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

Woodrow M

(A/N: Summary of chp 25: Snape explains why he didnt see the Death Eater earlier (DE being insane), Christmas gifts are exchanged, Lupin sends Harry an owl, and the duel finals are set!

Some news: This chapter turned out to be so big that I had to split it up. This, unfortunately, means that the duels (and some other events!) won't occur until chapter 27. Sorry!)

"Now remember, if he comes at you with the Severing Curse, you're going to have to dodge it, because the Shielding Charm is almost worthless when it comes to blocking it-"

"Harry-"

"-And if he tries to overpower you physically, back away and fire off a few stunning spells to make him back off-"

"Harry-"

"-And if you even think he's about to try-"

"Harry," Hermione interjected. The exasperation in her voice knocked Harry out of his speech, and he waited for her to continue. "I know you're worrying about me, but it's not necessary." Before Harry could argue she added, "It's not. Malfoy is nothing compared to Voldemort. You should be worrying him rather than Malfoy."

Harry, Hermione, and Ron were all in the Room of Requirement, Gates waiting outside. While Harry tried to explain every dueling tactic he had learned from Gates to Hermione, Ron stood off to the side, watching both of them awkwardly. Harry was almost panicky in his concern for Hermione, and Malfoy's handling of his previous opponents - namely Neville - was still fresh in his mind.

But Malfoy would not try anything too extreme in front of the entire school, would he? If the duel began going badly for Draco, Harry did not doubt that the Slytherin would resort to using borderline unethical or even blatantly illegal curses to win. To Harry, it was not a matter of winning or losing. He did not doubt that Hermione could easily blast Malfoy away. But he wanted her to win unharmed, and that was not likely to happen with Malfoy.

"Look mate," Ron said. It was the first time he had spoken in twenty minutes. Harry turned to look at him. "She's got a point."

Harry stared at him, feeling slightly betrayed. "Ron, Malfoy isn't a Slytherin for no reason. He would use an Unforgivable on Hermione if he thought he could get away with it."

"And what does being Slytherin have to do with using an Unforgivable?" Hermione asked.

This time, both Harry and Ron turned towards her. "Do we really have to answer that?" Ron said.

"My point is, Ron," continued Hermione. "that Malfoy using an Unforgivable has nothing to do with him being a Slytherin, and vice versa. Being a horrible person isn't a requirement for being in House Slytherin. And, whatever else you think, Malfoy is a horrible person."

"Glad we agree on that aspect," Ron said.

"Then you agree with me that I should be helping you?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"No," said Hermione. "I was simply making a comment on the Houses and the stereotypes people classify each one of them in."

"Hermione," Ron began, bring his hand up to his temple as though it ached. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It has to do with everything," Hermione countered indignantly. "I know you laugh at Club S.P.E.W. but it is a very important organization! The wizarding world isn't the wizarding world at all. It's a magical community that includes Goblins, House-Elves, Centaurs, and wizards alike. Then everything is split up into purity of blood..." She sighed and shook her head. "That's what Dumbledore has been trying to say all along. The rifts between the houses is just a small part of a larger problem. It's all wrong."

My, my, Pseudo-Snape said. She's becoming rather heavy on philosophy. Unfortunately, idealism is something that can never be fulfilled.

Ron started again. "Hermione-"

"So disliking Malfoy because he's a Slytherin is wrong," continued Hermione as though Ron had not spoken. "He's horrible, but that has nothing to do with being Slytherin," she finished with a steady gaze that let them both know that she was completely correct.

"I'm afraid I must disagree," said an ethereal voice emanating from Ron's pocket. Harry furrowed his brow until he realized that it was Luna's voice coming from the Chattering Teeth. "Everyone knows that the Sorting Hat curses everyone who goes into Slytherin."

A momentary silence prevailed as Ron struggled to muffle the Chattering Teeth with parchment, Hermione watching on with a wry smile. Ron's ears were as red as tomatoes. At last he finished, straightened, and looked back at Harry, evidently bent on pretending Luna's comment never happened.

"What we're trying to say-" Ron hesitated. "Or at least what I'm trying to say is that Malfoy is no where near important enough for you to be worrying about. You have Vol- Vol- You-Know-Who coming after you."

At least he tried, Pseudo-Snape said. Alas, most of us are too far ingrained in our ways, for better or worse.

Harry looked at the both of them, feeling outnumbered. How many times have Hermione and Ron ever agreed on something? That fact alone made their point worth considering. "Malfoy..." he sighed heavily.

"If it will make you stop worrying about this," said Hermione sympathetically, putting her hand on his arm. "I'll go to the library and do research on every dueling technique available."

Harry looked up at her, and it was clear in her eyes that this was as good of a compromise that he was going to get. "Alright, but you should borrow The Art of Dueling too."

"Deal," said Hermione.

Reluctantly, Harry withdrew his wand and looked absently, almost uncertainly, around the room. "If you need any help..."

"Of course."

Harry slowly nodded.

"Well then that's settled," said Ron.

"Then let's go," said Hermione briskly. "We have a Transfiguration report waiting for us, not to mention me and Harry's Charm homework that has to be completed. Maybe I can get Mr. Carwin to help me with my Arithimancy; there are parts of it that I still haven't mastered yet. And don't forget about Hagrid's Grendel assignment."

"Yeah," Ron snorted. "I bet the only reason Hagrid is making us write a report on those beasts is because he couldn't find one to bring in and show us."

They went through the door and stepped into the hallway, and Harry briefly made eye contact with Phineas Nigellus, who was in the portrait across the way. The older wizard quickly darted for cover, concealing himself from their eyes. Harry felt rather than saw Gates' presence behind him, and he turned to face the Hit Wizard.

"You two go on ahead," said Gates slowly, his eyes fixed on Harry. "I just need to discuss something with Potter. I assure you it's nothing malicious"

Ron and Hermione looked dubiously at Harry. Harry, knowing that Phineas was just nearby, said, "I will catch up soon."

"So," Gates began once Ron and Hermione were outside of earshot. "I believe that girl, your friend, is dueling Lucius Malfoy's son. Draco, I believe."

Harry did not like at all the tone Gates' voice carried when he said 'friend,' but he nodded slightly.

"Normally I make it a point not to intervene on such matters," said Gates carefully and deliberately, seemingly weighing every word. "But in this case I am making an exception. You understand, of course, my great interest in the affairs of Draco Malfoy."

Harry nodded, unsure of where this was going. He remembered Malfoy being terrified of Gates on the train to Hogwarts, the Hit Wizard even implying that he had dueled with some of Draco's relatives. Draco even went so far as to insult Gates' mother, which roused an anger in the Hit Wizard of a kind that Harry had never seen.

After seeing Harry nod, Gates continued. "So, when this matter came to my attention, I was concerned. Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater in training, certainly not a wizard to be taken lightly, and he is partaking in a duel against one of his - at least from my understanding - worst enemies. I should not think such a pairing is wise, especially as of late."

"What're you saying?" Harry asked bluntly.

"What I am trying to say," said Gates softly. "Is that the girl is woefully unprepared. I do not think I need to mention the pleasure it would bring me to see this pureblood be publicly humiliated by a girl with common ancestry. Must I continue?"

"If you are suggesting-"

"What I am suggesting," Gates interrupted. He stared at Harry unblinkingly. "Is that she be readied for her duel by a professional. You have no idea what it would be like if Malfoy lost. Unbearable. The Dark Lord might even reassess the boy's ability before giving him the title of Death Eater."

"So you want to use her to get to Malfoy?" Harry asked hotly.

"Precisely," said Gates, sounding pleased. "You don't care much for the boy either, do you? All parties win."

"No," said Harry with finality. "You're not going anywhere near her. For one she doesn't want help. She can do it herself."

Gates raised an eyebrow. "Can she really? She'll lose."

Harry was about to open his mouth when a sudden thought hit him. "What're you asking me for anyway?"

"Well," said Gates indifferently, as though he was thinking elsewhere, his eyes beginning to drift. He began smoothing out his gloves. "Isn't the wizard the customary person to go to?"

Think, Potter, drawled Pseudo-Snape. He's a pureblood. Pureblood families are not known for equality.

Understanding flooded into Harry's mind, and he took a step backward. Unless Harry was greatly mistaken, Gates had approached him because the man was supposed to be the dominant partner in any traditional blood pairing. Essentially, he grew up believing that the husband controlled the wife without reservation. So, in his mind, Harry was the logical person to go to. The only complication was that, of course, Hermione was not his wife, not to mention that he scarcely wanted control.

Oh yes, the renowned Alexander Gates cannot lower himself to approaching an underage girl concerning the matter, Pseudo-Snape said, his voice laced thickly with sarcasm.

"No," said Harry. "Because I don't own her."

"Hmm, I can't say this comes as a surprise. Well, then the girl will lose," he said without a hint of emotion; bitterness, anger, or otherwise. "Your own efforts must be redoubled. You will not embarrass me by losing to that urchin."

"I'll keep that in mind," Harry said sarcastically.

Gates' head turned sharply, his attention suddenly spiking. "You still don't know anything about dueling, Potter," he said scathingly. "Don't be so arrogant as to believe otherwise. Blind luck will not save you from Malfoy's curse. Not anymore. Victories are won or lost by blood, not by scars. Get out of my sight."

Harry had half a mind to issue a retort, but thought the better of it, and with a last feigned disinterested glance went down the hall.

***

Harry,

You may be aware that I sent Severus a letter recently, and, to my rather pleasant surprise, he has responded. He has told me that Alex's training of you was, in his words, harsh and demanding. Coming from Severus, that indeed is troubling.

I cannot tell you what to do. Whether I like it or not, I am not in Hogwarts, and I'm afraid it is impossible for me to know the entire situation there without being present. I do not know how you have been faring over the school year, nor do I know of any specifics, save what Albus and the other Order members tell me.

I was not planning to mention this to you but when I saw you over the holidays, I sensed a change in you. A change that cannot be accounted by an increase in maturity alone. There is something within you, Harry. I felt it when I first arrived. I felt it when Ron and Hermione came through the door. For many years I have traveled the world, trying to bury my werewolf half, trying to exist peaceable somewhere, but not once had I ever sensed what I sense in you. I do not know whether is energy or strength or anything. My best and, indeed, only guess is that it is related somehow to the power Dumbledore has hinted at over the past few months.

I will not further elaborate on this, as this is a piece of information only you can share, but I want you to be careful Harry. That is the only advice I can give you that can apply in any situation. Watch Alex and never leave your back to him. Trust him only within the boundaries of Sirius' will. And, most of all, exercise self-control. If Alex presses too much, have no fear of telling me, Dumbledore, or any Order member. Even Severus. His time with you is quickly shortening.

I'm sorry if this seems poor, but it is the only advice that I can possibly muster right now. I have abandoned my search for Kreacher. It has long proven fruitless. I leave you with one last reminder: there will always be people that are here for you.

-Remus

Carefully, Harry folded up the note and put it in his pocket. Hermione, who had been watching him read, said quietly, "What was it about?"

"It was from Remus," Harry said. "He was telling me to be wary around Gates and to never trust him, and to go to someone if something goes wrong. He said Gates won't be around forever."

That's the best the werewolf could come up with? said Pseudo-Snape irritably.

Hermione frowned. "Well, I suppose that advice is sound, from his standpoint. Gates hasn't done anything really bad over the past month, has he?"

Harry did not answer. Instead, changing the subject, he said, "Speaking of Gates, he came up to me the other day..." He explained the proposition Gates had offered concerning training Hermione's duel with Malfoy. Hermione listened, though she seemed to have little interest in the offer itself. Harry was very careful to exclude the part concerning Gates' implication of his relationship with Hermione, as Ron was also raptly listening.

"I wondered why he held you back," Ron said. "You never really brought it up again."

"I'm glad you answered for me," said Hermione. "I wouldn't of-" she paused. "Why do you suppose he asked you instead of me directly?"

Harry did not respond immediately, and Ron's expression turned into puzzlement. Suddenly, Hermione's eyes went wide with understanding, and she quickly added, "It doesn't matter, really. He always tried to avoid speaking with everyone."

Ron nodded slowly, seeming to accept this answer.

Presently, Neville, who was caring for an unnamable, potted plant on a study table, came over, soil on his hands, his wand in his pocket. "Hey Harry, Ron, Hermione," he said. His eyes resting on Hermione, he continued, "I heard you were dueling Malfoy. Actually the whole school knows, but I only found out today."

"The duel is going to be this Friday, I think."

"Yeah, that's what I heard," Neville said. "Anyway, I thought you could use some of the stuff I noticed about him. I know you're the brightest witch in Hogwarts, but I thought..." His voice trailed off.

"Sure, what is it?" Hermione asked amiably.

Neville began to look rather uncomfortable, standing before them. He lost eye contact and began rubbing his hands together. "When me and Malfoy dueled he was much better than me. His curses were stronger and more advanced, and I was pretty much overwhelmed. Not because you trained me badly," he quickly added to Harry.

"I should've trained you guys better," said Harry, shaking his head.

"You were a great teacher," said Neville positively. "So while I lost, I saw his weaknesses. Namely, I saw that he became reckless when he began to win."

"The enormous ego gets in the way of his casting?"

"Exactly," affirmed Neville. "He can't help but gloat. If you can get him into a position where he becomes foolhardy, well, you can trick him. I dunno, it's just an observation."

"Thank you Neville," Hermione said genuinely. "I'll remember that for the duel."

Neville mumbled something along the lines of, "It was nothing," and returned to the now-bristling plant on the table.

"Well that's something," said Harry.

"You're telling me," Ron said, staring at Neville's plant. "That thing looks like it's N.E.W.T. level, at least."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "He meant Neville's advice, Ron."

Ron jerked his gaze away from the plant. "Oh, right. So, what're you going to do with it?"

Hermione paused thoughtfully, biting her lower lip. "I don't know yet, but I'll definitely come up with something."

"Let us know when you do," said Ron breezily, getting to his feet. "But until then, we better get to Defense Against the Dark Arts. We have class in about five minutes-"

"Right you are, Ronald," said Luna, and Harry instinctively looked for the Chattering Teeth, but to his surprise he found Luna standing directly behind Ron's chair, wearing her usual dreamy expression. "It would be a pity to miss Professor Whams' class, especially after all that studying we did. His curriculum is most interesting, even though I think he occasionally mixes up the second and sixth years' assignments."

"Yeah, I suppose he does that sometimes," Ron muttered.

"Ronald tells me that you all were intrigued by the gift I gave him," continued Luna, looking at each and every one of them in turn with her distant gaze. "Especially Mr. Gates. If you desire, I can arrange for you all to have one, or even create one specifically attuned to someone else's personality." She looked steadily at Hermione and Harry as she said this.

"Err, that's okay," said Harry.

"So long as you let me know if you're ever interested..."

Hermione suddenly jumped to her feet, hastily gathering her books. "We better hurry or Professor Whams is going to start class without us-" She swept everything into her bag. "-and we'll end up missing an important lesson."

"Yeah right," Ron grumbled. "Whams never even arrives until ten minutes into class."

But, as it turned out, Whams arrived on time for once, and bustled into the classroom with an unwieldy stack of books and parchment, his purple silk robe rising up behind him. A sash of the same color tied the robe tightly around his waist. He dumped everything onto his desk, not bothering to steady it, before turning towards the class with a cheerful, welcoming smile. Percy, Harry saw, came in a moment later, shut the door, and leaned heavily against it. His prim and proper attire and aura was long gone, and what replaced it was a sense of exhaustion. His entire face drooped, and his hair looked like it had not been combed for at least a month. He had random bits of paper pushing out of his pockets: schedules, grades, and the like.

"Greetings, class," began Professor Whams jovially, drawing his wand from his robes with one flourishing movement. It almost slipped out of his hand, but he caught it at the last moment, and set it on his desk. With the same vapid grin that Harry would associate with the delirious, Whams continued, "Today I'm going to present to you a Destruction Curse. Can anyone tell me how this curse differs from a normal Reducto spell?" He frowned slightly at the absence of any hands, with the lone exception of Hermione. "No one completed their homework?"

Percy perked up from his position by the door. He furtively slid next to Whams and whispered something into his ear. Professor Whams blinked, then nodded.

In the back of his mind, Harry remembered Gates once saying, "If a wizard is to recover at all from a Memory Charm, he will be able to heal in twelve years." Looking at the professor before him, he could detect nothing strange about Whams, besides the obvious fact that he was quite incompetent. For all Harry knew, Gates was simply intentionally confusing him. Remembering Lupin's letter, he decided to disregard the Hit Wizard's remark. Professor Whams looked about as suspicious as a Flobberworm.

"I see," continued Whams. "It seems that I didn't assign you any. Regardless, Miss, uhhh, someone seems to know. So, Miss-" He pointed at Hermione's hand.

"The Destruction Curse, unlike the Reducto spell, destroys living objects," said Hermione briskly. "It's strictly regulated by the ministry and can only be performed in certain situations. It's absolutely forbidden to use the curse on a human. It's also very easy to block."

"Ten points to Ravenclaw," said Professor Whams. "Quite correct. Therefore, you will not be permitted to use this curse until your seventh year. But you are required to study it in your sixth, so I shall provide a demonstration. Perseus..."

Percy nodded and went to the back of the room. He began digging through a pile of boxes, frowning, until at last he came to what apparently was a particularly heavy cardboard package. With a grunt he heaved it off the floor and slid it onto a sturdy desk, opening the flaps and pulling out an equally heavy glass aquarium-type container. Harry guessed that it used to be used for the caging of Grindylows, and, due to lack of use, was stashed away. But when Harry squinted, he could see that it housed a single, dark brown roach. Percy looked at Professor Whams and shook his head.

I daresay we don't want to know what happened to the Grindylows that formerly occupied that cage, Pseudo-Snape said.

"Well," said Whams in a disheartened tone. "It seems that I will only be able to provide for one demonstration. If you could be so kind, Perseus, bring that... that thing up here and set it here." He cleared his desk of scattered paper until there was a wide, smooth clearing available.

Percy wrapped the roach in a piece of cloth, obviously reluctant to touch it with his hands, and gingerly brought it to the front of the room, hastily dumping it onto the space Whams had cleared. Whams thanked him and Percy stood back, watching warily.

"Insects," Whams muttered. "Horrible, nasty things." Suddenly, as though realizing he was talking aloud, he continued, "Shall we begin? Let's see..."

Professor Whams plucked his wand off the desk and lifted it into the air, training it onto the roach. It scurried here and there on the clearing, but did not seem to notice the imminent danger. The class held its breath for a moment, and then Whams shouted, "Diruo!" The roach exploded into countless pieces, the larger chunks flung as far as four feet away, skidding to a halt on a girl's desk. She stared wide-eyed at it for a moment and then leapt to her feet, letting out a short shriek. Several people nearby pushed their desks away. At the back of the room, Dean laughed with abandon.

"That's disgusting," Ron murmured, taking a closer look. It was the roach's hind leg, and it twitched convulsively. A few people, Harry included, began searching their own desk areas to see if anything had landed near them. Hermione kicked a bit of abdomen away with the tip of her shoe.

Percy hurried over and wiped the severed parts away with a damp cloth, while Professor Whams struggled with wiping a wing off of his purple robe.

"Nothing to worry about," Whams said appeasingly. "Just a little accident, that's all. I didn't expect the curse to be so powerful, and, well, I never expected insects could be so messy."

At last the class returned to order, and Ron said to Harry, "I'm just glad that wasn't a spider."

"Now that that's taken care of," said Professor Whams, clapping his hands together and smiling widely. "I'll try it again in a less powerful form. Let's-"

Percy snuck over and hurriedly began whispering in his ear.

"Of course there are insects we can use," said Whams cheerfully. "Just because we don't have any in the glass container doesn't mean we can't - ah, there's one now!" The class followed Whams' line of sight and they saw a fat, black beetle sitting on the top of a teetering stack of books off to the side of the professor's desk. Harry glanced at Hermione and saw that her mouth was gaping.

"Accio Beetle!" incanted Professor Whams, and the beetle flew towards him and landed in a bit of cloth he had in his hand. "See Perseus? It's as simple as that."

Percy looked at Whams dubiously. Harry leaned forward to get a better look, while Hermione appeared horrified. Confused, he whispered, "What's wrong?"

She evidently did not hear him.

"This time should prove to be much less...grotesque," said Professor Whams.

The beetle tried to squirm away as he set it on the clearing, and Whams had to pinch it in between his two fingers to keep it still. Bits and pieces of the roach still remained on the desk like the sacrificial remains of some pagan ritual. The beetle continued to twist and buzz as it extended its wings, but every time Whams caught it just in time. Finally, he used a body bind to paralyze it.

"Quite a feisty little bugger," said Professor Whams, referring to the beetle. "Now, pay attention-" He raised his wand.

"Stop!" Hermione exclaimed, leaping to her feet. Harry stared at her, alarmed, and Whams looked up from his desk. "Don't!" Gates stirred curiously in the darkness of his corner.

"Excuse me?" said Professor Whams, sounding even more perplexed than usual. "If you are feeling faint, Miss, then I'm sure-"

"No," Hermione said breathlessly, running up to the desk. "Look, that beetle is an animagus."

Professor Whams blinked once...twice...then three times. He slowly lowered his wand. "I'm not sure if I follow you-" Percy bustled up from the rear.

Harry squinted, and he saw the familiar black rings around the beetle's eyes. If he was not mistaken, those rings represented-

"Rita Skeeter," he muttered.

"Just force her out of her animagus form, professor," Hermione insisted. "You'll see."

"Sir," Percy began. "There have been reports of a journalist traveling through the castle in an animagus form. We received a memo from Dumbledore about it, if I can find it..." He took a step towards the filing cabinet.

"That won't be necessary, Perseus," said Professor Whams confidently. "I trust you."

Turning to the beetle, he furrowed his brow, and then, lightly, as though prodding a sleeping lion, he tapped the animagus with the tip of his wand, and immediately the beetle blew up, expanding. The back narrowed, the six legs turned into two, the antennae vanished, and all the while it grew up into the size of a human, and when the transformation was finished, the class saw Rita Skeeter sitting cross legged on Professor Whams' desk. Apparently fortune had favored Rita for the past year, as her robes was fringed with a color like burnt gold, and she wore jewelry to excess. Even her glasses were studded with little gems. Her demeanor, however, was akin to a cornered rabbit. She had come less than an inch away from death from Wham's Destruction Curse.

She might just have preferred the curse when she finds out what's awaiting her, Pseudo-Snape said distantly.

Whams stared at her for a moment, and then his face began to quiver. "This-is-an-outrage!" he said in the angriest voice that Harry had ever heard him use. The entire class stared at him, frozen, seeing him in an entirely new light.

"I am a legally registered animagus," said Rita in a quavering voice. She tried to appear confident but failed, her glasses continually slipping down her nose as she shook. "There is no-"

"You know perfectly well that Hogwarts is off limits," said Professor Whams sharply. Turning to Percy, he said, "Perc- Perseus, if you would please find Robert Alverton."

Percy, who barely had time to register the scene before him, broke out of his surprise and left.

"How long have you been on Hogwarts grounds?" Whams demanded, glaring at Rita. "You have been putting students in danger for trivial journalistic pursuits-"

"No, Professor Whams," said Hermione quietly. "She's been doing much more than that. Haven't you Rita?"

Rita slowly looked down at Hermione, her entire body trembling as though she had a fever. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"How long have you been on the Malfoy payroll now?" continued Hermione accusingly. The entire class strained forward. "Since Hagrid, right? That left plenty of time for them to convince you to-"

"Stop right there, girl," said Rita. Her voice was like an over strung wire. "Don't go making allegations that you can't possibly defend. I've done nothing against the law."

"I know what you've been up to," Hermione said heatedly. Harry had never seen her become so worked up. "You sit there, saying that nothing can touch you, but you know what you are. You sold yourself to Voldemort for a fistful of gold-" The entire class sucked in their breaths, but she pressed on. "I can't believe I didn't see it before."

"I never harmed a hair on anyone's head," said Rita shrilly.

Hermione stared at her coldly. "You've been passing instructions from Voldemort to the Death Eater in Hogwarts!"

Rita flinched so badly that she nearly slipped off the desk. Harry stared at the reporter in shocked realization. The main hole in their theory was that they could not find out how the Death Eater could execute such complicated plans without continuous contact with Voldemort. Now, they discovered, Rita was acting as a messenger, using her animagus form to sneak into Hogwarts and relay information to the undercover Death Eater. That also explained why no articles had been appearing in the Daily Prophet under her name. She was too busy being a lackey for the Malfoy's and Voldemort. Harry turned around and saw that Gates' temple was throbbing, and his mouth twitched as if in pain.

"You can't prove it," said Rita desperately. "You can't-"

"You did it for gold!" Hermione said in such a voice that, for a moment, Rita almost looked ashamed. She lowered her eyes to the ground.

But, not more than a second later, Rita said condescendingly, "Such naivety. That's what every witch and wizard strives for. Galleons!"

She's can't seriously expect anything from the Dark Lord, said Pseudo-Snape. Rewards, more often than not, come in form of pain for those who serve.

"That's enough," Whams said in a disgusted tone. "You-" he said quietly to Rita. "You are a half-human, a hollow shell. If only a fourth of what Miss Granger said is true, you'll be losing much, much more than a simply license. I'll see to that."

Rita stared at Whams in stark horror, her mouth opening and closing rapidly as though she could decide what to say.

Suddenly, the door swung open, slamming loudly into the wall. The large frame of Mr. Alverton stormed in, his face stiff and hard. His well-cut black robe clung to his form, emphasizing his protruding stomach and broad shoulders. His wand was in some sort of holster on his side within easy reach of his hand. Overall, he gave the appearance of an Auror ready to burst into a Necromancer's lair.

"What is the meaning of this?" he boomed, his eyes locking onto Rita Skeeter.

"She was traveling in her animagus form through these halls, Robert," said Professor Whams. "And I suggest you question her motives. We have reason to believe she is affiliated with the Dark Lord."

As Whams spoke, Mr. Alverton's face turned steadily redder. "Come with me, Miss Skeeter," he said with forced civility. He led her to the door. The class watched these proceedings with a sort of detached astonishment.

"If you could be so kind," continued Whams without looking up from his desk. "I would like to speak with you later Robert."

Mr. Alverton stared at him for a moment, then nodded shortly. He took Rita's wand, and, with Mr. Alverton a good distance away from her, they left, the Auror steering her this way and that with the tip of his now-drawn wand.

Without any warning, Gates stepped out from his corner and moved to exit the classroom. At the threshold he stopped, and, slowly turning to Harry, he said, "Come with me, Potter." The reason was apparent. Gates could never leave Harry alone after the successive attacks upon his person.

Harry looked towards Professor Whams for permission, and the professor merely nodded. "If you desire, you may go with Alex. I can see how this may require his services."

Harry trailed behind Gates as the Hit Wizard strode down the corridor, following the echoing footsteps of Rita and Mr. Alverton. They reached a stairwell, climbed it, and then went through the door to the next floor, passing by two flanking Aurors.

"What are we doing?" asked Harry.

"I am going to find out what this woman knows," answered Gates, something sharp in his voice. "I see it now. She is the key. Robert Alverton is bound by ministry laws and regulations concerning the interrogation of suspects." His tone turned wicked. "Fortunately, I am not."

Gates drew the Marauder's map, and, glancing at it briefly, threw open a side door and entered a classroom empty of everything except Mr. Alverton and Rita.

"Miss Skeeter," said Gates in the sudden silence. He took two slow steps towards her, his arms folded behind him, his posture straight and firm. He exuded a chill like ice when he spoke. "I must say, I am very surprised at your actions. Who would suspect an upstanding journalist from the Daily Prophet of collaborating with the Dark Lord and his underlings." It was a statement, not a question.

Rita stared at him, unmoving, as if waiting to see what he would do next. After a moment, her clasped hands began to shake, the glossy fingernails almost glowing in the dim light.

"I am offering you a chance at redemption, Rita," said Gates smoothly, looking at a nearby wall as though he was studying it. "Tell me what you know. Tell me everything. Now."

Gates' words seemed to strike a buried cord in Rita's body, as she suddenly became very still and glared at the Hit Wizard from behind her tacky glasses. Perhaps she was desperately trying to escape from her nearly certain fate. As if drawing strength from Alverton's presence in the room, she said, "Don't be ridiculous. I'll have you know that when the Daily Prophet gets a hold on what's happening to me, they'll tear this wide open. Unlawful arrest. Intimidation. Interrogation by a non-Ministry official."

"You're complicating this unnecessarily," said Gates, his voice very low and very dangerous. "No one leaves this room until I receive answers. I'm afraid the ministry is very slow when it comes to dispensing Veritaserum, and if we wait too long, your information will be worthless. It will be far easier and less painful if you tell me about the plans."

"Can I quote you on that?" asked Rita acidly, and with a movement like an Auror drawing a wand, she drew her quill and parchment. She began scribbling wildly, speaking aloud as she wrote. "Hit Wizard Alexander Gates, under the eye of the ministry, unlawfully interrogates and harasses a Daily Prophet reporter; using threats and intimidation to further his own agenda."

Harry looked from Rita's face, which was glowing with excitement, to Gates, who was remote and rocky. He had not moved once since the exchange started.

"You will burn that parchment immediately," Gates said softly. His voice could not have been more venomous, even if he was shouting. "And you will tell me of the Dark Lord's plans."

Rita began speaking mechanically, still writing furiously on her parchment. "Ministry-approved Hit Wizard threatens the reporter with hostile overtones, demanding that she destroy the evidence she has gathered against the ministry for their corrupt incursions against the free press."

Who does she think she is dealing with? Pseudo-Snape asked rhetorically. Alexander Gates is not one to care much for frivolous threats.

"You believe I care what the Daily Prophet could write about me?" asked Gates loudly, beginning to lose his temper. For the first time he looked directly at Rita, and the journalist, ever strong in the face of authority, seemed to wilt a little. "You believe I care about the ministry's reputation? I do not. But I do care about the Dark Lord's plans, and I will have them from you!" He turned towards Alverton and fixed him with a long, knowing stare. Some unvoiced agreement was made.

"Alex," Mr. Alverton said curtly, and unobtrusively he left the room. They were alone.

The possibility of Mr. Alverton leaving must never have occurred to Rita, as suddenly she began to lose some of her composure. Harry could almost see the slow gears grinding away in the reporter's mind as it slowly dawned upon her that she was not dealing with a government official or bureaucratic agent. Her quill began to shake in her hand.

"You wouldn't dare," she said, a slight pleading in her voice for him to confirm what she knew to be a desperate statement.

Gates stared at her steadily, the air around them very still and apprehensive.

"I am a reporter for the Daily Prophet!" said Rita, almost shrilly from a sudden panic. "I have integrity and standing-"

"You are a collaborator," Gates snarled. Harry had only seen the Hit Wizard this angry once before: in the Leaky Cauldron. "The Dark Lord has ensnared you with promises of power and gold, but I can assure you, both buy you very little. What do you have left when you sell your honor for galleons? Decades ago, in the first rising of the Dark Lord, many vile creatures such as yourself roamed the halls of the ministry. Too weak and materialistic to resist the Dark Lord's temptation, but too cowardly to accept the Dark Mark. And here you are now, squirming."

Rita's skin had now taken on a phony appearance. Her vibrantly red lipstick and fingernails now looked bizarre against her whitening skin. The heavy layers of makeup alone colored her cheeks, as the blood had drained from her face.

Desperately, she said, "I cannot! He'll kill us all!" Then, as though she had not intended for these words to escape from her lips, she clasped her hand over her mouth.

Gates nodded slowly, and then, with almost frustrating amounts of patience, he brought out his wand and carefully began studying it, feeling the polished black wood with both of his gloved hands.

Yes, he's taking his time, said Pseudo-Snape direly. He's unnerving her. This won't be enjoyable to watch.

Suddenly, as though reaching a decision, Gates looked up and inhaled deeply, his gaze seeming to reach out and probe the petrified reporter from head to foot.

The next few seconds played out in a sort of slow motion sequence, where Harry saw Gates lunge forward with mercurial speed, his wand flashing. With a short shriek, Rita was lifted off of her feet and pinned against the wall, her appendages tied to the stone with an invisible, irresistible wire. Her quill and parchment slipped out of her hand in midair, and was soon crunched by the heel of Gates' black, polished boot. It snapped like a twig, and Rita let out a gasp like a warrior who had lost a legendary sword. When Gates removed his boot, the quill laid in several pieces on the floor, useless. Harry scarcely believed that the quill - which had caused him so much grief in his fourth year - was finally destroyed.

Gates waved his wand once more, and the parchment, the ink barely dried on its surface, burst into flame. Within seconds it was a small pile of ashes. Gates turned to Rita, his eyes raging. He stepped towards her until he was less than a foot away, and, though Rita's feet dangled in the air, he was able to look her directly in the eye, his expression one of utmost impatience and anger.

"Now you will answer," Gates said, his lips curling back.

The Hit Wizard leaned forward ever-so-slightly, his eyes boring into hers, and Harry thought he saw some sort of transaction of glimmer between them. Suddenly, he realized what was happening. With some psychological power similar to the kind Gates had used in the fall of last year to mentally paralyze the Defense Against the Dark Arts class, he was now digging deeply into Rita's mind, warping it to serve his purposes. The necklace, which had so far glittered darkly, shone with a new light.

"What were you doing in Henry Whams' classroom?" he demanded, civility gone from his voice.

"I delivered the message," Rita whispered in a semi-hypnotic state. It was as though she were under a heavy dose of Veritaserum. "And afterwards I had to watch Whams. You-Know-Who has been very careful to avoid Whams' gaze."

"The message. What was in the message?"

Rita's eyes began to film over. "I don't know."

"Damn," muttered Gates. "Apparently our Death Eater took care to wipe the message from her mind after receiving it. Cautious, this one is." He paused. "What is the Death Eater's name?"

"I don't know his name."

"So our Death Eater is a male, then? Where does he hide?"

"I don't know."

"Where do you meet this Death Eater?"

"By the portrait of the fruit bowl."

"Where did he go afterwards?"

"I don't know."

Gates bared his teeth. "Potter," he said abruptly. "Come here."

Reluctantly, Harry took a step forward, unsure of Gates' intentions. He had been totally forgotten until this moment.

"There is only one way to possibly reverse the Memory and Confusion Charms in Skeeter's brain," Gates said slowly, distantly. "It is the Cruciatus Curse."

He couldn't possible be suggesting-

"What are you waiting for?" snapped Gates. "Use it on her, Potter. Loosen the folds of her mind." It was as though he was ordering a meal or maybe asking for a piece of spare parchment.

"Why don't you?" Harry countered.

Gates' reaction was so instinctive that he temporarily broke eye contact with the partially-entranced journalist. "I have my honor to defend, Potter. You have none to begin with. They-are-Death-Eaters. Use it." He hesitated suddenly, and his voice took on a smoother tone. "Or have you never used an Unforgivable before?"

Harry did not answer. He could not. The Department of Mysteries flashed through his mind. He looked up saw Rita, her feet dangling, submerged in a numbing stupor. He was terrified to realize he was considering it. Cold. Detached. And on Rita of all people. If it was Malfoy, if it was Voldemort...they might already have been writhing against the wall.

"You have, haven't you?" he said slowly. "You are already damned. I daresay it was over your godfather. Spineless," he said with the finality of a judge delivering a verdict. His attention towards once more to Rita. "How did the Death Eater come into Hogwarts?"

"I don't know."

"When did he come into Hogwarts?"

"I don't know."

"Damn it," Gates spat. He stepped away from her, disgusted. "What do you know?"

"I know that he will succeed," Rita said. She trembled as she said it, as though speaking the words brought on tremendous fear. "And I know that those who want to live will be on the side of You-Know-Who."

Recovering from his brief spasm of anger, Gates asked in a quiet voice, "Then pray, tell me, how the Dark Lord plans on succeeding with his operation when he no longer has contact with his Death Eater?"

"The Death Eater has the plans," said Rita, her words beginning to slur together. "And this time it won't fail."

Abruptly, her chin fell and she fell into unconsciousness. Gates waved his wand, and she fell heavily to the floor, crumpling into an inert pile. Asleep. Drained.

"She will be out for several hours," Gates said remorselessly. He glared down at her, moving forward to gently nudge her shoulder with his boot. When she did not react he continued, "I may have used too much. But it's nothing less than what she deserves."

And with those last words, Gates motioned Harry to follow, and they left the room.

(I hope no one forgot about dear Rita Skeeter. Clueless about how all this is occurring? Don't worry, you'll soon see! Sooner than you think.

Next Chapter: Draco's 'trick' is unveiled, the dueling tournament finals begin and end with some surprising results. But that all pales in comparison to the discovery Harry makes the very next morning!