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

Woodrow M

The approaching day when Harry had to return to Occlumency with Snape was something like a knife slowly being drawn out of his gut. While the Potions master had ceased to be openly hostile towards Harry, he had a feeling that their enmity was only temporarily simmering before a larger explosion. He was not naive enough to believe that Snape would set aside his scorn after seeing that Harry, indeed, was not nearly as terrible as he originally thought. In all likelihood, the brief session of Veritaserum would be ignored and never mentioned again.

Gates, however, began to act rather strangely. When Luna came around, he would retreat into the shadows, his eyes fixed upon her, avoiding contact as if she carried some sort of extremely contagious virus. He no longer engaged in verbal taunts or conversation in her presence, either, which was, needless to say, unusual. Luna did not seem at all surprised by this development, and actually nodded understandably when Harry mentioned it to her.

"That's because I know the secret of his boggart," she said sadly, her eyes flickering towards Gates for just a moment. The Hit Wizard recoiled as if struck and went deeper into the darkness.

Harry, suspecting as much, continued. "The secret? It was simply a woman, what happened that made him so afraid?"

"She was disowning him," Luna said calmly, her eyes taking on an out worldly look. "But that's not the secret. He was more afraid of her face."

"Her face?" said Ron, confused. "Was she really that ugly?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "What did you see in her face?"

Luna shook her head somberly. "I can't tell you. It is far too personal for me to share, and, as I vividly remember seeing my mother die as well, I won't. Mr. Gates is a very vulnerable man."

Harry did not press the issue, so unusually grave was Luna's voice. Instead, his eyes rested on a portrait of a gray-haired wizard who was looking at Hermione with a steady gaze.

He found that Hermione's portrait protector, Norman Carwin, was taking is duty of watching over her very seriously. Harry seldom walked into the common room without seeing the wizened Ravenclaw standing in a painting over the fireplace, his eyes fixed on Hermione as though if he turned away she would vanish in an instant.

More recently, his guardianship has progressed into tutoring Hermione as well as watching her. Occasionally, when she was facing a particularly difficult Arithimancy problem, he would give her little tips and advice, sitting from a smaller, portable frame that was now sitting on her work desk. Sometime over the past week, they had been introduced, though Harry had not the faintest idea when.

One time, Harry walked into the common room to see Hermione laughing. Coming closer, he heard the tail end of a joke that Norman was telling.

"-and so, I tell the young pupil, 'And that's why your Expression Number is a three!'" the Norman said, the humor in his voice quickly dying as he saw Harry approach.

"Err, hi Hermione," Harry said somewhat awkwardly. The s mile on Hermione's face somehow grew bigger when she saw him.

"Hi Harry, have you ever met Mr. Carwin?" she said. "He's been helping me study for my Arithimancy exam."

"Though I hardly need to," declared Norman. "She's brilliant at the subject. Should've been in Ravenclaw." He gave Hermione a sly wink and she blushed deeply. Harry began to dislike the portrait more with ever passing second.

"We've been introduced," said Harry politely, responding to her first question.

"Miss Granger talks about you often, Mr. Potter," Norman said, his tone suddenly very sober and formal. He studied Harry with scrutinizing eyes.

"Yes, we are very close," he replied, very subtly staking out his territory. He never would have thought that he would ever be jealous of a portrait.

"Yes, indeed," said Norman with a deliberate air. "So, tell me, what marks do you receive in Arithimancy?"

'Uhhh," Harry stammered. He was suddenly very uncomfortable under Mr. Carwin's gaze. "I don't really, err, take Arithimancy."

"You don't?" Norman said with a raised eyebrow. Once again, Harry felt the portrait's eyes scan over him, as though viewing him over.

"But I play Quidditch," Harry added.

Norman's eyes visibly narrowed. "I see…"

"Err, Hermione," said Harry. "Can I talk with you alone for a moment?"

Hermione looked up at him, growing concerned. "Sure," she said, and immediately put down her quill and parchment and followed Harry to a relatively empty part of the common room.

"Look, Mr. Carwin is watching over you," Harry said uncomfortably. "Guarding you. I asked Dumbledore to have him do it."

"Why? What is it?"

"If Voldemort ever found out how much you mean to me," said Harry with gravity. "You could be in danger. And if he can get into the school to get me, he can definitely come into the school to attack you."

"How could-" Hermione paused. "You really think Gates would do that? Tell Voldemort about us? He hates Voldemort as much as you do, possibly more."

"I'm not putting anything past him," said Harry. "He's a real life monster, and if it means using some enemies against other enemies, he would do it in an instant. Even if it's just out of spite." He looked over and saw Norman watching them warily from his little frame.

"But did he say it?"

"Not directly," Harry muttered. "But he hinted at it. At least with Mr. Carwin nearby, he will be able to get Dumbledore if something happens. And I had Dumbledore send Order members to watch over your home, so your parents won't-"

Before he could react, he found himself wrapped tightly in Hermione's embrace. "I hate Gates, for making things so horrible. Why can't he leave us alone?"

"He won't bother us," Harry said softly. "I won't let him."

"Don't say that," Hermione warned, loosening her grip around his chest slightly. "Don't provoke him. You don't have any control over him."

Harry's eyes grazed across the common room, and no one seemed to notice the two embracing figures in the corner. Silently, he said: I won't let him. I won't let him.

***

Mr. Alverton, on the whole, remained as amiable as ever towards Harry, his original stiffness completely vanished since he learned that Harry was interested in becoming an Auror. Indeed, he often went out of his way to run into Harry between classes, giving him practical advice on Defense Against the Dark Arts, and telling him stories about his old adventures as a freshly recruited Auror.

"Those were terrible days," Alverton said. "Not a day passed where we didn't hear news about Death Eater activity. Sure, these days are fairly bad, but they are nothing compared to what it was like back then. Why, you had You-Know-Who's henchmen kidnapping babies to turn them to the Dark Arts. Frankly, I don't understand why You-Know-Who hasn't been more active. All of his movements so far have been timid and reserved, like he's afraid of something, and frankly, I don't like it one bit."

Harry had a good idea of why Voldemort was being so cautious, but he did not mention it to Mr. Alverton. Voldemort wanted to kill him before making a larger attack, and was going to bide his time until it was completely safe. He had plenty of time, after all.

When Mr. Alverton was not reminiscing, he was letting Harry borrow a variety of handbooks and rough old tomes that he found useful as an Auror. On the promise of returning them in good condition, Harry read through several manuals on curses and hexes, as well as standard Auror procedure for engaging in combat. Overall, they proved to be very interesting reads, though they advised creating solutions through peaceful means rather than violent ones, much unlike Gates' The Art of Dueling. Indeed, a few of these books were so rare that those outside of the ministry could not possess them for any extended period of time.

Hermione, seeing these newly acquired books, instantly asked to borrow them, and once Harry explained to her where he received them, she accepted them tenderly as though taking hold of an infant. Almost reverently, she turned the pages, absorbing everything inside. She insisted on only reading through them in Harry's presence, as he was in charge of them, and gave them back as soon as she had to leave.

As November approached, and also the date of the dueling tournament, Malfoy's swagger increased considerably, and, whenever he passed by the trio, he would smirk at them arrogantly and continue on, as though possessing a secret.

The day came when the serpentine Dueling Club posters mutated from listing the usual list of names into naming opponents, setting students up against each other. When Harry glanced down the list, he found that he was paired up with a sixth year Ravenclaw named Evan, who he never really got to know. Hermione had to fight Dean.

Looking further down the list, Harry was horrified to see that Neville was going to duel Malfoy. He immediately suspected that the poster had been tampered with, that Malfoy had jinxed the poster to fit his own design. Neville would be the kind of student Draco would use to make a point out of; especially since he had the reputation of being the worst dueler of all the sixth years, though Harry personally believed differently.

"Well, looks like it's going to be a boring first round," drawled Malfoy from behind them. Harry whirled around. "I mean, Evan is probably the dumbest Ravenclaw of the whole bunch, Dean couldn't jinx a can of tomato soup, and Neville has less brains than Weasley has money. Speaking of which, where is Weasley on this list?" He scrutinized the poster carefully, then sneered. "Scared off, Weasley? Smartest move you ever made. This club is out of your league."

"I was taken off," Ron muttered. "I didn't take myself off, Malfoy."

Draco smirked. "Is that right? Doesn't matter. It's too bad you three won't get the chance to see me knock Longbottom around on the platform. It's going to be a good show, let me tell you."

"What's going to be so great about it?" Hermione asked hotly.

"All I'm going to say is that what I'm going to do to Longbottom is going to be enough to send mudbloods like you running for cover," said Malfoy, ignoring the darkening expression on Harry and Ron's faces. "You just wait. Longbottom will be out of class for a few days, I can promise you that. Again, it's a pity you won't see it."

"Why won't we see it Malfoy?" retorted Ron. "Going to curse him in the hallways like a real Slytherin?"

Malfoy threw him a disgusted glance. "You surely aren't serious. You won't be seeing Longbottom get knocked around in a duel because you aren't going to be there. They'll be calling the pairs out of classes and bringing them down to the great hall. It's not going to be public, Weasley. It won't be public until the final rounds."

"So what-"

"Anyway," interrupted Malfoy. "I hope you'll be watching, Potter, if you want to stand a chance against me. Maybe you could take notes. It'll be the first day of November, I'll make sure I send Crabbe or Goyle to give you the time. Being the fair wizard that I am, I want everyone to have a fair chance against me." He swept his eyes across them once more and then whirled away, Crabbe and Goyle lumbering to his flanks and escorting him away.

"I'm going to teach Neville everything I know," Harry said through gritted teeth. "Next D.A. meeting, I'm going to take him aside and teach him curses and defensive spells. Whatever it takes."

"And I'll help you," Ron muttered, ears dark red. "I don't care if I am fodder for Neville, I'll do whatever it takes to have that ferret get beaten."

"Malfoy's not worth your time," Hermione said under her breath.

Skeeter began churning out more articles on Hagrid and the now-titled 'Giant of the Forbidden Forest' than ever, putting more pressure on the ministry for action. Horrible, degrading letters were coming to Hagrid's hut by the bundle, and a small team of school owls were dispatched solely to deliver them to the gamekeeper. Of course, Hagrid said he threw them in the fire as soon as he got them.

"All 'cept the ones that 'splode," he added.

With Fudge's trial reaching its conclusion, ministry business was chaotic at best, and thankfully, little action was actually taken. The nominees to replace Fudge were being kept secret to prevent outside influence, and, so far, it was rumored that the council was leaning towards impeaching Fudge and replacing him with Dumbledore. This rumor, however, was immediately dismissed after the headmaster publicly announced that he would not be interested in assuming the position of Minister of Magic.

Alicia had Harry and the Quidditch team practicing harder than ever for an upcoming match with Slytherin. As the two houses' rivalry was legendary, both teams were drilling themselves into the ground, wanting to be at peak performance when the match came. It promised to be one of the most anticipated matches of the season.

As if that was not enough, Harry began teaching the D.A. more advanced dueling techniques, and even gave private lessons to Neville, who accepted them eagerly, desiring every advantage for his duel against Malfoy. Harry expected Neville to be nervous, or at least shaken, but he did not look to be either. Instead, he had a rather calm look of confidence, a foreign aura that began enveloping him ever since the Department of Mysteries. Granted, Malfoy could just as easily break Neville's new personality with a landslide victory, but somehow, Harry knew that Neville was going to put up a good fight.

Several times so far, Malfoy had confronted Neville, swaggering around him and arrogant sizing him up, trying to instill a sense of intimidation. And, unfortunately, it seemed to work. Neville stared at Malfoy with undisguised terror in his eyes, as if he was looking at a demon or Professor Snape. This fed Malfoy's ego considerably, and Harry could scarcely walk down a corridor without being ambushed by the Slytherin, telling him 'Longbottom won't be walking for quite a while after the duel'.

It took all of Hermione's persuasive urging for Harry and Ron not to hex Malfoy on the spot.

"He's just trying to remove you," she hissed. "If you start a fight you will get disqualified from the tournament!"

Worse yet was when Malfoy would take his taunts to Potions class, and would comment loudly on his dueling ability, and Neville's lack thereof. Snape, taking his usual stance against Gryffindor, merely smirked and pretended not to hear, except for when Harry issued a retort. Then, the Potions master would take twenty points from Gryffindor before Harry could even finish his sentence. Though, admittedly, Snape had stopped outright provoking Harry during class.

In addition, the tension between the Slytherin and Gryffindor houses had reached a new height. Gryffindors, especially D.A. members, played pranks on Malfoy and the other Slytherins as often as they could, which, inevitably, led to a counter-attack. So many points were taken from both houses for trading insults and fighting in the halls that their standings sunk below that of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Still, neither party would be satisfied until they sent their adversary into the ground.

Ron, on the other hand, was becoming scarce during nearly every evening of the week. He would disappear for an hour each night, and then come back and run up into the dormitories before staggering back down and falling into the couch, exhausted. When questioned, he would say that he was going down to Dumbledore's office, but Harry could not help but notice that Ron would not meet his eyes when he said that. Never would he explain what he was doing, and that made Harry uneasy.

Then, one night, Harry ambushed him when Ron ran up into the boy's dormitories. Under his robes, Ron pulled out a heavy stack of books and threw them in his chest.

"What're those?" Harry asked.

Ron nearly jumped out of his skin. "What? Huh?" he stammered. "Oh, I was just, err, returning some study material."

Harry walked over and looked down into the chest. "Those aren't class books, Ron," he said simply. He squinted to read the title. "Those are books on Occlumency."

Ron's ears deepened into a dark shade of red. "Well, I've been studying it on the side. Dumbledore has been giving me, err, help." He looked hopefully up at Harry, though he did not meet his eyes.

"To keep your emotions from running rampant," Harry said slowly.

"Yeah," Ron responded instantly, and Harry detected honesty.

Harry looked Ron over carefully. "So why don't you want us to know?"

"It's not that-" He fumbled for words, gesturing vaguely to the books in his chest. "It's- Look it's all right, okay?" he finished rather hotly.

"Fine," Harry said tersely, taken aback by Ron's defensiveness. "But I don't see where you're coming from, mate." he said, and left the dormitory, leaving Ron exasperated behind him.

The day finally came when Harry would have to descend into the dungeons to face the Potions master in a closed room for the first time in a week. Mercifully, he did not have Potions class that day, so he was spared of an extra encounter with Snape that would surely have been horrible. Of course, fate had to make up for it by giving Harry a particularly arduous Transfiguration class, where Professor McGonagall tried to teach them a ridiculously difficult spell, the likes of which only Hermione could perform.

"I am very disappointed in this class today," Professor McGonagall said sternly. "I expected more from my N.E.W.T. level students. Your homework will be to practice this spell, and don't be surprised if I individually test all of you tomorrow. Dismissed."

The class filed out, grumbling, and Harry predictably ran into Malfoy on the corner, who was sure to bombard him with the usual load of taunts and insults directed at Neville, Harry, and whoever else he regarded as inferior.

This time, however, Harry was unnerved by a strange little smirk on Malfoy's lips. It was not the usual arrogant sneer, and this briefly gave him pause. Hermione looked back and forth between the two of them, as if trying to read the exchange.

"So, Potter," Malfoy drawled. "I hear that Longbottom is in some sort of club. Dumbledore's Army, I think it's called. What's more, I heard this little group is being led by you. Edgecomb had been blabbing about that little club to the entire school."

Harry felt his heart go cold. "What's it to you?"

His sneer became more pronounced. "It's nothing to me, really, I am just expecting a little more fun out of Longbottom during this duel now, that's all. I heard you teach all sorts of things in there. Maybe you should get a real teacher in there, who actually knows the stuff."

"Like you?" Harry said sarcastically.

"Now you're learning," said Malfoy lazily, idly examining his fingernails. "But no, I'd prefer not mixing with the lower classes, so I'll have to decline your offer, thanks."

"I wasn't offering anything, Malfoy," Harry said sharply. "I would rather have Lockhart teaching than you."

A flush crept up into Draco's pale cheeks but he remained controlled. "I'd be careful if I were you. Edgecomb listed off every name on your roster, announcing them within full hearing distance of just about everyone. I know all about your club, and I'll be knocking them off, one by one."

"So you rigged the tournament pairs?" Harry accused.

"Wouldn't you like to know," hiss Malfoy. "But if I did, in theory, I would save you for last. I want to make sure I humiliate every last one of your little club members before finishing you off in front of the entire school .You won't even know what hit you."

A long moment passed where neither of the boys said a word.

"You seem surprised, Potter," Malfoy said. "Were you expecting people to crawl up to you, begging to be let in? I don't think so. Ever since that little scuffle in the Department of Mysteries, you've garnered a reputation for…" He gazed absently into the air, as if searching for a word. "…getting people killed."

Before Harry could even think, his wand was already out and pointed directly and Malfoy's throat. "Take that back," he said in a low and dangerous voice. Gates, who had so far remained silent, stirred curiously.

Hermione rushed up to him, tugging on his arm. "No! Professor McGonagall is going to be back any second-"

"Better listen to the mudblood," said Malfoy with a growing sneer. "Besides, it's not like it's not true, is it?" He eased himself out from under Harry's wand and swaggered away, not even looking behind him.

Slowly, Harry lowered his wand. "He's right," he said quietly.

"No, he's Malfoy," Hermione said flatly. "You know we would've come with you no matter what. It's not your fault."

Recovering, Harry nodded and withdrew his wand in his robes, still fuming.

***

The time came when Harry had to bid Ron and Hermione goodbye during dinner and go down the crumbling stone steps into the dungeons. The air tasted acrid. Stinging. If the myth that the dungeons reflected Snape's mood were true, this did not bode well at all.

Coming to the usual heavy, steel-hinged door, he knocked three times and stepped back, waiting. After an almost unnecessarily long delay, Harry heard Snape's sleek voice say "Enter."

The center of Snape's office was cleared and impeccable, as though it was freshly swept and scrubbed. The Potions master, standing ominously behind his desk, motioned with one finger for Harry to stand in the center, and so he did. He stood there, reigning in his apprehension, wondering wildly why they have not begun yet.

"You haven't been practicing, Potter," Snape said softly.

"Err," said Harry uncertainly, his eyes falling onto the heavy tome on Snape's desk. Confessions of a Dark Wizard: The Pravus Necklace.

"You're ability is suffering," Snape continued, disdain creeping into his voice. "Perhaps your recent progress has overly inflated your head. Is that true?"

"No," said Harry sharply. Something in his brain clicked about that book. He must have seen it, and been in a position to steal it, at least six times already. It was apparently valuable, so why didn't Snape lock it up with his pensieve?

Snape's head tilted ever so slightly. "What is it, Potter?"

Harry ignored him, his mind still racing. Was the book part of some sort of game? It undoubtedly contained more information on Gates' necklace than anything else available, and here it was, serenely sitting on Snape's desk. Not an isolated incident, either, but the latest of a series of convenient setups. Harry did not dare believe was his logic was telling him. He wished Hermione was here to confirm his thought.

"What is it Potter?" Snape demanded.

"If you want me to have that book why don't you just give it to me?" asked Harry tersely, locking eyes with Snape.

The Potions master studied him with a calculating expression on his face, as if sizing him up. "I thought if you had to steal it you might actually read it," he said with a little sneer. "So what are you waiting for? Take it before I change my mind."

"And what do you want in return?" Harry asked suspiciously.

The corner of Snape's mouth twitched. "The headmaster persuaded me to allow you to…borrow it for a short period in return for additional pages, because, if you haven't noticed, it is incomplete."

"What do you mean?"

"It means, Potter, that there is only one copy of this book in the entire world," said Snape carefully. "It means this book is worth more than your life and all your possessions combined. It is riddled with layers of anti-copying charms that have yet to be broken, and I daresay it's because the original author knew how dangerous this book really was."

Harry glanced back to the ancient tome on the desk. "Dangerous?"

"The book in its entirety contains everything from the effects of the Pravus necklace to its very creation. You don't seriously think that one can simply look up the instructions in a common library. In the wrong hands, the completed book would be infinitely powerful."

"I still don't follow you."

"Potter," Snape said sharply, losing some of his patience. "Do you comprehend how powerful the necklace could make some foolhardy wizard who's lust for power made him blind? I daresay Alexander Gates is a prime example of that."

"And how did he get his hands on this book?""

"He didn't," Snape said, dropping his voice. "The creation of the actual Pravus necklace as well as several other chapters are missing. Who knows where they are now."

Harry flipped through the pages incredulously.

"Careful, Potter," Snape warned. "That book is old, and if you value your well-being you will treat that book reverently."

"Why would someone remove the pages?" Harry asked, staring at a roughly torn section.

"Because, as it was passed down, multiple heirs wanted possession of the book," Snape said. "Using their wise pureblood logic, they decided to split the book between them. Literally. One heir would get the cover, another would get chapters one through five, et cetera. This has been happening for so long that no one knows who owns what sections, and entire chapters have gone missing. The headmaster, I know, owns the complete chapter ten, and will give it to me provided I permit you to borrow it beforehand."

Harry dropped the book as if it was on fire. "And just how did you acquire so many parts?"

"I've been arranging that book for most of my life," Snape said. "I'm a collector, so don't you dare deface it. If it comes back damaged, or even if I find a crease on the back cover, I will be most displeased."

"What're you trying to do," Harry said, suddenly disgusted. He put down the book and backed away from it. "Ease your conscience? Sort of like how you saved me in my first year so you could go back to hating my dad? This book doesn't make up for forcing Verit-"

"Watch your mouth Potter, don't speak of things you can't possibly understand," Snape snarled, bearing down upon him menacingly. "I have no conscience. Now clear your mind! Legilimens!"

Harry curled over, pressing his hands to his temples. A week ago, he was able to fend off Snape with relative ease. Now, he could not even erect the most rudimentary of mental defenses. Snape's invisible probe delved deeply into the folds of his brain, prying out images, scenes, and memories. Deeper. More pictures.

Sirius fell through the veil…He kissed Hermione in the lower dungeons…Ron was possessed before his eyes in Diagon Alley…Voldemort appeared in the Ministry of Magic.

Snape probed still deeper into Harry's mind, unlocking memories that have long been kept secret. Alarm bells sounded throughout his skull, but he could do nothing to stop the intrusion. Snape had now free access to every recess of Harry's brain.

There was a brief glimpse of a Dementor's rotting face, bending down to kiss him as other swirled around him…A priceless object in Dumbledore's office shattered against the wall…Gates burned his parents' wedding photograph with his wand.

Suddenly, the probing stopped and Harry felt himself being jerked back, as though being pushed. He stared hard at the floor, not looking up to meet Snape's gaze, trying to control rampant and untamed emotions. He had lost control. He had lost control and Snape had seen-

What had he seen?

Slowly, Harry raised his eyes and saw Snape standing there, unmoving, his wand still stiff in his hand. His eyes were dark, as if he was inwardly debating something, and then, abruptly, they turned to ice. After a moment, Snape lowered his gaze down to Harry, expression deliberately unreadable.

"What did I see, Potter?" Snape asked, his voice tempered with an edge. It was anger, though at who or what, Harry had no idea. "What was Alex doing?"

"You know what you saw," said Harry slowly. "What do you think you saw, sir?"

"Pretending to be mysterious won't make your shallow personality any deeper, Potter," Snape snapped. "Now tell me what was happening in that memory?"

"It's none of your business."

"Wrong, Potter," snarled Snape. "It is my business. Every last nuance of Alex's behavior is my business. I will not ask again. What happened in that memory?"

"What the hell do you care?" Harry retorted forcefully. He hoped Snape would take points away for cursing, or at least berate him for it. Anything to throw the Potions master off the trail.

The corner of Snape's mouth twitched and he moved as if to shake Harry, but then stopped halfway. Fury flared across his face. He looked ready to kick something. "YOU WILL TELL ME THIS INSTANT!" he shouted.

"You want to know?" Harry shot back. "You really want to? Fine, maybe you'll have a good laugh afterwards. Maybe you'll be glad that he deflated my overblown head," he added sarcastically. Harry felt his face flush as his voice raised, his hands shaking as the confession poured from him. "Every time I don't do something he wants, or I do something that he doesn't like, he burns a photo in my album. Every time I mess up in one of his lessons, he burns a picture. Sometime for no reason he burns a picture. And if I tell someone about it, he'll burn the whole album."

Snape just stood there, wordless, staring at the student before him. He might have spoken words right then, but Harry did not pause to listen.

Harry's voice was slowly becoming louder and more frantic as the months of bottle anger poured out of him. "You know what else, sir? I don't think I'm ever going to get that album back. I think he's just stringing me along until the end of the year, and at that point he'll burn it all right in front of me. But you know what else? I have to keep trying because there's at least the vague hope that I could get it back, and I'm sticking with that. Because if I don't, then it's gone for sure." Snape's face was turning white, but Harry did not care. "So now that you know, what are you going to do about it? Hex him, sir? We all saw how that turned out. Or maybe you just want to satisfy some sort of sick curiosity of yours, is that it? Well you can go to hell."

At the end of this speech, Snape remained silent, eyes now turned into slits, his hand twitching over his wand. Harry glared back at him, hating the Potions master, wishing he had never come down into these damnable dungeons in the first place. Snape looked ready to explode at any minute, and Harry wished he would. Anything was better than this tense, apprehensive pause.

"Sit down Potter," Snape commanded, almost spitting the order. The words came out biting and forced, as though he had to wrench his teeth apart to vocalize them.

Harry did not move. "What for? Isn't this an Occlumency lesson?" The fact that Snape had extracted that memory with Gates from his mind infuriated him, and he was in no mood to willingly obey any of the Potions master's orders

"Do you hear me Potter?" Snape said through gritted teeth. "You won't be able to repel any mind intrusion with your emotional blithering. Sit down."

Harry grudgingly complied. "Any glass jars for me to clean, sir?" It almost felt good to openly taunt Snape like this, after the weeks of repressing his anger. Almost.

"The headmaster will be informed of this," said Snape, ignoring Harry. "Of what you have been hiding for the past months. He's been curious as to why you have been so secretive. And it seems that, as usual, Potter's Gryffindor mindset makes him believe he is some sort of tragic hero, who cannot bear to ask for help because doing so would ruin some sort of romantic notion."

"Don't say anything," Harry said quickly, almost desperately. "Gates will-"

"It doesn't matter. The headmaster must be informed of all of Alex's actions."

"He won't do anything," Harry said. "He can't do anything."

"You believe the headmaster to be untrustworthy?"

"Gates might find out…he might know. It can't leave this office." He knew he sounded like he was pleading, but he did not care.

Snape shook his head forcefully. "This is not up for discussion."

"If you tell him," Harry began uncertainly. "Then I'll tell everyone I know about what I saw in your pensieve."

This got Snape's attention. "Excuse me?" said Snape icily. "I assure you that if you do such a thing, I will fail every last one of your essays and Potion assignments from now until the end of the year, and take so many points off of Gryffindor that it will make my deductions over the past six years look generous."

"I won't care."

"You listen to me, Potter," said Snape dangerously, advancing upon Harry with a nearly drawn wand. "I don't know what kind of inane nonsense you are trying to accomplish, but there is much more at stake here than a book full of family photos. Do you think this is a game?"

Harry gripped the arms of his chair. "That is all the family I have, sir."

A nasty, snide part of his brain said: And whose fault is that? The words stung and reverberated throughout his brain. His malice, so strong only seconds earlier, vanished, leaving a huge, gaping hole in his chest.

Snape seemed to sense the change, because he did not respond to Harry's remark. "You want to play the heroic Gryffindor, so be it. I will leave it to you to tell Dumbledore and let you brew your own disaster," he said softly, turning his back on him. "What do you want to know about Alexander Gates?"

Harry blinked. "What?"

"Must I, in addition to teaching worthless students, repeat myself unnecessarily because you cannot comprehend the English language? " said Snape, his tone not aligned with his words. "I asked you: what do you want to know about Alexander Gates? Whatever your delusions are, you have no chance against him without knowing his history."

"And why would you tell me anything?"

"You make it sound like its out of concern for you," Snape replied, sounding aggravated. "I assure you that nothing could be further from the truth. The more you know, the more potential for you to wound him. Ask."

A multitude of questions presented themselves, but Harry willed them down. What was Snape playing at? None of it made any sense, so he merely remained silent.

"This melodrama is becoming tiresome," said Snape at length. "Ask your questions or I will retrieve jars for you to clean."

"Tell me everything."

"Then I suggest you begin paying attention, because I will not repeat any of what I am saying," Snape said, still not turning to face him.

"Alex's family is old. Ancient. And as a result, there is a great deal of history written down, preserved in various texts and scrolls. The earliest records indicate that the family originated in western Russia, where they were little more than a group of magicians, traveling from tribe to tribe, displaying little tricks of magic.

"Then, slowly, they became a single bloodline, and over the ages they produced a number of powerful wizards and witches, none of which I will mention here. Eventually, they began to migrate. They enchanted their manor with the ability to apparate and move with them, giving the family a great convenience. Now they could easily move all their belongings to western Europe, or Asia Minor, or northern Africa. Centuries upon centuries passed, and they finally settled on England, and have lived here ever since.

"The family history is of vital importance because, in such families, pride and honor are of the highest importance. Alex lives by that honor, even now, in his ruined, corrupted form."

"And what about Gates?" Harry interrupted. "Dumbledore keeps saying-"

"I'm coming to that, Potter," Snape said sharply. "Now hold your tongue. Alex's father, Yegor Gates, was a Death Eater, and an important one at that. Many times that Dark Lord would call upon him to do work that he would have otherwise done himself. In the end, he was killed by Death Eaters. He refused to follow out a direct command by the Dark Lord, and when you're a Death Eater, that is unforgivable."

"The Dark Lord asked Yegor to kill his own son, Alex, and to bring him the body. If there was one thing that Yegor would never do, it was harm his own blood. Honor dictated that to be heinous. He refused, and then he left. The next day, the Dark Lord sent three men, Nori Katashi, Corlov Dren, and Lodrick Regeal, to Gates manor to kill Yegor, his son, and his wife. Before you ask, Potter, the Dark Lord did not say why he wanted the son killed in the first place. Needless to say, they were successful."

"But wait," Harry interjected. "Gates is still alive, isn't he? They didn't kill him."

"I know, Potter," Snape continued. "But the Dark Lord was satisfied anyway. I know not why they spared Alex, but from what I heard, it was because Katashi was against it."

"So, err, who's Katashi and why would he spare Gates?"

"Katashi is bloodthirsty, even by Death Eater standards," Snape said. "He probably wanted to use Alex in some sort of grisly game that required the victim to be alive. I don't know. Regardless, Alex lived, and his parents did not. If you interrupt me again, you will be wiping the first years' cauldrons from now until graduation."

"As a result, Alex's relatives took him in, and raised him in a considerably more violent environment," continued Snape, his words echoing off of the office's walls. "While Yegor was a Death Eater, he was not needlessly cruel, and spared his son from the more…morbid parts of his work. His relatives, however, were the exact opposite. Very unique individuals, with a strange perception of strength. They believed that pain brought about greater glory. The rest, the headmaster tells me, you already know. What further inquiries do you have?"

"Why doesn't Gates kill the Death Eaters he meets?" Harry said quietly. "Why does he keep them alive?"

Snape's shoulders tightened. "He would not willingly give to others that which he cannot have himself. Surely you've guess it by now, Potter, even with that handicapped mind of yours. Alex wants to die. He desires it. He would take his own life right now if it wasn't abhorrently dishonorable. You wonder why Alex drew out his duel with me for so long? He hoped that I would lose control and use the Killing Curse on him. He would never give anyone what he perceives as the gift of death when it is being denied to him. In addition-"

Harry interrupted: "But doesn't he-"

"Potter," Snape said in a steady voice. It was strangely even and calm. "What did I say about interrupting?"

Harry instantly felt his body instinctively go on the defensive. "You said not to do it."

Snape turned to him suddenly. "Stand," When Harry did so, he added, "Legilimens!"

For a moment Harry succumbed to Snape's intrusion, his mind aching as the Potions master worked his way through the narrow canals of his brain. Images flared up and died just as quickly. Then, unexpectedly, a voice that Harry had not heard for days surfaced and spoke in low, soft syllables.

Get out of my mind, said the easily recognizable voice of Pseudo-Snape. Now.

Whether out of obedience or shock, real-life Snape broke the connection and staggered backwards, almost falling over a chair in the process. His face was the expression of surprise, his usually imperturbable composure swept away as though from the wind. Harry, throughout his experiences at Hogwarts, had classified Snape's various levels of anger and categorized every emotion the Potions master had ever revealed. Right now, he seemed to be in an alarming medium between fury and fear.

He stared at Harry for a long time, eyes wide. "Did I just hear my own voice?" Snape demanded with all the anger that he could muster. He shot up to his feet and stepped towards Harry, his face white with rage. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?"

"I didn't think-"

"THAT MUCH IS OBVIOUS POTTER," Snape roared. "WHAT DID IT TELL YOU?" He intently advanced upon Harry, as if to strike him. Slowly, Harry backed away. This was far to similar to the pensieve incident for comfort. "I ASKED YOU A QUESTION!"

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" Harry shouted back, more to make himself heard than anything else.

Snape emanated a low growl. "Come with me, Potter. We're going to the headmaster." The Potions master reached out and grabbed his arm, practically dragging him out the door. Harry had only a second to ponder the reason why the ring did not burn the skin away from Snape's hand when he found himself being forced up a stairwell, absently aware of Gates shouting up at them.

"Where are you taking him Severus?" Gates called out, his hand reaching into his robes.

"The headmaster," said Snape without looking back. "The boy has done something incredibly foolish, and it must be rectified immediately."

"What did I do?" Harry said indignantly.

Snape whirled around on the spot and glared at him fiercely. "You don't have a clue, do you Potter? Not the vaguest idea-"

"Hermione told me it had something to do with the Occlumensia Anomaly."

Snape blinked, then sneered. "Well, Miss Granger is right once again. Five points from Gryffindor. Then surely she told you why it's so rare, did she not?"

Harry slowly shook his head.

"Then you'll find out. Come."

A moment later and they were in Dumbledore's office, Snape practically swinging Harry before him in his haste to get through the door. Once he was through, he slammed the door loudly and rounded onto Dumbledore with blazing eyes.

"I warned you that this would happen Albus," Snape hissed. "I warned you and my warning was ignored. Potter is now inflicted with the Occlumensia Anomaly."

It felt like the temperature in the office dropped a few degrees. Dumbledore reviewed Harry from behind his half-moon shaped spectacles, and then folded his hands together. He had never looked so introspective before.

"Harry," Dumbledore said slowly. "If Professor Snape is correct with his assessment, which it seems that he is, then it seems that something fortunate and unfortunate is happened."

"Fortunate?" Snape sputtered. "Headmaster, I do not wish to have my memories embedded into Potter's brain. I ask-"

Dumbledore raised his hand, and Snape fell silent. "Rarely, when a Legilimentist repeatedly invades another person's mind, a sort of reaction occurs, in which a piece of the Legilimentist's mind is imprinted on-"

"I know that already," Harry interjected. "Hermione and I guessed as much."

"You noticed how Professor Snape's voice only arose during periods of emotional stress, then? And you chose not to come to either of us?" asked Dumbledore carefully.

"I was planning to go to Sn- Professor Snape," Harry said. "And I was going to tell him tonight."

Snape sneered at him. "Undoubtedly."

"Severus please," the headmaster said calmly. When Snape reduced his sneer to a mere scowl, he continued. "Then you understand that, as well as obtaining Severus's memories, you gain his other…abilities as well. Abilities such as Occlumency-"

"Absolutely not headmaster," Snape said sharply. "Potter will not be permitted to retain-"

"If allowing him to retain a piece of your mind in his will grant him your exceptional Occlumency skills, then it's a worthy sacrifice," Dumbledore said.

Harry, realizing what they were discussing, said, "There is no way I'm keeping Snape's mind in my head!" The very idea was revolting.

Dumbledore frowned. "It is completely up to you, of course, whether you wish to continue this peculiar example of Occlumensia-"

"There is nothing peculiar about it, headmaster," said Snape, stepping forward. "I told you before. I warned you-"

"He goes in my head enough times during Legilimency!" Harry said in a raised voice, catching the attention of both Snape and Dumbledore. "I don't want anything to do with Snape!" Harry spat the name with as much venom as he could muster. Snape froze. "He's been hating me for the past six years for stuff I never did, and, when he's proven wrong, he hates me anyway!" He pointed a furious finger at the Potions master. "I'm through with him!"

"Harry-"

"I don't want Professor Snape in my head," Harry said with finality. "Now how do I get him out?"

"The only way to completely stop the Occlumensia Anomaly cycle would be to discontinue the lessons," Dumbledore said in a defeated tone. "There is no other way."

"Fine," said Harry shortly. "As long as it gets rid of Snape's voice."

"Harry," said Dumbledore, leaning forward on his lacquered desk. "I advise you to reconsider. The dreams will return, and I'm afraid you won't be able to repel them on your own."

"You planned this, didn't you?" Snape said softly, as though experiencing a revelation. "Is that why you stuck me with him all year? You planned this," he accused. His eyes lit up with a strange sort of gleam. "You knew this would occur-"

"What?" Harry asked, suddenly confused. He looked from Dumbledore, to Snape, and then back to Dumbledore again. Neither man looked ready to speak. "What's going on here?"

"Go on, headmaster," Snape hissed. "Tell him."

Dumbledore sighed deeply, then turned to Harry, a somber look in his eyes. "This was not the way I planned for you to find out, Harry, but it seems that I have no choice. I'm sure Miss Granger told you how extraordinarily rare the Occlumensia Anomaly was, correct?"

Harry nodded hesitantly, unsure of what the headmaster was getting at.

"It is rare because it can only be formed between two wizards that already have a bond forged between them," Dumbledore said. "And not just any sort of bond, but a strong, unbreakable bond."

"What kind of bond would I have with Professor Snape?" Harry asked slowly, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

"The kind that no one wishes to share, Potter," said Snape without malice. He sounded resigned, almost introspective.

"Harry, I once told you that your scar is no ordinary scar," said Dumbledore. "And that is true. So very true. When Tom used the Killing Curse on you, he had manifested something that he had no intention of doing. It manifested a bond that you and Professor Snape share, as well as many others. How it came about, I have no idea, but I must only assume it was the creation of the massive amount of magic surging from Tom into you, and that it, somehow, forged itself."

"What forged itself?" Harry asked, staring at the headmaster with incredulous eyes. Dumbledore's face looked so sad, so pityingly sad. The light coming in from the windows did little to alleviate his shadowed expression.

Abruptly, Snape gripping the sleeve of his robe and pulled up with a jerk, revealing his naked forearm. Except that it was not naked at all. Burned, blackened permanently into the skin, was the Dark Mark, webbed with a few thin, pulsing veins; the connection that united all of Voldemort's followers. A cold chill ran through Harry's blood. There was no way - no possible way - that Snape could be implying what Harry thought he was implying.

"No," said Harry shakily, taking a step back. "That's impossible."

"I'm afraid it is, Harry."

"THAT'S A LIE!" Harry roared, his eyes still fixed on the serpent and skull on Snape's forearm. It seemed alive, slithering through the sockets.

"Yours isn't as artistic as mine, Potter," Snape said quietly. He, too, was looking at the mark on his arm. "But without the skull and the serpent, mine would also be little more than a crude scar in the shape of a lightning bolt. You carry the Dark Mark, Potter, and there is no changing it."

"That is why you have been having those dreams, Harry," Dumbledore said softly. "You suffer from all of the effects that any Death Eater would, except yours is not as refined. Admittedly, it is not as strong as a full Dark Mark, nor as powerful, but it is enough the probe your mind with. Tom, I believe, was not aware of it until last year, and since then he has been using it to enter your mind. That is, until you built up a resistance against him with Occlumency."

"But that's impossible," Harry said, his brain frantically trying to rationalize the situation. "It burns. It burns when I am near him."

"They all burn, Potter. Though, as yours is in a cruder form, it is far more painful for you."

Harry turned back to Dumbledore, desperately searching for some faint twinkle in his eyes or something to reassure him. Nothing appeared.

"That is the connection you and Severus share, Harry," Dumbledore said. "As distasteful as it may be. You two share the Dark Mark."

"Which means, Potter," Snape said absently without looking at him. "The Occlumensia Anomaly was built upon the Dark Mark. There is nothing more to discuss. There will no longer be any Occlumency sessions. You still have detentions to serve, and for those you will now report to Professor Whams. He will manage the detentions I assign you now. He has more than enough work for you, and I daresay it's more…colorful. Do you understand?"

Harry just stared incredulously at the two of them. His breathing became tight. He could not quite believe that this was happening. The Dark Mark on his forehead! The very notion was absurd! But, they both were so sure, almost regretfully so, Snape still staring at his arm as Dumbledore watched him wordlessly. His legs went numb.

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked, standing up from his desk.

Snape studied him critically. "Steady yourself, Potter."

"I'm fine," Harry said, his mind twisting as it tried to grasp this new fact. This new atrocity. A violation beyond his control.

Dumbledore's eyes did not waver. "Are you feeling well?"

"Yeah," Harry muttered at length, and Snape swept out of the door. However, Harry could not help but notice that, throughout the heated exchange, Snape did not once meet his eye.

(A/N: All right, there's some bad news and some good news: The bad news is that I am going to change my update from once a week to once every one-and-a-half weeks. I am getting further into the plot and I find myself continually having to check back to earlier chapters to see exactly what I wrote, or sometimes to revise ambiguous statements. Plus time is becoming a more valuable resource to me.

Whats the good news in this? Well that means longer chapters, better quality chapters. Also I'm on schedule. This fic is approximately 66% done. Lastly, I am going to add a brief summary at the beginning of each chapter that summarizes what happened in the previous chapter. This will help counteract the longer time between updates.

With that said, I hope you all found my take on Harry's scar intriguing, as that's something I really think is going on in the books.

Next chapter: Neville and Malfoy's duel goes nasty, and Harry finds that his dreams are returning. This leads to him taking a predictable route, and the man involved is not all too eager to take him on. Finally, Gryffindor plays Slytherin (I hate writing about Quidditch matches; so it'll be relatively short) and crap hits the fan. And yes, it'll involve everyone's favorite dark lord.