Walk the Shadows

to make big movements or otherwise alert others to the fact that he was awake. This way, it was possible he could learn something about his situation before anyone tried to hurt him again.

Thus, Harry laid still for a few moments, listening for any odd noises that could give him clues as to where he was, or with whom. And he tried to remember what had brought him to this position -- on his back, seemingly Petrified, or tied? -- on the floor of some stone room. When he did remember, it was all he could do not to scream.

But screaming would get him nowhere. Screaming would not help. Screaming would, in fact, be a very bad thing to do. He knew that, really he did, and so did his pounding head, and the roiling in his stomach, and the tight band of fear that circled his chest. But still, it was a near thing.

But lying silently, he was able to get a better sense of who was with him. Though he could not see the other person, he could hear them breathing. Was it Malfoy? Oh, god! No! NO! He fought to get his fear under control. No. It was not Malfoy. The magical signature was all wrong . . . Hmm. It had been a while since he'd even thought about magical signatures. It had been since that night at the manor, in fact -- and in desperation, he pushed the memory of that place away, as hard as he could -- when he had locked into memory the feel of Malfoy's signature, and Bellatrix's, and Voldemort's, so he would know them later . . .

And with a suddenness that made him reel, he realized it was Voldemort's he felt right now. In the next moment, however, he recognized that there was something wrong. The signature was not really Voldemort's, not entirely, or perhaps not just Voldemort's. The sense he got from the magic was as if more than one signature occupied the same space. Was that even possible? And, if so, who was the other one?

Eyes still closed, Harry made his breaths continue to come evenly spaced, forced himself to stay still, even trapped in a room with the most evil creature ever, a man who had raped and tortured him, and instead of curling into a ball and dying like he really wanted, he felt along the edges of the signature, of the wizard who was no more than five yards away, trying to make sense of it.

One of the first things he realized was that the two parts of the signature were not working together. Rather, the part that was not Voldemort was struggling against the part that was. Not terribly effectively, but Harry could feel the battle as if it were going on in a physical space nearby. Perhaps it was someone who Voldemort had possessed, like he had possessed Harry the night Sirius died. Perhaps it was someone who would help Harry, if he could get Voldemort out of him.

Of course, it might be that it was Voldemort himself, and that the other signature was someone trying to take the Dark Wizard over. That seemed less likely, though. Who would want to possess Voldemort?

Besides, the first option made Harry think of Dumbledore, and how oddly he had been acting, and he hoped beyond hope, that he was right.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Harry cracked open one eye to see. Sitting at a chair in front of the Floo that the two of them had come through earlier, was Dumbledore. He looked very, very tired, Harry noted, and the hand holding his wand was white-knuckled with tension. Harry's own wand was nowhere in sight.

Suddenly, the Floo crackled to life, but instead of anyone coming through, a head appeared. Through his half-opened eyes, Harry was at just the right angle to see Malfoy's face, wreathed in flame, and he fought to keep his breath from exploding from his throat. God, he hated that man, with every breath, with every thought.

'Well, Lucius?' Dumbledore said.

'The cell is ready, my Lord,' Malfoy said. 'Thoroughly Warded, as you requested. He will not escape you this time.'

'Excellent. Has there been any word from the school?'

Malfoy laughed. 'None, my Lord. You were correct. None of them suspect a thing. And apparently the Wards have held the Werewolf in with the traitor, or we would have heard of his escape.'

'Indeed.' Dumbledore-who-was-not-Dumbledore shifted in his chair, and waved his wand lazily. 'Come through and retrieve the boy in fifteen minutes, Lucius. I will return to Hogwarts first, to collect a few odds and ends from my collection.'

'Yes, my Lord, of course.'

'Oh, and Lucius?'

'Yes, my Lord?'

'Do keep your hands off the boy until I have used him first, will you?'

Malfoy's mouth formed a knowing smile that made Harry want to sick up. 'Of course, my Lord.' He vanished a moment later, and the man who was not Dumbledore started to rise from his chair.

Now or never, thought Harry, and he gathered all the power he could, all of the hate for Voldemort and Lucius and his worry over the Headmaster and Severus, trapped with Lupin in the midst of the change into one enormous bundle. The moment Voldemort-in-Dumbledore's-body turned to look at his captive, Harry met his gaze and smiled. Before the wizard could do more than lift his wand, Harry unleashed a sharp stream of memory and power meant to slice right through the bonds holding Voldemort in the Headmaster's mind.

TBC . . . .

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A/N: As I might've mentioned, the next couple chapters are all about rising tension, and will be sort of cliffie all the way. But I'll try to post them fairly quickly, so no one had to freak out or anything. 'Cause this is meant to be fun, after all.

Thank you, all, for your continued support and (occasionally) rabid encouragement. You guys rock!

*Chapter 39*: Chapter 39