Chapter 2: A Voice In The Woods

At first he wondered if his eyes were closed.

Darkness surrounded him at all sides and angles, a blackness so solid and dense that he could feel it actually closing in on him, cutting off his oxygen with each second that passed. He knew at once he didn't belong in this place he had entered, sensed it in the chill that passed through his bones and seeped into his very marrow.

He was vaguely aware of walking, though where and in what direction he could not tell. The ground beneath his feet was soft and yielding: wet soil punctuated with solid rock. Something about it felt familiar yet strange at the same time, as if he had been to this place before, or... somewhere like it?

His wand... He fumbled about in his robes for his wand, and all the while that he did, he could not help but notice how odd his hands felt. How odd his entire body felt, like an ill-fitting costume he had donned and was struggling to get out of. At last his hand closed around the wand, but even that felt different as well. Still, there was no time to ponder this; he pulled it out and uttered, "Lumos!"

He blinked back as light finally came, flooding his pupils. His eyes discerned shapes all around him: tall and imposing, and at length, he realized they were trees.

He was in a forest.

Of course, he thought. I must be in the Forbidden Forest...

But no, that didn't feel right either. Something about the frost-tinged air (September was always mild, wasn't it?), and even the scent of the earth told him he was someplace else. Some other place to which he had never stepped foot.

His grip tightened on the wand, and when he looked down on it, he noticed it look nothing like his wand. It was ebony, with delicate etchings on the grip, and it was smooth and new, as if it had been newly fashioned. His breath caught in his throat when he noticed something even more disturbing, however: these hands were not his hands.

They were a child's hands: smaller and more nimble, and the wand fit perfectly in this grip.

What's happening...

"Ah, you've come... I knew you would come..."

His head snapped up at the sound of the voice, but there was no one there. He could feel the presence of another being, though, felt breath on the back of his neck, raising goosebumps all over his body.

"Who... are you?"

The answer never came.

Harry Potter awoke with such a force that he sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for air as if his lungs had emptied fully, until the disorientation faded, and he slowly came to realize where he was.

"Harry?"

He felt Ginny sit up beside him, placing a hand on his upper arm.

"Harry, what is it?"

He breathed, then forced a laugh. "Uh... nothing, just... I just remembered I forgot to owl Ron and Hermione like I promised, to let them know that Jack had gotten into Gryffindor..." Sweat had beaded up on his brow, and he wiped it off as nonchalantly as possible. "You know how Hermione can get when someone lets her down..."

Ginny said nothing, only looking at him in that way she did sometimes, when they both knew he wasn't being entirely forthcoming. It wasn't often that he held something back from her; no one knew him better than Ginny did, knew his innermost hopes and dreams, as well as the things that haunted him. But there were also times when he couldn't quite bring himself to tell her--or anyone else, for that matter--what was churning inside him.

"You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

She slipped out of bed and drew the curtains open. Sunlight flooded the room at once, hurting his eyes. He reached for his glasses, then came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"You're right, I am," he said. "It wasn't about Ron and Hermione."

She turned and grinned. "No, really?"

He laughed softly.

"Harry, what was it? You practically leapt out of bed..." She reached a hand to touch his forehead. "Your scar... Did it start hurting again-"

"No... no, it's not that," he said, closing his hand over hers and bringing it back down again. "Nothing like that, honest."

"Then... what was it?"

He shook his head. "Just some nightmare. Some stupid nightmare."

The concern embedded in her eyes hadn't diminished. She kept her hand in his, then slowly twined their fingers together. "That was no ordinary nightmare."

She was right, it wasn't. His dreams didn't usually haunt him into the day like this, no matter how terrifying they were. He hadn't been this disturbed by a nightmare since...

"Hey," he said, sensing that the mood definitely needed lifting at that moment. "Come on, this is no way to start the day."

"Harry..."

"You're not going to let up on me about this, are you?"

She smiled. "What do you think?"

"All right, all right... But to be honest with you, I can't even remember most of it anymore..."

"Well, what do you remember?"

He shook his head, as if the mere act would shake the cobwebs that had gathered in his memories. "Darkness..."

"Darkness?"

"I just remember not being able to see anything for much of it... And then I guess I was in a forest..." What else? What else was there that he couldn't seem to remember anymore?

"A forest? The Forbidden Forest?"

"No... Maybe... I dunno... It's all just really hazy to me now..."

There was something else he wasn't remembering. Something important. His brain hurt from the effort to recall it. He felt Ginny's eyes on him, and he looked up to meet he gaze.

"Ginny, come on, it was nothing, really..."

She said nothing. Harry knew that she had been through enough in her own lifetime to believe that too quickly. He brushed her cheek with his hand and kissed her lightly.

"You know, I'm sure it was just some manifestation of my unconscious," he said. "Freud would say I just had a bad case of indigestion or something."

"Excuse me?"

"Freud," he said. "A famous Muggle doctor who-"

"I know who Freud was," she said, her eyes narrowing dangerously. He knew that look. He knew it well. "But did I just hear you imply something my cooking?"

Luckily, he had a ready answer for her. "We ate at the Sorting Feast last night, remember?"

"Oh, right... Hmm, I suppose you're off the hook then."

"Well that's a relief." He grinned and pulled her even closer to him, kissing her longer and more deeply than before, feeling her giggle against his mouth. "Mmm, feels nice to be able to kiss my wife with abandon and not have to worry about being walked in on," he said. "Although I have to admit, the house feels awfully empty without Em, doesn't it?"

"Very," she sighed. "But you know, we have no right to complain, really. I'm sure Ron and Hermione would be quick to point out that we do get to see her at school every day..."

"Oh yes," Harry said. "School. Where she'd like us to treat her like any one of our students and remind her and everyone else as little as possible that we're her parents." He laughed and shook his head. "One day she was Daddy's little girl, and the next she's fighting for her independence. How did this all happen when we weren't looking?"

"Wish I knew," she said, laughing as she shrugged.

He brushed a stray lock from her eyes, "Do you ever..."

"What?"

"Do you ever think about us... having another child?"

She grinned. "Why Mr. Potter, just what are you suggesting?"

"Exactly what you think I'm suggesting, Mrs. Potter." He kissed her again, then rested his forehead on hers. "Really, though... have you ever thought about it?"

"Well... yes," she said. "But I thought... I mean, I always thought you wanted an only child?"

"I thought that you didn't want a big family... You'd said you didn't want your children competing with each other all the time for their parents' attention."

She laughed, drawing her head back to look at him. "So all this time we thought... Do you mean... What a pair we are, eh, Harry?"

"So... So you're saying..."

"I'm saying..." She traced his jawline with her finger. "I'm saying... why don't we let nature take its course and... see what happens?"

He rather liked the thought of that. "That sounds very good to me."

"Good," she said. "Now I'm going to make some breakfast--which hopefully won't give you any indigestion. We can't have you having nightmares again tonight."

He laughed as she left their room, but it was laugh that was more for her sake. Something inside him twisted at the reminder of his dream, though the details had all by left him now, leaving only a cold feeling of dread in its wake.

Even if he wanted to remember--which he wasn't sure he did--he couldn't bring those images to the foreground again. He had only a vague recollection of darkness, and... the smell of fresh dew on the ground? Whatever it was, it brought an involuntary shiver through his body.

And he hoped he would not dream it again tonight.

It wasn't often that the Gordon Welby himself came to see Ron in person.

The Minister of Magic was usually too busy juggling his various responsibilities and obligations to speak with Ron outside of their bi-monthly meetings, and even those proved to be difficult to coordinate, as scheduling conflicts had caused him to cancel the last three. Ron reckoned he hadn't seen Welby since they met briefly just before Easter, when they'd spent more time talking about their plans for the holiday than anything remotely having to do with work.

Come to think of it, Ron had seen him no more than seven times altogether since Welby had appointed him Director of the Auror unit (the youngest appointment ever, Percy had been ecstatic to inform him) two and a half years ago.

Which is why Ron knew that whatever it was that had brought Welby into his office this morning could not have been any small matter.

"Weasley," he said, rising from the chair when Ron walked into the office. "You're here, good..."

"Mr. Welby... It's certainly been a while."

"Yes, yes," he said. "It has been a while..."

Ron noticed that he seemed more than a bit distracted at the moment--even flustered--though he supposed that wasn't too unusual where Welby was concerned. He had not earned the moniker, "The Absent-minded Minister" for nothing, after all.

"I would ask you to what I owe this pleasure, but I sense this is not a social call?"

At this, the old man's face went ashen, and he shook his head.

"I'm afraid not," he said. "Indeed, I'm afraid I've come to you today about a very grave matter."

Ron slowly sat down and gestured for Welby to do the same. "I see. This will be a very urgent assignment, then?"

"Very urgent, Weasley. In fact, you'll need to leave as soon as possible--as soon as things can be arranged."

"You mean... today?"

Welby nodded. "I'm afraid so," he said. "Will that be a problem?"

"Well, I..." Ron thought quickly. Hermione was to leave for a conference in three days, and he was to stay back and take care of the girls while she was away.

"We need you on this, Weasley. I know it's short notice, but there's no one else..."

Ron sighed. "I'll have to arrange something with my wife, but... if this is really that urgent..."

"Oh it is. It is indeed."

"What is this assignment?"

Welby got up and began to pace. Ron didn't like the look of this at all. Then again, Welby tended to get jittery quite easily, and Ron had certainly been through enough danger in his sixteen-year career--not to mention before he ever even became an Auror--that little fazed him.

"Sir?"

"Hmm? Oh yes..." Welby stopped in his tracks, which was a good thing, since Ron had feared he would have worn a hole through the carpet if he had not ceased that very moment. "Oh, it's awful, just awful..."

"What?"

"A boy's been taken from a wizarding school..."

Ron felt his blood drain from his face. "Not... Hogwarts?"

Welby shook his head. "No, no, not Hogwarts... It was a child from Durmstrang."

"Durmstrang..."

"It's a school in Bulgaria-"

Ron nodded. "Yes, I... I know... They sent representatives to Hogwarts while I was there, to compete in the Tri-Wizard Tournament..."

"Oh, I see," Welby said. "Well, it's just horrid, Weasley... This poor boy, he simply vanished without a trace. He was only a first year too, just eleven years old..."

Eleven, thought Ron. Eleven, just like Jack... He shut his eyes momentarily, then forced himself to regain his composure. He had a job to do after all.

"They found this in the forest near the school grounds..."

Welby reached down and placed an object on Ron's desk. It was a wand: a new one, still polished and unscathed, made of ebony so smooth and dark it gleamed in the sunlight that streamed in from the windows. Ron doubted it had even been used much. He picked it up and inspected it, turning it over in his hands.

"Very intricate pattern on the handle," he said at last. "This was a very expensive wand."

"His father is quite an influential wizard," Welby said. "And... that's actually the reason why you've been assigned this case."

Ron raised his head and gave him a questioning look. "That's what I don't understand," he said. "This is out of my jurisdiction. Why wouldn't the Bulgarian Ministry send one of their own to investigate this?"

"You're one of the world's best Aurors, Weasley. I'm sure they wanted the best."

Ron felt the tips of his ears go on fire. He had never quite gotten used to flattery.

"That's quite a boost to my ego, Mr. Welby, but I still don't understand-"

"They wanted you," Welby said. "They wanted you personally to work this case. They wouldn't accept anyone else."

"But who..."

"I did. I requested you."

Ron stiffened. It was a voice he had not heard in almost twenty years, but one he recognized instantly. Slowly, he turned around and saw the familiar heavy, dark eyebrows, knitted together on an anguished face that spoke of sleepless nights and the kind of worrying no parent ever wanted to experience.

"Viktor."

With the slightest of movements, he nodded, then the words tumbled forth from his mouth.

"They haff my son..."