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Breaking Forwards	By : lastcrazyhorn Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > General Views: 13749 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Not mine. J.K. Rowling's fandom. She's makes money off these stories and I do not. Nor will I ever. Harry Potter is all hers. sniffles But the weird twisted shit? Muahahhaa.

Chapter List
- 24
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Chapter 25 - Gryffindor

"He literally left pieces of himself behind?" Albus asked. "Fascinating."

Their discussion was taking place in Madam Pomfrey's office after she had refused to let Severus leave without a thorough checkout. However, in light of the dangerous situation, she had at least agreed to call Dumbledore down to the infirmary for him, provided he let her work without arguing.

"More like slivers of soul, individual hair sized pieces," Severus confirmed wearily, his eyes closed even though Poppy had dimmed the lights considerably. His head was pounding unmercifully and it was only by the strength of his constitution that he was managing to refrain from vomiting in the presence of the headmaster.

"He had an unusual sense of ownership for Miss Granger and her mind," he added.

"How many times Severus?"

Without looking up, Severus still heard the change in Dumbledore's demeanor.

"More than twenty," he admitted slowly. As though it weren't bad enough to have memories of the Death Eater's exploits in his memories; now he had to have numerous rapes committed by a student against another student as well?

It was clearly time to pull out his old pensieve once again. He didn't want these memories, and they did him no good in his business dealings either, so there was no reason to keep them.

"Please let Poppy take care of you, Severus," he heard the old man say, accompanied by the rustling of his robes as Albus stood up.

"You are going to contact the aurors then?" He asked, squinting painfully up at his employer.

"I will do what needs to be done."

"Tell me you are going to contact the aurors, Albus," Severus asked with a bit of flint in his tone.

"I will contact the aurors," Albus responded, a bit of twinkle making it through to Severus even through the blur of his migraine. "In the meantime Severus," an old hand patted his shoulder gently, "Please rest."

He would have snorted, but it likely would have hurt, so he abstained.

Dumbledore would have made a damn fine Slytherin. He had no doubt that Albus wasn't telling him something. He just hoped that it wouldn't come back to bite either of them in the arse.

. . .

Albus hurried from the infirmary after concluding his conversation with Severus. His heart beating haphazardly in his ears, he quickly made his way across the castle to Minerva's quarters. He paused outside her door, his thoughts on what Severus had said about the aurors and he quickly made a decision. Calling Fawkes to his side, he scratched out a short note to Kingsley and gave it his familiar.

"Travel slowly Fawkes," he instructed softly, scratching under his beak in the good spot that usually made the phoenix trill happily. This time however, all he got was a solemn look for his troubles and then there was a brief flash and the bird was gone.

He had a chance to make it up to Harry, to make up for his mistakes that previous year. He had a chance to do something right, but only if they could respond before the aurors got there.

So he knocked on the door and waited impatiently for it to open.

. . .

The crud reached the Gryffindor tower that morning. It oozed into the nooks and crannies surrounding the common room, hiding itself in the walls like rats in an infested house. And then it waited for the object of its desires to arrive.

. . .

Ronald Weasley looked out over the other students in the Gryffindor common room like a king surveying his minions. The only ones still not falling in line were some of the Gryffindor first years, and of course, who could forget his own siblings? They had made it quite clear that he was beneath their recognition; at least, that was how he had interpreted it.

His day had gone quite well, all considering. He hadn't seen Dumbledore or Snape any after that morning at breakfast, and from what he had heard, neither had anyone else. His dearest girlfriend was still in the infirmary, but at least her absence was giving people plenty of reasons to feel pity for him—the poor suffering boyfriend.

In fact, he looked over to Lavender, who as sitting next to him on the sofa next to the wall, perhaps it was time to cash in on some more of that suffering boyfriend card.

He was reaching for her hand when suddenly she froze, her eyes on something behind his head. For a moment, his faux look of endearment vanished and he gave a silent snarl. What right did she have to look away from him?

But the anger passed from his face when he saw the other students around him beginning to point and whisper as well.

Curious now, he turned and looked at the far wall and immediately stilled at the strange sight that greeted his eyes. The wall was glistening with some kind of purplish-brown semi-gelatinous goo. It was dripping, actually oozing down the expanse of the stones embedded in the wall's surface.

"What is that?" Someone whispered from behind them, but he didn't respond. Brusquely shaking off Lavender's clinging hands, he somehow managed to make it to his feet, his eyes never leaving the strange phenomenon occurring directly in front of them.

And then the smell hit them.

It was a thousand times worse than rotting eggs or fresh manure. It was an old and dirty smell; a grim smell, if he wanted to be completely honest with himself. Around him, he could hear his fellow lions beginning to cough at the odor that was pushing itself through the air towards them.

Unbeknownst to any of those in the room, the crud had also taken it upon itself to lock every window and had even gone so far as to seal the common room door.

Beside him, he could hear Lavender gagging, but he ignored her as the smell triggered memories continued to make their way across his mind's eye in quick succession.

He remembered the first time his "uncle" Rodney ever touched him in a way that he didn't like. He remembered the powerless feelings that bubbled in his chest, the burning hatred of himself for letting him get away with it.

He remembered learning that his other siblings, with the exception of Percy, didn't have to go through those sorts of things with Rodney, and he remembered the heartbreaking feeling of betrayal at his parents for not caring enough to make the abuse stop.

It didn't matter that they hadn't known. He knew that his behavior was different before and after a visit to his uncle's house. Why couldn't they have noticed? What was wrong with him that they couldn't see his anguish, his pain afterwards? Did they simply discount his discomfort as signs that he was different?

What had he done that had been bad enough to warrant this kind of treatment?

The crud in the room sensed his mental turmoil and it fed on his suffering.

Around him, the students were beginning to scream as the goo oozed its way towards him, but he couldn't move, couldn't see past his own horrific memories. Within the room now, a great space had been opened up around him as the other students moved away from the slowly flowing river of crud.

As if that weren't bad enough, the other walls also began to drip and sweat with the putrid goop; effectively turning the Gryffindor common room into a chamber of stinking misery, as students, young and old tried in vain to escape its disgusting grasp.

. . .

"I know who attacked Hermione Granger."

That was all he said when Minerva finally opened her door. Had it been any other situation, he might have reveled in the look of surprise on her face, but it was neither the time nor place for that.

"Who?" His tightlipped professor answered, eyes flashing with promised violence.

"Mr. Weasley—Ronald," Dumbledore answered with regret.

Minerva sucked in a breath and put a hand to her mouth. "Are you certain, Albus?"

"Yes," he answered, focusing his baby blue eyes on her own steely gaze.

"Has he been taken into custody?"

"The aurors have not yet responded," he answered somewhat vaguely.

A visible clenching of her jaw, and then Minerva nodded, automatically understanding the offer he was presenting to her.

"Then let's rectify that situation, Albus," she said fiercely, eyes blazing with long pent up rage.

So they went.

. . .

Ronald Weasley was trembling, but was otherwise completely still and silent, surprisingly enough. He was now completely surrounded by a circle of slightly pulsating semi-gelatinous crud, while the rest of the Gryffindors looked on in fear from beyond that barrier.

The sludge was still spreading itself out along the floor and surfaces of the common room; its fingerlike tendrils appearing to reach themselves out to the other students. Some of the older students had banded together and were now throwing defensive spells at such outcroppings, but were having little success at permanently impeding its motion.

Interestingly enough, most of the first year students and the rest of the Weasleys were noticeably unaffected by the sludge's continued growth, and it did not take them too long to realize that. The Weasley twins managed to make their way over to the others before long, gathering the children in a safe, seemingly out of the way corner of the room.

It was then that the crud chose to attack Ron.

It surged forwards, pushing itself literally off of the ground and then forming an impenetrable murky dome over his unmoving figure.

"Ron!" Ginny squealed, trying to go to him, but she was caught by the twins and forced to stay back. Even though he had been a horrible brother, he was still her brother, as she tried to explain later on to anyone who would listen.

. . .

He was trapped in his mind, and his mind was trapped in the past.

Ron remembered exactly when his anger moved from being directed at himself to his parents, and then to the rest of those around him. He remembered when he chose hurt others, instead of the other way around. He remembered praying, bloody praying for someone to notice, for someone to do something to help him and no one doing anything.

He remembered, and while he did, the dome of sludge shrunk around him, binding itself to his body and deeper.

The other students were having a much different reaction as the crud came in contact with their skin. The Weasley twins and Ginny watched in mortified silence as one by one, their classmates each fell to the floor twitching and then slumping in what appeared to be a dead faint. It was discovered later that each of them had merely fallen into a sort of catatonic "resting" state; while their minds were forced to relive their very worst nightmares—real and imagined.

. . .

Meanwhile, outside the Gryffindor tower, Albus and Minerva were unsuccessfully arguing with the portrait of the Fat Lady.

In all his tenure there, Albus had never been refused entry to the tower, but it seemed that the day was one for surprises.

"I absolutely cannot let you in," she answered yet again.

"I'm sure I could invite Sirius Black up for a visit sometime," he countered, finally resorting to threats. "I know how well you got along with him last time."

"The man with the knife?" She whispered, her eyes wide.

"Precisely," Albus said, blue eyes twinkling dangerously.

"If you are truly sure you need to go inside . . ." she answered tremulously.

"We are," Minerva answered exasperatedly.

"If you insist then," the Fat Lady said, giving a small shrug before opening the door.

Although the door was open, the passageway was still blocked.

"Albus, what is that?" Minerva stepped a bit closer to the wall of glimmering sludge barring their entry into the common room.

"No, don't," he cautioned, grabbing her arm and pulling her backwards.

Although the strength of the dark magical taint on the sludge was blurring his vision, he could still think, and he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that touching the strange slime covered wall in front of them would only lead to more unpleasantness.

He recognized the scent from the lingering smell he had found in the corridor outside the room Ronald Weasley had been attacked in. And just as it had then, it now reminded him of the smell of death, the smell of ultimate failure of life to overcome its trials.

He closed his eyes and wandlessly cast the bubble headed charm over them both; which cleared the air immediately around them and allowing him to focus his mind once again. Now breathing deeply, he called the senses of the castle forwards in his mind and sought to determine what was going on inside the tower itself.

Prone forms of students were laid out across the sludge filled floor . . .

An odd six foot construction sitting in the middle of the room . . . he could sense a person inside, slowly being drained of life . . .

And in the corner, three flame haired teenagers standing, guarding a handful of very small Gryffindors.

Still connected to the magical castle within his mind, Albus stretched his magical edges of himself out into the edges of the corridor and gathered the strength of the castle behind his wand, before casting the spell.

"Expurgo," he rumbled in a dual toned voice, the magic of the castle mixing with his own to brutally force its way past the barrier in front of them.

A bright orange beam shot from his wand towards the dark purple almost brown wall, and for a moment the barrier seemed to absorb the powerful bolt of magic into itself, twisting before their eyes around the point of impact. The wall shimmered before them once, and then it twisted again, spraying a bit of itself outwards towards them, and Albus instinctively raised a shield over himself and Minerva in response.

As it turned out, it was a good idea, considering what happened next. The wall changed colors before their eyes; morphing into a strange blackish red substance and then without warning, it exploded, spraying out against his protective shield.

Albus, with the help of the castle herself, was able to keep the shield in place, but only just so. He could feel the magic of the slime hit the magic of his shield, and he saw it smoke briefly from each point of contact, like sparks of fire against a cool surface.

They looked up after the smoke had dissipated and he heard Minerva gasp at the sight that appeared before them. The wall was gone and the sludge was slowly beginning to disappear as well, but the floor was still littered with the unmoving forms of Gryffindor students of all ages.

He carefully stepped up into the room proper, idly thinking back on a time much long past, where he had once considered the entrance to be a great deal farther up. He reached back to give Minerva a hand, but she was already up and pushing past him.

"Albus, what has happened here?" Minerva asked from where she was leant over the still body of Dean Thomas.

"If we were muggles," Albus and Minerva jerked their heads up sharply towards the sound of Fred and George Weasley speaking from the far side of the room. "We'd probably say that we were just . . ."

"SLIMED." They said in unison, their faces strangely solemn. Then they moved and behind them they could see that the youngest Weasley child, surrounded by four or five Gryffindor first years. Each of the children were very pale, and a couple were actively crying.

Ginny eyes were wet as well, and it was then that Albus realized that Ronald Weasley was not standing beside them. He wasn't with them, and neither was the strange domed object he had seen through the vision of the castle.

Delicately, he stepped forwards, being careful not to step on the still, yet breathing students. The dome had been near a wall, he was quite certain, and near a sofa and—he turned, eyes narrowed in thought. There.

Ronald Weasley lay flat upon his back, arms spread out to his sides limply, looking for all the world like every other felled student there, minus one noticeable exception. His eyes were open, his blue eyes staring upwards and unseeing towards the ceiling. He was still alive, yes Albus's magic confirmed that with one diagnostic test, but unlike the rest of his classmates, his features were utterly calm, even slack in appearance.

There was a great clatter of footsteps originating from the hallway, and he turned back towards the portrait opening, feeling numbness creeping through his extremities as he moved.

"Headmaster? What has happened?" Kingsley Shacklebolt was the first of many aurors to pour into the common room around him, and for once, Albus found himself utterly without words.

"Contact St. Mungos at once!" Minerva answered for him instead. "We need help now!"

Kingsley's brown eyes continued to rest on his own blue, and finally Albus managed to nod in agreement.

"Yes, she is right. We need help," he answered tiredly.
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Breaking Forwards