"That's what all that mucking about with animals was, you see," Barrett told Neville smugly. "I've wanted this for a long time, and they were tests, to make sure I had the stomach for it. And their life-force gave me a little boost, as well, but it's not enough -- for the Power to be mine, absolutely, I need a human sacrifice. A magical one. I'd hoped for something -- someone -- better, but you'll have to do. I can't seem to get the other one out here, he doesn't trust me that much. And Potter would be best, but fat chance I have with him -- Weasley's always hanging about. I need someone else's magic to offer to the Power, you see, and even a little's better than none at all. Face it, Longbottom, you don't use it well enough to do you or anyone else much good."
"But why?" Neville challenged her, his voice a little stronger. Good boy, keep her talking.... I slipped as close as I could get, until I could see them both: Barrett with her back to me now, wand pointed directly at Neville.
"Power, Longbottom, what else?" she answered him, as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world. "Power to open the wards around the school, to let the Dementors in."
"But why?"
Neville was not one for making original conversational gambits: he'd reached the limit of his ingenuity.
"You really are a stupid sod, Longbottom, you know that?" She sighed impatiently. "Look, my father's been hiding ever since Draco's dad tried to drag him into the Death Eaters. He knew Voldemort wanted him as a throwaway -- just like you are, Longbottom. This way he and I give Voldemort Hogwarts on a silver platter, something even that fool Snape wouldn't do. My dad gets the glory and a decent place in the Death Eaters -- higher than Malfoy, probably -- and I get a bit of my own back with that stupid git Draco. And power," she added, with a satisfied tone. "Nobody can take that away from me now, not Dumbledore or anyone else. Or at least, not after I do this last little bit."
"Delia, you don't --"
But she'd had enough of Neville's stalling. She flicked her wand at him and he tensed, his voice cutting off abruptly: a Body Bind. She kneeled and chalked one final rune at the edge of the circle she'd described on the floor of the folly, careful to remain within it.
"I'm safe in here, you see," she crooned at Neville as she worked. "You are out there, and you're not. You're not going to like what I summon, Longbottom, it's going to be slow and messy. I'd unbind your voice -- it'd be fun to hear you scream -- but that idiot Hagrid might hear, too, so I'll just have to enjoy the view."
And then she began chanting in Latin -- which, damn it, I didn't know well enough to translate -- and I heard her begin to invoke the runes: the first she called was Eihwaz.
"Eihwaz," I heard Snape's dispassionate voice echo in my head, "...initiation, death, and transformation."
I did not want to see what kind of transformation this caused in Barrett. And I most certainly didn't want to see Neville die.
I was out of time and I had no options to speak of: I didn't know how far she'd get before it was impossible to stop the summoning. It was already starting to work, a coil of sickly yellow-green light whipping around the outside of the circle, licking at Neville's ankles.
So I did the only thing I could. I delved deeply for that happy memory of Ian, stepped out from behind the tree, and cried "Expecto Patronum!"
I had time to watch the Patronus as it coalesced, this time: a silvery, vapourous lioness which glanced at me for a second, and then turned to look at Barrett. Oddly enough, it gave me another reproachful backward glance as if to say, "What, that?" and then it focussed again on Barrett and stalked toward her.
Barrett whirled at the sound of my voice and watched, open-mouthed, as the Patronus advanced on her: then she got the upper hand on her shock, found me in the darkness beyond, and raised her wand.
She wasn't stupid. There's no charm to disperse Patroni -- no need, as they are essentially harmless to human beings. This one's shock value had worn off quickly, and Barrett was going to deal with me the quickest way she knew how, I assumed. Funny. The one other thing I hadn't wanted to experience, besides splinching, was Avada --
"Stupefy!"
At the last second I remembered I had legs and I dove out of the way, slipping on the snow, and I landed heavily against a tree, cracking the side of my head.
Barrett didn't need to try Stupefy again: I wasn't going anywhere. I curled into a ball at the pain, and vainly closed my eyes against the psychadelic flashes of light it had brought on.
"So the Muggle isn't a Muggle after all? Stupid bitch -- thought that would scare me?" Barrett taunted. "No matter, Hunter. The Power will be as happy to take two as one."
"Let him go, Delia," I gasped, and came up with a lie to stall her. "You've got me now -- my magic's better than his, and God knows what his will do --"
"Oh, no you don't," she said. "I plan to walk away from this scot-free -- no witnesses. Imperio," she threw at me. "Now come here."
Where the hell did she learn -- I managed to think before the compulsion hit, and then I had no time to do anything but fight it. I was good at it: it was the one thing that had made Moody deliriously happy about my training before the Patronus.
Thank God I'm the most stubborn wench on the planet. If I can stand up to a determined Imperius-wielding Moody and an everyday-demanding Snape, I can handle one trumped-up little dark witch.
Barrett was not happy, and doubled the force of her will against mine, totally intent on bending me to her purpose. Fortunately, because I think she overextended herself.
"I said, come --"
Neville broke out of the Body Bind, launched himself at her in a respectable flying tackle and brought her down. I can't swear to it, but I think he even struck her before he batted the wand from her hand, snatching it up and flinging it out toward the lake.
"Neville, run for Hagrid --" I shouted.
The dear silly fool didn't, of course. He scrambled over to me and tried to drag me to my feet.
"Go," I demanded as I shoved him away, and tried not to think of the irony in the situation: Snape must have been just this angry with me, that night in the forest.
"I'm not leaving you," he shot back at me, and kept tugging.
Barrett had struggled to her feet: staring at us, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth where Neville had hit her, and she began her invocation again.
Shite. One evidently doesn't need a wand for Dark invocations.
She was getting further this time, the power rising in the interior of the folly.
"Damn it, Neville, get --"
But he wasn't looking at me: he was staring at Barrett -- or rather, at what was behind her. For gliding up the path from the lake was a Dementor. A real one, this time.
Maybe it was Alastor's training, or simply that I'd been in the magical world long enough to become sensitised, but I could see it.
And I bloody well wished I couldn't.
"Delia," I called to her sharply, "you'd better look behind you."
She didn't believe me, unsurprisingly -- that's the oldest trick in the book. She simply kept her eyes fixed on us, chanting steadfastly away as the coils of the Power rose further and further up the perimeter of the circle. Some of it was even lapping around her feet.
What a hell of a decision. Let the thing get her to keep her from completing the ritual, or send a Patronus after it and give her the chance to finish.
I tried to send the Patronus. She was still my student, after all -- barking mad, obviously, but my student, and still a child: we'd just have to find another way to stop her.
The problem was, I couldn't do it. I got a sharp jolt like an electrical shock and another intense pain in my head, and then my arm went numb.
"Professor Hunter --" Neville whispered, panicked, as I doubled over on the ground again.
"Go -- get -- Hagrid," I ordered him through gritted teeth.
All the while, the Dementor was getting closer to Barrett.
Neville wavered -- and then with a typical Neville gesture he straightened and smacked himself on the head.
"Where is --" he muttered, and rooted in his coat sleeves, finally pulling out his wand. "What should I do?" he appealed to me, his face slick with sweat.
"Send up a flare -- and then get the hell away," I hissed, barely able to see or speak through the pain.
It was too late, for Barrett at least. The Dementor had reached the folly and moved into Barrett's view. She was unconcerned, still channelling the Power -- until the Dementor glided into the circle. Shocked, she ceased chanting and bewilderment crossed her face: the Power began to diminish, and then the Dementor stepped directly in front of her.
I was grateful for that. I didn't want to see her face when it touched her -- and it did. It was bad enough to hear her scream.
Neville had gone still, frozen in fascinated horror. "The Summoning Circle," he whispered to me. "It's broken. When I took her down, we scuffed the edges."
"Neville, now would be a very good time to send that flare," I gasped, panicking now myself, and I swatted at him to break him out of his trance.
He started, grasped his wand tightly, and closed his eyes. So did I: it was always advisable to duck and cover when Neville tried to cast a spell, and since I couldn't do that, I didn't want to see what might come hurtling out at me.
"Auxiliatus!"
For once he got it right on the first try. When I opened my eyes I saw he'd produced a beautiful plume of sparks that shot upward above the tree line.
Barrett had crumpled to the folly floor and the Dementor was hunched over her, its face close to hers: one bony hand was stroking her hair in a grotesque parody of a lover's caress.
It was feeding long and well: at some time in her life Delia Barrett must have been very, very happy.
I grabbed Neville by his cloak fronts and weakly pulled his face down to mine.
"Longbottom, go now."
"I'm not leaving you," he retorted, determination etched across his face.
"I am your teacher and I'm ordering you," I choked. "I swear to you if you don't go now, I'll give you a whole term's detention with Professor Snape."
I saw horror flicker in his eyes. That had to be his worst nightmare. At least, I hoped it was.
That's done it, hasn't it, my boy. Everyone has their limits. Thank God Severus acts like such a bastard.
Neville stared into my face and his eyes calmed.
"No," he said.
Oh, shite. Of all the times for Neville to acquire some gumption....
He pulled away from me and sat upright, squaring his shoulders and holding his wand at the ready. I don't know what good he thought it would do: sending a flare was one thing, and performing a charm that many adult wizards (and one unusual muggle) found difficult was something else altogether.
But he was going to try.
The Dementor eased up from Barrett's body. I could see her face now, and I wish to God I hadn't: there was simply nothing at all left in her eyes -- no pain or fear or agony, just a void.
The wraith hesitated, lifting its sightless face as though scanning the sky, and turned in our direction. It sniffed, quite delicately at first, like a dog sensing a faint, tantalising trail. Then it caught our scent -- or however you'd care to think of it -- and smoothly glided toward the folly steps.
The evil little voice in my head -- the one that made inappropriate comments at stressful times -- went berserk.
Don't think happy thoughts. No happy thoughts. Nice doggy, go away, no treats here --
I was out of the running. My right arm was crumpled beneath me, and I lay on the snow, my cheek burning from the contact. My vision was blurring, the pain in my head increasing with every heartbeat.
Neville tried, he really did. "Expecto Patronum!" he cried -- to no avail, not even a shower of sparks. And then he tried again, and again failed.
The Dementor was on the ground now, and coming at us faster, and with it the coldness and paralysing dread. Neville couldn't take it anymore: the wand fell from his hand and he curled up beside me, whimpering.
I have never been proud of my temper. I'm quick to anger, and I expend a lot of energy trying to master it -- but I suppose I should be grateful for it, now. I mentally snarled at the panic and the obnoxious voice that was clouding my brain, beating them back. And then, without bothering to question the whys and hows, I threw out my left arm, thought a happy thought, and called on the Patronus.
Another agonising pain shot through me, but so did the tingle that meant I'd performed the charm properly. The Patronus hovered before us, totally indistinct to my rapidly-blurring vision, and then it shot forward and attacked the Dementor.
Dementors shriek when Patroni attack them. You don't want to hear that, ever: it's like being in the Great Hall with ten Hogwarts Express whistles going off at once. The Dementor turned and fled back down toward the lake, its shriek echoing through the wood and fading into the distance, the Patronus in pursuit.
Neville slowly unfolded himself and crawled closer to me. "Professor Hunter, are you all right?"
I could barely hear him, my ears were pounding so. I opened my mouth to reply and promptly choked on something warm and sticky in the back of my throat. There was warmth slipping down the side of my neck, too, and coating my upper lip.
"Oh, fuck," I heard Neville moan, and he swiped at my face with the end of his muffler. "Hang on, Professor Hunter --"
Funny, I wouldn't have thought Neville even knew the word, much less be capable of using it.
He scrabbled in the snow for his wand and shot up another flare before returning to me.
"Hang on," he repeated. "I can see Hagrid's lantern coming this way."
The pain in my head was still there, but at least I was warmer -- I could barely feel the chill from the snow against my face, now. There was a pounding from the ground under my head, and then I got a wet nose shoved in my face and an unmistakable blast of dog breath. It retreated briefly, and I heard Neville let out with another expletive.
"Gods, Longbottom, what happened?" Sirius Black asked him, and didn't wait for an answer. "Miranda, can you hear me?"
I stirred in response and then instantly stilled when another stab of pain hit, rapidly followed by nausea. I retched uncontrollably, bringing up more warm, sticky stuff, metallic-tasting and vaguely alarming.
Black swore. "Hagrid's just behind me, Miranda. You have to hold on till he gets here -- I don't have a wand. We'll get you to the Infirmary as soon as we can. Just hold...."
His voice faded out, supplanted by blackness.
But at least the pain was gone.
Back to BNW Index
Footnotes: