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

Woodrow M

(I hope everyone had a good holiday. This is hardly the place to put this, but I want to send my condolences to anyone who has been affected by the tsunami in Asia.)

"And how did a known Death Eater just stroll into Hogsmeade and attack Harry, Alex?" asked the familiar voice of Arthur Weasley in calm tones. Harry opened his eyes to see a group of blurred figures surrounding him, though he could see two distinct figures speaking in rather raised voices at the far end of what looked like the school infirmary.

"It was the Polyjuice Potion. Someone got a hold of some Auror's hair and brewed the potion and gave it to Dolohov," Gates answered, sounding detached. Harry noticed that a new diamond twinkled on his Pravus necklace. "Dolohov, in turn, drank it. Evidently he only had enough for one gulp, as he was already transforming back to his original self when he met up with Potter. The pain of the transformation was probably what saved his life."

Mr. Weasley looked incredulous. "And he managed to find Harry in thirty minutes, did he? He scoured all of Hogsmeade without arousing suspicion and found Harry, all in thirty minutes? Impossible. Someone tipped him off. He knew, Alex. He knew where to look."

"What are you suggesting?" Gates voice seethed with brutal annoyance.

"You know very well what-"

Another voice that Harry recognized as Molly spoke up from next to him. "Quiet! He's awake." The conversation abruptly ended and the various shadows in the room advanced towards him. Suddenly, he felt someone's arms pull him into a tight hug, and, from the way it felt, he knew they were Molly's.

"Someone hand me my glasses." Harry groaned, wiping his eyes. There was a dull ache in his head, but nothing more. He came out relatively unscathed, it seemed.

"Of course, dear." Molly fumbled with the nearby nightstand and a moment later Harry found that he could see. Shifting the glasses to a more comfortable position, Harry sat up and absorbed his surroundings.

Next to his bed was Molly and Ron, who watched him with worried eyes as he glanced around the room. Molly seemed to be restraining herself from wrapping him in another hug, while Ron looked as one who had just been relieved of a heavy burden. Luna stood next to him, her face reflecting distant curiousity. Arthur, his expression one of sympathy, was evidently waiting for him to speak. Gates leaned against the far wall, apparently unable to find a corner dark enough to conceal himself in. Realizing that someone was missing, Harry swept his gaze across the room once more. Then a morbid thought struck him, and he turned to the bed next to him. Hermione was lying there, sleeping, her features placid and calm. Harry felt the now-familiar tug of an unseen connection.

"Is she all right?" he asked instantly. He wanted to stand up and see her more closely, but found that he did not have the strength.

"She's sleeping right now," Arthur said softly, "She'll be up in an hour or so."

"So she's all right?"

"Yes. She'll be well enough for classes tomorrow. Madam Pomfrey gave her a sleeping draught."

"And how are you doing dear?" Molly asked, her voice trembling with concern.

Ron finally spoke up. "Yeah, how're you doing?" He looked very pale at the moment, and Harry guessed that Ron could muster only a few words at the moment.

Harry readied himself for another hug. "I'm fine, just a little headache." Sure enough, Molly scooped him up and hugged him again; though this time it was slightly tighter. After a moment, she let go, and Harry inhaled deeply.

Gates's voice stung out from the air. "Amazing how resilient human bodies are."

Harry breathed a few more times then spoke again. "How long have I been here?"

"Just two hours. It's evening now," Arthur continued, "I'm sure you want to know what happened in the bookstore-"

"I heard you two talking," Harry interrupted, "So Dolohov was using a Polyjuice Potion?" Harry remembered Dolohov wincing in pain several times as he led himself and Hermione away. It also prevented him from incanting the Killing Curse, which saved Harry's life. He guessed that the pain was caused by the transformation.

Arthur nodded gravely. "Yes he was. From what Alex reported, Antonin was in pain as he transformed; the potion was improperly brewed. Though, from what the various ministry Aurors have reported from Hogsmeade, he already knew where you were. As soon as he entered the town, he went directly towards you. We can only assume he acquired the hair of the Auror by chance, and merely transfigured a common robe to bear the crest of the ministry. Also, we suspect that someone has been leaking information of your whereabouts to You-Know-Who while you were in Hogsmeade. Do you remember being followed by anyone?"

Harry inadvertently looked at Gates then answered. "No, no one."

Arthur frowned. "Then I'm afraid we may never know."

"Are you saying I'm incompetent?" said Gates. "Am I blind? No one was following the boy."

"The fact remains that Dolohov knew where Harry was at that exact time."

"Aren't you going to tell him the rest, Arthur?" Gates said silkily, his black eyes locked onto Harry.

"I'm coming to that, Alex," Arthur said tersely, "You-Know-Who's attack was not limited to you, Harry. He sent his Death Eaters to strike at various targets across Britain in a blatant attempt to instill fear into the population. His targets included muggles, various wizard families, and a few Order members. Our members were well-trained enough to deflect the attack, but the others were not as…fortunate. The Death Eaters have killed twelve wizards and nearly eighty muggles. The Dark Mark flew over thirty-five homes…" Arthur's voice trailed off, leaving a solemn silence in the room.

At length, Arthur continued in a more brisk and business-like fashion that was probably meant to keep his voice utterly empty. "The entire operation was meant to flaunt his strength, and he has succeeded. There is an inquiry at the ministry."

"It's about time," cut in Gates, "Fudge is a fool. Almost as bad as his predecessor."

Arthur closed his eyes, then opened them. He was valiantly trying to suppress something. "Minister Fudge may not be minister a month from now. With this new attack came a lot of pressure. Something is going to give, and from the looks of it, it's coming from the very top."

The infirmary doors swung open and Dumbledore and Snape strode in, their expressions contrasting sharply. Dumbledore smiled gently, though his eyes seemed troubled. Snape, on the other hand, looked venomous, and Harry severely doubted that the Potions master was here to give him a 'get well' card.

Dumbledore's voice was firm, benign, and very headmaster. "Harry, Madam Pomfrey told me you're awake. You're doing well?" In it, though, Harry sensed a touch of personal concern.

Harry moved his ankle where he had twisted it. To his surprise, he felt nothing. "Good enough for classes tomorrow," answered Harry.

The headmaster's eyes twinkled. "If you are ready, then yes."

Harry gazed at Dumbledore, waiting. "You want to know what happened." It was not a question.

Dumbledore nodded. "I wish to have your perspective of the events."

Gates stirred, but Harry ignored him.

Harry did not dare look at Gates when he told Dumbledore what had happened. When he came to the part where Gates transfigured Dolohov into a diamond, a heavy, tangible silence fell onto the room, covering everything in a thick blanket. Molly had her knuckles in her mouth and her face was stricken, while Snape, usually sleekly calm, stared at Harry with a strange expression in his eyes. Dumbledore, his eyes absent of any twinkle, nodded slightly and turned towards Gates.

"Alex," Dumbledore said, uttering the name with a distaste he normally reserved only for Riddle, "What have you done?" The question, so simple and flat, managed to rock the whole room as everyone listened breathlessly for the answer.

Gates appeared more icy and more conceited than ever, and he spoke in a low and frightening voice. "I've done nothing. You think those bastards don't deserve an eternal hell for what they did?" Harry felt Molly's hand shudder from where it rested on his arm. The tension in the room was like a overstretched cord of wire.

"No, Alex," Dumbledore replied almost sadly, "What have you done to yourself?"

Harry's lips went dry, and nearby, he heard Hermione move. He glanced over quickly, and found that she was still asleep. She was just dreaming…

Gates was taken aback. "Don't lecture me on what I have done," Gates spat, his entire body trembling. He defended himself with the viciousness of a wounded animal. "Do you know what kind of men they are? Those bastards, do you know what they have done? To me?" Gates was positively livid now, his hand clenched around his wand and his eyes narrowed like a hawk.

Dumbledore shook his head. "Antonin did not kill your parents, Alex."

If there was a table nearby, Harry had no doubt that Gates would have smashed it. "HE MIGHT AS WELL HAVE!" Gates roared.

"So you insist on self-punishment?" the headmaster continued, his expression calm in the face of Gates's utter wrath. "Don't you see what you have done to yourself?"

"I've done nothing, Albus," said Gates in a low voice that seethed with malice,
"Nothing." His lip curled back to reveal a row of sharp, pointed teeth.

Harry was looking at Gates in an entirely new light. The Hit Wizard was a literal variation of trying to spite the face by cutting off the nose. The man, though, was a ruination of something that could have been great.

"Take it off, Alex, you've taken it off before. You had it in your pocket when you met with me." Dumbledore urged softly.

Gates grinned a violent grin. "I always have it on my person, though I only wear it on…formal occasions."

"Take it off," Dumbledore repeated forcefully. His eyes seemed to bore into Gates's body, and the Hit Wizard shifted his weight onto his right leg. It was a sign of indecision.

"I will not," answered Gates, his teeth grinding in his mouth as he spoke, possibly tasting the words. He was no longer grinning. "Wizards are still permitted by our illustrious ministry to bear Pravi necklaces, correct?"

Reluctantly, Dumbledore nodded. "Only because there are few wizards who exist that are foolish enough to wear one, and nearly none that are powerful enough to create one. It is almost a myth."

"Then we are finished. I will be waiting outside." Gates's gaze swept around the room one last time, and he strode out, his scarlet overcoat billowing out behind him.

For a moment, Dumbledore watched the exit doors solemnly, as if expecting Gates to return. When it became apparent that he would not, the headmaster turned back to Harry, the twinkle back in his eye, though considerably dimmer than usual. "So someone has been spying on you?"

"We believe so, yes," Arthur said, "And we have no idea who."

Dumbledore looked towards Snape. "Could Voldemort-" Almost everyone in the room shuddered. "-be entering Harry's mind subconsciously? Is Harry proficient enough at Occlumency to resist yet?"

Snape hesitated, as though he was about to admit something unsavory. "I believe that Potter-"

"Mr. Potter, Severus, please," Dumbledore said gently.

Snape showed no reaction. "He is skilled enough to keep the Dark Lord out of his mind while he is conscious. During sleep and other periods of low brain activity-"

Snape cast Harry a glance that said: In other words, all the time.

"-his mind is still vulnerable," Snape smirked as he continued. "He still reports having dreams, though disconnected ones, and, from what I read in his brain, they are increasing in frequency. He is improving."

"Very well," Dumbledore said, "I am pleased with the progress you two are making. I take it there have been no…incidents that require a mediator?" He sounded almost amused.

Snape barely moved his lips. "None, headmaster."

"Harry," Dumbledore said, turning towards the person he addressed, "Phineas Nigellus and others will be able to watch over you while you're within these castle walls," He nodded towards a nearby portrait of a hospital waiting room, where the former Slytherin headmaster stood resplendent in his silver and green robes. "Needless to say, all Hogsmeade trips are canceled for the rest of the year. Voldemort has now visibly surfaced again, and it is best if the school population do not leave the castle grounds."

"Alright," Harry said, not really minding the restriction in the least.

"And Harry," continued Dumbledore, "You did nothing wrong." He watched Harry carefully, waiting for a response.

"Okay," Harry replied, understanding the purpose of that statement. Evidently, the headmaster was unaware of Snape's detention; or he had believed Percy's explanation. Either answer made him uncomfortable.

"If you two are done, headmaster," Snape said, "I wish to have a private word with Mr. Potter." He used the title so sleekly that he might as well have not used it at all. Harry immediately stiffened.

"Not yet, Severus," said Dumbledore. "Harry, I would appreciate your presence in my office every Friday evening at a time of your choice. I need to discuss certain issues with you, as well as see how you are coping with your arrangements. Even if you can only spare a moment, that would be enough."

"I'll do that, professor," Harry responded.

Dumbledore smiled warmly. "Thank you. I will now go and inform your guardian of our meetings. Severus, you may have your word, if that's fine with Harry."

Harry, sensing inevitability, nodded. Snape watched him coldly.

"Take care, Harry," said Dumbledore, and the headmaster left.

Snape, making it clear to everyone in the room that he wanted to be alone with Harry, stood motionless. At length, Molly gave Harry's hand a gentle squeeze and left with Arthur. Luna, taking Ron's hand, smiled at him and they both walked away. Ron shot him a weakly determined glance before he disappeared that said "Snape is a git no matter what."

"So, Potter," Snape said silkily, "Did you enjoy your Hogsmeade trip?"

Harry did not answer.

Snape slowly crossed the infirmary floor and sat down in the chair once occupied by Molly. "I asked you if you enjoyed your Hogsmeade trip, Potter, now answer."

"For the most part, yeah," Harry said evenly, carefully staring at Snape's wand arm.

Snape brought his hand up to his mouth as though stifling a cough, but Harry expected it was something much more sinister. "That's good Potter. I'm very pleased to hear that. I hope it was worth it."

Harry felt the room go cold. When Snape says he's pleased about anything, its usually a prelude to something insidious. The hair on the nape of his neck twisted.

"Mr. Weasley told me that you finished up early and Professor Whams dismissed you just in time for the buses," Snape continued, tracing his lips with his finger. That was yet another bad sign. "Professor Whams, of course, is in no position to verify that, so I must accept young Mr. Weasley's story; though I daresay it is nothing more than just that: a story."

It appeared that Snape was expecting some sort of response, so Harry said "Okay." It was an appropriately neutral answer that revealed nothing.

"I suppose placing my trust in a former Gryffindor was a mistake, despite him being a former Head Boy."

Harry could not resist making a comment. "I thought Slytherins learned to trust no one but themselves?" he blurted out.

Snape smirked. "Point taken, Potter."

Harry gulped. This was a very, very bad sign.

You know what's coming, don't you Potter? said the pseudo-Snape within his head. That was a stupid move, leaving Hogwarts. A move worthy of your father.

Do shut up.

"So, err, what did you want to speak to me about?" Harry asked, wanting Snape to get to the point. This conversation was so far unnerving him.

"I'm coming to that," said Snape, "As a result of your little excursion into Hogsmeade, you will be having detentions every Sunday and Thursday from now until December. I might add on to that, depending on whether I have any more undesirable tasks I need completed." He grinned, and he seemed to be restraining himself from licking his lips with great difficulty.

Harry groaned inwardly. He was going to be alone with Snape for hours on end twice each week for at least two and a half months. This is just what he needed…

"Detentions?" Harry said slowly, "For what? I didn't do anything wrong in the first place. I shouldn't have been at that stupid-"

"Shut up, Potter," Snape said with such tenacity that Harry fell silent. "You think I am doing this because I enjoy your company? Professor McGonagall would have reinforced my decision had you come whining to her like I had expected you to."

"So sorry to disappoint you, professor," Harry muttered.

Snape ignored him. "Be grateful that I decided against assigning Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley additional detentions as well. That can be changed, however, should you prove to be…clumsy."

"I will keep that in mind."

"I remind you that it is our unfortunate duty to watch over you during this school year, and I am fulfilling it. I have and will be using your detentions to keep a closer on eye on you, Potter." Snape snorted. "That is why I kept you from Hogsmeade, Potter. I knew you would somehow become involved in some catastrophe that would destroy everything that we have so patiently built."

"And I suppose trying to fail my essay in front me was you fulfilling your duty too, right?" Harry said with undisguised sarcasm.

"Wake up, Potter!" Snape snarled, "Have you no sense? Are you so thick that you cannot pick up on even the most obvious of clues?"

Harry reflected on the words the Potions master had shared with him yesterday in detention, and, upon retrospection, found that they took on an entirely different meaning.

Ron had once said: "Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots."

We are not dealing with toadstools, Ron, Harry answered silently.

Suddenly, a revelation hit him. "You knew? You knew what that necklace was?" Harry sat up in his bed. "You knew and you said nothing?"

"I didn't know," Snape said softly, "I suspected, but I didn't know; so hold your tongue. Now you will be showing up for these detentions, Potter."

After a moment, Harry spoke again, this time more calmly. "But I can't. I already have Quidditch on nearly every Wednesday, Occlumency every Thursday, meetings with Professor Dumbledore every Friday, and probably some…sessions with Gates at his whim. I'm going to end up failing my N.E.W.T. classes."

"Since Quidditch is undoubtedly vital and cannot be dropped, I will allow you to bring your books," Snape said sleekly, "I will permit you some time to work on your studies, but you will work on nothing else. However, I still have several storerooms full of glassware that has your name on it, Potter, and I expect them all to be spotless by December. If not, well, I can add a few detentions." he added with a grin.

Trapped again, Potter. Harry was beginning to wonder whether he should ask Snape about the fact that his voice was in his head, but instantly decided that that would probably be a bad idea. Potter you dunderhead, don't you realize that if you tell me about me you'll end up in St. Mungo's? That would be unbearably monotonous for me.

Harry's internal conversation was beginning to make his head ache, so he shook his head and tried to conclude the exchange with Snape. "If that's all…"

"Yes that's all, Potter," said Snape. He stood up from the chair. "You can begin your detentions next week. I expect you in my office at the usual time on Thursday, however, for your sessions."

"Right," Harry muttered as Snape left. Something odd was going on in the Potion master's head, and Harry was not sure what.

Suddenly, he began to feel very tired.

He glanced over towards Hermione's bed, and found that she was still sleeping peacefully. She did not appear to be physically injured, and for that Harry was relieved. Had the curse been the beam of purple light that Dolohov preferred instead of a stunning spell, Harry had no doubt that she would have been more seriously injured…possibly irrevocably. The thought alone seeped into his bowels and chest, constricting and chilling them.

Unbidden, Lupin's words surfaced in his mind. "I expect you can give it to anyone you wish. Perhaps…someone…you need to communicate to often." He was referring to Sirius's mirror.

Immediately, Harry resolved to give the other end of Sirius's mirror to Hermione. She was far too important to be out of reach at any given moment, and she was, Harry knew, at least his best friend. Although he shared a deep, impenetrable bond with Ron, it was not the same with Hermione. It was something different: not better or worse, but different. For this reason, the mirror would go to Hermione.

The urge to sleep slowly overtook his senses. Tomorrow, Harry thought vaguely, he would give her the mirror. With that thought in mind, he fell back into his pillow, and slowly drifted off into a dreamless slumber.

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When Harry awoke to Madam Pomfrey's early morning huffing and preaching. He did not remember yesterday's resolution about the mirror, and instead yawned sleepily.

Madam Pomfrey was currently sorting through her cupboards across the infirmary. "I happen to feel that you both should be spending the day in bed," she said almost to herself, "But don't let that stop Headmaster Dumbledore. He insists that you two are well enough to go to class, so go on to breakfast before you miss it. You should at least get some food in your system." she added in a mutter.

To Harry's surprise, Hermione was already up and in her school robes, running about as though she was late for a Prefect meeting. Her cheeks were tinged red and she seemed rather embarrassed.

"Good morning," yawned Harry as he stretched his arms.

Hermione nearly jumped. The red in her cheeks deepened slightly. "Oh, good morning."

"Did you, err, hear about what happened?" Harry asked, referring to the attacks.

"Yes I woke up yesterday evening and Professor Dumbledore came and told me everything that happened," she said very quickly, "Breakfast is almost over, isn't it? We should probably get going, then."

Before Harry had even managed to wipe the sleep from his eyes and crawl out of bed, she was already gone, leaving Harry feeling slightly bewildered in her wake.

Snape, of course, had to make his usual internal comment. Even you should be able figure this one out, Potter. You nearly spilled your guts out to her yesterday in the bookstore, and she obviously feels awkward now. Good move, Potter. It could've been worse…I suppose…

And good morning to you, Professor Snape.

For a moment Harry carefully considered pseudo-Snape's words, and an instant later rejected them. He remembered, of course, that the voice, however fake, was based on a real person and that that person hardly provided any good advice. It was strange to regard the voice as a separate entity, but that was exactly how it felt like. The pseudo-Snape's remarks were definitely alien to Harry, and the dialogue seemed more real than the times when his conscience spoke in Hermione's voice. All in all, it was like Snape had somehow found a way to inject a replica of himself into Harry's head.

After several minutes of silent debating, he threw on his robes, mumbled a farewell to Madam Pomfrey (She replied "I will see you soon, no doubt.") and staggered down the steps to the great hall. From the moment Harry left the hospital wing, Gates followed from behind, his sleek boots announcing his presence with clicks and squeaks. His ankle still ached slightly from its injury, but he was slowly able to work out the pain as he continued down the corridor. When he entered the great hall, he sat down on a free chair across from Hermione and Ron.

The usual babble from the students in the great hall was underlined with vague uneasiness, and several people cast expectant glances towards the staff table, obviously awaiting a speech from Dumbledore. So far, the headmaster had not moved, but was surveying the hall carefully, as though testing the waters before a dive. Something strange near Ron caught his eye and he turned his head to see what it was. To Harry's surprise, Ron's food lay abandoned and in its place was a large, battered Charms book.

"Err, Ron," Harry said, quite alarmed at his friend's behavior, "You realize you don't take N.E.W.T. Charms, right?"

Ron, who was evidently absorbed in what he was reading, grunted affirmatively. After a moment, he turned the page and caught a glance of Harry's face. "I borrowed Hermione's book," he explained, misreading Harry's confusion.

Harry turned to Hermione, expecting to see her smirking or grinning or something that would hint at some sort of colossal joke that the two were playing. Seeing nothing, Harry's eyes returned to the book in front of Ron. If Harry was surveying him correctly, then Ron was reading the Charms book with the same intensity he devoted to Quidditch.

"Err, Ron."

"What?"

"What are you doing reading a book?" Harry asked in his calmest voice, fearing for Ron's sanity.

"I am trying to figure something out," Ron replied evasively.

Harry gave Hermione a quizzical look, but found that she was intently buttering her toast, her eyes focused on the slice of bread in her hand.

"Hermione?" Harry said, "What's Ron doing?" He was not sure what had passed unsaid in the bookstore yesterday, and he prayed that, whatever it was, it did not ruin their friendship. He knew how he felt -- he was positive now -- but he was unsure of her standing. Was she about to tell him off back there before disguised-Dolohov interrupted them?

Hermione snapped out of her trance. She smiled but Harry could tell that there was something different in it now. "Oh, Ron almost begged me to let him borrow my Charms book during breakfast. We don't have Charms today, so I ran up to the dormitories and grabbed it."

"So, um, what's he doing with it?" Harry asked, trying to get to the bottom of the whole situation.

"Honestly, I don't know," Hermione answered levelly, "He shocked me a bit when he asked. I mean, this would be the first time he ever asked me if he could borrow a book. How could I refuse?"

"I'm reading up on the Narro Charm," Ron said vaguely, flipping a page in the book.

Hermione appeared rather surprised. "Ron, that's sixth year magic. We won't be entering that for a few months yet in N.E.W.T. Charms."

"What's the Narro Charm?" asked Harry, intrigued.

"It's a charm that is used on certain objects. When the enchanted object recognizes a predetermined keyword, a scripted action occurs," Hermione said briskly, "The Marauder Map is enchanted with all kinds of Narro Charms. When you say the secret phrase, the parchment responds by showing the map. What ever happened to the map anyway?" she added in an afterthought.

"He took it," Harry muttered, tilting his head towards Gates. Hermione frowned with understanding but said nothing, seeming to sense Harry's reluctance to discuss it. Harry was relieved that she did not pursue a line of questioning.

"So, how did your date with Luna go, Ron?" Hermione asked with a broad grin. Harry thought that she was enjoying this entirely too much.

Ron's ears went predictably red. "It wasn't a date."

"Well did you have fun, then?" Hermione continued innocently.

Harry discretely murmured, "He's going to get you back, you know."

Hermione gave him a smile that said, "Perhaps."

"I had loads of fun," Ron said nonchalantly, and Harry instantly knew the redhead had something up his sleeve, "We went to the Quidditch store and everything. How did your date with Harry go?" Ron smirked as Hermione blushed. Harry felt his face burn as well.

"Date, Ron?" Harry asked, trying to keep the embarrassment out of his voice. He knew Ron was teasing, but that did not stop the embarrassment.

"Date, Harry," Ron continued, "You know, those times when a guy and a girl go out somewhere together and the guy pays for everything. You know?"

Suddenly, a the great hall sky clouded over as a mass of owls descended upon the hall, most of them landing heavily on the tables and spilling drinks and food. Absently, Harry watched a massive, black eagle fall down towards the Slytherin table and drop a package on Draco Malfoy's lap. Draco unwrapped the parcel, grinned evilly, and cast a malicious glance in Harry's direction. Malfoy quickly pocketed it, but not before Harry managed to see a flash of light from the object; almost like a mirror.

Harry was not able to investigate further as a tawny owl swooped down in front of him and dropped a letter onto his plate of food. He ripped it open and discovered, to his delight, it was from Hagrid. Written in his usual scrawl, Hagrid asked if Harry would be able to come down to his hut on Wednesday at six o'clock for the 'meeting'. Feeling grateful that Quidditch happened to be cancelled that day, Harry replied and attached it back onto the tawny owl's leg. The owl hooted and then flew off, veering off to the right towards the gamekeeper's hut.

"It's all over the newspaper," Hermione said as she unraveled today's edition of the Daily Prophet. "Voldemort's attacks and the ministry's inquiry. There's a lot of people pushing for Fudge's removal, it seems."

"No surprise there," Harry remarked. Something had been bothering him for the past few minutes. He remembered making some sort of decision before he fell asleep yesterday, but what was it?

Unable to recall what he had forgotten, he leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms and turning his head. On the adjacent wall, Harry saw Phineas staring at him in his startling Slytherin robes, his arms crossed and a disdainful expression on his face.

"What did Professor Snape want?" Hermione asked, jolting Harry out of his reverie. "Did he issue us more detentions?" Her voice was even but Harry detected some anxiety.

"Oh, uh," Harry gathered himself quickly. "No, well, just me. He gave me a load of detentions, though he didn't give you guys any. He was sort of strange." Harry added, seeing Hermione's surprise. He briefly related his conversation with Snape.

"He really thinks he is helping you," said Hermione, "Though he's going the wrong way about it."

"He's just trying to find a medium between making my life hell and fulfilling his duty to Dumbledore," Harry muttered.

"That's probably true," Hermione agreed, her eyes exuding sympathy, "He doesn't like you at all, though it was completely irresponsible of him to throw you out of your Occlumency lessons last year."

"Yeah, I wish he'd move on," Harry said evasively. When Snape had told him never to mention what he'd seen in the pensieve to anyone, Harry complied, not wanting to attract any more of the Potion master's wrath.

"Though it won't detract from your studies, will it?" Hermione said almost brightly, trying to lift the mood. Ron groaned.

"Yeah, I suppose," Harry said. Then, wanting to change the subject, he added, "Ron, how's this weekend for some Occlumency practice?"

Ron's eyes did not waver from the Charms textbook. "Well, err, I don't think I need to."

"What?" Hermione nearly exclaimed, "Of course you do. Didn't you see-"

"I saw it, okay?" Ron snapped, "But I have a lot going on right now. I can't have people dabbling in my head. I mean, we all saw what Harry was like after he came back from Snape's lessons last year. No offense mate, but you were out of it."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "This is about Quidditch, isn't it?"

"So what if it is?" Ron retorted, tearing his gaze from the text.

"There are more important things than Quidditch, Ron," countered Hermione.

"Like what Gates can do to your mind," Harry muttered. Responding the Hermione and Ron's questioning faces, he related in detail the Hit Wizard's Pravus Necklace and its true nature. When he finished, an uneasy silence fell between the three of them.

"Well, mate," Ron said through the tension. "I suppose that confirms it. He lost his marbles."

"That explains why I couldn't find it in the library," Hermione said. "Those books are ridiculously rare. And that explains why you heard those voices Harry! Whenever you were so physically close to the necklace, it must have channeled some of its power to you. That's what does on in Gates's mind…"

Presently, the great hall abruptly fell silent, and Harry sat back up in his chair to see Dumbledore standing resolutely at the staff table. His eyes possessed their usual twinkle, but Harry could see that the headmaster was troubled. Slowly, Dumbledore folded his glasses and placed them carefully upon the table, his eyes now gazing around the room, now better able to absorb their surroundings without the obstructing spectacles. The headmaster rarely removed his glasses, and Harry began to recognize it as a sign of gravity. His long, silver beard shimmered in the light, and Harry was irresistibly reminded of Gates's necklace; though in a more benevolent form.

Ron's gaze broke away from the Charms book, and he watched Dumbledore with an unusual curiosity.

"I know you have all read about Voldemort's most recent attack," Dumbledore said, ignoring the shiver that ran through the hall at the mention of Voldemort's names, "The attack that resulted in the deaths of pure-bloods, half-bloods, and muggles alike."

"Every gene pool needs to be drained occasionally, Albus," said Gates loudly from his corner, shattering the brief silence. A few Slytherins sniggered, but quickly stopped when the Hit Wizard advanced upon them menacingly. He appeared to be most displeased to have evoked the laughter of the Slytherins.

Dumbledore did not respond to Gates's provocation. "This is a clear sign that Voldemort is indiscriminant in whom he kills."

Gates had now arrived at the Slytherin table and began muttering something in each of their ears. Soon, the Slytherins were quite pale, and stared at Gates with an expression of obvious terror. Gates strode away, smirking. The Slytherin's had mistaken Gates's remark for support for Voldemort, while in fact the Hit Wizard was just prejudiced. It was an unwise error to make…

"Being pure-blood is no longer adequate protection from Voldemort's wrath," Dumbledore continued, pointedly glancing at the Slytherin table, "If you do not wear the Mark, you will not be spared. I do not mean to inspire fear, but I am merely stating the reality. You are all safe as long as you are within these walls, but once you leave, you will have to make a choice. The choice will be between what is easy, and what is right."

"You may accept the Mark and live in eternal servitude. You will have your life, no doubt, but you will have little else. But even to his followers, Voldemort is not merciful, and there is no doubt that, should you join with him, you will suffer much. Do not hold any illusions concerning power; he will not share it with no one but himself. If you wish to live a hollow life, then join the Dark Fold; this is easy." Dumbledore paused for a minute, allowing his words to sink in.

"Or you can choose to resist Voldemort, and fight against the terror he represents. In order to fight, we must be united, and in order to unite, we must put aside long-held prejudices and beliefs, and come together as one. This road is long and difficult, and holds no promises of victory. Though it is uncertain, it is also right." Dumbledore spoke the last word with such vehemence that someone from the Slytherin table dropped their goblet

"I do not know how long it will be until the war is resolved: it could be tomorrow, or it could be in ten years. That is not up to us. The war will be a violent one, and its outcome will be the single most important event in the past thousand years; surpassing even Lord Grindewald's reign. Should we fail, I assure you that, whether you wear the Mark or not, life will be an empty thing."

When he finished his last statement, Dumbledore replaced his glasses and sat back down, surveying the hall serenely. His face displayed no sentiment, betrayed no feeling. It was as though the headmaster had poured every ounce of emotion he possessed into that speech, and was now recovering from the drain.

Harry turned to Hermione, and saw that she was biting her lower lip as she mulled over the headmaster's words. He knew better than to disturb her now; it would be better to talk to her again after she had ample time to extract every possible meaning from Dumbledore's speech. Ron, seeing this as well, shook his head at Harry as if to say: She'll be lecturing us on it later.

As Harry sat there, eyes sweeping across the great hall, he could not but think that Dumbledore was wrong; there were actually three sides in this terrible war: Good and evil and Gates.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Many people were anticipating that afternoon's Charms class, as Professor Flitwick, after two weeks of theory, was finally allowing them to begin conjuring and controlling creatures. He permitted them to summon any animal they wished, providing it was not restricted by the ministry. In addition, only one person was allowed to summon at a time, since the room would easily become chaotic if more than five people conjured a creature at once.

"And remember," Professor Flitwick reminded them, his voice coming out like a squeak, "Magical creatures and entities such as Dementors and ghosts require a ministry license, and you will not be permitted to summon either in class. If you ignore me and do it anyway, Hogwarts is obliged to inform the ministry."

Harry heard Gates snort from his back corner.

The professor immediately began calling up students to perform conjurations. A variety of dogs, cattle, cats, reptiles, and insects were summoned, and an instant later disappeared. From what Harry could see, the initial summoning was the easy part. It was difficult to maintain and control the animal for any longer than a few seconds.

"Miss Granger," Flitwick said, motioning her to the front of the room.

Hermione reluctantly left her seat, looking insecure and rather nervous. When she stood next to the professor, clutching her wand as though she might lose it. Harry caught her eye and gave her an encouraging smile. Hermione smiled back, albeit timidly.

"Picture the animal you wish to conjure in your mind's eye," said Professor Flitwick in his high voice. "It will be easier if it's an animal you are familiar with. Whenever you are ready, Miss Granger…"

Hermione nodded, then took in a deep breath. She raised her wand and incanted, "Arcesso!"

A tawny cat fell out of her wand and landed on the ground, and, wavering slightly as though on unstable ground, took four tentative steps forward. The class watched in amazement: no one had managed to control their creature yet. Hermione's eyes were closed and she was biting her lower lip, as though she was struggling to master her vibrating wand. She leaned forward imperceptibly, a sign Harry understood to be a sign of extreme stress or concentration.

The cat halted, and then opened its mouth as though to meow. Its paw froze in midair, and the mouth suddenly shut itself. It started to fade away, and Harry looked towards Hermione to see she was weakening. He wished she did not push herself like this; she appeared to be ready to collapse. Abruptly, she opened her eyes and jerked back her wand. The cat dissolved into a smoky substance and then vanished with a sigh.

Hermione turned fearfully towards Professor Flitwick as though to say, "Did I do it right?"

"Excellent work, Miss Granger," Professor Flitwick squeaked, "You held your creature for nearly thirty seconds; the most I've seen today. That was very good work for a first try. You never summoned anything before? Notice, class, how she controlled herself as well as her summoned creature. Ten points for Gryffindor."

Blushing, Hermione returned to her seat.

Professor Flitwick announced the next student. "Mr. Potter."

Standing in front of the class, Harry met Gates's gaze, who was currently grinning maliciously. The Hit Wizard delicately began probing into his mind, trying to unnerve him, but as soon as Harry sensed it, he forced Gates out of his mind with surprising ease. He broke off eye contact and turned to Hermione, who was smiling reassuringly. This gave him the confidence he needed.

If you're done, Potter, I suggest you move on. You've been standing here like a fool for a full minute.

Harry closed his eyes, and tried to think of a good creature he could summon. An image of a black, shaggy dog appeared, and then was replaced by that of a python. Half-hoping his Parseltongue ability would aid his control over the serpent, Harry muttered, "Arcesso!"

His view suddenly became foggy and blurred, and he realized that he was falling out of his wand. (Or was he slithering?) He landed heavily onto the floor, and, when he gathered his bearings, he gazed at his surroundings, and fear crept into his heart. He wanted to flee. Harry now understood that he was actually seeing through the eyes of the snake he summoned, and was controlling its actions. The fear, he assumed, was the serpent's own primal instincts reacting to its environment.

He tasted the air with his forked tongue, and found that it smelled foul. He wanted to leave; to creep into some dark hole and curl up into sleep. The sun dazzled temptingly out from a window, and he resisted slithering over and bathing in the warm sunlight. Looking up, Harry saw his own face, his brow furrowed in concentration and his lips moving slightly. Losing interest, he crawled over to a nearby pair of legs and began looping through them.

An abrupt pain shuddered through his body, and he wondered fleetingly what it was. Then, it happened again; more violently this time. He felt himself weaken, and he wanted to close his eyes, but then realized that snakes had no eyelids. A deep, overwhelming desire for sleep flooded him and he rested his head upon the ground.

In a split second, his eyes shot open and Harry found that he was no longer laying on the ground, but was now standing in front of the class. He looked down to see a vague hint of smoke disintegrate -- the only remnants of his summoned python.

"Well done, Mr. Potter," Professor Flitwick squeaked. Harry noticed that the class was staring at him strangely, but he ignored it. Hermione's were shining with pride for him, and he grinned. "I believe that was a little over twenty seconds. Very clever use of your Parseltongue ability. Five points for Gryffindor."

Harry caught Gates's face and was pleased to see that it was very white. Sirius never knew that Harry could speak Parseltongue, and therefore neither did Gates. Dumbledore, Harry assumed, decided to keep that detail away from the Hit Wizard as well. While Harry did not understand specifically why Gates was so disturbed, it was enough to know that he had something to do with it.

Harry sat back down at his desk, feeling that the day was becoming better as it went. The throb in his ankle had faded into a dull itch, he had performed a successful conjuration, and, most importantly, he impressed Hermione. Intimidating Gates was practically a bonus.

When Professor Flitwick dismissed the class, Harry waited for Hermione to gather her belongings and walked by her side as they proceeded to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Ron was nowhere in sight, so they continued without him.

"Err, Hermione," Harry said, watching as she fumbled with a stack of thickly bound books. The bag she normally carried her books in had recently split at the bottom from strain, and, despite several attempts at knitting it sealed, it could not longer hold more than three tomes at a time. It was now slung over her shoulder. "D'you need any help carrying those? Let me take those."

Pseudo-Snape chose this time to make his usual snide remarks. Carrying her books…yes, Potter, that's very original. She's going to fall head-over-heels any minute now, I can tell.

Hermione looked at him curiously. "Sure," she said appreciatively, passing him five of her books. On their spines, Harry read Obscure and Ridiculously Difficult Charms, Magical Creatures Volume Three, Life of a House-Elf, Edward Skinner, and Hogwarts: A History.

Hogwarts: A History. Of course.

Harry did not have the slightest clue why she had to carry all of these books to her D.A.D.A. class, but he did not ask. When she gave him the last volume, Harry silently groaned under the combined weight of his and her books. The fact that Hermione's hand had grazed his went she handed him the first book, however, made it worthwhile.

"Are you sure you don't want me to take a few of those?" Hermione asked.

"'Course not," replied Harry, shifting the books for a better grip. How did she carry these every day?

Potter, you are a fool, Pseudo-Snape said in a sleek voice identical to real-Snape, with a unique touch of humor.

No I'm not, Harry said bitingly.

Entering their Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Harry and Hermione took their seats near the windows. Professor Whams did not seem to notice if students changed their seats sporadically, or if, indeed, they did not show up to class at all. As always, Gates strode to the back of the room, trying to stay as far out of the way as possible, for which Harry was eternally thankful. He dropped Hermione's stack of books next to her desk, and she smiled.

A moment later Ron came bustling in, his fiery hair disheveled, and plopped down just behind Hermione. "Can I borrow your Charms book again?" Ron asked quickly.

Hermione, looking slightly puzzled, (Something that was quite rare for her) pulled the book out of her tattered bag and gave it to Ron, who delightedly accepted it and instantly flipped it open. Harry simply watched, as confused as Hermione was.

"Maybe if you showed this kind of interest last year Ron," Hermione gently chided, "You would have done better on your Charms O.W.L."

"I don't like Charms," Ron murmured, "I just want to learn how to do the Narro charm, that's all."

Hermione mouthed the inaudible words to Harry: "And I remember when I had to use thumbscrews just to have him glance at his homework."

Professor Whams swept into the classroom, his dark purple silk robes flying out from behind him, and moved directly towards his cluttered desk. His eyes were not covered by the usual pair of glasses, and this gave his head a distinctly smaller look, as though the top half of his head had suddenly shrunk. An instant later Percy stood in the doorway carrying several pairs of spectacles; some of which had large, spidery cracks on the lenses. These, evidently, were Whams's old spares.

"Ah, good afternoon class," Professor Whams said jovially, giving them all a wide grin. "I think it's time we moved on from Grendels. Since my first year class is already on the Unforgivables-"

The class collectively gasped. He was showing the illegal curses to first years? From the expression on Percy's face, he had no idea what Whams was talking about. Whams, on the other hand, did not notice their surprise. Then again, he would be hard pressed to notice anything when he was not wearing his spectacles. Percy, seeing Whams's plight, dutifully placed a set over his eyes. Whams nodded gratefully as he continued.

"-We should go on to the Edward Skinner -- is something wrong?" Whams had just seen their expressions, and was apparently taken aback. His smile slipped off of his face. "Oh no," Whams muttered, "Did I forget my robes again?"

Percy immediately stepped in. "No, you just got a little, erm, confused. We did not go over the Three Curses with any first years yet."

"You didn't, but I did," Professor Whams said brightly, "I ran into a few students from my morning class earlier today in the hallways and decided to give them a brief demonstration. It just so happened I was carrying the material for today's lesson," He pointed with his wand at a tall bell jar that sat on his desk, currently filled with fluttering insects. "They were quite impressed. So impressed, I might add, that the three of them went directly to the nurse afterwards to help calm their excitement."

Percy went exceedingly pale.

"So, yes, where was I?" Professor Whams continued, turning away from a horrified Percy, "The Edward Skinner Curses. So, can anyone tell me what they are?"

Hermione hand shot up.

"Miss, erm," Whams settled for pointing at Hermione's arm.

"The Edward Skinner Curses are a set of four spells that can only be used by licensed Aurors," Hermione said, not deterred by Professor Whams's ignorance of her name, "While the four are generalized as curses, they are actually a variety of hexes, curses, and jinxes. There is the Energy Jinx, the Mind Possession Curse, the Burning Curse, and the Blinding Hex. The similarity between them all are that they were all created by the same wizard, and that they all solely affect the mind."

"Precisely," Whams praised, "Ten points to-"

"Gryffindor," Hermione said instantly.

"Ten points to Gryffindor," agreed Professor Whams. "The four spells cause no physical damage, but affect the mind in oftentimes severe ways. If used improperly, any one of these spells can result in permanent damage to the brain. The usefulness of these spells, however, is unquestionable, and certain wizards are permitted to perform them, but only under the strictest of guidelines. For that reason, none of you will be using these curses. Precious few Aurors have both the ability and the privilege to carry out any of these spells. Illegal use is enough to earn a few decades in Azkaban." He licked his lips and paused, the gray whiskers on his chin twitching as he chewed his jaw. He seemed unsure of what to say next. Unconsciously, he rubbed circles around the rim of his ink jar with his thumb.

"So, I suppose I should tell you about Edward Skinner himself, eh?" Professor Whams said, his face splitting into a grin. He withdrew his thumb and brought it up to his face, where he stroked his chin with his hand, smearing long, black lines of ink across it. He looked a little like a tribal warrior bearing war paint. "Edward was born and raised in London during the Black Plague. For those of you who know your history, you will remember that London at that time was a place of terror, and many people died of madness before the plague had ever reached them. The belief that mental pain was more significant than physical pain was what inspired Edward to create the Four Curses. His intentions at the time were malevolent, but they hold attributes that today's wizards can use to great effectiveness."

The sound of quills scratching on parchment was the only noise made as Professor Whams waited for his students to write down their notes. As though in sudden thought, Whams whirled around and tapped his wand lightly on the wall behind him. His words were quickly transferred onto the blackboard.

"Now for a demonstration," Professor Whams announced as he pulled the jar of crawling insects towards him. He wrinkled his nose and withdrew his hands into his robes. "Perseus, if you could be so kind, please pluck a beetle out of the jar?"

Percy surveyed the jar with a hint of reluctance, and then hastily snatched a spider out of it. He replaced the lid and then dropped the arachnid onto Whams's desk.

"Insects are such filthy creatures," Whams muttered as he raised his wand. "Far too many legs."

Ron nodded his head vigorously, expressing his strong agreement.

Whams examined the spider carefully, and then turned his eyes back to the class. The ink smears on his chin were now more prominent than ever. "We will begin with the comparably harmless of the four: the Blinding Hex," Professor Whams aimed his wand so that it was a mere four inches away from its target. "Caecus!"

A beam of light struck the spider and it began to stumble around drunkenly, its legs uncoordinated and it seemed as though one or two of its appendages were frozen stiff. As it staggered dangerously close to the edge of the desk, Whams gave it a gentle push back towards the center with the tip of his wand.

"A common misconception is that the Blinding Hex affects only your eyesight," Professor Whams continued, "In fact, it affects all of your senses. It alters your sense of touch, smell, sight, taste, hearing and even your sense of balance; as you can see from our poor friend here."

"A talented wizard can make the effects either permanent or temporary. For an effective hex the spell must be performed at close range. In this case, I have designed the spell to wear off in a few minutes. Most Aurors, however, are not so merciful towards Dark Wizards. The majority of you will not be able to wield the spell correctly, and you therefore risk unwittingly causing irreversible damage to anyone you use it on. For this reason, the ministry restricts its use to only professionals." He waved his wand in a small circle over the arachnid and then motioned Percy to put it back in the jar. The spider now blundered blindly around the bottom of the container.

"Now I am going to need a piece of cloth…" Whams murmured as he searched his immediate surroundings. Unsuccessful, he abruptly ripped off the end of his silk sash and set it down on the desk.

Percy just stared. The stress of watching over Whams was catching up to him.

"Next is the Burning Curse," Whams said, flattening the torn silk sash onto the desk. "Pay close attention. Perseus, if you please…"

Percy jerked out of his trance and mechanically plucked a squirming insect out of the jar, its body twisting as it dangled. His fingers pinching the insect's leg, Percy lowered it onto the silk and released it. It immediately began trying to scamper off of the cloth, but was pushed backwards by Whams's wand whenever it tried to escape. It appeared to be a fat roach.

"Well," Professor Whams continued addressing the class, though his eyes never left the roach. After a shaky minute, Whams closed his eyes and placed the jar of multi-legged creatures under his desk and out of sight. He breathed a sigh of relief. "The Burning Curse is a prime example of a mind-altering spell. Watch closely. Exuro!"

A bolt of orange shot at the sash, and an instant later the silk erupted in a whirlwind of flames and inferno. The roach rolled about on its back as the flames licked its body, ominously reminding Harry of the Cruciatus Curse. The students in the front row shuffled their chairs backwards and raised their hands to their eyes to ward off the heat. Percy, sweating, backed away two paces. Whams alone seemed unaffected.

"Are you watching? Do you see why this is a mind-altering curse?" Professor Whams asked above the crackling flames.

Squinting, Harry saw upon closer inspection that there was no smoke rising from the fire. While the roach and silk sash should have both been reduced to ashes at this point, they were still an unfazed, as though the flames were nonexistent. True, the roach appeared to be in a great amount of pain, but it was alive, amazingly enough. Then Harry realized what was happening: the flames were an illusion.

"For those who are still unaware, the Burning Curse has been altering your senses for the past few moments," Whams said serenely, his face glowing from the fire, "While you see the flames flickering, smell the ash burning, and feel the heat radiating from the fire, it is, in reality, not there. There is nothing physically happening. The fire's presence is registered only by your minds, my mind, and the roach's mind."

The flames lowered into nothing, and Whams carefully wrapped up the sash and set it under his desk and into the jar. (Taking particular care not to touch the roach with his hand) He straightened and blinked expectantly from behind his magnifying lenses. An eerie silence fell over the room.

Neville's hand rose from the back of the classroom.

"Yes?" Professor Whams asked, no longer attempting to remember the students' names.

"Why isn't the Burning Curse labeled as unforgivable?" Neville asked timidly.

Harry shut his eyes, knowing Neville's reason for asking such a question.

"Ah, a very good inquiry," said Professor Whams cheerfully, "There is only a single difference between the Cruciatus Curse and the Burning Curse. Can anyone tell me what it is?"

Hermione's hand predictably shot up.

Whams gestured for her to speak, and she did. "As the Burning Hex can only be used on nonliving objects, the wizard and witch in question has a chance to escape the pain." Harry, who had heard all this before, nodded inwardly.

"Correct. Five points to Gryffindor," said Professor Whams. He turned to write on the blackboard, but the hem of his robes were evidently caught on something. With one, strong tug, Whams's robes slackened and the cacophonous sound of shattered glass followed it. The professor, apparently oblivious to his accident, continued as though nothing happened. Percy leaned and peered to see what Whams had smashed.

"The line between the Cruciatus Curse and the Burning Curse is a fine one, indeed," lectured Professor Whams, his words appearing on the blackboard as he spoke them, "The ability to control one's subjection to pain is the lone cause for its legality. Regardless, its use is strictly regulated by the ministry." He pivoted on his hear and something crunched sickeningly.

As the class was running relatively smoothly, Harry guessed Whams had switched into competent-professor mode. While Whams's face betrayed uncertainty and his eyes erratically darted around in momentary fits of confusion, his voice remained even and resonant. His physical appearance and his tone of voice seemed to be possessed by conflicting personalities.

"Thirdly, there is the Mind Possession Curse," Professor Whams continued. Harry's interest perked. He remembered the spell firsthand when Gates had used it previously at Diagon Alley. "This curse is by far the most dangerous, and is one I don't care to demonstrate on any living creature. It causes an immense feeling of pain in the brain region, and it can only be described as brutal when used on a healthy mind."

"You may be wondering why I used the term 'healthy' mind, and I will elaborate. The Mind Possession Curse is only beneficial when it is used on a mind that is suffering from some sort of personality ailment, often in the form of possession by a third party. It purges the brain of all alien influence, and, in fact, of all thought altogether. For this reason, Aurors find it useful in certain situations. Performing the curse on a non-possessed mind is enough to send the caster into Azkaban for the rest of their life. The ministry regulates this curses's use very stringently."

Harry raised his hand without really knowing why. "What are the side effects of the curse?"

Professor Whams seemed slightly surprised. "If you are referring to an infected mind, then I'd say nothing. On a healthy mind, however, the Mind Possession Curse can open a pandora's box of brain-related maladies. It leaves the mind very open to outside forces, including skilled Legilimentists."

Harry sat back to ponder this new information while Whams droned on.

"I believe we can move on to the Energy Jinx," Professor Whams continued. "This jinx is used mainly for trapping purposes. The spell charges the target with magical energy, and, when touched by someone other than the caster, the energy is dispersed into the first person it comes in contact with. Do not confuse this with muggle electricity. There are no physical damage caused by the energy surge, though the mental damage can be devastating. Wizards have been put into a deep coma for several years before ever coming out. This Jinx is extraordinarily difficult, and is mastered by few outside of Gringotts. I'm afraid I will be unable to demonstrate-"

"Allow me," Gates said smoothly, gliding up to the front of the classroom and drawing his black wand. Professor Whams wore an expression almost like exaggerated appreciation, as he beamed widely as the Hit Wizard advanced to the front.

"Where?" Gates asked airily. It held a tone that reassured everyone that he was merely doing this out of boredom.

"On the sash, if you could be so kind," Whams replied with his usual joviality, though Harry could sense something under it.

His brow furrowed in a look of utmost concentration. Gates slashed his wand in a series of practiced movements, muttering "Forca!" as he jutted his wand outward like a spear. The jolt of lighting struck the frayed end of the severed sash, and a wave of light swept over it. Afterwards, the entire sash faintly glowed bluish silver. The color of raw energy. Something inside of Harry smoldered.

"Thank you for your assistance, Alex," said Professor Whams. The Hit Wizard bowed stiffly and retreated to the back.

Whams's gaze returned to the class, his eyes showing a little less amiability. "That was an excellent and rare example of the Energy Jinx. You almost never see this jinx anywhere except the deepest vaults in Gringotts."

That and my Firebolt, Harry thought irritably. The old memory and anger did not completely die away with the broom's return.

"Perseus, if you could use a-" Whams abruptly stopped. He bent over and picked up something from behind his desk. When he held it up, Harry could see that it was a large, curvy shard of glass.

Oh no, he shattered that jar full of insects when he turned to charm the blackboard.

Harry leaned down and, sure enough, there was a small army of crawling beetles, spiders, centipedes, grasshoppers, and various other crawling creatures scampering under Whams's desk and were now approaching the front row of students. Ron, understanding at once, lifted his feet up and stared at the ground searchingly, apparently terrified of the prospect of so many multi-legged insects a few meters away. His fear extended beyond simply spiders and included everything with more than four legs. He drew his wand and frantically waved it around, a few white sparks slipping from the tip.

Several girls squealed and wrapped their arms around their knees as they brought their legs up. Hermione searched the area around her and then shook her head exasperatedly at Harry as though to say "Do you believe these people? Honestly, it's just a few bugs."

Professor Whams, however, went white, and his phobia of insects seemed, if possible, to be greater than Ron's. "There is no reason to panic," Professor Whams said, his voice quaking. "None at all." He carefully backed away from his desk, eyes wide and alarmed.

"Err-" Percy stepped forward, obviously trying to take charge, "That's enough for today. Umm-" He shook his wand at a nearby cluster of roaches, and they promptly froze. "-I'll take care of this. Class dismissed."

As the class filed out (Ron being the first to leave) Harry heard Professor Whams say, "Vile little things!"

Hermione giggled and Ron glared.

"Potter," Gates said as he crossed the threshold of the doorway. "This Wednesday we will begin your training. Be ready."

Harry held back, motioning Ron and Hermione to go on. "Remember the request? We will be going into to forest Wednesday evening."

"Then we'll do it beforehand," Gates said smoothly, "And since you're calling your request in, I'll call in mine. You are to report every dream, image, or vision you have this year in explicit detail to me, leaving nothing out, as soon as you have them."

Seeing he had no choice, Harry nodded.

"Don't disappoint me on Wednesday, Potter. Failure will mean pages." He smirked, seething arrogance.

Harry stared up at Gates, hating him. At length, Harry spun around and strode down the hall to Transfiguration, Gates's sudden snort of laughter echoing down the corridor behind him.

***

Later that same evening, around eleven o'clock, Ronald Weasley moved restlessly in his bed. His sheets were twisted around his legs, and his head ached from an unknown hurt. Though he was sleeping, his mind was surging with activity, the dreams feeding energy to the brain. He licked his lips. His dream was a strange one.

Ron was strolling through the Forbidden forest, not really knowing where he was going nor caring. The tangled brush and brambles scratched his robes and tore at his skin, but he was quite unaware of it. He needed to go somewhere; to some vague destination. He did not have the faintest inkling of where to go, but he knew he had to be there. Actually, he was already late.

Ron fell to his knees and started clawing at the ground like an animal, digging into the earth with his fingernails. He ripped through dried leaves and thin roots before arriving at a small, locked chest. He felt it with the tips of his fingers. The iron latch was rusted. He grew frustrated and smashed at the keyhole with a rock. It held, and he whipped the rock into a nearby bush. It crashed and rolled somewhere in the fallen branches and leaves.

He suddenly remembered he had a key in his pocket, so he reached down and drew it; examining the mixed diamonds and rubies encrusted upon it. Envy burned in his heart.

Ron thrust it into the keyhole and turned. With a strained creak of disused joints, the chest opened and revealed a swallowing blackness. Soon, he found himself falling into the deep, something laughing as he fell. The chest had consumed him.

He landed on an ancient stone floor. Hard. Ron looked up and saw that he was in a room like Snape's dungeons, except this one appeared to be thousands of years old. Mossy curtains of plants draped down from the ceiling like organic veils. Roots of old trees were pushing through the rock walls, cracking and splitting the stone with patient ease. He felt the floor with his hand, and found that it was covered with a thin layer of wet slime; though he could not see what it was in the dim dungeons. On the opposite wall was an assortment of shackles, chains, and leg irons. Something far away dripped.

A sheen of sweat covered Ron's forehead, and he wiped it away. He wanted to leave this creepy place; he knew that, wherever he was, it was the stuff of nightmares. He stared around for an exit, but found only heaps and piles of bones and skulls in dark corners, their paleness obvious against the greenish black of the stone walls. Above him, a chunk of rock cracked and fell, landing with a splash in a puddle of murky water. Leaning down, Ron sniffed the air. He realized that there was no slime on the floor after all. It was congealed blood. He emptied his stomach onto the floor, and ,feeling slightly dizzy, searched desperately for a way out. He found nothing. The putrid stink of decaying bones hung heavy in the air.

Ron staggered towards an area where the ceiling caved in and sat down on a gray hunk of stone, chest heaving. He remembered that his dad had once told him about dark wizard towers; how they were devoid of everything except stone, flesh, and iron. From what he saw, this was definitely some sort of dungeon in an abandoned tower; probably underground. Whoever was this tower's occupant, he was insane. Who could live here? He had asked dad that very same question, and his father's response was solemn. Some men in this world are cruel and deranged. They do not kill out of necessity, but out of entertainment. When wizards meddle in the Dark Arts, they believe that they are stronger than the powers that they are toying with. In the end, it's not the wizards who meddle with the magic, but the magic that meddles with the wizards.

"Mr. Weasley," said a cold voice, "I see we have now met. The subconscious and the conscious, at long last, have joined."

"Who are you?" Ron croaked, standing up and searching the dungeon for the voice's owner. Standing in a shadowed corner was a lean figure; his face pale against his black robes. His visage was hooded and all that Ron could see was a pair of acid-green eyes.

"We will get to that later," the man continued, "But first I ask: Do you know what you want?"

What the hell kind of question is that? "I want out of here, first off."

The robed figure sighed and stepped into the dim light. His facial skin was sagged and looked as if the flesh was already dead and decayed. He drew a mottled hand from his robes and extended a single finger. "What is the one thing you desire above all? I can give it to you, you know."

"Bullshit. Let me out of here."

"Do you know where 'here' is?"

Ron hesitated. "Where am I?"

The figure looked around the dungeon almost fondly. "The last place I remember with detail. This is my old laboratory. It was where I met my end. Well, my physical end."

"Let me out," Ron repeated. "You can't give me anything I don't already have."

The figure laughed. It was cold and high pitched. "Don't lie to me, Ronald. I am your subconscious. I already know everything."

Ron took a step back. "You're that- that brain in the Department of Mysteries."

"Correct," the man replied, "Though that it hardly relevant. Me and you have to share this body, whether either of us like it or not. I want to have some sort of truce. I confess I no longer care much for life anymore, and I desire only occasional pleasures that blood alone can bring me. What I can do for you, however, is limited only by your dreams."

Ron gazed around at the room; eyes resting on the dripping ceiling. The tendrils of mossy plants seemed to wave from a nonexistent wind. "Yeah, you seem like the type that does stuff for other people's benefit." Ron heard the debris behind him creak as stone slid against each other, but he ignored it.

"I can give you great power," said the sallow figure. He grinned and his teethed were pitted and yellow. "I know how you envy the Potter boy. Yes, it's all here. You want to be powerful like him? Well, I can give you power and more. Even," he added with a sinister tone, "the girl."

Despite himself, Ron was tempted. "What do you want?" He needed time to decide.

A fanatical gleam entered the man's eyes. "In return for my gifts, all I wish is the ability to satisfy my…desires on occasion. You needn't even do anything, though you can watch, if you want. You may even come to like it. One must learn to appreciate the silky, warm feel of running blood; it's an acquired taste."

"You're sick," Ron snarled, backing away from the man. He hated himself for even considering the offer. "Get out of my head." A rock fell and splashed into a small puddle of liquid.

"Oh, no I'm not," the man replied with an easy rasp on his voice. It added a sense of mastery. "If you don't want to do what it takes, I will do it for you. I understand your reluctance. Just let me have control for a single minute tonight, and I will bring you more than you can ever imagine." The figure moved and touched a protruding rock, stroking it gently with his ruined hand. Ron swore that it actually shuddered under the figure's touch.

"I know who you are," Ron spat, "And you're a liar. You're stuck in my head and you can't leave without me allowing it." A tremendous crash echoed through the dungeon, and Ron, listening, decided that an adjoining room had collapsed. The tower is falling apart.

The figure turned his head sharply. "Wrong. You have no idea who I am…" He rolled up his black sleeve to reveal a decaying arm. On it, clearly imprinted on the peeling flesh, was the Dark Mark. "You insult me with your impertinence, boy."

Ron took another pace backwards, nearly slipping on the slippery floor. "You're nothing without me. You're just another crooked Death Eater."

"Is that right?" the figure growled, drawing himself up to his full height. He advanced upon Ron like an executioner. "I am everything. I merely wanted to convenience the both of us with this little chat, but you are too stubborn to see what I can bring you. All I need is Potter's wand. The phoenix feather within it will be all I need to return. Don't you see, you stupid boy?" A few more stones dropped from the ceiling, landing loudly on bare spots on the floor.

Ron could now smell the rotten flesh reeking from the figure's body. "I'll never betray him."

To Ron's surprise, the man laughed. It was hoarse and raspy and high. "You're ignorance astounds me. I told you before I know your mind. The seed is in here."

"You're lying," said Ron shakily. He could not be sure, but he sensed that the man's temper was somehow connected to the tower. Every time the man's jade eyes darkened with rage, bits of debris fell from the walls and ceiling.

"I'm not," he said flatly. Again, a carved stone shivered and shattered.

Ron managed to produce a terse smile. "You're the one dead, not me. I think it's clear who depends on who, so don't pretend to intimidate me."

The green eyes glittered like jewels. "I am your potential. Wizards would beg for a chance like this. Do you know what I am offering you?"

"Yes I do, so get the hell out of my mind."

"You don't even know who I am," the figure continued, "You couldn't have any idea…"

"So it comes back to that?" Ron said in an unnecessarily low voice, "Who are you?"

The figure grinned a sadistic grin. The tower groaned as rocks shifted from sheer weight. A massive stone block fell from the ceiling, smashing into fragments when it hit the ground. "You can call me Corlov."

Somewhere, the rocks and walls caved and Ron awoke with a gasp. He sat there, heaving, for several minutes, wondering wildly what he had been dreaming about.

(A/N: I hope Whams's class didn't bore anyone. I really needed to write out what the Edward Skinner curses were and that was the perfect opportunity. Those who said in chapter 12: Isn't the h/Hr going a little too fast? I tend to agree. It seemed like a huge jump because I put no h/Hr in chapters 9 or 10, which were supposed to be one chapter not two. My fault for not foreseeing that.

And for those who are concerned about whether Dolohov's, erm, removal, from the story marks the end of Voldemort's relevance as a plot device in this fanfic, well, I suggest you reread chapter 12's title.

And for the people who read this on fan fiction.net: I finally got around to updating chapter 1 to remove the infamous "His birthday is on the 31st not 30th" typo error, and ended up deleting the entire story, so I had to upload all 12 chapters again. My mistake!

Happy new year.

Chapter 14: The training lesson goes about as well as people expect. Harry follows through with his plan, and it leads to a little chaos. (If you're expecting an epic battle scene like the one in chapter 10, you'll be disappointed, I'm afraid) And Gates takes one in the face after making a rather snide remark.

Chapter 14 quote:

"That requires a ministry license," interjected Harry before he could stop himself.

Gates's eyes glittered. "Yes, I know. But do you think dark wizards stop and ask for your license if you perform an Edward Skinner? If you win, there's nobody around to turn you in. If you don't, well, it doesn't matter, does it?" He grinned maliciously. Harry swore that Gates looked ready to lick his lips.)