Harry Potter and the Knife of Klingsor, Part 21

But Harry didn’t move. He just sat there with his head down, staring into the darkness of his folded arms in shock. Part of him wanted to cry. Part of him wanted to run away. He breathed hard, trembling, but somehow beyond the point of tears. He could feel all of their eyes upon him, waiting, and it suddenly made him very angry. The parts of him that wanted to cry and run away stepped aside. What Harry Potter really wanted to do at that very moment was to break something. Something big.

Like downtown London for starters.

The now-familiar cyan light that he, as a Eunuch Wizard, tended to glow with began to fill his eyes then. He started to raise his head, and then felt a hand on his shoulder. A familiar shiver of pleasure ran through his body, and he knew who had touched him. And then he felt another, larger, hand on his other shoulder.

“Harry?” Seamus whispered in his ear, his smooth lips just brushing the lobe and his breath hot, “Harry, ya a’right?”

But Harry didn’t look up. He shook his head without a sound as the larger hand tightened on his other shoulder. With a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, he realized to whom that hand belonged.

“Harry, you don’t want to do anything rash now,” Professor Dumbledore advised him. “I’m sorry to have to say this to you, more sorry than you can know,” he went on in a calm, reassuring voice, “But you ARE under arrest, Harry. If you’re finished with breakfast, I’m afraid that I must escort you back to Gryffindor Tower and lock you in your room until the Members of the Ministry of Magic arrive.”

Harry swallowed hard and got up. No one said a word as he picked up the scroll and stuffed it into his pocket with a snort. They were all still staring at him, eyes wide, and he cocked an eyebrow at them.

“What?!” He snapped.

“Er…um…it’s the glow, Harry,” Ron offered weakly, his face pale and sick looking. “Yer not gonta knock down the Tower ‘r ya?”

“Yea, uh, wha’s wit the glow?” Wood asked, since no one had bothered to fill him in on Harry’s and Seamus’ sexual status as Eunuch Wizards.

Harry started to say something, but then Seamus was there, tentatively taking his hand. He didn’t resist, despite the audience. It was, by then, a moot point anyway; they all knew. Instead, Harry relaxed a bit as the Irish lad touched him; the cyan aura surrounding him faded away. Having grown more over his Magically extended summer than Seamus had, Harry was still a bit taller than he was. He pulled Seamus close and hugged him, pressing his sandy head on his shoulder and dreading having to let go again.

No contact until we arrive… The letter had said. He was going to be locked in his room for three days, all alone.

Had he been back on Privet Drive, where he was used to it from the Dursleys, it wouldn’t have bothered him. After all, getting AWAY from THEM was a reward. But he’d just gone through hell to rescue the boy that he loved, and now he was going to be locked up with Seamus being only a few rooms away and unable to even talk to him. It was almost more than he could stand as he stood there holding him, inhaling the near-intoxicating scent of a boy who was at least marginally in need of a bath.

“I don’ wanna go,” Harry sighed, clinging to Seamus.

“I know,” Seamus replied.

“Boys, I am sorry, but it’s time…,” Dumbledore was saying, but then he stopped in mid-sentence.

Harry gasped and looked up, still holding Seamus in his arms. Everyone was frozen in place, and Seamus was glowing. He put a finger to Harry’s lips and smiled. “You don’ ‘av ‘ta go fer a while, ya know,” he whispered.

“Seamus, no, you shudn’t do that,” Harry told him, “Not after the fight, so soon! Yeh’ll hurt yerself!”

But Seamus just grinned wickedly and stuck his finger in Harry’s open mouth. It tasted like syrup from breakfast, and Harry started to tremble for a different reason as he tasted it. He gasped as Seamus’ other hand slipped up under his black sweatshirt, actually – HIS sweatshirt that Harry had borrowed – and began to run all over his skin, touching and exploring here and there.

“Don’t,” Harry sighed regretfully, “Not NOW!”

Seamus laughed, a soft little sound, and his fingers moved over Harry’s tummy and downwards. Harry shivered and felt his breath catch, as familiar sensations – as well as strange, new ones – spread throughout his body. His own hands returned the favor, running here and there all over Seamus’ smooth skin up under his shirt, and eventually, down the front of his shorts. He closed his eyes in bliss, but instead of seeing darkness, he saw cyan light.

Seamus was shivering as well, and making small sounds that were unmistakably pleasure.

But he can’t know, Harry thought, He can’t know what it feels like to…he’s never…but…

His thoughts grew more and more disjointed as Seamus continued to caress him. Then he pulled Harry down by the neck and closed his mouth over Harry’s. It tasted like sweet syrup and smelled of fresh oranges. Harry held Seamus by the ears and cheeks, his palms pressed flat on his beardless face. Very suddenly, the queasiness in his stomach went away and he felt hungry again as his tongue found Seamus’.

It went on for quite some time, until both of them were keyed to a near-fever pitch and feeling ready to burst at the seams. Harry wasn’t sure about Seamus, but he knew that HE was almost to the familiar point of climax. He remembered the first time that Seamus had touched him, and how it had felt. He wanted to feel it again. He just couldn’t quite reach it, though.

There’s got to be some way! Harry thought desperately, almost tempted to try and use Magic to make Seamus have an orgasm. He’d had quite a few that summer, before he’d cut himself, and he wanted so badly for the younger boy to feel what he’d felt when he’d gotten off. Despite his own frustrated desires, and the building need for a release that he could no longer attain, Harry thought only of Seamus. He’d had orgasms before; Seamus hadn’t.

And then Seamus’ hands moved to his crotch.

Harry’s green eyes popped open wide and he broke the kiss. Seamus was touching his faint scar, running a finger along it, and smiling. It was not a happy smile, though.

“Ya did that fer me?” He asked softly.

Dumbly, Harry nodded.

“Ya dint ‘av ter do that,” Seamus replied, his eyes misty and strange as he continued to glow. “Ya gave up yer … yer boyhood fer me? But ‘Arry,” he almost moaned, “Ya won’ e’er be able to cum again, will ya?”

“You NEVER got to,” Harry reminded him, his entire body trembling and sweating in frustration as Seamus touched him.

“Ya ne’er miss whut ya ne’er had,” Seamus told him, “I dint have a choice, neither. Oh, ‘Arry, ya shuln’t ‘a done that!”

“I culdn’t’ve saved you if’n I hadn’t,” Harry countered, “The first time, I got you all killed. So I really dint ‘av no choice, either. ’Sides, I got to get off plenty ‘o times. It jus’ wuzn’t fair,” he replied in a guilty tone.

“Arrestin’ ya fer savin’ ME ain’ fair neither,” Seamus pouted, hugging Harry as if he were afraid he’d never see him again. “They outta be bustin’ ME! Iz all MY fault!”

“They outta be bustin’ Malfoy,” Harry growled, thinking about Draco and wondering if he was awake yet.

They held each other for a long time, both of them wondering what to do. Ideas of running away again came to Harry’s mind. He could have Seamus hold Time still while they fled on his Broomstick. He could get his gold from Gringotts’ before they could catch him. He had his Invisibility Cloak. They could make a run for it, hide, and live in exile in some faraway land. After all, who was going to come and try and stop them, with the Wild Power that they together were packing?

He even thought about taking Fluffy and fleeing north to join Darby at Odin’s Court. Surely no one would come looking for them there!

But then Harry thought better of it. If they ran, they’d not really be fully trained Wizards. They couldn’t very well go to school, and they’d have no friends. No more Quidditch matches. No more Ron, no more Hermione, no more George and Fred … not to mention everyone else. In an odd way, Harry realized that he’d even miss Draco Malfoy! With a firm shake of his head, he looked Seamus in the eye and said, “Let go of it. It’s time.”

“No!” Seamus whined, clutching him tighter.

“Yes,” Harry replied, “Trust me. If’n they want’a level all o’ these ridiculous charges ‘gainst me, then there’s gonta be a trial. You dint see Hermione’s face when she left, didja? Someone just pushed her BITCH button, ya know. I’ll get out of it, Seamus, trust me?”

The Irish lad nodded weakly and stepped back, his hand falling slowly from Harry’s. He turned and left the Hall, walking slowly with his head down, waving his small hand over his shoulder as he went. As the door closed behind him, everyone snapped back into motion.

“…to go, Harry,” Dumbledore went on, seemingly oblivious to what Seamus had just done. Then he winked at Harry. “I trust that you and Mr. Finnegan had some words while he had Time suspended around you both?”

There’s just NO fooling HIM, Harry realized, and he nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said lamely, and Ron smirked.

“Whut did I miss?” Wood asked, stunned as well that his Seeker was about to be busted for high Wizarding crimes.

Dumbledore shot Ron a warning look and Ron raised his red eyebrows. “Nothin’, really,” he evaded.

“Oh,” Wood replied, staring back at Harry helplessly. “Shud we call someone then? I mean, they just cahn’t bust Harry like this! It’s not right!”

“Everything will happen right here, boys, not to worry,” Dumbledore reassured them. “I have been appointed Harry’s official jailer until the representatives from the Ministry arrive. I assure you all that nothing bad will happen to him under MY care. Now, however, I do have some rather unpleasant but required legal things to attend to. Harry, your Wand, please,” the old man said in a low voice, holding out his hand.

Harry sighed and reached into his pocket. He pulled out his Wand and gasped. The Sorcerer’s Stone was still fixed upon the hilt, glowing an angry red. “Stop that,” Dumbledore snapped at The Stone, and it did. The old man then stuck it in his pocket. “What else is in there?” He asked the boy, who started to turn out his pockets.

Harry produced three small empty corked bottles, an interesting rock (rosy granite), a bit of lichen-covered tree bark, Seamus’ briefs that he’d used for the Tracking Spell, a few owl treats, several moldy dog biscuits, a few bits of lint, the scroll of charges, and one very unhappy striped lizard.

“Is that IT?” Dumbledore asked in an amused tone, sniffing at the dog biscuits and making a face.

“Fluffy likes those,” Harry offered helplessly, and Ron nearly fell off of his chair.

“That THING is still here?” He squeaked, remembering all too well his one adventure with Hagrid’s three-headed dog.

Harry nodded. “Fluffy protected ME this summer when I was … was … getting better at Hagrid’s place,” Harry tried to explain.

Dumbledore nodded. “I have had a chat with Hagrid about this abnormally long summer of yours, Harry,” he told him, stowing the cargo of the boy’s pockets in his own and turning the lizard loose. It fled to a nearby window and crawled out. “You and I should have a chat as well, I think.”

Harry’s face flamed. “So…er…you know, then, sir?”

“Know what?” Wood asked again, but Ron had gotten up and taken him by the arm.

“Let’s go see how the grass is on the Quidditch field,” he offered, and Wood nodded.

He stopped only long enough to pat Harry’s head and smile at him. Harry’s knees went weak, and several impure thoughts began to spin through his mind as he stared into Wood’s sincere face. “I’ll be here fer yeh,” the older boy promised him, and he and Ron left them alone.

“Take care of my Broomstick, Ron,” Harry called after them, knowing that Ron would do just that if anything happened to him.

Then Dumbledore cleared his throat. “I’m taking you into formal custody now, Harry,” he said sadly, pulling out his own Wand. “Officially, I have to ask you not to try and use Magic to escape and to warn you that I will use any means necessary to prevent your escape from my custody. Is that clear?”

Harry’s jaw dropped. The LAST thing that he’d think of doing was running from or fighting with Dumbledore! He’d have to be completely mad to try anything so foolish! He nodded, perplexed.

“Then I must also ask you to strip, Harry,” the old man informed him as Harry’s face went red again. “To make sure you’re not hiding anything under your clothes.”

Boy, is THAT an understatement, Harry thought, hardly suppressing a laugh. He did as he was told, though, pausing after he’d kicked off his boots and standing there in only his Quidditch printed boxers.

“The shorts, too,” Dumbledore told him.

Harry went even redder in the face. His face took on a pleading expression; he really didn’t want the old man to see him naked … not after what he’d done to himself with The Knife of Klingsor! There didn’t seem to be any other alternative, though.

“Yes, sir,” he said in low mutter, pulling his shorts down and kicking them aside.

Dumbledore sighed, a most regretful sound. He bent down and lifted Harry’s chin as Wood often did, looking him right in his emerald eyes. “Harry,” he said reassuringly, wiping away the one tear of humiliation that escaped Harry’s left eye, “I know all about what you did to yourself and WHY you did it. As I said, Hagrid and I had a chat. I know about your first fight, your older self, and his Time Turner. After all, HE came back to see ME first, you’ll recall. I also know you came back on the third turn just as First Year was over and that you watched yourself go home on the Train. And I know what you did with The Knife of Klingsor, Harry.”

“Y-you d-d-do?” Harry stammered, his hands subconsciously moving to cover his smooth crotch.

Dumbledore nodded. “Madam Pomfrey recruited all of us to help care for you all right after the fight,” he told him. “You were all desperately in need of a bath, but we had to settle for sponge bathing while you were in bed unconscious. It was a bit hard to not notice your emasculated state.”

“Oh,” Harry said, thinking that he was about to die from embarrassment. About then, a Broomstick shot over the bewitched ceiling with a great WHOOSH! Harry looked up and saw Ron and Wood flying over; Ron was riding Harry’s Nimbus 2000. He thought of something else. “Uh, Wood didn’t see…see…me…like this,” Harry faltered, touching himself.

“No, he didn’t,” Dumbledore replied, and Harry slumped in relief. He really didn’t want his Quidditch Captain to know that he was a Eunuch Wizard.

“That wretched Knife has been around for a LONG time, Harry,” the old man told him, with his long pointed nose twitching. “You’re not the first boy that it’s cut, but hopefully, you’re the last. I just hope that the Ministry hasn’t involved Temporal Affairs in this matter. It’s bad enough that they know about most everything you’ve already done. If they found out that you’ve had your hands on a Time Turner, or that you’re a Eunuch Wizard, well…,”

But the old man didn’t finish the sentence. Harry gulped, waiting.

Dumbledore’s expression softened, however, and he looked almost nostalgic. At his age, though, it was hard to NOT look that way. “You made Hagrid very happy this past summer,” he then said, which threw Harry completely off pace. “You even sound like him now.”

“He…he…er, took care ‘o me,” Harry tried to explain, but the old man raised a long, crooked finger to his lips.

“As I was saying, Harry,” he went on, “I know all about this summer. I’m happy that you actually had some enjoyable holiday time. I’m sorry that you’re so miserable with the Dursleys, really I am, but trust me – it has to be this way. You’ll understand, someday.” Then he sighed heavily.

“How DO you manage to get into such messes, Mr. Potter?” he then asked in a firmer tone. “Your father wasn’t nearly this bad!”

“Professor McGonagall said the exact same thing,” Harry replied, looking back down at his feet with his face still burning.

Then Dumbledore laughed softly, taking the naked boy by the shoulders and looking him in the eye again as he guided him to sit on the bench at the table.

“Never be ashamed of yourself when you’ve done right, Harry,” he advised him. “What you did, you did out of love. I should have known all along that YOU would be the first one to go after Seamus Finnegan when he disappeared. WHY the Ministry couldn’t track him down sooner, I have no idea. But know this, Harry – despite all of the rule breaking, despite the subterfuge and lying and running off, I’m proud of you! Very proud indeed. And I do believe that your parents would be, as well.”

Harry felt his eyes filling again as Dumbledore pulled him close and held him. He liked being held, he’d come to realize over that summer. And it wasn’t all in a sexual manner, either. It was true that he’d enjoyed his sexual escapades (which seemed to pretty much be over now), but there was more to it than that. Starved for attention and affection for so long by his uncaring ‘family’, Harry hadn’t known how good it could feel to simply be touched and held and not be despised on a regular basis. As Dumbledore held him, gently patting his back, Harry thought about being locked in a small cell, all alone, for who-knew-how-long.

The thought of it nearly made him sick, and he fought down the desire to run away again. How could they do that to him, after what he’d done? Didn’t his ends justify his means? After all, he’d rescued the Eunuch Wizard that THEY had created and fought to keep safe - and failed at. He’d defeated Voldemort – again – and probably very well exposed the Malfoys as Dark Wizards. And yet he was being arrested for it. How could they carry out such a travesty of justice? How could they do that to him, or any other boy, for that matter?

And what would they do with him, IF they found him guilty?

As if sensing his thoughts, Dumbledore hugged him closer and rocked him a bit, trying to comfort him. He held him for quite a while, thinking back to the baby he’d left on a doorstep some twelve years before. This is not right, he thought, coming to the conclusion that if need be, he himself would challenge the Ministry directly if they ruled against Harry. After all, the boy was the only thing that stood between them and the Dark Lord taking over. Surely they were not so thick as to not realize THAT.

Finnegan wasn’t a sign nor a portent, he realized, wondering at how close they’d come to epic disaster if Voldemort had indeed managed to steal his Wild Powers.

If Harry Potter had NOT acted as he had … the old man shook his head. It was much too monstrous to consider.

“Have faith, Harry,” he finally said aloud. “After all, you’ve got your friends on your side, and they love you. You might not feel it too much right now, but they do. And I as I said last term, that kind of love leaves its own Mark. Not like the Mark of Klingsor, or the scar that Voldemort gave you, no. Despite how dark it looks now, we will all be here for you.”

“Wh-why cahn’t they l-leave m-m-me alone?” Harry mumbled, taking his specs off and setting them on the table to wipe his green eyes with a discarded napkin. “Why’s ev-everyone always out t-t-ter get ME?”

“I don’t know, my boy,” the old man said truthfully. Then he shook his head. “We have to get on with it now, I’m afraid. Oh, Harry, you have no idea how this pains me,” he sighed, getting to his feet and motioning for Harry to do the same. “I have no desire to do this, Harry, but I must. Ministry rules on formal arrest. Turn around.”

Harry did that, his back to the old man.

“Hands behind your back.”

Harry swallowed hard and did that. He’d seen enough Muggle crime dramas on TV to know what was coming next. He then heard a small popping sound and could just make out Dumbledore’s Wand spinning something out of thin air as he looked back out of the corner of his eye.

There was a horrible clicking sound, and then Harry felt cold metal closing around his wrists with a grinding noise. It tightened up, and Harry knew that he’d been placed in some kind of Magical handcuffs. It wasn’t painful, but they were quite tight and very disturbing. He tugged at them out of curiosity, and found that he was securely cuffed. He gasped.

“Only until you’re safely in your dormitory,” Dumbledore assured him, guiding him out of the Hall and up the staircase to Gryffindor Tower.

“Mr. Filch would be delighted,” Harry muttered dryly, remembering the first time he’d had detention and how much Filch had yearned for ‘the good old days’ of hanging students up by their thumbs in the dungeons.

“Argus would be tickled, indeed. He’d probably have you in stocks out on the lawn, though,” Dumbledore corrected him, as the staircase shifted and took them in the wrong direction.

“Oh, flitter,” Dumbledore complained, leading Harry to the landing and waiting for it to shift back. He glanced up and saw that a few characters from various portraits were staring; he waved his Wand at them threateningly, and they all suddenly found better things to do.

When the staircases had all changed again, they continued on to Gryffindor Tower. Harry was beginning to feel chilled, and his bare feet were downright cold on the hard marble. He was almost glad to see the next landing come into view when he heard rapidly approaching footsteps. His heart sank. He knew the sound of those clicking heels.

“Oh there you are,” said a stack of books with legs that had just come from the Library in search of him. “Sorry to run out on breakfast like that, but honestly! This is soooo ridiculous,” Hermione drawled, peeping around her books. “Hello, Professor,” she greeted him, and then plunged on.

“I found some interesting cases of Underage Wizards in the Library, I figure we’ll need to cite some good strong examples to get you cleared, Harry. For instance, in 1878, one Terrence Stonebreak, aged 14, accused of unwholesome Magical acts with a … oh bother!” Hermione complained, dropping a book on her foot. “Harry, could you get that for me?” She asked, still not having fully seen him from around her volumes of legal literature. She peeked up over her stack of books again, but was only able to see the top of his head.

“Actually, uh, er, I cahn’t,” Harry replied, his face going even redder than ever and his eyes pleading with Dumbledore to DO something! The old man realized too late, however, that Harry had NOT come out as a Eunuch to Hermione as the boy fidgeted helplessly in his handcuffs and tried to hide behind him.

Just then, as she looked down to try and retrieve the book, her jaw fell open and she dropped the rest of them with a loud THUMP! at her feet. Her eyes went wide and her face paled as she looked Harry up and down, taking in the sight: her good friend was standing naked in front of her on the stairs, his lack of male genitals notwithstanding, and the fact that he was handcuffed and being escorted naked about the School by the Headmaster.

“Holy crickets!” She exclaimed, “You’re a Eunuch Wizard too Harry?”

“Er, uhm, yea, I guess so,” Harry agreed lamely, staring down at his bare feet again and desperately wishing that he could just sink out of sight into the polished marble.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, seemingly embarrassed as well. “As you know, Miss Granger, Harry is under arrest on orders from the Ministry of Magic.”

Hermione bit her lower lip and thought about it for a moment, looking up sharply from Harry’s crotch with a small start. Her face went a bit pink. Then she looked at Harry once again, cocked an eyebrow, and shrugged. She then picked up her books again as if nothing at all were amiss. “Well, this does complicate matters a bit,” she conceded, heading back towards the Library as Harry stared dumbly after her with his hands twisting helplessly in the cuffs behind his back. She was still talking to herself in irritation as she headed up the corridor and back to the Library…

“Not much in there about Eunuchs, you know. Dirty little secret, I’d wager, cutting a boy’s penis off like that. Totally barbaric! Bet THAT’S something they don’t want bandied about for the public to know, what? I bet I can find something IF this comes up! There’s not likely to be a case of an Underage Eunuch Wizard going off half-popped, though…”

Harry stared after her in disbelief as her voice trailed off down the corridor. He heard the Library door slam shut a few moments later, and Dumbledore laughed softly.

”THAT is a very determined young woman,” the old man admitted.

“She…she…she SAW me!” Harry finally blurted out. “Hermione knows now!” Had his hands not been secured, Harry would have been gesticulating wildly.

“Indeed,” the old man laughed. “That girl could be a real menace if…”

“Professor!” Harry cried, his face red again.

Then Dumbledore’s face went serious. “I think that you have a lawyer, if I’m not mistaken,” he mused, leading Harry on back to Gryffindor Tower where the portrait of the Fat Lady stood empty. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. At least SHE wouldn’t see him naked too.

He was wondering how they were going to get in when Dumbledore tapped the empty frame with his Wand and it opened. He helped Harry up in, on through the Common Room and up the stairs to his Dormitory. Once inside, he removed the handcuffs.

“Thank you,” Harry said, throwing himself down on his huge four-poster and turning away and rubbing at his wrists.

“You’re welcome,” the old man replied. “I never wanted to have to do that, Harry. I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” the boy replied, hearing the hurt in his voice, “May I get dressed now, sir?”

Dumbledore nodded. “The only clothing you’ll find, though, are your pajamas. There is nothing in the room that might be considered a weapon, Ministry guidelines. You have the run of the Tower, but you cannot leave it. The Portrait will not open up, nor will any of the windows. Ron and Seamus and Oliver will be bunking in Ravenclaw Dormitory, in case you’re wondering. Miss Granger will be staying in Hufflepuff House. I’m afraid you’re in for a very long, and boring wait, Harry,” the old man informed him.

Harry skipped the pajamas and just crawled into bed. He punched his pillow angrily and lay down, turning away once again. He wasn’t the least bit tired, but what else was there to do?

They really know how to hurt a guy, he thought miserably. WHAT was he going to do for three days?

“If you should have an emergency,” Dumbledore began, but stopped when Harry shook his head. “I understand,” he said in a low voice, turning to go. He was almost to the door when Harry thought of something.

“I’m under arrest, right?” The boy asked in a sarcastic tone.

Dumbledore nodded.

“Then I have the right to an attorney. I want to speak with my lawyer, then, NOW!”

Dumbledore’s smile lit the room as he nodded. “I shall appoint legal counsel, as I must, since I am your Guardian for the time being. Excellent point, Harry! Perhaps I should consult with Miss Granger?”

“Good idea,” Harry agreed, hopping back out of bed and beginning to pace in anxiety.

Harry finally smiled back at him as Dumbledore turned to go once again. He followed him to the Common Room. “Take care of Hedwig for me!” He called from the landing after the old man as the Portrait closed and locked.

Harry sat and brooded for a few hours after Professor Dumbledore left him locked in the Tower. Normally, he would have been overjoyed to be there and not on Privet Drive. This time, however, there was literally nothing for him to do. He didn’t have his trunk, his Wand, or any of his favorite pastimes to amuse himself with. He didn’t even have Hedwig. He was all alone.

Not to mention bored to tears.

It was getting on towards lunchtime when Harry noticed that his head itched. That usually only happened when he really needed a bath and to wash his unruly black hair. He sniffed at himself, remembering Dumbledore telling him that he’d been sponged a few times while in the Hospital Wing, and decided that a good hot bath was probably in order. Since he’d not been given his clothes – or rather, Seamus’ borrowed clothes – back yet, he didn’t know how bad they smelled. He figured, after taking another sniff and wrinkling his nose, that a bath was definitely in order. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found that the doors to the Gryffindor showers were still open.

“Makes sense,” he mumbled, trotting down the stone steps with a towel he’d found in his bureau. “It’s not like yeh can GO anywhere but back to yer room from down here.”

Arriving in the showers, Harry pulled off his specs and blinked. It was dark; no one had lit any torches or lamps. “Damn,” he mumbled, wondering what to do as the water Magically came on as he stepped in. He let the room fill with steam, lathered up with a bottle of liquid soap that hadn’t been there a moment before, and paused to look around. The shower felt so good, and he simply stood there soaking up the steam in relief.

But he felt eyes on him. Someone was watching him.

He squinted hard, his very nearsighted eyes playing tricks on him.

Shapes were moving in the shadows and steam. Black shapes in tattered robes, twisted ghostly forms moving this way and that. Faces were staring at him, laughing. Harry covered himself, suddenly ashamed of his Eunuch status. He began to shiver, despite the hot water, and began to pant. He watched with wide eyes as the blurry shapes came and went, taunting him, laughing at him. He pressed his hands harder against his barren crotch, suddenly wondering why he was all alone in the dark and wet.

“It’s only a resident ghost,” he told himself, trying to go back to enjoying his shower. Then he remembered that even they were all gone for the summer. He swallowed hard, suddenly very afraid that someone was going to see him. He was a Eunuch, and someone was … someone had … seen him. He didn’t want to be seen; he didn’t want anyone else to know.

“Light,” Harry choked, pressing himself back into a corner as the steamy shapes closed in on him. He sank to the stone floor, pulling his knees up to his chin. “Light! I need light! Make them go away!” He cried in terror. “LIGHT!”

Even without his Wand, Harry didn’t have to do much to make his own light. The room began to fill with a cyan light that emanated from HIM, chasing the shadowy forms away as the hot water continued to run. Of course, his release of Power got someone’s attention.

“Harry?” Came Dumbledore’s voice from out of nowhere, “Harry, what ARE you doing?”

“They’ll get me!” Harry screamed, his hands clenched into fists, as his Glow grew stronger. “They killed Ron and Seamus and Darby! They’re after ME now! I won’ let ‘em kill me too! I’ll use The Stone! I’m Immortal, they cahn’t kill me!”

“No one is trying to kill you, Harry,” Dumbledore’s disembodied voice told him with a comforting tone. This of course on made things worse. Harry glanced about furiously, but couldn’t see the old man anywhere. Finally, he slipped over the edge.

“Where are you? Who are you? Get away from me!” He screamed, punching out with his fist at a thick wisp of steam that curled up in front of him. The cyan fireball that he released blew the wisp to bits, as well as most of the wall behind it. A pipe burst as the stones fell in with a great CRASH!, soaking the cowering boy in a blast of hot water.

“Seamus!” He screamed, looking around and wondering what he was doing in the shower when there was a fight to be fought. “Where are you? Watch out for the green ones, they kill!” He picked up a piece of the shattered stone wall and clutched it tightly. “Throw rocks if’n yeh ‘av ter!”

Footsteps were pounding down the steps to the shower room. Someone was coming! Harry braced himself in the corner, his mind reeling with ways to defend himself without a Wand. And then a huge dark shape filled the doorway, blocking what little light there was that didn’t come directly from Harry himself. “A’right, ‘Arry?” A deep voice rumbled at him, “It’s a’right now, I’m here.”

“Stay away from me!” Harry threatened, a cyan fireball balanced in the palm of his trembling hand and a stone in the other. “I won’t let you do it! I’ll go back again! I’ll stop you again!” He then chucked the rock at the shape.

“Harry, calm down! It’s alright!” Someone else said – some girl! There was a GIRL in the boys’ showers!

“NO!” The terrified boy screamed, launching the fireball at the shapes in the doorway.

But that huge shape pulled out a large pink umbrella and easily batted the fireball aside. “Harry, I don’ wanna do this,” he rumbled, “But I will. Yer not yerself, yeh know.”

“Be careful, Hagrid,” Hermione warned him, “He took down You-Know-Who again. He might, I mean, since he’s not right in the head, do something rash!”

Hagrid nodded and began to slowly advance upon Harry, talking softly to him the whole time. Still, Harry seemed convinced that he was fighting that battle for Seamus in the cemetery yet AGAIN, and wouldn’t – couldn’t – listen.

“Harry, this is a VERY bad time for another attack of Temporal Dementia,” Hermione informed him in an even voice. “You’re not going to make a very good showing at the trial, now, are you?”

“G-get away fr-from me!” Harry stammered as Hagrid took aim at him.

“I’m sorry ‘bout this, ‘Arry,” he said in a voice full of hurt. “Stupefy!” And an enormous blast of energy shot out of Hagrid’s umbrella and struck Harry full in the face. Hagrid grunted as he released it, with all of his Will behind it. The cyan Aura surrounding Harry collapsed, and he fell over unconscious. Hagrid slouched and sighed, panting. “Whew!” He exclaimed, “Haven’t had ter do that in years!”

“Oh my,” Hermione observed, leaning down over Harry and shaking her bushy head. “Hagrid, this isn’t good. He cahn’t take the stand like this, you know. Even if they don’t find out about the Time Turner or his Eunuch status, he’s in bad enough trouble already without going nutters and attacking them.”

“I know,” Hagrid said in a small voice, which for him, was very odd indeed. He then scooped the wet boy up in his massive arms and rested his head on his shoulder, clutching him as if he were very fragile. He sniffed loudly. Despite his enormous size, Hagrid had a very kind heart.

Hermione watched as he held the limp boy in his huge arms, cradling him like an infant with tears in his eyes. “We’ve got to get Poppy to cure him,” he said, “Poor boy cahn’t live like this.”

“Let’s get him back in bed,” Hermione suggested, “And call Madame Pomfrey. I can go over our defense tomorrow, perhaps. I hate to wait, though. We’ve only got two, maybe three days as it is.” Then she snorted as Hagrid started up the steps. “This is INSANE!” She ranted, “After all he’s been through, after all he’s done for them! They couldn’t find their arses with BOTH hands when Seamus was taken. And Malfoy? What about him? Why isn’t HE on trial? Honestly…” She went on, and on, until finally they arrived back at the Dormitory.

“It makes NO sense, Hagrid,” she told him, as the huge man toweled Harry off and fumbled with his pajamas. “Oh bother, let me help.”

“Hermione!” Hagrid replied, shocked. “’E’s naked, fer pity sakes! An’ he’s … well … I don’ know if ‘e’d want yeh ter see ‘im like…er touch ‘im!”

“I’ve already seen him naked, Hagrid,” Hermione replied, slipping one of Harry’s arms into a sleeve and straightening his collar. “It’s sort of obvious that he’s not a boy anymore,” she informed him in exasperation. She then slid his bottoms onto him as Hagrid held him up a bit, one enormous hand under the small of his back. She stopped just at his crotch, however, and stared. She looked somewhat offended.

“Barbaric,” she snapped, reaching out and touching the very faint scar where Harry’s boyhood should have been. Her eyes moved along his smooth form, over to his thigh, where the dark red Mark of Klingsor shown like an angry burn. “I don’t understand how, as educated and civilized as we claim to be, that we could allow such to happen to a boy! Really!” She then snorted and finished dressing Harry in his pajamas and let Hagrid tuck him into bed.

He then leaned over and kissed Harry’s forehead, brushing his hair back off of his face to reveal his lightning bolt scar. “Poor little fella,” he said with a catch in his voice. “He don’ deserve this. All he wanted wuz tuh…”

But Hagrid didn’t finish. Hermione moved to the side of Harry’s bed and held his hand as the huge man got up. “I gots ter go,” he said, wiping his eye and turning away.

Hermione caught his arm, stopping him. He looked a bit shocked. “Oh, Hagrid, you’re too good for this world, do you know that? It’s a good thing that you’re there for Harry.”

Hagrid nodded and fled, and Hermione watched him go. Then she turned back to Harry, who lay very still in his big four-poster.

“What kind of week have YOU had?” She wondered aloud, and then realized that from Harry’s perspective, MUCH more than one week had passed. She did some quick calculations, and came up with something close to three months. “Almost a whole summer,” she mused, “And still most of August to go.”

Then she pulled up a chair, sitting close enough to the bed to still be able to hold Harry’s hand while she read a book called Magical Abuses by Underage Wizards. It was chock full of strange cases, many of them filled with extenuating circumstances, of young Wizards who had broken Wizarding Law. As she read on, however, she soon realized that NONE of them had done it so badly as Harry Potter had. She pulled out her own list of the charges leveled against him and read it aloud to herself. The list was almost beyond rational belief.

“Let’s see, number 1, yelling at the Ministry. I’d have done the same thing. Bastards. Now running off, I don’t know. Illicit Spells, well that’s iffy at best, according to the book. I don’t think you know any Forbidden Curses yet, do you?”

Harry didn’t reply, except for a small snore that indicated that he had passed into exhausted sleep again.

“OK, theft. So you stole some underwear, and a shirt. Big deal. What were you supposed to do, go after him naked? And Broomsticking speeds? Honestly, turn some boy loose on a Nimbus 2000 and think he’s going to behave? They’ve gone round the bend on that one, I’d wager,” she rambled on, making her own notes and flipping pages with her Wand.

“Intimidation? Who? Bet Malfoy brought that one, that worthless git. Cahn’t believe you saved HIM. OH well, let’s see…Coercion? Must mean you blackmailed Ron. Mr. & Mrs. Weasley are sure to drop that one, though. But these illegal uses of Magic, well, all 238 of them? This could be a problem, I think.”

Harry snored. Hermione had no idea, and giggled a bit. She then pushed him over onto his side and tucked his blanket back in. Harry stopped snoring. “Honesty, how does ANYONE sleep in here with FIVE boys, if they all go at it like YOU?”

She then returnd to her list. “Intent to kill? Well, obviously, I mean, even I want to kill Malfoy, and who DOESN’T want to kill You-Know-Who? Hypocrites, the lot of them. We can get that one dismissed.”

Then she stopped at the last two lines: Kidnapping and Conduct Unbecoming.

“I think I need to find Seamus and talk to him about that Wand of his,” she mused, closing her book and laying it aside on the bureau. “If Darby was kidnapped, I’d say he’d better get his little arse here and testify,” she added, leaning over to kiss Harry’s cheek.

“Wanna sleep, Seamus,” Harry mumbled into his pillow.

Hermione’s eyes went wide, then narrowed dangerously. “Well,” she snorted, turning to go. She was just at the door of the Boys’ Dormitory, and feeling somewhat offended, when she heard Harry mumble again.

“It’s not fair.”

“I know,” she replied softly, “None of it is. I’ll get you off, though, Harry, I promise. I’m sure I can win this one. You’ll get off, I’m just sure of it!”

“I can’t,” Harry mumbled again, rolling over onto his stomach and clutching his pillow.

Hermione could only wonder what he was talking about in his sleep, and she closed the door quietly so as not to wake him. Her heels clicked sharply on the stone floors as she made her way back to the Hospital Wing to find Madame Pomfrey and to make sure that Hagrid had made her aware of Harry’s Temporal Dementia attack.

But she also had some other plans.

“I hope you’re up to it, Malfoy,” she grumbled as she mounted the staircase, “Because I’m in the mood to tear you a new one!”

Madame Pomfrey was just leaving the Infirmary when Hermione arrived. She seemed very pleased to see her.

“Miss Granger, good! You’re just in time. Hagrid’s just informed me of Harry’s latest attack. It was a bad one?”

Hermione nodded. “He’s asleep though. Hagrid stunned him.”

Madame Pomfrey shook her head. “The best that I can do is to make him comfortable until Albus has time to help me with the cure,” she said softly, gesturing at Draco’s bed. “Would you mind waking him up and making him eat? He’s not eating well and he’s been awake since very late last night when Harry and Seamus left. I don’t know what they did to him, but he’s well on the road to recovery! Nothing short of a miracle, really, bad a shape as he was in!” And with that, as Hermione nodded, she turned to go and see to Harry.

Hermione watched the door close and turned to stare at Malfoy, who was asleep on his side with his thumb in his mouth. Hermione smiled an evil smile. Malfoy sucks his thumb in his sleep? She wondered, softly crossing the room to surprise him when she awakened him. As she came to his bedside, she paused for a moment to stare at him. He DID look much better, in fact, he looked perfectly healthy to her.

“WAKE UP!” She bellowed at him, bouncing the side of the bed up and down.

Draco Malfoy’s pale eyes popped open and he very nearly jumped out the other side of the bed with a startled yell. He clutched the blankets, pulling them up to his chin and shrinking back. “No, don’t hurt me!” He cried, “Please, no more! Leave me alone!” He whimpered pathetically, his eyes wide in fear. “Don’ let Potter find me! I don’ wanna die! He’ll kill me, he will!”

Hermione pulled back in shock. Then she got a grip on herself. THIS was just TOO good to be true! Here was Malfoy, their archenemy, frightened out of his mind and pleading for his life in fear of Harry! Hermione instantly decided that milking it for all that it could be worth was an excellent idea.

“You’re looking well,” she said in a dangerous tone. “And here I thought that Madame Pomfrey had written you off.”

Malfoy’s mouth moved, but no sounds came out.

“Talk, Malfoy!” She snapped at him, fingering her Wand as she did, “Or I might decided to get medieval on you. After all, you’re in no shape to put up much of a fight, are you? And speaking of fights, that’s EXACTLY what I want to talk about. I want YOUR side of what happened a few nights ago in Ireland, you’ll recall, when Harry showed up to reclaim Seamus Finnegan?”

“P-puh-please,” Draco stammered, “Please, Hermione, don’ make me talk about it! My father, you don’ know him! He’ll…he’ll…,” then Draco looked about like a frightened wild animal, glancing this way and that quickly and lowering his voice while motioning for her to come closer. She did that, warily. “He’ll kill me if he finds out I talked! I dunno if I CAN even talk!”

“And if you don’t talk, Harry Potter is liable to be sent to prison, you evil little worm!” She snapped, pulling out her Wand and waving at him threateningly. “And after what he did for you! I should just go and get him right NOW!”

She smiled as Draco cringed again, knowing that there was no way that HE could know about Harry’s attack of Temporal Dementia. She stared at him for a long while as he tried to get thoughts together. It was apparent that he was mentally weighing the prospects of his Father’s wrath, or Harry’s. As he thought about it, she grinned at him. That of course, didn’t help him much.

“What he d-did f-for me?” Draco squeaked, still glancing about and shivering under his blankets, “He tried to kill me! He kicked me in the head with those shit-kicker boots of his!”

“He also used his Powers to save your life, Malfoy,” Hermione informed him. “Madame Pomfrey had you written off for dead!”

“Dead?” Draco replied in wonder, his mouth dropping open a bit. “But I feel fine. I’m just a bit sore is all, and weak.”

Hermione shook her head. “You don’t realize what they did to you, do you? What your father and Voldemort were up to?”

Draco flinched at the mention of the Dark Lord’s name. “MY Father is NOT a Dark Wizard!” The boy protested, sitting up in bed with his eyes flashing. He seemed to suddenly regain some of his former arrogant bravado at the slander of his Father’s name. “That was a long time ago, before I even came along, and he was forced!”

Hermione sniffed. “So HE tells you. Then how do you explain your being in a cemetery in the middle of the night in Ireland with Seamus tied up and the Dark Lord hovering about with your father? How do you explain how badly you were drained of energy and LIFE when you were brought here? Or how did you even GET here? Hmmm?!” She pressed.

“I…I dunno,” Draco admitted with an odd look on his face. “I really don’t remember much. I remember being in here, thinking I wuz gonna die. Someone was with me, though. Someone wuz…,” he thought for a moment, his brows twisted in thought. “Someone held my hand and told me to live.”

“That would have been Harry,” she informed him, and Draco’s jaw dropped. He shook his white head in disbelief, but Hermione went on. “He sat up with you all night after he used his Powers to put some life back into you. Voldemort was using you, Malfoy. He was sucking the life and the Wizarding Powers right out of you until he could get strong enough to possess Seamus Finnegan and steal HIS Powers!”

“Who’d want to possess a Eunuch?” Malfoy snapped back, and then it appeared that something had come back to him. Perhaps Harry had kicked him a bit harder than they’d realized.

Instantly, Draco’s hands shot down to his crotch. He felt about, and breathed a very heavy sigh of relief when he felt his cock and balls, right where they should be. “I…I’m not a…I’m still in one piece!” Draco gasped. “Oh Gods,” he moaned, falling back onto his pillow with a gasp. “I remember now!”

Hermione dug in relentlessly. “Yes, I know. Amazing, what? Your Father emasculated you somehow, shrank your genitals down to nothing, and used you for a battery of sorts for his Master – Voldemort!” – Hermione didn’t appear frightened of saying the name aloud. “From what I can gather, from the boys and from your reactions, I’d say he hurt you pretty badly, too. He’s been abusing you, hasn’t he?”

Draco shrugged. “My Father is…well…you don’ know him, I say! He’s not that bad to me!”

“Stockholm Syndrome,” Hermione shrugged, “Classic case, sympathize with your tormentors. Oh well. I suppose you’re just going to lay there now while the Ministry of Magic interrogates Harry for what YOUR father did? I’d love to know how he’s planning to get out of this one!” Then she paused a bit. “You’re just lucky that he couldn’t lay his hands on The Knife of Klingsor,” she added, “Otherwise, Harry and Seamus never would have been able to put you back together again!”

“That old legend?” Malfoy scoffed. “I’ve heard of that, cuttin’ a boy’s cock and balls off to make him a Powerful Wizard. It’s a myth!”

“Tell that to Seamus,” Hermione retorted hotly, not mentioning Harry. She certainly didn’t want Malfoy to know it! But then something else came to her as she stared at Malfoy, who still had his hands under the blankets feeling at himself. She did not, however, ask him. Instead, she made a mental note to look it up in the Library later.

Draco seemed confused for a moment, and then stared at her. His sudden bravado seemed to vanish, and he pulled back again. “I…I remember him, Finnegan. Mr. Riddle wanted to go to Ireland to see him. Father wanted me to go to. We had a holiday.” Then yet another strange look came over the pale boy’s face. He seemed even more confused, and he stared blankly at Hermione.

“Who is Mr. Riddle?” She prompted.

“He … he’s a friend of the family … I think,” Malfoy replied, a frown crossing his face as he thought. “He came to the Manor, and I’d been … I think I’d been ill. We had to go to Ireland an’ it was a long trip. I … got sick on the way, I think.”

Hermione sighed in exasperation. It appeared that Malfoy was toying with her, and had no intention of talking. She bit her lip and glared at him, fingering her Wand as he cocked his head and appeared to think harder. Then the familiar sneer came back to his face.

“You said we went to see Seamus Finnegan? Why would I do that? I don’t even LIKE him!” Malfoy snapped. “Filthy little Mudblood potato farmer. HE shouldn’t even have been admitted to Wizarding School! My Father would…”

“YOUR Father would what?” Hermione snapped at him, whacking him over the head with her Wand. “Now you listen to me, Malfoy, and you listen good! You’ve got one more chance to tell me what you and your father were doing with Seamus, or I’m going to bring it all up in front of the Ministry when they get here to try Harry. You can help, or I can hang your ass out to dry!”

Then Draco gave her an odd look. His eyes went wide, and then became glassy. He slumped back on his pillow, gasping, staring at the ceiling as if she weren’t there. Then his hands went to his temples and he moaned, clenching his eyes shut and gritting his teeth. He looked as if he were about to have a fit of some kind, and Hermione considered going to fetch Madame Pomfrey back. But then she remembered with whom she was dealing.

“Oh come off of it, Malfoy, I didn’t hit you that hard,” she told him. “Not even YOU could be so cold as to let Harry hang after all that you boys have been through this summer!”

“I…I’ve been…ill,” Draco replied in a whisper. “I had to…had to stay in bed and…and then Mr. Riddle came and we…”

But the boy didn’t finish his sentence. His eyes went wide once again as he moaned – seemingly in pain – and went limp in the bed. His head turned towards Hermione, and his slow breathing told her that he’d either gone to sleep or passed out. She poked him with her Wand, but he didn’t stir.

“Well this is just ridiculous,” she grumbled, pondering which Spell to use to open up Draco’s mouth and make him talk. Normally, she wouldn’t have thought to do such a thing – forcing something like that upon even her enemies – but this WAS a special case. “I’m not going to let Harry suffer for YOUR sake, Malfoy,” she told him, although it was obvious that he couldn’t hear her. She aimed her Wand at his mouth, concentrated hard, and said, “Confessionus Recento!”

Several things then happened at once:

Draco sat bolt upright in bed with a loud scream. His eyes were wide open again, and he had clenched his hands into fists. He began beating the sides of his own head, rolling over and curling up into a ball as if he’d been kicked in the testicles. Hermione recognized THAT sign; she’d kicked a few Muggle boys there herself, in defense of course.

Hermione jumped back to the adjacent bed in shock, and the door to the Hospital Wing flew open with a loud BANG as it crashed on its hinges into the wall.

Professor Dumbledore came rushing in, almost as if on call. His eyes were wide as well, and he was just reaching out his Wand towards Hermione and Malfoy as he shouted, “Miss Granger, don’t do anything! He might be under a …”

Then Draco screamed again, a high and agonized wail that sent chills through the both of them. Dumbledore threw himself between Hermione and the screaming boy, pushing her back and leaning forward to get a better look at him as Madam Pomfrey came rushing in with Hagrid in tow.

“What’s going on in here?” She demanded, “Why’s he screaming?”

Hermione watched in stunned amazement as Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey bent over the boy and restrained his hands. She ran to Hagrid, her anger with Malfoy forgotten, and clutched his huge leg as she watched. “Oh dear,” Hagrid observed, “Yeh tried ter force sumthin’ outta ‘im, dintcha?”

Hermione nodded and gulped. Then it came to her. “Oh, Hagrid!” She moaned, “He must have been under some kind of Curse to make him not ABLE to talk about it!”

“Yeh should’a realized that, Miss,” Hagrid informed her as Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey backed away. They all looked on with amazement as Draco convulsed on his bed, strange looking strands of what looked like long, thick silver hairs falling from his head.

“What are those?” Hermione breathed, watching the long strands fall from the bed to vanish in puffs of smoke as they hit the floor.

“Oh, I was afraid of that,” Dumbledore said as he shook his head. Then he turned to Hermione. “I came as soon as I knew that you were here, Miss Granger,” he informed her in a regretful tone. “But it would seem that I arrived just a moment too late. Those strands are actually Draco’s memories and thoughts, everything related to what’s happened with him this summer. Everything in regards to the kidnapping of Seamus Finnegan, I’d wager. He’s literally and physically losing everything that he knows about the abduction and the following fight in the cemetery. Each strand is a thought or memory. Once those odd looking filaments burn up, the thought is gone – never to be reclaimed.”

“I don’t understand,” Hermione replied, still watching as Draco’s moans began to taper off as the strands continued to fall and burn up.

“Obviously he was under a combination of The Confundus Charm and the Obliviation Curse,” Dumbledore explained. “When you pushed him to a certain point, he became confused. When you pressed harder, he began to feel pain. Finally, when he’d gone too far and was too close to revealing what he was not supposed to, he became unconscious. It’s a rare bit of highly involved Dark Magic to make THAT Curse work without seriously injuring the person it is used on. When your Confession Charm hit him, it triggered the Curse.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. As much as she despised Draco Malfoy, the sudden vision of him as a bed-ridden, drooling invalid with no mind at all made her almost sick. That was too much to wish on anyone – even him.

“But…but his Mind? What’ll it do to him?” She asked in horror.

“Oh, his Mind will likely survive,” Madame Pomfrey informed her as the strands stopped falling and smoking. Draco lay very still then, but he looked none the worse for wear. “The Curse is only designed to wipe out specific memories. When he wakes up, he’ll probably be wondering where the summer went and why’s he back HERE and not at home.” Then she tightened the restraints on his wrists, just to be safe. “He’s also liable to be fairly angry.”

“I hope so,” Hermione said in a small voice, “Not about the angry part, I mean. I was only…I was trying to get him to tell me his side of what happened, sir, you know, for Harry’s case?”

Hagrid snorted. “Miserable worms,” he snapped, hugging Hermione in a rib-crushing hug, “They don’ deserve ter be in the Ministry o’ Magic, tryin’ a little boy like Harry fer this crap an’ treatin’ ‘im like a bloody criminal, when they outta be goin’ after that snake of a…”

“Yes, yes, Hagrid,” Dumbledore interrupted him. Then he turned back to Malfoy and Madam Pomfrey. “I take it you’re done with Harry?” He asked.

“For now,” she replied, tucking Draco back in and patting his head. “I guess I’ll have to put his feeding tube back in, he’s going to be out for a while. As for Potter, well, I can’t say when he’ll have another attack. If it was as bad as Rubeus told me, we’re going to have to act fast as soon as the trial is over. No matter what the outcome, he’s going to HAVE to have the treatment.” Then she paused. “He shouldn’t be left alone, Albus, despite the Ministry rules. He’s a danger to himself, and US, in his present state of mind.”

Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. There was something in that sigh that made Hermione’s blood run cold. Even leaning up against Hagrid’s warm moleskin coat, she felt chilly. Treatment? She wondered, What are they going to have to do to him that’s so terrible? He’s already been emasculated! It’s not right – how much more can he take? And how’s he a DANGER to us all?

She didn’t ask, however, as Dumbledore motioned for them to follow him out of the Infirmary. When they reached the landing to the stairs, he sent Hagrid back up to Harry’s room. Hermione then followed him down and out of the Castle, and they took up residence on a bench near the flower gardens in the sun. It was a warm and delightful day, and the air smelled fresh and inviting. Hermione imagined that Harry would find it a perfect day for flying, although she’d just as soon be sitting under a tree with a good book. Off in the distance, she could hear delighted yelps and hollers that she figured could only be coming from the direction of the Quidditch Field.

“It would seem that Mr. Weasley and Mr. Finnegan are having a good time with Mr. Wood,” Dumbledore observed. “At least they’re none the worse for wear.” Then his eyes grew distant. After a moment, he turned to Hermione. “Did you manage to get anything at all out of Mr. Malfoy?” He asked in a voice that almost sounded pleading.

Hermione shook her bushy head sadly. “Nothing that I didn’t already know. All he was able to tell me was the he’d been ill all summer since he got home and had been confined to his bed. Then this Mr. Riddle, a friend of the family, had come over and they’d gone to Ireland. At least he thought they had. That was where he got very confused and agitated.”

Dumbledore nodded. “So how is your case coming along, then?” He asked. “Think you’re up to being a lawyer for Harry?”

Hermione flushed and grinned modestly. “Well, I’ve read a ton of cases about Underage Wizards, mostly boys, that have gotten into similar trouble. Most all of them have gotten off using the clause in Section 19 of the Restriction of Magic Use for Underage Wizards Laws. If it’s a REAL emergency, Magic use is allowed.”

“And that’s the basis of your defense?” Dumbledore asked.

“It’s the best I can come up with,” Hermione admitted. “I mean, we KNOW what kind of boy Harry is, sir. It’s almost as if trouble just FINDS him, even if he’s trying to hide from it.”

The old man nodded. “I was most impressed with his – and YOUR – rescue of The Sorcerer’s Stone,” he told her, but he somehow didn’t sound enthusiastic. “But the circumstances in our case are far beyond something like a Wizarding Boy being lost or stranded or in fear of his life.”

“That’s what I was hoping to get out of Malfoy,” Hermione said in a disappointed voice. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, sir. Granted, none of us like him much, but that was awful! I couldn’t believe what I was seeing!”

Again, the old man nodded, gesturing for her to go on.

“The only thing I can really come up with is the fact that the Ministry didn’t ACT. Instead, they argued about what to do.” Then her eyes seemed to light up.

“Go on!” Dumbledore said, suddenly eager to hear more.

“Ron said they just sat there in his kitchen and argued! They wanted to do inquiries, do paperwork and such! All the while, Malfoy was getting further and further away with Seamus. It almost seems to me…” she paused, thinking hard for a moment, “It seems like they had to KNOW that what they were doing was wrong, but they did it anyway! Harry and Ron tried to tell them, but they wouldn’t have it!”

“How so?” The old man asked, his small spectacles sliding down his long nose.

“Alright,” Hermione said, taking a deep breath. “Here we have Harry Potter,” she began, her eyes bright and her hair almost seeming to stand on end in excitement. “His parents are murdered by Voldemort in his lust for Power. He tries to kill baby Harry, fails, and loses HIS Powers. He goes into hiding, and then eleven years later, he comes back possessing a teacher here – one of Harry’s First Year teachers – in his attempt to get the Sorcerer’s Stone!” Hermione snapped her fingers. “That’s it!” She exclaimed.

Dumbledore looked lost. “I think you skipped a few of the more salient points,” he told her with a grin.

“What if,” She went on, “What if someone knew that Voldemort was still out there? They knew he would come after the Stone. In fact, someone raided the vault at Gringott’s only hours after Harry and Hagrid had been there! What if that someone had been following them, but lost them in Diagon Alley? Maybe they thought that Hagrid or Harry would be carrying The Stone, or he’d know where it was? It almost seemed as if things were just sort of falling into place in our snooping here last term,” she admitted with a blush as Dumbledore nodded in agreement.

“So Harry rescues The Stone, BUT,” she added, “This is where it gets tricky. Correct me if I’m wrong, I may not have the story down right. Harry’s version, Ron’s version, and Seamus’ version … you know how that is. When you found original-Harry after his fight with Quirrell and Voldemort, a later-young-Harry came out of the Mirror of Erised and took The Stone up into the Future.”

“So far, so good,” the old man agreed. “Go on.”

“Now, what if that someone was expecting to try and get The Stone either from YOU, or out of where you’d hide it? They might have even been planning to get it from Voldemort, or use it for or with him. What if Quirrell wasn’t his only servant? What if someone really DID make Malfoy do what he did with kidnapping Seamus? You see, The Stone has a LOT of Power, and it would take a LOT of Power to get it back. As a Eunuch Wizard, Seamus has that kind of Power! Once the Dark Side had their hands on him, they could have used him for whatever they wanted. With a young Eunuch Wizard on their side, a REAL one cut by The Knife of Klingsor, they’d be almost unstoppable, wouldn’t they?”

“But why take the boy if they wanted the Stone?” Dumbledore asked.

“Because,” Hermione replied, “They needed him to get TO The Stone. It was supposed to be in the ‘here and now’, but suddenly it wasn’t. I’d wager someone knew where it was supposed to be. You said you’d destroyed it, but wouldn’t that make sort of …a loud noise, or something Magically detectable if you blew it up?”

“Oh my, yes,” Dumbledore agreed, “Every Wizard and Witch in Europe would have heard it blow up!”

“And wouldn’t it take a great deal of Power to take on YOU, sir?” She asked, grinning and batting her eyes at him.

Dumbledore cleared his throat modestly. “Well, er, yes it would.”

“So they know it’s still in existence, but it’s ‘gone’. They can’t find it anywhere, Magically or otherwise. That leads someone to believe that it’s vanished, possibly into Time. Now, we all know about the trick that Seamus can do with slowing Time down, or speeding himself up, whichever it is. What if someone else knows about that? What if, just somehow, they found out that The Stone had slipped out of Time?”

Then she smiled, a broad smile as if she’d just received an unexpected present.

“They know about a boy, or rather a Eunuch Wizard, who can bend Time. Add to that the fact that the castration of Seamus Finnegan was top secret, and all the records on The Knife of Klingsor are very well buried. It’s not like they publicized Seamus’ castration in THE DAILY PROPHET paper, you know. I had to dig for hours in the Library, but amazingly, the books that I needed weren’t all that dusty. They’d been read recently!” Then she snapped her fingers, beginning to talk more quickly. “Malfoy was here this summer, wasn’t he?”

Dumbledore nodded. “And Draco was very ill when he came, exhausted – in more way than one.”

“Besides,” Hermione went on, “From what I’ve seen here, The Stone isn’t the only Magical artifact to come up missing lately. The Knife of Klingsor, which Harry obviously got ‘hold of, is gone now. In fact, when he’s recovered, I need to go over that with him again. He used The Knife on himself, if I’m right. He said Hagrid took care of him, but I can’t see Hagrid cutting him. He’d never hurt Harry. It’s just too obvious, you know,” she said with an air of superiority.

“Add to that the fact that Seamus was exposed to The Stone as well, when he was cut by that VERY Knife. He was exposed to the Elixir of Life, he’s very powerful, and he’s living in a remote place. It’s almost perfect. Then they set up Lucius Malfoy – who’s already been busted once and looks like the perfect fall guy – to grab him. Then the Ministry finds Seamus has come up missing. But they sit and argue about it, RIGHT IN FRONT OF HARRY! Right in front of the boy who got The bloody Stone once already!”

“Miss Granger,” Dumbledore gasped in amazement, “Are you suggesting that The Ministry of Magic intentionally did all of this, to MAKE Harry go off after Seamus? To MAKE him do all that he’s done this summer? And what’s the connection with The Stone and The Knife?”

Hermione shook her head. “Not THE Ministry. Perhaps a member or two, or someone influential and powerful enough to sway them. What if one or two of them are really Dark Wizards who want to see Voldemort come back to Power, or are IN the hold of someone who is? They WANT the Dark Side to come back to Power.

“BUT - Harry’s still around, he’s had a good first year here at Hogwart’s, AND he’s proven himself a worthy opponent by recovering The Stone, which then vanishes! He’s in their way, sir,” she said ominously, “And arguing about it in front of him, instead of trying to rescue Seamus … well, they had to know that that was going to set him off. They KNEW that he’d go off half-popped looking for him. As for the connection, I don’t know about YOU, but I don’t find the thought of a School full of young Boy-Eunuch Wizards all that appealing, especially if some of them go Bad.”

“Yes,” the old man agreed, “If they could have gotten The Knife as well, they certainly wouldn’t have stopped with only ONE boy. If they wanted Finnegan so badly, and found out enough to come up with the idea of emasculating Draco as well, it could have proven disastrous! With The Knife of Klingsor to cut them and The Stone to heal them and make them near-Immortal, they could create an army of Dark Little Eunuch Wizards!”

“Precisely,” she added with a note of disgust, “They didn’t WANT Seamus rescued. They wanted Voldemort to get him, possess him, or convert him. The longer it took for Harry to find him, the more powerful the Dark Lord would grow by sucking the Life out of poor Draco and feeding off of his frustrated Powers as a Eunuch. I mean, how could anyone be so evil as to offer up his only son to certain death for the benefit of another? I don’t think that even Lucius Malfoy could really do that, do you? They had to have deceived him as well.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “Lucius Malfoy was not always so,” he informed her. “I don’t know, really. He was acquitted, you know, when the Dark Lord fell.” Then he nodded sagely. “It would be very easy to blame him, though.” Then he thought for a moment, adjusting his specs. “Lucius is also a very powerful Wizard,” he pointed out. “It would have had to have been someone able to overcome his Mind.”

Hermione looked around then, suddenly feeling very good about the fact that Hagrid was watching over Harry. She was very worried about him, in more ways than one.

“But what they didn’t count on,” she concluded, “Was Old Harry coming back in Time to repair the damage. It would seem, from Old Harry’s perspective, that they DID mange to at least cripple him and crush out his … creativity, let’s say. They didn’t get him killed, or expelled,” she added, “But they got him OUT of their way for a LONG time. We have no way of knowing WHAT his life was like after Ron and Seamus and Darby died in the fight, but I’d venture to guess that it wasn’t very exciting. I mean, what he did, way UP then in the future, surely must have been a last-ditch effort? I’d think that the risks of what he did in his Time travels would be ungodly high!”

The old man nodded, lost in thought. His forehead was creased, and he looked to be getting angry. “It would take an enormous amount of Power to perform an Obliviating-Confundus Curse on a boy and not kill him with it,” he thought aloud, “But WHO would have that kind of Power? What kind of Wizard or Witch could DO that to a child? Who would be so callous as to emasculate perhaps a whole House full of boys for the Dark Lord?”

Hermione grinned. “I think I need to go and have another talk with Ron and Seamus,” she concluded, getting up and excusing herself. “I know you’ll think hard about it, Professor, but I really don’t want to tip my hand just yet.” Then she hurried off to find Seamus and Ron, leaving the old man almost beside himself as he stared off after her.

“I hate lawyers,” he grumbled to himself, mulling over Hermione’s theory and wondering just WHO could possibly have the Power or the time to go to such elaborate lengths to simply get rid of Harry Potter.