Ron did it, looking doubtfully sideways at Harry as he did so. 'Yikes.
He's freezing cold.'
'Tilt his head back. Right. Like that. Now put your mouth on his and breath into his lungs-'
Ron jerked back. 'What?'
'JUST DO IT!'
'Okay, okay.'
'There must be something I can do.'
'You can get out of the cell, Sirius,' said Lupin, who was lying on his back with his hands covering his face. Every once in a while he would groan and curl in on himself, his arms wrapped around his midsection. Sirius couldn't tell exactly where the pain originated -
everywhere, he had a feeling.
'Look, Moony, I'll just transform if I have to.'
'I'm not sure that'll help. Damn,' added Lupin softly, flinching as he took his hands away from his face and glared at his fingertips, from which razor-sharp nails had sprouted. 'What's going on?'
'Does it feel like the Change?' Sirius asked.
Lupin shook his head. 'As if someone took the Change and stretched it out…and out…and out. It never takes this long, you know that — ' he broke off on a wince, looked up at Sirius. 'Sirius…what if I get stuck this way? In between?'
'That's all right,' said Sirius, patting him a bit awkwardly on the shoulder. 'I hear teeth and fingernails are being worn long this season.'
Lupin actually laughed, a short gasp cut off by another spasm of pain. He winced and turned away from Sirius to face the wall.
'That does it,' muttered Sirius, and fumbled in his pocket for his wand, casting his mind back to Hogwarts; he'd been with Lupin before when he Changed, but usually it was — though painful -
immediate, and anti-pain spells had never been-
Sirius paused.
His pocket was empty.
Sirius swore. He was even better at swearing than Draco, although he did it less.
He heard a chortle, and swung his head around to see the demon's gloating face pressed against the bars of its cell. 'Only an idiot would stay locked in a cell with a werewolf,' it said. 'But only their heir to the throne of a kingdom of idiots would stay locked in a cell with a werewolf being Called by Dark powers.'
Sirius glared at it, wanting nothing more a that moment than to leap across the space that separated them and bash its gloating face in.
'If you don't shut up,' he told it in measured tones, 'I'll finish what Harry started on you.'
The demon bared its teeth at him and hissed. 'You know nothing,' it snarled at him.
'I know you tried to kill my godson.'
The demon's eyes whirled, concentric circles of black and red. 'I was not trying to kill him,' it began indignantly, and then its red eyes widened and Sirius whirled around to see the wolf at his back.
*** ***
Harry, Draco tried to say, but his own voice made no sound. He opened his eyes, and for a moment wondered if he had gone blind.
He could see nothing but blackness.
Holding out his hands, he shuffled forward, into the darkness. There was no sound at all, no scent, no feel of heat or cold. He had always wondered if death was nothingness, and found that idea comforting.
Now he realized how terrible nothingness could be.
'Harry!' he called out, This time he heard his own voice, a soft echo.
He followed the sound of it until he heard another sound — a soft trickle, like falling water.
He threw his hand out, and this time it struck something hard. A wall. Feeling along the wall, he drew closer and closer to the sound of the water. At last he saw a narrow band of light and realized it was the end of a tunnel.
They always said there'd be light at the end of the tunnel, he thought grimly. But someone this isn't what I was expecting.
He squeezed his way through the narrow gap in the stones, and found himself standing on the bank of a swift-moving river. The bank he stood on was green and verdant, but the opposite side of the bank was gray and dry with dust.
He stepped down into the river. Icy water swirled around his ankles.
It was like wading through molasses. He glanced down, and shouted out loud in terror — there were faces under the water. White, staring faces with big, froglike eyes that stared up at him accusingly.
With a hoarse yell, he started to back away, but it was too late. A wet hand seized his ankle, long white fingers scrabbling for a hold on his trousers. A head, dark and sleek as a seal's, broke the water, and slowly, a woman rose to her feet before him. Her hair was long and dark, streaming water, and her long, velvet gown clung to her in soaking folds.
'Salazar?' she said.
Draco froze. And stared. And as she gazed at him, her blue eyes filled with a terrible sort of indefinable longing and fear, he realized that he knew her voice. It was the voice that had screamed in his head when the dementors got near him, crying out, asking him what he had done. 'Rowena,' he said, knowing now who she was.
