In the Melancholy Moonlight

Chapter CLXXXIII: Don't Blame Me, Love Made Me Crazy

HARRY:

Falling asleep was nearly impossible despite the lateness of the hour when Ron, Neville, and I made our way back to our dormitory. My mind was running rampant with hatred for Umbridge. A number of images had been seared into my mind.

The ghostly hue of Lucy's face when Tuck had been hurt. The way Professor McGonagall had been launched into the air. The speed with which Hagrid had run off into the night. The river of tears that had coursed down Lucy's arms as she'd cried silently into her hands — one of which was still clearly scarred with I must not tell lies — next to the wounded animal she loved so much.

My fury with Umbridge built and built and built and built, but there was nothing I could do.

Eventually, I managed to fall asleep. I wanted to stay in bed and sleep in since the History of Magic exam only had a written portion and therefore would take place in the afternoon, but I had been planning on studying all morning so I dragged myself out of bed at seven and crawled into the window seat in the common room with the notes I'd borrowed from Lucy spread out around me.

Despite my fatigue, my blood boiled when I got to the section on the Werewolf Code of Conduct of 1637. Lucy had been unfazed by the werewolf question on the DADA exam — "No, it's alright, it's important for people to know" — but I could tell from the way she had torn through the parchment in several places that the Werewolf Code of Conduct upset her deeply.

She slept clear through until lunch, and we spent the entire meal making plans for the remainder of the school year. After one last good luck handshake, we headed into our final O.W.L., both very much looking forward to being done for once and for all — until our N.E.W.T.s, anyway.

The room was hot. I was exhausted. It was a terrible combination.

None of the answers I was writing seemed to be cohesive or comprehensive, let alone intelligent. After trying to write an answer to the same question for more than twenty minutes, I covered my eyes with my hands for just a moment, trying to remember why the warlocks of Liechtenstein had refused to join the International Confederation of Wizards, but before I knew what was happening, the exam around me faded into nothingness and I was once again in the corridor that led to the Department of Mysteries.

I walked through one door, two doors, three doors. Beyond the third door, there was a massive room with shelves of glass spheres that stretched from floor to ceiling. I hurried to row 97 and there found a figure on the ground at the end, a mere heap of dark fabric.

A voice left my mouth that was not my own. "Take it for me. Lift it down, now, I cannot touch it... but you can." When the figure on the ground only slightly moved, a hand that was not my hand that was holding a wand that was not my wand reached out. "Crucio!"

The figure on the ground screamed and writhed until the wand was dropped.

"Lord Voldemort is waiting," I said.

Slowly, the figure on the ground pushed himself off the ground a little ways, his eyes pained but determined.

Sirius.

"You'll have to kill me."

"Undoubtedly I shall in the end, but you will fetch it for me first, Black. You think you have felt pain thus far? Think again. We have hours ahead of us and nobody to hear you scream."

Even as those words left the mouth that was not really my mouth, the vision disappeared with a loud scream.

My own, I realized, as I slipped from my chair and landed hard on the stone floor with my hands pressed to my scar.