A Change of Feeling

Family Matters, part II

Rabastan chuckled, "You have searched in the wrong place. The symbols are not part of an old, forgotten language. They are part of alchemy. Harry's symbol stands for sulfur and mine stands for quicksilver ."

Harry groaned, how could he have been so stupid. He felt eleven years old again, searching the Restricted Section for information about Nicolas Flamel, a famous alchemist. He had turned into the familiar tunnel vision and had not looked beyond the parameters of the Runes.

"Do you know a lot about Alchemy?" Harry asked Rabastan.

The man in question shook his head in denial. "No, I only know this through my old Potion Master and Head of Slytherin House, Horace Slughorn. He used to teach me Remedial Potions because I was lagging in grades for Potions compared to my other subjects. He then used a potion book where all kinds of ingredients were described in the name, as in symbol. Apparently, I remembered it, because I recognized the symbols immediately."

The three men fell silent. All three were busy processing the information. Corvus finally got up and said, "It's getting late. Let's call it a day. At least we now have a starting point. It is more than we had before."

***

Harry couldn't breathe. Blackened hands drew him into a cloud of thick gray smoke, where no oxygen was present. Black tendrils of smoke entered him through the nose, mouth, and eyes, leaving Harry gone. There was nothing. Just darkness. He could still smell, the foul, rotting stench from carcasses that entered his nose. He could do nothing but feel and experience corruption taking over his very being.

Harry panicked and reached into the thick fog with his hands. He could still hear, he realized after several silent minutes. A gurgling sound, like a drowning person, echoed in the mist. Only after several terrifying moments did Harry realize that he was the one making the gurgling sound.

He kicked around trying to get out of the dense fog that felt viscous against his skin. Smelly, rotting arms kept pulling him under. No escape possible. The realization that he would drown in the filthy fog made him slack in battle.

There was nothing left.

Just putrefaction.

Gasping for air, Harry woke up. His skin was wet with sweat, his hair stuck to his forehead. Shivering, he threw off the damp blankets and looked around wildly. He was in his room at Lestrange Manor. His heart pounded in his throat, pounding hard against his Adam's apple. His breath came in fits and starts. With trembling hands, he brushed his hair from his face and the faint hope of finding peace again.

Two hands took hold of him. A familiar scent of spices and peppermint entered his nose. He was pressed against a warm chest, two arms tightly around him. A hand slid reassuringly through his hair.

"Quiet, little raven... Hush... It's all going to be fine. It was just a dream, Harry," said a rich, velvet-like voice.

Harry felt tears sting his eyes. His breath was rushed and seemed unable to rest. Slowly he felt his body relax against the warm body. He could only focus on the caressing hands that warmed his cold body.

Harry moved away from the warm body and looked up. Rabastan looked back with concern, his dark eyes filled with warmth and affection.

"T-Thanks. I was s-so scared," Harry managed to say. He exhaled with a shudder, a shiver running down his spine.

Rabastan gave Harry a sad smile. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Harry shook his head and gave him a watery smile. "Could you just stay with me?"

A smile full of white teeth was the answer. Rabastan's large, warm body came closer to Harry's. Harry shivered from the cold or the situation, but he doesn't care, with Rabastan so close.