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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: Hope you all enjoyed Thanksgiving! (For those who celebrate it)

Here's chapter 8. This is as far as this fic will go in terms of 'heaviness', so, for those of you who are afraid this is going to turn into angst, please hold out for the next chapter. Many people will probably find chapters 9-12 amusing in a little strange way. At least you won't have to worry about Gates being an ass to Harry continually, though the end of this chapter implies the opposite. In other words, stick with me. I know chapter 7 was rather unpopular, but it was necessary: As is everything that happens in this chapter. Most of this stuff, sometime or another, will be coming up again later.

With that, here's chapter 8:

When six o'clock finally rolled around, Harry met up with Ron and together they strolled down to the Gryffindor Quidditch team locker rooms. Harry had asked several days ago about his Firebolt's condition, and Professor McGonagall told him that it had been relocated to his locker; the shackles and locks placed on it by Umbridge now removed.

Drifting temptingly from the Quidditch fields, the scent of cool evening air filled the locker room; a subtle promise of prime flying conditions. It was in sharp contrast to the putrid, stale stench of dried sweat and old clothes in the locker room; which had the collective smells of generations of Quidditch players who never really bothered to keep the room clean. As McGonagall said, Harry found his prized Firebolt lying diagonally in his trunk; sitting on top of his Gryffindor team robes. Lightly picking up his broom, Harry threw on his uniform and set out to the field; Ron straggling behind him with his Cleansweep Seven; finding it hard to keep up with Harry's brisk pace.

Stepping out onto the field, Harry discovered that the temperature was actually mildly high and that it was rather humid; making the air feel like a warm blanket over him. Several team members were already soaring across the turf, waving jovially to Harry when they saw him. He was pleased to see that Hermione was sitting in the stands next to Luna Lovegood, watching. Harry grinned and licked his lips, eager to join his teammates.

He called Ron over to him, and, finding that Ron was already air born, kicked off the ground and shot up into the sky, wind whipping around his face. Whatever fears and troubles that swamped his mind he left on the grassy field; his mind empty of everything except the present. He felt so very free. Running, he realized, was no substitute to the glorious, intoxicating sensation that he received when his feet were no longer on the ground.

He jerked his Firebolt into a sharp dive, nearly laughing as an exhilarating rush of adrenaline took him. Performing a magnificent corkscrew dive, Harry pulled back up a mere meter away from the ground, earning the cheers and applause of his teammates.

Harry glanced around the Quidditch stadium; seeing a few new faces that he did not recognize. Figuring that they were trying out, Harry began to seek out Alicia. He had wanted to discuss with her some plays that he had read out of his Quidditch Strategy Guide.

A faint call reached his ears. "Potter!" someone shouted from below. Harry groaned; standing off to the side of the field, was the towering figure of Alexander Gates. Even at this height, Harry could tell Gates's lip was curled.

Descending down to slightly above Gates's head, Harry started to fly in small circles around him. He made a point, however, not to get off his broom.

"What is it?"

Gates's eyes glinted like coals. "Get down from there."

"What you want to say to me you can say from down there." Harry replied coolly.

Gates chose not to respond. Drawing his long, slender wand from under his crimson robes, Gates aimed it at Harry and then began to make small tugging motions; reminiscent of a fisherman with his rod. Harry found that his broom was being pulled irresistibly towards Gates.

"Then I will bring you down." Gates said flatly, not quite able to hide the sneer that crawled onto his face when he managed to 'beat' Harry.

Now hovering slightly above the ground, Harry leapt off his broom and held it casually at his side. "So what is it?" Harry repeated.

Gates grinned and strode up to Harry, withdrew his wand, and then snatched Harry's Firebolt out from his hand. Expecting this, Harry wore a carefully defiant expression and patiently waited for Gates to react. Gates's sneer faltered, and Harry knew, with a certain amount of satisfaction, that he had taken an edge out of Gates's victory by not resisting. Deep down, underneath his façade of indifference, Harry was furious; almost shaking with rage. He did not need a N.E.W.T. in Divination to know what Gates was going to do next.

"You remember the time I caught you searching my cloak?" Gates said evenly, shrewdly examining the Firebolt with his eyes. Gently, his long, gloved fingers stroked the polished ash handle.

Harry felt himself bowing to inevitability. "Yes, I do."

"And you understand how I trespass against those who trespass against me?" Gates continued, his eyes never leaving the broom in his hands. Harry noted the way Gates was slouching on his right foot, and the uneven way his cloak was worn over his left shoulder. His neck, normally straight and alert like a predator, tilted slightly as he appraised Harry's Firebolt.

Harry gulped, knowing where this was going. "I s'pose."

Without warning, Gates dropped the broom roughly onto the ground and stood back, drawing his black wand again. He muttered "Forca!" and a jolt of lighting shot out of the tip of his wand, connecting with the Firebolt, To Harry's dismay, his broom glowed with a bluish hue; a faint heat radiating from it. Tentatively, he extended his hand to pick it up.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Gates drawled, "Touch it and you will be in a coma for several weeks; possibly forever." He withdrew his wand and proceeded to smooth out his gloves over his hands. The diamonds that hung around his neck gleamed like fangs. His eyes betrayed a maddening irrationality that seemed to consume his face.

"What kind of hex was that?" Harry demanded incredulously. He expected Gates to take his Firebolt, but not to jinx it permanently. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO MY BROOM?" He noticed he was attracting curious stares from his teammates, but he did not care.

And what would you do if I did touch the Firebolt? You'd be rolling around in pain, you monster. And I am not sure if you have the foresight to care right now.

Gates sighed and spoke in his most condescending and calm voice. Privately, he was enjoying this. "I placed an Edward Skinner Jinx on it, not a hex. I'm afraid you won't be using your broom for quite awhile."

"No-" Harry said, violently shaking his head, "No, this isn't going to happen. Take it off."

"You remember how I swore to you that I would punish you eventually?" Gates said scathingly, "As I am a man of my word, I did the honorable thing and kept it. There will be no more Quidditch for you, Potter."

Pure, primal fury boiled up into Harry's throat. "Take it off," he said icily, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"No," said Gates simply. He took a step forward, bent down, and plucked the broom off of the ground. He casually cast a shrinking charm which reduced his Firebolt down to the size of a small toy, and then pocketed it away in his robes.

"I thought you said you can't touch it?" Harry blurted out.

Gates snorted. "It won't effect the caster, of course. Don't they teach you this in your little Defense Against the Dark Arts class? No? Well, I shouldn't be surprised." He stalked off without a backward glance.

Harry stood upon the grass, not believing what had just occurred. I will get that bastard back, I swear I will. Somehow, I will find a way…

After a minute, Ron came down to hover next to him, a puzzled expression on his face. "Mate, what happened? Where's your broom?"

"Gates," Harry spat, glaring at the Hit Wizard's back, "He jinxed it and took it away."

Ron nearly fell off his broom. "Jinxed it?" Ron laughed, "You can't jinx a Firebolt. They have more anti-jinx charms on them than, well, anything. They're international standard broomsticks, for Merlin's sake."

"He did," Harry said hollowly, "I saw him do it. The broom is jinxed, Ron."

"No, that's not right," Ron sputtered, his voice falling and smile failing, "You can't just walk and jinx a Firebolt. It's just not done, damn it!" He paused, fuming. "Use a school broom then." he said at length.

Harry shook his head. "No, Gates has already decided that he doesn't want me to play Quidditch. You think this was about the broom? It won't matter, he'll just jinx that one too."

"But-" stammered Ron, "But he can't just do this stuff. Someone has got to do something!"

Harry sighed; feeling utterly defeated. He resigned to falling gracelessly onto the ground. "I'm sick of this, Ron. I can't do this all year. Not without Quidditch," He released a hearty sigh that sounded foreign; even to Harry. "He's demented. He must be. There's got to be a way…" He gazed for awhile, staring blankly into space. After a moment, Ron patted his back and told him that he would explain everything to Alicia.

"Mate," Ron said as he hoisted himself onto his broom, "Find Dumbledore, find McGonagall, find someone who will talk sense to Gates with a wand."

Harry watched him soar away into the evening sky; searching intently for Alicia. Suddenly, the air felt chilled rather than warm. He moved to leave, but hesitated. Changing his mind, he turned and walked directly towards the Quidditch stands, head bowed and dejected and hands thrust deep in his pockets.

Climbing the numerous steps to the top row of seats, Harry sat down next to Hermione, who looked at him with sympathy in her eyes. Mechanically, he related everything that occurred down on the field with Gates. He found that it was much easier to talk about it when his voice was devoid of emotion.

"He's using Edward Skinner Curses?" Hermione asked, biting her lip.

"Guess so," Harry replied, his voice empty. "What are they?" he asked without really caring for an answer.

"They are a set of curses, hexes, and jinxes that Hit Wizards and Aurors use against the Dark Arts. Its specialized magic; and you need a license to use them. They're quite powerful, and most wizards cannot master them. We will probably be learned about them this year in Professor Whams's class." Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Though we won't use them."

"In the beginning," Harry began, his mind reverting back in time, speaking almost to himself, "When I met him at the Weasley's, Gates said that there was a check on his control. What was it?"

"Did Sirius's letter mention anything? The magical bond?"

"No," Harry said, "Not the bond, I know it. I can't explain it, but it isn't the bond. Gates sounded reluctant to even mention it. I think he told me it by a slip of the tongue. There's something he's hiding; I know it." he repeated.

Hermione bit her lip. "Whatever it is, it's in Sirius's letter to Gates; and there's no chance we'll be seeing that again."

"I need to do something…I need to find out what limits Gates's control…" Harry said as his voice trailed off and vanished.

"Talk to Dumbledore," Hermione insisted softly, "Talk to someone. Please, Harry, Dumbledore is the only one who can match Gates. You can't confront him; you can't deal with…" she hesitated, "monsters like him." She timidly placed a hand over his and squeezed. Harry hardly noticed it.

Harry nodded. He could think of no alternative; and at that instant he decided that it was time to shelf his pride and to ask for help. There was no point in continuing this masked war; especially when innocents like Neville were becoming involved.

Beside him, Hermione swatted at a peculiar flying beetle that buzzed rapidly around her head. She hissed "Get out of here" and her hand contacted roughly with the insect. Its course slightly altered, the beetle flew away. Harry knew it was Rita Skeeter, but he found it hard to care.

Enviously, his eyes followed Ginny, Ron, and the other blurs of his teammates as they darted across the sky. Ginny, evidently, was playing seeker in Harry's absence. Streaks of red and gold streaked over the field; some tailed closely by a bludger. Squinting, Harry tried to see the snitch, but gave up eventually. It was incredible how blindingly fast everything moved when you were watching from the stands. Nearby, Harry heard Luna hum 'Weasley is Our King' under her breath; a dreamy expression on her face as she stared at a particular red-headed keeper.

"Don't worry about Alexander Gates, Harry," Luna said, startling Harry out of his trance, "I am owling my father about that man. He'll find something on him and then everyone'll know how much of an animal Alexander is."

He set his elbows on his knees and gazed at the game in front of him. Harry was so lost in his thoughts, that he did not notice Percy as he came up and sat next to him.

"Hello, Harry," Percy said quietly, "I saw what happened through the window." He gestured vaguely to the castle wall beyond the Quidditch field; its windows blank at this distance.

"Oh, right," Harry said glumly, "Hello Percy. How's Neville?"

"Neville is doing fine. I talked with him in Professor Sprout's greenhouses; he's still into Herbology, right?"

"Yeah, he is," Harry said, "I'm glad he's doing alright." he added, meaning it.

"Though I saw Mr. Gates take your Firebolt away," said Percy slowly, "What does he have against you? Did something set him off?"

"I did," Harry said. He told Percy about his and Hermione's excursion into the kitchens, and also the time he raided Gates's cloak after Potions class. When he finished, he sat back in his seat, expecting Percy to tell him off for breaking school rules.

Percy frowned. "That's all?"

Harry blinked. Was this Percy, Prefect Percy, he was talking to? "Yep."

A pregnant, gloomy silence fell; where Percy appeared to be doing some heavy thinking. After Ginny caught the snitch, Percy finally spoke again. "I think I can do something."

Harry's interest perked up. "How and what?"

"I'm not sure if it will work," Percy said, stroking his chin thoughtfully, "But I think it might. I will have a talk with him tomorrow. Let him cool off for today."

"What is the plan?"

Percy grinned conspiratorially. "It involves taking advantage of the one thing he cares about." he said cryptically, then stood up and left the stands; his footfalls thudding loudly as he stepped down the creaking wooden steps.

"What was that about?" Hermione whispered in his ear.

"I don't know for sure," Harry said, almost smiling, "But I think I am beginning to like Percy."

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Just before the Gryffindor practice session ended, Harry heavily ambled down the wooden stands and walked around the edge of the Quidditch pitch. Hermione, understanding he wanted to be alone for awhile, watched him sadly as he left. Harry felt very much like an outsider at that moment; the brief flare of elation that accompanied Percy's assurance that he could influence Gates, dulled and settled into the pit of his stomach. A more cynical part of himself told him that Percy's pledge was hollow, and that there was nothing that would possibly force Gates to change his mind.

Harry no longer wanted to be around his teammates. (His former teammates, he reminded himself) A strange sense of isolation swept over him and wrapped around him in cords of estrangement. In the back of his mind, Harry remembered Hermione telling him that Gates's primary goal was to divide and separate him from his friends, but that brought him little comfort. On the contrary, it made him feel even more helpless against Gates's will.

Passing Gates without so much as an acknowledgment, Harry walked directly towards the school and entered the team locker rooms, accidentally leaving the door ajar. He gingerly took off his red and gold robes and folded them; smoothing the creases carefully. Placing them in his Quidditch footlocker, he ceremoniously stepped back and shut the lid, where, he figured, the robes would collect dust for all eternity. Finishing the rite, Harry strode briskly out of the locker room, wishing desperately for something that would banish Quidditch from his thoughts forever. Gates, looking immensely proud of himself, strolled behind Harry leisurely.

He returned to the main Hogwarts corridors to find Hermione waiting for him, her expression exuding sympathy. Wordlessly, she walked by his side as they wandered about the hallways. It was an oddly comforting gesture. If someone saw Harry's face, they would assume that he was deep in thought, working on some plan on idea. His placid, furrowed visage betrayed none of the horrifying blankness that he felt within.

Suddenly, he remembered his commitment to the D.A. "Let's go the Room of Requirement," Harry said, his voice throaty from lack of use.

Hermione, understanding where he was coming from, nodded. "So what will we be doing in the D.A. this evening?" she said, trying to make casual conversation.

"Oh, just the basics. Stunning spells and the like," Harry replied, talking but not talking, "You know Neville convinced me to do this so soon. I hope he comes."

"Yes, I hope he does too," Hermione said quietly, "That was mean; what he did. Neville is so nice; he doesn't deserve that."

Harry's voice remained flat. "I'm going to talk with Neville tonight. I don't want him to think…to think that Gates is somehow acting on my behalf or that he's my bodyguard or something. I'm going to tell him about Sirius."

They arrived at the now familiar expanse of wall that was enchanted to reveal the door to the Room of Requirement. Pacing back and forth three times, Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on having a room with guides for simple defensive spells, soft cushions to prevent injury when being stunned, and a shrill whistle. On the third pass, Harry opened his eyes to find that a large oak door with a brass handle appeared on the wall. He entered the room. Gates, however, remained outside.

Harry began to idly sort the soft velvet pillows; sorting them into corners of the room so each group of D.A. members would have two. He was not aware of how roughly he handled the cushions, and was surprised when he found that he had accidentally tore a small hole in the lining. Drawing his wand, he tried to perform a Reparo spell on the puncture, but only succeeded in making the hole larger. Frustrated, he hurled the pillow across the room where it smacked harmlessly off the wall. He looked up to see Hermione frowning at him.

"When Umbridge banned you from Quidditch you were not this upset." She said evenly.

"It's not just that," Harry said, struggling to find words to describe his predicament, "He just made me realize what kind power he has over me," Harry began to pace; like he always did when he became disturbed, "He can just do stuff for no reason at all; like what he did to Neville. At least Umbridge had her damned decrees."

"I'm sorry, Harry," said Hermione soothingly, "It's not right. It never is."

Harry sighed. "It's not your fault Hermione," Now that he started, he might as well let it all out. It actually felt kind of good. "It's Ron too…and Percy. It's not right when brothers are like that. I know if I had a brother…I…I would let it go." His voice cracked as he spoke, though he was not near tears.

"They'll get over it. Ron will see," said Hermione reassuringly, restraining an urge to reach out and clasp her hands over his. "Percy is trying to make peace, for his part."

Harry collected himself and took a deep breath. "Now, let's see what we are going to start with…"

Not long after Harry decided on a concrete lesson plan, D.A. members began to filter into the room; some of their faces windswept from Quidditch practice. He was pleased to see that nearly all of last year's members kept their galleons and arrived. The few that were absent, namely Cho and Marietta, Harry expected not to be here simply because of their experience with Hermione's notorious 'Sneak' jinx. To his delight, he saw Neville standing among the other D.A. members, appearing nervous but excited. Luna stood strangely apart from the rest of the group.

Ron stepped out of the crowd and stood next to Harry, pretending to survey the group with him. "Why did you leave early, mate? We were hoping to get your impressions on how we did during practice. Was it something Percy said? I saw him go up there. If it was him I'll-" He made an angry gesture with his fist.

"No, Percy had nothing to do with it," Harry said, sounding more harsh than he intended, "He was actually trying to help me out. You might discover that he's actually a decent guy if you spent more than three seconds talking to him. We all do things we regret." His last statement felt so very true.

Ron gaped at Harry as though Harry punched him. "Wha-?"

At that moment, Gates entered the room, intentionally slamming to door behind him to attract everyone's attention. Smirking, he stood aloof in a shadowed corner that the room seemed to have designed just for him. Harry was relieved to see a look of resilient determination appear on Neville's face.

"Right," said Harry, clapping his hands together and appraising the group that stood in front of him. Though they shot occasional glances in Gates's direction, they mostly ignored his presence. Good, Harry thought.

"So you're all back for a second year of Dumbledore's Army. I think almost all of us were able to summon a Patronus, even if it was indistinct, right?" His 'class' murmured in assent. "Alright, then. I know the summer drained your abilities - I know it drained mine - so let's warm up with some basic stuff. Separate into pairs and practice stunning; your performance now will determine what we do during our next meeting."

There were scattered groans of dismay, but they complied. Discretely, Harry motioned Neville to pair up with him. Somewhat hesitantly, Neville approached him. Harry glanced around the room to see that everyone had a partner with the exception of Hermione; who now sat cross-legged off to the side, scribbling down notes in a folder while observing the D.A.

"Hullo Harry," Neville said timidly, "You ready?"

"You bet," Harry said, grinning, "But first I need to talk to you about something." He gave Neville the shortened version of Sirius's three requests, and all the events leading up to today's D.A. meeting. When he finished, Neville stared at him, disbelief across his face.

"No way!" exclaimed Neville, his wand falling to his side, "But, Harry, this isn't really any of my business." He began to blush.

"Yes it is," said Harry seriously, "It became your business when Gates involved you. I'm sorry that happened; I had no idea Gates would do that."

Neville shook his head. "It's okay. There isn't anything to be embarrassed about. It was going to happen eventually, right? Gran was right, I shouldn't be ashamed of my parents."

Harry was startled at how much Neville had changed over the summer. No longer was he the short, plump boy who lost his wand constantly and could not perform a simple charm. Instead, standing before him was someone who valiantly fought through the Department of Mysteries and emerged a new person. Gates's unprovoked assault on him, it seemed, only solidified Neville's resolve.

"You've changed, mate," Harry said truthfully, giving him a slap on the back. "But let's see how much. Ready your wand!" Harry stepped back and spread his legs in a standard dueling stance he learned in The Art of Dueling. His eyes settled on Neville's face. In the book, Harry learned that any move your opponent was about to make would betray a certain facial expression the instant before it occurred.

Neville scrunched up his eyes, and Harry shouted "Protego!" as Neville simultaneously bellowed "Stupefy!". The stunning curse ricocheted off of Harry's defensive spell, flying back through the air and crashing into the ceiling.

Harry, sensing more than seeing Neville's brief hesitation, countered with a stunning spell of his own; a flash of light flashing from the tip of his wand as the magic emerged. Neville parried quickly, just barely managing to avoid the spell as it flew across his belly. Recovering instantly, Neville whirled and cast another stunning spell, surprising Harry with his swift reaction. To his shock, Harry realized that Neville's previous hesitation was simply a feint to throw him off balance and make him overconfident.

Neville's spell was deflected by another "Protego" by Harry, and the curse again flew harmlessly at a nearby wall. Harry was now aware that their duel was attracting the attention of most of the D.A.

Under the pretense of stumbling, Harry shot his wand arm outward and mumbled "Stupefy" in a low voice, hoping Neville would not hear and therefore could not react. As he predicted, Neville's eyes grew wide as he tried a last minute dive to escape the spear of light, but failed. The light made contact with Neville's torso and he fell back onto the velvet cushion.

Harry helped Neville up and shook his hand, grinning. "You did a great job Neville."

"Did I?" Neville said eagerly, his face pink, "I still lost. But I think I did a lot better than most times."

"You did, Neville. That was an excellent stunning spell you used." Harry turned and addressed the D.A. "Alright, everyone pair up again and duel again. I am going to see how you all are progressing."

Finding Ron standing idly over Ernie Macmillan, who was out cold from a strong stunning spell to the head., Harry asked him to pair up with Neville as he inspected the other D.A. members. For the most part, the duels ended after one or two exchanges, and were rarely drawn out. He found that the pairs were often very one-sided; with one dueler easily overpowering the other. Making a mental note to change this, Harry casually walked over to Hermione.

Harry looked down onto the piece of parchment she was writing furiously on. There was a list of names, and besides each name a number. Shooting one last glance at Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones firing stunning spells at each other, Harry stood directly behind Hermione and feigned a cough.

She looked up. "Oh, hi Harry," she said, he face almost completely obscured by her brown hair, "They're doing really well, aren't they?"

Harry saw Terry Boot drop his wand after firing a stunning curse and frowned. "Some are a little rusty," Harry commented.

"But Neville has gotten a lot better hasn't he?" Hermione said, scribbling down a number next to Hannah Abbott's name and adding a tiny note in the margin, "His stunning spell improved with his new wand." Harry saw Ron duck as a powerful stunner whizzed over his head.

"Yeah, he did," Harry paused. "What are you writing down?" he asked quizzically.

"Oh, this?" she said, "I'm just making a list of members and ranking them on a scale from one to ten; with ten being the best."

"Ranking their what?"

"Just their dueling ability," answered Hermione, "So we don't have uneven pairings like we do now."

"Good idea."

Harry meandered aimlessly about the room again, sometimes stopping to correct someone's technique or to praise someone's strengths. To his more advanced classmates, Harry showed them the fundamentals of proper dueling stance and posture; as some were ridiculously stiff with their chests thrust out like young cadets. Telling them that they would find it much easier to dodge curses if they relaxed somewhat, Harry taught them to loosen their arms and legs. Eventually, they stopped looking like wooden boards and started to properly duel.

Harry turned to see Gates steadily approaching him. "So you've learned a few things from that book I wrote, did you?" Gates said dryly, casting an arrogant glance at those around him. "The Art of Dueling; I made it on a brief period while I was recovering from my injuries caused by a Horntail."

"Really? I've run into one of those before as well; though it sounds like I fared better than you." Harry replied coolly. He could not resist a chance to one-up Gates.

Gates ignored the comment and commanded, "Get into your dueling stance." He pointed imperiously at Luna Lovegood.

Luna blinked as though she did not know she was being addressed, then suddenly crouched down into the stance Harry taught her: legs apart, arms apart, back slightly arched. "Is this satisfactory? I don't believe most dark wizards will permit you the time to fall into this dueling stance during an actual fight."

"From your vast array of experience, hmm?" said Gates sarcastically, scrutinizing Luna's stance closely. "Your toes are supposed to be pointed outward, though you managed to correctly position your wand so it pointing upward. Do you know why your wand should be pointed that way?"

"Because pointing it downward makes it easier for you to be disarmed." said Luna as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. Gates narrowed his eyes.

"She was in the Department Mysteries with me," Harry said before Gates could respond, "She was one of the last to remain standing."

Gates eyed Luna critically. He snorted. "The Dark Lord must be recruiting anyone who can perform a killing curse these days. Not surprising, when there is so few of his kind left."

"Then why don't you join him them?" Luna asked innocently. "I'm sure you could teach him a trick or two."

Harry sucked in his breath and the room became very still. Luna's expression was calm and collected; patiently waiting for an answer.

Gates's eyes flared up with dark flame, and his necklace shivered on his chest. For a moment, he thought she went too far, but Gates spoke again. "Be careful what you say," he said slowly and deliberately, "Being a student will take you so far, but no farther."

Everyone in the room heard the veiled threat, and a pregnant silence followed.

Gates turned to Harry and shattered the silence with his usual, chilled voice. "Well, Potter, since I graciously permitted you to hold these meetings, and am therefore obliged to accompany you to them, I ask you what direction you plan to take with this…rabble." He waved his gloved hand around the room.

"This is a study group," Harry said evenly, squelching the surge of annoyance in his gut, "An unofficial one, but still a study group. We will be learning about various curses and hexes; and probably be going into defenses against dark magical creatures." The class murmured softly at this new development; sounding supportive at a possible lesson involving creatures.

"Interesting," Gates droned sarcastically, not bothering to feign sincerity, "And how do you plan on teaching this rabble anything of use? How qualified are you, Potter?"

"I've read plenty on the subject; and have had my share of experiences dealing with the Dark Arts."

He stole a glance at Hermione and saw that she was staring apprehensively at Gates, and then turned to Harry. She shook her head slightly; her meaning clear: Don't do it.

Gates smirked. "Ah, a class on theory. Yes, I see that now. Surely, the illustrious Boy-Who-Lived knows that theory is a far cry from reality." His voice was laced thickly with sarcasm.

Harry suppressed an outburst again; this time with more trouble. He's just trying to get a rise out of you, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Hermione kept saying.

Before Harry could formulate a response, Luna spoke again. "I'm sure that even 'The Debauched Savior' knew the value of theory at one time."

Gates's smirk vanished and everyone present could tell he was becoming frustrated at Luna's remarks and Harry's resistance to his barbs. Still, he did not respond to Luna's provocation, but shot her a malevolent glare.

Suddenly, Gates's eyes darted to the plump, blonde figure of Neville Longbottom. "Ah, the Longbottom boy." Gates said silkily, spotting Neville and grinning maliciously. Harry froze.

Gates, his gaze focused now on Neville, spoke in soft and deadly tones. "I wasn't completely able to finish my lecture in class today, unfortunately. You remember?"

Harry groped for his wand, intent on protecting Neville. Gates's gaze was shifting back and forth between the two boys; seeing which one would be the first to respond. Not looking in Hermione's direction, Harry casually drew his wand and held it at his side, planning his next move. He positioned it so that it was carefully out of Gates's sight.

Unable to help himself, he caught a glance of Hermione's face. He saw her shake her head vehemently, mouthing the words "Don't attack. Interrupt or distract but don't attack!" Harry felt his resolve weaken. However, he knew that Gates would not let up on Neville; no matter what Harry did.

"So do you remember Longbottom?" Gates snarled, "Or is abysmal memory hereditary? Yes, your mother never had a clue what was happening around her even before she went insane. Isn't that interesting? It's not every day that you-"

Before Gates could utter another word, Harry's wand shot out from his side and he bellowed "Stupefy!" The familiar flash of light erupted from its tip and zoomed across the room; headed straight for Gates.

Gates, his motions a blur, spun around and whipped out his wand and performed a sort of backward horizontal swipe with it in front of him, shouting "Abiuro!" simultaneously. A strange trail of light or dust trailed behind the wand as it swung before Gates, creating a sort of transparent wall. When the stunning spell made contact with the white wall, it froze and disintegrated. Gates laughed.

"A stunning spell?" Gates snorted, "I told you once before that stunning spells are worthless against trained wizards, Potter. Anyone can block a stunning spell; even Longbottom here."

Harry moved to attack again, but an area in his mind prevented him. It would be futile to attempt to curse Gates when he possessed the advantage of…of whatever defensive spell Gates had used.

"Speechless Potter?" said Gates, "Well, that's a first. From what I hear, you have problems keeping your mouth shut. Do you like my Aegis Shield Charm? I created it myself. No other wizard knows the secret to using it." He paused to let his words sink in. "Would you like a few more demonstrations, Potter? I do believe I am entitled to defend myself without retribution; you attacked first, after all. Or perhaps you missed that tiny loophole your incompetent godfather created?"

The D.A. members, who remained completely silent during this exchange, began to murmur to each other; everyone trying to figure out what Gates meant. They, of course, did not know about the magical bond connecting Gates and Harry.

Gates strode up to Harry, his towering height seeming to become even greater as he advanced. His face was stony and sharp; the angles on his face becoming more and more obvious. He began to squint like a hawk, and the diamond necklace that hung across his chest was almost shining in bizarre anticipation.

"What is your mettle, Potter?" Gates sneered, raising his wand.

Harry stepped backwards, and then prepared his dueling stance. He had no illusions about winning this duel; he could only hope to escape with relatively few injuries. His mind raced with a series of defensive incantations he could perform to stop the worst of Gates's curses. Harry knew the danger that now approached, yet was not afraid. There was a dull, distant thought in the back of his mind telling him to flee, but he mastered it into silence. Now, there was only himself, Gates, and their respective wits.

There was a pause; where no one moved, breathed, or spoke. As sudden as it began, it ended when a cry followed by a series of heavy footfalls shattered the silence.

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed, taken aback as she seized his arm and pulled him away. Gates, seeing his chance, rose his wand and directed it at Harry. Hermione leapt in front of him.

"No you don't!" Hermione shouted, her eyes brimmed with angry tears, "Don't touch him!" her voice gradually becoming higher as she continued, "Sirius told you to protect him! You can't hurt him! You know you're just abusing some…some loophole!"

"Is that right?" Gates snarled, advancing on her. Seeming to just notice that the entire D.A. had their wands drawn and aimed at him, Gates paused and narrowed his eyes, as though unsure what to do next. He could not possibly defend against so many curses coming from all directions at once, even from amateur casters.

Harry stared at her, growing alarmed. He felt sure Gates was going to hex her into oblivion. "Hermione he'll-"

"He'll what?" She demanded furiously, "He'll hex me and lose his honor? Yes, that's Alexander Gates. Glory and honor and to hell with everything else!"

Gates lip curled, and he looked as though someone had spoiled his birthday party. Thrusting his wand into the folds of his robe, he spat bitterly onto the ground and strode out of the room without a word, slamming the door behind him and causing a nearby mirror to fall and smash into a thousand tiny shards on the hardwood floor. Harry was sure, though, that Gates was waiting just outside, not daring to abandon his duty or post.

Hermione grabbed him and wrapped him into an impossibly tight hug; almost as if she was holding onto him for dear life. Harry, unsure of what to do, hugged her back and became lost in his thoughts; both amazed and terrified that anyone would do what she just did. The D.A. members stood away, almost reverently, as though their presence was infringing upon an immensely personal moment. After a long while, they both separated from each other and the lesson ended with an awkward moment.

Harry dismissed the D.A., and, when they finished filing out of the room, he stepped out and closed the door. It was when he saw the expression etched on Gates's face that he realized that something incredibly profound had just occurred.

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That evening, Harry sat at a common room table, his Charms paper and several reference books spread out before him. So far, he had only managed to write ten inches; four inches away from the required amount. Coming upon a likely paragraph that explained the problems that arose when Folana the Hesitant conjured a ferocious lion, he leaned forward to more easily read the opened book. It went on to say that Folona was later eaten by that same lion when she failed to properly control it; probably from lack of concentration. Harry scribbled down a summary in his notes, yawning loudly when he finished. Conjuring, he discovered, was a finicky business at the best of times, and downright dangerous at the worst of times.

Out of nowhere, Ron stepped up and looked over Harry's shoulder. "What're you doing Harry?"

"Just some Charms work," Harry mumbled, his eyes scanning over what he had written.

"Look Harry," Ron began, involuntarily scratching the back of his head, "Percy was a real ass to me...to all of us. I know you've forgiven him, or at least are thinking about it," Ron added quickly, "But I can't forget what he did."

"Ron, he didn't attack you in that letter. Your mom and dad forgave him, why can't you?" Harry said irritably.

Ron looked slightly taken aback. "Don't start defending him! He's still a prat."

"A prat that asked for your forgiveness in a letter? Prats don't do that." In fact, Harry did not know whether Percy sent a letter to Ron, but he guessed that he did and took a gamble on it. He needed Ron to get the message.

"A letter doesn't fix things just like that." Ron retorted, snapping his fingers for emphasis. Harry was relieved that his hunch came out true.

Harry visibly shook his head and turned away from his essay. "Yeah but it's the first step, Ron. He offered a hand of truce, and you spat in his face."

"Why should I?" Ron muttered.

"Because he's your brother," Harry shot back, his temperature slowly rising, "He's your blood and part of your family. Just because you have so many brothers and sisters and-" Harry stifled a choke, "-parents doesn't mean you can just toss them away like yesterday's trash. Merlin, do you know how lucky you are?" Harry breathed, "Percy has changed, and you're too blind to see that."

Ron stepped backwards after this little speech and blinked, as though Harry had struck him. Not saying a word, he spun and walked away, not looking back. Though Harry knew he was rather harsh on Ron, and that he was taking a risk by arguing with him like that, he knew that Ron would thank him in the long run. Harry gazed absently around the common room.

His eyes momentarily fell upon Gates, who stood in the forbidding darkness of a corner, and he quickly looked away. He began to avoid Gates's gaze as soon as he left the Room of Requirement; as something about the way Gates watched him unsettled him. His eyes were accusatory.

Trying to push Gates's face from his mind, he looked back on fondly on the time he spent with the D.A. earlier that evening. With the exception of Gates's unprovoked assault, the meeting went smoothly. They were performing better than he had originally anticipated; and Harry hoped that they could go over some more advanced curses in the next lesson.

Harry glanced idly around the common room, searching for Hermione. Gryffindors were chatting amiably in small groups around the common room; a few clusters lounging lazily in the stuffed couches in front of the fire, their books thrown aside and forgotten. The flames cast an eerie glow on the room's walls, giving the area an ominous look. Suddenly, he remembered that she had an appointment with Professor McGonagall this evening and would not return until later. Guilt prodded at his conscience and he leaned glumly on his elbows. He should not have been so reckless with Gates.

His eyes fell back to his research paper and he found that his mind was completely blank. Sighing, he leaned back, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. Abruptly, the portrait hole behind him opened and a familiar, but unusually firm, voice called out. "Alex, I want a word."

Harry hastily put his glasses back on, glad to see the voice belonged to Dumbledore. The headmaster's expression was stern; and there was no twinkle in his eye as he watched Gates slowly stroll across the room and pass through the door. The portrait hole closed behind them.

Curious, Harry pushed his seat back to hear what they were saying. Gates, evidently unwilling to go any further, sounded to be directly outside the common room, talking in a loud and cold voice.

"And what are you implying, Albus?"

"You know what I'm referring to." Harry was surprised to hear the headmaster sound almost angered. Dumbledore was not one to lose his temper on anyone.

"If you believe that I am going to become some sort of soft-hearted lovable nanny-"

Dumbledore cut him off. "No, I realize what it's done to you, Alex. Would it really be so hard to destroy it?"

"Why? There's no reason to. It's rather impressive if I say so myself."

"You're slowly destroying yourself Alex. You're becoming more and more corrupted…more and more-"

"Yes so I've heard," Gates snapped, "Didn't you know? I'm the newest Hogwarts monster. Soon old Rubeus is going to assign reports on me in his N.E.W.T. class." A short, sharp snort of laughter escaped him.

Dumbledore sighed. "Why are you trying to justify yourself?"

There was a paused. After a long moment, Gates said "Get to the point, Albus. This conversation is taxing my patience." It was a tactless change of subject.

"As you wish," replied Dumbledore, his voice returning to its usual placidity, "You will not use the students of this school as sacrifices to purge your personal demons, Alex. Any of them."

Even though he was on the opposite side of the door, Harry heard Gates's low whisper. "What claim do you have on Potter, Albus?"

"I do not claim any part of him," Dumbledore said simply, "But he holds a part of me. I suggest you remember that."

"Is that all, Albus?"

"No. You will also write a letter of apology to young Mr. Longbottom, as well as his close relatives, for insulting his parents. That was shameful, Alex, even you must see that."

"It appears we have different interpretations of shame." Gates said coldly.

"Of that, I have no doubt."

Gates next words came out in short, biting sentence. "And how do you plan on forcing me to write this…letter…to this young boy?"

"I did not want it to come to this," Dumbledore said, "But you leave me no choice. If you do not write a letter of apology within the next three days, I will petition the council to strip you of your Order of Merlin, and I assure you, they will comply. As for now, I will remind Minister Fudge that Gates Manor can now be considered abandoned. Undoubtedly, he will possess it as you are dreadfully far behind on the required taxes to own such a home. Perhaps you can buy it back in an auction this spring, I leave that to you. I will take further action if required. You will not intimidate me, Alex."

At once, the portrait door swung open and Gates strode in, his face stony and threatening. Dumbledore stood calmly still, watching Gates leave, as students stared curiously in their direction. The headmaster cast Harry a small wink before whirling around and vanishing down the corridor. Harry, deciding that it would be dangerous if Gates figured out that he was eavesdropping, immediately pretended to be scribbling something down on his parchment. Angrily, he thought "Gates humiliates Neville in class so he has to write a stupid letter and loses a house he never uses anyway? Is that a joke?"

Chancing to look up from his work, Harry noticed that Gates was staring at him strangely, as though he was trying to solve a problem. A faint ache in his brain told him that Gates was experimentally probing into his mind and performing Legilimency. Emptying himself of all emotion, Harry defiantly resisted until the prickling stopped. Gates, though, seemed to find what he wanted and a broad, malevolent grin appeared on his face.

Confidently, Gates strode over to the boy's dormitories, eyeing Harry meaningfully, as though to say "Come here."

Apprehensively, Harry obeyed, unable to think of anything Gates could possibly do that would be worse than what he has already done. The Firebolt…Poor Neville…what else? Physical punishment would be a welcome reprieve. Gates had already begun to scale the steps.

When he finally climbed the spiral staircase and entered the dormitories, Harry found Gates standing in front of his four poster bed, his chest ajar. In his right hand, Gates clutched an old, battered book. His left hand held his sleek wand.

"Do you recognize this, Potter?" Gates said slowly, his eyes locked on the book in his hand.

Harry squinted through his glasses, trying to identify the mysterious object. When he did, his heart dropped like a stone and sunk to somewhere in his stomach. It was his family photo album: his last link to his parents. "Yes," Harry said in a small voice.

"Yes, I knew you would," said Gates, a dull inferno spreading in his eyes, "This contains the lovely photographs of your father and mother…" Gates opened it up to the first page. It was the picture of his mom and dad's wedding. "How touching."

Harry tried to grope for his wand, but found his arm was not responding to his commands. He was dismayed to realize that Gates was emitting the same subtle spell he used on the Defense Against the Dark Arts class earlier today. Every part of him felt stiff and cramped.

"Me and the headmaster had an interesting conversation outside," Gates continued, "It seems that Albus is trying to…control me to an extent. Even threatened to punish me." He chuckled softly. "I find this most displeasing."

Harry stared at the front photograph in the album. His mom was beaming with happiness; his dad positively elated. Sirius's face was pulled back into a massive grin, and Harry had never seen him so ecstatic. Harry never thought of this before, but the scene in the photograph appeared to have occurred immediately before his father kissed his mother. The occupants of the picture seemed not to be aware of the horrifying tension that was taking place just outside of their world.

"So, I needed to find a solution," Gates said silkily, "I was watching you when it came to me. How could Albus reprimand me when doesn't have a reason to? The only way that could happen is if no one tells him. This is the line of logic that led me to my revelation."

"The next problem, obviously, was how to keep you from whining to the dear headmaster every time I slap you on the wrist. Now I consider myself a creative man, and this posed a suitable challenge," The fire in Gates's eyes took on a hellish light. "So I remembered your family photo album, Harry. I saw it in your mind."

Harry felt ice reach up in his throat; throttling him and impairing his speech. He wanted to shout out, but he could not utter a word. His vision became blurry; as though the lenses in his glasses had fogged over. He licked his dry lips and waited, fearful of what Gates would do next.

"So this is my solution," said Gates, necklace glittering ravenously and eyes burning, "If you complain to the headmaster about what I say or do, I will burn every page in this tattered little book and nothing will prevent it. If you do something unbearably stupid that personally offends me, I will incinerate a single page for each offense. Do you see now Potter?"

Harry nodded, every particle in his body hating Gates. Something inside of him began to constrict his throat, and he found that words were impossible. He felt his face burn with a choking heat, and he felt tears of rage build up in his eyes. His fingernails dug into the palms of his hands until they bled. The unendurable stress of the day was growing into an unstoppable monster, the horrors coming back to him in waves. Slowly, the defenses he had oh-so-patiently erected to dam his emotions wavered.

Gates sneered. "So Potter crumbles into pieces when someone digs into him? Pathetic," Gates paused. "I think I will demonstrate for effect." His long, nimble fingers slipped the front photograph of the album out from the page. He set the album itself onto the bed.

"Now watch," Gates commanded.

Holding the picture with the tip of his one hand, Gates tapped his wand on the corner of the photo and a flicker of fire sparked alive, curling the picture's corner back. It slowly grew, beginning to engulf the entire corner in inferno. The picture's occupants huddled into the far side of the scene, staring with terrified expressions at the fire; advancing at a juggernaut pace. Their fear was in sharp contrast to the elation they expressed only moments before. The flames spread towards them. Gates seemed not to care as the fire licked at his fingers; but watched intently as the photo burned. His eyes reflected nothing but the flames.

When the inferno reached the end of the picture, Harry was horror-struck to see his mother, her beautiful wedding dress spread across the floor, become blackened and scorched by the flames. His father's mouth was open with shock, and Harry knew that if there was sound, he would be screaming. Sirius fell into the fire last, collapsing in the upper-left corner, looking defeated and helpless. Eventually, the entire photo turned black and fell to ash to the floor. Gates wiped his hands on his robes and tucked Harry's album under his robes. Wordlessly, he swept out of the room and out of the dormitory, leaving Harry devastated in his wake.

Feeling the trance suddenly disappear, Harry fell to the ground, holding his head in his hands. "No," he muttered, regaining control, "No you won't. Not for that bastard. Control yourself."

He stayed like that for a moment, emptying his mind and steadying his breaths. During this time, not a single sob shook him, nor a single tear fall from his eye. Harry willed his emotions into the void of nothingness for the simple reason that he could no longer miss his parents like he once had. They were gone, remember? They died. He was tired of Gates's stupid assertions, tired of that monster's actions. He realized then that appeasement would be impossible, and the only defense he could erect was subtle vengeance. He would think of a way to get back at Gates so that it would not lead back to him…oh how he would. Now, though, he needed rest. He slipped under his covers and, not bothering to take off his glasses, closed his eyes.

When he finally managed to fall asleep, his dreams were disturbed by flashes and visions of Antonin Dolohov's sallow visage. A single, strong image played itself out in his mind.

"Is he ready to infiltrate the determined location?" he asked in a high pitched voice, being deliberately vague.

A black, formless shadow answered. "He is ready. All we must do is wait and he may move."

With that, the image disintegrated into scattered bits and he dreamed no more.

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A few hours later, when everyone was in bed and the moon was shining brightly through the dormitory windows, Ronald Weasley rolled restlessly in his bed. His head ached and he gently drifted between the unconscious and conscious. Deep in the recesses of his mind, a small, guttural voice breathed into his thoughts.

(A/N: Well, if you can say nothing else about that ending, I hope you didn't foresee it. I thought the burning of the wedding photo was rather powerful imagery. Anyway, you can expect the end of Gates walking all over everyones' rights, despite what this ending suggests. He'll still be an ass, but this is the absolute peak of Gates's cruelty. I don't plan on making anything near the 'heaviness' of this chapter again. I know a lot of you people groaned aloud when you read the firebolt section (I know I did) but it'll be necessary for the future. I didn't put anything in here idly.

I hope you liked it, or at least didn't hate it too badly. This end is a huge pivotal point in the story where, after this, we realize that Gates is, in fact, not omnipotent and Harry is, in fact, not going to sit back and do nothing. Harry has limited options, true, but he'll have help.

Chapter nine release is tentatively scheduled for next Friday. (Probably Saturday)

Chapter 9: Lupin replied, Ron gets a little weird, and Gates provokes Snape badly. Gates also approaches Neville, and Percy has his 'chat' with Gates, which leads to something quite good. For those who like Snape/Gates interaction, you'll love chapter nine. )