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Harry Potter and the Maw by Woodrow M
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Harry Potter and the Maw

Woodrow M

(A/N: I wanted to get this chapter out before the Christmas holidays so here you are; chapter 13 will be out Jan 1)

The rest of the week passed by in a blurred flash, and, when Hogsmeade weekend approached, Harry found that he could remember very little of what had occurred during the past days. Consciously, he rehearsed statements and phrases he could use to convince Snape to let him, Ron, and Hermione come in early to serve the detention so they could go to Hogsmeade. The script, however, never sounded right when he spoke it aloud, and he had a sneaking suspicion that it would not matter anyway.

When he approached Snape during Thursday's Occlumency lesson, he stated his request in the kindest, most polite voice he could muster, and willed himself to plaster a convincing expression on his face. He stared up into those black, tunnel-like eyes and repeated the small speech he had prepared, speaking in formal and regretful tones, which, he hoped, would appease Snape and curry some mercy. As he finished, he could already tell that Snape was not satisfied.

"As much of a shock as this may come to you," Snape had said, "The world does not revolve around your desires. I am not about to wake up six hours earlier than I normally would just so you and your friends can complete their detention before the school leaves for Hogsmeade."

"But sir," Harry argued back, "Couldn't you make it after Hogsmeade, or even the day before?" He had never begged Snape for anything, but, for the first time, he shelved his pride and could practically feel himself groveling. He planned to take a shower after this exchange.

"Since you put it that way Potter," Snape said with feigned thoughtfulness, "Absolutely not. You will serve your detention like any other student would. I'm afraid that I will not be swayed by your pleas, as our dear headmaster has been."

A shiver of annoyance coursed through Harry's body but he hid it. It was now necessary to go to plan B. For the first time in his life, he was going to apologize to Snape. "Sir, I am truly sorry about the duel," Harry said honestly. He had indeed pitied him during that duel. Snape, using Legilimency, seemed to sense the sincerity and tilted his head curiously. "And I apologize for the gambling."

Oh Merlin, I'm going to have to wash my mouth out with boiling water after this. Anything to be able to go to Hogsmeade this weekend…anything.

"Potter," said Snape, smirking. He was enjoying this far too much. "Even your father made sniveling apologies to serve his own purpose. Do you really think that I can't see through you like glass?"

Harry suppressed his outrage at Snape's reference to his father. "You know Legilimency. You know when I'm lying."

Snape's sneering grin vanished and something unreadable replaced it. "You will report for detention after breakfast on Saturday morning," he said, "There will be no allowances."

So now all three of them sat in the great hall on Saturday morning, apprehensively waiting for their appointment with Snape in the dungeons to arrive. The worst part had been the fact that Harry and Hermione had, indeed, done nothing. An even stranger development was that Professor McGonagall, nearly always one to chaste her Gryffindors, did not approach any of them concerning Snape's accusation that they were gambling. In fact, she had said nothing at all, which led Harry to believe that she was not informed of the situation. The reason being, of course, that Snape did not want to admit that he was giving Harry and Hermione, his two most hated students, detention with no evidence. His enmity towards Harry apparently outweighed his dislike of everything Gryffindor.

If this had been any other weekend, Harry was not sure if he would have minded. Truthfully, the novelty of going to Hogsmeade had worn off with the years, and he was no longer as eager to go as he once was. The only thing that made this trip particularly special was that he would be with Hermione the entire day while Ron went out with Luna. He chuckled as he remembered the Sorting Hat's 'advice', and wistfully thought of what he could be missing.

And all because of Snape.

No, not necessarily. Gates was the one who provoked him into dueling and riled him up into such a foul mood. None of this would have happened if Gates could have just settled for humiliating Snape in the classroom. But no, he had to make a spectacle out of it and Seamus and Dean started the bet and Ron took it and it all ended up landing us in detention. Strange how everything comes back to Gates. He stared at the Hit Wizard, who was currently gazing at the ceiling as if he found studying the weather the most fascinating activity in the world. Merlin, I wonder what it's like to be that bored. Dumbledore must be keeping him in check, though, as he has not been bothering Neville or anyone.

His eyes fell onto Hermione, and he wondered fleetingly why everyone called her hair 'bushy', as though it was a bad thing. Watching her discretely, Harry felt both relieved and disappointed that Snape had insisted on the detention. While the absence of Hogsmeade effectively prevented any potential awkward moments, he also thought he would have genuinely enjoyed it. She looked up from her food, and Harry immediately turned his gaze so that he appeared to be observing Gates. (Who stood on the far end of the hall, over her shoulder)

Isn't that sweet, spoke a sly voice. There was something recognizable in it.

Shut up.

But Harry could not help but wonder what had changed. The past week had become one long confusing puzzle, and something subtle had happened to him. There was a thin, imperceptible chain that linked Hermione to him, and, while he tried to churn it over in his brain, found that he could not identify it. Harry felt that he should know it, but when he came an inch away from recognizing it, it slipped out of his grasp. His brain demanded something comparable to it, and Harry was unable to oblige.

Suddenly, Gates's stare landed on Ron, and Harry turned to his best friend to see that his goblet was shaking in his hand, pumpkin juice spilling onto the table. Harry looked at Hermione, who then widened her eyes. She appeared to be experiencing a revelation.

"Ron," Hermione said slowly, "What's wrong?"

Ron jerked his head at Hermione as though just realizing that she was there. "Oh, nothing. Just a bit nervous about Snape's detention, I guess." He set the trembling goblet down and put both of his hands under the table. He tried to grin but it came out as a grimace. "I think I want to be alone for awhile." He moved to stand up.

"What are you thinking about?" Hermione said, halting his progress.

"Nothing," Ron said a little too quickly.

"That's it!" Hermione hissed, glancing scornfully at Gates. "Ron, do you know what he's doing to you?" Harry, catching on, felt his heart turn into rock.

Ron gave her a look of bewilderment. "What?" he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.

"Gates is probing your mind, Ron. He has been for the past two weeks," said Hermione, "Now sit down." Ron obeyed. "Listen, remember when Harry offered to give you Occlumency training?"

Ron's expression became aghast. "Merlin," Ron murmured, "That's what's been happening. I keep getting these thoughts into my head; terrible, guilty ones. It makes me remember…" He struggled for words. "What I am." He was clearly referring to his possession.

"Ron you're not dangerous," Harry said seriously, "Not to anyone. Gates is putting those thoughts into your head, see? He's even doing it to me, though I am starting to resist him."

"So what about those Occlumency lessons?" Ron asked determinedly.

"It's time we go through with that." She cast one more scathing look at Gates before continuing. "Even if you only have rudimentary defenses against Gates, he won't have as much of an influence over your mind."

"Why the bloody hell did he choose me?" Ron asked rhetorically, "I don't even say anything to him."

Hermione shook her head. "It's not about that. He's trying to split you away from Harry. He knows that he cannot force us apart overtly, but he thinks he can separate us by violating our minds. He knows your possessed, Ron, and though we know that you would never hurt us, he doesn't. Since he's here to protect Harry, he's trying to push you away. In his mind, he's doing his duty, though I have no doubt there are more sinister motives behind his peculiar choice of tactics as well."

Despite Hermione's confidence, Harry was not sure whether he could teach Ron Occlumency. It was a challenging ability; one that he had not even mastered yet. Besides, he would need to be able to use Legilimency too, and he had never tried it before. Probing into Ron's mind would also put a strain on their friendship, as Harry might see some very personal memories that Ron would be uncomfortable with him seeing. Regardless, they had to do something. Gates must not be allowed to skip through Ron's mind at whim.

A cold hand fell on Harry's shoulder, and an even colder voice that Harry recognized belonging to Snape spoke. "Ah, Potter and his very distinguished friends. I know how much you all have on your minds, and detention tends go to the wayside, so I took the liberty of escorting you three down to the dungeons myself. I did not want your respective detentions to slip from your collective minds. Let's go. Now."

Harry pushed away the last of his breakfast and Ron and Hermione did the same. They slowly moved from their seats and followed Snape to the entrance of the dungeons. Harry chanced a glance towards the staff table and saw that Professor McGonagall was engaged in a conversation with Professor Flitwick.

"Come now, unless you wish to waste more time. It doesn't matter to me, really," Snape said, "You won't be leaving the dungeons until every last glass bottle is sparkling clean."

When they entered Snape's classroom, they found countless stacks of dusty brown boxes stacked against the far wall, some looking like they have existed for centuries. The odor radiating from them, however, was the worst part. It stunk of grime and mildew and decay. Hermione pinched her nose while Harry's eyes watered. Snape, who alone appeared unaffected by the stench, (A real surprise with a nose that large) directed them to three buckets of water and rags, his meaning clear. Gates retreated into a dark corner on the opposite side of the room, looking as though he was ready to fall asleep.

"Take as much time as you need," Snape drawled, "You will stay here until I dismiss you. I will only do that when I see that your work is satisfactory."

Snape strode over to his desk and sat down. He pulled a massive stack of parchment towards him, and then meticulously began grading them. Harry recognized the stack as the essays they had to write on The Cleansing Potion that they had turned in on Friday. From the look of nasty disdain that was on his face, he was not pleased with the particular student's work.

He hoisted the first box off of the wall and nearly dropped it down next to his bucket. It was heavy with glass jars, bottles, and flasks; all of them filthy and caked with scum. Ron tossed him an exasperated look, and Harry simply shrugged. He just hoped that his hand would not cramp up like it did last time.

"And be careful," Snape said absently, his eyes reviewing a piece of parchment, "I'm not sure what was made in all of those jars, and I advise that you avoid touching the grime with your skin. Some of the effects can be…permanent."

Harry bent down and began cleaning the first jar, which glowed with a fluorescent green light. He wrapped the rag around his hand, carefully avoiding exposing his skin, and scrubbed at the inside of the jar. The slime, which apparently hardened over the years, stubbornly held on to the glass, forcing Harry to dig his nails through the rag and practically scrape it off. When he withdrew the rag, the jar was clean and the rag, once a grayish white, was now tinged with a greenish hue.

He turned to his friends to see that they were having similar trouble. Ron was desperately trying to pry something that looked like mold from the bottom of his flask, while Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust as she wiped away a collection of smeared insect appendages off the side of her bottle. The pity that Harry previously felt for Snape now gone, he reached down for another jar.

"This is never going to get done," Harry muttered as he plucked a dirty flask from the open cardboard box.

The process continued for the next twenty minutes, and Snape showed no signs of relenting. In fact, when he saw Ron finish his first box, Snape floated a replacement into the room and set it down in the exact spot where Ron's box previously was. He smirked and returned to his enormous stack of papers. Evidently, Snape possessed several store rooms of glassware for the trio to clean, and he was trying to make them as miserable as possible. Harry was relieved that when Ron finished his second box, Snape did not bring in another.

Beginning to feel weary, Harry looked up to see Snape's classroom book cupboard, usually locked and sealed, was slightly ajar; just enough for him to see the book Confessions of a Dark Wizard: The Pravus Necklace on the bottom shelf. Harry remembered seeing it in Occlumency training last week. Again, he felt the temptation to steal the tome, as the book would undoubtedly contain insight that even Dumbledore could not provide. Snape would not even notice, as the Potions master was currently too absorbed in failing his students to see Harry's actions. Again, like last time, he quelled the urge. The book obviously came from Snape's private collection, and he would know if it went missing; and there was only one person who could possibly have any interest in it. Eventually, it would lead back to Harry. More influential, however, was the fact that stealing from Snape, or anyone, for that matter, was wrong.

Another ten minutes passed, and Harry's bucket of water began to be thicken with scum and filth from the various bottles he cleaned. He now had a small heap of glassware nearby, and the collective muck Harry cleaned off from their insides was now swirling in the once-clean water. Hoping that the water diluted the solutions and prevented them from deforming his hand, Harry wrung out his rag and started cleaning yet another jar. When he finished, however, the jar was even dirtier than it had been before, and wet streams of muddy water now ran down its sides. Frowning, he turned to Snape.

"Err, professor?" Harry said.

Snape scrawled something that looked like a 'D' on the essay he was grading and looked up. "Yes? What is it?"

"This water," Harry began, gesturing to the bucket, "It's filthy. I can't clean anything with it. Where can I replace it?"

Snape sneered evilly. Never a good sign, Harry thought. "Well, Potter, I suppose I can help you there." He went under his desk and pulled out something that looked like a piece of scrap metal. He tossed it lightly across the room and it landed a meter away from Harry's feet. "Clean it out with that. Where's your sense of conservationism? We don't have water to waste on you."

Harry picked up the object, and found that it was a crude muggle filter. He dipped it into his bucket, and when he pulled it out a large amount of slime. Unsure of what to do with it, he made sure Snape was not looking and then tossed it inside of an empty box. He repeated the process until the water was mostly free of dirt. Though Harry could still not see the bottom of the bucket, and the liquid was still murky, it was clean enough for his purposes. He handed the filter off to Hermione and Ron, who in turn used it for their buckets.

"Potter," Snape said again, his voice biting through the chilled dungeon air, "Come here for a moment."

Wondering what Snape could possibly want, Harry tentatively approached him. By the way Snape was grinning, Harry knew that the Potions master had something nasty planned. "Yes, professor?"

"Where did you receive this information on The Cleansing Potion?" he asked casually, pointing to the essay in his hand. Harry's stomach dropped when he realized it was his. He had put at least two hours into writing the essay alone. That did not count all the research he had to do…

"The library and school textbooks, of course." Harry said cautiously.

Snape regarded the parchment in his hand with feigned interest. "And which textbook informed you that The Cleansing Potion works by 'burying' the excess waste?"

Harry leaned over the parchment. "That says 'burning'. As in acid."

"No, this most certainly says 'burying'," said Snape, unable to keep the humor out of his voice, "I fear that I am not responsible for your poor handwriting." He crossed out the entire sentence with his quill.

I see what you're doing. You're enjoying this, aren't you? Harry, however, made no audible comment.

"You spelled 'Asphodel' incorrectly, Potter. Another point lost…" Snape continued. He looked ready to lick his lips. "My, what are you trying to say here Potter?" He underlined a section of his essay and read it out loud. "The mixture of the Wormwood and Asphodel can result in undesirable consequences."

Snape paused, absorbing the statement. "What kind of consequences, Potter? After reading this, I'm not sure if you do. This is an essay, Potter, you don't make broad generalizations. Undesirable is completely within your point of view." He crossed out yet another sentence.

I would think the potion letting off poisonous gas would be listed under 'undesirable', Harry thought, but said nothing. He merely stared at Snape, not wanting the Potions master to derive any pleasure from failing his essay.

"And your mention of the Porvelian stone, did you forget to add the fact that the Porvelian stone often originates from different types of material? Such as rubies, coal, or even plants?"

Harry blinked. "If you read the fourth paragraph, you will-"

"Yes I see it now, nevermind Potter." Snape said, cutting him off. "But do you know that the Porvelian stone is often concealed in its several other forms, so to prevent its full implications and value from becoming apparent?"

Harry stared at him, perplexed. "It's in that same paragraph, sir."

Snape eyed the paper again. "So it is. Do you have anything else to say, Potter?"

Harry could not help himself. "Is there anything factually wrong with the paper, sir? Or is my grade based on grammar and interpretations?"

Snape did not even look up from the parchment. "It's based on whatever I think it should be based on. Now, here's your grade." He scribbled down an 'A' for Acceptable on the top right corner of the paper.

Harry was annoyed. There was no reason at all for him to earn anything under an 'E', especially when all of his facts were accurate. He had checked and rechecked every single sentence in his essay for errors, and even had Hermione review it for him. She found nothing wrong with it.

"I thought you were supposed to be less, err, harsh, sir." Harry said with a hint of irritation.

Snape's quill stopped abruptly as he was making a note on the next paper. "So the headmaster took the liberty to inform you of that, did he? I'll have you know that you are fortunate to receive an 'A' on that paper. I read nothing on it that exceeded my expectations, so why should you have that grade?" Though Snape's face was not turned towards Harry, he knew that he was smirking.

Harry grudgingly returned to scrubbing out the glass jars. He was now on his third box, and he wearily looked at the huge heap of boxes that awaited him. He estimated their number to be around thirty or forty -- at least. And that, of course, assumed that Snape found his cleaning adequate, which, Harry was sure, he would not.

Harry heard Snape's quill scratch on parchment as the Potions master (He was sure) crossed out passages and phrases on some poor student's essay. From the amount of noise Snape's quill was making, Harry was sure that, whoever the student was, he had received a 'D'. He turned away from his work to see Snape put the paper onto the shorter stack of finished essays with a pleased expression on his face, as though he had just found a galleon lying on the ground.

Suddenly, someone Harry had not expected swept into the room, appearing very self-important with a pompous expression on his face. Percy, subtly winking at Harry as he went, stopped in front of Snape's desk and waited with an elevated air. Gates eyed him curiously from his corner.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley?" Snape said silkily, looking up at Percy. "Is there something I can do for you?"

Percy sucked in his breath and began. "Professor Whams requires assistance in some work that he needs done, and, as he heard that you have some students in detention, he asks if you could be so kind as to lend them to him for the rest of the day."

Snape raised his eyebrow. "And where did Professor Whams hear this from?"

"I do not know, sir," Percy replied with the unmistakable tone of a former Head Boy.

"What work does he need help with?"

Harry swore that Percy almost smiled. "He needs aid in cleaning the Grindylow tanks and the other various dark creatures. They are far overdue for this sort of work, and Professor Whams, in his condition, is quite nervous about performing this task."

"Where are you keeping the Grindylows in the meantime?" Snape asked suspiciously.

"They're still in the tanks," Percy answered, "I'm afraid Professor Whams has no spare equipment."

Snape looked positively gleeful. Apparently the heightened possibility of physical injury made the change of work more appealing. He glanced at Harry with a menacing look in his eyes and turned back to Percy. "I am certainly not one to deny the requests of my associates. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger: You will all server the remained portion of your detention by cleaning out the various tanks that Professor Whams instructs you to clean out. You may leave." He waved them away.

They quickly filed out of the room, leaving their buckets and rags behind, barely able to believe their luck. Gates followed them from behind, almost strolling. Percy led them away until they were out of earshot, and then spun around.

"Are you three still interested in going to Hogsmeade?" Percy asked hurriedly.

"Yes," the three of them said in chorus.

"Then you have twenty minutes to get on the bus." Percy said, peering down the corridor as if expecting Snape to be tracking them.

Ron looked perplexed. "What about the detention with Whams?"

"Look," said Percy, "I'd understand if you still want to go to detention, even though it was unjust, so we can go head up to Professor Whams's office and you can help me file his folders. You don't have to go to your detention; Professor Whams overheard what Professor Snape told you three and I heard him muttering about it during lunch yesterday, so I know you didn't deserve it. If you had really done something wrong, trust me, you'd still be with Professor Snape right now."

"Isn't Professor Whams going to know we're gone?" Hermione asked, biting her lower lip.

"No, he's probably already forgotten," Percy said, "So he won't know the difference. I'll cover for you and tell Professor Snape that you finished your detention with Professor Whams. If he comes up, I'll just say Professor Whams dismissed you early."

"You're going to lie to a teacher?" said Ron with disbelief in his voice. He stared at his brother in a whole new light. "Who are you?"

Percy actually grinned. "Look, I'm a bit less naïve about authority now, okay? I realize what can go on…" He paused, as though a sudden thought stuck him. "There isn't going to be a problem, is there?" He asked, looking directly at Gates.

The Hit Wizard merely stared back. "You can't be serious. Anything is preferable to watching Potter scrub jars for hours on end."

"Good, then that's settled."

"Thanks, you didn't have to do this, though, Percy." Harry replied.

"I know," said Percy, "So do you want to go to Hogsmeade or do you want to serve your detention." He looked furtively at Hermione. "I know how, err, sensitive one or two of you can be about following the rules, so you can still finish it up if you want."

"We'll go," Hermione said, knowing the question was directed towards her.

Percy nodded. "Then go now. The buses leave in ten minutes. Professor Snape never told Professor McGonagall about your detentions, so she won't say anything. I reckon its because Professor Snape doesn't have any evidence on you, and he knows Professor McGonagall will just overrule him."

"I figured that." Harry muttered.

"Alright," Percy said at length, looking around, "Go on, you three. Professor Snape isn't leaving the dungeons, so you'll be in the clear."

They all (Ron included) murmured their thanks and ran off, hoping to catch the buses before they left. The dungeon stairway never seemed so long when they clambered up it before, but now it felt like it took an eternity to climb. Harry heard Gates's heavy footfalls below, but he did not care. They needed to make the bus in time.

"Percy has really changed, hasn't he?" Ron said aloud as they ran, "I never would have thought…"

They reached the front entrance of the castle and found Filch marking off the last names on the students leaving for Hogsmeade. When Harry, Ron, and Hermione approached, he narrowed his eyes and tightened his lips.

"And where have you children been? Haven't you and your nasty little friends been waiting all week to go to Hogsmeade and fill up on dungbombs and-" He visibly shuddered. "-Skiving Snackboxes and all those other devices those twins sell? I was so close…I had the approval and everything…" His eyes glazed over as he reminisced.

"So are we in time?"

Filch snapped out of his fond memories of Umbridge's order that allowed him to administer corporal punishment on Fred and George. "Yes," he muttered, crossing off their names. He did not even look up when Gates passed him by.

They hopped onto the buses, and Ron suddenly hesitated when they began to take their seats. "I should, err," His ears deepened into a shade of red. "You know, sit with Luna. So I should go and find out where she is…" His voice trailed off into faint mumblings.

"Oh, go ahead Ron," said Hermione, giggling, "We don't mind."

"Of course we don't," Harry agreed rather quickly.

"Well, that will work," Ron said somewhat nervously, "How about we meet in the Three Broomsticks sometime? Maybe about one-thirty?" He began to play with the hem of his robe.

"Sure," Harry replied, "If that's alright with you, Hermione."

Hermione appeared slightly taken aback by the thoughtfulness. "That's fine, Ron. We'll see you then."

Ron nodded and eased his way to the back of the bus, disappearing into the mass of students. Harry sat back in the cushion seat, and let out a long sigh.

He racked his brain for a place they could go in Hogsmeade, and could not think of anything appropriate. What was the advice the Sorting Hat gave him? Try something public, yet secluded. Well, there were plenty of public places in Hogsmeade, but secluded too? Harry was beginning to dislike the intentional contradictions that people passed off as 'advice'.

Then an idea that could only be categorized as pure brilliance hit him. The bookstore! Sure, it was not necessarily his favorite place, but he really did not care. Bookstores were open to the public, yet few people spent any great deal of time there. It would be easy to find a relatively isolated table in the corner of the store and sit down, stretching his legs and glancing through some books (Possibly some that could come in handy for the D.A.) while Hermione read only a few feet away from him. The Hogwarts library may contain a vast array of tomes and books, but Harry was sure that the collection was not absolute.

Feeling much more comfortable, Harry settled down a little more. They could go to the bookstore straight after meeting Luna and Ron. As the bus jolted and rumbled down the road to Hogsmeade, Harry, feeling awkward, started a conversation.

"So, err, what do you want to do when we get there?" Harry asked, trying to lessen the foreign tension that surrounded them. Merlin, why did this sort of stuff have to be so difficult?

"I don't know," Hermione said, sounding unusually hesitant, "Maybe we can go to the Quidditch supply store for awhile."

Harry understood what she was trying to do. "No, we've been in there loads of times. There's never anything new in there." Of course, it was a flat out lie, but he knew that Hermione would be bored and that she was only offering to go for his sake. "Let's stop at Honeydukes for awhile; we can meet up with Ron and Luna afterward." He wanted to put off the bookstore idea until after they met Luna and Ron, as they would have more time then.

"That sounds fine," Hermione replied. From the way she was looking at him, Harry could tell she was surprised.

When the bus finally slowed to a halt, a flow of enthusiastic third years leapt down the steps, followed by the usual mass of older students, who were mostly divided into female and male pairs. The day was surprisingly hot for September, and the students who brought a heavier cloak to wear over their robes soon found themselves carrying it in their arms, their hair becoming moist from the heat. Gates alone remained unfazed from the temperature, and he stubbornly wore his heavy crimson robes and matching cloak like some sort of warrior's regalia.

Throughout Hogsmeade, Harry noticed that there were several Aurors in ministry uniforms patrolling the streets, obviously assigned to boost security since Voldemort's reign returned. In addition, many Hogwarts professors, including McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout, spread out from the buses to positions around Hogsmeade to reinforce the Aurors. Evidently, every precaution was being made to prevent Death Eaters from wrecking havoc during the field trip.

Mercifully, Gates kept to himself as Harry and Hermione browsed through Hogsmeade, never even throwing a veiled insult in Harry's direction. He seemed especially wary of his surroundings, often peering into dark corners and alleys as though expecting to see dark wizards. His hand was always thrust deeply into his robes, undoubtedly clutching at his wand. His bald head shone with sweat as his eyes darted about erratically.

Entering Honeydukes, Harry was dismayed to see it packed with young witches and wizards. Hermione, apparently indifferent, eased through the crowd and motioned Harry to follow her. Almost shoving past a tight knot of witches, they at last stood before a case displaying a variety of exotic candy, including the infamous cockroach clusters.

"Nothing's here, let's try the main desk," she said, shaking her head. Hermione grabbed his hand and led him across the shop.

They stood in front of a glass counter, which enclosed a vast array of chocolates, mints, and caramel treats. An old wizard, who just finished up serving a small group of students, saw them and came down to their end.

"Anything I can get for you two?" he asked genially.

Harry considered his choices. "I'll have two of those, three of the candy bars on the bottom shelf, and a bagful of the lemon drops." he said, pointing to them respectively. Since Dumbledore had offered him one in his office last week, he had become quite fond of the lemon candies. The old wizard gathered the desired candy and set them on the counter.

Hermione's eyes quickly scanned the shelves. "I'll just have a bag of lemon drops too, but can they be sugarless?" Harry suddenly remembered that Hermione's parents were dentists, and he mentally kicked himself for the oversight.

"Certainly," The old wizard smiled, filled a bag of lemon drops, and then murmured an incantation on the candy. The lemon drops glowed white for an instant, and then dimmed back to their natural color. "They're sugarless now."

"Thanks," Hermione accepted them. "How much?"

"Fifteen knuts."

Hermione counted out the money and Harry asked, "And mine?"

"Yours comes out to three sickles and fourteen knuts."

"I'll take care of this," Harry said, "They come out to an even four sickles, so I might as well." he added.

"You don't have to-"

"I insist," Harry said, already paying the cashier. Hermione hesitated, them put her money away.

They grabbed their purchases and left, relieved at finally escaping from the crowded store. Meandering down the street, Harry realized that, for the most part, he was blissfully unaware of Gates's presence. The only sign of his existence was when Harry glanced over his shoulder to see the Hit Wizard's towering form looming over the surrounding students like a tree. Hardly believing his luck that the afternoon was going so well, Harry walked on, a smile playing on his face. He barely noticed an Auror roughly bump into him as he went.

"What are you so happy about?" Hermione asked, grinning slightly.

"Nothing is wrong for once."

Hermione blushed and turned away.

A moment later they passed Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecomb, both of them appearing rather dejected. When Marietta saw Harry, she leaned nearer to Cho wand whispered non-too-quietly "I told you."

Hermione cast a puzzled glance at Harry and he shrugged.

Hermione's eyes widened in realization. "Harry, they don't think-"

"Nah, 'course not," Harry said, though he had a sneaking suspicion of the exact opposite.

At one thirty, Harry and Hermione entered The Three Broomsticks, searching intently around the tavern for Luna and Ron. They did not have to look long, however, as Ron began vehemently waving them over to a secluded table in the corner where he and Luna now sat, both drinking tall glasses of pumpkin juice. To Harry's surprise, Ron was wearing a large grin on his face; a sharp contrast to the uneasy expression he had when he was on the bus. Several meters away from the table, a ministry Auror (Harry recognized him as Dawlish) carefully watched over the bustling bar.

Harry waited for Hermione to pick a seat and then sat down. "Hey mate."

"How's it been going so far?" Ron asked. He was positively beaming.

Harry saw, out of the corner of his eye, Gates wait for a moment, then sit down on a stool at the end of the bar, just within earshot of their table.

"Great," Harry answered, and Hermione nodded in agreement. She, like Ron, was smiling broadly.

Harry heard Gates mutter "Red Haze; make it Horntail." to the bartender, Madam Rosemereta.

"I'm sorry, we don't have that here," Rosemereta said apologetically, "Can I interest you in something else?"

Gates, with obvious irritation in his voice, answered "No, nothing." Luna, who seemed to have picked up on this exchange, watched him curiously.

"So where've you been?" Ron asked, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

"Nowhere in particular," Harry said, "Honeydukes mostly."

"Did you check out the Quidditch supply store?"

Harry tried to find a way out of this line of questioning but failed. "Err, no."

Ron looked puzzled. "Why not? Everyone was checking out the new Cleansweep series."

"They were?" Harry said, feigning ignorance, "Well, I didn't know. I mean, it must've just slipped my mind." He knew he was babbling and sounding like a fool, but at the moment he was running out of options. Luna looked at Harry and Hermione with a curious look in her eyes.

Ron snorted into his drink. "Slipped your mind? Have you gone mental?" He adamantly refused to believe that anyone could possibly think that anyone could forget about Quidditch. "It's-"

"Me and Ronald went to Honeydukes, too." Luna interrupted, her ethereal voice halting Ron's tirade. "He bought me some chocolate frogs." She turned to Ron with a dreamy smile on her face.

Ron's ears tinged pink. "I suppose I did."

"Did you two buy anything at Honeydukes?" Luna inquired, returning her gaze to Harry and Hermione.

"Harry bought some chocolate bars and lemon drops," Hermione said, "Though he bought some sugarless ones for me since I never really cared for sugar as my parents are dentists."

Luna nodded as if this confirmed something.

"Have you run into any professors?" Ron asked, "We should try to avoid 'em."

"Why? Snape was the only one who knew we had detentions."

"If word gets back that we were at Hogsmeade," said Ron, his voice low, "Snape will kill us. So we better keep a low profile while we're here." Harry suddenly understood why Ron chose a shabby, distant corner of the tavern to sit.

"I doubt Severus would do such a thing," drawled Gates, coming up from behind. Harry silently cursed. He knew that Gates's apathy was too good to last. "And you may be surprised at how little word gets back to him. Few teachers bother to inform Severus of anything...I daresay most professors find the dungeons far too cold."

Harry sighed. "So what made you decide to speak? You were doing so well up until now."

Gates stared at each occupant of the table before answering. "I'm afraid they did not have my preferred drink in stock."

"I'd imagine the Red Haze is a hard to come by," said Luna, turning her protuberant eyes onto Gates, "Though you seem to be the type who drinks a concoction simple because of its name. Why drink a Red Haze when you can create your own, more realistic, variety?"

Gates licked his teeth as if debating whether to react. "I am here for the entire year, Lovegood."

"And Potter," Gates abruptly said, whirling onto Harry, "I advise you to tell your friends to keep their tongues securely within their mouths. You would not want me to express my displeasure at being thrown subtle taunts by the daughter of the editor of the Quibbler." he added, his voice mocking as he finished.

Before Harry could respond to Gates's weak attempt to shift pressure, Luna said "My father once told me a story, Mr. Gates. Can I tell it to you?" Luna continued without waiting. "My father told me a story about a fisherman they found dead on the beach. This particular fisherman had holes on the top of his shoulders, where slender spikes apparently entered the flesh. Now, the muggles automatically assumed it was murder, but upon further investigation, they found that the man actually drowned. The holes on the man's shoulders were created by small gripping spikes, which are on every fisherman's boots. These spikes help fishermen keep their balance on slippery surfaces, such as a deck on a boat. It was later discovered that this fisherman was part of a larger party of fishermen whose boat sunk off the coast. The final report dictated that another fisherman in the party stood on the now-dead man's shoulders in order to keep his own head above water. This put the spikes into the dead man's shoulders, and this also caused him to drown. Do you understand? His partner stepped on his shoulders to keep alive, at the other man's expense."

"Is there a point to the story?" Gates interjected impatiently.

"Yes," Luna replied, smiling gently as though readying herself for an especially enjoyable moment. "The point of the story, my father said, was that such actions, while they are excusable sometimes in mortal situations, are not acceptable anywhere else; particularly, I might add, in social gatherings."

Hermione clasped her hand over her mouth to hide laughter, and Harry, just beginning to understand the insult, stared up at Gates with a broad grin on his face.

Gates, however, was not amused. His hands were clenched tightly together in rage and his eyes were glittering darkly with unmistakable fury. "Your father is an interesting man," Gates snarled, his voice seething. "It's a pity he wastes his potential like he does."

"I don't know about that," Luna replied nonchalantly, casually sipping her drink. "He's been preparing a massive piece for the past several weeks. It's going to be on the front cover." she added happily.

"Should I care?" Gates asked with a measure of mocking superiority, "The Quibbler's subscription barely extends beyond a circle of gossiping, middle-aged witches."

"We now deliver to nearly three times as many people as we used to," Luna said proudly, "The Daily Prophet's nonsense has increased sales considerably. People want an alternate news source, and we can provide fair, legitimate coverage. Most of Hogwarts subscribes to the Quibbler as well as the Daily Prophet."

Gates's eyes flashed. "Dare I ask what it's about?" His jaw began to work itself as if he was chewing rocks.

Luna's tone was light and dreamy. "Just you and the Gates family history."

"What?" Gates spat as though the word was ash. Recovering, he continued "You will inform me of the details of this article before it is released, which is required, by law, when a family name is introduced."

"Suit yourself; though you won't change anything. I will provide you with apt warning."

"You- What-" His eyes blazed yet he seemed unable to form a single statement to express his anger. "Never-" Something worked inside of the Hit Wizard's head, and his hand went up to his temple.

He inhaled. "One day you will be out of this school and will be an adult; and I may remember and then I will have no scruples." He spun and strode back to the bar, his rigid posture reflecting his fuming disposition.

"He never cares about his own name," Luna said when Gates left, "It's always the family name. You should pity him, Harry." she added sadly.

It was an hour later, and Gates had returned to being pleasantly silent. Luna's remarks, it seemed, submerged him into an expression of brooding irritation; the only emotion etched into his sharp face being resigned anger. His wounded pride festered within him. At the moment, he was sitting stonily at a far table, his eyes occasionally glancing up from a rather ancient-looking tome he was reading.

At Harry's insistence, they entered the relatively empty bookstore and found an area dedicated exclusively to reading. Hermione, initially trying to politely dissuade Harry, agreed to spend at least an hour or two reading over a few of the rare tomes in the store. She knew, of course, that he was only suggesting this for her benefit, as he was not 'into' books like she was. In other words, both of them were trying to please the other, though Harry won in the end.

To Harry's surprise, the bookstore functioned as both a library and a bookstore, as, for a considerable fee, one could rent out a book for months or even years. As some of the tomes were exceptionally rare, purchasing them would be impossible for everyone except the most wealthy of wizards. They set aside an area where studious wizards and witches from Hogwarts could browse through their stock without paying a fee. Normally a card would be required to read through a tome for a long length of time.

"I've been searching for this Ancient Rune book for ages," Hermione murmured as she opened up a book labeled Ancient Druids Revisited. "The library at school, of course, has books on the druids but they don't have nearly the level of detail of the ones you can find in Hogsmeade."

"Yeah, I think I know what you mean." Harry said, flipping through a book that described counter-jinxes and defensive charms useful against the Dark Arts. Next to it was an edition of Mountain Trolls and Giants: A Definitive Guide to Protection.

Hermione set her book onto the table. "Harry?"

"Hmm?" Harry asked, pretending to vastly interested in what he was reading. It was really just an excuse not to meet her eyes, as at the moment, he was not sure what they would betray.

"Why did we come here?" Her question was simple, direct, and precisely what Harry had expected her to ask.

Because…why? So far the day had proven to among the most confusing ever, and Harry could scarcely formulate a response. Something pulled at his chest.

Well think of something soon, you dunderhead, said a sleek, sly voice in his head that Harry had now come to identify as Snape's. It was weird to hear the Potion master's voice echoing in his head to say the least, but Harry figured it was from some strange side-effect of having Snape probe into his mind constantly. The development was recent, and Harry believed it had only started this past week.

What do you suggest? I can't very well answer that without sounding stupid.

Well you better think of something soon. You've been staring at this page for a minute now and you can't keep this up forever. You're failing at this horrendously. And here I thought your Potions skill was terrible.

"Why did we come here?" Hermione repeated, and Harry was startled out of his internal conversation.

"Because you like reading, don't you?" Harry said, not taking his eyes off of his book. It's a simple question, why does it have to be so hard to answer?

Because giving the real answer could very well break your friendship, isn't that right? You're floundering, Potter.

Thanks Snape, you're a real pal.

That's Professor Snape to you.

Hermione was apparently not satisfied with Harry's response. "But you don't."

"I reckoned that we could do something you like for once. It seems like me and Ron are always dragging you through the Quidditch supply store." Harry replied, settling for telling the incomplete truth.

Harry chanced a glance at Hermione's face and saw surprise.

"Thank you," Hermione said, and took up her books and moved across the table. For a minute, Harry thought she was going to kiss him on the cheek, but instead she sat down on a chair adjacent to him; much closer than before, he noticed.

"No problem."

Harry subtly scooted his seat towards Hermione, and then he sat back, enjoying their closeness. He was now strongly aware of every curve on her face and the location of every strand of her brown hair. Her eyes moved back and forth slightly as she read the lines in her book, and, when she finished the page on her left, her head would imperceptibly turn as she went to the other page. Sometimes, perhaps once every thirty seconds, she would blink and her eyes would shine with an intensity she usually reserved for books and S.P.E.W. Her lips began to tug into a smile, and Harry quickly locked his gaze back onto the Dark Arts book. Heat rose into his cheeks. Why was he staring?

Now if you could pay attention to your Potions work like you do to her face, you may be able to salvage your grade. Unfortunately, you're doomed to failure. I believe it's something in the blood.

Harry was beginning to tire of Snape's dry comments. My grade isn't a reflection of my work.

True, but surely even you must realize that my teachings extend beyond Potions.

"Hermione," Harry began to ask without knowing why, "What ever happened to Krum?"

Hermione looked slightly taken aback by the question. "What makes you ask about him?" She sounded slightly anxious.

"Well," said Harry, once again unsure of his reasoning, "You sort of didn't get anything for Valentine's day last year, and I just thought that was kind of strange. If you don't want to talk about it…"

There was no doubt now: Hermione was surprised. "No, that's quite all right. Don't tell Ron, but I broke up with him last fall. It was never going to work out, honestly," Hermione looked back down at her book as though avoiding something. "So I decided that we should move on."

Harry's lips formed a silent "oh" and he returned to reading his book. He had been staring at the same page for twenty minutes and had not absorbed a word.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you help me with something?"

"Sure, what is it?"

Hermione took a rather long time to answer. "I can't reach this book. I wanted to get it earlier but I'm too short."

"Alright, where is it?" Harry said, closing the Dark Arts book and standing up from the chair expectantly.

"It's in the back," she continued as she led him into the rows of shelves that contained dusty racks of tomes, books, and old copies of extinct magazines. Harry shot one last glance towards Gates to see that the Hit Wizard was watching them critically, and was now moving to follow.

At length they came to the very back, and Hermione stood next a particularly tall shelf of books bound in green and red covers. "Could you get that for me?" she asked, pointing to a scarlet tome about nine feet off the ground. He would have to be a giraffe to reach it.

He bordered on asking Gates for help, but, coming to his senses, he dragged a footstool up the shelf and, standing on the tip of his toes, eased the book out of its nook and brought it down into Hermione's waiting hand.

"Thanks,"

"It's nothing."

"Harry," Hermione continued, "It isn't just the book." Hermione appeared to be restraining herself from biting her lip; a habit Harry began to associate with nervousness or indecision.

Harry pretended to be distracted by a particular textbook on the shelf. "Hmm?"

"I wanted to ask you a question…away from him." said Hermione, unable to keep a hint of unease out of her voice.

Harry, having a good idea of what the question was, said "What's the question?" His palms began to sweat.

This ought to be good, said Snape sarcastically. I confess that I usually do not find amusement in students' relationships, but in your case, I'm making an exception.

Hermione drew a deep breath, as though preparing to say the next several sentences very quickly. "You see, do-"

"Potter?" A new voice sounded from down the row of books. Harry turned to see a ministry Auror, wearing simple black robes with the ministry crest, practically sprinting towards him, his blonde hair stuck up wildly and giving the overall impression of extreme haste. His eyes flitted to Gates's towering form and then went back to Harry. "I've been searching for you for the past half hour. Miss Granger? Both of you, come with me."

Harry and Hermione followed him unquestionably; his authority as an Auror irrefutable. Was there an attack? Are they evacuating the students? What happened?

"Quickly," the Auror urged, "We don't have much time. We'll go out the back way."

They were now running, and, suddenly, the Auror winced and stumbled as though in pain. He clutched his side, audibly inhaled, and then straightened. Harry did a double take. Was it a trick with the light, or did the Auror's hair get considerably shorter?

Harry glanced behind him to see Hermione one step away. People poked their heads out from behind bookcases curiously, wondering what all the noise and ruckus was about. The store's clerk (And almost perfect replica of Madam Pince) shriveled her nose as she watched them from afar.

"Hermione, are you all right?" Harry asked, concerned. She was beginning to fall behind.

"I'm fine, let's go."

"Slow down," Harry said to the Auror's back, "She's falling behind."

The Auror was unwilling to comply. "We can't. There's not much time. Go through that door!"

He pointed to a door marked 'Employees Only' and threw it open. Inside was a large, plain room with an adjoining corridor. Several cardboard boxes and stacks of books were heaped in the corners, and it looked more like a storage room than anything else. The Auror closed and magically sealed the door behind him, and then turned to Harry and Hermione, who were now panting.

"There," the Auror said in a slightly higher voice. "Now-"

The Auror raised his wand, as though preparing to summon a curse, when he abruptly doubled over in pain, wrapping his arms over his stomach. He sucked in a breath, and then leveled it again. His face, once round and full, was beginning to narrow and contort into something that looked chillingly familiar. His wand was now pointed rigidly at Harry's chest.

Harry stared at the wand. "Err, what are you doing?"

The Auror's voice came out like a growl. "Fulfilling my master's will. Avad-" The Auror's wand drooped downwards, and he shut his eyes in pain. An instant later they opened again, and this time the face was pale, long, and malicious. He recognized it immediately; he had seen flashes of it almost every night for the past two weeks. Standing before him, in the flesh, was Antonin Dolohov.

Harry's eyes grew wide. He seized Hermione's arm and began to pull, but he already knew that it would be impossible to escape.

"Avada-"

Simultaneously, on the opposite side of the door, someone shouted "Reducto!" The door burst into splinters, and Harry was showered in a flurry of wooden chips. Antonin, his curse only partially performed, staggered to the side and whirled onto his opponent. Gates leapt through the doorway, wand drawn and ready, his expression one of utmost excitement.

"Get out of here Potter!" Gates commanded, and then rounded fully on Dolohov.

"Hermione!" Harry said, snapping her out of her trance. He grabbed a handful of her robes and yanked hard. She quickly responded and followed Harry as they crept out of the room, trying to stay between Gates and Dolohov.

Antonin, however, saw this and grinned. "Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!" He knew that he would not be able to hit anyone at that range with the slow killing curse, so he used the quicker stunning spells to disable his targets for later destruction.

A mass of white light smashed into the wall on either side of Harry, and he ducked down to escape the third. He reached out for Hermione's hand, and was horrified to see her lying inert on the floor beside him. Her position told Harry that the stunning spell had connected with her side when she had been distracted by Dolohov's first three spells. Harry grabbed her shoulder and turned her face upwards.

"Get out of here Potter!" Gates repeated, his massive body blocking any further attacks from Dolohov.

"I'm not leaving her here!" argued Harry, and his mind raced.

"Reducto!" Antonin bellowed, and the wall beside Harry exploded, sending him reeling backwards from the blast. He tripped and a sharp surge of pain from his foot told him he had twisted his ankle; possibly breaking the bone. Biting back the hurt, Harry crawled back to Hermione, drawing his wand and trying desperately to remember every defensive and healing charm he had ever learned.

"Infligo!" Gates roared, and a cone of white light emerged from the end of his wand, advancing on Dolohov at a slow but unstoppable speed.

Antonin leapt out of the way as the curse slammed into the wall behind him, the wood buckling and warping from sheer force. "Avada Kedavra!" he shouted as he dived sideways.

In a blurred motion, Gates flicked his wand and a massive tome shot through the air and connected with the curse, exploding into a million fiery pieces.

"Crucio!" Dolohov countered, not pausing for breath.

Gates made a backwards wiping motion with his wand and said "Abiuro!". The curse cracked and vanished. Antonin looked dumbfounded.

"You're lucky Antonin," said Gates, "When we first met the Aurors saved you. If I had found you first…your fate would not have been so kind."

Dolohov sneered and shouted "Avada Kedavra!" Gates neatly sidestepped and the curse whizzed past his head and drilled into the wall, leaving a burning hole in its wake.

"What happened to your sense of style Antonin?" Gates asked mockingly. "Exuro!"

A bolt of orange shot at Dolohov and, with a blurring reaction, was deflected by Antonin bellowing "Infligo!" the instant before the curse made contact. The cone, absorbing the bolt and shattering it, flew back at Gates, who in turn banished it with his Aegis Shield.

Seemingly irritated, Gates jerked his wand towards a stack of books. "Accio books!" The stack wavered, then took off with surprising speed towards the Hit Wizard. "Wingardium Leviosa!" The books abruptly stopped in midair. "Waddiwasi!"

The mass of tomes shot at Antonin like individual bullets, and, before he could so much as blink, Dolohov was thrown backwards as the objects slammed into him, and Harry though he heard a few ribs break from the force. Antonin landed heavily on his back, and he laid there helpless, gasping for air. Harry felt himself become dizzy, and he put his hand on his head to keep the room from spinning.

Gates advanced on Dolohov as one wielding a terrible power.

Alexander Gates knelt down and examined Dolohov with a passionate air, and, like he always did, he wondered what he would look like if their positions were reversed. Would he show fear? Courage? Strength? Would he show anything? Antonin's expression was one of disgusted self-hate, a look of someone who had failed their lord.

His eyes fell to the Death Eater's black, signature robes, and something stirred. Gates's gaze locked onto skull-and-serpent symbol of the Dark Lord; the lone icon that made him want to smash and kill and mutilate and shout and destroy and behave in the way an honorable wizard never should behave.

A soft, familiar voice spoke into his head. Do it now…do it now.

Gates placed his hand on Antonin's neck and began to caress it, almost lovingly. In reality, he was testing its firmness; its resistance to injury and how much strength would be required for the necessary operation. It was always this way. Alex had this procedure down almost to an art.

At length, his fingers, hardened like steel, felt behind the neck and touched the backbone. He probed into the bone, feeling out the niches and crevices, finding the unique spot where he could effectively paralyze the lower half of the body with a quick jerk. He pressed into the skin, and, sensing the blood vessels there, moved further down the spine, almost to the shoulders.

"My cousin - he was a squib - once told me that I should be a muggle chiropractor," Gates said absently. He found it easier to perform his task if he talked while he examined the bone with his fingers. Some would say this was a sign of reluctance or nervousness, but he did not think so. "He's dead now. Your kind killed him." He stared into Dolohov's pupils with unrestrained hate in his eyes.

Gates's fingers stopped abruptly when he found a likely spot. Hidden between the bone, he found a nest of sinew and tendon; the hard muscle containing elixirs of blood. He probed deeper, and felt a tiny crevice in the bone; an excellent sign. Moving a bit up, he was disappointed to feel a mere notch. Anatomy was a difficult science, and to become adept at it one had to persevere.

"Actually both my kind and your kind killed him," Alex continued, "You see, my relatives were not nice people. Squibs had no place in their family. He died when they found out they he spoke to me. He apparently tainted me with his vileness." he added with laced sarcasm.

His fingers probed a sensitive area that he knew contained a bundle of nerves. He was close now. Vaguely, he wondered if anyone had really appreciated the brilliance of the human spinal cord. It's a magnificent network of nerves and electricity, all of them tied and connected into one endless circuit. This, Gates decided, made it all the more exciting to break. He did not understand why he found joy in shattering near-perfect things, but only knew that he did.

"My relatives, they had me study human Anatomy during the summer. They always told me how useful such knowledge could be for the Dark Lord-" Gates hesitated. "-But I didn't tell you how I came into their infallible care, did I? Well, it so happens that that involves your kind, as well."

Alex looked down into Dolohov's eyes once more, and saw the beginning of fear in them. He smiled, reveling in the fact that the procedure was going as planned. It always went as planned, but he found it satisfying regardless.

The voice in his head urged him on.

"Your kind killed my parents in their own home, and I was left with my relatives. How they utterly enjoyed that. They always wanted to take me away from my parents. They said my mother came from 'bad blood' and it made me weak. They decided they would drain me of that blood, figuratively and literally." He chuckled mirthlessly. "They didn't even share my last name. I hate them more than I hate the Dark Lord. There will come a time…"

Finally, success! Gates found a tiny crack in the backbone that would allow him to paralyze Dolohov irreversibly. It was wrapped in nerves and cords of tendons like a gift. Grinning, he withdrew his right hand and placed it securely on the side of Antonin's neck. A sudden, foreign feeling swept through his body, and this, like everything else, was normal. Alex never knew how to interpret the feeling, but only understood that it was something weak and to be suppressed. He stilled his shuddering hands and, with a quick, sharp jerk, he snapped Dolohov's backbone and severed the spinal cord. Once again probing Dolohov's neck, Gates found that the backbone was shattered in several places, and the muscle and sinew were either critically damaged or severed completely. Dolohov was not dead, but was paralyzed from the shoulders down. Antonin stared at him, the terror evident in his eyes.

Gates surveyed Dolohov's body, and was pleased to see that it was no longer shivering. "You may think that was unnecessary, but it has a purpose. I can't have you squirming around when I perform the transfiguration, can I? That would cause the spell to go awry and things may become nasty. You may wonder why I don't simply use a full body-bind, but your kind made me forsake that spell."

And now he had to perform the most important part of the rite. Bending down, Gates whispered into Antonin's ear, telling him words that no one but his victims would ever hear. When Alex finished, he withdrew his head and continued with the final step of the procedure.

He raised his wand, and, with a faint muttering and a flash of light, Dolohov's body disappeared. In its place was a single, small, white diamond. Alex pocketed it for later use and then straightened himself. The voice in his head sounded most elated, and that, in turn, satisfied him.

Gates turned to see Harry with a blank expression on his face: the look of profound horror. Alex recognized it from the many times he had seen it.

Gates was now staring at Harry with a twisted smile on his face, and Harry felt the need to retch his stomach out. He knew the purpose of that diamond, and he realized with growing terror the origin of every diamond on Gates's necklace. Everything suddenly fit together like individual pieces on a terrible puzzle.

Dear Merlin, Hermione was wrong.

"That's where they're coming from," Harry murmured to himself, "He's channeling the old powers of the men he- the men he-" He what?

The sinister, mocking voice of Gates echoed in his mind. It was a statement from long ago. "I've only killed one man in my life." The necklace glittered on Gates's chest.

Oh Merlin, the dark wizards on that necklace: they're alive! Paralyzed but alive. The screams…it makes sense now. The wizards he attacked…after he graduated…they were his first victims. That's why he never had the necklace during Hogwarts. He created the Pravus necklace out of the bodies of his parents' killers, so he came back. But wouldn't Dumbledore notice there were only three diamonds on the necklace when he came back instead of the hundreds there are now? Well, Dumbledore never saw Gates, so he is just going off of what Mr. Weasley told him. Arthur just said there was a necklace, he never commented about how many diamonds there were. Merlin, what has he done?

Gates regarded Harry with a cold, detached gaze. "I think it's time to begin the second favor."

Harry, his brain beginning to short-circuit, saw the light dim and then float away; his last sight being that of the necklace that screamed.

As he laid there, he saw flashes and images of muggles screaming.

(A/N: First off, Luna's fisherman story was borrowed from 'Dune', one of the best books ever written; so it's not mine.

That last scene wasn't exactly in sync with the Christmas cheer…but blame bad timing. Frankly, this entire chapter was just bizarre. Harry is hearing Snape's voice for a reason, so no one write anything out yet. This fanfic is approximately 35%-40% completed.

Chapter 13: Harry finds out that it wasn't isolated to Hogsmeade; Snape has a little discussion with Harry concerning skipping detentions; we learn a bit in Professor Whams's class; and I pick up a subplot that I haven't touched on since chapter 8.

On a side note, Portkey's awards are coming up and I suggest that, for those of you who read Non-H/HR, to submit some more nominations for that category otherwise it'll be narrowed.

Some people write out a quote for their next chapter. I like that so here it is:

"Alex," Dumbledore said, uttering the name with a distaste he normally reserved only for Riddle, "What have you done?" )