘Out.' ‘What?' He ignored her protests as he hurried along the corridors. He was about to make his way down the staircase when he heard familiar voices in the hallway below. Leaning over the banister he gave a smile of relief when he saw his friends standing in the middle of the tiled floor, brushing snow out of their hair and stamping their feet to dislodge the clinging flakes from their shoes. ‘Hey, Harry, have you been asleep all this time?' Ron laughed at his friend's rumpled appearance. ‘I had nothing better to do,' he said, making a silent promise to tell them about the dream and Snape's list another time. ‘Oh really, and it was only a few hours ago you were complaining you had far too much homework than was reasonable,' Hermione said, ‘I would have thought you'd have been getting on with that.' ‘Ignore her, Harry, she's found out a new bookshop's opening in town. She's been going all academic on us for the past hour!' ‘Stop exaggerating, Ron. Besides,' she crossed her arms, ‘it's about time Hogsmeade got a branch of Flourish and Blotts. Sometimes the library just isn't enough.' She brushed past them into the common room and picked up the cushions, fluffing them absent-mindedly before she settled in one of the armchairs. Ron began unloading his pockets, piling Chocolate Frogs, Fizzing Whizbees and sugar quills onto the table before he sat on the floor and began eating Every Flavour Beans, occasionally pulling a face as he came across a less wholesome flavour. Ginny had bought some sugar mice for Genie and Crookshanks, and the two felines were watching with interest as the sweet delights scurried around and around the common room floor. It was late when the last of the sweets had been eaten, and the hot chocolate mugs lay along the hearth. The four Gryffindors were quiet and content as the fire burnt its way down to just a few glowing embers. One by one, they drifted off to bed, and it was as Ginny bade him goodnight that Harry asked, ‘Did anything unusual happen in Hogsmeade?' ‘No, why? Were you worried about us? He shrugged, suddenly feeling stupid and embarrassed. ‘I just wondered why you were gone so long.' ‘Madam Rosmerta didn't want us walking back in the snow.' Ginny smiled from where she stood on the second step up, but didn't tease him, or laugh at his fears for their safety. She simply ducked her head for a moment before saying, ‘Good night Harry, sleep well.' It was as he lay tense and restless in his bed that the images of the dream began to outline themselves once more in his mind. He knew the woman standing in the black robes, he knew her eyes well, and recognised her voice. He heard it every week as it lectured the students on all manner of defence. His stomach churned and the bitter taste of betrayal rose in his throat as once again Mistress Asli Drew turned her weeping eyes towards him, and behind her, people he knew and loved fell to their deaths by Voldemort's hands.
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