thought you were my friend. Live with your choices, then, since your life means so much to you. The Dark Lords voice: Is that your son, Lucius? He shook his head as if he could free himself of the sounds that echoed there, heard his fathers voice again, You are, in the end, only what I made you to be.
He froze where he was, hoping that if he just didn?t move, the memories would go away, the voices would be silenced. But they remained, rising inside his head in a screaming cacophony, cutting off all other sound.
* * * * *
Hermione stared in horror. Draco was kneeling again, his fingers unfastening the cords that bound Harrys ankles. She knew, of course, that he was being controlled, that otherwise this was something he would never do, but it was cold comfort given the danger Harry was in. Her eyes flicked towards the pentagram in the center of the room. It continued to glow eerily, and the glow had developed a strange and dreadful pulsing, As if it were a door, shaking with vibration as someone — or something — tried to knock it down. She pushed the image away fiercely, and fixed her eyes on Harry. He was looking at her as well, and as she stared he gave her one of the sweetest smiles she had ever seen, and then he looked over at Slytherin, and back at her, drawing a direct line of meaning with his eyes. She knew what he was saying — distract him — and she swallowed hard.
'You?re not as strong as you think,' she said loudly, staring at Slytherins back. He turned, as she had known he would. A thousand years had not made him any less susceptible to petty jibes.
He looked at her, his eyes inquiring, contemptuous. 'Oh, really?'
'You think that little pentagram can keep back the forces of Hell?'
Hermione snapped. 'Look. Already its eroding. The outline is fading. They?ll be here in seconds, and they won?t be too pleased that you tried to keep them out. Even all your powers can?t hold them back. I?ve read about what happens to wizards who bind demons — '
With a snarl, Slytherin glared at her. 'Silence, you stupid little Mudblood,' he barked, turned his back on her, and stalked across the room to the pentagram. Heart pounding, she watched as he used his left hand to redraw the perimeters of the magical outline, glowing streams of green light issuing from his fingers as he moved them above the floor.
She turned her head back to Harry, and saw him raise his hand, and throw something hard at the floor. The tiny white orb. It struck the flagstones and shattered, and from its shattering exploded a burst of blinding white light. The light leaped up, refracted and split into three white arrows. One arrow flew towards Hermione and struck against the Lycanthe at her throat. She felt it grow very hot, then cold. The second arrow soared towards Ginny, and struck her wrist where the Time-Turner was bound; the third flew at Harry, and the scabbard at his side glowed as the light collided with it. Harry raised his head and smiled at her again, this time with exultation.
It worked, he said, and it took a moment for her to realize that he had not spoken aloud, but that his voice was echoing in her head.
She looked quickly over at Slytherin, who was still standing over the pentagram, his eyes on it; Draco, being lost in a world of his own, did not seem to have noticed anything.
What WAS that? Ginnys voice now, astonished.
The last piece of the puzzle, said Harry.
The keys are all connected now, said Hermione, in a passion of amazement. Without us having to touch them or each other. Oh, good work, Harry!
I thought when they were connected they made a weapon, observed Ginny.
They do. They did, said Hermione, a tiny spark of confidence growing inside her chest. Its us. We are the weapon. All of us together have a strength that not one of us alone could possess.
But we?re not all together, said Ginny, and her eyes were on Draco.
That, said Harry, and his eyes were glowing with a steady green fire, is going to change. Right now.
* * * * *
He stood where he was with his hands over his face, the darkness of semi-oblivion all around him. The memories and the voices in his head had ceased to make any sense and had become a meaningless and terrible chant that echoed in the caverns of his skull. He remembered dying. Dying had been better than this.
Draco. Another voice in his head, this one rising, separating itself from the cacophony of other voices. Where are you?
It sounded like Ginnys voice. But perhaps he was imagining things.
Perhaps his mind had snapped. That was, after all, the purpose of the exercise, wasn?t it. To break him. Still, this was the first voice he had heard in this place that wasn?t accusatory or angry or reminiscent of some great sorrow. Maybe —
Draco. This time he was sure of the voice: it was Hermiones.
You?ve got to fight this, shake it off. We need you. Please.
He raised his chin then, squared his shoulders. Looked around. He saw nothing — but perhaps the darkness had begun to fade, just a little bit. He could see bright lines of light, fracturing the dimness ahead of him. And if it wasn?t his imagination, the clamor of voices in his head seemed to have died down.
Are you there? Hermione again. Say something, tell me you?re all right, please.
I?m here. The words came with difficulty at first, then more easily.
But I can?t leave this place. Theres no up here, no down, no way out. Do what you have to do without me.
We can?t. It was Ginnys voice this time. We need you and besides -
Besides, what? With every word spoken, his thoughts were clearing.
What am I doing now?
You?re untying Harry, said Hermione reluctantly. Slytherin will make you bring him to the pentagram and you have to fight this, Draco, you have to break it, it can?t be worse than resisting the Imperius Curse -
Theres no point. A dull and weightless despair had settled on him.
Kill me, then. I give up.
