Prince of the Dark Kingdom: Book 2

Mizuni-sama

Prince of the Dark Kingdom: Book 2

1. Credits

2. The Prince and the Wolf Lords

3. The Serpent King and the Wolf King

4. Tribute to the Prince

5. The Serpent Prince

6. The Ogre

7. The Duel

8. The Prince’s Gift

9. The Prince and the Phantom

10. Serpents at Play

11. The Prince and the Second Quest

12. The Hunt

13. The Hunt

14. The Prince and the Red Knight

15. The Hunting Grounds

16. Potions and Plagues

17. The Prince and the Fortress

18. The Pride of Kings and Princes

19. Ancient Rites

20. Forward to Battle

21. Toad Venom

22. Epilogue

Credits

Copyright © 2007-2014 Mizuni-sama (real name unknown)

Original publication on FanFiction.net

EPUB and MOBI edited by Brendan Long
Source code for these versions is available on GitHub

Based on the characters of J.K. Rowling, and her books:

Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

The Prince and the Wolf Lords

When Harry had thought about his second summer with the Sleuw’s, he had pictured a very lonely couple of months doing chores for his care takers, a little bit of homework, writing a lot of letters, and a bit of drawing now and then. And his time was spent doing those things… and quite a bit more.

He owed Professor McGonagall a very nice thank you letter for making it possible. The day after the end of term, she had come down to the cottage to visit with the Sleuw’s before she went on her summer holiday. They had all been sitting around the kitchen table enjoying a tea, scones, and conversation, when McGonagall had turned her attention to him.

“So, Mr. Potter. Have you any plans for the summer?”

Harry had shrugged, looking more depressed than he meant to and said, “Nothing special. Just homework and chores.”

She had regarded him curiously for a moment and then smiled.

“Homework and chores won’t fill all your time. Have you considered finding a job? A little spending money of your own will help decrease your student debt after you graduate, after all.”

“A job? I can get a job?” he asked, surprised. “Doing what?”

At this Mrs. Sleuw let out a bubbly little laugh.

“All sorts of things, dearie! The Wizarding Weekly has an entire section of jobs for minors in the employment section.”

“There’s a lot of summer positions opening up now,” McGonagall said, “If you find one you’re interested in, then write me letter and send the ad with it. As your Head of House and one of your legal guardians, I have the authority to approve or disapprove it. I’ll set up an account at Gringotts for you as well, if you like.”

And Harry did like. His pride was practically demanded he do such an adult thing. A job. What a perfectly marvelous idea!

A week later, Harry found himself working for Wibble’s Wards and Boundaries Inc. as a ‘post setter’. All he was required to do was follow a boundary line (this was very easy given the line was three inches thick and glowing bright orange) already made by the ‘line maker’, and place a spelled post the size of a golf tee in the ground every five feet. He would then utter two simple spells and the posts would grow to normal size, firmly planted in the earth. The posts would each have identical runes burned into it. Later, a ‘ward setter’ would come by and activate the runes and the wards would be set to perform various functions, like anti-apparition or silent alarms or dispelling garden gnomes.

It was pretty tedious, but Harry didn’t mind. It was a job with real money (not a lot mind you, but still more than he had), and it allowed him to get away from Hogwarts and seeing different areas of Britain. There were many different places that required warding posts; farms, ranches, private properties, large gardens, and even animal sanctuaries.

His co-workers were all older men and women, but friendly enough. Commutes and lunch breaks were lively affairs, with a lot of teasing and dirty jokes flying around. Harry rarely had much to say, but he liked listening to them talk. Having so little experience with the wizarding world it was interesting to see what adult wizards and witches thought of it. There was a lot of grumbling about taxes, mortgages, and inflation. Plenty of debate about Quidditch, foreign affairs (Harry knew Britain was pretty much cut off from the rest of the Wizarding World, but hadn’t realized how angry British wizards were about it), and the newest magical discoveries. Laughter and sorrow with families growing, shrinking, arguing, and reconciling. Teasing involving someone’s latest girlfriend or boyfriend or both.

When ever their conversations delved into something confusing to him, Harry would write Hermione a letter. He sent a lot of letters. Two or three a week to Hermione alone, and at least once a week to Natalie who always demanded her portraits. Occasionally, he sent one to Clyde, but he was much less reliable about sending one back. Elsbeth was quite busy, and Harry used his first payment to buy her lots of owl treats and nice owl stand to make up for it.

Early July found Harry laying posts for an animal sanctuary. At least that was what the Foreman, Mr. Wumbs had told him. He was rather suspicious. The pudgy little man had been anxious that morning, and his usual warnings about staying on the right side of the fence had been particularly earnest. Harry had even been given a safety portkey, a little stick that hung around his neck, that he was to snap in half if he thought himself in trouble or if he got lost. The other workers had said it was standard procedure when working around such a large area because they wouldn’t see each other for several hours at a time. Having done similar jobs before, Harry didn’t entirely believe them, but he didn’t want to lose his job by refusing to go.

The first day, he had been nervous, but nothing had happened. The only thing remotely dangerous he had seen was a wild boar and a large stag, and both had run away from him very quickly. By the second day, Harry was starting to enjoy his surroundings. It was hot out, but the trees were thick and shading, and all around him the forest smelled richly of an earthy perfume. When he worked quietly enough he was able to see all sorts of animals, some he had only learned about that year. Wood sprites, so easily mistaken for dragon flies if you weren’t paying attention, and a Popcrit, a sparrow-shaped bird that could change colors like a chameleon. He very much wished he could have brought his sketchbook.

On the third day, he was feeling perfectly at ease and having worked steadily through the morning, he decided to stop for a bit and enjoy an early lunch. No sooner than he had sat down and started digging through his satchel for a sandwich, than he became aware that the forest had gone silent. Slowly, he removed his satchel, and taking the safety portkey in hand, stood up again to look around.

There was a man standing on the wrong side of the fence. Immediately, Harry could tell he wasn’t a muggle, but his manner of dress was strange even for a wizard. He wore black leather britches and matching arm guards, but no shirt or shoes. His exposed skin was tanned and muscular, but heavily scarred with both claw marks and small burn patches. To add to his savage appearance, he wore a necklace of large claws and teeth and a small braid inlaid with bone beads hung down the side of his face.

Harry’s hand tightened around the portkey, but did not immediately break it. The man was still almost fifty feet away, and had not moved towards him. Although how he had gotten even that close without Harry noticing was a bit of a mystery.

They eyed each other curiously for a minute, before Harry spoke.

“Are you a werewolf?”

The man looked surprised by the question, but then grinned. When he smiled, his whole intimidating demeanor seemed to fade, so that even the deep scar across his nose looked no more malign than a freckle.

“Are you Harry?”

The young wizard gave him an equally surprised look, but couldn’t call up the good humor. He was just plain unnerved.

“Uh…I…um…”

The man started to meander towards him, and he took an instinctive step backward. The man hesitated, crossed his arms, but didn’t stop grinning.

“Oh, come now pup, Moony got a better reception than this. Doesn’t your own Godfather warrant at least a hug?”

A spark of recollection. An evening spent with his father looking through old photo albums, and his finger pointing at a picture of man no older then eighteen with his arm wrapped around his father’s neck. Black hair, black eyes, and grin like a wolf. That’s your godfather, Harry. If anything happens to us, there no one I’d trust with your safety more than him.

“U-Uncle Padfoot?”

If possible the grin grew even wider and he continued his confident stride forward. Harry released the portkey, and moved forward to meet him. There’s was a brief hesitation on both their parts as they reached the boundary line, but they both disregarded it so that Harry moved over it and into his godfather’s arms. The hug was strong, like being hugged by a bear, leaving Harry breathless.

Padfoot let out a joyous laugh and then released him, holding him at arm’s length to get a better look at his godson.

“Just like Moony said alright, James’ face and Lily’s eyes. The papers don’t do you justice.”

“Papers?” he asked, confused and more than little overwhelmed with this sudden reunion.

“Of course. Werewolves might be a bit isolated from the rest of the world, but we still get the news papers. You were in them for most of November. Fenrir was so mad at Moony that you got away… Damn pervert that he is… Uh… you probably didn’t need to hear that.”

No, Harry thought, he probably didn’t.

“Is Moony alright? Greyback didn’t hurt him, did he?”

“More than he already was? No. The dumb beast might be leader of the pack, but he knows better than to go messing with what’s mine. Especially not without Lord Moldy-wart still holding his leash.”

Harry blinked owlishly at his Godfather’s total lack of respect for his alpha and the leader of the wizarding wolrd. Fenrir might have been a real son-of-a-bitch (no pun intended), but Harry knew very well that no werewolf would insult an alpha unless they were one too. And no one insulted Voldemort… period.

“But enough talk of unpleasant people, we’d do much better talking about ourselves,” Sirius continued, moving Harry to sit on a fallen log before joining him. “So how on Earth did you find this place?”

“I didn’t. I just wanted a job for the summer. I had no idea I’d be helping to ward werewolf territory…” Suddenly, the boy looked rather vexed. “They said this was an animal sanctuary.”

Sirius mirrored his expression and pulled off something much more intimidating. “Well, I’m sure that the description was accurate enough to them.”

They each glowered at their internal musing, until they muttered out simultatneously, “Bastards.”

They both laughed, and quickly fell into conversation as if they had known each other for years. Sirius’ description of Hogwarts, particularly the Hogwarts that he and James experienced, was very different from how Remus’ description. For one thing, Sirius and his father seemed rather like Fred and George, and wasn’t that a scary thought? His description of an adolescent Snape were funny at times and rather offensive at others, and he sensed a lot of bad blood between them.

Sirius was delighted to hear that he’d help win the Quidditch Cup, rather amused when he described his Slytherin friends, and down right disturbed to learn Voldemort personally gave him an owl.

“I’d have her tested for spells as soon as possible,” he said. “She might have reconnaissance spells on her.”

Harry had thought of that already, but as the only thing he had been sending were simple letters to his friends he hadn’t worried about it. It wasn’t like he was plotting to overthrow the government or anything.

“You know,” Harry said between a lull in their conversation, “Moony said it was so unlikely that we’d ever meet again, that if we did, it would have to be due to fate. Do you suppose that’s true? That we were fated to meet again?”

Sirius seemed to consider.

“I used to think that Prongs and I meeting was fate,” he said finally, “If it weren’t for him, I know I would have turned out as Dark as the rest of my family. Moony too. Who knows what would have happened to him without us there? So yes, I don’t think it unreasonable that us reuniting would be fated too.”

“…Do you think Fate would mind letting us borrow one of her owls? I’d rather like to keep in contact this time around.”

Sirius snorted.

“No, owls wouldn’t be a good idea. To conspicuous and easy to tamper with. Don’t you worry about it Prongslet. Me and Moony will figure something out. We’re still the Marauders after all. Here, give me something of yours.”

Harry didn’t have much on him that he could give up without being noticed. His watch was absolutely out of the question, so they settled on one of his socks.

“And this I’ll give to you,” the werewolf said, handing him his claw and tooth necklace. Harry thought it much too nice, but Sirius waved it off. “I can make a dozen or more in a week. And you’re not getting my pants. I’m fond of this pair. Ok, now we each have focus for a location spell. Now when you get back I want you to hide it somewhere you don’t store anything that belongs to you. It’s important that it never absorb your or anyone else’s magical signature or the spell won’t work.”

Harry grinned, feeling a rush of happiness, sharing a secret with someone he wanted to have a secret with. Sirius was his family, and these desperate measures were his way of saying he wanted to keep it that way just like Harry did.

Their time together was cut short by a burning sensation coming from his pocket.

“Ouch… dammit!” Harry cursed, pulling the hot watch from his pocket by the chain. It popped open on its own to reveal the time to him. “I’m late. They’ll start looking for me soon.”

They shared a disappointed look, but Harry managed to smile.

“I didn’t get very far today. I’ll tell them I tripped and lost some of my posts, and fell behind looking for them. I should be back tomorrow.”

Sirius managed to grin as well.

“I think Moony and I should be able to get away for the day. You know, go out to make sure you interlopers haven’t been fiddling with the boundary lines and all.”

“Naturally,” Harry agreed, climbing off the log and walking back towards the boundary. He stood on the other side, and turned back to wave his Godfather goodbye, but the man was already gone.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Sirius began, sticking one of the posts in the ground. “But why did you pick such a boring job? Why are you working at all for that matter?”

“I get to travel around and stay outdoors. As for why…student debt,” Harry said simply. “And a little extra spending money is always good. It would be nice to get Hermione something for her birthday for once. Cambia.”

The post sprouted up, full sized .

“Well, I hope she’s cute,” Sirius muttered, setting another tiny post.

“Sirius, don’t be a wretch,” Remus scolded, setting down a post of his own. “This was very mature of him.”

“I know,” the darker werewolf lamented. Harry giggled at their antics. It was only the third day of working on the fence, and Sirius and Remus had both come to visit for the last two. He got a pretty good idea of their personalities. Sirius seemed to be an overgrown teenager most of the time, taking very little seriously and always finding mischief where he could. Yet whenever Fenrir Greyback or Voldemort were mentioned he would become grave and rather scary, his powerful, scarred body tensing with unspoken (and occasionally spoken) hatred. He also lived up to lupine blood, running about only half clothes and perfectly at ease in the forest. He’d even seen him eat a grasshopper without a second thought once.

Remus was his opposite, but complimentary half. He was playful to an extent, but more mature and thoughtful. He didn’t seem to hold any particular hatred for Greyback, perhaps he was even strangely fond of him in a weird werewolfy way and mentions of Voldemort just left him depressed and a little fearful. No one would have expected him to be anything other than a wizard, he was so normal. He was probably the only reason Sirius wasn’t running around naked and eating rabbits raw.

“Just the same, he shouldn’t have to be doing this,” growled Sirius, “The Potter vaults should still be intact. As long as there’s a Potter heir, that snake-tongued bastard and his little toadies shouldn’t be able to get to it.”

“Cambia. I have money?” Harry asked, looking at them both curiously. The two shared a look.

“Yes,” Sirius said, his lips twisting. “You have quite a lot, actually.”

“But don’t expect to have access to it any time soon.” Remus threw his friend a reprimanding glare. “If no one has told you about your parents, it’s because they were hoping you’d never find out. If you confront someone about having access to your vault, they’ll just tie it all up in legalities for years. It’s a common problem with families who lost their patriarchs fighting for the Light during the war.”

“Yeah,” Sirius grumbled. “I don’t have access to my vault supposedly because I’m a werewolf. That’s a load of dragon shit. The goblins would let me in and out of the Black family vault if I showed up, but those damn Death Eaters pigeon-holed me here. I could have done a lot of good for the pack with that money. Probably still could if I could get a bloody lawyer.”

Remus gently patted Sirius on the shoulder, but the other just glowered off into the distance. Harry on the other hand had remembered something.

“I know a lawyer,” he said.

Sirius was startled out of his glum thoughts, and looked curiously at his godson.

“How do you know a lawyer?”

“His partner wanted to adopt me last year,” he said, looking a bit embarrassed as he remembered that day. “I still have his card. I could write a letter and ask for some advice for you. Perhaps he can get me into my vaults as well.”

Sirius looked like he was considering, but Remus shook his head.

“No, you don’t want to start a conflict with the government right now, Harry. Especially when you’re still a ward of a government institution. They could assign you a guardian, and that guardian would have full access to your vaults until you were of the age of majority. They’d be free to ‘donate’ as much of it as they wanted to whatever cause they saw fit.”

“But what about you and Sirius?”

This time his godfather seemed to find the problem. “If you found us a lawyer, someone might investigate and find out about us cavorting out here, and then we’d all be in a lot of trouble. We’ve been officially warned off contact with minors. I imagine you’ve been given similar orders regarding werewolves.”

Harry nodded sadly, knowing they were both right. But then he managed a smile.

“But when I’m seventeen… I’ll be an adult. I can hire a lawyer then and visit you openly at the trading posts when ever I want. That’s only… five years and a couple months away.”

This time both werewolf’s considered longer. Sirius just shrugged and ruffled Harry’s hair.

“You’re a delightful little scamp, you know that? Let’s just see what happens over the next couple years. Five years might not sound like a lot of time now, but believe me a lot can happen.”

On the fifth day it rained, and Harry wasn’t able to make it to the meeting point until almost two hours later than usual. It made him irritable and anxious, and the few co-workers foolish enough to remark on it to him, were met with dirtiest looks ever seen in a pre-teen. With a charm to water-proof his cloak, he was finally allowed to go.

He jogged the entire way, tripping occasionally in the slick mud, until he finally reached the end of the line of posts. Pausing, he looked around for his godfather and friend.

“Padfoot? Moony?” he called out when he couldn’t immediately spot either of them.

There was no response. Miserably, he wondered if they’d been waiting in the rain and finally got fed up enough to leave. Were they as irritated with him as he was with his boss? He sighed heavily, and got to work setting posts. He couldn’t ignore his responsibility, and perhaps when the rain stopped they would come back and he could apologize.

It didn’t take him long to feel something was amiss. It wasn’t quite like when Sirius had first appeared. The silence now could easily be attributed to the rain, but that eerie feeling he felt could not. He saw nothing, but he felt something. He felt like he was being watched.

“Padfoot? Moony?” he tried again. “If this is you getting back at me for being late, it wasn’t my fault. The foreman wouldn’t let be come until the rain let up a bit. Guys?”

Around him the forest was wet, shiny, and empty. Harry tightened his cloak around his shoulders and listened. He only heard the rain and his own breathing, but he knew he wasn’t alone. His eyes fell to the forest beyond the boundary, searching the for the eyes he could feel on him. Again there was no one, but this time something white caught his attention.

It was a necklace. Made of teeth and bone and raven feathers.

Just like the ones Sirius wore.

He moved towards it instinctively, but then stopped abruptly at the border line. It was suddenly very clear to him that he didn’t appear to have Sirius or Remus to protect him in that forbidden territory, and without them it felt… well… forbidden. But he still wanted to investigate.

“Wingardium leviosanecklace!” he summoned, swinging his wand about as he had been taught just last semester. The necklace rose obediently, but when it started to move towards him is appeared to get snagged. Confused, Harry repeated the spell, using more force. The necklace lurched forward, snapping the tether it had been bound to. A resounding snap echoed through the wood, and the trap beneath the necklace was suddenly released; a mass of netted canvass camouflaged with dirt and leaves.

Dumbly, Harry looked up at the contraption.

“Well, damn,” he heard, and spun around to stare to his left at a man who was also looking at the contraption, although with a bit more contempt. “I forgot they taught that spell in first year.”

This stranger was a werewolf, but not like Remus or Sirius. He was tall and wiry, and he kept his reddish-brown eyes wide and unblinking. He reminded Harry of a jackal. The stranger shook his head at the ill-planed trap and over at Harry, leering wickedly.

“Oh, well. There’s still the old-fashioned way.”

And then he was surrounded. Five people, four males and a female, formed a loose circle around him. They were dressed like Sirius, or even more scantily, and looked even more savage with ropes and knives in their hands rather than wands.

He bolted, breaking for the largest gap in their ranks, but that was their intention from the beginning. No sooner than he’d broken through their ranks than yet another werewolf sprung, seeming from the earth itself.

This one was the largest by far and even more scarred than Sirius. His hair was grayish and cropped short, the beginnings of a peppered beard at his chin and side burns. He seized Harry by the arms, inhuman claws digging into the fabric of his cloak and eyes like the wolf on the full moon.

Harry froze, too shocked, too frightened perhaps, to move. It was amazing he simply hadn’t fallen over dead.

“Ah, and here we have it lads,” Fenrir practically purred, “Blackbone’s pup.”

Blackbone was Sirius’ pack name, Harry knew. But how had they found out about their connection? How had they known he was even here? Where were Sirius and Remus?

The alpha werewolf eyed him critically, and he could only stare back dumbly.

“You’re a bit skinnier than I’d thought you’d be. But I bet you’re fast. Let’s find out.”

Fenrir threw Harry away from him, towards the border. The boy kept his balance and ran, but fear hadn’t taken all his senses yet and he curved away from the borderline. Harry was fast for his age, always had been, but the werewolves were just plain fast. They had surrounded him again within seconds. One of them lunged for him, but Harry managed to dodge him and spun around with his wand waving.

“Colpo vento!”

A sudden, intense wind caught the unbalanced wolf, knocking him into one of his pack mates. Harry was ready with another spell, but another attack smashed into his side. He was thrown into a puddle of mud, and held there by a heavier body. He struggled blindly, unable to breath, until he was jerked on to his back and held there. Above him, the female werewolf looked down at him, her brown eyes pitying. The other wolves crowded round. The jackal-like one retrieved his wand from the muck, grinning wickedly down at him with the rest.

Fenrir crouched down directly over his face, looking smug.

“You are fast. Nimble too, with a little bit’o bite to ya. I like that. I guess we’ll keep you.”

Lovely.

“You -you didn’t catch me on yourterritory,” he tried weakly.

“Perhaps, but who other than you knows that?” the alpha chuckled, but then sobered. “You’ve been play’in a dangerous game, pup. You ’ave none to blame for this but yourself.”

Fenrir looked to the female restraining him. “Bring him, Athena, before someone comes looking for him.”

As one, the pack stood and turned back towards their land, Athena dragging Harry with them. For all the pity in her eyes, there was none in her grip, but he struggled as much as he could anyway. He dug his heels. He flailed about. He called for help. He snarled and clawed, and kicked, and if he weren’t afraid of infection he would have bitten too.

She merely growled and tightened her hold, until Harry thought his arm would break.

And then he started to cry. In pain. In fear. In sorrow for those he’d leave behind.

The she-wolf hesitated, adjusting her hold, so that her arm rested around his small shoulders and held him close to her body. He was wet and very cold, but her skin felt hot against his cheek.

“Hush,” she said, “Don’t be afraid.”

But he was afraid, and he continued to sob quietly.

“Please let me go.”

“No.”

She pulled him forward again, and they now stood in Fenrir’s territory. The alpha led the way, the jackal walking beside him as they talked quietly. Frequently the two werewolves looked back at Harry. The other werewolves dispersed into a haphazard ring around them, flitting in and out of sight, but never truly gone. They walked for almost half an hour before Harry was calm enough to speak again.

“Where’s Siri- I mean… Blackbone and Slivermoon?” he asked quietly.

Athena looked to her alpha, but he didn’t appear to have heard him.

“…They are being punished for their treachery as we speak.”

Harry’s eyes widen. Sensing his alarm, she tried to pacify him.

“Do not worry about them. Blackbone is very strong and Slivermoon has a temperament suited for hardship. The Goddess Moon ascends in only a few days, and all will be forgiven. She will heal their bodies and their hearts, and embrace you as another of her children then.”

As romantic as she made it sound, Harry was under no illusion about what would happen. There would be blood and pain. Death on one side of the knife and a curse on the other. Either way, Sirius and Remus would never forgive themselves even if the Goddess Moon and Greyback did. He asked nothing else, but followed along meekly.

Outwardly, he appeared sad and submissive. Inwardly, he was frantically looking for the first opportunity to escape. As long as Athena held him so closely, he knew it would be impossible, but if he could just get her to let go of him…

Half an hour later he could feel his window of opportunity closing. He couldn’t let them reach their settlement with him. Lycanthropy was a method of punishment, and as such it followed certain protocols. He remembered Hermione lecturing him about it during the summer before. Once a witch or wizard was handed over to the werewolves, they would immediately be taken to their settlement, stripped naked of all their possessions, and confined to a cave or hut to await the next full moon. The rituals held during and afterward were sacred and therefore secret to all but other lycanthrope.

Harry wasn’t worried about the rituals just yet. There was still the possibility of escape.

He just had to keep them from stripping him…

“Little one,” Athena said, eyeing him worriedly. “You’re shaking. Are you cold?”

Fenrir paused, turning an irritated look back at them both.

“Hurry it up. He can warm up when we get there.”

She averted her eyes under his scowl, but the look she gave him when his back turned was twice as mean. She rubbed Harry’s arms as if to warm him, and urged him to hurry.

They came to a ridge over which a creek, fat with the morning rain, fell into a shallow pool some fifty feet below them. The only means to cross over the creek was a large tree, which appeared to have been cut down for that purpose. One by one the pack emerged from the forest, jogging across the makeshift bridge before disappearing again, until only Fenrir, the jackal, Athena, and Harry remained.

“I’ll go first,” Fenrir said to his subordinates, “Send the boy over after me. Athena, you’ll follow behind. Grindel bring up the rear. And don’t think of trying to swim away, pup. If the waterfall doesn’t kill you, I sure as hell will.”

Harry flinched and looked away, keeping up the appearance of submission. They all moved to follow the alpha’s command, but the moment Athena released him, Harry jumped into the creek. He heard her cry of alarm, followed by Fenrir’s cursing, and then he was underwater.

It was cold, and having already been cold to begin with, it felt almost unbearable. With blind, trembling fingers he tore at his cloak, letting the increasingly rapid current carry it away. He struggled to the surface, swallowing air, before he was dragged under again.

And then he was falling instead of drowning.

With the shallow pool rushing up to splatter him and only a few seconds to save himself, he fumbled at the tie around his neck, following the leather string to the little wooden stick, and taking it in both hands-

Snap!

Harry landed in the mud. That was probably a good thing, otherwise he might have broken something. But Harry was unable to appreciate that fact at the moment. All he was able to appreciate was that he wasn’t dead and he had escaped.

Barely.

Miraculously.

In either hand was half of the emergency portkey. Too weak to carry more than one person and only usable once, he had been forced to wait until no one was attached to him to activate it. So he was alive. He had escaped.

He thought he should be happier. Relieved at least.

But all he felt was cold.

The Serpent King and the Wolf King

Harry did not care much for St. Mungo’s. Being of a magical nature, he had thought he would be more accepting of it than a muggle hospital, but he was quickly corrected. Hospitals of any kind were no fun at all.

Or perhaps he just missed his wand.

Since it’s loss in the werewolves’ forest, he had not felt quite himself. He felt listless most of the time, anxious occasionally. His sleep was poor and he had a small but persistent headache.

One of the nurses had called it ‘magical withdrawal’. Ironic given his magic wasn’t any less, merely unreachable without his wand. The nurse had said keeping occupied or getting another wand was the only way to get over it. Which was bloody useless advice considering that the doctors wouldn’t allow either to happen.

His only real malady when he’d been admitted to St. Mungo’s were bruises and small cuts. A light healing potion later and he was cured, but they had wanted to keep him for a few days for ‘observation’. Harry had thought them rather stupid. McGonagall had given her authorization though. She wouldn’t tell him why, but then again he hadn’t told her about his run-in with Greyback and his pack or about Sirius and Remus. He wasn’t sure what he should say.

Everyone suspected he’d encountered werewolves. His silence on the matter did nothing to dissuade that thinking, but telling the truth would be self-incriminating and lying could only make the situation worse.

So all he could do now was wait for someone to punish him for violating Voldemort’s treaty. He was rather surprised that it took them three days to send someone, and that someone would be none other than Snape.

“Good day, Mr. Potter,” the potion’s master sneered as he entered the hospital room. “Judging by your vacant expression you were not expecting me.”

Harry, who had been laying in bed reading a novel, graced him with an irritated look.

“Sorry, sir. I’d have had tea and cakes ready if I’d known you were coming.”

“You have a lot of sass for someone in your position,” Snape growled.

Cowed, Harry looked away. “And what position is that?”

“Don’t play stupid boy. You might not have contracted Lycanthrosis[1], but the Dark Lord and I both know you’ve been in contact with Black and Lupin.”

Oh, so that’s why they wanted to keep him in observation in his own room. They were waiting for the full moon to see if he went mad.

“Greyback’s been demanding your head,” Snape continued, “and I dare say he just might get it.”

This was nothing Harry hadn’t thought about before. He had half resigned himself to that very outcome, trying to comfort himself with thoughts of being reunited with his Godfather and separated from the inherit dangers and corruption of wizarding life. For a little while, he could convince himself that it wouldn’t be a bad life and he could learn to enjoy it even. Then he would remember Greyback, that mad, hungry look in his eye and enough power in his hands to snap him in half and he was afraid.

The door opened again, and a toady looking woman entered. She was dressed garishly in a bright pink sweater with fuzzy trim, smiled widely, and blinked too often. Harry didn’t recognize her, but judging by the distinct loathing in Snape’s expression he guess the other man did. Harry gave the man a questioning look.

“Madam Umbridge,” Snape drawled, “this is the victim, Harry Potter. Potter, this is Court Representative Dolores Umbridge. She will be acting as a witness to this interview. I remind you that everything you say and do now will be recorded for purposes of review by officials of the Court. Not that knowing makes any difference, as you won’t be able to control a thing you say under veritaserum.”

Harry swallowed thickly.

“Eh-hem,” the woman coughed…croaked? “Court policy dictates that a witness should be given all courtesy-”

“Oh, do be quiet. I know Court policies very well. I helped write almost a quarter of them,” Snape hissed. The woman blinked rapidly, her expression fixed in that weird simpering look. He ignored her. “Now then, Potter, once I administer the potion, I will need you to keep eye contact with me so that I may monitor your reaction to the potion. Five points if you can tell me why.”

Harry wasn’t sure if he should laugh or gape. Had his Professor just made a joke? Well, since the man appeared to be expecting an answer he hadn’t.

“Um… It can cause paralysis of the optic nerves, spasms in the facial muscles, and… and… spontaneously shouting out random things.”

“Correct, Mr. Potter. Five points to Slytherin.”

“What? But I-”

“Yes, you did get it right. No doubt due to my excellence as your instructor. Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.”

Harry stuck out his tongue alright, but it wasn’t to obey the man’s order. Pulling a vial from his robes, Snape placed two drops of the truth potion on the boy’s ornery appendage. It tasted of vinegar and alcohol. He cringed at the taste, but as it faded away a strange detached feeling fell over him. His eyes wandered about the room until they fixed on the only bright spot.

“My god, you’re an ugly toad of a woman,” he said, smiling pleasantly. Umbridge said nothing, but her eye twitched visibly. A hand on his chin guided his gaze back to Snape, where he immediately found himself stuck even after he was released. The man was smirking, but didn’t really seem amused.

“We will take that as a sign the potion is working. Now keep your eyes on me. Madam Umbridge’s presence in the room is irrelevant.”

“You’re funny,” Harry said, smiling vapidly to prove his point. He didn’t look away though. Not even when the man gave a very tasty glare.

“Now Mr. Potter, explain to me the set of events that lead you to the boundaries of the werewolf territory, Brittlewood Forest.”

The story he told fell out his mouth before he could even think to edit it, telling of not only actual events but the feelings and motivations he’d experienced. There was a vague sense of embarrassment when told of the pride he had felt at having his first job and the loneliness of the summer, but he was still feeling mostly detached and Snape didn’t take the time to sneer at him.

“Just to be absolutely clear,” Snape said, as Harry finished his first answer, “You did not take the job at Wibble’s Wards and Boundaries, Inc. with the intent to reach the werewolf boundary?”

“No. I didn’t know I’d end up there.”

“And you were not made aware by Mr. Wibble or any of your supervisors that you were working along a werewolf territory?”

“Nope.”

“Were you ever in contact with a werewolf while you worked there?”

Now Harry tried to stop speaking, to hold back the answer that would doom him and possibly his godfather and Remus as well. He tried to hold it back with all his might, but it was pulled from him as easily as if he hadn’t resisted at all.

“Yes.”

Snape’s eyes suddenly became more intense, a strange feeling wormed its way through the detachment. It wasn’t fear or hatred, but something alien … and yet familiar.

“Describe to me the circumstances of the encounter and the encounter itself,” the man commanded. Again, words were pulled from him without his consent, but this time they were not his words, not his tale, not his truth.

“I was working alone, laying down warding posts… I think it was late morning. I was approached by a man I didn’t recognize. He startled me, I was afraid, but he never came too close to me. He said he lived on the property I was helping to ward, and that he wanted to observe to make sure the company was doing a proper job of it. He never said his name.”

Snape spoke again, “Did you tell anyone you saw this man?”

“No. I was afraid if I told them one of the clients was skeptical of the company’s work, they’d get an adult to lay down the posts and send me home.”

“Did you ever see this nameless man again?”

“Yes. I came back the next day and he was there again. He came and went throughout the day, but never said a thing. He was kind of frightening. It was the same everyday until the fifth day.”

“What happened on the fifth day?”

“I came to the spot I’d left the day before, and one of the warding posts had been pulled up and was lying on the other side of the boundary. The man was there and said I had laid it wrong, and expected me to replace it ‘properly’. The foreman had said I wasn’t to step onto the land no matter what, so I thought I’d just lay another one, but the man became agitated and demanded I pick up the fallen post and lay that one. I got frightened, and I started to walk away.’

“He followed me. He kept yelling at me to pick up the post. Over and over he kept yelling that. I started to run. He chased me. He caught my cloak, and jerked me onto his side of the property. I slipped out of my cloak and started running again. I tried to grab hold of my emergency portkey, but I tripped and fell in some mud. He jumped on top of me and held me down by my arms, said if I tried to run away again he was going to break my legs.”

“How did you escape?”

“Another man came,” Harry continued, his voice steady while his mind was reeling, wondering what was going on. This wasn’t a tale he had conceived, or even could have conceived, but it flowed out in a perfectly believable lie. All the while that alien sensation seemed to wiggle and squirm just behind his forehead. “He was bigger than the first man, stronger. He grabbed him and pulled him off me. He started yelling at the smaller man, calling him all sort of names and then ordering him to go home. The smaller man left. The larger man grabbed me by my arm and dragged me back to the other side of the boundary. He told me not to tell anyone about what had happened. He said if he anyone knew, then I would have to come back and become a werewolf. I didn’t ask any questions, I just activated my portkey and got out of there. I ended up just outside the office building. One of the other employees found me, and the foreman took me to the hospital.”

For the first time since the interrogation started, Snape looked away and the alien sensation retreated. Without the older wizard demanding his eyes and his thought on him, Harry could think clearly enough to realize he was the source of the lies. But why? Why would Snape be…helping him?

“I believe that is all we require,” Snape said, looking back at Umbridge, who had been taking notes through the entire ordeal. “A clear case of child endangerment on the part of Wibbler’s. I trust this interview will be forwarded to the appropriate authorities?”

The woman smiled condescendingly. Quite a feat considering she was dressed like a demented Barbie.

“Just a moment professor. I have a few questions of my own, if you don’t mind. Mr.Potter, why didn’t-”

Whatever she asked, Harry couldn’t hear. Snape’s hands were suddenly over his ears. Harry gave the man a questioning look, but he was glaring at Umbridge. The woman herself looked startled by his action. When it was apparent she wasn’t going finish her question, Snape removed his hands.

“Madam Umbridge, you have been sent to this interview to act as a non-partial witness to ensure the rights of Mr. Potter are not violated while under verisaterum and that all proper protocol is upheld for when his testimony is submitted to the Court,” the man lectured, as if to a very dim student, “As I recall, third party members questioning a witness are strictly prohibited. This should not have to be explained to you.”

Harry slapped his hand over his mouth to hide a very obvious giggled.

Umbridge’s eye twitched.

“You are correct, of course,” she said, “But given your presence here, a WYRA executive rather than a Court legal official, I thought this interrogation would be a bit more… ah… informal.”

Okay, now Harry knew something funny was going on. Even Umbridge seemed to know it. In fact, she seemed to think it was something underhanded. Snape did not appear unnerved by her insinuation. He actually looked rather offended.

“Madam, Court business is never informal.. My presence here is because I am a WYRA executive as well as a Hogwarts teacher, and Mr. Potter is still the responsibility of both these institutions until such time as he is adopted or reaches the age of majority. This incident which resulted in his hospitalization is of great concern to us. So much so that Lord Voldemort has personallygranted my request for full authority in investigating this matter. And I take personal offense that you believe I would conduct my investigation in anything other than a formal and proper manner.”

Harry’s giggling, which had died off, returned with full on laughter to the point he was starting to tear up. Snape shot him a venomous look, and quickly gave him the antidote. It tasted like fish. He sobered up instantly, and made it a point to look at his toes.

“Now Professor,” the woman simpered, still smiling, “I meant no offense-”

“Well, I do when I tell you that your business is done here and that you are going to leave now.”

Harry peeked beyond the length of his toes at the woman who looked on the verge of doing something… dangerous. Like imploding. Good thing they were in a hospital.

Her entire head was starting to twitch now, but still she smiled cheerily.

“I suppose its best to get the paperwork started as soon as possible. Better Mr. Potter had this matter wrapped up before the beginning of the school year after all,” she said, and stiffly walked out of the room. She closed the door with exaggerated care, and they could hear her shoes tapping in a slow rhythm until it faded into the distance.

“Friend of yours?” Harry asked, turning to the older man.

“Legilimens!”

Voldemort liked Fenrir in the same way a person might like dangerous but beautiful animals. He liked watching the man pace and growl and flex his powerful, clawed hands. He liked watching him bully his pack into submission, hunt in the forest, and take his mate, Athena, where and when ever the hell he felt like it. He liked watching him transform, crying to the moon and raging at the world. But most of all, he liked watching Fenrir think.

The werewolf was different from everyone he knew in his manner of thinking, for his thinking was not that of man’s but that of beast’s made eloquent through human speech. That which motivated him was not what motivated men, except at the most primal level. Fenrir, like any animal, wanted to live and knew living need not involve ‘higher concepts’ like love, honor, or justice. At the same time, being a social animal, he appreciated such things as sharing, forgiveness, and protection. Voldemort understood this on an intellectual level, but seeing it played out on practical one through Fenrir was always… stimulating.

At the moment, he was having a splendid time watching the man-beast thinking over the latest events revolving around Harry Potter and his own unexpected reluctance in handing the boy over. Just last year he had easily and willingly handed over two Slytherin students violating their treaty. What made the Gryffindor child a special case? It was not the normal state of things for Fenrir or Voldemort to question each other. Their motivations, if not their methods, were similar, their circle of influence separate, and rarely did they cross or conflict. However, Fenrir was interested enough in Potter, and more importantly his hold over Blackbone, that he was willing to have a meeting with the Dark Lord in order to settle the matter.

The lodge house, normally filled with pack members, was empty and freshly cleaned for their meeting. It was still very crude and rustic, but Voldemort was quite comfortable lounging in his fur laden chair and sipping on strong herbal tea. Around the wizard’s feet, Nagini looked rather happy as well, rolling about on the many fur rugs and leisurely hunting the nooks and crannies for rodents. Fenrir’s own chair across from the wizard, was empty, as he had taken to standing near the window in order to watch some of the pack’s youngsters play football (English version). Such things were calming for him.

“This shouldn’t be an issue,” the werewolf growled out, finally looking towards the wizard. “He violated both our laws. He trespassed into my lands and his life belongs to me.”

Voldemort took a sip of is tea, looking considerate.

“No, he never did,” he said finally. “I had one of my people perform legilimency on the boy this morning. He did indeed meet with Blackbone and Slivermoon, but he never crossed the barrier until you and your men dragged him into it. It would seem to me, you are in violation of the treaty more so than Mr. Potter.”

“They’re liars!” Fenrir snarled, “I could smell that boy all over Blackbone’s and Slivermoon’s clothes, and they would not dare break their probation by stepping out of the boundary. He was inside my territory. I don’t care what your people say.”

“Are you saying then, that you did not step out of your territory in an attempt to collect the boy?”

Fenrir merely let out an angry growl, showing neither guilt or regret. Voldemort let out a sigh.

“I’m afraid I can not let you have this one, my friend. I have great plans for him.”

“I have plans as well!” he snarled, punching the wall angrily and cracking the wood. His eyes had gone yellow when he turned to the Dark Lord, but the other was not intimidated.

“Oh, yes,” Voldemort said, “You wish to use him to keep Blackbone in line. If such extreme measures are needed to ensure his obedience, wouldn’t it just be better to kill him? I know you have this strange desire to see him inherit the packs after you, but with his seditious attitude towards me I will be forced to kill him anyway.”

Fenrir grunted in acknowledgment and finally took the chair across from him.

“He is the only one with the balls for the job,” Fenrir said. “Everyone else is either too weak in will or too weak in body. He’s an alpha by nature, by the will of the Goddess, and my bad fucking luck. Anyone else and the packs will fall into disorganized factions again. His hatred for the both of us does nothing to change that.”

“Hhmm… that is quite the conundrum.”

He took another sip of his tea, and looked thoughtful. Fenrir let him have his moment to think. The wizard was better at plotting, and he was not above letting him find a solution for the both of them. The Dark Lord lifted his cup, but stopped abruptly, and the werewolf knew he had an idea.

“Perhaps Mr. Potter might still be of use to both of us,” he said slowly, thoughts still flying about in his head, this time with a definite goal in mind. “After all, if I should retain direct power and influence over the child, Blackbone will be forced to make concessions to me andyou in order to remain in contact with him. Yes… I think that might work. Even after you pass on, he will still be forced to behave himself so as not to endanger or make an enemy of his Godson.”

He took one last sip of his tea and then stood, beginning to pace the breadth of the room. Fenrir watched him curiously, almost amused. He knew Voldemort never indulged in pacing while amongst wizards. Such a thing would be considered a lack of self control and dignity. Whilst visiting the werewolves (he did so once or twice a year, supposedly on diplomatic visits, but really because it was a vacation to him) he tended to care very little about appearances.

He slept late. He didn’t bother shaving or brushing his hair. He ate with his fingers and drank too much. He swore. He kept his shirt untucked and walked around barefoot. He flirted with everyone. In general, he acted as young as he looked, and as uncouth as his muggle upbringing inclined him to be. The only reason he wasn’t degenerating at the moment was he would have to return to his usual duties within the hour and it took time to fall back and forth between behaviors.

“It will be tricky of course,” Voldemort continued, “I will have to make sure their interactions do not result in the boy adopting Blackbone’s traitorous thoughts, while at the same time ensuring that they don’t become resentful of the other… But it could work in my favor… a kindness in its own right… How troublesome… Nevertheless…”

Fenrir grinned.

Professor McGonagall picked Harry up from the hospital later that day. She looked very worried when she saw his pale, tired complexion, but he managed a smile for her. There were no questions when she brought him back to Hogwarts, and he offered no explanations. He wondered if she didn’t know that anything he told her would once again be a lie. And that really was a pity. Of all the adults he knew including his Godfather and Remus (and he loved them dearly already), he thought McGonagall the most reliable.

But she couldn’t have saved him. Strong and noble woman though she was, it was Snape’s underhanded tactics that had him safely returned to Hogwarts and not Fenrir Greyback’s clutches. It was also Snape’s underhanded tactics and his skills in legilimency that tore the truth from his very mind, and left him feeling sicker than he had upon entering the hospital.

Harry still didn’t know why the man had done it.

He suspected Voldemort put him up to it. While he didn’t believe it was beyond Snape to do something altruistic, he didn’t think he would do something that would risk himself in the process. But then why would Voldemort save him? Did them both being parselmouths make the Dark Lord some how protective of him? Was this the evidence of a bond he believed the two shared? This wouldn’t be the first instance where Voldemort had shown him extra attention. He had occasionally talked to Harry in a casual manner and even given him Elsbeth as a gift.

It wasn’t something he wanted to think too hard about.

He just wanted to go back to the Sleuw’s house, sit down at his desk, write a letter to Hermione about their arithmancy homework, and not think about Voldemort, Snape, Greyback, or Sirius and Remus possibly being tortured (since the full moon had come and gone, hopefully Athena had told the truth and their punishment was over by now).

Harry and McGonagall arrived at the Sleuw’s shortly after sunset, and her good bye was the first thing she had said to him since she’d checked him out of the hospital. Mrs. Sleuw clucked and fuddled about the kitchen, while Harry sat numbly beside Mr. Sleuw and thought them quite a pair at the moment. After dinner, despite what Harry had thought he wanted, he pulled out the charmed journal and quill.

He sat by the window, and lighted more by the light of the nearly full moon than by his single candle, he wrote his first real entry.

He wrote about his Godfather and Remus, his job, his near capture, the hospital, Snape, Umbridge, his suspicions, his fears, and his frustration about not being able to entrust the entire truth of his life with anyone. He wrote for several hours, long after the headache had settled in and his fingers had started to cramp. He wrote until finally, magically and emotionally drained he collapsed out of his chair and fell unconscious.

1. Lycanthrosis is related to lycanthropy. It’s caused by being bitten, having sex, or exchanging blood with a werewolf who wasn’t transformed at the time. Symptoms include growth of fangs and/or claws, increased aggression and strength, affinity for raw meat, and strange behavior centered around the cycles of the moon. A person won’t transform during the full moon, but they’re still considered dangerous to uninfected people. In Voldemort’s society, anyone who gets it is sent to live with werewolves and usually turned into a full werewolf eventually.↩

Tribute to the Prince

Harry did not go back to work at Wibble’s Wards and Boundaries, Inc. In fact, no one went back. According to the Wizard Weekly, Mr. John Wibble was being cited for child endangerment and exploitation as well as other shady business practices, and had been suspended from business until the investigation was over. Harry assumed they were referring to him, but since no one ever questioned him about the werewolf incident again, he was never completely sure. He felt rather bad for the other employees losing their jobs, but knew if it hadn’t been him it would have been some other child who was lied to, and the law still would have been broken even if the Court never learned of it. After all, it was common knowledge that minors were not allowed within half a mile of werewolf territories.

The entire fiasco had left him frustrated, anxious, and feeling lonelier than before. No one brought up the incident, but Harry felt it marked everything he did and said. His thoughts often wondered to Sirius and Remus, wondering if they were ok and if they missed him or felt guilty for what almost happened. His dreams were filled with nightmares, some about werewolves, but mostly about Snape or Voldemort or even Umbridge coming to punish him. He did not attempt to find another job. He had a strange fear that McGonagall would refuse him. He hadn’t told his friend about being fired either, and hoped they didn’t read the business section of the newspaper . He didn’t want to have to lie to them. Again.

And if all that wasn’t bad enough, his diary, one of the few magical items he owned, was broken. He had woken up late the next evening in his bed, with Mrs. Sleuw chiding him for getting sick after he left the hospital. She had said she couldn’t wake him that morning and he looked so ill, she let him sleep. Once she had left him alone, he had found the book in his desk, his writing still clear as day in it. After testing it with a few scribbles, the writing didn’t disappear and he could feel no magic from it. He suspected he had over used it the night before and somehow short-circuited it as well as himself. He didn’t remember what happened after that, but he must have woken up briefly to change and get into bed.

Days passed uneventfully, marked only by his chores, his school work, and his letters until August 1st. His birthday arrived on a sunny Thursday, and the first to greet him were a motley flock of owls outside his room. As soon as he opened his window for them, Elsbeth charged in and dumped a parcel on his bed and quickly claimed her rightful perch. She was followed by six other owls who behaved similarly, dumping their parcels and letters before finding various places to land in his room.

It was probably the most birthday presents he had ever received in his life (his parents usually only gave him one present each and he didn’t have many friends in Germany), and his only regret was that the givers couldn’t have been there in person. He opened the parcel Elsbeth had been carrying first, knowing she was returning from Hermione’s. Inside was a small book of spells titled, ‘One Hundred Spells They Should, But Don’t, Teach You In School’ and a dark red card with a golden Snitch zooming about the outside.

Dear Harry

Happy Birthday. I wish I could be there to give this to you in person. I know you’re not exactly bookish, but you’ll love this one, I promise. There’s even a spell in there for animating drawings. Since the school year is coming up soon, I wanted to know if you’d like to try to come to Daigon Alley with me and Draco. We said we’d show you around last year, and I think you’d have a grand time. I know you’re probably still busy with work, but if you could write any convenient dates or times than we can try and set something up. Can’t wait to see you!

Sincerly,

Hermione

Ah, he’d almost forgotten about their promise to show him around. It sounded like a wonderful idea. The first thing other than the start of term he had to look forward to in a while.

The next one he opened was a small package, but when he took off the postage wrap, a large sketch pad and colored pencils grew out of it. On it was a very short note in Natalie’s elegant silver script on green paper.

Your pictures of me are much too small to hang on my wall, and black and white hardly does me justice. These should work much better. Oh, and Happy Birthday.

He chuckled in amusement, although he was rather touched that she had thought to get him anything. Next was Clyde’s present, involving a lot of junk food and a catalogue of quidditch supplies. His card had an entire quidditch team fighting it out, and inside he wrote about seeing him in Daigon Alley before the start of term as well. With those three out of the way, he was completely uncertain about who else may have sent him something and he didn’t recognize the owls either.

He opened the one with only a letter first, which turned out to be his school supply list. The next one gave him pause. There was an address on it, but he couldn’t believe that it was correct, so he reluctantly set it aside for a moment. He didn’t recognize the address on the other letter either, but he did recognize the seal. A skull with a snake slithering through the eye sockets.

And this man lived nine months out of the year surrounded by school children. Geh.

He opened it to reveal a plain black card, with a golden ‘V’ on the outside. When he opened it a small gold band fell out. Gold script was also on the inside.

Dear Harry,

Once again you have misplaced yourself. As I am rather fond of you, I have enclosed a device to help keep you on the proper course. Simply insert the ring into your pocket watch, say the name of the location you wish to go, and the hands of your watch will point you in the right direction. I hope this helps you with your New Year’s resolution. Happy Birthday.

V.

“Well,” Harry said to Elsbeth, “At least he doesn’t seem to be mad at me.”

The last item was a package, the sender listed as a catalogue company in Sussex he had never heard of. He opened it, and inside found a letter and a wooden box. He tried opening the box, but the latch wouldn’t budge so he went back to the letter.

Dear Harry

I apologize in advance for the deception. Smuggling letters, let alone packages, from outside of Britian is a tricky business these days, but I think this worth the risk.

Uh-oh. At this point, Harry knew he should stop reading and hand everything over to the proper authorities. He was in enough trouble as it was without excepting contraband from strangers in other countries.

At the same time, it couldn’t hurt just to read the letter.

Right?

I am an old acquaintance of your father and mother, and James left in my charge something very valuable. Your family fled Britian before I could return it and then disappeared completely. I have just recently received news of your return to Britian and Hogwarts itself. My condolences on your loss, they were both some of finest people I ever had the privilege of meeting. I know that they would be very proud of you. That being said, I return this to its rightful owner and apologize for not getting it to you sooner. It is a one of kind item, so I recommend being discreet in whom you tell about it and when and how you use it. Happy Birthday.

Sincerely,

A family friend.

P.S. The password is Lily’s favorite flower.

“Smashing,” Harry said to his feathery contingent. “Yet another secret.”

Any plans he had made of turning the package over to someone had left his mind as easily as if it had never been there. Whatever it was, it apparently belonged to his father, and thus him. With his access to his family vault questionable, he decided that risking another family treasure was not in his best interest. Looking at the plain wooden box, he wondered what was inside and tried to recall his mother’s favorite flower. It had been four years since he’d last seen her, and of all the things he tended to recall, flowers were not one of them. Nothing came to mind. It was very possible the memory spells at WYRA had taken the knowledge from him.

“Well, bloody, fucking hell…”

Frustrated, he set the box aside for later. He picked up the package with the impossible address. Since he had already opened a package he shouldn’t have, he was feeling pretty rebellious at the moment. He was still a bit cautious though.

Getting mail from a werewolf territory may or may not be illegal.

Not knowing if the package might contain a dead rabbit or Sirius’ ear or something equally horrible, he opened the letter first.

Hey, Prongslet

Well, that was a promising start.

You have the damnedest luck. I heard from Athena what happened. There’s nothing I can say that would tell you how truly sorry we both are. We were careless, and you suffered for that. If you don’t wish to speak to us anymore, we would understand. Having said that, you’re James and Lily’s son so it probably never crossed mind.

Harry rolled his eyes.

Slivermoon and I are both fine, so we don’t want you worrying about that. We’ve also been given permission to write supervised letters if we behave ourselves. Don’t be surprised if there’s long silences between letters. We’re not exactly known for our ‘good behavior’. Anyway, when you write back, you’re suppose to give your letters to Snape (insert gagging sounds here), and be aware he’ll be reading them first. Takes the fun out of a lot of it, but it’s a lot more than I thought possible without breaking at least half a dozen laws (perhaps that’s why it’s not as fun?). They gave me a whole bunch of rules, but I don’t remember half of them. Snape will likely have twenty more, so good luck with that.

Oh, and we made you something. Nothing fancy I’m afraid. We keep things simple around here. No magic either. Remus had his wand taken away for a month and I haven’t seen mine in years. I think you’ll find use of it regardless.

Happy Birthday, Harry. We’re so proud of you.

Yucky hugs and kisses from your overly affectionate extended family,

Sirius Blackbone & Remus Slivermoon

Harry felt a rush a warm as he finished his letter. This was something good, no something wonderful. He had a family that he didn’t have to hide. Ok, it was sort of like having a family stuck in prison for life, but it was still something precious. He could finally tell Hermione and Clyde and perhaps even Natalie and Draco.

It was suspicious as hell, he knew, that after all that had happened they would be rewarded like this, but Harry didn’t care. If after first nearly being killed by werewolves and then abducted to be turned into one, he was finally going keep them in his life than he would hold no regrets.

The gift they had made him was set of leather arm guards with strips of bronze plating on the outside. The inside of the leather had Sirius and Remus’ mark, a crescent moon resting over crossbones. The right guard had a trip spring so if he bent his wrist just right, his wand could pop out into his hand. It was just what he needed. Elsbeth, gentle though she was, had already scratched the hell out of his arms.

From down the hall he could make out the sounds of Mr. and Mrs. Sleuw rising for the morning. Feeling strangely paranoid (and with some of his gifts he had very good reason to be), he quickly gathered up all his presents and cards and hid them in his trunk, then gave all the delivery owls treats or their pay and hurried them out the window (except for Elsbeth of course).

When everything was as it was before, and not a suspicious item in sight, he got dressed and headed down stairs to help with breakfast as if it nothing unusual had occured.

This was all just another day in the life of the infamous Harry Potter, after all.

Harry met with Hermione, Draco, Natalie, Pansy Parkinson, and Blaise Zabini a week before the start of term to visit Daigon Alley for school supplies. Clyde and the Weasley twins had said they were going on the same day with their grandparents, and said they’d keep an eye out for them. Having seen hardly anyone but the Sleuw’s for weeks, he was ecstatic to be among other students again, and not even Snape glowering at them could dampen his enthusiasm.

The potion’s master, being Hermione’s and Draco’s godfather, had been roped into escorting them all by Mrs. Malfoy. He had already completed his first trip to Diagon alley with Hogwarts new muggleborns, and was not looking at all pleased to be going again. Neither of the young Malfoy children looked particularly concerned, so Harry just took it in stride.

He’d met with Snape in Hogsmeade, portkeyed to Malfoy Manor to pick up everyone else, and then taken their floo to a dingy little pub in Daigon Alley. The man stepped out onto the street, pointed to the bookstore and told them to meet him there at an appointed time, then stalked off towards a rather shady looking street. Harry blinked stupidly at the man’s back.

“I thought he was our escort?” he asked, turning to the others. The Slytherins chuckled.

“As if we need someone holding our hand,” Draco sneered. “It’s not like its dangerous around here. This entire street has enough protection spells and Court sentries to give Hogwarts a run for its money.”

Harry shrugged. It was for the best, he supposed. He didn’t want this trip to be as rushed and uneventful as his first one was. He caught Hermione giving him a meaningful look, and intentionally fell behind their little group to talk to her in relative privacy.

“Your last couple of letters have been kind of mysterious, Harry. You keep saying something wonderful happened, but you don’t go into it. What’s the big secret?”

Harry glanced around to make sure no one was paying them any attention.

“Well… I learned my parents were both wizards,” he said. Even though he had learned this last year, it was Sirius and Remus who had told him so he had not been able to tell her at the time. Now that he could tell her about them, it freed up this information as well. “And my godfather is also a wizard, and he lives here in Britian. I got a letter from him on my birthday.”

“Oh, Harry that’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you! Where did they live? Did either of them go to Hogwarts? Have you met your godfather in person yet? Do you think he’ll adopt you? Why have you been secretive about all this?”

“Shhh! It’s not as simple as it sounds. My parents fought against Voldemort during the war. Their names have a Taboo on them in Britian,” he explained, and Hermione instantly paled. Taboos were no laughing matter. Speaking a Taboo name could have you sent to the Court prison for days or even weeks of interrogation, and if found guilty of treason it was Azkaban, lycanthropy, or death for the charged. “And my godfather is a werewolf. He was convicted of treason just after the war, and Greyback took him in. It’s taken him over a year to get through all the red tape just to be able to send me letters.”

All Hermione could do was gape, and then shake her head.

“Only you, Harry,” she sighed. He grinned at her.

“Well I can’t have you getting bored now can I? I’ll tell you more about it when term starts. Lets just pretend I’m normal for once, and see how it goes. If we’re not invaded by a goblin army by tea time, I think the day will have turned out quite well.”

With their Slytherin company, they went from shop to shop, starting with ‘Gamblers and Gook’s Game Shop’, on to ‘Manatoba’s Magical Menagerie’, then an apothecary called simply ‘Apothecary’. They stopped at almost a dozen shops, most of which were only visited briefly to explain to Harry what they sold or just to pick up school supplies, but others everyone lingered in to admire the merchandise for a long time. Harry, Draco, and Blaise all crowded around the sporting goods store, admiring the latest edition of Cleansweep brooms and the many varieties of swords for fencing clubs. Hermione, Natalie, and Pansy let them be to wander about ‘Lord Burkland’s’, a high-end jewelry store. They all had a great time, showing everyone else what they got (Harry got very little compared to everyone else, but what he did get he had to hide away from Hermione for her birthday). When there was only forty-five minutes left before they had to meet up with Snape and Hermione became absolutely insistent, they headed to the bookstore, Borgen’s and Blott’s, for their text books.

Hogwart’s new textbooks are bundled together by year, and the others merely had to select the appropriate bundle and then wandered off to browse. Harry wanted second hand books to save money, so was forced to head from isle to isle searching for them. While looking for Philip Tulip’s ‘A Practical Guide to Impractical Plants’, he bumped into a girl he vaguely recognized as the youngest of the Weasley clan. She was a little elfin creature, with soft features and large eyes, and spattering of freckles across her nose that made her look like a child’s doll. She was glowering at an arithmancy book like it had wronged her some how.

“It’s not as hard as it looks,” Harry said, startling her a bit, “Professor Vector shows us all the cheats after every section.”

“Oh! Hello,” she said, blushing a bit. “Do you go to Hogwarts too? This is going to be my first year.”

He smiled at her reassuringly. “Yep, this will be my second year. I’m in Gryffindor with some of your brothers, and I play on the quiddtich with Fred and George. You’re Ginny, right?”

“Oh! You’re Harry Potter. They wrote about you in a couple of their letters. They said you were their god. You don’t have pockets full of Zonko’s trick toys do you?”

Now it was Harry’s turn to blush a bit.

“No, no, I leave the pranking to them. I get in enough trouble without looking for it. Speaking of the twins, they’re not around here are they?”

“No,” she said, “They shouldn’t be around until about noon. Why?”

“Last year they said they’d have to beat the boys off you with a broom when you got to Hogwarts. I just want to make sure they aren’t coming up behind me with it.”

She giggled at that and turned even more pink. Soon they fell into a discussion about Hogwarts, as Harry explained to her some of the ins and outs of the school and helped her find her books while he looked for his own. She asked him all sorts of questions, about the school, about him, her brothers, and finally in the most timid of voices she asked about Voldemort.

“Does he really live at the school?”

Harry wondered that sometimes himself.

“I don’t really know. He probably has a room there somewhere, but I don’t think he lives there all year. He comes to dinner a couple times a week and he has an office in the highest tower of the school. It’s a nice office, but I don’t think he could run the entirety of Britian from there.”

“You’ve been in his office?”

“Well, yes…”

She gaped at him. “Wow.”

He chuckled at her. “I’ve been crucio-ed by him too, but we’ve been getting along much better since then.”

If her mouth hadn’t been hanging open already, her jaw surely would have dropped. He laughed.

“Oh, you’re teasing me!” she grumped. “You’d think I wouldn’t be that gullible with brothers like mine, but you really had me going. Now I see why Fred and George like you so much.”

He decided not to correct her. When she got to Hogwarts she would hear all sorts of rumors about him, and it would be funny to see her surprised all over again.

“Harry, do you have all your books yet?”

He turned around to see Natalie striding towards them. He couldn’t help but notice that her relaxed manner had receded into something predatory, a measuring look in her eyes. She came to stand right next to him and took his arm in hers. She smiled sweetly at him and it looked all wrong.

“If you don’t hurry we’ll be late and Snape will throw a fit,” she said, and then glanced over at Ginny who was looking at her rather nervously. “Why Ginerva, I haven’t seen you in a while. So you managed to get into Hogwarts after all.”

There was something not at all friendly about her words, though she kept smiling pleasantly. The youngest Weasley didn’t look happy. Harry decided to spare her the discomfort by taking Natalie’s advice.

“You’re right,” he said, “we better hurry. It was nice meeting you, Ginny. I’ll look for you at the start of term!”

The girl made a odd hand gesture that might have been a wave, and Harry walked with Natalie to the checkout counter.

“Old acquaintance?” he asked when they were out of ear shot.

Natalie snorted.

“We were in the same primary school. Draco used to have the silliest crush on her, but thank God he grew out of it. They were a lousy match. Prim and proper Draco wouldn’t even stoop to finger painting, and she was practically rolling in the mud on most days.” She glanced over at the redhead now looking for the remainder of her books, sneering. “I see not much has changed.”

Harry peeked over as well. Her clothes definitely weren’t the finest, being a little faded and of a style favored by the less ostentatious ranks of Wizarding Britian, but she looked tidy and clean enough to him. She was pretty, in a different way than Hermione and Natalie. A warm and homey way that made you unafraid to approach her in ways you never would upper crust girls like them.

“You know, I am even poorer than she is, don’t you?” he said, lifting an eyebrow. She grinned, squeezing his arm affectionately.

“That maybe so, but you have something that she doesn’t.”

“What’s that? An excess of lives?”

“No, darling. You’ve got class.”

Ginny Weasley watched Natalie Cypher with a familiar loathing. The blond witch (and she didn’t mean ‘witch’ in the literal sense) was just as she remembered her. Beautiful, cold, and a complete snob.

What a boy as nice as Harry Potter saw in her, she had no idea. She could see Natalie whispering things in his ear, and had no doubt about her subject. Still, when the boy at her arm caught Ginny’s eye, he smiled at her the same way he had before. She had to duct her head so he wouldn’t see her blush. Fred and George had written that, in addition to being their god, Harry was the cutest boy they had ever met. She thought that meant he’d be short and girly, but he wasn’t.

He was slim and a little shorter than most boys, but he held himself in a way that made you over look that. He was friendly, but not presumptuously so. His appearance was neat and tidy, but his messy hair kept him from looking overly prim like her brother Percy, and instead made him look both dignified and approachable. And he had the most incredible green eyes she had ever seen.

Oh, this was bad, she knew. When she started fixating on the eyes, she knew she was already knee deep in a crush and sinking fast. What chance did a poor little nobody like her have with someone like him? He was handsome, the youngest Hogwarts Seeker in a century, hung out with some of the richest kids in school, and had Natalie Cypher as a girlfriend.

It was impossible.

And yet… he was still smiling at her.

The Serpent Prince

Harry boarded the train quickly in order to avoid the crowds and their pointing. He hadn’t thought about his short stint through the newspapers last November, but apparently it hadn’t been completely forgotten. Wherever he went a least a few of his fellow students would point him out to their parents or younger siblings and say something like ‘That’s Harry Potter. He got kidnaped last year. He’s in my arithmancy class’ or ‘That’s the kid who broke Slytherin’s winning streak in Quidditch. I heard he’s got two girlfriends and two boyfriends’.

It was ridiculous.

If anyone had heard even half the story of what had happened to him this summer, he imagined they’d have just about mobbed him. Well, thank God for small miracles. His wand, although promised back to him shortly after his return from the hospital, had not reached his person until the day before. He was almost giddy to have it back and unharmed, but the crowded station was not the place to ogle his magical conduit so he kept it tucked safely in his robe.

The train was not yet over run with students so most of the compartments were empty. He ambled along until he came to a door that for one reason or another felt right to him. Opening it, he found himself face to face with a boy who could have been his older brother. He had black hair, a slender build, and the same amazing green eyes. There was something vaguely familiar about him, yet Harry couldn’t recall ever seeing him before. Perhaps he was from another House?

“Why, hello,” the boy said, setting down the book he had been reading, “Are you looking for somewhere to sit? I could use some company and you have a friendly face.”

Harry felt himself blush, but moved into the compartment. He hadn’t been looking for a stranger’s company, but this boy seemed friendly enough with his charming little smile and curious eyes.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a seat across from him and reaching out his hand. “I’m Harry Potter, but just Harry is fine.”

The boy shook it and said, “Thomas Matthew Rook, but you may call me Tom.”

Harry’s face became even warmer.

“You don’t have any luggage,” the boy pointed out. “But you are wearing your school robes.”

“Oh, that. Well, I live at the school year around. They have me take the train to school for tradition’s sake, you know,” Harry said, “What about you? If you went Hogwarts you would have recognized me, and you’re too old to be a first year.”

Tom chuckled. “Both of our circumstances are unusual then. I will be attending Hogwarts as a fifth year student, even though this will be my first year going there. I was home schooled due to a childhood ailment that I have only recently overcome. I must say I am rather looking forward to it.”

At that Harry couldn’t help but grin.

“You’ll love it. Everyone does.”

Tom invited Harry to tell him about Hogwarts, which Harry did with just as much enthusiasm as he had with Ginny Weasley. The older boy was an attentive audience, laughing at the right moments and asking many curious questions, and never taking his eyes off the second year. Fifteen minutes passed before their conversation was once again disturbed. Natalie peeked in, took one look at them and grinned.

“Oh, Harry, you’ve grown an older brother over the summer. Now I know what I want for Christmas.”

“Natalie! Don’t be rude, he’s a new student.”

She glided in, and held out her hand to the older boy with perfect confidence. “Natalie Cypher, second year Slytherin.”

Tom accepted her hand and kissed it. “Thomas Rook, man of mystery.”

“Oh, that’s smooth. You’ll be Slytherin for sure,” she said, giggling a bit. “I see you’ve already found, Harry. Don’t let the Gryffindork badge fool you, he’s got enough Slytherin in him it’s a miracle his tongue hasn’t forked yet.”

“Hey! It took a lot of Gryffindorkishness to sow that fork closed, I’ll have you know!”

“Mind if we join you?” came Draco’s ‘friendly’ sneer, “The Humfmumper’s tears of friendship are getting my shoes wet out here.”

He stomped in, followed by Hermione and Blaise. He ordered his two goons, Crabbe and Goyle (Ron was absent, likely sitting with his brothers), to stand watch outside the door. To guard against what, Harry had no idea. Harry introduced Tom to them, and soon after Hermione began shooting questions at him about his education. The elder boy took it in stride, listing off the many subjects he had been tutored and self studied in, and assured her his scores on his placement exams more than qualified him to attend Hogwarts even so late in his schooling. Draco, who had been rather reserved, seemed to lighten up a bit when it became apparent that Tom was from a wealthy if not well known family, but only a little.

Finally, Hermione settled back and they moved on to more casual affairs.

“I’ll be trying out for Quidditch this year,” Draco said. “The Seeker position opened up again since Harry off’ed the last one.”

“He off’ed himself. Not my fault your house picks blind goons for their Seekers.”

“You won’t be so cocky when I’m flying circles around you, Potter.”

“Bring it on, Malfoy.”

Natalies and Hermione rolled their eyes at each other.

“Boys and their games,” Hermione lamented. “It could be worse, I suppose. They could have joined Fencing club. Bravado and pointy objects.”

“Oh, that reminds me, Ginerva is coming this year, can you believe it? Finally, the last Weasley. I thought I’d never see the end of the line,” Natalies said.

“How did bravado and pointy things remind you of Ginny?” Harry asked.

“A Slytherin’s mind is a twisted maze, Harry. You can’t go in too deep without getting lost and possibly eaten by something,” Hermione said, and moved the conversation on to other things.

They kept the conversation going for several hours, until after they’d gotten lunch from the trolley car and fallen into an easy silence. As they neared the last leg of their journey, the sky turned grey and it started to rain.

“Bother, I hope you don’t have to take boat with the other first years,” Harry said. Tom just smiled faintly, and it suddenly occurred to Harry that the boy hadn’t looked away from him for the entire length of their journey. He felt himself blush yet again and hastily looked out the window.

Tom did have to take the boat. Harry gave him an apologetic look, but the older boy just shrugged and headed towards the lake. When Harry saw what was to take the rest of them to the castle, he wished he could have gone with him.

Thestrals shifted anxiously in their harnesses, their leathery wings secured uncomfortably to their sides. They huffed and snorted, their seemingly skinless bodies trembling in the rain. Most of the students didn’t seem to mind, and others seemed completely unaware of them. He briefly recalled what Kyle, the lawyers assistant he’d met at the first adoption party, had said about only those who had seen death would be able to see them.

“Come on, Harry. You’re going to catch a cold,” Hermione said, leading him reluctantly to their coach, where Draco and Natalie waited.

“So what do you think of Tom?” Harry asked, once the carriage started moving.

“He seems quite knowledgeable,” Hermione said, “Although his arrival is a bit suspicious. I’ve never heard of a late transfer before.”

“He’ll definitely be Slytherin,” Natalies said, “I bet he charmed and possibly bribed the school board.”

“He’s a pedophile,” Draco stated with a dead expression. “I’m amazed he didn’t rip off Harry’s clothes and molest him in front of us.”

“Draco!”

All three of them yelled it at the same time and with the same amount of outrage. Hermione crossed her arms and scowled at her brother.

“Jealousy is very unflattering on you, Draco.”

The blond boy merely sniffed and looked away.

Harry made it a point to stay extra close to Hermione on their way to the Great Hall. He didn’t fancy a repeat of last year’s incident, however unlikely. They found their seats and were soon joined by Clyde and the Weasley twins. Fred and George, ignoring the social pecking order as usual, looked rather like giants among the second years but no one questioned it. They’d likely move three or four times during the feast anyway.

“Good evening, our most High and Divine Lord of Chaos,” Fred said by way of greeting, “Was the rain your idea or did Snape’s foul disposition moved ahead of you?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Must have been Snape. I would have thrown in lightening and a thestral stampede.”

“Well, there’s always next year, your Lordship,” George suggested.

“Don’t encourage them, Harry,” Hermione pleaded. “And don’t insult my godfather. I’m sure youwouldn’t like me insulting yours.”

Harry smiled, showing her he understood her hidden message. When the feast was over, they would find a nice quiet place and Harry would explain everything he had discovered ‘that summer’. Undoubtably, she had been dying to ask him the moment they saw each other.

The hall slowly filled until everyone but the nervous first years and a curious looking Tom were seated. Headmistress Lestrange took the podium, which struck Harry as kind of odd. Wasn’t Voldemort the one who usually addressed the students first? It wasn’t as if he could remember much from his first welcoming feast, being cursed and all. He turned to Hermione to ask.

“Oh, yes,” she agreed, not taking her eyes off the stage, “He enjoys playing Headmaster quite a bit. I truly believe he thinks the only wizards worth his time come through Hogwarts so he takes a lot of initiative with the students. But I overheard mother talking about her, and that Voldemort was displeased with her recent running of the school so she’s taking on the full responsibility of it now to show she’s fit for the job. If she blows it, Professor Snape will have her job for sure.”

“Welcome,” Lestrange began, “to the beginning of another school year. As always, I and all those present here expect great things from each of you, as befitting of the most prestigious Wizarding School in the world-”

“And I thought the Dark Lord was pretentious,” Fred muttered. Hermione hushed him.

“- and remind all returning students, the Forbidden Forest is strictly off limits. If you are lost in there, there will be no search party to retrieve you-”

George grinned. “Good, we’ll know where to escape to when she finds that nest of Skitzles we put in her-”

“Sshh!”

“And I have some unfortunate news. Professor Quirrel, our Dark Arts and Defense teacher for several years now, was injured while researching acumantulas and will not be returning to teach this year. Your new teacher, however, is more than qualified. May I introduce Professor Anthony MacNair.”

Beside him, Harry heard Hermione gasp and it wasn’t in pleasant surprise. She looked positively pale when she spotted the man, who had been slinking in a shadowy corner in a black cloak. He was a gaunt and wicked looking man, and did not smile or acknowledge the polite applause in any way.

“Now, because this is Professor MacNair’s first year as a teacher, Professor Snape has graciously offered up his time and expertise to start a Dueling Club to help practice DA&D’s practical applications.”

“We’re going to die.”

If the twins had said it, Harry would have taken it in stride, but coming from Hermione it was a tad bit worrying.

“In addition to our usual contingent of first years, we will be having a fifth year transfer. Mr. Rook is attending public school for the first time so I expect you all to be helpful and studious-”

The twins grinned at each other.

“-let the sorting begin.”

McGonagall brought out a stool and a hat and set them at the front of the hall. The hat immediately burst out into song. Harry thought it one of the most ridiculous things he’d ever seen that didn’t involve the Dursley’s laughable attempts at being ‘classy’. It was over soon enough, and McGonagall started to call first years to be sorted. Every table greeted their new additions enthusiastically, quickly making room for them.

Harry felt suddenly deprived. His own sorting had gone all wrong, and it had taken months and a great deal of luck for him to be welcomed anywhere at his own table. Even now, he realized, he didn’t have the same attachment to his own house that all the other students seemed to possess. He likely never would either, and that was so utterly unfair.

“Rook, Thomas!”

Harry returned to the present to watch his new acquaintance stride forward confidently. The Sorting hat barely touched his head before shouting out a resounding ‘Slytherin!’. Harry bit back at the feeling of disappointment, reminding himself that half his friends were Slytherin anyway. As if hearing his thoughts, Tom caught his eye on his way to the Slytherin table and gave him a mischievous wink.

Harry wasn’t the only one to notice it, for Fred and George each put their arms protectively around him.

“No way!” cried George, “He’ll have to get his own adorable Master of Mischief. Harry’s ours!”

“Here, here!” agreed Fred. Harry rolled his eyes.

It wasn’t until almost the very end that another familiar name was called.

“Weasley, Ginerva!”

Her name immediately perked Harry’s attention, and he gave the nervous girl a friendly wave as she made her way to the front. She smiled timidly back. In a matter of seconds, the hat called out her house and she practically skipped over to Gryffindor table. She paused briefly before sitting to wave to Ron, who managed a little smile and wave. Beside him, Draco gave him a pat on the back as if to say ‘I know exactly how you feel’.

She ended up sitting between George and Harry, looking the happiest girl in the world.

“Oh, I was nervous!” she said, “But you all were right. Gryffindor all the way!”

“Told you,” Clyde said, as if the outcome was obvious. Hermione elbowed him in the ribs.

“Welcome to Gryffindor, Ginny. It’s been a while.”

“Only a year! How is Draco, by the way?”

“He’s now the official overlord of the first and second year Slytherins. By Christmas he’ll have completed his coup d’etat against Avery and taken the third years as well.”

Ginny laughed, not realizing Hermione wasn’t actually joking.

“Congratulations,” Percy said, wandering over, “Mom will be so pleased. Sorry, I can’t stay long. Prefect responsibilities, you know.”

“Thanks, Percy,” Ginny said, even as the older boy was wandering off again, pulling out and discarding the dung bombs the twins had snuck into his pockets.

“Prefect duties, my arse. He’s going to flirt with Clearwater,” said Fred.

“So, what is this about your parents being wizards and your godfather is a werewolf?” Hermione finally asked, once they’d finally found a moment alone after the Welcoming Feast. They’d found a quiet little nook in the common room, both dressed comfortably in their nightclothes, to speak.

“His name is Sirius Black. He was my father’s best friend. They went to this very school together. His mate is Remus Lupin, who also a good friend of my father’s in school, but he was a werewolf already by then. My father and Sirius both figured it out, and helped him get through his time at school. All three were the very best of friends. My mother was also Gryffindor and attended the same years as them, though I don’t think she hooked up with my father until their last year together.”

Hermione blinked. “But how would Remus have gone to school? It would have been illegal at the time…”

Harry shrugged. “The Headmaster at the time was rather… open-minded? Only he, McGonagall, my father, and godfather knew… and maybe my mom figured it out later, I’m still a bit unclear on that.”

She sat back and considered what he had told her and several questions seemed to come to her, but she held her tongue. Finally, she spoke again.

“So your parents have a taboo on their names? What did they do to get those?”

“I don’t know yet. I know they fought against Voldemort during the war, and left shortly before he took control of Britain. They must have really pissed him off, because after they reached Germany they withdrew from the wizarding world completely.”

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

“They never told me any of it. I don’t know why they kept it from me. It’s not like I wouldn’t have found out eventually. It’s kind of hard not to notice once you start setting things on fire and levitating the family pet across the room.”

Hermione nodded.

“It must have been really difficult for them. By then, they were probably so sick of the war and magic in general, they just left it all behind to start over. I’m sure they would have told you once you started performing accidental magic.”

Harry shrugged. “We’ll never know will we? But you know what really gets me? What really pisses me off?”

“Harry, language.”

“Everyone knows. Voldemort sure as hell knows. McGonagall… god, I don’t know how I missed it. She practically blurted it out to my face when she first saw me. She called me ‘Harry’. Not ‘Harold’ or ‘Mr. Potter’, but Harry. Snape knew the instant he saw me, and he’s in WYRA so he had to have reported it. Everyone at WYRA must have known. All the teachers here must too. But they all just pretend I fell out of the damn sky. Like none of it matters.”

It was clear Hermione didn’t know how to respond to that. She had no idea what he must be feeling. Any similarity between their circumstance was made moot by the fact that everyone knew her origins and they really didn’t matter, except in the context of her adoption and eventual marriage.

When no words of wisdom were forthcoming, Harry just shrugged.

“At least I have Sirius and Remus. I know I won’t actually be able to meet them until I’m seventeen, but at least I can write them and get some honest answers.”

“Harry, you have to be careful. I know they’re your family, and precious to you, but they’re also known traitors to the state. If people were to learn that you’re in contact with them, it could seriously damage your reputation. If they expressed anti-government sentiments in their letters, there would be physical evidence for a treason charge against you. You have to be very, very careful.”

Harry just rolled his eyes. “Why do you think I only told you? I thought about telling Clyde or even Draco and Natalie, but I don’t think I could trust them that much. Voldemort gave the go ahead, and Snape already knows and has to proofread my letters, but I’m not going to go blabbing about it to everyone. Hufflepuff is known more for its loyalty than Gryffindor, if you haven’t noticed.”

“How is the brandy, Tom?” Voldemort asked, taking a sip from his own glass.

“Smokier than I remember, Brother, but still good,” the boy replied, stroking the head of his much grown familiar. Nagini was large enough now to smother him easily, but her coils remained comfortably snug around his arms and shoulders as she practically purred under his fingers.

“Enjoy it while you can. After tonight, you’ll have to do without till the end of term. Your new Head of House is considerably more competent than your last, and he despises rule breaking.”

“You couldn’t have a word with him?”

“I could” Voldemort agreed, “But I wouldn’t over something so trivial. Plus it will arouse his suspicions, and he’s already suspicious enough as it is. Your role here requires discretion.”

Tom tilted his head in acknowledgment, and took another, slower, sip.

“I met him,” he said, once the flavor had faded, “He found me on the train almost immediately. I wonder if he sensed his own magic in me.”

“I hope not. With a body of your own to anchor your magic, his should have faded until only yours remained.” Then the elder wizard smirked. “Unless you’re keeping some? A little memento from your ‘mother’.”

Tom gave him a smirk of his own.

“Why not? ‘Mother’s milk’ made me grow tall and strong. His drawings provided me the comfort of the world that his juvenile thoughts could not, until his passion finally gave his words enough power to give me form. He has the length and breadth of my affections, and the depth of my gratitude.”

This sentiment seemed to irritate the Dark Lord. It was no wonder, he thought to himself,that I would splicethisparticular section of my soul into something as sentimental as a diary.

“Do not get too attached. Young Mr. Potter’s future will take him beyond the walls of Hogwarts, and out of your reach. I have great plans for him.”

“And who am I to get in the way of such plans?”

The irony of that statement was not lost on Voldemort.

“Don’t get cheeky, little brother. I freed you for a purpose. One which you have already agreed to fulfill. With Britain’s government stabilized and measures for expansion under way, I will not be able to oversee Hogwarts to the extent I would like. Lestrange’s absolute loyalty is the only thing that makes her increasing incompetence tolerable, and Snape’s great competence is the only reason I allow him authority which requires absolute loyalty. Only you can I entrust to watch the school and its occupants in my absence. And I am willing to grant you those positions you desire in exchange for your assistance…and your compliance.”

And what if I want more? Tom thought, but did not say. He had tried his counterpart’s patience far enough. If he were to ask for more now, then the man would kill him. It was as simple or not so simple as that.

The Ogre

Second year started in a manner exactly the opposite of the way first year had started for Harry. For one thing, everyone seemed quite glad to see him. For another, Harry had a family again, albeit an odd one in the form of two werewolf godfathers who were convicted of treason. And lastly, Hermione Granger of the Malfoy’s was actually dreading a class.

“You don’t understand,” Hermione tried to explain at Monday breakfast, “He’s a monster. He shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near children, women, animals, or anyone without advanced knowledge of defensive magic.”

“So then how’d he get hired?” Clyde asked, looking less than impressed with Hermione’s description so far. “There’s got to be some sort of standard.”

She shook her head.

“Most of the truly awful things he done were under the authorization of the Court, so he doesn’t have a criminal record. Plus, he’s a former Death Eater. That gives him a lot of push and shove in the system. Chances are he bribed Lestrange and together they bullied the school board to hiring him.”

Harry was only half listening. He had the feeling he was being watched. This wasn’t an unusual feeling lately, but the uneasy tingle at the base of his neck was. Discreetly, he tried to determine the source. Ron was his first suspect, but the redhead was too busy shoving eggs into his mouth to bother with Harry. Following the line of Slytherins, he inevitably found Tom. The older boy seemed to be doing well for himself, chatting up several other fifth years as if he’d known them since their first. After a moment, Tom glanced his way as if sensing him, and he moved along to study the teacher’s table. Voldemort was absent, as was Lestrange. Snape was glowering at a couple of Hufflepuffs. Beside him, however, was McNair.

And he was looking right at him.

Geh.

They had all of first period Herbology to prepare themselves for DA&D, but it wasn’t enough. When they got to the second period class, they found the room transformed. All the windows had been closed, and the only light was a series of faerie lights floating about the room. There weren’t enough, and the entire room was thrown into shadows and strange looming shapes. More than one student had to cast a Lumos charm to find a seat without hurting themselves.

Despite the gloom, those Gryffindors who hadn’t been warned seemed positively chipper, hoping for a teacher with a little more passion for the subject than their last. Most of the Slytherins seemed to know better. They didn’t appear as apprehensive as Hermione, but they were tense and Draco favored sitting beside Hermione for once instead of with his House mates. Harry took up her other side and kept his wand in his lap, wishing he’s worn the arm guards with the pop latch for his wand Sirius had given him.

The time for classes came and went, but their teacher did not appear. Hermione didn’t looked relieved at all, and when Harry turned to her she hushed him with her finger and shook her head. Minutes passed and the students became increasingly restless. The more time that passed the more impatient they became, until they were muttering mutiny.

“This is bullocks,” muttered Seamus Finnigan. “If he’s not going to show, why do we have to stay? I’m going to fall asleep soon if someone doesn’t turn the bloody lights on.”

“If he’s not here in five minutes I’m going to leave,” bragged Ron Weasley.

This was the general talk for the next five minutes, after which everyone looked towards Ron expectantly. The redhead shifted uncomfortably under their combined expectation, and finally stood and made his way to the door.

He gave them all a contemptuous sneer and grabbed the door nob. Then he stopped. Slowly, he let go of the door and lifted his hand to look at it. He stared at it, seemingly mesmerized, for a moment before he started to scream.

“Get them off! Get them off!”

Ron was now smacking his hand against his robes, becoming increasingly frantic. Hermione and Draco came to his side. Calling forth a Lumos charm, they inspected his trembling hand but there was nothing there but clean flesh over bone.

“Get them off!” Ron kept crying, “Bloody hell, they’re climbing up my arm!”

“There’s nothing there,” Draco insisted.

“I can feel them!”

“It’s only a spell, you need to calm down,” Hermione said, her mind reeling with possible curses and counter curses.

“Fuck you, you bloody cow! Just get them OFF!”

“What do you see, Weasley? What’s crawling up your arm?” Draco demanded.

“Spiders! Hundred and thousands of spiders.”

“Aracnisortia?” Draco suggested to Hermione.

“No, that summons actual spiders. He’s only hallucinating them. It’s an illusion spell, I think… I don’t know. I don’t know!”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” Natalie said at her desk, looking vaguely amused. It was no secret that she loathed Ron Weasley (the feeling was mutual), and a little freak out was no reason for alarm in her opinion.

Draco suddenly looked thoughtful. “I wonder… Crabbe, go look for a teacher.”

The beefy Slyterins who had been chuckling stupidly during the entire event, did as he was told. Hermione was about to protest, but Draco covered her mouth with his hand. The moment Crabbe touched the door, he let out a surprised yelp that soon became full out screaming.

“Stop looking at me! Go away!”

He kicked and stomped at the floor.

“Is it spiders?” Draco asked, finally releasing Hermione.

“No, it’s eyes! Eyeballs everywhere!”

“Draco, come on! They’re starting to spread!” Ron pleaded, nearing hysterics.

“Keep your mouth shut, Weasley,” the blonde Slytherin hissed, “Or they’ll get in your mouth. It’s a type of fear curse, not a illusion curse. Phobius Nostica!”

Ron stopped flailing and Crabbe followed soon after, looking around themselves in growing relief.

Someone started clapping from the other side of the room. The windows suddenly burst open, flooding the room in light and blinding everyone. The clapping continued, moving about the room until it was at the very front. A deep, gravely voice began to speak.

“Well done, Mr. Malfoy. Not only were you able to determine the sort of curse, you knew the counter curse while under pressure. Twenty points to Slytherins. And you, Ms. Granger…” His voice was suddenly contemptuous. “Flailing about like a fool and throwing out random assumptions. You’re counter curses for hallucination curses or Aracnisortia would have only made things worse. Thirty points from Gryffindor!”

Harry could still only see vague shapes, but it was enough to see his friend was ashamed. He seriously wanted to point out that Draco’s first suggestion had been wrong and only Hermione’s correction had prevented him from casting the wrong counter-curse. Additionally, Crabbe was beyond stupid to touch the door and Ron hadn’t exactly been helping himself. No one else in the entirety of the room (and reluctantly he admitted that included himself) had any idea what to do, so why was he picking on her for trying? What was the point of this whole fiasco?

“Now get back to your seats, I have a lecture to give. Not there, Granger! You obviously need extra attention. You’re sitting up front.”

The students started to return to their seats and rearrange themselves, and Harry used the confusion to move his seat beside her again. His vision was now mostly clear and he could get a better look at Hermione. She was sitting stiffly, focused on not crying or ducking her head in humiliation. He wanted so badly to comfort her, but he didn’t dare bring down another wave of McNair’s scorn.

It was all for not.

“Potter! What is the name of the curse I placed on the door?”

“I do not know, professor.”

“I thought you were the school’s shining new star? Surely, you know something so simple?”

The man’s mouth was filled with sarcasm, and as leaned in close to sneer, Harry could see it was full of rotten teeth as well. Harry eyed him cautiously, his hand tightening on his wand.

“No, I’m afraid not, professor.”

The man gave him a rotten grin.

“Well, we can’t have that, now can we? A two foot long essay on The Phobia Curse due by Wednesday, Potter.”

The man turned stalked back to the front of the classroom, and Harry hoped that the worst was over. No such luck. There was very brief, very rude introduction by McNair, who basically stated he was the government’s torture expert and if they didn’t do well in the class they were soon going to understand what that meant. There was no syllabus or assigned reading. If you came to class and didn’t automatically know what he wanted than it was going to be on your head. The one foolish Slytherin who said it was unfair got detention for a week.

And then there was the lecture. The very least that could be said was that the man knew his material. He went into curses in great detail. He seemed particularly fond of the Bludgeoning curse (self explanatory) and the Internal Fire curse (which melted one’s insides without touching the skin), and had a whole series of visual aids to demonstrate to the entire class. When everyone was finally released, it was with no homework, but a promise of practical application that Wednesday.

In a very subdued manner, everyone made their way to the dungeons for third period Potions. Snape’s usually intimidating presence was positively tame in comparison with McNair’s, and he seemed none too pleased with their lack of fear. He was even less pleased when the blubber worms they were to be slicing for their potions resulted in over half the class vomiting into their cauldrons (if they were lucky) and the other half unable to even attempt to poke at the slimy creatures that rather resembled one of the illustrations of McNair’s lecture.

Harry (who had removed his glasses during DA&D to avoid traumatizing himself after the first three or four illustrations), Hermione, and Draco (who had both wisely avoided eating at breakfast) were of the few the had managed not to vomit and at least attempted to dice their worms. They were held in class after the Potion’s Master banished everyone from the room to complete the class on Saturday morning.

“What is going on? Is there some sort of contagion going around? Have the Weasley’s been giving you candy?” the man demanded.

The three students shared an uneasy look. None of them were certain if they should say anything. McNair was a teacher and a former Slytherin, and Snape hardly seemed the type to hold terrorizing students against someone. But Harry was feeling bad for not being able to help Hermione, and if there was anyone who might actually have the compulsion and the power to protect her than it would be her godfather. He looked the man directly in the eye… an invitation that would not force him to reaccount Hermione’s humiliation in front of her.

Snape took him up on the offer, and Harry felt his presence slither around his mind. He tried to call up the events of a mere two hours before, but his thoughts jumped about randomly until the master legilimens managed to pin down the ones he wanted.

His expression turned positively evil.

The Potion’s Master stalked away from them, Hermione and Draco baffled over what had overcome their godfather. The man stalked into on the of the back rooms and a moment later he returned, wearing a completely different set. Unlike his crisply pressed teaching robes, these new robes were layered in plates of stiff leather similar to protective gear under Harry’s Quidditch robes. Somehow Harry didn’t think the man was going to go play Quidditch.

“The three of you return to your common rooms until lunch.,” he commanded, and then disappeared again.

“What’s happening?” Harry asked, looking to the two siblings. They were sharing a worried, although hopeful look. Then Draco actually smirked.

“I think our godfather’s gone to straighten out McNair, personally.”

“Oh, no, this is bad. He could get fired for this!” she said, beginning to pace. “Lestrange will use this as an excuse to sack him for sure!”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Draco said, still smirking. “There’s no way she can fire Severus with out You-Know-Who’s go ahead, and there’s no way he’ll side against Severus over McNair. He’s been on the outs with the Dark Lord since he started questioning his muggleborn policies. Father says its only a matter of time before McNair’s given to the werewolves, and Greyback will kill him for sure. They’ve been trying to kill each other for decades.”

“That’s all well and good, Draco, but Voldemort’s not here. He’s organizing some new project down in Bristol.”

Draco just shrugged, unconcerned.

Harry placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Snape’s a Slytherin. He wouldn’t do something rash. I bet he’s come up with at least half a dozen ways to blame the whole thing on Lestrange, McNair, or me.”

She smiled a little at that, but soon went back to fretting.

McNair and Snape were absent from lunch. So were many of the first year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs who took DA&D first period, and the second year Slytherins and Gryffindors. Those third year students who had the already infamous class reported it as extremely boring, as they’d been forced to read their books through the entire period while their teacher sat glowering at everything from his desk.

“What do you think Snape did to him?” Harry wondered out loud. “Do you think it’s Imperius?”

Hermione shook her head. “Who knows? Regardless, this can’t go on forever. We won’t learn anything.”

“At least we’ll still be alive. Besides, Snape’s starting that Dueling Club, remember? I bet we’ll learn lots of stuff… lots of painful, humiliating fun will be had by all… all Slytherins at least. Cheer up.”

He went on to distract her with absurd speculations about their other classes. Would McGonagall teach them how to transfigure people into furniture? Would Toure make them read Merlin’s chronicles… all two thousand pages of it? Could Snape brew a potion that let him go without sleeping for a week? It wasn’t long before she was pointing out the implausibility of such things and then going to full out lecture mode. The more she talked the less she worried and the less depressed she seemed. It was what Harry wanted; for Hermione to realize that, despite McNair’s hurtful words and her own moment of ignorance, she was smart and competent and a good witch.

He was even willing to sit through her endless monologues to achieve that.

“Excuse me.”

They both turned to see Tom standing behind them, a book in one hand.

“I apologize for the interruption, but I was wondering if I might borrow Potter for a moment?”

“Oh, of course,” Hermione said, and turning back to her friend she smiled, “Thanks Harry. I needed that.”

He blushed, knowing she’d seen right through him. Escaping to the corridor just outside the Great Hall, he and Tom found a place to speak in relative privacy. Harry had to admit he was surprised the Slytherin had sought him out. Even though Slytherins tended to overlook him being a Gryffindor (except during Quidditch matches of course), they rarely overlooked that he was still a kid. Aside from Morgenson and Whitehall’s attempted murder, few of the older students wanted anything to do with him, and was Tom already becoming so popular he had assumed he would follow that trend. After all, what could he possibly have in common with a muggle-raised Gryffindor three years his junior?

“I heard some of the second years talking about your Dark Arts class this morning,” Tom said, “They said he took a lot of points from the other Gryffindors, but only assigned you an essay.”

Harry frowned.

“Yeah, a two foot essay due on Wednesday.”

“Do you know why he did that?” It didn’t sound like a question, but an expectation. Harry wasn’t sure what he wanted, so he just shook his head.

“Students receive a tally in their school records for the number of points earned and lost and from what classes. He didn’t deduct points because he knows you have the Dark Lord’s favor, and if he deducts too many points than he will be seen as tormenting you. Essays won’t go into your record and he can assign as many of those as he wants, tormenting you that way.”

Harry hadn’t thought of that. It actually seemed pretty absurd. Why would the Dark Lord be interested in his student file? Of course, logically, the man shouldn’t have any interest in him at all. Damn parselmouth ability. Damn Nagini.

He sighed.

“It doesn’t matter. House points or essays or detentions, the man is a sadist and he’ll find a way to torment me along with everyone else.”

“You could always tell the Dark Lord,” Tom pointed out.

“No way. I’m not going to go running to the dictator of Wizarding Britain every time someone is mean to me. Half the school will be dead by the end of term. I can handle this on my own.”

The elder boy smirked and handed him a book.

“This is from my personal library. I book marked the section on the Phobia Curse. It should help you on your essay.”

“Oh, thank you, but… Isn’t it valuable? It looks really old.”

“Don’t worry, I have plenty of protection and preservation spells on it. It was just sitting in my trunk getting dusty anyway.”

Harry ran his fingers over the aged leather binding, feeling and smelling the age of it. It was well over three hundred years old. He looked up to find Tom smiling at him with some amusement, and he was struck with this intense feeling of deja vu. He had seen that exact expression somewhere before, and though he couldn’t remember where exactly he knew it hadn’t been from someone he trusted.

“Tom, why are you being so nice to me? I don’t have anything against Slytherins in particular, but I know their relationships outside of family are always more practical than friendly.”

Tom blink, then smiled sheepishly. It was cute, and Harry knew it was fake, but couldn’t help but be charmed nonetheless.

“You’re right, Harry, I am very much a Slytherin. I do not befriend just anyone, and having said that I think you should understand that you are not just anyone. You have a destiny. I have one too. When our fates intertwine, and they inevitably will, I would not have it be as enemies. I rather like you after all.”

With that, Tom gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and wandered back to the Great Hall. Harry stood in the corridor, staring dumbly at the door. He looked down at the book, opening it to the marked page. Sure enough there was six pages worth of material on the Phobia Curse. More than enough to complete his essay. He shook his head and smiled.

“Slytherins.”

That evening, Severus was just freshening up for dinner in his private quarters when Bellatrix showed up at his door. The tone of the wards she set off suggested she was irritated. He took his time answering the door, noting with some amusement that the longer he delayed the more beautifully the flutish sound became.

He finally allowed her entrance, and she stormed in. She was ready to rage at him and threaten him and tell him he was fired, but the tea set placed on the coffee table made her pause. There were two cups set out.

She gave her rival an assessing glare, but he ignored her in favor of making himself comfortable in one of the sitting chairs.

“Would you like some tea, Bella? It’s almost as black as your heart, just how you like it,” he offered. She sneered, but took a seat across from him. For all her anger at him, she had not come here to cross wands, and when it came to wit he would always outmatch her. The pretense of civility was necessary for the games they played.

“No thank you, Severus. I do not intend to stay long. I trust you know why I am here?”

“I imagine it has something to do with McNair’s brief stint through the hospital wing. How’s his kidney, by the way? I admit I got carried away with that particular curse.”

“Still turned to stone last I checked. That silly medi-witch is such a fool when it comes to such curses. He managed to finish the school day, though he wasn’t much use to the students.”

“Madam, his deficits as a teacher ensured that before I ever sent a curse at him. Are you aware of his curriculum?”

“Of course, I am. I reviewed his syllabus myself. It was perhaps a little ambitious, but after Quirrel I thought that would be a welcome change of pace. Why, Severus? Have our little darlings come whining to you about their big mean teacher? How dare he make them think?! How dare he make them work?!”

“How dare he send them on to my class incapable of brewing a simple potion without vomiting? Either you’re as inept at judging suitable class subjects as you are teachers or the old ghoul lied to you. Regardless, once again you’ve left me to handle your mess.”

Bellatrix stared at him, stunned. Never before had he dared to talk to her in such a blatantly disrespectful manner. Not since she’d become headmistress at least.

“Why you impudent little grease spot. I should have you flogged and thrown into the moat,” she hissed. Severus lifted an amused brow.

“No doubt you’ll join me there shortly after. Oh, Bella, I don’t know what McNair gave you or what he promised or what he has on you, but you never should have let him into the school. After all your mistakes with Potter last year, our Lord already sees you as a fool and now in your incompetence you hire a man not only unsuited to the position, but also in disfavor.”

“McNair was a loyal and dedicated warrior during the war-”

Severus knew he had just won the battle. The moment she had gone on the defense, she had lost perspective on hismistakes. He could easily have been reported and punished for attacking McNair, even temporarily suspended from the school with Voldemort’s approval. The Dark Lord may hate McNair, but he deplored lack of self control even more. And that was what had happened with Severus.

He had seen in Potter’s mind the emotional violation of his goddaughter and then the unforgivable mutilation of knowledge. The disgusting neophyte introduced the Dark Arts as some sort of torture device, required only for the suffering and pain it inflicted. He neglected totally the discipline, the medical benefits, the protection, and the beauty of the material. If the man continued to infect the students with his notion of the subject they would grow up with a deep spiritual aversion to or twisted concept of it.

And in his anger and indignation, he had adorned his battle robes, unused since the war and had gone to teach him what a man with the true understanding of Dark Arts could do. He had succeeded too. McNair had sworn, under the extreme throws of pain and the promise of worse, to change his teaching technique and he would not so much as glare at his goddaughter again.

He held little hope for the class, but that was why he was holding Dueling Club. Listed as a club, be could not force the students to attend and being who he was he knew he could not compel them with his personality either. But if he could gather enough of them, endue them with the knowledge and appreciation that McNair never could, there would still be some hope for the future of the art at and beyond Hogwarts.

“- and he has extensive practical experience-”

“Bella, just stop. I’m more than willing to overlook McNair’s many failings, if in exchange you allow me some leniency in… mentoring him. He’s a new teacher after all. A few mistakes in the beginning is perfectly understandable.”

She wanted to say no. McNair was her responsibility and she wanted to handle the matter as was her right as headmistress, but in doing so she would have to admit her knowledge of his lack of qualifications. That would give weight to Severus’ accusation of bribery and blackmail. If Voldemort learned of Severus’ increased responsibility with both potions, the Dueling club, and the dark arts class, that would count once again in his favor and in her disfavor. But it was the only option. At least if she gave him what he wanted, Severus was in a position to make a mistake and ruin himself. If she had to help him along with one, she wasn’t going to object.

“Fine. Do what you want, but be discreet. I will not have the students believing their teachers are not united, and attempting to play them against each other. Who told you about McNair in the first place?”

“Someone I know that has experience with discretion. You needn’t know their name. Cheers.”

He relaxed back into his chair, taking a sip of his tea to hide his smile as Bellatrix stormed out of his quarters. He would have to be extra careful from now on, he knew. He was in open war with the headmistress, and though he knew himself her superior in wit and planning, she had the benefit of power and position and popularity. She would try something before the year was through.

There was a familiar and thrilling sense of danger lingering about.

Someone might very well die.

It made him nostalgic.

The Duel

Wednesday came too soon it seemed. Though none of the other classes spoke of anything more horrifying than some snappish reprimands by McNair and eye strain from reading for too long, Harry and his friends had been promised a practical. Given the curses they’d been studying there was no way the day was going to end well.

“Hurry up and sit down, all of ya ninnies,” Professor McNair growled as everyone started crowding in. His beady eyes lingered on Harry and Hermione as they walked in and followed them to their seats. Once everyone was seated and waiting in a tense quiet for the horror to begin, McNair spoke again. “Potter, do you have that essay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And did you understand the material?”

“I think so, sir.”

“You think so? Why don’t you know so?”

Harry hesitated. “It wasn’t something I could practice.”

“Not practice? Of course you can practice. This is a wizarding school, you don’t learn nothing worth knowing without trying it out. Get up here.”

Reluctantly, Harry stood and moved to the front of the class. McNair sneered down at him and then turned back towards the class.

“I’ll award ten points to whomever volunteers, regardless of how well the curse is performed.”

No one moved.

“Come on, then, fifteen points,” McNair said. “Either someone volunteers or I pick someone and they don’t get any points.”

Hermione shifted in her seat. Draco saw her and stood.

“I’ll do it. It’s a pretty pathetic curse, as such things go,” he said, smirking arrogantly at the rest of the class.

“Good lad, Malfoy. Fifteen points to Slytherin. Stand in front of the door. Now, Potter, show us what you learned.”

Harry looked at Draco, asking permission with his eyes. The blond boy’s arrogant expression didn’t falter, but as Harry raised his wand he did tense. It was enough for Harry.

“I’m sorry, Professor, I can’t seem to remember the wand movement.”

McNair smiled nastily, and Harry knew he was in for it now. His only consolation was that what ever happened to him wasn’t going to hurt Gryffindor. Tom had already explained that the foul man wouldn’t have house points from him (at least not a significant amount at once). For someone with only a vague sense of loyalty to his own House, this was a very small comfort.

“I’ll demonstrate it to you, Potter. Via phobius!”

Harry tensed, but nothing seemed to happen. Nothing jumped out at him. There were not creepy-crawlies or monsters stalkinging towards him. He wondered if the man had been playing a trick on him or even managed to fail his own spell. He turned a questioning glance towards Hermione.

She was gone.

Confused, he searched the room. She was not there. And neither were the others.

Natalie and Clyde were no where to be seen. He turned to the door, but Draco was gone too. The class was now dappled with empty seats where once his friends had sat. They were gone and all that was left was room of full of cold stares and malicious delight.

He was alone.

Again.

His breathing became rapid. He searched the tables where he’d seen them last, looking for evidence of their existence, but their bags and their books and pens were all gone. Or perhaps they’d never been there? Had he made them up? Had they all been the dream of a lonely mind?

“He asked you a question,” McNair said, his voice mocking. His presence brought Harry back to the solidity of the moment.

“Who?”

“Malfoy, you clod. Pay attention when someone is speaking to you!”

The moment was solid, and McNair’s mockery had inadvertently made the past solid as well. Malfoy existed. Everyone else had to have existed as well. This was only a curse. A pathetic curse. Isn’t that what Draco had said? Speaking of what Draco had said-

“Phobius nostica!”

Before his eyes, his friends reappeared, staring anxiously at him. He wondered what he looked like to them. His breath still wasn’t quite normal and his hands felt clammy. A chill lingered in his arms and spine. He wonder if this was what it felt like to stand before a dementor.

“Good to see you remembered something, Potter.”

And McNair seemed pretty disgruntled over that.

He was still a bit disconcerted, so Draco grabbing him firmly by the arm and totting him back towards his chair was more helpful than annoying at the moment.

“Bloody hell, what did you see? Most people freak out like Weasley. You just stood there like your soul had been sucked out of you.”

Again Harry was reminded of dementors. Perhaps that’s what he should say he saw. The truth… the truth was not his friend in this room. From the corner of his eye he could make out their grungy professor glowering at him. He tilted his head a bit so the man could see his mouth moving, even if he couldn’t hear his words.

“Snakes.”

Draco gave him a disbelieving look. Then rolled his eyes.

“So that’s why you’re not really in Slytherin,” he muttered. “God, that’s just pathetic.”

After that, the class became exceptionally boring and no one could have been happier (except perhaps McNair). They spent the rest of the class reading out of their books. They were expected to write a twelve foot mid term paper on some aspect of the Dark Arts and their first proposal was due Friday. Hermione managed to spark a bit of her old enthusiasm and was already writing down ideas. Still feeling a bit depressed from the curse, Harry flipped through the pages and stared at the pictures (considerably less graphic than McNair’s private collection).

After class, Draco gave him a chocolate frog.

“What? No flowers?”

“Stuff it, Potter. It will help with the curse’s after affects. A sulky Gryffindor is almost as bad as a lovesick Hufflepuff.”

It did help. Draco’s solid punch to his arm, a powerful (albeit painful) proof of his existence, helped more. Hermione watched the exchange closely, but let him finish his chocolate in peace.

No one got sick in potions, although Nott spilled his hair growth potion on Crabbe and made his feet look like an angora rabbits. They were once again reminded they still had a class to make up that Saturday morning as well as a potion’s essay. So groaning and muttering, they made their way up to lunch. Snape caught his attention on the way out, interrogating him with his dark eyes alone. Harry avoided his gaze, shrugged and walked off. Let the man interpret that as he would. He wasn’t going to let him stalk around his head like it was his classroom.

He might have been safely out of Snape’s reach, but Hermione was a different matter. As soon as her brother and their class mates were ahead of them, she pulled him quietly into an empty classroom and cast a silencing charm on the door.

She held him with a dark look and demanded, “Spill it.”

Harry just blinked at her stupidly.

“The truth, Harry. For once, just tell me the truth.”

“Um… I don’t…”

“Stop. You’ve been keeping secrets since we’ve known each other. I can tell, you know. You get this flippant attitude whenever you’re lying.”

Oops. He dropped his gaze. He had many, many secrets. As time passed he had collected more and more, an ever growing collection. There was no doubt in his mind that it would only continue to grow.

He wanted to tell her so many of them. But she had said it herself:

“‘For both our sakes, be careful what you say.’”

Now Hermione was caught off guard. “What?”

“Don’t you remember? On my eleventh birthday, when I carelessly said things you told me that.”

“I… yes, I remember.”

He looked her squarely in the eye.

“Every lie I ever told you was to protect you. I swear.”

She was quiet for a moment.

“Even about what you saw today?”

“Oh, that. I didn’t lie to you, I lied to Draco. A completely different matter, altogether.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I figured. So what did you really see?”

“…Do I really have to tell you that? I mean… it’s kind of personal.”

“Well, it felt kind of personal when you kept looking at me during that spell as if I had somehow betrayed you.”

“What? No, no that wasn’t what I saw. I’ve never even considered that you’d betray me.”

“Then what was it, Harry? Please, tell me. I don’t ever want to see that look on your face again.”

“… You were gone.”

She looked confused.

“You had disappeared. Well, not just you. Clyde. Natalie. Draco. You all just vanished as if you’d never been there. For a moment, I thought you really hadn’t ever existed. I thought I was alone again.”

He’d been looking at his shoes as he explained, feeling so stupid but unwilling to give her yet another lie. Her arms were around him suddenly, hugging him tightly.

“I keep forgetting,” she said softly. “You’re always so brave, I keep forgetting how a like we are.”

His eyes felt suddenly wet, so before he made a total girl of himself he pulled away from her. He shuffled around a bit, mentally searching for something to distract them both from his sudden vulnerability.

“There’s something else. Something I’ve never willing told anyone.”

“Is this about your kidnaping?” she asked, her look knowing. “If it is, I know that you were threatened to keep silent about the truth.”

“What? How did you-?”

“Well, aside from being entirely too flippant about being kidnaped and probably beaten, there were some inconsistencies with your story.”

“Inconsistencies? All I ever said was ‘I don’t know, I was confunded’ or ‘It’s still under investigation’. Where did you find inconsistencies in that?”

“Well the first clue didn’t come from you, but from my godfather. I heard from some Hufflepuffs that he stormed out of class for seemingly no reason and then didn’t return until the next period. What could have possibly sent him off in such a hurry that day except for your return? And then, if you’d been found the night before and scheduled to return like you said later, why was he acting as if you’d come so unexpectedly? Why didn’t he tell Draco or me about you being found before?’

“The next clues came when we spoke before the rest of the school knew you were back. You told me that Madam Pomfrey had given you a very thorough check-up already, but then told the reporters that you’d been taken to St. Mungo’s just before being brought back to Hogwarts. Why would you have gone to Madam Pomfrey if you’d already been to St. Mungo’s? For that matter, if you had been to either Madam Pomfrey or St. Mungo’s, why would you have a bruise around your neck when we spoke to you?”

“What bruise? I didn’t have-”

Oh. Voldemort had grabbed his neck after he’d tried to get the dark wizard to stop torturing Whitehall and Morgenson. He hadn’t even thought about. It probably wouldn’t even have shown up until after he’d left the office so no one else had thought to hide it. His shirt collar would have covered it most of the time, except of course during study hall when he loosened his tie to get more comfortable. A study hall where he sat directly across from the most observant girl in the school.

“I figured something happened and Lestrange or Voldemort didn’t want any one to know the truth so they came up with that little fairy tale and threatened you to keep quiet.”

Harry let out a huff.

“Yes, you’re right about all of that. And I still can’t tell you what really happened. If Voldemort didn’t kill you, Snape would kill me. I’m rather fond of the both of us, so I hope you don’t mind?”

She made a dismissive gesture.

“Good, because that wasn’t the secret I was talking about. I’m a parselmouth.”

Hermione snapped her third quill that day. Beside her, Harry glanced cautiously in her direction. She ignored him in favor of looking for another quill. If she had looked at him, he might have spontaneously combusted.

Never had she been so angry with him.

This said quite a bit about how angry she was, for despite her usual calm reserve she was angry with him a lot. He was brave and kind and she loved him like a second brother, but he was also secretive, stubbornly proud, and short tempered. She had many of the same short comings, so bickering wasn’t uncommon. They had their fair share of spats, and even more arguments left unsaid. Affection and friendship endured through a mutual understanding of their pasts, a deep love of magic, and an implicit trust of the other.

But he hadn’t trusted her.

For over a year he had been keeping this incredible secret, one that so easily could have been shared and explored together. Why? She still didn’t understand. He hadn’t been able to explain. He seemed ashamed some how. Was it because he had lied to her, even if it was merely a lie of omission?

Or perhaps he thought she would feel ashamed?

Did he think that because he had this prestigious talent that she wouldn’t think herself good enough to hang out with him?

Alright, that sounded a bit convoluted, even to her. The chances were she was angry at him for entirely the wrong reasons. It was his secret, and it was not imperative that she know it immediately. One day or one year, he had still told her when he didn’t have to.

She tried to tell herself to just let it drop. He hadn’t really done anything wrong.

She made a cursory glance at her lying friend, muttering under his breath the charm of the day and wondered if that wasn’t a little bit of hissing she heard…

Hermione snapped her fourth quill that day.

Tom discretely cast his gaze across the Great Hall to the Gryffindor table. He found Harry almost immediately, and was pleased to note that the earlier gossip seemed accurate. Harry was still fighting with Granger. The boy was sulking over lunch, while the girl resolutely ignored him and everyone else.

That was good.

Let her withdraw from Harry on her own, and perhaps he wouldn’t have to do anything too… drastic. Once she left him, her brother and his friends would soon follow suit. Harry should never have been associating with such filth to begin with. Malfoy was tolerable, but his weakness for his mudblooded sister and friends made him unsuitable company. No, the only company Harry would require was his. Without the others, the boy would inevitably turn to him- they always did, after all- and he would guide him to more appropriate company and activities..

Voldemort had been right. He was the only one who could be entrusted to safe guard the school, and protect the child who had become his ‘mother’. He knew so little about Harry, but he knew he was destined for great things. There was just something about him. A mysterious intensity to the way he lived. A resolve directed at the world he only half understood. It was everything that had been absent in what he knew of Merope, that stupid weak cow who had sullied him since his conception with her love of a disgusting muggle.

He hadn’t lied to his counterpart. He felt both deep affection and gratitude towards Harry. The child, though of mixed origins, was pure in the way of magic, allowing for Tom’s own rebirth to be what it never was with Europa.

Beautiful.

Joyous.

Blessed.

So he would protect Harry. He would make him great. He would love him as best he knew how, like any grateful son should. And if those around the child had to suffer to make it so, well… no one could say he had any aversion to the suffering of others.

By Thursday, Hermione was actually looking at him. This was an improvement from Wednesday, when she not. Harry took it as a sign that she was coming around, but he did wish she would come around a bit faster. Draco kept giving him the evil eye and Natalie was teasing them both horribly. Clyde didn’t seem to notice, but he had developed a sudden crush on Catherine Wicket, a new first year Hufflepuff, and wasn’t noticing much of anything.

When it was finally time to attend Snape’s Dueling Club, he felt like he was going to battle without a single ally in sight.

The Dueling Club was held in a large chamber that took up a quarter of the third floor of the Western wing. There were windows on either side, and most of the place was illuminated with natural afternoon light. One end of the chamber was taken up by a large ‘I’ shaped platform from which individual duels and demonstrations would be held. The other end on the west side held a series of human shaped dummies, standing straight and ready for hexes and curses. The east side was covered in mats, some were shaped like the ‘I’ platform, but mostly a wide range of sizes and shapes.

By the dueling platform, Professor Snape stood waiting for all the perspective students to arrive. His dark robes closely resembled the set Harry had seen the man wear just before he’d gone to face McNair, but there was less armoring and the leather looked less stiff. Still, he made for an intimidating sight. If everyone else weren’t similarly dressed as Harry, the young Gryffindor would have thought himself rather silly looking in comparison.

There were not many students. This was the junior Dueling Club so only first through fourth years attended on Thursday, but with only thirty members out of more than two hundred and fifty students it clearly wasn’t going to be the most popular place to be after classes. Almost half the members were Slytherins, another quarter being Ravenclaws, and the rest were Hufflepuffs and Harry, Hermione, a very reluctant looking Clyde, and Ginny who was looking as if she expected to be thrown out at any moment.

Swell.

Snape didn’t look pleased with the turnout, but neither did he look surprised. He didn’t bother waiting past the appointed meeting time for stragglers.

“Welcome to Dueling Club, ladies and gentlemen. Let me take a moment to applaud your decision to supplement your education. You will find in due time that is was a wise and lucrative choice.”

Harry assumed Snape was addressing his Slytherins when he said this, possibly Hermione too, and didn’t put much weight in the wizard’s assurance. But he wouldn’t quit. Not yet anyway. Snape was offering something he had been unable to find in the apathetic Quirrel, and perhaps too much of in McNair.

He offered power.

Now Harry never thought of himself as power-hungry person. He was more than content to live his life without lording over others, but at the same time he could not tolerate the idea of anyone lording over him. And too many people were deciding his actions against his will. Voldemort. Snape. McNair. WYRA. Whitehall and Morgenson. There were others, less dangerous at the moment or perhaps not yet introduced, that would attempt to hurt him or manipulate him.

He would never be able to defeat them all. He would likely bend long before he broke. Or perhaps he would just die. However, the more powerful he became the fewer there would be who could hurt or control him, and the less twisted he would become.

He hoped so anyway.

His parents hadn’t held much respect for power. Having survived a war with one of the most powerful wizards in the world, Harry supposed they had good reasons for this.

“I will not only be supplementing your knowledge of DA&D, but will also provide you with basic medical skills to assist you or your comrades after an attack. These skills will likely prove more value than any hex or curse, as they are applicable to both peaceful and dangerous situations.”

From there, Snape when on to outline what exactly they would be doing. It was a lot more than Harry had counted on. It turned out hexing and cursing made up only about half of what they would actually be practicing. There would be the medical training Snape mention, but also basic training with traditional styles of weaponry (a sort of pre-fencing club since you had to be at least a fourth year to join), basic occlumency (although not legilimency), form and decorum, and equipment design and maintenance. Then Snape lead them around the training area, pointing out the purposes of oddly shaped mats, the dummies, and the large storage closet they hadn’t noticed. He laid down safety procedures, the consequences of ignoring these procedures, rules, responsibilities, and chores.

Then things started to get fun. He had them each pick out a dummy and inscribe their names on it. He introduced a set of spells to protect the dummy, to strengthen it, to keep others from touching it, and to repair the slight damages it would accumulate over repeated use. They would each be held responsible for the care of their own dummy, and if it was damaged because of neglect they would have to make a new one from scratch to replace it. Harry named his Rolf.

Then they were marched to the supply closet where they set about putting together their dueling uniforms. They all came in a range of styles and colors and sizes, and they all had a heck of a time figuring out what would fit, what one was willing to wear (Draco was the perfect fit for canary yellow padding but traded it for a slightly oversized dark blue to go with his dark grey leather armor), and how to put it all on.

Harry got through it with beige padding and dark brown armor, and considered himself lucky. Hermione in a black and red checkered padding and black armor, looking rather devilish. Ron was stuck in the yellow padding with white armor and looked completely absurd. Ginny, being the smallest one there, was stuck with the pink armor and white padding. She looked about as threatening as the Easter bunny.

“You may, and likely will, purchase or create your own dueling robes, but you must have them approved by me first. Shoddy workmanship will cost you more than a split seam here.”

Harry thought immediately of his arm guards in his trunk. They were softer, stronger, and a better fit than the ones he had on and had the added bonus of a wand holder. Could he perhaps convince his godfather to make him a complete set of armor?

There were some additional instructions on the care of their armor and more spells for their upkeep. By the time they were done with the orientation almost two hours had passed.

“That will be all for today,” Snape said finally, “Place your armor on your dummies before you go and cast a cleaning charm on them. Next Thursday, I will introduce you to dueling etiquette, basic dueling form, and some common disarming spells. I expect you all to be dressed and ready before we begin. Dismissed.”

As they did as they were instructed, all of them chatted excitedly. Even the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs who had only reluctantly decided to accept more of Snape in their lives were delightfully surprised. The man hadn’t snapped or insulted them once, and seemed genuinely interested in them learning what he was teaching.

“I’m so glad I decided to come,” Ginny said, placing her robes on her dummy beside Harry and ‘Rolf’. “Everyone was saying Snape would be just like he was in potions and we’d only be learning those awful things Professor McNair teaches, but it’s really different, isn’t it? Professor Snape wasn’t that bad at all.”

Harry grinned. “If that was all that you heard about it, then why did you come? It wasn’t exactly a rousing endorsement.”

She blushed and floundered a bit for a reply.

“Oh, just… well, you know… all my brothers are joining, I didn’t want to be the only one who chickened out.”

“Well, I’m glad you came. We’ll need as many Gryffindors as we can get to keep the Slytherins in line. I’m told they were insufferably arrogant before they started losing Quidditch matches. I can’t imagine this will be any different.”

Next Thursday, Hermione was talking to him again, albeit in monosyllables. Of course, by that point Harry was irritated enough with her not to care. So he hadn’t told her all his secrets. They were his secrets, after all. He doubted she told him everything about herself either.

They went through the usual motions of their friendship, keeping each other company during classes and study periods, but their usual warmth was cooled and people noticed. There were suddenly a lot more boys flirting with Hermione. If Harry weren’t so irritated with her, he might have noticed a lot more girls (and quite a few boys) were flirting with him as well. He was snappish with anyone who pointed this out to him and scared more than a few students with sudden outburst of German swear words.

He wanted nothing more than to vent his frustrations in a letter to Sirius and Remus, but the realization that he hadn’t told them he was a parselmouth made that impossible. He wasn’t quite ready to tell them that their best friend’s son was anything less than the model Gryffindor his father had been. There was no way he could withstand their rejection like he did Hermione’s. He knew her well enough to know she’d get over it eventually, after all.

After the final class of the day, he dropped off his school things and went to the Dueling Hall with the hope that he would be able to vent his frustrations there. Snape was there alone, vanishing dummies. There were more than there had been last week and some of the extra were clothed in armor, and Harry realized they must have been for the Varsity Dueling Club. Harry counted twenty two and wondered which ones were George and Fred’s.

Snape glanced over at him.

“If you’re expecting extra points for being early, I’m pleased to disappoint you. As this is a club and an extracurricular activity, you will not receive any additional points unless it’s in a competition.”

“And will there be competitions?” Harry asked curiously. He doubted he would do as well in Dueling as he did in Quidditch, but it was worth a shot.

“Maybe,” Snape said dismissively, “Why are you here, Potter? We don’t start for another half an hour.”

“I have no where better to be.”

“How flattering.”

“Hermione’s mad at me.”

He didn’t know why he said it. Snape was not someone he should be laying out his problems to. The man was involved with at least half his problems to begin with. But, perhaps that’s why he could say it, for as much as he disliked the older man, he knew almost all his secrets.

Snape snorted. “If she were mad at you, your hair would be falling out and your toenails would have grown through your shoes. Miss Cypher can attest. Likely, she’s just irritated.”

“Well, she’s been irritated for over a week.”

“She might just be menstruating. She should be about the right age for that to start.”

Harry gave him the most horrified look. He never ever wanted to think about his best friend in those terms. Emphasis on ‘NEVER’.

“So what perceived slight have you committed to irritate her?”

More than happy to move on to a subject that didn’t point out to him that his best friend was one hundred percent female, he told the truth.

“I told her I was a parselmouth.”

“Told her, or she figured it out and you confessed?”

“I told her. I could have said nothing at all, but…”

Snape snorted. “You dug your own hole, you can lay in it.”

Typical.

He started to change into his dueling uniform. Snape continued to dismiss the unclothed dummies.

“What if someone else wants to join today?” Harry asked, quickly bored of the silence.

“Then they’re out of luck. I will not repeat last Thursday’s orientation every time some bored little fool wanders in. They all had their chance and they let it slip by. I will not reward their laziness and cowardice by allowing them to join late and thus hold up the rest of the members. They’ll have to wait until next semester.”

“That’s harsh.”

“You should be pleased, Potter. You and your friends have a distinct advantage now. By next semester all of you will far surpass them in knowledge and skill, and it will take them years to catch up if they ever do. You will be among the elite.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m not an elitist.”

“And yet, it is amongst the elite that you find your company,” Snape said, smirking wickedly. Harry wanted to refute that statement, but couldn’t. It was true after all. It might not have been intentional, but somehow he had ended up among the creme de la cremeof Wizarding Britian. Hogwarts, the finest wizarding school in Britain. Hermione and Draco, children of the Dark Lord’s right hand man. And Voldemort himself, peeking over his should and into his head whenever the opportunity arose.

Ugh.

He was spared attempting to find a paltry defense by the arrival of some club members. He finished getting ready, and started chatting with some of the others until Hermione, Draco, and his Slytherin cohorts finally arrived. She favored Harry with an irritated look, and he gave her with one of his own.

Practice started and Snape began by having Draco, who had attended a few dueling tournaments, climb onto the platform and to help demonstrate proper form and etiquette. The rituals were stylized, but Snape explained their very pragmatic origins.

A duelist kept their wandless hand behind their back at all times, unless to catch their balance. Originally, the free hand was tied there to keep a wizard from using an alternative weapon, an extra wand, or even wandless magic.

You saluted, only bowed slightly, and turned your body sideways before facing your opponent, careful to minimize the area of exposure and maintain eye contact for an incoming attack.

The victor never aided the defeated in standing after a match, and always allowed them to walk or be carried off by their second. The second was not allowed to carry a wand onto the platform. Deceit and vengeance were prevented in this manner.

“Many of these rules were re-introduced after the overthrow of the Ministry,” Snape informed them, pacing the length of the platform and watching his students eyes follow him raptly. It had been years since he held such sway over his students. Potions was a delicate and subtle art, unsuited to most wizards until they’d reached the patience and maturity of their thirties and to have to teach it to children with the attention spans of a poodle was beyond frustrating. But here was something that could penetrate their thick skulls. Something they could comprehend and thus strive for with the enthusiasm few would ever have for potions.

Violence.

Ritualistic and socially excepted, but violence none the less.

“Before that, dueling as a sport had been declining in both dignity and honesty for almost fifty years. Hundreds of spells had been banned, year after year, until finally they allowed only a selected list of about a hundred, quelling creativity and study in favor of pandering to the whining of the ungifted masses who were too stupid, too weak, or too uneducated to strive for more than the most common of hexes. Safety rules were added. Then more rules. Every year, every tournament, every match there would be a new rule added until the only way to win was to blame your opponent for some sort of rule violation. The sport went into decline. The true enthusiast went underground, and the honor and prestige of a thousand year old tradition became little more than plebeian death matches in the slums of Knockturn Alley.”

He paused for dramatic effect, watching as even the jaded Potter boy leaned forward just a little to catch his next words.

“The practice has undergone a recent revival, but it is still severely lacking in numbers and experienced duelists. It is my hope that when you graduate Hogwarts you will continue with it outside these walls, and bring a new standard of quality magic and creativity to every match in which you participate.”

There was applause. Snape scowled as his student’s attentions were suddenly diverted away from him and to the two interlopers standing at the door. Headmistress Lestrange and Professor McNair stood side by said, clapping their hands in open mockery.

“Bravo,” Lestrange said, “A rousing speech. I felt so moved.”

“Aye, it was that,” McNair agreed. “I don’t think I’ve felt so moved. Makes me long for a good match. It’s been years.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” Snape said pointedly, the reminder making McNair hesitate, if only for a moment.

“Ah, but it does stir the blood. Come now, Professor, why don’t we introduce them to real dueling, eh?”

The potion’s master lifted a regal brow. Certainly, McNair wasn’t suggesting they duel in front of all these students? Snape would not lose, they both knew it, unless McNair cheated and that wouldn’t gain them anything.

“Come on. Bring up a bonnie lad or lass for a demonstration. They’ll get a kick out of it.”

Snape could not help but reveal a little of his surprise. So this was what Lestrange intended. If something happened here, with these children under his supervision, there would be little mercy shown to him. Especially if the something that happened involved-

“Potter, why don’t you come up? You’ve shown some skills in my class.”

Harry blinked stupidly at McNair for a moment, before turning his questioning eyes to Snape. Snape hated it. There was an implicit statement of trust in the gesture. A blind, unconscious belief that the potion’s master would not intentionally allow harm to befall him.

But he could not protect the boy… not unless there was a serious threat of permanent injury or death. He’d sworn that he would show no dissension between him and McNair, and blatantly refusing him before their students and the headmistress would break that oath. Promises meant little to him, but treaties were another matter altogether. Break a promise and you lose trust. Break a treaty and you could lose a great deal more.

“I have not yet begun teaching them counter curses-”

“Don’t worry so much, Profess’r,” McNair said, climbing onto the stage. “He’s learned some from last year, no doubt, and I’ve taught a few myself. I won’t use anything too nasty. I promise.”

Snape glared daggers at the man, before stalking off the platform.

“Potter, get up there.”

Anxious whispering broke out among the students, but it quickly fell silent as Harry steeled himself and moved forward. This was bad, he knew. Voldemort was not in the castle to protect him. Chances were, no matter how badly injured he was, he would be healed by Madam Pomfrey and returned to classes long before the Dark Lord returned.

Fear made his hands shake. Pride made his feet move forward. Anger kept his gaze on McNair. The wizard leered at him, lifting his wand. Harry shifted his stance and raised his wand in salute. McNair jerked up his wand.

“Res-”

“It’s customary to salute a wizard before attacking them, Professor,” Snape interrupted, throwing the other man off completely. McNair glowered down at the man, but raise his wand for the required salute.

“Expeliarmus!”

The disarming spell knocked McNair clean off his feet and very nearly off the platform.

“Potter!” snapped Lestrange.

Harry smiled, hoping it looked apologetic at least. “Sorry, Professor, but since I already saluted I thought I was allowed to start.”

Snickers ran through the watching students, and even Snape’s mouth twitched just a bit.

“I haven’t gone through all the rules with them either,” the potion’s master said, maintaining a straight face, even as some of the snickers broke out into full out laughter.

“Resputia vigi!”

Harry managed to dodge most of the spell, but it brushed against his left arm, tearing through leather and flesh like tissue. There was a moment of shock, followed by a splatter of blood on the platform, and soon after came pain.

“Harry!” someone cried.

“FUCK!”

That really hurt.

Snape turned to the Headmistress, “I think that’s enough for-”

“Espitalitus!” Harry shouted, sending the wind hex flying towards his attacker.

Bellatrix smirked. “He looks ready and willing enough.”

“Sagori malicta!”

The unfamiliar curse tore through Harry’s, hitting him directly and tossing him up in the air like a doll. He landed heavily on his already injured arm and felt the wound tear further. He let out a choked scream, curling over his injured appendage instinctively.

Pain and hatred filled him as he turned his burning green eyes to McNair, finding him raising his wand for yet another curse. It was too late for Harry to realize that despite his obvious defeat, he had not released his wand and by the rules of the sport the match had to continue until one of them lost their wand or fell out of bounds of the platform. McNair sent him a malicious grin.

“Serpentortia!”

From the tip of his wand flew an enormous king cobra. Summoned so violently, it immediately reared up before Harry and flared her hood.

“What’s this? What’s this? Ikillyou for treating me this way. HowdareI be treated this way. Queen of the Nile I am, not fuckingconfettito be tossed around. I kill you all!”

Harry stared at the agitated serpent in surprise. He had not spoken to another snake since his trip to Moaning Mytrle’s bathroom last year, and he had forgotten how bad tempered snakes were. She slithered towards him, the one closest to her and thus the likely source of her ill treatment, and made to strike him.

“Wait!” he cried, falling into parseltongue without conscious thought, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you were thrown so carelessly, but I didn’t do it. I would never- I would never disrespect the Queen of the Nile!”

The cobra stopped, she hovered over him a moment as if uncertain.

“Princeling,” she said, finally, “King’s little princeling… sweet tongued child… No, no, little princeling would not treat Inana this way.”

She spun around to face the crowd of students at the platform’s edge, hissing angrily.

“Who is it? Who must Inana kill?”

“There,” Harry hissed, pointing his wand at McNair, staring stunned at them both. “There is the enemy of Inana.”

She was after the man in a flash. At almost eight feet long, she could not only reach him before he could lift his wand, but raise her body up high enough to strike his hand, his face, his neck. In these three places she struck him in lightening succession, before retreating to leave him to his fate. She moved back to Harry. From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Snape lift his wand. He rolled quickly, blocking the serpent from the man’s attack.

“Potter, get out of the way!”

“Don’t! Leave her alone! She didn’t ask to come here!”

“Potter, you’re speaking gibberish! Move out of the way!”

He didn’t move out of the way. Instead, to the surprise and horror of all, he pocketed his wand and pulled her gently towards him. She did not resist, curling around his uninjured arm and around his neck and shoulders.

“It still moves,” she hissed angrily, indicating McNair struggling to shout out yet another curse while his air way began to slowly constrict.

Harry stood, Inana tangled around him and his bloody, useless arm hanging limply by his side. He looked at the man who had done this to him, pointlessly, maliciously and then summoned from her home a creature meant to terrify and poison him. He stalked over to the man, now barely able to breath, let alone talk and kicked him squarely in the face and clean off the platform.

From the floor, Snape made a dramatic, almost satirical gesture towards Harry, but his eyes were fixed firmly on a still stunned Lestrange.

“The winner.”

The Prince’s Gift

Harry awoke in the infirmary. The first thought that came to him was not ‘oh, no, how badly am I hurt?’ but rather ‘oh, bother, not again’. He sat up, and after a few moments of blindly groping for his glasses, took a good look at himself. The arm that had been cut near to the bone yesterday felt perfectly fine, and only a strange scar vaguely resembling a sword marked the existence of the first curse. He felt a wave of anger as look down at it.

How dare that bastard leave such a mark upon his body while carrying the title of teacher? How much worse would McNair have done if he hadn’t bungled it at the end with the snake summoning spell? It some how seemed worse than what Morgenson and Whitehall had attempted the year before. McNair might not have intended murder, but he intended harm with the assumption that his title as teacher would allow him to get away with it.

He hoped he broke the bastard’s nose.

A movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention to the night stand across his bed, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. There, curled rather snugly in a large glass jar was a great big snake, flicking her tongue at him.

“Inana! Are you alright?” he hissed, going over to open her jar. She slithered out of it and into his welcoming arms, curling about his shoulders.

“Why mussst humansss be sssooo unpleasssant? You left me to take a nap, and I’m put in a jar. It’ssssveryrude.”

“I’m sssorry, your majesssty. I’ll will try my bessst to have you sssent home as sssoon asss possssible.”

“You’re welcome to join me, princeling. The other humansss don’t ssseem to treat you any bettersss,” she offered. Harry smiled.

“Perhapsss when I am a bit older I will come to visssit you, my Queen. For now I have to deal with the rude people.”

He set her on the bed as he changed out of his hospital pajamas, and into a fresh set of clothes that had been placed on a chair by his bed. On top of the pile was a note.

Potter,

Find a place for your limbless friend and get to class.

Professor Snape

Harry rolled his eyes. At the end of his bed was a cluster of cards and candy. According to his watch, he was suppose to be having DA&D at the moment, so he took his time perusing his cache. Fred promised him his first born child if he could teach him how to say ‘I promise you my first born child’ in Parseltongue. Draco made serious threats about strangling him for getting sorted into Gryffindor. Natalie said his new language was sexier than French. Ginny wrote that he fought really well against McNair. Hermione told him to get well soon

Harry sighed and silently gave up the hope of a perfectly normal school year.

With Inana comfortably situated in one of Professor Sprout’s greenhouses (a heated one that the teacher had given him permission to use), he had just enough time to slip into potion’s class without his watch setting fire to his robes. The class, which had been chattering away, went silent as he stepped into the door. He paused briefly, a wave of discomfort washing over him under their curious and mistrustful stares.

Oh well, he thought to himself,I expected this.

He found an empty seat beside Clyde.

“Hey.”

To this Clyde merely grunted, glowering at his notebook. Taking the hint, Harry busied himself by studying the potion instructions on the black board. Something bounced off the back of his head. He turned to glower at Seamus Finnigan, who was leering at him. The boy let out a series of hissing sounds.

“So what did I say there, Potter?”

“You said ‘I’m a king of the fairies. I have the pointy shoes to prove it?’,” Harry replied, looking perfectly serious even if his answer was as nonsensical as the boy’s attempt at parseltongue. Seamus flushed as several nearby Slytherins snickered. Draco and Ron weren’t among the amused.

“Geez, Potter, why the hell did you end up in Gryffindor when no one likes you but Slytherins,” the embarrassed boy snapped.

Harry couldn’t come up with a witty reply to that. It was perfectly good question. Hermione hadn’t spoken to him days, Clyde was now following her example, and none of the other second year Gryffindors looked ready to defend him at the moment.

“Shut up, Finnigan. Just because you said something stupid, don’t take it out on Harry.”

Hermione was sneering at Finnigan like he was something distasteful. It was the first time Harry had seen such an expression on her face in almost a year, and it was jarring how scary it looked on her. Lestrange would have even been impressed. Finnigan looked momentarily disconcerted, but he was still angry enough to foolishly keep talking.

“How can you defend him? He’s been lying to us for over a year!”

Hermione sniffed. “He hasn’t done anything of the sort. So what if Harry didn’t tell anyone about it first year? Everyone was just so understanding and friendly with him, I suppose he should be spilling his guts about every little thing? Besides, he told me about it the summer we met, and McGonagal knew too. If our own Head of House didn’t think it was anyone’s business, than obviously it wasn’t. For Merlin’s sake, he’s just a parselmouth. It’s not like he’s suddenly turned into a vampire or something.”

Everyone just stared at her stupidly, Harry being among them.

“That’s… Well, he…it’s a Slytherin trait!” Seamus struggled to find a retort.

“Circumstantial. It’s a blood line trait. Just because the few parselmouths we know about were in Slytherin, doesn’t mean they all were or that such a trait determines their House. In fact, Harry just proved that isn’t the case. And just for the record, I am rather fond of Harry, so keep your presumptuous statements to yourself.”

Finnigan looked too thrown to say much of anything. Clearly, he hadn’t been prepared for his teasing to be turned into a full out debate. He was spared having to respond by Professor Snape stalking in.

“Mr. Potter, how good of you to join us. Since you should be particularly well rested after your nap in the infirmary, you can help me demonstrate the proper way to prepare cattails for boiling. You remember how to do that, I hope? I do recall you spending over two hours on it in your last detention.”

Harry turned a bit pink, but moved to the front to do as instructed while the potion’s master lectured. From the front he could look directly at Hermione, and tried to convey with his eyes alone a sincere ‘thank you’. Hermione nodded in acknowledgment, and after making sure no one was observing her, she gave him a little smirk.

No one in the second year class was talking to Harry except Hermione. This was fine with Harry since the only second year he truly cared about talking to him was Hermione. Oh it definitely stung to be on the outs with his classmates again, more so since Draco and consequently Natalie (who didn’t reallylook upset with him if her wicked smile was anything to go by) were avoiding him as well. Clyde, the only Gryffindor Harry felt was entitled to feel betrayedwasn’t even looking to him. It sadden Harry a bit, but he’d never regarded Clyde as a steadfast friend like Hermione. His willingness to abandon Harry for the crowd last year had not been forgotten.

A multitude of harmless pranks started occurring shortly after his release from the infirmary; garden snakes in his desk, his black school robes being turned green, whispered hisses as he passed groups of students, and a barely avoided hex that gave Percy Weasley a forked tongue for half a day. The Weasley twins had a few pranks of their own, but mostly things even Harry could laugh about. The stuffed snake wrapped around his broom singing ’I may not have armsss, but I can still hug youuu… I may not have wingsss, but I can still flyyyyy… I may not have lipsss, but I can still ssssing’was pretty funny. When the pranks persisted into next week, however, they seemed to take it as a personal affront.

“I’m all for a good prank or two,” George said, “But it’s bad taste to stick to one person for a long time. That’s just bullying. We better set these blighters right, yeah Fred?”

“You are correct, my devilishly handsome brother.”

The pranks had quickly diminished, but the silence and accusatory looks hadn’t. Conversely, those Slytherins that had been rather distrustful and resentful of Harry before had become positively congenial. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were just curious mostly (particularly Ravenclaw, where several students had requested demonstrations he had sternly refused).

Only Hermione’s forgiveness and support made it all tolerable.

“They’re just embarrassed,” Hermione explained while looking over Harry’s potion’s homework. “They were so convinced they figured you out by now, that they’re embarrassed to have missed something so important. They think you were laughing at them.”

“If that’s the case, then they’re going to be hating me routinely. They don’t know anything about me.”

The only good thing to come out of the entire dueling fiasco was Madam Umbridge. The toady woman whom he’d met only briefly at St. Mungo’s last summer had been called in to ‘help’ supervise the class… or rather, to supervise McNair. The poor man had very nearly died from Inana’s several bites, and spent several days in St. Mungo’s. When he’d finally returned it was with his new assistant, who did very little to assist in any thing. Every barb, every instruction, every choice of subject, every little thing the man attempted to do in the class was met with a disparaging little ‘hmm-hmm’, that had him cringing every time.

Nothing was getting taught, but no one was getting hurt either, so Harry considered it a major improvement even if the woman did annoy the hell out of him. Harry had no idea who summoned Umbridge to look after McNair. He wanted to say Snape, but he didn’t have the authority. He doubted Lestrange would bother putting a leash on the man she had known was a monster before she’d hired him. That only left Voldemort, but how much could he know about what was happening in Hogwarts? He hadn’t been seen since the Welcoming Feast, and his only contact with the school would have been through the Headmistress, right?

He was entertaining the possibility of somehow asking Snape on his way to Dueling Club when Tom stopped him in the hall.

“Hey, Harry,” the older boy said, looking quite serene.

“Oh hey, Tom, I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yes, and I feel quite bad about that, what with you being hurt and all. I meant to visit earlier, but you seemed busy every time that I saw you.”

“Don’t worry about it. Madam Pomfrey is good at her job. I’m fine now.”

“Just the same I thought I should check on you. You’re House doesn’t seem to be very understanding lately.”

Harry ignored the stab of pain that statement made, and smiled reassuringly.

“I don’t care what most of them think anyway. Everyone whose opinion really matters has already forgiven me or never held it against me in the first place.”

Tom didn’t look very convinced, but he smiled back anyway.

“Yes, I suppose a situation like this is best for determining who your real friends are. I take it Granger and you have made up?”

“Yeah- hey, how did you know we were fighting before?”

At that Tom chuckled and his smile became a bit more natural. “You Gryffindors are hardly subtle. Everyone can tell when you two have had a row.”

Harry ducked his head and shuffled his shoes, feeling unduly embarrassed. While it wasn’t something he thought about consciously, he admired Tom. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something about the Slytherin boy’s attention that was so flattering. It wasn’t just that he was older or even that he was quickly becoming the most popular boy in his House, but there was something about his self confidence that made his confidence in Harry seem so much more reliable. He felt he was capable of things he hadn’t been when Tom spoke to him. Even his teasing sounded like encouragement to Harry.

“Well, we arebest mates,” Harry admitted, moving the conversation along before he started blushing like a ninny again. “We spend so much time together I guess it’s hard to pretend when nothing’s wrong.”

Tom placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad you made up, Harry. You two seem to have a special connection and it would be a pity to lose that. But next time you two are on the outs, remember she’s not your only friend. I’m here if you ever need to talk.”

The older boy’s eyes were suddenly so intense, Harry felt frozen, unable to do anything other than nod in agreement until Tom removed his hand started to walk away.

“You better hurry or Snape will make you do demonstrations.”

Tom listened to Harry’s footsteps as the boy hurried on his way. Briefly, he wondered if he hadn’t over done it. Harry didn’t know that much about him after all, and their conversations had been extremely limited. Had he thought Tom presumptuous? Or even a little creepy? He dismissed these ideas quickly. The boy had been smiling, albeit timidly, so obviously he had been flattered like was suppose to be.

Satisfied that Harry wasn’t suspicious, Tom decided to consider this meeting a success. He had provided Harry future opportunities to seek out his company of his own volition and Harry, still being a bit naive, would take his words regarding that mudblood Granger at face value.

The smile he had been wearing fell like a ton of bricks, leaving his expression cold and cruel.

Granger.

Harry’s best mate.

That simply would not do.

September passed into November. As Quidditch season rolled around, most of the Gryffindors seemed to forget that they were supposedly mad at Harry and started giving him encouragements like ‘Good luck on your first match, Harry!’ and ‘Show those Slytherins how to fly, Potter!’. It was very tempting say something like ‘Aren’t I too Slytheirn to be playing for Gryffindor? If I won, wouldn’t it still be a Slytherin victory?’. Hermione pinched him whenever he seemed on the verge saying something so pointless.

“Just let it drop, Harry. They were wrong, they know they were wrong, and they’ll continue to be wrong until you start acting like they said you would.”

So he let it slide, but once again ignored any further attempts at friendship. It was just like Snape’s view of dueling club stragglers: They had their chance and let it slip by. Clyde was still ignoring him, and Harry let him. It would be a lie to say he didn’t miss the other boy’s company, but some things were more important. Draco got over it pretty quickly, although Harry suspected it was because he wanted help with some of the snake-related objects scattered around the Slytherin common room. Harry didn’t make any promises. Natalie kept teasing him to ‘hisss sssweet nothingsss’in her ear. Ron was Ron, and there wasn’t much that could be done to improve that.

Harry found he was even busier than last year. In addition to Quidditch practices and tougher assignments, there was now Dueling Club as well. Practices were only held once a week, but Snape had been promising them matches soon and Harry was going the extra mile to make sure there wasn’t a repeat of his last duel (his blood splattering the platform, not the winning part). His duel with McNair was quite infamous (and not just because he blurted out parseltongue either), and though half the club was too afraid to stand on the platform with him there were still a few Slytherins looking forward to earning a reputation by defeating him. Draco and Ron were the most eager to try, although a cocky fourth year was probably the biggest threat.

“Maybe you should just lose,” Hermione said during one of their practices, “If you keep winning then people are just going to keep trying harder and harder until they beat you. You could get seriously hurt.”

“It’s not that different from what I have to do in Quidditch. I face serious injury every time I climb on a broom, but I can’t let fear keep me from doing by best. Besides, being a lousy duelist sounds more dangerous than being a good one.”

She wasn’t convinced, and truthfully he knew his example was unsatisfying. She hated him flying on the Quidditch team as much as she hated him dueling. He knew it was because she cared more about his safety than his pride and he didn’t fault her logic, but neither could he bring himself to adopt her philosophy. The pride was there to stay..

So when he wasn’t practicing Quidditch, drawing, or doing regular homework he was studying spells for future matches. This wasn’t something he could do during normal study group, since so many of his potential opponents were there as well. He usually ended up studying with the Weasley twins. They too were in Dueling Club, although at varsity level, and despite their goof ball personas, they were a veritable library of curses, hexes, counter curses, tricks, and techniques. He felt a bit bad about taking up their free time, but they seemed so happy that their ‘god of chaos’ was actually accepting a bit of their tutelage that he quickly got over it. When Draco had seen some of the spells he’d been taught used on dummies during Dueling Club, his cocky smirk dimmed a little. Even Snape had raised a curious brow.

With Voldemort at the other end of Britain and no one else able to offer him a solution, Harry had no means to send Inana home and had to content himself with making her as comfortable as possible. She seemed to enjoy the heated green house well enough, and he occasionally brought her to his dorm room for conversations (and to freak out his dorm mates when they were being particularly bothersome). Bilgerat, who had been rather scarce lately to begin with, disappeared for almost a week the first time he brought her up.

All of this Harry related in a letter to his godfathers, including the fact that he was a parselmouth and had known about it before he’d met them. As much as he would have liked to keep it a secret, he didn’t think he could bare it if they’d learned he had pretty much lied to them from a little snippet in the gossip column ofWizarding Weekly. They deserved better than that. At the same time he was terrified about what their reply would be.

His next letter, he resolved, would revolve heavily around his next Quidditch victory over Slytherin… and perhaps a request for a full suit of armor for Christmas. First though, he had to get down to the pitch for practice before he was late. After handing off his first letter to Snape, the potion’s master had shamelessly read it and proceeded to check it over as if though it were an essay, complete with little red marks pointing out spelling and grammar mistakes as well as any material the man didn’t think his godfathers should be privy to (this included the dueling incident with McNair and Voldemort being in Bristol). Then he had Harry rewrite the whole thing, proofread the second version, and made him do it again. By the time he had finished a letter to the man’s meticulous specifications, his watch was already starting to grow uncomfortably warm.

“Bloody, rotten, big-nosed…” Harry muttered as he stalked his way through the dungeons. “Just wait till he and I have a duel… turn him into a real vulture…”

He passed Moaning Murtle’s bathroom and pondered stopping in for a quick ‘hello’, but decided against it. He was late enough as it was, and if he showed up now she’d likely go into a long monologue about no one liking her and how he never visits.

Well, it’s not like she couldn’t leave. It would certainly be easier for her to visit him up in Gryffindor tower than it would him visiting her in the girl’s lavatory. There was enough gossip flying around about him as it was.

“Stupid little girl…”

Ok, he wouldn’t go that far. She was just…

Wait a second.

Harry turned around. He looked at the ground and the ceiling. There was no one there. Had it been him who really thought that? It didn’t feel right, but…

“Ouch!”

His watch was starting burn in his breast pocket. As much pain as the silly thing caused him, it was a wonder he was so fond of it. He cursed under his breath and made a dash for the stairs, forgetting the strange incident entirely.

The Prince and the Phantom

“Still no reply from your godfather, yet?” Hermione asked, looking over at the glum expression of her friend. Harry, who would normally be in high spirits after his Quidditch victory over Slytherin last Saturday, had been growing steadily more depressed.

Harry glanced around the potion’s lab to make sure no one was paying them any attention. Class hadn’t started and everyone was busy finishing conversations before Snape arrived.

“Yeah. I want to say it’s all just red tape making it take so long, but I can’t help but think he’s mad at me.”

“Harry even if he is mad at you about the parselmouth thing, I’m sure he’d write you back, even if it was to scold you. I mean you’re his godson, for Merlin’s sake. Didn’t he say in his first letter that he’d probably only be able to write infrequently?”

Harry nodded, but didn’t look any happier. Everything she’d said he’d thought of before, but there was no real way of knowing until he got another of Sirius’ letters. If he ever got one again. And the not knowing made it exhausting to think about. Hermione gave him a worried look.

“Perhaps you should ask Professor Snape,” she suggested, “He might know what’s taking so long.”

As if on cue, the man appeared, stalking to the chalkboard and snapping out instructions. Everyone immediately set about to follow his commands, and Harry wasn’t about ready to stop and ask him anything at the moment other than where he kept the cedar ashes and eye of newt. As things settled down into the more mundane processes of brewing (stirring), Harry considered Hermione’s advice. Snape was an unpredictable man. He might answer Harry’s questions, he might snap something sarcastic at him, and he might just lie. No response was more or less likely than the others.

What Snape felt for him, other than the standard irritation he felt for everyone in general, was a mystery to him. There had been times when Harry was convinced the potion’s master wanted him dead, but every so often he’d say something that made him sound almost… fond of him. There was no telling which way his questions might be met. He thought of asking Hermione to come with him when he talked to Snape, as he almost definitely seemed fond or at least protective of his goddaughter..

But he couldn’t. Snape had said if he dragged Hermione into any of his troubles, particularly regarding Voldemort and his godfather, he would make him regret it. Well bother. He’d have to do this alone. After finishing the assignment, he dawdled with his clean up and suggested to Hermione that she go ahead and save him a seat at the Great Hall.

“Was their something that you wanted, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked, not bothering to look at him as he wrote out instructions for his next class.

Now alone with the man, he felt particularly foolish for asking him for anything. He supposed he’d feel even dumber if he just left without asking, and went ahead.

“Um… I was wondering… do you know why it’s taking so long to get a letter back from Sirius?”

The chalk in Snape’s hand suddenly snapped in half at the mention of the werewolf’s name.

“Never mind!” Harry blurted, and rushed out of the classroom. The door slammed shut behind him without his touching it, and he wondered briefly if it had been Snape or his own accidental magic flaring in panic. He sighed. So much for that idea.

The corridors were empty as he made his way back towards the upper levels. He came to the girl’s lavatory and remembered he hadn’t spoken to Myrtle yet. He imagined she would be quite peeved with him for not visiting since they’d first met, but he thought she deserved knowing she hadn’t been forgotten.

He scanned the hall, and confirming that no one was around, walked in to the bathroom. He hadn’t gone two steps before he saw something that gave him pause. He blinked once. Twice. Rubbed his eyes.

Still there.

He walked out of the bathroom. He took a deep breath and exhaled. Another. One more. He went back into the bathroom.

The body was still there.

It was a girl. A fifth or sixth year. He couldn’t see her house badge as she was laying face down, but he did not recognize those wide blue eyes staring out at nothing as someone he’d met in Gryffindor. Her dark brown hair fanned out around her head, floating in a shallow pool of water around her body.

There was no blood.

There should have been blood. There had been blood last time. Bits of inside on the outside. On the walls, the floor, the photographs on the mantel. Blood on his shoes as he stepped closer to touch the smooth cheek still warm-

Her cheek was cold. There was no blood. This wasn’t last time, but the girl was still dead. He needed to call the police.

Wait, there were not police here. No telephone to call them with. A sudden reminder that he was wizard and had no idea what he was doing. Who did you go to for help?

“Snape.”

He walked briskly out of the bathroom and back the way he’d come. The door was still closed, and he knocked quickly before stepping inside. Snape favored him a rather unwelcoming look.

“I don’t have a clue why your godfather doesn’t write you back. Perhaps spending all day bashing heads with Greyback means he’s finally forgotten how to read and write.”

“There’s a dead girl in the bathroom.”

Snape blinked at him. He said nothing for a moment, frowning. Something seemed to occur to the older wizard, and he rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Myrtle’s been dead for some time now. She hasn’t been invading the boy’s lavatory now, has she? That girl’s almost as big of an annoyance as Peeves was.”

“No,” Harry said, evenly, “In the girl’s bathroom.”

“Why were you in the girl’s bathroom, Mr. Potter?”

Ok, perhaps he should have prioritized his statements better.

“There’s a dead girl in the girl’s bathroom,” he repeated. “I don’t know who she is.”

Snape’s expression suddenly grew bored.

“Her name is Myrtle Tetherwood, Mr. Potter, just as I said. She is just another resident ghost of Hogwarts. Since you were so curious, you’ll be happy to know you’ll become well acquainted with her during your detention tonight when scrubbing out her toilets. I expect you at seven. Now go away.”

“But- she’s not- Myrtle isn’t-”

“Mr. Potter, if you’re not out of here in the next two seconds you’ll clean every bathroom in Hogwarts.”

He left. He went to the bathroom again. She was still there. Nothing had changed. Her unblinking eyes still regarded him dispassionately. Stepping forward, he stared down at her. There was nothing he could do to help her. She was already gone and nothing could be done about that.

But he couldn’t leave her here. How long had she been left here already? He had heard nothing about any missing students, but her skin was already cold to the touch. Someone had to be looking for her by now. Her friends had to be looking for her. He couldn’t let them find her like this. He had to hurry and tell Snape, but how could he make the man listen? How could he say what needed to be said when he himself couldn’t seem to move beyond that single statement of fact: There’s a dead girl in the bathroom.

He tried to alter that statement and say it aloud. There’s a dead girl in the bathroom and she isn’t Moaning Myrtle.

“Nngh…”

He couldn’t. Not when she seemed to be looking at him as if ready to reply.How did he say what needed to be said?

He knelt down, his hands trembling as he reached for her.

Snape considered making good on his threat to have Potter clean every bathroom in Hogwarts. Technically, it had taken two and half secondsfor the little snot to leave the classroom. It would serve the boy right if he not only made him clean the bathrooms, but let everyone in the school know why he was being punished. It would certainly take the wind out of Gryffindor’s sails if it turned out that their star Quidditch player was some sort of closet pervert.

He dismissed the idea. Voldemort would not be pleased with such rumors circulating about his protégé. Besides, Potter was one of the best chances for his dueling club’s success. He was doing rather well, and his stunt with McNair had garnered a lot of publicity. His own decision to not allow others to join until the next semester had given the club an air of exclusivity, a prestige that could only work in his favor when promoting his teachings.

Although it would be nice if the brat weren’t so much trouble. He did not enjoy being a post office for his familial exchanges.

There was a knock on his door. Snape snarled, throwing down the papers he had been grading. He had no doubt who his visitor was. Potter hadn’t been gone five minutes, and who else was dumb enough to stick around during lunch hour? Was he trying to infuriate him or was this all just apart of his natural charm?

He threw open his door, prepared to send the idiotic Gryffindor to clean every toilet in Hogwarts, the owlery, and the stables.

“Potter! What is wrong with-”

In the dim light of the corridor, he suddenly realized how pale the boy looked. Those brilliant green eyes stood out too vividly, conveying something he had been too busy being angry to notice before. Potter took advantage of his momentary hesitation, lifting his hand out to the older wizard. There, laying in Potter’s trembling hand where his wand should have been, was a tuft of long brown hair.

“There’s a dead girl in the bathroom.”

This time, Snape knew what he really meant.

Harry sat in an empty classroom, nursing a cup of hot chocolate. He’d overheard Madam Pomfry mention to a Court Sentinal that he was in shock and the chocolate would help. Perhaps it did, but he still felt cold, like he had just after his escape from the werewolves that summer. This was not a feeling he cared for, but he supposed it was better than the alternative.

A major freak out wasn’t going to help anyone.

Someone had taken his statement earlier, while Snape had kept watch with a handful of vials in his robes should he suddenly realize that he might just as easily have been killed and start to panic or cry or feel the need to hex something. Snape was gone now. Off to make sure the Headmistress didn’t bungle the whole investigation. His words, not Harry’s. Harry wondered if the man wasn’t in shock as well, having let slip such a thing.

Now McGonagal was there to look after him. He was glad she was there. She’d reheated his chocolate twice for him already. While he looked into the foamy swirls in his drinke, taking the occasional sip, she explained what was happening. That was something no one had bothered doing in the last three hours.

The dead girl was Cassandra Sweety, a fifth year Hufflepuff. She’d had potions during her first period that morning, and must have been killed shortly after class. All of the students and staff were accounted for, and there was no sign of any other victims. Classes had been canceled. Most of the school had been in the Great Hall during the lunch period, and it was decided that for safety’s sake no one would leave it until the school had been searched and everyone was questioned. Chances were no one would be returning to their dorms that night.

When she seemed to run out of things to explain, she sat there and looked at him for a long time. He took a sip of chocolate and waited.

“Are you alright, Harry?”

Oh…Oh god, why did she have to ask that?

He suddenly wasn’t cold anymore. In fact, the chocolate he’d been drinking made him feel too hot. It swirled around in his empty stomach, making him nauseous. He set the cup aside, and threw off the blanket he’d been given. He walked to the far end of the class room, staring at the empty shadows and reminding himself he had to breath more slowly. If he kept breathing so quickly, he was going to end up hyperventilating or worse, he might cry. He couldn’t go upstairs while crying. Everyone would see him. They would always remember and they would never let him forget this day or the feeling that left him, although briefly, broken.

Besides, he didn’t want to worry his friends. He was already worrying McGonagall.

“I’ll be fine,” he managed weakly, “When can I go up with the rest. My friends must be worried. Do they know what’s happening?”

The elderly witch sighed, and smiled ever so slightly. James and Lily’s son really was a brave child. Any other child his age would have broken down by now or else have lacked the heart necessary for sympathy. Such a brave boy, but she couldn’t help worrying about him.

“I’m sure your friends have some idea about what’s happening. Secrets don’t stay secret long around Hogwarts as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

He smiled a bit at that.

“I’m not entirely sure how much longer they’ll be. If you don’t mind being alone for a few minutes, I can go and ask to escort you up now?”

“Yes… I’ll be fine.”

Once she was gone, Harry used the privacy to think. The shock had worn off, and now he was left with this feeling of dread. A girl was dead. Someone or something had killed her. The castle wasn’t, if it had ever been, safe anymore. The Court was investigating, and he hoped they found the culprit, but what if they didn’t? Myrtle hadn’t ever found out… where was Myrtle? Surely, she must have seen what happened!

He made toward the door, thinking to call McGonagall back to ask her about Myrtle, but he never got the chance. The door slammed open and Lestrange stormed in. Harry took one look at the wand in her hand and leapt to the far end of the room. She smiled grimly at his retreat.

“Why am I not surprised that you’re involved in this grim affair, Mr. Potter?”

Involved?

As far as Harry was concerned he wasn’t involved in this matter beyond being unfortunate enough to find poor Cassandra first. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and he didn’t like her implying that he had. Particularly with a pair of investigators following right behind her.

“Nothing cheeky to say?”

“Cheeky,” he said, glowering defiantly.

Her face twisted into something ugly, and she stalked over to him and seized him by the arm. Her grip was brutal, and he bit his lip to keep from crying out as she dragged him out of the room and into the hall. There were easily thirty wizards in official looking robes loitering outside the bathroom, many with notepads and strange looking instruments. They all stopped whatever they were doing to stare as he was forced into the girl’s lavatory and thrown to the wet floor. Harry scanned the room frantically for the dead girl, but she was gone and only a glowing green outline on the floor marked where she had fallen.

He scrambled to his feet, backing further in as Lestrange stalked in after him, followed by Snape and a greying wizard in even greyer robes that Harry assumed was the chief investigator. The Headmistress crossed her arms and stared at him expectantly. Now cold, wet, and with an aching arm, he felt no more inclined to obey her. He mimicked her stance and stared back at her, mockingly.

Lestrange’s grip on her wand tightened noticeably.

“Potter,” Snape began tersely, drawing both wizard’s attention. “In order to end this matter as quickly as possible, Sentinal Mallory here has requested the use of your ‘special skill’.”

Harry looked at Snape and then Mallory dumbly. How could playing Quidditch help an investigation?

“Parseltongue, you nitwit,” the potion’s master growled, pointing to the sink faucets with the ornamental snakes.

Oh, that special skill.

He glowered at the lot of them, but dutifully approached the sink. He leaned in close, studying the immobile fixture and briefly wondered what it was doing in the girl’s bathroom anyway.

“Hey,” he hissed. This close, Harry could see it’s tiny silver eye open and turn to him. It’s tongue flickered out to show he was listening.

“Did you see what happened to the girl over there? Did you see who killed her?”

Behind him, he heard a gasp, and figured it was Mallory.

“Which girl?”

Harry’s eyes widened in horror. Which girl? There was more than one?

“Potter, what did it say?” Lestrange demanded.

“There’s another… another girl,” Harry said, his voice faint and weak, not looking at her.

No one said anything, and after a moment he was able to collect himself enough to continue.

“The Hufflepuff girl who was laying on the floor. Did you see what happened to her?”

“It got her,” replied the snake. “It got her, just like the other one. It got them both. Got the annoying one twice. Tee hee hee…”

Harry didn’t understand what it meant. How could you get someone twice. Assuming get meant what he thought it mean. The only way you could kill someone twice was if the person was revived the first time or…

“Myrtle…”

“The King will be so pleased,” the faucet hissed as an afterthought, falling into it’s own version of laughter. It sounded a bit like it was choking.

“Please, don’t tell me a ghost did this, Potter. Especially not that little twerp,” Lestrange said, sounding as if this was all a bad prank and not a murder. He glowered at her, but looked to Snape when he spoke. He may not like the man, but he trusted him somewhat and he seemed to be taking the matter seriously.

“Where is Myrtle? She would have seen what happened. She’d be bragging about it.”

Snape said nothing for a moment, then looked over at one of the bathroom stalls intently. Harry swallowed thickly, and walked slowly over. Lestrange made an impatient sound.

“We brought him here to talk to the faucet, not run rampant around the crime scene. This is pointless.”

“No,” Mallory said, the first time Harry had heard him speak, “I want to see this.”

Harry’s hand was resting on the stall door, hesitating while he listened to them speak, unsure if he wanted to see this. But then they remained quiet, and he had no excuse to hold back. Gently, he pushed open the door.

Myrtle stared right through him, her face caught in a tableau of surprise. She would have looked rather funny if she weren’t so still. She was pale, or rather more transparent, than she had been before. She floated in the air, bobbing faintly, and looked as if she would move to yell obscenities at him any moment now for coming into the girl’s bathroom. He stepped back out of the stall and quietly closed the door.

“She’s not dead…” he said, without thought.

“Technically, she is… she’s a ghost after all,” Mallory informed him. “We think the culprit may have tried to exorcize her to eliminate witnesses, but didn’t perform it properly. She’s in a fugue state.”

Harry nodded, not really listening.

“Did the snake say anything about who did this?”

He thought for a moment, trying to make sense of what the faucet had said. He couldn’t make heads or tails of it, so finally just decided to repeat it and let them figure it out.

“He said an it got them, not a who. He said it got Myrtle twice. He said the King would-”

The rest of his sentence went unheard, though his lips kept moving. He paused, confused and tried to speak again, but nothing came out. He looked to the others, and noticed Lestrange had her wand pointed at him, though he hadn’t heard her cast a spell. But Snape had mentioned in Dueling Club that some witches and wizards could do that. Why was she casting Silencio on him in the first place?

Mallory hadn’t seen her wand, and looked confused by his sudden cut off. He didn’t have time to figure it out as Lestrange turned to him.

“I think the rest can wait until another time. Mr. Potter should really return to his classmates, and I must prepare for Our Lord’s arrival.”

Voldemort was coming back to Hogwarts?

Harry wasn’t certain how he felt about that. On one hand, it was strangely comforting having the formidable wizard looking over the school and keep the inevitable press at bay. On the other hand, the man would want to speak with him. Really, this constant misplacement of himself was bound to grate on Voldemort’s nerves eventually.

Mallory was protesting, clearly agitated with Lestrange’s interference. While they were busy pulling rank on each other, Snape took him lightly by the shoulder and led him away. Not knowing what else to do, he followed the man meekly and hoped for some sort of explanation.

As they moved past the score of wizards and witches milling about the dungeons and up the stairs to the upper levels, he began to feel the effects of the day’s excitement. He’d missed lunch and had been in shock for several hours, and after the confusing and troubling events in the bathroom he was starting to feel exhausted. He let out an enormous yawn, still silenced by Lestrange’s charm, and felt his eyes droop.

Snape said nothing, but Harry knew what to expect next. As soon as they were out of sight and hearing of the investigators but before they had reached the Great Hall, he pulled Harry aside.

“Do not speak of what the snake said to you. In fact, I highly recommend you forget it ever occurred. There was a flow of water from the bathroom which you went to investigate and found Miss Sweety. You then informed me and spent the day being questioning by investigators. That is as far as your involvement of this investigation goes. Myrtle Tetherwood doesn’t exist. Is that clear?”

Harry simply nodded. This was his what? Second? Third? incident where he had been told to censure what he knew or had seen and heard.

There was a slew of information being given to him just by Snape’s choice of things he wished him to keep silent about. He imagined it was somehow related to Myrtle and ‘the King’, who ever he was, but he was too tired to sort it all out at the moment or to consider if it was worth the trouble wondering about. Snape stared at him for a moment, assessing his willingness to cooperate, but finally lifted the charm.

“What happens now?”

Snape considered for a moment. “That is up to the Dark Lord.”

Why wasn’t he surprised? He sighed and followed Snape the rest of the way to the Great Hall. There were two wizards standing guard outside, and they regarded Harry and Snape suspiciously as they approached but didn’t stop them. From inside, Harry could hear the voices of many excited students and steeled himself. Snape opened the door for him, letting him inside but didn’t follow. Harry watched the door close and wished he hadn’t been left behind.

The tables had been removed from the Great Hall, but with so many students it was still too full. The houses were mingling without consideration, stopping to talk and gossip and make conjectures with whom ever would listen to them. He spotted a couple of Hufflepuff girls crying, and his heart ached for them.

Everyone was so loud and busy, no one noticed him and he slipped through the crowds trying to figure out what everyone knew or thought they knew. It soon became clear that they knew someone or someones had died. It surprised him somewhat that they all seem to think he was the one who’d kicked the bucket. There were already wild rumors that Ron Weasley had finally finished the job Whitehall and Morgenson had failed. Harry briefly caught a glimpse of the redhead hiding amongst a protective circle of Slytherins, clearly trying to avoid the accusations. Cassandra Sweety’s absence didn’t seem to register with anyone except her own house mates.

He searched the crowd, keeping to the dark corners of the Hall in hopes of finding his friends before the rest of the students noticed him. He spotted Clyde first, sulking in a corner and not talking to anyone. Though they hadn’t been on very good terms lately, he decided to let the other boy know he was alive.

“Hey.”

Clyde’s eyes, which had been fixated on his shoes, shot up to meet unmistakable green.

“Har-!”

A hand over the boy’s mouth quickly muffled his cry of surprise. He gestured to be silent and removed his hand.

“Harry,” he whispered, still awed by his sudden appearance, “Everyone keeps saying your dead. There are Court Examiners and Sentinals all over the place! What happened to you? Are you ok?”

“I’m fine, but someone has died. Where’s Hermione and the others? They’re probably worried sick.”

Clyde blinked several times, trying to wrap his head around his friend’s sudden resurrection. For the last two hours, when everyone’s insistence that Harry Potter was truly dead had finally convinced him, he had been absorbed in his own regrets. Looking back he realized what an ass he had been to Harry. The other boy had never done anything to him, had even befriend him and helped him with his school work. He’d been a good friend, and Clyde couldn’t say the same. So what if Harry hadn’t told him about his Parselmouth abilities? It wasn’t like he’d murdered someone!

But now Harry was back, raised from the dead, and he had come to him first. It might have only been convenience, but he’d been such a jerk lately and still Harry had come to him first to let him know he was alive. It made his past resentment feel ridiculously insignificant.

“She’s… she was here a moment ago. I think she saw McGonagall and went to ask her what was happening. I’ll help you find her.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile. Somehow he knew their past grievances had been forgiven, and he was glad. Together they scanned the hall for Hermione and finally located her near one of the side doors, talking earnestly with McGonagal. Ginny was standing closely behind her, chewing her fingernails nervously and clearly distressed.

They made their way to them quickly, Harry partially hidden behind Clyde so no one else would notice him. McGonagal spotted them first, and smiled in relief. Hermione turned quickly to see why.

She was pale and teary eyed, but she hadn’t cried it seemed. Not yet anyway. She broke out into a brilliant smile when she saw him, and quickly grabbed Ginny to point him out to her. The little redhead’s eyes became enormous.

“Harry!”

Instantly, the noise in the great hall ceased.

Over four hundred pairs of eyes suddenly landed on the most lively looking dead boy they had ever seen.

Serpents at Play

Tom turned towards Harry the moment the Weasley girl cried out his name. He had spotted the younger boy the moment he entered the room of course, but had not wanted to alert anyone else to his presence until he was ready. Judging by the vaguely panicked look Harry was sporting at the sudden rush of students towards him, he clearly hadn’t been ready yet.

Stupid Weasleys.

The girl was a useless little fool. The prefect was a pouncy fool. The twins were laughable fools, and no doubt proud of it. Even the single Slytherin Weasley was an irritation, suited for little more than being Draco’s cronie. At the moment, Ronald Weasley wasn’t even suited for that, cowering behind a ring of Slytherins who were not inclined to handing over one of their own to a presumptuous mob.

To hell with the lot of them. The only one Tom had been worried about was Harry.

He had expected something like this to happen eventually. He’d even callously tricked Cassandra to the lavatory to wash some imaginary potion’s residue from her robes on the off chance that it would happen today. She was a muggleborn and a rather stupid one at that. She had the nerve to pass notes to him in class and even request a date within the last month, and though he’d stayed in character and declined her politely he had wanted nothing more than to…

The chances that she would have found…it… were fairly slim. It had merely been a way to take the edge of his annoyance. Indulging in an amusing possibility really.

He hadn’t even conceived of Harry getting involved. The boy shouldn’t have been near the girl’s lavatory, except in passing on his way to lunch with his classmates. Could something have happened to draw Harry’s attention to the bathroom? Had his beautiful pet been inside and lured the boy with a hunting song? Had it perhaps broken his orders and entered the corridors, finding Harry there?

A thousand possibilities ran through his head, trying to explain the absence of his young friend. All the while he cursed his carelessness. He knewHarry had potions three morning a week, so why hadn’t he left express orders to his pet not to be out in the open during that time? If something happened to Harry, he didn’t know if he could forgive himself. All he had wanted to do was protect and nurture him.

Precious Harry. Mother. Brother. Friend.

His only family aside from his counterpart.

Voldemort. Father. Brother. Ally… competitor?

But there Harry was, a little pale and flustered but perfectly alright.

He wanted to rush over to him, but the crowd was too thick and he refused to take part in a rabble. Draco was already near Harry. He’d question the young Malfoy later about what he learned, and then wait for his opportunity to approach Harry in private.

For now, he would have to content himself with Harry’s continued health and plan for the ramifications of today’s incidence. No doubt his elder would be summoning him for an explanation, and he had to prepare some reasonable replies.

His life was in greater danger than Harry’s at the moment.

Harry was surrounded. On all sides the four Houses of Hogwarts had crowded around to verify that he was, in fact, not dead. Once this was confirmed, they immediately set about shouting questions at him. They spoke all at once, repeated each other often, threw out conjectures, and demands until Harry couldn’t tell what anyone was saying. He tried to find his friends amongst the horde, but older students had crowded round and blocked the shorter ones from view. He felt claustrophobic, unable to move as everyone demanded his attention with shouts and cries and tugs at his robes.

He was tired and hungry, and their demands made his constant underlying resentment for the majority rise to the forefront of his thoughts. A particularly overbearing sixth year Gryffindor came right up to his face.

“Who tried to kill you now? Did you get them first this time?”

The boy was bigger than him, at least fifteen kilos, but in the tight confines of the crowd he had no room to catch his balance when Harry punched him in the face. It was an awkward hit, as Harry didn’t have much practice with fist fights, but the boy fell backwards into the crowd, knocking over half a dozen others. The space his fall left was soon filled with more students, and Harry panicked as he realized at least some of them had to be the older boy’s friends.

“Contorno parete!”

The crowd was suddenly forced back two feet from him in all directions, again causing several students to fall over. Through the chaos, the Weasley twins stalked determined through the mayhem. Harry had never seen them look so angry, or angry at all for that matter. They were some of the tallest boys in the school, taller than most of the seventh years even and muscular from Quidditch. Their physical presence alone was enough to send everyone creeping away from them, but if that hadn’t been enough their unusual animosity would have. Fred (George?) breeched the empty ring Harry stood in first, while his brother turned to the crowd to keep everyone else at bay.

“You alright, Harry?”

Harry closed his eyes, bringing his hand up to push through his messy hair. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“Don’t ask me that,” he said, his voice soft but clearly audible in the sudden silence. “Just… ask me anything but that.”

Voldemort entered Hogwarts shortly after midnight, and was met by a nervous Mallory His temper was foul and he did nothing to hide it from anyone. His plans for organizing a wizarding army, something larger and more specialized than his private Court Sentinals or his former Death Eaters, had just gotten past the basic command structure and starting on actual personnel assignments, when he had received word of the killing at Hogwarts. That a child, even a muggleborn one, had died in his home was unacceptable. That the child had been murdered was just plain insulting.

As the details became known to him, the matter went from infuriating to something almost worrisome. Harry, his insufferably unlucky protégé, had been a witness of sorts and why did that not surprise him? He doubted the boy would intentionally harm let alone murder anyone, but his involvement was inconvenient. It was likely his parselmouth abilities would provide him with knowledge he would rather the boy remained ignorant of.

The location and circumstances of the girl’s death was uncomfortably familiar. The basilisk still lived in the school after all. He had never considered removing it. It was a part of his ancestor’s, Salazar Slytherin’s, legacy to Hogwarts as well as important reminder of his misbegotten youth.

Speaking of misbegotten youth…

He stalked into his office and slammed the door shut in Mallory’s face. Closing his eyes, he murmured the soft whisper of an ancient spell and felt his mind submerge itself in the corporal realm of his spirit. A dark and twisted place, interlaced with webs of brilliant reds and oranges and whites that held his rendered soul within his body. He ‘moved’ towards a web of red strands and carefully pulled a small section of them free so that he dripped ever so slowly out of the confines of his flesh. His mind, freed and immersed in a spirit form, flew from the tower unseen and undetected.

Through the halls, the classrooms, the secret passages he made his way towards the Great Hall where the energy of hundreds of souls, and one familiar soul in particular, resonated. Moving through the walls was like moving through a curtain of water, but once inside he had to be cautious. It was crowded and he had no intention of alerting the students of his presence. Luckily, it was unlikely they would be able to understand who or what he was, and even less likely to acknowledge him as most of them were fast asleep.

The entirety of Hogwarts was sheltered within the confines of the Great Hall, like the refugees of The War he had since assimilated into his society or scattered years previous. Rows of bodies packed tightly together, reminded him of the fields outside the camps where they’d lined up the corpses of their allies and enemies and innocent bystanders to eventually be claimed by their families or incinerated with a few flicks of the wand.

He shimmered, sending the memories away like a dog shaking water from it’s coat. Hogwarts was home, and though he remembered the battles and the struggles with fondness and a sort of dark thrill, he recognized that they held no place in his home.

He stopped briefly near McGonagall, observing as she paced quietly between the rows of students, all four houses, and seemed to count each and every one of them. In a dark corner, he felt Snape watching her and everything else, aware of everything (almost) in the room even without moving. Good. These two fierce guardians were more than enough to safeguard the students for the time being.

He circled the room, searching for Tom, his most likely suspect, but found Harry first and couldn’t help but linger. The boy was sandwiched between the Weasley twins, while Granger slept across from him, the tops of their heads pointing towards each other. He recognized several of Harry’s friends sleeping around him, most with their wands in their hands, like somnolent guards to an equally somnolent prince.

Despite their protection, the prince was clearly troubled. He was pale and restless, clutching tightly to his blanket despite the heat of the surrounding bodies. His brow was furrowed and every so often Voldemort thought he heard the faint hiss of parseltongue. It made him wonder what Harry had seen and if it had damaged the boy some how.

He felt a sudden rush of anger at the thought.

Harry was his. No one’s , not his friend’s or teachers’ or Greyback’s or Tom’s, but his. No one else had a right to hurt him in any manner without his consent, and he would make this known to any and all transgressors.

He found Tom amongst the older Slytherins, his back to Snape and staring into the darkness. His eyes slid immediately to Voldemort’s wandering spirit, and after a moment he closed his eyes. With that, Voldemort left. There was no need to explain himself. Tom would find him as soon as he was able to slip away unnoticed, which more than likely wouldn’t be until the morning.

It was just as well. Voldemort wasn’t sure he would be able to hold off from breaking the boy in half at the moment.

Harry and the rest of the students were woken at the ungodly hour of six o’clock in the morning. Disoriented and sleepy, they were herded to their respective common rooms and finally to their private dorms in order to prepare for the school day. Most of the other boys in his dorm went immediately to their beds to sleep for another hour, but Harry reluctantly dragged himself to the showers. Clyde followed him quietly, and Harry admitted to himself that he was glad for the company. He didn’t think he’d want to be alone for a while.

He was a bit surprised to find all his friends awake in the common’s room when he headed down. Hermione and Ginny were sitting next to each other at one of the tables, going over Ginny’s homework while Fred and George were talking quietly to Percy, who for once wasn’t checking his pockets every thirty seconds. There were a few other students, mostly prefects and habitual early raisers, but they lacked their usual energy and purpose. The room was held in the quiet suspension of a funeral parlor.

“Harry, Clyde,” Hermione said, beckoning them over. “Did you finish your herbology essays?”

Harry felt a rush of relief when she didn’t ask how he was feeling. He had told them Snape’s pre-conceived story, and though Hermione seemed to suspect something was amiss she hadn’t prodded. He knew that it was only a matter of time though. She knew him for a perpetual, if not exactly habitual, liar and he doubted any event she was not present for wouldn’t be cause for thorough cross examination. He didn’t resent her for it, but it wasn’t something he was looking forward to.

“Do you think we’ll even have classes today?” Clyde asked, sounding hopeful. Hermione glared at him.

“They might cancel potion’s class for a few days, but I don’t see why they’d stop us from going to our other classes.”

“But,” Ginny said, her freckles more brilliant than ever against her pale skin, “isn’t that a bit dangerous? I mean, there’s a murderer running around the school!”

“We don’t know that,” Hermione said firmly. “We still don’t know for certain how Sweety died. Harry said himself that he couldn’t tell what happened to her, only that their wasn’t any blood. It could have been a magical experiment gone wrong or an accident or who knows what? Even if there was a murderer, what are the chances they stuck around?”

“I don’t like it,” Clyde said, “It sounds like a Killing Curse to me no matter how you look at it.”

“Don’t, Clyde. There’s going to be a million rumors running around as it is, there’s no point in adding to the collection. I mean look what happened yesterday? Everyone thought for sure Harry was…was… I was scared to death for him, but he’s fine!”

Certainly better off than Cassandra, Harry thought morosely, scanning his DA&D book incase they had a quiz that morning.

“Percy says the match against Hufflepuff will probably be cancelled,” Fred said, plopping glumly beside Harry at their now over crowded table.

“Dueling Club practices too,” George said, dragging over another chair. “I bet they’ll be canceling all extra curricular activities until they catch who ever did it.”

“We don’t know anyone did anything!” Hermione insisted, although no one looked at all doubtful that foul play was involved.

Having offered nothing to the conversation so far, Harry made a feeble attempt.

“Classes?”

“Percy says the prefects will be escorting the younger students between classes and meals. There’ll definitely be a curfew, but at least we’ll be able to sleep in our own beds,” Fred said.

“That’s good,” said Clyde, “I don’t fancy sleeping on the floor again. I think I got a crick in my neck from last night.”

The conversation turned to trivial complaints after that, and Harry tuned it out in order to read through his textbook. His friends formed enough of a barrier to keep most of Gryffindor from bothering him, and he sat quietly amidst his human sanctuary until it was time to head down to breakfast. Everyone had been brought to the Great Hall at the same time, and with the addition of the tables it made the hall as crowded as the Welcoming Feast, but still depressingly quiet. All of the teachers were present, as well as several Court officials standing guard at the entry ways. There was a chair at the teacher’s table where Voldemort normally sat when at Hogwarts, but it remained conspicuously empty.

Harry was relieved to note that the press hadn’t clawed their way into the school yet.

Food appeared on the table, and Harry ate on autopilot, ignoring the probing looks of his schoolmates. He finished quickly and was surprised when Snape came up behind him.

“Come with me, Mr. Potter.”

The man walked off without further explanation, and looking to his friends Harry saw they were just as baffled as he was. Sighing, he gathered up his things and followed after the potion’s master.

He felt the eyes of the entire hall mark him as he exited.

It didn’t take long for Harry to realize where Snape was leading him.

“Voldemort is in the castle? He summoned me?”

“The affairs of Hogwarts have always been of great interest to our Lord,” Snape said, not bothering to look at his young charge. “The same might be said about your affairs, as well, Mr. Potter..”

“…”

The Dark Lord was sitting behind his desk when they arrived at his office, his hair slightly mused as if he hadn’t slept and therefor hadn’t fixed it that morning. The stacks of reports on the man’s desk seemed to support this theory. Mallory was sitting anxiously in one of the sitting chairs and regarded the new arrivals tiredly. Snape escorted him to the empty chair closest to Voldemort, and then took up his usual position near the bookshelves in order to watch the proceedings.

The Dark Lord studied Harry intensely for a moment, making the boy fidget self consciously.

“Mallory, you are excused.”

The Court investigator looked ready to protest, but quickly bit his tongue and got up to leave. His eyes lingered suspiciously on Harry for a moment before he disappeared through the secret entry way.

“I am pleased to see you are undamaged, Mr. Potter,” Voldemort began, regarding him cooly.

“… Thank you?”

Voldemort sighed, tired and already impatient. He decided it was best to get their meeting over with as soon as possible lest he do something regrettable to the boy.

“Let us get straight to the point. I am going to legilimens you, and I would prefer if you tried to relax and not struggle. It is easier to find the memories I’m looking for in this manner, and avoid those memories that are… personal and unrelated. Do I have your cooperation?”

Harry scowled at him. Voldemort scowled back.

“A girl has died here, Mr. Potter. At the moment, you are the prime suspect. Believe me when I say this is as much for your benefit as my curiosity.”

Harry grit his teeth, and got to his feet. Voldemort gestured to a spot on the floor right in front of him, and Harry reluctantly complied. He knelt before the Dark Lord, who gently but firmly took his head in his hands and locked their gazes. Harry tried to relax and call up the memory of the day before, but his own mind struggled against the recollection, escaping the pain and horror of that moment which so resembled a day over four years ago.

“I can cast Imperius to calm you, if you like,” Voldemort offered, skimming only lightly at his surface thoughts, testing the waters for a deeper plunge.

“No,” Harry insisted, “Just do it.”

There was an immediate pressure, not exactly painful but Harry felt himself jerk at the initial shock of it. His previous experience with legilimency was a pale comparison to this forced intrusion, a tsunami rather than a gently rising tide. The first wave of memories was of this morning, and his mind reluctantly gave way to the previous evening; the anxious feeling of being surrounded by too many curious bodies, of the punch to the fifth year boy, and the eery silence of the walk from the dungeons to the Great Hall.

Anything before that his mind resisted, choosing instead to jump around to random moments of time. The day Natalie approached him by the Whomping Willow. The first Christmas party with the Dursley’s. A hot summer day at the lake, water up to his knees and a fish eyeing his feet curiously. Voldemort watching him from the VIP section of the stands during his first Quidditch match. Sitting in his mother’s lap as she pointed to the sky, a hundred hot air balloons in a hundred different colors floating by.

The pressure increased, forcing his mind back towards the shallows of recent memory. Tom on the train, smiling at him. Sirius’s letter. Finding out his Quidditch robes were now an inch too short at his first practice. Ron’s half transfigured glove running away like a mutant crab during last Monday’s classes.

A sharper pain, and suddenly he was alone outside the girl’s lavatory recalling he hadn’t visited Myrtle in a while. From there his thoughts flowed out linearly, retelling the event each painful moment at a time. Harry felt a mixture self-depreciation and nausea at his own bungling upon discovering Cassandra and the cold feeling of shock soon after. As he came to the part where he questioned the serpentine faucet and found Myrtle, he was struck by how dangerous these discoveries seemed to him now. He had forced the memories out of his mind the day before, but now Voldemort wouldn’t let him discard them, forced him to recall and analyze the moment in excruciating detail.

“It got her. Got her, just like the other one.It got them both. Got the annoying one twice. Tee hee hee…”

A moment later

“…King will be so happy…”

An earlier memory forced it’s way through, this time of Inana standing erect on the dueling platform her hood flared in anger, but her words calm.

“Princeling. King’s little princeling… sweet tongued child… No, no, little princeling would not treat Inana this way.”

Princeling… if Harry was the princeling, then the King would have to be-

The pressure receded abruptly, leaving Harry lightheaded and dizzy. The hands on his head were the only thing that kept him from falling over. Carefully, his head was guided downward until it rested against Voldemort’s knee, and one hand removed itself while the other stroked his hair. Harry remained still, gasping for breath and staring out at nothing. His world was spinning, and he tried to reorient himself and determine what he should do with this earth-shattering revelation that the man he was currently resting against may have some how been responsible for Cassandra’s death.

“Careful, Harry,” Voldemort hissed, almost affectionate, “Your thoughts are running into dangerous territory.”

Harry shoved himself away from the man, forcing himself weakly to his feet and back towards his chair. He learned against it heavily, but refused to sit down to face the Dark Lord again. From the corner of his eye, he saw Snape make a step towards him, then hesitate. He looked towards his master, and though Harry couldn’t see what Voldemort did, Snape stepped back again.

“What now?” Harry managed at last, still not turning around.

Voldemort’s reply was smooth and innocent.

“Now? Now you go to class, Mr. Potter. This matter should be resolved shortly.”

“And Cassandra Sweety?”

There was a pause.

“There’s nothing that can be done for the late Miss Sweety, aside from the usual ritual. Her foster family has already been contacted and will arrange her funeral. There will be a memorial service this Sunday so that her friends and classmates might attend and pay their respects.”

That all sounded distinctly unsatisfying to Harry. There was another pause.

“I did not harm that girl, Mr. Potter,” Voldemort said matter-of-factly. “Why would I? I have more important things to do than terrorize school children.”

Harry glanced back at him cautiously, and after a moment he nodded. It was true. There was no conceivable reason why the Dark Lord would hurt a student. But there were many things about what happened that suggested this had happened before with Moaning Myrtle, so for whatever reason the ghost had died must likewise be the reason why Cassandra had. It didn’t necessarily have to be a reason that made sense now if had made sense when Myrtle had been killed. When had the bespeckled girl died again?

The Dark Lord mentally sighed. He could practically see Harry’s thoughts rushing around in his head, though the boy was careful to avoid direct eye contact. He was inclined to cast Imperius on the boy or even perform an obliviation, but he ultimately decided to leave him alone. Harry would need his wits about him for the next couple days, and running around in a daze was likely to arouse suspicions.

“Severus, escort Mr. Potter to his first class, and then report back to me,” he ordered, turning back to his paperwork. He wanted to speak with Snape about what he should do about Potter, but there was another matter he needed to attend to first that required privacy.

The two wizards were gone less than a minute when the portrait of Salazar Slytherin above his desk suddenly turned black, then rippled. Tom practically slithered out of the inky substance, black globules sliding away from his face, his body, his robes reluctantly. The moment he was free the picture solidified again, Salazar flicking a bit of black goo from his robes the only sign of what had occurred.

Tom moved to the chaise by the window, unwilling to sit in the chair across his brother’s desk like a child waiting to be scolded by the school disciplinarian. They regarded each other cooly, with twin looks of expectation. Voldemort, however, had the benefit of age and the patience it allowed him. Tom broke the silence first.

“You wished to speak to me?”

“What have you done Tom?” Voldemort hissed, parseltongue turning his already dangerous tone lethal.

Tom glowered back at him.

“This is NOT my doing. I would never be so careless or obvious!”

Voldemort sneered.

“And I suppose you were framed? By whom? Potter?”

“Of course not! No one knows who I am to bother with framing me. But you have the right idea. I think who ever did this is trying to frame Potter.”

Now that gave the Dark Lord pause. That hadn’t occurred to him. Tom was not reckless enough to unleash the basilisk, as his guilt would be instantly obvious… but only to Voldemort and only because he was a Parselmouth with knowledge of the Chamber. Yet the only parselmouth anyone at the school knew about was himself and… Harry.

A list of people was already flitting through his mind who might hold a grudge against the boy. Slytherins were a jealous lot by nature and the attention he had been giving the Gryffindor was more than enough reason for many to feel resentment, coupled with the boy’s Quidditch victories, his popularity with two of the prettiest and richest girl’s in his class, and his obvious magical talent and it was rather surprising more attempts hadn’t been made to damage the boy’s reputation before now.

Lestrange was at the top of the list, as she knew of the Chamber and was clever enough to find a way inside without using parseltongue. He’d brought several Death Eaters down there just before taking the school to perform various dark rituals and the Lestranges were of course among them. She also had an intense hatred for the boy that he had not overlooked.

Yet there were flaws in that idea. Releasing the basilisk to kill students, even if he had never suspected her, would reflect badly on her ability to run the school and she had been desperate to maintain her position as of late. Unless she had meant to kill Harry and make it appear as if the basilisk had done it, and then kill the basilisk in its lair to prevent the truth from being revealed…

Or it may have been one of the students, acting under their own volition or imperius to break into the chamber and steal the many valuable artifacts and lay the blame on Harry…

Could someone have been using Harry to open the Chamber and accidently let out its guardian, then tried to cover it up by altering Harry’s memories? Harry’s thoughts had been a bit odd and disjointed, but that could easily be explained by shock or shoddy memory spells equally.

Then again it might just be Tom fucking with him.

There was only one way to find out. There was, after all, another witness who also happened to be the weapon. Muchalinda.

“Get back to class, Tom, and keep your ear to the ground. If what you’re suggesting is true, than it won’t take long for the rumors to start. I want to know everything they are saying.”

“As you wish, my Lord,” his counterpart hissed mockingly, rising to his feet with serpentine grace and disappearing back through the portrait once again. Voldemort stared after him for a long moment.

“I don’t remember being that much of a prat…”

In case you’re not sure Muchalinda is the basilisk, named after a giant cobra and king of the Nagas (Hindu deities that resemble serpents). Ironic, since Muchalinda is known as a benevolent deity; said to have protected Buddha (and the tree he happened to be meditating under) while he was reaching Enlightenment during a storm.

Any Questions? Leave them in the comments section and I should get back to you within a day or two! Otherwise, have a great weekend!

The Prince and the Second Quest

The Chamber of Secrets was as beautiful and mysterious as he remembered it. A strange mixture of natural geology and human design; symbolic of an age when practitioners of magic were less apt to differentiate the two. It brought a powerful longing in Voldemort, a nostalgia for a time he had never known yet dreamed of constantly. It had been before Christianity had completely smothered the pagan rites and beliefs of the people, and muggles newly pressed in the idea of monotheism, still held an instinctive fear of something other than the devil.

But he was not here to pay homage to the ancient past nor his ancestor who had made the chamber itself. He was there to find Muchalinda, and so far he wasn’t having any luck. He had called to him three times, and though the great serpent was powerful, it would never knowingly defy him. It was gone, and it seemed to have been gone for a while.

The secret entrance from the girl’s lavatory was undisturbed, and his questioning of the serpentine faucet/gatekeeper had proved frustrating but not completely fruitless. The chamber had been opened from the inside, meaning whoever had let Muchalinda out had to have entered from the only other secret passage that led here. With neither the gatekeeper as witness nor the guardian present to answer his questions, there was no way he could be certain who had let Muchalinda escape. It did, however, eliminate an Imperius-ed Harry as a possibility since the other entrance was located in the forbidden forest. His choices now seemed limited to only those Death Eaters he had revealed the second secret entrance to over a decade ago. No one else could have known of it and the magical contract binding them to secrecy would have kept it that way.

That eliminated Snape as a suspect, as he hadn’t needed to bring the potion’s master to the chamber in order to infiltrate the school. He had already done that on his own as a new teacher. Not that he had ever seriously considered Snape. MacNair would have been in class… yet he loathed to drop him as a possible suspect. Lestrange was capable, but without suitable motive. The six or so still living Death Eaters who knew of the place had to be considered as well. His minions may have done well for themselves after the war, but he had left more than a few disgruntled enough to pitch a hissy fit in the form of terrorism.

Or Tom really was involved.

Tom had no resources and no conceivable motivation, but he was clever. Clever enough to orchestrate a death or two without leaving a clue and clever enough to hide (or destroy) his weapon of choice afterwards.

He should know. He had killed his father and grandparents before graduation and never been accused. He had killed a lover too. And her other lover. And that pick-pocket from Knockturn alley… or had he only maimed that one?

He shoved aside his useless meanderings and headed towards the exit. There were no clues left to be found here, and he was expected back in Bristol later this afternoon. He had just enough time to inform Lestrange and Snape of what he found or rather didn’t find, and perhaps lay a few spells where he felt it warranted.

Time would tell if the threat had passed, disappearing into the unknown with his precious Muchalinda.

Some how, he doubted it.

Cassandra Sweety’s funeral was held on Saturday, and only a few of her closest friends had been permitted to leave the school to attend. Harry was not counted among them. The memorial service Voldemort promised was that Sunday, which Harry did attend.

The service was held in a section of the castle Harry had never been in, which was a pity since it was very beautiful. The ceilings were high and vaulted, with equally tall windows on either side, letting southern light streamed in through most of the day. Gothic arches and columns decorated the chamber and divided the room into partitions, elegantly drawing a person’s eye’s upwards to the ceilings, inlaid with golden lief in patterns Harry vaguely recognized as Greek Orthodox with a heavy Islamic influence. Harry wasn’t certain if the room was meant to be a church per se, as the only religious icon he recognized was a sort of cross inlaid with runes standing over the memorial altar which easily could have been removed, but it resembled the inside of a cathedral enough to give a divine aura to the place.

The Hufflepuffs had been hard at work preparing for the service, Harry could tell. The room was laden heavily with white and yellow flowers, of many varieties from lilies and roses to marigolds and baby’s breath. There were gold banners, not with Sweety’s house crest, but her adoptive family’s hanging above them in two rows of six.. Hundreds of white candles in long golden candlesticks glimmered from the dimness of the upper inner sanctum, forming a series of perfect half circles around an altar. The altar was so heavily laden with flowers that you couldn’t see the altar underneath, but the framed picture of Cassandra Sweety was clearly visible from the top.

In her frame, Cassandra giggled and flitted in and out of view so that only one part of her face seemed visible at any given time. A twinkling blue eye. The teasing curve of lips. A wisp of wavy brown hair. Every so often she’d pause and pull back and you could see her entire face, and her hands twiddling with her yellow and black scarf.

Harry thought she looked like a very playful and happy person. The sort of girl who would have done well with children and the elderly. But there was no way of knowing now.

Standing amongst the flowers and the candles and the golden banners, Harry felt like little more than a ornament himself in his own glistening white robes. They were merely his school robes transfigured white, much like everyone else’s as no one had thought to bring their funeral robes to school, but they seemed so strange to him. Beside him, Hermione who also dressed in white, looked ready for a marriage rather than a funeral. Draco was somewhere in the crowd of white, but with his pale skin and hair he had all but disappeared. Almost the entire school was there, either out of real sympathy or sense of obligation, from the Headmistress all the way down to the Sleuw’s.

“In the wizarding world,” Hermione whispered, “White is the color of death, not black. It symbolizes purity and a return to the divine light.”

Harry supposed it made more sense than black, which he supposed seemed like a symbolic return to absolute nothingness. Still, in the part of him that still thought as a muggle, all this white seemed farcical for such a somber occasion. Especially since the entire school had seemed in a such a gloomy mood.

The Hufflepuffs were of course, hit the hardest. It wasn’t uncommon to have one of the girls spontaneously burst into tears during a lesson or a meal, often dragging a few of their classmate’s into an emotional fit in the process. The rest of the time they were withdrawn and quiet, avoiding the company of other houses in favor of clustering together in comforting circles.

Slytherins, which were hardly known for their sympathetic side, were more than likely mocking them behind the closed doors of their common room, but in the open halls they remained respectfully reserved with a few exceptions. A few of the more mean spirited boys and a petty Millicent Bulstrode made the mistake of mocking Cassandra Sweety’s former boyfriend, Cedric Diggory, throwing out suggestions that he had knocked up the girl and then killed her to keep from taking responsibility. None of his mockers were in Dueling Club, and if they had been they would have known better than to torment the Captain of the Junior Varisty team.

Diggory received a week’s worth of detention for what followed. Many thought he got the worst of it, but Harry had seen the Slytherin’s leaving Snape’s office after the event. The shame in their eyes and the bright red hand print on their cheeks seemed a greater punishment than polishing trophies by hand to Harry.

The Ravenclaws took it mostly in stride, though a few who had the girl in their study group seemed genuinely upset by her absence.

Gryffindor was handling things the worst in Harry’s opinion. Gryffindors were witches and wizards of action, not contemplation, and death was something none of them could really do anything about. But they tried anyway. There was a great deal of talk about finding the culprit and making that person pay, but it was mostly talk. Harry himself had been interrogated for clues several times, but he had started replying only in German after a while and then cursing them in Parseltongue shortly after.

There were a few whispers about his involvement in Cassandra’s death, but after last year most were still stinging from their misjudgment of him and avoided such rumors.

Harry wasn’t sure how long their guilt would hold off their need to blame someone, namely himself. Hermione had warned him that since he was well known, he automatically fell under more intense scrutiny and that made him vulnerable to baseless accusations. He didn’t know what he would do if that happened. Being unpopular because of a mistake he’d made was one thing, but being accused of murder was something else altogether.

At least the Hufflepuff’s didn’t seem to be entertaining that nonsense. He had talked with several of them as they had gathered for the memorial service. Their honest grief over Cassandra touched Harry, and the pained look in their eyes when they asked whether it appeared she had suffered in her last moments inclined him to answer them as he hadn’t anyone else, not even Hermione.

“She looked a little startled. I think she died before the surprise had even worn off. There was no pain in her expression.”

The girls all cried. Every single one of them. A few of the boys too. Diggory had nodded once, taken a deep breath and thanked him.

The memorial service lasted an hour and a half. A few teachers talked about what a hard working student she was, her determination, and the regret that she wouldn’t go on to aid the wizarding world with her strength and her character. Her friends talked of less grand things. Of study groups where there was more laughter than actual studying, where comforting a friend had meant more than studying for an exam, and smiles even when things didn’t go as planned or perhaps because they didn’t.

Afterwards they all walked by her memorial, laying down cards and more flowers and trinkets. Harry hadn’t known her, but feeling a strange connection to her, had drawn a picture of a lark for her. One of her friends had said it was her spirit animal.

For the first time since the murder that Wednesday, Harry wanted to be alone. Unable to leave the common room like the rest of his House until Monday morning classes, he had to settle for pulling the curtain around his bed and casting a silencing charm.

Secluded in his new, smaller world consisting only of his bed, the surrounding darkness, and the sound of his pocket watch ticking softly, Harry lay thinking for a long time.

“There really is nothing else I can do for her, is there?” he asked himself, recalling his last conversation with Voldemort.

Cassandra was gone and there was no bringing her back.

But… God, how many times would this happen? Girls dying in that bathroom. Had it happened before Myrtle? Would Cassandra eventually return as a ghost to haunt the bathroom in Myrtle’s place? And what about the bespeckled ghost? Being already dead, the chances were she was only paralyzed or stunned or in some sort of stasis. All these things could be undone, given the right spell or incantation or incense. Would she eventually be unparalyzed, exorcised and evicted from the castle, or hidden away like an unwanted painting? Had she been removed from the school already? Should he risk Snape’s attention by asking?

No.

Hell no.

But how could he…?

The faint ticking sound suddenly grew louder in his ears. Of course! He pulled out his watch, and climbed out of his bed. Several boys were startled by his sudden appearance but he didn’t offer any explanation, instead retrieving what he wanted from his trunk before scurrying back into his small sanctuary.

He cast a lumos and studied Voldemort’s gift. The golden band glistened in the light, a shade brighter than his golden watch. He had been meaning to try it out all year, but hadn’t found a suitable target or place to test it on. Slipping the band over his watch, he observed with rapt attention as it glowed white for a moment and then shrank to surround the face.

The hands of the watch, which had indicated it was fifteen minutes til dinner, suddenly moved. The short hand pointed towards Harry, while the long hand pointed towards three. Harry rotated the watch, and the hands changed time but always pointed in the same direction. It took him a moment to realize that the long hand pointed North by default, like a compass, and the short hand always pointed towards himself.

“Where is Myrtle Tetherwood?” he whispered, half a afraid of the answer. The long hand twitched, and then slowly rotated counterclockwise until it reached the number seven. There it stopped. It was pointing further into the castle. Harry grinned.

At least he knew Myrtle was alive…er… not gone anyway.

Now all he had to do was get to the library and figure out what was wrong with her.The not knowing was intolerable. It may have be pointless, but he needed to know what really happened. He needed to know it would never happen again.

Opportunity presented itself that very night, without Harry having to do a thing.

Clyde had timidly invaded his ‘fortress of solitude’ when it came time to go to dinner.

“Hey, mate. You hungry?”

Truthfully, he wasn’t, but he no longer felt like being alone. He had an idea, a project of sorts that he thought his friends might be interested in helping him with. Now if only he could get them alone long enough to ask them.

“Come on then, Clyde,” came Percy’s authoritive voice, “There’s going to be an announcement at dinner, so everyone is expected to attend. That includes you, Mister Potter!”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Clyde muttered, earning a little smile from Harry.

They met Hermione in the common room, already packed with students lining up to be escorted to the Great Hall. She gave Harry’s still white and now rumpled robes a disapproving look before muttering a couple of spells.

“Honestly, Harry, you really need to read the book I gave you for your birthday. I can’t be doing your laundry every day.”

He just smirked. Truthfully, he had read half of it already and it was good, but he tended to skip the sections on ‘domestic housework’. He’d lived in his Aunt Petunia’s fastidiously clean house for years and it had sort of turned him off of anything that resembled a chore… However, there was another book she had wanted him to read that he was more interested in at the moment.

“Hermione, do you still have ‘Hogwarts; A History’?”

Clyde looked horrified. “Bloody hell mate, she just forgot about it this year and you have to go and remind her?!”

She favored him with glare, leaving him cowed, before turning her intrigued eyes to Harry. “I’m way ahead of you, Harry.”

Looking to make sure no one was watching them, she pulled the aforementioned book (albeit shrunk to the size of a match box) from her pocket and showed it to him then quickly put it back before anyone else noticed. Harry gave her a surprised look. She rolled her eyes.

“Oh, come on, you think I wouldn’t do a little investigating of my own? This entire thing is too weird.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Harry couldn’t help but wonder if Hermione wasn’t still harboring some resentment for the secrets he kept, and this wasn’t a way for her to find some of her own. He hoped she realized they weren’t nearly as much fun as people made them out to be.

She didn’t look resentful.

“Well… you seemed pretty out of it for the last couple of days, and with everyone bothering you about what you saw, I figured you wouldn’t want to deal with it for a while if ever. I mean… it’s not like you’re obligated to. Might even be better if you didn’t, what with everyone from my godfather on up to the Dark Lord breathing down your neck. But since you came to me, well… Merlin almighty Harry, there are some things I’ve found that I just have to show you! It’s incredible!”

“Alright, alright! Calm down,” Harry insisted, noticing that a few people were noticing Hermione’s excitement. “We’ll talk about it later… privately.”

Clyde was looking utterly confused and after a moment a bit angry too.

“Do I get to join this little talk about this thing of which I have no idea what you’re babbling about, or does this ‘private’ party have a two person limit?”

Harry smirked. “Come if you want. Just know you’ll probably have to answer to Voldemort if we get caught.”

“What?!”

“Why’d I have to open my big mouth?”

“What’s wrong with you, Clyde?” Ginny asked, passing him a basket of rolls. The youngest Weasley didn’t often sit with the second years, feeling a bit naive surrounded by veteran students and her newest crush to boot, but there had been some rather offensive rumor-mongering amongst her fellow first years and she had decided to sit with Harry to demonstrate exactly what she thought of that. Honestly, as if Harry Potter would ever hurt anyone! McNair didn’t count, since that was self-defense in her opinion.

“Ignore him,” said Hermione, trading Harry’s hot potato for a salad, much to the boy’s consternation. “He’s just crying over spilt milk.”

Ginny wrinkled her freckled nose.

“Is this about that first year Hufflepuff? Cathy Ratchet or something? ’Cause honestly, Clyde, she’s kinda of a nit. Nice, but a nit.”

“It’s Cathy Wicket, and she’s not a nit. Just because she actually acts like a real girl, doesn’t make her stupid. Jeez, you could use a few lessons from her!”

“Next time I want to know many times to flutter my eyes or who the most eligible sixth year is, I’ll remember that!”

“Calm down, both of you,” Hermione scolded, turning to Harry who was prodding his salad with his fork. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“I hate salad.”

She rolled her eyes. “Anything useful?”

“I like potatoes… with sour cream… and butter… and cheese…”

“Harry!”

“Well… it’s useful if you want to give me my potato back.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, while the others were now distracted enough from their argument to actually laugh. She was half way through her lecture on the importance of a good diet, especially for a boy as physically active as Harry with his Quidditch and Dueling Club activities, when Lestrange drew the student’s attention by tapping her glass. The resulting chime spread rang like a great bell through the hall, silencing all conversation.

“Good Evening, students,” she began, looking the most relaxed she had since the term had started, “I have some good news. After a thorough investigation, the culprit of last Wednesday’s heinous crime has been discovered.”

Excited murmurs erupted from every table. Harry and his friends shared cautious looks of suspicion and hope. Lestrange tapped her glass again to draw back their attention, completely unperturbed by their interruption.

“As I was saying, it turns out that this unfortunate incident was not in fact an act of murder by a wizard as so many have come to believe, but the result of an animal attack.”

More murmurs, this time rather disbelieving. Who had ever heard of a student being attacked by an animal in Hogwarts? (Outside of Care of Magical Creatures and occasionally DA&D, of course).

“Now, now children, I think it is important that you remember that the school is built beside a very dangerous forest with some of the greatest populations of magical creatures in Britain,” the Headmistress chided, “Upon examining Miss Sweety, it was found that she had been bitten by an acrumantula, a very aggressive and very venomousbreed of spider. A nest was found in some of the vents and destroyed, and additional wards have been set up to destroy any spiders that may have escaped. Hogwarts is once again safe.”

A great cheer rose up through the students, and even the Hufflepuffs looked happy or at the very least satisfied. Harry, however, wasn’t. Lestrange was lying and he knew it. There was no way a spider, however venomous, could have harmed Myrtle. Hermione nudged him with her elbow.

“Clap, Harry,” she said, smiling stiffly and applauding with everyone else. “We know she’s full of it, but we don’t need to let her know we’re aware of that.”

Reluctantly, Harry joined the others cheer, although if anyone had seen his ‘smile’ they would say it looked more like he’d swallowed something sour. Discreetly, he searched the Hall for anyone who doubted the Headmistress’s words as much as he did. Snape was sitting quietly, neither smiling or applauding, but staring out at the students contemptuously. He moved his gaze along before the man spotted him, found McGonagal looking as reluctantly cheerful as he felt, and McNair grinning a bit too much, likely amused at what he knew was a lie. He found the Slytherin’s table next. Draco was applauding politely with the others, although his expression was neutral. There was no telling if the Malfoy heir believed his aunt’s words or not. Natalie just looked bored, seemingly regretful that all the excitement was coming to an end. Ron… looked constipated… moving on…

Tom.

The fifth year boy was neither smiling nor applauding, but regarding the Headmistress with a thinly hidden veneer of disgust. Harry felt his smile become a bit more real as he realized there was at least one other who questioned what they were being told. He turned back to his own table looking for the Weasley twins. Fred and George were taking the excitement as an opportunity to slip something into Percy’s pockets, while the other was distracted. Harry shook his head. He’d just have to ask them point blank later.

“Yes, yes,” Lestrange said, preening under the applause as if it were meant for her, “This is all wonderful news, but lets settle down. I have a few more announcements.”

Everyone took their seats and stopped clapping, but there was still a dull roar of pleased murmurs. The Headmistress continued.

“Since the school has once again been secured, I am allowing the continuation of extra curricular activities, unsupervised movements between and after classes, and the resumption of Hogsmead Weekends. The Gryffindor/Hufflepuff Quidditch match will be held next Saturday, and the Ravenclaw/Slyterin match will be bumped to Sunday. All other matches will resume as scheduled.”

Another resounding cheer rose through the Hall, leading to such a racket that Lestrange could say nothing more and resigned herself to her seat. She sparred Snape a smug look, but the potion’s master looked less than impressed with the mess of rampant students she’d left in the wake of her announcements.

Harry, Hermione, and Clyde took the flurry of activity to gather up a bit of dinner and leave the Great Hall for their common room. There were half way there when Ginny caught up to them.

“What’s going on? Why did you guys leave?”

The three shared anxious looks.

“Ah… the library,” Clyde stammered.

“What?”

“Oh! Yes, we’re heading to the library,” Hermione picked up, “We haven’t been able to visit since Friday and it was so crowded we didn’t get anything done! We want to get started on the essays we didn’t finish before everyone else gets done with dinner.”

Ginny’s expression was clearly doubtful. She looked shyly to Harry.

“Sweetey wasn’t killed by a spider, so we’re going to try and figure out what did,” he said bluntly.

“Harry!” his friends protested in unison. He glowered back at them.

“If there’s something killing students wandering the halls of Hogwarts I think she has the right to know.”

There wasn’t anything they could say in protest to that. Ginny looked curious.

“O-oh… I wondered… C-can I help?”

“Can you keep it a secret?”

“Harry!”

“Secret? Why I don’t know… I’ve never had any secrets before,” the younger girl said, laughing nervously as if she’d made a bad joke and knew it. Harry grinned.

“Okay, then.”

“Harry!”

“The more who know the truth, the better,” was his only response. “It makes it that much harder to kill.”

Hermione’s expression stated clearly that she didn’t agree.

Snape left dinner early to take refuge in the dungeons. Dinner was always a circus with that many children crammed that closely together in the presence of food, but tonight it was particularly rowdy. He understood their exuberance, but must they all act like screeching monkeys with bananas? At least his Slytherins had kept relatively well behaved, speaking just loud enough so that they could hear each other over the din from the other tables.

Many of his snakes hadn’t seemed inclined to talk at all. Draco, he knew, was suspicious. Smart lad, his godson. So was his new student Thomas Rook. Also a smart lad… unnervingly so. Rook had integrated himself into Slytherin hierarchy in record time, charming and manipulating his classmates and teachers with the ease of an experienced politician, and his ambitions for more were apparent. At least to Snape.

He had seen the boy observing Harry Potter during meal times on several occasions and Draco had mentioned Rook’s curiosity regarding the Dark Lord’s ‘favorite student’. His godson’s words had suggested the interest was more carnal than political, but the young Malfoy was young enough to confuse the two… many adults still did. It was possible the interest was both. In any case, Snape felt the boy worth watching.

Someone had to protect Potter, after all, and Lestrange clearly wasn’t going to cut it. She wasn’t even going to make an attempt to protect the rest of the students. Her removal of the staff’s safeguards and the state of complacency she had now lulled the little nitwits into was beyond reckless in his opinion. It was unforgivable.

The situation was strange enough to Snape to warrant a repeat incident, a further teasing. It didn’t matter if their Lord hadn’t been able to find the basilisk. If fact, that was even more worrisome. Lestrange seemed convinced the culprit who had unleashed the snake had destroyed it afterwards. Voldemort hadn’t done anything to dissuade her of this theory, but to Snape it was obvious that who ever had done it wasn’t targeting Sweety or Myrtle. They were either an accident or the beginning of a very disturbing trend.

Voldemort had already left the castle to return to Bristol, leaving Lestrange with the acrumantula story and Snape with explicit instructions to remain alert and protect Potter, suspecting that the boy might some how be a target. Snape was less convinced, but the little Gryffindork had disappeared immediately after Lestrange’s announcement with his goddaughter and some friends, and he couldn’t help but wonder if they weren’t up to something.

Perhaps Potter had simply wanted to warn them. Officially, Snape would have to object to the uncovering of one of the Dark Lord’s many lies, but at the same time he was pleased Potter was opting to protect Hermione, and Draco by proxy. He was fond of those three…two, he meant two!

Just as likely, Potter was letting his curiosity get the best of him, thus risking Hermione, and Draco by proxy. Then he’d have to roast the little fool on a spit and feed him to the basilisk… or Rook.

He was going to have to find out soon if he wanted to keep all of them out of trouble.

Mentally, Snape sighed. When and how had he ended up playing father for Hogwart’s most troublesome?

Just a reminder:

DA&D stands for ‘Dark Arts & Defense’. It’s like DADA, accept it includes actual Dark Arts in the curriculum, not just how to defend against it.

The Hunt

“They blamed an acrumantula last time this happened,” Hermione said, handing over ‘Hogwarts: A History’ to Harry. The four of them were gathered in at the far end of the library, surrounded by a silencing charm. They had selected a couple of books on hexes and dueling, so that if anyone should question their secretive behavior they could say they were studying for matches against other Houses in Dueling Club. No one else had come up from dinner yet, but Madam Pince was eying them suspiciously.

“What do you mean, ‘the last time this happened’?” Clyde asked, looking over Harry’s shoulder at the article.

“According to ‘Hogwarts: A History’, another girl died in the exact same manner as Sweety did, and in the exact same location, almost fifty years ago,” Hermione explained.

“Oh! Moaning Myrtle! I’ve heard about her from Patricia York. She say’s she’s a right menace, what with flooding the bathroom and screeching at anyone who enters,” Ginny let out excitedly. “If that’s the case, then we can just ask her what happened right?”

“Who the heck is Moaning Myrtle?”

“She’s a ghost of a first year who haunts the girl’s dungeon lavatory,” Harry said.

“Gross! Who could take a leak with a dead girl floating through the stall?”

“Clyde!” Hermione scolded, but then tilted her head in concession, “Well, I suppose that’s pretty accurate. No one really goes in there because she’s pretty up-in-your-face as soon as you step inside. But she is a gabber. I bet she’d tell us what happened-”

“No.”

All three looked at Harry, surprised.

“What? You think she’d tell someone we asked her?” Hermione asked.

“No, I mean it’s impossible to ask her. She’s been… I dunno what’s been done to her, but the investigators brought me back into the lavatory, I found Myrtle in one of the stalls. She looked like she’d been frozen in place. She just sort of … floated there with this vacant expression on her face. Can you curse a ghost?”

“Wait, why didn’t you say this before?” Ginny asked.

“Ginny, I’m sorry to say that just about half of everything I say about what happens to me has been edited for content. Voldemort and Snape keep the scissors.”

Ginny shuddered.

“Well…ah… that’s a clue at least, right? I mean, who would know how to curse a ghost?”

“Snape,” offered Clyde.

“No,” Hermione cut off pointedly. “I don’t think there are any spells you can caste directly on a ghost. You’d need special equipment or incense or incantations. Really, it would have been a lot easier to exorcise her rather than … suspend her. But that’s a clue. We should start looking up things that could do that to a ghost. Maybe we can figure out how it was done and thenfigure out who or what could have done it.”

“Or perhaps we could just find a cure and ask Myrtle directly,” Harry offered.

Everyone looked rather interested in his idea for a moment, but then Hermione sighed.

“No, they’ve probably exorcised her by now. She would have been proof that an acumantula hadn’t killed Sweety. They would have hidden her at the very least.”

Harry pulled out his watch and grinned.

“Thankfully, I’m a master at ending up exactly where I’m not suppose to be.”

“I’m going to kill Potter!”

Tom looked up from his book, ‘A History of Serpents and Magic’, to observe Draco Malfoy storming into the Slytherin Commons Room. He was followed shortly after by his little band of cronies and the Cypher girl, all with varying degrees of agreement. Tom mentally rolled his eyes. Draco’s frustrated and often ambiguous friendship with Potter was infamous among Slytherins, and resulted in many speculations on his true feelings towards the Gryffindor.

The most common were as followed: Draco was secretly in love with Harry, but would never admit it. Draco was secretly in love with his adopted sister, and hated Harry because he was competition. Draco wanted Harry to marry his sister Hermione, and was frustrated when he did stupid things to muck that up. Draco hated Harry, but kept him as a friend because of his influence with the dark lord. Draco hated Harry, and was pretending to be his friend so he could destroy him later.

Tom was of the personal opinion that Draco both admired and envied Harry, and hated himself because of it. It didn’t really matter to Tom. He didn’t intend on letting Draco remain in Harry’s sphere of influence for much longer, and the boy was still young enough not to pose a real threat. He turned back to his book, fully prepared to ignore the Malfoy heir but his next words drew his attention back.

“Some one died, and Potter’s already meddling and dragging my sister along with him! I swear the next dueling practice I’m knocking his head clean off his shoulders! It’s not like he uses the silly thing!”

“Draco, you’re being paranoid,” Natalie said, sighing, “They went to the library, not the dungeons. I bet your sister dragged them up there to study.”

“With Ginny? She doesn’t have any of the same classes as them!”

Natalie shrugged. “For Dueling Club then. Maybe just to talk about what’s happened. If they have a half a knut worth of sense between them then they don’t believe Lestrange’s load of dragon dung about spiders anymore than we do.”

Ron paused, mirroring Crabbe and Goyle’s looks of confusions. “It wasn’t really a spider?”

The two blonds rolled their eyes, and continued to stalk up to the second year dormitories. Tom pretended to read his book for another fifteen minutes, then got up to head to the library. If what Draco suspected was right, then Harry was setting himself up for trouble.

An intervention might be in order.

Harry and his friends spent almost four hours in the library researching ghosts and old newspapers regarding the death of Myrtle Tetherwood. There was a lot of material about the ghosts, less so about Myrtle.

“I can’t seem to find anything about her in the newspapers,” Hermione lamented, “There seems to be some missing around the time of her death, but there’s no way of knowing if they were removed before or after Sweety’s. But it does suggest that they’re connected some how.”

“Yeah, and I doubt a spider went around stealing newspapers,” Harry said, before turning to his book, Dealing with the Dreadful Dead.

“Maybe McGonagal would know,” Ginny suggested, “She would be about the right age to attend Hogwarts then, wouldn’t she?”

Hermione shook her head. “She’d never tell us, if she even knows. She probably thought it really was an acrumantula, like everyone else at the time anyway.”

The bookish witch turned suddenly thoughtful.

“It’s weird though, that both girls were killed in that bathroom. I mean, if it were an animal or a person, what are the chances of them killing someone in the same place?”

“Well,” Clyde said, taking the opportunity to close his book on exorcisms, “that depends. If I were an animal or homicidal wizard, where would I be most apt to kill anyone I met?”

Everyone turned him expectantly. He grinned and rolled his eyes.

“It’s obvious. It’d be the place where I wouldn’t want anyone else but me to be. My secret lair.”

“In the girl’s bathroom? What kind of lair is that?!” Ginny protested.

“Wait,” Harry interrupted, “Clyde might have something there. It might not be the bathroom itself, but perhaps there’s a secret passage in there. There’s secret passages all over the school, especially in the dungeons. They say no one’s ever found them all. Perhaps Cassandra and Myrtle both found it, and accidentally set off a trap of some kind. Maybe a curse or a poison… or a guardian.”

There was a tense moment of silence as they digested the possibility..

“If that’s the case, and they accidently released a guardian to some secret passage… then I bet the Dark Lord knows about it,” Hermione finally continued, “That’s why there’s this big cover up. That’s why they’re blaming it on something as ridiculous as spiders. They want to keep it a secret.”

“But what if it really is a spider,” Clyde suggested, “What if the acrumantula was the ‘guardian’?”

“I doubt it,” said Harry, “A spider wouldn’t have been able to bite Myrtle. Besides, I’ve talked to Myrtle before. She said she saw a pair of big yellow eyes just before she died. I think spiders have six or eight or something like that.”

“Harry! Why didn’t you mention that before?!”

“Sorry, Hermione, I kind of forgot about it, really.”

“Hold up a sec. When did you go into the girl’s bathroom before? Why did you, for that matter,” Clyde asked.

Harry turned a bit pink around the ears. “I got sick after potions last year, and ran into the first bathroom I could find. I still don’t know were the boy’s bathroom is down there. But that’s really not important right now!”

Hermione sighed and closed her books.

“I think we should call it a night.”

“What? But we’ve just started making progress!” Ginny protested.

“Hardly,” Hermione said tiredly. “We’ve only got a theory, and one that’s going to require us getting a lot more books about things other than exorcisms and ghosts. I think we need to decide whether we want to pursue finding a cure for Myrtle first or start investigating a secret passage theory before we continue. Lets head back for now. I need to talk with Draco and I still have to study for next Friday’s History of Magic quiz.”

Ginny and Clyde agreed, but Harry lingered.

“I’m just going to see if I can find some old maps of Hogwarts. It might prove useful if were looking for a secret passages or a hidden ghost. I’ll meet up with you all at dinner.”

“Alright, Harry, just don’t get carried away. And be careful!”

“Yeah, those paper cuts can be deadly,” Clyde laughed. Ginny smacked him upside the head. They disappeared somewhere beyond the book shelves and Harry cancelled the silencing charm. Now he could hear the faint sounds of library activity, pages rustling, vague whispers, and the light creak of old wood. Pulling his watch from his pocket he whispered ‘Hogwart’s maps’ and let it lead him to the far end of the library, where he found himself looking at the locked gate to the Restricted Section.

“Well, damn.”

“You should be grateful for the locks, Mr. Potter. Your curiosity in that room will kill more than just a cat.”

Harry jumped, dropping the books he’d been carrying and spun around to see Snape looking cooly down at him. Mentally, he let out a groan. Just the person he didn’t need to see. From the other end of the library he could see Madam Pince glowering over at him, and he avoided her accusing gaze as well as Snape’s by gathering up his books.

“Nervousness is a sign that a person is up to no good, you know,” the potion’s master drawled.

“Or that someone else is up to no good,” Harry muttered back, then glowered at the man, making a point to look just above his head as he did so. There wasn’t any reason to take chances.

“Ah, perhaps,” Snape conceded generously, but snatch up a book from amongst those he was carrying. He read the title and raised a brow at Harry, who was now blushing. “‘The Anatomy of the Spiritual Body’.Found religion, have we?”

“It’s not about religion, it’s about metaphysics,” the Gryffindor bit out, taking the book back.

“I don’t recall metaphysics being apart of the second year curriculum, Mr. Potter.”

“Personal interest, Professor. Detentions have been rather low this semester.”

Judging by Snape’s expression, the older wizard clearly didn’t believe him, but he let it go for the moment. He pulled a letter from an inner pocket.

“This will likely be of personal interest, as well. If you think you might put aside your meanderings on your inevitable demise for a few moments, you might like to know you’ve received a letter.”

Now Harry’s interest was definitely perked. His mail, as far as he knew, was handled completely through owl post with the exception of …

“Sirius.”

“Yes.”

Harry reached up to take the letter, but Snape grabbed his wrist with his free hand, and pulled him forward so the older wizard could hiss in his ear.

“I would like to take this opportunity to remind you that these letters are a privilege for both you and your mangy godfathers, and so can be taken away if either of you behave poorly. Poor behavior includes, but is not limited to, meddling in affairs that do not concern you and lying to your guardians. I trust we have an understanding?”

The man’s grip was incredibly strong, and Harry knew he could snap his arm without hardly trying. Worse, perhaps, was the fact that he had the power to uphold his threat, severing the last chances Harry had at family. Reluctantly, he looked Snape in the eye.

“I understand, Professor.”

Snape held his gaze for moment, but there was no pressure or the slithering feeling of a foreign presence in Harry’s mind, and finally the potion’s master released him and handed him his letter.

“Good. I trust we will not require a repeat of this conversation.”

Harry’s gaze fell to his shoes.

“No, Professor.”

Snape nodded sharply and turned to leave. He made it all the way to the end of the first row of shelves, before pausing. Harry was afraid he was going to say something else to him, but instead he turned to towards another row of books.

“Good evening, Mr. Rook. Studying hard, are we?”

There was a pause, and a very reluctant response.

“Yes, Professor.”

A wave of humiliation washed over Harry. Had Tom been there through Snape’s entire visit? Had he seen him spook at Snape’s sudden appearance? Had he heard his godfather’s name? Snape’s threat? Had he seen Harry’s pathetic submission? He didn’t know, but whatever Tom saw or thought he did, Harry didn’t want to be around to face the older boy’s questions or pity. He quickly slipped down another aisle, left his books with Madam Pince, and escaped to the hallway.

Snape kept his eyes on Rook, but listened closely to Harry’s retreat. Rook hadn’t spoken, and the potion’s master suspected he was listening as well. He was glad he had decided to deliver Harry’s letter here. It had originally been his intention to wait till after Monday morning Potions, but the abrupt appearance of Sirius Black’s belated letter provided him the opportunity to sate his curiosity on Harry and Hermione’s activities in the library. He had learned two very important things from the excursion.

One, the Gryffindors either weren’t investigating after all and were pursuing stranger hobbies involving ghosts or they had devised a theory that had absolutely nothing to do with basilisks. Both circumstances meant he didn’t have to worry about them discovering the truth about Sweety (and really, what was the truth?), but still meant he would have to watch to make sure they didn’t get involved with different kind of dangers altogether.

Two, Rook really was interested in Harry. Perhaps even stalking the young wizard. That was something he was going to have to list in his next report to Voldemort. It might provide him with sufficient reason to perform a background check on the mysterious boy. Failing that, it would at least reassure the Dark Lord that he was being vigilant in his duty regarding Potter, and perhaps even further validate Snape’s importance at Hogwarts.

Every little bit helped.

He smirked at Rook. “Your diligence to your academics is commendable, Mr. Rook. So many students become distracted in their free time. I am glad to see that is not the case with you. After all, with your late admittance to the school, it is important for your future university to see how well you acclimated to student life at an institutional level…”

Every little bit helped.

Rook’s expression was cool and neutral, but the lack of his usual confident smile, told Snape his threat had been received and given appropriate significance.

“Yes, Professor.”

“Well, then I will leave you to it. Don’t stay too late.”

With that he strode out of the library, gracing Madam Pince with a wicked smirk. The strict librarian blushed inexplicably and turned away from his to sort through the books Potter had left on her counter.

Tom watched Professor Snape’s withdrawal, thoroughly flummoxed. Fifty years ago, he could not recall a single wizard who had been able to see through and out maneuver him with the exception of Albus Dumbledore.

And Severus Snape was no Albus Dumbledore.

Not yet anyway.

Harry practically ran out of Hogwarts. Or at least the castle. He had hidden his letter in an inner pocket upon entering the school corridors, and then headed straight for the green houses. After his initial embarrassment of Tom witnessing Snape’s reprimand, he was filled with excitement and anxiety over his godfathers’ letter. He had been waiting for so long, he didn’t want anyone to disturb him while he was reading, friend or foe, and went to one of the most private places he knew.

No one but Professor Sprout and Harry used Green House number three, and Harry only went there to visit and care for Inana. The highly venomous cobra lurking amongst the greenery was more than enough of a deterrent to curious students. Inana had an understanding, via Harry, that Sprout was there simply as a humble servant to keep the illustrious Queen Inana’s abode suitably green and lush and should thus be ignored completely when ever she came or went. Sprout assumed Harry had simply commanded Inana to leave her alone.

As if he could command a snake to do anything it didn’t want to do. Convince, perhaps, but never command.

So he knocked on the green house door, and then slipped inside. Inana was curled up sleepily in one of Sprout’s tin tubs, and hardly gave him any mind. He found a large, upside down pot he used as a chair, and made himself comfortable. He took out his letter and began to read.

Dear Prongslet

Firstly, sorry we couldn’t write to you sooner. I left a dead fish in Loki’s bed, and the twerp threw such a hissy fit, I wasn’t allowed to write for a while. He deserved it, I swear!

Harry rolled his eyes, but smiled. Why was he not surprised? Incredibly relieved, but not surprised.

Secondly, don’t worry about being a parselmouth. Your father told me once that your great-grandfather was one as well, but never told anyone outside of the family. He was also a Gryffindor, and a very kind and decent man. Don’t let anyone hold this talent against you.

A surge of joy fill him. It was a family trait! A gift passed down the Potter line, perhaps the descendants of Slytherin, but obviously the black sheep of that particular family. And Sirius and Remus knew and didn’t care! Thank Merlin! Thank God!

Of course, we could have told you this if you had bothered to mention it before you managed to run off and started setting cobras on dark wizards. You do know you made it into Wizarding Weekly again, don’t you?

Eep. So that’s how Voldemort knew to send Umbridge.

Judging by McNair’s short vacation to St. Mungo’s, I take it you won that duel. Congratulations. We’re so proud of you. Or I am at least. Remus was puttering around like such a girl. ‘Oh, poor Harry, he must have been terrified!’ ‘What if Harry was hurt? What if he’s mentally traumatized for life?!’ I was more worried about you actually joining a club taught by Snivilus. Are you mad?!

Well, if you are, welcome to the club.

Harry grinned, and continued to read.

Harry’s good mood lasted all the way until Wednesday. Sirius’ letter had been long and pleasant and such a relief. Despite all the bad things that had happened, he couldn’t help but feel things were starting to take a turn for the better. The only down side to receiving it had been Snape’s threat. Hermione and Draco had also received a little ‘talk’ after potion’s class on Monday, and though Hermione hadn’t told them what was said he had a pretty good idea. The potion master’s scrutiny had temporarily halted all research in the library until they could think of a more discreet way to search.

It likely wouldn’t have mattered anyway, as everyone seemed much to busy catching up with school work and missed club activities to spare much time. His Quidditch team was in a fierce competition with their rivals for time on the pitch, and Harry found himself dragged off for practices at a moment’s notice at the oddest times. During lunch break, just before breakfast, and half an hour before sunset were just a few examples of his quirky practice schedule. Clyde had taken to bringing Harry and his adoptive uncles snacks and meals they missed because of it. The boy chalked it up to ‘showing House spirit’ by supporting the team, but Harry was touched by the gesture nonetheless.

It was during one of these meal runs that Wednesday evening, that Clyde came upon his friend being given an unusual assignment by Oliver Wood.

“Angelina’s late,” the captain said. “She probably didn’t get the message or something. I want you to go back to the castle to see if you can find her, kay Harry? It’s almost sunset and not good light for practicing with the snitch, even with an illumination charm, so after you do this you can skip practice. Kay?”

“Sure,” Harry agreed, albeit reluctantly. As much as everyone seemed to value his Seeker’s skill, they still tended to treat him like the part-time towel boy he’d been last year as punishment for flying without permission during his first flying lesson. It was rather annoying.

“Come on, Harry!” Clyde urged, “Lets eat at the tablefor once. You remember the table right? The food actually stays hot there and they serve dessert!”

Harry smiled and followed his friend back to the castle. Taking out his watch he said Angelina’s name, and observed as the long hand pointed down an empty corridor.

“That’s weird,” Clyde said, “There’s nothing down there but the Hufflepuff’s dormitory.”

“Hold on, let me check something.”

Harry turned the watch upright and watched as the long hand started to angle upwards.

“She’s on a higher floor. I think it’s pointing toward the library or near there. Come on.”

“What’s she doing in the library? It’s already dinner time. I thought the only girl crazy enough to choose a book over food was Hermione.”

“You can ask her yourself when we find her.”

The halls were mostly empty, with only a few students and teachers heading down to the Great Hall, until they reached the fourth floor which seemed entirely deserted. A distant flash of lightening drew their attention and after a moment the distant rumble of thunder could be heard.

“Looks like practice will be cancelled anyway,” Harry lamented. “I hope Wood lets them off soon enough to avoid getting rained on.”

Clyde remained silent. Glancing over at his friend, Harry saw that he wasn’t paying him any attention at all, but looking further down the call. He followed Clyde’s line of sight and jumped in surprise as another round of lightening caste a figure in blinding white and darkest shadow. The light faded almost immediately, revealing Angelina, looking down at what appeared to be a make-up mirror.

“Angelina!” Harry called, but she didn’t look up. He frowned and moved forward, but Clyde grabbed him by his arm.

“Something’s not right.”

Their wands were in their hands instantly, a special flick of the wrist Snape had taught them in Dueling Club that they hadn’t thought they would ever need to use in the halls of Hogwarts. They scanned the surrounding hall, found it empty, and slowly moved forward.

“Angelina?” Harry tried again, but she remained motionless.

“I don’t like this, Harry.”

“Me neither.”

At last they were beside her. There was still no response. Cautiously, Harry reached out to touch the underside of her neck.

“She’s alive, and still warm. She must have been cursed.”

“Do you think she’s been petrified?”

“Maybe, but not the kind we learned in Quirrell’s class. It kind of… She looks kind of like Myrtle did…”

They shared a telling look, and spun around to scan the hall yet again.

“What do we do?” Clyde asked.

“I’ll stay here and guard Angelina. You go to the Great Hall and find some teachers.”

“But what if it comes back?”

“That’s why I can’t leave Angelina alone. She’s can’t defend herself like this.”

“But Harry!”

“Go! The faster you get someone the better.”

The other boy hesitated, clearly torn about leaving his friend alone and finding help for Angelina. Realizing he couldn’t convince Harry to come with him, he finally bolted back towards the stairs and out of sight. A distant roll of thunder drowned out the sound of his shoes on the stones.

Alone in the hall, Harry tried to calm himself. Angelina wasn’t dead. This was a bad school prank. The Slytherin team trying to sabotage Gryffindor’s practices. A finite incantatem later, and she would probably be fine. He would try it himself, but McNair’s warning against applying counter-curses without knowing the actual curse hadn’t been forgotten. Madam Pomfrey or Flickwit or even Snape would know what this was, and a simple incantation or a bad tasting potion later and everything would be back to normal. He swore he was going to cream Slytherin in their next match.

“Bloody hell, Potter, what did you do?!”

Harry spun around, his wand ready with a curse to defend himself, but he hesitated. Ron Weasley stood at the end of the hallway, his wand in one hand and accusatory glare on his face. Suddenly, Harry realized what this must look like to the other boy.

“Bullocks.”

The Hunt

“Expelliarmus!”

“Refutia!Knock it off, Weasley. You’re going to hit Angelina!” Harry snapped, after fending off the third disarming spell Ron had thrown at him.

“Ha! Says that bastard who cursed her!” Ron snarled, “What she do, Potter? Turn down an offer for a date? Is that what happened to Sweety? You’re a sick bloody fucker! Rofendio!”

“Refondae! I didn’t do anything, you stupid twat! She was like this when I got here!”

“Sure, just like Sweety was just lying there when you found her too! Sorentia! Peticio salenco! Porinarde desticia!”

Harry could only recognize the first two hexes, and with no time to caste a counter curse and figure out the third, he caste his strongest blocking charm. The spells smashed into it at once, causing his shield to trembled violently until they dissipated or veered off harmlessly into a wall. His arm tingled in the aftermath.

“Oh, bugger off, you flipping muggleborn-hating little Nazi. Clyde went to get-”

The spell that hit him, smashed him sideways into wall. He fell to the ground and was unable to move, too stunned to understand what had happened. Ron had been in front of him, looking for an opening for his next hex that hopefully wouldn’t hit the still frozen Angelina, and what ever had hit him had definitely come from behind but he hadn’t heard a curse.

“What is the meaning of this?” came an angry, feminine voice.

For an instant, Harry though Clyde had managed to find McGonagall, but his heard sank as he managed to roll over weakly and look up at the fuzzy outline of Madam Umbridge scowling down at him. He closed his eyes and let out groan.

“I caught Potter hexing… whoever this is,” he heard Ron say, and suspected he’d thrown in accusatory pointing for dramatic affect. Another familiar, and equally unwelcome voice joined in.

“That true, Potter?” McNair snarled.

Oh, wonderful. Two of his worst enemies (and a very annoying toad woman) gathered in one spot, and him having already lost his wand.

“No,” Harry said, not bothering to pick himself up. If they intended to curse him again, he wasn’t going to give them the excuse of self defense. He would lay there and wait for Clyde to show up with a real teacher and straighten this all out.

“Liar!” snarled Ron, “I was coming from the library, and saw him with his wand pointed at that girl.”

“I didn’t point it at her,” Harry grumbled, still not bothering to get up or look at any of them. “I had my wand drawn in case who ever cursed Angelina was still around. And shouldn’t you be trying to fix her? She could tell you exactly what happened.”

There was a moment of silence, and Harry had to physically swallow ‘nitwits!’ before he earned himself another curse. There was some shuffling about, and someone toed him sharply in the leg.

“Do get up, Mr. Potter,” Umbridge twittered, “You’re a student of Hogwarts, not a drunken vagabond. Please behave accordingly.”

He sat up, but didn’t try to stand. He felt dizzy and still shaken from the attack. Making himself comfortable against the wall, he searched the corridor for his wand but realized it was useless. He’d have to find his glasses first. A catch twenty-two situation. He couldn’t find anything without his glasses, and it was the glasses he needed to find.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asked, waiting for his dizziness to pass before starting his blind groping.

“Silence, Potter,” McNair hissed.

“I don’t know, Professor, I think he asked a very good question.”

“What are you doing here McGonagal,” growled McNair. “You should be at dinner supervising the rabble.”

“I am where ever my students need me most,Professor,” came the cool reply. A moment later, the witch’s fuzzy silhouette knelt before him. Gently, she set his glasses on his face. His vision cleared… mostly, and he offered her a weak smile. She smiled back and helped him to is feet, before turning her disapproving glare on the other two. “Clyde Hoffman came to me reporting that one of my Gryffindors had been cursed, and that Harry Potter had remained behind to guard her. I see it was good that he did. I can’t imagine what might have happened to a paralyzed girl left unprotected with the three of you roaming the halls.”

“Now Professor McGonagal, do try to consider this situation from our pint of view,” Umbridge said, looking not the least bit contrite. “Two students casting curses in the hall and a third already paralyzed! Such extreme behavior can not be tolerated!”

Yet another voice joined the verbal battle, this one as smooth a silk noose.

“But clearly it can be mimicked. What is going on here?”

“Potter cursed someone else!” Ron spouted quickly, determined to take credit for the discovery.

“Weasley, shut up,” Snape muttered. “The grownups are speaking. McGonagal?”

She repeated what she had said before, then added, “I found Potter slumped against the wall and his glasses on the floor. I think it’s best I take both children to the infirmary.”

Snape nodded, dismissively. “Of course. They’re from your house after all.”

Madam Umbridge, unable to let any opportunity to condescend pass her by, protested.

“Now we must not act hastily. This is not a mere hex! A more thorough investigation must be conducted!”

“I told you what happened!” insisted Ron, earning him another ‘shut up’ from all the teachers. The potion’s master sneered at the toady woman with enough condescension it was a miracle the woman wasn’t drowning in it, then turned away from her to stand before Angelina. He snatched the compact mirror from the frozen girl’s hand and tossed it at Umbridge.

“It should be fairly obvious what happened. A spider did it.”

Starring across the infirmary at the still statuesque Angelina, Harry somehow doubted her condition was cause by a spider. He had watched Madam Pomfrey puttering about the girl for almost half an hour, neither moving or speaking lest the medi-witch take note of him and close the privacy screen around the paralyzed girl. McGonagal had stayed only long enough to be sure her students were taken care of before escorting Clyde back to the Great Hall, informing them that Harry would have to stay the night in the infirmary while she went to inform the rest of the school of what had occurred.

Harry would have liked to know what had happened as well. Snape had said it was a spider, but what did a spider have to do with Angelina’s makeup? And if it was the same ‘spider’ that had killed Cassandra Sweety, why was Angelina still alive?

It had to be a clue. An incredibly important clue, but Harry didn’t know what to make of it and frankly he wished he had gotten it without someone else getting hurt. Would Angelina recover or remain like she was forever? Somehow that seemed even worse than death.

His disturbing thoughts were interrupted by Professor Snape’s entry. He spared a warning glare for Harry, before casting a couple of charms. Harry felt himself suddenly go deaf and the privacy screen around his bed slid closed around him. He didn’t dare try to counteract the spells with Snape still present, even though he felt his insides squirm with curiosity over the potion master’s and the medi-witch’s conversation. Did Pomfrey know what had really happened? If Snape lied to her and she believed it was a spider, would Angelina not receive the proper treatment and never recover?

Only a few minutes had passed, when both spells were suddenly lifted and Harry could see and hear them again. Madam Pomfrey was looking a bit disgruntled, but encouragingly less frantic than she had before. Snape… looked like typical Snape.

“I trust that blow to your head hasn’t stolen what little remained of your wits, Mr. Potter,” the wizard said, moving towards him.

“He’s quite alright. Just a mild concussion,” Pomfrey insisted, then flicked her wand at Angelina. “Muscolo distendasi!”

Angelina’s previously immovable form suddenly went limp, landing half way on the hospital bed. Displaying years of experienced nursing, Pomfrey quickly and easily maneuvered the girl into a more comfortable position before she spelled the screen closed. Harry guessed she was getting Angelina ready for bed, and pointedly looked elsewhere. His eyes immediately found Snape.

“Will she be alright?”

Snape pulled up a wooden chair, transfigured it into something much more comfortable, and sat down. Harry thought it didn’t bode well for him if this very ill-tempered man was settling in for a nice long chat.

“You will be pleased to know Ms. Johnson will make a full recovery…”

The young Gryffindor felt the knot of anxiety in his stomach uncoil.

“… in about five months.”

Err… well, at least she’d recover. She’d probably have to take the entire year over again, but that was a small price to pay for being alive and without any permanent damage. Although what the Quidditch team would do without her he didn’t even want to consider.

“Why so long?”

“She will require an antidote that will require very peculiar and very fresh ingredients. Professor Sprout will have to grow much of it herself. Luckily, I believe she has already ordered the mandrakes for some of her second year students.”

He wanted to ask more questions about the mandrakes and Angelina’s condition and what would happen now that there had been a second attack, but he forced himself to hold his tongue. Snape wasn’t here to talk about any of those things, and could he really trust any of the man’s answers? So he stayed quiet and waited, staring down at his wand, which he had refused to surrender even after being changed into hospital pajamas. Snape noted the wand and nodded in approval.

“I have to ask, Mr. Potter, if you heard or saw anything suspicious before or after you came upon Ms. Johnson. Voices perhaps or a fleeting shadow?”

Harry gave his professor a queer look.

“Voices, Professor? Can acrumantulas speak as well as paralyze and kill people? What talented creatures they are!”

“It was only an example, Potter! Ten points from Gryffindor for being obnoxious. Now answer the question.”

“No, I didn’t see or hear anything. The hallway was empty.”

“And why were you in there in the first place? Didn’t you have practice?”

Harry told him about Wood’s instructions and the use of his pocket watch to find her. Snape seemed to accept his explanation.

“Sir, what will happen now? Will everyone be stuck in their common rooms again?”

“If you’re lucky.”

Snape settled back in his chair and studied the boy carefully, wondering why the boy reminded him so much of Lily Evans when he looked so much like James Potter. Was it the familiar concern in those bright green eyes or that particular way he fiddled with his wand when nervous?

He didn’t know, but whatever the reason, Snape didn’t like the similarities one bit.

If Harry didn’t remind him so much of his mother, Snape theorized he wouldn’t give a damn about what might happen next. Certainly, he wouldn’t have felt even the tiniest twinge of guilt at the boy’s subtle and unconscious show of trust, for the boy turned to him far more often than he should have when things went amiss.

“Will Voldemort come back?” Harry asked.

Snape’s usual dark expression suddenly went neutral.

“Do you want him to?”

Harry fiddles with his wand, and considered.

“I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

The irony of Harry’s words were not lost on either of them.

“I am not sure what the Dark Lord will do. His business in Bristol is of great importance to Britain’s future. However, Hogwarts is a national treasure in and of itself, and this sort of incident is bad for public morale. It may be better for the school if Voldemort doesn’t return for a while yet. I’ll give you back the ten points if you can tell me why.”

Harry racked his brain for a reasonable answer, but all he could pull together was a feeling of unease at the prospect of Voldemort in a bad mood.

“Because he’ll be cranky?”

Snape cough into his hand, fighting to keep his face neutral and not actually smirk.

“Yes… well, that’s true, but not the answer I’m looking for. Voldemort will be in a hurry to return to Bristol. Haste and ‘crankiness’ will lead to rash and likely drastic actions.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, Mr. Potter, ‘oh’ about sums it up. I would like to enlist your assistance in preventing Our Lord’s untimely return.”

“What could I possibly do?”

“I want you to provide an alternative story about what happened. Something that will point to a culprit unrelated to Ms. Sweety.”

Harry scowled.

“If my friends and classmate’s lives are in danger, they have the right to know.”

Snape matched his expression.

“I am a teacher, Mr. Potter. As irritating as I may find the entire lot of you, student welfare is one of my responsibilities. Safety measure will be taken regardless of what story is given, and all will be provided with the appropriate level of protection. I require only that you help divert a panic.”

Harry settled back into his pillow and crossed his arms, and waited to be convinced. Snape sneered in disgust.

“Very well, if public peace of mind is not enough for you, perhaps self preservation will be.”

“What are you talking about?”

The potion master smirked, already convinced he’d won the battle of wills.

“No doubt Mr. Weasley is at this very moment down in the Great Hall, telling everyone how you cursed your own house mate. No doubt they’ll bring up the late Ms. Sweety again, and review the matter will a more ‘informed’ perspective.”

“What?! But it’s a lie! Clyde was with me, he can vouch for me!”

“He’s welcome to try, but whose to say that he didn’t help you? Or perhaps you ‘confunded’ him? No doubt you’re a walking encyclopedia of dark arts. Speaking to snakes, defeating former Death Eaters, and having Voldemort’s favor… It would hardly take much of a leap of logic to assume that you are a Dark Wizard intent on ruling the school,” Snape said, the more absurd his postulations the more cruel his tone became.

What truly horrified Harry was that Snape was right. Ron Weasley wouldn’t stop spouting his ridiculous story, and the rest of the students were often eager latch onto a good story regardless of it’s validity.

“You can stop the rumors?”

“Of course not. Gossip is a force that cannot be controlled, only manipulated.”

“So what do I do?”

“Blame someone else of course. I would suggest a Slytherin. Mr. Weasley would be the most reasonable choice.”

Snape left the infirmary without having finished his conversation with Potter, and felt more than a little anxiety over the matter. Blast Pompfrey and her weird belief that ‘rest’ cured everything from the flu to head trauma. Potter had not looked the least bit pleased at his suggestions. Snape understood his concerns, and he would have preferred himself never to have suggested it and let the entire scenario play out into one enormous mess of panic and rumor-mongering.

And he would have if Lestrange had been in the castle to take the blame. Instead, the Headmistress was touring Britain, interviewing professors for new teaching positions that were opening up next year. That mean the Deputy Headmaster, one Severus Snape, had been in charge, and there was no way he was going to take the fall for safety deficits that had been Lestrange’s doing.

The situation had to be controlled. Downplaying the situation as nothing more than overzealous House rivalry was the only way to prevent student and parent panic while still giving Snape the excuse he needed to re-enact the safety precautions that Lestrange had prematurely removed.

Potter was his only hope to make that possible.

Merlin, that was a depressing thought!

Voldemort received news of another attack at Hogwarts while in a meeting discussing taxes with four of the most talented economists in Wizarding Britain. He wasn’t sorry for the break, but neither was he pleased with the source of the interruption. Commanding his secretary that no one should disturb him, he returned to his office and considered his next move.

His first instinct was to return to the castle, but if his first attempt at locating the basilisk had failed then he doubted the second would be anymore successful and he was too busy to go chasing phantoms. That’s what minions were for.

After meditating on the matter for almost an hour, he decided to wait. Headmistress Lestrange was out of the castle, and this was the perfect opportunity to see whether Snape had what it took to the run the school. He was curious what the man would do. Would he immediately come begging for assistance, let his pride allow the situation spiral out of control, or demonstrate some of that Slytherin cunning of his and turn it all to his favor?

He was willing to take a little risk to find the answer.

Except when it came to Harry. The young Gryffindor was doing well for himself, especially after his defeat of McNair in Dueling Club and the hype over his parselmouth abilities had died down. Harry was turning into quite the powerful wizard, but Voldemort couldn’t help worry about his inexplicable ability to put himself in the middle of trouble. How long before his prince ended up seriously hurt?

Lestrange was useless. Snape was better at cleaning up after problems than preventing them. That left Tom. Tom was already dedicated to Potter’s well being, and his position as a peer rather than a superior held many advantages. However, Tom was… Voldemort. Younger and more idealistic, but still Voldemort and Voldemort knew himself well enough that the boy would be unsatisfied with the current status quo. Snape’s letter suggesting Tom’s interest in Potter might be political or carnal or both disturbed him far more than it should. He should have merely assumed Snape was tacking on a personal motivation for the Slytherin boy’s behavior. Tom spying on Potter was motivated only by Voldemort’s orders and twisted sense of filial duty… wasn’t it?

Voldemort scowled. If there was one thing in the world he truly hated (and truthfully he hated many things) it was uncertainties. Pressing the intercom on his desk, he addressed his secretary.

“Get me Pettigrew. Immediately.”

The next morning, Harry was escorted to the Great Hall for breakfast by Percy Weasley. The older boy didn’t ask him any questions, but there was a sort of suspicion in his eyes that made Harry suspect that the youngest Weasley brother hadn’t wasted time spreading his ‘Evil Harry’ story. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do about that. The idea that people would believe him capable of such horrible things was nauseating, but Snape’s idea to blame someone else to divert attention wasn’t any better. Why would Snape even suggest such a thing?

Ok, he had a vague idea why, and none of it had to do with Harry’s well being. At the same time, protecting Snape was just another reason to do as the man asked. It hadn’t occurred to Harry how much he relied on and trusted Snape until now. All night he had shifted restlessly in his bed, trying to convince himself that because Voldemort hadn’t ordered the lie there was no way he was going spread it. Yet the more he tried to convince himself the guiltier he felt. Snape was not a likeable fellow, and they were far from friendly terms, but…

He was there for Harry. Whenever he got into serious trouble the man was there to guide him out of it or through it. He taught Harry not just potions or dueling, but what it meant to live amongst the most powerful wizards in Britain and how. Could he really deny Snape this one thing? If he did, how much would Snape lose and how much would he himself lose by proxy?

At the same time, when would the lies stop? How long before Harry’s life just became one long string of lies?

Harry ponder this as he entered the Great Hall, and noisy gossip turned to whispers. Ironically, despite whispering the volume in the chamber only seemed to get louder. Sighing, Harry found his usual seat amongst his friends.

“Welcome back, Harry,” Hermione greeted, “How do you feel? You look tired.”

“Couldn’t sleep. Too much to think about,” Harry said sleepily, then started to gather some eggs onto his plate. “So have the rumors started yet?”

Hermione shared an uncomfortable look with an angry-looking Clyde and a nervous Ginny.

“Oh, everyone is just being so utterly ridiculous! And Ronald Weasley is such a bloody prat!” she snapped, tossing down her fork angrily.

“Hm. I take it I’m public enemy number one now?”

Hermione glared at everyone around them, sending more than a few students on an intent study of their breakfast, before leaning across the table to whisper at Harry.

“Don’t worry about it, Harry. Once we figure out what really did it, then we can prove-”

“We already proved I was innocent, Hermione. I have a list of alibis, and they’ve all been ignored,” Harry interrupted. “Nobody cares. They just want a story. Isn’t that right, Clyde?”

“Bloody twats kept saying I was confused or covering up for you or something stupid like that,” the boy muttered angrily.

And here was Harry’s opportunity. He could suggest to them right here and now that Ronald Weasley may have set it all up. People were listening in already, unable to avoid spying on the curiosity of the day. He would only have to suggest it once to his friends.

Hermione would be skeptical. She was already convinced, like Harry was, that this event was related to Sweety. Clyde and Ginny might latch onto the idea immediately though. The surrounding Gryffindors might too, and if he didn’t try to force the explanation onto them the more likely they would believe it. The counter theory would spread like wild fire, a fascinating contrast to Ron’s story that would add an intriguing twist to the tale.

After that, it would be up to the rest of the students to decide. What did they want to believe more? That suspicious Harry was guilty or a Slytherin Weasley? That was as far as Snape had managed to layout what would happen before Madam Pomfrey had expelled the man from the infirmary. There had been no opportunity for questions or alternatives. The many possible consequences were an unforeseeable danger.

He licked his suddenly dry lips and looked up at his friends, Snape’s story on the tip of his tongue. They were all looking at him with such worried expressions. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t use their friendship as a springboard for some vague political maneuver.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said instead, “Snape said Angelina would recover sometime in the next five months. Perhaps she’ll be able to tell everyone what happened.”

“Five months?” Clyde exclaimed, “Don’t tell me we have to put up with this for five months!”

Ginny glowered at Clyde. “At least Angelina will live! Clyde, I can’t believe how selfish you are!”

He snorted at her. “Easy for you to say. You’re not being accused of being a liar or incompetent or an evil cronie.”

Harry felt his lip twitch. “An evil cronie?”

“Don’t laugh, Harry! It’s not like what they’re calling you is any better!”

“I for one wouldn’t mind being called Harry’s evil cronie.”

They all turned to see the Weasley twins coming up behind Harry. Clyde and Ginny quickly scooted aside before either of the boys could sit on them. Harry immediately found himself in the center of a ‘Weasley cuddle’, as both boys latched onto him in their over-enthusiasm.

“Our Dark Underlord of Chaos, did that wicked boy dare to lay a hand on you!?” Fred cried, using his words as an excuse to poke and tickle Harry until he was laughing uncontrollably. As Harry’s eyes started to water, George batted his brother’s hand away and leaned in to ‘whisper’ in his ear.

“Don’t worry, Master of Mayhem, we, your loyal devotees figured out what really happened!”

Harry blinked at them, wondering if they were serious or this was the beginning of another joke at his expense.

“That’s right! Clyde told us everything that happened last night, and after an excruciating process of reasoning and deduction lasting no less than an entire two minutes, it came to us!”

Deciding it was yet another joke, Harry couldn’t help but smile at their antics despite the seriousness of the situation. Yet as they began to speak, he couldn’t help but notice that most of the students had stopped talking in order to listen in.

“We realized almost immediately that something was off about Clyde’s story when he said Ron was alone on the fourth floor,” George continued, “Now we all know that the only thing up there is some class rooms and the library. So why was Ron up there in the first place? He likes to study about as much as he likes a skin rash.”

Hermione seemed to sense where this was going and started to say something, but let out a startled yelp instead. She glared at Fred accusingly, but he was already picking up where his twin left off.

“The obvious answer is that he was a plant! He was there specifically to accuse the next person who showed up of cursing Angelina!”

Murmuring broke out at the surrounding tables. Harry felt suddenly light headed. What were Fred and George doing?

“Guys, come on,” Harry protested, “Do you really think Ron could have cast a curse like that? It’s way too advanced. Why would he bother anyway? He doesn’t even know Angelina.”

The twins let out identical grins, as if expecting Harry’s response.

“Of course Ron didn’t curse her! He was just a co-conspirator,” Fred said, “It was obviously the work of an older student.”

“One who would have gained from taking out Gryffindor’s leading chaser just days before their next match!” George said.

Then together they called out so that the entire Great Hall could hear them.

“Captain Flint!”

The hall burst out into amazed gasps, followed by a loud uproar. Harry and Hermione just stared stupidly at one another, wondering what had just happened. Clyde kept muttering ‘why didn’t I think of that?’ At the Slytherin table, Captain Flint and the rest of the Slytherin team stood up to snarl at them.

“You take that back, you bloody fools!”

George laughed at them.

“Why should we? It’s not like it would be the first time this sort of thing has happened! You guys are sore losers even before the match has started!”

At the teacher’s table, McGonagal who seemed to have been waiting for Snape to do something up until now, stood up.

“All of you sit down at once! This ridiculous mudslinging is entirely unbefitting of boys your age!”

Someone at the Slytherin table took the opportunity to cast a hex at George while he was distracted by the professor. Harry saw it coming first and caste a shield, but someone else mistook it for another hex and then everything just went crazy after that. Suddenly everyone was casting spells. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were sandwiched between the Slytherin and Gryffindor, the main combatants, and forced to start casting against everyone just to keep from getting hit in the crossfire. Plates of food exploded all around them, and soon everyone gave up on spells and started throwing food (which was ironically harder to caste shields against). Harry and Hermione slipped underneath the tables almost as soon as the fighting started, dragging Clyde and Ginny with them.

Clyde was grinning like a lunatic, while Ginny sulked over the glob of oatmeal in her hair. Hermione quickly cast a cleaning charm on all of them and Harry cast one of his stronger shield charms that blocked even noise from their little bubble.

“Merlin, how did this happen?” Hermione cried, peeking out at the chaos that was the Great Hall.

“I blame Ron,” Clyde said cheerfully. “And of course, Captain Flint, but mostly Ron.”

“Don’t be stupid, Clyde. Ron’s a prat, but he’s not some conspirator!”

“Then why was he there in the first place?”

Now Harry didn’t think Ron had cursed Angelina, but that was still a very good question. Hermione suddenly blushed.

“He- he… my brother sent him to the library to call be down to dinner. I told him to leave me alone and he stormed off! I was only a few doors down from where it happened and I didn’t hear or see a thing!”

Harry was horrified. Hermione, his very best friend, had come so close to being like Angelina or worse, like Sweety. If she hadn’t argued with Ron, would she too have run into whatever had hurt the Gryffindor chaser?

“This is bad,” Harry said, “Very, very bad. Whatever got Sweety isn’t limited to the dungeon lavatory anymore. It’s roaming the rest of the school as well. We need to find out what it is and stop it fast!”

Clyde looked confused.

“What do you mean? How could this be the same as with Sweety? Angelina was paralyzed. She didn’t die.”

“I don’t know, but Snape confirmed it for me when he said a spider did it. It meant that the two are related… Wait! Angelina had make-up!”

His friends looked at him oddly.

“I mean, she had a compact mirror! I remember because Snape took it out of her hands and tossed it to McNair. She was looking at it when I found her. Maybe the mirror somehow limited the effects of the curse or something?”

“Hey, you’re right!” Clyde agreed. “I completely forgot about that! So what does it all mean? We got a ‘something’ that was probably guarding a secret passage in the dungeon lavatory, but is now roaming the halls. No one has seen it accept for the people it’s cursed, it’s curse will kill accept in the presence of a mirror where it will only paralyze-”

“Oh, and the paralysis can be cured with a potion that uses mandrakes,” Harry added, remembering what Snape had said earlier.

“Righto, mate. Mandrakes. And last but not least, Voldemort and the other teachers seem to know what it is, but haven’t or can’t stop him/her/it. Argh! This is driving me nuts!”

Harry patted him on the back sympathetically.

“No, this is good,” Hermione said, looking very excited, “It’s finally starting to come together. I’ve got a good idea on what we need to look for, but we need to get some books before I can confirm it.”

“Good luck,” Harry groaned, “After this, Snape’s not gonna let any of us out of his sight. If he catches us…”

He caught himself before he mention Sirius and Remus. He hadn’t mentioned either of them to Clyde or Ginny, and though his trust in them was growing, he didn’t think now was the time or place to bring them up. They had enough on their plates without bringing in Harry’s demented family situation. The unsaid threat however seemed to do its job, leaving everyone uncomfortable at the prospect of Snape’s possible punishments.

“Hey, I think the fighting’s stopped,” Ginny said finally, and Harry cancelled the shield charm so they could climb out of their hiding spots.

Just in time for Snape, who appeared in mid rant, to spot them.

“And you Mr.Potter will be joining them in detention!”

“What? What did I do?”

Snape sneered. “They’re your minions, you should have better control over them.”

Harry turned to the Weasley twins, who tried to look contrite, but only managed to look ridiculous with neon pink freckles and covered in scrambled eggs.

“And when, where, and what is my detention?” he asked them, after everyone had settled down from Snape’s tongue lashing, too subdued to even gossip.

“Owlry, Saturday, and I think you can guess what we’ll be doing.”

Harry let out a groan and tried to figure out what was worse. Cleaning the owlry while some homicidal thing wandered Hogwarts or being accuse of being said homicidal thing in the comfort of his own dorm room.

Decisions, decisions.

“I think that went very well. That story was perfect. Making the Slytherins the villians was brilliant,” Fred congratulated, as they made their way to their first class of the day.

“Yes, I think you’re right,” George agreed, “Too bad about the detention though.”

“It won’t take long with the three of us. Besides, Harry didn’t look too upset. Things should go a lot more smoothly for him now.”

“Except with his Slytherin friends, of course.”

The twins looked at each other, smirked and shrugged it off as unimportant.

“Now we just have to figure out how to protect him from Rook…”

“And the monster.”

“And fangirls.”

“And fanboys.”

“Voldemort.”

“Now you’re getting a bit ambitious, George.”

“Ambition is my middle name!”

“Liar, your middle name is Winthrope!”

George coughed and pretended he hadn’t heard him.

“So what should we do about Ronnie-kins? He’ll only get worse now.”

“Harry can handle Ron. His a little spitfire, remember? We’ll let them fight it out.”

“Thus, perpetuating the chaos as is our mission!”

The twins laughed maniacally, the future looking perfectly marvelous to them.

The Prince and the Red Knight

“Were you able to find anything?”

Hermione shook her head, and sat down at the table for lunch. After class she had gone to the library to look for the book she though might solve their mystery, while Harry and Clyde had been roped into an emergency meeting with the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Oliver Wood was in a complete panic over the loss of Angelina and more than a little paranoid that Slytherin would start targeting his players routinely. It had taken an intervention by McGonagal and some stern words directed at the team captain before they were finally allowed to head to dinner.

“I haven’t been able to get to the library yet, and it looks like I won’t be able to tonight either. The corridor was cordoned off and a Sentinal was snooping around. Though, I doubt she’ll find anything with all the curses Ron and you tossed about. We should be able to go together on Saturday though. I doubt anyone’s going to be desperate to get their hands on ‘Guardian Beasts’. It actually growls at you when you touch it.”

“Afraid I’m going to have to sit this one out. I have to go clean the owlry with Fred and George tomorrow and then there’s the Quiddtich match, remember? Just be careful. Don’t go anywhere alone for awhile, ok Hermione?”

“I will if you will, Mr. Potter,” she said airily, “You’ve got more enemies than me at the moment, in case you haven’t noticed?”

“She’s got you there, mate,” Clyde said, gesturing towards the Slytherin table. “I wouldn’t fancy meeting any of that lot alone in the halls.”

Harry silently agreed. The tension in the school was palpable, particularly between the two rival houses. Harry and several of his classmates had witnessed two seventh years dueling in an abandoned classroom next to transfigurations. It was with a bit of pride that Harry noted several glaring mistakes they made while tossing around petty jinxes and hexes even when most everyone seemed overly impressed, and attributed it to his time in Dueling Club. Their biggest mistake, however, was starting a fight so close to Professor McGonagall. The three nights of detention would be putting definite damper on their weekend.

And that was only a little of what Harry actually saw. There had been several accounts already of duels, pranks, and mysterious curses elsewhere in the school. Madam Pomfrey was said to be quite busy. Even the Weasley twins, skilled duelist and pranksters themselves, hadn’t come out unscathed. Fred had been jinxed to say ‘I’m with stupider’ and point at George whenever someone spoke to them. George got hexed and his tongue went completely numb so he could barely talk for an hour. It might have been pretty funny except he had been standing next to them when it happened, and still no one knew who the culprit was.

So far he had avoided most of the trouble, accept for an angry note at his desk and a few suspicious looks. He wondered how long his good luck would hold out.

“Do you suppose Draco and Natalie are mad at me too?”

“Natalie, probably not,” Hermione said, sounding a bit irritated at the mention of the other girl. “Draco… is probably just mad in general. He got in as a reserve Seeker you know, so he’s taking the accusations kind of personally. At least he’s been keeping Ron under control during our classes together, so that’s a good sign.”

Harry wasn’t so sure. It might have meant nothing more than Draco not wanting Ron starting a fight with Harry and substantiating any of the twin’s claims. He would have to find a way to talk to him and Natalie in order to clear things up, but even then it would be some time before they would be able to hangout together as casually as they had last year.

Hermione’s startled yelp, drew the boys attention just in time to see her flicking a furry body off the table.

“Merlin’s sake, Bilgerat, the table is no place for a rodent!”

“Collin Creevy was sent to St. Mungo’s! Someone cursed his eyeballs to fall out!”

“Ms. Bulstrode would you please go to your own class and be quiet! You are not a newsie!” Professor Toure scolded, but the Slytherin girl had by then already sprinted off to tell the next class.

Harry and Hermione shared concerned looks. They only knew Creevy as a first year with a fondness for his camera and using it at inappropriate times, but otherwise completely harmless. Who would have done something so drastic?

Tom Riddle calmly took down his notes for arithmancy, subtly shifting the numbers around to see if he might have miscalculated the timing or location of his hex. It would be silly to be caught over something so trivial, but with so much magical mischief floating about the school he had felt it safe enough to indulge in a little of his own natural malice.

Besides, that Creevy boy should have known better than to try snapping his pictures in the Slytherin’s dungeons. He should consider himself lucky he hadn’t ended up like Sweety.

It turned out that Collin Creevy’s eyes hadnot been cursed to fall out. They’d falling in to his head, which while probably extremely frightening to experience, was easy enough to fix. He was back in the common room by the end of the school day, grossing out his fellow Gryffindors with pictures he’d had one of the medi-witches take of his seemingly eyeless head. Clyde had puked twice after seeing it. Harry, Hermione, and Ginny wisely avoided looking.

The list of casualties in the Gryffindor/Slytherin conflict had only increased as the day went on, though nothing as bad as Creevy the Eyeless Wonder happened again. Harry had finally gotten hit by a Coughing Curse on his way to Herbology, which sent him coughing uncontrollable until he could barely breath and was struggling not to gag. Luckily, Hermione knew the counter curse, but a group of Slytherins had blocked her from him for almost three minutes before Clyde and some of his friends had physically shoved them out of Hermione’s way. He was physically weak from being unable to breath for so long and his throat was raw, but he ignored everyone’s advice to go to the Hospital wing and marched right out to the greenhouses with as much dignity as he could muster.

He was glad he did, despite feeling ill through most of the class, when Professor Sprout introduced them to mandrakes. They were fascinating. Hideous, but fascinating. Watching one bite Draco’s finger was just plain hilarious. Or perhaps it was just that someone had turned his hair into fuschia spikes.

It was about the only thing Harry found funny about that day. Everyone was so tense and paranoid and angry, that he couldn’t drop his guard for even a second to enjoy his renewed friendship with Clyde or some of the sillier curses floating around. Harry had hoped something would be done to end the fighting soon, but when Snape finally made an announcement during dinner to do just that, it wasn’t at all what the young Gryffindor had hoped for.

“Once again, your juvenile behavior has required that I take drastic action,” the potion’s master sneered, glaring out over the four tables. “Since you all can not seem to be trusted to your own devices, all extracurricular activities will be cancelled with the exception of those supervised by a teacher. You will be escorted between classes by prefects and specially assigned students. You will return to your dorms directly after dinner. Anyone caught casting spells on a fellow student without a teacher’s permission will have their wand revoked for an entire day. Hogsmeade weekends are cancelled, as well as Quidditch. That is all.”

There was much whining and muttering. Oliver Wood practically collapsed into his bowl. Adding insult to injury, the only thing for dinner that evening was porridge and wheat rolls. Harry didn’t join in with the table’s complaints, instead mulling over Snape’s latest orders. They were pretty much the same restrictions the students had been given after Sweety’s death.

Was it possible that this was what Snape had hoped for?

Late Saturday afternoon found Harry trudging behind the Weasley twins down to the main floor under Umbridge and McNair’s watchful stares. Apparently, Snape hadn’t thought cleaning the entire owlry by hand was enough of a punishment. He had sent those two to supervise. McNair had barely said a word, obviously disgruntled at having his spare time wasted on them, but Umbridge couldn’t seem to shut up. She kept stopping them at odd moments to tell them they missed a spot or where they should scrub next or to put more effort into it. Harry came very close to hurling his bird crap covered scrubber at her. He didn’t doubt the Weasley twins were plotting their revenge.

With Umbridge’s insistent nitpicking and micro-managing, it was well after lunch by the time they finished. Tired, sore, and hungry, they stopped by their dorms briefly to clean up and then went in search of the kitchens, only to find that the hallway had been cordoned off with a barrier shield. In front of the shield was a sign that read: No Student Access.

“Blimey, this is getting out of hand. That’s the third barrier I’ve seen since this morning,” Fred said, scratching his head. “Do you suppose Snape’s inhaled too many potion’s fumes and gone nutters?”

“Maybe he thinks the house elves cursed Angelina now,” George giggled.

Harry, already in a bad mood, scowled darkly at him. “That’s not funny.”

George sighed. “No, it isn’t… Shit. What now?”

“We’ll just have to wait until dinner,” Harry said, heading towards the library. His stomach twisted uncomfortably, demanding food but he ignored it. It had been some time since he’d been forced to go hungry, but he knew from experience a few hours wouldn’t kill him. “I’m going to look for my friends in the library.”

“We’ll go with. Maybe we can get Clydy-kins to hand over some of his Halloween stash,” Fred suggested. Harry wasn’t about to point out that Clyde probably didn’t have any candy left and wouldn’t be getting anymore until after Christmas. They probably knew it already. He’d told Hermione he wouldn’t walk around alone, and if the Weasley twins were following her line of thinking, he wasn’t going to make it more difficult for them.

They had just turned away from the sign, when Harry spun around sharply, drawing his wand. The twins had their wands in had a split second later. Beyond the barrier, the hall was still empty. Harry watched it for several long moments before pocketing his wand again.

“Sorry, I thought I heard whispering.”

“Geez, Harry, you almost gave us a heart attack,” Fred said, clutching his chest. “Good reflexes though. Don’t fancy taking you on in a duel any time soon.”

Harry waved off the compliment, and they headed towards the library.

Without Hogsmeade trips or Quidditch matches, the majority of Hogwarts was at a loss on how to fill up their weekend free time. It seemed a good many of them had opted to spend it catching up on their assignments, and had crowded into the school library. Snape was standing next to a blushing Madam Pince and overseeing the place, holding true to his belief that students could not be left unsupervised at the moment. Harry carefully avoided the man’s attention and went in search of Hermione.

He found her among the shelves, but instead of searching for books she was blatantly staring at a crowd of students gathered around one of the study tables. Harry wasn’t sure what she found so fascinating about this group until he spotted Ron Weasley amongst them. Ron’s presence was particularly odd, as not only was Draco absent, but so was the rest of his house. A majority of them seemed to be Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.

“What’s going on?”

Hermione jumped, too caught up in her pensive staring to notice his approach. She blushed and floundered for a moment before coming back to herself.

“Oh, um…”

She glanced a bit suspiciously over at her godfather, whose attention was being held by the Weasley twin’s arrival, before answering.

“Something’s up. I think Professor Snape knows what we’ve been up to.”

Harry tensed. If that was true… would he hold up his threat to withhold Sirius and Remus’ letters? Seeing her friend’s anxious face, she began to reassure him.

“Calm down, Harry, I don’t think it’s gotten that bad yet. I could be completely wrong, but… you remember that book I told you about? The one I thought might finally tell us what we need to know?”

Harry nodded.

“It’s gone. And I don’t mean checked out or misplaced, I mean gone. Madam Pince says she doesn’t even have a record of the book ever being in the library, but I know it was here last year. Someone has been spying on us, Harry.”

He frowned, not liking that possibility at all.

“Are you sure?”

“No, I can’t be completely sure, but it seems probable. I mean, he’s already watching us, plus as Deputy Headmaster, the magic on the school obeys him at least partially. He has the authority to remove the book and any record of it now that the Headmistress is absent. I think this is his way of saying ‘I know what you’re up to’.”

“So what do we do?”

Hermione shrugged helplessly.

“What can we do? He’s got us under his thumb.”

“Dammit.”

She put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up about it. Professor Snape already knows what is going, and doing everything he can to protect everyone. Even if we learned the truth, could we do half as much? When this is all over, if we still haven’t found out what happened, then we can start searching again without someone looking over our shoulders at every turn, alright?”

Harry sighed, feeling as if this was his first failure as a wizard. He had taken on this search knowing the dangers, and abandoning it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Yeah, I guess your right,” he conceded, then to distract her from his disappointment he changed the subject. “So what going on over there?”

Hermione let out a loud sigh.

“Remember yesterday when Professor Toure yelled at Bulstrode that she wasn’t a newsie?”

He nodded.

“Well, one of the Hufflepuffs got this brilliant idea that they did want to be a newsie. She managed to convince a bunch of her classmates to start a school newspaper.”

“And Ron’s over there because…?”

“Where better could he spread his ridiculous stories?”

He cringed at the thought. Hermione continued to glare at the table, then caught Snape staring at the two of them. She spoke again without looking at him.

“The professor is watching us again. I think we better split up before he wonders what we’re up to. I’ll go keep an eye on Ron. Why don’t you start your DA&D assignment? You’re way behind as it is.”

“What’s the point? McNair is never going to let me pass. He stamps ‘Troll’ on all my essays without even looking at them.”

“Harry, just do it. You can protest the grade later, but you have to do the work first.”

Knowing there was no point arguing with her whether a scholarly pursuit was ever superfluous, he headed deeper into the shelves. When he finally came out again half an hour later and five large tomes heavier, he saw Hermione was now in the midst of the would-be ‘newsies’. He smiled to a bit to see her bent over a parchment of paper, writing things down furiously as everyone around her started tossing around ideas. Despite their attempts to keep their voices down, they were hardly quiet.

Deciding it would be impossible to study there, he went to the front desk to check out his books. Snape watched him closely, but seeing nothing suspicious in his selections, soon went back to observing the Weasley twins snickering over a mysterious book. Madam Pince caste a Feather-Lite Charm on his stack, warned him to return them in two weeks, and then went back to her Snape gazing… eeewww…

The halls were almost empty, except for the occasional patrolling teacher or prefect, making the castle seem eerily quiet. As he headed up the second flight of stairs towards Gryffindor Tower, a sudden unease came upon him. He looked around quickly, but the stairs were empty with the exception of the enchanted paintings bustling about. After a long, tense moment he turned to continue up the stairs.

The uneasy feeling did not leave him, and as he passed another black barrier to a little used wing near the portrait of the Fat Lady, he felt himself begin to shake.

“Here?”

Harry dropped his books, and still being charmed they floated soundlessly to the floor. He spun around, searching the hall, but it was still completely deserted

“I heard him… this way? That way? Otherway? Hhhhmmmm…”

Harry waited and listened, but nothing else was said and he had the impression that whoever had been there had left.

“Are you alright, dearie?” came a feminine voice.

He jumped in surprise, and looked to see the Fat Lady staring down curiously from her frame. Sighing with relief, he picked up his books. How stupid he was being. He must have overheard one of the portraits talking.

“I’m fine, just a little stressed,” he said, managing to smile at his own foolishness. “Barbarous Bombardment.”

The portrait swung open, and he climbed safely inside.

It was only half an hour before dinner when Hermione finally showed up, looking infuriated. Harry looked up from a set of cards as she entered the common room, but Clyde remained seemingly oblivious as he puzzled over which hand he should play.

“You look lively,” Harry mentioned as she passed him on her way to the girl’s dormitories. She looked startled to see him, and then let out a sound of frustration.

“Ergh! He infuriates me!”

Harry couldn’t help but smile, knowing exactly who she was referring to. Ron was technically his enemy, yet somehow he caused Hermione a lot more strife.

“Get this, he wants to join the paper. I mean, Ron. He can barely form a coherent sentence on a good day! So then I figure he’s got to be up to no good. He probably wants to use the paper to spread his lies about Harry. You know, making it seem more legitimate after investigating and then having it written down. Ergh! It makes me so mad!”

“So you were spying on him this whole time?” Harry offered.

Hermione’s frustration suddenly turned to embarrassment.

“Well… yeah, that’s what I meant to do anyway. I just sort of ambled up, no one had officially joined anyway, and listened in. After that, I don’t know what happened. Everyone was starting to put in name ideas, and one just popped into my head so I suggested it and everyone loved it. Then we were brainstorming what topics the paper should include, and I just kept getting ideas and everyone liked those too. Suddenly, I’m sitting in the middle writing a general outline for the paper. I don’t know what happened!”

Harry burst out laughing.

“Harry! What’s so funny?!” Hermione said, crossing her arms and actually pouting.

His laughter died down to snickers.

“I know exactly what happened, Hermione. You joined the school newspaper.”

“No! No, I absolutely did not! We haven’t even passed around a sign-up sheet yet!”

“‘We’, Hermione? You’re already thinking like a person whose joined. Plus you had all those great idea that everyone liked, and you had a lot of fun. I think you should sign up.”

“Harry’s got a point, Hermione,” Clyde piped in, having finally set down a card. “You did seem pretty happy when you walked in. Well, infuriated and happy… and how did you manage that?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! I only went over there to make sure Ron didn’t make trouble.”

Harry shook his head, setting down a Joker and sending Clyde into a silent fit of frustration.

“You don’t have to make excuses to us, Hermione. I like Quidditch. You like the school paper. It’ll be good for you to have another hobby aside from studying.”

“No, I couldn’t. I’m already in Dueling Club. I don’t want to fall behind with my studies.”

Harry and Clyde rolled their eyes.

“This from the girl whose always weeks ahead of the class?” Clyde pointed out. She seemed to consider.

“Well… I would be able to keep an eye on Ron… and maybe get this wretched rumor mill under control… it would look good on a college application… Oh fine, I’llthink about it.”

“Too many. Too many. Must wait… wait… wait…”

Harry paused amidst the group of Gryffindors heading towards the potion’s class to look behind him. The only one there was Percy Weasley, who was raised an imperious brow at his study.

“Something bothering you, Potter?”

Harry shook his head. “No, I just thought I heard voices.”

Percy considered a moment.

“The Slytherin dorms are down that way somewhere. You must have heard an echo in one of the pipes that runs by their rooms.”

The younger Gryffindor nodded in agreement, but wasn’t so sure. The voice sounded strangely familiar, both from yesterday on the stairwell and somewhere else he couldn’t recall.

“Hurry up, Harry,” called Clyde, “Or you’ll end up sitting at a table with Goyle.”

“Clyde, that’s very unsporting of you,” Percy reprimanded weakly.

Harry just smiled to himself, and went to catch up with his friends. They entered the potions lab to find the Slytherins had already arrived and taken the best seats (those at the very back) for themselves, leaving the trailing Gryffindors to the full wrath of Professor Snape. Harry made it a point to move to the seat farthest from Ron, even though it put him right in front of Snape’s desk. The potion’s master was already there, sifting through some papers while some chalk floated over the chalkboard, completely ignoring everyone.

“You know what, Harry, I think I ought to sit with Draco today,” Hermione said, just a minute before class started.

“Doesn’t he already have a part- oh..”

Looking over at Draco, he soon understood her reasoning. Pansy Parkinson had some how managed to take the seat Natalie normally occupied beside Draco, and seemed to be doing her best to make the young Malfoy as uncomfortable as possible just by batting her eye lashes.

“Yeah, you go ahead.,” Harry said, waving her off.

“Thanks.”

She just barely managed to rescue a very grateful Draco before Snape stood up to address the class.

“Today, we start your first extended-brewing potion. Potter, what defines an extended-brewing potion from a long brewing potion?”

“An extended-brewing potion requires a lapse of at least thirty-six but less than seventy-two hours between the addition of an active ingredient or ingredients to the initial stock. A long-brewing potion requires a lapse of greater than seventy two hours but less than a month,” Harry said quickly. Snape almost always called on him at least once during potions, and it had taken him most of last year to figure out what sort things the potion’s master would expect him to know. It made studying so damn stressful.

The wizard shrugged, the closest thing he’d receive to a ‘very good, Mr. Potter’ in this class, and continued.

“We will be preparing the initial stock today, which can used to create three different potions. After class you will all decide which potion you wish to brew and then write a foot long essay due this Wednesday, where you will then complete your selected potion. You may work in pairs or individually, but be aware that those working in pairs will be required to brew twice as much stock as each student will be preparing their own potion individually. I suggest you be very careful with your stock, as it will affect your grade for twoclasses. You may begin.”

They collected their cauldrons, filled them with water, and set them aside for boiling before going to gather their scales and ingredients from the store room. Those who had partners to set up their cauldrons got to the store room first, leaving Harry and a disgruntled Parkinson to wait outside.

“Get out of the way, Potter,” Ron snarled, knocking into his shoulder as he exited.

Harry forced himself not to react to the twinge of pain, and replied evenly.

“Sorry, I didn’t notice you.”

The pugnacious Weasley’s face darkened at the subtle slight, but the students behind him forced him along before he could start something. Harry ignored the redhead after that, quickly gathered the rest of his supplies, and returned to his work station. The first step was simple enough: Weigh 5g of Norwegian Peat Moss to boil for fifteen minutes, stirring four times counter clockwise every five minutes. Everything went fine for the first ten minutes, then the thin brown broth began to thicken into a dark green goo. He looked to the board to see if he had somehow missed a step, and by the time he looked back down the solution was already bubbling over the sides of the cauldron and sending off sparks whenever it got too close to the flames.

“Professor!”

Snape was there in an instant, tossing in a handful of what appeared to be wheat into the brew. The bubbling mass immediately settled into a brown goo, simmering gently. The potion’s master scowled at the ruined concoction and then at its brewer. Harry blushed in embarrassment.

He was not the best student in potions (that spot was reserved to Draco), but he had never bungled such a simple step before. Truthfully, he didn’t know what he had done wrong. Short of setting it on fire, peat moss was almost completely nonvolatile substance, used for tempering overly bubbly potions.

“Well, that was fun, Potter,” Snape sneered. “Mind telling me how you managed to accomplish it?”

“…I don’t know.”

From behind him, he could hear several snickers. A sour look from Snape shut them up quickly though. The potion master pulled a thin stick, nothing more than a large toothpick really, from the breast pocket of his robe and dipped it into the potion. From the top of the stick a ribbon of paper began grow. After a moment it stopped growing and Snape looked at the paper to see what it said. He frowned.

“Mr. Potter, the acorn is not added until the very end. Can you not read?”

Harry looked confused.

“I didn’t add an acorn, Professor. Mine is right there,” Harry said, pointing. The man’s dark eyes located the innocent little nut, and hardened as if it were somehow the responsible. Although, Harry supposed if Snape’s weird little stick was right, then perhaps it was its brother’s fault.

The snickers returned, and not only faded but perhaps died a horribly miserable death as the wizard turned to them yet again.

“And what, may I ask is so amusing?”

There was a tense silence.

“Perhaps you all think it’s funny to go throwing your ingredients around at random, and seeing what happens. If you’re all really lucky maybe you’ll turn a simple sleeping draught into a lethal acid. What a hilarious joke that would be! Or better yet, maybe the potion will explode! Bits and pieces of students everywhere! It will be a party!”

No one made a sound, and even Harry was left to stare awkwardly at his shoes. Snape was in a perpetually bad mood, but few things made the man angrier than people fooling around with potions. How much of it was due to respect for the art or just plain fear for what it could do in the hands of the careless, Harry wasn’t sure.

“Well, you know what I think is funny? I think it’s hilarious to expel students. And so help me, if I ever find out who did this I will be laughing up a storm. Now get back to work. Potter!”

Harry jumped, daring to peek up at the still aggravated man.

“You do not have enough time to complete your potion during this class, so you will re-brew it tonight after dinner. Clean up, and you may work on homework for the rest of the period.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

The rest of the class was spent in a tense silence, with no one daring to utter a word, let alone a snicker, after aggravating Snape already. Harry reviewed his herbology homework, and pretended he didn’t care about his quasi-detention he’d gotten even though he was more than a little angry. Cedric Diggory arrived to escort them to their next classes just before the end of the period. As soon as they were out from under Snape’s scrutiny, Ronald Weasley was after him.

“Looks like the advantages to being the Dark Lord’s pet doesn’t include a get-out-detention-free pass, does it Potter?” the redhead hissed into his ear. Harry didn’t turn around, not about ready to start a fight while a prefect was so close by.

“It still has more advantages than being Draco’s goon,” he said cooly, hoping Ron could hear his smirk even if he couldn’t see it.

There was a pause, and Harry wondered what Ron’s expression was now or if he wasn’t planning to punch him in the back of the head. Ahead of him, Diggory wasn’t paying much attention, but behind him he knew Hermione and Draco must be watching them like hawks.

“It wouldn’t have saved you if I had added two acorns instead of one though. I should have done it and rid this school of-”

Harry stopped abruptly, causing Ron to run into his back, nearly knocking the redhead over. The Gryffindor couldn’t imagine what his expression must have looked like when he turned to face him, but the Slytherin took a definite step back. Classmates parted around them as they moved by, staring back at them curiously and perhaps even a bit nervously.

“I don’t know whether you’re an idiot or just plain pathetic,” Harry said evenly, “Risking expulsion or worse over something as stupid as a prank puts you in either category. Either way, I’m warning you now to leave me and my friends the fuck alone or expulsion will be the least of your worries.”

To emphasize his point, he grabbed Ron by his robe and pulled him closer with a single sharp jerk and hiss parseltongue into his ear.

“You are beneath me.”

“Harry, come on,” Hermione said, grabbing onto his arm and pulling him off the stunned Weasley. “He’s not worth it.”

Harry sparred Ron one last glare, then left him to Malfoy for further scolding. He turned back to Hermione and sighed.

“Why couldn’t the guardian have paralyzed him instead of Angelina?”

She didn’t laugh. In fact, her expression only seemed to get harder.

“What is it, Hermione?”

“Hermione!”

“Harry, just… shut up for a minute,” she snapped. “You can’t just… justthreaten people and then turn around and play at being… being… well…”

“Myself?” he asked, quirking a brow.

She let out an exasperated sigh and rubbed her temple, clearly frustrated.

“Please don’t do that again… You were like that when you dueled McNair, and frankly it scares me.”

He felt stunned. He scared Hermione? Him? How did he respond to something like that? He hadn’t thought of what he had done as wrong. What was he suppose to do? Let McNair hurt him? Let Ron hurt him? At the same time, what did that mean when he frightened someone he trusted and whom he assumed trusted him?

“I’ll try not to…”

“There, there, there. I can hear them both… still too many… too many. No way out here. No way out there. Where, where, where?”

Harry stopped cold. It was that voice again, this time closer than he had ever heard it and then gradually fading into the distance.

“What is it, Harry?”

“Did you hear something just now?”

She gave him a confused look.

“Never mind.”

The Hunting Grounds

“What are you looking for, Mr. Potter?”

Harry turned back around, and trotted to catch up with the irrate potion’s master. They had just finished dinner, and as promised headed down to the dungeons to prepare his potion. Though this part of the castle never received any natural sunlight, it still seemed somehow eerier at night than during the day. The halls echoed louder and the shadows seemed deeper.

“Thought I heard something.”

And I’m still hearing it…

‘The voice’ had persisted throughout the day, popping up at odd times. He had heard it during a study period in the dungeons with the other Gryffindors, near the Great Hall on his way to lunch, and now again in the dungeons. It seemed to be looking for something, but other than that he couldn’t tell what it was or what it wanted. For a while he had thought it might have been ‘the guardian’, but that didn’t explain why he was the only one who could hear it. Unless, of course, it was a snake, but that seemed to make as much sense as the spider story had. How could a snake hurt a ghost? If it were just a random snake, it seemed to know Hogwarts extremely well. He finally concluded he’d been hit with some sort of ‘schizophrenia curse’, and rather than skip class to get examined and babied by Madam Pomfrey, he’d instead opted to see if it would fade on its own. Most illusionary curses didn’t last long on wizards or witches, especially when they aren’t cast on ones self. If it had been caste by Ron, he wasn’t going to give the boy the satisfaction of knowing the spell worked.

So far it hadn’t begun to fade yet. Even now he could hear the vaguely masculine voice mumbling to itself about where ‘he’ was and how bored it was and how dark it was and how smelly everything was. Sometimes it wouldn’t say anything, and just hum some odd tune that seemed vaguely familiar. As far as pranks went, it was pretty damn creepy.

“Come, Potter, we do not have all night.”

The murmuring voice disappeared altogether once Harry entered the potion’s lab, and he couldn’t help but wonder about that. Snape set him to work nearest his desk, while he himself started leafing through his papers. They said nothing as Harry set up his cauldron and scales and gathered his supplies, but once the Gryffindor had settled into stirring for the next fifteen minutes, Snape surprised him by initiating conversation.

“Mr. Weasley seems to have taken a rather strong dislike to you, Mr. Potter.”

“You’ve just noticed?”

Snape shot him a look.

“It has never made me concerned for your safety before now.”

Harry shrugged, not seeing the point of this conversation. It wasn’t like it was his fault Ron was a prat.

“You would do well not to provoke him.”

The ladle in his hand stopped for a split second.

“When did I ever provoke him?! I’ve always ignored him and his stupid games.”

“Yes, exactly. You refuse to acknowledge him as someone worth noticing, and now he feels as if he must make you acknowledge him, even if he has to hurt you to do it.”

Harry acknowledged that what Snape said made sense. Perhaps, in a way, he had known it all along. Hadn’t his ignoring the other boy been his way of angering him in the first place?

“Less than a week ago you were suggesting I accuse him of cursing Angelina, and now you want us to be buddies?”

“Circumstances have changed,” Snape admitted. “The Weasley twins have already alleviated the need to blame their younger brother, and provided even better circumstances for me to set up safety measures. Yet, I seem to have miscalculated the lengths with which young Ronald would go to achieve his own perceived vindication. He is becoming a threat not only to your reputation but also your physical well-being. For both your sakes, I wish to ease the tension. You should add the dragonfly wings now.”

Harry floundered to retrieve said ingredients and crumble them into his brew before it turned completely black, then settled back to let the newest addition dissolve on its own.

“You could just expel him,” Harry offered. “He confessed to adding the acorn just after potions class.”

Snape sneered.

“Expel one of my snakes over you, Mr. Potter? Don’t flatter yourself.”

The young wizard could have pointed out that a lot worse had been done to Morgenson and Whitehall than mere expulsion, but didn’t want to risk it. He was being cheeky enough already. Briefly, he wondered what happened to his two would-be murderers and whether he should write Sirius and Remus to ask.

“What do you propose then?”

“Dueling Club practices will continue as always. We will be performing our first practical demonstrations this Thursday. I want Mr. Weasley and you to be one of the dueling pairs.”

“I won’t lose to him intentionally.”

“Oh, believe me, Mr. Potter, I’m not worried about that. I suspect he’ll defeat you with his own skills. After all, I’ve been tutoring him.”

“What?!”

“The entire school has gone nuts,” Draco grumbled, moving his trembling black pawn to block Natalie’s vicious white knight. Predictably, the bloodthirsty piece smashed the pawn clean off the board a moment later. The young witch smirked at her knight’s antics before deigning to acknowledge Draco.

“Whatever do you mean, Malfoy?”

“That for one thing. You never call me Malfoy. And then you left me with Parkinson in potions and then again in arithmancy. Are you mad about something?”

“Of course not,” she said dismissively. “But I mustn’t give anyone the impression that I’m one of your minions. It’s degrading.”

Draco scowled.

“I suppose it’s fine then, but I can’t think of why everyone else is acting weird. Ron refuses to listen to me anymore and even seems to go out of his way to annoy me. Ungrateful little bastard. Slytherin would have torn him apart if it weren’t for me. I’ll have to remind him of that fact soon.”

Natalie nodded in approval.

“Yes, one should never let one of their pawns run the board. And who else is acting oddly?”

“Hermione. She’s joined another club. Journalism this time.”

“What’s odd about that?”

“She hates reporters.”

She laughed at that.

“And then of course there’s Potter.”

“Isn’t there always?”

He ignored the tease.

“I think he’s starting to crack. He threatened Weasley in the dungeons today-”

Natalie giggled, recalling the incident perfectly. Harry had been so perfectly wicked.

“And now he keeps looking around as if he expects someone to hex him at any moment. Plus I must have seen him turn around at least three times saying he heard something today. Paranoid, I tell you. He’ll be locked away in St. Mungo’s before the end of term.”

His black rook overthrew the white knight, causing his friend to pout. The knights were her favorite pieces after all.

“He has reason enough to be paranoid. These are dangerous times.”

“Still going to go crackers.”

“Check.”

“Shit.”

Tom’s roving spirit re-entered his body and he opened his eyes to stare up at the canopy of his bed. He pondered over the conversation he had overheard between Malfoy and Cypher, and tried to determine how much of it was worth investigating and how much was just idle gossip.

“And now he keeps looking around as if he expects someone to hex him at any moment. Plus I must have seen him turn around at least three times saying he heard something, today alone.”

Was Harry being paranoid or was he really hearing something. Something only Harry… and perhaps another parselmouth might hear? If that were the case, then Muchalinda had been given far more liberty than was wise. Snape’s many barriers were doing their job, but how long would that last? There were so many secret passages, and no way to secure them all.

He had not heard the basilisk at all when he was about the school, but was that because the serpent wasn’t there or because it was following his orders to keep at a distance? He had made it very clear to his minion what exactly he expected of them and what liberties would be allowed. His own inculpability and Harry’s safety must be assured before they were allowed to ‘play’, and only as a means to be rid of his targets. The mistake with Angelina was inconvenient, but understandable. At the same time, Harry had gotten much too close to danger.

He had made his displeasure well known to his servant, but had not been able to deliver the message in person. Something he felt was critical to them understanding the gravity of his instructions. He had a sneaking suspicion that they were having a little too much fun.

Five o’ six am was an ungodly time to be called out of one’s bed, even for as ungodly a man as Severus Snape. Particularly by house elves.

Wretchedly over excited and frightened house elves.

“Master Snape says Nibby must come quick if something nasty is seen in Hogwarts. Oh and what a nasty nasty thing Nibby has seen!” she wailed, her floppy ears sagging like an unhappy puppy.

Snape merely grunted in response, tying back his hair for once so he wouldn’t be delayed with combing it. He took a vial from his night stand and downed it in one shot, the potion chasing away his sleepiness as no amount of caffeine ever would and without the irritating side effects. With that, he slipped on his teaching robe and stormed out of his private quarters and towards the kitchens, Nibby running after him.

By the time he reached the kitchen the barrier had already been taken down by Flitwick and McGonagall, both still in their bed clothes. Snape almost cracked a smile at the charm’s professor’s frog print pajamas. Almost.

The five dead house elves pretty much killed whatever humor he found in the situation after that. There was a horrid stench of burnt flesh.

“I pulled one of them off the stove before it completely caught fire,” McGonagall said sadly. “Aside from that, we haven’t disturbed anything.”

“The rest of the house elves?” Snape asked, tip-toeing around broken eggs and flour until he reached the first body, her large bulbous eyes staring innocently up at nothing. He recognized her as Yoyo, the youngest and giggliest of her fourteen siblings.

“I found them hiding in the pantry. I sent them to the laundry. Working always seems to calm them down.”

Snape nodded, moving to the next body and then the next. After confirming they had all died in the same manner, he went on to investigate the rest of the kitchen. It was a mess, food and cooking utensils scattered everywhere, tiny hand and foot prints of flour marking the hurried escape of Hogwart’s cheery slave population.

“There’s no sign of a secret passage in here. It must have entered from the hall and gone out the same way. There are at least four different hidden passages it might of escaped through,” he said.

Flitwick surveyed the damage and shook his head in dismay.

“This is awful.”

“It could have been worse, Filius. A lot worse. Hufflepuff’s dormitories are only another hall away,” Snape pointed out.

“Hem-hem.”

Three heads turned to see Madam Umbridge, looking as if she had been up and ready for hours, and Professor McNair, who looked none to pleased to be awake, standing in the door way. Umbridge cast her wide eyes around the room, her vapid smile firmly in place even as she spotted the dead house elves.

“My goodness,” she said pleasantly, “This will take forever to clean up. I hope no one was hurt.”

The three looked at her blankly for a moment, then at the five corpses. Snape spoke first.

“No… I suppose, technically speaking, no one was hurt.”

Then he went on to ignore her.

“Filius, Minerva, I want you to secure this corridor and take care of the elves. I want the barrier up again by six. Umbridge, inform the rest of the staff. McNair, you and I are going hunting.”

McNair’s grumpy scowl curved into a malicious grin. This was likely the first bit of fun he’d had all year.

“Hem hem…”

“You should really have that checked, Madam,” Snape said, already stalking past the toady woman and following the traces of flour that marked the murderer’s passing.

The voice was gone the next day. Harry waited for it to appear all through his morning routine, on his way down to the Great Hall, all through his oddly skimpy breakfast of oatmeal and fruit, and on his way to classes, but it never reappeared. He felt strangely accomplished by that, now knowing his avoidance of the hospital wing had been the right decision and that somewhere someone was wondering what they’d done wrong in their casting.

This cheery feeling didn’t last long. The circus of curses had died down over the weekend, even if everyone’s disgruntled attitude had not. The general atmosphere of Hogwarts remained tense and uninviting. Even the teachers seemed stressed and disgruntled.

Oliver Wood was insistent that even though Quidditch was cancelled, that the team still keep up practices under Professor Grimm’s supervision to keep their competitive edge. Harry would have been quite content with this, but the weather which had been unseasonably mild finally decided to rear it’s ugly head. A cold snap had blown in from the North, bringing with it a light snow and a reminder that the Christmas season was only a week away.

Suddenly, Harry found himself inundated with a completely new set of worries on top of his old ones. There was his inevitable duel with Ron that Thursday, semester exams and papers he would need to start work on, ‘the guardian’ which may or may not have gone, Christmas presents he would need to buy or make within a month, Quidditch practices in bad weather, and still the need to be watchful of attacks in the hall (even if hexes had become rarer, he doubted he was completely safe).

It was almost a relief that he and his friends had decided to halt their investigation. In fact, it would have been a relief except that made Harry feel like such a cowardly jerk.

His life went from dangerous and exciting to hectic and mundane practically over night. Hermione tried her best to get him organized, but she was having more than a little trouble with that herself. Much of her spare time was being taken up with getting the newspaper up and running. Clyde’s only concern was gathering enough courage to ask Cathy Wicket to the Winter Dance, and that wasn’t going to help anyone.

Deciding he may as well face his most immediate concern- his duel with Ron- first, he found himself burying his nose in spell and strategy books. He wasn’t sure what good it would do him in the end. Books would help him, but not nearly as much as instruction from Snape would likely help Ron.

“Relax, Harry,” Clyde said, as he and the rest of their club made their way from dinner to the Dueling Hall, “It’s only Ron.”

Ginny pinched him. Hard.

“Shut up, Clyde. What do you know about it?” she snapped, not liking the dig at her brother one bit. Ron was full of flaws, but she knew better than most that he was not weak. Stubborn as a mule and oblivious at times, but never weak. She hoped Harry had been paying more attention to his rival than Clyde had and realized this. She wished Hermione hadn’t decided to skip this lesson in favor of calibrating the Hogwart’s Herald’s new printing press. The brainy girl might have had better luck cautioning Harry than she would have. Not that she had been able to caution him much to begin with. Every time she turned to him to say something, she’d notice and cute his serious face was and get distracted.

Ron kept peeking over his shoulder at them, his expression hungry.

They entered the Dueling Hall and found it had been rearranged a bit. The dummies had all been pushed back to press against the far wall, and a matt that was shaped like the dueling platform had been pushed to the center of the freed space.

“You have ten minutes to suit up and line up beside the matt,” Snape instructed them, gesturing towards the armor on their practice dummies. They all hurried to obey and were in formation, standing at attention in military fashion within seven minutes. Snape walked along the line and made sure they were fitted properly before he began their lesson.

“For the last several weeks we have gone over the basics of Dueling, but lectures and practice dummies only provide so much preparation for the real thing. When you finally take the platform, you will not be facing a piece of wood, but a living, breathing, conniving person who wants to destroy you. Hesitation is natural, a result of the unpredictable consequence of your spell and the equally unpredictable response from your opponent. Natural, but unacceptable.”

Snape paused, pulling their attention towards him like fish on a hook. It almost hurt to be drawn in, but it hurt worse to struggle.

“We will begin actual duels today. I do not want you to worry about strategies yet. hat will come later. I want you to simply work to overcome your natural hesitancy. Fire the first spell that comes to mind, and do not worry about your opponent’s spells.”

Mentally, Harry scoffed at the hypocrisy of Snape’s instructions, for despite the man’s words he knew that he and Ron would be neither hesitating or spouting out anything randomly. It would be a REAL duel.

“You will not be scored on your success or failure,” the professor continued, “but I do want you all to try your best. Next semester I will be assigning one of you as the captain of the Junior Dueling Club, based on your proficiency in my lessons. Houghton, Malfoy. You two first.”

Clyde seemed a bit startled. He had known Harry and Ron were going to fight, but it hadn’t occurred to him that he might actually have to as well. Draco was looking rather smug in comparison. He had a reason to be, for they had only gotten through the ritual salute when Draco blew him clean off the mat with a simple expelliarmus. Snape did not hesitate to call up the next two duelists; Ginny and a first year Ravenclaw boy. They were more equal, and they managed to cast two spells each before Ginny took the boy’s wand with a simple summoning charm. And so it went, with each of them being called to the platform. The duels were short, most of them over within the first three spells caste and all of them under a minute.

Harry and Ron were the last summoned. It wasn’t unexpected, but it didn’t make it any less nerve-wracking for Harry. He took a deep, calming breath and moved to the platform. Harry briefly noted that Ron had changed his uniform colors to solid black, but quickly returned his attention to more important things.

They saluted, and locking his eyes to his opponent, he could see a savage hunger for battle and something else which seemed more dangerous for his inability to recognize it.

“Suffuco sentenia!”

“Oculus obligo!”

The two hexes smashes into each other simultaneously, evaporating into nothingness. The voices had barely stopped echoing through the hall before the duelists were set to attacking again.

“Sterneo!” cried Ron, gesturing violently with his wand. Harry simply move sideways to avoid, shouting out a Wind Curse. Ron blocked it with a shield charm, but the charm was meant to block elemental curses and not the Stinging Hex that followed. Turning sideways, the redhead caught it in the arm not holding his wand, before casting three curses of his own in quick succession.

“Perturbo ordo!” Harry called, the disruption spell causing two of the three spells to break off and fizzle in the air like firework sparks. The third curse slipped through behind the other two, ghosting into and over Harry. He felt the affects immediately, not in the form of pain as he had expected, but fear.

“Fortis fidens!” This spell, Harry did not caste on Ron, but on himself. A Bravery Charm. It was a risky move, especially since he wasn’t entirely certain what spell Ron had used on him, but he hoped it was enough to prevent the rise of magically induced terror.

And it seemed to work… or at least work in his favor.

The fear was still there, making his heart beat frantically and his hands tremble around his wand. It also made the adrenaline rush through him, unleashing strength and a flurry of mad thoughts formed for simple self preservation.

The spells were coming to him faster, coming out more powerfully, more recklessly. Ron was forced to move to the offensive, blocking and dodging, clinging to his position on the matt and waiting for exhaustion to do what his own curses could not.

Harry was on his twelfth hex when his magic suddenly flickered, causing him to stumble, almost from the matt all together. Ron brought down his shield to cast his next curse.

“Spina mordeo!”

Harry instinctively brought up his arm to protect his face, foolishly using his wand arm which caught the worst of the Thorn Curse. He hissed as he felt a hundred little barbs sink into his exposed hand and the bend of his elbow where his armor did not protect him. Stubbornly, he refused to drop his wand, even as the sickening feeling of his own blood on his hands and the sickly scent of it pervaded his senses.

“Not so tough after all,” Ron said, breathless and gleeful, and followed his observation with another spell.

He heard the second curse shouted and quickly rolled out of the way and to his feet, shouting out two successive spells of his own. Ron blocked the first curse easily, but the rock Harry had summoned flew through it as if it weren’t even there. It struck him clean in the forehead and knocked him to the ground.

Harry’s magic wavered yet again, preventing him from casting the final blow before Ron managed to scramble back to his feet, blood seeping from a gash on his forehead.

“Blood. Oh, I smell it! I smell it!” came an unfortunately familiar voice. A feeling of dread that had nothing to do with Ron’s previous curse settled into Harry’s stomach. He had thought ‘the voice’ gone, certain it was a cursed induced hallucination that had finally faded away. It couldn’t have come back. Curses didn’t work that way!

“It’s here, and it sssmellsss sssooooo goooood… I musst have it!”

‘The voice’ distracted Harry enough for Ron to regain his balance, but the impetuous boy wasn’t satisfied to fling another fruitless spell. His head throbbed, his anger throbbed in time with it, frustration pounding in his mind in time with the heart pounding in his chest. It wasn’t suppose to be like this! He had trained so hard, done everything Snape had told him, studied for hours and hours on end when even Draco had given up. Potter should not have lasted this long. There was no way the stupid Gryffidnor was as powerful or perfect as everyone thought he was. He was just a stupid mudblooded fool with brainy friends and a silly ability to talk to snakes.

There was no way Harry fucking Potter was better than him!

With a roar of pure rage, he rushed for the Gryffindor, tackling him to the matts.

“Harry! Ron! Stop!” someone cried, reminding Harry of the spectators he had forgotten about. He had been so preoccupied with Ron, he hadn’t been able to think about those around them. How long had they been dueling, anyway?

“I want it! I want itnowthe disembodied voice demanded, and then fell into the most horrible description of why. Even as he struggled to push the other boy off of him, Harry felt the rise in panic as the voice drew closer and louder and more bloodthirsty.

Hewanted to flee, believing it was his blood the thing wanted, but the fight with Ron wasn’t over. The first punch split his lip, but he managed to block the second, only to loose his wand on the third.

Snape managed to reach them before the fourth one landed, pulling Ron off physically.

“Wealsey! What in the name of Merlin are you doing?!” Snape snarled, shaking the boy like a rag doll. The potion master’s attention was soon diverted to Potter who had jumped to his feet before any of his friends could reach him and bolted for the door. “Potter!Get back here!”

But the Gryffindor ignored him or possibly hadn’t even heard him, slamming the door behind him.

The halls were deserted, still forbidden as result of Snape’s rigorously enforced restrictions. Harry was both glad and terrified of that. He sprinted in a random direction, but the voice followed him, growing impatient in its hunger.

“I can sssmell it, ssso clossse, so clossse. Ssso hungry. Houssse elvesss are too musty to sssatisssfy.”

He found the stars and rushed down them, barely keeping himself from plummeting down them head first. When he reached the bottom, he paused a moment to gain his bearings. The halls down here were silent. Should he remain where he was then? Where could he go? This thing following him, what was it? Should he flee the castle altogether?

Harry’s mind was flooded with panic, partly from Ron’s curse and partly from a very real fear of the things he knew haunted this school. For a minute he clung to the rail at the bottom of the stairs, trying to think when all his mind wanted was for him to flee and all his body wanted was for him to rest.

“There! I found you!”

Harry let out a startled scream, spinning around and finding no one, but unable to keep himself from running away nonetheless. He didn’t know where he was going. There was no plan. Finding a teacher to protect him or a place to hide was secondary to simply getting away.

He found himself at the front entrance of the school. The heavy wooden doors were closed, latched shut from the inside. He seized the first lock and tried to unlatch it, but it stuck firm. Harry searched his pockets for his wand before remembering that Ron had knocked it out of his hand in the Dueling Hall. Screaming in frustration and fear, he pounding at the door with already bloodied fist.

“Let me out!”

“Sssmellsss like fear. Deliciousss.”

“LET ME OUT!”

“Potter!”

He spun around to find Snape rushing down the hall, and his terror leaping between that of the bloodthirsty voice or his enraged professor. The man seemed to hesitate as he came close, eying the bloodied hand prints on the door suspiciously before turning his sights to the one who had made them. Harry could only stare mutely at the man, knowing it was almost as dangerous to run from this man as it was to stay in the non-presence of his pursuer.

“Do not move, Potter,” Snape warned cooly, moving forward with deliberate slowness to prevent the boy from bolting. “You’re under the affects of a Panic Hex.”

Harry shook his head.

“I can hear it. It wants to kill me. It can smell my blood. Can’t you hear it? Why am I the only one I can hear it?”

Snape hesitate. Harry eyes widened.

“It’s a snake, isn’t it? Whatever killed Sweety is a snake, isn’t it? And it’s here, and it wants to kill me-”

“Don’t be conceited, Potter. It’s only the curse making you think that,”Snape said, taking another step closer. Harry pressed himself further into the door, as if he might somehow push himself through it altogether.

“No. No, I heard it before. I’ve heard it everywhere. In the dungeons and the hallways. Not in the tower, but once just outside of it… It’s following me… Let me out, let me OUT OF HERE!”

He seized the locks again, tearing at them with all his strength and gradually he felt the first one give-

“Praesens dormio!”

Sitting in the infirmary, Severus looked down at the boy who gave him so much trouble and wished he could resent him for it. Resentful was his usual state of being, and even in situations where it wasn’t warranted he could easily summon the feeling and remain quite comfortably there.

It was certainly better than pitying. He didn’t like the feeling and he doubted Potter would appreciate it any. Yet whenever he tried to banish the feeling, he would see the bloodied hand prints on the entrance doors and screams to be let out. Not all the screaming he heard in his mind had been from Potter. Some of the voices were old and dead and gone forever except in the odd moments when his memories surfaced and the frail remains of his conscious plagued him.

Harry was not old or dead or gone though, merely sleeping, dark hair hallowing his pale sweaty complexion. He would have to write the Dark Lord about this. It was a calculated risk on his part. Voldemort would not be happy to learn that Harry was possibly being hunted, but he would be even less so if he learned Snape tried to hide that fact.

The death of the house elves and the failure of the resulting search early that morning was hardly going to impress his Master, although his skill in keeping it quiet so far, just might.

There was no telling what the Dark Lord’s response would be in the end. He may return to the castle or have Harry removed from it, or leave Snape to handle the boy’s protection (and he was hoping for the last option). He could not be completely sure that the voices Harry heard were from the basilisk and not something or someone else, and he hated the idea of turning someone’s practical joke into an act of treason.

Regardless of what happened next, Snape had to deal with the problem of keeping Harry safe and also keeping the boy quiet. In his deranged state, the boy had stumbled to a conclusion about Sweety’s killer that hit far too close to the truth. Demands of silence would only go so far. He would have to ensure that Harry was kept conveniently (and safely) out of the way of rest of the school, particularly Hermione who would easily figure out the rest of the puzzle.

Until Christmas break at least, only two and half weeks away, and then the boy could be sent away from the castle for the holidays and a more permanent solution could be found or the basilisk destroyed with any luck.

Plucking a small vial from his robes, Snape very carefully unscrewed the top. The lid doubled as a thin dropper, and he used it to carefully place two tiny drops on the bottom of Harry’s lip. The sleeping child licked his lip reflexively, taking the potion into his body with hardly a grimace.

Snape returned the vial to his robe and sighed. The next few weeks would not be pleasant for Harry, but in the end it would be for the best.

The best for everyone.

He nudged prodded Harry sharply with his wand. The boy bolted up right, his sleep and potion fogged mind less quick to follow his body’s lead. Wincing against wakefulness, he batted the wand away and glowered in his assaulter’s general direction. His glasses were elsewhere and he couldn’t be bothered to care, wanting nothing more than to fall back to sleep.

“What?” he grumbled.

“Sign this,” Snape commanded, placing a quill in one lax hand and some sort of parchment on his lap. Harry looked down at the parchment but without his glasses it was illegible. He let out an enormous yawn and scribbled something he thought vaguely resembled his signature between two other nonsensical squiggles.

With the sedative running fresh and strong in his blood, it did not occur to Harry to question what he was doing, only to find the quickest and easiest means to return to the comfort of sleep. Once Snape had taken back both the quill and parchment, the potions master allowed him to do just that.

When Harry awoke next he would be in no condition to wonder exactly what he had done in his vulnerable state, and it would be several days later before he realized the consequences of that hasty act even if the act itself remained vague in his mind. He did, however, make an important decision rather quickly after.

Snape was officially off his Christmas list until he died.

I have no idea if this is true or not in Rowling’s universe, but I would think it would be harder to make a long term spell stick to a witch/wizard without having their own natural magic disrupt it. It wouldn’t be the same if say someone caste a disguise spell on themselves, since it would already be compatible with their body’s own magic. Curses and hexes can work better because they work quickly and rarely linger for long (although it certainly feels like a long time to the cursed I’m sure). There are, of course, exceptions, but you’ll notice that they’re usually considered very powerful spells. Potions work for longer periods because they have no magical signature of their own. That’s my theory anyway. Agree or disagree as much as you like. Artistic liscense. :P

Potions and Plagues

Waking up in the infirmary was not an uncommon experience for Harry. Waking up in the infirmary feeling worse than he had before going there was. The discomfort of a fever had woken him, several times in fact, until late the next morning when he finally had the energy to stay awake long enough to wonder at his situation.

He could remember his fight with Ron, the return of ‘the voice’, and the subsequent escape into the halls. After that, things became a bit vague. Snape had chased after him, he knew, but not how or where he had caught him. The memory wasn’t lost, but his head felt stuffed with cotton and thinking anything but the simplest thing was huge effort he didn’t have the energy to expend.

“H-hello?” he called, coughing a bit from the dryness in his throat. Madam Pomfrey was beside him in an instant with a glass of water. He drank greedily, taking in the coolness of the liquid gratefully. A moment later, his vision cleared a bit as she placed his glasses on his nose.

“Thank you.”

“You are quite welcome, Mr. Potter,” she said cheerfully, then quickly got to business, sticking a thermometer (or a wizarding equivalent) in his mouth. “How do you feel? You’ve had a fever all night.”

How did he feel? If could concentrate enough he would have to say he felt awful. Sicker than he’d been in years, and unable to account for it.

“What happened to me?”

She smiled sympathetically, taking his hand and holding it closer to his face. He was stunned to find it covered in tiny blue spots.

“See for yourself. You, young man, seem to have contracted Blue Pox.”[1]

“What? How could I have… I was vaccinated and quarantined! How could I have Blue Pox?”

“Calm down, dear, you mustn’t excite yourself. You have a lot of recovering to do after all. As for how, well, you may have had a bad batch of vaccine but more than likely it was probably stress. All this nasty business happening at the school on top of end of semester school work, I imagine the stress harmed your immune system to the point you couldn’t fight off the infection.”

She plucked the thermometer from his mouth and read it.

“101.3°. Hmm… a little better than last night, I suppose. Lay back down dear, and I’ll get you a compress. We can talk a little more after you’ve rested some.”

He wanted to talk more NOW,but she had already scurried away and by the time she had returned, he had already drifted off. The next time he woke it was to someone gently calling his name. He blinked sleepily and turning to his left he saw a worried looking Hermione, Clyde, and Ginny standing a few feet from his bed. Draco was also there, although he looked more amused than worried.

“I can’t believe it. You really did catch the Pox. I thought they were just covering up that you fell down the stairs or something else equally ridiculous,” the Malfoy heir sniggered.

“Draco, be quiet, this isn’t funny!” Hermione snapped, made a move towards Harry but then hesitate and stepped back again. She sighed. “I’m sorry, Harry, but you’re under quarantine. This is as close as we’re allowed to get.”

Harry felt a pang of loneliness, but managed a reassuring smile for her.

“It’s alright. I’ll be fine in a couple of days, I’m sure. But what happened? I remember running away, but I don’t remember why.”

He did remember why, but he needed to hear why they thought he ran away. Surely, Snape would have made some excuse that in no way resembled the truth.

“Panic Hex,” Clyde offered, “Who knows what you were thinking while under its affects? Maybe you thought you were bleeding to death or Snape was going to kill you or you needed to study for Herbology in case of a pop quiz. Scared the bejeezus out of the rest of us though.”

“Yes,” Draco agreed, looking bored, “Ron did quite the number on you. I didn’t know he had it in him. Though, you didn’t do half bad yourself.”

Harry shrugged.

“And what happened to Ron?”

“Suspended from practices till after the holidays for ‘unsportsman-like behavior’,” Hermione said, sounding disgusted, “He’s lucky I wasn’t there or I’d have turned him into a toad.”

Harry chuckled, but it caught in his throat, making him cough violently. The shutters to the nearest window slammed shut.

“I-I’ll get it,” Ginny offered, opening the shutters again with a few flicks of her wand.

“This is ridiculous,” Harry muttered, taking the now warm compress from his forehead and wiping the sweat from face. “I’m dueling one moment and dying the next… from something completely unrelated.”

“You’re not dying, Harry. You’ve probably been carrying the virus around for a while now, so when you expended all that magic during your duel-”

“Rather careless of you,” Draco pointed out smugly, earning him a pinch from Ginny.

“- it left you vulnerable to the infection. You’ll be up an about in a few weeks. At least that’s what my godfather said. You have the worst luck.”

“A few weeks? I can’t lay around her for a few weeks?! I’ve got class-”

Another round of coughing cut off his protests, closed the shutters again, and tipped over a glass of water. Ginny set everything to right again without a word.

“Don’t worry about class, mate,” Clyde admonished. “You’ll be well by winter break, and you can make it up then.”

“I’ll lend you all of by notes. And I’ll visit every day to keep you up to date.” Hermione offered. Harry nodded, but didn’t feel particularly comforted. He hated staying in the infirmary, where it was always too quiet and too lonely and too boring. Besides, there were things happening in Hogwarts. Some of these things were fun, some of them scary, but all of them important to him.

It was completely unfair that he’d have to miss out on it, even if it was only for a little while.

Voldemort read the latest report from Snape and felt distinctly unhappy. The return of the basilisk was disturbing enough, even more so since it seemed to be doing a wonderful job of avoiding Tom while at the same time following Harry. At least Snape had found a way to secure the child, even if it did disrupt the boy’s education.

This turn of events was confusing, as well as frustrating. It left him in doubt of Tom’s involvement yet again. His younger counterpart would never place his ‘mother’ in danger, after all. Yet at the same time, how could Tom possibly keep missing the basilisk? True, Snape’s safety measures had limited Tom’s freedom of movement, but if he were earnest there wasn’t anything the young snake couldn’t accomplish.

“Pettigrew,” he said, startling the sniveling little man sitting in the chair across from his desk.

“Y-yes, Master?”

“Have you learned anything new?”

The coward rung his hands for a moment, his nose twitching like the creature he so often mimicked.

“Ah… well, no, not really. The, the Slytherin dorms are harder to get into than Gryffindor’s. There are a lot of p-pet s-snakes there.”

Voldemort watched Pettigrew shudder with some amusement. He knew it was unfair of him to ask the animagus to infiltrate a place swarming with his natural enemy, but he was a sadist and such things were entertaining to him.

“So be it. If you are too incompetent to infiltrate the bedrooms of mere children, I suppose it is too much to ask for you to search the secret passages.”

Pettigrew paled. His master was not his friend, and their relationship and his affinity to breathing hinged on his continued uses to the Dark Lord. Should he run out of uses, the secrets he held would not permit him to simply walk away.

“N-no, Master! I can do that for you! I- I could even… maybe… get into the Sl-Slytherin d-dorms. It-it will just t-take time.”

Voldemort seemed to consider, although he was merely taking a moment to enjoy watching the little man squirm.

“Very well, I will give you another chance. Return to Hogwarts and find me something useful. If something should happen before I receive a meaningful report from you, I will be most… displeased.”

“Y-yes, M-ma-”

“GO!”

The man was a rat (or rather the rat became even more of a rat), and disappeared through a strategically placed hole in the wall. A scuttling sound was heard for a few moments and then blessed silence. He took the opportunity to consider his next move, but there was little he could think of to do. Snape was handling the situation as best he could without knowing the truth about Tom, Tom was the only one who could control the basilisk in his absence yet was less than trustworthy, and Harry wasn’t going to be able to help or hinder anyone for a while.

Unable to think of an immediate course of action, he shoved his concerns aside and turned back to his other responsibilities. For now, that involved sorting through correspondence with his various spies and officials. There was over fifty to look through for today. He sorted through them, and found one from Lestrange. Apparently, she was having better luck serving Hogwarts abroad then she was serving at home, for she had already found a couple of very fine teachers that even Voldemort approved of. The newest missive presented the teacher who would be replacing McNair next year, a former Ravenclaw with impeccable credentials and a reputation that preceded her.

Finally, some good news.

He set it aside, making a mental note to have Lestrange’s candidates undergo a thorough background check, and checked the rest of his letters. One in particular gave him pause, if for no other reason that it was pink. If his mail sorters had missed yet another love letter, he was going to cut off someone’s fingers.

But no, it wasn’t a love letter. It was an Umbridge letter. Mentally, he sighed. The toady woman really was tiresome. Clever and capable, but tiresome. And perhaps a bit over ambitious if the contents of her letter were anything to go by. She quite thoroughly reported everything that Snape already had, perhaps hoping she would reveal something her supervisor had withheld.

Really, did that woman believe she could ever surpass Severus or even Bella? He tossed the letter aside, seeing no reason to waste time with a response.

Ronald Weasley stared down at his adversary with a combination of disappointment and irritation. Harry Potter really did have Blue Pox after all, and was not just covering up the fact that one of Ron’s spells had done real damage. The bruises, the split lip, and the tiny cuts on Potter’s hand and arm had already been healed, leaving only a series of little blue spots to justify his hospitalization.

Currently, Potter was sleeping restlessly, his pale skin shiny with fever-induced sweat. Ron didn’t like it. He thought he’d take pleasure in the discomfort of the pompous bastard, but it felt wrong to see him brought low by something as menial as a flu. He never admitted it to anyone, least of all himself, but the Gryffindor had always seemed indestructible. But he had bled under Ron’s fists, made mortal by a mortal.

Now, Ron couldn’t claim he defeated a god, but he could claim what was rightfully his.

“Potter.”

The sickly boy flinched, awakening with a groan and a hand blocking the dim light of the infirmary from his eyes. The medi-witch had left his glasses on, but even then the room looked blurry at first. He finally managed to lock onto the vague shape of someone standing at the foot of his bed, and after a long tense moment Ron’s expressionless face came into focus.

Harry tensed. Without looking, he already knew that they were the only two there, and of them only Ron had his wand. There was absolutely nothing comforting about this situation.

Yet Ron did not have his wand in his hand and he made no move for it, merely stared at Harry intently, making a demand the Gryffindor couldn’t understand yet couldn’t deny. How long they remained there, silently staring at each other he didn’t know. But finally, Ron’s blank expression broke into a pleased smirk.

“Hn.”

With that, Ron walked away, leaving Harry to wonder what had happened or if it all hadn’t merely been a fever dream. Let him wonder, Ron thought, he had gotten what he had come for.

Potter had looked at him.

Potter had seen him.

And if the mudblooded bastard ever dared to disregard him again, he’d leave him a bloody smear on the stones of Hogwarts.

A week passed, leaving Harry to dismiss Ron’s visit as nothing more than one of a series of bad dreams. The Pox left him weak, fevered, and light headed, despite the many potions Madam Pomfrey poured down his throat. Worse than this, however, was the endless boredom. Hermione visited him daily, usually in the company of his other friends and occasionally a teacher as well, but she could never stay long and in her absence the infirmary was a silent and lonely place. Reading and studying were impossible, his mind still too foggy from fever and potions to concentrate, leaving him to random thoughts and during his more energetic periods he could squeeze in a few sketches.

The only even slightly remarkable thing to happen was a visit from a Hogwarts’ Herald student reporter, Abigail Bilst, and her young photographer Collin Creevy. Some rather unflattering rumors about what had happened in dueling club had been circulating, and they had both come to confirm or bust the official story. Abbey seemed disappointed that her first story didn’t have some hidden twist, but seemed delighted to have an interview with him. Apparently, she had to beat four other students in a round of Exploding Snaps to get it.

Harry wasn’t sure if he should be flattered, amused, or vaguely worried.

He settled on amused, because he didn’t get near enough amusement in that place.

A second week passed, leaving Harry a little stronger, a little more clear headed, and with fewer spots. And he remembered. He remembered his desperate escape through the halls, ‘the voice’ chasing him the entire way, Snape confrontation at the doors, his own mad conjecture proven true by the potion master’s reaction.

And it was all pointless. Because…

“Harry, don’t speak,” Hermione begged, her friend bent over himself and coughing violently into his sheets. Around them his erratic wild magic opened and shut shutters, knocked over flower vases, and exploded a nearby pillow. “I’ll go get Madam Pomfrey!”

“No-wait! Her-” more violent coughs wracked his body, until the medi-witch appeared and dosed him with one of her potions. His fall into unconsciousness was swift and deep.

When he had woken again it was late, and Snape was standing over him with only a Lumos Charm to see by. His expression was devoid of emotion, of anything resembling regret or guilt.

“What did you do to me?” Harry hissed through clenched teeth.

“I protected you.”

“You poisoned me.”

“Don’t be melodramatic, Potter. You are safe here. There are more wards protecting the occupants of the hospital wing than half of Hogwarts combined. Now you have a reasonable excuse to remain here. You should thank me.”

“Fuck you.”

Snape arched a brow.

“I will overlook your asinine attempt at insult just this once, as you are ill.”

“I’m not ill.I’m poisoned and I’m pissed.”

“Mm… well, I didn’t come to argue semantics. Aren’t you going to ask me about the contract?”

Harry was diverted in his search for something to throw at the potion’s master by his question.

“What contract?”

“The one that made you almost cough out your lungs when you tried to tell my goddaughter what you had learned. The one that will cramp your fingers if you ever try to write it and scatter your thoughts if someone were to try and legilimens you. The one that will protect the Dark Lord’s secrets. That contract.”

“… I don’t remember…”

“You weren’t really coherent when you signed. In fact, I think you signed ‘Hairy Plumber’, but with magical contracts you could have signed ‘Mary Antoinette’ and it wouldn’t have made a difference. You’re bound, Mr. Potter, and there’s no getting around it.”

Harry could only stare at the man, horrified. Snape waited for him to say something, but quickly grew impatient.

“Well, goodnight then, Potter.”

The lumos charm ended, plunging everything into total darkness, and by the time Harry’s eyes readjusted the infirmary was empty.

Harry managed to catch up on his school reading fairly quick, with nothing else to do, and though he was not yet in enough control of his magic to practice spells he practiced the hand movements with a pencil. Anything was better than thinking about Snape’s betrayal, and more importantly the success of it. A great deal of energy was spent just not thinking about it.

If possible, he was even more bored than the week before. Hermione visited like clockwork, but she brought fewer and fewer visitors. Although, sometimes when he was napping he could have sworn someone else had been there, but could never be sure it wasn’t the result of bad dreams. Hermione assured him that no one could enter the infirmary without alerting Madam Pomfrey, who had reported no one but the odd patient and occasional student visitor.

That Sunday brought the first edition of the Hogwarts Herald, delivered by Hermione herself. She was giddy.. He found it pretty amusing until she accidently smacked him in the head with the rolled up newspaper (she still wasn’t allowed close enough to simply hand it to him), her excitement badly affecting her aim.

“I’m sorry!”

He righted his glasses, and offered her a wane smile.

“That’s ok. So how’s it going?” he asked, unrolling the paper. It was thicker thank he’d thought it would be, nearly as thick as the daily Wizarding Weekly. The front page read “Meet the Heralds of Hogwarts” and showed a large picture of the paper’s staff, including Hermione sitting right up front with the more prominent older students.

“Fantastic! Everyone did a marvelous job! I wasn’t sure if we were going to make our deadline, but Professor Toure really knows how to get people organized. We put an article about her under ‘The Teacher’s Tattler’, and it mentions she used to be coordinator at the National Wizarding History Museum. And to think before that she-”

Harry listened to her with half an ear, most of his attention focused on the various articles scattered in the paper. It was actually pretty interesting. There were articles about recent events, future events, student activities, teacher and student announcements, weather reports, a gossip column, a fashion column, sports sections, advice column for school related problems, study tips, health section (which he was amused to find his picture a part of), student interviews, teacher interviews (this week was Toure as Hermione mentioned). The student interview featured none other than Tom, coming off as charming and poised even on paper.

He skimmed Tom’s article briefly, but it revealed nothing he hadn’t heard about him before. Disappointed, he checked the ‘Events in Review’ to see if anything new or the least bit suspicious had been written about ‘the Guardian’. Aside from a article about the ‘hex epidemic’ that had since passed, there was nothing unusual mentioned. He wasn’t surprised.

Looking over at Hermione happily chattering away about the paper’s success and her plans for future articles, he couldn’t feel too terribly guilty. Nothing bad had happened and Hermione was happier than he could ever recall seeing her. Perhaps ‘the Guardian’ had been following Harry, and now that he was seemingly out of reach it had left. It was too much to hope, but it was the season…

Which reminded him.

“I don’t suppose I’ve received another invite to the Malfoy Christmas party?”

Hermione, who had gone off on a tangent about Collin Creevey’s questionable photographer’s morality was brought up short in her speech. Confused, she merely blinked at him for a moment.

“Oh! I told you last week. We only hold those balls on even years. We’re sort of in an agreement with the Hothwell family, who hold the balls on odd years. Otherwise we get into quite the competition over guests. I’m not surprised you don’t remember. You were pretty loopy from fever.”

Harry couldn’t remember much of last week, and it was his greatest wish that no one else would remember him like that either. ‘Loopy’ wasn’t a very flattering state to be in.

“What about you, Harry?” she asked, “Has Professor Snape or Professor McGonagall come to talk to you about where you’ll be spending winter break?”

“What do you mean? I assumed I would be staying here for the holidays, like last year.”

Hermione frowned, somewhat worried.

“I would have thought… oh, never mind. Turn to page four, under ‘Important Announcements.’”

He did as instructed, skimming over the schedule for midterm exams and located just above the Hogwart’s Express Departure procedure was an unexpected bit of news.

Due to an unusually low number of available staff during the holiday season, all students will be sent home or to an otherwise specified domicile for the duration of winter break. Letters to parents and guardians have already been sent, and should all arrive by Tuesday. If you or your family have any questions, please speak with your Head of House. Arrangements will be made for special circumstances. - Deputy Headmaster S. Snape

“Huh. First I’ve heard of it,” he admitted. Could this somehow be a part of another of Snape’s plans? Perhaps with the rest of the school empty, the potion’s master would attempt to find and capture the serpent yet again? He looked to his friend to ask her opinion on his theory, but a sudden flush of strange magic surged through him, invoking a series of violent coughs.

“Harry?! Are you ok? Should I get the nurse?”

He waved her off, continuing to cough. After a moment, it stopped. He had forgotten about Snape’s contract, but clearly it hadn’t forgotten him. Running his hand through his hair in frustration, he tried to think of what to do next.

“Still sick,” he said distractedly, voice a bit raspy now. “But at least I didn’t tip any glasses or something.”

Hermione nodded sympathetically, and got up to go.

“You should rest if you want to get better before break. I’ll talk to McGonagall and see what their plans are for you. You can keep the paper.”

“Thanks.”

After Hermione left, no one else visited that evening or the Monday morning that followed. Alone with his thoughts and frustrations, the restlessness that had plagued Harry since his hospitalization came to a peak. He could not stand to lay there in bed any longer.

He peeked down the hall of the fourth floor corridor, and finding it predictably empty, moved quickly until he reached the next turn. At ten in the morning, everyone would be in class, including Madam Pomfrey who taught Intro to Medical Wizardy twice a week at this time. That gave him one hours to search the school and get back to bed before anyone noticed him.

Hardly feasible, but he had a few places in particular that he wanted to check out. The dungeon would have been his first choice, but he couldn’t risk being caught by Snape, so he began with the hall outside the library and made his way to every place he could remember hearing ‘the voice’. Now that he had figured out it was from a snake, he though he might have better luck finding it… possibly even reasoning with it to return to the place it had been guarding.

So far all he had to show for his trouble was a nasty chill.

“Harry?”

The young Gryffindor let out a startled squeak, and spun around. Climbing out of a secret passage behind a suit of armor was Tom, looking almost as surprised to see Harry as the boy was to see him. Harry bolted.

He was half way back to the hospital wing when Tom finally caught him, catching hold of his wrist and spinning him around. Harry twisted in his grip, struggling weakly. Whether it was his own prolonged sickness or Tom possessed unusual strength, it quickly became obvious that escape was impossible.

“Let go, Tom. I still have the Pox, you know,” he grumbled, staring pointedly at Tom’s hand gripping his wrist rather than the boy himself.

“Which is why you should still be in the infirmary. What are you doing out here, Harry? Merlin, you’re freezing!”

The Slytherin released him, but he didn’t have time to run again before he found himself netted in Tom’s school robe. The robe was much too big and pooled over his feet. With a few flicks of the older boy’s wand and a muttered spell, the black cloth began to warm like an electric blanket.

Harry almost sighed in relief.

Until Tom grabbed him by the arms, his grip wickedly fierce.

“What are you doing out here? And dressed in nothing but hospital pajamas? Are you daft?”

He flushed in embarrassment.

“Nothing. I was just… bored. I’ve been laying bed for two weeks and I’m sick of it. What are you doing out here? Don’t you have class?”

Tom hesitated, his grip loosening.

“I… this is my free period.”

“Shouldn’t you be in your dorm with your classmates.”

Tom snorted.

“If I have to spend one more minute listening to what so-and-so’s parent is buying them for Christmas, someone’s not going to live long enough to get their gifts,” the Slytherin said, sneering. His expression smoothed when he looked back to a Harry. “Why are you here, Harry? I can think of a dozen better…warmer places an escapee-patient might prefer.”

“Then why aren’t you there?”

Again, that moment of hesitation and Harry was quickly beginning to think Tom was up to something. He wondered if… could Tom be looking for ‘the guardian’ too? Did Tom know or at least suspect the true nature of Sweety’s killer? If so, how much did he know about Harry’s own investigation? Was the older boy spying on him that day in the library for that reason?

A thousand thoughts bombarded him, all questioning Tom’s possible role in the mystery and whether it was curious investigator or… something else. Something that was too absurd to think about. Tom was his friend, why would he spy on him? But then why wouldn’t he tell Harry if he knew something?

“I refuse to have a conversation in the middle of the hall with someone in pajamas,” Tom said finally. “I’ll take you back to the infirmary and we can talk there.”

Once enclosed in the warmth and privacy of the infirmary, they each settled into a chair. For a long moment, neither said anything. Then Tom looked at his watch and sighed.

“I have to be back in the dungeons in twenty minutes, so we best make this brief and to the point. Why were you wandering in the halls?”

Harry shrugged, unable to answer truthfully even if he wanted to. Tom frowned.

“Were you… looking for it? That thing that hurt your teammate?”

Green eyes widened. Tom’s frowned deepened.

“You can’t keep doing this, Harry. You’re much too important to be risking your life over trivialities. Let Professor Snape take care of it.”

“Trivialities? A girl is dead, Tom! There’s nothing trivial about it! And Snape’s the bloody reason I’m in here!”

The Slytherin’s mouth twitched, fighting a smirk as he poked at a prominent blue spot on Harry’s forehead.

“Yes, it was rather clever of him too. No one’s even suspected, not even your own best friend. And I heard she was smart.”

The Gryffindor slapped Tom’s hand away from his forehead, glowering. Anger bloomed in his heart, it’s root feeding on his sense of betrayal. He should of know, he thought. Tom had been too perfect. He had seen his lying smile and still been charmed. But Tom wasn’t what he had thought… hoped?… he was. But how far did the lie go? Was the mask simply a charming cover for his more callous and cynical thoughts or did they hide something more sinister?

“Tom… what do you know?”

The Slytherin smirked.

“What anyone with half a brain, a little bit of curiosity, and access to the Restricted Section of the library might know. I imagine you’ve figured out quite a bit yourself.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t answer mine either.”

True.

Tom glanced at his watch again.

“I don’t have much time left, and after this I may not be able to visit you again before break. How would you like to spend the holidays with me?”

Now where did THAT come from? Tom’s charm was back, his clever little smile directed at Harry, and his eyes were intense…no… welcoming?

“What?”

“I had hoped to keep you out of the matter, but if you’re going to be stubborn we might as well work together. I was planning on spending Christmas in Askrigg. Have you ever been there? Tiny little town, but very pretty when it snows.”

That sounded nice, and Tom wasn’t acting mean or weird now. He was smiling and curious and just what Harry wanted.

“I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I keep my best books in Askrigg. Spend the holidays with me there, and I promise I’ll tell you everything I know and you can help me search for more. How about it, Harry? Will you come?”

Green eyes, different than his own, soften from intense emerald by little flecks of red, held him gently, warm as the charmed robe around his shoulders.

“I… I don’t think…” he tried, thoughts of Snape’s unknown plans for him slipping into the warm atmosphere like a cold mountain spring. Innocent, but distracting.

“Don’t worry about your guardians, Harry. I’m sure I can convince them. I’m very convincing, aren’t I?”

Yes, he was definitely that, he thought hazily. But there wasn’t much he had to convince Harry of after all, was there? Why spend Christmas alone when he could spend it with a friend he both liked and admired? One who shared his interest in the-

A familiar surge of foreign magic welled up, spilling out into violent coughing, breaking the connection Tom had made to his mind. The connection that had sought out the knowledge Harry’s contract would protect, even from legilimency.

“Harry! What’s wrong?”

Tom’s hands were on his shaking shoulders, and Harry shoved him away harshly, stumbling away from him. The robe fell from shoulders, tangling his feet and dragging him to the floor.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t come anywhere near me! You-you…bloody…” he snarled up at him, eyes flashing in rage. Tom was stunned.

“Harry?” he tried softly, looking almost pitiably confused. All Harry saw was a lie.

“You… I trustedyou! I thought you were my friend! Then you tried to…to… I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY FRIEND!”

The lie fell away, leaving Tom’s expression cold and his eyes devilish red. Like a striking serpent, he went from absolute stillness to violent motion within a fraction of a second. He shoved the smaller boy to the floor, pinning his wrists beside his head.

“I am theonly friend you will ever need,” he hissed, parseltongue turning an already dangerous statement into something obscene. Harry could only lay there, stunned and frightened.

Tom’s expression softened, and he released Harry’s wrists when he showed no signs of struggling. He let out a long, frustrated sigh and checked his watched.

“Damn it. Out of time.”

He pointed his wand at Harry.

“Obliviate!”

“Potter, wake up.”

Harry sprung up, gasping, his mind shredding and scattering his nightmare like bits of paper. A moment of panic, of displacement, and then the infirmary began to take on the familiar shapes and patterns of light he remembered. He blinked away the vague afterimages from his sleep, and turned to see Snape standing beside him. It was strange to see the man after two weeks of absence. Had he always looked so irritated?

Oh, wait, they were in the same room together. Question answered.

“Are you coherent?” the man sneered. “I would hope after two weeks lazing around in bed you would be well rested.”

Harry glowered back at the man.

“If you didn’t want me bedridden then perhaps you shouldn’t have poisoned me? Just a thought.”

Snape waved his statement away like an irritating fly. He pulled an envelope from his robe, and for a second Harry’s heart leapt at thought of Sirius and Remus. Then he realized the envelope was black. The potion’s master handed it to him. An elegant ‘V’ was inscribed in gold across it.

“The Dark Lord has extended an invitation to spend the holidays with him in Bristol.”

“Why?” he asked, confused and feeling disoriented again by rather ominous deja vu.

“PR, probably. Orphan-hugging and all that.”

Oh, well that actually made sense. It wasn’t exactly flattering, but at least it made sense.

“You should be released from the infirmary Wednesday afternoon, which will give you just enough time to collect your assignments and pack. McGonagall has assigned a Prefect to keep an eye on you… incase you suddenly relapse from your illness.”

Harry snorted. Snape smirked.

“The train leaves the next day at exactly 8 o’clock. You must be ready to leave the castle at seven-fifteen with the rest of your House. A WYRA representative will be in London to escort you to the estate. After that, it’s up to the Dark Lord. Happy Holidays.”

“I hope you’re hit by low flying reindeer.”

“If only I were so lucky. The Headmistress is returning on Friday.”

1. Remember Blue Pox? I mentioned it in the first book. It’s a common illness of young wizard. Sneezing commonly results in the lights flickering on or off, and other odd little things happening.↩

The Prince and the Fortress

Outside it was snowing, and it had been since Harry and all his classmates had left Hogwarts. The heavy, fluffy white flakes had gradually given way to sleet as they drew further south towards London. Inside the Hogwarts’ Express, however, the atmosphere was warm and bright and smelled strongly of chocolate and peppermint. Christmas carols were being sung, picked up and left off by who ever wanted to join in, and laughter filled the silences in between.

The compartment Harry had managed to procure was already crowded with luggage and his friends. For once, Harry was able to sit with Natalie and Draco, made possible by Ron opting to sit with his siblings. Clyde had opted to sit with them, avoiding his ‘uncles’ as much as possible before being trapped with them at home. Natalie had gleefully offered to hold a spherical basket for Harry, and peeked inside at Inana’s dozing form every so often.

“Would you stop that,” Draco groused, glaring suspiciously at the basket, “It’s going to wake up eventually and then bite you on the nose.”

“But she’s so pretty!”

“And can kill you within minutes!”

“Even better!”

Hermione and Draco rolled their eyes. The Malfoy heir turned to Harry.

“You couldn’t have left it in the baggage car?”

“It’s not heated back there. Besides, when I told the baggage carrier what was inside the basket, they refused to touch it. Don’t be a sissy, Draco. I fed her before we left, so she’ll sleep for the next couple of days.”

“Just because I have a survival instinct that surpasses that of lemming doesn’t make me a sissy.”

Harry just chuckled. He had missed his Slytherin friends and the battle of wits and philosophy that inevitably sparked between. If Draco was at all resentful of the trouble sparked between Gryffindor and Slytherin and the unpleasant restrictions that had resulted, he did an impeccable job at hiding it. They had spent most of the day discussing the last couple of weeks, finding out where their houses differed in perspective of recent events.

“Speaking of survival instinct,” Natalie said, redirecting the conversation, “Are you ready to face the Dark Lord, Harry?”

Harry sighed, and wondered that himself.

“How can I be ready? I mean, it’s the Dark Lord. What’s he do for Christmas anyway?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Draco said, smirking. “He’s a pagan.”

Now thatHarry hadn’t been expecting, and felt a sudden nervousness. Witchcraft was technically a pagan craft, and Professor Toure had done much to remind them of that fact in History of Magic. She held a sort of contempt for what she referred to as the ‘pseudo-Christian’ religion most wizards and witches followed today, and he briefly wondered if she weren’t pagan as well. Yet for all the homework and research assignments she had assigned, Harry still wasn’t entirely sure what it all meant.

Hermione rolled her eye.

“Don’t worry about it. He might be a pagan, but he knows the benefit of playing a Christian to the public. Aside from the lack of a Christmas tree or nativity scene, I doubt you’ll see much difference,” she said. Clyde nodded in agreement, pulling a candy cane from his mouth to speak. Harry was amused to note that his tongue was now stripped red and white.

“Yeah, mate, what she said. Christmas is supposedly steeped in pagan symbolism anyway. And you get to skip those boring church masses and Christmas pageants. Consider yourself lucky.”

Draco sighed, irritated that they had ended his fun before it had really gotten started.

“Fine, so he won’t set you on fire as a sacrifice, but don’t let your guard down. I doubt he invited you into his house out of the goodness of his heart.”

Harry shrugged. He knew the situation was strange and more than a bit frightening, but what could he do? The chances were this was just a publicity stunt, which meant he would have to smile and look grateful around people and then spend the rest of his time bored out of his mind in his room. It wouldn’t be so different from Christmas with the Durs-

Okay, comparing life with his relatives to life in the wizarding world was a definite no-no on his mental list, so he was going to make sure they never resembled each other even if he had to let Voldemort set fire to him to make it so.

“I’ll be fine. I doubt he wants anything… bad. I’ll just keep to myself as much as possible and be polite whenever we meet. I doubt we’ll see each other much. He’s busy doing… whatever he’s been busy doing the last couple of months.”

“I’m sure we’ll find out what he’s been up to before the end of break,” Hermione said, “Lucius has been helping with his latest project. Crowned Negotiator, whatever that means.”

“It means,” Draco drawled, “that half the Court is going to be traipsing through our estate while we’re there and most won’t have the common sense to keep their mouths shut. Chances are we’ll know more about the Dark Lord’s latest plans than half of his inner circle. You should keep your ear to the door as well, Potter. You might learn something interesting.”

Clyde snorted.

“Yeah, like what the Dark Lord does to spies.”

“No! Harry, you keep with your plan. Keep your head down and out of trouble.”

Harry chuckled at her overly concerned expression.

“Despite what your brother thinks, I do have some survival instinct. I fully intend to have the most boring and uneventful Christmas I can manage without being comatose.”

The platform in London was crowded, slick from sleet, and gloomy this late in the afternoon. Harry procrastinated leaving the warmth and companionship within the train, but eventually he had to say his goodbyes to all his friends (and check his pockets thoroughly after Fred and George glomped him by surprise) and make his way to the platform. Claiming his luggage, Elsbeth, and Inana’s basket, he maneuvered them awkwardly to a bench under the station’s awning. Being closer to the ticket booth and opposite the floo stations, he was able to free himself from most of the traffic and dutifully await his chaperon.

From his vantage point he could see families finding each other, parents and children and siblings and friends drawn together and apart like droplets of oil on a smooth surface. He watched as the Weasley bunch gathered into a particularly large crowd, joined now not only by their mother Molly but by two unfamiliar young men who could have only been Charlie and Bill. Not long after they had come together though, did other witches and wizards come along and start to tear them apart. Clyde’s grandparents lingered the longest, chatting amicably with Mrs. Weasley, but they too eventually drew their adopted children and grandson away. Bill and Charlie rested reassuring hands on her shoulder, but even from across the platform Harry could see her eyes had grown large and shiny.

“Mr. Potter?”

Harry started in surprise, his wand in his hand and raised before he could stop himself. A woman stood beside him, her expression vaguely indignant at the sight of his wand. She sort of reminded him of Professor McGonagall, looking most prim, proper, and a bit severe; but where patience and the occasional ironic smile soften the Transfiguration teacher’s demeanor, this new woman lacked anything that might make her more approachable.

“Sorry. Habit,” he said, reluctantly returning the wand to the holder in his sleeve. She tilted her head in acknowledgment, but there was nothing forgiving about her expression.

“I am Madam Hardwick. On behalf of WYRA, I am here to escort you to Bristol.”

“Oh…” Joy. “Nice to meet you. Um… password?”

Snape had been very insistent on remembering to ask for the password. Had even threatened severe punishment if he forgot to ask (how the hell would he know anyway? Unless this woman was his mother. She sort of looked like she could be).

She nodded in approval.

“‘Curiosity killed the Black Cat of Gryffindor.’”

Subtle, Snape. Very subtle.

“Come along then. We have a long way to go and traffic is going to be atrocious in this weather,” she ordered, snapping her fingers. A chauffeur, dressed in a grey uniform appeared, taking up Harry’s trunk and Elsbeth’s cage. The young Gryffindor quickly snatched up Inana’s basket before he ran off with that as well, and followed after the retreating woman. She led them to an old fashioned car, black and shiny with silver accents, waiting for them just outside the muggle station. Madam Hardwick ignored the curious stares of the surrounding muggles, and encouraged Harry to do the same by forcing him to quicken his pace in order to keep up with her. She shuffled him into the back seat as quickly as possible, and after a suspicious glance around the station, climbed in as well.

The car was not the same one that had first retrieved him from the Dursley’s, and Harry had a strong suspicion it belonged to Voldemort when he found the interior lined with dark green velvet. His trunk in the boot of car, Elsbeth in the front passenger seat, Inana’s basket set at his feet, and a rather quiet and unfriendly strangers to his left, Harry tried his best to settle himself for the rest for the ride. It was rather hard to get comfortable with Hardwick’s sharp grey eyes pinning him to his seat, daring him to so much as sneeze.

Once they left the station, however, Harry soon found himself suitably distracted. They were not traveling through wizarding London like he had thought they would, but through the muggle city. All around them the curiosities of his magical world gave way to distantly familiar things. Sunglasses, Christmas lights, traffic signs, Big Ben, trench coats, high-rise office buildings, snow shovels, and a postman danced across his line of sight with all the peculiarity of a polar bear lounging on the beach. Such inane little things he hadn’t realized were missing, and was startled to find he missed.

After forty minutes stuck in holiday traffic, their driver pulled off into a tunnel, and came out of it somewhere in the middle of a country highway. Bristol was about a hundred miles directly west of London, and though both were notable cities, there was very little by way of settlements between them. It was also colder in the interior, and the light cast a gloomy pall over the empty farm and pasture land.

Harry tightened his winter cloak around him, the chill seeping into him through the glass of the window even as the rest of car remained toasty. His chaperone cleared her throat, drawing his attention.

“Do you have anything nicer to wear?” she said evenly.

He looked down at himself and wondered what she thought was wrong with what he had. It was a little plain, but clean and in good repair. WYRA had certainly thought it suitable when they’d given it to him last year.

“This is the only winter cloak I own. Really, the only clothes I have are what WYRA gave me last year,” he answered nervously. Which reminded him that he needed to get some new socks and underwear. Perhaps some new shirts too, since the sleeves were starting to get too short. Not that he was going to ask her for any.

“I see,” she said, her grey eyes turning inward in thoughtful introspection. She said nothing else for another hour. They passed a sign citing Bristol city limits at 12 kilometers, but pulled off the highway onto a county road and then pulled off again onto a dirt road. They traveled until they reached a short stone wall with a small wooden gate , and the chauffeur had to get out and use his wand to open it. As soon as they crossed the boundary the English countryside fell away to a thick forest, though nothing but more countryside could be seen from the other side.

“Where are we?” he murmured, but in the silence it was easily heard.

“The Dark Lord is a guardian of the people, but he values his privacy. Most of his estates are outside city limits. This one is known as the Sianach Lodge, named after the man-eating deer that are bred here. I encourage you not to wander the woods at dawn or dusk.”

Didn’t anyone like animals that didn’t eat people?

“Thanks for the warning.”

The Sianach Lodge was anything but a lodge. It was nothing more or less than a country mansion, encased in extensive gardens and lawns that gave way to wild forest. From the driveway, Harry could see a flock of pheasants grazing near a stone gryphon, and wondered what else wandered onto the grounds.

Harry released Elsbeth to stretch her wings, and within moments her white plumage faded into the misty gloom and she disappeared. Suddenly, Harry found himself surrounded by three servants dressed in green and black uniforms. They quickly gathered up his trunk and Elsbeth’s cage, but when one eager young maid tried to take Inana’s basket he dissuaded her by showing exactly what she was trying to take. Her startled shriek was rather satisfying. They were lead into the front entry where they were met by two neat rows of six servants.

An older, but solid-looking butler with a green cord draped over his shoulder marched down the row to introduced himself to Harry and his chaperone.

“I am Mr. Whitby, manager of this estate. On behalf of Lord Voldemort and his staff, we welcome you to the Sianach Lodge, Young Master Potter.”

The manager and the servants all bowed or curtsied to them, and Harry flushed, unsure if he should do the same. Madam Hardwick didn’t, so he followed her lead. There was a moment of tense silence before Harry realized they were expecting some sort of response from him.

“Oh…er… Th-thank you. I’m… I’m glad I was invited.”

Thankfully, none of the servants seemed to pay attention to his awkward response, and no sooner than it was out then they all dispersed to complete their usual tasks. Mr. Whitby spoke to him yet again, gesturing to a pretty young maid who couldn’t have been more than twenty.

“This is Miss Victoria. She will be your personal maid during your stay here. If you need anything or would like to go somewhere, she will assist you in any way she can. Miss Victoria, if you wouldn’t mind settling our guest in his room?”

The maid curtsied, and Harry blushed when she smiled at him. She was very pretty.

“It would be an honor and a pleasure,” she said demurely, “If you would please follow me, Young Master?”

He followed her to a corridor and up a narrow stairwell. Once at the second floor, tall windows allowed a gloomy silver light to fill the hall. He was surprised to find it appeared to be decorated for Christmas, bows of holly, garlands of real evergreen, and wreaths of pine and winter berries. Then realized these were pagan decorations long before Christians adopted them. The portraits lining the hall were mostly woodland scenes, filled with beasts and hunters moving cautiously through the painted greenery. Indeed, for all that the estate was clearly a mansion, the place had a sort of ‘lodge’ atmosphere to it, aided by the abundance of unpainted wood furniture and soft natural colors.

Victorial led him to a room at the farthest end of the hall, opening it to reveal a large room with sets of windows of two adjoining walls, looking out over the gardens and forest beyond. The room was done in elegant ambers and dark woods, dominated by a large four poster bed in the center and an ornate rolling desk in a corner under a Western window. He was immediately drawn to the Northern windows to admire the view.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” his maid said.

“Y-yes, it is,” he said, feeling strangely shy. He had never had anyone obligated to do what he told them, especially not anyone older than him, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with her. She quirked tilted her head, regarding him curiously.

“Are you really only twelve?”

“Yes, I really am only twelve. Why? Do I look older?”

“Not really, it’s just… You know you’re pretty well known, in certain circles,” she said. She peaked out the door to make sure no one was coming, and that made Harry feel inexplicably better. When she did that, she looked much younger and more than a little mischievous. “You’re probably the most famous twelve year old in Britain.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Harry said, skeptical of her claim, “WYRA and Hogwarts and few hours in Daigon Alley are about all I’ve seen of Britain.”

She seemed to consider his words, testing them against what she had heard and what she was seeing for herself. She smiled when she reached her conclusion.

“You seem like a nice boy. Is there anything I can get you? A snack or something to drink? I can give you a tour of manor if you wish, or would your prefer to rest?”

“Ummm… well, I do need to get caught up on some homework. Perhaps a trip to the library, and then we can save the full tour for tomorrow.”

“Very good, Young Master. Master has a very impressive library. I am certain we can find you something useful.”

“I want those background checks done before the office clears for the Holidays or no one is going home. Let the personnel department know they can recruit from the administration office, and make sure McCullen knows not to give them any grief over the matter,” Voldemort ordered, standing before his office mirror as his assistant draped his cloak around his shoulders and fastened it with a brooch in the shape of coiled serpent.

“Yes, My Lord,” Lewis reassured, “I will have it taken care of it. Are you certain you wouldn’t prefer to stay in the city tonight? The weather has gotten nasty since this afternoon.”

Voldemort regarded himself in the mirror, and finding his appearance satisfactory, made his way to the door. His private secretary scurried to open it before he reached it. The receptionist stood and bowed respectfully as he crossed her desk, handing him his messages without a word. He leafed through them as he made his way to the door.

“Thank you, Lewis, but Harry should have arrived by now, and I wish to speak to him before tomorrow.”

“I understand, Sir. Will Mister Potter be joining you tomorrow?”

“Eventually,” he said, exiting the inner sanctum of his Bristol office and entering the restricted offices, where six Court Sentinels suddenly appeared around him to escort him. The Sentinels eyed the enchanted paper airplanes floating overhead and the late-working employees peeking out from their cubicles suspiciously. Voldemort spared an acknowledging nod to his hard-working staff as he passed, before continuing his conversation. “He’s recovering from a bout of the Pox, so he’ll need the mornings and afternoons to catch up on his studies. There are some social gatherings I would like him to attend in the evenings though. I think it’s time he’s introduced to his future colleagues. Except for Bernstein. Make sure that woman and the little whores she calls her daughters aren’t in attendance at any of these gatherings.”

“No Bernstein whores. I’ll see to it,” Lewis acknowledged, vaguely amused at the order. Normally, the Dark Lord made it a point to have them around. They tended to keep the more easily distracted audience suitably entertained.

“And Moyse. That man’s a pedophile, I don’t care if they found evidence or not.”

They left the restricted section of the office and entered the public corridors. A Sentinel at the front desk saluted as they passed and picked up the phone to call the garage.

“Perhaps it would be easier to fit young Mr. Potter with a chastity belt. I’m afraid political officials tend to have aberrant tastes,” Lewis joked, then hoped he wouldn’t regret it. The Dark Lord’s sense of humor was patchy at the best of times.

Voldemort barked a short laugh, and dismissed the matter. Four of the six guardians and their master entered the private elevator, while two of them headed for the stairs. His personal assistant bid the Dark Lord goodnight and headed back to the office to complete the last of his orders.

The elevator released them into the underground garage where a motor cade was already standing by to relieve his current Sentinelss. The two that had taken the stairs reappeared to confirm everything was clear so far. Six men already mounted on brooms surrounded his private car, and he walked through them without hesitating. This sort of security had become such a routine it moved like clockwork, even at times when it was designed to do exactly the opposite.

The driver opened the door for him and he slid in, allowing himself the luxury of a deep calming breath. Faintly, he thought he could still smell Harry and the distinct scent of snake in the velvet of his seat. On the floor of the compartment he made out a tiny down feather, no doubt belonging to Elsbeth.

“I trust everything went well, Helena?”

Voldemort’s private library was indeed just as impressive as Victoria had said it was. It hardly compared to Hogwart’s, but the two story bookshelves lining the walls had a little bit of everything. And one particular book caught his attention.

He hadn’t expected to find it. Hadn’t even conceived of the possibility. All he had wanted was a book on magical booby traps for DA&D. Yet there it was, nestled between ’The Security of a Castle in your Home’and ‘One Hundred Useful Creatures for Your Home and Garden’.

’Guardian Beasts’by Elmer Furly lay in his hands, growling softly.

“No way.”

“Everything alright, Young Master?” Victoria asked from across the room, browsing through transfiguration tomes.

“Uh, yeah. Just… you know, some interesting stuff in here.”

He quickly turned away, knowing his face was probably read like an open book. He took a deep breath. This wasn’t necessarily the same book Hermione was looking for. There were lots of books out there, no reason why there shouldn’t be copies. Perhaps every library had this particular book. He opened to the cover page and nearly dropped it.

‘Property of Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft’ was stamped in bold red ink across the bottom of the page.

“Young Master Potter?”

“Eep!”

He spun around to see Mr. Whitby standing at the library door.

“I am truly sorry to disturb you, Young Master, but your designer as arrived.”

“Huh?”

Madam Hardwick sat across from the Dark Lord, her severe expression unmoving even in the face of the most powerful man in Britain.

“There were no problems. He behaved himself well enough, though I might recommend some etiquette lessons. The servants unnerved him a bit. Though, I suppose anyone used to house elves rather than real people might behave similarly.”

“I’ll have Whitby teach him the basics,” he said. “Anything more will have to wait until summer holidays perhaps. Anything else?”

“A haircut.”

“I’m afraid that’s pretty much useless. He has a terminal case of ‘Potter hair’. No cure has yet been found.”

She sighed, disappointed. They exited the garage and entered a narrow cobblestone street. The Guardians mounted on their broomsticks cleared the way, pointing their wands threateningly at witches and wizards who lingered about the street in order to glimpse the Lord of Wizarding Britain.

“He will need new clothes. All he has are his clothes from last year, and those are hardly suitable for more than formal than school. I’ve sent a designer on ahead to the house. Mr. Whitby was informed and is prepared for his arrival.”

“I trust they are discreet?”

“Mrs. Malfoy recommended him.”

Voldemort nodded in approval.

“It’s good to know that there is someone in WYRA I can entrust these matters to when Professor Snape is indispose.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

He turned his attention to the man sitting on the other side of the woman. He was a short, solid man, easily overlooked in a crowd and easy to ignore in private as he was prone to neither fidgeting or talking.

“I trust all safety precautions have been adapted to include my young charge, Morgan?”

“Yes.”

“I will hold you personally responsible if it turns out your team is unprepared.”

“Yes.”

That was Morgan in a nutshell. A yes-man. It would have been annoying if he’d ever actually failed to follow through.

They made their way through wizarding Bristol without any delays and finally exited the city by crossing under an archway that exited from under a train tunnel and onto a muggle road. The driver killed the lights, hiding the car and the shadow figures that followed it. They stopped briefly at the entrance gate to the estate, and Morgan exited with the driver. The driver returned a moment later, but Morgan did not. Once they passed through the gate, Morgan and his men disappeared in seven resounding ’pop!’s.

A minute later they pulled up to the front entrance. Whitby was there to meet him when the driver opened the door for him and Hardwick.

“Whitby, has the designer arrived yet?”

“Yes, Master. Mister Spindle and Young Master Potter are in the White Room taking measurements.”

“How was he?”

“Studious. He went straight for the library after we settled him upstairs.”

Voldemort considered Harry’s actions, and decided they were good. He wanted Harry to feel comfortable enough in his home…homes… to venture out from his bedroom. He made his way to the White room, Whitby and Hardwick close behind, unable to depart without his dismissal. He opened a set of double doors to a long room, painfully bright after his nighttime journey.

“A little privacy, please?! At least knock!”

Voldemort found Harry standing on top of a stool, stripped down to his briefs and turning bright red. He smirked in amusement, but sent his followers away with a dismissive gesture. He closed the doors behind him, and told the surprised designer to continue. His young protégé looked none too pleased that he was still there, circling his half naked self like a curious shark.

“You’re looking a little thin.”

An irritated look crossed Harry’s face, but the embarrassed blush didn’t recede. Mr. Spindle handed him a crisp white shirt.

“Yeah well, blame Sna- Professor Snape. No Quidditch practices for a month and then two and half weeks in the infirmary will do this to you,” he muttered, struggling with the shirt that seemed too big in some places and two small in others. With at little help, he managed to get it on and Mr. Spindle went about setting pins for the refitting.

“I see it hasn’t dampened your spirits any. How do you like my house?”

Deciding it was better to save his anger for a time when he was a little less naked, Harry accepted the subject change.

“Man-eating deer aside, it’s rather nice. Ouch!”

“S-sorry,” the designerr stuttered, glancing nervously at the Dark Lord who ignored the slip.

“What do I need a new wardrobe for anyway? My old clothes were fine. Maybe I needed to let out the hem a little in the pants, but otherwise fine.”

Voldemort snorted. He found himself a chair and slid into it, regarding Harry thoughtfully.

“You are more than a mere orphan, Harry. You are my protégé,”he hissed. “You will dress to a standardIfind befitting.”

Protégé. Draco had called him that once. Natalie had tossed it around like flower petals. A few students had murmured it in the halls of Hogwarts. But Hermione had never said it. Snape had never said it. He had trusted that they would tell him if it were true.

“Why? I’m nothing but a trouble-maker.”

Voldemort smiled, a sort of fondness in his expression he’d never seen before. It looked familiar somehow.

“We are two of a kind, Harry. Parselmouths, orphans, and brother wands make up only a small fraction of what we have in common. Even our differences strengthen us. We can do great things together. Wewilldo great things together.”

Uh-oh, might have frightened the boy that time, if the sudden shift from pink to white was any indicator.

“Even if you are skinny and have silly hair.”

Oh good, the pink was back.

“There’s nothing wrong with my hair! Ouch!”

“S-sorry.”

A few pin pricks and far too many clothes to fit in his single trunk later found Harry and his keeper at the dinner table. Aside from the serving woman standing behind them, it was a fairly laid back affair. Voldemort, predictably, sat at the head of the table while Harry sat at his right, conversing over pot roast and mashed potatoes.

The Dark Lord had opted to keep things light, talking of nothing more grand or ambitious than taking a shopping trip sometime during the holiday.

“Victoria is nice. Seems kind of young to be working full time though.”

“She’s a squib,” Voldemort informed him. “All of my servants accept Whitby and my security staff are. Most start working by the time they’re fourteen.”

Yet another surprise. He’d known about squibs of course, but hadn’t been interested enough to learn much about them before.

“Why do you take muggleborns from muggles, but keep squibs with wizards.”

Voldemort considered his question, or perhaps was just enjoying the flavor of his wine, before answering.

“Magic is a gift and a birthright. Nature provides the gift. She does not give her gifts to everyone, and her deprivation can be devastating. Yet we, as a culture and a race, provide the birthright. It is a history and a future that we share with all of our children. I find it fundamentally wrong to deny them this part of themselves. Especially when it will more than likely be the birthrightand the gift of their children. There have been studies conducted that suggest the re-emergence of magical talent in later generations is more common than previously thought. There’s even a theory that all muggleborns are the descendants of squibs.”

That seemed reasonable, Harry supposed, except that despite what Voldemort had said, squibs seemed to have the short end of the stick. Working what he suspected were mostly menial jobs from fourteen till you died seemed a bit of a rip off. He was just about ready to point that out, when Voldemort took charge of the conversation.

“Whitby tells me you’ve already found the library. How much homework do you have to make up?”

Harry flinched at the mention of the library and reminder of the book he’d found there. For second, he wondered if the Dark Lord hadn’t laid a trap for him, seeing if he could catch him in a lie, then remembered if he suspected anything legilimency would be his first option and trickery his second.

“Um… well, I have most of my reading done. I have a lot of essays to do, but Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout are letting me get away with writing half of what they assigned everyone else. I have exams in everything. I’ll be making up potions for months when I get back to school. Then I have some wand work, but I’m usually a pretty quick study with that.”

“I’ve taken the liberty of hiring you a tutor to help you. Hopefully, he’ll be able to speed things along. There are some matters I would like your assistance in.”

Harry felt panic well up inside. What could the Dark Lord possibly hope he could help with?

“Careful, Harry, if you decide to panic now you’ll choke,” Voldemort drawled. “I have several public appearances to make, outlining some projects I have for next year. All I need for you to do is stand around and look pretty for the cameras. I want the press and the public aware of you before you graduate.”

“Do they know about my parents?” he asked, hating the thought of being surrounded by cameras and people asking nosy questions, and then again of said people prying into his past and painting it across the next edition of Wizarding Weekly. He hated all of this but he could only focus on small pieces of it at a time.

Voldemort remained silent for a moment, regarding Harry’s sudden interest in moving his food around his plate rather than eating it. It was a good question, and one that had taken more sensitivity than he was used to dealing with.

“They know… but they won’t release that information. Not for some time yet. Who else knows about your parents?”

“Hermione, sort of. She knows they were both wizards, but I couldn’t tell her their names because of the Taboo. She found my family name in the Wizengamot. Does that mean I still get votes?”

“No, I had your family’s name revoked from the Wizengamot after they fled the country. Lestrange has them now, but I might reinstate them when you’re older. Your friend is discreet?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. We will let the public continue thinking you’re just an orphan muggleborn for now.”

“And later? A lot of people knew my parents. It can’t stay secret forever.”

“Let me worry about that.”

“And my godfathers?”

“That… is another question for later. You have enough to deal with at the moment without worrying about the things like that. That’s my job.”

“And my job is to stand there and look pretty,” Harry groused.

“And eat your potatoes. You’re too thin.”

He did as he was told, but was sulky about the whole thing. Everything had gotten weird and considering life before he had gotten here that was saying something. He was helpless, caught in the push and pull of people older and more powerful than him, thrown back into the same unease that had plagued him during his brief stay at WYRA. Hadn’t he promised himself he wouldn’t allow himself to put into that situation again? How was he going to pull himself out of this tide?

Voldemort retired for the evening feeling more satisfied than usual. The slow progress on his latest project was briefly overshadowed by his current success with Harry. The boy was warming up to him, despite the recent debacle at Hogwarts. Their conversation over dinner had been littered with trivialities that he normally despised, but were strangely refreshing coming from his young charge. Every little mundane detail he took in, he twisted and morphed into something that could be helpful to Harry’s future purpose.

Harry got along with his squib staff. Perhaps he might go on to quell Squib protestors by negotiating with them.

Harry was shy in front of cameras. He would come off as modest or mysterious and the public would be made even more curious about him.

Harry was skinny and had silly hair… he’d think of something.

Even the boy’s apparent reluctance with his new role pleased him. If he had been too eager, Voldemort wasn’t so sure he’d be able to trust him. He didn’t need or want another Tom. Speaking of which, he wondered if he shouldn’t slip in a visit with his younger self after his meeting with Lestrange and Snape.

That, he supposed, would depend on what his two minions had to say.

Guardian Victoria slipped into Harry’s room shortly after midnight, following the schedule set down by her boss. Her real boss. Chief Sentinal Morgan was not a man whose orders you ignored. So despite the inconvenience and the risk, she flitted about the room in her maid’s outfit and wand, checking for potential security risks.

Harry was fast asleep, looking very young and angelic despite the giant cobra snoozing on his chest. Victoria paused to regard the snake, but it seemed as oblivious to her as Harry was. It was the first sign of Harry’s special gift that she had seen, the one that had drawn the Dark Lord to the child in the first place.

She shook her head and let out a soundless sigh. Poor child, he really did seem like a nice boy. How long would it take for their Master to ruin him?

I couldn’t remember how to convert miles into kilometers. Something to look into when I go back and proofread again.

The Pride of Kings and Princes

Harry bent over his work table, trying to ignore Professor Benjamin Beechlull’s curious study of him in favor of his own academic pursuits. He had been reviewing Hermione’s copious notes on Herbology and penning down an essay on the magical properties of roses since lunch almost two hours ago. Before lunch he had been reciting Dorian’s Three Properties of Metal to Alloy Transfiguration and outlining his midterm paper for Charms.

Professor Beechlull, an elderly gentleman who seemed more curious about everything Harry except his homework, had been overseeing his progress. The man spoke very little, content to offer his name, his assistance if requested, and then relax in one of the library’s plush reading chairs in order to watch him. Frankly, it was irritating.

Perhaps the only good thing about the man’s presence was that Harry didn’t dare shirk his school work and risk it being reported to his latest batch of keepers. Of course, left to his own devices, Harry thought he might have learned something more important from ‘Guardian Beasts’ than from Hermione’s notes on the magical properties of roses. He hadn’t been in any state to look through the book the night before, being exhausted and still reeling from his discovery. That morning hadn’t been any better, as Victoria had woken him up early and hustled him through his morning routine and then straight to breakfast with no time to dally.

Voldemort had been on his way out just as Harry sat down at the long dining table, and offered him a short greeting, patted him on the shoulder, and then disappeared for the rest of the day. After breakfast, he’d been brought to the library, introduced to his tutor, and hadn’t had an unsupervised moment since. Even now, the book sat in a neat pile by his desk amongst yesterday’s selection. A constant temptation he couldn’t yet indulge.

At a quarter to three there was a knock on the library door, and Mr. Whitby and Victoria entered.

“I’m afraid studies are finished for the day, Professor. Young Master has an appointment,” Mr. Whitby said formally. Beechlull raised a curious brow, but said nothing as Victoria shuffled Harry out of the library.

“Come along, Young Master. We need to get you ready,” she gushed, looking rather giddy about something.

Harry was a bit more dubious.

“For what?”

“There’s a press conference today at four. The Dark Lord has requested you be in attendance.”

The young Gryffindor felt a surge of panic.

“What’s the conference for? I’m not going to have to talk to the press, am I?”

Victoria giggled, hurrying him up to his bedroom without a moment’s pause.

“Who knows? I was just told to make you look appropriately plush and debonair.”

“What does that mean?!”

They entered his room and Victoria went straight to his closet. Her reply was partially muffled by his new wardrobe.

“It means a suit, tie, and that lovely new cloak the tailor dropped off this morning.”

Moments later, she reappeared with said ensemble, and took his shoes to be polished as he got dressed. Harry had worn suits before, but never in the wizarding world. His vaguely resembled Snape’s usual black teaching robes, but were of a silkier material with dark violet vines embroidered along his inner robe, with a brighter violet vest over a starch white dress shirt with black tie. His trousers were dark grey and his shoes now shiny. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. Violet was not one of his usual colors, and he had a sort of fear of developing the inexorably bad fashion sense that plagued the majority of the wizarding world. At the same time, he thought he might indeed look a bit…ah…debonair?

“Ohhh! You look perfect!” Victoria squealed in delight. She didn’t attempt to straighten his hair at all.

In his vest pocket, his watch began to grow warm.

“Are we running late?”

His maid let out a flustered squeak, and hurried him back down stairs. There was yet another maid there waiting for him, winter cloak and gloves in had. The winter cloak was black and heavy, lined with thick fur, and hooded. The gloves were black, thin, and charmed to stay warm.

It seemed that if he somehow embarrassed himself it wasn’t going to be over his clothes. Everything they’d dressed him in seemed to be at the height of elegance and style.

Harry on the other hand felt awkward and displaced.

He wasn’t given time to linger on the feeling, being rushed out to the familiar black car waiting for him in the drive way. Mr. Whitby opened the door for him while he climbed inside.

“Good luck to you, Young Master.”

“Er… thank you, sir.”

The door closed and the driver pulled away from the estate. Harry watched it disappear longingly, before settling into his seat. He almost jumped out of his skin when he saw Madam Hardwick sitting across from him, her expression seamlessly dour.

“Oh… Good … Good afternoon?”

She tilted her head in acknowledgment but didn’t return the greeting, instead launching into the reason for her presence.

“Our Lord has requested I provide you with a more thorough explanation of what this press conference will entail and what will be expected of you.”

He swallowed, processing what she had said, and then nodded.

“Our Lord has decided to re-organize our Court Enforcement offices, opening up a large number of positions for wizards and witches that do not require the stringent educational requirements of most Court positions that are beyond the average person.”

Oh, more jobs for everyone. That sounds nice, Harry thought naively.

“He will be making the announcement today so that he might begin recruitment after the first of the year. This is to be a celebrated occasion, so our Lord thought today would be a good opportunity to present you as his… protégé? Most of the papers will be more interested in his announcement, but there will of course be a few gossip rags represented. You will be stationed with the Dark Lord’s advisors and some of his staff, safely behind a line of Sentinels. Stay close to either myself or the Dark Lord, smile and try to act interested in the proceedings, and what ever you do don’t pick your nose or scratch yourself.”

Not even if it itchesreallybad? he thought sarcastically.

Having said her part, she said nothing more, which was fine by Harry. He was starting to dislike the haughty old prune. They disregarded each other for the rest of the journey. They entered Bristol on a muggle highway, then spent the next fifteen minutes weaving between muggle and wizarding streets, marked only by sudden change in pedestrian wardrobe and the intermittent silences of the planes landing and leaving Bristol International Airport. Quaint little shops and restaurants gave way to cathedrals, clock towers, and government buildings.

One moment, Harry was sitting back and enjoying the strange metamorphosis and the next he was plunged into a darkness. Startled he turned to his chaperone.

“We’re in Our Lord’s private garage. Security precaution,” she said dismissively. The car came to a stop and they were confronted by several Sentinels, who cast several spells to check them for… just about anything, before being escorted to the elevator. The elevator released them into the lobby, where Voldemort was already waiting.

After being shuffled about for the last two hours by strangers, Harry felt strangely grateful to see the man. Which was silly really, since it was Voldemort’s fault he was in this mess in the first place. The dictator was busy ordering several of his staff around, demanding reports on who was coming, who he wanted excluded, what pages he wanted dedicated to this story, and where was his cloak for Merlin’s sake? When he spotted Harry, he broke of his line of commands to gesture the boy closer.

Reluctantly, Harry obeyed until the Dark Lord was close enough to seize him by his shoulders. A cool elegant hand lifted his chin, forcing him to look out at the bustle of witches and wizards who had paused to watch them curiously.

“This is Harold James Potter. It would be wise of you to remember him,” he stated, offering nothing by way of explanation before seeming to lose interest in the boy altogether. Without a second glance he went back to ordering everyone around.

Harry felt rather miffed… or was it disappointed?

“… For centuries, thousands of witches and wizards have been deprived the privilege to serve their country simply by the circumstance of their birth. Political positions have been treated as familial assets, passed down from parents to children, and withheld from others who long to serve this proud nation…”

Harry stifled a yawn, and tried to look interested just as he had been instructed. The conference was being held outside to accommodate the large number of reporters and curious onlookers who had gathered in the square to listen to their ruler. Despite the cold, the crowd seemed excited to be there, cheering enthusiastically at words like ‘patriots’ and ‘opportunities’.

He wished he were among them, rather than stuck sitting behind and off to the left of the podium, trying not to sneeze or yawn or scratch his nose in full view of the flashing cameras. It didn’t help that he still had no real idea what the Dark Lord was talking about. He understood that there were going to be a lot of jobs opening up at Court, perhaps even a new branch of the Court itself, and that anyone was welcome to apply, but not what the jobs were or what they paid or what people would be doing.

To make matters worse, he found himself sitting two chairs down from Hermione’s foster father Lucius Malfoy. The man was poised perfection, not so much as a hair out of place and his gaze fiercely intent on his lord and the crowd that adored him. He knew Malfoy Sr. had a coveted position in the Court working closely with the Dark Lord, but Harry hadn’t realized how close until now. He was sitting one chair closer than Headmistress Lestrange was.

The woman had shown up just as they were being given instructions on where to sit by one of Voldemort’s million-and-one lackeys, and seemed utterly horrified when she spotted Harry. Luckily, a completely unfamiliar man was stationed between them or else Harry thought he might not have gotten off with just a nasty glare.

Snape was no where in sight, but perhaps that was to be expected. Hermione had said that while her godfather coveted power, he didn’t give a wit about popularity. Still, Harry wished the man were there. They could have been uncomfortable and bored together.

“- one more step towards a nation where privilege and success are earned, not inherited!”

There was more cheering from the crowd and Harry clapped with his fellows, desperately trying to keep himself from scratching the thousand different spots that had started to tingle from lack of distraction and ignore the bitter cold seeping into his toes.

“- and a Happy New Year to you all.”

One last thunderous applause and a wave of cheering, and the Dark Lord exited, as regal and majestic as a lion and grinning with the subtlety of a snake. Harry and the rest of Voldemort’s entourage stood and followed as he passed.

“Harold, come here,” the Dark Lord instructed, not looking back at him. Harry was quickly becoming irritated with this strange not-disinterest, but he dared not disobey with Lestrange practically kicking him in the heels as they walked. Even if he wanted to kick the man for calling him ‘Harold’. Who the bloody hell was Harold?

Voldemort took him by the shoulder as soon as he was in range, having him walk beside him as they made their way back inside. The flash and click of cameras was conspicuous, and did not cease once they had entered the building. A flock of reporters and photographers were waiting for them, eagerly throwing out questions.

“My Lord, who will be in charge of this new department?”

“When will the name be finalized?!”

“Has anyone expressed reluctance opening Court positions to the average witch and wizard?”

“Who is your young friend?”

Harry blushed and ducked his head at the last question, unconsciously stepping a little closer and behind the Dark Lord. The hand on his shoulder tightened a bit, either to comfort him or ensure he didn’t retreat any further Harry wasn’t sure.

“I will, of course, remain the ultimate authority as Commander and Chief of the Court. But as I have stated before, these new positions, including that of the Department Head, will not be finalized until after the first of the year and will go to whom ever proves most qualified, regardless of political or familial ties.”

Voldemort seemed to conveniently forget the third question and went straight for the fourth.

“And this young man is Harold James Potter. He is my ward, for the holidays at least.”

A curious murmur ran through the ensemble. Some of the reporters seemed to recognize the name.

“The Harold Potter. The only known parselmouth aside from the Dark Lord?”

Harry’s ears turned pink and he ducked his head even more. Voldemort’s thumb sudden stabbed him sharply.

“Eep.. I…ah.. That is… yes, yes I am.”

“Is it true you’re the youngest Seeker at Hogwarts in a century?”

Harry glanced cautiously at the Dark Lord, before answering.

“Yes… or I was last year, any way.” A genuine sigh. “Haven’t been playing much of anything at Hogwarts these days.”

Thumb stab. And did that man ever trim his nails?

“I mean… I’ve been sick the last couple of weeks!”

“Which is why I should take him home to rest,” the Dark Lord picked up, throwing off any further questioning of his charge. “It has been an eventful day.”

The reporters sensed nothing more was going to be gained from questioning this latest curiosity, and went back to getting comments on the Dark Lord’s announcement from the rest of the entourage. At last they moved into the restricted section of the building, leaving the reporters behind.

“That went well,” Voldemort remarked, entering a private corridor and releasing Harry.

“Yes, My Lord,” Lucius agreed, “They seemed very receptive to the idea.”

Lestrange rolled her eyes.

“Why shouldn’t they? It’s the answer to their prayers. Jobs for everyone and all you need is a wand. You don’t even need to be very good with it.”

“Bella, now now,” Voldemort chided gently, “They all have their place. What they’ll lack in power and skill they’ll make up for in sheer numbers and obedience. Speaking of power and skill, I’ve been reviewing your latest selection of new professors for next year. They seem quite capable.”

Lestrange preened under her Lord’s small praise, the first she gotten in several months. Harry who had started sulking, perked up at the news.

“New teachers?”

“Hush, Potter, this doesn’t concern you,” Lestrange hissed, irritated by the boy’s very presence. She wanted nothing more than to cast several of her more creative curses at him and she thought she had conveyed that well enough with just her eyes, but the little brat actually had the audacity to glare at her.

“It will if we’re stuck with another McNair,” he said pointedly, then slapped his hand over his mouth. Bad mouth! Bad! What I have I told you about running away with yourself?

He got away with a dark look and a slap upside the head from Voldemort, a nasty look from Lestrange (it was less intimidating while she was blushing from embarrassment), and a chuckle from the man he didn’t know.

“We’re going to have to do something about that mouth of yours,” the Dark Lord drawled, “It’s far too compulsively honest. You handled yourself with the press fairly well though.”

“I sounded like a twat.”

Voldemort smirked. “Perhaps, but you came off as honest. That’s why I didn’t give you any prepared statements.”

No, only a couple bruises, Harry mentally groused and rubbed his shoulder. After that, Harry frankly didn’t want to talk any more and the Dark Lord seemed more than happy to let him continue sulking while he chatted with his minions about work and holiday plans. The sulking deepened as Harry overheard several dinner dates, press conferences, and charity banquets he was probably going to have to attend with the leader of wizarding Britain. Somehow he doubted it was going to be anymore exciting than it had been today.

There was a brief, more formal conference in the Dark Lord’s office, which Harry was thankfully excluded from. He was placed in an empty cubicle and given some tea by a harried secretary, whose twitchy smile made Harry suspect she was only a few short hours from a psychotic break.

Harry used the sudden privacy to try and figure out what was going on. Voldemort had been strangely reserved with him today, even a bit cold, despite the casual conversation and good humor they’d shared the day before. Had Harry done something wrong, he wondered, or was the man just too busy to pay him any mind? If he had done something wrong, would he be told? Would he be punished?

He glared down into his tea. He already had been punished. He’d been poisoned and tricked into signing that contract. It might have been Snape’s idea, but it was done to fulfill the Dark Lord’s orders of absolute secrecy. Never mind that the bloody thing was trying to kill him.

Good God, what was he doing here?

How had he gone from orphaned nobody to the protégé of a bloody King? Dressed in the finest clothes a wizard could ask for, having a tutor, going to press conferences, mingling with the most important families in Britain… and being forced to keep secret a murder, attempted murders, and a murderer. How?

And more importantly, why?

The answer lay in Voldemort, but he could not truly trust the answer. The man would only tell him something sweet and sugar coated, like he had the crowd outside that afternoon. Something to induce compliance, even enthusiasm for something you didn’t even truly understand. The truth… the truth was of a different flavor. Was it sour like Lestrange’s superior, conceited view? Was it bitter like Snape’s poisonous practicality? Or was it rich and dark with a sharp bite like Voldemort himself?

“Harry?”

The soft call jolted him, spilling lukewarm tea on his hand and the desk. He cursed himself, and quickly cleaned the mess with his wand before going out to meet the source of his confused thoughts.

The ride back to the estate was a quiet one. Aside from the driver, Harry and Voldemort were alone in the car. Madam Hardwick had apparently found alternative means to get to her house, or her crypt, or whatever sheltered the stuffy old biddy. The Dark Lord was studying him intently, completely opposite of the earlier disregard. Also completely opposite of earlier, Harry had no desire for the man’s attention. He avoided intent red eyes by looking out the window, searching the trees for life as they entered the Sianach Estate.

“Are you angry, Harry?” the man finally asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“So it’s ‘Harry’ now, is it?” It was the first thing that came to mind, yet it wasn’t what was truly bothering him. Of course, he didn’t really want to talk about what was really bothering him. This man’s assistance could only make things worse.

The Dark Lord chuckled.

“Don’t take it personally. It’s necessary to put some professional distance between us while in the company of others. You are aware of how jealous Slytherins tend to be, aren’t you?”

Oh, yes, Harry had been made well aware of that.

“Keeping you as nothing more than a PR prop prevents… or at least delays such feelings. No one envies a prop.”

“And am I? A prop, I mean,” he asked, watching the man in the reflection on the glass.

Voldemort looked surprised by the question, but quickly recovered, his expression curious.

“Do you think you are?”

Harry looked beyond the reflection to the passing buildings, eyes floating upward briefly, following the bell towers of a gothic style cathedral.

“I hope I am.”

Now Voldemort’s curiosity was anything but feigned. He had been unprepared for such a response. Why would anyone want to be a prop?

“Why?”

“Because… after I get thrown away, I’ll do my own things. Stuff I want to do, with people I want to do them with.”

Well, that was an idea that Voldemort could appreciate, yet still utterly not appreciate from Harry. Being shy or uncertain of his capabilities as his protégé was one thing, but not wanting the job was a different matter altogether.

“… You ungrateful little bastard.”

Startled, Harry spun around. Voldemort moved with the speed and accuracy of his totem, a hand at his prey’s neck before he could so much as lift his wand in defense. The boy’s startled yelp was smothered with a sharp increase in strength of his captor’s grip. Crimson eyes glowed like hot coals, burning with a rage that sent aimless waves of malevolent magic pounding against Harry’s senses.

“I would make you my prince and you would chose to be a pawn?!” he snarled.

Dark magic pressed against Harry, crushing his mind and spirit, invading the cracks and crevasses like salt in an open wound. He buckled under the initial onslaught of pain, stunned by its intensity.

But then the will to live, to fight, to lash out at the source of his torment rose up with fangs bared, sinking its teeth into the dragon.

“FUCK!”

Voldemort snatched back his hand, stunned by the miraculous pain the likes of which he hadn’t known for almost a decade. He now bore a crescent shaped wound on the delicate skin between his thumb and forefinger. He turned his wide eyes to Harry, the child’s teeth bared and stained with blood. His blood.

“Prince or pauper, your pawn either way,” Harry hissed.

Already unbalanced by the retaliation, and again by Harry’s savage look and words, he was unable to rouse himself to action quick enough for what happened next. The car wasn’t moving fast, but it was still moving, which logically meant one should not attempt to exit the vehicle.

Gryffindor’s were not known for their logic.

One moment Harry was pressed defensively against seat and the door, and then the next the seat was empty and the was door slamming shut.

“Stop the car!”

The driver, seemingly oblivious to what could possibly have been construed as a murder-in-progress not moments before, hit the brakes on command. The car skidded to a halt, but by the time Voldemort managed to pull himself out of the car, Harry had disappeared into the shadows and trees.

“FUCK!” he snarled, pounding his hand into hood of the car. A spike of pain made him hiss, and unfurl his fist. The bite mark shown bloody with the beginning of a bruise forming around the edges. He glared angrily at it and it seemed to glare right back, righteous in the midst of his folly.

Yes, his mind taunted, you deserve this.

It was ridiculous. He had killed men for less than this. A lot less than this. Yet to be defied, no,attacked by a little boy? A god damned ungrateful little bastard…

Oh… oops.

Harry wasn’t a bastard, ungrateful or otherwise. He was a descendant of Slytherin. Of the same blood, of the same clan, as he. A clan with a sense of pride too easily bruised. Voldemort had, carelessly, made the first blow. Harry had, rightfully, returned it. Then things had escalated, again a result of his carelessness.

Well, bother. Things had been going so well, too.

Harry ran as far as he could and as fast as he could, which wasn’t nearly far enough. The cold of the approaching night burned his lungs, forcing him to stop and cough violently. Paranoid, he scanned his surroundings and then hid behind a large tree while he tried to think up a plan.

Voldemort had just tried to kill him… well, fuck. He couldn’t go back the mansion or really anywhere in the wizarding world. Would the man send the Court after him? Would he come and finish the deed himself? What was wrong with that man?!

Oh, he had known about the violent temper. He had been at the end of it more than once, but he’d seemed to warm to Harry since then. How stupid of him to think it had been honest interest or affection? The Dark Lord was probably laughing at his gullibility, or had been at least. Right now he was probably thinking of creative ways to dismember him. Or maybe he’d just let the man-eating deer do it.

Ok, rest period over. It was time to get out of these woods, out of Bristol, out of the country when it came down to it. But how? Getting out of the woods was easy enough, he just had to keep walking. Perhaps if he was quick enough he could get past the barrier before they sent someone to guard it. If someone wasn’t guarding it already. If it even required a guardian to keep people out or in. Had the driver just opened the gates or had he used a spell or password?

Alright, stop thinking about that. Think of something more important… like man-eating deer.

Feeling newly motivated, he tightened his cloak around him, covering his mouth and sprinted in the general direction of the exit. It was dark and gloomy in the forest this time of year, full of empty shadows and strange noises. Several times Harry had to pause, thinking he’d heard something or seen something move out of the corner of his eye.

This continued until after sunset, after almost an hour of wandering had convinced him that there was no way to get back to the road or the gate. He was trapped in a land steeped in magic. Perhaps the only way to leave the place was by the road, and now that he’d wandered off the path he would never be able to find it again. The wizarding world was full of such places.

Just as despair fell over him, stealing the warmth that his cloak and gloves provided, he heard something. He turned to see torches flickering in and out of view as they passed through the trees. Faintly, he could hear people calling ‘Young Master’ and ‘Harold’ and even the occasional ‘Harry’. He turned to flee, but all that stood before him was darkness and dangers unseen.

“H-Harry?”

Victoria stood behind him, caught up during his long moments of indecision. She was wrapped in a dark green cloak, but her legs held no protection but a sheer pair of pantyhose and her shoes were even less suited to the cold. Her nose and cheeks were bright red, her teeth chattered a bit.

“Good grief, what are you doing out here dressed like that?!” Harry admonished, casting a warming charm on her. She sighed in happy relief, but then came back to herself to glare intently at him.

“What am I doing out here? Looking for you, you silly sod. What were you thinking running away like that?” she scolded. He gave her a glare of his own.

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe I was thinking, ‘I don’t want to die’?”

“So you ran into a strange forest filled with Merlin only knows what?!”

“No. I ran away from a psycho trying to kill me!”

That seemed to take away a bit of her self-righteousness. She fidgeted uncomfortably, scrambling for a retort.

“Well… The Dark Lord sent us out to find you. He’s worried about you.”

He snorted.

“Oh, come on, Harry! What are you going to do? Stay out here all night? I don’t know what happened between you two earlier, but he’s not angry anymore. I really do think he’s worried.”

Harry said nothing for a moment, trying to think. Really, what else could he do? He couldn’t really run away, and he had known about Voldemort’s strangely fickle temper. This wasn’t the first time the man had grabbed him by the neck or threatened him, but he had never… never what? Never hurt him? Completely untrue. Never frightened him? And Snape’s favorite color was hot pink. Never what then?

Never made you feel disposable.

Ah, that was it. The crux of the matter. He had felt like he was going to be thrown away, and so easily too. It wasn’t a fear he had been consciously aware of. Perhaps it hadn’t even appeared until that morning, when the man had so casually dismissed his presence and it had come to head in the car where he thought for a moment the man was going to strangle him to death. And he had provoked him to do just that. Alright, not strangle him, but throw him away. Was it to reassure himself that he would be fine with that or to make the Dark Lord reassure him that it would never happen?

But had Voldemort really tried to kill him? It seemed kind of silly now, really thinking about it. He had been angry, and an angry Dark Lord was always scary, but had he been deadly? No more than he had ever been, he supposed.

“Ok, fine,” he surrendered. “But he better not be expecting an apology.”

Voldemort waited in the study for his servants to return with Harry. One of the servants had lit a fire, and it roared in his thoughtful silence, casting heat and light and shadows over the contents of the room. A few book shelves, filled with more instruments than actual books, the wooden floors, the writing desk that was little more than slanted table, and the ancient tapestries he’d chosen in place of paintings, gave the room an ancient feel he found homey and comforting.

He wasn’t particularly worried about Harry’s disappearance, the boy being more than capable of handling the local wildlife and incapable of leaving estate grounds without his consent, so he need only be patient. What did concern him was what he should say to the boy.

“Sorry, I tried to strangle you.”

That just didn’t seem to cut it. And frankly it was never his practice to apologize to anyone… for anything.

“I won’t do it again.”

That… probably wasn’t true.

There was a light knock on the door. He had no more time and no idea what to say. Hopefully his improvisation skills would be up for the following conversation.

“Come in.”

Whitby entered the study, followed by Harry, and then his maid still holding his cloak and gloves. Voldemort’s gaze found Harry’s. The boy’s eyes were intense, guarded and distrustful, ready for yet another attack.

“Leave us.”

Whitby and Victoria shared concerned looks, but neither of their masters were paying them any mind. They bowed as they left, closing the door behind them. With their absence, Harry’s eyes shifted to the rest of the room, taking it in curiously. It was odd, but the room reminded him strangely of Hogwarts. Or rather of time in which Hogwarts would have been built. In the light of the fire, Harry was reminded of another time exactly one year ago when he had seen Voldemort stand before another fire place at the Malfoy mansion, and thought him a devil.

And he still thought him a devil, but a devil made more comfortable in his own fiery pit. He was bare foot and stripped down to his trousers and dress shirt, one hand holding a silver chalice and the other resting on the mantle of the fire place. The glow of his red eyes seemed muted in the fire light, as did the rest of his expression. Was that restrained rage or quiet introspection Harry was seeing now? He couldn’t tell, and until he could he was staying close to the door.

“Are you alright?”

Harry started. The voice was gentle, regretful perhaps?

“Yeah,” he replied, reluctantly.

There was a tense silence.

“… You bit me.”

“You deserved it.”

Voldemort felt an unexpected twitch in the corner of his mouth.

“True enough… but I’m not going to apologize.”

“I’m not going to either.”

This time, he did smile, almost laughed even.

“Good… if we have nothing to apologize for, than we have nothing to be angry over either.”

Harry glared, clearly not agreeing. He released the first button on his shirt and pulled at the collar, revealing the bruises encircling his throat.

“These say otherwise.”

Voldemort mentally admonished himself at his own foolishness. Those bruises were going to be difficult to hide from the public. On a more immediate note, they were serving as a reminder to Harry of his own wounded pride. He was going to have to make amends, a gesture where words would not suffice. He set his glass on the mantle and walked over to Harry. The boy took a step back at his approach, but didn’t run.

Brave child.

“I have one to beat yours,” he said, holding up his wounded hand to his protégé. The bite had turned dark, the exact shade hard to see in that light, but ugly all the same. Harry flinched. The Dark Lord mentally grinned. Perhaps he would luck out and obtain a little regret from Harry as well. “I tell you what. I won’t apologize, but… I won’t heal this wound with magic either. A reminder of my mistakes.”

Harry was taken back by the offer. The man was throwing him for loop. He hadn’t expected an apology, but even more so he hadn’t expected an admittance to being wrong on any level. Penitence hadn’t even occurred to him.

“W-won’t people wonder?”

The Dark Lord chuckled.

“I doubt they’ll suspect that you’re abusing me, Harry.”

The boy flinched at the mention of abuse, hand instinctively reaching for his bruises.

“We’ll have to get rid of those before tomorrow afternoon. We’re going to a charity banquet,” Voldemort informed him.

“I… shouldn’t I… keep them as well?”

“People will wonder. And in your case they will suspect I am abusing you.”

Because you are, Harry thought, then dismissed the idea. The Dursley’s had abused him, and though they had done far less physically, he still suffered from the wounds they had inflicted. Voldemort’s behavior… was something more complicated.

“But… it won’t… it’s not…”

Frustrated with his own inability to express that yes, he wanted to accept his attacker’s penitence without actually accepting it as the apology Voldemort wouldn’t give, he resorted to a gesture of his own. He undid the button of his sleeve and pulled it up.

“Harry, what are you…”

And bit himself… hard. He let out a grunt of pain and released himself, swallowing the taste of blood. It hurt and lingered in a way that magically induced pain didn’t. More real some how.

“There… a reminder of my mistakes that no one else will see.”

Voldemort bulked. He hadn’t been expecting it at all. Improvisation had been serving him well for a majority of their interaction, but he hadn’t counted on Harry’s need for reconciliation. He’d thought all that could be obtained that night was vindication, in which he suffered for his mistake and Harry’s pride would be soothed.

He wasn’t prepared for it, and his wits had suddenly deserted him. He didn’t know what to do now, didn’t know how to accept Harry’s unspoken offer.

“… You should go have Victoria clean that. Bites get infected easily,” he found himself saying, and felt extraordinarily stupid for being so inane. Harry didn’t notice, or perhaps he was as eager as he to escape the awkwardness that was quickly descending over the room.

“You’re right,” the boy said, re-buttoning his sleeve and turning to leave. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

The door opened and closed, leaving Voldemort alone with his confusion.

Victoria, as far as servants went, was more liberal than most, yet even she knew better then to question the bruises on his neck or the bite wound on his arm. He could see her suspicion, her indignation, and her worry but ultimately did nothing to reassure her aside from offering her a smile. She rubbed a salve into his neck and wrapped it in gauze, and per his instructions merely disinfected his bite and stuck on a large band-aid patch.

Afterwards, he asked to be alone to study and to have dinner brought up to his room. Now, Victoria was not really a servant, but she had come to understand the need for servant gossip rather quickly. When the cook asked if everything was alright with ‘Young Master’, she indulged the woman by saying Harry was simply tired and had thrown a tantrum and run off, but was now quite contrite and resting in his room.

She made no mention of what Harry had said earlier or of his injuries, though she feared for the boy. What could any of them really do to protect him? Morgan, the bastard, would probably be more concerned that Harry had bitten Voldemort, than the other way around. Ruddy bastards the whole lot of them.

Harry, for his part, didn’t seem unsettled in the least. He had found himself an interesting book to read when she had dropped off his dinner, and when she had checked on him later he had fallen asleep over it. She roused him just long enough to change and brush his teeth, then set him gently to bed.

“G’night, Vicki,” he murmured as she tucked him in.

She smiled and shook her head. Such a strangely charming child.

As she tidied his desk, she took a peek at what had been reading so diligently.

The basilisk is the second largest of all the known guardian beasts, but also the rarest. With the ability to kill by merely looking its prey in the eye, few wizards or witches are capable of handling let alone controlling it. Originally from the Mediterranean…

Charming, but with strange tastes in literature.

“…I know it’s not shown on the map, but we placed one way seals on both entrances to the Chamber. If anything wanders in, it won’t be leaving,” Lestrange said, pointing to the general area of girl’s bathroom on one map and a part of the Forbidden Forest on another. Voldemort nodded thoughtfully, looking for flaws or weaknesses in the castle’s many new defenses and traps that had been laid since the school had been cleared of students and a majority of the staff. Lestrange and Snape had been thorough, and he couldn’t see anymore necessary additions to suggest.

“All of the alarms can be monitored from my office, and there is always someone present to watch them. When I’m not around it’s either Snape, McGonagall, Toure, or Umbridge. Only Snape and I are aware of all the security measures of course, but the others have proven their loyalty and I felt them trustworthy enough to remain in the castle.”

“McGonagall?” Voldemort asked, more amused than contradictory. Minerva McGonagall was indeed a capable woman and an asset to the school, but if she indeed had loyalty it wasn’t to him.

“Is loyal to the school. She is as territorial and fierce as any lioness. She would do just about anything to keep her cubs safe,” Lestrange said, strangely affectionate. The Headmistress held no love for the other witch, but Lestrange would be the first to admit she held a sort of reluctant respect for her old teacher. McGonagall was stubborn, powerful, and against all odds had managed to come out of the war relatively unscathed and undiminished.

Voldemort conceded the point. He too was strangely fond of the woman.

“Then it would seem that you have everything in order. I entrust Hogwarts to you and your staff, Bella. I know you will not disappoint me,” he said easily, turning towards the exit. Lestrange fought back a grin, maintaining her poised neutrality at the compliment. It seemed she was gradually falling back into the Dark Lord’s favor again. All she needed to do now was catch and destroy the basilisk and its handler and she would be firmly in his good graces.

“Oh, and do tell, Severus hello for me, won’t you?” Voldemort said, glancing back at her. “I was hoping to speak with him today, but I suppose it can wait. The Christmas party perhaps?”

Lestrange’s triumph waned. Curse Snape. The man hadn’t faltered in her time away, and it seemed that he had moved up in the Dark Lord’s regard, even if he had failed to catch the culprits. She blamed Potter. Most of potion master’s new importance revolved around his ability to protect, manipulate, and spy upon the boy.

“Perhaps, my Lord,” she said, “But you know Severus. He despises parties and usually finds something ‘more pressing’ to attend to. I will let him know of your interest, however.”

Maybe.

“Thank you, Bella, I would appreciate it.”

From Hogsmeade, Voldemort appartated to Askrigg without his usual entourage of Sentinels. The little coastal town held no wizarding community and Voldemort felt confident he could wander there without impunity. He appeared in an alley way between a pub and a café, transfigured his cloak into a trench coat and walked out into the muggle town. Despite his perfectly normal appearance, many people stopped and stared as he passed them, suspicion or curiosity clear on their faces. He had to fight the impulse not to pull out his wand and…

His private town house was suddenly before him. It was one of several, used more as a safe house for various officials than for himself, but he visited this one occasionally. It was small, but tidy and rich in historical details with a beautiful little garden in front. He opened the wrought iron gate, stepped inside, the muggle world now safely separated by a tall brick wall, and breathed a little easier.

He knocked once on the door to announce his arrival, then let himself in. It was, after all, technically his house. Tom did not come to greet him. Rude, but not unexpected. A brief search of the lower level of the house revealed the ornery boy in the kitchen, eating lunch and glowering over a newspaper.

“You couldn’t resist, could you?” Tom said, glowering at his elder counterpart as he entered.

“Whatever do you mean?” Voldemort asked, playing at innocence.

Tom threw down the newspaper at the Dark Lord’s feet. The headline read ‘You-Know-Who Promises Hundreds of New Jobs in New Year’, and featured several moving photographs of Voldemort himself and one Harry Potter hovering beside him. The Dark Lord smirked.

“Surely you didn’t think I’d let you keep him. I told you before, he’s not for you. He’s for all of Britain. The sooner Britain is made of aware of this the better.”

Tom’s face twisted into angry snarl.

“Even if it makes him a target of your enemies and ‘allies’ alike? Are you so arrogant as to think you can protect him from all sides and at all times?”

Voldemort lifted up his hands as if to say ‘probably not, but oh well’.

“Damn you!”

“We’re both damned regardless, as you well know.”

Tom snorted, and then turned his attention to his lunch. If Voldemort had come merely to mock him, and that was likely the case, he wasn’t going to oblige him any further.

“What do you want?”

“Ah, nothing much. I just thought I’d see if you’d discovered anything more about the basilisk and its handler.”

Tom took a large bite of his sandwich, chewed it longer than was necessary, swallowed, drank from his glass of juice, and waited for a flicker of impatience to cross the Dark Lord’s expression before answering.

“I sent you my report already. The basilisk isn’t in the castle anymore, and since I am limited in my range of movement my investigation has run cold. If you’d release my restrictions, I would perhaps have made more progress. As it is, I don’t even know if the handler is a teacher, a student, or even located in the school. The more I think about it the more I suspect an outsider.”

“You know I can’t set you loose on civilians. I remember when you and I were the same person.”

“Then I suppose you’ll have to rely on your minions, and I’ll have to sit here and twiddle my thumbs.”

Voldemort did not appear surprised or annoyed with this declaration. He’d more than likely knew it all along.

“So be it. I’m just going to take some books from the library and be on my way.”

Tom said nothing, pointedly taking another bite of his sandwich. Voldemort went to the library as he said. After selecting a few books at random, he went the desk sitting in the middle of the room, unlocked one of the drawers, set something inside, and relocked it.

If Tom thought he was spending the holidays alone and unsupervised, well… let him keep thinking that. It made things so much easier.

Ancient Rites

“Alright, Draco, how do I look?”

Hermione spun around, her pale blue and white lace dress spreading out beneath her. Her hair had been curled into tight little ringlets and piled on top of her head and held there with a beautiful diamond tiara. Narcissa had put it on her, along with just a hint of blush, gushing shamelessly about how her beautiful little princess was growing into a majestic young queen. With her foster mother’s approval obtained, she went in search of a more masculine opinion.

Draco watched her little twirl with some amusement in the reflection of his bedroom mirror. He was dressed almost entirely in black, the large silver buttons and other odd ornamentation standing out in striking contrast. The effect, he thought, hinted at a malevolence with good fashion sense.

“You always look lovely, sister. I have a hard time telling when you look more so,” he said teasingly.

She rolled her eyes, but her blush made the flattery worth it.

“Draco…”

“Now, now, Hermione. I know you want to look your best for your boyfriend-”

“He is not my boyfriend.”

“Oh… then can I have him?”

“Draco!”

“Just kidding! As I was saying, I know you want to look your best for Harry, but don’t you think you’re coming off as a bit desperate?”

She smacked him with a pillow.

“Ah! Not the hair!”

She smacked him again.

“You’re gorgeous! Breath-taking! Helen of Troy was a hag in comparison!”

She tossed the pillow back onto the bed.

“Why thank you, brother.”

He glowered at her, and tried to reset his hair in the mirror. He’d just managed to get it back into its immobile perfection when Narcissa appeared to hurry them downstairs. Malfoy Sr. was part of the Dark Lord’s entourage that night, and would meet them there later. They took the bespelled door in the music room that usually lead to nothing but the wall behind it, but opened up into the entry way of the Hothwell Family mansion that night. They were lead to the ballroom, their presence announced, and as their mother made pleasantries with the Lady of the Estate, they quickly ducked out in search of friends.

They found Natalie flirting with a boy a good three years her senior under a statue of Aphrodite near the balcony doors. She abandoned him quickly enough when she saw them, finding more challenging prey.

“Draco, Hermione, thank Merlin you’re here. This party is utterly droll. Not at all like yours. I swear, can’t the orchestra play anything other than Shubert?”

Draco grinned, accepting her backhanded compliment with a gentlemanly kiss to her white gloved hand.

“Natalie, have you even been here for more than fifteen minutes?” Hermione asked, just as eager for disagreement as the other girl probably was.

“I don’t know,” the blond girl sighed, “It feels like it’s been fifteen hours.”

“I take it Harry hasn’t shown up then,” Draco said, baiting them both.

“Alas, no. And I’m solooking forward to seeing him in his new threads. Analeisse said she got to see him at that press conference a few days ago and that the newspaper photo doesn’t do him justice.”

Draco shrugged.

“That’s Spindle for you. Fabulous fashion sense, even if he’s a bit dodgy with the needle.”

Hermione sighed.

“I hope Harry’s alright. He has no luck, and that’s sort of a necessity living with the Dark Lord.”

“Nonsense, it’s Harry,” laughed Natalie, “What can’t he do?”

“Brush his hair? Mind his own business? Get along with the Weasel?” offered Draco.

“Speaking of the Weasel, where is he? He’s usually following you at the end of his leash.”

Draco’s expression turned disgruntled. The one thing he did not want to talk about was Weasley. If Ron had been insufferable before he dueled Potter, he was positively … positively a bleed’n twat now. Not only was he openly disagreeing with Draco about things, he was arguing with him at the most inopportune times and places. The last he had spoken with the freckled menace was right before they’d left for the train, when Draco told him he wasn’t inviting him to the Christmas ball this year and Ron said he frankly didn’t give a damn. And by God, it appeared as if Ron meant it.

“Chugging eggnog with the rest of plebs most likely,” he muttered. Hermione frowned at the use of the word ‘plebs’, but tactfully refrained from commenting.

The music suddenly stopped, and they turned their attention to the entry doors, where the Dark Lord was being announced, followed by several other prestigious names, and one Harold James Potter.

The Dark Lord himself was dressed in blacks and silvers (which pleased Draco immensely), the simple sharp cut of his robes drawing attention to the complex pattern of Celtic symbols embroidered into his sleeves and chest and back. Beside him, Harry was garbed in a similar style, only rather than silver, a network of bright amber topaz sprinkled over him. If one paid close enough attention, they could see the stones slowly rearrange themselves, giving the illusion of molten fire flowing over blackened stones . Standing beside one another, Voldemort and Harry made quite the pair.

Indeed, it wouldn’t take much for one to wonder if they weren’t in fact father and illegitimate son.

Hermione, as subtly as she could, made her way towards her friend as soon as the music started again and everyone went back to their dancing and chatter. At some point, Voldemort had seen fit to release his charge, and Harry immediately went in search of Hermione. They met each other half way, and she led him out of the ballroom. Lucius Malfoy marked their disappearance with some displeasure, before following the Dark Lord to the parlor for their usual private party.

Severus Snape stalked into the parlor wearing black dress robes, plain and severe, and more suited to a funeral than a celebration. They rather suited him. Scattered about the room was the usual contingent of Death Eaters, their spouses, and the occasional offspring that was old and discreet enough to attend. The Malfoys sat side by side, their silent closeness a mockery to the trophy wives and their considerably older husbands who clung together in pseudo affection and the stony civility of those in arranged marriages. Lestrange, widowed now for four years, held the love seat with the only available seat in the room.

“I apologize for my tardiness,” he said stiffly, striding towards Lestrange with only a moment’s hesitation. The Headmistress gave him a cruel smile by of greeting, crossing her legs and drawing his eyes immediately to the wicked points of her stiletto heels.

“That is alright Severus,” Lord Voldemort acquiesced. “I was led to believe you would no be attending at all tonight.”

“Madam Umbridge owes me a favor. She agreed to monitor the alarms for me… ah, excuse me, for us…” he corrected, glancing towards Lestrange. “Over the next couple hours. Without McNair to hound, I dare say she has plenty of free time on her hands, but I am afraid I can’t stay long.”

“I’m glad you’re here just the same, Severus. Every year it seems more of my faithful Death Eaters are gone from me. Damon, Gaius, Althea, and of course poor Rudolphus…” the Dark Lord said, lifting his glass to the aforementioned’s widow. Lestrange smiled back demurely in acknowledgment, but then frowned when she noticed the bandage around his hand.

“M-my Lord, are you alright? Your hand-”

Voldemort glanced at his wounded hand, and chuckled a bit.

“Oh yes, that. Harry bit me.”

Someone dropped their glass of champagne, but that was the only sound for almost half a minute. Snape felt decidedly less surprised than everyone else, and wished he had just stayed home.

“Dare I ask ‘why’?” Snape said, deciding he’d rather move the conversation along so he could sort out a suitable punishment for when the boy returned to school.

“It was my fault really. I shouldn’t have put my hand so close to his mouth. Lucius, you’re a father. Have you ever had that happen before?”

Malfoy Sr. blinked, quickly recovering from his surprised stupor to nod.

“Yes, once, but that was when Draco was four, and rather adamant to convince me he was a real dragon.”

There were a few amused chuckles, including Voldemort’s, and the conversations picked up again and moved to other matters. Lestrange, however, did not join in, hearing what Voldemort had said and what he hadn’t said, and stewing with a renewed jealousy. Snape, never a true conversationalist, watched her carefully from the corner of his eye while pretending to listen to the Dark Lord thank Narcissa for her recommendation of her designer.

They lingered in the parlor for about an hour, performing their typical routine of subtle insults, subtler alliances, less than subtle boasting, and invitations into various political dalliances mixed in with menial small talk. Eventually, even the dour Bellatrix was drawn in. Severus remained apart from, and yet aware of, it all, and kept his keenest observations for Voldemort.

The Dark Lord was more relaxed than he usually was this time of year. Being the leader of a nation, he was always rushed but the end of the year was always the most stressful, and with his latest project running behind schedule it was even more so. Yet the tension, the quick temper, the natural disdain for the Christian holiday in general was absent.

Was it Potter’s doing?

“Severus, walk with me.”

The potion’s master was pulled from his musings by Voldemort’s command, and quickly moved to obey. A few watched their departure enviously. To catch the Dark Lord in a good mood was rare and often rewarding event. No doubt they imagined Severus was receiving some sort of gift or offer. If only.

“How is the search going?” Voldemort asked as they entered the empty corridor.

“No progress, I’m afraid. It’s abandoned Hogwarts for the moment, but I doubt it will stay away. The castle is the only place it is likely to find both food and shelter during these winter months. January, early February at the latest, it will have to return or die in the cold. Who ever is controlling it must realize this. Traps have been set all over the castle, but most will have to be removed once the students return. I believe that is when the final and most aggressive attack will occur, and the purpose of these attacks will be made clear.”

Voldemort digested the information, and finding the reasoning sound, nodded.

“That must not be allowed to happen, Severus. You have taken precautions?”

“Both entrances to the Chamber have been bespelled to seal themselves once someone has entered. I have also thickened the ice around the moat and closed the boat entrance, so nothing will leave or enter there. All windows and entry ways less than two stories above the ground have been likewise sealed. This leaves only the front entrance. There are more traps there, but they will all have to be removed when the students return.”

“You have been very thorough,” Voldemort remarked, pleased so far.

“I can not take full credit.”

“But you can take a great deal. No students have been hurt since you’ve taken responsibility over the school and even now these preparations…”

“Have yet to yield results. I will not considered the matter resolved until the culprit is caught and the basilisk is dead.”

“I trust you, Severus.”

An incredible chill ran down the potion’s master’s spine, thrilling and terrifying all at once. It was a rare privilege to have the Dark Lord’s trust. It was an easy and unforgivable crime to betray it. A crime punishable by more than just death.

“Thank you, my Lord.”

“Harry, I’m so glad you came!” she said, hugging him tightly. He hugged her back, feeling relieved to finally see a familiar face after the last couple of days. “I’ve been so worried about you, but all the letters I tried to send kept getting returned. I think there’s some sort of protection on where ever you live.”

“Yeah, I know. I tried to send Elsbeth out, but she can’t fly beyond the grounds,” he said. “So how are you?”

“I’m fine,” she said, “but what about you? How are things going… where ever it is that you are? I’ve seen your picture twice in the paper already. What’s going on?”

Harry shrugged.

“PR campaign. Sort of. I’m Harry Potter, symbol of the Dark Lord’s care and concern for muggleborns and halfbreeds everywhere. Never mind I’m not really either and that I can speak parseltongue and am a witness in a homicide and an attempted homicide investigation. We make a pretty photo, don’t we?” he said, his tone ironic.

“Oh, Harry…”

“It’s fine, Hermione. Boring beyond belief most of the time, but fine.”

Except for the fact I know what killed Sweety, paralyzed Angelina, and may have tried to kill me, and that I can’t tell you anything about it because Snape is a clever son of a bitch.

“Oh, did you know we’ll be getting new teachers next year?”

“Really?” she said curiously, accepting his words and his subject change at face value for the time being. For the next hour he told her about many of the things that had happened to him, and despite what he’d said about being bored there was in fact a lot going on. He told her about the forest estate, his new wardrobe, his useless tutor, the trips to the Bristol office, the various events Voldemort dragged him to, and his maid Victoria, but nothing about the Dark Lord himself. She seemed to sense his reluctance in mentioning the man, but when she found an opening to question him he distracted her yet again with a Christmas gift.

“It’s for you,” he said, handing her slender black velvet box like one would find a necklace in. “You should open now, since I won’t see you again until the end of the holiday.”

“Harry, you didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to.”

She gave him a smile, pulled the silver ribbon off, and opened it. Inside was quill, a raven feather with a obsidian pen head. Tilting it a bit made it gleam in rainbow colors.

“Oh, Harry, it’s beautiful.”

“It’s a quik-quotes-quill,” Harry said, “And not one of those shoddy tabloid ones either. It’s Legal Court standard. I figured you could use one for the news paper.”

“It’s perfect,” she said, a feeling trilled jolt when she learned it was more than just pretty. “How did you get it?”

“I convinced one of Voldemort’s accountants to trade a half an hour therapy session with his American Corn Snake for it. Apparently, some snakes don’t actually like rats.”

She giggled at that.

“I got you something too,” she said, pulling out a little bell from somewhere in the folds of her dress. “It’s an ‘Unsilencing Bell’. It’s really clever. You can hear it ring even if someone puts up a silencing charm, and if you press it to your ear you can hear even if you’re under a deafening hex. I thought you could use it more than me.”

The bell jingled as she handed it to him, long and sweet like a crystal glass.

“Thank you, Hermione.”

“Good grief, don’t tell me you’ve been in here the entire time.”

They turned to see Draco stalking in with a bemused Natalie. Natalie moved in like hawk, snatching up Harry in her painted talons and remarking how dashing he looked in his new robes, and how she’d seen him in the papers, and where was her Christmas presen?. Draco rolled his eyes and led them back outside to somewhere less ‘tacky’ than the cloak room. You never knew who was going to get drunk and stumble inside with some other random drunk and get frisky.

They ended up back in the ballroom, talking and laughing and Natalie managed to drag Harry off for dance when the band finally played something other than Schubert. He wasn’t very good, but the dance floor was crowded with taller and drunker men and women, so chances were no one but a very amused Natalie noticed. And as full darkness came, everyone was invited outside for a fireworks display, the likes of which Harry had never seen. These were not the random flashes and streams of light he was used to, but a full on drama of characters played in fire across the sky. Savage warriors and beautiful maidens and Druids and Romans and castles and forests and strange beasts moving across the sky in a story he didn’t recognize, but felt stir his blood.

“It’s the story of Hogwarts, sort of a New Year’s story for wizarding kind in Britain,” Natalie whispered, her head resting on his shoulder as they stared up at the sky together. “It was the first castle ever built by magic, and it was the last refuge for those who were ‘gifted’ when Rome decided one God was plenty, and destroyed theirs and everyone else’s. There’s a saying, I don’t know if you’ve heard it before. ‘Fire, steel, and God are as rain to the stones of Hogwarts.’”

And my forefather helped build it, Harry thought, a feeling of pride and sorrow coming over him as he watched the scenes of tragedy and glory unfold. The firework druids fled from the Roman soldiers, more lost in the flight than those that reached the castle keep. Monsters rose out of the lake destroying ships and wolves the size of train cars rampaged through the forests (so much closer to the castle than they were now) and tearing apart all they found there.

Gradually, the foes departed or gave up or could no longer find the castle, and the lights faded out of the sky to leave only the stars. Harry found his hand clutching Natalie’s tightly, pressed against his heart, and immediately released her.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize…”

She shook her head, her cheeks a bit flush.

“Don’t be.”

“Harry?”

He turned to see a rather miffed looking Draco and Hermione watching them.

“If you turtledoves are quite done,” Draco droned, “I think your Daddy is ready to go.”

Harry looked to Natalie, but she shook her head.

“Don’t look at me. I have two mothers.”

“Then who is he…oh! Not funny Draco!”

The Malfoy heir’s smirk seemed to indicate that he disagreed.

The next morning, Harry woke late. Victoria was not there to wake him for once, ordered from the house with the rest of the servants for reasons not specified. He entertained the idea of finishing some homework briefly, and then discarded it. The house was empty. He wanted to explore. He threw on his most comfortable clothes, a pair of slacks and a red jumper (compliments of Clyde and his ‘uncles’) and a thick pair of socks, and set about on his exploration.

He was met with an almost immediate delay when he tried to open the door and bumped something. He found a parcel addressed to him with a note from Victoria on top.

Harry,

This arrived for you yesterday. We don’t celebrate Christmas here, so you may as well open it now. See you soon.

Vicki

There was no return address, but a familiar symbol of a crescent moon over crossbones was stamped on the corner. It was his godfathers’ Christmas present. Grinning, brought it inside and opened it. There was a cloak inside, and Harry groaned.Oh Merlin, please not more clothes. Then nearly smacked himself for being so ungrateful. His godfathers loved him, but they didn’t have the finances or the availability to go shopping like the average wizard. The cloak was probably handmade and the best they could do.

He ran his hand over the cloak and felt it was completely made of fur, black, and incredibly soft. Removing it from the box he found it to be overlarge, and a letter fell out of the folds. He set the cloak on the bed to pick it up, and when he stood up the cloak was gone.

Letting out a startled gasp he searched the bed and floor, and gasped again when he found the cloak right under his hands, now a the exact shade of the comforter it was resting on. For the next five minutes, he tested the new material by placing it on different colored surfaces. By far the most intriguing result was the checkered black and white pattern he got when he laid it on the bathroom floor.

Perhaps this is more toy that clothing after all, Harry thought delightedly.

He wrapped himself in the cloak, felt its warms and softness ensnare him, and then retrieved his letter.

Hey, Harry

Merry Christmas, or perhaps it’s ‘I hope you have a Merry Christmas’, since more than likely you’ve opened this early. Good for you.

Harry chuckled.

Remus and I hope this letter finds you well. We have been hearing some disturbing rumors, which we thought you would have mentioned in your previous letter. Please write to us again soon, Remus is a hopeless worrier and I’m not very good with it myself.

If this was meant to guilt trip him, they did a wonderful job.

Well, enough parental nagging, and on to the fun stuff. We hope you like your present. Before you go ‘oh no, not clothes!’, let me assure you it’s way better than an ordinary cloak. Your father had an invisibility cloak once upon a time, but that’s still locked away somewhere. So until you find that one, this one should make a suitable stand in. It won’t make you invisible, but the fur belongs to a Baluvian bear, which change colors to match their environment, and if you remain still you’ll pretty much disappear. I imagine you’ll have a great deal of fun with this.

The letter went on to describe holidays in the werewolf colony.They didn’t celebrate Christmas per se, but there was some festivities surrounding the New Year. There were bon fires, Song Nights, Great Hunts (during which Sirius had killed the Baluvian bear), Athena and Greyback had their third son together (and he looked more like his mother thank Rhiannon[1]), and end of the year maintenance they somehow managed to turn into a competition and game (trying to thatch a roof while avoiding tar being thrown at you was apparently a sporting event). Harry found himself laughing at Sirius’ descriptions and longing to be there with them to see it all. It all sounded very coarse and even a bit brutal, but there was a warmth and comradery in the undertones.

Feeling the beginning of melancholy set in, he quickly roused himself to do what he had been intending to do in the first place. He explored the kitchens, the ballroom, the parlor, the music room, the guest rooms, and the attic (for about thirty seconds before deciding it was too creepy). When he’d run out of unlocked rooms to explore inside, he transfigured a pair of his old shoes into boots, wrapped his new cloak around himself, and went out into the gardens.

There was a light snow on the ground from the night before, and the now cloudless sky made everything painfully bright. The air was still, frigid, and clean, forming steamy puffs of moisture with every breath. He pulled up the hood to his cloak to protect his eyes from the light and his ears from the bitter cold, and took in the beauty of this lonely world.

At first, everything seemed still and quiet, but the longer he stood the more he realized how false that first impression was. Small winter birds flocked amongst the garden statues, which poured out seeds like a fountain poured out water, chirping and arguing with intruding squirrels and rabbits and ravens. Deer, the sort that didn’t eat people, were gathered near the edge of the lawn, pawing at the ground to dig up flower bulbs from the half-frozen earth, and lifting their heads every so often to ’chuff’, tasting and smelling the air for danger. Somewhere on the other side of the grounds he heard the trumpets of peacocks.

The crunch of snow beneath his feet as he headed towards the garden labyrinth seemed the loudest of all, though if any of the creatures about heard him their curious eyes couldn’t seem to find him. He entered the maze without a second thought. He was not worried about getting lost. His path was marked clearly by his own foot prints, and after a minute or so he found someone else’s as well.

Curious, he followed them, weaving through several turns he would have missed otherwise, and surprised more than once by statues of unfamiliar beings. The statues were all different. Most appeared human, although there were some misshapen creatures or animals, but not all were young or beautiful as he was used to seeing. Some were ugly or old or shown with three faces or no face at all. Though carved of stone, most were adorned with jewelry made from precious metals or animal bones or sea shells and draped in silk or leather or costumes of elaborate design. About a one of every four showed signs of recent worship. Offerings of candles, seeds, nuts, silver and gold coins, open bowls of wine or mead or blood or ink, and the remains of sacrificed birds and animals in their winter coats were placed on the plinths of these statues, turning them to alters.

It should have been frightening to Harry, who had spent much of his life in a world where pagan was the equivalent of satanic, but there was a beauty to it all. Everything was done with such loving care and attention to detail, with all the reverence he had witnessed bestowed upon the alters for saints of Christendom. If it had been dark, perhaps the fear would have come, but the deed done in the bright openness of the garden stole any ominous nature that muggle culture had instilled in the custom. This was no satanic ritual done at night in the middle of the woods, or the ruins of a church, or a dank basement.

This was Voldemort saying hello to his gods. Wishing them a Happy New year and hoping they would return the favor. Harry took his time exploring, careful not to disturb the alters’ contents, pondering what all the offerings meant and why some received different items and others received nothing at all.

And then he suddenly took a turn and found himself in the middle of the labyrinth and not as alone as he had thought.

Voldemort knelt in the center of a circle and pentagram, stripped down to only a pair of thin pants and showing no signs of discomfort. In one hand he held a bowl and in another he held a dagger. His eyes were closed, face lifted to the heavens, and his lips whispering too softly for Harry to hear. The lines of the pentagram were clearly marked by red blood on white snow. Runes were paints into the spaces between, some of them even recognizable to the young student. Fire, water, strength, harmony, heart, blood, Mother, and so many more he couldn’t identify.

His breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t suppose to be here. This was a sacred thing, and he was not a believer, not even a scholar with a base understanding of it all. As quietly as he could, he turned to leave.

“It would be rude of you to leave without offering something.”

Harry still.

“This is a temple after all..,” Voldemort continued. “…not a gallery. One does not come here simply to observe.”

Harry turned, reluctantly facing the Dark Lord. The man did not look particularly angry, but he did look expectant.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize… no one said anything about… How did you even know I was here?”

The Dark Lord smirked.

“In this place, I have all the power and omnipotence of my gods. And their authority. Come here. I will show you what I mean while you make your offering.”

“… I am not a pagan…”

He didn’t dare say he was a Christian. It seemed blasphemous some how to speak that word here. Voldemort shook his head.

“Your soul may belong to Heaven, Harry, but your magic belongs to the Earth. She deserve your love just as He does.”

The young wizard didn’t truly understand, but he moved forward regardless until he reached the edge of the pentagram. He turned to Voldemort, unsure of what to do.

“Sit there,” the man instructed, pointing to the left ‘arm’ of the star in which the rune for ‘water’ was drawn. “Don’t worry about disturbing the rune. I have preservation spells in place.”

Hesitantly, Harry did as instructed, but he had hardly set foot inside when he was sudden overwhelmed with power and awareness. It was as if the world had suddenly poured into his body or his mind had suddenly poured out into the world. His senses moved beyond the physical, taking in the life and the death of existence. He could feel the heartbeat of the animals he’d seen outside the maze,he could hear the soft sigh of soil as it drank the melting snow, and see the dreams of the sleeping forest around them. And ghosts, or rather spirits, fairies?,ephemeral wisps of things not living moving and breathing and laughing and screaming in all places. All these things and so much more, until there was so much awareness that he became numb to it, as if he’d been shocked by an electric jolt.

“Incredible, isn’t it?”

Voldemort regarded him, smiling serenely. The man drew his ‘awareness’, and suddenly Harry’s numbness broke into knowledge. Without even looking at him, Harry knew him in ways that simple vision would not allow. He felt every piece that composed his body from sinew to synapse, his mind unfolding like a dark plane larger than the whole of Britain, and his soul was not what Harry had ever thought a soul could be. It was singularly itself, and yet other… things came and went in and out of it, with definite flavors and energies and ‘awareness’. It was as if all that defined the unseen of existence were reaching out to touch him, as if Voldemort’s gods were paying homage to him and not the other way around.

“What are you?” Harry whispered, too awed to stop himself, to question himself, to question the entire experience. Weakly, he sank to his knees inside the pentagram and power unfurled from the earth to hold him, gently, caressing, singing sweetly in tones of an ocean miles away.

“I am… all that They would deem to make of me. Priest. Warrior. King. God. I am the anger of this scorned land, and I am its sorrow. I am one of the few of the Children of the Earth who have turned back to our Mother and said ‘thank you for your gifts, how might they serve you?’ Do you see it, Harry? Do you see our magic flowing into us from our Mother?”

And Harry could. He could see the magic he had always thought of as his own, flowing up from the ground and around them in the wind, seeping into each of them, different colors and textures and vibrations wrapping wound that part that was singularly themselves, their souls, in a cocoon of power.

And Harry could see that Voldemort’s soul was different from his.

He could see it was broken and torn, and that it should have flown apart and disappeared into nothingness long ago, but tendrils of magic, of Mother, held it together, power reinforcing the places where it would crumble and sowing together those parts that had torn. Voldemort’s soul had become so saturated with magic that it was hard to tell which part was which.

“She loves you.”

Unable to stand in the presence of that love, pure for the impure, between greater-than-human and less-than-human, terrible and beautiful, without it touching a piece of his own soul, tears welled to the surface. Even as they flowed down his cheeks and to the ground, Harry was aware that they were more than water and salt, but part of his own soul, tiny pieces of his love and his sorrow and his awe.

“She loves you too, Harry.”

That was true too, and suddenly he found himself sobbing.

“That’s it, child. Tears are as fine an offering as blood.”

Even without watching, bent over and shaking as he cried his offering into the snow, he could sense Voldemort’s intent. The dagger was for more than just show after all. When he could look up again at last, Harry could see the thin stream of blood flowing into the little bowl.

Saw the anger, hate, sorrow, joy, and hope flowing into the little bowl.

Magic flared up around them, swallowing their offerings, taking it into the Earth to become apart of it. The bowl of blood caught fire, the flames blue and barely visible, and Harry’s tears hissing and evaporating little dots into the snow. The magic spread, setting alight the pentagram itself until the blood was devoured and the snow melted into a perfect circle. Once the diagram disappeared the power, the ‘awareness’, left them.

They both collapse, shaking in the after affects of the ritual. There was grass beneath them, green and lush and impossible this deep into winter. Harry buried his face into the soft carpet, inhaling the delicious sent of Earth and Magic and love before it faded from him altogether.

When finally the overwhelming presence of Mother and themselves had dissipated from their minds, the two wizards turned to one another, still laying where they’d fallen. It was a strange sort of understanding that passed between them, intimate on a level few would ever know with another human being. They had, for a few brief minutes, not only seen the other’s soul but becomes connected to it, sunk their spiritual hands into the common material of their existence, both physical and metaphysical.

They both reached for the other, their cool hands coming to meet, warmth and love and perhaps a ghost of ‘awareness’ passing between them as it had with their Mother only a few minutes before.

“She loves you…” Harry repeated, then sighed softly, “… more than anyone else. You are… more Her than anyone else.”

There was no jealousy in the statement, just a sort of longing. Voldemort smiled very gently, as Harry had never seen him do before.

“I have given myself totally to her. When this body and this magic fade, my soul will not return to the Father you Christians have promised yourselves to. There is not enough of my soul left to reside in Heaven or Hell. Rather, it will be drawn into the Earth with the rest of me, to be absorbed or reborn or reshaped as She sees fit. Over and over and over again for as long She exists. I chose Eden over absolution, and I regret nothing.”

Harry’s hand tightened around his. Was it to comfort him? Or was it to ask for comfort? All he knew was in that moment, after what they had shared, he didn’t want to be separated from him. Couldn’t conceive of such a connection breaking. Not ever.

“Why did you show me this?”

Voldemort’s expression turned from serene to amused.

“I’m afraid I can’t take credit for this. I only intended for you to give a few drops of blood and be on your way. I hadn’t expected your magic to align with ‘water’. I thought your element would have been ‘wind’ or even ‘fire’, but not ‘water’. It must have been Her will. She wantedyou to be apart of this.”

“And what is ‘this’?”

“Magic at its purest and most powerful. If we had wanted to, we would have had the power to sink the entirety of Britain while in that circle.”

A shiver ran through Harry at the very idea of it.

“So why haven’t you ever done it?”

Voldemort smirked, his previous gentility dissipating with the revival of their sense of self. He got up, pulling up Harry by their conjoined hands. The boy stumbled a bit, but Voldemort held him steady, not yet releasing him.

“I have no desire to sink Britain, Harry.”

“Then what do you want? Why conquer it in the first place?”

There was no accusation in his voice, Harry was feeling too connected with the other at the moment for anything other than affection and curiosity.

“I suppose, because more than anything else, I want the wizarding kind to love me… and to love Her, but mankind has always had free will. I cannot make them love or accept Us anymore than God can make them love or accept Him. So, I must first make a world in which She can be loved, where Christendom has no sword with which to strike Her followers and any who wish to follow Her customs, may. If I am careful, I will need to do nothing more then this. Wizarding kind will inevitably rediscover the source that separated them from muggles in the first place and return to Her. It is a natural progression.”

Voldemort slowly led Harry back to the mansion, his hand still clutching firmly to Harry’s. It would be a lie to say he hadn’t been entranced by what he had seen in Harry during the ritual. This was not the first time he had performed the ceremony, not even the first time he had performed it with other people, but it was the first time he’d felt such strength. Not just of magic, but of being. Harry’s soul was… it was…

Intense.

The resulting magic was likewise intense, a necessity in order for the Earth to even hope to bind it to Her, but ultimately futile if he didn’t accept Her completely. Today, Voldemort had created a bond with Harry, one they would share with the Earth and each other until they died. Would it be enough after they died?

No yet, but perhaps someday…

They entered the mansion and went immediately to Voldemort’s study. They each moved to a chair close to the fireplace, setting them so they faced each other before settling in. All this was done in complete silence, the hum of their respective magic in tune with each other and their environment. Their will was so apparent to each other that they had no need to instruct or question, nor to verbally command the magic that willed the fire to life or opened the drapes without touch.

It would not last. After tonight, once the winter solstice and come and gone, the extra boost in magic would fade. In the meantime, however, Voldemort saw no harm in basking in their ‘awareness’ of each other and their magic.

“My Lord,” Harry said, breaking the silence after almost an hour, “There is a basilisk running around Hogwarts. Why can’t anyone know?”

Voldemort blinked. He hadn’t thought Harry had figured out that much already. Snape had said the boy knew it was a snake, but not that it was a basilisk. Of course, he’d never bothered to find out exactlyhow much Harry knew, guessed, or assumed. He had been more concerned with the child staying quiet and out of the way.

“What do you know?”

“I know it’s a basilisk. I know it was guarding some secret place connected to the girl’s lavatory, and that it got out. I figured it’s escaped into the school’s secret corridors and pipes, and no one can seem to find it. I know it killed Moaning Myrtle- whose paralyzed spirit is still being kept somewhere in the school- over fifty years ago, and then Cassandra Sweety, and it would have killed Angelina Johnson too except that she saw it through her make-up mirror instead of directly in the eye. I know you’re covering up all of this, probably to keep secret the place it was guarding. Oh, and it’s looking for somebody or maybe more than one. I think it means to kill them… I think it means to kill me too.”

Voldemort felt rather impressed. So far Harry had been mostly right. He even seemed to know a little something he didn’t. Who was the basilisk trying to kill… aside from Harry?

“Very good. You’ve discovered the when, what, and how. Now all that’s missing is the who, why, and where of it. I’d like to know that myself.”

“Sir?”

“Harry, I am not keeping this all a secret just to keep a secret. The fact of the matter is that there is a lot of answers I just don’t have. The basilisk was released from its Chamber by someone, and it wasn’t Sweety. Who ever released it is using it for some unknown purpose, terrorism or assassination of someone in the school, and they are doing a fine job of hiding it. Hogwarts has always been known as the safest place in Britain, and I can not afford to have that reputation sullied. Britain can’t afford it.”

“But the students are in danger!”

“Children are always in danger, Mr. Potter. Do you think they would be any safer elsewhere? I assure you there are monsters in every school, every settlement, every forest, every place where victims are in ready supply. The one responsible for these actions, the true monster behind these deaths, will be found and destroyed. The irrational fear of students and their parents will not speed things along. Quite the opposite.”

Harry said nothing for a while, turning over the man’s words in his head and prodding the weaknesses he found.

“What was the contract I signed?”

Voldemort hesitated for a moment, considered lying or editing his words, but knew Harry was too aware of him for either option to work.

“It’s old. Almost as old as you are. I wrote it the night before I brought my Death Eaters into the Chamber of Secrets, the private study and laboratory of our ancestor Salazar Slytherin. There was no other way to enter the school without setting off the castle’s defenses, but I did not wish that magnificent place to be disturbed by unworthy fools in search of knowledge and power not rightfully theirs. So I wrote that contract, and had every Death Eater I took there sign it, magically binding them so that they could never speak, write, find again, or otherwise communicate what they had seen with anyone other than myself or those who signed the contract. Not even Severus knows the specifics of it, as he never signed it and I wrote it in parseltongue.”

“So if I found something out, I couldn’t even tell Snape about it?”

“I suppose not, but I doubt it will be a problem. Severus has done a marvelous job with security. I suspect the matter will be resolved sooner rather than later.”

Harry didn’t look reassured, and frankly he was looking down right pissed. Voldmort stood, moving closer, touching Harry’s cheek.

“Whatever happens, I will protect you, my little prince.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.”

1. Celtic Goddess of the Moon and Inspiration. One of them anyway. There’s no strict hierarchy of Gods and Goddesses in Celtic religion, and most are regional and subject to name and authority changes.↩

Forward to Battle

“You seem different, Harry,” Natalie said, boldly eyeing the boy sitting across the cramped compartment from head to toe.

The subject of her inspection was dressed in his usual attire (although someone had lengthened the hem of his pants and his white dress shirt was still stiff in its newness), his skin back to its normal tone before his sickness, and hair still defiantly mused. By all accounts he appeared exactly as he had before his hospitalization, and yet there was something more about his presence that she just couldn’t put her finger on.

“Bollocks,” Clyde said, oblivious as usual. “The country air just did him some good.”

Hermione, for once, was in agreement with Natalie.

“It’s true. You seem… I don’t know. More confident? No, that’s not right…”

Draco snorted, knowing or least believing he knew, what was about the other boy.

“You look like you know something we don’t know, and you’re laughing at us.”

Harry shook his head, though Draco was partially right. He knew something they didn’t know, and while he wasn’t really laughing at them, he felt a thrill at being party to something they would never understand. It was not the same as his usual secrets, which weighed him down and tighten his insides, but uplifting and liberating. Empowering.

He knew where magic came from. He knew, not just was told and expected to accept. The ‘awareness’ had dwindled after the ritual, slowly siphoning off back into the Earth, and then just disappearing altogether with the arrival of the New Year. Yet still the knowledge remained. The days that followed were restless, his mind now completely free to ponder exactly what had happened and what it might mean. His interactions with the Dark Lord were now forever overshadowed by that single intimate moment in the labyrinth. Now every thing said or done by the man seemed to hold an extra dimension, a religious perspective that Harry didn’t completely understand. He’d danced around Voldemort for the rest of the holiday, wanting to be closer to study him and yet distanced so as not to be overwhelmed by him simultaneously.

Voldemort had his own ideas. He dragged Harry off to more press conferences and charity banquets and private dinners, always making those present aware of his protégé and yet not allowing them too close. Harry was forced to remain near the man, finding himself drawn into every word and innuendo, wondering at the calculations and the underlining meanings and never certain he had guessed right.

Then in private, the few times opportunity allowed, Voldemort would tell him a story. Never the same story and never about the same thing, though each had a lesson in them.

Even if he didn’t always know what they were.

“Do you see that building across the street, Harry? That used to be a muggle courthouse, once upon a time. They burned ‘witches’ and ‘heretics’ there five hundred years ago. Now it’s a church for wizarding kind. Isn’t that strange? They pay homage to the God of muggles, the very ones who preach their inescapable damnation.”

Or once at a business meeting with a Director of Foreign Affairs over a recently failed attempt to negotiate some trade agreement with Italy.

“It used to be we could not keep the Romans at bay and now they avoid us as if plagued. A pity, as they have some very lovely libraries and museums. Perhaps it’s just as well though. Despite their linguistic contribution to wand magic, they’ve little talent for the Earth-based magics. Not surprising when their worship has always been directed at the Heavens rather than the Earth, even when they were considered pagans.”

There was pride in his words, wounded and inflated pride each in their own measure, but always there nonetheless. It left Harry’s head swimming with images of ancient glories and atrocities, making the world larger with possibilities and yet more personal, as if each act and consequence was now being directed at him or someone very close to him.

So if he seemed different to them, he wasn’t surprised. He felt different. Bigger and smaller, depending on the new view points he’d found during his brief jaunt through ‘Voldemort Land’.

He smiled at his friends.

“It’s been an interesting holiday. It will be good to return to Hogwarts though. Anymore time stuck running between the middle of nowhere and the middle of everything was starting to suck me dry. How do you all stand it?”

Draco chuckled, leaning back in his seat with all the poise of a model. This was apparently a topic of which he was confident in his own expertise

“It’s a gift, dear boy. Don’t feel bad. Some people have it and some people don’t.”

Hermione chucked a chocolate frog she’d been eating at him. The headless frog stuck to his forehead for a second and then leapt into his hair, which sent the boy into an unhappy fit to get it out. The rest of the company burst into laughter. Draco finally caught the bit of charmed chocolate and tossed it at Harry, but the boy wasn’t youngest Hogwarts Seeker in a century for nothing and caught it. And promptly threw it at Natalie who squealed when it got lost in her robes. With everyone distracted by Natalie dancing about to shake it loose, Clyde took the opportunity to open two more chocolate frog packages and stuff one down Harry’s shirt and other to Hermione’s back.

The Chocolate Frog War lasted for nearly ten minutes, until everyone was exhausted from battle and laughing so hard that they could only collapse in their seats. Finally, between fits of giggles, they cleaned up their candy casualties and chocolate smeared selves with a few quick cleaning and banishment charms. And not a moment too soon, for someone opened their compartment to peak inside.

“Are you all alright? I can’t tell if your laughing or being tortured, or laughing as you tortured someone,” a seventh year Ravenclaw boy, looking perfectly serious despite his playful words.

“Oh, McGunny,” Hermione said, recognizing him immediately, “Guys, this is the chief editor for the Hogwarts’ Herald. Horace McGunny, these are my friends and brother. Natalie Cypher, Clyde Houghton, Harry Potter, and Draco Malfoy.”

“Good to meet you,” Horace replied disinterestedly, although his gaze might have lingered on Harry for a moment, “I’m afraid I need to borrow you for a bit, Granger. We’re gathering interviews on what students did on their holiday break. Do you think you could get some from the first years?”

Hermione perked. This would be her first assignment as a reporter rather than a glorified office assistant. She looked towards her friends.

“Go on then,” Draco drawled. “It’s harder to steal your Christmas candy when you’re hovering.”

“I’ll take good care of Harry while you’re gone,” Natalie teased, cuddling up to said boy. Harry, now pink around the ears, nodded his approval. At Hermione, not Natalie.

“Put my Christmas gift to good use, yeah?”

She beamed at them, gathering a notepad and her new quick-quotes quill from her carry-on bag and hurrying off. Clyde chuckled after she was gone.

“Hasn’t even got out of school yet and she’s already on the fast track to becoming a professional story finder. Watch out Harry, she might give even you a run for your money.”

Natalie and Draco rolled their eyes.

“Nonsense. Harry’s not a story finder,” Draco pointed out. Natalie nodded in agreement.

“Harry’s a story maker. They’ll be natural enemies before long.”

Harry frowned, shaking his head.

“We’re best mates. I’d do anything for her.”

The two Slytherins shared shrewd expressions.

“Anything is a big word. I wouldn’t ever use it in a promise, if I were you,” Natalie said evenly. Harry met her skepticism with a confident smirk. He said what he meant and he meant what he said. Hermione and he would always be friends, no matter what forces tried to tear them apart.

It was an oath to himself, as much as it was her.

While Harry and his friends enjoyed their time together, Tom smiled and laughed and plotted the painful demise of the sycophants who had latched onto him since he’d boarded the train. He had nothing against blind adoration directed at his person, but his current batch of followers had developed a rather unflattering sense of entitlement. More specifically, they felt entitled to touch him (a friendly pat on the shoulder, a little poke to get his attention, and ugh hugging), and knowing about his past and future plans.

“Delphia, I assure you, I didn’t do anything interesting this holiday. My parents were away on business. I spent Christmas with the house elves,” he said smoothly, shrugging off her hand from his shoulder.

Across from him, a sixth year boy leered stupidly at them.

“Oh, come on, Thomas, you’re saying you didn’t have a holiday fling? If your parents were gone like you say, surely you took the opportunity to have a little fun.”

“Don’t be crude, Jorgenson,” Tom dismissed gently. In truth, he had entertained a few witches and one very charming vampire over the holiday, but he wasn’t about to share the specifics with these imbeciles.

Brian Jorgenson was parasite through and through, siphoning off his older brother’s popularity as Head Boy and his own fiancee, Evelyn Hughes, who was the second most popular sixth year girl in Slytherin. Evelyn was pretty, but a ninny in comparison to most of her House, and too easily manipulated by the boy. Even now she simpered stupidly with Jorgenson’s arm around her shoulders as he ogled her ‘best friend’, Delphia Bellfeldt practically shoving her breasts into Tom’s arm. Belladonna and Aminitas Greystone, fraternal twins, were absorbed in painting each other’s toenails black and basking in their own narcissism.

They all had their uses, but at the moment Tom was having difficulty remembering what they were. His thoughts kept drifting to Hogwarts, his plans, and the one person in all the world he truly wished to see. Soon, everything was going to come together.

He’d made certain of that.

From the baggage cart of the Hogwarts’ Express, the sound of faintly shifting luggage was drowned out by the monotonous clamor of the great engine. A ragged looking rodent squeezed itself out from the trunk of one ‘Thomas M. Rook’ through a small hole it had chewed in the corner, sniffed curiously at the air, and turned into a man.

“I’m too old for this,” Pettigrew muttered, straightening out the clothes he hadn’t felt for nearly two weeks. He felt his face to make sure he hadn’t forgotten his whiskers or teeth in the transformation. After re-familiarizing himself with his human body, he closed his eyes to concentrate.

Bristol. The secret entryway.

And with a loud ‘pop’, he was gone.

It was just before sunset when the students filed into Hogwarts in well-ordered chaos. The weather had been cloudless and sunny, but colder than they were used to with a sharp, incessant wind. Everyone was glad to reach shelter and file into the Great Hall for hot chocolate and ciders and seasonal teas. The castle had already been stripped of its yuletide decorations, and everyone felt a bit melancholy at the official end of the holidays.

Everyone, it seemed, except for Hermione who was still blissfully ambushing random first years. Now, however, she was being accompanied by one Collin Creevey, flashing his camera every so often when a student exhibited a particularly interesting gift or an emotional reunion with their circle of friends. The break had done much to restore Hogwarts’ comradery, and many who hadn’t even been on speaking terms during the ‘Curse Epidemic’ were now chatting excitedly with each other and comparing stories and presents and New Year’s resolutions.

Harry found himself the center of attention of a group of girls who had seen his picture in the newspaper a couple times over the break and were eagerly questioning him. A school reporter was amongst them, and he found himself being bullied into an interview. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be, mostly because she tended to have a story already in mind when asking her questions so he didn’t have to make one up on the spot. The fact that her story was a little too sugar coated and inaccurate was not really of concern to him. It certainly beat trying to convince Hermione of what happened.

At some point, the Weasley twins abducted his interviewer and began regaling her with tales she hadn’t asked for of their negotiations with Santa to return the coal they’d received for a new goat (they were very specific about the type of goat they wanted right down to its curly third horn) and their experiments with eggnog and their foster mother.

Ron made a brief appearance during a conversation between Harry and Ginny, but aside from a obnoxious little smirk, hadn’t bothered him. The Gryffindor Seeker was still busy pondering the change in behavior, when Headmistress Lestrange burst into the hall and went immediately to her podium.

“Attention students,” she began, her voice cutting through conversation like a machete. “There has been a small accident with one of the first years. He isn’t hurt badly, but I will require you to return to your dormitories for the evening. Prefects if you would please take charge of your classmates and escort them back to the commons?”

She immediately left the podium and disappeared through a side door, leaving the students confused and without answers to a great many questions. Yet within moments the Prefects and several teachers who had appeared out of nowhere managed to herd everyone into their own House assigned groups.

Harry had just shuffled into the Gryffindor Common Room when he realized that Hermione and Collin weren’t with them.

“I’m sorry, Harry, but there isn’t anything I can do,” Percy said sternly. “McGonagall has already sealed the entry way. I can tell her that Hermione and Collin are missing when she gets back, but I don’t know when that will be.”

The Common Room was crowded and noisy, everyone equally ignorant of what was happening and some how believing discussion would work in the place of actual facts. Many of them were watching the exchange of Gryffindor’s Black Cat with one of the prefects in increasing interest.

“That’s not good enough! They only mentioned a boy, who is probably Collin, but they didn’t say anything about a girl. What if they don’t even know Hermione is out there? What if something happened to her?!” Harry shouted, frustrated that Percy didn’t seem to understand the severity of the situation. But then, perhaps he didn’t. Who other than Harry and the professors knew about the monster roaming the halls?

“Harry, calm down and be reasonable. Hermione’s a clever girl, and the professors are perfectly competent. I’m sure they’ve found her by now if she was ever missing. Did you ever stop to think she was the one who reported Collin’s accident?”

The condescension in the prefect’s voice threw the already frustrated Harry over the edge.

“YOU’RE A BLOODY STUPID TWAT, PERCY!”

He stalked away, parting the crowds like Moses at the Red Sea and leaving the Weasley prefect stuttering in his indignation. No doubt he’d just earned a detention, but that was the least of Harry’s worries. He rushed to the second year dorms and went straight to his trunk, hoping to find something that would help him.

Text books, personal books, his sketching journal, the secret box he still hadn’t been able to open, the large sketch pad Natalie had given him, art supplies, school supplies, Hermione’s magic bell, his Baluvian cloak, Sirius’ necklace wrapped in unmagicked leather, a deck of magic cards, candy, his school clothes, Quidditch and Dueling magazines, a couple bottles of healing salve he’d made in Potions, and absolutely nothing that was going to help him get out of the dorm. The only exit he knew of was through the Portrait of the Fat Lady, and unless he could transfigure something into a flying broom and jump out a window, he didn’t see any means of escape.

“Harry!”

The frustrated Gryffindor looked up to see Clyde and the twins rushing in, a rather devilish look sending the few other Gryffindors there scurrying for the exit. Fred (George?) cast a Silencing Charm on the door.

“What?” he snapped, suspecting an abysmal attempt to cheer him up when what he really needed was to find Hermione.

“Happy New Year to you too, mate,” Clyde groused, but was ignored as the twins sat themselves on either side of their idol.

“Got something for you, Lord Chaos. We think you’ll find it useful,” George (Fred?) said, handing him a piece of parchment. Harry accepted it curiously, opened it, but found it was completely blank. He scowled.

“Now isn’t the time to be playing jokes. Hermione could be in serious danger, you know?!” he snapped, getting up to stalk off again, but they both grabbed him by his arms and dragged him back down.

“So impatient today! We know this is serious!” Clyde said, then pointed his wand at the parchment over Harry’s shoulder. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!”

Before Harry could question the odd phrase, the parchment before him suddenly wasn’t so blank anymore. Lines began to form walls, which in turn formed hallways, towers, staircases, rooms, and… secret passages. And right there, was tiny little trap door leading out of Gryffindor tower.

“Is that?”

“Yep,” Fred said smugly. “I haven’t been through that one personally. It’s in the First Year Girl’s dormitory. We’ll set off the alarms, but at this point I don’t think that’s going to matter much.”

“We?”

“You don’t expect us to let you wander the halls alone with a big scary monster scuttling about, do you?”

“You could get suspended for this.”

The twins shared an amused look, one their foster nephew didn’t appreciate.

“She’s my friend too, Harry,” Clyde said, seeming to steel himself for something painful. Harry gave him an assessing stare, but remembered time was not on their side. He pulled the magic bell and the Baluvian cloak from his trunk, and then headed towards the stairs.

“What are all these dots?”

“People, their labeled, see? Collin’s in the hospital wing, but we couldn’t find Hermione. She’s either outside the castle, in a room or corridor that hasn’t been mapped, or… well”

A nauseous quiver ran through him, but he forced his mind on what needed to be done and what he could do to achieve that.

“Clyde, I want you to stay here,” Harry said, “Seal the trap door after we leave. We’ll knock twice, wait a moment and then knock three times when we want you to let us back in. That’s the password.”

“No way, Harry, I’m coming too!”

Harry shook his head. “I need you to stay here in case a teacher or Hermione comes back. Percy and the other prefects are clueless. You’re one of the few with half a clue about what’s going on in Hogwarts.”

“What about Fred or George?!”

“No one will take what they say seriously.”

“Hey!” the twins objected in unison, then shared a ‘well, he has a point’ look.

“Listen, we don’t have time for this. Just trust me, ok?”

Whether Clyde agreed or not wasn’t an issue as all four marched straight into the First Year girl’s dormitory. Instantly, an atrocious wailing sounded, followed shortly by the startled shrieks of several girls.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?!” screamed one girl over the siren. Ginny was there too, stunned as the rest of them, but quickest to recover.

“What’s going on, Harry?” she shouted, whispering impossible over the wailing.

“I’m going to find Hermione!” he yelled back, tearing away a large rug from the floor to reveal nothing but blank floor. The twins shouted out a Revealing Charm, and grooves appeared in the floor, along with a hole just big enough to reach a few fingers into. Clyde pulled it open, and Harry and twins disappeared inside before anyone could stop them.

The trapdoor released them into a large storage closet, and after a few awkward moments of shoving around cleaning supplies with only the light of their glowing wands, they exited into a corridor. The twins took a moment to murmur a simultaneous ‘wicked!’ when Harry’s cloak turned from pitch black to the dim gray of the surrounding stones, before quickly following the running Gryffindor towards the Great Hall.

“Where are we going?” Fred (George?) asked.

“The map says Snape is a few corridors over. I just have to tell him about Hermione. He’ll know where to look.”

The same place Harry knew to look, but wouldn’t risk going alone nor could he take Fred or George. The Contract was still in effect, and if he tried to take them down to the secret chamber, who knew what would happen? Would he become perpetually lost? Fall into a coma? He didn’t know and didn’t want to find out.

“Just don’t show him the map, ok? We’d kind of like to keep it out of the hands of authority, ya know?”

“That’s fine. It wouldn’t help him find Hermione, anyway… Here, you guys take it. There’s no point for all of us to get into trouble for sneaking around. Hide somewhere and keep watch. If you spot… something strange on the map, come and find us again. But whatever you do, don’t go playing hero. I know what it is… and it’s not something you’d ever want to find you.”

The twins shared a significant look, but merely nodded and gave him a quick salute and went off to hide. Harry took a deep breath and went to find Snape. It didn’t take long to find him. They practically ran into each other turning a corner, a quick duck was the only thing that saved Harry from a very nasty hex.

“POTTER! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING OUT HERE?!”

Snape snatched up the boy his arm, giving him a harsh shake. Harry cringed, terrified to find that the potion’s master in a rage was worse than even his silent malice.

“Ouch! Stop, I-”

“I swear to God Potter if you’ve dragged my goddaughter or any of your little friends into the halls with you… Is anyone else out here?!”

The young Gryffindor flinched at another harsh shake.

“No! But I have to-”

“No, Mr. Potter, you don’t have to anything but shut up and come with me. You’re going to get such a beating after this is over-”

“HERMIONE’S MISSING!”

The Snape drew back, dropping Harry’s arm in alarm.

“What?”

“She didn’t get back to the dormitory with the rest of us. By the time we realized she wasn’t there, McGonagall had already sealed the entryway and left. She was with Collin Creevey before his ‘accident’!”

Pallid already, Snape’s minimal color drained to an almost luminescent white. He grabbed Harry’s arm again.

“We’re going to the Headmistress’ office.”

The quick stride Snape adopted gradually increased until they were both actually running, Harry was barely able to keep up with the man, until they reached the gargoyle guarding their destination.

“Salamander,” Snape barked, and the rotating staircase opened to greet them. The potion’s master turned to Harry. “Stay here. You will be safe as long as you remain in this corridor. If you so much as twitch from this spot, I will make you intimately acquainted with the many and varied torture devices that qualify the bowels of this castle as a dungeon and not just an oversized basement.”

Snape disappeared up the staircase, which closed after him. The stairs hadn’t even stopped rotating close before Harry was sprinting up them. He pulled the Unsilencing from his robes and pressed the mouth of it to the sealed entryway and his ear to the other end. He could hear voices easily and clearly, as if he were right in the room.

It certainly didn’t hurt that Snape and the Headmistress appeared to be yelling at each other already.

“NO! Absolutely not,” Lestrange hissed, pacing in front of a series of maps depicting Hogwarts and the wards that had been set. The girl’s lavatory in the dungeon was glowing red, signaling the activation of the sealing ward at the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, and on another map a section of the Forbidden Forest was similarly alight.

“We know it’s already trapped, and I’m not going to risk letting it out because you have a grudge to settle. It’s stupid. We will wait for the Dark Lord like we agreed before the little tart went and got herself killed.”

Snape grit his teeth.

“We do not know she is dead yet. Besides, the wards are meaningless now. They’ve obviously been tampered with. There was no way for the basilisk to have gotten Creevey in that particular hallway without setting off the traps. Not to mention the wards indicated that the basilisk entered the Chamber through the girl’s lavatory, not left it and then re-entered it. Someone let it in through either the front entryway or one of the windows, both of which should have been sealed through the holidays and thus been impossible. If we do not kill it now it is going to escape again!”

“Don’t be a fool, Severus. Obviously, it just hid itself somewhere in the school that we overlooked and came out. This is about Granger. Your goddaughter is dead. You failed her. Deal with it.”

He snarled out something savage and perhaps even obscene by the Headmistress’ sudden flush, and then stormed out of the office. Lestrange smirked as he disappeared from view, positively smug with how things were turning out. Admittedly, their Lord wouldn’t be pleased with the loss of another student, but she was only a mudblood and the capture of the basilisk was ultimately more important. Frazzling Snape was just icing on the cake. No doubt the Dark Lord would be disgusted with Snape’s current frame of mind and his reckless idea to re-open the Chamber. Perhaps she’d even get to see him ‘crucio-ed’.

Her smirk dropped quickly, when Snape suddenly reappeared.

“Harry’s gone.”

Harry ran as fast as he could through the halls, the hood of his cloak pulled over his head, his only gesture towards stealth. It may have already been too late. Hermione was probably gone, dead and eaten by that monster, but he didn’t know. He had to know, and if his fears were true than he would make it pay. Fear and anger swam in his veins like shark, all power and teeth and base predatory instinct.

He knew he didn’t have long before Snape or Lestrange managed to catch up with him, but descending into the bowels of the castle he passed the girl’s lavatory for an important side trip to the potion’s lab. The door wasn’t locked, and Harry went straight for the supply cabinet, which was … but only long enough for Harry’s desperation blasted the entire door from its hinges. He was in and out within five seconds, a bezoar clutched firmly in his hand. He didn’t know if it would do any good against a basilisk bite, but if Hermione was still alive it may save her life. It might even save his.

He sprinted for the door.

And ran straight into the person he was least expecting. Tom caught him by his shoulders just before Harry smashed into him, saving and capturing him in a single move. The Slytherin’s green eyes narrowed in anger.

“What are you doing here, Harry?” he hissed. “You’re suppose to be in your Commons Room.”

A strange sense of deja vu passed over Harry, but he shoved it away just as he shoved Tom away.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for this! I have to go!”

Tom caught Harry by the wrist as he tried flee again, and dragged him further down the hall.

“Absolutely not! It’s dangerous out here. I’m taking you to the Slytherin’s Commons Room.”

“NO! Let go!”

Harry tried to bolt towards the lavatory but Tom’s grip tightened painfully, causing him cry out in pain. The older boy jerked him forward, furthering the distance between him and his destination. When Harry tried to get passed him yet again, Tom drew his wand.

“Stupefy!”

Harry flinched, expecting the affects of the spell to overpower him instantly. Instead, he felt Tom’s grip on his wrist loosen and the Slytherin fell to the floor. Stunned, or rather notstunned, Harry blinked down at him stupidly.

“Harry!”

He looked up to see the twins racing towards him, winded and nearly out of breath.

“How did you find-”

Fred (George?) held up the map and grinned, between wheezes.

“Something cooky seemed to be going on, so we followed you! Hurry up, Snape will be here any second!”

Harry didn’t need to be told twice.

“Stay here and protect Tom!” he shouted when they started to follow. They looked ready to object, but when Harry flipped up his hood again, following him was no longer an option.

He had disappeared.

They turned to each other, sighed, and then turned to the boy they had stunned.

“What do you suppose he’s doing out here?” Fred asked, crossing his arms.

“Nothing good, I’ll wager,” George agreed, mimicking the gesture.

“Come on, we’ll ‘protect’ him in the potion’s lab. Don’t fancy Snape popping up while we’re standing here.”

Lestrange and Snape entered the lavatory, both dismayed to find the secret entrance was wide open. The headmistress let out a hiss of frustration, cursing the stupid Gryffindor and his suicidal notion’s of bravery. Snape saved his already limited breath and went straight for the entrance.

“What are you doing, Severus?”

“Isn’t obvious? I’m going to get Potter and kill that bloody overgrown lizard while I still can. Unless you want to wait till the Dark Lord arrives and kills us both for your incompetence. Now go back to your office and deactivate the wards. If Potter or I am injured, we will need to leave quickly.”

“I don’t-”

But Snape had already disappeared, leaving the Headmistress with no options but to do as he had instructed or face the Dark Lord’s wrath alone.

The tunnels leading to the chamber were cool, eerie, and the great abundance of water originating from the lake was icey cold. Every drop of water, every gentle tap of a falling footstep, and ones own breathing echoed into the darkness for what seemed like miles, so that what may have been falling rock from behind sounded as if it could of come from anywhere, even right behind you. Even as a renown Dark Wizard with a reputation for stoicism in the worst of conditions, Snape would freely admit that he did not like this place.

Luckily, he caught up to Harry fairly quickly. He had the benefit of exploring the Chamber once before while searching for the Basilisk with the Dark Lord, as opposed to Harry who was wandering seemingly blind. Or at least, Snape had assumed blind. However, when the light from his wand finally fell upon Harry’s shadowy form, the reflection off the boy’s glasses were a strange orange color.

The boy had cast a Thermal Imaging Charm on his glasses, allowing him to see in terms of heat rather than light, just as a snake would. More importantly, that sort of sight would render the basilisk’s deadly gaze utterly useless.

Oh, that was clever.

He’d applaud the boy, but he was going to kill him first, so that seemed a rather superfluous gesture.

He was about to snarl out something, but the boy put his finger to his mouth and then pointed towards his ear. Snape’s words caught in his throat. The boy was a parselmouth and would be hearing things the potion’s master had no privy to, things inaudible to any human ear save two… possibly three?

Harry tilted his head, turned it partially, like a rodent of some kind trying listen for a predator. Then he spun full around towards the direction they’d been going, and then back again, sprinting towards Snape.

“It knows we’re here,” Harry whispered, but it echoed loudly in the tunnels.

“Frigorio!” Snape hissed, flourishing his wand, and then followed after Harry’s retreating form. “We can’t go back the way we came. I don’t know if the wards have been completely removed or only partially, but we can’t risk being trapped. The tunnels around here all circle back to the main chamber. Just follow the flow of-”

WHOOMPH!

The fire trap Snape had set activated, setting off an explosion that rocked the ground above and beneath them, sending fragments of rocks raining down dangerously. He heard Harry cast a shield charm and prepared to do the same, but the tunnel ahead of him collapsed altogether, knocking him in to ankle deep water.

“Harry!”

A wall of rubble now laid before him, blocking his movement forward just as the explosion no doubt blocked his movement backwards. He could easily blast it away, but that could cause even more tunnel collapse, perhaps burying himself just as he may have inadvertently buried Harry.

“Harry?”

The was a tense moment of silence, and then a weak, but welcome cough.

“I’m still here. Are you ok?” came a muffled reply. The boy was on the other side of the wall, apparently unharmed enough to be concerned for his reviled potion’s master’s well-being.

“I’ll live. Stay where you are, do you hear me Potter?”

“Um…” there was a rather telling hesitation. “Yes, but…”

“Potter, don’t you dare even think about-”

“Gotta find Hermione. Be right back!”

“Potter! Potter?! GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE… heart attack waiting to happen…”he trailed off as the footsteps faded.

Snape sighed in frustration, unable to do anything. He tried something he hadn’t tried in long time. He thought positively.

Well, really, what was the harm now? Chances are that explosion had blown the basilisk to tiny little bits, or even better the handler. And Harry was a parselmouth, certainly he could handle a snake. A giant man-eating snake with venom so deadly it could eat through your skin like hyrdolic acid, but a snake nonetheless.

It was Potter. He’d figure something out.

Hopefully…

Optimism was for idiots, he decided.

Harry ran as quickly as he could, which was considerably less quickly than he’d been going earlier when he’s started running around like a lunatic. His body was sweaty and chilled at the same time, his fur cloak only making things worse. Snape’s arrival had been expected, and once he was inside the tunnels, rather welcome as well. The possible death of the basilisk was well worth the trouble he had just landed himself in… he hoped anyway.

A sudden gust of wind from up ahead gave him pause. He pulled out his pocket watch, which until he had entered the secret passage had been utterly useless in locating his friend.

“Hermione,” he whispered, casting a Lumos and pulling down his glasses to read the blurry outline of the watches’ hand pointing ahead of him. The watch wouldn’t have worked if Hermione were dead. A thrill of hope ran through him, and with renewed energy he sprang forward. The tunnel opened up into a larger tunnel, which in turn ran straight into enormous chamber.

Harry’s eyes widened as he let his glasses slip to the tip of his nose, taking in the strangely beautiful juxtapose of natural cavern and master masonry. A wide walkway was banked by pools of inky water and enormous statues of serpents. Ahead of him was the carved face of a bearded man in Assyerian style or was that really what Salazar Slytherin had looked like in his later years?

He slipped back on his glasses, and his gaze was immediately drawn to the blob of bright yellow and pink. Scanning his surroundings briefly, he hurried over to the base of the stone face and found Hermione laying in a shallow pool of water.

“Hermione!”

His hands felt the gentle throb at her throat and the faint puff of warmth from her mouth, feeling the presence of her life even though her blue tinted skin implied the chill of death. A half laugh of relief, and he pulled her lax body to a dryer spot, cast a warming spell, and wrapped his cloak around her. He prodded her gently, trying to waken her but she remained utterly unresponsive but for the faint shivers running through her. A spell or the onset of hypothermia? Either way, he needed to get her to the infirmary fast.

And then there was a sound. A familiar, irritating sound, that in this dark place filled him a horrifying dread.

“Hem, hem.”

Toad Venom

Harry stood and turned slowly. Through his bespelled glasses he could see the yellow and orange form of a stout woman. He may not be able to distinguish her facial features, but that phlegmy cough was unmistakably Dolores Umbridge. The enormous green and yellow body of the basilisk’s cooler body slithered into the chamber soundlessly and came to a stop behind her. It was huge, larger than he had ever considered a serpent to be without being labeled a dragon.

That’s what lives under the school? What was Voldemortthinking?!

“Oh my, this is certainly unexpected,” the toady woman twittered, “Shouldn’t you be in your dorm, Mr. Potter?”

He scowled, more pieces falling into place. The basilisk hadn’t appeared until after Umbridge had been brought to the school, and then it was to guard McNair, a former Death Eater who probably had some knowledge of the Chamber. But how had she managed to glean it from him with the contract in effect? Had McNair been a willing participant or a victim himself?

“Shouldn’t you be dead, Madam?” he replied cooly, indicating the lethal beast behind her.

“Now, young man it’s rude to answer a question with a question, although not nearly as rude as stopping by unannounced. I’m afraid you’ll have to be punished. But first, where is Granger?”

Harry barely caught himself turning right to his friend, now concealed by his cloak and the statue. Apparently, both had arrived just after he’d concealed her.

“I woke her up, and sent her back down the tunnel. She’ll reach Snape and tell him everything. If you hurry, maybe you can escape before Voldemort arrives,” he bluffed.

Umbridge gave a twittery laugh.

“Oh you silly goose, this is why plotting is left to adults. Children are just so short-sighted. The mudblood and the giant grease spot are trapped here, just like you. My pet here will dispatch everyone shortly, and we will sneak out the back way. When the Dark Lord arrives, he’ll find nothing but corpses.”

The basilisk made a pained hiss and shuddered, twitching uncomfortably and nearly bumping into the woman, who inched away with a belied nervousness.

“It hurts!” the masculine hiss cried, “Theysss burned me! I can’t sssee! I can’t sssee! Heal me!”

Umbridge cast a cautious look at her servant, and indeed it appeared the trap spell Snape had laid had done great damage. The head of the serpent was charred black and bits of flesh torn away. Worst of all, however, was the absence of the monster’s greatest weapons. The eyes had either burst from the heat of the explosion or the eyelids melted shut.

No matter. It’s venom and sheer size was lethal enough for one last slaughter before she killed the thing herself. It had been useful, but ultimately she had known she would have to destroy it. Oh, well.

From her fuzzy pink purse she pulled out a device, that to Harry looked like nothing more than a child’s kazoo made of silver. It’s purpose became clear, when Umbridge put it to her mouth and started to speak… in Parseltongue.

“There, there, darling. Soon, I will fix you,” she cajoled,before speaking to Harry again in English. “Really, your arrival is most convenient. I was going to leave you out of this, but when You-Know-Who finds your mutilated corpse he won’t just fire Lestrange, he’ll kill her. Oh, yes, this is most convenient. And then, in a few days, I’ll cleverly uncover the true culprit and kill the basilisk all on my own. He’ll be so pleased he’ll promote me for sure! Headmistress of Hogwarts or even a Court Judge. So many marvelous possibilities, and I have so many plans. Such marvelous, marvelous plans!”

Disgust and anger welled up in Harry, the culmination of months of grief and stress and fear found to be rooted in nothing more than the ambitions of this thing.

“You..,” he growled, “You murdered Sweetey so you could get a better FUCKING JOB?!”

Umbridge rolled her eyes (not that Harry could actually see that).

“Children, honestly! I’m so glad I never had-”

“Petrificus totalis!”

Quick as lightening, Umbridge brought up a shield charm to block the curse and readied one of her own, but Harry had ducked into the open mouth of the statue and into a small antechamber.

“Kill him! He’s the one who hurt you!” he heard Umbridge hiss, and quickly ran deeper inside. The antechamber, unlike the rest of the Chamber, was not cold, but hot and humid, the floor layered with plant debris, old snake skins, and animal bones. The ceiling was lower, making the area seem almost cramped despite being two stories high on its own. The most striking thing Harry noticed was eggs. Two rows of twelve eggs the size of footballs (English version) lined the walls in individual nests, a yellow fairy light hovering just above each. On closer inspection, Harry could see four eggs were missing. So this place held a back-up supply of basilisks? Ugh.

Harry moved to the back of the lair, selecting the narrowest of three tunnels he found there, and ran inside.

“Contraho!” he shouted, flinging out his wand, forcing his magic as strongly as he could. The stone walls groaned and crumbled in protest as they began to contract around the entrance, narrowing it even further. The basilisk head speared through the opening suddenly, its fangs bared as it made to strike its prey. Harry jumped back, but tripped on a stone.

Death, fanged and monstrously snapped… missed, barely, leaving Harry to crawl and stumble away as the basilisk struggled to free itself in the now too narrow tunnel. Now distanced and relatively safe, he tried to reason with it.

“Stop! Stop! I’m not your enemy! I didn’t do this to you! That woman is a liar!”

Yet the snake did not seem to hear or perhaps didn’t care. Thrashing about madly, Muchalinda tried to move forward and then finally backwards where he had more success. He retreated into the antechamber and then through another tunnel, retreating to hunt down its prey through another route.

Harry, meanwhile, cursed. The basilisk had been right there! He could think of half a dozen spells he could have used to destroy it right there, but no he had to reason with it. Arg! Stupid, stupid, stupid!

But he didn’t have time to berate himself. He had left Hermione in the main chamber with Umbridge, and if that giant toad found her Harry didn’t want to think what would happen. He had to get Hermione and get back to Snape somehow. All of them together would be able to fend off Umbridge and her overgrown pet, at least until help arrived. Perhaps if he could even stun Umbridge, what ever spell she had cast on the basilisk would fade and he could convince it to leave them alone?

Casting a Silencing Charm on the nest room and placing the UnSilencing Bell to his ear with his free hand, he cautiously moved back inside and towards the exit. He was only half way to the exit when the basilisk re-emerged from another tunnel, and froze. The snake luckily, had paused as well. It flickered its tongue, tasting the air curiously.

“What hasss it done?” the snake questioned itself, “I can’t sssee or hear itsss now. But ohhh… I can tassste itsss!”

Harry rushed to one side of the nest, crouching behind an egg, hoping it would move on again. If he cast a spell in here and it wasn’t strong enough to instantly kill the basilisk, the inevitable biting and thrashing might kill him instead. The giant monster flickered its tongue repeatedly, gradually turning towards where Harry hid and moving hesitantly forward. Harry moved backwards steadily as he headed towards the narrow chamber again.

The basilisk seemed to sense his plan though, for it suddenly moved swiftly, not towards Harry, but towards the tunnels, blocking each one with its massive body.

Shit. It’s smart.

His only option now was to go the direction he’d been heading in the first place, but if the basilisk rushed him then he’d have no where to go but straight and the hunter was much faster than he was. Nor could he stay where he was with the monster gradually tasting out his location. He’d have to distract it, and then make a run for the nearest available exit.

But how?

Fred let out a pained moan, lifting his hand to his aching head and found it wet.

“George?” he called shakily, sitting up. He was still in the potion’s lab, hidden between two lab stations. The floor was cold, uncomfortable, and smeared with red on grey. He eyed the bloody pool where his head had been and the matching hand print beside it oddly, disconcerted when he couldn’t find anything funny about it. “George?”

“Here,” came an equally weak reply. After a moment, George managed to pull himself up from behind another lab station, a slash across his nose and forehead still leaking. “You okay, Gred?”

Fred blinked, managed a shaky grin and climbed the rest of the way to his feet.

“Fine, Forge. What’s another head injury?”

“Just another personality improvement waiting to happen,” George replied, then tilted dangerously, nearly falling over again. He caught himself and set himself on a stool.

“We can be improved? I don’t believe it.”

Fred moved to sit beside his brother, took a deep breath, and assessed the damage. The class room was almost completely intact, a few over turned stools and their own blood the only signs of a struggle. They themselves seemed to have suffered nothing more than a few nasty blows to the head… as if that wasn’t enough. Their prisoner was long gone.

“Where do you think Rook went?” Fred asked.

“Either to get a teacher to snitch on us or after Harry probably…”

“Do you think Harry’s alright? Do you suppose he found Hermione?”

“… it’s Harry.”

Which was basically another way of saying the young Gryffindor was causing things no one, even his two greatest devotees, could even conceived of happening. George grimaced and climbed back to his feet.

“Come on. We have to get out of here before someone finds us.”

Fred nodded, helping his brother remain steady on his feet while the other took out the Marauder’s Map to search for the best available exit.

“Uh oh…”

“What?”

“Hurry, Fred. We have less than a minute before we find ourselves surrounded by every teacher in Hogwarts.”

Fred let out a curse and dragged his twin to the door.

“Sustineo! Sustineo! Sustineo!”

After almost twenty Support Spells, Snape was feeling both drained and anxious. The tunnel was no longer in danger of collapsing, but the spells had cost both time and energy. Potter had been gone for over fifteen minutes, and he had heard voices and shouting distantly. Had one of them been a scream?

Sweaty and breathing heavily, he turned his attention to the wall of debris, opting to conserve energy with lighter spells in quick succession. He could not panic and waste precious magical energy before the true battle began, even if every second that passed might mean the death of his goddaughter and god- Gryffindork Meal Ticket.

Stupid Meal Ticket.

Umbridge’s pudgy face twisted into something even pudgier, her impatience finally getting to her. She was perfectly assured of her escape, but the basilisk was proving to be a rather poor Guardian. There were three intruders in the Chamber of Secrets, and not one of them was dead yet. She had some time yet before the Headmistress could, if she had even decided to, take down the wards, which Umbridge had re-done to the best of her ability since that night Snape had left her in charge to attend some party. It would have taken at least an hour, forty minutes now, to undue the things. Just the same, she couldn’t have anyone questioning her absence, nor could she leave with Potter alive. Snape knew nothing and the mudblood had been unconscious the entire time, and though she loathed to let them live, killing Potter would be enough to get her what she wanted.

Tom wouldn’t be happy. Potter’s safety had been one of his few stipulations when they’d agreed to this enterprise. Tom had led her to the Chamber, provided her the Parselflute that would allow her to speak and understand Parseltongue, and ordered the basilisk to obey her. In exchange, she would kill Granger and create havoc at the school. When she became Headmistress, he would be given a suitable (if unofficial) position of power, a teaching position of his choosing after he completed college, and be made Deputy Headmaster shortly after.

Too bad for Tom she had no intention of remaining his lackey. He was clever as far as children went, but she was a full grown witch with no intentions of taking orders from one who was barely even old enough to apparate. The evidence of his plots she had left in McNair’s rooms would ensure that neither wizard lived to cause her any more trouble after tomorrow.

First, however, she had to make sure Potter wasn’t around to contradict her story.

On reflection, throwing animal bones at a snake almost twice as large as a dragon, wasn’t one of his brightest ideas. Levitating a score of deer (horse? pig? house elf?) skulls towards the tail end had worked for all of two seconds. After that, it’s tail had lashed out in a swooping arch, covering half the room a few scant inches above the fragile eggs. Harry, unfortunately, hadn’t been on the half of the room the tail didn’t reach. His body knocked heavily into a filthy floor, bones snapping (luckily none of his) without a sound upon impact. He lost his grip on both his wand and the UnSilencing Bell, and they disappeared into the debris.

The wind knocked out of him, he frantically searched the surrounding litter for his wand, but it was already too late. The basilisk, having felt it’s blow connect, struck.

Everything seemed to slow. In the absolute silence of his spell, Harry was able to focus on sight so much more clearly. The snake’s horribly mutilated head, abnormally numerous fangs in a pointed muzzle of a mouth, wove through air and earth as if under water, reminding Harry strongly of a salt water eel.

Monstrous.

I don’t want to die.More importantly, he thought, I don’t want Hermione or Snape or anyone else to die.

The basilisk’s reared up, arching like a swan’s neck, before rushing down to bite him in half. Harry’s hand closed on something hard and slender, and in the rush of adrenaline he didn’t stop to question as he pulled it free of the muck and spun it around to the basilisk.

“Expelliarmus!”

Only to realize it wasn’t his wand at all, but a… sword?

Beneath the caked on dirt and rotted vegetation, it still managed to gleam, unrusted from what may have been centuries of neglect, and though it wasn’t a wand it accepted the up welling of Harry’s magic and sent it out.

The Silencing Charm suddenly broke, an ear-shattering schriek filling the den as the basilisk reared back, blood splashing everything as it waved it’s head back and forth in pain. The splash of liquid to his face woke Harry from his momentary surprise, and sent him scurrying to find his wand. The sword in his hand began to glow as more dirt was shaken free and in moments Harry found what he was looking for. He dashed for narrow tunnel, barely avoiding being creamed twice by the basilisk’s furiously lashing tail.

Sword and wand in either hand, he followed the tunnel, turning down smaller tunnels whenever he thought they might lead back towards the main chamber. He was lost within minutes. Most the of the tunnels seemed to lead back to themselves or else identical to each other, while others opened up into other chambers. In one such chamber, he found a library. In another a collection of weapons (none of which appealed to him more than the one he already had). Still another held nothing more than a large mirror and… Myrtle?

It wasn’t until ten minutes of pointless, frantic wandering did he even think to use his watch-compass. Even then, it took another ten to find his way back to the main chamber, opening up abruptly to dump him into a shallow pool. He tripped and floundered stupidly in ankle deep water for a moment, before pulling himself onto the dry…well, drier… walkway and just lay there. Exhausted.

Umbridge was no where in sight.

Had she left, thinking the basilisk would do its thing? Or was she searching for him? Or Snape and Hermione perhaps? Was she hiding in the shadows even now? What had happened to the basilisk anyway?

He didn’t know and he didn’t want to find out any of these things. Regardless of the answers he couldn’t just stand around. After a moment to catch his breath, he rolled to his feet and made his way back towards where he had hid Hermione. She was still there, still unconscious, though not quite as pale.

“Ah, there she is. Very clever, Mr. Potter.”

Not again.

He spun around, a Freeze Hex on the tip of his tongue, but she beat him to it. He didn’t hear the spell she cast, but both his sword and his wand flew out of his hands while he himself was thrown in another direction. He landed at an angle, sliding across the slick floor and half way into one of the bottomless pool. His glasses fell away and sank to the bottom. He managed to pull himself out, but now he was freezing cold, unarmed, and almost blind in the dim light of the chamber. Still, he was able to make out a vague pink blur he assumed to be Umbridge.

She let out an exasperated sigh.

“I really didn’t want to cast anything on you, Potter. Spells can be traced after all. Oh well, I suppose I’ll just let the basilisk eat you. HE’S HERE! COME AND GET HIM!”

And it did come, fast and angry through one of the passages directly behind Umbridge… putting the toady woman right in his path. Too late to consider the basilisk’s blindness and rage, she hadn’t so much as gasped when it’s massive body rushed past her, knocking her into a pool.

Harry heard her splashing and screaming, but any dark joy he might have taken from her predicament was overshadowed by the basilisk’s blind attacks, venom filled mouth snapping wildly at the air and quickly moving towards him. If there was any nearby escape, he was too blind to see it and the snake too fast. His one option lay in fighting, however impossible the odds, but he needed a weapon!

“COME!” he cried, hand reaching out into the darkness.

The basilisk heard, sliding into a pool and swimming directly for him, reaching him within moments. For a second time it poised for its strike, yet again Harry found the sword grasped firmly in his hand. More ready, Harry did more than simply swing the sword wildly, but sprang up, catching the basilisk under its throat and using its own momentum to drive it clean into its brain.

The snake, killed instantly, curled and thrashed in a death spasm, pulling Harry into the water yet again. Panicked, he gripped his sword and pulled it from the convulsing body, stabbing it again and again, shoving himself away from it even as it continued to drag him deeper and deeper. His panicked scream came out as nothing but a gurgling release of bubbles.

Darkness was everywhere, and even as he finally pulled himself free he became disoriented. Six ways to swim and only one was the right way. He swam in a random direction, hoping against hope it was the right one. The sword was still in his hand. It glowed in the darkness, yet there was nothing to illuminate.

Pressure and the need to breath finally forced his mouth open, releasing the last of the air in his lung and water rushed in. He convulsed once, twice, then even the light from his sword began to fade…

Harry let out a startled gasp, eyes flying open and wincing close again. The darkness was gone, though he was still wet and cold. Above him, the blurry outline of Snape loomed.

“Pro-” he tried, only to twist away an vomit up water.

“Don’t speak, Potter, you’ve just woken from drowning,” the potion’s master said, irritation clear in his voice.

Sorry mydyinginconveniences you, Professor.

“Her-Hermione,” he managed between coughs, pointing a shaking hand towards the statue where he had hidden her. Snape left him for a moment, then returned.

“She’s fine. Lets get out of here, then I can punish you from the comfort of my office.”

Harry wanted to protest, but what was the point now? He was right, they needed to get out of this place. While Snape gathered up his unconscious goddaughter, Harry stumbled about the cavern in search of his wand. Luckily, it managed to stay on dry land and in plain view (which meant Harry practically tripped over it before finding it). He managed to summon his glasses from the pool that had nearly drowned him, but was too magically and physically exhausted for much of anything else. He found the sword, once again, resting near where he had been laying. How had it gotten there?

“You were clutching it when I pulled you from the water,” Snape said, eyeing Harry and the sword intensely, a thousand questions running through his head. The basilisk was dead, and if Harry’s wand had been on the other side of the chamber that meant…

How utterly preposterous… and yet.

“Where did you find it?”

Harry turned to him, so utterly pale after everything, green eyes enormous with images Snape couldn’t even begin to imagine.

“In its nest.”

A shiver ran down Snape’s back at the mere implications.

“Bring it then. The Dark Lord will wish to examine it.”

“Where’s Umbridge?” Harry asked, the woman’s absence finally wheedling in past the shock. Snape paused, absorbing the revelation.

“She… is not here. She was the one controlling the basilisk?”

“She wanted to kill Hermione and you, and then kill the basilisk so she could be Headmistress… or something. She was crazy.”

Nothing else was said. The fear and horror of the last hour was over, and everything fell back into a semblance of disjointed normalcy. Snape, albeit with an unconscious girl in his arms, was once again a cold and unreadable bastard. Harry got into trouble and was now followed obediently towards inevitable punishment. The grand and mysterious tunnels and chambers of the Salazar Slytherin’s secret lair gave way to the grand and more familiar halls of the dungeons.

“Harry! Severus!”

Professor McGonagall was there to greet them the moment they appeared from the girl’s lavatory, for once on at a loss on who to check over first; a conscious but battered Harry or an unconscious Hermione with unknown injuries. Flitwick, Toure, McNair, and pretty much the entire teaching staff were there as well, though none quite as quick as her. Snape didn’t seem prepared to hand over the girl, so she turned to Harry.

“Harry, are you alright? You’re bleeding,” she said, brushing lighlty against a cut on his forehead. The boy looked at her oddly for a moment, before bursting out laughing.

“You… you…” he laughed, “…should see the… other guy.”

Harry’s laughter faded into brief hysterical giggles before dying altogether, leaving the boy looking haunted. There was a tense silence as everyone regarded him with varying degrees of alarm.

“He’s gone nutty,” McNair snorted.

“But not deaf, you fucktard!” Harry snarled, jabbing his sword in McNair’s general direction. Everyone leapt away in surprise, except for Snape.

“I believe Mr. Potter has had a bad day and requires a nap… followed by a good spanking. Potter! Give Professor McGonagall the sword.”

Harry reluctantly did so, offering what he hoped was an apologetic look. He followed after Snape, who led the procession (sans Flitwick and Vector who were left to guard the girl’s lavatory and McNair and Toure who were sent to search from Umbridge in the Forbidden Forest) to the infirmary, where he dismissed all the teachers except McGonagall.

Hermione was quickly settled, although Snape opted not to awaken her until later. She had probably been unconscious since her kidnaping, and why awaken her to a unstable situation? It was kinder to let her sleep for the time being.

Potter was another matter altogether.

Pomfrey quickly had him striped of his wet clothes, dried, and in hospital pajamas within a minute. Yet it was still long enough to glimpse the enormous bruises on Harry’s back, side, arms, knees. There was only a few small cuts on his hands and face, but the there were bruises there as well, some of them turning dark purple already. It must have been a fiercer battle than Snape had originally thought.

The medi-witch gave Harry a couple of potions, including a Calming Draught when he kept flinching at her touch, a salve to help with the bruises, and one for pain. She cast a few more diagnostic spells to check for internal bleeding and a concussion, then settled him into bed to rest. The Gryffindor remained awake, however, staring blankly across the other side of the room at Hermione and the petrified Collin Creevey.

After she was done, Poppy was quick to pull both Snape and McGonagall behind a privacy screen. Her expression was uncharacteristically brutal.

“Far be it from me to question the ’why’s and ’how’s of what brings patients to my door, but this… this is madness. Potter looks like he’s been fighting Bludgers without a stick in the middle of a lake.”

Snape raised an amused brow.

“What a fascinating image you’ve conjured, Madam. How are they?”

“Miss Granger is perfectly healthy, if a bit chilled. A simple Enerviate Spell should awaken her, otherwise she’ll come around herself in a couple of hours. Mr. Potter, however… he’ll recover. There wasn’t any serious damage, although the water in his lungs concerns me.”

“He did drown,” Snape offered, “but I managed to resuscitate him. I’m not entirely sure how long he was in the water, but it was long enough for his heart to stop.”

“Oh Merlin,” McGonagall gasped. Pomfrey took a deep breath.

“Which brings me to what really concerns me. I don’t know what happened to him, but he’s clearly traumatized. Shock is the least of it, though I don’t fancy the fall out when it’s worn off. I want you both watching him closely once he returns to classes, perhaps asking his friends if he’s sleeping properly or appears depressed or easily angered.”

“Do you think it’s really that bad?” McGonagall asked.

“Harry has experience dealing with these sorts of situations. You remember he was kidnaped last year and suffered no after affects,” Snape said, always skeptical when it came to the medi-witch’s fussiness.

“No way to know right now, but… just watch him. He’ll need to talk to someone about what happened eventually.”

“Sooner than he might like,” Snape said, “The Dark Lord will be here any minutes, if he isn’t already.”

Pomfrey scowled, and shook her head.

“No, absolutely not. He’s in no state to have an interview with… him. The shock hasn’t even worn off. Do you want him to be around You-Know-Who when it does?!”

“That… isn’t up to any of us.”

The evil scowls that earned him was enough to tell him exactly what the two witches thought of that little bit of truth.

Umbridge huffed and wheezed and shivered as she stumbled out of the back exit of the Chamber of Secrets, little more than big, dirty hole in the ground, and into the Forbidden Forest. A savage bitter wind lashed at her, and though she had spelled herself dry and warm, it gnawed at her like a living thing.

She didn’t have time to wallow in her own suffering though. She had to escape and quickly. Potter was dead, she believed, but then so was the basilisk. But Snape and Granger lived, and Potter’s body was still intact when she’d seen Snape drag it from the water. It would only take a few quick spells to find the magical signature she had left on him with her Disarming Spell. She had two hours at the most to get out of England before Voldemort sent his Sentinels after her.

Oh, what an utter flop this all had been. If it hadn’t been for Tom being so bloody insistent about killing that stupid mudblood, than her stupid friend Potter wouldn’t have shown up and mucked it all up. She was going to make him pay for that. She was going to make allof them pay.

First, she had to escape though.

She waddled through the dense vegetation, fighting against barren branches that gripped at her hair and clothes like skeletal hands. She batted them away, but still they seemed to reach for her. Alarmed she moving faster, ignoring the scratches and the tufts of hair she lost, knowing all she had to do was get out. She had come this way before, at least a dozen times, yet there had never seemed to be so many obstacles.

Angrily, she lifted her wand, intent to cut and burn away all that blocked her path. The ground rose up violently beneath causing her to lose her balance and her wand, and she would have fallen had those skeletal wooden limbs not suddenly grabbed hold of her and lifted her, dragging her up off the ground and into the trees.

Letting out a terrified shriek, she struggled, but all for nothing as she found herself suddenly high above the ground and right before one Thomas Matthew Rook. The Slytherin Fifth Year glared at her imperiously from a throne transfigured from the limbs of the tree that was currently holding her captive. He was as immaculate and dignified as always, the bitter wind and savage shrubbery not displacing so much as hair.

“You disappoint me, Madam,” Tom drawled. “I would have thought you could kill one little mudblood before I disposed of you, but I see I’ve overestimated you. I suppose I can only blame myself. I should have gone to McNair. At least he was wizard enough to attend Hogwarts, unlike you…”

Umbridges face contorted in rage, but it didn’t last long as he flicked his wand and she found herself plummeting to the ground. She hit heavily and something broke. Maybe everything as she choked on her own blood, the pain too excruciating to even roll over.

Tom dropped before her with the grace of bird.

“I had two very simple rules for you to follow, Madam, of which you’ve obeyed neither. First, you’ve disregarded my order that I should never be implicated in these acts by leaving the original Parselflute I gave you in McNair’s room, while you used a copy you made yourself. Did you really think I wouldn’t have means to keep track of such things? It’s a family heirloom after all.”

A flicker of his wand and she was sailing through air and face first into a tree. She must have been knocked unconscious, because a unpleasant rejuvenation spell brought her around choking on her own broken teeth as well as her blood. Tom continued as if he had never paused.

“Then, you make the unforgivable mistake of trying to kill Harry. He still lives only because my Suspension Spell preserved his body long enough for Snape to rescue him. A Stunning Hex would have been sufficient to keep him out of the way, but no… you had to be ambitious.”

Now, Tom didn’t even bother with his wand, but kicked her with own foot repeatedly, crushing her already broken bones as she could only lay there and wail in pain and horror. Then he stopped abruptly, lifted his head listen, and then grinned to himself.

“Ah, they’re here. I’ve invited some friends to keep you company, Madam. It took some convincing to get them to come out of hibernation, but when I mentioned how you had released the basilisk into their forest, they became rather… eager to meet you.”

He chuckled darkly, gliding away silently into the darkness. Before he was gone completely, he called out one last time.

“Send Aragog my regards, Madam.”

He was gone, and the worse of her nightmare seemed to have departed, leaving her to slip into death at last.

But then the sound of thousands of little feet on dried leaves filtered into her ears…

Harry didn’t sleep at all, even after everyone had left. Instead, he crawled out of his bed and sat beside Hermione, watching her sleep peacefully. It had been a close call today, for the both of them. Had Umbridge merely decided to kill Hermione instead of knocking her unconscious this all would have been for nothing, and even if he had lived he would have lost the most important person in the world to him… again.

But he had saved her. Saved her as he hadn’t been able to save his parents, and they would both go on being friends until they were both old and grey and senile. So why was he crying now? Why wouldn’t the tears stop? She was fine, she was fine, they were both fine.

Why was he still so afraid she would die?

Voldemort did not immediately summon Harry when he arrived at the school. He was sorely tempted, but Snape was strangely insistent that the child be left alone until the end of his investigation. The Dark Lord was tempted to throttle Snape then and there, but relented when the potion’s master mentioned the drowning and resuscitation. His protégé deserved a little time to compose himself after that.

But only a little.

The subsequent ‘Tour of Destruction’ Bella and Severus led him through was interesting enough. The teachers had been busily returning order to the school, informing the students that Collin Creevey and Hermione Granger had accidently released a pair of boggarts from one of Professor McNair’s supply closets. Believing they were being chased by monsters, the second years panicked and ran. Creevey was said to have fallen down a flight of stairs and Granger had ducked into a secret passage and become lost. The students had been returned to their rooms so the teachers could round up the boggarts and find her.

A clever enough story, and one that both children would be able to verify with a little legilimency and memory alteration. Let it not be said that Bella lacked imagination.

She had wanted to alter Harry’s memories as well, but Voldemort wasn’t ready to commit to that course until he saw the boy himself. What Harry had achieved was… miraculous. Stupid, reckless, and suicidal, but still an amazing feat. He had toured the Chamber alone with Snape as the man recounted what he had seen and what he suspected happened. The basilisk’s bloated body now floated in the pool that Harry had been drowned in, and he had it levitated onto the walkway to better examine it. The head was badly damaged by Snape’s exploding trap, but it was clear the killing blow had come from the deep puncture wound under the snake’s throat. There were other sword wounds as well, on the snout and side of the body, signs of Harry’s desperate struggle to escape.

He left Snape to gather venom to make an antidote for the petrified students while he checked the rest of the Chamber. The lair remained mostly untouched accept for the Nesting Room, where six eggs had been crushed and were now leaking yoke and partially developed snake fetuses onto the littered floor. Voldemort felt a pang of loss. Basilisks were the rarest of the rare nowadays, and if any others existed outside of the refuge Salazar had made for them he had never heard of them. Such magnificent creatures deserved better.

When Voldemort and Snape returned to the upper levels of the castle, Chief Sentinel Morgan was there to inform them they had found Umbridge. Dead. Eaten by acumantulas no less. They assumed that’s how she died. It was hard to say. She’d been liquified from the inside out, after all. The only thing they had found intact was her purse, containing an imitation Parselflute.

It was an ironically fitting end, yet very suspicious. Few people even heard of Parselflutes, let alone had the means to create one from scratch. How had she found the Chamber and how had the idea come to her? Then the acrumantula themselves should have been hibernating. Had someone woken them?

McNair was arrested on Voldemort’s orders. Umbridge had been sent to guard the man, and as often as they had been stuck together it seemed inconceivable that he wasn’t aware of at least some of her activities. Voldemort had an alternative suspect, of course, but McNair’s arrest served as a convenient excuse to be rid of the incompetent Dark Art’s professor. He had screamed bloody revenge, which was the only amusing thing the Dark Lord found about the situation.

Finally, after the initial reports had been given, Voldemort retired to his private office with the Headmistress and Deputy Headmaster. The sword Harry had used to kill Muchalinda was sitting on his desk, waiting for his expert examination, but he ignored it for the time being in favor of examining his minions.

“We were lucky. Very, very lucky,” Voldemort said evenly, the underlying edge in his voice causing both Snape and Lestrange to tense. “All your careful planning would have been for nothing if not for the meddling of one precocious child.”

Lestrange was quick to find blame. Snape had been the one to leave Umbridge in charge that night, making it possible for her to fiddle with the wards and let the basilisk back inside, and had also left Harry unsupervised outside her office.

“My Lord-”

All of her accusations were silenced by an angry hiss from the Dark Lord, his eyes flashing crimson.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” he snarled, stalking to the other side of his desk and throwing himself into his chair. “I don’t care who you think is to blame. I know where fault lays.”

They waited tensely for him to elaborate, but he let them mentally squirm for several moments while he sorted through his desk for appropriate forms and a quill. Finally, he spoke again.

“It was I who hired her. I knew from the beginning she was not to be trusted around children, but assumed the promise of a rise in status would keep her on her best behavior. Apparently her best behavior is that of a pack-stabbing, homicidal bitch. I should have known better. Her service during the war in Ireland was… telling.”

Snape and Lestrange were stunned silent (not that they had much to say in the first place accept perhaps ‘please don’t kill me’). The Dark Lord ignored them as he filled out some of the paperwork, looked it over, and then handed a set of it to each of them.

“I want a full unbias report of what happened by tomorrow night. You may not see or contact one another before then. For both your sakes I recommend complete honesty. Any inconsistencies I find will be thoroughly investigated. Bella, you need to hire a replacement Dark Art’s professor for the rest of the semester. Will the one you hired for next year be ready?”

Lestrange mentally scrambled for a reply, disconcerted almost beyond reasoning by all that had happened and was happening.

“Ah… yes, I mean no. She still has to complete a contract with some real estate company as a curse breaker until July, but I could probably convince Quirrell to return for the remainder of the semester.”

Voldemort nodded.

“Severus I will leave you in charge of brewing the antidote and casting the memory charms on the Gryffindors. I expect you to be thorough.”

Snape merely nodded, cringing at the combined task. Memory charms were a tricky affair, and exhausting to the caster. To perform three (possibly four if Harry was included) of them in a row was in no way appealing. The antidote would be challenging as well. It was etter than the Pain Curse, at least.

“Good, I expect everything to be wrapped by the end of the week then. The whole affair has been a nuisance, and I want nothing more than to wipe my hands clean of it.”

Just as the Dark Lord seemed prepared to send them away, possibly after a couple of hexings, someone activated the ward requesting entrance. A crystal ball of dark green that appeared as nothing more than a paperweight began to glow and a name floated across its surface. Voldemort frowned curiously.

“Enter,” he commanded.

A figure moved through the wall, cloaked from head to toe in grey fur which was gradually turning colors to match the surrounding decor. It moved slowly and deliberately towards the Dark Lord’s desk and stopped between Snape and a confused Lestrange.

“Harry, why aren’t you resting in the infirmary?” Voldemort asked, half curiosity, half irritation. “Does the medi-witch even know where you are?”

“I left a note,” he said, pulling back his hood.

“Potter,” Lestrange growled, wanting nothing more than to throttle the boy who had humiliated her by succeeding where she had failed. If it hadn’t been for him, even if Umbridge had succeeded, she was certain of her ability to salvage the situation. The death of Severus and the mudblood was hardly a loss to her. His eyes flashed towards her like a Killing Curse, brilliant green and full of hatred. She stepped back, startled.

He had not forgotten or forgiven her for abandoning Hermione for dead.

“Harry.”

The boy’s eyes softened as they turned back to the Dark Lord, who was regarding him with unusual patience.

“What are you doing here, Harry?” he hissed in Parseltongue.

“I… I don’t know. I just figured… I didn’t want to wait for you to summon me.”

Voldemort stared intently into Harry’s wide green eyes. They were puffy, likely from crying, bruised, and haunted. Why was the child so sad? Had he not come out victorious? Was he afraid of his punishment for his foolish adventure? Was he afraid the Dark Lord would be angry with him?

Harry had good reason to be afraid. Voldemort had wanted nothing more than to take a pound of flesh after hearing the initial report from Snape of Harry’s escape from his dorm and then into the dungeons.

But such a thing seemed superfluous now. The child had been hurt, had died, and certainly been frightened enough during his battle. He was weak now. Punishing him could break him, and that wasn’t what Voldemort wanted. Obedience would have to be a lesson for another time.

“I understand,” he hissed softly, then turned to the others. “I will look after Mr. Potter, and return him to the infirmary later. You are dismissed.”

Snape and Lestrange turned to leave, but Harry grabbed the potion’s master’s sleeve as he walked past. Snape looked down in surprise at the intent expression on Harry’s face, which so reminded him of someone else from long ago. Someone who had not been James Potter.

“Thank you, Professor,” the boy began, “for coming after us. For… saving my life.”

Snape said nothing, merely stared back until Harry looked away nervously and down at his shoes. The potion’s master smirked.

“I wouldn’t thank me yet, Potter. I haven’t told you about your detentions. Your many, many detentions.”

Harry grimaced, and Snape fought the urge to laugh evilly. Ah, well. After the Dark Lord left. In the meantime, he tugged his sleeve free and stalked past Lestrange, feeling inordinately please all of a sudden. He adjusted his route towards the infirmary to see Hermione, suddenly feeling content.

Really, things could only get better from here. No one had been permanently hurt, except of course Umbridge (and really who cared?), the basilisk was dead, he had gotten away without any harm done to his person, Lestrange was no doubt going to throw herself into conniptions, and he had months of Potter torment to look forward to.

Yes, this was starting out as a fabulous beginning to a new year.

Alone together, Harry and Voldemort wasted little time. The Dark Lord summoned some hot tea for the boy and moved him to the couch, while he sat in the chair across from him. He didn’t even have to prompt the boy to start talking, he was already desperate to be out with the story.

“I didn’t think I’d find her alive,” he said at one point, “Giant snakes don’t take hostages, so how could she be alive? I had to try though. She’s like a sister to me.”

There had been a long moment of silence, the haunted look in Harry’s eyes deepening into barely suppressed horror, before he chased what ever mental image or memory he was imagining with a gulp of hot tea.

Voldemort asked no questions, nor did he demand Harry look into his eyes while the story unfolded. This was a confession, more than anything, and the Dark Lord had no reason to doubt the boy’s words. There were gaps of course, perhaps to conceal some fellow student’s assistance in his escape from his dorm or some secret method used to reach the dungeons faster than his professors, but nothing Voldemort found particularly significant.

“… and then I cast a Disarming Spell, but it wasn’t my wand at all. It was a sword.”

Here, Harry paused to look over at the weapon laying docilely on the desk. McGonagall must have cleaned it off for it shown sparkling silver with rubies the size of eggs embedded in the hilt.

“Where do you think it came from? I mean, it has to be magical since it didn’t rust in that place, but why hide it there?”

Voldemort wondered that himself, and stood up to see if he might gather some clues. Yet when he reached out to touch it, it sparked violently, singeing his fingers.

“My Lord!” Harry gasped in alarm

“I’m fine. There’s a curse on this sword, a mild one. You say you touched this without harm?”

“Yes. So did McGonagall. I handed it to her in the dungeons.”

“Come here and see if you can still touch it.”

Harry, reluctantly, did as commanded. Nothing happened.

“It must not like you,” Harry said, earning him an annoyed look. Voldemort studied it closely in the child’s hands, though he didn’t try to touch it again. Just below the hilt of the sword a name was engraved that he hadn’t noticed before.

‘Godric Gryffindor’.

“Merlin,” Voldemort breathed out, reached out to take the sword again, but quickly stopped himself. “I don’t believe it.”

“What? You recognize it?”

Voldemort smirked.

“Recognize it? Oh yes, it is a very precious item. This is the Sword of Gryffindor, owned by Godric Gryffindor, one of the four founders of Hogwarts. It’s been lost for centuries.”

Harry blinked in disbelief down at his prize.

“Well… I don’t suppose anyone would go looking for it in a basilisk nest…”

“Unless, they’re a Gryffindor, of course,” Voldemort said, chuckling at the irony. Oh, this was deliciously unexpected. Well worth the destroyed basilisk eggs. And his Harry had found it, or it had found Harry as the case may be.

“What should I do with it?”

Voldemort smiled.

“There are no heirs of Gryffindor, so it would be best to keep it in the school. The Headmistress’ office holds quite the display of Founder’s artifacts. It will be safe there.”

Harry frowned at the thought of handing the beautiful sword over to that woman. Voldemort caught his irritated look.

“The Sword will always belong to Hogwarts, not the Headmistress.”

“Yeah…” Harry conceded, reluctantly.

“If it’s any consolation, I doubt it will like Bella any more than it likes me.”

The Gryffindor smirked. That was, in fact, a very good consolation.

They marveled over the sword for a bit longer, Voldemort providing more history and legends about the sword and then theories about how it may have ended up in the basilisk’s nest (although he never mention his other suspicion that it had sought Harry out specifically). The haunted look receded from Harry’s eyes, to be replaced by wonder and curiosity. The boy’s pale complexion even managed a blush when Voldemort suggested a portrait be painted to commemorate Harry’s defeat of the basilisk.

In fact, though Voldemort only mentioned it to illicit such a response, it was a good idea. Such an adventure that had transpired below the dungeons was the stuff of legends, and a significant event in the history of Hogwarts. Even if Voldemort had to wait a hundred years before he allowed anyone to know the truth of what had happened, he thought it prudent to record it all while the memory was still fresh. The Dark Lord quickly switched topics, setting aside but not forgetting the idea.

After that, Harry’s story became a bit more lively. The running and the fighting came out in quick excited descriptions with the occasional gesture to demonstrate how he’d maneuver the sword or when he’d lost his wand yet again. He grew quiet again when he recalled his drowning, and Voldemort fell into his silence as well. This was not a part of the story he particularly cared for, the possibility of Harry’s destruction so very close it seemed inescapable, and yet the child rose triumphant with the aid of his own personal guardian, returning from the lair of the monster with the fair princess in hand.

Oh yes, this would all make a marvelous addition to ‘Hogwarts a History’. Normally when this sort of thing happened, everybody tended to die or be maimed horribly.

But one should expect greater things from a true prince..

Epilogue

Hermione looked exhausted when Harry visited her two days after her hospitalization. The stark white of her hospital pajamas made the shadows under her eyes more vivid. That was suspicious in the young parselmouth’s opinion, as she could have been released the same day as her abduction but had been held much longer to ‘rest’ without visitors, except for Narcissa Malfoy.

He had passed the aristocrat in the halls after another failed attempt to see Hermione, and she had stopped him for a few moments. She hadn’t said a word, merely pulled him aside gently with a touch to his shoulder. Her expression was neutral, but her eyes were intense when they looked down at him. For the life of him, he couldn’t unravel the knot of emotions behind her gaze, but the soft touch on his cheek seemed to convey a sort of gratitude she would not or could not speak.

“I don’t know why I’m so tired,” Hermione groused, frustrated to have been separated not only from classes but the newspaper as well. She didn’t voice her complaints directly, believing her stay practical and therefore beyond reproach, but the lack of mental stimulus didn’t sit well with her.

“You’re probably just bored,” Harry offered, though he didn’t believe it himself. “They’ll release you tonight or tomorrow for sure. I heard Angelina and Colin will be back in class by third period.”

“Oh, that’s good,” she said, curiosity peaked, “I’m surprised about Angelina though. I thought she wouldn’t be back until next April. Did they find some acumantula anti-venom somewhere?”

Harry frowned.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know, the anti-venom?” she said slowly, as if it would make sense if he thought it through. He tried, but unless she was speaking in euphemisms (and it didn’t sound like she was), he had no idea what she meant. “To cure the acrumantula bite?”

Harry could only stare, until a sudden feeling of dread passed over him.

“Hermione… what do you remember about your attack?”

She huffed and rolled her eyes, impatience clear in her every gesture.

“Harry can me talk about that later? I’ve had to explain it over a dozen times already, and I’m going to have to explain it a hundred more times to the rest of school when I get out of here. Can we just wait until all of our friends are together? It’s not that interesting a story anyway.”

Not wanting to provoke her while she was already in a mood, he approached from a different angle.

“… I don’t know. I’ve never seen a boggart before.”

She shrugged.

“Lucky you. I thought poltergeists were bad, but that was ten times worse. I’m never going to be able to open a cupboard again without flinching… Harry, are you all right? Did I say something wrong?”

Her friend’s expression was suddenly tight, almost pained. He shook his head.

“No, it isn’t you. I skipped an appointment and now my watch is burning a hole in my pocket. Sorry, I have to go. I’ll see you later.”

He was up and out the door before she could even form a possible theory for his abrupt departure, and minutes later she could still think of nothing. Perhaps, indeed, he was running late for an appointment. After all, she couldn’t imagine what she might have said to upset him.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard the story of the boggarts before.

Harry’s entrance into the potion’s lab was loud and melodramatic, and thus rather irritating to the already irritated potion’s master. Snape had just finished up a rather abysmal session with his fifth year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, who were still recovering from their holiday sloth and sifting through vials filled with varying shades of red (and in one instance purple, stupid Hufflepuff), when the cheeky little bugger slammed open his door.

“What did you do to Hermione?!” the Gryffindor demanded.

Snape cast him a reproving glare, taking in the boy’s ruffled and sweaty appearance. He must have run from the infirmary all the way down to the dungeons.

“Ten points from Gryffindor for disrespecting a teacher and another ten points for running in the halls,” Snape said smoothly, returning his attention to the vials, tossing half of them in basket he reserved for automatic ’Troll’s.

“What did you do?” Harry hissed, lower and more threatening and in Snape’s opinion rather silly. Basilisk slaying aside, the twelve year old had a long way to go before he could intimidate him. He smirked at the child, his eyes fierce in the gloom of his own lair. Predictably, the Gryffindor lost some of his nerve and stepped back a fraction. The door behind Harry slammed shut, startling him badly.

“I did as I was ordered to do, and more importantly, what needed to be done. After you signed that contract to ensure your silence, did you believe anyone else might be spared that precaution? I dare say Hermione got off easier than you. ‘Ignorance is bliss’ as the saying goes.”

Harry grit his teeth, biting back his initial impulse to swear horrid things at the man.

“She has a right to know the truth. She almost died.”

“And how, precisely, Mr. Potter, do you suppose knowing that would help her in any way? Would the death-that-almost-was ease her heart, clear her thoughts, thrill her? Did your brushes with death leave you a better person? Or is it that you wish her to know that you saved her? Her brave prince come to her rescue. And here I thought your mother’s influence had smothered that Potter conceit.”

“You’re a fine one to talk! Screwing around with our memories and our free will for ‘our own good’! What a load of swill. You did it because it got you and yours off the hook!”

Snape glared pointedly at Harry, then checked his watch.

“Your first punishment wasn’t suppose to be until after dinner, but since you’re here already, why don’t we get started. Expelliarmus!”

Harry’s wand flew from his grasp and straight to Snape, who snatched it out of the air and locked it in a desk drawer in one smooth motion. The young Gryffindor had only a moment to realize the trouble he had landed himself in, before the potion’s master was stalking towards him. He retreated instinctively, but soon found himself trapped at the door. Snape loomed over him, his expression cold and menacing.

“Mr. Potter, despite your precocious behavior, you are twelve, not thirty two or even twenty two. Twelve. A child only. You lack both the experience and the understanding to accept full responsibility over yourself and your actions. If you did, you would have obeyed me when I told you to remain outside the Headmistress’ office.”

“You were going to let Hermione die!” Harry snarled angrily.

“I would have done nothing of the sort!”

Snape flicked his wand at the chalk board and two large red circles appeared about two feet from each other.

“I would have found and rescued my goddaughter without your meddling, regardless of the Headmistress’ orders. Instead, I was forced to pursue you without a true plan or additional assistance. Take off your robe and your shirt, and place your hands on the circles.”

“What?”

Harry cringed, his anger fleeing in the face of Snape’s unexpected wraith. In his own self-righteous indignation it hadn’t occurred to the boy that his accusations would be met with any sort of retaliation. Before his horrified eyes, he watched Snape transfigure his wand into a bamboo cane.

“I promised you a beating, Mr. Potter. Don’t you recall? I certainly haven’t forgotten. I believe ten lashes should be adequate. Unless you wish to dally, I can always had another five or ten.”

“I saved Hermione!” he objected. Snape wasn’t impressed.

“You died, Mr. Potter. If I had been as apathetic as you had believed or even a mere minute or two late, you would still be dead and so might Hermione. Undress. Hands on the circles. Now.”

There was no talking Snape out of his course, and though Harry felt no regret for his actions he had no choice but to accept punishment for them. With trembling fingers, he unhooked his school robe, his vest, and the white dress shirt underneath, folded them roughly and set them on a lab station. His trembling turned to real shivers as the chill of the dungeon air seeped into his dampening skin. With one last hate fill glare at Snape, he placed his hands on the circles. The potion’s master moved behind him.

“Despite what you may believe, I’m not doing this out of vindictiveness,” Snape said coolly. Harry snorted, and scowled at his hands. “I appreciate what you tried to do for my goddaughter, but she was not your responsibility. You had no right to risk your life for hers.”

Harry twisted back to snap about his right to decide what do with his own life, but the cane came down with a harsh crack, the sudden burning pain robbing him of his words. He faltered, instinctively jerking away, but his hands would not come free of the red spots and he could neither retreat nor turn around. A second strike landed higher up his back brought out a startled yelp.

“Potter, hold still. Retain a little dignity.”

“Why are you doing this? I don’t get it! I don’t understand!” he cried, struggling to get free.

A hand grabbed him harshly by the back of the neck, stilling him instantly. Inexplicably, he was reminded of Voldemort and his random piques of temper.

“Hold still. When we are done I will try and explain it in a way any simpleton or a Gryffindor, which ever is dumber, might understand.”

The painful hold on his neck withdrew, and despite his renewed range of movement, Harry held himself still and tense. He didn’t have to wait long as the third strike landed, followed shortly by another and another. Gritting his teeth, he bore it as stoically as he could, holding his breath lest his choking sobs break free.

It was over faster than he would have thought, and his hands were suddenly free. He leaned heavily on the chalk board, the pain now secondary to a sudden weakness and nausea. Gently, he reached behind himself to touch his back, expecting to feel blood but found only bruises in the making. Snape moved towards him, and he scrambled away quickly

The bamboo cane was gone, his wand out of sight, and in its place he held out Harry’s shirt. The boy eyed him suspiciously for a moment before snatching it out of his hand. His back throbbed at the sudden movement, and protested when he lifted his arms to redress himself, but like hell he was going to ask Snape to help him.

The potion’s master watched Harry critically, determining how well this round of discipline had gone. Not well it seemed. Far from contrite, the child was angry now, perhaps angrier than he had been when he had first arrived. He let the child redress in silence and ignored the less than subtle swipe of sleeve under his glasses.

“Are you calm?”

The glare Harry gave him could have melted stone, but Snape continued anyway.

“Rules are made for a reason, Mr. Potter, as are my commands. We sent the students to their dorms for their safety, and I had you wait in the corridor for your safety. You disobeyed me, and you died. Do you understand that, Mr. Potter? Have you any concept of what that means, to be dead? You seem to think that means you got a little bump on the head and were knocked unconscious, but that isn’t what happened. You stopped breathing. Your heart stopped. Your spirit was slowly lifting out of your body to be lost forever.”

Harry swallowed. He knew that, all of it. He knew it but he couldn’t think about that. How could anyone expect him to sit through classes or laugh with his friends or just live in general with the knowledge that he had been dead?

“Things may have turned out for the better in this instance, but don’t you dare think such reckless behavior is always rewarded by fate. It will never be rewarded by me. If you ever find yourself in a position to disobey a rule or command laid down with the interest of your or anyone else’s safety in mind, I want you to remember what happened just now, and know that I will double the number of lashes for every time this lesson must be repeated. Is that understood?”

Harry, a bit more contrite now, nodded. Snape glared.

“Is that understood?”

“Y-yes, Sir.”

“Then you may go for now. You have another detention this Saturday at eight. I wouldn’t recommend eating much.”

His wand was returned along with the rest of his clothing. The door to the lab fell open as if opened by a breeze, and Harry scurried out as quickly as he could without actually running. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Harry sore, angry, and more then a little bewildered about what had happened.

Tom oozed out from Slytherin’s portrait with his usual grace, belying the nervousness he felt. Umbridge was dead, and he had removed all evidence she had left of his involvement from McNair’s and Umbridge’s quarters respectively. Granger still lived, which was regrettable, but he wasn’t in any hurry to dispose of her before he had completely unraveled himself from the knot Harry had made of his scheme.

Voldemort had already called him to his office days ago, forcing him to wait in a virtual limbo within the painting as he completed his meetings with Lestrange, Snape, and then Harry. Tom felt his blood boil recalling the ease with which his older counterpart had charmed his ‘mother’ from his shell shocked state to one of a wide-eyed child. His anger only escalated when he saw the Dark Lord gently deny Harry’s ownership of Gryffindor’s Sword, which by all rights belonged to the child. So many things belonged to Harry that Voldemort had denied him, and Tom wanted nothing more than to pull the younger boy aside and explain all the wrongs that had been committed against him by the man he so admired.

But Tom could do nothing but wait and watch and seethe impotently. Today, wouldn’t be any different. The Dark Lord was heading to London to oversee the Wizengamot’s latest legal revisions (Voldemort had been tossing out so many old laws there was talk that the Book of Laws might be reduced to one hundred volumes from the twelve hundred it had been during the rule of the Ministry), and wished to see him for his latest batch of instructions or merely to be annoying.

“I’m having McNair arrested,” Voldemort said, skipping over the pleasantries neither of them cared for. Tom raised a curious brow.

“Hardly a loss, but why?”

“Precisely because it’s no loss. Umbridge was supposed to be his guardian, and the fact that he needed one at all is a testament to his uselessness. Besides, without him here no one will question that woman’s absence, nor will I have to worry about his increasingly traitorous mutterings. Umbridge wasn’t the only one to report his attitude problem.”

Tom snorted. Only the Dark Lord would label psychopathic tendencies as an ‘attitude problem’.

“Quirrell will be returning. Unenthusiastic, but harmless and easily charmed. You might consider ‘befriending’ him. He would make a good spy. Lestrange and Snape overlook him too easily.”

A twinge of discomfort ran through Tom, not at the prospect of using Quirrell, but at the similarity of his using Umbridge for the exact same thing. He studied Voldemort intently for signs of mockery or suspicion, but all he saw was a distracted boredom. He hadn’t even looked up from the document he was reviewing.

“I will keep that in mind. Is there anything else?”

“Just the usual. I should be back at the end of the year to see how things went.”

Tom nodded, and left without waiting to be dismissed. Once he had disappeared through the portrait, Voldemort smirked. From under his chair, Pettrigrew scurried and climbed into a chair where he promptly turned back into a man. He eyed the portrait suspiciously, but settled soon enough.

“I don’t understand why you don’t just kill him,” Pettigrew muttered. “I told you what I heard.”

Oh, and what horrific things he had heard. The little line of conquests hadn’t been the worst of it (in fact Pettigrew had enjoyed that part of his spying a bit too much), nor had the long rants about mudbloods, Voldemort, Wizarding Weekly, or the inventor of the floo network. No, what was worst of all were the moments Tom actually appeared sane, talking quietly to himself as he sketched out his plans of murder and betrayal and treason. Pettigrew had to sit soundlessly and listen to it all in excruciating detail, right down to the death of mudblood children and a slew of teachers. Whatever Tom was, and he was increasingly convinced the boy wasn’t human, it was obvious he was ambitious, insane, and deadly.

Voldemort made an annoyed gesture, commanding him to silence, and ignored the question. There was no point to killing Tom at the moment. His death or rather his disappearance, could not be easily explained and would create more panic just as things were beginning to settle down. No, Tom was safe.

For now.

The biting chill of January and Febuary gave way to a unusually early spring, and with it Harry felt released from the lingering anxiety of winter. Despite the death of the basilisk and the danger it presented, it took weeks for Harry to stop expecting mysterious voices and danger in the gloomy halls. His dreams had been unsettling, if not exactly nightmarish (though he had plenty of those too), filled with desperate searches for Hermione or someone else that never ended and whispers from the dark corners of the castle.

McGonagall had been hovering since his release from the hospital, and in a strange way so had Snape, except Snape’s ‘hovering’ involved detentions. Lots and lots of detentions, just as he had promised. He thought they might have suspected his uneasiness, yet neither had said anything directly. But as the days lengthened, and Snape’s restrictions were lifted, Harry found himself outside more and more often, enjoying the openness and freedom a ride on a broom or a walk around the lake presented.

“And Potter catches the Snitch! Gryffindor wins the match!”

Harry circled the arena, snitch in hand as the crowd cheered (or groaned in the case of the Ravenclaws) before landed. His teammates had him quickly surrounded, smacking him on the back. Angelina gave him a peck on the cheek, which had the Weasley twins demanding kisses from her too.

A week after the death of the basilisk all of the petrified students had been cured, and their memories rearranged. Angelina was made to remember only stopping in the hall to check her make-up and a sharp pinch in her leg, supposedly the bite of an acrumantula. Collin remembered nothing after leaving the hall, but that was explained away as the result of a concussion from falling down a flight of stairs. Even Myrtle had returned to her bathroom convinced she had been badly pranked, and Harry had been sure to bring her a bouquet of dried flowers to wish her well. He sort of wishes he hadn’t, as she now seemed utterly infatuated with him.

“Wait to go, Harry!” Hermione called from the bleachers as he passed her on the way to the showers. She was smiling and waving beside Ginny, wrapped in her cloak against the last of the April chill. Harry smiled and waved back at her, though his expression dimmed a bit as he was pulled out of sight.

Hermione remembered nothing about the basilisk. And he literally meant nothing. Her attack was nothing more than an unexpected awakening in the infirmary and the second hand story of a boggart. The days previous spent searching through ancient tomes and old newspaper articles for the truth were simply gone. Stolen by her own godfather.

Harry had resented him for that at first. Clyde and Ginny might still remember, but it was Hermione whom he wished to have shared his adventure with. Yet, she had been happier since she’d forgotten, less stressed about the school and about Harry. Harry and his fellow conspirators had each attempted at one point to tell her the truth, but soon realized she had more to lose from the realization than gain. In the end, Harry let her be and hoped it was for the best.

Besides, there was one other he had shared the entire fiasco with… with a few tiny rearrangements to protect his friends’ names. Voldemort now knew everything, and Harry hoped the man had shared everything he knew with Harry. The Dark Lord had been so proud, he had commissioned an actual painting to commemorate the event (even though it would have to remain hidden for another seventy-five to a hundred years). It hadn’t been as exciting as it initially sounded. Serving three weekends of ‘detention’ in the Chamber of Secrets posing for said painting was not fun.

Although it did beat the next four weekends and half a dozen evenings of detentions under Snape’s supervision. On the bright side, if such a side existed in the dungeons, Harry had found his Unsilencing Bell and was now the most skilled dissector of all things squirmy and slimy that could be used in a potion. He could render a flubberworm into all six useful components before half the class could identify the head.

Hogsmeade weekends, unsupervised extra curricular activities, reinstatement of the old curfew, and of course Quidditch all returned to Hogwarts. It was too late in the season for official tournaments to resume in Quidditch, but the teams had engaged in several mock tournaments with volunteer students as referees, commentators, and score keepers. Harry enjoyed several victories when Snape wasn’t putting his growing skills with a parring knife to work in the dungeons, which meant Harry hadn’t played a single one on one with Slytherin at all that semester.

Bastard.

Ron Weasley was now Junior Captain of the Dueling Club.

Spawn of the Bastard.

The title didn’t mean much at the moment, since there wouldn’t be any dueling tournaments until at least next school year, but that didn’t stop the goon from gloating whenever he got the chance. Snape had not let them have a rematch, despite their mutual insistence. The Dueling Master said they set a bad example when they fought against each other. Harry assumed that meant Ron was a cheating little twat when a duel wasn’t going his way. They were still locked in a Cold War, but the Slytherin Weasley was noticeably less reckless with his provocations. Draco, my contrast, was positively mutinous when it came to taking orders from his Captain. Their duels were almost as bad as Harry’s had been. Almost.

Not all things returned to normal, though that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. McNair was gone. The official story was that he was dismissed because of his negligence in securing the boggart, as well as earlier instances of questionable conduct. No one inquired about Umbridge. They assumed she was dismissed with McNair and no one was sorry to see her go. Harry knew of her bloody end, and though he didn’t pity her he wished Voldemort had spared him the details.

Quirrel took over DA&D class again. Rumors of his demise had apparently been exaggerated, and after half a year of retirement he was looking decidedly refreshed. It probably didn’t hurt that the entire students body had stood up and applauded as if he were super star when his return was announced during breakfast. Harry had never seen the man look so flattered.

“Wait to go, Harry,” Oliver Wood congratulated as he help secure their brooms in their special cupboards. “Too bad about all those detentions though. The substitute Seeker just isn’t up to par when we face the Slytherins.”

“Thanks, Captain,” Harry said. “Next year, I’m following the straight and narrow. No more detentions for me. We’ll win the Cup again for sure.”

“No! Say it isn’t so!” Fred cried, rushing from his shower with only a towel on, still covered in suds. “Our Lord of Chaos can’t retire!”

“What’s going on, Fred?” George asked, wandering over damp and still shirtless from his shower.

“It’s awful! He’s retiring!”

“NOOOOOoooooooooo-”

“Guys, calm down,” Harry begged.

“-ooooooooooooooo-”

“Chaos will survive with out me.”

“-ooooooooooooooo-”

“George, will you…?”

“-oooooooooooooo-”

“Please-”

“-ooooOOOooooOOoooOOooooooooooOOOOOOOOOoooo-”

“ALRIGHT, I’LL BLOW SOMETHING UP NEXT YEAR!”

“-oooooOkay.”

Fred turned to his twin. “You’re a genius.”

George nodded, and grinned smugly as he went to finish dressing, leaving Harry and Oliver to stare after him, dumbfounded.

Impending doom or not, some things never changed.

Spring bloomed into summer, illuminating the Scottish country side in rich dark greens and splashes of wild flower color. Harry, Hermione, Clyde, Ginny, Draco, and Natalie abandoned the castle and the stuffy Great Hall for lunch down by the lake. It was only two days until they would all go their separate ways for the summer, and they decided to forego the mad dash of activity for what Draco described as ‘less plebian’ endeavors.

Harry wasn’t sure how hanging out with your friends by the lake was any different than hanging out with your friends in the Great Hall or the Library, but he wasn’t too concerned. They were all comfortable and drowsy, lounging on their giant checkered blanket after eating too many sweets. The Lacsa-Daisy tree (a magical tree that bloomed a different type of flower every ten days from May to August) provided them with shade, semi-privacy, and a gentle rain of soft blue petals whenever the breeze blew just right.

Hermione was currently lecturing Clyde on his abysmal (in her opinion) study habits and the need to improve next year or suffer the consequences, and he was dutifully ignoring her in favor of playing cards with Ginny. Harry was sketching Draco and Natalie playing chess and discussing, of all things, politics.

“I still have no idea what that press conference was all about,” Harry lamented, “I mean, I get all the new jobs for unskilled workers thing, but exactly what are they doing? And what does ‘British Assembly of Cultural Preservation and Defense’ mean? Your father is now head of something or other in that division now, you have to have some idea on what he does.”

“Not a lot. It’s very hush-hush,” Draco replied apathetically, destroying one of Natalie’s ponds with his bishop. “My father oversees the training programs for the different sections, and it seems kind of like Sentinel training, but at the same time its sort of the opposite. I don’t know. Not much was happening until after we left home again. Why don’t you ask the Dark Lord directly? You two seem pretty chummy.”

Harry made a face. True, he and Voldemort were getting along, but then they rarely saw each other either. The longer the man was away, the less certain Harry felt about him. During the holidays everything had seemed like a dream, bizarre and yet natural in its progression. At Hogwarts, he woke up and Harry was left analyzing the dream and all its strange and subtle meanings, uncertain and cautious.

Snape was still the center of his anger, second only to Lestrange, for his role in the basilisk affair, but after a month and a half of Voldemort’s absence he was starting to see things a bit differently. Now he understood that the Dark Lord had a greater part to play in the matter, and all that Snape had done had been by his Master’s behest or permission, including the Contract and the memory charms on Hermione. It left him uneasy about seeing him again.

“Forget it.”

Natalie took out Draco’s Queen with her Bishop, sending the young Malfoy into a cursing frenzy. She turned to Harry.

“I know what it is,” she said smugly. “You’re thinking too hard on it. Just ask yourself, what government based organization requires a lot of people, little or no prior work experience, and the word ‘Defense’ in the title.”

Harry considered, and after a moment his mind brushed lightly against a possibility, but then retreated from it. Seeing it flicker and go from his eyes, Natalie sighed.

“It’s a military. The Dark Lord is building an army,” she explained.

“That doesn’t make sense. I thought the Sentinels were the army?”

She shrugged. “They’re a traditional sort of wizarding army, but really they’re not much good for anything other than upholding the law within Britain. This new army is meant for bigger things, I think. Like defending against attack by foreign wizarding governments, or local muggle ones, or invading other countries.”

Harry considered, and found it tasted like truth. But why would Voldemort need that kind of an army? True, Britain wasn’t exactly the favorite country in Europe right now, but they weren’t bothering anyone either. He thought to ask her and the others as well, but movement near the castle drew his attention.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, and headed over to the clique of seven Slytherins striding out of the castle towards Hogsmeade. At the very center of the group was Tom, smiling indulgently as the others prattled on about something or another. When they spotted him coming towards them, they all stopped and stared.

Harry hesitated.

One of the girl’s burst out laughing, and he felt his ears burn. Tom cast an annoyed look at the girl, before ordering them all to head out without him. Still, Harry hesitated. He hadn’t spoken to the boy since that day in the dungeons, and was expecting him to be nothing less than livid about what had happened.

“Hi,” Harry tried, and then cringed at how stupid that sounded. Tom’s expression was neutral, but the corner of his mouth twitch ever so slightly.

“Hi.”

Harry looked at his shoes, realized he was looking dumber by the second, and rushed straight to the point.

“I’m sorry about what happened… stunning you and everything. I know you were only trying to protect me…”

Tom blinked in surprise. Of all the things he was expecting, an apology wasn’t one of them. For weeks he had expected Harry to corner him somewhere and demand to know what he had been doing wandering the dungeons that day and what he had done to the Weasley twins, and had been diligently avoiding him until he could come up with a reasonable answer or Harry forgot about it altogether.

“As I recall, it was the Weasley twins who stunned me. You just squirmed around a lot…”

The pink of Harry’s ears spread to his cheeks.

“Er… yeah… well, they were trying to protect me… kind of like you were only… yeah… Um, any way, I’m sorry about what happened. I just wanted to let you know before you left for the summer. Uh… no hard feelings?”

Tom smirked, and ruffled Harry’s hair.

“No, no hard feelings.”

Snape ascended the staircase to the Dark Lord’s private office with a barely detectable spring in his step. Never had the idea of a typical school year pleased him so much until it was disrupted. The students were back to their usual ridiculous past times and activities, House tensions had died down to a normal level, no one had been sent to the infirmary due to hexing for three weeks, and thanks to Potter his stores had never been fuller and he had more basilisk venom, blood, skin, and meat then he could ever possibly use to experiment with.

The Dark Lord had given him a house.

Okay, technically this was the second house he’d been given, but it was bigger and had a larger laboratory in the basement and a green house in the back yard. He had only been there to visit it once so far, but what he found pleased him. There were three bedrooms, a small study, a smaller living room, a good sized kitchen, and a laboratory in the basement that was larger than the rest of the house combined. He wasn’t much of a fan of home decor, but even he could admire the rich architectural detail in the Victorian style house with the abundance of green marble accent pieces (conveniently inert to most acids and potions). It wasn’t large, but it was dignified, a bit dark, and decidedly masculine.

It suited Snape just fine.

Best of all, Lestrange hadn’t gotten a house. Alright, technically she already lived in a mansion and was obscenely wealthy after a mysterious wasting sickness took her husband, but that wasn’t the point. She had inherited those things. Voldemort had given Snape his.

He hadn’t told the Headmistress yet, and didn’t plan to until it would cause her the utmost humiliation and/or frustration. Letting her know before then would only give her time to vent her rage on him, and she had been holding back since the conclusion of the basilisk debacle. She wasn’t technically on the outs with the Dark Lord anymore, but neither was she in his favor like Snape was. If an opportunity didn’t present itself (or she didn’t create one) soon, she might still be reassigned to something… less demanding.

A cruel smirk slipped across Snape’s face as he thought of it, but it slipped away to something more neutral as he entered the office.

“My Lord, you wish to see me?”

Voldemort looked up from his paperwork, and gestured casually towards an empty chair. He was sorting through several letters, a miniature knife made of obsidian was slicing through envelopes with the precision of a surgeon. He had only stopped by for a brief visit to check on the status of the school and its students (one student in particular Snape didn’t doubt), before heading off to Ireland to give the latest recruitment speech for the Wizarding army or the BrAss Cult, as some were already calling it. No doubt he had also come to inform Snape of exactly what warranted his latest gift, as the potion’s master doubted it was due to the events of January that he’d barely bungled through.

After Snape had made himself as comfortable as he could in the Dark Lord’s presence, Voldemort set his paper’s aside.

“How do you like your new house?”

Straight to the point, very unlike his Master unless he was expecting some sort of resistence that needed to be mercilessly crushed. Snape had a bad feeling.

“It is a very fine house, well suited to my needs. I cannot thank you enough-”

Voldemort made a sharp gesture, silencing the potion’s Master’s gratitude.

“It is not a gift.”

“You do not give gifts,” Snape conceded, “Only rewards.”

“And you have not yet earned this one.”

There was no arguing that… at least not without being permanently maimed or worse. He wasn’t surprised, but relieved that the other shoe was about to drop.

“What must I do?”

Voldemort smirked, and settled back into his chair. Trust Severus to be quick on the uptake.

“Young Harry is in need of new residence. The Sleuws may have been enough for a muggleborn orphan, but my protégé needs… more specialized accommodations.”

Snape’s expression remained neutral, but inside he was cringing. He was a private man, and though he didn’t begrudge sharing a giant castle with his students it was another matter altogether to share his home. It certainly didn’t help that Potter was a Gryffindor troublemaker with a rather uppity disposition. The little bugger was STILL glaring at him in potions.

“If that is what my Lord wishes…”

“It is. Do not let it ruin your holiday, Severus. I have arranged for summer employment and etiquette lessons, as well as a week long excursion in August, to keep him suitably busy. You need only ensure that he is protected, completes his studies, and doesn’t starve. I will consider this as fulfillment of your Community Service obligation in place of your usual WYRA responsibilities.”

Well, that was something. Although, he certainly would have liked to have known all of this more than the day before the holidays began. He supposed it could have been a lot worse. With Potter around he wouldn’t have to clean the house himself at least. He was exceptionally bad at housework yet couldn’t justify making himself a house elf without any children to inherit it.

“As you will. Does Potter know?”

“I wished to speak to him tomorrow, over lunch would be most convenient. I shall tell him then.”

“I will arrange it.”

“Thank you, Severus. I knew I could count on you.”

The potion’s master stood, bowed respectfully, and left to see to his own affairs.

“You are too generous. He failed Harry once already,” came Tom’s impatient hiss, before Slytherin’s portrait blackened and allowed him entry.

“Severus saved Harry’s life,” the elder wizard corrected, “And more importantly he taught Harry several spells that allowed him to protect himself. Besides, he has the most experience in dealing with him, and I trust his judgement.”

“You should have let him stay with me.”

Voldemort laughed, loud and mocking.

“With you? Oh, Tom I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

“Why? Who would question it?”

Voldemort smirked and stood, walking up to his younger counterpart. The boy took a surprised step back. They never touched, never got close enough where they might do so accidently. It was an instinctive phobia they held for one another. Yet the Dark Lord seemed prepared to violate that taboo right there.

“It’s not a mater of people questioning it,” he said, and Tom started backing away, a sense of danger screaming at him to fight or flee. “It’s simply that I can’t trust my protégé with the person who nearly killed him. Did you really think I didn’t know?”

Tom’s eyes widen in surprise, his wrist flicking to draw out his wand from his sleeve, yet nothing appeared. He tried again and still nothing. The Dark Lord smiled malevolently.

“Missing something?”

He gestured back towards Slytherin’s portrait where their ancestor’s likeness twirled Tom’s wand in one hand and stroked the head of a familiar with the other, his lips twisted in a mirror image of Voldemort’s. He looked back to Voldemort only to be knocked to the ground with a savage backhand, rolled over to crawl away but was dragged underneath the Dark Lord. Voldemort straddled him, using his knees to pin Tom’s arms to the carpet.

“What are you doing?! Get off me! You can’t kill me, I AM YOU! Let go!”

Voldemort clucked his tone, grinning with sadistic glee as back handed him again, stunning him.

“I’m not going to kill you, Tom. That is, quite literally, self-defeating. But I can’t let you live. You’re too rash, too ambitious. Do you recognize this?”

From the folds of his robe, he pulled out a golden coin, ancient and shining and perfect as only a Wizarding coin can remain. Tom did recognize it. It was Merlin’s death coin, one of two set over the revered wizard’s eyes upon his death. One was taken by as payment to a death god, but as Merlin was part fairy, the other was given to his fae wife Nimue, who in turn gave it her daughter and down the line it went until it vanished three hundred years ago during a goblin rebellion. It’s powers were a mystery, though the descendants of Merlin held onto it with the savagery of a mother protecting a beloved child.

“A gift for you, my brother.”

Voldemort shoved it into Tom’s mouth, and held it inside with his hand. Tom choked and struggled and screamed, knowing what was going to happen next with a horrifying certainty. It was too late for resistance. The small obsidian dagger the Dark Lord had been using as letter opener was suddenly in his hands, and just as suddenly in Tom’s chest.

Blood from the wound, shock silencing his victim’s screams, but it was not enough to kill. Not yet. With savage glee Voldemort tore the knife free and brought it down again and again, the screams returned and then died away just as quickly, leaving the body still and lifeless. Voldemort took a few more stabs for the fun of it and then sat back, laughing.

It had ben years since had done this by hand, and he had forgotten the strange thrill of it, life and magic draining way through his blood drenched fingers. And there Tom lay, wide green eyes slowly ghosting over, pale skin flecked with the red of his own blood splatter. He was almost pretty, and he was narcissistic enough to know acknowledge it. All smooth and soft and still.

Or rather Tom’s vessel was. An artfully composed golem made of meat and blood and magic. Most of all magic. It was a shame really. It was a magical item in itself, originating from no mortal flesh, and soon it would begin to rot.

Such a waste.

Unless…

Harry entered Voldemort’s office a quarter to one, hungry and a little intimidated. He had not seen Voldemort for months, and wasn’t sure what this last minute visit would reveal. It seemed deliberate that the Dark Lord waited until the school was empty of students. His trunk, Elsbeth, and Inana were still in the entryway when he left, and when he had asked McGonagall if he should take them to the Sleuws, she had pointedly ignored the question and wished him a good summer.

“Ah, Harry,” the Dark Lord greeted, dressed down from his usual formal attire to something more closely resembling Harry’s outfit, and a traveling cloak draped over the back of his chair. The desk was gone, or perhaps it had been transfigured into the dining table that now occupied the office. A lunch had already been laid out, a simple meal made elegant by silver dishes. The delicious smell of Swedish sausages, fresh bread, and something he couldn’t quite identify. “Come, take a seat. We have much to talk about and little time to do so.”

Harry took his seat directly across the table, and after seeing Voldemort had already filled his plate, did likewise.

“It is good to see you again, My Lord,” Harry said politely, not entirely sure how honest he was being. “How is your military coming along?”

Voldemort looked startled for a moment, and then smirked.

“It’s coming along… gradually, but that’s a discussion for another time. I am here to talk about your summer plans.”

Harry paused, hand halfway to the breadbasket.

“… I don’t really have any… that I’ve been told about.”

The older man smirked.

“Best remedy that now, yes? I’ve taken some liberties in arranging alternative housing and employment.”

Harry’s jaw tensed, but he buttered his roll as if everything were fine. Voldemort waited for a reply, but when none was forthcoming, he continued.

“Professor Snape has agreed to house you for the summer. I believe it will be advantageous to the both of you. Your recent potion work has been consistently good. Perhaps he will allow you assist him in some of his more advanced work.”

Harry bit into his roll to hide his grimace. If his potion work was good it was no doubt due to the fact that so many of his detentions were spent in the potion’s lab slicing, dicing, organizing, and labeling the ingredients. The idea of doing all of that during his holiday, with the man who beat him with a cane no less, was utterly unappealing.

“That is, if you complete your summer assignments first. Oh, and etiquette lessons on Tuesday afternoons.”

“Etiquette?”

Voldemort nodded.

“Good manners are essential to successful diplomacy, between enemies as well as allies. It is good for confidence, as well. I have also been contacted by a large pharmaceutical and potion’s company, who have offered to pay a hefty sum to make use of your parselmouth abilities. I thought it a good opportunity for you. Mondays, Wednesday, and Friday mornings only. Plenty of time left to finish your studies and play.”

“Er… what will I be doing for them exactly?”

“Snake venom harvesting. It’ll be fun.”

Harry wondered if the Dark Lord did that sort thing for ‘fun’.

“And one last thing. I have been invited to a summer festival by Fenrir Greyback for little over a week. I was wondering you might like to attend.”

At this, Harry’s interest was definitely perked.

“Will my godfather’s be there?”

“Yes. All the werewolves will be there. It’s a very important festival for them. So are you interested?”

“Yes! I mean, yes sir. I would love to go.”

“Then it’s settled,” Voldemort said, settling back to enjoy his own meal. He was quite pleased with this meeting. The boy had looked rather reluctant if not exactly reticent of his first intercessions, but the third, and really the most important matter, was accepted with real enthusiasm. He hadn’t mentioned that it was essentially a pagan festival, but he doubted it mattered. No doubt Harry would have a wonderful time, and after seeing his own godfathers practicing it, he would be that much closer to accepting Her over Him. Marvelous.

Harry, distracted from his earlier misgivings by curious musings on his upcoming visit with his godfathers. And werewolves! Alright, his last experience with them was hardly ideal, but if he were under Voldemort’s protection he was sure to be safe. What were they all like in their daily lives? What sort of festival were they celebrating? Would be asked to join or merely watch? Did it fall on a full moon?

His thoughts dizzy with possibilities, he took a bite of his sausage. Ooohh… that was good. Just like Miss Agnethe used to make for Oktoberfest. Juicy, faintly sweet, with just the right amount of spice.

It took Harry only a moment to realize Voldemort wasn’t eating the same thing. Rather than sausage or any of the other dishes on the table for that matter, the Dark Lord’s plate was laden with some sort of red tinted meet, thickly sliced into diamond shaped cuts and drenched in a dark brown broth. Was that the delicious, yet unfamiliar scent he’d smelled upon entering? Why would Voldemort eat one kind of dish and yet serve another to his guest? His host noticed his curious stare and smiled, a clever and wicked and curved like a butcher’s knife.

“You wouldn’t like. Trust me,” he said. “It’s an acquired taste.”

“Smells good,” Harry said, feeling it was a challenge to sophistication more than a warning.

“It tastes good too, but when I say ‘acquired’ I mean it’s toxic. It’s made to my specifications, and no one else’s.”

This was entirely true. If the incompatible and rather malevolent magic that saturated the meat didn’t kill someone, the venom it had been boiled it to soften the meat, certainly would have. Of course, though not technically the same entity any longer, Tom and he still shared the same magic and of course there were few venoms his own body was susceptible to.

And who would have thought it? Tom, the little prat, was yummy?

Venom and all.

British Assembly for Cultural Preservation and Defense BrAss Cult. Also named because their uniform buttons and insignia are made of brass, at least for the typical foot soldier. The higher the rank, the more expensive their uniform fixtures.

No, Severus was arrested for flying while intoxicated. Community Service in the wizarding world is a legal obligation all adult wizards have to perform or else pay an increase in taxes. Snape’s CSO is collecting muggleborns for WYRA during the summer. Rich and powerful wizards like Malfoy and Lestrange usually just pay the increased taxes.

And yes, Voldemort did in fact, just eat Tom. No, Tom isn’t actually dead. He wasn’t really living to begin with. He was always a horcrux, just now he stuck in a different object.

READ:

I know this is bothersome, but due a rather inconvenient alterations of living, ie looking for a new job, new apartment, and a family vacation I may or may not attend, I won’t be able to update for a while. I do intend to keep writing during this break, but won’t be able to post anything consistently so I’m just going to wait until my situation settles. I might even have some time to go back and further proofread previous chapters. I should be able to start updating early this July.

I AM NOT ABANDONING THIS STORY.

It will get done. This is just an inconvenient blip. Thanks to everyone who has been so supportive! You guys are wonderful! I’ll see you again in July!