“It’s going to be all right, sir,” Harry said over and over again, more worried by Dumbledore’s silence than he had been by his weakened voice. “We’re nearly there… I can Apparate us both back… Don’t worry…”
“I am not worried, Harry,” said Dumbledore, his voice a little stronger despite the freezing water. “I am with you.”
27. THE LIGHTNING-STRUCK TOWER
Once back under the starry sky, Harry heaved Dumbledore on to the top of the nearest boulder and then to his feet. Sodden and shivering, Dumbledore’s weight still upon him, Harry concentrated harder than he had ever done upon his destination: Hogsmeade. Closing his eyes, gripping Dumbledore’s arm as tightly as he could, he stepped forwards into that feeling of horrible compression.
He knew it had worked before he opened his eyes: the smell of salt, the sea breeze had gone. He and Dumbledore were shivering and dripping in the middle of the dark High Street in Hogsmeade. For one horrible moment Harry’s imagination showed him more Inferi creeping towards him around the sides of shops, but he blinked and saw that nothing was stirring; all was still, the darkness complete but for a few streetlamps and lit upper windows.
“We did it, Professor!” Harry whispered with difficulty; he suddenly realised that he had a searing stitch in his chest. “We did it! We got the Horcrux!”
Dumbledore staggered against him. For a moment, Harry thought that his inexpert Apparition had thrown Dumbledore off-balance; then he saw his face, paler and damper than ever in the distant light of a streetlamp.
“Sir, are you all right?”
“I’ve been better,” said Dumbledore weakly, though the corners of his mouth twitched. “That potion… was no health drink…”
And to Harry’s horror, Dumbledore sank on to the ground.
“Sir—it’s OK, sir, you’re going to be all right, don’t worry—”
He looked around desperately for help, but there was nobody to be seen and all he could think was that he must somehow get Dumbledore quickly to the hospital wing.
“We need to get you up to the school, sir… Madam Pomfrey…”
“No,” said Dumbledore. “It is… Professor Snape whom I need… but I do not think… I can walk very far just yet…”
“Right—sir, listen—I’m going to knock on a door, find a place you can stay—then I can run and get Madam—”
“Severus,” said Dumbledore clearly. “I need Severus…”
“All right then, Snape—but I’m going to have to leave you for a moment so I can—”
Before Harry could make a move, however, he heard running footsteps. His heart leapt: somebody had seen, somebody knew they needed help—and looking around he saw Madam Rosmerta scurrying down the dark street towards them on high-heeled, fluffy slippers, wearing a silk dressing-gown embroidered with dragons.
“I saw you Apparate as I was pulling my bedroom curtains! Thank goodness, thank goodness, I couldn’t think what to—but what’s wrong with Albus?”
She came to a halt, panting, and stared down, wide-eyed, at Dumbledore.
“He’s hurt,” said Harry. “Madam Rosmerta, can he come into the Three Broomsticks while I go up to the school and get help for him?”
“You can’t go up there alone! Don’t you realise—haven’t you seen—?”
“If you help me support him,” said Harry, not listening to her, “I think we can get him inside—”
“What has happened?” asked Dumbledore. “Rosmerta, what’s wrong?”
“The—the Dark Mark, Albus.”
And she pointed into the sky, in the direction of Hogwarts. Dread flooded Harry at the sound of the words… he turned and looked.
There it was, hanging in the sky above the schooclass="underline" the blazing green skull with a serpent tongue, the mark Death Eaters left behind whenever they had entered a building… wherever they had murdered…
“When did it appear?” asked Dumbledore, and his hand clenched painfully upon Harry’s shoulder as he struggled to his feet.
“Must have been minutes ago, it wasn’t there when I put the cat out, but when I got upstairs—”
“We need to return to the castle at once,” said Dumbledore. “Rosmerta,” and though he staggered a little, he seemed wholly in command of the situation, “we need transport—brooms—”
“I’ve got a couple behind the bar,” she said, looking very frightened. “Shall I run and fetch—?”
“No, Harry can do it.”
Harry raised his wand at once.
“Accio Rosmerta’s brooms.”
A second later they heard a loud bang as the front door of the pub burst open; two brooms had shot out into the street and were racing each other to Harry’s side, where they stopped dead, quivering slightly, at waist height.
“Rosmerta, please send a message to the Ministry,” said Dumbledore, as he mounted the broom nearest him. “It might be that nobody within Hogwarts has yet realised anything is wrong… Harry, put on your Invisibility Cloak.”
Harry pulled his Cloak out of his pocket and threw it over himself before mounting his broom; Madam Rosmerta was already tottering back towards her pub as Harry and Dumbledore kicked off from the ground and rose up into the air. As they sped towards the castle, Harry glanced sideways at Dumbledore, ready to grab him should he fall, but the sight of the Dark Mark seemed to have acted upon Dumbledore like a stimulant: he was bent low over his broom, his eyes fixed upon the Mark, his long silver hair and beard flying behind him in the night air. And Harry, too, looked ahead at the skull, and fear swelled inside him like a venomous bubble, compressing his lungs, driving all other discomfort from his mind…
How long had they been away? Had Ron, Hermione and Ginny’s luck run out by now? Was it one of them who had caused the Mark to be set over the school, or was it Neville, or Luna, or some other member of the D.A.? And if it was… he was the one who had told them to patrol the corridors, he had asked them to leave the safety of their beds… would he be responsible, again, for the death of a friend?
As they flew over the dark, twisting lane down which they had walked earlier, Harry heard, over the whistling of the night air in his ears, Dumbledore muttering in some strange language again. He thought he understood why as he felt his broom shudder for a moment when they flew over the boundary wall into the grounds: Dumbledore was undoing the enchantments he himself had set around the castle, so that they could enter at speed. The Dark Mark was glittering directly above the Astronomy Tower, the highest of the castle. Did that mean the death had occurred there?
Dumbledore had already crossed the crenellated ramparts and was dismounting; Harry landed next to him seconds later and looked around.
The ramparts were deserted. The door to the spiral staircase that led back into the castle was closed. There was no sign of a struggle, of a fight to the death, of a body.
“What does it mean?” Harry asked Dumbledore, looking up at the green skull with its serpent’s tongue glinting evilly above them. “Is it the real Mark? Has someone definitely been—Professor?”
In the dim green glow from the Mark Harry saw Dumbledore clutching at his chest with his blackened hand.
“Go and wake Severus,” said Dumbledore faintly but clearly. “Tell him what has happened and bring him to me. Do nothing else, speak to nobody else and do not remove your Cloak. I shall wait here.”
“But—”
“You swore to obey me, Harry—go!”
Harry hurried over to the door leading to the spiral staircase, but his hand had only just closed upon the iron ring of the door when he heard running footsteps on the other side. He looked round at Dumbledore, who gestured to him to retreat. Harry backed away, drawing his wand as he did so.
The door burst open and somebody erupted through it and shouted: “Expelliarmus!”