[...]While his wailing continued, Snape remained sneering. The Dark Lord would know by morning—if he already did not—that Azkaban was no longer harboring any prisoners; in other words, the Death Eaters that remained there would no longer have a ready excuse not to see him once again. However, Snape had a sick feeling in his stomach that he knew what Severus was struggling to say.
Finally, after Lucius’s sobs had become a whisper compared to what they were, Snape spoke. “I can do nothing for the boy,” he pronounced carefully. “He wouldn’t have done it, and the Dark Lord’s orders were clear. The mission had to be fulfilled, or else the work your son had done during the year would have amounted to nothing. Draco knows where he stands—he knows what could happen; you don’t need to worry about that.”
There was a moment of silence to let this information sink in. Lucius looked up with bulging, fearful eyes, and then, in a whisper barely audible over the rumble of thunder outside, said, “Where is he?”
“Draco is with Him. The Dark Lord has ordered that the boy stay—”
Lucius’s eyes narrowed, his lips turning to a sour frown. “Where is he?!”
“If you would let me finish, I would…” Snape started.
“That isn't who I mean,” he said. And curiously, Lucius’s frown transformed to a smile—an ugly, smug, insane smile. “You know,” he declared, and then broke into a fit of mad laughs. “You KNOW!” he gleefully hollered.
“Oh…” he continued. “will He be mad when he has found out—”
Snape waved his wand, and Lucius was instantly silenced.
*****
It was happening again. Harry could see himself, standing yards away. There was a never-ending blackness around him; the air twisted and swirled around him, convoluting as if in a great wind, although he could feel nothing, smell nothing, hear nothing. All he could see was himself; or rather, an imitation of himself, for he knew—although he couldn’t tell how he knew—that he had a body here. He could move no limbs, nor see any, but he could tell somehow that the Harry Potter that stared at him now with unblinking eyes was not him specifically, but yet a pale replication of his own self.
There was an unexpected flash of brilliant white light, and suddenly, Harry felt he was alive again. His surrounding was no longer of strict darkness; in fact, it was completely opposite. All around him was blinding white, as if he was standing on the horizon of a great star. He could suddenly hear and feel again. He whirled about, wondering where he was.
And then the screams started. They were loud, terrible. They flowed about the atmosphere around him, tormenting him. He began to run. He fled, pumping unseen legs. After seconds or days he didn’t know, but soon Harry could see that reflection of himself, moving ever-farther away, even as he ran as fast he could. Once he knew he wouldn’t reach it, he closed his eyes, opening a non-existent mouth in a silent scream.
His body was on fire. The light was closing in—no, the darkness. It was suffocating. There was nothing around him. Nothing—nobody—in this world to help him. He thought his body would break, and then…
He snapped upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat. He was gasping for air; his heart pounded in his ribcage, fighting, it seemed, to escape. His body was hot and his head was bursting with pain. His scar seemed to be on fire; it burned so to sear the flesh on his forehead. He cried out a moment, and then held it in agony.
Finally, after a minute of this, his breathing had slowed and the fire in his skull had lessened to an insistent ache. He calmed, and just as he realized he had been dreaming, and he now sat in a bed across the room from a snoring Ron Weasley, there was a loud CRACK. It sounded as if it had come from just outside the bedroom window.
Without hesitating, Harry pulled off the covers and leaped out of the bed, moving to the only window in the upstairs room, and throwing it open. The room had become quite loud by now, as when the strange noise occurred, it set the previously-sleeping form of the owl Pigwidgeon to screeching. Pig was now circling the room, hooting and hollering in its shrill owl’s voice. This caused Hedwig to wake, who looked about the room with a indignant stare.
“Silencio!” muttered Harry, aiming his wand at the small bird fluttering wildly around the room near the ceiling. At once, the screeching stopped; Pig looked confused for a moment, and continued to hover above Harry.
By then, Ron had woken. He was sitting up with groggy eyes. “Wha…?” he mumbled aloud.
“Nothing, Ron. Somebody… I just thought I heard something. Go back to sleep,” answered Harry, but truly his mind was racing. Had someone just Disapparated outside the house? But why now? The sun hadn’t even risen yet; the dark was a deep blue, almost black, and from beyond the veil of space hundreds of stars sparkled and twinkled. Why would somebody leave now?