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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: Not going to say much here. Parts of this chapter I like, other parts I hate.)

"So, having fun, are we?" Snape said softly. "I remind you that this is a store room, not a broom closet. I'm afraid I will have to separate you two so you can concentrate on your detention rather than your rampant hormones. I think fifty points from Gryffindor for frolicking in the store rooms will do the trick. Potter, come with me."

So strong was the Potion master's command that Harry obeyed immediately, casting one last glance back at Hermione, trying to catch her reaction. She did not appear angry, or unpleasantly shocked, and Harry could only deem this as a good thing, as far too many of his personal experiences have involved streams of tears.

"I must say you surprised me Potter," Snape said idly. "Your father never made it with any student officers until his seventh year, much less top students. I daresay he worked his way up. But then again, you already have a few - what's the word? - oh yes, points in your favor with Miss Granger, correct? Or has this been going on since fourth year? It would be a pity if an account of this little discretion fell into the hands of Rita Skeeter, wouldn't it? Why, you just finished up with Miss Chang, did you not? Making the rounds, I suppose, like your father would say."

Harry was silently smoldering.

Snape ushered him into a nearby chamber and folded his arms behind his back. "Wait here. Touch nothing. I must have a word with Miss Granger." With that he swooped out, slamming the door behind him.

What have I done? he thought anxiously. Did he destroy everything that he had once prized? When he kissed her, he did not even fully realize what he was doing. All he knew was that a void that had been empty since Sirius's death had suddenly been filled.

Harry stared around the room, seeing that this cell was quite different from the other ones. Rather than containing mountains of glass flasks and jars, this was filled with boxes of antiquities and small, invariably magical items. Snape had apparently been rearranging the room while Harry and Hermione cleaned the glass jars. Irresistibly, he began to examine the room and its contents.

Was it a mistake?

A jade figurine of a serpent poked its scaly head out of a dusty bin, a carved rosewood statue of a rather short wizard stood stiffly in the corner. Harry took a step closer. It seemed that the wizard's eyes were almost alive, and that they were watching him with vast intent. Harry stretched out his hand, reaching out for its shoulder. At that moment, a jolt of electricity burned his hand and he recoiled, rubbing it while studying the statue, feeling slightly bewildered and unnerved. Another box disclosed a broad, rough mirror; its shape suggesting that the maker did not care much for artistry. When Harry looked in it, he saw only a blank, lightless pit; the bottom unfathomable. He looked away.

What the hell is Snape saying to her? I wish I could talk to her right now…if only for a minute.

Sitting on the corner of yet another box was a tome Harry was only vaguely familiar with: Confessions of a Dark Wizard: The Pravus Necklace. Did Snape take that everywhere? Again, the urge to lift the battered book up and flip through it took him, but again he resisted. Snape would be back any moment, and what would the Potions master do if he caught Harry looking through an extraordinarily valuable book? However, as this was indeed a store room, could Snape be packing the tome away, never to be seen again? Harry sincerely hoped not. Someday he would open the tome up, but not now. Harry continued examining the room.

Leaning against the wall was a dusty old portrait of an old castle, Pineas Nigellus standing prominently on the battlements, the silver in his robes reflecting the sun. Harry watched him for a moment, hoping that the former Slytherin Headmaster would choose not to speak.

"What trouble have you gotten yourself into now?" Phineas said disdainfully. No such luck.

Harry sighed and sat down on a sturdy chest, then rubbed his face with his hands, aching all over. To think that he had just kissed Hermione…in the dungeons…during detention. If someone had prophesized that moment he would have laughed in their face and accused them of becoming Trelawney's apprentice.

A minute later Snape reentered the cell, his expression betraying nothing. He checked briefly as though seeing if anything was touched then gestured Harry to follow. They came into yet another chamber and Snape halted at the door.

"You will finish the remainder of your detention in here, Potter," Snape said. "I trust you have no inquiries."

"What did you say to her?" Harry demanded with bitterness on his tongue.

Snape blinked, then sneered. "Why don't you ask her after detention, Potter? I told her nothing you don't already know." He smirked and left, shutting and latching the door behind him. Harry grudgingly bent down to clean the flasks.

I honestly don't know what Miss Granger sees in you, Potter, Pseudo-Snape growled in his head.

What do you know? She probably sees nothing, Harry said back, not really caring about the fact that he was having a conversation with a nonexistent voice in his head.

You'll find out soon enough, won't you?

Detention came and went painfully, Harry's entire back aching by the time he completed his last box. He rubbed his eyes and knocked twice on his cell door. Snape instantly swung it open, as though he had been waiting.

"Finished, Potter?"

Harry kept the malice out of his voice. "Yes."

"Good, then leave."

Harry stood dumbly for a minute in the corridor, waiting for Hermione. Gates stood expectantly further up the hall.

"Potter," Snape said softly. "Why are you still here?"

"Where's Hermione?" Harry asked stiffly.

"I should have guessed. She completed her detention an hour ago, Potter. I dismissed her. I didn't want you two engaging in any other activities on your way back. It is now around midnight. I suggest you leave now. I trust you haven't lost your way Alex?" Snape added with a sneer.

"I daresay I haven't," Gates responded silkily.

The Hit Wizard spun and strode, Harry deciding at length to follow. He was so enraptured with his thoughts that he did not even notice when he bumped into Professor Whams, who had apparently taken to late night strolling around the dungeons.

When they reached the common room, it was completely abandoned and Hermione was no where in sight. Harry guessed that she needed time to think things over, and, frankly, so did he. Gates took up his post by the windows and Harry went up to the boy's dormitory and fell into the welcoming folds of his bed, knowing that there was no way he was going to be able to practice Occlumency tonight.

***

Harry woke up with a gasp the next morning, his scar pounding and his body utterly exhausted. He felt like he had just ran ten laps around Hogwarts nonstop. Wanting nothing more than the fall back to sleep, he close his eyes, but to no avail. Every fiber of his body demanded rest, and, after several minutes of pointless staring at the canopy over his head, he stood up and dressed himself despite his muscles' protests. Maybe the common room fire would warm him up and put some vigor into his arms. Why was he so tired?

When he stumbled down the steps into the common room, the first sight that greeted him was the back of Hermione's head as she sat on the couch, gazing down at her lap. Was she studying? He checked his watch and saw that it was four o'clock. Apparently he was not the only one who could not sleep.

Harry timidly walked over and sat down on a nearby chair, testing the waters. Where did he stand? He now saw that Hermione was knitting something that looked like a rather Weasley-like miniature sweater. Harry grinned, thinking of how Dobby would react when he saw a full-fledged article of clothing waiting for him. Feeling a little nervous, Harry sat silently, the clicking of the needles and the cracking of the young fire the only sounds in the room.

Harry looked up and saw Gates standing stiffly at the same place where Harry had left him the previous night. Did he ever move? At the moment, the Hit Wizard stared curiously in Harry's direction, his face expressing vast amusement.

"Oh, hello Harry," Hermione said quickly, apparently just noticing him. She worked her needles a little faster. "I woke up in the middle of the night, you know? Just could not sleep at all." She began knitting at lightning speed, and if she was not careful, she was going to rip a hole in the sweater. "So I came down here and sat down. I even scared a house-elf off. I think it was Winky. Anyway, I brought down some yarn and some needles and began working on this." Her hands were now a blur. "I decided to move on from hats and gloves."

Harry would have interrupted, but thought that it would be rude, so he let her continue.

"I think Mr. Gates has been standing there all night," she continued, her eyes fixed on her knitting. "I don't think he sleeps. Does he? Well, it doesn't matter, I suppose. He doesn't make any noise, so I can work as much as I want on clothes for S.P.E.W." Hermione lifted the half-made sweater up. "Do you like it?" she asked eagerly.

Harry studied the shocking green sweater for a moment. "Yeah, it's nice. I like the color." He decided he would wait awhile before bringing up the subject of the kiss.

Hermione looked down at the sweater as though seeing it for the first time. She blushed. "I like that color too."

Harry sat there for a moment, taking in her expression. After becoming relatively adept at Occlumency, he found that he became much more perceptive when it came to gestures or facial movements. His mind had become much more in tune with the body language that associated itself with certain emotions; though, as Occlumency was the suppression of those same emotions, he was not sure why. Right now, Hermione was flustered, uncertain, apprehensive and…afraid?

"Are you all right Hermione?" Harry asked tentatively, extending his hand. Inwardly, he prayed that she would take it.

To his relief, she did, smiling slightly. "I think so," she said timidly. Her hair was more frazzled than ever, her knitting was sitting on her lap forgotten, and her cheeks were turning redder by the second.

"I think we need to talk," Harry said at length, deciding to breach the awkwardness between them. Better now than later, right? The exhaustion that he felt when he woke up still lurked in his body, but he suppressed it. He needed energy…now. He could not be tired now; he had to be alert.

"About what?" said Hermione suddenly, her voice trembling.

Harry's eyes grew wide and he was sure his hand had just turned to stone as he could not withdraw it. Rejection he could take, but outright indifference? He had gotten the wrong idea, that's all. She must have interpreted the kiss to mean something else, though Harry had not a clue what. He regained control of his hand and carefully withdrew it, and, to his surprise, Hermione grabbed it again.

"I didn't mean it that way," she said suddenly. Her expression was panicky and mingled and Harry could no longer read it. "I mean, yes, we need to talk. I'm just scared." She let out a shaky breath.

What was she scared of? Certainly not him, right? "What are you afraid of, Hermione?" Harry asked, feeling the warmth of her hands and reveling in it a little.

"This changes everything," Hermione said in a small voice. "This is pivotal, do you see?"

Harry nodded his head, not fully sure of her response. Suddenly, something rammed into him with the force of a runaway train. Snape. Did he say something that made her afraid?

Yes, I always find ways into your love life, don't I Potter?

"What did Snape talk to you about?" Harry asked in a quiet and gentle voice, hoping he did not betray the anger he felt. What business did Snape have in discussing anything about him with Hermione? Fatigue once again made itself known by the way Harry supported his arm. He had to prop his elbow onto his knee in order to continue holding Hermione's hand. Why was he so damned tired?

Hermione looked deeply into his eyes, searching. "He didn't talk with me about anything," she said. "Well, not really. He just told me that I didn't know what I was getting into. But I'm not afraid because of that, I'm afraid of the change. I know Professor Snape is just trying to…" But what Professor Snape was trying to do, she could not say.

Harry felt cold irritation in his bowels, but, with superb Occlumency training, he did not allow it to show on his face. He was slightly proud of that little accomplishment. "He's just being himself," Harry replied.

Oh, no I'm not, Pseudo-Snape said in a devious voice. I'm warning her about the prophecy. She doesn't know what she's getting into, and, frankly, neither do you. Are you ever going to tell her?

Harry mentally shouted back at the voice. It's my burden, no one else's. I won't keep piling everything onto her shoulders.

Is that the real reason Potter? It continued, this time in a sincere tone. It was neither sly not mocking. Or are you afraid of what she'll say when she finds out you have to become a murderer?

"Do you regret anything?" Hermione asked, the fear now evident in her voice. Her insecurity was now more obvious than ever.

Harry snapped out of his mental argument. "Nothing," he said, remembered Sirius's words: Never forget anything, Harry, and never regret. "Would you do it again?"

"I don't know," she replied timidly. "Would you?"

In reply he leaned forward, meeting her lips halfway, kissing her. She tasted as sweet as she did the night before, and he reached out, placing his hand behind her head. Beneath the bushy exterior, her hair underneath felt soft; almost silky in its texture. He let his fingers become tangled in her hair as he kept her close. There was no need. She went nowhere. The connection Harry felt with Hermione became tight in his chest and then burst, satisfied.

"You know," said the familiar harsh voice of the Hit Wizard. "You are not the only occupants of this room. Kindly refrain from this hormonal nonsense in my presence."

The two broke apart, not from Gates's taunt, but from their lack of air. Harry grinned, and Hermione grinned back. The invisible cord reconstructed itself and Harry began to feel its tug once more, though it was pleasing now.

"He's going to make everything difficult," said Hermione, her eyes not wavering from Harry's. Her knitting now lay by her side, completely abandoned.

"I don't think I care."

Any traces of fear were gone from Hermione's face, and she looked delicately soft in the fire light. "Neither do I."

"But others…" Harry said, his voice trailing off. He closed his eyes, opened them. Hermione was right when she said this changes things. It made everything much more complicated.

Hermione nodded her head, expecting it. "We're going to have to be careful…Ron…"

Harry could only imagine Ron's reaction should he find out about Harry and Hermione's new relationship. He would suffer abandonment…fear…and a myriad of other emotions. In Ron's present condition, that would not be the best of ideas. A strong, sudden emotional attack would trigger one of his fits…and who knows what might happen then. And if Gates saw it happen…Harry shuddered.

"We can't tell Ron now," Harry said carefully. "Not with what he's going through." And there were other reasons. Namely Voldemort. Harry needed to be practical…he could not be reckless.

"I know," Hermione said. "Especially since, well…"

Harry looked up at her, puzzled. "Since what?"

Hermione began to look supremely uncomfortable, and Harry wondered what could possibly be bothering her so much. "You see," Hermione said after a moment. She chose her words slowly and deliberately. "This summer, before you came, Ron sort of…asked me out."

Harry's jaw dropped slightly. He tried hard not to go through the jealous boyfriend routine. "And.?" he asked gently.

"And I declined," Hermione said quickly. She rushed through the next few sentences. "I told him I didn't like him like he liked me and I think that upset him a bit. You remember how we argued a bit in the car on the way back from your house? He was still a bit cold towards me then. I'm fairly certain he let it go after that, but it might still be lingering in his subconscious…and it would be very bad if today Ron found out about us."

"But isn't he interested in Luna now?"

Hermione sighed. "Yes, but he'd still feel alienated from us. Or he might feel betrayed. There is no easy solution right now…"

"It'll be worse if he finds out and we didn't tell him," said Harry.

"I know," Hermione replied, sounding frustrated. "But we can't…just not yet."

Suddenly, Harry laughed. Hermione looked at him quizzically. "What is it?" she asked.

"It's just that," Harry said, calming down. "It sounds like we are making some sort of strategy or game plan; like we're planning out a Quidditch match or something."

"Well we sort of have to, don't we?" said Hermione logically. "Nothing is simple."

Harry reflected introspectively, seeing she had a point. "This isn't going to be easy," he said finally.

"Are you sure? About this?"

Harry squeezed her hand. "I'm very sure," he said instantly. "I was just saying…" They lapsed into silence. He simple watched her face move, the delicate curves of emotion cross her cheeks, her mouth, and her forehead.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"How are we supposed to act?" she asked nervously. "I mean, with me and Victor it was different. We will be together the entire day." She breathed as though stating something that had been bothering her for a long time. "What do we do?"

"Whatever is natural, Hermione," said Harry gently. He brought out his other hand and clasped it over hers.

This is going rather well, he thought.

Plenty of time for it to go horribly wrong, Pseudo-Snape responded. I wouldn't get too comfortable yet, Potter.

Harry's exhaustion made a final push on his head, making him blink lazily. How could he possibly get through classes today like this? His mind claimed that it was awake, while his body shouted for rest.

"Is something wrong?" asked Hermione, concerned. "Why were you up so early?" Her face abruptly fell. "Did you have a dream?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Harry said quickly. "It's just that…I woke up and can't sleep again, but I'm exhausted anyway. Does that make sense?" It felt good to have a change in subject. Their relationship, while important, was not something that he was good at discussing. Regardless, Harry felt that he and Hermione had reached some unspoken agreement, and that, if anything, was enough.

"Has this happened before?"

Harry shook his head. "Do you think it has anything to do with, err, Snape's voice?"

"I don't think so," Hermione said after a moments pause. "You've been hearing Snape for the past couple weeks. And I haven't found anything on what could be causing that, and I have no idea why…" she added, apparently annoyed at having the library fail her for the second consecutive time. "I'll just have to look a bit deeper, that's all." she added resolutely.

"First nothing on the necklace now this?" Harry said with feigned amazement, unable to resist. "You mean all the answers can't be found in the library?"

"This has been just an exception," she countered, slightly defensive.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

Hermione saw his inner amusement. "Don't start," she said, and picked up her knitting once more, grinning the entire time.

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

The day continued in a surprisingly normal fashion. While Harry was not one to question Hermione's remarks, he did not think their relationship had changed as much as they both expected. True, they were more intimate while they were alone, and Harry had become especially chivalrous to her, but overall, they still shared the same, deep mutual understanding that they possessed since time immemorial. It did not seem so much that their interaction changed, but just the title. It was like they had always been this way, but they had simply confirmed it with a kiss. She was more physically affectionate towards him now, but, so far, that was the limit of the evolution. Was he really her boyfriend and she his girlfriend? Did any of this make sense? No, but there was an innate, relaxing feeling that accompanied it that was far better than anything he experienced with Cho.

So far, the day's classes had proven uneventful, as Care of Magical Creatures and Defense Against the Dark Arts had included only long, meandering lectures with no wand magic.

During lunch, Ron barely noticed anything at all. He plopped down onto a seat and immediately began scooping food onto his platter, taking little notice of the new seating arrangements. He grumbled something about sitting at the same table as Slytherins, and then dived into his heap of waffles. This led Harry to question whether Cho and Victor were justified with their previous jealousy, and, from the look in Hermione's eyes, she was thinking along the same lines as well.

"Waffles for lunch?" Harry asked out loud.

"So what about this spew stuff?" Ron garbled through his food, ignoring Harry's remark. "Didja give it up yet? I just checked the poster and you've only got about twelve people signed up."

Hermione was evidently having a hard time deciding whether to answer the question or comment on Ron's atrocious eating habits. "There'll be a meeting coming up in a few weeks, I need to gather the required material before we start."

Ron grunted in a manner that dictated either approval or apathy; Harry could not tell.

"So, err, what will we be doing?" Harry asked uncertainly, curious at what possible project Hermione would need 'material' for. He really hoped it was not what he thought it was.

"It's going to be a surprise," said Hermione cheerfully.

"It's knitting, isn't it?" Ron said, a bit of food falling off of his fork as he held it in midair. "Tell me I'm wrong. Please." Harry's ears perked up.

"I'm not telling," Hermione said, though she began to blush and fixed her eyes onto her food. "It's a surprise."

Ron nodded in confirmation. "It's knitting." he said flatly. Presently, he turned to Harry. "You feel like skiving this one off, Harry?"

Hermione's jaw dropped. "You wouldn't dare. You signed up for it."

Harry looked from Ron, then to Hermione, then back to Ron. Both were appealing for his support. "Couldn't hurt to learn a new skill, really." Hermione squeezed his hand from under the table.

"Then that settles it," Hermione said proudly. "You're going, Ron."

Ron gave Harry a look of utter betrayal. "Not if we're knitting…if it ever gets back to Fred and George that I knitted anything, I'll never hear the end of it." He set down his fork and picked up his knife, beginning to twirl it in the air.

"No one is going to tell Fred and-"

Ron's knife-twirling increased its speed. "Lower your voice," he hissed, furtively glancing up and down the table. "There's Hufflepuffs now two meters away from here. What if they overhear us talking about knitting."

Harry was watching this exchange with escalating anxiety. He was never sure of how to handle their rows previously, but now that he was with Hermione, what was he supposed to do? He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"What does that matter Ron?" Hermione said in the same tone. "They're just other students, no different than Gryffindors, and I don't see you hushing your voice around them."

Ron whirled his knife around his fingers in a blur. "They're Hufflepuffs!" he sputtered in a low voice. "They're not Gryffindors! That's the difference!" Harry was watching Ron's knife with a sort of strange fascination, almost waiting for it to fly out of his hand.

"That's nonsense," Hermione countered. "And-put-that-knife-down!"

The knife fell with a clatter, and it seemed that Ron was not even aware of himself doing it. When Ron had picked up that strange habit, Harry had no idea.

"Now you aren't going to abandon S.P.E.W. no matter what," Hermione said evenly.

Ron grumbled "Next thing you know we'll be braiding each others' hair" and went back to his food. Hermione pretended not to have heard.

Ron and Hermione's usual bickering resumed on the way to Transfiguration class, which was initiated when the redhead made a particularly sly comment on one of Hermione's S.P.E.W. posters, while Harry listened absently, unable to fully block their voices out of his head.

From the corner of his eyes, Harry caught a glimpse of Gates's keen gaze, and, turning his head, saw that the Hit Wizard wore a dangerously cunning expression, as though he had just come upon a revelation. It was a predatory look that Harry was beginning to associate uniquely with Gates. Seeing the Hit Wizard's mouth turn into a twisted sort of smirk, Harry shook his head and continued to Transfiguration, hoping that Gates was not planning anything particularly nasty.

I know that look, Potter. That one has something malicious on his mind, Pseudo-Snape warned.

Harry ignored the voice. "Let me carry your books, Hermione," Hermione smiled at him, then handed a good portion of her textbooks over.

Ron just watched with a curious expression on his face, then blinked. Harry watched him carefully. "Yeah, I suppose one of us should," Ron said after a moment. "Otherwise you're going to snap your back Hermione."

Harry cringed inwardly at the mention of 'snap your back', the memory of Gates's demented operation on Dolohov still eerily prominent in his mind. He stuffed Hermione's tomes into his bag and almost staggered onwards, the added weight throwing off his balance. If he had looked over his shoulder, he would have seen Gates's smirk grow wider.

"Class," Professor McGonagall began as the last of the students entered the room. "Today we will be moving on to transfigurations on a larger scale. For example-" She drew her wand, flicked it once, and her desk warped into a pig. Flicking it again, it returned to its original form. Harry remembered that she had done that exact thing once before.

"You will transfigure your own desks into something of the equivalent size," she continued briskly. "You may not turn them into animals. The last class tried that and we spent half the time just trying to trap the thing so we could transfigure it back. There are several steps and facts you must know before you begin, however. Quills and parchment out, please…"

The class obediently complied, and Professor McGonagall began lecturing on the various problems and nuances of transfiguration on larger objects. The sharp scratching of numerous quills was merely background noise against her penetrating voice.

The early morning exhaustion that Harry felt was not completely gone from his system, and he blinked his eyes tiredly. After the first couple minutes, Harry's head sagged and he turned to see how Ron was doing. As he predicted, Ron had his head propped up on one arm, eyes closed. His extravagant eagle quill, which he had evidently gotten back from Snape some time ago, lay forgotten on the corner of his desk. Suddenly, his eyes flew open and he yawned loudly, not quite out from sleep.

"Something wrong, Mr. Weasley?" Professor McGonagall asked sternly.

Ron jerked awake. "Err, not at all, professor."

Professor McGonagall curtly nodded her head and continued as if there was no interruption. After a long while, it seemed, she finished speaking and ordered everyone to bring out their wands and attempt a transfiguration. Hermione appeared eager to start, and Harry could only admire her interest. In fact, he resigned himself to watching her carefully for almost a full minute before even picking up his wand.

"Is there a reason you're staring at the back of Miss Granger's head, Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall said from behind him, wearing something that resembled a very faint smile.

He blushed crimson and reached for his wand. "I was just rather tired, that's all. Sorry, I'll begin now. I'm not even sure if I could do any magic right now, though…I can barely stay awake."

"Do try, please," she said, and walked away, checking on the other students' performances.

Harry raised his wand, shaking the last of the exhaustion from his mind, and, deciding he would warm up before trying the harder spell. After all, he had not even used his wand yet today. "Lumos!" he said in a voice just above a mutter.

Without warning, a deafening boom resounded from the tip of his wand, and a painful sear of burning heat stung at Harry's hand, making him drop it as though it was on fire. It clattered to the ground silently, and it took Harry a moment to register the fact that he was hearing no sound. Everything was moving in a bizarre form of slow motion, and, combined with the deafness, made him feel like he was watching one of those ancient silent movies that Vernon labeled as 'classics'. He felt like he was standing outside of himself, maybe in water, his mind and body separated into two entities. In a painfully slow fashion, everyone's head turned towards him, their eyes wide and their mouths forming inaudible words. He looked to Hermione, and saw her expression go from puzzlement to horror. The pain in his hand was throbbing, and Harry looked down to see that there was a deep gash in the flesh, which now bled freely onto the classroom floor. It seemed so distant, somehow.

Looking down, Harry saw that his wand was not quite through yet. Its tip was streaming out a grayish smoke that drifted up into the air and began forming something that resembled a storm cloud. Gates's face went incredibly hard as he stared at the anomaly, trying to decipher its meaning and purpose. More puffs of smoke and vapor swirled into the cloud, and slowly it began to take shape, the noiselessness making the scene all the more ghastly. There was something terrifyingly familiar about it, but Harry could not say precisely what. When it finally became clear, Harry blinked, stunned beyond words. Though he could not hear, he was sure that the classroom was now erupting in a cacophony of voices and screams. Floating serenely near the ceiling of the Transfiguration classroom was the Dark Mark.

At once, his hearing returned to him and he was bombarded with a whirlwind of sound and shouts, which threatened to pierce his very mind. A pulse in his temple began to beat against his brain, and he held his hand up to his skull to rub away the pain. Something was digging at him, surging through his veins, giving off a feeling of ice as it went. It made a full circuit and then ran up into his head, causing him to fall to his knees, clutching his skull. Abruptly, he was yanked up again.

Gates was now holding Harry's wand, an intense expression on his face much like alarm. Examining it closely and tapping it with his own wand, he frowned and pocketed it, a bit of Holly wood flashing before vanishing completely in the crimson robes. Taking up his wand again, he whirled it in the air and the gray Mark dissipated and dissolved, leaving no trace of its existence behind.

"Come with me," said the vague, far-away voice of Gates. The Hit Wizard's lips were not in sync with his words, and for a moment, Harry stood there, confused. Gates pulled again and this time Harry followed, staggering along like a drunken man, his steps erratic and unwieldy. There was a coppery taste in his mouth that he could not get rid of.

Gates slammed the classroom door and Harry realized that he was standing directly next to Professor McGonagall. Judging from the exceptional thinness of her lips, she was greatly perturbed. Gates looked down and saw his bleeding palm, and stared at it for a moment, almost transfixed, and took a backwards step. Professor McGonagall easily whirled her wand and healed the wound instantly, leaving only a faint impression of its former existence. Despite the restoration of the flesh, he still felt a faint tingling sensation where the gash used to be.

"The headmaster's office," Professor McGonagall said simply.

Gates blinked, then nodded. "Follow me Potter."

His head beginning to clear, Harry followed Gates, intensely aware of the numerous mutters and whispers occurring between the portraits. Somewhere, he saw a flash of green and silver, but as soon as he turned for a closer look, it was gone. Evidently, Phineas was trying to become more discrete. Noticing that he was falling behind, Harry increased his pace to keep up with Professor McGonagall and Gates's brisk strides.

"What happened?" Harry asked, leaping over a trick step on the staircase. "What happened with my wand?"

Gates ignored him. "What's your wand core Potter?"

"It's phoenix feather," Harry said. "What happened? Is anyone going to bother telling me what happened back there?"

Gates abruptly halted and turned on Harry. "Phoenix feather?" He seemed incredulous. "Wands with that type of core are nearly impossible to jinx." Once again, he spun around and continued, this time with more intent and speed, Professor McGonagall not far behind.

"My wand was jinxed? Is that what happened?"

"Very good Potter," Gates said sarcastically. "Excellent deductive reasoning. Where do you keep your wand? Has anyone been in contact with it lately?"

"I keep it with me all the time except when I sleep, in which case it goes into my chest," answered Harry, not quite ready to believe that someone had just walked up and jinxed his wand without his knowledge. "No one uses it except me."

Again, Gates stopped. "Do you realize what happened in that classroom, Potter?" the Hit Wizard asked without looking at him. "If you had done a more powerful spell than a simple Lighting Charm, the surge of energy would have killed you. Someone made an attempt on your life." He turned a corner and marched up a short marble staircase, Harry running to catch up. His great height gave the Hit Wizard the ability to make long strides.

Slowly, the implications began to set in. No doubt Gates was severely punished for his oversight. "Whoever did it must've snuck into the dormitory during the night," Harry reasoned. "I never leave my wand alone."

"So the Lighting Charm was the first spell you used all day?" Gates asked rhetorically. "So it had to have happened between yesterday and now. Your wand was quite secure last night, Potter. No one entered your dormitory. I keep a watchful eye over the common room, and no one came or went."

"You're telling me you don't sleep?"

"Yes, I sleep Potter, for approximately nine minutes every night. I haven't slept more than that since I was ten, when I charmed myself to reduce the requirement." They rounded a bend and he continued. "I have a certain…forewarning-" He glanced down at his pocket to indicate a slight bulge. It was obviously the Marauder's Map. "-that allows me to see all of Hogwart's. That would mean someone would have to sneak into Hogwarts, run into your dormitory, jinx your wand, and run out again all in the space of ten minutes. While, I suppose, that is remotely possible, they would have to time it perfectly. I choose to sleep at different times each night, and unless your enemy is magically bound to me, it would be impossible for them to achieve that sort of precise timing. Understand?"

"Yeah," said Harry as they climbed up yet another staircase. They were now close to the headmaster's office. "Then who did it and how did they do it? You've been watching me, surely you would have seen someone jinx my wand."

Gates hesitated. "I don't know."

"And the portraits, wouldn't they have seen something?"

"The portraits are merely observers that have only one sense: sight. They can be manipulated so easily that I wouldn't trust them to watch my cloak."

Professor McGonagall approached the stone gargoyle and said, "Skiving Snackboxes." The statue leapt aside and they entered the familiar, domed room lined with former headmasters. Dumbledore, to Harry's surprise, was nowhere to be seen.

"I must find the headmaster," Professor McGonagall said in an even voice. "Please remain here until I return."

"As you wish, Minerva," Gates said, not bothering to face her. She left in an instant.

"Potter," he said when Professor McGonagall had left. "The Nemesis Mirror. Look into it." He walked over to Dumbledore's desk and plucked the mirror off of its stand. Since the last time Harry had looked into it, it seemed to have gained an ethereal look, the white and gray swirls now giving off the impression of divinity. A mystic, golden light glowed from behind the puffs of smoke, as though it was a picture of the sun hidden behind clouds. The frame, though, had retained its ancient, graven appearance that seemed to exude power. When Gates held it in the air, Harry though he saw something glitter in one of the white swirls, but, as soon as he focused on it, it was gone.

Harry ceremoniously accepted the mirror and tentatively peered into its fathomless depths, feeling apprehensive of what it might reveal. Irresistibly, he was reminded of Trelawney gazing into one of her crystal balls, and he had to stifle a laugh. This, unlike the divination professor's dramatic and usually false prophecies, was irrefutably accurate. For a moment, Harry was afraid that it would show nothing, but, after a moment, a pair of deep, blood-red eyes appeared, boring into his being. His scar seared with agony, and, when he saw the almost reptilian face of Voldemort leering out of the gray smoke, he nearly dropped the mirror. Instead, he thrust it roughly back into Gates's hands and stumbled away, bending over and trying to master the pain in his skull. He looked up to have one last glimpse of it, and saw that the clouds had turned a blinding shade of Slytherin green.

"Who did you see?" Gates demanded, and Harry swore that he heard a hint of excitement in his voice. "Who was it?"

"Voldemort," Harry muttered, forcing down the pain. He waited a moment, surprised that Gates had not commanded him to refer to Voldemort as 'the Dark Lord'.

Gates did not even seem to notice. He was pacing in a circle in front of Dumbledore's lacquered desk, the sun's rays highlighting his scarlet robes in certain places so that it looked like they were stained with blood. At length he paused, his face furrowed in thought, and, slowly, his lip curled.

"You claim that the Dark Lord just waltzed into Hogwarts, do you?" Gates said contemptuously. "And no one noticed? Not even the portraits?"

Before Harry could respond, the office door burst open and Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall strode through, the headmaster's expression lined with determination.

"Minerva has told me what happened," Dumbledore said.

Harry nodded, surprised that he did not feel any of the anger from Voldemort that he usually felt in Dumbledore's presence. "You want me to give my point of view." It was not a question.

"If you would," said Dumbledore. He went behind his desk and placed a heavy jar of Lemon Drops on its surface, which undoubtedly scratched into the impeccable rosewood surface, leaving a permanent scar. Gates blinked.

Harry related everything that had happened, including his momentary loss of hearing. When he finished, Dumbledore's expression was bemused and he absently offered Lemon Drops. Gates was the only one who declined.

"And there's something else," Harry added. "I looked into the Nemesis Mirror, and I saw Voldemort." One of the portraits audibly gasped.

Professor McGonagall cringed, while Gates appeared annoyed. Dumbledore, however, seemed almost disturbed for a moment, but covered it immediately.. "How could Tom…" he murmured. Increasing the volume of his voice, he said, "Minerva, if you could be so kind to retrieve Professor Snape from his classroom."

The Transfiguration professor nodded and left.

"Did he possess me temporarily?" Harry blurted out, wanting reassurance. This idea had been on his mind ever since Gates had mentioned that someone had jinxed his wand. "Did he possess me and then, through me, jinx my wand?"

"That is a possibility, Harry," Dumbledore replied. "The Nemesis Mirror shows the origin of the power that threatens you. Voldemort's power was used on your wand, that we can be sure of. Had he possessed you, he would be transferring his power to your body, and then would be using his power to jinx your wand. Therefore, it is entirely possible. However, it is improbable."

"Why is that?" Harry had expected the opposite answer.

"Professor Snape tells me that you are becoming rather adept at Occlumency," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. "I feel confident that you can fend off a full possession, at any rate. While Voldemort is indeed a skilled Legilimentist, whose proficiency only increases with the connection he has with you, he is not omnipotent. He may be able to delve into weaker areas of your mind, but he does not have the ability to fully control you. Even now, you are resisting his influence."

For the first time in a long while, Harry felt a surge of pride. "Thank you."

"You owe no thanks to me," said Dumbledore, smiling gently. "You and Professor Snape must be getting along quite well in order for such progress to take place."

As if on cue, the headmaster's office door swung open and Snape swept through, his black robes flaring out like wings. "May I ask the reason for me being called-" He paused, his eyes on Harry. "But of course. Potter. What disaster have you brought about now? No fatalities, I hope." he added in a low voice for Harry's ears alone.

"Harry's wand has been jinxed, Severus, and he could've been killed quite easily had he used a stronger spell."

Snape's eyes glittered. "As unfortunate as that is," His eyes fells to Harry's and he mentally said that it failed. "-I must ask why it was necessary to pull me out of my second year Potions class. Surely this does not require my presence."

"We have reason to believe that Voldemort personally tampered with the phoenix core," Dumbledore said with gravity.

"But why didn't he just make it into a portkey?" Harry asked quickly. "Wouldn't that have made the most sense?"

"I have set up wards around the school that prohibit the use of porkeys," Dumbledore said. "Much like I have disconnected Hogwarts from the floo network, with the lone exception of my office fire in case of emergencies. There is no doubt. Voldemort made an attempt to kill you, Harry."

"Impossible," retorted Snape, the faintest impression of fear in his eyes. "The Dark Lord could not possibly enter this school without our knowledge."

"He did," Harry said in a low voice. "The centaurs said so."

Snape whirled on him. "And what did the centaurs have to say?"

Harry stared at him questionably for a moment. Was fury the Potions master's reaction to fear? Somehow, this unnerved him. "Bane said that they sensed someone malicious pass through the Forbidden Forest, and that they were unable to intercept whomever it was."

"The Nemesis Mirror concurs," Dumbledore said decisively. "There is no question that Voldemort is involved."

This caught Snape's attention. Something passed across the Potion master's face and his expression turned stony. "I see. Is it…safe?" Harry could not comprehend the meaning of the question. Was he referring to the Hogwarts wards?

Dumbledore's eyes flitted to Gates and then back to Snape. "No, there is no reason to conceal this information. As Harry's guardian, Alexander has every right to know."

"Very well," Snape replied. His hand drifted up to his forearm, rubbing it as he would an old wound or scar. "While the Mark burned yesterday evening, it tapered off and cooled earlier today, as I already reported. I could sense, though, that the Dark Lord was intensely focused on something of vital importance to him that night. From this, we can assume that he was, indeed, involved with this…attempt."

Harry looked at Snape strangely, seeing him in a different light. It was as though the Potions master was reading Voldemort's emotions, but that was not possible for him, was it?

Nodding his head, Dumbledore said, "Then it is safe to assume that Voldemort or someone who carries Voldemort's power had jinxed Harry's wand sometime during late evening or night; which leaves us back where we started."

"Indeed, headmaster," Snape said. "Potter: before today, when was the last time you used your wand?"

Harry hesitated. "My wand was last used, err, during your detention, sir."

"I see," Snape said softly, his eyes turning into slits.

"Later, Severus," said Dumbledore. "What was the spell?"

"A contraceptive charm, no doubt," Snape said in a low voice. Harry just barely heard him.

"An odor charm," Harry answered. "The lower dungeons reek like something died down there."

A small smile touched Dumbledore's lips and Snape appeared venomous. Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, clearly wanting to break the tension, and said: "So what measures will be taken?"

"That," said Gates snappishly, his tone exuding arrogance. "should be obvious. As Potter is now in obvious danger, there is no possible reason you can give me to remain in the common room. From now on, I will follow him up to the dormitories and guard him personally, as this school can no longer be trusted to provide adequate security." His eyes focused onto Harry. "Yes, Potter, that means I will be keeping a very close eye on you."

"This school," Dumbledore said sharply. "Is the safest place in the wizarding world today. However, no one and nothing can stop Voldemort from going wherever he pleases. Not even you."

Gates might have just been told that his manor had been burned down. "Then we're wasting our time, Albus. If the Dark Lord wants him dead, then why bother?" His tone reeked of sarcasm. "Let's just slice the boy's throat right now-" He suddenly paused, and then his voice picked up an accusatory tone. "And what does the Dark Lord want with Potter, anyway, Albus? You haven't been…meddling, have you?" He advanced upon the desk. "If there is one man I hate more than any other, it's the Dark Lord, and if there is a chance that I may throttle him…" His voice trailed off, like he was sinking into a reverie.

Harry imperceptibly shook his head, and it appeared that Dumbledore took the hint, as the headmaster folded his arms and regarded the Hit Wizard sternly. "This is none of your concern, Alex. Harry's importance is between myself and Minister Fudge," he said unblinkingly. He had told a flat lie; simultaneously denying Gates's request while implying that Harry was unaware of his importance. Fudge's involvement, of course, was completely fabricated, and was only added to make the lie more believable.

"And the infallible Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore's decisions are absolute, are they?" Gates took a step forward and placed both of his hands on the headmaster's desk, his grip so tight that his knuckles turned white. Dumbledore appeared almost amused by his attempt at intimidation. "What is the relevance of this boy, Albus? What is the true reason Sirius Black damned me to a full year with this child? I daresay I was foolish to assume it was out of sentimental reasons. Then again, Sirius never placed much value on his friends, even the very best, did he?" His last statement was bitter, resentful, and stinging.

When Gates finished Dumbledore looked at him with pitying eyes, his gaze falling down to the necklace that now hung inches over his gold letter box. "He gave you what you wanted in the end, didn't he? And look where you are now. Yes, I am disappointed in Sirius, but for reasons different from yours."

Harry watched Gates carefully, seeing him take the bait. Dumbledore had seized on the change of subject that moved away from the territory of the prophecy. Snape shifted his weight onto his left side, eyes glittering.

"You think it was easy? What he hid from me?" Gates demanded angrily.

"Not easy," said Dumbledore calmly. "But necessary. For seven years, you were safe."

"Safe but ignorant! Didn't you think I had a RIGHT to know?" Gates spat, raising his right hand as though to smash something on the table, and then lowering it again. "You ignorant, ancient-"

Dumbledore waved his hand. "Insults will not work here, Alex. I assure you that I've already heard them all."

"Don't you think I had a RIGHT to know?" Gates repeated forcefully, his teeth bared in a savage gesture. His overall posture alluded to a hawk bearing down on its prey. "Didn't you?"

"I will answer you truthfully, Alex," Dumbledore said slowly and sadly. "You deserve that, at least. I knew little more than you did during your time at Hogwarts. Sirius did not confide with me, either, not that he should have. I only knew afterwards…and, even if I had I known earlier, I would not have told you. What difference could it have made, Alex?"

"Shut up, old man," Gates snarled, taking his hands off of the desk, his voice hating Dumbledore's logic. Cloudy white moisture from his hands remained imprinted on the lacquered desk, slowly fading away as the sunlight came. "Don't pretend you understand. Don't think you know what it's like." He backed away, as though the headmaster had suddenly turned into something revolting. Harry closed his eyes, remembering that he had once said similar things to the headmaster, under only slightly different circumstances. "Sirius lied for seven years, and I'll never forget that." Gates whirled and strode out of the door, the air in the room seeming to be sucked out behind him as he left.

Dumbledore brought a single finger up to his temple, as though in sadness. "I didn't enjoy doing what I did, but he must not learn the prophecy. At least not yet. His lifelong ambition has been to destroy Voldemort, and if he knew of Harry's connection…" He steepled his fingers. "To answer your question, Minerva, we will have to lock down every entrance to this school, and I will have to see to the wards. Alex was not wrong when he said Hogwarts is fallible."

"The man is controlled by his memories," said Snape. "Look how easily he was manipulated by them. Even Potter isn't that simple to maneuver."

"Mr. Potter," corrected Dumbledore. Snape did not reply. "So I understand he has been improving greatly? Even his Potions work?"

Snape nodded reluctantly.

"And to what do you attribute that to?"

"Perhaps last year's antics have impressed upon him the importance of my teaching," said Snape slowly. It was a classic Snape answer. He emphasized his own talent and skill while simultaneously jabbing at Harry.

"Do you remember what you swore earlier this year, Severus?" asked Dumbledore calmly.

From the expressions passing over Snape's face, Harry could tell that he wanted to sneer. "Yes, I do."

"Very well," Dumbledore turned to Harry. "How do you feel? Do you wish to visit the infirmary?"

Harry paused for a moment, considering the offer, then shook his head. "I think I'm fine. But why did the Dark Mark come out of my wand if Voldemort was only trying to kill me?"

"Icing on the cake, Potter," Snape said. "The Dark Lord wanted to make sure that everyone knew that it was no mere accident that killed you. He wanted to flaunt his victory."

Harry nodded, unnerved.

The headmaster shifted his spectacles on the bridge of his nose. "You are dismissed from your classes for the remainder of the day," Snape raised his eyebrows slightly at this but he continued. "If you wish to resume your schedule, by all means do so, but know that the option is available to you. I do, however, encourage you to at least stop by Madam Pomfrey next."

Harry nodded, thinking along those same lines. His head still swam a little, and he had too much to think about for him to go back to classes. Besides, he was exhausted. A nice, long nap in the common room suddenly became very appealing. "I'll do that, sir."

"A wise choice," agreed Dumbledore. "If you'll excuse me, I must have a word with Professors Snape and McGonagall."

"I'll see you on Friday, headmaster."

"Sooner than that, I hope."

"I believe your friends are waiting for you at the bottom," Professor McGonagall added. "They were quite adamant about coming to see you. I forced them to wait, however." A small, barely noticeable smile played on her lips.

Walking down the staircase, Harry heard Dumbledore mentioning the word 'Occlumency' before passing out of earshot. Just before coming to the gargoyle, Harry heard Snape said in a much louder, defensive voice, "You're looking into this far too much; I am doing what you assigned, no more. Your assertion that-" His voice became softer so that Harry could no longer catch the words.

"Potter," snapped Gates from the bottom of the steps. His tone of voice dictated the fact that he was still fuming from his exchange with Dumbledore. "Your wand. Give it here."

Harry, slightly apprehensive about the Hit Wizard's demeanor, reluctantly handed it over, and Gates studied it slowly and carefully.

"No lasting marks," Gates said at length. "Consider yourself lucky. The Dark Lord didn't do the job properly, it seems, or didn't expect you to live." He drew his own wand and tapped it lightly on the tip of Harry's. The two wands glowed, then faded.

Harry watched wordlessly.

Gates whirled the two wands individually in the air, evidently testing something. Satisfied, he tossed Harry back his wand. "I've placed several protection charms onto your wand, Potter. Defensive spells are my core's specialty, and it would take hours for even the Dark Lord to break them. If someone with the taint of the Dark Arts touches your wand, they will be severely…hurt."

"Was Skeeter in that room when…it happened?" Harry asked somewhat hesitantly.

Gates pulled out the Marauder's Map, unraveled it, and murmured the incantation. "No, she's not inside this school. Unless she as well as the Dark Lord can perform incredible feats of movement, she did not witness the disaster."

Pocketing his wand, Harry passed the gargoyle. As Professor McGonagall had told him, Ron and Hermione were standing on the marble foyer, waiting.

"Hey," said Harry as the gargoyle leapt back into position when Gates passed through.

"Harry!" Ron and Hermione said in chorus as they rushed towards him.

"You feeling all right, mate?" Ron asked, extending a hand to put on Harry's shoulder which was inadvertently knocked aside as Hermione hugged him. Harry felt a strong urge to kiss her, but suppressed it, knowing that it would be suspicious even to Ron. He hated the way things were, but that was they way it had to be…at least for now.

"Yeah," Harry wheezed as Hermione squeezed the air out of his lungs. Ron looked slightly bewildered.

"A lot of people freaked out when Professor McGonagall and Gates took you away," Ron continued. "Some were saying You-Know-Who took you over, you know, after Rita's article…"

"I can imagine," Harry managed. Hermione had still not let go.

Ron eyed them strangely. "You're going to have to let go some time, Hermione. I swear, if You-Know-Who doesn't get you, she will."

A pained expression crossed Harry's face before he was able to mask it. Ron did not know how very true his words were. Hermione reluctantly released Harry, blush reddening her cheeks. Again, he wanted so badly to kiss her.

"So what happened?" Harry asked.

Ron shook his head. "They started going on for awhile about the nonsense Rita wrote in her article, but me and Hermione finally told them to shut their mouths. They had no clue what was going on." he added albeit bitterly.

"I see," said Harry slowly.

"Don't worry about them," Hermione said quickly. "People are always gossiping about something. When Professor McGonagall came back she told us that it was a wand failure and that class was dismissed. Thank Merlin the cloud wasn't fully formed. I don't think anyone knew what they saw, I mean, we were all watching you. Of course, we came right after her, and she took us back here."

"So what happened mate?"

Harry breathed, not sure how to explain it to them. Would they believe that Voldemort had somehow strolled into the school and jinxed his wand? Leaving nothing out, he told them nearly everything.

You're forgetting the prophecy, Potter, said Pseudo-Snape, You'll have to tell them eventually, you know.

Yes, I know.

(A/N: There it is; step 2 in the plot. Let me know what you think!

Next Chapter: More goodness from Rita Skeeter, and a D.A. lesson that involves a few revealing Boggarts and an Occlumency session that goes horribly wrong.)