(A/N: Here is a list of all the errors I have made over the course of this fic. (That I know of at least)
1. Alicia Spinnet graduated and could not be the Quidditch Captain. This isn't too important.
2. Luna should be a year behind Harry; I accidentally had her in his DADA class.
3. I stated in chapter 6 that House-elves cannot apparate. On JKR's webpage, it says they can. In this fic, house-elves cannot apparate.)
Harry woke up with a groan. The intense lighting in the infirmary burned at his eyes, and he slowly brought his hands up to rub them. Everything was conspicuously silent, and, apprehensively, removed his hands and looked around, his surroundings appearing blurry without glasses to focus them.
"You're awake," said Gates in a characteristically smooth fashion.
"Where is everybody?" Harry muttered, still trying to shake the grogginess from his head. He tried to make out the details of what happened, but found that the more he tried, the less he could recall. It was like capturing sand with his fingers. "Where is Hermione?"
Gates took a long time to answer, as though he was carefully considering the question. "Not here. Madam Pomfrey has set you in a private section of the hospital wing. She fears that any excess excitement would send you back into your unconscious state. I am the only one allowed in this room until you are alert and ready once more."
"And why's that?"
Gates just stared. "Do you really have to ask Potter?"
Suddenly, a memory came back to him. He remembered Mr. Alverton standing over a large, gaping hole in the earth. "Where's my broom?" he asked with trepidation.
A slow grin crept onto Gates' face. "It's six feet under, both figuratively and literally. Your broom dove into the ground with the force that would have killed you had I not reacted with a few well-placed cushioning and slowing charms. You came out relatively unscathed. Your Firebolt was not so fortunate." He gestured to the far corner, where the Firebolt, while not quite smashed to pieces, was nearly split in two as the tip was bent at a bizarre angle.
Harry could not bear to look at it, so instead he threw his head back onto the pillow. "I need to see Hermione."
"Perhaps you have forgotten exactly what happened on that field yesterday, Potter," said Gates slowly and carefully, as if weighing every word. "The Dark Lord made a second attempt to kill you."
"And whose fault is that?"
The Hit Wizard's voice became laced with menace. "I did not demand this task. Remember that. I did not foresee the Dark Lord himself apparating to the Quidditch match to jinx your broom."
"You can't apparate onto Hogwarts grounds."
"You think I don't know that?" Gates snapped. "I will tell you what I saw. On the Marauder's map-" He drew the said map from his pocket, waving it in the air. "-I saw the Dark Lord's name appear, out of thin air. Before I could go and confront him, he began jinxing your broom, and I was forced to save your life rather than slay the Dark Lord. After you smashed into the ground, I checked the map again, and he was gone. The Dark Lord came, attacked you, and then left in the space of thirty seconds. That is only possible with apparation, regardless of what Albus says. His wards are failing."
These words left Harry feeling stunned. He could see no error in Gates' logic. "So what now?"
"For now, Potter," said Gates. "We remain here for a few hours, until Albus reinforces the wards and ensures that the anti-apparating defenses are still intact." He was evidently taking great pains in keeping his voice calm to prevent himself from inadvertently causing any problems as Harry recovered.
Slowly and deliberately, Harry sat up in bed and threw his legs over the side. Slightly dizzy from the abrupt change in position, he waited for a moment and then stood up. His elbows and knees still ached, his head still hurt, but other than that he could find no severe injuries. Compared to his other Quidditch accidents, this was nothing.
"Lay back down, Potter," said Gates distantly. "You won't be going anywhere for quite awhile. Not until you're ready."
Harry looked at him quizzically. "Ready for what?"
"The ministry, of course," Gates said absently. He sounded almost preoccupied. "Robert Alverton informed Minister Fudge of the debacle and now we will be having Aurors swarming all over the school. Obviously, they want to ask you some questions about how you felt, what you saw, et cetera."
Being interrogated by ministry officials is not something Harry wanted to do at the moment, so he reluctantly sat back down in his bed. But damn it, he wanted to see Hermione and Ron. Madam Pomfrey's wild concerns that he would for some reason faint from overexertion if he talked with anyone were absurd.
"As ministry Aurors will now be marching the halls," Gates continued evenly. "I believe I can, at least for short intervals, separate myself from you in order to set up wards and investigate the…happenings that have been occurring within these halls as of late." The Hit Wizard could not help but add a bitter tone to his speech. "The Dark Lord has insulted me twice with his near-successes. There will not be a third."
"So that means I will have free time to be on my own?" Harry asked, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. He hardly dared to believe it.
Gates stared at him blandly. "On the condition that you do not do anything foolish and restrain yourself to any parameters I may set, yes, you will be away from me. I am hardly required to personally guard you every second of every day. I merely ensure your safety, and, most of the time, that requires my presence. However, any failures or stupidities on your part will mean pages," he added in a tone so even and calm it was rather unsettling.
"Additionally," continued Gates. "You're training schedule will have to be increased. I fear that the Dark Lord may use some of his Death Eaters next, and I, as talented as I am with defensive charms, will not be able to block curses from multiple directions. This means I will be expecting more out of you, Potter. Next Saturday we will begin."
"Begin what?"
"You'll see."
Harry's gaze fell upon his bent broom, and sadness welled up in him. The Firebolt was Sirius's first Christmas gift to him, and, quite possibly, the most important object he owned. Now, it was most definitely in no condition to fly, and he was not sure if it could be repaired. While it was not shattered into splinters like his Nimbus 2000 was, it was warped from the impact.
"Don't concern yourself with your broom," Gates said suddenly, following Harry's gaze. "Albus has suspended Quidditch until he can assure the safety of all the participants. Which means, more or less, indefinitely."
The knowledge struck Harry like a hammer. He would have to go yet another year without Quidditch. He had not played a full season since his third year.
A knock came on the door, opening to reveal a formal-looking wizard holding a clipboard all-too similar to the one Dr. Perry used to possess. Mr. Alverton stood behind him, his bulk dwarfing the other man. "Mr. Potter? May we have a word?"
Harry wondered briefly how they knew he was awake, but then decided that his voice must have been carrying farther than he originally thought. Bowing to the inevitable, he conceded and hoped that this interview would be kept short.
"Excellent," said the still-unidentified wizard. He took a seat next to Harry's bed. "I am Tyler McClagger, a ministry representative. I would like to ask a few questions about the Quidditch game in which You-Know-Who supposedly appeared and caused your Firebolt to malfunction."
Malfunction. That was a light way of putting it. "Alright, where do you want me to begin?" Harry might as well begin practicing. People were sure to ask him for the same story a thousand times after this. Maybe afterwards he could see Hermione and Ron. Especially Hermione.
McClagger brought out a long, raven quill and poised it over his thin clipboard. Mr. Alverton gave Harry a reassuring wink over his shoulder. "Well, what did you see? Did you see You-Know-Who, or any of his underlings on or near the Quidditch pitch?" He looked up at Harry expectantly.
"No," Harry answered.
When McClagger finished scribbling down his response, he asked, "Did you experience anything before the…incident? Any fatigue or-" His eyes flitted up to Harry's scar. "-headaches?"
"Sort of," he began. Harry tried to relate his sudden exhaustion, the strange, bizarre sense that he had somehow gone deaf midway through the dive, and the disorientation he experienced beforehand. As he spoke, McClagger watched him curiously, and Mr. Alverton appeared almost worried. Clearly they had no idea as to what to attribute his experience to.
"Have you ever experienced these problems before?" McClagger asked hesitantly.
Harry paused. Did Dumbledore tell the ministry about his first encounter with Voldemort this year? With Fudge still in charge, he doubted it. "No," he half-lied. In fact, he had experienced exhaustion the day his wand was jinxed, but not the disorientation.
McClagger frowned slightly, and jotted down a short note on his clipboard. "Well, that makes sense, I suppose. Has anyone else had contact for any long period of time with your broom by themselves for any long period of time?"
There was one person, and, upon realizing this, he glanced at the Hit Wizard in the corner. "Yes, there was," said Harry. "Alexander Gates had it for awhile." It did not matter, he supposed, since Percy already knew, and he worked for the ministry.
McClagger began scribbling furiously onto his clipboard and Mr. Alverton whirled around. Gates merely stared at them.
"Alex," said Mr. Alverton with a little anger bubbling up into his voice. "May I have a word in private?"
For a moment, Gates said nothing. "I suppose I can grant that small request. Shall we stay within the next room, preferably close to this door?" He gestured to the lone entrance to the room.
Mr. Alverton nodded stiffly. Without a second glance at Harry, Gates swept through the door, Mr. Alverton following him. That single question unsettled Harry more than all the others. What if the Hit Wizard had put some sort of controlling charm onto his broom before giving it back? There would be no way for Harry to know, as he had not inspected it since the very beginning of the season. And, to compound it, Gates was the only one to supposedly 'see' Voldemort on the Marauder's Map. Did he sabotage Harry's broom, using Voldemort to cover up his attack? With Voldemort's previous presence in the Nemesis Mirror, the Quidditch match would provide the perfect opportunity. It all made far too much sense.
And the most unfortunate aspect of this plan was that Gates' face would probably not show up in the mirror because the threat would have passed by now.
Who would suspect Gates, especially since he bore a magical bond within his mind? There was no possible way for the Hit Wizard to directly attack Harry, but there were indirect ways to bring him to harm without dirtying his hands, evading the magical bond's retribution. Could Gates subvert the magical bond in that way? He decided that he would have to ask Hermione.
One thing was for certain, however, and that he would be staying as far away from Gates as possible for the rest of this school year.
"Do you have any suspicions of Alex…tampering with your broom?" McClagger asked in a lowered voice.
Harry suddenly felt very uncomfortable. "It wouldn't be below him."
McClagger nodded understandingly. "I can't argue with that. If there are any further issued between you and him, contact Mr. Alverton or any of the Aurors stationed around the school-"
"Stationed?"
"Yes, we are assigning a large detachment of Aurors to aid in the school's defense. It is apparent that You-Know-Who is targeting students, so the ministry will be doing everything it can to protect Hogwarts. Don't worry, you'll be safe from now on."
Somehow, the Auror's assurances felt hollow.
McClagger asked him a few more questions, but Harry was not really paying attention. His thoughts were still on Gates, who undoubtedly stood directly outside of the door, talking with Mr. Alverton. After receiving several negative responses, McClagger withdrew his quill, wished Harry good health, and left the room. Harry caught a glimpse of Mr. Alverton joining McClagger and the two left.
When Gates reentered, he looked on the verge of saying something, but then apparently thought better of it and returned to his corner, where he stood silently, though his eyes were primed and alert, watching for any interlopers.
At last, after another day of complete isolation from all visitors, Madam Pomfrey very reluctantly released Harry to go back to his classes.
"Don't overexert yourself or become excited," she warned in dire tones. "If you do, there's a very good chance you'll faint. So I expect you to go to your classes and go back to your dormitory after dinner. You're at a very delicate stage right now, but Headmaster Dumbledore insists…"
Indeed, Harry was glad to finally be released from the nurse's care, and, as he was let out in mid-afternoon, he nearly sprinted out of the infirmary. The ache in his joints and head were gone, due to liberal amounts of rest and Numbing Potion. He heard Madam Pomfrey chastising him from insider the hospital wing, but he ignored her. Excited? Never mind that, he wanted to see Hermione!
Harry looked down at his watch, and groaned when he saw that it was time for Potions. While he was excused from all of the day's classes, he could not wait to see Hermione again. Despite his initial desire, that is, to stay as far away from the dungeons as possible, he found himself turning and climbing down the nearby circular stairway. Gates followed wordlessly from behind.
When he reached the classroom door, he hesitated, second-guessing his plan. The prospect of sitting through Snape's class when he did not have to was not appealing, but he wanted to anyway, if only to see Hermione sooner. Tentatively, he knocked twice on the heavy, iron-wrought door that lead into the dungeon classroom. Faintly, he could smell the vapor of simmering cauldrons.
The door swung open and Harry was greeted by Snape, who was staring down at him with a slightly surprised expression on his face. He could see Hermione over the Potion master's right shoulder, who looked positively ecstatic when she saw his face.
"Potter," said Snape somewhat coldly. "What reason do you have to be here when I know for a fact that Madam Pomfrey dismissed you from all your afternoon classes?"
Harry tried his best to ignore the Potion master's tone. "I'm feeling well enough for class. Madam Pomfrey said I had the option of missing classes today, I wasn't ordered to."
Snape just stared at him for a long moment, and then widened the door and stepped out of the way to let Harry in. When Harry crossed the threshold, Gates locked his gaze with Snape's.
"If you can ensure no harm comes to the boy for this period," said Gates, pressing his hand against the door so Snape could not close it again. "I will proceed to reinforce the wards. I believe they are in a dreadful state of disrepair."
Snape gave a curt nod and then shut the door and latched the lock. As he strode back to his desk, Harry noticed that the Potions master had trouble hiding his pleasure. There was a new bounce to his step and this was as close to gleeful that Harry had ever seen Snape become. Gates' absence had a near-tangible effect on Snape's personality. Suddenly, he had the feeling that Potions class might not be as terrible as he had anticipated.
Harry looked towards Hermione and saw she was looking at him, her eyes asking a thousand questions. He gave her a small grin to assure her everything was all right, and then waited for Snape's instruction.
"You should be adding your root now," announced Snape in a rather light voice. Casually, almost absentmindedly, he walked around the room, occasionally pausing to inspect cauldrons.
"You will take notes on what Miss Granger is doing, Potter," Snape said once he realized that Harry had been standing up front.
To say Harry was surprised was an understatement. He expected points to be deducted on the excuse of showing up late, or some other nonsense the Potions master regularly invented. Instead, Snape appeared apathetic towards him, almost mellow. While they were still not on good terms by any means, there was, if anything, an unspoken truce. It was a change Harry found very agreeable.
"Are you all right?" Hermione whispered when he approached.
Harry cast a furtive glance towards Snape to ensure that the professor was a good distance away. "I'm fine, I've been through worse." She looked concerned but Harry did not elaborate.
He sat next to Hermione and drew his quill and parchment, being sure to take careful notes of her procedure. Not wanting to test Snape's newfound patience, Harry remained relatively silent, just glad to be near her again after their brief separation. There would be words after class, and, from Hermione's expression, she had the same thought in mind.
It was strangely refreshing to be away from Gates' continuous presence. Harry no longer felt the hairs on his back prick up when he was hunched over his desk, nor did sense any of the overwhelming power that Gates (or his necklace) emanated.
When Snape wandered nearby, Harry increased his note-taking pace to a feverish level, not wanting any points deducted for 'slacking'.
"Remember your detention with Professor Whams tonight," Snape muttered as he fleetingly reviewed Harry's notes. "It's already been scheduled. After that, your detentions will continue with me."
"Right," Harry muttered back, and there were no more words exchanged between them for the rest of the class.
The bell rang and students stood up to leave, but before Harry could leave with Hermione, he was beckoned over to the back of the room, where Snape stood ominously, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed. Signaling to Hermione that he would meet up with her outside, he met the Potions master quickly, wanting this encounter to be over within the next minute.
"Yes?" Harry asked in the most polite voice he could muster.
An expression flashed across Snape's face as though he regretted calling Harry over. The corner of his mouth twitched. "It has come to my attention that you and Alex have dueling lessons in the Room of Requirement."
From the silence that followed, Harry decided that Snape wanted some sort of response. "Err, yeah, we do."
"I also understand that Phineas Nigellus cannot witness these lessons, as the room's enchantments prevent portraits from entering."
Harry shrugged. "If that's the way it works."
"That is the way it works, Potter," said Snape disdainfully. He paused thoughtfully, then added, "From now on, you will report to me these lesson times."
"And what are you going to do with them?" Harry asked suspiciously.
"Inform the headmaster of the situation, of course," Snape said with a raised eyebrow.
Snape's answer almost sounded weak. "Doesn't Professor Dumbledore already know about the lessons?" asked Harry.
"Perhaps," said Snape with finality. "Now what is your training schedule?"
Harry told Snape the normal days he worked with Gates in the Room of Requirement. It was not exactly a huge secret - Ron, Hermione, and most of the Quidditch team already knew his schedule - so he figured Gates would not care if he divulged that bit of information. "Is that all?"
Snape hesitated, and it did not take a Legilimentist for Harry to realize that he was either being deceptive or flat-out lying. "I have no further questions for you," he said dismissively. "Go on to your next class."
His irritation at being so casually dismissed was surpassed only by his eagerness to join Hermione. When he caught up with her, he was overwhelmed with a shower of questions concerning his health.
"Harry we were all so worried," Hermione looked ready to throw her arms around him, but she refrained, as though afraid he would break. She held her books tightly to her chest and her eyes shone. "The entire Weasley family wanted to see you, of course, and so did I, and Lupin, and even Cho. But Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore said your condition was too delicate and that you couldn't have any visitors until you were ready and that only that monster Gates could be in your room."
Harry tried to get a word in but Hermione continued at an unstoppable pace.
"Then Rita must have seen something because there was an article in the Daily Prophet and the ministry practically stormed the school an hour after you fell. Everyone saw how hurt you were and Mr. Alverton contacted the Auror division so now there are ministry officials all over Hogwarts and everything is so confusing-"
Harry managed to get out a few words. "It's all right, really-"
"And how are you feeling?" Hermione asked hurriedly, taking a step towards him, trying to get a better look. "I can't believe Madam Pomfrey let you out so early- Oh my God, is that a bruise?"
"I'm fine, I swear," Harry said, beginning to laugh. "The bruise is nothing. It could've been a lot worse." He took her shoulders and pulled her closer to him.
"It's not funny!" Hermione countered, though she was beginning to smile too though it was apparently against her will ."V-Voldemort could've killed you-"
The laughter quickly died on Harry's lips. Not because she mentioned the name of his worst nemesis, but because he suddenly remembered McClagger's question.
Do you have any suspicions of Alex…tampering with your broom?
Harry took her aside and lowered his voice. "That's another thing. I'm not sure that it was Voldemort at all."
Hermione was perplexed. "Harry what-"
"I think Gates lied," Harry said quickly. "I think he said he saw Voldemort on the Marauder's Map to cover it up. I think Gates attacked me, not Voldemort."
"He…Dumbledore…" Hermione's eyes widened and her lip trembled. "He wouldn't dare. Not in a Quidditch game."
"But could he?" asked Harry seriously. "Would the magical bond prevent it?"
"Yes. No," Hermione struggled for words. "It depends on the wording in Sirius's letter. All magical bonds are different."
For Harry, this reinforced his suspicions. He was about to speak again when another voice arose further down the hall.
"Hey mate!" Ron called, a wide grin on his face. "You got out of the infirmary? Great!" Then, when seeing their grim faces, he added, "What's wrong?"
Quickly, Harry related to Ron his fears, and, when he finished, the redhead's face was considerably paler.
"Blimey, I can't believe it," Ron said in an awed voice. "Right in front of the entire school, too."
"But Harry," said Hermione tentatively. "Didn't you see Voldemort's face in the mirror?"
"I'm not saying that Gates jinxed my wand as well, I'm only saying that he jinxed my broom."
Ron's face lit up, as though realizing something. "Why don't we check the Nemesis mirror right now?"
Harry and Hermione looked at each other. It seemed so obvious now.
"Let's go."
They had approximately thirty minutes before Transfiguration class began, so they immediately climbed up the spiral staircase out of the dungeons, and, eventually, came to a breathless halt at the gargoyle.
"Skiving Snackboxes."
The gargoyle leapt aside and, when Harry came to the office door, he swung it open and was greeted by no one. Dumbledore was gone.
Only vaguely thinking that he should not be ransacking through Dumbledore's office outside of the headmaster's supervision, but believing the reason to be important, Harry crossed the room and lifted up the Nemesis mirror, which was laying on the lacquered desk, as if tossed aside.
Peering through the curls of smoke and clouds, Harry searched for a definite form, looking for the familiar sharp face, hawkish expression, and bald scalp.
"What is it?" Ron whispered.
"Do you see him? Voldemort?" asked Hermione anxiously. Ron shuddered at the mention of the name but otherwise remained silent.
"I- Well-" Harry was having trouble seeing anything through the haze. He squinted, tilting the mirror back and forth, thinking that perhaps he had it at the wrong angle. Then, abruptly, a wicked, serpentine face emerged, with red slits for eyes, and a wide, sneering mouth. His scar began to sear with pain.
Harry recoiled, almost dropping the mirror in his shock. It was not Gates. It was Voldemort.
"Who was it?" Ron said urgently.
Harry shook his head to clear his senses. "Voldemort."
"Is it right? Can the mirror be wrong?" Ron asked in quick succession.
Confused, Harry looked towards Hermione.
"Well," said Hermione. "The mirror only shows whose magic will be of the greatest personal and physical threat to you."
"Wait, what does that mean?" Ron asked, perplexed.
"It means," said Hermione with infinite patience. "That magic can be cast through different mediums. Besides, it doesn't necessarily disprove anything. Gates might have only planned to attack you this one time, and is no longer a threat. It is subject to interpretation."
"Like Divination."
Hermione's tone was quite confidant. "Exactly like Divination."
**
Harry learned nothing more about Gates' involvement in the attack, and, when the Hit Wizard came striding up into the Gryffindor common room that evening, they were unable to discuss it further. However, it probably would have proven fruitless anyway. Gates, if he was the one behind the broomstick malfunction, hid his guilt well, and Harry had little tangible evidence to go by.
Rita's article, which Hermione mentioned before, had made the rounds throughout Hogwarts. Though they had all seen Harry crash into the ground themselves, Rita injected tidbits of skewed and sometimes blatantly made-up information, suggesting strongly that the entire school was in danger while Harry was within its walls. It was complete trash, and he was thankful that the majority of Gryffindors did not believe a word of it. Some of the younger students who were not around during Rita's fourth year antics scooted away from Harry when he approached, but other than that, few reacted negatively to the article.
Still, it was infuriating that Skeeter could write lies with impunity.
When it came time for him to go to Snape's detention (which would be spent with Professor Whams), Harry said goodbye and left Hermione to the protection of Norman Carwin, who was currently lecturing her on Arithmancy from within his frame.
He went the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, absently aware of Gates' presence, wondering if the rather forgetful professor would even remember the detention.
He did.
Professor Whams, with Percy beside him, greeted Harry with a large stack of files and a few folders, each with labels such as Second Years or Exams. Percy told him to organize the material, and, afterwards, to clean up as much of the classroom as he possibly could.
Harry was reluctant. "Isn't that, err-"
"Require a lot of responsibility?" Percy finished for him. "Yes, but frankly it needs to be done, and there is no time for either me or Professor Whams to do it. It shouldn't be too difficult. Simply separate it and then put it into piles. I can finish putting it away when I come back."
"Professor Snape said specifically that you had to be here for at least two hours," continued Percy wearily. "If you finish up early, just stay in here until we get back. And stay away from the back cabinets. Something has been chewing away at the woodwork and, from the looks of it, it is large and nasty."
"Wait, where will you be going?"
"Me and Professor Whams have to reorganize his filing cabinet in his office," Percy replied. "It's in a dreadful state, as you can, err, imagine."
"There's insects crawling about in my papers," said Whams from behind his desk. "Nasty little creatures. I can barely stand to use them during class."
Percy said, "That'll be cleaned out in the end, professor."
Whams mumbled something inaudible.
The said professor was now shuffling through his drawers, yanking out great handfuls of parchment. For a moment, it looked like Percy was going to say something, but then he thought the better of it and remained silent.
At length, Whams finished and went to the door, wielding a great stack of old torn papers (they looked like essays) and holding a small box under his arm. "Coming, Perseus?" he asked when he got to the door.
"Of course, professor," Percy sighed, then turned to Harry. "We'll be back soon."
With that said, Percy joined Whams, and together they left.
Harry was left with a desk heaped with slanting stacks of boxes and parchment, which swayed dangerously near the edge. The entire surface of it was covered with layers of parchment, scrolls, quills, a few pairs of glasses, and a wide assortment of books and tomes. Harry was confounded as to how anyone could allow their workspace to become so cluttered, and he was at a loss of where to begin. Should he clear it all off first or should he try to categorize the litter? He assumed that there was nothing he could throw away.
Gates stood casually across the room, wandering from cabinet to cabinet, fiddling with little artifacts he found among Whams' heaps of paper. One he seemed particularly fascinated with. If you were not agile enough to avoid its sting, it would lash at your finger with a zap of energy, burning it. It was nothing more than a training tool.
Somewhat hopelessly, Harry picked his way around the edge of the desk, separating everything into little piles. In the beginning, at least, he could try to sort the mess out into narrower heaps. The true cleaning could come later.
Finally, Harry finished cleaning off Whams' desk. Every last bit of litter was cleared off, except, of course, the parchment that was somehow glued to the top with large quantities of ink. Then he moved on to the drawers, pulling them out and dumping their contents onto the floor. He went from drawer to drawer this way, without pausing, when he came across a peculiarity that immediately caught his eye.
Harry was used to seeing Whams' perpetual state of disorganization. So far, he had come across drawers full of old sandwiches, drawers full of dirty robes, and even drawers full of cracked ink bottles and books. But never once had he seen any evidence of neatness on the professor's part. The drawer he had just drew out of the desk, however, was carefully organized, containing sheets of paper with clear, distinct notes.
At first he thought that this belonged to Percy, but the signature at the bottom was clearly signed 'Henry Whams', and there was no doubt as to their ownership. Why in the world was this drawer, of all the others, carefully maintained?
Looking closer, he saw that his name was written several times on the papers. In fact, so were Ron's and Hermione's. He read a random line on the top sheet.
Ronald Weasley also partakes in a group that identifies itself as the 'D.A.', led by Harry Potter, also known as the Boy-Who-Lived.
"Is something wrong, Potter?" Gates called.
Harry deftly replaced the drawer. He had the innate feeling that he did not want Gates to read whatever was in those notes. "No," he said as innocently as he could.
Gates narrowed his eyes. "Is that so? Let me see, then." The Hit Wizard put down the toy in his hand and strode over to the desk.
"Step aside," he commanded under his breath, and yanked open the drawer. Pausing for a fraction of a second, he quickly sifted through the contents, glancing over all the sheets in turn. He then grinned.
"I know what this is," muttered Gates. He carelessly tossed the paper back into the drawer. "Irrelevant."
Just then, the door to the classroom swung open and Professor Whams swept in, going directly to his desk and taking the drawer from Gates' hand. The Hit Wizard let him, without so much as putting up a resistance.
"You must excuse me," said Professor Whams with a jovial bounce in his voice. "I will be needing this information for my office's filings. I hope you are making sense of my desk, Mr. Peter."
"Most of it, professor," answered Harry carefully. He was suddenly suspicious of everything from Whams' velvet slippers to his wide, vapid smile.
"Excellent," said Whams without missing a bit. He made to leave. "I will be back to make a better check on your progress."
"Interesting drawer you have, Henry," said Gates sleekly. Whams made an exit as if he did not hear, though Harry was sure that he did. After a moment, Gates turned to Harry. "Wouldn't you say?"
"What was it?" asked Harry slowly.
"Forget the drawer," said Gates dismissively. "Tell me, do you know who Henry Whams is?"
"He's an Auror who spent twenty years in St. Mungo's," answered Harry, recalling what Hermione had once told him in the Leaky Cauldron.
"Let me tell you a little fact," continued Gates. "If a wizard is to recover at all from a Memory Charm, he will be able to heal in twelve years."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Gates raised an eyebrow. "Think, Potter. Nothing is as it seems."
Harry did not feel like pondering Gates' cryptic statements, and, unless he was going to receive something more straightforward, he went back to shuffling through Whams' trash.
***
At last, Occlumency came, and Harry found himself actually eagerly awaiting the session. While he did not have any more full-fledged dream sequences, he caught brief, fleeting glimpses of groveling Death Eaters and crusted stone walls in his sleep. Voldemort, caught unawares the first time, has been blocking Harry off, preventing him from seeing too much. Regardless, the images were disturbing, and Harry wanted nothing more than to banish them for good, even if that meant having Pseudo-Snape return. Hermione, of course, wall all for this.
"Just because you don't see into his mind doesn't mean he doesn't see into yours," Hermione told him during one late night by the common room fire. They were curled up on the couch, her head resting in his arms. "He might be reading your mind while you sleep and you don't even realize it."
Hermione had summed up in two sentences his own complicated feelings towards his present situation. Voldemort could be doing a variety of things to him, especially since he bears the Dark Mark. Occlumency is the only way to negate the Mark's effects, and in order for that to happen, he would need Pseudo-Snape. There was simply no other way for him to become as good as Snape at Occlumency in such a short time period.
So when Harry descended into the cool dampness of the dungeons, he sincerely hoped that, given the Potions master's newfound apathy, a sort of truce could be reached with Snape. Indeed, the last time they spoke, Snape noticeably kept the insults to a minimum, and Harry wanted to continue this trend. At least for a while.
When Harry entered the office, he found Snape staring forcefully at the wall, as though trying to bore holes into it with his stare. He looked strangely uncomfortable, as if the lining of his robe was made up of rough wool.
"You wish to learn how to control your Dark Mark, do you?" asked Snape at length, still not looking at Harry.
"Dumbledore said-"
"I know very well what the headmaster said," interjected Snape. "I want to know whether you wish to learn this skill. It is incredibly difficult and dangerous, and you may find yourself mentally brushing against the Dark Lord."
Harry hesitated for a long moment. "Yes, teach me."
"Fine," Snape said. "But first, we will rebuild the Occlumensia Anomaly's connection." For the first time, Snape turned to face him. "It should be a simple matter, requiring no more than a few intrusions before it is reinstated. You will know when it has returned." Snape paused, almost reluctantly. "You will hear the voice."
Harry merely nodded his head.
"Then let us begin your Occlumency lesson."
With that, Snape probed several times into Harry's mind, each time with more and more difficulty. A small, faint voice surfaced in Harry's mind, and he knew instantly that the Occlumensia Anomaly bond was strengthening. While Pseudo-Snape was not yet recognizable, he was reforming. Harry could feel it.
"Legilimens!"
Snape breached into his brain, though he met with considerable resistance. Harry barely had time to recuperate before the Potions master repeated the incantation.
"Legilimens!"
More resistance.
"Legilimens!"
Images. Shapeless, amorphous frames of light, then pictures which warped around his brain like funneling water. Nothing became definite. Harry would not allow it.
Out, murmured the voice, and, with a force of will alien to Harry, he pushed Snape out of his mind.
Snape stepped backwards with slightly narrowed eyes. "That is enough. The bond is now strong enough to give you Occlumency skills that equal my own. The Dark Lord cannot enter your mind. You are effectively cut off from him. Unless, of course, you meet him in person, in which case no level of Occlumency can override the Dark Mark's influence."
"Like you," Harry said without thinking. He was not sure why he said those words, but he did.
"No Potter," said Snape icily. "Not like me." He inhaled. "With that detail out of the way, let us return to the subject at hand: controlling the Dark Mark."
"Controlling the Dark Mark requires no incantation, nor spell of any sort," continued Snape. "It requires nothing less than a great strength of will. You must force your mind to go beyond your body, and seek out fellow bearers of the Dark Mark. At first, you will have little control, but after you gain some experience, you should be able to select your targets, be it Rookwood or Bellatrix or even the Dark Lord himself. There is only one requirement: they must bear the Dark Mark."
"So it's like Legilimency?" asked Harry.
"No, it's nothing like Legilimency," said Snape softly. "When you're reversing the effects of the Dark Mark, you are using an established bond to travel from Death Eater to Death Eater. That bond is, of course, the Dark Mark itself. With Legilimency, no bond can be formed."
"But if no bond can be formed with Legilimency then how did I get the Occlumensia Anomaly?"
Snape sighed deeply. "As the headmaster and I explained previously, the Occlumensia Anomaly came about because of the bond established by the Dark Mark. When I used Legilimency upon you, it hooked onto the bond formed by the Dark Mark, and caused the…problem."
"As I was saying," Snape continued, his tone now telling Harry that he will no longer allow himself to be interrupted. "You can travel from Death Eater to Death Eater using the bonds created by the Dark Mark. By force of will, you can cross over and into another…into a Death Eater's mind, seeing through his eyes, reading his senses. I believe the headmaster wishes you to become proficient in this skill because it can prove to be exceptionally useful in dire situations. When you become experienced, you will be able to sense the Dark Mark nearby, thereby detecting Death Eaters before they come into view."
"And that's how you do it," said Harry carefully. "You reverse the effects of the Dark Mark to get into Voldemort's, sorry, You-Know-Who's brain. That's how you spy on him."
Snape stared at him for a long moment. "Precisely. Though you will be doing no such thing. You can easily lose control if you aren't careful, and you will find the Dark Lord probing into your now-vulnerable mind easily. For that reason, you will only use this skill for life-preserving purposes. Is that understood?"
"Yes."
"Then we can start now," said Snape. "You will be needing that…entity in your mind to muster the force of will and control required. I suggest you close your eyes and focus. You will know when you have been successful when you experience new and foreign sensations, particularly in sight and sound. You will be practicing on me, and, though you will be unable to enter my mind due to my skill at Occlumency, you will acquire the general idea of it. Remember: pretend you are climbing out of your skin. Begin." He stepped back, looking at Harry expectantly.
Harry stared at Snape for a minute, unsure of how to continue. He closed his eyes and then concentrated, envisioning a transparent cloud of himself rising out of his human form.
"Focus," Snape said. He sounded far away.
Push, urged Pseudo-Snape, and, sure enough, he felt himself let go, and a curious numbing sensation swept over his body. The only feeling he sensed was the distant tingling of his scar.
Some might consider it bliss, but Harry found it frightful. Where was he? It was like he was stuck in a void. Then, abruptly, he felt himself connect with something, and a variety of sensations came over him. He felt cool dampness. He smelled the scent of an old cauldron. His breathing caught in his mouth. As soon as it happened, it stopped, and Harry found himself once more in his own body. Harry's eyes snapped open.
Snape stood before him, his face made of stone, staring down at him. "Acceptable. Again," he said stiffly.
Deciding that that was the closest thing to praise he had ever received from Snape, Harry closed his eyes without complaint, once again locking down his mind as he tried to push from his body. Pseudo-Snape stirred in the recesses of his brain, and, as it did previously, his scar pulsed while his body went numb.
His awareness floated away, and, fleetingly, he sensed Snape's presence, and the possibility of wandering into his mind. Instead, wanting to test his limits, he let himself meander away aimlessly, not knowing where the next connection could take place nor caring. Suddenly, he found a path, and he inexplicably followed it, drawn by another power. Another Dark Mark. It was not Snape.
In a flash, Harry found himself looking through the eyes of another. Everything passed in multicolored blurs, and he could smell food wafting from somewhere, but he could not identify nor place it. He was trying to reach something placed on what appeared to be a towering table or counter, but, to his frustration, he could not reach it. What was he looking at, and more importantly, where was he?
Anger. Bitter, wretched anger of the likes Harry had never felt before. It was practically coursing through his body, surging, pressing outward everywhere, begging to be released.
Just as suddenly, he jerked back into his original body again, the hate and fury that he felt now only a lingering memory. He was staring up at the Potions master, dazed.
"What happened?" Snape demanded, clasping his hands around Harry's shoulders. His hands were neither painful nor constricting, but were there to keep Harry steadily on his feet. "Speak!"
"I-" Harry shook his head to clear away the confusion. "I think I entered someone's mind. In Hogwarts."
"Impossible," Snape said instantly. "You can only enter the minds of Death Eaters this way."
"Maybe there is a Death Eater in Hogwarts," Harry said darkly.
Snape visibly paled. "Nonsense," he said disdainfully, though his words and tone sounded forced and awkward. "That cannot be. You are mistaken. The headmaster made an error in assigning you these classes. You could not have entered the mind of a Death Eater in Hogwarts. You simply…" Snape's voice trailed off, and it was clear that he was at a loss to explain Harry's vision. He released his hold on Harry's shoulders and stepped back.
"Professor?"
"You're wrong Potter," Snape snapped. His voice became harsh and condescending. Old Snape was back. "You misinterpreted what you saw. You most likely envisioned a random sequence of colors, or didn't properly reverse the Dark Mark and left a part of yourself in your body."
"I know what I saw, sir," countered Harry. "And it was real."
Back to that again, are we? Pseudo-Snape said.
Snape glared down at Harry venomously. "THERE ARE NO DEATH EATERS IN THIS SCHOOL POTTER!" roared Snape. Then, seething, he said, "This was a mistake. Get out of my office. You aren't capable. Leave. Remember, I've extended your detentions. You will go back to cleaning jars tomorrow."
"Fine," Harry snapped, and turned to leave. He stiffly snatched his books off the floor and strode to the door. Before he managed to slam the door, Snape spoke again.
"And Potter," said Snape, his voice now devoid of emotion. "I suggest you shelf your arrogant Gryffindor pride and go to the headmaster concerning your memory problem." The 'memory problem' being, of course, the memory Snape uncovered during Occlumency. "Or would you rather follow in your father's steps?"
Furious, Harry slammed the office door, and he was sure he heard the cauldron tip over from inside.
***
"So you're saying you think there's another Death Eater in the school?" Ron asked incredulously, almost dropping his fork. Harry, Hermione and Ron were sitting at the far end of the table in the Great Hall, eating breakfast, the following morning after the Occlumency session. Harry had just finished explaining to them what he experienced the night before.
Ministry Aurors stood at random along the walls, watching vigilantly for any disturbances. Ever since the attack on the Quidditch field, the ministry has been maintaining a contingent of Aurors in Hogwarts under the pretense of keeping the students safe. Hermione believed that Fudge's intentions were less than admirable, and were actually more for the sake of keeping Dumbledore from gaining too much power. It implied the question: how could Albus Dumbledore protect the wizarding world when he needs the ministry just to protect his own school? Regardless, Aurors stalked around the school in pairs, hands always on their wands as though expecting Voldemort himself to swoop down and attack the unwary.
"That's exactly what I'm saying," said Harry, glancing darkly around him.
Ron furrowed his brow. "So that means Gates has nothing to do with it?" He sounded disappointed.
"I dunno," replied Harry. "Who knows. All I know is that I connected with a Death Eater, and I am certain that he was in the school. It was written throughout his mind."
"But that doesn't make sense," Hermione said tentatively. "Death Eaters can't just hide in a broom closet for weeks on end. They need food and water and…orders."
"Orders?"
"How could a Death Eater operate without orders?" Hermione said. "They couldn't just enter and leave Hogwarts randomly; that would be impossible. And, if this Death Eater was behind the jinxing of your Firebolt, then he would have to receive orders. That match was only scheduled a few weeks ago; long after your wand was jinxed. He would need orders from Voldemort."
"I'm sure he would have no problem with getting Malfoy to transfer the orders," said Harry, looking in the Slytherin's direction.
"I doubt they would risk having Malfoy getting orders by owl and then giving them to the said Death Eater," said Hermione logically. "Malfoy isn't exactly a master spy, and he would risk giving away the Death Eater by delivering the messages. There's too much risk involved. Besides, the wards around this school are too strong to be tampered with. Any wizard that attempts to break through will be given a rather nasty welcome that will send them catapulting into northern France. Only Voldemort could get through, as unlikely as that seems."
"So maybe," Harry began grimly. "I did misinterpret the vision."
"What do you remember about it?"
"Not too much honestly," Harry confessed. "But it seemed so real. I was so sure I was in Hogwarts." He ran his fingers though his hair. "I don't know anymore. Snape might've been right."
Never would I have expected that to come from a Potter, remarked Pseudo-Snape slyly.
Oh, shut up.
***
The next week brought about another training session with Gates. Harry sighed deeply as he climbed a circular staircase, glancing through slitted windows to the outside grounds. Winter seemed to have snuck up on him. The leaves were already long gone, and a oppressive, biting chill swept through the barren castle in great gusts. The sky turned into a dark gray, and, distantly, Harry could see a curl of smoke rising from the chimney out of Hagrid's hut. It had not yet begun to snow, but, judging from the weather, it was not far off.
The Dueling Club had continued, despite the concern over Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Perhaps the school staff thought it best for the students to be prepared for the coming war. Harry, for one, thought that was a good idea. The D.A. was eagerly training for the tournament. Even Neville, who was beaten by Malfoy in the first round, trained as hard as the rest of them. So far, about three-quarters of the D.A. remained in the competition. Harry and Hermione, for their part, defeated their competitors rather easily, and were climbing up the rungs. They were both widely expected to make it to the final rounds.
Presently, Harry reached the Room of Requirement with Gates, who was following a few steps behind him. He halted in his tracks. Leaning against the wall was the last person Harry expected or even wanted to see. Snape watched them both with a small sneer on his lips.
"Severus," said Gates with the sound of utter boredom. "What brings you here?"
"Albus has become most interested in the training sessions you have been giving Potter," said Snape. "He informs me that you owed them to Potter as a favor to Black."
Gates' eyes narrowed. "That is correct. I wish to know, however, how you came upon knowing the schedule?"
"Were they meant to be a secret?" said Snape smoothly. "The headmaster learned of the schedule merely from observing the times Potter has been absent from the common room each week."
"I see," said Gates. "And would you kindly share the reason for your presence here?"
"I am to watch and ensure you don't teach Potter anything…distasteful," said Snape smoothly. "It would not do for him to learn anything that could lead him into Azkaban, especially now that the ministry is out for him. Particularly the Edward Skinners."
"That is scarcely necessary, Severus."
"The headmaster insists," replied Snape evenly.
The two men stared darkly at each other for a minute, before Gates said, "If Albus wishes it, by all means, make yourself comfortable."
Snape curtly nodded, and, after the Room of Requirement prepared itself, they entered and the Potions master took a seat in the corner, idly watching Harry and Gates.
"Now Potter," said Gates. "The Numbing Charm is a complicated little spell that can, if done properly, will effectively prevent you temporarily from feeling any pain. If done improperly, it could result in stopping the circulation of your blood and starve the brain of oxygen. That would kill you," he added as an afterthought.
"What's the incantation?" Harry asked inanely.
"Ferreus," Gates said. "Make sure you lengthen the first syllable. Turn your wand upon yourself and say it."
"Right," Harry muttered, and, supposing it did not matter, he point his wand at his foot. "Ferreus!"
A bizarre feeling came over him, like his head has suddenly detached from his body and was now floating in air. He was aware that he still had arms and legs and a torso, of course, but he felt nothing. No warmth. A faint tingling sensation played on the tips of his fingers, but, other than that, he felt absolutely nothing. It was beyond disturbing. When he looked at his hand, it was like staring at a piece of plywood. It did not seem to belong to him.
"Correct on the first try, it seems," Gates said indifferently. "Now, this time, while you are using the incantation, think evil thoughts. The particulars don't matter. Fire at this book-" Gates summoned a tome from the bookshelf and it skidded onto the ground.
Trying to imagine himself hexing Gates into oblivion, Harry shouted "Ferreus!" and, to his surprise, the book collapsed in on itself.
Gates grinned. "When used on a human, it will effectively turn their insides into mashed potatoes. A very rare and-"
"-Illegal use of that spell," Snape said from his corner. He stood up and stared evenly at the both of them. "Using that spell in that manner on another human being will result in nothing less than a term in Azkaban."
Gates' head jerked around and his face turned into a narrow sneer. "I believe I choose what is relevant in these training sessions, Severus."
"Not when the headmaster expressly forbids such teaching," Snape countered, sounding more venomous than ever. "I suggest that if there is a problem, you go to Albus, Alex. But perhaps you wouldn't dare. Are you afraid Albus might defeat you and halt your self-initiated crusade to kill Voldemort yourself?"
"We are through here, Potter," Gates snarled, not taking his eyes off of Snape. The Hit Wizard's hand drifted down to his wand. "We will continue at a later date. Out."
Not wanting to stay there a moment longer than he had to, Harry backed out of the room, expecting Snape and Gates to begin dueling at any second. To his surprise, Gates casually withdrew his hand and, after sweeping his scarlet cloak around in a half-circle, strode away. The diamond necklace flashed furiously as he stalked across the threshold.
"What are you waiting for?" Gates snapped.
"For you," Harry said heatedly.
Gates threw him a malevolent glance and then gestured down the hallway. Slowly, they climbed down the circular stairway, and finally returned to the common room.
***
"So Snape just shows up, right there in the Room of Requirement?" Ron asked in a disbelieving tone. It was the next day and Harry, Hermione, and Ron were heading to Transfiguration class.
Harry shook his head. "Snape was there when me and Gates came up," he corrected. "He claims that Dumbledore sent him."
Gates had left them earlier, telling them he was going to reinforce the wards. Considering the heavy presence of ministry Aurors within the school, Gates' protection scarcely seemed necessary, and the Hit Wizard was taking advantage of this by separating from Harry for short periods of time. Not that Harry was complaining, of course.
"But why didn't Dumbledore send someone earlier?" Hermione pointed out. "He knew about it all year. And besides, isn't Phineas following you?"
Harry glanced towards the wall, just seeing the former Slytherin Headmaster dart behind an oak tree. There was a flash of bright green and then nothing. "There aren't any portraits in the Room of Requirement. I suppose none can be put in there, either."
"Dumbledore could've come himself," wondered Hermione aloud. "Why didn't he?"
"Yeah," agreed Ron vehemently. "I don't like the sound of that greasy asshole-"
"Ron!"
Harry stepped in before a huge row broke out. "Forget Snape. He helped anyway. The session was cut short, so in my opinion, Snape can hang around all he wants."
They entered the classroom and were immediately greeted by Professor McGonagall, whose lips were pursed tightly together. Harry was not sure whether she was angry or not. "The headmaster requests your presence in his office, Mr. Potter," she said. "So you are excused for the remainder of this period."
Harry and Hermione exchanged a look. "Did he say why?"
"The headmaster did not provide an explanation," replied Professor McGonagall. "I will inform Mr. Gates of your whereabouts."
"I guess I'll go then," said Harry uneasily.
When he entered the office, he found Dumbledore sitting in his usual position behind the lacquered desk, hands folded together, back straight. He practically exuded confidence and security. "Lemon drop, Harry?" He held out the glass jar, to which Harry politely refused, and then took when and set it down again.
"As you know," continued Dumbledore. "the Christmas holidays are approaching, and-"
Harry's mind leapt to Dumbledore's implication. "I'm not going there," he whispered. There was no way Dumbledore could convince him to go to Grimmauld Place over the holidays. It was bad enough over the summer at Pivet Drive. Going to Sirius' former dwelling would be more than he could bear.
Dumbledore frowned. "I am not suggesting you go to Grimmauld Place, Harry. In fact, I would advise against it. In addition to…your loss, I fear that, with Tom's new knowledge of his connection with you, he could break the Fidelus Charm that hides it and storm the headquarters."
"He can do that?" Harry blurted out.
"No charm is unbreakable," Dumbledore said soberly. "And, through you, he could potentially override it. Your proficiency at Occlumency is outstanding, but even a monetary lapse could cause the entire Fidelus Charm to shut down and reveal Grimmauld Place to Voldemort. Of course, Voldemort would have to be conscious of such a opportunity first, and that is why it is no longer safe there for you. I believe Tom was not aware of your mutual connection until long after the attack on Mr. Weasley."
"So I'm going to stay at Hogwarts," said Harry, feeling lighter at heart.
To Harry's surprise, Dumbledore shook his head. "I cannot ensure your safety here, Harry," he said sadly. "There have been two attacks so far, and both of them nearly resulted in your death. Voldemort is somehow attacking you within these walls, and I think it unwise for you to stay here over the holidays, when these halls are virtually empty."
"Not the Dursley's," said Harry almost to himself.
"I'm afraid it must be," said Dumbledore. "Though, before you raise an outcry, let me speak. I have spoken to your Aunt, and she has informed me that they will be going on a vacation to Haiti during the holidays, and will not be there. She has reluctantly given me her consent to allow you to stay there, provided the house remains in an acceptable condition."
"Additionally, I have spoken to Alex, and he agrees with me that the protections around the Dursley's home on Pivet Drive would render any additional protection redundant, and will stay at Hogwarts to aid in the reinforcing of the wards, which is critical."
No Dursleys, no Gates, Harry said to himself. "But I can't be protected. My mother's blood-"
"Does not require you to be within the close proximity of Aunt Petunia at all times," said Dumbledore gently. "The wards will still hold even while your Aunt is on vacation. But I must make myself clear on this point: you must stay indoors at all times." He leaned forward on his desk, as if emphasizing his point. "While indoors no harm can come to you, but if you stray outside we cannot protect you. The Order is scattered right now and we can spare no one to watch over you, so I must ask you to stay indoors."
Harry nodded understandingly. "And what about emergencies?"
"You are permitted use of a wand, and I will give you a portkey that will take you directly to my office," said Dumbledore. "Also, Lupin will be making brief daily stops. I'm afraid that I've been giving him very little time off, and he swore that if I did not allow him to spend time with you over the holidays, he would curse me across the River Styx." The headmaster chuckled softly. "Of course, arrangements can be made for Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley to visit you, as well. I daresay it would be impossible to keep the three of you apart anyway."
Harry grinned a true, genuine grin. Not only would he be away from Gates (which would be long overdue), but he would also be able to see Lupin again. He actually laughed. "And to think I was worried about Snape less than twenty minutes ago," he said absently, his mind still on the Christmas holidays.
"Professor Snape," corrected Dumbledore gently. "Why did he worry you?"
"It was just how it didn't make any sense for you to send him to the Room of Requirement to oversee the training sessions between me and Gates," Harry said vaguely. "Like he was snooping around on his own accord."
There was a long, quiet silence.
"Harry," Dumbledore began seriously, and there was a tremor of uncertainty in his voice. "I didn't ask Professor Snape to oversee your training sessions. I saw no reason to, as no reason has been given to me. So, forgive me, I do not know what you are referring to."
Harry just stared.
(A/N: The beginning of the end; it may not seem like it, but I am less than ten chapters away from this fic's conclusion. Not too much to say in the A/N, so I hope you all are enjoying this fic thus far.
Next Chapter: You won't need to be psychic to figure out what's going to happen in chapter 23. This is probably one of the most enjoyable chapters I've written so far, and has some very, very funny scenes if you can pick up on the humor. Gates tries to swindle Vernon and everyone's favorite muggle psychiatrist makes a house call. (And it's not Dr. Phil folks).