"If you don't stop stuffing yourself, Ron, you're liable to explode." Hermione chided as she watched Ron get served yet another plateful of roast by an eager house elf. It was Friday, the day after the duel, and they were 'interacting' with house elves by being waited on by them. Apparently, this was the only way Hagrid could get the house elves to reveal themselves to the students.
School had continued as normally as could be expected for such a traumatic event occurring the previous day. Groups of students gossiping away in the hallways were now more numerous than ever, and disgruntled gamblers who lost Seamus and Dean's bet skulked through the hallways while the winners unabashedly flaunted their newfound wealth as often as they could. Students also cast more frequent glances in Gates's direction, but other than that, nothing had changed with the Hit Wizard. Gates had returned to his usual brooding, condescending self and put down students whenever he had the chance, yesterday's glee now only a faint memory.
"Come on Hermione," said Ron, digging into a large slab of meat with gusto, "Can't you see I'm trying to learn here? I'm testing the speed and efficiency of the house elves, if you don't mind." Around him, several other groups of students were sitting cross-legged in the grass, patiently waiting for extra portions of food.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you are," she said sarcastically.
"It's true!" argued Ron, swallowing his food before speaking in a rare display of manners. "It's their job, Hermione. Honestly." he added in a voice so reminiscent of Hermione that Harry had to stifle a laugh.
"They're just preparing another generation of wizards to enslave the house elves," Hermione shot back, "Getting everyone used to the idea of having house elves serving them. Then it won't seem so strange when they see the aristocrats do it."
"Mind you, I could really go for a nice chunk of Honeydukes chocolate," Ron continued as if she had not spoken, "Pity they only have it at Hogsmeade."
"Speaking of which," Harry began, "That's coming up soon, right?"
Ron shoveled a fork full of mashed potatoes in his mouth before responding. "Just next weekend, I think. And I have twenty five sickles to spend on whatever I want…thank Merlin for Seamus and Dean." he added as though he had just realized this. Harry could almost feel the surge of anger radiating off of Hermione's body.
"Twenty five?" Harry asked, "I thought you won thirty?"
Ron finished the last of his roast beef and started waving a house elf over for more. "I did win thirty. I spent five sickles on buying a new quill and enough ink to last the rest of the year. See?" He drew a long, extravagant eagle quill out from the folds of his robe and held it up to the air. "I bought it off of some bloke from Ravenclaw who needed the money. It was a steal!" He placed it carefully back into his pocket.
Hermione appeared genuinely surprised. "You spent five sickles on school supplies Ron? That's unheard of."
"Yeah, well," Ron said as a nearby house elf took away his plate and set another one in front of him. "I needed a new quill badly. What can I say?"
"It would've been better if that money was honestly earned, however."
"That's fine," Ron said shortly, his eyes focused on his food, "You won't have to see me spend it."
"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Hermione, raising an eyebrow inquiringly.
Ron's ears began to turn red. "I, err, have other plans on Hogsmeade."
Hermione leaned forward eagerly. "What kind of plans?"
"Oh, alright," Ron muttered, his eyes never leaving his plate. His ears were now solid red. "At the duel, umm, Luna Lovegood cornered me and asked me to go to Hogsmeade with her. None of you guys were around to help me-" he glared at Harry accusatorily, "-so I had no choice but to accept."
"You know she could come with us and we can all go together, right?" Harry could tell Hermione was enjoying this.
Ron mumbled something inaudible.
"What Ron?" Hermione said, cupping her hand to her ear and shuffling closer to Ron on her knees. "I didn't hear that."
"She asked me to go alone." Ron said in a voice just above a whisper, looking furtively around for eavesdroppers.
"See? That wasn't so hard. She likes you. You'll have a wonderful time." said Hermione, smiling broadly.
Ron scooped up some sweet potatoes. "So why did you just do that?"
"You teased Harry whenever he kissed Cho." said Hermione.
"I did not! I just wanted the details."
"Admit it," Hermione said, "You did. I'm just extracting revenge on Harry's behalf." She grinned evilly.
Ron's fork stopped just outside his mouth and he paused for a moment, an unusually thoughtful look crossing his face. He was evidently deep in retrospection. "Now that I think about it, you were rather upset that night, weren't you? Actually, I think you were worse than me. You were the one interrogating him."
Hermione began to blush. "No I wasn't." she said with a tone of finality.
"So what are we going to do in Hogsmeade, then?" Harry interjected, sensing an aura of awkwardness surrounding them.
Hermione seized the change of subject. "I guess that means we won't be stopping in the Hog's Head so Ron can keep trying to order some fire whiskey off of that old bartender."
"What to do with all the spare time…" Harry said aloud, rolling his eyes.
"He'll give in someday," Ron muttered, "All I need is an aging potion. Fred and George got one in their fourth year…I wonder how they made it."
Seeing Hagrid beginning to visit each group of students, Harry caught his eye and subtly motioned for him to come over. Hagrid nodded his head and extended one finger in the air, the meaning clear: One minute.
Hermione, seeing Harry's gestured and interpreting it, turned to him. "Are you still going through with it?" She began biting her lower lip, a sign that she was having second thoughts.
"Yes…" Harry answered uncertainly.
"I don't think you should go through with it," Hermione said flatly. "Do you know how many ways it could go wrong?"
"Nothing will go wrong," Harry said confidently. "And besides, you said it was clever, remember?"
"Of course I do, but, Harry, it's not worth it. What if the spell fails? There are too many things that could go wrong…"
Harry had one overwhelming reason to believe that he would come out of the forest alive. The Prophecy stated that there would be a confrontation between himself and Voldemort eventually. How could that confrontation occur if he fell in the forest? "It won't fail. I've been practicing it."
Hermione sighed. "Think on it, will you? Is Gates really worth the danger your putting yourself in?"
Harry saw the half-giant starting towards him. Harry had sent Hedwig to Hagrid's hut yesterday afternoon, and he was anxious to receive his response. While Hagrid did not know of the details of Harry's plan to wreck some measure of vengeance upon Gates, (Harry felt that Hagrid was safer not knowing) his assistance was necessary for the plan to work. The pretense, visiting Grawp, would be needed to prevent any retaliation on Gates's part.
At length, Hagrid walked over to the trio and crouched down, his shaggy beard and eyebrows appearing even hairier than normal close-up. He smiled and clapped Harry on the back, eyes wide with excitement. "So you want ter visit Grawp 'Arry? I got yer owl."
Harry nodded. In truth, he really does want to visit Hagrid's little brother, at least briefly, and see how the giant is progressing. He harbored a small corner of guilt in his heart over using a visit to Grawp as cover for a slightly more sinister operation, but he buried it. There was no chance Grawp, Hagrid, or anyone else could get hurt (Except Gates and those who deserve it) so why should he hesitate? The Centaurs getting a beating would be like a bonus. In essence, he was doing was killing two birds with one stone, as muggles say. The only remaining problem was getting Gates to come along…
"Yeah," Harry replied, "I'm looking forward to meeting Grawp."
"Glad ter 'ear it. He's been missin' you two," said Hagrid, eyes shining, "He's always intereste' in meetin' new people." He glanced expectantly at Ron when he said this.
"Don't worry Hagrid," Ron said, "I'll be coming this time."
Hermione, looking less than eager to meet Grawp a third time, merely nodded.
"No, I'm afraid they won't be able to," Harry said, not looking at his friends' faces.
They can't go. I have to do this myself. They can't be involved with what I'm doing.
"What do you mean?" Hermione said a little too quickly.
"You'll have prefect duties during the evenings," said Harry, providing them with an excuse, "Me and Hagrid can go alone the first time." Hermione and Ron looked betrayed, both staring questionably at Harry. Neither, fortunately, spoke.
"Tha's alrigh', I guess," Hagrid said at length, "There will always be other times, I s'ppose."
"He'll have to go too, though," Harry said, gesturing to Gates, "He's sort of my second shadow."
Hagrid looked up at Gates. "Oh, tha's no problem. So long as he's quiet 'bout it."
"How are the Centaurs treating you?" Hermione asked quietly.
Hagrid stiffened. "Jus' like they always do. They won' scare me away from my brother, no matter what."
"They haven't attacked you," Harry said slowly, "Have they?"
"They tried," said Hagrid defiantly, "But they won' be keeping' me away."
Suddenly, Harry felt that his plan was more important than ever.
"So when do you want to meet up, Hagrid?" Harry said quickly.
Hagrid glanced quickly around him to ensure they were not being overheard. Harry saw Gates standing idly apart from everyone else, looking bored out of his mind. "Well," Hagrid said in a hushed voice, "It'll have ter be after Hogsmeade weekend. I'm going ter be busy from the house elves an' all this week and next."
"I think that will work fine," Harry agreed.
Hagrid beamed. "I'll send yer an owl with the time we will be meetin'. Talk ter you later, 'Arry, Ron, 'Ermione. I got ter go back to my hut for a minute. Need ter grab somethin'."
Harry watched as Hagrid disappeared into his wooden hut, his massive body bending slightly in the doorway. The door closed behind him and Harry sat back on his hands.
"What was that all about?" Hermione demanded, rounding fully on Harry once Hagrid was gone.
"Yeah, what was that about?" Ron said, echoing Hermione.
Harry sighed, expecting this reaction. "You guys can't, not this time. What I'm doing is risky enough, there isn't any need to put you two in danger too."
"What?" Ron spat. "Danger? From what?"
Harry briefly related his plan concerning Gates, and when he finished, Ron grinned.
"That's brilliant, mate. Gates won't even know what hit him."
"No it's not," Hermione whispered, but neither boy heard her.
"Exactly," Harry said, "That's why you two have to stay behind. It's not necessary."
"Since you already decided for us," Hermione said with a venomous tone, "It seems we're left with little choice. We will have prefect duties, so I expect we will see you when you return," Hermione lowered her voice dangerously and drew her wand in a hinted threat. "But if you ever make a choice for us again, you won't be let off so easy."
Harry knew that she was more concerned with the fact that he would be alone with Gates.
An awkward silence prevailed over the trio, and Harry nervously began to examine blades of grass, finding them fascinating. The tension was instantly shattered by Draco Malfoy's bellowing voice.
"Hey you!" Malfoy shouted from thirty meters away, pointing imperiously at a group of house elves. "You lazy servants bring us some more juice and roast. This isn't an excuse to slack off, you know." Malfoy was apparently taking full advantage of Hagrid's absence to abuse the house elves.
A dozen house elves jumped up, startled, and instantly brought Malfoy and his Slytherin cronies heaps of meat, drink, and dessert. Crabbe and Goyle were guffawing stupidly as they tore off great hunks of chicken flesh off the bone with their teeth, sometimes intentionally spilling over their drinks so that the house elves had to rush over to clean it up. In the end, the Slytherins had their own, permanent detachment of house elves to meet and serve their every need.
"That's what happens all the time in those snobby old rich pure blood families," Hermione said scathingly, "Ordering around the house elves like its their right. Just bondage."
Ron set down his fork. "After seeing that," said Ron, his expression contorted with disgust as he stared at Crabbe's greasy face, "I think I lost my appetite."
"You're not the only one," Harry muttered.
Hermione crossed her arms, pulling her robes tighter around her as a chilly breeze blew past. "That's not right. You see why I'm starting S.P.E.W.? This-" She gestured to the group of raucous Slytherins. "-isn't right. House elves should not have to work for free for people like that. They shouldn't have to work for free for anybody."
Ron grunted, though in agreement or exasperation, Harry could not tell.
"You! Dobby!" Malfoy was now shouting, clearly trying to gain the attention of the lone clothed house elf in the bunch. When Dobby did not respond, Malfoy threw a chicken bone at the elf. It landed next to Dobby's foot. "Don't just stand there! Don't you see we're hungry?" he said with a laugh as he knocked over a heap of fresh fruit the house elves had just brought over.
"Dobby will be right with you, young sir!" Dobby squeaked back.
"That's right you will be!" Malfoy called out with a haughty, aristocratic air, "I even hear you get paid to do this kind of work. And here you are, milling around like some sort of unemployed blood abandoner!" He pounded his fist on the ground to emphasize his point.
More house elves came rushing over holding a massive platter that contained a vast assortment of chicken, pork, and beef. Upon seeing this, Malfoy sneered and smacked the platter to the ground, grinning maliciously. "I want Dobby to bring me my food, not you four. Tell him to get me my food."
A moment later, Dobby ran up to Harry, his ears bent downwards in an expression Harry figured reflected annoyance or sadness. Dobby's apron had greasy stains all along the front of it from the large quantities of food he had been delivering. "Harry Potter sir!" he squeaked. He waved his hand about and in front of him materialized a massive platter of the finest cuisine imaginable. "This is for young master Malfoy, sir!"
"Yes…" Harry said, not quite understanding what Dobby was getting at. Behind Dobby, Malfoy was talking loudly about Hagrid.
"-not that I would ever call that great oaf a professor. I mean, he's a dirty half-breed." Malfoy was saying as Pansy Parkinson squealed with unnecessarily vivid laughter.
Dobby continued to stare at Harry, and then at the platter. "Does young Harry Potter understand? Dobby will be right back, he must go get young Malfoy a drink! Dobby will come right back for young Malfoy's food!" He stared pointedly one last time at the food and bounded away, his ears flapping as he went.
Suddenly, Hermione grinned. "You know what he's asking, right?"
Harry and Ron both shook their heads. "Err, what do you mean Hermione?" Harry asked at length.
"He wants you to do something to Malfoy's food!" Hermione said, rolling her eyes as though this was something that he should pick up on easily. "Since Dobby can't do it without punishing himself, he rather subtly asked you to do it for him. House elves are rather clever; more than most give them credit for." she added, looking pointedly at Ron.
"Well let's waste no more time!" Ron clapped his hands together, eyes wide and excited.
They spent the next minute casting every jinxing spell that they could think of on Malfoy's heap of food, trying to make the tampering as subtle as possible as to not raise any suspicion. When they were done, the food looked no different than it had when Dobby had originally brought it, which they were aiming for. The thin glaze of honey over the pies and other desserts appeared untouched, and no one would know without careful examination that the apple pie was jinxed with the Curse of the Bogies.
Soon, Dobby came bouncing back to them, carrying two pitchers of pumpkin juice. "Dobby thanks Harry Potter and Harry Potter's best friends for watching young master Malfoy's food while Dobby was gone!" He bowed to them deeply, and the tower of woolly hats he wore on his head wavered but did not fall. Evidently, they were now tied to his head with a mess of string and yarn.
Setting the two pitchers on the edge of the platter, Dobby carefully lifted the entire feast and carried it over to the group of Slytherins, the pitchers wobbling slightly but remaining balanced. When he set it down before Malfoy and bowed, Malfoy sneered widely.
"It's about time, you lazy slob," Malfoy jeered, "Now you better stay extra close to me in case I need something else." He dismissed Dobby with a vague wave of his hand and turned to the food in front of him.
Harry turned and was pleased to see Hagrid stepping back out of his hut, Fang barking wildly from inside as he left. Malfoy immediately stopped insulting the house elves since the threat of detention loomed over his head if he got caught. He idly picked up a leg of chicken and took a large bite of it.
"That's mine!" said Ron joyously, "This is going to be great! This one is personal." Ron watched Malfoy with absolute anticipation in his eyes.
For a minute, nothing seemed to happen to Malfoy, as he continued drawling to Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson in bored tones. After several moments of breathless anticipation, however, Malfoy began to hiccup erratically. When a third spasm shook him, two small, black slugs flew out of his mouth and landed on Pansy's leg, causing her to shriek and jump away, attracting stares from the entire class.
"What the-" Malfoy began, but he hiccupped again and a handful of slugs fell out of his mouth, landing in a heap on his lap, crawling in a slimy mass. Pansy shrieked louder. Goyle stared dumbly at Draco, looking even duller than usual, while Crabbe scratched his head like a great ape.
Ron clutched his side and rolled on the ground in laughter, his entire face turning a deep shade of red. "Funniest-thing-" he gasped through fits of mirth, "-Too-funny-" He began pounding his fist on the ground as he laughed. Harry, while he found Malfoy's plight hilarious, did not find it quite as amusing as Ron. He figured Ron enjoyed the payback more than the prank itself, as Malfoy inflicted the very same curse upon him in his second year.
"What's goin' on over 'ere?" Hagrid said as he strode over the where Malfoy was heaving up another mouthful of slugs. "Malfoy what did yer get in ter now?"
Malfoy replied with another revolting spasm.
"Someone cursed his food!" Pansy said shrilly, speaking for him, "One of those house elves you brought here!" She pointed her finger accusatorily at Dobby, who stood aloof from the whole scene, watching innocently.
"Now Dobby couldn' do nothing'," said Hagrid, "He's a 'ouse-elf, and they can't jus' go around' jinxin' yer food."
"It was! It had to be!" Pansy was evidently in no mood for logic, as she continued ranting about house elves as Hagrid continued to ignore her.
"Now come on Malfoy," Hagrid grumbled, lifting Draco to his feet. Malfoy teetered on his legs and stumbled, throwing up more slugs. "Let it all out."
"Easy - for - you -" Malfoy gasped, his voice absent of arrogance from the flow of slugs, "Can't - won't - stop-"
"Spit 'em out Malfoy," Hagrid urged, patting him on the back. "Now wha' happened?"
Malfoy took a deep breath, and for a moment it seemed like he recovered. "It was those filthy-" A fresh fit spasms shook him and he fell to the ground, holding himself up with one hand while he clutched his chest with the other.
"We ca' talk lat'r," said Hagrid, leading Draco back to his hut, "Lemme get yer somethin', 'old on." He vanished into his cabin, and reappeared with a large wooden bucket that Ron had used previously for the very same reason. Malfoy snatched it out of Hagrid's hands and heaved in it freely.
"Alrigh', tha's enough fer the day, go on ter yer next class." announced Hagrid, causing many students to break out of their fixed stares to gather their books. Hermione, Harry, and Ron, still laughing heartily, stood up to leave. The house elves all bowed deeply to the students as the students walked away, and vanished with a loud crack when the last of the meal was cleaned up.
"I think Care of Magical Creatures is starting to turn out to be a really great class," Ron was saying as they crossed the expanse of green grass that was spread out between Hagrid's hut and the castle.
Harry threw one last glance over his shoulder, and across the field Malfoy vomited slugs into the wooden bucket. Hagrid stood nearby, his expression not visible at this distance, but Harry was sure that he was privately amused. "Malfoy's always trying to ruin Hagrid's class. It's good to see it backfire for once."
"I wonder if he will be in Potions today?" Hermione asked rhetorically.
When Harry entered the Potions classroom, he found that Malfoy had indeed not shown up for class. Harry guessed that he was in the infirmary, being tended by Madam Pomfrey. As he sat down, he noticed with a large degree of foreboding that Snape was appearing particularly vindictive today as he swept into the classroom, his eyes dark and severe. He slammed his books down onto his desk and instantly whipped out his wand, waving it decisively around him to list today's instructions. The front board, as if sensing the Potion master's demeanor, reacted immediately and the directions, normally written slowly and clearly, were nearly scrawled across the board in haste.
"You all know what you have to do," Snape snapped, his face choleric. His right cheek was significantly bruised, and he glared angrily around the room, as if daring someone to mention it. "Now get to it."
Gates, apparently satisfied with defeating Snape in the duel, smirked in the shadows and watched Snape with a distinct pleasure in his eyes. The necklace slunk and jangled across his chest as he shifted his posture, and he then reached deeply into his pockets. When Harry saw a small flash of silver in the palm of Gates's hand, he knew that the Hit Wizard had pulled out his bracelet, and was preparing to gaze at it with a curious, detached intensity.
Harry laid the first of the ingredients he would need onto his desk, and set the flames under his cauldron higher. Since the potion he would be working on was The Avenger's Poison, it was necessary to have all the required material out beforehand, as steps would sometimes have to be performed in quick succession. Laying down a few Lacewing flies, a hunk of Wormwood, and a few cuts of Ginger Root, he reached down and pulled out a slim, wooden rod out from his brewing kit, which he needed to stir the cauldron's contents.
"I hope none of you foul up this solution," snarled Snape as he limped around the room, peering down into students' cauldrons with his great hooked nose and snorting, "As that would prove that I wasted my time yesterday when I spent the entire period lecturing you dunderheads on how to brew The Avenger's Poison properly. I assure you that there are several store rooms in these dungeons full of glass jars that need to be cleaned out as they are encrusted with ages of grime and filth. I will reserve this duty to the first person who manages to screw up their potion first."
Not wanting to be the one who received Snape's punishment, Harry worked more diligently than ever to ensure that he followed the instructions to the letter. He carefully weighed each Ginger Root out to a fraction of an ounce, and checked and rechecked his Lacewing flies for blemishes on their feet, which would render his solution worthless if they were used.
Beside him, Hermione was frantic with worry. She muttered something about he Lacewing flies under her breath and began to slice her Wormwood chunk into precise dimensions. While she had never spoiled a potion before, Snape's threat seemed to cause her self-confidence to waver, and she feverishly studied every ingredient before placing it delicately into her solution.
Snape limped over to his cauldron several times during the class, critically examining his potion for flaws or mistakes. Finding none, the Potions master would walk away only to return a minute later to repeat the procedure. Clearly, Snape was bent on finding a mistake in Harry's potion so that he would have to scrub out the rest of the bottles in the store room.
"So, Potter," Snape said in a soft voice meant for Harry's ears only, "I imagine your father would have been quite amused by that little situation Sirius put me in with Alex. Don't you think? Your father would've found it hilarious, as his humor, like his personality, was juvenile and childish and utterly bloated."
Don't let Snape provoke you. He's just trying to find an excuse to give you detention since you aren't messing up your potion.
Harry looked up and saw Gates trying to catch his eye. Suddenly, he had a flashback of Snape taunting Sirius in Grimmauld Place. Resisting Gates's influence over his mind and rationale, Harry gritted his teeth and met Snape's gaze. "I'm not my father, professor." he said, hoping Snape would get the point.
From the unidentifiable look that crossed Snape's face, Harry guessed the Potions master understood the point quite well, as he could not place Snape's expression. An exhalation of air hissed through Snape's teeth and the Potion's master whirled away, his black cloak flapping over his back. Harry grinned, thinking that he had won that battle. Fleetingly, he cast a irritated glance in Gates's direction, his meaning clear: I know what you are trying so forget it.
Snape did not return to Harry's table, and instead spent most of his time hovering over a sweating Ravenclaw's desk, his searching eyes trying to find a flaw in the potion. At length, he blinked and then continued to the next cauldron in the row. He had skipped over Hermione, no longer bothering to check up on 'Know-it-all Gryffindors', as he put it.
About halfway through the class, Malfoy walked into the classroom, his wooden bucket in one hand, looking very pale. He practically fell into his seat and slumped downwards. Abruptly, he bent over a hiccupped, and a single, small slug fell into the can. Several people in the class wrinkled their noses in disgust.
"Mr. Malfoy," drawled Snape, "May I ask where you have been?"
"Infirmary, professor," Malfoy muttered, sounding out of breath. "Someone jinxed my food in Care of Magical Creatures."
"And yet you showed up for Potions," Snape continued, "Though you were tardy. I suppose your reason makes it excusable." Harry nearly spilled his potion. He certainly would not be excused from being tardy because of a trip to the infirmary.
Snape turned to Harry. "Perhaps you should take a page out of Mr. Malfoy's book, Potter. He did not skip his class because of a malady, while you have missed your classes every time you had a headache."
"I was usually unconscious, professor." Harry muttered under his breath. Snape pretended not to hear.
"What happened to your face, sir?" Malfoy asked, apparently without thinking. He looked sick enough to make such a mistake. "It's all bruised."
Snape froze, and a dreadful silence fell over the room. The entire class had their eyes locked on Snape, and a cauldron overflowed without anyone noticing. "Is it?" he said in an icy soft whisper. Even when he lowered his voice, his words came out clear and pronounced, as there was little other noise in the silent dungeons to detract from their clarity. He brought his hand up and rubbed the black splotch on his cheek. "An accident, I'm sure." No one seemed eager to question his strange response, as they all immediately returned to their cauldrons.
"Perhaps I can help you remember, Severus," a rising voice called out from the corner. It was, of course, Gates. "Yes, I believe that is where you were slapped with your own wand, no?" Gates smiled his usual frosty smile, the humor never reaching his eyes.
The class was stricken. "I recall receiving this…injury…when I stumbled down a staircase." Snape said slowly; a weak and flat out lie. A sneer crawled onto his face as he surveyed the room, waiting for someone to contradict him.
"The duel did not break the sneer, did it?" said Gates softly out of the darkened corner.
Snape's visage became ice. "That was no duel," he spat, spittle flying from his lips, "Take off that necklace of yours, and we'll see who's the better dueler."
"Careful, Severus," Gates warned, his tone becoming serious and his smile vanishing, "You know, I know." Harry could make neither heads nor tails of this statement.
The two men glared at each other, apparently engaged in a battle of minds. At length, Gates broke off his gaze and Snape sneered. "Too many demons in you to be an effective Occlumentist. Isn't that right?"
"You don't know my demons, Severus." said Gates. Snape shot him a fierce look and then returned to surveying cauldrons as if the exchange had never happened.
At the end of class, Harry bottle up a flask of The Avenger's Poison and set in on Snape's desk, unable to think of a single error he had made. As far as Harry could tell, no one else had spoiled their potion either, as Snape appeared immensely disappointed as he watched each student place a flash full of clear liquid on his desk.
"As none of you have reported any problems with your solution," said Snape as they filed out of the room, "I expect that I will be recording at least an 'Acceptable' for every one of you. Should you receive a grade lower…well…the bottles are still waiting to be cleaned."
Waiting outside of the classroom, Ron leaned idly against the stone wall of the dungeons. "Hey, Professor Sprout let us out early after Ernie's Spiked Tendril plant began attacking the other herbs in the garden, so I came down here to meet you guys. How did it go?"
"Fine." Harry and Hermione said in unison.
"That's a first," said Ron, "Say, you wou-" Suddenly, Malfoy charged out of the Potions classroom, knocking Ron's books out of his hands and sending them flying halfway across the hall. "Hey!"
Malfoy turned around to smirk, then walked away as Crabbe and Goyle met him further down the hall.
"Bloody git," Ron muttered as he began picking up his scattered books. Harry and Hermione knelt down to help him. "But I still got him good with that jinx." He reached out to grab his new eagle quill when a long, pale hand snatched it off the ground.
"Mr. Weasley," Snape said slowly, "Where did you get this?" Snape twirled the quill in the air, studying it closely.
"I bought it," said Ron shortly, extending his hand so Snape would give it back to him. When Snape did not, he withdrew it. "So can I have it back?"
"I asked where you received this, Mr. Weasley, not how you received it." Snape surveyed Ron with a suspicious glint in his eye.
"I bought it from a sixth year Ravenclaw." Ron repeated.
Snape raised the eagle quill up into the light again. "Do you have any idea how much something like this would cost? How much did you pay for it, Mr. Weasley?"
Harry knew where this conversation was going. If it was any other student, Snape would not have bothered Ron about the quill, but as Ron's family had little money, Snape suspected foul play.
"Five sickles." Ron said flatly.
Snape narrowed his eyes. "And where did you get five sickles? As I understand it, your money goes towards basic schooling supplies, not-" His eyes flickered towards the quill. "-luxuries."
"I earned it." Ron replied, sounding a bit nervous. For obvious reasons, he was not eager to disclose the origin of the money to Snape.
"He honestly worked for it, professor," interrupted Harry, "He-"
"Silence!" spat Snape, "If I wanted your input I will ask for it."
"I did, I earned it." repeated Ron, trying to inject some confidence into his voice by stiffening his back. Harry could see, though, Ron's hands shaking in the pockets of his robes.
"Earned it did you?" said Snape softly, "How? There have been reports of stolen money among the students-"
"No, no, I didn't steal it," Ron said quickly, "I won it in an, err, bet." he said before he could stop himself.
Snape regarded him with cold, calculating eyes. "A bet? What sort of bet? What can you students possibly gamble on in Hogwarts?" The Potions master began to outline his lips with his finger.
"The duel," said Ron in an uncharacteristically small voice.
"The duel?" Snape repeated, his voice seething with fury. Apparently, having students betting, and winning, on him losing the duel did not sit well. "That's truly fascinating, Mr. Weasley. Tell me, how many of you young innocent children placed their bets on me?" Harry figured Snape was satisfying his own curiosity than interrogating for facts.
"Answer me!" Snape spat.
Harry's eyes fell on Ron, and he silently pleaded with him to lie. Unfortunately, Ron appeared too terrified to even think straight, much less tell a lie to a professor. He realized that gambling was against Hogwarts rules, and that he was treading on very thin ice right now. Regardless, he responded before thinking. "Only one, professor…sort of." he blurted out. Harry and Hermione exchanged horrified looks.
Snape's eyes flashed dangerously. "I see. No doubt this little Gryffindor gambling ring needs to be broken up. I will inform Professor McGonagall of this gross infringement on school policy that evidently occurs in House Gryffindor on a frequent basis, and I will also make a point to mention your involvement, Mr. Weasley. All three of you will be having detention next week."
"For what?" Harry demanded, hating Snape and the injustice of it all.
"If one member of the golden trio is involved then the other two are probably involved as well," Snape said sleekly, "You will all serve your detention next Saturday." Hermione went very white: it was the first detention she had ever received since her first year.
Ron looked ready to explode from all the conflicting emotions that ran through him. "But that's Hogsmeade weekend!"
"Why, I do believe it is," drawled Snape, sneering, "You will all report to my classroom in the morning. If you can manage to clean out the entire store room of glass bottles, without magic, before the buses leave, then you may go to Hogsmeade." With that, he whirled on the back of his heel and limped back into the classroom, a terrible smile twisted onto his face.
"Wonderful," muttered Harry sarcastically, "You couldn't clean all those jars and bottles that fast even with magic, much less without it."
"I can't believe he gave me detention," Hermione said in scandalous tones, positively fuming, "I've never had detention before; and I didn't even do anything," She turned furiously towards Ron. "I told you that gambling would lead to nothing good Ron."
"How was I-"
"Not now-" Harry said, more harshly than he intended. "Just for five minutes, stop."
Ron looked at him as if seeing him in a new light. Hermione blinked.
The trio stared to leave, but Harry's eye caught Gates's lean figure standing ominously in the darkness. Remembering that he needed to speak with Gates about an excursion into the Forbidden Forest, Harry sucked in a breath and said "You two go on ahead, I need to stay back for a moment."
Hermione frowned and nodded, understanding what he needed to do. Ron stared at him blankly for a minute before comprehension dawned on his face. "We'll meet you in the great hall for lunch, then?"
"Yeah, sure. I'll be there soon."
Ron and Hermione left and vanished up the spiral staircase; Hermione casting him one last concerned glance before disappearing upwards. Turning, Harry saw Gates slowly approaching him.
Harry felt a sudden draft tug at his robes, and he pulled them tighter around his waist. The dungeons, while perpetually cold, for a moment felt as though the temperature had dropped to absolute zero, and his breath was freezing before his eyes. His senses became increasingly acute, and he could hear the steady drips of water from somewhere down the long, mildewed corridor. The musty dankness, often reminiscent of a swamped concrete basement, became as thick and heavy as the air in a partially flooded tomb. A speck of dust stung his nostrils, and he sneezed. Suddenly, he forgot the predetermined words he was going to use to persuade Gates and an overwhelming sense of helplessness swept over him. Swallowing, Harry took two tentative steps forward, trying hard not to think of his family album that the bastard held hostage somewhere in his scarlet robes.
"Potter?" Gates spoke, his obsidian eyes boring into Harry. It was the first word he had said to Harry since before the duel.
Good start, Harry thought, He must be slightly mollified from the duel. He didn't even insult or mock me with his greeting. Let's hope it lasts…
He opened his mouth, struggling to think up an appropriately vague but specific question. "I need to go to the Forbidden Forest next week," Harry said ambiguously, not giving Gates any more information than he needed to know. He was not about to tell Gates about Grawp until he received certain assurances.
Gates's face split into a grin. It was almost grotesque. "Why?"
"I need to see someone." Harry answered, his eyes not wavering under Gates's gaze.
"No," Apparently one word responses is the order of the day.
This was not going as well as Harry had wished. He had hoped that Gates would be in a better mood since he won the duel. "It's rather important," Harry said determinedly, not willing to give up yet.
"Is it?" Gates drawled, "And why should I convenience you, Potter?" The expression on his face told Harry that Gates was considering his request but denying it all the same.
"You would be doing this for yourself as much as you would be doing it for me." Harry said smoothly.
Gates shot him a cold glare that could freeze water. "And how's that?"
"I'd imagine that it would break the monotony very nicely." said Harry, appealing to Gates's mood. He crossed his fingers on the inside of his pockets, his entire plan for some measure of retribution now tottering on Gates's whim.
Gates looked at the filthy stone walls around him. "You may have a point. But you will tell me the purpose of this little field trip." he demanded coldly.
Now came the difficult part. "Swear on your honor that you will never repeat, in signs or words, anything that I am about to tell you, or about what you may see, should we go. And that would won't harm anything we find out there without cause." He waited patiently, practically hearing the gears of reason in Gates's skull grinding as he mulled over Harry's words.
"You aren't serious," Gates said flatly, "I already know all your secrets, Potter."
"Only the ones Sirius knew," Harry answered coolly, "And he didn't know everything."
This seemed to unnerve Gates immensely, though he quickly covered it with his usual façade of confidence-cum-arrogance. "You find me untrustworthy?" he asked, revealing every last one of his pointed teeth in a wide grin. It exuded malice.
Sometimes I wonder if he even realizes how much sarcasm he uses. "You're a killer." Harry replied evenly.
Gates leaned towards Harry, dropping his voice to a deathly whisper. "Let me share a secret of mine, Potter. I've only killed one man in my life." He snorted and his diamond necklace flashed as he laughed.
Liar, Harry thought. "Do you swear on your honor?" Harry said, getting back to the subject at hand.
Gates's worked his jaw, as though chewing the words. "I will swear…in return for a favor," Gates said silkily. "A favor that I will use at the time of my choosing."
Harry hesitated. He had not expected this. What does he want a favor for? He's already got me entirely within his power. "What kind of favor?" asked Harry slowly.
"A reasonable one, I assure you." Gates replied evasively, his enunciations slow and deliberate.
"One that won't require me to divulge secrets of the Order?" Harry asked slowly.
Gates waved his hand dismissively. "I am not interested in petty secrets of the Order. They may be excluded from the favor."
"Fine," Harry said, very aware of what he was agreeing to yet having no choice, "I agree. Now swear."
Gates's smirk vanished as he clasped both of his hands around his wand and stared past Harry at a far wall, a solemn expression on his face. At length, he said, his voice formal and pronounced, "I swear by my family honor and name that I will not convey any of the information I am about to receive to anyone, be it language, signs, or hints. Nor will I harm a creature in that forest without just cause."
He lowered his wand and the familiar malicious grin returned to his face. "Is that sufficient?"
Harry's tone was flat. "I suppose." He then relayed the story behind Grawp and his relationship with Hagrid, ignoring the astonished expressions that crossed Gates's face. When he finished, he waited quietly for Gates's response.
"I see…" Gates said, bringing a finger up to his lips, "A giant in the Forbidden Forest? Well, I suppose there's a first for everything…" He turned his back on Harry, obviously wanting some time to reflect on this new information.
After a minute, Gates turned back to meet Harry's eyes. "I will grant your request, if only because I am desperate for a break in the utter boredom I am experiencing and have not seen a giant in many a year. I daresay this will prove exciting." He gave Harry a curiously appraising look that betrayed an internal feud.
"You won't harm him…" Harry said slowly.
Gates snorted. "Of course not. I swore on my honor."
"Thanks," Harry muttered, whirling around so that Gates would not see the elation on his face. He practically skipped down the hall, smiling widely. Gates has agreed to receiving some retribution.
At the end of the hall, Harry paused briefly to stare at a portrait of a white, sandy beach getting lapped at by ocean waves. It looked very much out of place in the derelict dungeons, and Harry swore that the portrait had not been there last year. When he saw Phineas Nigellus standing in the corner of the portrait, his boots sinking into the sand, he grinned with sudden understanding. The headmaster had placed new portraits across the school so Phineas would have better access to Harry's whereabouts.
"So what was that all about?" Phineas asked smoothly, pulling his feet up out of the sand. He was sweating heavily from the heat, but he did not seem to notice.
"I just asked a favor from Gates." Harry replied.
Phineas tilted his head curiously. "And he did not request a favor in return?"
"He did, and I accepted."
Phineas's eyes grew wide. "That was foolish of you. Just like a child to not consider the consequences of his actions," He took off his boot and dumped the sand out from it. "They always procrastinate and never do what is necessary," His speech slowly degraded into a rant. "Oh how I hated the times when I had to read unacceptable work from students who obviously finished the assignment five minutes before class. And do you know why? Because of some Quidditch match." he added contemptuously.
"If you're done…"
"Yes, I am," said Phineas conceitedly, "And I will be reporting this to the headmaster."
"Don't bother, I will be visiting his office after dinner." Harry replied curtly, remembering the promise he had made to himself yesterday, and then strode up a nearby stairwell.
As he climbed the stairs, he was surprised to find Professor Whams leaning heavily against the wall, his eyes darting around and his spectacles askew. His silk purple robes were lopsided and it seemed as though he had only put them on only a moment ago. When he saw Harry, he leaned over and squinted from behind his thick glasses.
"Ahh-" Whams said jovially, his head hovering an inch from Harry's face. Slowly, he pulled it back as recognition surfaced. "Mr. Peter! Could you tell me where the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom is?" The fine wisps of hair that covered his head flew wildly back and forth as he scanned the staircase as though looking for a sign.
"You might want to try to second floor." Harry said uncomfortably, feeling awkward at giving directions to a professor.
"The second floor!" said Whams as though in sudden revelation. "Yes of course. It just slipped my mind. It becomes rather confusing when all the floors of the castle look the same, eh?" he added, smiling a broad smile.
Harry looked around at the dank, grimy dungeon walls. "Yeah, I can imagine it could become a bit disorienting."
"Well I should get going," Whams continued, "I did have a class five minutes ago. I'm sure Perseus can take care of them until I return. He's a brilliant young fellow, though rather taxing. I had to convince him to let me go back to my office alone." He chuckled, stroking the whiskers on his chin. "Though I now see his concern may have some merit."
"Perhaps," Harry said, inwardly vehemently agreeing with Percy. It would be too blunt to flatly concur.
"I'll be off now. I must really be going," said Whams, "Take care, young Mr. Peter." He strode off down the staircase, and Harry was about to tell him that he was going down into the dungeons, not towards the second floor, but Whams had already vanished. There was a myriad of passageways Whams could have gone through, and Harry could only hope that Snape would intercept the lost professor before he entered the dungeon's bowels.
However, Harry was unsure of how even the most incompetent of people could mistake the dungeons for the second floor.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
After he finished his dinner, Harry excused himself from the Gryffindor table, explaining that he planned on visiting the headmaster. He decided that Gates's necklace, whatever it is, could not be found in the library, and that he would have to ask Dumbledore if he wanted any information. Hermione nodded approvingly, agreeing with his assessment. (Though privately Harry felt that this discussion was overdue)
As he traipsed through the meandering corridors of the school, worming his way down the familiar path to the headmaster's office, his thoughts drifted towards Hogsmeade. Most of Gryffindor have been avidly talking about the upcoming event, and many students shared in the usual school gossip surrounding the trip -- especially who-was-going-with-who. While the 'news' was often petty and trivial, it was somewhat refreshing to hear people talk about normal, vapid subjects, rather than always hearing about the more serious threat of Voldemort.
There is a time and a place for fear, and right now is not it, Harry thought.
Once again, Harry recalled that Ron was going with Luna, (One of the hottest topics in Hogwarts gossip) leaving Harry and Hermione to go together. The implications of such a pairing was obvious, and it was likely that people would get the wrong idea. The problem in the foremost of his mind, however, was what are he and Hermione going to do all afternoon? One could only spend so much time in the Three Broomsticks, and Harry did not think Hermione would appreciate being dragged through a Quidditch store. Surely it would not be too difficult to kill a few hours with his best friend, right? Two months ago, he would not have thought so, but now Harry found spending an evening in a locked room with Gates more comfortable than going to Hogsmeade alone with Hermione.
That is, of course, if he was going to Hogsmeade. Snape's detention did not bode well, and Harry felt a lump rising in his throat. He would find some way to change the day, he told himself. He would talk to Snape later his week and maybe work him over…though the chance for success was slim. Gates seemed to put Snape into an eternally sour mood with his mere presence. Maybe if they went to Snape's detention very early in the morning, perhaps one o'clock, they could finish before the school left for Hogsmeade. He would have to ask Snape if that's possible…
And what about Gates? How far could he be trusted to keep the secret?
Harry had complete confidence that Gates would keep his oath; as, if anything, Gates guarded his honor fanatically. All he had to do was lead Gates into the Forbidden Forest, Hagrid close behind, and visit Grawp. On the way back, however, he was nearly positive that the Centaurs would confront them. Gates, being the arrogant bastard he is, would undoubtedly engage the Centaurs in a fight, and he would lose. Or he might win. It did not really matter. Harry, using a spell that he learned in Defense Against Dark Magical Creatures, would put up an encasing shield around himself that would ward off any Centaurs from approaching them. Hagrid, in the meantime, would have to be left behind with Grawp. There was no sense of putting anyone else in danger. He was sure that Gates would not know the encasing spell, as it was specialized magic learned only by gamekeepers and those who interact with magical creatures.
If the Centaurs won, there would be one less sadistic creep on the face of the planet and Harry would have fulfilled his oath that he had made so long ago at the Burrow. If Gates won, then the Centaurs would not dare to harass Hagrid or anyone else who cared to visit Grawp in the forest. Either way, Harry and Hagrid benefited. While the Centaurs would probably become more hostile if they fought and overcame Gates, they could not be any worse than they were now, and the fact that they met with resistance (And strong resistance it would be: Gates would use every ounce of his skill before succumbing) might be enough to dissuade them from bothering Hagrid as often as they do. He did not tell Hagrid his plan for the simple reason that the half-giant would fear for his safety (Not knowing that Harry was damned to perpetual danger from the prophecy) and would likely reject Harry's plan. He briefly reviewed every stage of his plan and could find no flaw.
Behind him, Harry heard Gates's heavy footfalls, the heels of his polished boots clicking and squeaking on the various surfaces of marble, lacquered floorboards, and dry, gray stone. You won't even know what hit you, you bastard. At that moment, Harry was very glad that you needed eye contact to perform Legilimency.
Harry stepped up to the stone gargoyle and muttered the password "Skiving Snackboxes". The statue immediately leapt aside, clearing the way for Harry to climb up the long spiral staircase to the headmaster's office. Knocking twice on the door, he stepped inside. Sitting behind his desk, hands folded, Dumbledore appeared to have been expecting Harry.
"Ah, hello Harry," he said, smiling gently. Turning to Gates, he said "Alex, would you mind waiting outside for a brief moment? Me and Harry would like a private word."
Gates blinked, as though unused to requests rather than direct commands. "As you wish, Albus." As silently as he came, he left, his scarlet robes vanishing down the staircase.
"What brings you to my office, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, bringing a jar of lemon drops up from under his desk and extending them to Harry. Harry accepted one, and then the headmaster took one as well. Dumbledore carefully placed the jar onto the desk, and then turned to Harry, waiting. His eyes came to rest on Harry's right shoulder.
The overpowering flavor of lemon flooded his mouth, and he sucked on the drop for a moment before answering. "I have a few questions about, err, Mr. Gates." Harry decided that it would be too brusque to refer to the Hit Wizard as simply 'Gates' to Dumbledore. A few of the portraits stirred curiously out of their feigned slumber, moving into a better position to overhear the conversation.
"How have you been feeling, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, throwing Harry completely off balance. It was a deliberate change of subject that Harry found confusing. "I would just like to take this chance to ask of your welfare before we dive into the murky pool of Gates's life."
Irresistibly, Harry remembered Gates's possession of his photo album, and he quickly suppressed the temptation to tell the headmaster everything. A flashing image of his parents' wedding picture burning into ashes surfaced in his mind, and he covered his sudden uneasiness with a cough.
"I've been doing fine," Harry said, forcing a smile, though he was sure he could not fool Dumbledore. "Really, Gates hasn't even talked to me, so I'm doing all right."
"Phineas informed me that you now owe Alex a certain favor," said Dumbledore, his expression solemn, "May I ask how?"
Harry choked on his lemon drop. It was highly uncomfortable deceiving the headmaster, and Harry did not think he could keep up the pretense. "Oh, well, err," he stammered. Harry glanced behind him to see Phineas smirking in his portrait. "I will owe him a favor in return for him letting me go visit Hagrid during my free time." Harry decided to settle on a half-lie. The favor did involve Hagrid, after all.
"Is there anything you wish to tell me Harry?" Dumbledore said, his tone becoming serious and the twinkle in his eye flickering, "Anything you say will not leave this room, despite its various-" His eyes flitted towards the portraits hanging on the walls. "-occupants."
"No," Harry said a little too quickly. He felt his chest tightening. Nothing was worth risking his entire family photo album. Nothing.
Dumbledore leaned back into his chair, not satisfied with the response. Regardless, he smiled. "I understand that you do not completely trust me after last year. I must confess I am disappointed, but I realize that I earned it. Remember that you can go to Professor McGonagall, Professor Whams, and even-" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled brightly. "-Professor Snape."
Completely sure that the last person on Earth he was going to share this problem with was Snape, Harry nodded. "I will keep that in mind should I come to mistrust you, headmaster." He grinned fragilely.
If you trusted him you would have already told him everything.
Dumbledore's smile widened slightly, and Harry was sure he saw relief cross the headmaster's face. "So what did you want to discuss concerning Alex?"
A question sprung unbidden to Harry's mind, and for a fleeting fraction of a second, he wondered where it came from. "Does Gates know about the prophecy?" He felt especially uncomfortable because he had not been planning on discussing the prophecy with Dumbledore at all.
"Only myself and you know the complete contents of the prophecy, Harry," Dumbledore replied, "While a few others are aware of a prophecy, they do not know the words. I assure you that I did not divulge the contents to such a one as Alex. You may tell who you wish, but I advise you to choose carefully."
Thank Merlin, Harry thought, The less Gates knows the better.
Presently, Harry sat up a little more in his chair. He started tracing the fine grooves the arms of his chair. "What is Mr. Gates's necklace? It's not normal…it feels wrong." he said, not sure how to express his suspicions to Dumbledore.
The headmaster popped another lemon drop into his mouth, and it seemed to Harry that Dumbledore was formulating his response very carefully. "Truthfully, I only know that it is a rare type of Pravus necklace. A rather strong one, at that. It's power that is as ancient as it is rare. Its primary use is to increase the magical potency of the bearer."
A flurry of questions swirled in Harry's head. "We couldn't find anything like that in the library."
"That's because there are scarcely any books in existence concerning the Pravus necklace; and they are jealously guarded by only the most ancient of pure blood families. In fact, I know that the bits of knowledge that we do possess concerning the Pravus necklace is known by Professor Snape. He knows more than this subject than I. Few have ever dared to make a Pravus necklace in many centuries." Dumbledore answered, his glasses flashing from the rays of the setting sun.
"Why not? Something like that would be invaluable, right?"
"In the right hands, oh yes. Very. But," Harry could hear Dumbledore pause to roll the lemon drop around his mouth. "It is extraordinarily difficult to create, and there are…drawbacks. As the necklace gives him power, it also corrupts the mind, damages the soul. In the long run, it will shorten the wizard's lifespan and eventually turn him into a wretched, twisted creature. Alex, however, is not at that stage yet; though he's well on his way. For this reason, the Pravus necklace is most frequently used among vampires. Even Voldemort avoids it, as he too realizes its tendency for self-destruction." The last word escaped from Dumbledore's mouth with an ominous air.
"But how does it work?" asked Harry, arching an eyebrow, "Magic can't come from nowhere."
Dumbledore turned his eyes towards the window. "The Pravus necklace does not create magic, Harry, it channels it. Every Pravus necklace has certain elements or material. In Alex's case, it's diamonds. Others use rubies, claws from Thestrals, or anything that can be enchanted. Everything on Earth contains some amount of magic, even muggles. One could use gravel for a Pravus necklace, though it would be ineffective. The only material that cannot be used is anything from a unicorn. Their power is pure and cannot be fused with any other being's blood."
"Diamonds?" said Harry, "His power comes from the diamonds on his Pravus necklace?"
Dumbledore nodded. "Diamonds are especially potent, and their use in magical artifacts in general is quite common. Alex was a very formidable wizard to begin with, and the power he gains from the necklace boosts his strength considerably."
Harry stayed silent for a minute, digesting this information. "Where did he get it? Lup-, err, Remus told me that Alex did not have the necklace during school."
"This, Harry, is where my knowledge ends," Dumbledore said, "After he graduated, Alex hunted after his parents' killers, and, as far as we know, he destroyed them. When he received his Auror position at the ministry immediately afterwards, he wore a necklace, so Arthur told me. I'm afraid I never saw Alex again after his graduation. Until, of course, he came to see me concerning Sirius's death wishes." His midnight blue robes took on a reddish hue as the sun sunk further into the horizon.
"So he could've stolen it, not made it?"
"That is a possibility," Dumbledore replied, his voice appraising, "One that I have considered. I'm afraid we may never know how he got it, as he is not one to share such information."
"Why does it scream?" Harry asked in just above a whisper.
"Screams?" Dumbledore repeated, and Harry noted a tone of surprise in his voice. "I have never known a Pravus necklace to speak. That is strange…very strange." It was unusual for the headmaster to be unsure about anything, and this made Harry feel nervous.
Where did that bloody necklace come from? Harry thought to himself. If he took it from the dead bodies of those…wizards…then…
"Who killed Mr. Gates's parents?" Harry asked slowly, realizing he was asking a personal question but needing to know anyway, "What kind of people were they?" His underlying question, however, was whether such men would have a Pravus necklace.
"Not vampires, if that is your latent question," Dumbledore said, "Their names were Corlov Dren, Lodrick Regeal, and Nori Katashi. We are certain Dren is dead, though Regeal and Nori are unaccounted for. They are believed to be deceased as well."
"If you don't know whether the last two are, how do you know whether Dren died?" Harry asked, not sure whether he wanted to know the answer.
Dumbledore paused, as though considering whether to respond. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded foreign and distant. "Arthur once told me how Alex came upon his profession as an Auror. When Alex wished to become an Auror for the ministry, the ministry officials wanted to know his credentials. As though he had expected this, Alex disappeared for a brief moment, and then flooed in the corpse of Corlov Dren. The ministry hired him instantly."
"And the ministry hired someone for an Auror position who had just graduated from Hogwarts?" Harry asked skeptically.
Dumbledore spread out his hands across his lacquered desk, as though feeling the texture. "He was gone for an entire year avenging his parents before he returned, so he had not 'just graduated'." Dumbledore fell silent, then spoke again. "When he came back, he was already feeling the effects of the necklace he had acquired somehow during his year absence. He was a different man."
"Different?" said Harry, perplexed. The word itself implied that Gates's sadism was an irregularity; a mistake to be rectified.
The headmaster frowned. It was an expression of old sadness and disappointment. "You have probably wondered why your late godfather placed so much trust in a man that was apparently so cruel. When he was at Hogwarts, he was not. True, he was isolated and distant because of his parents' deaths, but he was not mean as children tend to be because of such situations. Sirius befriended Alex because Alex was a relative, but more so because Alex detested the Dark Arts. He privately agreed with Voldemort's ideals, but he hated the Dark Arts that had killed his parents. Because Alex was Sirius's closest relative that hated the Dark Arts as much as he did, Sirius and Alex bonded -- to an extent. I believe Sirius was Alex's best and only friend while he was here. This is why Sirius entrusted your care with Alex. He would not believe -- could not believe -- that Alex changed. Whatever Alex says, he loved Sirius like a brother."
Harry tried to replace Gates's sneering expression with one of a lone and dejected schoolboy, but could not.
"But he hates Sirius," Harry protested, "He told me how Sirius lied to him and-"
Dumbledore waved him into silence. "The Pravus necklace has corrupted Alex's mind and memories. Even the most positive of Alex's memories can be twisted around and manipulated until Alex firmly believes that he hates Sirius. That is how it is with all of Alex's memories. The necklace has forced Alex's mind to focus on the twisted versions of his memories -- his parents' deaths, his relationship with Sirius -- until it turned Alex into the spiteful, cruel man you know today. The Pravus necklace has such a strong influence over Alex's mind that the two are now inseparable. To destroy one would be to destroy the other. Do you see now what I meant when I said Alex became different when he gained the necklace?"
"Are you saying he's free from blame?" Harry asked with a hint of irritation.
"I'm saying no such thing. It was Alex's choice to bear the necklace, so the blame is his alone. But Alex has memories -- terrible memories -- that the Pravus necklace has used to turn Alex into another man. The necklace is now so entrenched into Alex's mind that the damage is irreversible. In a way, the 'real' Alex is gone forever." Dumbledore said with a tinge of regret. "Do you remember when I told you love made him a monster? It was what made him bear that necklace. So much potential…" the headmaster murmured.
"Sirius told me that Gates would've become a Death Eater if his parents weren't killed by them." Harry remarked.
Dumbledore appeared genuinely surprised. "Did he? I believe Sirius mistook pure blood pride for support of the Dark Arts. Truthfully, Alex believed in pure blood superiority, but that belief and the support of the Dark Arts are two very different things."
Abruptly and without warning, Dumbledore's office door swung open. Snape stood statue-like in the doorway, his face expressing utter disdain. "Headmaster-" His eyes fell onto Harry, and his expression deepened.
"Yes, Severus?" Dumbledore asked politely, locking his gaze onto Snape.
"There is a problem in the dungeons that I need your assistance with." replied Snape, now ignoring Harry.
"Could you be more specific, Severus?"
"It seems that our confused Defense Against the Dark Arts professor managed to wander down into the lower dungeons," said Snape silkily, "He ran into one of the more insidious creatures that inhabit those parts and is now quite panicked. He will not communicate with either me or Mr. Weasley, and I am hoping he may respond to you. He is fortunate that I happened to be down there today to-" His eyes flitted towards Harry. "-pick up some old glassware that has been down there since my predecessor's time. Otherwise, he may have been stuck down there for days." He brushed off the sleeves of his robes, indicating his total indifference to the entire situation.
A sting of guilt stabbed at Harry's stomach. He suddenly wished that he had not left the poor professor to his own fate down in the dungeons; though he probably would have gotten lost himself if he had started his own search for Professor Whams without help.
"Yes, quite fortunate," Dumbledore agreed, standing up from his desk.
"Your reasons for choosing such inadequate professors for such an important position in the school confounds me, headmaster," Snape continued carefully, "When there is a qualified Defense Against the Dark Arts professor in this very school."
"The required disposition for teaching that particular class is lacking, I'm afraid." Dumbledore answered evenly.
Snape opened his mouth, as though about to give a retort, but then shut it again. At length, he said "Then shall we proceed, headmaster?"
"In a moment," Dumbledore replied. He turned to Harry. "Wait in my office until my return. I should be back shortly." With that, he met Snape and they both swept down the spiral staircase, their footfalls echoing as they went.
A sudden, biting need to know more entered Harry's brain. While Dumbledore's replies were adequate, he still wished to know more about how Gates's mind worked…what Gates remembers. For that, however, he would need to be inside the Hit Wizard's mind, and that is impossible…
For a fleeting moment, he considered using Legilimency on Gates to pry into his mind. He quickly shoved that idea aside. While it would give unprecedented insight into Gates's thoughts, it would likely lead Gates into a sudden (And probably violent) reaction. Besides, Harry had never performed Legilimency before, and there was no guarantee that his skills at Occlumency would aid his ability at Legilimency. He needed something else…
Harry moved from his chair and began to pace around Dumbledore's circular office, his mind empty of ideas. The desire to see into Gates's mind stirred in his chest, encouraging him to continue. His need was foreign, inexplicable, and overwhelming; there had to be a way to peer into Gates's brain. If it was impossible for him to view Gates's mind, then perhaps he could speak to someone who had. That resulted in a single, unanswerable question: Who had examined Gates's mind before?
Then, in Harry's moment of puzzlement, the answer presented itself. Sitting serenely on the wooden shelf, its tattered tip bending slightly from its own weight, was the Sorting Hat. He had never been so glad to see the ancient hat before.
Stepping forward, Harry delicately lifted the hat from its place on the shelf and ritualistically raised it over his head. Hesitating, he sat back down into his chair before continuing. Harry held it above his scalp for a moment, and then lowered it until it completely enveloped his head and its wide brim came down to around his chin. He waited in silence.
"Is anyone, err, home?" Harry asked, knowing just as he said it that the question was absurd.
"Is there anywhere else I'd be?" answered a familiar small voice. "I would ask you what you want, but as I can read your thoughts the question would be rather pointless. So you want to know about young Alexander Gates, do you? Well, let me see what you know about him so far…" The voice fell silent, leaving Harry with the uncomfortable feeling that his mind was being probed.
Harry fidgeted in his chair. "What do you see?"
"Patience," the small voice said, "Please relax. You're Occlumency training is making it difficult for me to see into your mind. Quite defensive of certain memories, are you?" the hat added with something suspiciously like a chuckle.
Harry waited a minute. "What do you see?" he repeated.
"Everything. It's all in your head, you know."
"So I've heard," Harry replied irritably. Why did the hat have to make so much small talk?
The hat spoke distantly, as though reacting to a specific memory in Harry's mind. "The Pravus necklace, yes, that would explain things. Alexander has changed much since he last wore me. Even then, his memories tormented him but he suppressed them."
"What happened with Gates?" Harry asked, wishing the Sorting Hat would cease its vagueness.
The hat was silent for a few seconds, and then spoke in its usual small, soft voice. "I do not usually share what I see in a wizard's mind with others, but with you, I will make an exception. The bond that you two share makes it necessary for you to know his mind. You two are very alike…"
"Professor Dumbledore told me that," Harry replied, "He said that we were almost brothers."
"Albus was quite right," said the hat, "When he wore me those many years ago, I saw potential, ambition, and a strong thirst to prove himself; something that I also saw in you. The lone difference was that, while you grew up with your ability to love intact, he did not. He was an isolated, detached young boy. When his parents died, he too had to live with relatives; whom, I should add, actively supported Tom Riddle. Alexander's hatred of Tom led to conflict with his guardians, and this, of course, led to an environment similar to your experiences with your Aunt and Uncle. The memories I saw in his mind…among the worst I've witnessed. They brought in vampires, Death Eaters, and dark wizards; all of them hired to train and convert Alexander into Tom's fold. Needless to say, their efforts were wasted and Alexander suffered. Isn't that interesting? All the pain begins in childhood: Tom's life in an orphanage, Alexander's life with his relatives, your experiences with the Dursley's."
Harry silently absorbed the Sorting Hat's words and contemplated it for a while before speaking again. "So which house did you choose for him?"
"Salazar demanded that Alexander be sorted into House Slytherin," continued the hat, "And I agreed. Like you, all of Alexander's traits pointed towards Slytherin, but, also like you, he was vehemently against being in it. Death Eaters had killed his parents, and he was unwilling to be a part of the house that held so many students that openly supported Tom and his followers. He put me in quite a predicament. I spent several long minutes considering all of the variables carefully. I believe that Alexander's sorting was probably the most difficult sorting that I have ever made."
Harry sucked in his breath. "So what did you do?"
Harry felt the air in the hat become suddenly chilled and still. "Did I not say that Alexander was incredibly similar to you? I went against Salazar's demands and placed him into the only house where his qualities could be used: Gryffindor. I admit that I was reluctant to send him to Slytherin in the first place, as Alexander's potential could easily turn into great evil. In the end, I decided to sort him into Gryffindor in the hopes that perhaps it could divert him from the path he was going down." The Sorting Hat sighed. "It did not."
"What happened?"
The small, quiet voice became solemn; as though it was giving a eulogy. "His isolation and detachment morphed into a zealous form of desire for revenge. Revenge itself is a dangerous thing, and when coupled with an emotion as powerful as love, it is more perilous than anything in this world. To bring rest to his parents' names, he would need power; even more power than he already had. Not power for himself, but for them. Do you see? Because of this, he accepted the Pravus necklace. The necklace, in turn, corrupted his revenge and loss and isolation into a lust for cruelty. It used Alexander's most painful memories to control the mind: the memories are key to its influence. And as for Alexander's bracelet and sense of honor, well, I believe that those are his last vestiges of self; something the necklace cannot use for its own ends. Those two remnants of Gates's former self have tempered the influence of the Pravus necklace and prevented the worst of its excesses. Everything else: his ethics, morals, sense of trust, and emotions are all decayed and no longer his. He is not, as muggles say, his own man."
Harry remembered Sirius once saying "The world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters."
"So the Pravus necklace is conscious?" Harry asked, unable to keep the skepticism entirely out of his voice.
"No, it is something that gives with one hand and takes with thirty others. An object. The surge of power it gives tampers with the mind, alters the senses. All of this, unfortunately, leads to utter malevolence. Its design is such that its effects occur simply because they occur, and for no other reason. There is no grand plan behind it. The corruption of the Pravus necklace is like the cold that comes from ice; they are inextricably related."
The hat remained silent for a while, and then spoke again. "You're confused."
Something that the headmaster had once told him seemed to contradict the Sorting Hat's conjectures. "Professor Dumbledore said that Gates possessed a governing emotion of hate; like he was inherently evil."
"No one is inherently evil, though Alexander had great potential to be," the hat said sagely, "The Pravus necklace has such influence and control over Alexander's thoughts that it managed to warp his governing emotion into hate. When I originally sorted him into Gryffindor, it was vengeance. The Pravus necklace affects us all to varying degrees, but when it ensnares a man like Alexander -- a man with such a terrible life and potential -- it will bring out the very worst of evil."
"But Dumbledore said Gates could've been me-" Harry started.
"Alexander had no prophecy," The hat said, cleanly cutting him off. "At least no prophecy that we know of. Albus offered the idea that Gates had a nullified prophecy? Such an occurrence is rare, if not impossible. Prophecies are never misaligned without a very dangerous third party."
"How do-"
"I am aware of everything in Albus's mind, just as I am not aware of everything in yours." The Sorting Hat continued, once again reading Harry's thoughts before they were verbalized. "I know of your prophecy, Harry."
"Why didn't Dumbledore just tell me this when I first came into Hogwarts this year?" Harry thought aloud, bitterness in his voice.
"What comfort could be found in it?" replied the Sorting Hat, "It would only serve to alarm you unnecessarily when your sixth year is going to be difficult enough. Albus cares for you, Harry, I see it in his mind whenever he puts me on. Knowing that your guardian is wearing a Pravus necklace is most disturbing, indeed. Is it not?"
It sounded as though the Sorting Hat was doing a lot of guesswork concerning Gates's mindset, but Harry felt sure that the hat was accurate. "Any advice?"
The hat answered him even before the words left his mouth. "Stay away from that necklace. Remember that Alexander is no longer rational in a human sense; the Pravus necklace has twisted his mind into something else. As for Miss Granger…I think it best if you don't go into the Quidditch Supplies store; its safe to assume she wouldn't enjoy that. Try something public yet secluded."
Slightly taken aback at the depth of the Sorting Hat's Legilimency skill, Harry stiffened in his chair. "Uhh, thanks," Harry said after a moment. Privately, he questioned the Sorting Hat's qualifications to make such a suggestion.
"Before you leave," the Sorting Hat said, sensing Harry's uneasiness, "Take this."
Harry felt something small and metallic hit his head, and he reached into the hat, bringing out a small, bronze signet ring. He studied it in the palm of his hand, and found that it was a relatively plain ring with only one distinguished feature. On it, engraved into the metal, were the initials 'V.G.'
"What do the initials 'V.G.' stand for?" Harry asked absently, still examining the delicate -- almost fragile -- ring.
"This ring should offer you some protection," the hat said, evading the question, "Should anyone grab you or touch you with malicious intent while you have this on your person, they will feel a burning, magical charge. It is enough to keep anyone from physically harming you. In addition, it will heat up and burn if it senses the presence of someone untrustworthy. I advise you, however, to keep this out of Alexander's sight."
Harry lifted the ring up to the light. "Why?"
"The initials on it stand for Vladimir Gates, Alexander's great paternal grandfather. If Alexander recognizes it, which he might, he will be quite angry. I came into its possession when Albus gave it to me some years ago. I do not know where he received it."
"Thanks," Harry said, meaning it.
The Sorting Hat's tone was sincere. "It's nothing. You will need all the assistance you can get this year."
Harry placed the ring in his pocket and then removed the Sorting Hat from his head. Carefully, he set it down on the shelf and brushed away a bit of dust on its brim.
"Maybe-" said Harry to no one in particular, "Maybe something can be done after all."
(A/N: I bet loads of people hated this chapter; mostly from Dumbledore's conversation probably. We aren't done learning about the necklace, and I hope no one jumps to any conclusions with it. (Though conjectures are nice)
All I'm going to say is this: I have made no oversights in this chapter.
Chapter 11: One word: bizarre. Some of you ask where this fanfic is going? This chapter is your answer. We pick up on a little something called the main plot and end with probably one of the strangest scenes I've ever written. (Though the chapter is mostly light).)