A Potter Secret

Stinging Hexes

Harry, Ron and Hermione tumble into view and roll to their feet, barely visible in the darkness. "That treacherous old bleeder! Is there no one we can trust!" Ron shouts.

"They've kidnapped Luna because he supported me. He was just desperate," Harry insists.

Ron says nothing, then spits, clearing the grit from his teeth and peers toward the river. Unlike the raging force it was the last time they were here, it is little more than a trickle now. The trees are eerily quiet. "I'll do the enchantments," Ron assures.

Ron takes out his wand- when Hermione raises her hand, stopping him. Her eyes rise. Her breath catches. Ron and Harry look. Clinging to the branches of the trees above, almost as if a part of the trees themselves, are snatchers. A wand blooms above, illuminates the face of Scabior. Hermione's red scarf, now faded and filthy, dangles from his neck. He presses it to his grimy nose, inhales and grins. "Hello, beautiful," Scabior smiles.

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Harry, Ron and Hermione dash through the trees. As they diverge, we cut back and forth between the three. Hermione, swift as the wind, flickers through the trees as Scabior pursues her. Harry slashes through the river, looks up, and sees a Snatcher leap across the divide from one tree to another. Ron pounds through thick brush, over a fallen tree. The forest grows more dense, the shadows thicken. Spells splinter through the trees, ropes of light lace the night. Hermione stumbles, regains her footing, finds herself in a clearing. Another figure pelts toward her: Harry. They freeze briefly, then the clearing explodes with light as spells ricochet. They hit the ground. Hear the Snatchers closing in. Harry looks to Hermione. The tip of her wand glows and her face blooms in the darkness, looking mildly demonic. She reaches out, strips his glasses from his face, then points her wand- at him. A burst of white light strikes him in the eyes. As her wand goes dark.

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He is flying toward a fortress, gliding around the high walls, up to the topmost window of the highest tower. He passes through the window, little more than a slit, and finds a skeletal figure lying beneath a ragged blanket. The figure stirs, looks up, and grins with broken teeth. It is the young man, the thief, grown old. Grindelwald. "Ah, Tom, I thought you would come one day. But surely you must know I no longer have what you seek-" Grindelwald replies.

A shadow, Voldemort's, falls across Grindelwald. "If not you, then who?" Voldemort asks.

"You're so innocent, Tom. Like a schoolboy. There's so much you don't understand-"

"Tell me, Grindelwald. Tell me where to find it! Tell me who possesses it! The name, Grindelwald! The name!" Voldemort shouts.

"Can't you guess, Tom? It lies with him, of course. Buried within the earth. It is he who possesses it, even in death. Your old friend and mine- Dumbledore."

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Harry blinks and in a swollen blur peers at Hermione, whispers quickly, "They exist. The Hallows," Hallows replies.

Hermione looks at him expectantly. He nods, his face shrouded in shadow, barely visible. "But he only wants the one, the last one. That's what he's been looking for," Harry replies.

"What're you saying?" Hermione asks.

"He knows where it is, You-Know-Who. He'll have it by the end of the night. He's found the Elder Wand," Harry insists.

As Hermione stares in stunned disbelief, figures emerge from the trees. Ron is shoved to the ground next to them. Scabior strips Harry and Hermione of their wands. "Don't touch her!" Ron shouts.

A fist hits Ron hard. It's Greyback. "Stop it!" Hermione shouts.

"Your boyfriend'll get worse than that if he doesn't behave, lovely," Scabior sneers. Scabior paints her face with light then casts it on Harry. Harry peers up, his eyes swollen to slits, his face horribly misshapen. "What happened to you, ugly?" Harry's hand finds his face, feels the lumps. "What's your name?"

"Dudley. Vernon Dudley," Harry covers.

"Check the list. And you, ginger?" Scabior demands.

"Stan Shunpike," Ron lies.

"Like 'ell you are. We know skinny Stan. Try again."

Greyback, his boot to Ron's neck, presses harder. "Weasley-" Ron admits. "Barney Weasley."

"Weasley, eh? Wouldn't be related to that blood traitor Arthur Weasley, would you?" Scabior asks.

"Piss off! Arthur Weasley's ten times the wizard you are!" Ron shouts.

"Worth ten times you if I can find him. Wasn't you that tipped him off, was it?" Scabior inquires. Ron stays mute. Scabior turns to Hermione. "How 'bout you, lovely? What do they call you-?"

"Penelope Clearwater. Half-blood," Hermione admits.

Scabior strokes the nape of Hermione's neck, then takes her hair in hand, sniffs it. "You smell like vanilla, Penelope. I think you're going to be my favorite," Scabior says.

"There's no Vernon Dudley on 'ere," the snatcher says.

Reluctantly, Scabior turns from Hermione to Harry. "Hear that, ugly? The list says you're lying. How come you don't want us to know who you are? Hm?" Greyback smirks.

"The list is wrong. I told you who I am," Harry assures.

Scabior puts a finger to his lips, silencing Harry, his wand probing Harry's face more closely. "Change of plans, boys. We won't be taking this lot to the Ministry," Scabior decides.

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The sea of treetops shift eerily below as we sweep over them.

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Scabior and the others escort Harry, Ron and Hermione past the yew hedges. Hermione eyes the white peacock, looking like a ghostly lawn ornament. Harry whispers, "What did you put on me?"

"A Stinging Jinx," Hermione replies.

"How long will it last?"

"Not long." Harry glances down, sees his glasses cupped in Hermione's palm. As he slips them into his pocket, the group suddenly slows. Up ahead, on the other side of the gate, Bellatrix, Lucius and Narcissa approach. Scabior grabs Harry's arm, pushes his face up to the iron bars. Bellatrix steps close.

"Show me," Bellatrix demands. Scabior reaches out and pushes Harry's hair off his forehead. Bellatrix points her wand, illuminating the skin. Slowly, she smiles. Despite the swelling, one intriguing feature can be seen. A scar. In the shape of a lightning bolt.