Featherlight Taction

I can't meet
Losing sleep over this
No I can't
And now I cannot stop pacing
Give me a few hours
I'll have this all sorted out
If my mind would just stop racing

Cause I cannot stand still
I can be this unsturdy
This cannot be happening

This is over my head
But underneath my feet
Cause by tomorrow morning I'll have this thing beat
And everything will be back to the way that it was
I wish that it was just that easy

Cause I'm waiting for tonight
Been waiting for tomoroow
I'm somewhere in between
What is real
Just a dream
What is real
Just a dream
What is real
Just a dream

Would you catch me if I fall out of what I fell in
Dont be surprised if I collapse down at your feet again
I don't want to run away from this
I know that I just don't need this

Cause I cannot stand still
I can be this unsturdy
This cannot be happening

Cause I'm waiting for tonight
Been waiting for tomorrow
And I'm somewhere in between
What is real
Just a dream
What is real
Just a dream
What is real
Just a dream
What is real just a dream

-Lifehouse – Somewhere in Between

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Featherlight Taction

Chapter 8- Fixation

Harry had apparated back to Diagon Alley to find his friends searching the streets frantically for him. Their panicked eased at sighting him, but quickly resurfaced on their red faces once more as they saw the horrified countenance he bore.

“Harry, what happened?!” Hermione cried, her hair mussed as if she’d just battled a hurricane.

“We thought maybe the Notice Me Not charm had gone wrong and you were completely invisible or something,” Ron said, making a face as he remembered Hermione’s panic when she thought she had performed a spell incorrectly.

Harry shook his head. “Charm was fine,” he rasped, finding his throat to be uncomfortably dry.

Hermione rest her hands tentatively on Harry’s shoulders in an act of comfort and worry. “What happened?” she asked again, softer this time.

Harry swallowed roughly and looked around the deserted alleyway they’d come to. He wasn’t sure if the charm was even on place anymore. He didn’t care. Let people see him.

“Mate…” Ron floated before Harry’s view, his freckled face nervous and sympathetic.

Seeing the redhead somehow snapped Harry out of his daze and his voice deepened, strengthening a bit. “I can’t tell you here. Let’s go back to the house. I’ll tell you there.”

His friends nodded, exchanging hesitant glances with each other as they took Harry’s arms and disapparated to Grimmauld Place.

Kreacher let out a displeased snort when the trio came through the front door of the house of Black. He was currently having a staring contest with the gnarled coat rack by the stairs. The elf was staring so vigorously at the object that Ron actually stopped and looked at the coat rack for a moment as if expecting it to do something exciting. It remained immobile, ugly, and lifeless. Shaking his head, he followed Harry and Hermione into the kitchen.

Ron and Hermione sat down next to each other, leaning forward on the elbows and waiting for Harry to join them. Harry, however, opted to stand, feeling too fidgety at the moment to stop moving. Instead, he crossed his arms and shifted back and forth on the heels of his feet as if doing a little jig. His companions gave him mirrored looks of concern.

“Voldemort kidnapped me,” Harry stated bluntly, pursing his lips and speeding up his dance, his hips swaying ridiculously. He didn’t seem to notice what a spectacle he was making of himself. Nor did he notice Ron and Hermione staring at him as if he’d sprouted another head.

“What?!” Ron spluttered indignantly, certain that Harry was just pulling his leg. Hermione looked just as affronted.

Harry stopped moving for a moment, but he refused to look his friends in the face, the image of the man-- Voldemort still burning on his retinas. “He was an old lady,” Harry said, “And she took me to the graveyard from fourth year and then she was him and he touched me and then he was different and then he left and I came back.” He looked at his friends, eyebrows raised and waiting for a response.

The two at the table looked as if they had just been slapped in the face with a fish. Their jaws hung open and their expressions were disbelieving and confused.

“Wait… and old lady took you to a graveyard?” Ron asked, severely perplexed.

“No, Voldemort did!” Harry corrected. He’d already explained it. Why were they so confused?

“But you said an old lady took you there,” Hermione said slowly, her walnut eyes regarding him with disturbed caution.

“Voldemort was the old lady,” Harry replied, throwing his hands up into the air as if the statement was obvious.

Ron quirked his head to the side. “You-Know-Who’s an old lady?”

Harry tugged at his hair in frustration. “No, he used polyjuice potion or something.”

“Well why didn’t you just say that?” Hermione asked, crossing her arms in a huff.

Harry glared at her, looking as offended as he would if she would have slapped him.

“Okay…” Hermione said, composing her thoughts. “So Voldemort took you to a graveyard. What graveyard?”

“The one... the one where Cedric was killed,” Harry responded, his voice heavy with the memory.

The other two frowned. “Were there Death Eaters there? Did they torture you?” Ron asked, looking sickened.

Harry shook his head and pulled out a chair, finally giving in to the temptation of sitting down. His legs suddenly felt very sore and tired. “No. No Death Eaters. It was just me and him.” He rubbed the back of his neck as goose-bumps popped up on his skin. The very thought of the graveyard made him uncomfortable. “And he didn’t hurt me.”

“He didn’t hurt you?” Hermione looked shocked, as did Ron. “But, that’s all he’s tried to do. What did he want if it wasn’t to hurt you?”

Harry frowned and ran a slim hand through his thick hair, grazing the scar on his forehead as he did so. “He…” his voice caught in his throat.

“Harry,” Hermione reached across the table and laid a small hand on the teen’s arm. “What did he want?”

“He wanted to know what had happened back that day at Hogwarts,” Harry said, his eyes distant and thoughtful.

Hermione’s face was grim and pensive. “He didn’t know what it was? I mean, of all people, you think he would be the one to…” She trailed off. Her brain had clicked into action. The boys could practically hear the gears whirring. Her eyes lit up and she stood. “Voldemort doesn’t know that we’re destroying the horcruxes!” she exclaimed excitedly.

The boys stared at her, bemused.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head with a chuckle, her bushy hair bouncing on her shoulders. “Isn’t it obvious? Voldemort, a wizard with so many resources and minds at his disposal—there’s no way he couldn’t have figured out what happened in the courtyard.”

Harry and Ron looked at her inquisitively. “But… he really didn’t know,” Harry said, “He was furious. He knows as much as we do.”

Hermione shook her head, a triumphant smile on her face. “Not exactly,” she chirped. “He probably looked through every possibility when trying to find out what happened. But there was one he didn’t even consider checking; one that he has no idea we know about.”

Ron’s eyes widened and Harry whispered: “The horcruxes… you don’t think?”

“I do think!” Hermione clapped her hands together, causing Ron to jump. “Harry, what happened when you were in that fog when we destroyed the diadem?”

Harry drug his mind back to that day, recalling how the diadem had exploded into a burning mist; a mist that had burned his skin… “The smoke went into my skin,” he said breathlessly, both astounded and horrified as he realized what had happened.

Ron looked sick, but Hermione was thrilled. “This is unbelievable, Harry! This means that the soul fragment from the horcrux latched to you in its last moments. That must be what caused Voldemort to change when he touched you!”

“Hermione, how is that a good thing?” Ron asked, mortified. “Your smiling about the fact that part of V-voldemort’s soul stuck to Harry! That’s not something to smile about!”

“Wait… does that make me a horcrux?” Harry cried, reeling. No! That would be catastrophic!

Hermione shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. We’d already destroyed the horcrux. The soul fragment was probably so weak that even if it’s still alive, it’s just barely. It’s not strong enough to be used as a horcrux anymore.”
”It’s strong enough to do some things,” Harry countered. “He touched me again in the graveyard. He changed again. It happened again. It happened again!” Harry felt that repeating himself would make the situation more real and stable; that it would make his point clear. “If it’s powerful enough to transform Voldemort himself, who’s to say if it’s not strong enough to resurrect him?!”

Hermione wasn’t swayed. She had a Luna-like expression on her face; dazed and thoughtful, without a care in the world. “I don’t know. I’d have to do some research on horcrux transfers,” she said, starting to pace, “But… we also need to figure out why the soul has the effect that it does. It doesn’t do anything else, does it?”

“No, just this,” Harry sighed, slouching. “As far as I know, at least.”
”Didn’t he make the horcruxes when he was normal looking?” Ron asked, leaning back in his chair and glancing at Hermione for confirmation. It was Harry who confirmed it.

“Yeah, he made them before he tried to kill me; back when he still looked like a person. What about it?”

“Well wouldn’t that mean that the soul fragment has the features of who he used to be and not who he is now?” Ron prompted, pulling at the zipper of his jacket.

“Ronald, that’s brilliant!” Hermione cried, clasping her hands together, her excitement renewed. Ron blushed. “Harry, the soul is like a memory. When the soul comes into contact with Voldemort, it reverts him to what the soul believe he should be. The soul grew old as well, but it didn’t undergo the resurrection three years ago. That means-“

“That the man he turns into when he touches me is who he would have been if he hadn’t found out about the prophecy,” Harry finished darkly, a scowl on his face.

Hermione’s face fell. “Yes, that must be it,” she agreed. “Harry-“

“I’m going to bed,” Harry said suddenly, standing and shoving clenched fists into his pockets.

“But it’s only evening,” Ron answered, his eyebrows knit together.

“I’m tired. I did kind of have a long day.” Harry looked at his friends, waiting for them to contest that statement. They didn’t, so he left the kitchen with a wave and a muttered “Good night”.

When he reached his room, he flicked off the lights and tossed his glasses aside, not even bothering to change, leaving on his trainers and jacket and falling face-first into the bed.

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He was in that room again; dark one with the flickering fireplace. Emerald eyes glanced around, swinging back undefined shapes and shadows and coming to rest on the figure in the doorway. They narrowed, the orange flicker of the firelight catching in the irises.

Harry didn’t say anything. He just walked forward slowly, stopping next to the tall man who leaned in the door frame, staring longingly into the fire; dark eyes unnoticing of Harry’s existence.

Harry followed the man’s gaze and they both gazed at the twisting flames in silence, not content, but satisfied with the silence. Harry felt his chest ache with the desire to say something, but he was afraid if he spoke that the man would disappear.

He turned towards him again, startled to find dark eyes staring into his own. His heart thudded against his chest and he felt tempted to run away. Why was he afraid? He knew the man would not hurt him. So what did he fear?

The man’s face was soft and unexpressive. He looked at Harry silently, unmoving and observant.

Harry licked his lips, unable to tear his eyes away from the ones that bore into his very soul. He tried to swallow, but he couldn’t, so he tried to speak instead. His voice came out in a throaty whisper. He hardly recognized it. The sound of it made him shiver as he croaked out the name he was dying to speak.

“Tom?”

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Harry shot up in bed, covered in a cold sweat. He wiped off his forehead and rubbed his eyes, groping around for his glasses. He found them and slid the cold metal onto his face, cupping his mouth with his hands and groaning. His eyes fluttered closed and the image of Tom Riddle staring into his face flickered before them. He felt his stomach clench and he punched his pillow viciously, an unknown anger skewering him like a hot iron.

“What the FUCK?!” he screamed into the softness of his pillow, latching onto his covers with a death-grip. He let out a deep growl of exasperation and relaxed, lost of his previous energy.

He leaned back into his headboard and massaged his temples, staring through the darkness at the opposite wall. Maybe if he stared at it long enough it would explode. With this thought in mind, he continued to stare at the solid wood for the next three hours, questions racing through his mind as he tried to push them away with the focus of detonating Grimmauld Place’s foundation.

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Severus Snape, cloaked and heavily hooded, stood lingering in the shadows of the Hog’s Head in Hogsmeade. The November snow floated down from the white sky and landed softly on his cloak, melting as soon and they touched the black fabric.

It was mid afternoon and the Hogwart’s students were filling the small town like locusts. As such, he had cast a strong disillusionment charm on himself, keen not to be noticed, especially with the mind of his task at hand. His ebony eyes scanned the street from his inconspicuous spot, mouth set into a firm, determined line.

His eyes widened imperceptibly as he spotted his quarry, and he wrapped his fingers around the handle of his wand. They were heading towards the Shrieking Shack, a place easily hidden from the view of Hogsmeade. They were making this easy.

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Ginny wrapped her scarf more tightly around her neck and clung to Neville’s arm with the intention of stealing the other Gryffindor’s body heat. The elder student blushed modestly, but said nothing. Ever since they’d gone to the Yule Ball together, Ginny had no problem with clinging to him whenever she felt like it. Most people interpreted wrongly, of course, assuming that the two were dating. Though Neville had possibly considered the idea, Ginny thought of him as nothing more than a brother, since none of her real siblings were at Hogwarts any longer.

Neville knew it was only a matter of time before he became the Ron replacement, but he didn’t mind. He enjoyed the young Weasley’s company, and she was a great help in keeping Dumbledore’s army going since Harry was gone.

Speaking of Dumbledore’s army, where were the others? Ever since Dumbledore’s death, the underground group had resurfaced. The Headmistress herself knew of their meetings, but she keenly kept her mouth shut, sometimes even distracting Filch when the meetings were held. Needless to say, it was loads of help when the person who ran the school didn’t mind you were keeping a secret organization within it.

Luna Lovegood, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas were supposed to have met them in the courtyard so they could go to Hogsmeade. However, as the Gryffindor duo walked out into the snow, no one was there to greet them.

“Where d’you reckon they are?” Neville inquired, scratching his mousy brown hair curiously.

Ginny shrugged against his arm. “Maybe they already started towards the Shrieking Shack. That’s where we’re holding the meeting, after all,” she said, her soft voice, echoing into the pale sky.

“Do you want to head there, then?” Neville asked. Ginny nodded and they began walking down to Hogsmeade, admiring the blanket of snow that covered the small buildings.

It had taken a lot of debating and reassurance to get the members of Dumbledore’s Army to agree to use the Shrieking Shack as their meeting place when they couldn’t use the Room of Requirement. Finally, Ginny had forcefully drug them all their and made the petrified students sit inside the house until they finally gave up the belief that the shack was haunted.

The two walked through the streets of Hogsmeade heading towards the trees and waving at passing students that they knew. They probably though they were going somewhere into the forest to snog. Neville grinned and chuckled at the thought as they passed the Hog’s Head. He felt Ginny tense and he looked down at her, thinking his chuckling had startled her.

“I was just-“ he started.

“Oh no it wasn’t your laughing,” she corrected his thoughts quickly, tugging at his arm and speeding up.

“Ginny?” What’re you doing?” Neville was practically being drug across the snow covered grass now. “Ginny?”

“Hush!” the witch whispered harshly. Then, leaning up, she said quietly, “I think someone’s following us.”

Neville, shocked but excited at the same time, nodded and hurried along with her. As soon as they were in the depths of the trees, they drew their wands and whirled around, side by side.

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Severus had seen the teens whispering closely to one another as they began to quicken their pace. Surely they couldn’t have seen him? No, the disillusionment charm was far too powerful.

Tightening his grip around his wand, his quickened his pace as well, following the teens into the trees. He stopped short when he saw that they had turned, wielding their wands and scouring the woods frantically to spot their follower.

Snape was impressed, he had to admit, but he was only allowed this revelation for a short moment before Ginny saw his footprints in the snow and sent a stunning spell straight for him. He dove adeptly out of the way and shot off a silent stunning spell towards her. She dodged the first one, but hadn’t noticed his second cast and fell to the ground, unconscious.

Neville let out an angry roar and began casting off body binds left and right. Jets of white light shot around the forest and Severus cursed under his breath, jumping behind a tree. Bloody hell, that Longbottom boy had definitely gotten better. He chuckled inwardly. The Death Eaters were in for a nasty shock when the time came to face these kids. He wondered idly how much Potter and his companions had progressed.

Waiting until Neville had tired himself, Severus spun from behind the tree, disillusionment charm still strong. Neville turned at the sound, but he wasn’t fast enough to block the jet of red light as it soared towards him, and he too fell to the ground.

The ex-professor walked over the brittle leaves towards the fallen students, wincing when he saw that Ginny’s head had landed on a rock in her fall. He quickly knelt down beside the unconscious redhead and lifted her head softly, inspecting it for wounds. A small bump protruded from the back of her skull. Sighing, he waved his wand over the spot, muttering a short incantation, and the bump shrunk away.

Likewise, he inspected Neville for injury, but, miraculously, the infamous klutz sported no bruise or bump.

Satisfied in his inspections, Severus withdrew two flasks from the pocket of his robes and uncorked them. Yanking out a few hairs from each teen’s head, he dropped them into their respective flasks. Ginny’s turned a vibrant orange. The wizard chuckled. How fitting. Neville’s became a vivid pink. At this, Severus frowned. ...What? Shaking his head, he corked the vials and tossed them back into his robe pocket.

He then bound their arms and legs and tied them to the tree with silvery, shimmering rope. They wouldn’t be able to get out of that without some help. He stood and looked at them for a minute, an unexpected wave of nostalgia swept over him and he swayed on his feet. The last moment before he left, he cast warming spells over the two teens. They’d freeze otherwise.

He shoved his wand into his robes and started heading out of the forest, his walk crisp and quick. They only had a limited amount of time now.

He swept behind the Hog’s Head and another hooded figure looked up at his entrance. “Ah, Severus,” he said smoothly, “Are we ready to go, then?”

Severus let the disillusionment drop and reached into his robe pockets, withdrawing the colorful flasks. “Lucius, they’re unconscious and tied up, but I’m sure that they will not stay that way for long. We have a few hours at the most.”

Lucius Malfoy pushed away from the stone wall and removed the hood of his cloak, letting his silver-blonde hair cascade down his back. “And who are these?” he asked, gesturing towards the vials.

“Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley,” Severus answered, raising his palm up for Lucius to inspect the potions. “I say you should be the girl. After all, your hair is longer.”

Lucius frowned. “That’s absolutely no valid reason for me to be the female!” he stated, indignant. “Your hair is not far behind my length, if you wish to debate that point.”
Severus chuckled dryly. “You, my friend, possess much more grace than I. You, surely, would play the part much more efficiently,” he finished smartly.

Lucius flushed and straightened. “Fine,” he replied stiffly, reaching for the pink vial.

Snape retracted his hand. “No, I’m afraid that’s Longbottom’s.”

Lucius stared down at the hot pink liquid disbelievingly. “You lie.”

“Sadly, no,” Severus said with a smirk. “I always knew him to be a bit light on his feet.”

The two men snickered and Lucius grabbed the orange glass and uncorked it as Severus did the same with the other. They were about to swallow the contents when the potions master raised his hand and muttered: “Wait.” He reached into his pockets an drew out his wand. “Clothing,” he explained at Lucius’ impatient look.

He flicked his thin wrist and their heavy cloaks changed to school robes and Gryffindor scarves.

Lucius grimaced. “Oh, this is downright cruel,” he hissed.

Severus looked at his own clothes and nodded in silent agreement. Then, without another word, they down the contents of the polyjuice potions.

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Ohmygoodness where’s Voldie-poo? Don’t worry, I promise he’ll be in the next chappie. In fact, he’s most of the next chappie, along with the rest of Severus and Lucius’ escapade in Hogwarts. I’m going to have loads of fun with that.

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