“Quite understandable,” murmured Dumbledore. Harry was alarmed to hear how faint his voice was.
They reached the bank with a little bump and Harry leapt out, then turned quickly to help Dumbledore. The moment that Dumbledore reached the bank he let his wand hand fall; the ring of fire vanished, but the Inferi did not emerge again from the water. The little boat sank into the water once more; clanking and tinkling, its chain slithered back into the lake too. Dumbledore gave a great sigh and leaned against the cavern wall.
“I am weak. . . .” he said.
“Don’t worry, sir,” said Harry at once, anxious about Dumbledore’s extreme pallor and by his air of exhaustion. “Don’t worry, I’ll get us back. . . . Lean on me, sir. . . .”
And pulling Dumbledore’s uninjured arm around his shoulders, Harry guided his headmaster back around the lake, bearing most of his weight.
“The protection was . . . after all . . . well-designed,” said Dumbledore faintly. “One alone could not have done it. . . . You did well, very well, Harry. . . .”
“Don’t talk now,” said Harry, fearing how slurred Dumbledore’s voice had become, how much his feet dragged. “Save your energy, sir. . . . We’ll soon be out of here. . . .”
“The archway will have sealed again. . . . My knife . . .”
“There’s no need, I got cut on the rock,” said Harry firmly. “Just tell me where. . . .”
“Here . . .”
Harry wiped his grazed forearm upon the stone: Having received its tribute of blood, the archway reopened instantly. They crossed the outer cave, and Harry helped Dumbledore back into the icy seawater that filled the crevice in the cliff.
“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.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THE LIGHTNING-STRUCK TOWER
Once back under the starry sky, Harry heaved Dumbledore onto 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 forward 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 toward 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 realized 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 onto the ground.
“Sir — it’s okay, 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 toward 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 realize — 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 school: 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 —”