Chapter 11: The Yearbook

It was the first night he could remember in over a week that he had gotten more than two consecutive hours of sleep, and yet it was the last night he would have ever wanted to fall into a deep slumber.

Harry hadn't meant to give in to that long over-due fatigue last night--or rather, early this morning, when he finally managed to convince Ron to come in out of the rain after five hours of looking for Jack in the hidden pockets of the forest. Harry had wanted to keep a close eye on Ron when they got back to the house, to keep him there at least until he could function again; he had never seen his best friend so numb and unresponsive, and he seriously feared for Ron's safety when he had insisted on apparating home to Hermione and the girls right then and there--on no sleep and waning adrenalin. Before he left, Harry had promised him he would go back out in the forest again and keep looking, and though he had meant to close his eyes for just a few minutes' rest, sleep pulled him in unwillingly.

When he opened his eyes again, sunlight was pounding into his pupils, and he realized he must have slept for a long time. Outside, the driving rain from last night had finally ceased, leaving in its place charcoal-colored clouds that were just now beginning to break apart to reveal a gray-blue sky. Ginny must have fallen asleep beside him sometime after he had, curled up against him like a wounded animal seeking warmth and shelter. Emily was in the next room, he remembered; last night Professor McGonagall had let them take her home with them rather than send her back to Gryffindor tower.

As the minutes passed, his grogginess began to taper off, but the soreness that had set in his muscles as he slept now could no longer be ignored. Every inch of him hurt, and his muscles protested every movement, no matter how slight. He stifled a groan and slid up to sitting as gently as he could, but Ginny must have felt him shift nevertheless and stirred. Her eyes blinked open and sought him, and, as if still caught in that no-man's land between sleep and consciousness, she murmured, "Harry?"

He bent down and kissed her gently, brushing hair away from her cheek.

"Go back to sleep..."

But apparently she didn't want to. A while later, she sat up beside him, shielding her eyes from the light streaming through the curtains.

"Is Em still sleeping?"

"I think so," he said. "I was just about to check up on her..."

"I hope that dreamless potion worked. I didn't know how else to calm her down, Harry--she was hysterical the whole night..."

Harry nodded. "I know..."

He realized she was staring at him. There was an unspoken question in her eyes, one he could already guess without any prompting.

"I didn't have the dream," he said, before she could even ask. He threw back the covers--it seemed justifiable somehow to take his anger out on inanimate objects--and rose from the bed. "Damn it, the one time I would have given anything to have it again and it doesn't come!"

A while later he felt her fingers close around his forearm, her chin rest on the crook of his shoulder. "You can't control this, Harry," she said softly. "Come on, nobody is expecting you to be able to conjure it up at will-"

"Well, I wish I could."

He turned to face her.

"If I could just see what happened to him last night... I was so close to finding out who this monster is in those other dreams--so close! If I could just... if I could just see a face, or hear that voice again... I know I've heard that voice before, Ginny. I know it."

She was quiet for a long time, then at last she said, "Harry... was it... you-know-who's voice?"

There was a slight hesitation in her question, and Harry could tell she was torn between wanting to hear the answer and wishing she had never asked in the first place.

"No," he said. "That much I do know. It wasn't him."

She looked as if she desperately wanted to believe him, but couldn't quite shake the lingering doubt. Harry knew her own encounter with Voldemort had left permanent scars--ones she rarely mentioned, let alone talked about at length, even with him--and her face reflected her inner struggle at that moment to keep those horrid memories buried in the past.

"He's gone, Ginny. He's gone for good."

"That may be," she said, "but his legacy may have still lived on."

They were marked, Weasley. Both of them. Marked for a fresh hunt...

Had Draco been right? The words seemed even more chilling, now that Jack had vanished; there was no ignoring the fact now that each of the children did indeed have Muggle blood.

Draco had said it so matter-of-factly. Harry still couldn't fathom how anyone could have uttered those words and not feel even a twinge of pity. But there was no pity in those steely gray eyes; indeed, Harry thought he had even seen slight glee in them. As if Draco had actually been glad that these children had been taken.

After a while, he said, "Ginny, I've been doing a lot of thinking, and... Look, given everything, I just... I'd feel a lot better if Em could be somewhere safer..."

"But... why?" she said. "God, Harry, you don't think she's in danger too, do you?"

He shook his head. "I don't know," he said softly. "But Ginny, she's got Muggle blood too. It's been two generations, but she's got it... I just don't want to take any chances..."

Ginny didn't say anything in response, only turning her head instinctively in the direction of Emily's room. Harry pulled her into him for an embrace. He wanted to tell her everything would be all right, that Jack and the other children would be found and Emily would be spared, but the truth was, he just didn't know.

"Ron told me he'd have the girls stay with your parents for a while," he said. "I think it might be best if Em stayed with them too, until we figure this all out... What do you think?"

"I think," she said, "that it's time this bastard was stopped..."

Professor McGonagall's reaction had been swift and sweeping. Late that morning, she had announced to all students and faculty that Hogwarts would close down indefinitely, and that owls would be sent at once to all the parents, letting them know that the children would be sent home as soon as possible.

Ron could think of only one time when the school seriously considered suspending all lessons and sending the students home: when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened in their second year and several students, including Hermione, had fallen victim to the Basilisk that had been released. Ginny's later disappearance had forced McGonagall to make a decision in Dumbledore's absence, and if Harry and Ron had not put the pieces of the puzzle together to deduce where she was, Hogwarts would have closed its doors for the first time since it had been founded.

And now it had finally happened.

McGonagall had informed him and Hermione of her decision as soon as they arrived. Any increased security the Ministry could provide, she said, would not be enough to put her at ease, and she could not bear the thought of having one more Hogwarts student disappear.

"I only wish," she had said to them, "that we could have done this in time to prevent your son from being taken... Had we known-"

"We know you did everything you could, Professor," Hermione said. "You had no way of knowing this would happen."

"I can't even begin to imagine what you both must be going through right now... This is so tragic, simply tragic..."

Ron felt Hermione grip his hand tighter--something she always did when she needed him for reassurance--and he gave her a gentle squeeze in return. From the corner of his eye, he saw Harry reach out to her as well and pat her shoulder wordlessly. Ron was so grateful to have their best friend here, as well as his sister. He couldn't even imagine how much more agonizing this would be had he and Hermione been forced to deal with this entirely on their own.

"Please know that whatever you may need--whatever at all--to get to the bottom of this, you will have at your disposal," McGonagall said.

Ron gave her a weary smile. It was not a gesture he had expected from her, but he was overcome by it--more than she would ever know.

After taking a deep breath, he said, "There is one thing I would like to do as soon as possible."

"Of course. Anything. What is it?"

"I'd like to go to the first years' dormitory," he said. "I'd like to see Jack's room."

Without hesitation, McGonagall nodded, and they followed her to Gryffindor tower in silence.

Nearly everything in the room was exactly as he had remembered it. The walls had been re-painted recently, for they were a brighter shade of white, no longer the dingy, nearly-graying color he remembered staring at for hours on end on those sleepless nights.

They stood at the door for a few moments. There were still some first years left in the room, two boys who were finishing up their packing when McGonagall arrived and knocked on the door. One of them, a boy named David Sparrow, Harry had told him, stopped what he was doing and looked at them in curiosity.

"Mr. Sparrow," McGonagall said. "Are you and Mr. McDonough almost done?"

"Er... almost, Professor..."

He was staring hard at Ron in particular, his mouth hanging open as if lead weights had been attached to his bottom lip. Ron was used to people gawking at him; after Voldemort's fall, his name and face had become common knowledge throughout the wizarding world. Funny that in all the time he had been in school, he'd always wished he could have just a taste of the fame Harry had--even for just one day--and when fame finally fell into his lap years later, he'd often wanted the ability to make it all go away.

"Y-you're Ron Weasley," he stammered, "the famous Auror! I-I've seen pictures of you before, with Professor Potter... in our History of Magic book..." He motioned the other boy to come over. "Liam, come look!! Look who's in our room!!"

The other boy walked over, his eyes nearly coming out of their sockets when he got close enough to see Ron.

Ron smiled back, feeling that familiar burning sensation on the tips of his ears as the two boys gaped at him.

"Nice to meet you, David, Liam."

Suddenly, the David's mouth moved into the shape of an o, and his eyes lit up with comprehension. "You mean you're Jack's father... Jack's father was the famous Ron Weasley?"

"Yes," Ron said, "Jack's my son."

"I'm sorry about what happened, sir," he said.

"Boys, would you mind stepping outside for just a moment and letting Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Professors Potter take a look around? You may finish packing as soon as they're done..."

David and Liam nodded, then obediently filed out of the room, still staring at Ron as they left.

"I'm sorry about that," McGonagall said. "They've learned so much about you and Professor Potter. I imagine it must have been a shock for them to actually meet you."

"Quite all right."

"I'll let you have a look around. Please take all the time you need. I'll send the boys in when you're ready."

"Thank you, Professor."

She nodded. "Of course."

No one said anything for a while after she left; it was as if they were all following Ron's lead and waiting for him to make the first move. Ron, for his part, was silent as well, simply looking around the room he had not stepped foot in since leaving Hogwarts seventeen years ago. His eyes wandered towards the window by his old bed, and he caught the etchings he had carved onto the window sill all those years ago; he walked over to it and ran his finger over the markings.

He felt Hermione come up beside him.

"You did that?" she said.

"Yeah," he said. "That day we had that detention out on the lake--I came back here afterwards and carved it... Harry came back from Hogsmeade with boxes and boxes of chocolate frogs and caught me doing it too..."

He laughed, then looked over to Harry, who was laughing as well.

"He wasn't exactly surprised. Little did I know it was because he'd been placing bets with all the blokes in here--not to mention Ginny--on when we'd be getting together..."

"And as I recall," Ginny said, "I won the bet."

Ron was looking straight ahead, at Harry's old bed. Right above it was that tattered old Chudley Cannons flag he'd had over his own bed. Jack had followed tradition and hung it as well.

"Jack's bed," he said quietly.

He stared at it for a long time before he finally sat down. It hadn't been made; the blankets had been kicked aside and the pillows were arranged haphazardly, which came as no surprise to Ron, since Jack had always tossed and turned a lot while he slept.

The sight of it brought the reality of this all home again, not that it ever left his mind for a single second.

Something gleaming caught his eye. It was gold lettering on the spine of a book that was peeking out from underneath one of the pillows. Ron pulled it out, and recognized it instantly: it was his old yearbook.

Harry came closer to take a look. "Is that..."

"Our yearbook. From first year."

"He brought that with him?" Hermione said.

"Yeah... He was looking through it one day and said it was cool to see his parents when they were his age... He asked me if he could take it along with him, so I... let him keep it..."

Ron absently ran his fingers down the leather cover, then opened it. It fell open on a page with the pictures of Slytherin students. Draco Malfoy's ever-present smirk greeted him, a maddening smile that Ron had always thought was begging to be smacked off his face. Ron had given him a mustache and horns, and mercilessly drawn a line from Draco's picture to that of Pansy Parkinson's, scribbling underneath in a messy scrawl, "Draco and Pansy: a match made in hell."

He'd almost forgotten that he had defaced his yearbook in this manner. Then again, he didn't have to think too hard to recall exactly why those two had earned his ire that first year--or in the years to come.

Good thing they didn't end up together after all, he thought, or Malfoy'd never have ended up with such a sweet son...

It was then that he noticed that the top corner of the page had been dog-eared. He hadn't remembered doing that. He looked down and saw a bookmark on his lap; it must have fallen out when the book opened.

To this page.

"Why would Jack be looking at this page in particular?" he said.

"What d'you mean?" Hermione said.

"This page," he said. "It's been marked, see?"

Hermione leaned in, as did Harry and Ginny.

"Jack had it marked... and he was keeping it under his pillow..."

Harry had a strange look on his face when Ron looked up. It was the same look he'd had in Ron's office, after Draco had left. And though he already had a feeling he knew what Harry was thinking, he asked anyway.

"What?"

"Odd, isn't it," Harry said, "that Jack would have this page in particular marked. The page with Draco's picture."

"What are you saying?" Hermione said.

"I'm saying... that whoever is taking these children obviously has a vendetta against the Muggle-born. And it's interesting that he'd have this yearbook tucked under his pillow and marked on the very page that has a picture of a wizard who's never exactly been shy about voicing his dislike of the Muggle-born..."

"You're not... you're not suggesting that..." Hermione sank down on the bed beside Ron. "You can't possibly be implying that Malfoy had anything to do with this?"

"I'm suggesting," Harry said slowly, "that it's curious that Jack would be so fascinated with your yearbook that he slept with it under his pillow. And that the page he would have marked on it wouldn't be the page with your pictures--it's the page with the Slytherin ones."

He reached down and took the book from Ron.

"He hadn't been acting like himself since he got here," Harry went on. "He'd been quiet and keeping to himself, and he'd been sleepwalking, just like those other two children. What if there's something more to this? What if all of them were being manipulated somehow?"

"This just doesn't feel right, Harry," Ron said at last. "I know all the pieces seem to fit, but..." He shook his head. Something about this wasn't ringing true, though this evidence--or what seemed to be evidence--was alarming.

"There's only one way to find out, then," Harry said. "You need to find Malfoy and ask him straight out."