Chapter 18 – Choking

January passed uneventfully even though Harry was busier than ever. Gryffindor’s next Quidditch match was only a month away, classes were becoming ever more demanding and Dumbledore was scheduling extra Occlumency lessons. He said it was because he wanted to stop Harry’s visions as soon as possible, but Harry privately suspected the old man was becoming desperate. No matter how hard he tried it looked like Harry would never be completely able to protect his own mind. For one thing he was too easily distracted and even though Dumbledore insisted his progress was good Harry knew by now that he’d never be able to close his mind entirely.

He was glad that Ron and Hermione had kept to their promise to not abandon him again, it was great to have them to talk to and study with again without them waltzing off to snog in a cupboard somewhere, however he could have done with spending a bit less time with Ron. Hermione was beginning to get fed up with it too for all her patience. It seemed like whatever was bothering Ron so much had translated into him following Harry almost constantly with a worried frown pulling on his forehead, jumping at the slightest movement and starting fights over nothing. Harry was at his wits end trying to work out what was wrong.

It all came to a head one week at the beginning of February at the senior DA meeting. Harry had set the group to working on a new shield charm he had found in the library anthologies and was walking around offering assistance where needed. McGonagall, on the other side of the room, was correcting two Ravenclaw seventh years when Harry became aware of someone yelling as a large space opened up in the middle of the floor.

He hurried over to where a familiar mop of red hair and a large bundle of Hogwarts school robes were wrestling on the floor. Harry couldn’t see who the other boy was and didn’t wait to find out as he grabbed hold of Ron’s robes and pulled him bodily away.

“Get off me, Harry, this is none of your business,” Ron yelled, struggling wildly.

“What the hell are you doing?” Harry demanded, avoiding flailing limbs as Ron struggled to jump back on the other boy, who Harry could now see was Zacharias Smith, a rather unpleasant Hufflepuff who had questioned Harry every chance he got the year before. Despite that, he couldn’t guess why Ron felt the need to start a fight.

“I’d rather like to know that myself,” McGonagall said dryly, her expression sterner than ever. Hermione was hovering behind her, holding her pale face in her hands and staring in horror. “Well Mr. Weasley, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Ron stopped fighting and hung his head. “He deserved it.”

“An excuse I have heard numerous times before and always uttered with such confidence that it is almost a shame that I must tell you that no matter what petty insult Mr. Smith may have offered you there is never any excuse for behaviour such as this.” McGonagall knelt next to Smith who had sat up and was gently prodding the area around his eye, wincing at the contact. “Everyone, get back to work,” she ordered. “Miss Granger, if you will supervise for a few minutes, Mr. Potter and I will be back momentarily.”

Harry started in surprise, wondering why he was being dragged into this, but willingly followed her into an anteroom, Ron and Smith trailing along behind.

As soon as the door closed behind them McGonagall whirled on Ron and demanded, “Exactly what was that disgusting display all about?”

Ron muttered something and gazed steadily at the floor.

“Mr. Smith, perhaps you can tell me what was going on in there,” McGonagall said briskly.

“We were all practising the spell, just like we were supposed to,” Smith said sullenly. “I was talking to Ernie, who was my partner when Weasley attacked me. I didn’t do anything.”

“Hmm,” McGonagall frowned, her lips in a thin line. “You may return to the group session Mr. Smith. I will discuss this further with you later.”

Smith nodded and headed silently to the door, but Harry didn’t miss the smirk he shot at Ron as he left. Fortunately Ron was still staring at the floor or he may have taken it into his head to start fighting again.

“Never have I been so disappointed in one of my Gryffindors,” McGonagall said once Smith was gone. Harry was struck with the reminder of the previous year when he and George Weasley had attacked Malfoy after a Quidditch match when she had used similar words to chastise them, but he wisely kept his mouth shut on the matter. “Not only were you involved in conduct unbecoming of a student of this school, but you seem to be the instigator. Not only that but you put Mr. Potter in a very difficult situation when you forced him to intervene.”

“I... no, I did it to help Harry,” Ron said.

“I assure you that was not the effect you achieved,” McGonagall said. “Instead he was forced to separate you from another student while he was in a position of authority over you. I thought you would have more consideration for your friend than to ask him to choose between pulling you off of Mr. Smith and his loyalty to you.”

Harry raised his eyebrows at her from behind Ron. He hadn’t even thought about not jumping right in there and breaking up the fight, nor had he considered that maybe he was betraying Ron by doing it, he’d just acted.

“I am waiting, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall said frostily. “Just what prompted this?”

Ron chewed his lip, his eyes flickering uncertainly to Harry before coming to rest on a spot just beyond McGonagall’s shoulder. “He... he was talking about Harry. Said that no matter how good Harry was at Defence, when You-Know-Who comes for him he’ll be nothing but a...” he mumbled something Harry didn’t catch, but apparently McGonagall did for her face paled slightly, though it did not lose it’s disapproving countenance.

“And so you decided to react to this insult by leaping upon him and giving the class an example of muggle duelling?” she said.

“I lost it,” Ron muttered. “I didn’t even think.”

“No, of that we are in complete agreement,” McGonagall said. “I will be taking fifty points from Gryffindor and you will report to Mr. Filch every evening at eight for the next two weeks. For the duration of your detentions you are banned from this club. You are dismissed.”

Harry watched Ron leave, his shoulders slumped in defeat and couldn’t help but feel sorry for his friend even as he wondered why McGonagall had insisted he be present for this. Surely he would have been better off staying in the Hall with the others.

“Mr. Potter, I wanted to commend you for your quick action although in future it might be wise to remember that you are fully capable of using your wand before you jump into the centre of the fray.”

Harry ducked his head to hide the flush that crept over his cheeks. “Guess I didn’t think either.”

“It was not a reprimand,” McGonagall said and Harry could have sworn he heard amusement in her voice. “I wanted to discuss Mr. Weasley’s recent behaviour with you. I’m sure you are as concerned as I am.”

“Oh, right,” Harry nodded. “What did you want to know?”

McGonagall gestured for him to sit. “I am aware that this began over the Christmas period while he was at home. Perhaps you could explain what you know of how it started.”

Harry nodded again and quickly told her about the trip Ron and Hermione had made to Diagon Alley and how Ron now seemed plagued by thoughts of what would happen to Harry if Death Eaters or Voldemort got hold of him. “It’s just so unlike him,” he finished. “I don’t really understand it.”

“Nor do I,” McGonagall confessed. “I will take this to the Headmaster. If it continues I’m afraid it may become necessary to find some kind of professional help for Mr. Weasley.”

Harry frowned. “You mean like a psychologist?” Dudley had visited a psychologist during the last school year, he suddenly remembered because Aunt Petunia had been afraid he had suffered some kind of trauma from the Dementor attack. As far as Harry could tell there had been no discernable difference in him after a year of ‘professional help’ and he doubted it would do any more for Ron.

“I believe that is what the muggles call it,” McGonagall agreed. “Although the wizarding version is somewhat more... effective shall we say? Now I believe we should return to the main group before Miss Granger becomes completely overwhelmed.”

“Wizards call it mind healing,” Hermione explained patiently. “Not particularly inventive, I’ll grant you, but no one ever said wizards were good at coming up with catchy names.”

“Never mind what it’s called,” Harry said impatiently. “How does it work? D’you think it will help Ron?”

Hermione caught her lower lip between her teeth and glanced down at the book in her lap. “I’m no mind healer, Harry and it’s not like I’ve read up on this extensively.”

“Yeah, but you have heard of it,” Harry prodded. “And knowing you, as soon as you did you went to the library to find a book on it.”

Hermione sighed. “It involves Legillimency of some kind,” she said. “I think the mind healer goes into the patients mind and directs it in healing itself. Personally I think it’s a cheat. At least the muggles help the patient to heal themselves instead of forcing them to get better.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “But will it help Ron?”

“I- I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I think sending him to a mind healer is a pretty strong reaction at this point. It’s just some aggression and anxiety. He needs to work through it, that’s all and then he’ll be fine. What I don’t understand is why they’re talking about this for Ron when you’ve been through some pretty traumatic things and no one’s ever even talked to you about how you’re feeling. And they really should have, after the Tournament and what happened to Sirius.”

Harry looked away, not wanting to go into that. “But it’s me, isn’t it? They wouldn’t want me going to some mind healer in case it got back to the Prophet that I was crazy or something.”

“I think it’s more likely that they were worried that a healer could take advantage of the things you know, like information about the Order.”

“But Ron knows that stuff too,” Harry objected.

“I know,” Hermione said slowly, with the air of one delivering terrible news. “Which is why I think they’d send him to Professor Snape.”

“SNAPE?” Harry exploded. “No way! That git will just take the opportunity to take whatever dirt he can get on the Gryffindors. He won’t care about helping Ron.”

“I know you don’t like Snape,” Hermione tried, her tone gentle. “But Dumbledore trusts him and that’s enough for me. He’s on our side and risking his life to bring the Order crucial information.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s a nice person,” Harry snapped.

Hermione snorted. “I never claimed he was. I just told you what the most likely solution is.”

Harry harrumphed and threw himself back in the couch. “You really think all he needs is time to get over it?”

“You know Ron,” Hermione said with a shrug. “Sometimes it takes him a while to get over things, but he’ll be fine.”

The worst part in all this was that with Ron following him around all the time 'in case he was attacked' he was finding it increasingly difficult to sneak away and visit Daphne. They managed one weekend meeting in the study room, where they pored through the anthologies and talked about school.

“Jones is always on at me,” Daphne complained. “She seems to think I should be as good at silent magic as everyone else is, but I’m really struggling. She wants to start practise duels, but I’m holding everyone back.”

Harry nodded, doing his best to look sympathetic. His own Defence class had moved on to practise duels already while he and Hermione were getting into advanced casting. “Maybe I could help you,” he said hopefully. “Except I don’t think I did all that much good with Ron.”

“I’ll probably never get it,” Daphne shrugged. “You forget I’m only part human. My magic isn’t as strong as theirs. Of course I can’t explain that to Jones.”

Harry frowned. “I’m only part human, but I can do it. I’m sure that you can too.”

Daphne smiled slightly. “You’re over half human. For you elf is the smaller percentage of your DNA. I, on the other hand, struggle in most of my classes except for Potions.” She sighed. “Jones keeps telling me I should join the DA.”

“You could,” Harry said hesitantly. “I’ll help you catch up.”

“No, I couldn’t,” Daphne’s smile was a little warmer this time though. “If I even showed an interest in it I’d be in all sorts of trouble with the other Slytherins. They’d be watching me and I’d find it impossible to meet you.”

“Oh,” Harry said, dejected. He had to admit it would have been hard to retain his indifferent facade in regards to Daphne if he had to teach her in the DA. He was finding it difficult enough to keep his eyes off her at mealtimes and during Potions classes where they were still partnering each other; a fact that hadn’t gone unnoticed by Hermione.

Hermione had promised not to say anything about his infatuation to Ron or anyone else, but Harry had still had to endure her ongoing comments whenever they were alone about how he not only fancied a Slytherin, but the Ice Queen herself.

But she wasn’t like that with Harry and he had come to realise that she had her own facade to keep up; that she didn’t care for anyone, not even her own housemates, in order to stop anyone from asking too many questions.

Other than that one meeting they were forced to sneak out at night – long after the library was locked up for the evening – to the small cave on the edge of the wards. Unfortunately Ron saw his tiredness and assumed he was having visions, pestering him mercilessly for details until Harry was ready to scream.

Of course the fact that he was having visions at least once a week didn’t help with his irritation and he found himself snapping at everyone around him until McGonagall was once again offering him her ear. He declined, naturally.

There was a snowstorm on the first weekend of February and nearly all the Gryffindor sixth years met in one of the courtyards for an impromptu snowball fight.

Harry had been hit by a wave of anticipation the moment he saw the snow laying thickly over the grounds. It was with nervous excitement that he woke his room mates to tell them the news. Only Ron seemed unaffected, leaving the other four to dress warmly and race outside for their fight. The few times Harry had been able to look away he’d seen Ron staring at them from a nearby window, but apparently he couldn’t let his tension go long enough to join them. Hermione had been by to talk to him, but apparently not even she could get him to relax and have fun.

The fight devolved into snowman building and then Harry helped some of the younger students build a snow-Hogwarts. He was aware that he was acting like a little kid, but he just couldn’t seem to shake off his excitement, despite the fact that Neville, Dean and Seamus had long ago given up and gone inside for hot chocolate and marshmallows. He would have stayed out longer, except Professors Snape and Jones came by and ordered them to dinner where they ‘wouldn’t disturb those that couldn’t afford to take a day off.’

By the time evening fell Harry was exhausted and barely managed to eat a helping of shepherd’s pie before he had to crash for the day. He was disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to meet Daphne that evening as it was more difficult for her to sneak away on weekends. For some reason he felt that seeing her would be the perfect end to the day.

He fell asleep almost instantly and it seemed like only a moment later that he opened his eyes again. Only he was no longer in his four poster bed in Gryffindor tower, with the gentle snores of the other sixth year boys rolling around him. He was instead in a dark room that he had seen many times before.

Death Eaters stood in a large circle all facing a black throne like chair at the end of the room upon which sat Voldemort, who was gazing about the room with a faint smirk touching his lips. Harry, who stood outside the circle, backed up as far as he could until he felt the wall behind him. Not another one.

Voldemort rubbed his hands together gleefully. “It seems, my friends, that the guest of honour has finally arrived.”

A mutter ran around the circle. Harry, feeling even more nervous knowing Voldemort had been waiting for him edged along the wall. Maybe if he could find a door he would be able to sneak out when someone came in or left.

“I expect you are waiting eagerly to discover the reason for this little get together, Harry,” Voldemort said. “You see, tonight, while your mind is here, your body lies defenceless in your bed, where anyone who might happen upon it could, conceivably deprive it of life.”

Harry gasped in horror. No, it wasn’t possible. No one in Hogwarts would kill him in his sleep. At least, no one in Gryffindor, he amended mentally when he considered Snape and Malfoy.

“It won’t be long,” Voldemort continued. “Just a few more minutes for my unwilling servant to make his way to your bed and begin to choke the life from you – I chose that method myself, much slower than a simple stabbing to give you time to really suffer before your last breath escapes your lips.”

There was absolutely no way in Hell he was going to let that happen. If he was going to die it wouldn’t be while he was sleeping. With a small amount of desperation beginning to well up in his stomach he closed his eyes and willed himself to wake.

“Is it happening yet?” a Death Eater said eagerly. “Is Potter dying?”

“Be patient, Macnair,” Voldemort said. “While I appreciate the way you lust for his death you are distracting me from the main event.”

Wake up, wake up, Harry chanted to himself. Why couldn’t he push himself out of Voldemort’s mind even after almost six months of Occlumency lessons?

And then he felt it, a tightness in his chest that made his heart beat twice as fast. He gasped and one hand came unconsciously to clutch at his chest.

“Ah, it begins,” Voldemort said with some satisfaction. “How does it feel to know that you are drawing your last breaths, Harry? To know you will die here, far away from your friends and those that care about you?”

Black spots filled his vision. He was starting to feel so dizzy that he fell to his knees, practically clawing at his chest in a bid to force his lungs to draw in more air.

“All alone,” Bellatrix Lestrange’s baby voice cooed. “You’ll die all alone with the big, bad Death Eaters.”

Harry fell forward, barely catching himself with one hand. He couldn’t cough, or gasp, but a faint whining sound escaped his lips. Pain wracked his chest and blood pounded in his ears and he still couldn’t wake up. He was going to die, no one could possibly save him as long as Voldemort was holding him here. He had to wake up and save himself.

There was the sound of running footsteps and a door opening, but Harry paid it little attention. “My Lord,” a voice called. “I bring news from your translator.”

“I trust it is urgent if you have interrupted so important a meeting,” Voldemort said dangerously.

Harry felt like there was something covering his face, but there was nothing at all. He whined deep in his throat and fell the rest of the way to the floor, no longer able to support his own weight. His limbs were shaking so violently he thought the Death Eaters would be able to see them.

“Yes, My Lord. We have determined how to access the fountain’s power.”

“Very well, approach and give me your news, but whisper it. We have a spy present after all and he’s not dead yet. He does have a rather... unfortunate habit of escaping.”

He couldn’t see anything at all now, his vision was just a cloud of darkness and the voices of Voldemort and the messenger seemed so far away they needn’t have whispered, because he wouldn’t have been able to make sense of it anyway.

“WHAT?” Voldemort roared. “Are you certain?”

Harry’s stomach clenched as a wave of anger not his own ran through him and his prickling scar seared with pain. Even as he struggled to take in just a little bit of oxygen he was surprised that he could still feel anything beyond the burning in his lungs.

Apparently the messenger confirmed whatever it was that had got Voldemort upset because the anger increased until Harry had to clench his eyes shut at the pain.

And then he was spinning, or maybe it was just his head and now he was lying on his back on what felt like a mattress and there really was something – something soft – pressed over his nose and mouth.

Harry kicked out and thrashed his arms until he heard an “Oomph,” from above him and suddenly the pressure on his face lessened and he was able to shake off the pillow that had been smothering him and take large, gulping, gasping breaths interspersed with a racking cough that tore up his sore throat.

It was dark in the dormitory, so dark Harry couldn’t see his attacker or even the posts of his own bed. He wanted to reach for his glasses, but didn’t trust his hands to obey his commands and try as he might he could do nothing more than fumble for the wand he was sure was on the nightstand.

“Harry, calm down.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief at Ron’s voice. Hopefully his friend waking up had scared off whoever it was trying to smother him in his sleep. He wasn’t strong enough to sit up, but he was fairly certain whoever had attacked him must have left.

“You’ve got to stay quiet,” Ron whispered. “You don’t want to wake the others do you?”

Surprised that the others had managed to sleep through an entire attack Harry shook his head numbly, but he couldn’t manage to stop himself from wheezing and coughing. Why wasn’t Ron more concerned? It seemed odd after the way Ron had been following him around and jumping at the slightest sneeze over the last month. He wanted to ask Ron if he’d seen anything, but he was still having trouble calming his breathing. Finally his hand closed over his wand and he sat up, gazing about with hazy sight. He didn’t realise that he lit his wand silently as he quickly scanned the room for his attacker.

“Was it a vision?” Ron asked after a few moments and Harry rolled his eyes. He was breathing easier now, but it still sounded harsh and faster than normal to his own ears. His heart was racing so fast he was sure Ron would be able to hear it.

“Yeah... Can you... pass me my... glasses?”

“Sure mate,” Ron said agreeably and helped Harry put them on. “So what did you see?”

Harry rubbed his scar, wincing as the pain flared under his fingers. It still felt like Voldemort was very angry, but why? What had happened? If he hadn’t been suffocating when the messenger arrived he might have learned something important.

“It was... deliberate...” he said between gasps. “Volde... Voldemort wanted... me there.” He stared suspiciously at a shadow in the corner until he was sure that was all it was. Could the attacker have gotten out the room before Ron noticed him, or was he hiding somewhere nearby, waiting for them to let their guard down before striking?

Ron frowned. “Why? Was it like with Sirius? Is he trying to get you to go somewhere?”

“No...” Harry said. “I should go see... Dumbledore...”

“In a minute,” Ron said a little too quickly. “Catch your breath first. What else happened?”

Harry held out his hand. “I’ll tell you and... Dumbledore together.”

“Was it about you?” Ron asked with a dreadful eagerness in his eyes. “Is he planning on doing something to you?”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Did you... see anything? When you... woke up?” Ron was acting stranger than ever and he wanted to know why.

“Come on, Harry, just tell me and then I’ll help you to Dumbledore’s office,” Ron said, helping Harry push the covers back and move to the edge of the bed.

Harry clutched at the nearest bedpost, surprised to find his breathing was somewhat easier now he was upright. With an effort he swung his legs over the bed, still clinging to the post and prepared to stand. “No... there’s an intruder... They might still be here. We’ve... waited too long already.”

“There’s no one here, Harry.” Ron said in what was probably meant to be a soothing tone, but actually gave Harry the creeps. “Just us.”

“No,” Harry said and took a deep breath, pushing himself up to his feet where he wobbled precariously. “I need the map.”

Ron just stared at him as if he were an interesting new creature at the zoo. Harry precariously walked to the end of his bed where his trunk sat. If he could at least get a look at the map he’d be able to see who was out of place, maybe it wasn’t an intruder after all, but a student, maybe even a teacher. After all it wouldn’t be the first time one of his professors tried to murder him.

Ron’s hand closed around his wrist and he pulled Harry round to face him, knocking the lit wand from Harry’s hand. Harry gaped at the look on Ron’s face; a mixture of awe and terror. “What’s wrong?” he asked, although he had a dreadful feeling that he already knew.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Ron whispered. “I don’t want to do it, but I’ve got to.”

“Do what?” Harry was trying to gently disentangle himself from Ron, but his movements were becoming more frantic. He needed to get his wand and get to Dumbledore. If he could convince Ron to come with him all the better, maybe Dumbledore could figure out what was wrong with him.

“I’m just so scared, all the time,” Ron said quietly. “Scared that he’ll get you and he’ll torture you for days, maybe even weeks or months before he gets tired of it and finally kills you. And I hate it. For the longest time I didn’t know what to do, but then it came to me, waching you in that snowball fight earlier, that I could stop that from happening.”

“Stop it how?” Harry demanded, no longer keeping his voice down for the sake of his room mates. Let them wake up; he might need their help soon anyway.

“If you died, here and now, then he could never touch you.”

Harry gasped and pulled away as hard as he could, but Ron’s grip was strong and Harry wasn’t at his best right now. Adrenaline started pumping through him. “Let me go,” he yelled.

Grumbling noises told him that at least one of the other boys had awoken, but Ron ignored it. “Please, Harry. I need you to understand, mate.”

“If you were my mate you wouldn’t be trying to kill me,” Harry said vehemently and there was a gasp from behind Neville’s bed hangings. He tried to ignore the stab of pain in his chest as he wondered how long ago Ron had betrayed him. Was he a Death Eater now?

“But it would have been almost painless,” Ron said pleadingly. “If you died peacefully in your sleep then you’d never go through that kind of torture and I wouldn’t have to be scared anymore. Please, Harry, I don’t want you to die hating me.”

Harry stared at him, no longer knowing what to think. Ron didn’t sound like a Death Eater, yet he was trying to kill him. “You can’t honestly think killing me will help,” he said, desperation creeping into his voice. “I thought you were my best friend.”

“I am,” Ron insisted. “That’s why I have to do this.” He used his grip on Harry’s arm to swing him back towards the bed. Pain bloomed through Harry’s skull where it struck the bedpost and he fell to the floor, dazed. Through the fog that was his vision he could see Ron advancing on him.

A/N: Not quite so long this time, but long enough, sorry about that. Every time I think I'm going to have time to write something happens. Having two jobs doesn't help either. I'm going to try extra hard to get the next one out quicker so you're not left suffering from this cliffhanger.

Thank you to those that reviewed. I read and appreciate every one of them even if I don't always have time to reply.

Hope to hear from you all (hint hint.)

Nat.