Harry Potter and the Maw

Woodrow M

Rating: R
Genres: Romance, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 31/10/2004
Last Updated: 28/07/2005
Status: completed

Harry Potter's full sixth year. After the confrontation in the Department of Mysteries and Sirius's death, Harry's world has been warped around. Nobody has been unaffected by these events; and the resultant fallout is as thick as it is deadly. Includes a sadistic Hit Wizard, repeated attempts on his life, an incompetent DADA professor, and Harry's almost alien-like new feelings for his best friend. Emphasis on originality. Plenty of twists and action. Rated 'R' for some very mild language and violence. Nothing graphic, though.

Chapters

1. Dursley's and the Visitor

2. Electrodes and Ex-Aurors

3. Madness at Diagon Alley

4. The Hogwart's Express

5. Gates, Whams, and Snape

6. Club S.P.E.W.

7. Neville's Worst Nightmare

8. Undeserved Retribution

9. Inner Demons

10. The Third Favor

11. The Sorting Hat's Most Difficult Decision

12. The First Attack

13. The Edward Skinner Curses

14. Into the Forest

15. The Lower Dungeons

16. Visage in the Mirror

17. Boggarts

18. Revelations and Threats

19. The New Ministry Official

20. Occlumensia Anomaly

21. The Unspoken Curse

22. Vision

23. Return to Number Four, Pivet Drive

24. Gates Manor

25. Winter Exchanges

26. Black Beetle

27. Granger vs. Malfoy

28. Monsters and Men

29. The Reckoning

30. A Glimpse of the Maw

31. Crimson and Silver

32. The Great Below

33. Sequel Update

1. Dursley's and the Visitor

“Wormtail, report.”

He was sitting on an overstuffed throne, glaring at the pathetic, groveling figure in front of him. Anger and impatience coursed through his entire being. This nonsense has continued for far too long.

“All has been arranged. It will be-”

“Shut up, you fool! He’s here. I know what you mean, now get out of my sight before you inadvertently reveal something.” Joy at the news that the arrangement has been made had been carefully tempered with his anger that Wormtail nearly revealed his plans to the shadow in his mind.

The groveling figure bowed, and then pulled his robes tight around him. He saw a glint of metal before Wormtail covered his hand completely in cloth. Then, with some sniveling platitudes, Wormtail left his presence.

He shifted uneasily on his overstuffed chair before speaking aloud. “Potter, you have been entering my mind far too often than what is good for you. Get out.”

Harry Potter awoke with a searing pain on his scar. He nearly screamed from the pain, but quickly bit his tongue before uttering a sound. It would not be wise to disturb the Dursley’s this early in the morning. He closed his eyes and placed a hand across his forehead, waiting for the pain to subside.

It was unusual for him to have nightmares about Voldemort. Since Sirius’s death, Harry had been redoubling his efforts in mastering Occlumency to prevent himself from being manipulated by Voldemort’s twisted mind. Once again, Harry’s mind floated to the letter he received from the Order in his second week back with the Dursley’s. Try to practice Occlumency with whatever information Professor Snape gave you. Once you’re back at Hogwarts, your lessons will resume. Until then, work with what you have.

Harry snorted. His Occulmency lessons had abruptly ended when Snape caught him gazing at his pensieve; discovering Snape’s worst memory. Maybe if Snape hadn’t been such a git and would’ve just continued with the lessons, Sirius would still be alive…

A flare of hatred burned up inside Harry and was extinguished just as quickly. Although he had more control over his emotions now, he could not stop thinking about who was to blame for Sirius’s death. Sometimes Snape’s face would arise in his mind; but more often his own would appear. If only I had listened to Hermione, if only I wouldn’t of been so damned gullible. He slammed his fist hard upon his bed.

And then he did what he always would do in the early morning and his thoughts and emotions were overwhelming him; he would run.

Quietly, Harry slipped off of his bed and dressed in some of Dudley’s gray sweatpants. He carefully opened the door so it would not creak, and then tiptoed across the hall and down the steps. He put on his only pair of shoes, snuck out the door, and ran across the dewy lawn onto the asphalt road.

Immediately, the new sense of freedom took effect. Jubilation and excitement surged through his body. It was almost like he was on his broomstick again, flying high above the Quidditch field in absolute isolation. For a few glorious hours he would be away from his relatives and on his own. There would be no one to order him around, no one to lie to him, and no one for him to get close to and then to die.

He knew he was taking a great risk being alone like this since the dementors last year; but he felt it was worth it. He received a sense of clarity during running that rivaled the ecstatic feeling he had when he was riding his Firebolt.

He took off running. The breeze lapped at his face and the scent of the early morning engulfed his senses. The sun just began to peak over the distant horizon and the first rays of light splashed onto the road and houses. The air was pleasantly cool, and a faint mist was in the distance from, Harry knew, the rain shower last night. Several rabbits scrambled among the bushes as he passed the neat groves and lawns that accompanied every home along Pivet Drive. As he continued, he could not help but stop to smell the wet flowers in a garden that was prominently displayed in front of a house that looked rather like a small mansion.

As he ran, he pushed away his dream about Voldemort and remembered the countless letters that were owled to him from Hermione and Ron. Though Ron kept him updated on all of the Quidditch teams (With much bias in favor of the Chudley Cannons) and latest news in the wizarding world, Hermione seemed particularly concerned about his dreams, his progress with the loss of Sirius, and how the Dursley’s were treating him. He kept only one secret from her; and that was the prophecy. It weighed heavily on him, but it was a burden that he alone must carry. He did not doubt that she suspected that he was not telling her everything, (Hermione knew his mind best) but he could not share the secret that had brought him so much pain.

Then a massive realization struck him. Today was July thirty first, his birthday. Quickly, he turned around and dashed back to number four, Pivet Drive.

He sprinted back across the lawn and ran through the doorway, now heedless of the racket he was creating. He bounded up the steps, ran across the hall, and leapt through his bedroom doorway and, now realizing the amount of noise he was making, closed the door softly.

Sure enough, several owls had already deposited his birthday gifts under his open window. They must have been brought in during the night and he missed seeing them when he woke up. Taking a minute to allow himself to calm down, he stepped over to the presents and picked up the gift that laid on top of the rest.

He immediately recognized the untidy scrawl of Ron’s handwriting.

Hey mate,

First off, Happy birthday! We’re really sorry you can’t come over yet, but seeing as dad is on a mission from the ministry to eastern Europe for the past two weeks, Dumbledore refused to allow you to come over. He’ll be back tomorrow evening, so in two days we’ll be able to pick you up and bring you over to the burrow. Hermione won’t be here until then, so you won’t be missing out on much. Mum told me to make sure you tell the muggles before you leave.

Also, everything has been fairly quiet around here. A lot of people expected a string of attacks after it was announced that Voldemort returned. There has been only one move made by Voldemort, and that was the Azkaban breakout several weeks ago after the prison was abandoned by the dementors.

We still haven’t heard anything from Percy since he sent us his apology. Mum thinks its because he’s too ashamed. I think its because he’s a bloody git.

That’s all I have for you now, Harry. We’ll get you out of there no time

Ron

He unwrapped Ron’s gift to find another Weasley sweater as well as an object that looked curiously like a muggle pen. He leaned forward and read the tiny writing on an attached tag:

I got this off a street vendor at Diagon Alley. it’s a real muggle writing instrument (Dad calls it a ‘pen‘) enchanted so you never have to dip it in ink like a quill! I even bought one for myself!

Harry chuckled silently. Obviously, Ron didn’t realize that all muggle pens never needed to be dipped.

He continued opening his birthday gifts, and found that Luna sent him a claw of a Heliopath, Neville gave him the essence of the strange cactus-like plant that he had shown him last year (He wrote in a short message that it was used for healing purposes), and Ginny bought him a book titled The Art of Dueling, by Alexander Gates. Lupin sent Harry a handful of werewolf hairs. “You will need them for potions,” he explained in the letter, “And they are one of the rarest ingredients on the market.” What he did not explain was, however, was how Lupin knew he would be taking N.E.W.T. potions when Harry did not receive his results from the O.W.L.’s yet.

Finally, there was only a single parcel remaining. Harry admired the wrapping paper that was patterned with tiny snitches on a white backround. He unwrapped it slowly and read the enclosed card.

Harry,

I hope you are having a happy birthday, and that the Dursley’s would treat you somewhat nice today. Just try to remember that we all miss you Harry and wouldn’t want you down on your birthday, so don’t let them ruin it for you. This is your special day.

Harry paused and carefully considered what she wrote before continuing.

And I know those dreams are becoming a lot more frightening than what you are telling me in your letters, Harry. I’m really worried that you’re connection with Voldemort is becoming worse instead of better; if not just infrequent. Having a few, strong dreams isn’t any better than having many weak ones. Look, I know this is the last thing you want to hear, but I’ve done a lot of reading in Occlumency and Legilimency, and if you won’t let Professor Snape help you I will do my best to help you practice the theory of it anyway. You can’t do this to yourself; its not fair to the rest of us.

I’m sorry for bothering you with all this on your birthday but I have to make sure you’re safe Harry. I hope you enjoy your cake and gift; the cake is homemade. (And you can only imagine what I went through while making this as my parents are both dentists!)

Love From,

Hermione

Harry sat down on his bed and finished unwrapping the gift. Harry felt sure it would be an incredibly heavy, thick bound book that was full of information on elementary topics such as The Origins of the Universe or The Meaning of Life.

To Harry’s surprise, he was only half right.

Sitting on his lap were actually two leather-bound books; Defense Against Dark Magical Creatures and The Unofficial Strategy Guide of Europe’s Top Quidditch Teams.

When he opened the Defense book, a note fell out. He held it up to the light to read it.

Harry,

The Defense Against Dark Magical Creatures book is one of my favorites; I’ve read it at least twelve times. Although it doesn’t contain any new spells or magic, it gives an in-depth analysis of every magical creature in existence, dark or otherwise. (Since the author states that any magical creature can be used by Dark Wizards for their own purposes)

And I also know you love Quidditch, so I picked this up the last time I was in Diagon Alley. I hope you don’t mind, but I read through it once and the plays are very fascinating!

I hope you enjoyed your presents and cake!

Love From,

Hermione

“Thanks Hermione, these are great!” Harry said in an awed voice. He instantly began to leaf through the pages.

As Harry began a chapter entitled House-elves Turned Evil, his mind immediately pictured the vile Kreacher, who was no doubt still alive somewhere in Grimmauld Palace, lurking in some storage room littered with pictures of Sirius’s dark wizard relatives. He felt cold fury reach up into his throat, and, taking slow, steady breaths, he willed himself calm. He could do nothing about Kreacher now. Someday, he promised himself, someday there will be a reckoning.

Suddenly, a large, brown barn owl flew threw Harry’s window and landed neatly on his bed. Sticking out its leg, Harry carefully untied the note and the scroll and watched it fly back out. He recognized the handwriting. Only one person he knew could write with such a clean, imperious script.

“Percy.” Harry muttered.

He quickly read the note. It was short and to the point.

Harry,

I know what I did and I regret it. I also heard what Dolores did in Hogwarts, and I am truly sorry for that. The corresponding scroll is the result of my own and the minister’s devotion to Hogwarts and the wizarding world. I hope that you can, in some small way, consider this a birthday gift from me to you, as I was pivotal in bringing this about. The scroll is a copy, but you will be the first besides the minister and myself (And, of course, the indicated party) to read it. The news will be released the Daily Prophet later today.

Percy, Court Scribe

Feeling the rage build up in his stomach from reading Percy’s shielding of the ministry, Harry threw the letter on the floor. Feeling the need to calm his nerves and satisfy his stomach, as he had no breakfast this morning, Harry reached over and cut a rather large slice of Hermione’s homemade cake. He ate it with relish.

Harry suddenly felt a calming, peaceful sensation sweep over his body and flow through his veins. His rage at Percy had nearly disappeared. He felt more content at that moment than he did all summer. A moment later, a revelation hit Harry.

Hermione had made him a homemade cake. She knew he was more troubled than he revealed in his letters, and had likely added the potion Draught Of Peace to her cooking to help calm his frayed nerves. He laughed out loud. Hermione knew him too well, he thought for the hundredth time this summer.

Now in a much better mood, Harry broke the seal on Percy’s scroll and laid it flat on his bed. He read through it once, then read through it again, absolutely delighted.

This letter hereby signifies that Dolores Umbridge, senior undersecretary to the minister, has been removed from her position and will have her employment at the ministry brought under review by a Wizengamot.

Harry picked up Percy‘s crumpled letter, smoothed it out, and wrote, using his new pen, telling Percy to speak with his mother.

Immensely satisfied with his birthday morning, he fell back onto his bed and allowed the Draught of Peace to take him into a deep, dreamless slumber.

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When Harry awoke, he did not realize that he had slept nearly another five hours. For the first time in several weeks, Uncle Vernon’s booming voice stirred him from sleep.

“BOY GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW! WE DON’T ALLOW YOU TO BE HERE JUST SO YOU CAN SLEEP TILL NOON.” Uncle Vernon roared; who was shouting all the way up the steps and continued to shout right outside his door. “YOU ARE GOING TO PULL YOUR WEIGHT AROUND LIKE THE REST OF US”

Harry had a fleeting thought of Dudley ‘pulling his weight around’ before shouting back, “YEAH I’LL BE THERE IN A MINUTE.”

A moment of silence passed before his Uncle muttered “Good.” and stalked off.

Once Harry was sure his Uncle was gone, he quickly pulled out several pieces of parchment. On the first he wrote:

Hermione,

Thanks for offering your help and aid; I can’t begin to explain in words how much you’ve helped me over the summer, but when it comes to my dreams I only want Dumbledore helping me. If Voldemort should possess me suddenly while we’re practicing…well, you know.

And Ron invited me over to the burrow. I’ve been permitted by Dumbledore to live over there for the rest of the summer. They’ll pick me up in a few days when Mr. Weasley returns from eastern Europe.

The two books you bought me were great, Hermione; I’ve already begun reading them and, though I have never been into books much, have learned loads. Thanks a million.

Looking forward to seeing you soon!

Harry

He carefully set the note aside and then began to write a letter to Ron.

Hey Ron!

I can’t wait to come over; I’m not sure how much longer I can stand living with my aunt and uncle.

And you will never believe who wrote to me this morning. Percy. He owled me a letter and a scroll that announces Umbridge’s demotion from Senior Undersecretary, and also hints at her being fired from the ministry all together. Don’t look in the Daily Prophet now, he said I am the fourth person to know about it, so you will not read about it until tomorrow.

Thanks for the gift, its always amazing what you find in those vendors!

Harry

And lastly, Harry wrote a brief “The Dursley’s have been alright.” to the Order.

He brought Hedwig out of her cage, and attached all three letters to her. Hedwig looked at him incredulously.

“I know its a lot but I need them delivered,” Harry said, “Get these to Hermione, Ron, and Lupin and then go to the Burrow. I’ll meet you there in a few days. See you then.” Hedwig hooted softly and flew through the window, slowly disappearing into the daylight.

Harry smiled as he turned away from the window, and gazed into the mirror. A young man of sixteen stared back at him. He was surprised at what he saw.

His eyes, bright like emeralds, were set upon a tanned face with sharper, more defined features than a year ago. He had definitely grown taller over the past year. His shoulders were now broad and he was no longer scrawny and thin. Although he still never ate as much as he wanted to, his relatives had given him more food than in past years. Harry figured it was due to the Order’s threats of retaliation rather than kindness on the part of his aunt and uncle. That, combined with his near daily jog around the neighborhood, kept him fit and strong. I will be in excellent shape for Quidditch season, he thought.

His thoughts were rudely interrupted by Uncle Vernon’s bellowing voice.

“BOY! I WON’T TELL YOU AGAIN!”

“Coming,” Harry yelled back. He took one last glance at his reflection, threw on one of Dudley’s old, over-sized shirts, and ran out of his bedroom door.

His uncle stood at the foot of the steps. “Don’t expect breakfast or lunch,” Uncle Vernon said venomously. His head and neck were a deep shade of red. “You don’t get food for being a sloth. Mow the lawn, wash the dishes, clean the floor, dust every single object in this house and vacuum the living room. Then, maybe, you can eat.” he added maliciously.

Harry’s stomach grumbled restlessly. He hadn’t eaten anything besides Hermione’s cake today; and that was nearly five hours ago. It wouldn’t do him any good to go back up there now, though, as his uncle would never let him go there until he was finished with his work.

“Oh and boy,” Uncle Vernon said, teeth glinting and bared like an animal. “You will do an excellent job if you know what’s good for you. This house better be spotless when Dudley’s friends come over this evening for his party.”

Harry groaned inwardly. He had completely forgotten that Dudley was hosting a celebration for his victory in the heavy-weight boxing tournament. His aunt and uncle would be leaving around five o’clock to go out to eat while Dudley and his friends had what they believed would be a ‘small tea party with some light food and games’. In reality, it was just an excuse for Dudley and his cronies to bring over booze, cigarettes, and weed and become drugged out of their minds. Harry was continually amazed about how ignorant his relatives were about their only son.

“Oh, I’m so proud of my Diddykins.” Aunt Petunia chirped from somewhere in the kitchen.

Uncle Vernon and Harry spent the next minute staring at each other, each sizing the other up. Vernon’s face steadily became darker and deeper, until he finally said, “Well what are you waiting for, boy? GO!” he spat.

Harry grudgingly broke the eye contact and headed for the door.

Earlier this summer, he made a secret vow never to owl the Order with a complaint about the Dursley's; even if they did begin to treat him worse than normal. On the surface, he believed that complaining would only make him weaker and give Uncle Vernon the pleasure of knowing that he had finally crawled under his skin; which so far resisted even the worst punishments and chores the Dursley's could throw at him. Harry felt that he could never allow Uncle Vernon such a victory.

However, deep down he harbored a secret distrust for the Order that had kept him in the dark for so long last summer. He wanted to finally prove to everyone that he was not some boy who would whine to his guardians because of some vague hurt his relatives had given him. He desired to be considered a man and not a child who would be consistently denied the truth because of some fear that it would break his delicate mind.

This and no other reason made him tolerate the Dursley's all summer. Taking his time, Harry walked around the house into the garage, and pulled out the old push-mower that the Dursley's kept in poor condition just for him.

Of all of Harry's monotonous chores, mowing the lawn was the most bearable. At the very least, Harry did not have Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia staring over his shoulder watching his progress. He allowed his body to fall automatically into following the same practiced paths of lawn mowing as his thoughts wandered about. His mind sometimes strayed into the next school year, his O.W.L results, and his course selections for next year; but mostly he dwelt on the death of Sirius and the prophecy. Whenever he thought of Sirius, a well of sadness filled his body; the feeling that he had lost another parent. He quickly mastered his emotion, and concentrated on the present and future. Long ago, it seemed, he cried for hours on Sirius's dead, thinking about the many 'What if's' and he nearly always reached the same conclusion: Sirius died because of his own choices. After countless letter exchanges with Hermione, he finally had come to terms with his godfather's fate. That did not, however, mean he would not cry when he was reminded of something Sirius did, or an event that he missed. Harry kept the mirror that he shattered earlier this year. The mirror, Harry believed, was something that they still shared.

The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully; except for the one time, while Harry dusted a rich, mahogany table, he accidentally knocked over one of Aunt Petunia's prized glass vases she bought at an auction. The ornate, carved glass tilted and fell from the table in slow motion as Harry, petrified, watched it shatter on the wooden floor.

Mercifully, Aunt Petunia was shopping for groceries for Dudley's party, Uncle Vernon was watching television in the upstairs bedroom, and Dudley was playing his playstation two with the volume to the maximum so that no one would even know if a bomb exploded in the kitchen. Quickly, Harry brushed the hundreds of pieces of broken glass under the couch and continued as if nothing happened.

When give o'clock finally came, Harry had just finished washing the dishes and began to climb the stairs to his room when Uncle Vernon stopped him halfway.

"Come here boy," he growled, motioning Harry to stand next to him.

Harry approached uncertainly. Uncle Vernon now wore a dress suit and a plain, magenta tie that perfectly matched his face.

"Closer." he ordered, pointing to the exact spot in front of him where he wanted Harry to stand.

"Now you listen here, boy, and you listen well." he said in a voice barely above a whisper. Harry now stood so close to his uncle that he could count every piece of food in his bushy mustache. "While Dudley has his party, you are to stay in your room and never leave until we get home. Never. I will not allow you to ruin Dudley's special day," Harry rolled his eyes, "With your..." he struggled with words, "Unnaturalness."

"If I hear that you as much as left your room during the party, you will starve for the rest of your stay. Are we clear?" His eyes were practically bulging from their sockets and Harry could feel Uncle Vernon's hot breath on his face.

"Completely." Harry said, adding a nod for good measure.

"Good," Uncle Vernon barked, now backing away, his face considerably lighter. "Your dinner is on the table," He point towards a plate with what appeared to be a few slices of bread on a paper plate and a glass of water. "Take it to your room and disappear." Uncle Vernon dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

"Bye my sweet ickle Duddykins," Aunt Petunia crooned. Harry walked far enough down the steps to see his aunt peck Dudley on the cheek and then hug him. "I am so proud of my little boy!"

Vernon gestured to Dudley's boxing trophy that now stood proudly on the mantle of the fireplace, shining brightly from Harry polishing it earlier that afternoon. "That’s m'boy, Dudders. Always was a winner."

Aunt Petunia began to cry. "Oh Duddykins and all of his little friends. Such a sweet boy." She wrapped her arms around her thick son in an awkward sort of hug.

"Now, now," Uncle Vernon said as he approached them, grinning broadly, "Let's go out so we can leave Dudders to all of his friends. He knows he deserved it, don't you, you little tyke!" He gave Dudley a punch on the shoulder, and Dudley smiled happily.

Then, with Uncle Vernon giving Harry one last scowl before heading out the door, they left.

"You heard my dad," Dudley said, smirking, "Get to your room."

Knowing Dudley too well to take the bait, Harry shrugged and left, closing and locking his bedroom door.

Immediately he flopped onto his bed and, after a moment of relaxation from a day full of mostly dull tasks, he stood back up and pulled Hermione's cake out from under the loose floorboard in his room. He cut a rather large slice, and, after devouring it and gulping down his water, he closed his window and fell back onto his bed; allowing sleep to take him. His bread slices laid forgotten on his dresser.

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Harry awoke to a determined tapping of a beak against his window. Shaking the drowsiness from his head, he sat up and glanced at his clock. It was eight o'clock in the evening. Judging from the dull thumping of music and the footfalls of people running madly around the house, Dudley's party was in full swing.

He stood up and staggered over to the window, still feeling a bit tired. Next time, he thought, he will not take such a large slice. He opened the window and a small, gray owl fluttered in and landed on his bed. Harry removed the letter attached to its leg, and, after a hoot of good-bye, the owl flew out again and disappeared.

Harry quick scanned the scroll he was holding, wondering wildly who would be writing to him this late. He didn't recognize the owl, either. As soon as Harry saw the seal of the Ministry of Magic, he knew instantly what it was.

"Finally, my O.W.L's." he muttered, carefully breaking the seal and reading the contents.

Mr. Potter

Number Four, Pivet Drive

Little Whinging

Last Bedroom on the Left

The following are your results for your fifth year in Hogwarts School of Wizardry:

Transfiguration: E

Potions: O

History Of Magic: P

Astronomy: A

Charms: E

Defense Against the Dark Arts: O

Divination: A

Care of Magical Creatures: E

Herbology: E

Your preliminary career choice was: Auror

Suggested N.E.W.T. level courses: Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions and one elective.

Selected courses for your sixth year should be sent to: Office of the Headmaster at the Hogwarts School of Wizardry

Please enjoy the rest of your summer.

Oswald Lewis, Senior Clerk

Harry's reactions ranged from delight to confusion.

"How the hell did I get an 'outstanding' in Potions?" he asked aloud, utterly confounded.

A tiny part of him sensed that there was some third party intervention that made him do so well, but the more rational part of himself suggested that, although Snape continually gave him bad marks simply because he existed, he actually knew a lot about creating Potions.

Harry suddenly remembered Lupin's birthday gift. How did he know? Well, he thought, the Order does have members in the ministry, so perhaps they told Lupin. Therefore Remus, knowing Harry's wish to be an Auror, automatically assumed he would take N.E.W.T potions.

Harry frowned slightly, then decided that that was the most logical explanation, and placed it back into the recesses of his mind for later use.

Already knowing what classes he wanted to take, he rummaged through his room for a spare piece of parchment and a quill. After finding them, Harry addressed the letter to Dumbledore and listed Charms, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, and Potions for his sixth year courses. Then, realizing Hedwig was probably at Ron's by now and that he had no owl to send it with, he folded it and placed it under the loose floorboard right under his wand.

Quietly, not wishing to attract any attention from Dudley's rowdy friends, he crawled into bed and tried to sleep. Due to the constant racket and booming from underneath him, Harry had little success. Hermione's cake beckoned him to take another piece; to help him shut out the noise and to sleep through Dudley's party. However, he resisted the temptation. If he ate it at this rate, he would have nothing left by tomorrow evening. Now feeling slightly grumpy, Harry stood up and ate a slice of bread that he had left earlier on his dresser.

Suddenly, Harry heard a heavy thud outside his door. He stood frozen, listening intently.

"Shut up, he'll hear you!" someone hissed.

"You shut up, you git!" the other person responded, slightly louder. Harry recognized the voice at once. It was Dudley.

Harry began to panic. Whatever they were up to, it was not anything good for him. He could not even use his wand. He was helpless. Almost helpless, he thought; studying his toned arms and nimble legs.

"Get ready," Dudley whispered, "On one...two..."

But he never got to three. Harry, running at full speed, slammed into the door and pushed it open outward. The door smashed into one of Harry's would-be ambusher's nose, causing him to fall to the ground clutching his bleeding face. Dudley fell onto his bottom in surprise at the speed that everything was happening. Harry darted down the steps, looking wildly around at the mess surrounding him.

The living room was strewn with beer trash and garbage. Some boys lay passed out on the couch, while others were leaning unsteadily against the wall, holding plastic glasses of an amber-colored drink. Empty pizza boxes were piled in large, swaying stacks while heavy metal music blared out of a set of dual speakers set up across the room. Several people stood nearby, waiting for the song to end so they could play another one. Harry could not begin to imagine how Dudley planned on cleaning all this up before his aunt and uncle got back, but solving that mystery wasn't a high priority as Harry heard Dudley and his friends stomping down the steps behind him, hoping to smash him into a pulp.

Harry lightly jumped down the remaining steps and dashed off in the direction of the front door. Upon seeing a thick crowd of people surrounding it, Harry skidded and turned right without bothering to slow down and ran into the kitchen, catching a quick glance of his cousin panting heavily behind him with his face pink from exertion. His friends were trailing behind him; not wanting Dudley to think that they were better than him at anything.

Before Harry realized where he was going, he reached a dead end at the corner of the kitchen. He spun quickly around in the hopes of making a lucky escape, but his hopes were dashed when he saw Dudley and his two friends haughtily stride towards him, fists raised. Trying to keep himself as calm as possible, Harry scanned the kitchen briefly in search of anything that could be used as a weapon. Failing to find anything, Harry raised his own fists defiantly.

Dudley laughed, "You think you are going to fight me, you little ****?" he taunted.

"No," Harry replied, adrenaline beginning to flow through his body, "It looks more like I am going to be fighting you and your two pals. You're a lot braver when I don't have my wand, aren't you, Duddykins?"

Dudley's eyes flash dangerously. "Is that right? Come over here you little..."

He did not bother to finish the sentence. His fist swung wildly out at Harry's head, and Harry easily ducked under the punch. Wanting to end the fight before more of Dudley's friends came, Harry gathered all his strength and slammed his fist into his cousin's fleshy gut. Dudley bent over in pain.

Taking advantage of the brief distraction, Harry pushed Dudley's two friends out of the way and ran towards the living room, knocking people down as he went. One of the friends, now realizing what was happening, screamed "GET HIM!" and took off in pursuit.

Harry sprinted through the living room, trying desperately to make it across the room so he could open a window and jump through. Several people stirred and awoke from their stupor long enough to glare at him angrily before collapsing again on the floor. Suddenly, a particularly tall and strong one of Dudley's friends grabbed him by the arm and shoved him forward against the mantle above the fireplace, laughing uproariously as he did so. Harry smashed into mantelpiece with his shoulder and then dropped to the ground. The mantle shook violently from the impact, and, after several seconds, the entire

board collapsed onto the wooden floor near Harry. Dudley's prized trophy struck the stone corner of the fireplace and a resounding ring reverbed throughout the house. Harry, now back on his feet again, saw the newly dented trophy and fled the rest of the way across the living room and dived through the open window without bothering to look back at the stunned partygoers.

He picked himself back off the ground, and, after glancing briefly around him, leaped over the porch railing and fled down Pivet Drive.

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

It was at least two hours later that Harry realized that he would have to go back. He had no money, no food, and, worst of all, he didn't have his wand. He assured himself that he would only have to spend another day with the Dursley's before going to the burrow with Ron and Hermione. Suddenly a new thought struck him: What if Uncle Vernon refused to let him leave? Harry felt his face go pale. He began to regret sending the letter to the Order that morning.

The Order won't be coming for another five days, at least. By then Ron will have already come and gone. His mind raced with the new terrifying possibility of spending the rest of his summer with the Dursley's. He involuntarily shuddered.

Being alone in the darkness isn't exactly wise, he thought, especially with Voldemort on the loose. Go back now.

A voice in his head answered him in his head; But...but you destroyed Dudley's trophy!

So what, he responded, what will Uncle Vernon do? He's already practically starving me. If worse comes to worse I could always go to Mrs. Figg.

Finally, he began to slowly shuffle his way back to number four, Pivet Drive, his mind drenched with foreboding. While he walked, he collected his Gryffindor courage and mastered his panicking emotions.

When he stepped onto the porch at number four, he was positively calm. Without a hint of hesitation or reluctance, he knocked on the door three times.

He only had to wait a moment before the door swung open to reveal an extremely purple, heaving Uncle Vernon. His hair was standing up in places where it looked like he ripped it out. Harry stopped himself from taking a step back.

"YOU..." He roared. He seemed at a loss for words. His eyes bulged out of their sockets and his hands were clenched menacingly.

"Yes, me." Harry replied coolly.

"GET IN HERE!" Uncle Vernon reached out with his massive arm and pulled Harry inside and threw him sprawling onto the floor. He was irresistibly reminded of the time Snape physically tossed him out of his office when Harry peaked into his pensieve.

If Harry was not distracted by Uncle Vernon's threatening gestures, he would have been incredibly impressed by the change in the house. It was absolutely spotless. With the exception of the dented trophy on the mantelpiece, no one would know there was a massive party here a few hours ago. Dudley must have forced his friends to clean up too.

"YOU...YOU DID THIS!" He spat, pointing to the trophy and spraying Harry with his spittle.

"Ye-yes he did d-dad," A crying voice came from the next room. Harry was not surprised to see it was Dudley. He gave Harry a small smirk while Uncle Vernon's back was turned before continuing, "Me and my friends were just sitting down to tea and h-he came running down the steps and shouting f-funny words. N-next thing I know h-he knocked over my t-trophy!"

Uncle Vernon glared at Harry, pure venom practically radiating from his eyes. "GO-ROOM-NOW! NO-LEAVE-UNTIL-I-SAY! GO!" Uncle Vernon than leaned heavily against the wall, exhausted. Clearly he was furious beyond words.

"But if I used magic," Harry argued angrily, his rage flaring up again, "Then I would be expelled. I didn't-"

"GET TO ROOM NOW!" Uncle Vernon shouted, his face darkening even more. He was apparently in no mood for logic. Harry never saw him so enraged before. "YOU-WILL-LUCKY-ESCAPE-BEATING-GO!"

Now becoming frustrated with this exchange, Harry stomped up the steps and entered his room, leaving a very purple Uncle Vernon and a sneering Dudley behind him. Cursing both Uncle Vernon and Dudley, Harry soon fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

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When Harry awoke the next morning, he staggered down the steps and went into the kitchen, smelling the warm scent of fresh fried eggs and bacon. Not expecting any food from last night, and guessing that Uncle Vernon would be furious to see him down here after last night, he walked into the kitchen.

The three Dursley's looked up at him, as if seeing him for the first time in weeks. Harry stopped and stared, waiting for Uncle Vernon's reaction.

"Well, boy, are you going to stand there and stare or are you going to get some food in you to begin the day?" Uncle Vernon asked, pulling him up a chair and smiling broadly.

"Errrr- sure." Harry replied, not quite sure what to say.

Harry sat down and waited, expecting himself to wake up any second or for the Uncle Vernon

to grab him now that he was within beating range. Harry gazed around the table. Aunt Petunia was serenely stirring her coffee, a slight smile playing on her lips. Dudley was helping himself to a heap of greasy bacon and four eggs.

"Well come on," Uncle Vernon said, still smiling, "Eat up." He pushed a plate with two eggs and five strips of bacon towards him.

"Any toast?" Harry ventured, testing his limits.

Uncle Vernon's smile faltered momentarily, and, recovering, he said, "Of course." He looked towards Aunt Petunia. "Could you make him some toast, dear?"

"Why certainly," She said.

Harry could sense there was a catch to this. He studied his food carefully, checking for signs of poison or danger. After finding none, he nibbled cautiously on his bacon. It was delicious. He devoured the rest quickly, not wanting it to be taken away.

When Harry finished, Uncle Vernon folded his morning newspaper, set it down, and said "Oh, and Harry, you'll be having a visitor this afternoon."

Harry froze. "Visitor? Who?"

"Well," Uncle Vernon said, now grinning more broadly than ever, "Its a surprise. You can go back to your room now. You are excused from your chores for the rest of the day." Harry heard him distinctly mutter "I daresay you'll be otherwise occupied." under his breath as he picked his newspaper back up and continued reading. Occasionally, his eyes would flicker from over the top of the newspaper into Harry's direction.

Briefly contemplating dashing out the front door and running down Pivet Drive to escape Uncle Vernon's 'visitor', Harry found his legs automatically lifting him from his seat and taking him up the stairs into his room. When he sat down again on his bed, he felt fear enter his mind.

"Dear God, what has he done?" he said, staring at the ceiling. Realizing what he was doing, Harry took several deep breaths and slowed his heart rate.

This cannot be good, he thought, I've never seen Uncle Vernon so delighted. It must be something really horrible.

His next thought made him laugh aloud. It can't possibly be worse than Voldemort...after all the dangers I've survived, I am fearful of some strange punishment that my uncle has concocted. What was I thinking?

Now smiling, Harry picked up Defense Against Dark Magical Creatures and started on a chapter

titled Centaurs Gone to the Darkness, thinking vaguely of Bane.

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It was about twelve o'clock noon when Harry heard someone knocking on the front door. Harry was abruptly reminded of his 'visitor' this afternoon and he felt his breathing slightly increase.

He crept silently over to the stairwell outside his room, and, straining his ears, listened intently to the conversation that was taking place in the living room. Harry gulped. Uncle Vernon must have practically ran to the door in order for them to be inside already.

"Yes I understand completely, Mr. Dursley, we get these sorts of errrr cases all the time." Said an oily voice.

Uncle Vernon's booming voice echoed up the staircase, "We care for the boy a lot, but when he lost his parents in that car crash...well..."

"And you're sure you don't want him, uhhhh, committed?"

There was a silent pause. "No, we care for him too much," Uncle Vernon said reluctantly, "No but we'll gladly pay for you to come over every weekday. We don't think we could bare letting him leave our home."

"Yes, well uhmmmmmmm, that certainly can be arranged." The voice responded delicately, "May I see him now?"

"Of course, right this way, Dr. Perry."

Harry dashed back into his room and closed the door, breathing heavily. From what he had heard, it sounded like Uncle Vernon hired some sort of muggle psychiatrist. He looked quickly around his room and groaned. It was littered with spell books, quills and various presents from his birthday. He must not let the muggle in here.

Thinking quickly, he opened his bedroom door and found himself staring face-to-face with Uncle Vernon. Harry could see a maniacal glint in his eye and his face seemed to be contorted with a massive grin.

"Well is this the, uhhhhmmm, subject?" A voice tentatively asked from somewhere behind Uncle Vernon. Harry positioned himself so he could get a better look at the man who was standing directly behind his uncle.

He was a thin, older man with graying hair and long, nimble fingers. He wore a pure white uniform with a symbol above his right breast that Harry did not recognize. His right hand clutched something that looked suspiciously like a billy club and Harry found that the man was studying him carefully as well; much like a spider would survey a flailing fly.

"Harry, I would like you to meet Dr. Perry; a correctional officer from St. Brutus." Uncle Vernon's eyes bulged with excitement. "Dr. Perry, this is Harry Potter, the individual whom I discussed with you about earlier."

"Ahhhhh," Dr. Perry said, his voice more oily than ever, "Hello, uhmm, Mr. Potter. How wonderful to finally meet you in, uhh, person." He extended his hand around Uncle Vernon

Harry looked at Dr. Perry, then at his uncle, then back at Dr. Perry again. He felt uncomfortable under the sadistic glare that radiated from the doctor's eyes. "Pleasure to meet you." Harry said, sounding more confident than he felt. He made no move to shake the doctor's hand.

"Yes," The doctor withdrew his hand, and Harry saw a flicker of irritation cross Dr. Perry's face, but it quickly disappeared again under a mask of amiability. "We will have much to talk about, you and I."

"Alright," Harry tried to slide his way around his uncle to go downstairs, but his uncle grabbed him hard around his forearm.

"Where are you going," his Uncle asked evenly, not betraying any of the jubilation that he obviously felt.

"Downstairs so me and Dr. Perry can talk." Harry replied, not daring to turn his head away.

"No I think its best if I have the interview in, uhmmmm," Dr. Perry said, taking another step towards Harry, "His natural, errr, environment."

"My thoughts exactly," Uncle Vernon agreed, now releasing Harry's arm, "Get into your room, boy."

Dr. Perry put his arm around Harry's shoulder and led him into his bedroom. The doctor sat down on a wooden chair in the corner while Harry sat on his bed a few feet away. Dr. Perry pulled a clipboard out from under his uniform and set it on his lap. He folded his hands and waited.

"Well, all seems to be in order," Uncle Vernon said, his eyes straying onto the billy club Dr. Perry carried on his side, "If you need any...assistance...I will be downstairs." And with one more approving glance at the billy club he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Dr. Perry's face instantly turned from amiability into shrewdness. He scanned Harry's bedroom, his gaze sometimes pausing on a spell book or a quill. Harry felt his face begin to burn. Dr. Perry's brow furrowed, and he frowned slightly. He sighed and picked up his clipboard. He scribbled something down, and then looked up at Harry.

"Your uncle tells me they took you in because of your parents, errr, died." he said, apparently waiting for some sort of reaction. Harry merely nodded.

"Do you find yourself often thinking about the, ummm, car crash they died in?" Dr. Perry asked in his most sincere and oily voice.

"They didn't die in a car crash." Harry muttered, beginning to feel a rise in anger. He quickly willed it down.

"Oh, I see." The doctor said, jotting something down on his clipboard before continuing. He tried to appear sympathetic but his voice hinted at an air of excitement.

"Let's talk about it," Dr. Parry said, his excitement rising. Harry could not understand how anyone could get such a thrill out of discussing his private life with him.

"No." Harry said with finality.

"Perhaps you could, uhhh, tell me how they really died."

"No." Harry repeated, this time with more force.

The doctor frowned, looking slightly disappointed. He began to scribble something on his clipboard. "I, umm, understand completely. We will talk about this, uhh, tomorrow maybe?" Dr. Perry looked up at him hopefully. Harry did not respond.

"Well, uhmm, tell me about your life here with your aunt and uncle," He made an attempt to smile benignly but failed completely.

"They're fine." Harry lied. He hated talking to Dr. Perry. He just wanted him to leave so he could have a slice of cake and sleep off the rest of the afternoon.

"Uh-huh," The doctor said, nodding his head, "They do seem like nice people." He jotted a short note on his clipboard.

Harry willed himself not to comment. Whenever Dr. Perry wrote something on his clipboard he was strongly reminded of Umbridge jotting notes down during the teacher inspections at Hogwarts last year.

The doctor's gaze locked onto a book that laid on Harry's nightstand. Harry immediately recognized it as the Defense Against Dark Magical Creatures book that Hermione gave him for his birthday. Dr. Perry set his clipboard on the ground, leaned over, picked up the book and set it on his lap.

"May I?" He asked without looking up. He began to leaf through the pages, eyebrows slightly raised.

Suddenly, he came to the letter that Hermione sent Harry along with his birthday gift. Harry had placed it inside the front cover of the book so that he would not lose it.

Dr. Perry unfolded it, and carefully began to read the contents. Harry had a fleeting thought of tearing the letter out from the doctor's hand, but he immediately reminded himself of the billy club the doctor carried on his waist.

"Hmmmmm," Dr. Perry said, his face betraying nothing, "This-" he stole a quick glance at the letter again, "Hermione is your, errr, girlfriend correct?" He asked.

"No. We've been friends for six years." Harry said, wondering what the doctor was getting at.

"Ahhh, I see," Dr. Perry said, smiling knowingly. He cleared his throat and then said in an oily voice, "She is, errr, very helpful, isn't she?"

Harry chose not to respond.

The doctor, slightly satisfied, folded the letter again with his long, pale fingers, and then placed it neatly in the book again.

"If you don't mind, would you tell me the purpose of this book?" he asked in his most insidious voice, which was tempered nicely with a touch of oil.

"Yes, actually-"

"I think its time you, uhmmmm, shared something with me, Mr. Potter." he said, his eyes now lighting up and his mouth twisted into a sick sort of grin.

Harry unconsciously shifted in his bed. "Well, you see," Harry began, desperately thinking of something to make up, "Its a...book on mythology."

Dr. Perry's eyes narrowed. He opened the thick tome again and leafed through the pages.

"It seems that the book is...errrr," Dr. Perry struggled for the appropriate words, "Taking for granted that these creatures ummmm, exist. Even suggests certain..." He paused, his eyebrows raised, "Defenses against nonexistent beasts." He closed the book slowly.

Harry watched silently as Dr. Perry's long fingers felt the design on the book's cover and traced the ornate grooves on the spine.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter," The doctor began, taking his gaze off the book in his hands and once again staring at Harry with cold eyes, "What is, errr, Occlumency? It was mentioned in your, ummm, friend's letter."

Harry kept his face from betraying the turmoil within him. "Its an ancient practice by the old celtic druids," he said calmly, "Hermione shares that interest. Its an inside joke." He added lamely.

"Uhhhh, sure..." Dr. Perry said, obviously not completely satisfied with the answer but abandoning the thread of questioning anyway. He carefully placed the book back on Harry's nightstand and picked his clipboard up off the ground. He quickly scribbled some notes down before meeting Harry's eyes again.

"Ummmm, Mr. Potter, I have the distinct, errr, feeling that you are not being entirely truthful with me." He said in his usual, oily voice. He paused, clearly waiting for a response.

Harry waited, then shrugged his shoulders. "I am not lying."

Dr. Perry sighed, then stood up from his seat. He paced slowly around the room, sometimes pausing to study a peculiar trinket on Harry's dresser or desk. He folded his thin arms around his back.

When he spoke again, he seemed to be choosing his words very carefully. "Mr. Potter, the reason I am here is to establish a, err, bond of trust between me and you. Your relatives insist that you must stay here, though now, after meeting you, I find myself disagreeing." He shook his head. "I must confess that I do not like being lied to, and, after today's discussion, I find myself planning to bring some of St. Brutus's more, uhmmm, influential instruments to aid me in the healing process. I believe that you are still struggling with denial over your parents' deaths in the car crash, and that this is causing your rather," he gestured to the scattered spell books, quills and parchment, "Abnormal behavior."

"Now I am a lenient man," He said, now looking directly into Harry's eyes. He felt the hairs on his back stand up. "I will try once more. I pride myself on being patient, and I often find many of my more, uhmmmm, restless subjects become more honest after I tell them this. If not..." The doctor frowned and shrugged, "I must resort to other, more, ummmm, uncomfortable methods." Dr. Perry's eyes widened when he finished his speech; looking as if he would enjoy nothing more than to try some of his more 'uncomfortable methods' on Harry right now.

Harry nodded and said, "I understand."

Dr. Perry nodded emotionlessly, straightened his impeccably white uniform, then sat down again on the wooden chair in the corner.

"So, let's try this again, shall we?" Dr. Perry said, bringing out his clipboard again. He attempted to smile reassuringly but it came out as a sadistic grin.

"Your Uncle tells me that you are quite the, errr, troublemaker." The doctor began, willing his normally oily voice to resonate strongly in the room. "Damaged your cousin's trophy, he says."

"Yes I did." Harry admitted. He didn't bother to elaborate on the situation.

Dr. Perry nodded, looking considerably more satisfied with himself, and then said, "He also said you, uhmmmm, attacked your cousin last summer."

Harry looked up, and before he could stop himself he said rather loudly, "I was saving him!"

The doctor glowered. "From what, exactly?"

Harry was trapped. He mentally kicked himself for losing his control and blurting out the truth when the damnable doctor obviously wanted and only believed lies. "Nothing." He muttered.

Dr. Perry's face became a deep red. He slowly set his clipboard and pen down, and, in a voice just barely above a whisper, he snarled "There will be no lying here, Mr. Potter." The doctor stood up, his hand clutching tightly on the billy club. He was no longer bothering to hide his anger. Harry tensed.

A moment passed, and then the doctor released his grip, apparently deciding against punishment.

"I will be back tomorrow, Mr. Potter," He said; his voice betraying a feeling of fury, even though he spoke in a deathly quiet voice, "With some of my more...insidious devices. We will have the truth out of you yet and only then can you heal."

Then, without another word, he snatched up his clipboard and swept out of the room, leaving frozen to his bed.

"Where did Uncle Vernon get this bastard?" he said out loud.

There was a murmur of voices coming from downstairs, and moments later his uncle appeared in his doorway, looking ecstatic.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" Uncle Vernon said in a booming voice, "I take it your

meeting went well?" He added.

"Oh yeah," Harry said sarcastically, "It was real smooth."

Uncle Vernon threw him a dark look before disappearing from the doorway. Almost lazily, Harry closed his bedroom door, brought out his birthday cake, took a large slice and ate it slowly, savoring it. After he was finished, he buried his head in his pillow and slept the rest of the afternoon, trying hard not to think of what terrors Dr. Perry would bring back from St. Brutus's.

2. Electrodes and Ex-Aurors

(A/N: Alright Chapter two is up. So far, its looking like all the chapters are going to hang around the 9000-10000 mark, and I will be completing them about once a week. I can guarantee updates at least once every two weeks. Without further ado, here’s chapter two.)

The rest of the day passed quickly. Aunt Petunia brought him a cold bowl of stew she had made earlier, but other than that the evening crawled by uneventfully; like a wounded snake. Uncle Vernon did not so much as come in again to harass Harry about Dr. Perry, and Dudley passed by Harry's room twice that night without bothering to open up his door and call him some obscene name. The latter was definitely a first.

When Harry woke up from his afternoon nap at around six o'clock, he suddenly remembered that Ron was coming to pick him up tomorrow. True, he did not know how or when, but he hoped that they would arrive before Dr. Perry and his instruments from Hell came to 'heal' his body with pain. Briefly, Harry wondered what he would do if Uncle Vernon prevented him from leaving.

Well then you'll fight, he thought.

Another voice, one that spoke in Hermione's voice asked: How? What if you get hurt? You can't use your wand! He could never answer the inquiries.

Harry was startled out of his thoughts by a faint tapping on his window. Surprised at receiving a letter so late at night, he walked over and pulled the window open. A small owl flew in and perched itself on the back of his wooden chair. Harry instantly recognized it as Ron's owl, Pig.

He took off the note attached on Pig's leg, fed the owl a bit of bread leftover from two days ago, and sat down on his bed. Pig had not moved, so Harry assumed that Ron wanted a response. Now a bit excited, Harry unfolded the message and read it.

Hey Harry,

Dad just got back tonight, so we'll be picking you up sometime tomorrow afternoon. Since the muggles are always strict with schedule, we'll be there about twelve o'clock noon. Dad borrowed a ministry car; so don't worry about using floo powder. Hermione arrived at the burrow earlier today, so she'll be with us when we come to pick you up.

If the Dursley's are giving you any trouble about leaving, write the situation down and send it back with Pig. Dad'll think of something. However, you WILL be coming with us, so don't worry mate, you'll be out of there in no time. Also, Hedwig arrived at the Burrow today and she'll stay with us until you arrive. (I guess you planned it that way since she refuses to leave)

I don't foresee any real problems since you just wrote to us a couple days ago, but Hermione insisted I check.

Ron

Harry nearly shouted out with glee. Although noon would be cutting it a bit close with his appointment with Dr. Perry, Harry did not care. By some stroke of luck, he can now warn Ron about the problem that will inevitably arise when the Weasley's come to pick him up.

Hastily, Harry turned the note over and wrote down the problem.

Ron,

I can't tell you how glad I am to hear from you. I sent Hedwig to the Burrow, and I could no longer contact anyone on the outside.

To make this short, I accidentally dented my cousin's trophy and my uncle is giving me hell to pay. He hired some nutcase muggle psychiatrist from St. Brutus's (A mental institution for juveniles) to see if I'm crazy. We had a brief meeting, and at the end he decided that I was indeed insane and that he will need some devices to inflict pain on me so I will not 'lie'. (Sound familiar?) He claims he's going to heal me. I'm telling you this guy is mental.

My appointment with him will be tomorrow at noon and he told me before he left that he will bring back some instruments from St. Brutus's. Get here before then. I don't want to find out what this guy has in store for me. I will pack my things tonight.

Harry

He quickly rolled up the note and attached it to the owl's leg. Pig flew up, and, after circling around his room several times, fluttered out the window and into the night sky; his wings gently silhouetted by the moonlight.

Now feeling greatly at ease, Harry laid back in bed and relaxed. After a time, he picked up his Quidditch Strategy Guide and read about the various plays the professional teams used. As he began to read a section about the plays used by the two opposing teams in the playoffs of 1874, Harry took off his glasses, leaned back, and eventually fell to sleep.

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Harry woke up some twelve hours later, drenched in sweat and his scar burning. He brought his hand up to his forehead and rubbed it soothingly, trying to remember what he had dreamt about.

Suddenly, he remembered. He had dreamed of Sirius's death.

He dropped his head back into his pillow. Harry had not dreamed of Sirius for a month; why was he having a dream about him now? Was Voldemort playing with his mind and his emotions? Somehow he doubted it. For some reason he could not discern, it felt more like a premonition.

Confused, Harry shook his head. Of course it could not be a premonition. Sirius died months ago and Harry was no Seer. Regardless, he felt that Sirius's death was important to something in his future; more specifically, his immediate future. He knew no more than that, and knew better than to look any further. He learned long ago not to allow his dreams to affect his actions. There were too many disturbances in his mind and too much potential for trickery for him to take them seriously.

As the last of the drowsiness left his mind, he sat up and got dressed before heading down the steps for breakfast.

When he reached the kitchen and sat down, he found that all of the feigned friendliness from yesterday had disappeared. Uncle Vernon was scowling behind his newspaper, occasionally throwing dark glances in Harry's direction. Aunt Petunia was refusing to look at him. Dudley did not acknowledge his existence, but continued to cram his mouth full of food. That, however, was not out of the ordinary.

All of them, though, looked greatly disappointed that he did not suffer any physical injury from his meeting with Dr. Perry yesterday.

Harry helped himself to some pancakes and sausage, and, after pouring some syrup on his stack of pancakes, said, "Uncle Vernon?"

He grunted in response and turned the page of his newspaper. The only part of him Harry could see was his forehead.

"Some of my friends are going to pick me up today," Harry said casually, "They will be arriving at noon."

Harry saw his uncle's forehead turn dark red. Everyone around the table froze, waiting for the imminent explosion of anger. Uncle Vernon slowly lowered his newspaper on the table. Harry could see his entire face was now becoming an unusual shade of purple.

"THE RUDDY HELL YOU ARE!" He bellowed, causing Dudley to suddenly drop his fork and Aunt Petunia to spill her coffee.

"Well its been planned for-"

"THAT DOESN'T MATTER BOY," His Uncle roared. He was now standing up and bits of food were flying out from his bushy mustache. "YOU WILL STAY HERE AND RECEIVE YOUR INSTRUCTION FROM DR. PERRY."

He sat back down, positively fuming. He roughly lifted his newspaper back up to his face and continued reading. Dudley started eating again and Aunt Petunia resumed staring aimlessly out the window. Harry began eating his pancakes.

"Well you can tell Mr. Weasley that when he arrives..." Harry said quietly. He heard a sharp intake of breath from behind the newspaper.

"Mr. Weasley, eh?" Uncle Vernon asked conversationally, not quite able to mask the hint of fear in his voice, "Tall man? Red hair? Hangs around with the guy with one eye, a wooden leg and a bowler hat?"

"That's the one."

Presuming the exchange to be over, Harry left the table and ran back up the steps to his room. Though he could not be certain, Harry felt sure that Uncle Vernon was absolutely terrified when Harry told him that Mr. Weasley would be arriving. Perhaps Uncle Vernon expects Mad-eye there too, he thought with a laugh.

When noontime finally came, the Weasley's were nowhere in sight. He had forgotten that they tended to be late and could never follow a schedule to the minute like Uncle Vernon; or any muggle, for that matter.

There was a knock on the door and Harry heard the familiar oily voice in the living room.

"I hope you don't, uhhh, mind but I brought a rather, ummm, older instrument. It inflicts considerably more pain than the others, but I find it, errrr, most effective."

"Well you're the doctor," Uncle Vernon chortled merrily, "What's fine with you is fine with me."

"Excellent." Dr. Perry said.

Harry began to hear footsteps outside his room, and, his door suddenly swung open to reveal an extremely excited Dr. Perry. He carried a small, metal box with various dials and wires under his arm along with a four-legged stool. He set the stool down, and then carefully placed the metal box on top of it. Subsequently he looked at Harry, absolutely glowing.

"So are we ready to, errr, speak honestly with each other today?" He asked, barely able to contain his jubilation. His gray hair was standing up in places and his normally impeccably neat, white uniform seemed to be slightly disheveled.

"Now, please place these on your forearm and temple." he commanded, bringing two electrodes out from his pocket and, after connecting them to the metal box on the stool, gave them to Harry. His left hand tightly clutched his billy club the entire time. Dr. Perry was clearly expecting resistance.

"This will administer a, uhhhh, small jolt of electricity," He began, hands shaking with anticipation, "If I feel that you are, ummmm, being less than truthful. You see, the human mind is very much like an egg,” Dr. Perry continued, winding various controls on the box, “One quick crack, and the, uhmmmm, contents spill out cleanly. Too much pressure or force, and you threaten to rupture the yolk and ruin the, err, meal.”

Harry wanted desperately to rip the electrodes off of his body, but, with the doctor watching his movements carefully with a billy club in his hand, he did not dare attempt anything.

"Let's begin, shall we?" He said, finishing tuning the dials on the metal box. They looked suspiciously like they were set to maximum. He picked up a steel controller that had a single, black button on it and held his thumb directly over it.

"Now tell me, what were you saving your cousin from?" The doctor demanded, his eyes glinting maliciously. No longer was there any mask of friendliness on his face. Now, there was only madness. "Were you, uhmmm, hallucinating something, Potter?" He was apparently not waiting for any answers. "Maybe you lied to me yesterday."

He pushed the small, black button on the controller and Harry felt a strong shock of electricity hit his body. He screamed out in pain.

"Why were you, errr, lying yesterday?" Dr. Perry raved, "DO YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO HIDE?"

He nearly pushed the black button again, but hesitated. His eyes fell on something in the corner of Harry's bedroom. Harry turned and his mind panicked: Dr. Perry was moving to open up Harry's traveling trunk that he had packed last night.

"Stay where you are." The doctor warned, now opening up the trunk and sorting through the contents.

"Where were you going, Potter?" Dr. Perry said, glancing over his shoulder frequently to ensure Harry had not moved. "Going on a little, uhhhh, vacation, I daresay."

Dr. Perry suddenly tensed and plucked an object out of the trunk. He held it up to the light, studying it intently. It was Harry's wand.

"Hmmmmmm, what is this Potter?" He asked, now looking directly at him. "What the devil is this."

He straightened and walked back over to Harry, billy club now drawn out in his left hand while he held Harry's wand in his right. "Tell me, now. If you don't, I will have to destroy it."

Harry sighed deeply. He could not let the bastard destroy his wand.

"It's a wand. Its similar to the one used by, uh, celtic druids. So I am studying it." Harry said, unable to think of anything better.

"A, uhhh, wand, is it?" Dr. Perry said in an oily voice, his eyes locked onto Harry's wand. "Abra Kadabra!" He shouted, laughing. Carelessly, he threw it away. Harry breathed again.

"So, ummmm, Potter, what were you planning to do with a trunk full of luggage?" The doctor asked, his voice mocking.

"Well, my friends the Weasley's were planning to pick me up today at noon, but apparently they're a little late." Harry said casually.

"FILTHY LITTLE LIAR!" Dr. Perry roared, grabbing the controller. Suddenly, someone knocked on the front door and the doctor froze.

"I guess that's them." Harry said and yanked the electrodes off his arm and temple, then dashed out of the room before Dr. Perry could realize what was happening.

When Harry reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw Uncle Vernon and Mr. Weasley standing at the doorway. Uncle Vernon's face was a deep shade of red that he usually reserved only for Harry, while Mr. Weasley seemed very relaxed, almost amused.

"HE WILL BE STAYING HERE WITH ME!" Uncle Vernon shouted, spraying spit all over Mr. Weasley's face. "I AM HIS GUARDIAN. HE WILL NOT GO WITH YOU- WITH YOU-"

"Freaks?" Mr. Weasley offered. He was obviously experienced in dealing with muggles in distress.

"THEN WE AGREE ON SOMETHING!" Uncle Vernon roared on the top of his lungs.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley said, as if noticing him for the first time, "Go grab your things. We will be leaving momentarily." He stared meaningfully at Harry when he said this.

"NOW YOU WAIT A RUDDY MINUTE!"

What happened next, Harry did not know. He ran back up the steps, and, when he entered his bedroom, found Dr. Perry staring at Ron and Hermione, who were now standing with their backs to the window. Dr. Perry threatened them violently with his billy club.

"I AM WITH A PATIENT," The doctor screamed, swinging his club in the air like a caveman, "Out! Out I say!"

Dr. Perry took a step towards Ron and Hermione, but Harry, who grabbed his thick, fourth year potions book off of his dresser, slammed it down hard onto Dr. Perry's head, knocking him out cold.

"Nice one Harry!" Ron said, giving him a thumbs up. “I guess we can’t say potions is worthless after all!”

"HARRY!" Hermione squealed, throwing her arms around him in a bone-crunching hug. "We were so worried when we-" Harry silenced her.

"Can't talk now. We have to get out of here." Harry said, untangling himself from her arms.

"Oh, right!" she said, releasing him. Ron began laughing behind her.

"But first..." Harry picked up the billy club off of the floor and, summoning all his strength, smashed the metal box on the stool into countless electronic fragments. He studied the pieces for a brief second, then, finding his wand and packing it quickly, lifted his trunk and the three of them climbed down from the window.

The trio stepped down a ladder that Ron and Hermione had found in the shed, and, when they reached the ground, took off running towards the ministry car that Mr. Weasley had parked in front of the house.

Harry threw his trunk in the back of the car and signaled Mr. Weasley that they were ready to go. Mr. Weasley nodded and made his way back to the car, leaving a very flabbergasted Uncle Vernon behind him. Harry, Ron and Hermione all sat in the back seat of the car; which was enchanted so that it was much larger than it appeared on the outside.

After Ron closed the door, Hermione said, looking close to tears, "I'm so sorry we were late Harry! We had trouble finding a way up to you and we certainly couldn't use magic and-" But Harry stopped her.

"It's alright." He said, smiling, "I'm just glad I'm out of there."

"That guy was completely mental." Ron said, sounding awed. "I mean, we knew he was crazy from what you told us in your letter, but wow!"

"Yeah," Harry said, leaning back in the comfy seat, "Lucky you guys got there when you did. A few more minutes and the git was going to zap me again with the toy he brought."

"Again?" Hermion asked, beginning to bite her lower lip, "What did he do to you? Are you hurt?" She immediately searched his arms and face for bruises or cuts.

"No I'm fine. Really I am." Harry said quickly.

"Well what did he do?" Ron asked excitedly, immensely interested in what mad muggle doctors use for punishment.

"Well," Harry began, "He brought this metal box in and had me put electrodes on my forearm and temple," He gestured to where the electrodes were. The skin was discolored where the electricity entered his body. "And then if he suspected that I was lying to him, which I wasn't, at least most of the time, he would press a button and jolt me with a shock of electricity."

"HE DID WHAT?!" Hermione screamed, clearly outraged.

"He did what?" Ron asked, sounding confused.

"He used electricity-" Hermione said, then rolled her eyes, seeing Ron's blank expression "Oh, honesty, you should really take Muggle Studies."

"Well what is it?" Ron demanded.

"The way the doctor used it on Harry, it would cause enormous amounts of pain." She said, her eyes filled with worry. Ron's mouth formed a silent 'oh'.

"Well, umm," Harry said akwardly, trying to break the silence, "How are things at the burrow?"

"Well mum began to cry when I told her about Percy sending you that letter," Ron said, "She thinks that he is trying to make amends with everyone." Ron shook his head disbelievingly.

"Maybe he is," Hermione said sharply, "I bet he feels awful about last year."

Alarm bells began ringing in Harry's head. His head began spinning with ways to stop the row from going too far.

"Yeah, well you don't know Percy like I do," Ron shot back, "He's a git and I will never forgive him for what he said about-" He dropped his voice to a whisper, not wanting Mr. Weasley to hear, "-about Mum and Dad and you, Harry, in that letter."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. For once, the argument stopped itself. Hermione muttered "Can't just forgive and forget, can you? Honestly..." under her breath, and Ron started staring out the window.

Harry was beginning to wonder whether Hermione was just referring to Percy when Mr. Weasley said from the front seat, "We'll be home in ten minutes. Harry, when we get there, I want to speak with you alone if you don't mind."

"Sure." Harry said, feeling apprehensive. The last time Mr. Weasley asked to speak with him alone was in Harry's third year when he told Harry that Sirius Black was trying to murder him.

"So, errr, how's Hedwig?" Harry asked tentatively, attempting to strike up conversation again. It was very uncomfortable sitting between his two best friends that he hasn't seen all summer and not speaking with them.

"Oh, she's doing great!" said Hermione brightly, acting as though the argument never happened, "She arrived right after I did and gave us the letters you wrote to us."

"Great," Harry said after a brief pause, "How did you two do on your O.W.L's?"

"I received an 'Outstanding' on everything except Astronomy and Ancient Runes." Hermione said, beaming. "Though if I stayed focused during Astronomy and had paid closer attention to my runes, I would've done better." She added, her smile faltering slightly but still grinning from ear to ear.

Harry waited a moment. "Ron?"

"What? Oh...yeah," He said, coming out of his reverie, "I got an 'Outstanding' in Herbology somehow, an 'Exceeds Expectations' in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, and Care of Magical Creatures; and 'Acceptable' for almost everything else."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Almost?"

"Oh, ummm," Ron began to nervously fumble with his robes, "Well I got a 'Poor' in Potions and Divination, not that I don't care or anything." He added quickly, "But I guess this means no more Snape!"

"So what did you get Harry?" said Hermione, rolling her eyes at Ron.

Harry told them his O.W.L. results. Hermione brightened.

"That's great! We'll probably be in a lot of the same classes together."

Ron looked at him incredulously. "How did you get an 'Outstanding' in Potions?"

Harry shrugged. "My marks in Potions has more to do with Snape's hatred of me than my understanding of the subject."

"Alright, we're home!" Mr. Weasley called out.

The three of them jumped out of the back seat. Harry was about to join Ron and Hermione in their walk up to the Burrow, but he remembered Mr. Weasley wanted to speak with him, so he said, "I'll be up in a minute." They both nodded.

Harry waited for Mr. Weasley to step out of the car before talking.

"Ah, Harry," Mr. Weasley said, studying him, "How have you fared over the summer?"

"I fared as well as I could." Harry replied, waiting for Mr. Weasley to get to the point.

"Well, I wanted to talk to you about Sirius's death." He began, having trouble meeting Harry's eyes.

"I'm over it," Harry assured him, "I miss him a lot, but I realized I can't brood on him for the rest of my life." Despite himself, Harry heard his voice crack.

"Yes, I -I know," Mr. Weasley continued, "But it has more to do with what he, umm, with what he willed."

Comprehension dawned on Harry. "I see..."

"He gave Grimmauld Palace and his vault in Gringotts to you, Harry." Mr. Weasley said, valiantly trying to meet Harry's gaze. Harry noticed Mr. Weasley’s ears turning red.

"The Order of the Phoenix can use Grimmauld Palace whenever they wish." Harry said quickly.

"Thank you, but that isn't really the reason I need to speak with you." Mr. Weasley's eyes finally locked onto Harry and he spoke slowly and deliberately. "It has more to do with, well, Sirius's wishes."

Harry stood silently, completely confused.

"This isn't the right time," Mr. Weasley shook his head. "I chose the wrong time." He repeated, "I'm sorry Harry, but...but I will tell you tonight. It will be better when- when he arrives. Its my fault. I shouldn't have told you until after..." His voice trailed off. His ears became an even deeper red that rivaled the shade of Uncle Vernon’s neck during one of his rages.

Mr. Weasley picked up Harry's trunk and began to carry it to the Burrow, leaving Harry leaning heavily on the black ministry car; trying desperately to understand what exactly Mr. Weasley told him.

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

When Harry entered the Burrow, he found Ron and Hermione waiting for him in the family room, both sitting in overstuffed chairs and watching the doorway expectantly. Hermione's face was lined with sympathy and Ron's brow was furrowed in a questioning look. The fire crackled merrily in the background. Crookshanks was sprawled in front of the fireplace; a deeply satisfied look on his crunched-up face.

"What did dad want?" Ron asked carefully, worried about the resigned look on Harry's face.

"Was it about Sirius?" Hermione asked quietly.

"I think so. I don't really know," Harry said truthfully. He walked slowly across the room and sat in a worn loveseat. He took off his glasses and rubbed his face with both hands. "He started to tell me something but then he just sort of stopped. 'Said he chose the wrong time."

Hermione sighed sadly and uncrossed her legs. Slowly, she stood up and sat down next to Harry. "Do you want to talk about it?" She asked.

Harry shook his head. "There isn't much to talk about."

The trio sat in silence as Harry watched the flames flicker in the fireplace. He focused specifically on an old, thick log that was being licked by small tongues of fire. When it collapsed in a flurry of ashes and sparks, he turned his head and was startled to see Ron holding his face in his hands.

"Ron?" Harry asked, now sitting up.

"Harry, Hermione," Ron said, lifting his face from his hands, "I should probably tell you something." He turned to them.

He felt Hermione tense beside him. Apparently this was news to her as well.

"Last year, when we were in the Department of Mysteries," He began; his voice was hollow and empty, "I scarred by one of those..." He paused, trying to find the right word, "Brains. You remember how Madam Pomfrey said that sometimes thoughts can be permanent?"

Harry and Hermione nodded.

Ron took a deep breath before continuing. "I think that the brain did something to me," he gulped and plunged onward, "I can feel it." Harry looked at him questioningly, "I can't look at Dumbledore without becoming terrified and angry at the same time." He stared at them desperately, "Sometimes I have fits where I lose track of time. Its never more than a minute or two, but I can't remember what I did. And now...now I've been doing spells I've never heard of or seen before." He stopped, waiting for a reply.

"Spells?" Harry asked, breaking out of a shock, "What kind?"

"I don't know!" Ron croaked, "That's just it, I don't know. All I see is a flash of light come out of my wand and something happens. Always when I am angry or sad or afraid. It doesn't make an ounce of sense. What's happening with me?"

Harry and Hermione looked at each other and then turned to Ron. Their faces were mingled with sympathy and alarm.

"Do you think Vold-"

"No." Harry said instantly. "That’s impossible."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat and said, "What were those brains, Ron? Who did they, err, belong to?"

"The Unspeakables won't say." Ron scoffed, "You know; secrecy and all that."

Hermione bit her lower lip. "Maybe those brains left an imprint on you. Not enough for full possession," she added quickly after seeing Ron's face, "But enough for you to become...strange...at times. Did any of those spells you performed, well, look powerful?"

Ron thought for a moment, then shook his head.

"What does your dad say?" Harry asked.

"He reckons the same as what Hermione said." Ron said, looking a bit brighter, "We went to St. Mungo's and they told us that, although it will never go away completely, the fits will reduce in strength eventually," Ron sighed deeply and then continued, “The Healers also said that a memory charm to remove the imprint would work, but that it would have to be incredibly strong. And since memory charms are very tricky to use and there is a significant risk that the charm would remove all of my memories, the Healers felt that the risk simply wasn’t worth it.”

"What do you do in the meantime?”

"Well, continue with my life." Ron answered, "The Healers told me that I will always be unconsciously influencing what I do when I have one of my...fits. In other words, my unconscious brain would not allow myself to, say, kill Crookshanks." He added with a small smile.

“You’ll be at Hogwarts, then.” Harry nodded, relieved. For a moment, he feared that he would no longer have Ron as a companion during his sixth year.

“Though,” Ron said, now staring at the worn rug in front of him, “The Healers said I will never recover completely.”

At that moment, Mrs. Weasley stepped into the room and gave Harry a warm smile. "Hello Harry dear," she said, and then, in a louder voice so Ron would hear, "Lunch is ready." After seeing their distant, disconcerted looks, she added “Is something wrong?”

“No, mum.” Ron replied, “I’m just telling them…things.”

“Oh, of course,” She tried to smile brightly, but Harry could see sadness in her eyes, “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.” She silently left the room.

“Who else knows?” Hermione asked quietly.

“Well,” Ron said timidly, “No one outside immediate family, and, of course, you two. Dad wants it to stay that way, so don’t say anything.” He added quickly.

“Of course,” Harry and Hermione said together.

“Are you-” Harry began, struggling to find the appropriate word, “Are you dangerous in your fits?” He asked, not quite meeting Ron’s eyes. He did not want to hurt Ron’s feelings, but he needed to know, regardless.

“Oh, no!” Ron said rather loudly, “At least I haven’t been yet. The most physical damage I’ve ever done was knock over a chair and break the tip of a quill. Nothing serious.”

“Come on, if you don’t hurry you’ll miss lunch.” Mrs. Weasley called out from the kitchen.

“Coming!” Ron called back, moving from his chair. Nothing could get between Ron and a good meal, thought Harry, amused.

"We'll talk about this later mate." Harry promised as the three of them stood up from their seats. “You can’t go through this alone. We’ll always be there for you. You know that, right?”

"Yeah, but we don‘t have to talk later." Ron said, turning to him. He appeared considerably better. "I'm just glad I got that off my chest, you know? I wasn't sure how you guys would take it."

"Don't worry Ron; I know how you feel." Harry said truthfully as they approached the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley was waving her wand about wildly, managing the multiple spells that automatically washed the pots and pans, dried them, and then put them away.

“Ah, soup and fish.” Ron said, sitting at the large, round table that could fit up to twelve people comfortably. “Never used to care for fish much,” He continued, ladling the soup into his bowl. “But its starting to grow on me, you know?” Hermione’s expression became worried, but only Harry seemed to notice.

“So when are we going to pick up our N.E.W.T. level books?” asked Harry conversationally, becoming fascinated by the way Ron utterly devoured everything on his plate.

“W’ll pec ‘em op tumarow.” Ron said through a mouthful of food. Harry looked at Hermione questioningly.

“He said we will be picking up our books tomorrow,” She said, reading Harry’s confused look, “We are planning to head to Diagon Alley tomorrow.”

“That’s what I just said!” Ron muttered after swallowing a mouthful of fish. “You two’ll probably be needing your sixth year Potions books.” He added, now smiling widely, “Not me, though. I’m done with Snape’s class.”

“Professor Snape.” Hermione said under her breath.

“Whatever,” Ron answered, hearing her despite her discretion, “That git doesn’t deserve to be called a professor.”

“Watch your mouth at the table!” Mrs. Weasley warned, glaring nastily at Ron. “I thought we raised you better than that.

“Well its true.” Ron retorted, picking up another piece of fish and taking a large bite. Mrs. Weasley did not respond, but Harry was sure she heard Ron.

“Hey Ron,” Harry said, sitting up in his chair, “After lunch can I borrow Pig? Hedwig has been delivering a lot of mail this past week and I want to give her a break. I need to send in my sixth year courses.”

“’ure.” Ron answered, his eyes never leaving his plate.

Harry leaned back in his chair and began watching a fly zoom around the kitchen, wondering who he was about to meet tonight.

“Is there something wrong Harry dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked, seeing his distracted face.

“No, nothing.” Harry said absently, becoming fascinated with the meandering fly.

Mrs. Weasley sighed. “Did Arthur tell you about who you’re going to meet tonight?” It wasn’t a question. “I suppose its all for the best, then,” She continued, waving her wand at the last of the pots that still needed to be put away. They hovered briefly and then flew into the cupboard, landing neatly in sequence. “But Arthur should have waited until you settled in a bit.”

Harry’s interest in the fly suddenly vanished and he asked, “Do you know who it is?”

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. “Yes I do, dear, but I think you should meet him without any preconceived notions in your head. Really, Harry,” She said, looking directly into his eyes, seeing the frustration there, “Its best if you don’t know until tonight.”

“I know you don’t like secrets Harry,” Hermione said, looking into his eyes. She leaned over and placed her hand next to his. “But if Mister and Misses Weasley think you should wait, then please wait.”

Harry gazed into her concerned eyes and nodded his head, finding himself unconsciously agreeing.

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

When night finally came, the Weasley’s, Harry, and Hermione gathered in the family room, relaxing in the comfy, overstuffed furniture that surrounded the roaring fire. Shadows floated eerily along the walls, and Harry followed them vaguely, becoming impatient for the mysterious visitor to turn up.

“So, er, how is he going to arrive?” Harry asked, breaking the near-total silence of the room.

Mr. Weasley sat up in his seat, seemingly coming out of a trance. “He should be coming by way of the floo network sometime soon,” He said, “And he follows schedules very muggle-fashion: To the minute.”

Harry nodded and sunk back into the chair. Crookshanks jumped onto his lap and purred faintly. Harry conceded and began to stroke his fur softly, deep in thought about the imminent meeting. He felt nervous, he admitted, but a strange sense of curiosity gripped him more tightly. He glanced towards the fireplace anxiously to see if he could see the outline of a body or head. He saw, of course, nothing. Absentmindedly, Harry checked his watch despite the fact that it had been broken long ago, and then settled a little more comfortably into his seat.

“Any ideas on who the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is?” Harry asked, trying to make conversation to help pass the time.

“I don’t know,” Hermione said, “I suppose we‘ll know soon enough.” Ron simply shrugged his shoulders, his eyes locked on the fireplace.

“Oh, I could tell you that,” Mr. Weasley said, as if hearing them for the first time, “Dumbledore had trouble finding a new professor this year, so the ministry offered to send one of their Aurors to teach. Oh, don’t worry.” He said quickly, seeing Harry’s widening eyes, “Dumbledore had a say this time in who was chosen. Eventually, Fudge and Dumbledore agreed on Henry Whams.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Although the ministry now accepted Voldemort’s existence, he still did not trust them completely. He felt comforted now that a new, Dumbledore-approved professor would be teaching the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, rather than another terrible woman like Umbridge.

Suddenly, a man’s head popped into the fireplace. Mr. Weasley automatically jerked up and strode over to the fireplace, effectively blocking everyone’s view of the head and therefore the identity of the owner. Mr. Weasley and the man seemed to talk for a moment, and then, after nodding his head affirmatively, he backed up a few steps and allowed a tall, dark figure of a man to crawl out of the fireplace.

The figure straightened, dusted his black cloak with large, gloved hands, and then spoke in forced politeness, “I implore you all to leave this room. Now. Except you.” He added, pointing imperiously at Harry.

The command was obeyed instantaneously by everyone. Not out of respect, but because the very tone of his voice was subtlety laced with venom and controlled anger. Ron stared at the figure, with blatant disbelief written across his face. Mr. Weasley gave the figure a short nod before turning and following the rest of the Weasley’s out of the room. Hermione placed her hand on Harry’s shoulder and whispered “Be careful” before leaving.

The figure was now illuminated darkly by the firelight. Harry squinted to more accurately make out the man’s features and expression. The figure’s face was predatory; nearly hawkish. He had high cheekbones and every part of him was made up of sharp, definite angles; almost like he was carved out of solid rock. He was completely bald, but Harry knew that if the figure had hair, it would be greasy black. His shoulders were broad and slack, and Harry guessed his height to be a little over six and a half feet. The man carried himself arrogantly about, seeming to be able to recognize and dismiss everything in his sight at the same time, and wore a thick, heavy black robe that almost dragged onto the ground. Everything about the figure screamed ‘Dark Wizard’ and Harry felt himself shudder. Harry began to have a nervous feeling that he was staring at Dr. Perry’s older brother.

Then, Harry’s eyes locked onto the figure’s. They were black and deep set; and gave the impression of immeasurable cruelty and unforgivable hatred. Harry noticed with growing tension that the man’s eyes were studying him appraisingly, and that he did not seem to like what he saw. The eyes fell onto Harry’s scar, which began to burn faintly; though from unexplained fear or the man’s gaze, Harry could not tell. The figure suddenly turned away, as if Harry’s scar had offended him personally.

The black-robed man turned back to Harry, now gazing deeply into his eyes. “I am Alexander Gates,” He said in an incredibly flat and icy voice. For some reason, Harry had the odd feeling that he had heard that name from somewhere. “Order of Merlin, first class. Ex-Auror of the Ministry of Magic. Currently a professional independent Hit-Wizard. You may call me either Mr. Gates or Master Gates, I do not care.”

Harry nodded and said nothing. I bet he’s a real bastard, he thought.

“You’re Harry Potter, student at Hogwarts. Now going into your sixth year,” He said, his voice chilled with a hint of mockery. “Correct?”

Harry hesitated, then realized that the figure was probably expecting a response. “Yes.” He stammered. Something about Mr. Gates unnerved him.

“Allow me to get straight to the point, Potter,” Gates said, pacing slowly about the room. Harry apprehensively remembered that only Snape called him by his last name, and he involuntarily felt for his wand, reassuring himself that it was still there. “I have been given the unfortunate task of…protecting…you by an old acquaintance of mine. He sent me a letter directing me to watch over you during your entire sixth year at Hogwarts. Seemed to believe you will be in some sort of danger.” He glanced at Harry vaguely, watching for a reaction.

“Alright…” Harry began, unsure of what to say.

Mr. Gates stopped pacing and turned his head sharply towards Harry. Shadows from the fire danced wildly across the right side of his face. “Harry, my acquaintance said that you have some experience fighting the Dark Lord and his underlings. He said you feel you can duel them to a degree.” Rage was now clearly burning in the man’s eyes. Harry gulped.

“I’ve had experience with them.” Harry said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“You’ve had experience have you?” Gates hissed, laughing maliciously, though the laughter did not reach his eyes. “I daresay you won’t be having experience with them this year. There will be no silly nonsense heroics this year, I can promise you that. No more silliness that results in real people dying; though I daresay your sense of reality has been drastically skewed from the idol worship.” His expression was taunting; and that more than anything provoked Harry to anger.

Harry stood up from his chair. “I was tricked into going there! Besides it wasn’t heroics, I was just trying to save-”

“SILENCE!” Gates roared, fury etched in every line in his face, as if he had never been addressed so rudely in his life. “Though you may believe you are some sort of great hero, I know for a fact you are not, Potter, so sit down!” Harry sat stiffly, “I believe all of your publicity has bloated your ego far too much. That,” He added, sharp teeth now glinting from under his mocking smile, “Will be dealt with, as well.”

Harry felt himself disliking Gates every moment he spent with him. He thought Snape had hated him, but with Gates it seemed that Harry had attacked him personally.

“Leave then,” Harry said, much louder than he meant be, “If I am such a fraud then I am not worth your time. Get out.” He commanded, sounding more confident than he felt.

“Oh, you think I don’t want to, Potter?” Gates snarled, eyes glaring at him, “You think that if I had the choice I would be here babysitting the great hero Potter rather than fighting Dark Wizards and Death Eaters across Britain? My client, Merlin damn him, used an old favor to magically bind me to this monotonous task. For some reasons that I have yet to discern, he seems to believe your life is worth something. Though I adamantly disagree, I have no say. So I am trapped here, Potter. I am bound to follow you and watch over you and guard you for every second of your current year at Hogwarts so you don’t trip down the stairs or do some other equally imbecile thing.”

Harry groaned inwardly. Gates will be following him everywhere?

“Oh, Potter, I know the truth behind all of your little ‘accomplishments’.” Gates continued, enunciating every word to make it more effectively sink into Harry‘s mind, “I know how the Priori Incantatem saved your hide from the Dark Lord after that pitiful tournament that the ministry hosted for little children. I know how you only accomplished your Expecto Patronus on those hundred Dementors by using a time turner illegally. I know many things, Potter.”

Harry’s mind was racing. How did Gates know? Only a handful of people knew either of those secrets.

Gates grinned. “Does the omnipotent Harry Potter find it shocking that someone knows that he is truly just an amateur wizard who simply had luck on his side?”

Harry had said something similar to that before, but that did not lessen his surge of rage and anger.

“And Voldemort-” Harry was cut off.

“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK THE DARK LORD’S NAME!” Gates bellowed, withdrawing his wand. He caught himself before casting a curse. “You-” He said, panting heavily, as though threatening Harry had cost him great exertion, “You dare speak the Dark Lord’s name when you don’t have an inkling of his true power. You, who have never killed a Dark Wizard, or even defeated one without some sort of luck or help. You think you have faced the worst?” He said, glaring at Harry with overpowering hatred. “You know nothing of the worst. I have seen such cruelty…such empty cruelty. You are ignorant of what Dark Wizards can do.” He put away his wand.

Gates paused for a minute, regaining his composure. His expression returned to its previous, icy state. “I have almost full control over you Potter,” He began, his grin returning and his eyes reflecting unrestrained hate. “If I do not like what you are doing, I can stop you. If I don’t like who you are speaking to, I can stop you. I can tell you where to go and when to go.” His grin faltered momentarily, “With only a tiny, almost miniscule check on my power. You will not be permitted your usual ridiculous adventuring around the school and the Forbidden Forest. You will survive this school year, but after that I promise nothing.” Gates’s eyes glinted maliciously.

“What fool hired you?” Harry said out loud, not expecting an answer but wanting one all the same.

“Oh, this is the part I especially enjoy.” Gates said vindictively, his grin broadening, “Your damnable Godfather, Sirius Black, sent me his last wishes as I owed him a favor from long ago. As you may know, his last wishes and the unpaid favor created a magical bond. So, you see, Sirius,” He spat the name out as if it put a bitter taste in his mouth, “Condemned me to this fate. Merlin help me, he will regret this somehow.”

Harry allowed this to sink in. A once familiar sadness crept up into him. Why Sirius? Harry thought, Why did you have to send this bastard to watch over me? You know I can take care of myself.

“I daresay he is requesting a bit much for the minor favor he did me,” Gates said nastily, “But who am I to argue now that the one whom he asked me to protect is also the one who managed to get him killed.”

Harry willed himself not to pull out his wand and hex Gates into oblivion. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. When he opened them again, Harry saw Gates staring directly into the flames of the fire. Once again, Gates reminded Harry of a predatory bird watching his prey.

After a time, Gates spoke again. “I need to know all of your acquaintances at Hogwarts. Everyone and anyone you’re close to or might be in danger just for knowing you.” He said this all in a business-like way and Harry figured this was something Sirius required him to do, as well. Harry told him the name of every member of Dumbledore’s Army, and decided that covered everyone.

Gates stood silently for a moment, committing the information to memory. “Is there a girlfriend?” He asked as though he already knew the answer but needed to ask anyway. Harry saw his eyes flicker over to the archway where Hermione had passed under when she left the room. He understood at once.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Harry said, surprised by the small tone of regret that had somehow entered his voice.

“Hmm?” Gates asked, giving the smallest hint of surprise before masking his face over again. “She isn’t?” He seemed troubled somehow by that news. He quickly withdrew a piece of parchment from his robes and glanced over it briefly before returning it. “Inaccurate information.” he muttered under his breath, “Damn him and his favor.”

“What’s this favor you keep talking about?” Harry demanded, still trying to sort out all the thoughts in his head. Suddenly, he understood how Gates knew of the time turner and the Priori Incantatem. Sirius must have told Gates everything in the message he sent him. Fleetingly, Harry wondered what else Sirius told Gates.

“That is none of your concern.” Gates said brusquely. “However, he asked…no…commanded me to give you a scroll in the letter he sent me. I don’t know what it says.” He turned away from the fire and brought his left hand under his cloak. When he pulled it out again, it was holding an old, battered piece of rolled parchment with a seal.

Harry stood up from his chair and snatched it out of Gates’s arm. Gates threw him a venomous glare and returned to the fireplace. Harry broke the seal and unrolled it, reading quickly.

Harry,

If you are reading this than something terrible has happened to me and I can no longer watch over you. No matter the circumstances of my demise, I assure you that my death was the result of my own doing and decisions. Do not think for a moment that you could have changed what happened. Please, do not brood over me.

This letter is not going to be about my death, however, but about your own future.

You must not play the hero anymore, Harry. I know that I have always risked a little more than was wise, but if I died then Voldemort is much stronger than previously anticipated. I cannot allow you to continue to put yourself at risk for the sake of others.

Since you received this message, than you must be in contact with Alexander Gates. He comes from an obscure branch of my family tree that had been removed a century ago by my great-grandmother: Probably because her sister engaged in a relationship with a muggle, and they started a family. Gates would be her great-grandson now, I believe.

I sent him a private letter that explains everything that has happened with you over your life. He tends to keep to himself, and isn’t used to having human contact. Try to get along with him and learn from him. His powers rival Dumbledore’s.

Harry tore his eyes away from the letter to see Gates standing statue-like by the fire. His right hand twitched incessantly in what Harry guessed to be an involuntary movement. Abruptly, as if Gates sensed his gaze, the hand grew still. Harry turned back to the scroll.

Since you will be spending one school year with him, you should probably know a bit about him. Me and Alexander have known each other since our second year at Hogwarts. Though I never considered us close friends, I believe I was as close of a friend that he ever had. Like you, he lost his parents to a Dark Wizard. Unlike you, he never recovered from the loss and remained isolated from everyone. He swore that he would eventually kill those who murdered his family, and, eventually, he did.

After we graduated from Hogwarts the two of us went our separate ways. Before graduation, though, I did him a favor. What that favor was is irrelevant, and it is not my place to discuss it. As soon as he was out on his own he hunted down the Dark Wizards who had killed his mother and father and, one by one, destroyed them all. He never used the Unforgivable Curses to kill his targets, but one does not necessarily need the killing curse to put out the life of a wizard.

Afterwards, he joined the ministry and worked for a time as an Auror. Some time later, he quit. The reason is unknown to me; but that is hardly surprising as during this time I scarcely tracked his whereabouts and his doings. We haven’t spoken since Hogwarts.

Once he quit the ministry, he took up the profession of Hit Wizard and began a sort of rampage that spanned entire continents as he seeked out Dark Wizards and killed them indiscriminately. I don’t know the specifics of his campaign, nor do I know exactly how many he killed, but Merlin knows few wizards in all of history fought against the Dark Arts as he did.

Ironically, if his parents weren’t killed by Dark Wizards, he probably would’ve become a Death Eater himself. He followed that sort of ideology during Hogwarts, and I daresay he does now. Not wide-spread slayings, of course, but he was very for having pure bloods rule everything.

But do not judge him too harshly. I trust him completely; and he takes his honor very seriously. With my death he has become magically bonded to fulfill the favor he owed me, and no wizard can resist that. I have three favors for him to fulfill. One is to protect you for one school year. Another is that he must train you in advanced dueling magic; when he feels that you are ready. The third is private and is not related to you or Voldemort, so do not think I am keeping secrets from you Harry.

There are several allowances I have made for him so he can protect you effectively. If there is a reasonable amount of danger to your person, he may deny you access to any activities or places or people that he feels constitute a threat. If you resist, he is permitted to subdue you for your own protection. In addition, he is allowed to respond if you attack him first, so don’t try anything reckless Harry. This is for your own protection, I promise you.

You may hate me now, but that is unimportant. You must remain safe. You must live through this. You were James’s only son, Harry, and I begin to feel you were my only son as well. Here is my parting advice:

Never forget anything, Harry, and never regret.

Sirius

As Harry finished reading the scroll, he felt tears welling in his eyes and he began gasping for breath. Harry threw off his glasses and buried his face in his hands; allowing sobs to shake his body. He ran his fingers through is black hair, and tried to regain control of his body and emotions. “Oh God Sirius!” he cried, trembling all over.

Gates broke his gaze off of the fire and turned to Harry, his black eyes showing disgust. “I haven’t seen such a pathetic sight in many a year.” He spat, his voice devoid of sympathy, “The great Harry Potter who supposedly defeated the Dark Lord, crying over his dead Godfather months later. Let me tell you something, Potter,” His face contorted into an expression of cruel delight, “Your Godfather was one of the most wretched and arrogant men I have ever had the misfortune to meet. He- He spoke to me like I was his little pet. Like I was honored just to be basking in the glory of his presence. Not only that; but he lied to me. He lied to me for so many years. Why, he seemed to believe the lack of family made us bonded in some way…though with my family I had little choice.” He began to shake with rage. “He, however, was a traitor to his blood and for that I spit on his grave.” Gates spat bitterly on the ground. “May he rot and go to whatever Hell there is; along with his worthless, arrogant friends. The Marauders, they called themselves? Worthless. And here, standing in front of me, is their equally worthless and arrogant spawn.”

Harry summoned all of his strength to control his body from lashing out at the wizard in front of him. He knew nothing, Harry told himself, he knows nothing. Finally, he lost control and pulled out his wand, pointing it warningly at Gates, sparks flying from the end of it. “Shut up!” Harry shouted, “You don‘t know! All those Dark Wizards you killed rubbed off on you, didn’t they?” Gates stared at him, his face deepening into a blood red, “Now you’re no better than them. You’re just another Death Eater!”

Harry shoved Sirius’s letter into his pocket and ran from the room, leaving Gates standing in front of the fire, the light from the flames creating dark shadows across his face, making his angular features more prominent than ever. With a silent curse at being forced to coexist with Sirius’s damnable Godson, he sat down.

Harry ran down the hall, heedless at the amount of noise his footfalls were making. He wanted more than anything to escape to his room where he could sleep off the rest of the night and wake up to a better day. Thoughts swam wildly in his mind; many of them violent. I swear to Merlin, he thought, I swear on my parents’ graves, I swear on everything that has ever meant anything to me in my life that I will get that bastard back for what he said. That bastard will pay, I swear he will.

Then, Harry ran into the two people that he wanted to see the least at this moment. Ron and Hermione were standing at the base of the stairs, both looking terribly shocked to see him. Ron, though, not having a clear view of Harry’s eyes, stood wordlessly, slightly confused.

“Harry we heard shouting and-” Hermione paused, seeing his tear streaked face, and then asked in her most calm voice, “Harry what happened in there?” Harry could see that she was debating in her mind whether to hug and comfort him or not.

“Harry!” Ron said, still unable to make eye contact with Harry, “You know who that was! That was Alexander Gates. He wrote-”

Harry looked from Hermione, to Ron, then back to Hermione; she was biting her lower lip. He shook his head slightly and ran up the steps, disappearing into the bedroom. Hermione glared angrily at Ron, who was apparently oblivious to what had just transpired.

“What’s wrong with him?” He asked.

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

Alexander Gates sat back in the overstuffed chair that was previously occupied by Harry. He steepled his fingers meditatively, and stared blankly at the fire. His face betrayed none of the turmoil that now occurred within his mind.

He mentally reread passages of Sirius’s message to him. He was always especially adept at memorizing such letters; easily able to recall them instantly even years after the fact.

You must be careful with Harry, Sirius had warned in his letter, He has a free spirit and it will be difficult to restrain him. But restrain him you must, Alex. You must protect him at all costs. He cannot die.

Gates skipped a few paragraphs in his mind.

Harry has many friends at school; I will not attempt to list them so you must ask him for that information yourself. However, just by being friendly with him they unwittingly put themselves in danger as well. I fear Voldemort will soon recognize Harry’s tendency for holding his friends’ lives above his own and will use that to trap him. Especially vulnerable is Hermione Granger. She is extraordinarily important to Harry and I sense that something strong may develop between the two. (If something hasn’t already) Keep a careful eye on her as well.

Gates mind centered on a single thought: “Had Sirius overestimated their relationship? Perhaps. I must know soon…”

And, above all Alex, you must be prepared at all times for Voldemort fully-possessing Harry at isolated moments. Dumbledore told me that he sensed Voldemort’s presence in Harry, and that it won’t be long before Voldemort attempts such a thing. Subdue Harry until the possession passes, but do not harm him more than required.

Alexander felt hot rage surge into his head. “The Dark Lord is entering Potter’s mind? Remember, Dumbledore told you that the Dark Lord had succeeded in controlling Harry briefly in the Ministry of Magic. The boy is tainted to the darkness now. It is irreversible.”

Gates reached for his wand unconsciously. “Something must be done about that boy,” he thought in the recesses of his mind. “Potter can become very dangerous indeed if the Dark Lord’s presence continues. Potter’s mind will be easily corrupted. By next year or the year after, he will be fully enveloped into the Dark Fold. No one resists the Dark Lord. Not even this Potter child.” Alex’s face contorted into a look of utter disgust. “The boy will be humbled this year. I will see to that.”

“But what are you going to do about the boy?” Gates thought, leaning out from the soft cushioning of the chair, “He cannot be allowed to be absorbed into the Dark Fold. He will be far too dangerous…to his friends and everyone. Damn Sirius for forcing me into this. Did he know what this boy would become?”

The a dark, cruel idea entered his mind. “Yes; if I cannot kill him this year, and I cannot permit the Dark Lord to warp and strengthen his powers over the entire Hogwarts school year, then the only remaining solution without breaking my Magical Bond is…” Alexander began to grin madly, “…is to curse him to within an inch of his life. If I cannot kill him, I will destroy him.” Gates’s thoughts momentarily paused, “But not now. I must wait. I have to wait and tempt him into attacking me first. I will know when I have my chance. Next Spring, perhaps. Patience, “Alex told himself, “Patience is what will earn me this victory. Potter will be ruined before the Dark Fold can swallow him completely.”

Suddenly, a sharp pain ran through his body. Pain more severe than he had ever experienced in his entire life. “Where did Potter go,” He groaned, realizing that he had been away from Harry without knowing where he was for more than five minutes. The Magical Bond was tearing him apart. As soon as Harry read Sirius’s scroll, the Magical Bond had become concrete.

“Damn Sirius, damn him to hell.” Lifting himself out of the chair, Gates stumbled towards the stairwell, and, after discovering where Harry slept, stood like a sentinel outside of his door for the rest of the night, eyes peering intently into the darkness.

(A/N: At the end there, I went third person because it was rather necessary. For the vast majority of the story, however, it will be through Harry. On a side note, it may seem unrealistic that Gates when beserk on Harry for nearly no reason at all, but I will be getting to that in the next few chapters. Trust me, once you get to know Gates you will understand; his character is barely developed at this point. I would like to know what people think about the way I am developing Gates’s character and any feedback would be appreciated. My highest priority in this story is to have most of the content original and creative; so if anyone out there has any suggestions to make - this story is rather pliable - don’t hesitate to say something.

And before anyone asks, Harry didn’t say anything about Dr. Perry to MR. Weasley or the Order because he doesn’t want them to think he will break easily. (Remember Umbridge and the detentions) Not logical but it goes with his character, I feel.

Hope you enjoyed chapter two and you can expect chapter 3 up some time next week.)

3. Madness at Diagon Alley

(A/N: Thanks for the reviews everyone! If anyone has any direct story input, or would like to see a change made, or simply complain about something, don’t hesitate to email/pm/do something and tell me because I take criticism well. Also, this story is not intended to be dark and angst; so if you think its becoming to heavy, make sure I know. My intentions for this story is for it to be humorous at times, charming at times, passionate, and above all original/interesting.

R&R if you have a moment. Withotu further ado, chapter 3:)

“Wormtail,” said a cold, hard voice, “I command you to send Antonin this message.”

“Wha- What is it master?” A trembling voice stammered. He felt himself become disgusted at Wormtail’s blatant show of weakness.

“Tell him to proceed. His plan is confirmed and he is to execute it at the preplanned time. Make sure you tell him to value discretion.” He paused, “I can sense Potter’s presence in my mind. Do you understand what I have told you Wormtail?”

“Completely, master.”

“Then leave me.” He silently waited for the crawling form to exit, and then concentrated strongly on his mind.

“Potter,” The voice said aloud, “You remember-”

Harry was jerked awake by a frantic banging on the bedroom door. Quickly putting on his glasses and throwing on a shirt, he swung his feet over the bed and stretched. His scar burned mildly, and Harry figured it was because his dream was interrupted. His frayed emotions must have left him vulnerable to Voldemort’s influence last night. Mentally thanking whoever awoke him, he stood up and strode over to the oak door, trying to shake the grogginess from his head as he walked.

“Harry! Come out you’ve been sleeping for twelve hours!” said a muffled, feminine voice from behind the door. Harry recognized it instantly as Hermione. “I don’t know what that terrible man said to you but you have to come out some time!”

“I’m coming,” Harry called back, feeling much stronger after his long sleep. His emotions were no longer rampant and uncontrolled like they were when he went to bed. “I just over slept. I’m not hiding.” He opened the door.

He was immediately blinded by a flurry of Hermione’s long, brown hair as she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. “Don’t do that! You had everyone really worried!”

“Its okay Hermione,” He said, laughing, “I promise I won’t oversleep again.” He suddenly saw Mr. Gates peer at him suspiciously over Hermione’s shoulder. Harry saw that his eyes contained suppressed hate, but he ignored it. For one, he should have never allowed the Ex-Auror to dig out his normally reined emotions in the first place, and two, it was far too early in the morning for an argument. Harry focused his eyes on Hermione’s bushy hair and stalwartly refused to return Gates’s malignant glare.

Hermione lowered her voice to a whisper. “Do you want to talk about what happened last night? Mr. Gates has been standing outside your door all night, and hasn’t even slept.”

Harry paused for a moment, locking his eyes with hers. “Not now. First I want to eat.”

She nodded and the two of them climbed down the steps and entered the kitchen, Gates following some distance behind. Harry could feel Gates’s eyes burning into his back. Mumbling “Hello”, He and Hermione joined Mr. Weasley, Ron, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley at the breakfast table. Gates leaned lazily against the wall, not tempted in the least by the massive amounts of food Mrs. Weasley had laid out for brunch.

Harry ate breakfast ravenously; rivaling even Ron’s incredible eating habits. He was famished from his meeting with Gates and the twelve straight hours of deep sleep following it. Ginny and Mr. Weasley watched in awe as Harry devoured stacks of toast, pancakes, and various eggs and meats.

“Delicious.” Harry said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his stomach.

“Blimey mate,” Ron said, seeming to forget about his own food, “They don’t feed you much at the Dursley’s do they?”

“No, just hungry, that’s all,” Harry replied, smiling. “Say, you guys want to talk after brunch?” He added thoughtfully.

“Yes.” Hermione and Ron both said at once. Gates narrowed his eyes, seemingly irritated, but Harry ignored him.

“So,” Mr. Weasley began, folding the Daily Prophet and placing it on the table, “How did last night go?”

“Oh, err,” He glanced quickly at Hermione, who imperceptibly shook her head, “It went alright, I guess.” Hermione and Ron obviously had not told Mr. Weasley about them meeting him at the base of the stairs last night, so Harry decided that Mr. Weasley should not know about the confrontation he and Gates had. Mr. Weasley had enough problems to be going on with, and he certainly did not need Harry to add to them.

Mr. Weasley nodded and return to his newspaper. “Oh, and I’ll take you to Diagon Alley this afternoon, so make sure you’re ready. I imagine you have quite a load of books you need to purchase this year.”

“Yeah,” Harry replied. Turning to Ron and Hermione, he said “Well I’m done eating, how about we go get ready now?” He gestured for them to follow.

“Sounds like a good idea,” agreed Ron.

Harry led them up the stairs and into the bedroom, Gates in tow. Before closing the door, Harry muttered to Gates, “Private. Wait out here.” Before slamming the door in his face.

Harry walked over to his bed and sat down. He looked up at his friends, who were now studying him carefully. “Its going to be a long year with him.” Harry said quietly, pointing at the door.

“He’s completely mental! Do you know who he is?” Said Ron, his face alight with mixed apprehension and anticipation. “Blimey, you are a real target for madmen Harry.”

Harry shrugged. “Like flies to honey.”

“He’s the author of The Art of Dueling, that’s who he is.” Hermione said, apparently annoyed that Ron had called the writer of such an excellent book ‘mental’. Immediately, Harry realized where he heard that name before. Ginny had given him The Art of Dueling for his birthday.

“And he’s completely mad.” Harry said, his voice a little louder than he would have liked, “He loathes me worse than Snape, and, just like Snape, its for no reason at all.” Harry quickly related the meeting he had with Gates last night.

“Oh, dear,” Hermione said, her voice filled with worry, “That’s not good to have wizards like him as your enemy. Not good at all.”

“What can I do about it?” Harry argued, though he did not raise his voice, “He hates me and doesn’t even know me.”

Hermione shook her head. “Don’t you see Harry?” she said, “He’s jealous.”

“Of what?” Harry asked incredulously. He turned to Ron for support.

To Harry’s surprise, Ron nodded in agreement. “I think she’s right, mate. Dad says Gates was a big time fighter against the Dark Arts during You-Know-Who’s time. ‘Tells me he was immensely famous. Then, you came around and destroyed You-Know-Who, just like that,” Ron looked at him pityingly. “I bet he feels that you stole his glory away.”

All of a sudden, some of what Gates had said to Harry clicked into place. It was so obvious. “And what else?” he asked.

“What else?” Said Ron in a disbelieving voice, “Alexander Gates is a complete nutter, even if he did kill all those Dark Wizards. Blimey, he personally killed more Dark Wizards than anyone else for the past ten centuries. You would have to be mad to do that, wouldn’t you?”

“I think you were right when you said that some of those Dark Wizards rubbed off on him,” Hermione added, biting her lower lip, “Its been known to happen to some Aurors; you know, become corrupted by the power they‘re trained to fight. Though, they never came close to Mr. Gates.”

“You know what his nickname is now?” Ron exclaimed, wearing a broad grin on his face, “Its ‘The Debauched Savior’. A lot of people felt for a long time that he would be the one who would defeat You-Know-Who. When you did…” Ron shrugged.

“He went completely mental,” Harry nodded.

“Not only that,” continued Ron, “He went bad. Rumors started to float around that he was using the Dark Arts.”

“Oh, come off it, Ron,” Hermione scoffed, “Why would he need to do that? He already was one of the most powerful wizards in existence. Those were just lies spread by Voldemort’s old supporters to ruin his credibility.”

“You weren’t there,” Ron responded airily.

“He worked for the ministry at one point, Ron.” Hermione shot back, “You can’t just become an Auror for the ministry without having a spotless record. He couldn’t dabble in the Dark Arts. Honestly…”

“And do you know why he quit the ministry?” Ron said excitedly, clearly thrilled to be able to share the story. When Harry shook his head, he continued. “Well, dad says that he quit because at the time the ministry required writs and papers in order to duel and kill a Dark Wizard. After a while, Gates decided he could do better on his own and operate outside ministry law; so he quit. When he was leaving the Ministry of Magic, he nearly dueled five escort Aurors who were tracking him to make sure he didn’t do anything…illegal…on his way out. Threatened a lot of ministry employees and staff. Caused quite a ruckus, dad says. Well anyway, when Gates began to play the role of vigilante and track down renegade Dark Wizards, the ministry politely ignored everything and dutifully shuffled all of his law-breaking into the garbage. They decided that if all he was doing was killing Dark Wizards, then they wouldn’t harass him. Blimey, they would regret that.”

Ron paused, allowing the suspense to build, and took a deep breath. He enjoyed being at the center of attention.

“Soon, renegade Dark Wizards sort of became scarce around Britain and Gates had difficulty finding targets. Then, you stopped You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters dispersed. Gates was crushed. More than anything, his life ambition was to make his family name synonymous with glory and power. Once you killed You-Know-Who, Gates was pushed into the background and his chances at fame disappeared. He became bitter and desperate.”

“He started to attack big-name families.” Ron paused, “Malfoy-big. Fudge, after large amounts of outside pressure, finally decided that Gates was too dangerous to have running around unchecked. He issued a warrant for his arrest.”

“I bet Gates loved that.” Harry said, grinning.

“You have no idea. When the Aurors came to destroy his wand, he dueled them all and he won. Against five trained Aurors. It was incredible. Anyway, after that he fled and went into exile. Rumors flew around that he was in Europe and Russia pursuing some isolated patches of Dark Wizards and cults, but he fell off the map at that point.”

“Wait,” said Harry, “Why did he go into exhile?”

Ron shrugged. “The guy is mental. He probably thought it would be a lot easier to hunt down Dark Wizards on his own without the ministry breathing down his back. Who knows.”

“And now he’s back,“ Ron continued, “The ministry granted him a pardon, seeing that they need wizards like him on their side since You-Know-Who has returned. So he owes Sirius a favor and that’s why he’s guarding you?” Harry nodded. “I’d kill to find out what the favor was.” Ron sat down on a nearby chair and allowed them to meditate on what he had just said.

“You think he hates me enough to try to kill me?” Harry asked after a long silence, “He certainly seems mad enough to.”

“No, he can’t just ignore a Magical Bond.” Hermione replied, “Not unless he wants to remain sane, that is. Ignoring a Magical Bond is supposed to create such intense mental pain that the mind eventually overloads and begins to shut down. He doesn’t have much choice in the matter.”

Harry felt himself much relieved at this. “What do you suppose the third favor is?” He asked out loud, not really meaning to.

“Who knows.” Ron said, “I suppose we’ll find out this year, right?”

“Yeah.” Harry answered vaguely. For some reason, he began to think about the vision he had last night.

“Is something wrong Harry?” Hermione asked timidly.

Harry said nothing for a moment, then said, “I’m just thinking about the dream I had last night?” Hermione immediately stiffened.

“Was it about V-Voldemort?” She asked, ignoring Ron’s involuntary jump.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, rubbing his scar absently, “He was telling Wormtail to deliver a message to Antonin.” Hermione did not move. “Telling him to proceed with the plan, and to be discrete about it. He sensed I was there so he didn’t reveal much, and when he was about to attack my mind you woke me up.” He turned to Hermione. “Thanks.”

Hermione blushed faintly on the cheeks. “Antonin? Is he the-”

“The same one who attacked you at the Department of Mysteries, yes.” Harry said instantly.

“He’s a very powerful wizard.” Hermione said, now looking out the window, “Perhaps it was a good idea after all to have Gates around this year.” Then, upon realizing what that remark implied, she continued quickly, “Harry I didn’t mean-”

“That’s alright, I know what you meant.” Harry said, cutting her off. He smiled reassuringly at her.

“So are you going to send an owl to Dumbledore?” Hermione asked tentatively. She vividly remembered Harry’s insistence that they keep the headmaster in the dark when it concerns his dreams.

To her surprise, Harry seemed to contemplate it for a moment. “I suppose I will, though it probably won’t tell him much. Still, the Order should know if Voldemort’s has a plot brewing. I will send him an owl later.”

Hermione smiled appreciatively and returned her gaze to outside the window.

“So how’s Bill faring with the goblins?” Harry asked Ron, who sat blankly in the chair deep in thought; an unusual state for Ron.

Ron came out of his reverie. “Oh, erm, not too good, so I hear. They are keeping out of it so far. They mistrust the ministry and You-Know-Who equally.”

“Maybe if the ministry granted them the rights they deserve,” Hermione said scathingly, “ They would be more keen on helping us.”

“Oh no, not spew again.” Ron groaned.

“Its not ‘spew‘, Ron,” Hermione said, her eyes flashing with anger, “It’s the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. Goblin rights are a completely different subject. Of course, once house-elves have the same rights as wizards goblins are bound to follow. Its not fair for wizards to determine what’s correct for all magical creatures.”

“What makes house-elves so special?” muttered Ron.

“Anyway,” Hermione continued, ignoring Ron and pointedly looking at Harry, “I plan on taking S.P.E.W. to the next level this year at Hogwarts. I’m thinking about making it an official club.” She paused, obviously waiting for Harry’s response.

“That sounds great, Hermione.” Harry said somewhat hesitantly.

“Official club?” Ron asked loudly to ensure that Hermione could not feign deafness, “Wasn’t it official two years ago?”

Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry as if to say, “Honestly, can you believe him sometimes?”

“No, Ron, it wasn’t.” Hermione said impatiently, “For it to become official you need a professor to sponsor it and at least ten people to join it.”

“And what is a club going to accomplish?” Harry began to sense an oncoming row. At a loss for what to do, and knowing it was better not to get involved, he sat back and watched in silence, hoping for outside intervention.

“You’ll see Ron.” Hermione replied knowingly, “I have plenty of activities planned. Just wait.”

“Seems that you are taking for granted-”

“I hope you all are almost ready,” Mr. Weasley called from downstairs, interrupting the argument. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “We will be leaving for Diagon Alley fairly soon.”

“Alright, Dad, we’ll be ready,” Ron yelled back, “Right I better get my stuff.” He shook his head, clearly still agitated by his conflict with Hermione, and stalked off through the door.

“I probably should too,” Hermione said, “I still need to unpack my suitcase.”

“Hermione,” Harry reached out his arm and placed his arm on her shoulder. “Wait a second.”

She whirled around, blushing for some unknown reason. “Yes?”

“Thank you for your cake. It kept me sane for the past couple days.” He said, smiling. He detected a hint of perfume in the air surrounding her. When did Hermione start wearing perfume? He thought. “Though you should have told me you added the Draught of Peace.”

There was no question about it. Hermione was blushing openly now. “Oh, sure Harry. I hope you enjoyed eating it as much as I enjoyed making it.” She turned and left the room. Harry laid back on his unmade bed and relaxed, mentally digesting the story Ron had told him. He saw Gates furtively glance into his room once; probably to reassure himself that Harry had not left.

He had almost drifted off to sleep when he heard a soft knock on the door. “Come in.” Harry said, sitting up in his bed.

Remus Lupin slowly walked in and sat in the chair that Ron was in only a few minutes ago. He wore an old, dusty, black robe and overcoat that looked like the same ones he wore in Harry’s third year. Lupin stiffly carried his battered briefcase, and Harry could hear something sliding inside. His salt and pepper hair seemed to have become grayer over the summer and long, tired lines were drawn along his face. He looked worn and beaten; like some ancient book that lurked in the restricted section in the library at Hogwarts. Lupin’s expression was somber and grim, as if he had just arrived at a funeral.

“Harry, I am sorry but I can only stay for a moment,” Harry was alarmed to see Lupin was close to tears, “I need to give you something.” He stopped, as if unsure what to say next. “No…giving is the wrong word. It isn’t mine to give.”

“Lupin, what-”

“Please, Harry, call me Remus.”

“R-Remus,” he stumbled over the name, “What do you mean?”

Lupin sighed and shifted uneasily in his chair. “I know this isn’t easy,” he began, “Bringing all this back up again. As you can see I’m not taking it too well.” He breathed deeply and plunged on, “Its about Sirius and what he wanted me to give you.”

Harry nodded, saying “You mean Gates?”

A surprised expression crossed Lupin’s face. “You’ve met him already, have you?” Remus said disbelievingly, “I thought Mr. Gates would’ve waited. No matter. Its not about him,” he added hastily.

Harry relaxed visibly. He had feared that Remus was going to ask him about his ordeal with Gates last night, and he was in no mood to discuss it again. “Alright.”

Lupin set his briefcase on his lap and unlatched the several locks on it. The hinges squeaked as he opened it. Remus quickly scanned the contents and then turned the briefcase around so Harry could see inside. Resting on the red, velvet lining of the case was an object wrapped in soft, laced cloth. Harry glanced at Lupin for permission and, upon being granted it, extended his hands and lifted the item out of its velvet sanctuary. He carefully placed it onto his bed.

“I wanted to give it to you for your birthday,” Lupin explained, “But I decided that this was far too important to risk it being taken by your…relatives.”

Harry slowly unwrapped the cloth to find an oval shaped mirror. He immediately recognized it as a copy of his own, now-broken mirror. “Is this…”

“Yes, Harry, it is.” said Lupin, smiling slightly. “It is the other end of the mirror Sirius gave you last year. I found this among Sirius’s belongings and, as you possessed its counterpart, am giving it to you. I expect you can give it to anyone you wish. Perhaps…someone…you need to communicate to often.”

Harry frowned. “Lupin…I’m sorry, but I broke my mirror.”

To Harry’s surprise, Remus smiled a little more. “You will be able to fix that at Diagon Alley today.” he paused, “Assuming you still have the pieces.”

“I do,” Harry said, glad that he had kept the broken shards in a small leather bag instead of tossing them away.

“Excellent,” Remus moved to stand up, “Now, I’m afraid, I must go. The Order is having me on recruitment duty nearly every day now, and I have several potential members that I need to meet today.” He made to leave the room.

“Wait, Remus, there is something I needed to speak with you about.” Lupin stopped and turned around, his expression confused. Harry had wanted to ask this for a long time, and now, with his memories about Sirius stirred up again, he wanted to ask it now.

“What is it?” Lupin said, now studying Harry critically. He returned to his seat and waited for Harry to continue.

“It’s about Kreacher,” He began, unsure of how to initiate his long desired request.

“No Harry,” Lupin looked at him with somber eyes. Deep inside them, though, Harry could detect a hint of flame and ash. “You cannot request anything of Kreacher, because Kreacher is gone. He disappeared shortly after Dumbledore spoke with him, and hasn‘t been seen since.”

Harry choked; anguish in his throat. “What?” He managed.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I wanted Kreacher to be punished somehow as well. Locked up in a wizard prison, maybe,” Harry could hear honesty in Lupin’s voice. “That is impossible now, I’m afraid. No doubt he’s gone off to live with some of his more devious relatives.” Lupin inhaled a deep breath of air, “I only hope that he will stay be his oath as a House Elf and not reveal anything concerning the Order. That could be disastrous.”

Harry clenched and unclenched his fists, feeling the need for vengeance overwhelming him. That worm, Harry thought, his mind racing, Someday I will find him. There will be a reckoning.

Lupin held his stare; concern lining his face. Once that he was assured Harry was calm again, he spoke softly and carefully. “I will keep in touch, Harry.” and then he added in a lower voice, looking at him meaningfully, “Be careful around Gates. He is not a good enemy to have.”

And with that, Lupin swept out of the room, his tattered overcoat billowing behind him. Harry’s eyes fell back on the mirror, which was now empty and dark. Digging through his suitcase, he found the small pouch that held the mirror’s frame and the jagged shards of glass. Harry remembered how he had smashed the mirror in a frustrated rage, and heartily regretted it. No matter, he thought, Lupin says I can get it fixed in Diagon Alley.

Harry snatched the bag and dashed out the door, perfectly disregarding Gates’s presence. He leapt down the stairs two at a time, reached the bottom, and turned sharply to the right and sprinted to the lunch table. Slowing his pace down to a brisk walk, he strode into the kitchen and found Hermione sipping coffee and Ron eating a bit of toast, obviously ready for their trip to Diagon Alley. He heard, with a considerable amount of satisfaction, Gates’s heavy breathing. Chasing after a sixteen year old boy down a hall and a flight of stairs at full speed was no small feat for an older man, after all.

Harry pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. “So are we ready?”

“Yes,” Mr. Weasley said from an adjoining room, “We were just about to call you down. Come on, we’ll take one of the ministry’s cars. No need to take floo powder for such a short drive.”

Harry nodded and followed him out to where the ministry car parked itself yesterday. Today, however, the car chose to move under the boughs of a large elm tree to protect itself from the oppressive sun. Mr. Weasley stood outside the rickety gate for some time, searching intently for the ministry car. Harry was about to point out its location to him when the car itself honked its horn.

“Ah,” Mr. Weasley murmured, then added in a louder voice, “Let’s go, then.”

The three of them slid into the back seats while Mr. Weasley sat down in front. Harry noticed with disappointment that Gates, who had been following him several meters behind, took a seat in front as well. When everyone was in, the car started and drove off; following a predetermined route.

Mr. Weasley, unsatisfied with the direction they were going, began to argue with it.

“This isn’t the way to go, you see,” he would say, “If you go this way, you will be able to save at least ten minutes…”

The car revved its engine in protest, as if to say: I know what I’m doing.

Mr. Weasley muttered something and then turned back to them. “These ministry cars are always being difficult. Can’t take one bit of advice.”

Hermione giggled silently. Ron gave her a bewildered look and decided not to pursue a line of questioning.

When they finally arrived, the three of them stepped out of the car and told Mr. Weasley that they would meet him in the Leaky Cauldron in two hours. Harry audibly groaned as Gates stepped out of the front seat of the car and stood waiting a few steps away from him. Gates scrutinized Harry carefully with glittering eyes before resigning into the role of sentry. Despite the peculiar change in roles, Harry found himself consistently glancing over his shoulder to find Gates eyeing him as dangerously as a hawk would eye its prey.

Harry felt Hermione brush against his shoulder. “He’s only just started and he’s already scaring me.” she whispered, appearing fearful that she might be overheard by the towering Hit Wizard who followed six steps behind them, “It’s like he’s stalking us. I mean, I know its his job, but does he really have to look like he wants to kill us? Honestly.” Harry grinned.

For some reason, Harry found himself very conscious of Hermione‘s physical closeness to him. He no longer minded when Hermione clutched his arm painfully when threatened. Something within him stirred restlessly, and Harry was not sure whether it was normal. His heart would skip a beat when she touched him, and sometimes he would perspire in a way that had little to do with the heat. It never occurred to him during the frequent letter exchanges over the summer that he might be liking Hermione more than he liked Ron.

Are you really surprised? Asked a faint voice in his mind. You've known her for six years. She knows you better than you know yourself.

So? He answered back, She's my best friend.

A best friend who you've written more letters to this summer than you have written to Ron for the past six years? Admit it to yourself, everyone thinks that you two are more than just friends. Dr. Perry and Gates both thought you two were boyfriend and girlfriend.

Gates and Perry? Harry scoffed, They were both completely mental.

Oh, but why do you think Gates thought she was your girlfriend? Because Sirius told him so in the letter, you dunce.

That doesn't mean anything; there is nothing between us.

Isn't there? Remember when she invited you to help her knit hats for the house-elves? Ever notice how strong and prolonged her hugs are; and that they are subtly different than the ones you receive from, say, Mrs. Weasley. Perhaps you forgot about all the times she grabbed your arm when she was afraid. You two need each other.

Harry could not think of a reply. Hermione drifted away from him, and Harry felt a twinge of disappointment. He reexamined the arguments the voice in his head had made. Had he really been that clueless, or was it just a deep friendship?

Definitely the former, Harry told himself.

The three of them were about to enter Flourish and Blotts when Harry turned out his pockets and mentally kicked himself. He needed (And forgot) to stop at Gringotts to withdraw the funds needed to start the new school year. Hastily excusing himself from Hermione and Ron, and promising them he would be back soon, he ran through crowds of people to the massive, stone bank of Gringotts. Heedless of the stares he was getting, he leapt lightly up the steps and entered the marble foyer. Barely noticing the delicately chiseled and carved pillars that held up the majestic, painted ceiling, Harry ran up to the nearest counter, and, breathless, handed the goblin his key. Thank Merlin I always carry that, he thought.

The goblin eyes him suspiciously. “Hmmm, Mr. Harry Potter is it?” When he nodded the goblin continued, “Due to the unfortunate passing of Mr. Sirius Black, his vault's contents have been transferred to yours as was requested in the will.” The goblin paused, now carefully studying the man behind Harry, “Sir, please wait until-”

“He’s with me.” Harry replied quickly, remembering that Gates followed him everywhere.

“As you wish.” He rang a small bell on the counter and another goblin automatically appeared to guide them to Harry’s vault.

The cart ride was as recklessly fast as Harry had remembered; and when they had finally arrived at his vault, Harry’s eyes widened at the amount of gold that Sirius had contributed to his already formidable fortune. Gates stood passively behind, not impressed in the least. Galleons and sickles were collected in huge stacks. There were many priceless pieces of jewelry meticulously set behind a sealed glass case. Emeralds and rubies, reflecting enchantingly from the light the goblin’s torch gave off, were heaped in small piles. Harry never imagined in his wildest dreams that he would ever possess so much gold. Gates tapped his foot impatiently and Harry snapped back into reality.

He quickly scooped up a few handfuls of galleons and shoved them into a large, thick pouch. Returning to the cart in a daze, he sat down on the floor and allowed the impact of what he saw fully hit him. Sirius must have given me the whole damned Black family fortune, he thought. More deeply, he wished he could give it back. No one should have so much wealth.

The cart jerked back to a stop and Harry returned to his feet, finding walking awkward because of the sheer weight of the gold on his right side. He remembered that Hermione and Ron were probably still waiting for him, so he quickened his pace and left Gringotts, stepping once more onto the bustling street of Diagon Alley.

When Harry returned to Flourish and Blotts, he found Ron and Hermione waiting outside the entrance. “Sorry,” He muttered to them, “Took longer than expected.”

Hermione shook her head. “Its quite alright, but just don’t run off like that without a little more elaboration.”

Harry approached the front desk and handed the clerk a list of N.E.W.T. level books he would need for his sixth year. The clerk studied the list carefully, nodded, and then disappeared behind a row of bookshelves. As he stood there admiring the quantity of books Flourish and Blotts carried, he felt Gates’s breath on his neck. Sidestepping discretely to the right, he saw the clerk returning under a heavy set of thick tomes.

“That would be ten galleons and six sickles.” The clerk said, breathing heavily.

Harry pulled out his pouch and handed the clerk eleven galleons. As he waited for change, he wondered how he was possibly going to carry his books around for two hours. Frowning slightly, he had an idea.

“Eleven sickles is your changes,” The clerk said, handing him eleven silver coins.

Harry looked up at Gates and asked in his most polite voice, “Can you aid me in carrying these, Mr. Gates?”

Gates stared back at Harry incredulously, his face turning into a sneer. “Am I your mule now too? No, I am quite satisfied with my current role.”

Harry said nothing, but turned back to the clerk and asked, “Could you perform the weight charm for me?”

The clerk smiled slightly and brought out her wand. She flicked it sharply and muttered “Levis” and a soft, white glow momentarily lit the books. “Wise idea. The charm will only last for a few hours, though.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, setting his books in a large shopping bag, “That’s all I’ll need.”

Grinning, he walked out of the bookstore with Gates close behind, feeling that he had won the challenge.

As the trio proceeded to each shop, Harry found that many witches and wizards were backing off as he approached, avoiding him like the plague. It took only a minute for Harry to realize why. Gates was less than a step behind him, and obviously many of them would be asking themselves why that insane Hit Wizard Alexander Gates was following The-Boy-Who-Lived; especially when he was supposed to be in Europe dueling Dark Wizards. Even Harry’s school friends, many of whom he had known since his first year, began walking in the opposite direction when he approached them. Harry strongly suspected that Gates was intentionally driving away his friends for his own personal, twisted sort of pleasure. This had the minor benefit of Harry easily being able to find a way through a dense crowd of people, though admittedly he would have preferred simply forcing his way through rather than having a permanent sentry to frighten people out of the way. When Dean Thomas turned away from him, Harry wished for the hundredth time that Sirius had assigned someone else to protect him. Gates’s notoriety seemed to proceed him.

The trio briefly stopped at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, and came out loaded with skiving snack boxes. Although George and Fred had little time to spare with the amount of business they had, they talked for a short time and expressed regret at not being able to attend Hogwarts this year.

“Many good memories there-” George said.

“Filch pursuing us down a hall-” agreed Fred.

“-Only to trip on a trick stair-”

“-While Mrs. Norris was engulfed with stink bombs-”

“-As we slip through a secret passageway-”

“-Which took us to the other end of the school-”

“-So we can turn the bathrooms into a cess pit-”

“-All while innocently arriving early to Charms class.”

Harry found himself wishing that they were returning. Not only was the Gryffindor Quidditch team down two stellar beaters, but some of the team’s spirit went with them. Oliver Wood’s original third year stellar Quidditch team was slowly dwindling…

Another group of people veered away from Harry, and he sighed deeply. Hermione placed her hand tentatively on his shoulder. “Don’t worry Harry, they’ll get used to it.”

Harry silently prayed she was right.

After they had left the apothecary with the required potion ingredients, (Ron chose this moment to remind them that he no longer had to suffer through Snape’s classes) Harry decided that he wanted to find a shop to repair his broken mirror. The shattered pieces shifted restlessly in his pouch. He related the problem to Ron and Hermione, and Ron suggested they try Torre’s Magical Repair Workroom.

They eased their way through the crowds of jostling wizards and witches, and eventually came to a shabby little shop which occupied an area in the corner of Diagon Alley. Hanging precariously above the entrance were the words ‘Torre’s Workshop’, and, the amount of people being much thinner in this area, easily stepped through the wooden archway. Hermione sneezed from the thick amount of dust in the stale air, and Ron remarked, "It doesn't look like anyone has been in here for years..."

At first, Harry thought he stepped into some abandoned magical warehouse. Cogs and wheels were randomly strewn across tables and desks. Rows of shelves stretched all the way to the rear end of the store, each crammed with every kind of enchanted trinket and item available. Small amounts of dust evenly peppered the rows of objects. There were complete glass cases dedicated to nothing except misty white crystal balls that Harry recognized as the exact kind he used in Divination last year. There were several desks stacked with strange and fascinating tools that were operating independently on a specific, assigned wand. Several glass mirrors, some cracked and others fixed, hung placidly on a smooth, white stone wall. Harry noticed that a few mirrors did not reflect anything at all, but appeared to be portals to different locations.

Harry slowly approached a high, marble table and studied curiously the exotic glass vases that were set on top of it. They were ornately patterned with fine, golden stems and threads that led up to a brilliantly colored flower. Fashioned into the side of each was a slender silver handle which shined dimly from the muted sunlight that had managed to filter in from outside. Harry noticed with awe that each vase was unique from the other and apparently custom made from hand.

“I see you admire my collection of Dol-Ellio vases,” said a musty voice behind him. Harry whirled around, surprised to see a tall, willowy man standing in front of him. He wore a light gray vest over a white dress shirt, and there were white wisps of hair poking out from his ears. Harry briefly wondered why the man was dressing as a muggle when the man continued, “I am more of a hobbyist, myself, but I do have quite a collection,” He paused, furrowing his brow. Harry guessed the shopkeeper’s age to be at least eighty. “But I daresay you didn’t step into my shop to discuss my hobbies. How can I help you?”

Harry clumsily fumbled through his pockets and pulled out the small pouch that contained the broken remains of his mirror. “-Err, it’s a mirror. I got this from my godfather a few months ago and it, ummm, broke.” He offered the pouch and the wooden frame to the man, who wore the expression of a child about to open a Christmas present. Harry glanced behind his shoulder to see Hermione and Ron serenely wandering about the store, gazing at the various objects huddled on the wooden shelves.

“Ahhh,” He said, peering inside the pouch, “A mirror? I have plenty of experience with mirrors.” He gestured to the line of mirrors to his right. “Still, this one looks rather unusual. What kind is it?”

Harry hesitated. “Well, there is a similar mirror to this one, and they are both enchanted so that you can communicate through them.”

“Then it is unusual indeed.” He pulled a long, jagged glass fragment out of the pouch. “My, whoever made this used some very ancient charms. How old is this?”

“I don’t know.” Harry said truthfully.

“Oh,” The shopkeeper looked at him skeptically, “Well, I should guess that it will be repaired in a few days. Say four. Mirrors can be quite tricky to work on; especially the rarer varieties. Mirrors are fascinating artifacts with innumerable uses…some can be used for communication, others for transfers of certain magic…incredibly useful.”

The old man turned on his heel and walked behind the counter, his polished shoes squeaking as he went. After kneeling down to place the frame and pouch under the counter, he reappeared and placed his hands on the polished marble counter. He closed his eyes and meditated for a moment, and Harry briefly thought that the shopkeeper was a narcoleptic and fell asleep. Suddenly, his eyes opened and his hands began to smooth out a non-existent piece of parchment on the counter. "Though I cannot determine the final price at this moment, I can assure you it won't be more than five galleons."

"Right..." Harry replied uncertainly. He was not sure, but he felt that he had just witnessed some strange form of divination. As he mulled this over, an aged man with graying hair stumbled into the shop.

The man stared wildly around him, squinting his eyes as if he was nearly blind. He wore a thin, dark purple robe that was tied with a silk belt of matching color. The man had his arms extended fully in front of him, looking very much like a zombie that Harry had once seen in a horror film at the Dursley’s. It dawned on Harry that the man actually was blind and was feeling his way through the store. Running up to the bumbling wizard, he grabbed his arm and supported the older man's weight.

"Ah, hello Mr. Whams," greeted the shopkeeper from behind Harry, "What brings you back to my shop?" The name Mr. Whams struck Harry as familiar, but he could not remember from where.

Mr. Whams evidently did not hear the salutation, as he leaned up close to Harry's face and looked deeply into his eyes. Harry stared back, becoming fascinated with the man's dull pupils and hot breath. The man pulled him even closer. Harry was now near enough to count every whisker on Mr. Whams's chin and see the skin between the hairs of his bristly eyebrows. Age and exhaustion radiated from his eyes, and his breath stank of bitter medicine and old pipe tobacco.

"Perseus?" He asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Errr, no," Harry replied, somewhat taken aback by the question. Behind the senile expression and manner, Harry had the distinct sense that Mr. Whams possessed a very shrewd and calculating mind. "Who is he?"

"Oh," Mr. Whams said, slightly embarrassed. He pulled his head back and turned to the shopkeeper. "Mr. Torre, I seemed to have misplaced my spectacles somewhere. Perhaps I left them here?"

Mr. Torre smiled. "Yes, I suspected these were yours." He pulled out a pair of glasses with very thick lenses. He strode over to Mr. Whams and offered them directly in front of his eyes. Mr. Whams, appearing to have just noticed them, took them gratefully and put them on.

"Yes, much better." Mr. Whams turned back to Harry, his eyes magnified greatly by the powerful lenses; making him look much like an owl. Ron and Hermione watched curiously from across the workshop at him. "I am nearly blind without them. I usually carry a second pair, but I seem to have forgotten them today..." His voice trailed off as a second person entered the shop, panting heavily.

"Professor Whams," said the breathless man, "I lost you in the crowd. I wish you wouldn't walk away without telling me." Harry had heard the voice before, though he wasn't sure when or where.

Professor Whams, Harry thought, Thats where I heard the name before. He's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher that Mr. Weasley mentioned last night.

"Ah, Perseus," Professor Whams said, his old face breaking into a grin, "Well, you know how my memory is. Sometimes I forget you're even there!" He chuckled softly.

"I know, but I always carry your second pair of glasses for you to wear when you lose your first, remember?"

"That's right," Professor Whams said, though without conviction.

Harry abruptly realized who the voice belonged to. "Percy?" He asked.

"Harry?" Percy stepped into the light, "It's been a long time. How have you been?" He asked soberly.

Still a bit pompous, Harry thought.

"Great, really." Harry answered cautiously. He had not completely forgotten or forgiven Percy for his betrayal last year, and he felt rather wary of being on speaking terms with him again. Altogether, though, he believed that Percy was sincerely sorry for letting his ambition take priority over family.

In the corner of the shop, he saw Ron's ears redden and his face become a scowl. Hermione, looking lost, glanced desperately back and forth between Percy and Ron, foreseeing the imminent fight. Stiffening his arms, Ron stalked over to Percy and stood threateningly behind him.

"Perseus," Professor Whams said jovially, "You must introduce me to your friends."

Harry looked at Percy questionably, and Percy whispered, "His memory is extraordinarily poor. I should consider myself lucky he remembered the first syllable of my name."

"This is Harry Potter, Professor Whams," Percy said proudly. Professor Whams offered his hand and Harry shook it firmly.

"And who is this young fellow?" Mr. Whams turned to Ron, who until now had been glaring resolutely at Percy's back. Percy whirled around to see the face of his youngest brother a shade of deep red; perfectly matching his ears. He blushed.

"This is, err," Percy started to stammer, an unusual event for a scribe you prides himself on his articulation and poise. "My youngest brother, Ron."

Oblivious to the tension surrounding the two brothers, Professor Whams extended his hand to Ron who stared at it like it was a snake. After a minute of intense silence, Ron awkwardly accepted it and mumbled "Pleased to meet you," to him. Once his eyes returned to Percy, however, they flashed with the promise of violence.

Percy shifted his weight nervously, "Ron-"

"Shut up." Ron snarled, his voice laced with venom, "You don't know. You have no idea what you did. You- You- traitor to your own family."

Percy nodded and then turned to Professor Whams. "I will be waiting outside, sir, when you are finished here."

"That's quite alright Perseus," The old man replied, beginning to sense some of the hostility, "I am finished here, I believe."

Percy guided Whams to the entrance and, after vaguely waving to Harry and Ron, proceeded to dart through the crowd. A large group of chatting witches passed by and the two disappeared from sight, leaving a furious Ron in their wake.

"I can't believe him. I can't-" Ron stepped towards a marble table and leaned against it, positively fuming.

"Ron," Harry said mildly, trying to calm him. Mirthlessly, he remembered that the opposite of this was usually taking place. "Leave it."

"Harry's right," Hermione agreed, crossing the store to join Harry and Ron, "Its one thing for Percy to approach you, but its another issue completely when you approach him and explode."

"If you are done driving away my customers," Mr. Torres said, his voice thick with suppressed anger, "And you have no further business here, I request you leave."

As the three of them left the shop, Harry overheard Hermione whisper to Ron; "Especially in a store. Honestly."

"I suppose we're done, right?" Harry asked in a would-be casual voice. He wanted to move on from the confrontation in Torre's Magical Repair Workroom, and have the trip to Diagon Alley end.

"Yeah I guess." Ron said, not completely recovered from the argument.

"Then we will go directly to the Leaky Cauldron," Gates said from behind them, causing the three of them to jump. Harry glanced behind him to see him wearing his usual malicious grin. "Let's not dally about."

Grudgingly, Harry shuffled through the thickening flow of people, doing his best to avoid peoples' wandering feet. Hermione and Ron followed close behind; dodging the swinging shopping bags and purses of several groups of careless witches. When Harry reached a clearing of cobbled street, he waited patiently for Ron and Hermione to catch up. In the middle of the crowd, Harry could see Gates's bald head poking above the rest of the crowd.

Ron was the second after Harry to break through the crowd, Hermione coming next, and Gates last. The crowd parted automatically for him; many people not daring to approach him for fear of being hexed or cursed simply because their mere presence would offend him. The delay in his arrival was due to the fact that he strolled at a slow, leisurely pace to further advance his ego.

"Ronald Weasley." The voice drifted from somewhere in the crowd, and Harry gazed curiously into the crowd to see who it was. Stepping out of the flood of people, Luna Lovegood floated towards them and stopped barely a meter away from Gates and less than a step away from Ron. "I know you from Hogwarts."

"Uh, yes." Ron said uncomfortably. His eyes glanced at Harry and Hermione in a panicked plea for help.

"Are you shopping for your school books?" Luna asked dreamily, her eyes misting over.

Ron did not know what to say. "Yes, well, no, we finished, actually." He stammered.

"That's too bad." Luna said sadly.

Gates, who seemed astounded that his existence had been ignored the entire time, stepped closer to Luna in a weak attempt at intimidation. When he leaned close enough to breath down her neck, she finally acknowledged him. Pointedly turning her entire body to face Gates, Luna looked him up and down and then locked her eyes with his. She stared unflinchingly at Gates without changing her dreamy expression.

"Can I help you?" She asked, her voice not containing a trace of fear or surprise.

"Ummm," Gates temporarily lost the use of his tongue. Never in all his years as a Hit Wizard had he ever been addressed in this incredibly normal way. "Nothing. Never mind." He added hastily. Harry was pleased to see that Gates was unnerved.

Luna smiled prettily. "Nice to meet you," she turned back to Ron. "What is your friend's name?"

Harry fleetingly thought to ask why she did not just asked him herself, but he suppressed the question. He enjoyed the way Gates folded his hands across his waist, betraying uneasiness.

"His name is Gates. Mister Gates, I mean."

Luna once again faced Gates. "Hello Mr. Gates. Are you a Dark Wizard? Daddy says you are one."

Alexander was strongly taken aback by this, and his mouth open and closed like that of a fish. A tinge of color entered his cheeks, and Harry sensed that Gates was becoming enraged, but controlling it superbly. "No, the opposite. Who is your father?" He said icily, regaining his composure.

"He owns The Quibbler. I'm sure you've heard of it. It won't do you any good, though. Right now he's out farming Heliopaths in southern Finland." Luna said casually, her eyes never moving.

Gates's eyebrows raised and he glared defiantly back down at her. "The Quibbler? I've been told it is full of rubbish that isn't even fit to be printed on paper. So yes, I suppose you can say I know of it."

Luna blinked. "Yes, you would need to be told of it, as you have been dishonorably exiled from Britain for the past several decades."

"Dishonorably?" Gates spat, color rising to his cheeks and forehead. "I will tell you something-"

"It is dishonorable to be exiled from your homeland so therefore you are without honor." Luna continued, retaining her dreamy expression and misted eyes, "This concludes are conversation., though I do look forward to meeting you again. Perhaps we can discuss the Snockle-Locks you encountered in western Russia..."

Gates stood dumbfounded, and Harry heard him mutter, "Snockle-Locks?" before lapsing into silence again; his mental balance utterly lost.

She returned her gaze to Ron, who now look at her with mixed amazement and admiration. "What did you do over the summer, Ronald?"

"I- I-, errr," Ron stammered, ears reddening. He stole glances at Harry and Hermione, his meaning clear. Help!

"We outta move on, now. Mr. Weasley is likely waiting for us..." Harry said lamely, causing Luna to suddenly turn to him, as though she did not know he was there. Although his respect for Luna increased substantially since the their battle in the Department of Mysteries, Ron looked desperate to leave. Hermione frowned slightly at Harry, though he was not sure why.

"Yeah," Ron said, brightening, taking a few steps backwards, "Sorry I, err, we couldn't talk to you more. Tight schedule and all. See you on the Hogwarts Express then?"

Luna tilted her head to the side. "It's a date, then." She walked past Ron and disappeared into the swarm of people, humming the tune 'Weasley is Our King' as she went. Fighting back a fit of giggles, Hermione grabbed Harry's arm (Harry felt his heart flop) and pulled him forward to where Ron stood, who looked like a wave of water had just passed over him.

"Come on, Ron," she said, laughing, "If you're in such a hurry-"

"It's not that!" Ron exclaimed, "She just- just-" His eyes darted in Gates's direction. Alexander loomed silently aloof from them, the wind tugging at his black robes and overcoat. The sunlight made his high cheekbones and glittering black eyes all the more prominent. "You know! It's Luna."

"We can discuss it over a few butterbeers," Harry said, trying not to laugh but grinning all the same, "Let's try to get off this street first."

The trio picked their way through the crowd, and, after a relatively short distance, they found themselves standing outside the familiar tavern The Leaky Cauldron. When they entered, they were surprised to find that The Leaky Cauldron was largely unaffected by the large influx of people in Diagon Alley. Many tables were full of the usual gossiping witches and wizards, but the bar table was rather empty. Tom the bartender was leaning casually against a polished golden pole set behind the bar, absently drying a mug with a vanilla-colored towel. As Harry approached the bar, he noticed with growing apprehension that the loud chatting and joking from the tables around him lowered to small whispers. The clinking of mugs and goblets on the glass coasters became infrequent and hesitant. Harry glanced over his shoulder to see Gates, face glowing with delight. Fear and hate practically radiated from him as he walked through the bar, creating an aura of terror. He seemed used to it; as if the fear surrounding him was as normal as water surrounding a fish. People began muttering quietly for their bill and, after paying, stood up to leave. Harry heard brief snatches of hurried conversation; such as "The devil Gates is here?" and "What is The Debauched Savior doing back in Britain?". He sat between Ron and Hermione on the oak stools in front of the bar, each ordering a butterbeer and setting their shopping bags under their feet. Gates swept his long overcoat off to the side and took a seat on the far end of the bar.

Tom strode reluctantly to the end of the bar where Gates sat and asked candidly, "What can I get for you sir?"

Gates's penetrating gaze remained transfixed on Harry. "Give me a goblet of Red Haze. Make it hot."

Somewhere in the room, a patron dropped his glass and it shattered on the floor. No one moved to clean it up.

"Red Haze?" Harry heard Ron murmur, "That's dragon blood, that is."

Slowly, the babble of talk broke out again and a waitress, looking very flushed, wiped up the spilled drink and used "Reparo" on the broken mug. Though people continuously glanced in Harry's direction, he felt appreciably better that they were no longer staring mindlessly at Gates and him, wondering why the two were together. Truly, Harry sensed the underlying foreboding and anxiety in their would-be casual conversations, but it did not bother him much. He figured it had more to do with the butterbeer than indifference.

"Dad must not be here yet," Ron said, discretely searching the tavern, "I'm in no hurry."

"Not surprising considering we arrived fifteen minutes early because you were too afraid to talk to Luna." Hermione said scathingly, "You shouldn't be so rude to her. She's really nice you know." Harry looked at Hermione doubtfully. As far as he knew, she thought Luna was quite mad.

"He's still a pompous little prat." Ron muttered, holding his butterbeer so tightly his knuckles began to turn pearly white.

"Ron," Harry said evenly, "Don't let it upset you. If you don't want to be around him, just avoid him. Wait until you're ready."

"That's going to be a little hard," Hermione took a shallow sip of butterbeer and continued, "I mean, Ron will probably be seeing him every week at Hogwarts."

When Ron and Harry looked at her questionably she said, "Honestly, you don't know?" They shook their heads. Sighing, she continued, "I thought this would be rather obvious. Did you notice how Percy was constantly taking care of Professor Whams? Percy is going to be his assistant for the school year." She said matter-of-factly.

Ron snorted into his butterbeer. "What? Impossible."

Hermione set her mug down on her coaster. "Yes, it is quite possible. Do you even know who Mr. Whams is? He's an old ministry Auror who had his memory erased by a dark wizard. He's spent twenty years in St. Mungo's recovering. Though, as you may have noticed, it hasn't quite all come back to him. Percy will probably be aiding him this year."

"You mean Dumbledore is so desperate for professors he has to pull them out of the mental ward of St. Mungos now?" Ron said disbelievingly, "Especially ones that were on the wrong end of a memory charm. I mean, you have to be mistaken this time Hermione."

She shook her head airily. "I'm quite right, Ron, despite what you think. Mr. Whams was a very potent Auror back in Voldemort's time," Ron and several nearby witches spilled their drinks on their laps. "Honestly." She mumbled into her cup.

"I don't think I can stand having Percy as an assistant Professor." Ron growled through gritted teeth, "He's a prat and always will be one. How he got this position in beyond me."

"That doesn't tell us much Ron." Hermione said acidly.

Sensing an argument brewing, Harry immediately cut in. "So, er, has Percy owled Mrs. Weasley yet?" Even before he finished it, he knew this was a bad question to ask.

Ron gripped his mug even tighter. "No," He paused, "Why did you say 'yet'?"

"Well, um," Harry began to feel very uncomfortable, "When he owled me on my birthday and I wrote back to him asking to talk to his mother."

"YOU WHAT!" Ron knocking his glass over, spilling the contents across the table. Tom looked up from the mug he was wiping, and Gates studied Ron suspiciously. "YOU TOLD THAT PRAT TO OWL MY MOM? WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? HE HAS NO RIGHT-"

"Ron he was only trying to help!" Hermione squeaked, wilting slightly under Ron's outburst. Neither Harry nor Hermione had ever seen Ron so enraged.

"JUST WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?" Ron raved. His hands were bunched up in fists, and Harry saw his eyes begin to cloud over in a black mist. Harry felt his scar begin to burn.

Ron was looming over Harry, who had not moved from his seat. Hermione was tugging on the back of his robes, warning him to get away for Ron to cool down. He would not budge. "I was only trying to help, damn it!" Harry shouted back, "Sit down!"

Ron did not give any impression that he had even heard Harry. Blood was pumping furiously into Ron's head, deepening his face into a deep color of red. His eyes were solid black now, and, surfacing slowly out of his eyes, two bright Slytherian green pupils emerged. The startling contrast between the luminous green and the obsidian black was frightening. Ron's mouth twisted into a sadistic grin, his face suddenly becoming lit with staggering power and intensity. Harry slid back on his seat.

"You are Harry Potter," Ron said in a deep, throaty voice. Harry realized with a surge of fear that he was no longer looking at Ron, but the possessed demon that resided with his mind. "The boy which this mind claims to have destroyed Voldemort. Is this true?"

"Get out of Ron's mind!" Harry bellowed, drawing his wand for effect. He had no plans to use it, no matter how violent Ron became.

Ron peered down at Harry and scrutinized him carefully. "So its true, then," He continued, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "The Dark Lord was a fool. I see nothing in you that would pose a threat. Perhaps the Dark Lord was not as omnipotent as he led us to believe..." Ron's voice trailed off, and his eyes left Harry.

The patrons in the tavern became enraptured in what they were seeing. One wizard, face red from too many drinks, had liquid spilling freely from a partially tilted mug as he watched the exchange. Still other wizards had their hands on their robes, clearly ready to intervene should violence erupt; though Harry felt sure they would not move from where they sat. An expectant silence passed, where nothing could be heard except Ron's heavy breathes and the distant chatter of people outside the bar; unaware of the turmoil within.

"Alexander Gates, I never would have thought I would experience the pleasure of meeting you again; this life or the next." Ron said softly, as if to savor every moment. He grinned even more broadly, but Harry knew it was only pretense. Ron's eyes were blazing with unbridled fury and wrath. "Try to defeat me, it won't even matter if I lose. I have a way of cheating death, it seems."

Gates stood less than a meter behind Harry, his wand drawn and pointed threateningly at Ron. His body was rigid and his legs were spread shoulder-length apart in a dueling stance. Harry had never seen such religious fervor in anyone's eyes before. Now, looking deeply into Gates's fathomless pupils, Harry felt zealous passion and anticipation of the kill. This was a man who dueled and murdered for a profession; and enjoyed his work.

Ron jerked his wand into the air and shouted "Avada Kedavra". However, instead of the expected flash of green light, two feeble sparks broke off the end of the wand and fell to the ground. Ron was dumbfounded; his arrogant sneer faltering a little.

Gates grinned widely. "You didn't expect to perform a killing course with such a weak wand while in a possessed body, did you? You would need a more powerful wand for that bit of magic."

Harry, now allowing himself to be pulled away by Hermione's frantic pleas, stood apart from the two wizards, who now began to eye each other dangerously. The bartender's face became very white; horrified at the duel that was taking place in his tavern. Harry's scar seared with pain, but he rubbed it strongly with his left hand and ignored it, too intent on the two men in front of him.

With a sudden sharp, circular motion with his wand, Gates bellowed "Mentis Dolor" and a thin, white wisp of light shot out of his wand, landing squarely on Ron's forehead. Ron bent over, hands wrapped around his skull and let out a high pitched scream. His arm smacked hard against a wooden stool and he collapsed to the ground, writhing. Gates lowered his wand and knelt over him, surveying Ron closely.

"It has passed over." Gates muttered, prodding Ron with his long, practiced fingers.

Harry ran over to him, looking furious. "What the bloody hell did you do to him?"

"I saved him!" growled Gates, his eyes never leaving Ron's body, "Or would you have preferred him to continue being possessed?"

"I know what you just did..." Hermione said, sounding terribly nervous and afraid, "You just performed a very dangerous spell. That wasn't wise..."

"Shut up girl," Gates muttered. "His arm is dislocated. Must have hit that stool harder than I thought. Easily rectified," He wrapped his slender fingers around Ron's shoulder, and, with a quick jerk, popped it back into place. "Muggle techniques can come in handy when you don't bother with healing magic," Gates continued to mutter. His long, pale fingered probed Ron’s shoulder blade and neck. Harry figured that this must be some bizarre way for him to keep himself controlled. "Studied tissue, bones, tendons for four years of my life. Anatomy. Brilliant subject. Its when you pull away the flesh and skin that you see what you truly are."

"Harry," Hermione whispered, "He just performed borderline illegal magic on an underage wizard. Magic that is only supposed to be used in extreme circumstances..."

"Silence," Gates's conversation with himself abruptly ended. "I have a license for it, so stop your meddling in other people's business." Gates pressed a finger against Ron's temple, wrist and neck. "He is alright." He almost sounded regretful, as though he wished it was otherwise.

"Potter," Gates spat, grabbing Harry's arm violently, "How long has he been possessed?"

Harry lowered his voice. "Since the end of the last school year."

Gates's eyes narrowed viciously and his lip curled. "You think I enjoy surprises Potter? Do you know what I could've done to your little friend here?" He gestured the Ron's ruined form. "There will be no secrets anymore. I admit I am becoming frustrated with this task already, and your sixth year hasn't even begun." He folded his arms behind his back. "I will have a private word with you. Now."

Hermione whispered quickly in his ear, "Don't go! Don't go! He wants revenge for the pain! The Magical Bond punished him for allowing you in danger! Its not your fault! Its-" Harry was pulled violently away.

"I am going to borrow this spare room." He called to the bartender, pointing directly at an empty section of the tavern reserved for times when more room was required. He turned back to Harry. "Potter. In. Now."

Harry entered the spacious bar room, and heard Gates slam the double doors behind them. He sneezed, becoming aware of the thick amount of dust present in the air. The room was completely empty except for some tables and chairs piled in the corners and sides; and a few extra cases of liquor stacked under a dirty window. A few rays of sunlight filtered through the scum caked window and landed on the dull stone floor. Musty and dank, the room must have been closed off for at least a year.

"Potter, comer over here!" Gates brimmed with unrestrained rage, and Harry backed up a few paces to place some distance between himself and the towering wizard before him. His eyes were bloodshot and wide; and Harry knew that, whatever was in store for him, it would involve enormous amounts of pain.

Gates swiftly closed the gap and reached out with a clawed hand, grabbing Harry around the neck. Harry struggled for a moment, trying helplessly to pry the fingers off of his neck, but Gates's grip was like steel. Air stopped flowing into his lungs, and Harry gasped desperately for a few shallow breaths of oxygen. If anything, it only made Gates's hand squeeze harder.

"YOU THINK!" He roared, his words became incoherent and jumbled, "PAIN! YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID?" Harry saw veins throbbing in Gates's bald head, and his eyes were bulging out of their sockets. "AGONY LIKE NOTHING ELSE! TASTE IT!"

He threw Harry forcefully against the wall, knocking some of the dirt and soot off the window a meter away. Harry's back ached strongly, and he found it impossible to stand or even crawl. He groped frantically for his wand.

"NO!" Gates screamed, his face contorted into an appearance of expressionless pain and torment. Harry remembered Hermione's words about Sirius's contract with Gates. The Magical Bond must be tearing his mind apart.

"Expelliarmus" Gates managed, his free hand pressed against his temple.

Harry's wand flew out of his hand and clattered somewhere beyond Gates. He focused on Gates's wand, and then turned to his face. Limitless wrath, unfathomable pain and incredible ferocity all joined together to create a visage that was beyond description. His lips were pulled back over his teeth in a primitive display of fury. He loomed menacingly over Harry, his wand now directly in his face, preparing himself to speak a malignant incantation.

"Mentis Dolor" Gates spat, his face briefly lightening with pleasure before darkening with agony.

Harry felt his very brain being split into two halves. Bolts of fire and electricity coursed through his mind; circling around and around in full, speeding circles. Harry seized his head with both hands; trying to pressure the pain into nothingness. It felt as though his spinal cord was being ripped out of the back of his mind, pulling large chunks of gray matter with it.

He writhed onto the floor, curling up into a fetal position and rolling about, becoming delirious of his surroundings. His memory was becoming distorted and vague, and his vision dimmed. Distantly, he heard Gates shrieking and kneeling on the ground, face in his hands. A underwater sensation overcame him, and Harry felt as though he was swimming deeply in the ocean, his body weightless and his thoughts confused. Flashes of memory jumped in front of him, beckoning for attention that he found he no longer had.

Ron was sitting next to him on his first train right to Hogwarts, looking very young....Sirius Black was standing next to him, Peter Pettigrew walking in front of him....Sirius Black fell into the veil, disappearing forever....Uncle Vernon thrust one of Dudley's old shirts to him for his seventh birthday....His mother's dying scream echoed in his head....Hermione hugged him for the first time before he encountered Professor Quirrell and the Mirror of Esired....Voldemort rose out from a steaming cauldron, alive and powerful once more....Hermione was cowering against the wall, petrified of a mountain troll that was towering over her....Hermione lay dead behind him, struck by Antonin Dolohov's curse....

Suddenly, he realized that he was falling through a flurry of emotions. Anger flared inside him...then fear...then envy...then humility...then passion...then desire...then power...then hate...then love. As the experiences threatened to saturate and overwhelm his brain, he fell still farther into the void, and, slowly, he disappeared into the inky blackness.

(A/N: Yes I realize that end part was heavy, and one might be inclined to think that this is the tone I’m setting for the entire story. I assure you that Gates won’t be beating up on Harry every chapter, or every other chapter even. He is an integral part of the story, but he is not THE story. So I repeat: If I am getting to heavy or melodramatic or something, make sure I know.

Oh and as a side note, if anyone is interested in beta reading the beta chapters, let me know. Its not easy to edit and reflect on 9000+ word chapters, so I would appreciate some help if anyone has some time to spare. Contact me at woodrowm@comcast.net if you’re interested; all you need to do is edit and give me some input.

Thanks for everyone who reviewed!)

4. The Hogwart's Express

(A/N: Here's chapter four. I realize a lot of you were probably confused at to what happened at the end of chapter three, and that was, of course, intentional. That will all be cleared up in this chapter. Anyway, I will comment more on this chapter at the end. Hope you enjoy!)

“Potter," A deathly quiet voice hissed in his ear, “You are awake now, are you not? In a matter of speaking…”

Harry recognized the voice instantly. It was Gates. He could feel his hot breath on his cheek, and he could hear the subtle hints of promised malice enunciated with every word.

He suddenly realized that he could not see, move, or talk; but he could feel the soft touch of cloth against his body and guessed that he was lying in a bed. Wherever he was, he felt a slight breeze through an open window tugging at his sheets, and he heard the faint movements of people from somewhere far away. Gates seemed to be the only one in his presence at the moment.

Oh Merlin, Harry thought, panicking, Has the bastard captured me?

“No, Potter, I haven’t kidnapped you,” Gates whispered, as if in response to his thoughts. Harry felt an eerie chill flow through him. “Sirius seemed to insist that you attend Hogwarts. No matter, it doesn’t really affect my plan.”

“You see, Potter, I have a certain ability to make the best out of any…undesirable situations that I may be placed in.” Harry could not see him, but he was sure that Gates was grinning, “I am beginning to see you as a sort of gift.”

“I know all of your little secrets, Potter. I know that the Dark Lord is in your mind. He might even be in there now, I do not care. What matters is that you are damned to succumb, and I am fated to overcome. I daresay I will do you a favor, ruining you. But I can’t do that Potter, no matter how much I desire to. However,” Gates’s voice lowered even more. “I can ruin your body and mind so that you are little more than a vegetable. I understand you know the Longbottoms? You may even share your room with them.”

“But not before I get the information I need, Potter. I said that you are a gift and I mean it. The Dark Lord is in your mind, and if I can extract the details I need, I can find the Dark Lord myself,” Gates began to speak much quicker, as though his excitement was building ,and he could not contain it. “Then when I know, I can paralyze you so the Dark Lord cannot possess you further or possibly control you completely. That could be very bad for me, you see. Better I tie up all the loose, err, ends.”

“And when I find the Dark Lord, I will tear his body. I will duel him and I will become victorious. Not through blind luck, but through power and will. And then,” Gates apparently came to the part where he most savored, “Then I will be full circle. The family name of Gates will be finally spoken with utter reverence. My honor will be restored, and my glory reestablished; and the short part of history where the name of Potter was associated with the Dark Lord’s downfall will be forever banished.”

“Then Sirius’s favor is returned, my family name will be revered, and the dark wizard scum will be gutted. I confess that I am not sure how to go about with your eventual destruction, but I know that one day you will make a mistake, Potter. And then, then I will move forward with the plan. Until then, I can wait and have patience. Many years I have prepared for such a chance. Now Sirius has unwittingly given it to me. I have realized it only recently. Now do you see what I meant when I told you I can make the best out of any situation?”

Harry felt Gates step back slightly ,and he could no longer feel Gates’s hot breath on his face. He was horrified; he had known Gates was a bastard but this? This was inconceivable.

“You wonder why I told you this? More for my benefit, than yours, I admit. It makes everything rather more exciting though, doesn’t it? No matter, you will slip back into an unconscious state momentarily, and when you revive you will not remember a word of our conversation.” Harry heard Gates add a more sinister tone to his voice. “To think that you have just heard every stage of my plan and will not recall any of it. The irony is so…appropriate.”

The dirty…sadistic…bastard!

The floorboards creaked as Gates stepped away, and Harry felt the need to scream aloud but no sound came out. Impossible plans whirled throughout his head, and Harry desperately tried to do one of them but failed. Slowly, but irresistibly, Harry drifted into a state of unconsciousness, and remembered no more.

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When Harry awoke again, he heard two people in loud voices arguing hotly with one another. Harry opened his eyes to see that he was lying in a soft bed and covered with light sheets. The room was bathed in sunlight. He turned his head slightly to see that it was nearly midday and the skies were clear and blue. His entire body ached; especially his back. More than that, he was exhausted. His arms were limp and weak, and his head throbbed painfully. There was something pressed against his foot, but Harry did not move to see it. He closed his eyes again and listened to the exchange that was taking place in front of his bed.

Harry recognized the first voice belonging to Mr. Weasley. “You should be in Azkaban! Using the possession spell on a healthy mind, sick and irresponsible.”

“I know what I did and I regret none of it. The boy needed to be humbled.” It was Gates. He sounded cool and collected; he was almost confident.

“Humbled? Are you mad? You nearly drove him to insanity. You should be nowhere near Harry, or anyone else, for that matter.”

“You have no say in where I should be, Arthur. If you wish for me to listen to you; I suggest you negotiate with your wand.”

“Disgusting. Listen to yourself. Dumbledore won’t have you roaming-”

“Dumbledore already agreed,” Gates spat, clearly losing his temper, “Not that he has much say in a magical bond. I will be staying with the Potter boy this school year, and there is no one that will be able to change that.”

“Right,” Mr. Weasley countered, “You won’t be the only one keeping an eye on him. The Order will ensure that no unfortunate accidents happen…We know how you interpret honor and glory, Alex, and should you even-”

“I’ve heard enough of this. I will not be ordered around by a blood traitor - especially one who is as watered down as you.”

Harry, even though he was lying in a bed, could feel Mr. Weasley’s ears turning dark red.

“Can’t you two take it somewhere else?” A third person snapped. It was Hermione sitting at the foot of his bed, sitting comfortably next to his foot. “Harry needs to rest. You don’t need to be in the same room as him all the time.” She added, staring daggers at Gates.

Mr. Weasley glared furiously at Gates, then stomped heavily out of the room, fuming. Gates ,glancing indifferently in Harry’s direction, followed Mr. Weasley out, muttering something about needing a break from the monotony. He slammed the door behind him.

“That’s better. I can’t imagine how you have slept through all this. They’ve been at it all day.”

“Yeah, neither can I.” Harry said, feeling some strength returning. He fumbled clumsily around for his glasses on the nightstand next to him.

“Harry!” Hermione squealed, knocking him back down onto the bed with a devastating hug. “You’ve been out for so long. Everyone has been really worried that the possession spell Gates used had permanently paralyzed you!” She started sobbing uncontrollably.

“Hermione,” Harry whispered, hugging her back, “Calm down. I’m alive and well and Ron-” He paused, “Where’s Ron?”

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione said, releasing him. Her face was stained with tears and her eyes were bloodshot. “He’s felt so terrible since he lost control in The Leaky Cauldron. He can’t even look at you. He thinks that this is all his fault! I don’t think he even hears me-”

“It’s okay, just breathe,” Harry said, growing alarmed. “Tell me about Gates. What happened back there after I collapsed.”

Hermione took a deep breath of air. “We heard you scream and we broke through the door. We found you and Gates lying there, both unconscious. When Mr. Weasley came a moment later, he was horrified but not shocked. Its like he knew that this would happen. And then Gates woke up,” Her voice became more icy and flat that Harry had thought possible. “He levitated you and Ron into the ministry’s car, and told Mr. Weasley to drive to the Burrow. Of course, we all wanted to get you two to St. Mungo’s straightaway, but Gates argued. There wasn’t much we could do. Gates is far more powerful than any of us; and from the way he threatened us, we were not going to test his resolve.” Hermione stopped to wipe her eyes with her sleeve.

“So we went to the Burrow, and Gates placed you both in your beds and told us to not go near either of you. Ron recovered an hour later.” Hermione shuddered. “You should have seen him. It was horrible. Gates cursed and spat and threatened Ron’s life; blaming him for everything from his possession to what happened to you. It was worse than one of Professor Snape’s rages.”

“Why did he attack me in the first place?” Harry asked quietly.

Hermione frowned. “When Ron became possessed with one of his fits, Gates hesitated in reacting. I don’t think he knew what was going on, so he waited. The magical bond set in, and Gates was dosed with pain. It would not allow him to stand by idly while you were threatened a few meters away from him. I imagine the pain lasted only for a brief second, but in Gates’s mind it would feel like an eternity of torment and agony. Once the magical bond released him, Gates confronted Ron and used the Curse of Possession on his mind.”

“However, the pain the magical bond gave him was still fresh in his thoughts, and he needed some sort of revenge. To do that, he needed to punish the only person who could be responsible. You, though indirectly.” Hermione sniffed her nose.

“I bet the fact that he hates me more than Snape didn’t hurt much either.” Harry muttered.

Evidently, she did not hear Harry‘s remark and continued, speaking in a lower voice, “Since you did not tell him of Ron’s sickness, he reasoned, you were the guilty one. Had he known of Ron’s fits, he could’ve reacted faster and avoided the pain. This, in his mind, required vengeance. He took you into a private room and performed the Curse of Possession, the same spell he used on Ron, on your perfectly normal mind. As a result, the magical bond responded and attacked his mind, but he achieved the result he wanted. Now you suffered like he did, and his vengeance was fulfilled. It did not matter that he felt the pain along with you; his goal was to make you feel the agony. Does that make any sense? How can anyone be so…so…evil?”

Harry could not find an answer to the rhetorical question. “So what’s going to be done? Will the Ministry get involved?”

Hermione gave a snort of laughter, though Harry knew it was mirthless. “No one knows about it. Gates kept everything quiet. Mr. Weasley wanted to get you to the hospital, of course, but he didn’t have much say in the matter. Gates has a way of speaking through his wand. Even if the Ministry did know about what Gates did, what can they do? Arrest him? He fought off a team of Aurors before, and he can do it again. The Ministry has enough on its plate without having a renegade Hit Wizard add to it. It’s sad, but true. Gates has full control over you, and Mr. Weasley has no place to argue, even if he knows its wrong.”

Harry did not know what to say, so he remained silent. Hermione’s words disturbed him, and a sudden fear of Gates’s presence welled up inside him. “He’s a monster, you know,” Hermione said in a voice barely above a whisper.

Harry shifted uneasily in the bed. “Yeah, I know he is.”

“Even monsters have secrets, though,” Hermione continued, oblivious to Harry’s response. Harry watched her carefully. “He used a possession spell on a normal mind. He’s sick, he must be. How can such cruel wizards exist?”

Harry did not answer.

“That alone does not make him a monster, though. it’s the way he looks at you, Harry.” She said, looking terribly frightened, “It’s disturbing. I caught him eyeing you when he thought no one was watching. He is stalking you like a predator and its prey. Not just hate, but actual hunger. Something terrible happened to Gates in his past, Harry; something terrible. People aren’t born evil like that. What happened to Gates?

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know. Why would Sirius assign him to protect me? Sirius had to know there was some Dark Wizard in him. Why?”

Hermione bit her lower lip. “Harry,” She said tentatively, “He did not plan for a lot of things to happen. Maybe he didn’t put enough thought into it; people can never plan their deaths. Or maybe Sirius trusted him once, or he wouldn’t have sent him. Sirius didn’t know what Gates would become.”

“He’s a glory fiend,” Harry muttered. Hermione looked startled. “I’m sorry I’ve dragged you all into this. Gates is only here because of me, so now everyone has to suffer because I am here: Me, you, Ron , everyone.”

“Don’t you dare be sorry!” Hermione said forcefully, crossing her arms, “We aren’t going to let Gates split us apart.”

“You’re right,” Harry agreed without conviction, just wanting to avoid an argument. Discussing Gates began to tire him. He did not want to start a debate regarding Gates’s reasons for being here.

“I’m sure,” Hermione said skeptically, not believing Harry’s response, “I better find Ron. I want to drag him in here so he can talk to you; I think he believed everything that Gates told him.” She stood up from the bed, sniffed a little ,and moved towards the door.

“I must look like a mess,” Hermione said, sounding offhand.

“Never,” Harry replied, grinning. Hermione smiled slightly and closed the door softly behind her, leaving Harry to his thoughts.

He leaned back and placed his head on the pillow, thinking about Ron, and hating Gates. The fits were not Ron’s fault, and neither was it Ron‘s fault that Gates was brutally vindictive. If anyone was at fault, it was Harry as he had brought up the subject of Percy in the first place. He should have known how Ron would react; and that the surge of emotion would bring on one of his fits. Gates’s actions were without reason or logic.

Harry reflected on the events of that day, concentrating on what had passed. The day started so innocently and fun; the usual bantering exchanges between the three of them, but nothing that foreshadowed Ron’s sudden madness. He recalled the short visit to the Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes and the discovery of their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor; and the skirmish between Percy and Ron that followed.

‘You’re forgetting something…’ said a sly voice inside of him.

What’s that?

‘I think you know; you just haven’t admitted it to yourself yet. You like her, and you know it. You were just flirting with her before she left. Go ahead, deny it.’

Harry chose not to respond.

As the tiny voice within Harry’s mind began to speak again, the door creaked open and Hermione stepped in followed by a very nervous Ron. Hermione threw Harry a glance that said, “Speak to him now. He’s a wreck.”

And Ron did look like a wreck. His face was pale and blanched. His freckles seemed more distinct from the rest of his face, as they alone, in sharp contract with his skin, remained brown. His frizzled red hair, usually under a loose state of control, stood up at wild angles near the back and was sweaty and matted at the front. An apprehensive shudder visibly ran through him, lingering a while longer in his wobbly legs that now shook anxiously. His long, shabby robes trailed carelessly on the floor and looked as though they have not been cleaned for several days; a long, crooked crease ran along his right side as though it had been ironed into that position. His hands, normally shoved deep in his pockets or swaying at his sides, were fidgeting restlessly. Ron, noticing this, quickly brought one up to rub the side of his neck from an imagined irritation. Altogether, Harry had never seen Ron so distressed.

“Ron, sit down,” Harry said calmly, patting an area of bed next to him and reluctantly sitting up. His back ached painfully when he moved, but he ignored it. Ron, his eyes locked onto the wall behind Harry, snapped into reality and he nodded.

Ron nervously sat down and, now staring directly into Harry’s eyes, croaked, “I’m so sorry. I blacked out and I can’t remember what I did, but I almost did a killing curse…” His voice trailed off.

“Ron, no,” Harry said, shaking his head. Tears singed his eyes at a sudden memory. “This wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t at the Department of Mysteries, if I had followed some sense…”

Ron stiffened. “I went with you willingly, Harry, we all did. Hermione told me she talked you out of that way of thinking ,so don’t start it now,” He relaxed. “I could’ve killed you.” He added quietly.

“But you didn’t,” Harry said seriously. He stole a glance in Hermione’s direction, who was now leaning idly against the wall and watching the two of them carefully. “You had some control, Ron. Not much control, but enough to prevent yourself from performing any powerful spells.”

“Yeah, but what if I can’t next time?” Ron said, his voice cracking. He took another breath and continued, “And there will be a next time.”

“No, you’re only getting better, not worse. Remember what the Healers said?” Evidently, Ron had forgotten what the Healers said; they could see as some traces of color returned to his cheeks. Ron remained silent for a moment, then shook his head. His expression was somber. “I nearly killed you Harry. If I could almost do that to you, my best friend, I could certainly do it against anyone else that I don’t know.”

“Ron,” Harry said slowly, his anger growing, “What exactly did Gates tell you?” What did that bastard say?

Ron’s eyes left Harry and fell to the floor, where they locked onto a dull red rug in front of the nightstand. Hermione took a step forward and tilted her head, apparently interested in what Gates told Ron as well. “He told me that I had- had pointed my wand at you, Harry, and that I almost used the killing curse. He said I was possessed by some terrible Death Eater and was being used to target you.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “He said that, did he?” He said softly, “That is the biggest load of trash I have ever heard. You never pointed your wand at me. You threatened Gates with it. If anything, you ignored me as soon as you saw Gates.”

Ron seemed awed; his mouth was slightly open and his eyes were blank. Hermione looked disgusted. “That man…” She began, speaking to herself, “No wonder they call him ‘The Debauched Savior‘.”

“What is he doing, anyway?” Ron asked, strength returning to his voice and some more color coming back to his face.

“Don’t you see?” Hermione said, her eyes gazing ominously out the window, “He’s trying to split us. Break us apart. He has some motive in this ,and I will find out what that monster is up to.”

The sturdy resolve in her voice brought Harry a sense of optimism, and Ron appeared to have felt it too. “No, nothing will change this year. I don’t care if I have Gates breathing down my back everywhere I go: He won’t touch me and, Merlin willing, he will get his before this year is out.”

“No Harry,” Hermione said quickly, her voice laced with fear, “He’s one of the strongest wizards in the world Harry. You don’t slaughter innumerable dark wizards just by luck. He may even rival Dumbledore, but you can’t fight him. You could die and then everything would be wrong.” She added sadly.

Harry felt his heart stop. Does she know about the prophecy? No, she said ‘wrong’ not ‘lost’…What the hell does ‘wrong’ mean?

Ron clenched his fist. “That git lied to me; and I was stupid enough to believe him. To think-”

Harry froze as a sudden revelation swept through him. “By Merlin,” Harry stammered, praying he was wrong, “You don’t think he can use Legilimency and Occlumency…”

Hermione stiffened. “He might. He’s had the experience…” She paused, “It would explain how Ron was influenced so easily. Harry I think you’re right.” She ended in a shocked voice.

“There is nothing to worry about,” Harry said hastily, “I think I’ve gotten much better over the summer at Occlumency so I think I can stop him from prying in my mind. He can’t be better than Voldemort; and his dreams have turned into short flickers. And you said you’ve studied the theory, Hermione; and you are the brightest witch at Hogwarts. I’m sure that would be enough to stop Gates from taking excursions into your mind…”

Hermione blushed from his compliment. “But Ron hasn’t. Gates has shown he can manipulate Ron’s mind now. Quite effectively, too.”

“If you are through saying how weak my mind is,” Ron said gruffly. “I want to know how we are going to stop Gates from venturing into my mind.”

Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose Hermione and I could show you the basics, at least. We don’t know how skilled he is at it, so it might not take much.”

Ron sighed. “There’s always something extra we have to do each school year. Mind you, we’re going to have enough schoolwork as it is without it being compounded by some maniac.” Harry’s stomach began to rumble hungrily, and his eyes scanned the room quickly for food. Failing to find nourishment, he turned back to Hermione and Ron. “Is there anything around here to eat?”

Hermione almost jumped, and, looking quite embarrassed at her oversight. She said hastily “Oh, of course, you haven‘t eaten since yesterday! I will go downstairs and find something.” She turned to go, but Harry motioned her to wait.

“I can do this,” Harry said, shuffling himself to the edge of the bed. Honestly, he was not sure whether he could stand up and walk downstairs. He did not even know why he was even attempting it since he woke up only a short time ago. “I can go.”

Hermione frowned and bit her lower lip. “I don’t really think you should, Harry.” She said disapprovingly.

Ron, however, was already standing up to give him a helping hand. “Don’t worry, mate, I got you.”

Harry flung his legs over the side of the bed and waited, adjusting to the new position he was in. Slowly, he extended his legs to the ground, and, when he felt them touch the floor, he grabbed Ron’s arm and pulled himself up to his feet. At first he wobbled uncertainly, and then balanced and steadied himself. He felt the blood suddenly change its flow in his head, and for a moment he felt dizzy. Not letting go of Ron’s forearm, he waited for the feeling to pass and then nodded reassuringly to Ron, who let go and took a step back. Harry nearly fell over and Ron reached out to grab him, but Harry caught himself in time and waved Ron’s hand away, wanting to accomplish this himself. Focusing heavily on his legs, Harry stepped forward and smiled, pleased at his success.

“See? Piece of cake.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded strangely like “Boys” before coming over to Harry’s side. “If you are so capable, go ahead downstairs and we’ll follow.”

Harry grinned broadly and began slowly walking his way towards the door. Though her words suggested indifference, Harry knew that Hermione was watching him carefully from behind to ensure that he did not stumble without anyone around to support him. He quickened his pace, wanting to give the impression that he had recovered from his injury. Finally reaching the door, Harry wrapped his hand around the doorknob and pulled forcefully, swinging the door open much faster than he had intended.

For a brief instant, Harry saw Gates across the hall, leaning wearily against the wall with his hands cupped in front of him; staring fixedly on the object before him. His eyes seemed morose, possibly desperate, and his thin mouth twitched sadly at the corners. His face, normally pulled back into a condescending sneer, reflected a deep, personal introspection. Stiff and worn, his ebony robes hung down to his ankles as though frozen; arrogantly defying the gentle breeze that blew through the corridor by their absolute stillness.

Gates, startled by Harry’s sudden presence, hastily tucked the object beneath his black overcoat, a flash of silver reached Harry’s eyes before the item disappeared completely within Gates’s robes. He glared venomously at Harry, as though he had interrupted an immensely private moment. Gates, tightening the sash around his overcoat, his vindictive expression silently promised Harry that he would be punished later. Without a word, he strode away and left a perplexed Harry in his wake.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked anxiously from behind him. He had been standing there, holding onto the heavy wooden door, for about thirty seconds. “Are you hurting?”

“Oh, er, nothing. I‘m fine,” Harry said. As far as he knew, nothing had happened. What did he care if Gates had some trinket he carried around?

When they reached the kitchen, the strong aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted them; wafting gently from the assortment of pots, pans, and mugs that Mrs. Weasley was surrounded with. Harry eased himself into a seat, and began helping himself to the wide selection of late breakfast foods; including toast, eggs, meats, and juices. Ron took large portions of sausage and fried potatoes ,though he had already eaten breakfast only an hour ago claiming he did not want to make Harry uncomfortable. Hermione stirred cream and sugar into her coffee and gazed out the back patio window serenely.

“Harry dear, you’re awake!” Mrs. Weasley squealed from across the kitchen. She had just noticed Harry’s presence, and instantly dropped what she was doing to come over and welcome him. “You’ve been out since yesterday, and I swore to Gates that if you weren’t awake by this evening, I would take you to St. Mungo’s no matter what he said. Terrible man.” She added in a lower voice, spying Gates’s tall figure in the archway to the kitchen. Harry had never known Mrs. Weasley to describe anyone as ‘terrible’ before, with the lone exception of Voldemort.

“Thanks Mrs. Weasley; I’m a little foggy but other than that I’m alright.” Harry replied, trying to sound cheerful. He was not aware that Gates had been following him since he left the bedroom.

Mrs. Weasley checked him over critically, and then, apparently satisfied, nodded and said, “I’m glad you’re well, dear.” She gave him a tight hug and pecked him on the cheek. On closer inspection, Harry was surprised to see Mrs. Weasley’s eyes shining with tears.

“Hermione you received the Daily Prophet today,” Harry noted that Mrs. Weasley’s voice was edged with sadness. “I hope you don’t mind, but I glanced through it quickly before I cleaned the dishes.” Pulling a rolled up copy of the Daily Prophet, she placed it on the table next to Hermione’s coffee and disappeared behind a wavering tower of bowls. Harry could have sworn that he heard some broken, muffled sobs coming from behind the dishes.

Hermione sipped her coffee and, evidently oblivious to Mrs. Weasley’s state, began to read the front page. She, unlike Harry, had not seen the tears in Mrs. Weasley’s eyes. Gradually, Hermione’s expression turned from interest into suppressed anger. Harry gave her a quizzical look and she responded by shaking her head in a very disgruntled way and offering him the newspaper. Curious, he pushed his plate of food away and accepted the paper from her hands.

Boy-Who-Lived Threatened in Diagon Alley

By Rita Skeeter

Harry Potter, now fifteen, has always been a boy who chose to keep suspicious company, and engage in rule-breaking activities. Allegations have been made that young Harry takes part in these unusual behaviors because of a seemingly insatiable thirst for attention. Now, however, these behaviors have taken a dangerous turn, and have become something more than risky friendships with unstable half-giants and reckless excursions into an area at the school Hogwarts aptly named ’The Forbidden Forest’.

While Harry and his two friends, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, enjoyed a few harmless butter beers at the popular tavern The Leaky Cauldron, something that witnesses described as “Bizarre beyond words” and “The stuff of dark magic” occurred. Ronald Weasley, who had no previous associations with the Dark Arts, attempted to perform the Killing Curse on his friend Harry Potter.

An anonymous informer described the event: “Young Mr. Weasley suddenly stood up from his chair and started shouting, causing everybody to turn to him. He seemed very upset about some sort of relationship between Mr. Potter and Miss. Granger, as he mentioned their ‘going out’ several times. Raising his wand and pointing it at Mr. Potter, he tried to use the killing curse but failed. I, a Hit Wizard who happened to have stopped at the tavern for refreshment, intervened and disabled Mr. Weasley before he could use another curse. Regrettably, the power of the spell knocked both Mr. Potter and young Mr. Weasley out. Mr. Weasley senior arrived a moment after that, and, after collecting the three of them, drove off in a ministry car and disappeared.”

A St. Mungo’s healer stated today that neither Mr. Weasley nor Mr. Potter checked into the hospital either yesterday or today. When asked about young Mr. Weasley’s medical history, the healer replied, “Ronald Weasley has only been a patient at our hospital once before because of a brain related injury.”

This leaves us, the concerned Wizarding world, with several questions: Why would Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley NOT check into St. Mungo’s after the confrontation? Do they have something to hide? When did Ronald Weasley, son of the Head of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office in the Ministry of Magic, become associated with the Dark Arts? Is this another one of the now-familiar stunts Harry Potter and his friends perform to gain fame?

These questions cannot be answered by this reporter alone. They leave us, the confused citizens of the wizarding world, wondering what will happen next and doubting Harry Potter’s integrity more with every passing moment.

By the time he finished reading the article, his hands shook madly and Ron was staring at him nervously. He set the paper down, motioned Ron to take it, and irritably continued to eat the remnants of his toast. When Ron finished, he wore an expression that matched Harry’s and Hermione’s.

“That bitch!” Ron hissed, trying to get his point across while preventing Mrs. Weasley from hearing his comment.

“Yeah, I wonder who the anonymous informer is,” Harry said sarcastically, shooting a glance behind him at Gates. “Looks like he got a few facts wrong.” He hesitated. "Ron, isn't this going to get you into a lot of trouble with the ministry?"

Ron snorted. "They don't base investigations on what Rita Skeeter writes. Besides, some ministry people already know."

"I thought only family members knew?"

"Family members and the Unspeakables," Ron continued, "And they told Fudge. Dad explained to him what happened so I guess everything is being kept quiet."

"And they'll just ignore it and let you into Hogwarts?" Hermione asked dubiously.

Ron paused. "Yeah, I guess so." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"But its disgusting what Rita wrote," Harry remarked, "Parts of this article are composed of outright lies."

“He’s just trying to break us apart,” said Hermione loudly, obviously intending Gates to hear. “But its not going to work. We’ve suffered worse embarrassment than this. Bringing back that Skeeter woman won’t work.”

“You’ve got that right,” Ron agreed, vehemently nodding his head, “I still can’t believe people still read and believe this garbage after all the lies it told last year. Don’t people ever learn?”

“No,” Hermione said, “People still want someone to blame; to insult. Its even more convenient when that person has been in the spotlight for the past sixteen years.”

Harry leaned back in his chair and sighed contently, not allowing the Skeeter article to bother him. “It doesn’t matter, really,” He said reassuringly, “This has been happening since our fourth year. Sure I am worried about what everyone at school will think, but they will get over it eventually. They did last year, right?”

Ron and Hermione stayed silent for awhile; Ron munching on a pile of waffles and Hermione slowly sipping her coffee. Ron reached across the table for a second helping of pancakes when a thought struck him. “Hermione, didn’t you take care of Rita awhile ago? Isn’t she an illegal animagus?”

Frowning slightly, Hermione set down her coffee cup on a coaster and straightened. Her posture reminded of a person about to give a eulogy. “She’s registered now,” said Hermione sadly, “We can’t touch her since she’s legitimate.”

Ron was stunned into dropping his fork. “What?” He sputtered, “Why would she register herself? Hasn’t that ruined her edge?”

Hermione summoned up an air of infinite patience before answering. “How would it ruin her edge? How many people do you know that go around examining beetles for identifying markings to see if its an animagus? She can buzz around as much as she wants, and no one will notice.”

Ron’s face paled. “So, you mean-” He stumbled over words. “She can-”

Harry asked the question for him. “So now she can fly around Hogwarts in her animagus form and spy on people so she can write her warped stories?” Harry suddenly recalled Rita’s threat in The Three Broomsticks from last year, when she interviewed him about Voldemort for the Quibbler. “She promised you that she would get back at you.”

“There’s nothing to worry about Harry,” said Hermione brightly, trying to improve their mood. “Let her write her stories, they won’t hurt any of us.”

Harry’s reasoning returned, and he realized that nothing Rita writes can possibly be any worse than Voldemort or Gates. In fact, her articles might even provide a comical reprieve from the brooding seriousness of the prophecy and Sirius’s last requests.

“You’re right,” Harry said cheerfully, meaning it. “Ron, pass the waffles please.” Looking amazed that Harry was thinking of food, Ron hesitated and then passed the large plate of waffles and placed it in front of Harry’s plate. Taking a generous helping, Harry poured syrup heavily over it and ate with relish.

“You’ve changed a lot over the summer, mate,” said Ron.

“Yeah, I suppose I have,” Harry replied, grinning broadly. Hermione beamed at him.

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

The remaining weeks left until their return to Hogwarts passed quickly, and Harry found himself wishing more than once that his weeks with the Dursley’s had flown by as easily as these. Rita Skeeter seemed to disappear from the headlines and Harry guessed (A bit hopefully) that her story was a one-time idea and her vendetta ended with it. When he suggested this to Hermione, she shrugged her shoulders in a disbelieving way and said that they would just have to see.

Sometime during holiday, he received his once-shattered mirror back from Torre’s Magical Repair Workroom, with an attached note identifying it as a Black family artifact handed down through generations. Knowing Sirius, Harry was not surprised. He tested it quickly to see if the mirrors shared corresponding views, and, after seeing that they were indeed paired, thought for a long time about who he should give the second mirror to. Finding that no one came to mind, he wrapped both mirrors in a soft cloth and tucked them securely in his suitcase.

Harry caught Gates several times staring fixedly at a silver object in his cupped hands, usually huddling it carefully away from view. Though Harry could not see exactly what the item was, he didn‘t dare move closer. Gates was malevolent enough without having Harry nosing into his business to compound it. After one or two good decent glances at the object, the most he knew about it was that it was silver, small, and metallic. It was almost like a piece of jewelry. Not wanting to provoke a confrontation, Harry never questioned Gates on what it was or why he gazed at it so longingly.

Then, the morning of their return to Hogwarts, Harry awoke to the sounds of heavy footfalls thundering up and down the steps. Leaping out of bed, he threw on some clothes and began to pack all the loose items that were strewn across his room. Relieved to see Hedwig in the cage rather than outside hunting, (He seemed to have lost track of her activities the past few days) he grabbed the cage and dashed out of the room with his other luggage.

“I wondered when you were going to wake up!” Ron said breathlessly, standing at the top of the stairway, “I was just coming up to get you, come on!” He urged and sprinted lightly back down the steps.

Harry awkwardly ran after him, the cage swinging wildly around ,and Hedwig screeching from inside. His enormous suitcase bounced down every step and, after he reached the bottom, slammed recklessly into the wall as Harry made too sharp of a turn. Gates, casually stepping down the stairs, had an amused expression playing across his face as he trailed Harry through the house, sometimes kicking and stomping on some of the luggage Harry dropped in his haste.

He skidded into the kitchen and roughly dropped the suitcase and Hedwig’s cage onto the ground next to Hermione‘s pile of baggage, oblivious to the owl’s frantic banging of wings against the bars. The two heaps of personal belongings and suitcases stood in stark contrast with one another: Hermione’s pile tidy and neat, while Harry’s was disordered and sloppy.

Glancing around the kitchen quickly for his friends, he grabbed a bit of toast and set off to the living room. As he passed through the archway, he collided roughly with Hermione, who rounded the corner simultaneously.

After exchanging apologies and blushing slightly, Hermione quickly said, “You better get your things. Ron already has his luggage packed in the ministry car, and we’ll be leaving as soon as the rest of our belongings are put away.”

Since when does Ron finish first? Harry asked himself.

The two of them returned to the kitchen in a fast pace, and, with Harry helping Hermione drag an exceptionally heavy trunk that he was sure contained at least ten thick textbooks, carried them outside and packed them into the idling ministry car. Mr. Weasley helped Harry shove the massive trunk into the back of the car, and the whole vehicle tilted to the back as the huge weight was added.

“I think that’s everything,” Harry said as he wiped sweat off of his brow. The day was exceptionally hot and dry, causing most of the sensible creatures around the Burrow to hide in the shade or under the gnarled branches of thick bushes, escaping from the sun’s tormenting rays.

Harry turned towards the house and squinted to see the lean, towering figure that he had become used to over the past month. Gates waltzed casually down the steep stone path from the burrow and opened the rickety wooden gate that led from the front lawn to the road, looking very pleased with himself about something.

He seemed to have changed his clothing into a more formal set. Instead of the usual obsidian black overcoat, he wore a deep scarlet cloak and robes of the same color underneath. Both of them wrapped tightly around his waist and trailed down to just above the ground. Most noticeable, however, was the extravagant necklace he wore around his neck, which sparkled with countless tiny diamonds. Stretching almost halfway down his chest, its jewels would glitter tauntingly in the sunlight when Gates turned his neck or torso. Harry found himself mesmerized by the blatant display of incredible wealth. For a man who had never shown any trace vanity previously, Gates spared little expense in acquiring this prime example of a craftsman’s high art.

Boots squeaking as he went, Gates strode forward with a deliberate air of reserved arrogance. His blood red cloak billowing out behind him as it was picked up by the sudden breeze. Despite the unbearable heat, Gates appeared unperturbed and cast a cool, resigned glance at all of them that unmistakably meant “I determine the schedule.” Again, the diamond necklace swung carelessly about his chest; the hundreds of attached prisms flashing beams of light into their eyes, daring them to look away.

Mr. Weasley was similarly entranced as well, when he finally broke out of his daze he stammered, “Well, let’s go then.”

For a fleeting moment, Harry thought that he was finally seeing the silver object that Gates had been gazing at privately for the past month. Whenever Gates viewed the mysterious item, though, his expression was somber and withdrawn, contrasting greatly the pride and haughtiness that Gates displayed now with the necklace. Also, whenever Harry managed to steal a rare glance of the object, he never saw any glint of a precious stone set upon the silver. Dismissing the idea from his head, he stepped into the ministry car and joined Hermione and Ron in the back seat.

“Did you see that necklace?” Ron whispered excitedly, “You can buy yourself everything in Diagon Alley with that!”

“Breath Ron,” said Harry, sporting a grin that did not betray the surge of inexplicable envy he felt. He had a small fortune at Gringotts, what did he care if Gates was wealthy beyond anything imaginable? “That’s a bit of an exaggeration, I think. Besides, he probably just transfigured them all.”

“Oh, I don’t think so Harry,” Hermione said, biting her lower lip, “That’s impossible. At least I think it is. I’ve never heard of anyone accomplishing that type of transfiguration before; it would be far too complex. There’s something funny about those diamonds, something disturbing. Did anyone else feel it?”

Harry and Ron nodded. Though she did not specifically state it, they both knew she was referring to the twinge of jealously that they felt when they first saw the necklace.

Hermione saw their gesture of assent and frowned. “I hoped it was just me. There are some strange enchantments on that jewelry that I’ve never heard or read about. I think I will ask Professor McGonagall when we get back. I can’t be sure of anything right now since I never really delved into stone-related transfiguration.”

Harry suddenly looked around, realizing someone was missing. “Hey, where’s Ginny?”

“Oh, well, she is-” Harry noticed Ron was having an extraordinarily hard time saying where she was, “She- Well- She went with Dean. He’s taking her to King’s Cross.” He said through gritted teeth. Harry knew better than to respond.

In the front, Mr. Weasley engaged in a heated argument with the dashboard. “We need to be there soon, and I swear to you that if you take the next bypass we will make it with a minute to spare. Even if you turn left right now, it will be better than trying to worm your way through the traffic jam.”

The car honked in response, apparently fed up with Mr. Weasley’s suggestions. Mr. Weasley threw up his hands and leaned back into his seat, fuming. “These new ministry cars always think they have the right idea.”

Ten minutes later, after many narrow squeezes through alleyways, the car halted in front of the train station and allowed its passengers to shuffle out. Harry leapt out of the car and hastily unloaded the back, distressingly aware of their tardiness. If they didn’t hurry, platform nine and three quarters will seal and they will be trapped outside.

Throwing Mr. Weasley a brief wave and a goodbye, the three of them stumbled through crowds of muggles that busily wandered through the station. Though they made valiant attempts to avoid knocking people over, there were several accidents along the way that involved a couple of very harassed looking muggles and Hedwig shrieking piercingly in her cage. Muttering some obligatory apologies, they eased their way through and finally stood outside of platform nine and three quarters. Harry saw Gates breaking a way through the crowd, easily parting the shorter muggles who looked quite taken aback at his height.

They nodded to each other, and, trying to avoid being conspicuous, leaned easily against the wall and fell through to the platform. With the crowd considerably thinner, they dashed across the platform and lightly ran up the stairs to the train car, breathing heavily and sweating. Gates, looking as though he had done nothing more exerting than take a stroll in the park, walked patiently up the stairs and waited nearby.

“Ha!” Ron said proudly, “We made it! The train is only a minute away from leaving, but we made it!”

Suddenly, Hermione’s head perked up and her expression became alarmed.

“Ron!” She exclaimed, “We have to get to the prefect meeting!” Grabbing a handful of Ron’s robes and dragging him through the car, she called back to Harry saying, “We’ll be back before you know it!” Ron, evidently not knowing what was happening, struggled for a moment and gave up, following her obediently to the front car. Harry heard him shout “See you soon mate!” before disappearing into another compartment.

Harry squeezed his way through the compartments of students, trying to find an empty one where he could sit down and relax away from the curious stares of the students who remembered Rita Skeeter’s article from last month. Additionally, he somehow felt uncomfortable around so many of his old friends and acquaintances, many of whom he had not seen all summer. It felt awkward to be socializing with them after all their months apart; especially after a brutal summer with the Dursley’s. Easing his way through a particularly dense aisle of students and luggage, Harry opened one of the sturdy metal doors connecting the cars and arrived at a relatively student-less compartment. Though Harry did not see him, he knew Gates was following closely

He threw Hedwig’s cage and his trunk onto the shelves that overhung the seats, and sat down on the cushioned seat positioned directly under his luggage. Behind him, Gates stood ominously in a shadowy corner of the compartment, peering out from the darkness from under a broken light fixture. Harry turned to face him, trying half-heartedly to take his mind off of his near-isolation. A flash of silver flickered from Gates’s cupped hands, and Gates, sensing Harry’s gaze, tucked the object into the folds of his crimson robes. Now, the only feature that hinted that a man was enveloped in the shadows was the diamond necklace, sparkling darkly despite the complete absence of light. Unnerved, Harry brought his head forward and idly stared out the window, watching absently the rolls of hills and lakes pass by.

The sky seemed to match his mood. In the morning and early afternoon, the sun had been scorching the earth, frying plants and animals alike like eggs. Now, however, clouds blocked out the sun and a comforting coolness swept over the forest, distracting everyone from the lingering heat that radiated from the ground. The sun, still trapped behind the cumulus, cursed the clouds into a deep shade of red, covering everything in a dull red haze. Though dusk was still hours away, Harry believed that the sun would set any minute and flee into the horizon, abandoning him to the night.

Just then, the compartment door clanged open and two of his close friends walked in. Luna, gazing at him with her trademark protuberant eyes, was trailed by Neville, who carried Trevor carefully with both hands. Neville, either by accident or intentionally, was not carrying his prized mimbulus mimbletonia cactus plant. Harry was immensely grateful for this, as he had experienced a very embarrassing situation because of it last year on the Hogwarts’ Express.

“Hello Harry James Potter,” Luna said vaguely, looking past him into the shadows where Gates stood.

“Er, hi Luna,” said Harry, feeling a little awkward by the use of his full name.

Neville, running past her, sat down next to Harry and placed Trevor on his lap. “Harry I want to show you something,” He said excitedly, fumbling with his pockets and pulling out a very bendy oak wand. “Gran bought me a new one over the summer. It has a unicorn tail in it!”

“That’s great Neville!” Harry answered, truly glad for Neville. As he had never known money to be a problem for the Longbottom’s, he had never understood why Neville had used his father’s wand for the past five years. “You’ll probably get a lot better results with it.”

“You think?” Neville said, awed, examining his wand with new anticipation, “I hope I do. Maybe it will help my marks.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, watching Luna take a seat in front of him. She pulled a copy of The Quibbler from her suitcase and began to read, turning the paper upside down occasionally to read the ruin puzzles.

“So how is Ronald?”

Harry hesitated. It was not his place to discuss Ron’s real condition without his permission; especially with Luna Lovegood. “He’s fine. Same as he was when you met him in Diagon Alley,” He said evasively. Luna peered at him suspiciously from behind the newspaper, and Harry found himself suddenly fascinated with the train’s windows.

“I see,” She said, her dreamy voice faltering somewhat.

“So what are you reading?” Harry asked, not-so-subtly trying to change the subject.

Luna turned back to The Quibbler. “Just about how the goblins are planning to stage a full scale revolt against Minister Fudge for crimes against their race. He hunts them for sport, you know.”

Harry stifled a laugh. He was irresistibly reminded of last year when The Quibbler claimed Fudge had been baking goblins in pies.

“Father says that Fudge will be facing an inquiry soon and he will be removed from his position,” She continued, too concentrated on what she was reading to notice Harry’s disbelieving grin, “I expect he will be convicted.” Her necklace of butter beer caps jingled as the train jolted on the track.

Neville, engrossed in the conversation, snapped out of his reverie and said, “So are we going to have Dumbledore’s Army meetings again, Harry?” Luna lowered her paper in sudden interest.

“I haven’t really thought about it,” Harry said truthfully. The last thing on his mind this summer was the renegade club he started last year in defiance of Dolores Umbridge. “I supposed we can restart it if everyone is still interested. I mean, we might not even need it if we have a competent teacher.”

“It was still loads of fun,” Neville replied, his blond hair flying as he nodded his head vigorously. “And I learned more in there than any of our classes.”

“Potter,” A scathing voice said from behind them, “Mind explaining to me exactly what ‘Dumbledore’s Army’ is?”

Gates had not spoken to Harry for a week now, and he was just beginning to enjoy the trend. Pity it had to be broken, he thought. “It’s a club we started that teaches people how to better defend themselves against the dark arts. Since we never really had a good Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, with the exception of Lupin, we started it for some extra practice.”

Gates paused for a moment, processing this information. “So you feel that your vast array of experience entitles you to lecture others on defensive spells?” Gates said sarcastically, speaking in a low and virulent voice, “You’re head has bloated to the extent where you feel capable of teaching others? I don’t care how pathetic your professors undoubtedly are; they still are one step above you. Blind luck isn’t synonymous with talent, Potter.”

“He performed the Patronus charm in his third year!” Neville blurted out.

“The Patronus charm?” Gates snorted, his voice sounding close to laughter though Harry could not see his expression, “I should hope so. Tell me, Potter, how many spells do you know that would actually come useful in a duel?”

After thinking for a minute, Harry could come up with only a few. “Well, there’s Stupefy, Silencio, Perfect-”

“Child’s play!” argued Gates, his voice icy and laced with a tone of superiority. “Any dark wizard can deflect those spells with a wave of his hand. What do you know about the Edward Skinner curses?”

“They’re a series of exceptionally complicated curses, hexes, and jinxes that Aurors use to subdue dark wizards,” Luna said, her voice floating over her magazine though her eyes never left the page in front of her, “You need a license to use them; thought you probably don‘t have one. Do you?”

Harry could not see Gates’s expression, but Harry knew that he was enraged. “What is your answer, Potter?” he snarled.

“Now that Luna told me, I know something about them. But I believe I will be learning a lot more about them since Sirius requested you to teach me such spells.”

“Unfortunately you‘re correct,” Gates sneered, then paused for a moment, “I will permit you to have this little diversion if you wish, if only for my personal amusement.” His diamond necklace rustled imperceptibly on his neck as he moved, shimmering slightly from the light.

Luna turned a page of The Quibbler. “Amazing how the illustrious Alexander Gates can wallow in his own glory but will never acknowledge a question.”

Gates said nothing.

Harry decided the exchange was concluded and turned back to Neville, who was looking very pale and troubled. The necklace was affecting him, too. “Do you still have the galleon?”

“Oh, uh,” He stammered, his blanks eyes coming back to reality, “Yeah I would never forget that!”

Harry grinned, remembering that Neville’s abysmal memory only allowed him to recall a few memories with clarity. Knowing Neville somehow remembered his galleon made him resolve to reinstate the D.A. as soon as possible.

An hour passed, and the train rattled over the tracks at the same quick, rambling pace that it had always moved at. The snack witch had passed by and he had purchased a small mountain of chocolate frogs and other assorted candies the plump witch offered. Stuffing himself full with the sweets, he fell back into his sleep and closed his eyes. Harry nearly drifted off to sleep when the door opened and Hermione and Ron stepped in.

“Oh, hey!” Harry greeted them, motioning them to sit down.

Sitting on either side of Luna, Ron and Hermione fell back into their seats and Ron instantly grabbed a leftover chocolate frog that Harry bought from the plump witch with the cart earlier. He bit off a large piece of its leg, and then returned his attention to Harry.

“So, how’s it been going?”

“I’ve decided to restart the D.A.” Harry announced, pleased with their reactions. Ron grinned broadly and Hermione beamed.

“That’s great!” said Hermione, a touch of pink reaching her cheeks at the fact her idea was going to be used for a second consecutive year, “I supposed we can start on the more advanced spells, right?”

“Yeah, I’ve been reading up on dark creatures and dueling, and I figure we can learn about some of that this year. Though we still should start with the basics since everyone likely forgot stuff over the summer.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Ron agreed, finishing the chocolate frog and licking his fingers, “I know I’ve forgotten some spells.”

“That’s your own fault that you didn’t study; not Harry’s,” Hermione said crossly.

Ron recoiled. “I never said it was!”

“Did someone just say something about dueling?” drawled a familiar voice from behind Harry. Draco confidently walked up the aisle, flanked by his two cronies Crabbe and Goyle. “You don’t seriously believe you know anything about dueling, much less expect to pass it on to a mudblood and a Weasley. Still can’t figure out which is worse, after all this time.” He added as an afterthought.

Harry restrained himself from reaching for his wand as Ron glared furiously at Draco, not moving because of a hand that Luna had placed on his wrist. Harry heard her mutter “Don’t do it” under her breath.

“And I supposed you think you can duel?” Harry retorted, “Who have you dueled this past summer? Some house elf who can’t fight back?”

Color flowed into Draco’s cheeks but he controlled it. “Mudblood girlfriend holding you back, Potter? I thought you two broke up during the fourth year.”

“You are a lot of things, Malfoy, but I never thought you were one for gossip and rubbish written by Rita Skeeter,” said Harry coolly, “But I find words suit you well.”

Malfoy smirked, but Harry could see the anger rising to his eyes, “Perhaps you really do think you can beat me, Potter. I’d like to see you try.”

“Yeah and get expelled from Hogwarts because of your relatives? I’ll pass, thanks.”

“No, I’m talking about doing it within the boundaries of the rules,” Draco said, his voice hinting danger. Harry involuntarily stiffened. “I’m starting a little dueling club, student run, of course, and sponsored by a professor.”

“Professor Snape?” Hermione laughed, “He’d be the only one who would allow your ridiculous ideas for clubs to pass.”

“If I could respond to that without feeling tainted by filth, mudblood, I would,” Draco said hotly. The tension in the compartment increase dramatically. “So you think you have what it takes to join, Potter? Or are you all talk?”

Harry felt himself tempted by the challenge. This would be his chance to humiliate Draco in front of the entire school and not get in trouble. It was not something he could pass up lightly.

Seeing Hermione shake her head warningly, Harry made up his mind. It would not be worth it, he decided, as Draco would cheat at the duel the first chance he got. And, with the club being overseen by Snape, Malfoy would probably get away with it.

“I don’t need to duel you to know I’m better; I’ve done it myself several times already and won each time.” Hermione nodded at Harry approvingly.

“I thought you might say that Potter,” Draco drawled, “Crabbe told me that you lost whatever balls you had when your feeble godfather passed through the veil. I might say it was a pity he died, but then I’d be lying.”

Harry was immediately on his feet with his wand drawn halfway. Eyeing Malfoy threateningly, he said “You will regret saying that, Malfoy. You want a duel? You have one. I can’t wait.” He sat back down, avoiding Hermione’s horrified expression.

“I knew that if anything got you to duel, it would be that,” Malfoy laughed, “You remember what I told you last year, about me avenging my father? I haven’t forgotten. See you later, Potter.” He motioned to Crabbe and Goyle to follow, but they were stopped by a icy voice calling out from the dark end of the compartment.

“Draco Malfoy? Son of Lucius Malfoy?” It was Gates.

“Yes,” Malfoy said uncertainly, fear passing across his face. He had not seen the tall figure in the shadows when he had come in. “I am a Malfoy, and you will tell me who you are.”

He identifies himself by his last name.

Gates stepped out of the darkness, his diamond necklace glittering madly and his eyes eager with excitement. Malfoy stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over a seat and falling. “You know me then? Perhaps I don’t have to answer your question, Malfoy.”

“You-” Draco stammered, his eyes locked on the diamond necklace, “You’re the madman Alexander Gates! What are you doing here?”

“Oh yes, well spotted. My business here is not yours, so I will ignore the latter part of the question. I have had the honor of meeting several of your relatives. Old friends, I daresay.” Gates used a voice that he normally reserved for Harry. It was a deathly, sadistic voice, one that, once heard, made your mind scream “GET AWAY”.

“What do you know of my family?” Draco asked brusquely, gaining some of his composure back. Though he spoke with a calm voice, Harry saw beads of perspiration falls down his pale face.

“Oh, I know many things about them. I trimmed your family tree quite a bit in the old days,” Gates said, grinning and experiencing pleasure at seeing Draco’s panicked face. He surveyed Malfoy carefully. “I think it could use another pruning, as of late.”

Malfoy lost whatever blood was in his face and made for the door. Before leaving, he called back, “You can’t be in this school. My father-” He hesitated. Obviously, he just remembered that his father was a fugitive and had no influence over anything.

“Your father will be dead if I ever find him, boy.” Gates fed off of fear like this; he savored its taste, relished its scent. The terror was the spice that made his life pleasant.

Draco practically ran out of the room, Goyle and Crabbe lumbering behind him. Gates, looking extremely pleased, almost gleeful, returned to the dark end of the compartment where the broken light fixture swung noiselessly. The only sound was Neville’s hoarse cough from a drink of water.

Hermione stared at Harry, appearing very disappointed, and bit her lower lip. “You shouldn’t have let yourself be drawn in. You know he will cheat.”

“I had to. He can’t talk about Sirius like that,” Harry shook his head, “Its not all bad. I will probably learn loads from it.” Hermione frowned doubtfully.

“Yeah, let it go,” Ron said, picking up another frog. He noticed Luna’s hand resting on his, and, slightly embarrassed, withdrew it. “Harry will take Malfoy anytime. Besides, did you see what Gates did to Malfoy? I think he wet his pants.”

Harry grinned. “That was better than the time Moody turn him into a ferret.”

“Mind you,” Ron replied, “I would rather have Gates not here at all and have Malfoy get away.” “Agreed,” said Hermione, “Harry please don’t get involved in anymore fights with Malfoy,” Her eyes begged him to agree, “Or anyone else. We need to be careful.” “Fine, I won’t start anything,” Harry answered, deliberately leaving a gap in the promise. He would not begin a fight, but he sure would finish it. “But I’m sick of the mudblood nonsense. It’s revolting.” “I know, but don’t get involved,” She pleaded, “Either of you.”

They felt the train begin to slow down, and Hermione quickly checked her watch. “We’re almost there. Get out your robes; it won’t be more than ten minutes now.”

Hermione and Luna left the compartment, and the boy quickly pulled out their luggage and dressed into their Hogwarts school robes. Feeling very uncomfortable as he had not been wearing them for several months, Harry tightened his robes around his waist and stood erect. His eyes wandering over to the window, seeing nothing and thinking deeply of what he had just gotten himself into with joining the dueling club.

After a few minutes, all the boys were ready and Luna and Hermione returned to the compartment, both wearing their school robes as well. They sat down, feeling wobbly on their feet as the train slowed down in short increments. Eventually, the Hogwart’s Express screeched to a halt and Harry heard the rough voice that had greeted him to Hogwarts since his first year; with an isolated exception of his fifth year.

“Firs’ ‘ears! Over ‘ear!” Hagrid shouted over the crowd of chatting students, who were idly stretching and yawning from the long train ride.

Not wanting to distract Hagrid from his duties, and promising himself that he would talk to Hagrid tomorrow, Harry walked straight for the carriages, seeing the thestrals snort and throw their heads back in boredom. Finding an empty carriage, the five of them crammed inside it and waited for the Thestrals to begin the march to the castle. Gates, not having a seat, stood irritably in the center of the carriage and glared at them. Vaguely, Harry heard Hagrid ordering the first years into the boats for their trip across the lake.

Hogwarts castle stood majestically on a hill, surrounded with the lush greenery of the forbidden forest and the sparkling mystery of the placid lake. Battlements and towers sprang up out of the walls, bathing in the setting sun. Light danced across the high stone walls and turned them from a dull gray into something vibrant and colorful. In the distance, he could see the high wooden doors that led to the entrance hall. Soon, he would hear the sorting and then devour the following feast. There was a small jerk and a rumble, and the carriages began to roll forward, winding their way up the rutted path and through the front iron gate.

“Oh Merlin,” Harry said softly to his friends, “Its great to be back.”

(A/N: Frankly I'm not too fond of this chapter, but its a necessary transition to Hogwarts. Hopefully everyone understands now what happened at the tavern. Parts of it, such as what-the-hell-does-a-magical-bond-do, will be explained in later chapters, so stick with me on that one. And some of you may think that Gates's actions in the beginning of this chapter are a bit unbelievable, that too has an explanation; which will be revealed later on.

And I hope everyone enjoyed Gates's conversation with Draco. I had a lot of fun with that.

Since these updates are taking place at roughly weekly intervals, I figure I will give you a summary of what I have planned for each chapter.

Chapter five: I really like how this chapter is going so far. Dumbledore has one of his 'talks' with Harry; Rita writes one of her articles; the trio has their first class of Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Whams and his assistant; and everyone's favorite professor meets Alexander Gates. Oh, and Harry finds our something quite personal about Gates.)

5. Gates, Whams, and Snape

(A/N: Here’s chapter five; I’m really proud of this chapter. I think it turned out rather well, though its about 14000 words long.

On a side note, for those interested in reading an author’s rant, this fanfic got rejected from muggle-net’s fan fiction section for (Get this) being too long. They wanted me to separate it into smaller chapters. (Because that apparently makes the overall story shorter) I will probably try to make my chapters under the 10000 mark from now on, though. 14000 words is a bit excessive.

Enjoy Chp. 5.)

When Harry, Hermione and Ron leapt out of their carriages and passed through the massive oak entrance doors, they were greeted by a very unsettled Professor McGonagall. Her eyes darted to the tall figure of Gates behind them, who stood patiently a few steps away. Students passing on either side of him gave him a wide berth, many recognizing his demeanor as cold and giving in to an irrational fear. The few that knew his name spoke in hurried whispers to their companions, and afterwards the small groups of students would quicken their pace and cast terrified glances over their shoulders, committing Gates’s face to memory. Harry frowned, thinking that this year was going to be a long one.

“I see you have arrived with your guardian in relative safety, yes?” McGonagall said, her eyes switching from Gates to Harry erratically. She made no effort to hide her disapproval of Sirius’s arrangements. “The Headmaster would like to see you, Harry, in his office. Mr. Weasley and Miss. Granger may come if they wish. Follow me please.” They left the flow of students swarming into the great hall and walked down a side passageway that Harry knew was the corridor to Dumbledore’s office. Portraits eyed them suspiciously, and, when Gates passed them by, they let out a yelps of surprise and disappeared from the painting, undoubtedly to alert the rest of the school’s portraits of Gates’s presence at Hogwarts. Harry, thinking darkly of how the news would be spread around the school in a matter of hours, followed Professor McGonagall in silence. Hermione and Ron flanked him on both sides.

McGonagall stopped in front of the stone gargoyle that marked the entrance to Dumbledore’s office, and muttered the password “Skiving Snackboxes” in a low and distasteful way, as though she was ashamed to have taught the students who created the product.

The door swung open, and the trio (with Gates coming up the rear) strode up the circular stairway and soon arrived at the headmaster’s office. Harry noticed that several of the objects he smashed last year now laid in pieces on the shelves: silent reminders to the rage he released on Dumbledore. Harry could not understand why the headmaster would keep the fragments. Feeling guilty about last year’s outburst, Harry turned to Professor McGonagall and waited for her to explain where the headmaster was.

“The Headmaster will join you after the sorting. Wait here until then; I must bring the Sorting Hat.” She walked up a shelf and unceremoniously snatched the Sorting Hat from its place, and, without further ado, vanished down the stairway and left them in the office.

The portraits of former headmasters feigned sleep but kept their eyes fixed on Harry, as though waiting for him to explode like he did the last time he was in Dumbledore’s office. Irritated, Harry stared resolutely back at them, causing the occupants to close their eyes completely and snore to better provide the illusion of sleep.

Hermione, fascinated at the innumerable rare trinkets that lined the shelves, immediately began examining everything in the room, intently studying the unique objects on the desk. Gates was unable to hide his curiosity. He absently wandered around the office, sometimes picking an item off the shelf and scrutinizing it closely. Attracted to a peculiar mirror on Dumbledore’s desk, Harry walked directly for it and gazed deeply into it, trying to find something in the swirling clouds and dust that the mirror reflected. Suddenly, Harry saw the pale, long face of Antonin Dolohov break through the mist, grinning madly and eyes wide with malice.

He jumped back, startled by what he saw. Sweating slightly without knowing why, Harry tentatively stepped forward again and peered into the mirror, expecting to see Dolohov’s head still framed by the clouds. Instead, the mirror had returned to its normal blank state, devoid of everything but swirls of nothing. Gates, watching his reaction curiously, moved towards him and looked knowingly into the mirror as well.

“What did you see?” Gates asked in a voice barely above a whisper. “Who was in the Nemesis Mirror?”

Harry blinked, not quite comprehending what the Nemesis Mirror was. “Antonin Dolohov was in there.” He answered. In his dreams, Harry saw flickering images of Dolohov’s face, stretched back into a sneer, and when he awoke, his scar burned apprehensively. He took this as a good sign that he was resisting Voldemort, since the images were never full dreams or visions and his scar never seared uncontrollably afterwards.

“Old Antonin?” Gates said quietly, his voice sounding even more dangerous when lowered, “Me and him are old acquaintances. I wish I found him first before the Aurors. He is a powerful man."

Harry did not respond, still lost in thought about how his dreams might be related to this mirror. “What is the Nemesis Mirror?”

“The Nemesis Mirror,” said Gates slowly, his tone icy and flat, “Shows the enemy you should most fear.”

“Then why isn’t it showing Voldemort?”

Gates hissed through his teeth. “Do not use the Dark Lord’s name. Little boys that are ignorant of his power should not dare to use his name.” He let the warning sink in and then continued. “The Dark Lord does not plan to kill you himself, then. Antonin will be the one who the Dark Lord sent to kill you. His threat is strong and his threat is imminent; that is why you see his face in the Nemesis Mirror.”

"I met him in the Department of Mysteries before..."

"Yes you did," Gates said as though he was speaking to a five year old muggle, "But he could not destroy the prophecy before his master saw it, could he? He needed the prophecy first. In an outright duel, Potter, Antonin would humble you."

Harry turned around to see Ron standing idly by the door and Hermione bending over a small and spindly object. “What do you see in the mirror?”

Gates looked taken aback by the question. Recovering, he snarled, “One who is capable of defeating his challengers does not need to see who they are before they die.” Gates whirled around, his diamond necklace flashing from the sudden movement.

When Gates began reading a large dusty tome titled Ancient Curses and Hexes, Harry gazed back into the Nemesis Mirror, searching for Dolohov’s cruel expression, hoping to gain an advantage by knowing the face of his enemy. He decided he would wait to tell Hermione and Ron, mostly because there was nothing either of them could do and their reactions would be unbearable. Ron would likely rant about Voldemort and Death Eaters and tell him to let Dolohov kill Gates, while Hermione would begin owling members of the Order and would never allow Harry to leave the house common room.

“I wonder how this one broke?” Hermione asked aloud, examining one of the priceless object Harry shattered last year. He felt heat rise to his face.

She should not stress herself over this, Harry thought. Dolohov was strong, but Harry had Gates protecting him, who, if anything, seemed eager to duel and defeat Antonin himself.

Just then, Dumbledore swept into the room and sat behind his desk, eyeing everyone critically. His eyes twinkled behind his glasses, and Harry swore he saw the headmaster wink at him reassuringly. Although his face was lined with worry, he looked the same as he always did. Somewhere, Harry heard a faint buzzing.

“If you are all through studying my possessions,” Dumbledore said gently, smiling, “I ask you all with the exception of Harry to wait outside until I’m through. I need to speak with all four of you individually, so please be patient. That includes you, Alex.” He added pointedly, smiling all the same.

Ron and Hermione nodded understandably and left, while Gates stood by the bookshelf, sliding the ancient tome back into its place.

Gates, looking reluctant to obey an order from anyone, said, with a trace of mockery, “If you so desire, Albus,” and left.

When the hem of his scarlet robes disappeared around the corner, Dumbledore turned to Harry and locked his eyes on a spot just below his shoulder. Clearly, Dumbledore still felt that it was too dangerous to share eye contact with him. He began.

“Harry, I feel its necessary for you to continue taking your Occlumency lessons,” Dumbledore said gently, choosing his words carefully, “They will take place every Thursday at six o’clock.”

Harry felt his heart sink. “They’ll be with you, right?” Privately, he knew the answer.

Dumbledore closed his eyes, opened them, and said “Professor Snape has agreed to accept you again, after some persuasion on my part. I cannot open your mind in my presence, Harry, you must understand that.”

He did not want to understand that. “You remember what he did last time? He threw me out. Physically. All Snape managed to do was let Voldemort inside my mind even more.”

“Professor Snape, Harry.” Dumbledore said, “And even right now I sense that you are suppressing your emotions. You learned something from Professor Snape, even if you don’t know what.”

Harry felt his temper rise. “I won’t go back,” He said resolutely, “First there’s Gates, then Rita revives her worthless articles on me, then Malfoy. I don’t need Snape to compound it.”

To Harry’s surprise, Dumbledore’s expression did not change. “Sirius’s death affected everyone, Harry. Everyone. Even Professor Snape was changed.”

“Yeah?” Harry said hotly, the reminder of Sirius’s death stirring his anger, “I bet Snape threw himself a little party. My dad’s dead. My mom’s dead. Now Sirius is dead. How many marauders are left? Just Lupin is alive ,and Snape must be salivating with anticipation…”

“That’s enough,” Dumbledore said, his voice stern but his expression not unkind, “I realize the mutual enmity runs deep, but Professor Snape has sworn to me that he will be less harsh towards you.”

“Sworn? Sworn on what?” Harry scoffed.

“There are certain things, Harry, that no wizard will make an oath lightly on. It is not my place to discuss its nature, but I assure you it is more than satisfactory.”

Irresistibly, Harry was reminded of Sirius once saying, "Some things are worth dying for."

Harry was wondering what Snape would swear on when Dumbledore interrupted his thoughts. “Now let’s start with your friend Mr. Weasley,” Dumbledore said, wanting to move on with the discussion. “You know the details of his possession?”

“Yes I do,” Harry replied, thinking about what the headmaster was getting at.

Dumbledore nodded and continued. “Then you know he can have a fit where he is almost completely possessed by a personality that was etched into his own mind by a brain in the Department of Mysteries…” It was a statement, not a question. “Even though the Unspeakables will not say precisely which dark wizard young Mr. Weasley was possessed by, we do know that the damage was deep. So deep that I would not attempt to use a memory charm to erase the possession in fear of harming his mind irrevocably. You have seen him have one of his fits.”

Harry suddenly knew where Dumbledore was heading. “Ron isn’t dangerous, professor. He won’t attack any of us.”

Dumbledore waved him off. “I know, Harry, and that is why I permitted him to come back to Hogwarts. If you and Alex and-” Dumbledore hesitated “-can keep an eye on him, he will be no threat to any of us. But Harry, you must be careful not to allow his emotions to flare uncontrollably. That is when possession takes place…” Dumbledore’s eyes flitted to Harry’s eyes momentarily and then returned to the spot below his shoulder.

“I think you’re asking the wrong person,” Harry said, grinning, “As you can see around your office,” He gestured to the shattered pieces of metal and glass on one of the shelves, “I am not the best equipped in handling my emotions.”

“You have changed over the summer, Harry,” Dumbledore said, still smiling and surveying him from behind his spectacles, “You have matured much since last year. I daresay Ron could use your help, as you have experience with that sort of problem.”

“I’ll try,” Harry promised, making ready to leave. Dumbledore motioned him to wait.

“There is something else I would like to discuss with you.” Dumbledore said slowly, his voice becoming grave.

Having an idea of what he wanted to discuss, Harry sat down in the chair in front of the headmaster’s desk. Several of the portraits, snapping out of their feigned sleep, stared curiously at him.

“The main subject I wish to speak with you about is your position with Alexander Gates.”

Many of the paintings began to mutter darkly behind him, but Harry ignored them. “Sirius sent me a letter as well, explaining what Gates had to do.”

“Yes, I am aware of that letter.” Dumbledore sighed. “Alexander approached me soon after he had received Sirius’s request and told me what he needed to do. As soon as you read that letter, the magical bond formed and Gates had therefore bound himself to you. He will be your shadow for the rest of this school year, Harry.”

“Why Gates?” Harry asked, desperate for an answer. So many times he had asked that question, and never received a satisfactory reply.

Dumbledore took off his glasses, folded them, and set them on his desk. “Because Alex owed Sirius an old favor from long ago. It is not my place to discuss what Sirius did for Alex, but I assure you that Alex was very pleased with the arrangement. Sirius obviously trusted Alex then, so he called in his favor to have Alex, one of the most powerful wizards in the world, guard you constantly for protection. He did what he felt was best to keep his best friend's only son safe."

“Sirius was wrong,” Harry said in a lowered voice, shaking his head, “Gates is evil. Insane. I don’t know what he was like back then, but he’s not like that now. How can anyone be such a monster?”

Dumbledore frowned, feeling disturbed. “Love made him a monster, Harry. Love can make a man wonderful, or it can make him more terrible than anything on this earth. And he is more dangerous to you than Voldemort right now, I feel.”

Harry was shocked. More so from Dumbledore’s use of the term ‘monster’ than his implication that love made him that way. “What?” He asked incredulously.

“I’m sorry, but its true. Love can make men evil in certain...circumstances. Voldemort, needless to say, will find it difficult to penetrate Hogwarts. Alexander Gates is, as muggles say, a loose cannon and will be near you the entire school year.”

Harry waited for Dumbledore to elaborate, but when he did not, he asked irritably, “Then why are you letting him guard me?” Don’t give me any nonsense about the magical bond, Harry thought.

“Sirius’s bond is absolute. Alex has no choice; nor do I. Interfering with a magical bond would be meddling with incredibly ancient magic. That is a dangerous thing to do.”

Harry stood up from his chair, feeling old anger and distrust rising into his throat. “He’s threatened to kill me more than once. He’s insane and he’s the last person I want to be within thirty meters of!”

“Harry, if there was a solution to this problem, I would have used it.” Dumbledore said sadly, appearing to have expected this response. “Alex will be watched carefully, Harry, by the Order and others. You are in no mortal danger from him.”

“You just said he was a monster!” Harry said, almost shouting. Why didn’t Dumbledore understand? “Duel him! Throw him away! He’s no better than a Death Eater!”

To Harry’s surprise, Dumbledore leaned over the desk casually and plucked up a jar of lemon drops from the corner. Popping one into his mouth, he offered one to Harry before continuing.

“I have thought of that Harry,” Dumbledore said calmly, “Believe me I have. I also feel Sirius made an error in assigning him to you. Alex's need for revenge and glory has driven him to madness.” Dumbledore leaned forward, his eyes staring directly into Harry’s. “But, if I should duel Alex, I am not confident that I will be the victorious. If I am gone, Voldemort will move more boldly than ever before. He has certain…items that may help him overcome even me, Harry.” Harry surveyed the headmaster, and saw no fear. He was being realistic, not cowardly. “Do not fear him simply because of his intimidation. Though he is strong, he cannot kill you. To kill you would be to kill himself. The bond would never allow it.” Dumbledore popped another lemon drop into his mouth when he finished.

Harry’s eyes grew wide. Gates rivals Dumbledore? He thought. “If he is so strong, then send Gates after Voldemort. If Voldemort was afraid of you, and you think Gates can defeat you, can’t Gates kill Voldemort then?”

Dumbledore frowned at his line of logic. “Alex, Voldemort, and I are governed differently. Our minds are all governed by a different emotion; and this emotion is reflected in our magic. You are governed by love, while Gates is governed by hate. Every emotion will affect your magic prowess to a different degree. Love is the strongest emotion, and therefore the most powerful. That is why you and Voldemort are destined to collide, rather than Alex and Voldemort.”

“Voldemort is governed by hate, too.” Harry argued.

“No, he is not,” Dumbledore replied, his gaze still locked with Harry’s eyes, “He is governed by desire, desire for power. Desire is a feeling almost equal to love.”

“I don’t understand,” Harry said finally.

“Think of each governing emotion as a glass; though each emotion is a glass of a different size. It is a wizard’s duty to fill the glass with water; that is, power. However, few wizards ever fill their glasses completely. Each emotion can take your powers so far, but no further. Gates is a man who has reached his limit, a full glass. Voldemort also has reached his limit. You, however, have much more power to gain before you are complete. Though your power is limited by your dominating emotion, your power will increase exponentially when you are feeling that particular emotion. I apologize for the weak metaphor, but it is the best comparison available.” Dumbledore sat back into his seat, waiting for Harry’s reaction. “I understand its not the simplest concept, but it provides an important lesson.”

“But wait,” Harry said quickly, “Where do these so-called governing emotions come from. Are they something you’re born with or-”

Dumbledore shook his head gently. “Governing emotions are formed during the first few years of your life. By age ten, it will be firmly entrenched in your magical abilities. They most often are results of experiences, events, or occurrences from early in life. Sometimes, only one, single event is enough to determine the governing emotion. It varies, Harry, and I am sorry I do not have a clearer response for you.”

Harry remained silent for several minutes, meditating on what the headmaster explained to him. Giving up, he decided to relate the entire conversation to Hermione later to see if she could translate it. “So essentially I will have to tolerate Gates for the entire year?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Dumbledore’s voice suddenly became serious. “You must be careful around Alex. I know what truly occurred at The Leaky Cauldron, and you must not provoke him. He’s a dangerous man. Tread carefully, Harry.”

“There are a lot of dangerous people who are after me, professor.” Harry said rather bitingly.

“Harry, Alexander is different. You and him are more alike than you could possibly imagine.” Dumbledore said, his eyes focused on Harry’s. Something in the way he did this made Harry sense the urgency in his voice.

“How so? I’m nothing like him.” Harry said quietly, reining in his anger. He was beginning to feel ashamed for his irritation with the headmaster.

“This is a complicated thing to explain. Its more of a paradox.” Dumbledore began, “I believe Alexander is an echo of yourself; a cosmic accident. Alexander was intended to be the one who fought and killed Voldemort, I believe, but through some flaw or twist in fate, he did not.”

“You’re saying Gates has a prophecy too?” Harry asked, not quite believing his ears.

“No he does not; his fate was somehow misaligned. Perhaps the evil within him overrode his mind and prevented him from defeating Voldemort, therefore contradicting and eliminating any potential prophecy. This is magic at one of its deepest levels, Harry.” Dumbledore continued, “Don’t you see the similarities? Both of you lost your parents at a young age to dark wizards. Both of you fight vehemently against the Dark Arts. Both of you have extraordinary powers. But the strongest connection, the connection that makes me feel you two are inextricably entwined, is the fact that you both have been created by love. With Alex, love turned him evil, which is undeniably the reason his fate with Voldemort was removed. Your mother's love both saved and created you, despite her death. However, you have overcome your loss with your ability to love intact, if not greater than before.”

“So you are saying that I have become stronger than Gates?” Harry asked incredulously.

Dumbledore shook his head. “Do not think of it as a matter of being strong or being weak. Gates has simply taken another path. You both reside on opposite ends of the spectrum. You are equals, and that is why Alex is very dangerous to you. He is your shadow, your echo, your other half. My own theory is that, because fate needed to place so much good into a single person, you, the hate and evil needed to be moved elsewhere. It ended up, I’m afraid, in Alexander Gates.”

Harry paused, mulling over what Dumbledore told him. Once again deciding to let Hermione translate the information, Harry asked in a low voice, “Then its like we’re almost brothers?”

“As close as two can be without being related by blood.”

Suddenly, he had the strange urge to leave the room. Dumbledore, folding his hands over his lap, watched Harry silently, understanding and pitying the revelations that must be playing out through his head.

Harry was moving towards the exit when a thought struck him. Releasing the door handle from his grip, he said “Professor, what emotion are you governed by?”

Dumbledore’s tone was light. “Passion, Harry. Passion.”

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The next morning, Harry woke up to hear the soft snores of Neville and Dean nearby. Quietly stepping out of bed, he threw on his school robes and tiredly walked down the stair. He entered the common room and falling into a squishy chair. Last night's fire smoldered restlessly. Gates stood obliquely in the far corner of the room, watching Harry with a piercing gaze. He had stayed in the common room the entire night, and Harry wondered vaguely if Gates slept at all. Faintly, Harry saw the diamond necklace gleaming from the first rays of the early morning sunlight.

Becoming entranced by the dying embers in the fire, Harry did not notice Ron and Hermione join him a few minutes later.

“Hey mate, what are you doing up so early?” Ron said as he sat down on the sofa, stretching his arms weakly and yawning. Harry was startled out of his reverie.

“Hello Harry, Ron,” Hermione said, taking a seat across from Harry. Her eyes were puffy from lack of sleep and her air was more bushy than normal.

“I could ask you the same question,” Harry replied, turning his attention to his two friends. All three of them knew why none of them could sleep. For a moment, all that could be heard was the faint crackling of the fire and the distant snores of students sleeping in the dormitory.

Hermione was the first to break the silence. “Still thinking about what Dumbledore said?”

Harry and Ron nodded, neither of them wanting to elaborate what exactly Dumbledore had said. Hermione, on the other hand, seemed perfectly happy, even eager, to relate the exchange she had with the headmaster.

“Well, I asked him, and he agreed,” she said gleefully, the last traces of sleep vanishing from her eyes. Her face became alight with enthusiasm, waiting for either of them to ask what Dumbledore had agreed to.

“What did he agree to?” Harry asked, a feeling of curiosity poking its way into his head.

Hermione beamed. “I told him about my idea for S.P.E.W. and he liked it. He said that he will make it an official club now that I have sponsorship from Professor McGonagall.”

Ron groaned exasperatedly. “You haven’t given that up yet?”

“Why would I?” Hermione demanded, her eyes narrowing. When Ron did not answer, she turned to Harry and her expression softened. “So anyway, the clubs don’t start for a couple more weeks, so I am going to take this time to get ready with schedules and ideas and such. Don’t worry, I will tell you both when sign ups start.” She added, not seeing the lack of interest written on their faces.

“What did he talk to you about Harry?” Ron asked, wanting to get off the dangerous subject of S.P.E.W.

Harry hesitated, deciding that prudence dictated that he omit the part where Dumbledore discussed Ron. Opting to talk about Occlumency first, Harry began, “For one, Snape will be back teaching me Occlumency…”

Hermione was on her feet, looking shocked. “He didn‘t!”

“He did,” Harry said grimly, “He reckoned Sirius’s death changed him somehow. Like he’s a better man. He also mentioned that Snape swore to be nicer this year, but for some reason I don’t find that comforting.” Harry added sarcastically.

“Nicer?” Ron said mockingly, “I would hope so. He can’t get much worse, mind you.”

“Even after throwing you out of his office?” Hermione continued aghast, “Even after letting Voldemort break into your mind?”

“Yeah, he’s pretty adamant against opening up my mind in his presence.” Harry sighed. “So that leaves Snape.”

A look of disgust crossed Ron’s face. “That git always finds a way to make our lives hell. I swear, if he starts something this year I am going to owl Fred and George and see if they will send me-”

“You don’t even have Professor Snape this year Ron.” interrupted Hermione, crossing her legs as she spoke.

Ron blinked. “Oh…right.”

“But that’s not even the part that I’m concerned about. Listen to this…” Harry lowered his voice and leaned forward, relating everything Dumbledore said about Gates, governing emotions, and Harry’s relationship with Gates. When he finished, Hermione stared at him with wide eyes, stunned.

“If that’s all true, Harry, then,” she cast a furtive glance at the tall, lurking figure in the dark corner of the common room, “-then Gates can kill you Harry! Not now, but after the bond is done!” She looked positively horrified.

Harry was taken aback. “Is that what it meant? I didn’t understand a word.”

“Neither did I,” agreed Ron, looking lost and confused.

Hermione sighed, converting her brain to its intellectual side and, after gathering up her scattered emotions, spoke with a distinctly brisk manner. “With magic, all the spells we cast are different, right? Well what Dumbledore said was that every one of us is governed by a certain emotion, and that this emotion reflects itself in our magic. Therefore, a wizard that is governed by bravery, could summon a stronger stunning spell than a wizard with the same amount of power who is governed by cowardice. What’s more is that the more we feel the governing emotion in ourselves, the more of an affect it has in our magic.”

“But Dumbledore mentioned that wizards can only become as powerful as the governing emotion…”

She took a deep breath and continued. “Yes there is a limit, but power and emotion are two different things. Oh this is going to get complicated. Take bravery; we will use Dumbledore’s example and say bravery is a glass than can hold a liter of water, that is, power. Now, say this wizard who has a full glass is feeling absolutely no emotion. His magical power will be exactly equal to the amount of water in the glass. Now take another wizard, who, like the other wizard, has a full glass of power and has the governing emotion of bravery. Unlike the other wizard, he is feeling incredibly brave at the time. His magical powers will increase exponentially; determined only by the strength of the governing emotion he is feeling. The same wizard with the governing emotion of bravery, on the other hand, will not have a boost to his power if he is feeling rage. Does that make sense?” She added.

Harry looked at her in awe. “More than it did when Dumbledore said it.”

Hermione blushed. “Well I have read something about that before, and its rather fascinating material. Don’t you think?”

“So what’s all this about Harry and Gates being related?” Ron interrupted rather too loudly. Alexander tilted his head curiously in their direction.

“Shh!” hissed Hermione, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward even further, “I don’t know what Dumbledore meant, Harry. Are you sure you didn’t forget something? I mean, the relationship doesn’t make any sense, honestly.”

Ron was positively stunned. “What? Hermione doesn’t know something?”

Harry, though, was considerably less shocked, as he completely understood Hermione’s bafflement.

He mentally raged at himself. You idiot! Of course she doesn’t understand because she doesn’t know about the prophecy. That’s the key to the whole thing!

“Errr,” Harry said uncertainly, “I guess Dumbledore can’t be right about everything, can he?” He finished lamely, feeling the need to say something.

Hermione surveyed him skeptically. “Uh-huh.”

Pretending not to have heard her, he turned to Ron. “So any thoughts on who the new Quidditch captain is?”

“Oh sure,” Ron said brightly, all traces of sleepiness leaving him, “Alicia Spinnet by seniority, right? But we still need new beaters and chasers and a see-” He stopped abruptly, as if realizing what he was about to say might be found offensive.

“And a seeker,” Harry said, trying to sound casual but his voice betraying the deep regret that he felt, “I wouldn’t worry, though. I mean, Ginny is a great seeker isn’t she?”

Hermione, allowing herself to be diverted from her original line of questioning, said, “Dumbledore wouldn’t keep Umbridge’s decrees in effect. I’m sure he said something about it in the sorting speech, but we simply missed it.”

Harry’s heart swelled with hope. “Yeah, that’s a possibility…”

A few minutes passed as they stared blankly at the fire, each engaged in their own private thoughts. Something about the low flickering flames calmed Harry, and the wild dancing of the shadows and light on the walls was nothing short of incredible; when one stopped to admire it. From the corner of his eyes, Harry could see Gates’s necklace flashing dimly from the distant orange flames.

“So what did Dumbledore speak with you about Ron?” Hermione asked curiously. Harry suddenly broke out of his trance-like state and listened; he had forgotten about Ron’s discussion.

“Well, um,” stuttered Ron, shifting uneasily in his seat, “Nothing much. Just that usual; stay out of trouble, follow prefect duties, et cetra.” He attempted to smile, but it came out to be more like a grimace.

“You too?” Hermione replied, a hint of irritation in her voice. Clearly, she felt that her two best friends were keeping something from her.

Ron’s ears turned red. “Do you reckon they serve breakfast this early?” he asked gracelessly, “I’m starved.” Mechanically standing up from his chair, he strode hastily to the portrait hole and vanished, muttering something about checking on the kitchens.

Hermione bit her lower lip and asked softly, “What do you think is wrong with him?”

“Dunno,” Harry said, staring at the ground. He was sure, though, that they both knew exactly what was wrong with him.

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

A half hour later Ron had still not returned, and several other Gryffindors had already come down into the common room to plop down on one of the many sofas to stare idly into the fire while waiting for their friends. When the first pair of Gryffindors began filtering out of the common room to eat breakfast, Harry caught Hermione’s eye and nodded towards the portrait hole. She, who had apparently been thinking along the same lines, shrugged and joined him to the great hall. Out of the shadows, Gates saw them leave and followed silently behind.

The few students they met along the way seemed to veer off into branching corridors as they approached; their eyes automatically flitting to the looming figure several paces behind them and then growing wide. Even the muggleborns, who normally knew little about the wizarding world and its history, were aware of Gates’s notoriety. Harry had no doubt that some of the students from old wizard families had extended the news to their less-informed peers. The portraits that lined the hallways whispered excitedly as they passed; appearing both eager and apprehensive to see the man whose name had spread like wildfire around Hogwarts.

Glancing over his shoulder, Harry saw Gates with a satisfied smirk on his face approaching him still closer; attempting to make even more students steer away from Harry and Hermione.

They’re going to start associating him with me, Harry thought grimly.

Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder, giving Harry goosebumps. “They’ll get used to it,” she said reassuringly.

The great hall itself was tranquil and quiet in the relatively early morning; there was the dull murmur of students who had sleepless nights from the first-day-of-school-again jitters, and few people were actually eating. Looking up at the enchanted ceiling, Harry saw it was a dim, gray morning with few clouds in the sky; reflecting flawlessly the placidity within the great hall. The sun, raised fully above the horizon, lazily threw a few rays across the clouds to add a tinge of color to the mostly plain sky. Seeing Ron sitting alone at the Gryffindor table, Harry moved to sit next to him while Hermione sat on the opposite side. Gates casually leaned against the stone side wall of the great hall and watched the trio intently, his eyes fixed on Ron.

Ron looked up at them with a forced expression of happiness and then mindlessly piled food onto his plate; some of which, Harry knew, Ron did not even like. “So,” Ron said conversationally, “Great morning!”

“Errr,” Harry glanced up at the ugly sky, “Sure is.” More people began trickling into the great hall; many of which were probably lured in by the smell of freshly cooked eggs and bacon.

Ron impaled a sausage link with his fork and crammed it entirely into his mouth, making no effort to abide by common manners and chew with a closed mouth. Hermione wrinkled her nose. “So,” Ron began, “What do you reckon about today’s schedules?”

“Potions and Defense against the Dark Arts…” Harry said, “I guess I’ll see you in the Dark Arts class, anyway, Ron.”

Ron laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah but you’re stuck with Snape. Can’t envy you there, mate. I still dunno why you took it.”

“Need it for Auror,” Harry mumbled, finding himself regretting his choice of classes. “But Hermione will be there, so it won’t be all that bad.”

“I think we are going to be the only Gryffindors there, Harry,” said Hermione, “No one I talked to last night made it to N.E.W.T. level Potions.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Ron said sarcastically.

Just then, Harry was tapped on the shoulder and he spun around. “Oh, hi Alicia.”

“Hello Harry, Ron,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from her face, “I’ve been made Quidditch captain for Gryffindor, seniority and all.”

“Congratulations,” Harry said smiling, “So what will be your first official act as Quidditch captain?” he added. Subtly, Harry sensed Alicia was not all that eager to have been made captain.

“I just wanted to tell you and Ron that practice starts next week. I reserved the field for Wednesday at six o’clock so be there. I‘ve got to go tell the others.” She turned to walk away.

“Wait,” Harry said, hesitating, “I’m banned from ever playing Quidditch again.”

“Oh, never mind that. Dumbledore told us he repealed all of Umbridge’s edicts at the sorting ceremony, didn’t you hear?”

Harry grinned broadly. “Good, then I’ll be there.”

As Alicia left, Harry turned back to Hermione and said, “So you were right. I’m not banned.” He felt almost gleeful. Quidditch again! The week cannot pass fast enough! I wonder if I can suggest any plays from The Unofficial Strategy Guide of Europe’s Top Quidditch Teams that I received from Hermione…

She smiled shyly from under her frizzled hair. “I didn’t need to be Professor Trelawney to guess that one.”

Ron gave an authentic laugh and relief swept through Harry. For a moment, he feared that bringing up Dumbledore’s conversation with him in the common room might have been more damaging than he previously thought.

Harry glanced down the table, and was startled to see Ginny and Dean sitting together and chatting amiably. Knowing Ron's disapproval of their relationship, Harry caught Hermione's eye and looked meaningfully at Ginny. She nodded discretely and mouthed the words, "Distract him". There was no need, however, as Ron began talking again.

“Any plans yet for Dumbledore’s Army?” whispered Ron, though there had been no need to keep his voice low. Homework groups and other nonofficial clubs could meet freely since Educational Decree 24 had been repealed.

“Err-” Harry had not really thought about it since the train ride to Hogwarts. “The week after next, I suppose. We need to give people time to get back in shape, since no one got to practice over the summer.”

Hermione looked impressed. “That’s very insightful.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, blushing.

“Why don’t you make the D.A. official?”

“Well, its always been sort of private, hasn’t it?” Harry said, “I mean, we should only take people we know and trust, since we are teaching some fairly powerful spells,” He paused. “What do you guys think about learning some ways to combat dark magical creatures?”

“That’s not a bad idea, mate!” said Ron enthusiastically, “I mean, You-Know-Who is going to be using dark creatures against the ministry when he finally decides to start total war. He did last time."

“But how will we practice them?” asked Hermione, her brow furrowed, “We certainly can’t bring live creatures into the Room of Requirement.”

“We can study the theory of it for a few weeks, anyway,” Harry said slowly, now aware of the rather large flaw in his idea, “Who knows; maybe the room itself can help us out.”

Suddenly, a small flurry of owls descended onto the tables in the great hall and dropped packages, letters, and scrolls from home. Normally the packages contained quills and books that students had forgotten at home. (Neville was one such case) One large, gray owl landed heavily onto the table and dropped a copy of The Daily Prophet roughly in front of Hermione, knocking over a plate of biscuits in the process. Hermione placed a single knut into a pouch on the owl’s leg, and it hooted dutifully and flew off.

“What does it say?” said Ron and Harry at once, both leaning over the table to read the headline.

“Well,” Hermione said slowly, “They’re putting a lot of pressure on Fudge, which isn’t really anything new. They’ve been doing it all summer…” She flipped the page and continued, “Some articles about pranksters moving up to changing traffic signals to different colors…”

“Huh?” said Ron, confused.

“Oh my,” Hermione murmured, frowning, “It seems Rita found about Gates, Harry,” She handed him the paper. "Or Gates told her himself to make you look bad." she added grimly.

Boy-Who-Lived Hires Dubious Bodyguard

Rita Skeeter

Harry Potter, known mainly for surviving You-Know-Who’s killing curse while only a baby-

“Yeah, and beating You-Know-Who in your first, second, fourth, and fifth year.” muttered Ron.

-has apparently decided to hire a professional Hit Wizard to defend him from You-Know-Who’s vengeance. We all agree that last year’s debacle at the ministry was clear evidence of You-Know-Who’s return, and Harry’s involvement was taken as a sign of strength coming from the young teenager. However, his choice of a guardian leads us to think of what illness is plaguing Harry Potter’s mind to create a string of abnormal behavior. (Such as belief in being possessed by You-Know-Who, infiltrations into the Department of Mysteries, as well as other strange events that are telltales signs of a damaged mind)

Harry Potter magically bound Ex-Auror Alexander Gates to a one year contract which guarantees Harry’s complete security during his sixth year at Hogwarts. Many remember Gates as the famed Professional Hit Wizard who has slain countless dark wizards throughout his questionable career. The slayings, say several respectable sources, were often unnecessary and prevented the Ministry of Magic from conducting a proper investigation. Described as a ‘vigilante’ and nicknamed ‘The Debauched Savior’, Gates is now considered to be reckless and unstable. For a time, Gates was exiled from the isle of Britain all together because of threats regarding several Aurors and ministry officials. More recently, Gates has been pardoned and permitted to perform his work to guard Harry Potter.

Narcissa Malfoy, matriarch of the Malfoy family, had this to say about Alexander Gates: “Alexander Gates was exiled from Britain because of his murder of several Malfoy family members. The man is insane, and I have yet to receive any apology, written or otherwise, from the ministry or the madman they formerly employed.”

This leads us back to the main question: Why would Harry Potter hire Alexander Gates; a criminal whose mind is deranged?

Numerous theories have been developed; distinctly one that claims that this is another attempt by Harry Potter to increase his fame and to leech out attention from the news. Widely believed to be unstable himself, another theory suggests Mr. Potter believes he is intermittently possessed by You-Know-Who, and hired a guardian to ensure he does not lose control. This disturbed behavior would explain his lack of judgment. This theory is reinforced by Occlumency lessons allegedly taken by Harry Potter in his fifth year.

Whatever the cause, this journalist hopes that this disturbed young man recovers from his many ailments and finds peace wherever he can.

“Oh, Merlin,” Harry exclaimed, throwing down the paper in disgust, “And I thought she was gone after last month.” Harry looked around, and saw everyone who did not already know of Gates’s history gape at him in shock.

“Harry,” Hermione asked timidly, “How did she know all that? About the contract I mean."

Her words hit Harry like a mallet. He suddenly remembered the faint buzzing that took place in the Headmaster’s office yesterday. “She was there, in Dumbledore’s office. I didn’t even think of that.”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, I thought she would be up to her old tricks. Unlike last time, though, she is now perfectly legal.”

“You’re sure having a run of bad luck,” Ron muttered.

Almost on cue, Dumbledore stood up from his position at the staff table and gazed around him, wordlessly calling everyone to silence. Once the conversation died down, he cleared his throat and began, “I beg you all to allow me to make a short speech before classes begin. During last night’s sorting, I forgot to mention a new rule in addition to the expansion of illegal products to include everything coming from Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes,” His eyes twinkled in Harry's direction, “For those who have learned to become an animagus, legally or illegally, taking your animal form on school grounds is prohibited. This includes everyone with the exception of Hogwarts staff and faculty. Breaking of this rule will result in suspension and a report to the ministry.”

“While I have your attention, I will remind you that signups for the two new inter-house clubs, The Dueling Club and The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, will begin next week. Prefects will be responsible for attaching notices on the bulletin boards located in the great hall and each of the houses’ common rooms. Further inquiries into either club can be made through Mr. Malfoy or Miss. Granger, respectively.”

When he finished, Dumbledore sat back down and the usual babble of talk broke out across the great hall. Harry noticed Professor McGonagall leaning towards the headmaster’s ear and whispering something quickly into it. Dumbledore nodded and she left.

“Then we can do something after all!” Hermione said excitedly. Her eyes were bright and she was grinning. “All we have to do is catch her in the act and she can be reported to the ministry. She’ll probably even lose her license.”

Harry sighed. “How are we going to catch a beetle? Besides, its no big deal. Let her write her stories; its nothing that I’m not used to and this isn’t even her best work.” He said with a sly smile.

“I suppose,” Hermione said, falling back into her seat and falling into a reverie, “But she has lots of time to get nasty.” She added.

There are a lot of things Rita can be nasty about if she finds out. Ron’s condition, in particular.

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Harry was still suspended in deep thought when he entered his Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom with the rest of the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. Finding desks in the back, Harry sat down with Ron and Hermione on either side of him; both heads forward and anxiously awaiting the arrival of the new professor. Gates, entering the classroom seconds after Harry, stood ominously in the front corner of the room, watching over the class from his aloof position.

After several minutes, the silence was broken by the murmurs of their classmates: all of them were asking each other the same question: Who is the new professor and is he going to bother showing up for class?

“So where is he?” whispered Ron.

Harry shrugged. “He probably got lost on the way. He isn’t exactly the most competent of people I’ve met. It’s not his fault, though, since your brain can never really recovered from a memory removal charm.”

Ron sniggered, but Hermione frowned. “Its not funny. I would like to see what you would do if your memory was erased and you spent twenty years in St. Mungo’s to recover. Still, I think you should brace for the worst, Ron. Percy will probably be with him.”

At this Ron’s ear turned a vague shade of red and he nodded determinedly. His last encounter with his older brother was still fresh in his mind despite it taking place a month ago. Hoping Ron would be in better control of his emotions and therefore his fits, Harry turned back to the front of class just as Professor Whams entered the doorway followed by a very haggard Percy.

“Hello, young wizards! I apologize for my tardiness. I‘m afraid I have a rather poor memory!” He said cheerfully, a confused look plastered on his face as his eyes darted wildly around the room from behind a pair of thick spectacles. Harry noticed that they were a different pair than the ones he wore in Diagon Alley. His hair was badly disheveled and his dark purple silk robe was loosely tied with a sash of the same color. “I am Professor Henry Whams, and I will be teaching, err…” He looked to Percy for a cue; after which Percy quickly whispered something in his ear. “Defense Against the Dark Arts. The young man next to me-” He patted Percy jovially on the shoulder, “-is my assistant Perseus Wesley.”

Percy blushed a deep shade of red, and the students who remembered him from their first years at Hogwarts chuckled silently. “Hello,” he managed. Harry stole a glance at Ron to see that he was not at all amused by the situation.

“And you are?” Professor Whams said, turning to Gates; who still stood wordlessly in the corner.

“Alexander Gates. I’m sure you’re aware of the arrangement,” He answered imperiously.

“I am?” Whams began, surprise written on his face. Percy leaned towards Professor Whams and whispered into his ear. The professor paled slightly before returning his attention to the class, no longer interested in the looming figure in the corner.

“So,” Professor Whams continued, taking his glasses off and setting them on a table; then clasping his hands together. “This is the N.E.W.T level course, and from what I’ve heard you lot have had quite a few colorful professors. Unfortunately, it seems they have all met quite, err, unique fates.”

Professor Whams picked up a slip of parchment off of a table and, realizing he could not see, fumbled for his spectacles. Percy, seeing Whams’s plight, handed a spare pair to him and he took them gratefully. Placing them carefully on the bridge of his nose, Professor Whams examined the paper closely before continuing, “Yes, it seems that you have covered several N.E.W.T. level curses already by one Alastor Moody. In your fifth year, however,” his nose visibly wrinkled, “You accomplished precisely nothing.”

“As a class you are dreadfully far behind in your studies of dark magical creatures. Since your N.E.W.T.’s have an entire section devoted to fighting dark magical creatures, this will be as good of a place to start as any. Accio book!” he shouted; aware only at the last minute that he did not have a wand in his hand. He searched the pockets of his robe briefly before Percy dutifully offered his own. Whams tried the incantation again. This time, a large, battered tome flew out from a old bookcase in the corner of the room, leaving behind a trail of dust as it went. Professor Whams caught it with his free hand.

“Can anyone tell me about Grendels?” Professor Whams asked, his magnified eyes blinking rapidly behind their lenses.

Hermione’s hand immediately shot up. Harry, remembering that he read about Grendels from the Defense Against Dark Magical Creatures book that Hermione bought him, raised his hand as well.

Looking disappointed that he had received such a small response, Professor Whams pointed to Harry and said, “Your name, please? I apologize, I am rather slow with remembering names ,and I fear I know none of you yet.” Hermione, slowly lowered her hand and turned to Harry curiously.

“Err-” Harry was slightly taken aback by the question; not too many people needed to ask his name. “Harry Potter, sir.”

“Salutations, Mr. Potter,” His eyes showed no signs of the sudden recognition that Harry had expected. It felt somewhat refreshing. “What do you know about Grendels?” His owl-like eyes glinted brightly

“Well, they are really rare; no more than one has ever been seen on a single continent. Because of this we don’t know much about them. They’re also supposed to have impregnable hides and can deflect most spells easily, and are absolutely massive. They’re bigger than most giants.” Harry replied, feeling nervous about participating in class. That job was usually reserved to Hermione. “Their bloodlust is insatiable, and when roused they can devour small armies. Mostly, though, they stay underground and sleep off their meals. Grendels are almost never seen unless they are awoken or hungry. There has only been one reported slaying of a Grendel, and that has never been confirmed and is now entwined with muggle legend and myth.”

Hermione beamed at him and smiled widely, blush tingeing her cheeks. Ron looked stunned and gripped his chest in a comical imitation of a heart attack. Professor Whams, appearing impressed, said, “Exactly, Mr. Potter. Fifteen points to Gryffindor.”

Hermione said a low voice, “I see you‘ve been reading.” For some reason, this made Harry feel giddy.

“Yeah, I’ve read the entire thing. It’s a great book. It’s one of the few non-Quidditch related books I’ve ever read out of interest.” Harry grinned and Hermione blushed even more.

Flicking his wand, Professor Whams copied Harry’s exact words onto the blackboard behind him in a clear sign that they should all begin taking notes. “Now allow me to show you precisely what a Grendel physically looks like,” He made a wand motion like a figure eight and muttered, “Imago!”

To the class’s surprise, a large, human-sized transparent replica of a Grendel materialized in front of them. Trying to get a better view, Harry stood up and studied the illusion carefully, taking in its form and hints of brutal strength. Gates stirred restlessly from the dim corner, his diamond necklace glittering as his eyes locked onto the figure.

Harry, never seeing a Grendel before and not having a clear idea of their shape, squinted at the figure. Its hide was dark blue, almost black, and it had a relatively small chest and stomach with long, protruding arms and legs that ended with razor sharp claws. The fingers were long and webbed, and Harry knew from the book that Grendels tended to throttle their larger prey before slashing them apart into bloody ribbons. The head is what made it truly unique however. The lower jaw jutted out sharply from its face, which was strong enough to crush and splinter any creatures’ bones into dust. Set deeply into the skull were a set of yellow, leering eyes which peered out from shadowed sockets. There was no trace of hair on its body, and Harry thought it was the ugliest creature imaginable. Fleetingly, he had a vision of a Grendel bolting a man to the floor, snapping out his life. Then, in a slow, dramatic arc, the man would be lifted up and torn in two, and, after disposing of one half, the Grendel would lift up the upper torso and drink the freely-flowing blood from the man’s severed veins. Innards were hanging carelessly out from the body, and the man, somehow alive, shrieked and screamed as his blood was drained out of him. Tossing the pale and empty carcass into a heaping pile, the Grendel turned towards Harry and its face contorted into something resembling a grin, blood dribbling down its jaw. The scene was gory and terrible, a harsh reminder of the monsters that existed in this world.

“Perseus,” Professor Whams said, “Could you hold the model for me?” He handed the wand over and Percy pointed it directly at the shimmering shape of a Grendel, his face furrowed in concentration.

“Wow,” Ron said loudly, his eyes wide, “Its vicious.”

“Yes it is,” said Professor Whams serenely, gazing at the Grendel. “But I ask you not to speak out of turn, Mr. Weasley. One point from Gryffindor.”

After a moment of silent fascination with the glowing illusion before him, Professor Whams continued with the lesson. “They are destructive creatures; more dangerous than dragons. Mercifully, they spend most of their immortality in deep slumber far within the earth. Few wizards have ever attempted to study such creatures, and those that do discover precious little about them. They are exotic and incredible; but then, so are most things from a new angle. There are only a handful of Grendels existing in the world; they can not breed, but are immortal. Certain religions take them as Gods, and sometimes I wonder if there is some wisdom in that.”

“Thank you, Perseus,” Whams said quietly and Percy released the connection of the wand with the glimmering image. The Grendel flickered for a moment, then vanished.

“I wonder when Hagrid will be showing us one in Care of Magical Creatures?” Ron asked, chuckling.

“Please take out you N.E.W.T. level Defense Against the Dark Arts books and turn to page two hundred and three; chapter titled: ‘The Grendel Awakened’.”

They spent the rest of the class copying down various notes and random bits of information on Grendels; including their habitats, recorded sightings, and magical prowess. Apparently, Grendels themselves could perform no magic though they are completely immune to most spells. To Harry’s dismay, there was no information on what spells would be effective when encountering a Grendel and how a team of wizards could fight one off. He did not expect to meet a Grendel in his lifetime, but he thought it would make an interesting subject in the D.A. meeting.

When the bell rang, Harry gathered his books and, after saying “Goodbye” to Ron, left to Potions class with Hermione; Gates not far behind. Harry saw Ron practically sprinting down the corridor while Percy tried to catch him for a brief word.

“I think Professor Whams can be a really great teacher. He knows what he’s talking about.” Hermione said eagerly.

Harry agreed. “Yeah, I thought he would be a bit bumbling from the way the class started, but once he started talking about Grendels he gathered his scattered marbles and became competent.”

“I think Ron is taking Percy’s presence rather hard,” she said, biting her lower lip. “Did you see how he looked at him?”

“I caught a glance,” Harry said, becoming worried. He did not want Ron to brood on it again and lose control when someone mentions Percy's name. “But what I saw was pretty bad. I got over Percy, so I don‘t see why Ron is being so resistant.”

“I just wish he would let go! He can be so stubborn sometimes!”

“That’s Ron,” Harry mumbled, “But he’s a great guy anyway. Mind you, I wasn’t much better last year.” Then he added, “It might not be all his fault.”

Hermione frowned. “I’m sure his imprint has something to do with it, no doubt. But we have to work something out.”

They descended down the spiral staircase that lead into the lower dungeons. Feeling clammy and cold, Harry wrapped his robe tightly around him as he walked. One would have never guessed that outside it was a warm and sunny summer day. His feet echoed throughout the stone passageways, and somewhere, lurking behind them in the dark, Harry heard Gates’s heavy footfalls.

As they entered Snape’s classroom, Hermione whispered, “Maybe Professor Snape has changed since Sirius died. You know, he could’ve gotten better.”

A gust of wind swirled around Harry and Hermione as the thick metal door slammed behind them. Snape regarded them coldly from his position against the wall, and his lip curled ever so slightly. Harry could not understand how he had not seen him. After locking the dungeon door, Snape turned his attention back to them.

“Or he could be right next to you. I do hope you are not so clumsy with some of the other secrets that you keep in your heads; you both are big enough liabilities as it is.”

The late bell range and the two of them took their seats next to each other around their respective cauldrons. Gazing around at the grimy stone walls around him, Harry decided that nothing had changed and that the state of the classroom perfectly reflected Snape’s disposition. It was perpetually cold, dimly lit, and forbidding.

Gazing around him, Harry saw that half the class was composed of Slytherian, while he and Hermione were the only Gryffindors. A single Hufflepuff and three Ravenclaws sat towards the back, clearly apprehensive of the coming class. Draco Malfoy sneered at him from an adjoining table.

Snape moved behind his desk and appraised the class with black, calculating eyes. Disgusted with what he saw, he drew his wand and set it carefully on its stand on the stone table. His mouth stretched back into an expression of scornful disdain, and he was preparing himself to deliver a lengthy speech when a strong, defiant knock on the dungeon door.

A flash of anger crossed his face as Snape strode across the floor and pulled out the key to unlock the door to the classroom. “What fool of a student has managed to be late and interrupt my class. Whoever you are, I swear that your house will be losing thirty points.”

He swung open the door and stepped back, mouth slightly open, as Gates swept into the room and took up his position in a shadowed, dank corner. Composing his face into an arrogant sneer, Snape spat, “And what are you doing here?”

“Don’t you read the Daily Prophet, Severus?” said Gates coolly. "And I do hope that my, erm, house won't be losing thirty points."

Snape flushed. “I’m afraid I am more concerned with my work,” he gestured vaguely to the set of brewing chemicals and solutions he was creating with his personal equipment, “Than catching up on gossip.”

Gates expressed a look of feigned surprise. “So Albus has not seen fit to inform you, Severus, as he did with the other professors? Ah, well, I suppose not everyone can be in the know.”

“Careful, Alex.”

“Severus, I have never known you to be so serious,” Gates drawled, stepping neatly around Snape, “But, I suppose, that is what results when one is damned to the eternal shadow of the dungeons. Sentimental reasons, no doubt. When one spends most of their childhood in such places, strange connections tend to develop.”

Snape glowered. “I see you and Potter are kindred spirits. Both of you are arrogant beyond belief, deluded by fame, be it celebrity or notoriety, and narcissistic.”

“Which Potter are referring to?” Gates asked with feigned interest, “The one who humiliated you in your younger years, or the one you feel intimidated by in your, erm, later years? I know you too well.”

“Tell me your business here Alex,” Snape demanded, his eyes glittering dangerously.

“I am the Potter boy’s escort. Protection.”

“Oh, so Potter can’t take care of himself now?” Snape said with an air of cold superiority, “I suppose he never could. He always found ways to make abysmally stupid decisions that result in the harm of others."

Harry had trouble believing what was happening in front of him. He expected Gates and Snape to be strong friends, with their hatred of ‘Potter’ as a common attribute. On the contrary, both men seemed to have deep-running enmity towards each other. Like so many other things, their relationship was more complicated than Harry previously thought.

“He did not request it,” Gates replied, absently stroking the diamonds on his necklace, “The one who died in the veil called in a few…favors.” He pulled off his long overcoat with a single, quick movement and set it over a nearby table that was covered with books. Without another word, Gates retreated to a corner of the room and stared unblinkingly at Snape.

Snape, appearing immensely curious of what exactly those favors were but denying it all the same, snorted and returned to his position behind his desk. Not bothering to cover his barely suppressed rage, Snape said with a voice seething with impatience and fury, “The few of you that have managed to scrape an ‘Outstanding’ on your O.W.L.’s, through skill or third parties,-” He glared pointedly at Harry, “-will find this class exceptionally challenging. We will no longer be dealing with weaker potions that I expect an ape could brew, but intricate solutions that has fumes that will kill you in seconds. Because of this, I cannot possibly hope to go through the school year without seeing at least one injury from some incompetent fool who allowed his potion to cool too rapidly or some other equally moronic thing. Follow my instructions to the letter, and you will all pass through this course without injury or death. Ignore my warnings, and, well, I won’t be responsible for the various reactions that may occur when liquid meets human flesh.”

“Now,” Snape plucked his wand off the stand and flicked it towards the blackboard. Instructions instantly appeared on it. “Today you will be brewing The Awakening Scent. Which one of you dunderheads can tell me what The Awakening Scent does?”

Hermione’s hand shot up along with two Ravenclaws. Rolling his eyes, Snape stretched out his hand and allowed it to wander around the room, obviously trying to decide which student would be incorrect so he would have an excuse to deduct points. Grinning, his hand pointed to Harry, who did not even have his hand raised.

“Well Potter? What is it?”

Harry gulped. He had not read his potions book since he picked it up at Diagon Alley last month. Desperately, he tried to squeeze his way out of it. “Well, err, it awakens the, err, subject.”

Malfoy laughed and Snape’s grin broadened. “Five points from Gryffindor for your ignorance, Potter.”

He pointed to Hermione and said, “Granger, what is it?”

“The Awakening Scent, also know as The Draught of Awakening, is a potion that gives off fumes that can be used to wake people from coma and other non-magical maladies.”

“Correct,” Snape said, his voice absent of any possible praise. “For those moronic enough to foul up this laughably simple potion, I tell you now that, if created improperly, the potion’s fumes can derange the mind.” His eyes lingered on Harry for a moment as if to say ‘Yes, Potter, even your pathetic mind can be further damaged‘.

In fact, Harry was sure that Snape put that thought into his head through Occlumency; as he turned away with a smirk playing on his face. “If done correctly,” He added, “The vapor will have no affect upon your brain.”

“Without further ado,” Snape continued, “Procede to ignite your cauldrons and follow the instructions. You may start. Now.”

Casually, Malfoy leaned back in his seat and said loudly, “Hey Potter, what’s the point of having a mudblood girlfriend if you can’t skive answers off of her? Seems pointless to me…”

Harry whipped out his wand and was about to hex Malfoy into oblivion when Snape beat him to it.

“Draco,” Snape said in a deathly soft whisper, “Ten points from Slytherian for the use of filthy terms-” The entire class sucked in their breath. They had never before seen Snape punish a student from Slytherian, even for the most heinous of rule-breaking. “-and a two foot essay on why the term ‘mudblood’ is not to be used by anyone, especially someone from my house. To be handed in tomorrow.”

Malfoy blinked, then returned to his work, stunned beyond words. Harry withdrew his wand as thoughts swirled through his head. Don’t say ‘mudblood’? Hell, I heard Snape use it himself on my mom…Hypocrite…

Those who recovered first from the shock began to add Thestral hide flakes into the brew, carefully stirring them over low heat. Taking the cue, Harry measured out the required amount with a dry measuring flask and gingerly poured it into the bubbling cauldron. Under the pretense of cleaning off the side of his cauldron, Harry lowered his head and whispered, “I think Snape likes you.”

Hermione giggled as she stirred the stew around in her cauldron, causing Snape’s head to jerk around to see what could possibly be amusing in his classroom. Seeming to believe he misheard, Snape returned to criticizing the state of the Hufflepuff’s Thestral flakes.

“Idiot boy. These should be grated into flakes, not chopped into chunks. Be thankful I caught your stupidity before you spoiled your potion.” Snape continued to berate the student even after he had grated his larger pieces into a very fine powder.

Harry tried desperately tried to concentrate on his potion, but his brain continually wandered off. Despite Snape’s assurances that the vapor was completely harmless, the gas steaming out of the cauldrons made him dizzy and nauseous; and he distinctly thought that the fumes were affecting his sensory awareness. The smoky classroom felt freezing one moment then sweltering hot the next.

Peering through the haze, he saw that the potion required to be simmered above low flames for ten minutes before adding four werewolf hairs. Absently stirring his potion, he continued reading the rest of the written instructions. Snape could not have chosen a more difficult potion for the first day of class. There were so many steps in it to make a mistake on, and the mind-numbing vapor wafting from the potion did not help matters much. He noticed that Snape had underlined sections where, if done improperly, your potion could turn into acid or give off toxic fumes.

“Potter,” a voice said mockingly over his shoulder. Harry felt his hair stand up as he realized that it belonged to Gates. “You are supposed to stir counterclockwise. I understand that this class is insufferably boring but if you are not careful you will develop a headache so severe you will lie in the hospital wing for several days afterwards. As hopelessly stupid as you have proved yourself to be, I would still expect you to master the more basic potions that you are learning here."

Harry’s heart sank as he heard a second voice speak. “You are Potter’s tutor now Alex?” Snape asked evenly, his teeth gritting together. He was clearly insulted. “I am quite capable of managing my own class so, if you would be so kind, retreat back into your corner.”

Gates smirked and walked away, leaving Harry to Snape’s wrath. What the hell was Gates thinking? Challenging Snape on his own territory! Mental!

Harry started stirring his potion in the counterclockwise direction, and, mercifully, his potion deepened into inky black; which was the color it was supposed to be. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione’s concerned expression and arched an eyebrow.

“Later,” she hissed, turning back to her cauldron.

Shrugging, Harry plucked four werewolf hairs (The same he received from Lupin for his birthday gift) out of a leather pouch and dropped them into the stew, which began to rapidly coagulate and lighten when they were added. Now stirring in a clockwise direction, Harry sat back and gazed around the room. It would take the rest of class for the potion to reach the necessary thickness; the more intricate parts of the potion would not take place until the next Potions class, as the stew needed to cool before more ingredients could be mixed in.

His eyes soon fell onto Gates’s shadowed form. He standing stiffly in the corner and peering intently into his cupped hands. Trying to get a better view, Harry shifted his chair sideways and discretely leaned back. Gates’s face was utterly resigned; his normally sharp features were softened and the corners of his mouth tugged into a frown. His gleaming necklace was, for once, not bright; and Harry thought it had little to do with the near absence of light in Snape’s classroom.

Gates’s eyes flickered towards Harry and he quickly withdrew his hands into his scarlet overcoat; something glittered and then was gone. He glared at Harry, warning him to return to his work. Reluctantly, he complied.

“Potter I’m impressed,” Snape said, his hooked nose bending of Harry’s cauldron. His eyes were wide with what appeared to be feigned amazement. “You have created a potion I have never seen before. Do tell me how you made this.”

Harry stared down into his cauldron; horrified to find that he had stopped stirring his potion sometime in the past few minutes. The werewolf hairs were bloated and green when they were supposed to be dissolved at this point. Trying to rectify the situation, Harry began stirring again but found only that the bottom of his cauldron was covered with muck.

“You have your reasons for straying from the instructions on the board, I’m sure,” Snape continued, his voice laced with sarcasm, “So you brewed this…solution…instead. Tell me what it is.”

Harry choked. “It’s The Awakening Scent.”

“No, no, it does not look like it,” Snape said scathingly. He sniffed the silver vapor from the air over his potion. “The fumes are not dangerous; like they should be when you blundered The Awakening Scent. I’m am completely baffled as to what you’ve done here, Potter. The fumes do not harm your brain or mental capacity, but they don’t do anything else either. That makes this concoction worthless."

Snape dipped a wooden rod into the stew and, when he pulled it out, it was covered with a gritty slime. “I have some suspicions, however. How did you stir the werewolf hairs into the solution?” Malfoy turned his head to smirk at Harry from behind Snape.

“I, well, threw them in,” Harry muttered, furious with himself. He forgot to delicately place them into the cauldron one at a time. Another zero, he thought, Great way to start the year.

Snape smiled maliciously. “Perhaps you unwittingly saved yourself Potter. When you ceased your stirring of the potion, you halted the process and prevented certain gas bubbles from surfacing and coming into the air. Dumb luck, for you. But then again you are rather good with luck.” He grinned at the contradiction and waited for Harry’s response.

“I will just save it for tomorrow and maybe-”

“No, Potter. I will save us both time and give you your zero now.” He raised his wand over Harry’s cauldron.

“No!” Hermione said quickly, turning away from her potion as several menacing gurgles erupted from it, “He can fix it! All he has to do is-”

“Silence!” Snape spat, “If I wanted Potter to receive help from a know-it-all Gryffindor, I would allow him to pair up with you; now mind your own work. Five points from Gryffindor.”

Hermione blanched and returned to stirring her potion. Snape muttered “Evanesco” and, with a satisfied smirk, strode away, leaving Harry abandoned next to his depleted cauldron.

Bad memories of last year’s potions classes spun through his head, and Harry fought back the urge to whirl around and tell Snape off.

“Guess he doesn’t like me after all,” Hermione whispered. Harry grinned.

Before he got the chance to respond, a terrified scream followed by an angry roar erupted from somewhere in the back of the classroom.

“Stupid girl! Do the instructions not say that four werewolf hairs will suffice? Why, I ask, why did you increase the number to six?”

A sixth year Ravenclaw cried and moaned in the rear of the room, with Snape looming over her and simultaneously helping her to her feet while scolding her mercilessly. At first, Harry thought she was on fire, but when he saw her feet, he noticed the thick plumes of smoke and steam curling off of her shoes. The smell of burning rubber and the putrid stench of the spilled potion filled the room, causing Harry to gag. From what he gathered, the girl’s cauldron had melted into a twisted form of iron and steel; spilling the contents onto the stone floor and the girl’s shoe.

“I’m sorry,” the girl moaned, “Three of the hairs were small so I thought I needed to increase-”

“Oh, shut up,” spat Snape, “To think I could possible go through this year without injuries in my class. Too much to hope for when your N.E.W.T. level students can’t even read.”

Snape strode to the door, practically dragging the girl along with him, before turning back to the class. “I will be taking Miss Rotsby to the hospital wing. All of you; place a sample of your potion into a flask and set it on my desk. Potter, since you have no sample to give you shall clean up the mess your incompetent classmate managed to spill on my floor. Class dismissed.” He swept out of the doorway, pulling Miss Rotsby. Slowly, her loud sobs disappeared down the dungeon corridors.

Suddenly, Harry sniffed the air and found that the classroom positively reeked of something like a cross between rotten eggs and a decaying animal carcass. Wrinkling his nose, Harry surveyed the spill that he was forced to clean up. The dark purple goo was smoking as it burned away the centuries of grime and filth that covered the dungeon floors.

“It seems you have your work cut out for you, Potter,” Gates said, his eyes brimming with amusement, “I will wait outside while you fix this…accident.” He walked casually out of the room, a grin playing across his lips.

“Don’t worry I’ll help you Harry,” Hermione said as she placed her flash on Snape’s desk, “We just have to be careful about using magic around the cauldron; the enchantments could react badly to cleaning spells.”

Drawing their wands, they both cleansed the floor of the potion using a combination of “Evanesco” and “Scourgify”. The melted cauldron, on the other hand, was rather tricky. Because of the extensive damage, the magical enchantments on it were going haywire, and neither Harry not Hermione dared to try even a simple “Scourgify” on it for fear of it backfiring. Instead, they heavily diluted the potion with water, and, using some old rags they found behind a desk, hand wiped the mess from the cauldron. The desk, slumping drunkenly to the right, was damaged beyond repair from the acid burning away at its side and was disposed of with the cauldron in the rear of the classroom.

Before making to leave, Harry spied Gates’s overcoat on a table by Snape’s desk. He must have forgotten to take it when he left. This could be a rare chance, possibly his only chance, to empty Gates’s pockets and find out what object fascinated Gates so greatly. Motioning Hermione to stay where she was, he crept towards the table, watching the classroom door attentively for intruders.

Hermione, however, realized what he was doing. “No! He’ll kill you if he sees you!” she said, keeping her voice low all the same.

Harry shook his head and continued, half crouched, towards the crimson overcoat. When he reached it, he stole a glance at the door and noticed Hermione approaching him. Evidently, she could not contain her curiosity either.

After sifting through the cloak’s numerous (Though mostly empty) pockets, Harry found two items that sparked his interest. He found a tattered old scroll with a broken seal and a small, silver braclet. Harry knew at once that the bracelet was the object Gates had gazed longingly at for all this time.

Feeling Hermione’s stare from over his shoulder, he sidestepped slightly so she could get a better view. Together, they studied the bracelet. The bracelet was very small, obviously crafted for a person with a slender wrist. There were long, weaving strands of silver that twirled around each other in the circle, before meeting at the top where several tiny jewels were set; just enough to sparkle enchantingly at the beholder. The jewels, Harry believed them to be diamonds, were smaller than tears and were surrounded with an intricate web of delicate, fragile strands of silver and gold; like a snowflake. Though Harry knew little about jewelry, he knew enough to understand that this bracelet was not designed for a cold-blooded dark wizard hunter. Turning it over, Harry gasped aloud as he saw that the Black family crest was carved into the silver along the inside of the bracelet. That meant that they were holding one of the few remaining Black family treasures. He remembered Sirius telling him that all of the Black ornaments were lost through his extended family, making the handful that remained priceless. Fearing that he would shatter it somehow, Harry carefully set it down on the soft red velvet liner of the cloak.

“Where did he get that?” asked Hermione softly.

“Sirius told me that Alexander came from an obscure branch of the Black family,” Harry breathed, “His family must have kept it when they split and took the name ‘Gates’.”

“Its beautiful, the most lovely thing I ever saw.”

“Yes it is.” Harry agreed, slipping the bracelet back into Gates’s pocket. He could not help but think that this revelation still did not explain the way Gates stared at it.

“That bracelet must be the only remnants of family he has,” Hermione said, “It's so sad.”

Not quite believing Hermione’s comment, Harry unraveled the scroll and scanned it quickly. He recognized instantly Sirius’s solid, strong handwriting and read closer. It was Sirius's letter to Gates. He heard movement outside the door, and Hermione tugged at his robe impatiently to go.

“Harry,” She hissed, “He’s coming. We’ve got to go!”

“Hold on,” he said, knowing she was right and that he would regret it later. But he must know what Sirius said. He skipped down the page, finally finding the passage he wanted.

Alexander, there is one last favor I must ask. The third to match mine. Humiliate Severus Snape.

Harry nearly dropped the page. Hastily rolling the scroll back up, he shoved it back into a pocket with the bracelet and spun around, preparing to dash away. What he encountered, however, was a very furious Gates towering over and in front of a nervous Hermione. Her hands were clasped over her mouth and her eyes betrayed the panic and fear that she felt.

“Potter,” Gates said in a silky voice. Harry stiffened at once. Gates’s voice unmistakably contained an underlying menace that he had never heard in such quantities in one word before. “Is there a reason you are going through my pockets like a common thief?” His eyes fell onto the pocket which was bulging from the bracelet and understood at once. “Girl, get out.” He said flatly. Hermione quietly left, her eyes locked onto Harry the entire time.

Gates took two massive strides forward and placed both of his hands on each of Harry’s shoulders. He lowered his face so that it was inches away from Harry’s and his necklace, encrusted with hundreds of tiny diamonds, dangled tauntingly in front of Harry. Gates’s face, though, was not what concerned him. The glittering diamond necklace, hanging very still in front of Harry’s eyes, drew his attention. Harry swore that he heard soft, distant voices coming from the necklace.

“Physical punishment does not faze you, it seems,” Gates said quietly, his breath hot and rapid, “Perhaps I should try more creative means.” Flames flickered deeply in his eyes.

Harry heard none of Gates’s words. Every fiber of his mind was concentrated on the necklace in front of him; listening to the voices (Or were they screams?) coming from the diamonds. Hermione is right, he thought, That necklace has something to it. Something sinister. More voices called out to him, and he leaned imperceptibly closer to the diamond necklace; it reeked of dark magic. Every ounce of sense in his mind screamed “FLEE”, but he found himself strangely attracted to the gleaming diamonds; moving even closer to the necklace, his body overriding his mind. He felt his brain begin to ache; first dully, then a stronger, more powerful pain. A moment passed, and it developed into slow torment.

“Potter!” Gates bellowed, jerking Harry violently out of his reverie, “Your punishment will not come now, nor tomorrow, nor the day after. But soon, when I find the chance, I will ruin something of yours. Something dear. I know what you saw, and it has been defiled by your impure touch and gaze. Get out of my sight.” He picked Harry up and threw him hard towards the door; his cheek slamming painfully against the stone floor. It was an irresistibly Snape-like action.

Harry scrambled to his feet, pointedly dusting himself off in front of Gates, and dashed through the door. As he passed through it, he was ambushed by two long arms and overwhelmed by the color brown; eyes, hair, everything.

“What did he do Harry?” Hermione cried, seeing his bruised cheek as she pulled him into a tight embrace, “What did that monster do? I saw what he was doing in potions today. He was insulting you and provoking Professor Snape at the same time. He's drawing you both in!"

Harry laid a hand on his forehead and let the effects of the diamond necklace wear away, and then pulled her aside.

“That necklace,” Harry began, his chest heaving, “I think it used to belong to Voldemort.”

(A/N: I hope you all liked it. The first few chapters were pretty much just building stuff up, now I’m actually executing the first stages of storyline, so its going to really pick up now. I think you can expect most chapters to be similar to this one. (In terms of entertainment and content. I know a lot of people didn’t like 3-4, and frankly, neither did I)

I explained the governing emotions in two different ways so that people would be able to grasp it, but if you didn’t, don’t worry too much about it. Its part of the storyline, but that’s later.

Hope no one was disappointed with the Snape vs. Gates scene (There will be a lot of those), Whams’s class, and D.D.’s conversation with Harry. Most of that stuff won’t be coming back until later.

Next chapter: Takes place approximately one week later. Club Spew gets on its feet, Hagrid has an interesting creature for C.o.M.C., Harry had several run-ins with Draco, Dueling Club signups take place, and Harry and Hermione have a little ‘field trip’ which, as you can imagine, is complicated by Gates. A lot of people will probably hate me by the end, but I won’t care ;). Oh, and we find a little bit more about that curious necklace of his, too. )

6. Club S.P.E.W.

(A/N: Here’s chapter six. I tried to put a little bit of everything in this chapter, and I think I am satisfied with the way it turned out. I don’t love it, nor do I hate it. This is a lighter chapter, but it’s only a breath before the plunge. I hope you all enjoy it and don’t hate me too much at the end.

For those who want to know what ‘The Maw‘ is in the title, it IS NOT in the story, but it‘s the idea behind the main theme of this entire fanfic; which you will find out throughout the story. Your first hint of exactly what the maw is (Or an example of ‘the maw‘) is in this chapter. A keen eye will pick it out.

On a side note, this story is subtly laced with symbolism. For those who are into that, you can pick it out if you have a keen eye and possibly even predict events later in the story. For those who aren‘t, ignore it.

Without further ado: Chapter six: Club S.P.E.W.)

"There, that's the last one," Hermione said, standing back to admire her work. Since Monday was the first day of club signups, she had been working fervently to charm posters declaring Club S.P.E.W.'s goals and activities to every wall, bulletin board, and door in the castle. It was now Tuesday, and her efforts were nearly complete. She had just finished sticking the final sign up sheet to the bulletin board in the great hall. "This should get the message out."

"They weren't interested two years ago Hermione," argued Ron, "What makes you think they will be interested now?" Though he did not say it out loud, Harry thought Ron had a fair point.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry spied Gates standing several paces away, staring critically at the poster Hermione had made. For the past week, Harry had been wondering when the promised punishment would arrive for going through Gates's cloak. Nothing had yet come; but Harry could not help but remember Gates's warning that it might be weeks before he decides the time is ripe for retribution.

All in all, nothing new had been discovered concerning the bracelet or Sirius's third request, which made for a very uneventful week of studying for classes and tests; due to no small part of Hermione's insistence that they study harder than ever before because of their N.E.W.T. classes. Privately, Harry felt that the week was only seemed boring because there have been no attempts on his life yet; something which never failed to occur every year since his first. Though Harry had to admit, it was a welcome reprieve.

Hermione sniffed disapprovingly. "Well, they didn't know about it two years ago. This time will be different. Also, I am waving the entrance fee. We will only be taking donations now."

"We?" said Ron incredulously, "What makes you think we will be getting involved? Its one thing to do this on your own; its completely another to drag us into it."

Hermione turned to Harry for support. "Umm-" Harry began, nervously trying to think of a way out of the situation, "Couldn't hurt to sign up, really."

Ron shot him an exasperated look. Hermione beamed. "Then that settles it. Here, you can use my quill." She drew a quill from her robes and offered it to Harry and Ron in turn.

"Thanks," Harry said as he signed his name to the list. He noticed that his name was the first. "So when will we know when the meetings are?" He handed the quill to Ron, who grudgingly signed his name as well.

"You know all the posters I put up around the castle?" Hermione asked, grinning.

"How could we forget." muttered Ron.

"On each of the posters," she continued, valiantly ignoring Ron's barb, "I assigned an area which will have the date and time of each meeting I set - like the coins for the D.A. Not only that-"

"Potter, the mudblood, and the Weasley; can't imagine what you three are up to." drawled a voice from behind Harry. He involuntarily clutched his wand and whirled around to meet Draco eye to eye. Unsurprisingly, he was flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"To think that you all but disappeared for a week. Too much to hope for, I suppose. Though ferrets are rather good at that, so they say." Harry said, controlling himself. He heard Ron's heavy breathing behind him and knew that he would have to cut this confrontation short.

Draco's gaze rose to the Club S.P.E.W. poster on the bulletin board. "Can't say this was unexpected. No doubt the mudblood finds comfort being with the other lowest classes..." Goyle and Crabbe laughed uproariously.

"What's your business here Malfoy," Harry said loudly, glancing quickly to the area where Gates stood. He had not moved.

Malfoy sighed and shifted his attention to Harry. "Just a friendly reminder. You know, of the Dueling Club signups." He gestured to the other, larger poster on the bulletin board. It was colored acid green and was bordered with a long, lean Slytherin snake that stared blankly out of the poster with red eyes. It began slithering silently about the parchment, and Harry realized that it was enchanted with the same charm that made portraits move.

"Yeah I saw it," Harry said.

"Then sign it," Draco replied lazily, "Or have you forgotten the agreement? I knew you were too much of a coward to keep it. Weak blood runs through the family...Not to mention that clumsy godfather you hung around with who tripped through a veil. He hasn’t been dogging anybody lately, has he?”

Clenching and unclenching his fists, Harry made to sign his name under the large, bleeding red banner of the Dueling Club. "Can I borrow your quill Hermione?"

"No," Hermione said sharply, "You're letting him get to you. Don't you see that?"

"Use mine," Draco said, his eyes glinting. He extended a plume of an eagle to Harry, who took it reluctantly. "I wouldn't want you to use the mudblood's quill anyway. The taint might ruin the poster."

Harry signed his name quickly and threw it back to Draco as if it burned. Hermione glared from Malfoy to Harry; and then back to Malfoy.

"Ruin the poster, will it?" she said scathingly, "Then I think I will." She signed her name on the poster; and the ink turned a dark shade of red after she finished. Ron snatched the quill from her and added his name to the list; his hand shaking the entire time from rage.

"Then that completes the entire Gryffindor house," Malfoy drawled, "Mind you, I don't give a damn about this Dueling Club. I just want to beat you, Potter; this time one on one. Most of the school signed up, though. Quite popular. Good luck with your, erm," his eyes flitted to the Club S.P.E.W. poster, "club." Malfoy turned and strode away, Crabbe and Goyle trailing behind, guffawing stupidly.

"Harry," Hermione said quietly, "Why-"

"I know," Harry snapped, "I know what I did. I signed up to that club so I can finally shut him up in front of the school and I don't regret it. I am not going to let him have a go at my parents like that. Not anymore."

Hermione looked at him with a pitying expression in her eyes. "What's done is done, then. But you'll need help, and that's why me and Ron joined too. We can't beat help you beat Malfoy, but I think we can look up some spells that you could use in the duel. I know Malfoy did. He's dangerous; he's been learning hexes and curses all summer, I can tell."

Harry had expected her to berate him for allowing Draco to lure him into dueling, or some other variation of anger. For a moment, he was off balance. "Thanks; both of you," he managed.

Hermione nodded. "Its almost time for Transfiguration. Right, so Professor McGonnagall told me that we'll be learning a lot about changing specific parts of objects into other things. Like turning someone's arm into wood, for example. So we should probably begin reading the first few chapters, you know, so we can be prepared..."

Harry and Ron exchanged desperate looks and trudged on behind her while she continued to explain today's lesson to them. She was beginning to delve into the finer points of appendage replacement when she paused suddenly.

"Harry, is something wrong?"

Harry was caught off guard. "No, I was just thinking. Of Sirius." In truth, he was thinking of what Sirius would say if he knew what Harry was getting into. Draco's words on the train were bouncing around his head like pin balls and brief flares of anger welled up inside him. Repeatedly, he assured himself that he had joined the Dueling Club for Sirius; bringing vengeance upon Malfoy for insulting Sirius's memory. A small, quiet voice in the recesses of his mind - one that sounded very much like Hermione - said "Sirius would never want you to do this. He wants you safe, Harry, and you know that. Are you really doing this for him?"

He never had a response.

Hermione fell back to him and said in a lower voice, for his ears alone, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, thank you. I just need more time to...think." Harry threw one last glance at the Slytherin green poster for the Dueling Club, and, seeing that all three of their names were dripping something that looked hideously like blood, turned away.

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Transfiguration passed as slowly as ever. After being warned of the limitless complications that could arise if performed improperly, Professor McGonagall turned a frog's leg into solid rock and back again in front of the class. Showing them the required wand movement and incantation, she divided them into groups and allowed them to attempt the spell on their own frogs. Few were successful.

Ron failed completely, and Harry was not doing much better. Although he managed to make his frog's leg turn stiff, he was not able to transfigure the flesh into rock. Hermione, on the other hand, performed the spell perfectly ten minutes into class and earned Gryffindor fifteen points and a rare smile from the professor.

Gates, not able to find a dark corner in the brightly lit room, wandered aimlessly around the classroom, looking down on everyone with a certain untouchable, arrogant superiority. At times, he would even tell students (With a large amount of brusqueness) that he had rarely felt Transfiguration was useful, and would then proceed to cast the appropriate spell onto the frog so that all of its legs, rather than just one, turned to stone; then subtly muttered another incantation that forced the frog to cough up pebbles whenever it croaked. Professor McGonagall's lip formed a tight line and her eyes became narrowed.

"Mr. Gates, I do remember giving you a 'Poor' on a practical examination once because you were unable to turn a arrow into an olive branch," McGonagall said loudly, ensuring that the entire class heard, "So I feel it is my duty to remind you that you were hardly a brilliant student." Scattered chuckles rose from parts of the room then fell under Gates's glare.

Gates glowered. "And I question the teaching abilities of those who have students who cannot accomplish a relatively basic transfiguration spell. The difference with me was, of course, that I deemed Transfiguration was unnecessary when it came to fighting the dark arts. I don't waste time lightly, Minerva" His diamond necklace glittered and the entire classroom held its breath.

"We all have our own fates," Professor McGonagall said sagely, "Yours will come eventually." She turned her attention to the class. "Homework will be to practice and accomplish the spell you learned today. Class dismissed."

The students filtered out of the room and Harry and Ron stayed behind to wait for Hermione. She had ran up to Professor McGonagall as soon as class was over. Gates, appearing slightly chafed from the encounter with his old professor, stood by wordlessly. When Hermione left the room, she silenced their questions with a wave of her hand and tilted her head meaningfully towards Gates. Understanding at once, Harry followed her down the great hall.

"Merlin, he's so arrogant," said Ron in a hushed voice; fearing Gates would overhear, "Attacking Professor McGonagall like that. He's mental! Its like he lives on his own mountain."

Hermione furtively glanced over her shoulder to see that Gates was a good deal away. "I finally was able to talk to Professor McGonagall about transfiguring things into diamonds."

"And?" Ron asked expectantly.

"And its possible," Hermione continued, "Though its extraordinarily difficult and most wizards don't bother learning it. Most only learn the skill if their profession demands it. Professor McGonagall can do it, but she says it requires incredible amounts of practice, patience and raw talent. And, of course, you need an excellent teacher."

Harry scratched his head. "Why do you need all that? I mean, its no different than other types of transfiguration, right?"

"Yes and no," Hermione answered, "Its the same type of magic, but you need to be extremely precise if you are going to be turning something into a diamond or jewel. If you aren't concentrating enough, the jewel will be flawed and it will look terrible. The reason is because of the refraction of the stones as well as its atom structure and-" She noted Ron and Harry's blank stares and skipped the rest of her explanation, "To sum it all up, to create something that looks perfectly like a jewel, you need to lots of training and power. The diamond's on Gates's necklace look perfect, but honestly I don't think Gates has the patience required to learn this sort of skill."

"But we don't know for sure," Harry said tentatively.

"No, but its a good assumption that those are real - real as in made by nature - diamonds." replied Hermione.

Harry had never told Hermione and Ron about the voices coming from the necklace, and he was starting to feel that he should. He did not want to see their confused expressions; especially when he did not know himself what the voices could mean. Skirting the subject carefully, Harry asked vaguely "How about enchantments on the necklace?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Well, is there any reason to think its enchanted? Sure, it sort of draws people to it, but I think that's from subconscious greed or some charm that plays with the mind. Not an enchantment in the true sense."

"Look, you remember when I told you that I think the necklace is from Voldemort?" Harry said, lowering his voice. Harry had deliberately omitted the part where he heard screams coming from the diamonds. Ron would think he was mad, and Hermione would panic. Now, however, he wanted to tell them. The thought that Gates could be in the league with Voldemort was terrifying; even if the mere notion was absurd because of the fact that he was a known dark wizard hunter.

Hermione and Ron nodded. Harry had told Ron during lunch that same day. "You said it was from Voldemort because of the attraction..." Ron said slowly.

"Yes, but there was more," Harry said quickly, "I heard voices. Faint voices coming from the necklace. In my mind, I saw flashes and images of wizards. All of them followers of the dark arts."

Hermione bit her lip. Ron stared wide-eyed at him.

Seeing their reactions, Harry continued. "And all those wizards; they all had the dark mark. I saw it on their forearms. What do you think it is? What does it mean?"

"It could be some artifact of Voldemort's," Hermione said, "Who knows where he got it; but I think we can be sure that he did not buy it from some vendor. That necklace could be magical and powerful; the secret to Gates's strength. Maybe its some sort of master web that connects all of Voldemort’s followers together. If only I could examine it up close..." She paused. “We should tell Dumbledore.”

“Tell him what?” Harry said, “That I heard voices coming out of Gates’s necklace? Or at least I think I did; it might have even been leftover fumes addling my brain from that potion Snape had us brew. Hearing voices in your head is a bad sign, even in the wizarding world. Right Ron?" Ron nodded slowly. "I want to wait until we know more; as far we know, it might be Gates’s idea of a joke.”

Deep down, he promised himself that he would go to the headmaster after he found more collaborating evidence. He desperately wanted respect, and he would never get it if he ran to the headmaster every time something happened. Only after he’s absolutely certain that the necklace is dangerous…

Hermione frowned. "Well if we aren't going to tell Dumbledore, then at least we should know what it is. If you think its from V-Voldermort, then we should at least check it out. I'm going to stop by the library this afternoon to find out whether its some sort of artifact."

The trio found themselves meandering through the castle and out the front doors. Their Care of Magical Creatures lesson was about to begin soon, and they were running out of time. Already a small crowd of students were gathering near Hagrid's hut for class and they quickened their pace. As they approached, Harry noticed a slick, blonde head in the crowd. Malfoy.

"Looks like we are going to be with the Slytherins again," Harry groaned.

When they reached the hut, they found a clear spot of grass and sat down, waiting for Hagrid's appearance. Not long after, Hagrid's massive figure stepped out of the hunt and waved at the waiting students jovially.

"'ello there!" Hagrid called, grinning broadly. Harry saw Gates eyeing the half-giant carefully, looking supremely unimpressed by his size. "Got an interestin' lesson for you. Dobby! Dobby where ar' you?"

A loud crack echoed through the nearby woods and a house-elf apparated by Hagrid, his short stature in sharp contrast to Hagrid's great height. "Dobby is here, sirs!" he squeaked, bowing so low that some of the many hats he took fell off his head. Hermione gasped in surprise as she recognized the recipient of all her knitting last year.

Harry saw with some satisfaction that Malfoy was taken aback by the sight of his old house-elf in front of him. He leaned over and began muttering something to his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle.

"Ah," Hagrid said, "'Ello Dobby. we're gonna learn about house-elves toda'. Not a lot, but jus' so you know a lil' bit about 'em."

Hermione's face lit up; and Harry could clearly see the passion that S.P.E.W. gave her fill her eyes.

"Dobby 'ere is a house-elf. Hogwarts is run by a small army of them, but that isn't what we're 'ere about. House-elves are 'ery powerful magical creatures, but they aren' recognized for that 'cause most are in servitude for wizards. Underestimate’, yer know? Now I'll save the history of how 'ouse-elves came ter servin' wizards ter Professor Binns. Righ' now, you jus' need ter know wha' they can do. Dobby..."

Dobby bounded up a few steps so he was only a few meters from the majority of the class. "Dobby knows many spells and charms that he uses to serve the young masters at Hogwarts. Dobby and other helpers of Dumbledore can disappear so young sirs will not see we's around the castle. House-elf motto is not to be seen, young sirs."

"That's not all you can do," Malfoy said rather loudly from in front of the class.

"Young master Malfoy is right. Dobby learned a few bad magic spells from former bad-dark-wizard masters. Dobby does not use them anymore," He gave Malfoy a short, appraising look, "Dobby remembers you from old master's house. Dobby cleaned up many messes young sir made when he was younger."

Several people in the class sniggered, thinking of what 'messes' Dobby was referring to. Malfoy flushed and retreated back into the crowd.

Hagrid, seeing Dobby was done speaking, said, "Now I'm 'ure you all have lots 'a questions. Let's 'ear some and we'll move on."

Hermione's hand shot up instantly. Hagrid pointed at her, and she asked, "Why do house-elves work for no pay and why are they so badly treated by most wizard families?"

Ron groaned from beside Harry. "She's advertising for spew." Ron said in a low voice.

Hagrid hesitated. "'Ell, you see, there's a magical bond created when a famil' takes a house-elf. They don't have much say after that, I s'ppose." Harry, though, was positive Hermione had already known that.

"In other words its bondage," Harry heard Hermione mutter.

Hagrid apparently did not hear her. "Anyone else?" Hagrid asked, looking slightly disappointed at the lack of interest. "Ah, Mr. Malfoy, what's yer question?"

Harry immediately stared at Malfoy. Draco never participated in Care of Magical Creatures unless it was to interfere with the lesson or insult Hagrid.

"If house-elves are, err, 'ery powerful magical creatures," Malfoy said, making a bad imitation of Hagrid's voice. "Why don't they just take over? You know; kill everyone?" He smirked.

"You see," Hagrid said, "'Ouse-elves are pure 'reatures; not willin' to get mixed up with bad magic too oft'n. No house-elf can do an Unforgiveable Curs', if that's what yer askin'. But house-elves are pow'rful; can beat mos' wizards if they had the mind."

"And what are those stupid things on that house-elf's head?" Malfoy continued loudly. Hermione blushed.

"I can't say fer sure," Hagrid said, looking uneasy, "S'ppose he gathered them somewhere. Dobby is one of the few that works for pay and's free."

The lesson continued with Hagrid explaining how house-elves are taken care of, their daily food requirements (Which was almost nothing), and house-elf behavior. Dobby, who was very helpful to Hagrid during the class, answered some more questions that students had about house-elf punishments. When he told them that he used to have to beat himself when he did something wrong, many people looked shocked and surprised; some even recoiling. Dobby also explained the concept of 'clothes' to the class. Hermione appeared pleased with how the lesson progressed.

"This is working out so well," Hermione said eagerly, "People are getting the message about how house-elves are treated from their own classes. S.P.E.W. will have no trouble with members; I can feel it."

As it turned out, house-elves were powerful. Hagrid related a story about a rogue house-elf who, once he was free of his masters, learned some incredibly advanced magic and was deemed one of the most powerful beings of his age. Dobby bobbed his head in agreement as the story progressed, sometimes adding parts that he had heard before.

When two-thirds of the lesson was completed, ten other house-elves appeared with massive trays of food and drink. They quickly set up a long, wooden table and placed forks, spoons, plates, and other silverware along the seats. The house-elves worked with amazing speed and efficiency; Hermione nodding her head knowingly then entire time.

"The 'ouse-elves offer'd to set up a small meal for you all," Hagrid said, smiling down upon the class, "So I thought you might want a bite to eat as well as see 'ouse-elves in action. So go ahead an' eat."

The class immediately fell down upon the table and ate, glancing appreciatively in the house-elves' direction. After they were finished, all the house-elves except Dobby bowed and apparated; vanishing with a crack. Ron began shoveling large spoonfuls of mashed potatoes onto his plate, pouring gravy on everything and then devouring it.

Harry, seeing this, said, "I'm not too hungry. Lunch is next, anyway."

Ron missed his point. "'er 're? 'L'nt t' eat'" He said through a mouthful of food. Hermione wrinkled her nose and pushed her plate away.

What do you say we go down the kitchens and visit Dobby?" Hermione asked conversationally, "I'm sure he wouldn't mind; he hasn't seen you in a year. Besides, I want to know how Winky is doing."

"Now?" Ron asked incredulously, swallowing his food.

"Of course not now. We have classes," Hermione said sharply, "Tonight. There won't be any prefect duties and-"

"No prefect duties?" Ron exclaimed, "Brilliant! I need to practice my Quidditch."

Hermione rolled her eyes and continued. "If you are going be in S.P.E.W., we will need to visit the kitchens quite often to keep tabs on the house-elves' state of affairs."

"Forget it," retorted Ron, "We can't go every night."

"We wouldn't go every night. That would be impossible, of course. Tonight just happens to be a convenient time.”

Ron shook his head. “I don’t get what the hurry is all about, why can’t we just go during the afternoon or early evening when there isn’t a chance we’ll get caught by Filch.”

“We have a prefect meeting earlier in the evening, Ron,” said Hermione, crossing her arms, “And the house elves will be too busy in the kitchens during the afternoon because they will be preparing dinner.”

“Isn’t that, I don’t know, against the rules?” Ron asked sarcastically.

“Some things are more important than rules, Ron,” said Hermione, causing Ron to drop his fork.

"But what about him?" Harry said, his eyes flickering to Gates's looming figure at the end of the table. He was casually eating a pear while keeping one eye locked on Harry.

"Who cares, honestly," Hermione said, surprising both of them, "He can come too if he wants. So do you want to?"

"No way," Ron said before Harry could answer, "We have a Quidditch season to practice for. Remember Alicia has Gryffindor on the Quidditch field for Wednesday at six o'clock. We need to be in shape, right Harry?" He added, nudging Harry in the side. “And by the time we come back, we’ll need to, erm, study and stuff.”

"I'm not asking you to, Ron," Hermione said scathingly, "Harry will go. Won't you Harry?" She turned to him hopefully.

Harry looked at Hermione, whose face was shining, then to Ron, who shook his head imperceptibly and mouthed Quidditch. "Err-," Harry said, unsure of how to answer. "Sure I would like to visit Dobby..." he said, hearing Ron groan beside him.

"She'll never let up now, mate," Ron said, pity in his eyes, "You're going to be part of every S.P.E.W. activity from now until you die. I feel bad for you." For some reason, Harry did not think that was too bad of an idea.

Hermione squealed happily. "Great then we can go at around eight o'clock tonight then? After studying, of course."

"Sounds fine," Harry replied, not planning on devoting any time to studying anyway. "Though I better tell Dobby before we come so the house-elves can have some food we can lug back up to Ron."

"Oh never mind him," she said, casting a disdainful look at Ron, who was now leaning back comfortably in his chair patting his stomach.

"Dobby! Do you have a minute?" Harry called, seeing the clothed house-elf nearby.

"Harry Potter!" Dobby squeaked as he bounded up to Harry, "Dobby have not seen you for many months! What can Dobby do for you?" He gave Harry his best toothy grin and waited.

"Me and Hermione will be coming down to the kitchens tonight," Harry said, then as an afterthought, "And we might have another guest. Could you have some extra food out for us?"

"Dobby will be happy to do this for Harry Potter! We's will be ready when you come, young sirs and miss!"

"How's Winky doing Dobby?" Hermione asked from across the table.

Dobby beamed. "Winky is doing very well! Dobby convinced her that she is with Dumbledore now!"

"That's wonderful Dobby!" Harry said, meaning it, "Tell her to be there when we come by."

Dobby bowed deeply, causing his tower of hats to fall to the ground. He quickly picked them back up and stacked them atop his head. "Winky will be there, sirs!" he said as he scavenged for lost hats, "Winky loves company!"

"I see you enjoy all those hats I knitted Dobby," Hermione said, smiling disarmingly. Harry had wondered when this was going to come up, and was relieved when he saw she was not angry.

"Young miss made all these?" Dobby said loudly, attracting curious glances from around the table, "These are the most beautiful hats...Dobby had no idea..." He looked close to tears and Harry glanced alarmingly at Hermione. Suddenly, the house-elf began to cry

"No its alright Dobby!" Hermione said quickly, "I want you to have them!"

But this made Dobby only bawl harder. Soon, he was sobbing on the ground, his ears drooping and eyes soaking the ground with tears. "Dobby had no idea young miss was so generous! Dobby knew young miss was wonderful and beautiful to be Harry Potter's best friend, but Dobby had no idea..." He collapsed into a fresh fit of heaving sobs. People began to stare blankly at the house-elf, utterly bewildered.

"Good thing you didn't tell him about the socks and gloves or he would have a stroke, "Harry joked quietly to Hermione. She laughed.

Eventually, Dobby pulled himself together and wiped away his tears. "Young miss and Harry Potter will have best visit to kitchen tonight!" Dobby said with a determined air, "Dobby will go to prepare." He vanished with a sound like a thunderclap.

"So you know Dobby, do yeh?" Hagrid said, walking up and clapping a large hand on Harry's shoulder causing him to almost fall off the chair. "Was the only elf willin' ter take the job, to be 'onest."

"Why's that?" Hermione asked, disconcerted.

"Don' like to be around people much. You he'rd their motto; the best house-elves aren't seen."

Hermione frowned. "That's a sad manifesto."

"So Hagrid, erm," Harry began, stumbling over his words, "How's your little brother?"

Hagrid leaned closer and lowered his voice. "'es real good now. Can even speak too. How would you like ter meet him again?"

Ron, who had never met Grawp, nodded enthusiastically. Hermione, however, shook her head. "No, its too dangerous, especially with that Skeeter woman flying around." She watched a fly on a biscuit as though expecting to see tiny markings around its bulging eyes.

"Yeah, I s'ppose," Hagrid said, sounding slightly crestfallen. "Well, the class is almost over an' the 'ouse-elves will be 'ere soon to clean up, so I should dismiss eve'yone."

Raising his voice above the chatter, Hagrid called out, "Al'ight everyone! Class is ove'. Go on ter yer next class!"

Taking up her bag, Hermione quickly muttered, "I'm stopping by the library. I'll see you two later on." She rushed away, her hair flying out behind her in her haste.

"Mental," Ron said, awed, "Completely mental. She realizes that we could just ask a professor about it, right?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I don't want anyone knowing about this. She has the right idea. I might just be paranoid but I think I did hear voices, Ron. I had to have my ear practically against it to hear them, but I did. Its disturbing, and we should wait until we know more before going to anyone for help."

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When evening came, Harry was shaken out of a light sleep by blurred mass of pink and blonde. He had been attempting, somewhat futilely, to catch up on some rest that he had lost by waking up so early this morning. Throwing on his glasses and letting his eyes focus on the dimly lit common room around him, Harry saw that Neville’s face was about a foot away from his own.

“Neville what is it?”

“Sorry Harry!” Neville said apologetically, “But I had to know. Is there going to be a D.A. this year?” His blonde hair was plastered flatly against his forehead.

Harry rubbed his eyes. “What? Uhh, what time is it?” From over Neville’s shoulder, Harry caught Gates’s towering form easing his way through the crowded common room.

“It’s only around eight thirty,” said Neville in a rush, “So what will it be?”

“Yeah, we’ll probably have the D.A. again,” Harry paused, “What’s with the sudden hurry to know?”

Neville grimaced. “Well, Mr. Gates is the reason, actually. I’ve been trying to talk to you alone all day but he’s barely been more than a few paces away from you at any time. This is the only time I’ve found you away from him. Mr. Gates scares me; I don’t like being near him.”

“Neither do I,” Harry agreed, “But don’t worry about him. He won’t do anything to any of you guys.”

Harry turned his head to see, with a trace of apprehension, Ginny and Dean sitting rather close to each other in a corner. Harry understood at once why he had barely seen Ginny all summer. Knowing Ron’s temperament to be considerably more confrontational since last year, Harry frowned at the thought of what would happen should they engage in more personal activities and Ron discovered them. I need to keep more of an eye on Ron, Harry thought, I have to be there if he ever explodes. Though Harry had no idea of what exactly he would do should Ron fall into one of his fits, he did know he had to be there.

“Any plans on what we’re going to be doing this year Harry?” Neville asked eagerly with the expression of a little boy at Christmas.

Harry snapped out of his trance. “Yeah, well, we will definitely be working on spells that are effective against dark creatures; you know, Runespoors and Sphinxes and the like,” Neville nodded. “Then we might start working on some hexes and curses that I’ve learned over the summer; as well as practice some old ones like the Patronus.”

“So when will we start?”

Harry blinked. “We don’t have a date set yet, but once we think of one I will set my galleon to it. Everyone who still has their galleons will come; and for those that don’t, we will give them a replacement.”

“Potter and Longbottom,” droned a voice from behind Neville. Harry recoiled when he recognized it belonging to Gates. “Setting up their club for amateur Aurors…how marvelous.” The countless diamonds on his necklace seemed to sparkle in unison as his tongue rolled over the final word.

Neville whirled around, petrified. His face drained of its color and his eyes locked with Gates’s. Staring intently back at Neville, Gates maintained the link; his eyes never wavering from their probing state. Harry had the strange feeling that he was witnessing Gates performing Legilimency on Neville, and he moved sharply to break the bond between the two wizards. Standing up and shaking Neville fiercely, Harry saw a brief shot of Neville’s violated eyes and pale, gaping face before Neville turned and fled. Not knowing what Gates uncovered within Neville and not wanting to know, Harry stared defiantly at Gates.

“What did you do to him, you bastard?” Harry demanded in a cold whisper.

Gates’s eyes narrowed. “I stole a gaze at his inner demons, Potter. I saw what he truly is. Is that so wrong?”

“Where do you get your rights? Hermione’s right; you are a monster.” Harry nearly spat out the last word and Gates’s eyes widened.

“I’ve been called many things, Potter,” Gates said softly, “But that is new. Not creative, but certainly new,” He leaned close to Harry so that his bald head was only barely above Harry’s scalp. “Realize that this monster knows all your secrets.”

Harry clenched his fists as Gates strode away, his scarlet robes fluttering as he easily parted a way through a thick gathering of Gryffindors. His instinct warned him that, whatever Gates learned about Neville, it would be devastating if it was released to the school; or worse, written about by Rita Skeeter.

Gazing halfheartedly around for Neville, knowing that he had already run off to the dormitories, Harry sat down again. There were no words he could give Neville to comfort him, no promises he could make to calm his violated mind. Some things had to be dealt with alone; and Harry hoped deeply that Neville was strong enough to overcome the attack.

“Harry?” a soft voice behind him said timidly, “Are you ready? You look ill.” Harry turned and saw it was Hermione.

“No, I’m fine,” Harry lied, not meeting her eyes, “Just sleepy, that’s all.”

Hermione eyed Gates, who had now returned to his corner, suspiciously. “I noticed Mr. Gates coming back from you. He knocked one of my books off of my table on the way.”

“Sorry; he’s just being himself,” Harry replied, “Let’s go and see Dobby. We can pretend Gates is not even there.”

“It isn’t your fault Gates is nasty,” She grabbed his arm and pulled him up out of the seat. “We can go now; I just finished my studying.” Hermione walked briskly towards the portrait hole, with Harry falling slightly behind. The grogginess from his nap had not quite vanished yet.

Suddenly, Hermione hesitated. “Should we bring the cloak? This is past curfew, after all.”

“No, Gates will be with us, and I doubt we will be able to slip the cloak on and leave him behind without him noticing. Not at this point, anyway, and with him watching my every move. We would have to go up to the boy’s dormitory and put it on; and he would not overlook us not coming back down. Besides, I don‘t want him to know about the cloak yet. You never know when we might need it.”

“You’re probably right,” Hermione said, blushing, “He’ll just have to keep up.” She continued leading Harry towards the portrait hole. “I know a few secret passageways, so I don’t think we will have to worry about Filch or Mrs. Norris.”

“Where’s Ron?” Harry asked vaguely, checking the common room for the familiar freckled face.

“Oh, he’s out flying around the Quidditch field, I suppose,” Hermione answered indifferently, “You know, since that’s his thing.”

They stepped through the portrait hole and Harry was about to mention that Quidditch was his ‘thing’ too when a squeaky voice said his name.

“Harry Potter sir!” Dobby said excitedly, bouncing out nowhere, “All is ready! House-elves worked twice as strong when Dobby told them the great Harry Potter and the great Harry Potter’s best friend and the great Harry Potter’s third possible friend was coming!”

“Great Dobby!” Harry said with a hint of worry. He privately hoped that there was not a massive feast waiting for them in the kitchens; that would seem to defeat the purpose of S.P.E.W.

Hermione, thinking along those same lines, said “Maybe some of your friends would want to join us Dobby? We would love to meet them.”

Dobby’s ears fell a little. “Oh, no! Not with so much work to be done Miss! Even now, Dobby must clean out the second floor bathrooms before he can come meet you!” With that, he sprinted lightly down the hall and disappeared.

“That was, err,” Hermione was at a loss for words, “Spontaneous.”

Harry grinned. “That’s Dobby. His brain operated on an entirely different plane.” He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder to see if Gates had followed. To his consternation, Gates had not overlooked his absence and was standing stiffly in the frame of the portrait.

“So where exactly are we going? A nighttime stroll, I imagine?” Gates said, his smile anything but benign. Evidently, he chose the time Harry acknowledged his presence to begin his series of insults.

“Something like that,” Hermione replied scathingly. Harry widened his eyes at her, taken aback by her daring.

Gates took a step forward, eyes flashing and no longer bothering to feign friendliness. “And you understand that I have the power to deny you this privilege, correct?”

“And you understand that I have the right to tell you to sod off, correct?” Hermione shot back. If this situation had not been so serious, Harry would have been on the floor laughing.

Gates chose not to respond, appearing rather stunned, and Hermione turned her back to him.

“You realize you shouldn’t be provoking him like that, Hermione,” Harry whispered seriously, “He isn’t above murder.”

Hermione smiled mischievously. “If there is one thing good most pure blood families share,” she began, “Its their devout sense of honor. He wouldn’t hurt a defenseless girl; especially a muggle-born one. That would be like killing a unicorn to him.”

“All he needs is a reason, Hermione…” Harry said, letting his voice trail off.

"By the way," Hermione continued, dropping her voice, "I practically raked through every book in the library today in search of something similar to that...man's necklace."

"And what did you find?"

"Nothing. Not a single mention of anything like that necklace in the entire library. In fact, I don't think I've ever read about anything even remotely like that necklace."

Harry snuck a short glance behind him to ensure that they were not being overheard. "So that means its in the Restricted Section."

Hermione nodded. "But I won't be able to get a professor's permission to go back there."

"Any ideas on what it is?" Harry asked vaguely, finding the masonry along the corridors fascinating.

"You said you saw faces of Death Eaters? Maybe its a master control string. Something Voldemort uses to keep tabs on all his Death Eaters."

"But that's what the Dark Mark is for, isn't it?"

"Yes, but suppose he wants someone else to keep tabs on them as well," Hermione said, raising her eyebrow. "Give it to someone who would be within Hogwarts all year. Someone who will be near you."

Harry was aghast. "Then Gates could be coordinating something right in Hogwarts and no one would ever know."

"Precisely. But, of course, its all theory.”

They continued their journey down to the kitchens, Gates flitting through the shadows noiselessly behind them. Though it was against the rules to be out so late at night, they had little fear of getting caught. Having the notorious Alexander Gates as an escort had its advantages; one of them being that Filch and Mrs. Norris would not come within thirty meters of him. Though passing paintings sometimes scolded them for being out, their lecture stopped abruptly when Gates’s scarlet form came into view. In summary, Harry and Hermione encountered no one.

Morosely, Harry found his thoughts drifting to the upcoming events this week. His Occlumency lessons with Snape began Thursday, and Quidditch practice and tryouts were Wednesday. Not only that, but he had to decide when to restart the Defense Association. Neville’s confidence needed a boost, and Harry hoped he could help during the D.A. meetings.

“Potter and the mudblood,” drawled a voice from an adjoining hallway, “Out for some late night shagging? My, I think I might have to report this…”

“Malfoy…” growled Harry, reaching for his wand. Hermione stopped him with an elbow nudge.

“I would stop there, if I were you. Don’t want to dig a deeper hole than the one you’re in,” Draco said coolly, “I doubt even Dumbledore could bail you out of that.”

Harry took his hand away from his wand and pretended to straighten his robes. “Right, I think I am better off waiting to rub your face in the ground in the Dueling Club’s tournament.”

“You will have to wait awhile, then,” Malfoy said. Harry noticed with satisfaction that Draco’s eyes were focused on Gates. “The tournament won’t begin until November,” He pulled out a piece of parchment from his robes. “Now, back to business. Students in halls…one a prefect…” His quill scratched on the paper as he spoke, “Hermione ‘the mudblood’ Granger and Harry Potter. ’Course, I should leave out the nickname since this is official and all.” He smirked and rolled the parchment up. Harry cast a swift glance towards Gates, and saw that the Hit Wizard was looking slightly amused, a small grin tugging at his face.

“Speaking of that, erm, insult you use far too often,” Harry began, referring to ‘mudblood’, “How did the essay go? I heard Professor Snape was displeased with your original and forced you to write a second…and then tacked a detention along with it. Funny how your dad didn‘t save you there…”

Malfoy flushed and gritted his teeth. “Watch it, Potter. I told you before what would happen if you hung around with third class filth.” He gestured to Hermione. “Remember the train in our first year? This time there will be full circle.”

Harry heard a soft chuckle coming from the darkness and knew Gates must be enjoying this. “Is that all Malfoy? Or do you want to hide behind your prefect status some more?” Hermione prodded him urgently in the side with her hand but Harry ignored it. He needed to bait Malfoy…

“You think I need this?” Draco demanded furiously, “I don’t need it Potter,” He tore apart the scroll of parchment into halves, then fourths. Harry breathed a silent sigh of relief. “I can mess you and your mudblood girlfriend bad. You think you’re so powerful? I learned some real curses and hexes over the summer Potter. They don’t turn water to ice or make stuff levitate, but they can rip a man in two. Just wait. If I meet you or the mudblood-”

“I think, Mr. Malfoy, that more detention and ten points from Slytherin would work wonders for your tongue,” Snape, clothed head to toe in black robes, placed his hand roughly on Draco’s shoulder. Malfoy froze instantly. “And as for Potter and Miss Granger, I will be reporting the both of them to the headmaster. After, of course, I deduct twenty points from Gryffindor house for wandering the halls this late. I know for a fact Gryffindor prefects have no duties tonight, so I will be reporting this excursion to Professor McGonagall with my recommendations that she review your prefect status, Miss Granger.” Hermione looked shocked, but said nothing.

“What are you doing in the corridors at this late hour, Severus?” Gates asked, his voice tempered with accusation. Snape whirled around and Harry saw the thick muscles in his shoulders become tense under his starched robe.

“My business is my own, Alexander,” Snape replied in a cold and controlled tone, “And I suggest that you keep a wary eye on Potter, as he has an incurable tendency to wander around the castle past curfew.”

“I’m afraid my opinion of what’s dangerous is the only one that counts, so refrain from sticking your exceptionally long nose into my affairs.” Gates finished coolly. Snape glowered but did not reply.

Harry chose this time to speak out. “Sir it was my idea-”

“Silence Potter,” said Snape softly, not showing any hint of anger, “If you don’t want to make it worse for yourself. Both of you return to bed; I have some lessons in language that I need to pass on to Mr. Malfoy.” Snape practically dragged Malfoy away from them by the arm.

“Maybe Snape is becoming nicer,” Harry said, stunned, “I think he was almost fair right then.”

“Hardly,” Hermione said absently, “Professor McGonagall will be so disappointed in me…”

“No she won’t. We got in loads of trouble before; this is nothing. Besides, who’s she going to replace the most brilliant witch in the school with?”

Hermione blushed. “I guess S.P.E.W. will have to wait,” she said, “Since Professor Snape ordered us back to the common room.”

“We can’t leave Dobby!” Harry said with mock outrage, “Not after him and the house-elves are waiting for us. We can still go.”

“But Professor Snape…” Hermione glanced around quickly.

“…Is not here…”

Hermione laughed. “Fine, but we’re going another way.” She stepped towards an ornate tapestry that hung down a nearby wall, and, after tugging at a loose thread, the entire carpet rolled up into the ceiling, revealing a dimly lit corridor. Harry peered down into it; following the right wall until it wound its way out of sight.

“This passageway should take us to the kitchen corridor. Not many people know about this, and I tend to reserve it for special occasions.” Hermione said matter-of-factly.

Harry recognized the hidden corridor instantly from the Marauder’s Map, though he had never used it before. One could not be expected to memorize every secret passageway in Hogwarts, after all. The two of them walked through it together, Gates lazily trailing behind them.

“Merlin, what’s with Gates and Snape?” Harry muttered, not really expecting an answer, “Gates is having a go at Snape every chance he gets.”

“You remember Sirius’s third favor, don’t you?” Hermione said quietly, “Gates is just drawing Snape out. Obviously, Gates can’t just go and attack Snape outright; that would be dishonorable. He’s trying to force Snape to request a formal duel.”

Harry chuckled softly into the musty air. “Honorable, evil, and insane. Some qualities just don’t make any sense together.”

“But he said something to you in the common room today, didn’t he? I saw him walk away from you.”

Harry hesitated, then decided to tell her. “He probed Neville’s mind using Legilimency. Whatever Gates saw, it made Neville run away like the devil himself was after him.”

“He’s so cruel.” Hermione said sadly.

Harry furrowed his brow at a sudden thought. “But he let us out here tonight, though I can’t figure out why.”

Hermione frowned. “If it involves you possibly getting detention, he won’t mind. Probably finds everything rather amusing, actually. Whatever his reason, it probably has nothing good to do with you.”

Harry stole a glance behind him to see the object of their conversation drawing closer, his hand absently grazing the wall as he walked; the countless diamonds on his necklace glittering darkly. Just then, a brilliantly clear vision fired into his mind, sending him reeling to the ground, rubbing his burning forehead. Hermione instinctively grabbed him as he fell, trying to slow his descent. Gates positively dashed up from the rear, his eyes wide with alarm and his left hand clutching at his wand.

“What is it Potter?” Gates demanded, a smoldering fire in his eyes, “What did you see? What did you find in the Dark Lord’s mind?”

Harry, however, ignored Gates. The image was seared into the inside of his skull; a picture of Antonin Dolohov’s leering, sallow face staring out of a halo of white light; his eyes sunken and dark. His expression was contorted into one of suppressed enthusiasm; his lips curled back to reveal a row of sharp, pointed teeth. Swirling in one slow, arching circle, dust and fumes clouded and distorted the light. Lightning cracked, and Dolohov’s face retreated into the background, leaving only the solid white halo of light; an eerie reminder of the visage that the circle had once framed.

“What news of the Dark Lord?” Gates snarled, shaking Harry violently. Hermione was slowly backing away, as though horrified that she was so utterly helpless against Gates’s will.

“Get off!” Harry growled, trying to push himself out of Gates’s grasp. “It was Dolohov! Voldemort was thinking about Dolohov! Now let go!” Gates released his grip and Harry leapt away. His forehead, once piercing and alive, was now calm and numb.

Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm and spun him around. “I thought you said the visions stopped?”

“They almost have. I barely have them once a week now.” Harry said, not looking at her.

“Harry, just because they’re infrequent doesn’t make them less dangerous,” she said, “You remember what I told you in my last letter?”

Harry shook his head. “Its nothing Hermione. Last year my scar hurt almost every day. Its improved…”

“That doesn’t matter, don’t you see?” Hermione said, her voice pleading, “That just means Voldemort is getting better at reading your emotions without you knowing it. He’s becoming good at it, Harry, and if you are having fewer dreams, then Voldemort is just stopping you from entering his mind when he enters yours.”

That thought never occurred to Harry. “I’ll be having Occlumency lessons again soon,” he said slowly, “It won’t be as bad anymore.”

Gates, who was standing aloof from them during the exchange, stirred out of his trance and said in a subtly condescending and overtly imperious voice, “If the Dark Lord is becoming better instead of worse, there is little you can do Potter. But when you have these…visions…you will report them to me. I shouldn’t be too concerned with it yet; as thankfully there is nothing the Dark Lord can learn in that warped mind of yours.” Gates added with a sneer.

“Always the optimist…” Harry muttered under his breath.

“We should go back.” Hermione said, anxiety rising to her voice.

“No, I’m fine,” Harry said, “Dobby’s waiting for us.”

Reluctantly, she continued with him down the winding passageway until they finally reached a dead end. Finding a loose thread poking out from a seam in the wall, Harry pulled gently and caused the wall to slide away; opening up to a long, empty corridor. Harry, through personal experience and some prior knowledge, recognized their position as only a short distance away from the portrait that held the bowl of fruit. Suddenly, he had an idea.

“Hermione come here,” Harry whispered, motioning her to come closer. Looking slightly confused, she obeyed. “Go up ahead and open up the door to the kitchens; then go inside. Once your inside, hold the door open and call for me to come. Just trust me.” He added, seeing her questioning expression.

Hermione nodded and strode down the corridor towards the painting. Hoping the plan will work smoothly, Harry casually walked back into the secret passageway and stood squarely in front of Gates. Gates narrowed his eyes.

“Is there a reason your standing there Potter?” Gates said slowly, “Has your brain been addled somehow? Move on, before I force you to.” Slowly, his hand drifted towards his wand.

“Alright its open!” Hermione called.

Harry, pleased with the success so far, gave Gates a short bow before turning and dashing down the corridor and into the kitchens. Ignoring Hermione’s startled expression, Harry slammed the secret kitchen door closed and heard Gates’s muffled footfalls approach the portrait. The footsteps slowed, then stopped precisely on the other side of the door. Obviously, being a six and a half foot tall middle aged Professional Hit Wizard had its disadvantages when it came to speed.

“We got rid of him,” Harry said, grinning, “I wish him luck in figuring out how to open up that door, though.”

“Potter,” said Gates through the wall. Though the voice was distorted, there was no mistaking the venom and malice it contained. “I would advise for your future benefit that you open this door. You may think my presence here gives you some sort of opportunity to play hide and seek. Fun and games and all that. Potter,” There was a distinct thud on the wall; Harry guessed it was caused from a fist smashing heavily into the painting. Gates’s voice was becoming steadily louder and more vicious. “There is little time for this nonsense. Understand? You believe I enjoy mindlessly following you around like some sort of zealot? Do you see? You still think I am wasting my time by choice? I promise you, Potter, you will be regretting this. Understand? When I am through with this meaningless task, I will return to you the favor your dirty son-of-a-bitch godfather bestowed upon me. Do you see yet, Potter?” Gates slammed his fists once more against the wall before Harry heard him stalk away, his heavy footfalls slowly fading as the distance widened.

Harry shook his head, feeling greatly disturbed. “Forget him for now, he‘s positively raving.” he said. Hermione’s face was drained of color. He suddenly regretted his rashness, and knew he would be paying for it later, but at the moment he shrugged it off. Gates's rants were nothing new to him. "He goes on like that all the time, don't worry about him. See now? We have all the time we want to tour the kitchens together."

Some of the color returned to her face. She smiled hesitantly.

“Dobby?” Harry said aloud. Instantly, twelve house-elves appeared in front of him, bearing plates of leftover food from dinner. Dobby was not among them. “Dobby are you here?”

“Dobby is here, Harry Potter sir!” Dobby came bounding through the kitchen, wearing his usual towering stack of elf hats and countless layers of mismatched socks. “Dobby is sorry he is late! Dobby only finished cleaning the bathroom less than a moment ago!”

Harry frowned. “How did you get down here so quickly then?”

Hermione was about to answer but Dobby interrupted. “Dobby and other house-elves have passages throughout Hogwarts they can use to get around the school without attracting attention! Only house-elves of Dumbledore can use them!”

“If you read Hogwarts: A History, you would know.” Hermione said, shrugging, “So Dobby could you please show us around the kitchens?”

Dobby nodded his head enthusiastically, his stack of hats wobbling dangerously. “Dobby would love to, sir and Miss!” Dobby began skipping into the depths of the kitchen as though he had been looking forward to this for a long time.

“After you,” Harry said, amused by Dobby’s zeal. Hermione laughed and went ahead.

Dobby halted by a long, shiny stone counter and gestured widely to his surroundings. “This is where house-elves make all the food for young masters in Hogwarts! Miss wanted to see Winky today and Winky is here cleaning up from dinner!” he bounded over to a house-elf who was currently furiously cleaning dishes, standing on a small stool and scrubbing a wooden bowl. “Winky! Harry Potter and Harry Potter’s best friend is here and wants to see you!” Dobby gave them his best toothy grin.

“Hello Harry Potter sir!” Winky said, turning away from the sink. Her skirt and blouse was spotless and pressed; and Harry believed that he had never seen her so happy. “Winky has been wanting to see you sir and Miss!”

“Have you been doing good Winky? Are you feeling better?” Hermione asked, timidly approaching Winky as though she could not quite believe her eyes.

“Winky is feeling much better Miss thanks you!” said Winky gleefully, “Dobby made Winky remember that she must not be so sad when so much work needs to be done!” Winky beamed at Dobby and he beamed back. “Dobby and Winky are very, very good friends!”

“Dobby and Winky are very, very, very good friends!” echoed Dobby, who was bouncing up and down excitedly.

Hermione, who was evidently not satisfied with this answer, recovered quickly when she saw the exchange between Dobby and Winky. “That’s wonderful to hear! Did Dobby give you any hats or socks?”

Winky’s smile faltered slightly. “Winky does not need such things.” There was an awkward pause, and Dobby glanced around nervously. “Winky must get back to cleaning dishes! There is so much to do until morning!” She whirled around on her stool and immediately continued washing the stack of plates.

“Do you want us to meet some of your other friends Dobby?” Hermione said, not allowing Winky’s refusal to take clothes to stop the rest of the evening.

“Dobby does not know other house-elves! With so much work to be done, Dobby does not have time,” said Dobby, his ears flapping up and down as he shook his head vigorously, “Why Dobby does not even know many of other house-elves’ names!”

Hermione frowned, apparently troubled by the lack of social time allotted to house-elves. “But don’t you talk to them at all?”

“No time and so many faces! Come sir and Miss, Dobby will show you the rest of the kitchens!”

Dobby merrily led them around the spacious kitchens; weaving his way through masses of house-elves who automatically bowed when Harry and Hermione came within view. Though Harry had been in the kitchens several times before, he had never knew how massive the room was or the sheer number of house-elves who busily toiled there. There were rows and rows of polished stone tables; with surfaces that shone brightly from the flames in the roaring fireplaces. Dobby became more and more excited as they continued; probably feeling that it was a great honor to give Harry and Hermione a complete tour of the place where he had worked for the past few years.

Dobby was waving enthusiastically towards a gigantic oven when Hermione slipped next to Harry and whispered “So what do you think was going on between Winky and Dobby?”

Harry laughed despite himself. “I dunno. They were very, erm, friendly.”

“Did you see the way they looked at each other? I thought it was sweet…”

Suddenly Dobby spun around and beamed up at them. “Dobby has finished showing Harry Potter and Harry Potter’s best friend around the kitchen as he was happy to do!” Dobby paused, and started to stare frantically around, his ears dropping slightly. “But Dobby was told there would be three guests for house-elves to serve?” he added, turning the statement into a question.

“He got held up,” said Harry instantly, “He really wanted to come but we had other plans.”

“Dobby is sorry he could not server a third young master but never mind! Dobby will show you to food now.” He apparently missed the subtle switch in pronouns in Harry’s excuse.

Dobby brought them to a lone, round table in a quiet corner of the kitchens that was flanked by two grinning house-elves with cloth napkins draped over their arms. Harry thought Dobby was getting the wrong idea when he saw that the table was graced by a white linen table cloth and a single tall candle in the center; the light intentionally set low. Soft music played in the background.

“Uhh, Dobby,” Harry stuttered. Hermione was overcome with a fit of giggles. The house-elf’s easy smile momentarily faltered when it became evident that Harry was not completely satisfied with the dining arrangements. “Dobby I think-”

“He’s just being sweet,” said Hermione, recovering, “Everything’s fine Dobby. Thank you for showing us around the kitchens.”

Dobby bowed deeply and pulled out both chairs, allowing them to sit down. When they were both seated, Dobby informed them that their meals will be out shortly and then bowed again as he retreated from view.

“He’s such a nice house-elf,” Hermione said, her eyes following Dobby as he left, “I can’t believe he could be so kind after all those years with the Malfoy’s.”

“Too bad they all can’t be like him,” said Harry absently, not really aware of what he said before it came out. His arms tensed without him realizing it.

Hermione frowned sympathetically. “I understand; but it wasn’t Kreacher’s fault that he turned out the way he did. You never know what tomorrow may bring; Kreacher may be redeemed someday.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Harry said though he heartily disagreed. Wanting to change the subject to a less sensitive area, he said, “So what are your plans with S.P.E.W.? When will the first meeting be?”

“I’m not sure yet; I want to get at least ten people signed up before I start the meetings,” she said brightly, “So I may not hold a meeting until next week or the week after.”

He let her continue talking aloud her dreams about what S.P.E.W. could be, becoming more and more absorbed in their conversation as it continued. When Dobby came to set down their food, a delicious roast chicken breast with freshly cooked parsley potatoes and salad, Harry barely noticed its arrival and listened intently to Hermione’s ideas for activities and fundraising. Sometimes, he added an occasional comment or question, which she met with great enthusiasm. She seemed pleased that she finally had someone to relate all of her ideas to.

The nearby house-elves, apart from ceremoniously filling their glasses with drink, stood silently nearby, eyes locked forward. Harry continually tried to get an impression off of either of them regarding how they felt about Club S.P.E.W., but the house-elves took their duty very seriously and never reacted to any of Hermione’s statements; some of which would be considered heresy among the workaholic house-elves. Dobby had obviously chosen their waiters with great care.

Eventually, the conversation turned to the D.A. and Harry found himself avidly discussing a meeting this Wednesday. He strongly desired to have the D.A. on its feet by this week, and holding it an hour after Quidditch practice seemed like a good idea. It would easily give them enough time to rejuvenate their power from last year. Once Hermione agreed that Wednesday would be perfect, Harry made a mental note to set the date on his galleon whenever he returned to the dormitories. Whoever still had their coin would undoubtedly tell the others who had lost theirs and word would spread; hopefully without recruiting new wizards. Harry still felt adamant about keeping the D.A. secret for now.

When the candle burned down to a small stump, and both of their plates were clean of food, Dobby and the two flanking house-elves swept away the dishes and vanished. Dobby returned some time later, bowing again and saying very formally that they were welcome to the kitchen at any time, and that the house-elf staff would be pleased to serve such honorable young masters again.

Harry and Hermione stood up from their seats and walked slowly to the door, their conversation concerning the new clubs never ceasing. Finally stopping by the hidden door that led to the main corridor, Harry turned to Hermione and began stammering. He felt that there was something he should be doing, but he was not quite sure exactly what; Hermione was blinking her eyes rapidly. Before he had more time to ponder this, however, the door panel swung open to reveal Gates and Snape standing side by side; Gates appearing particularly furious.

“So its true then,” said Snape quietly, “You disobeyed my orders and went on your…excursion anyway.”

“Potter I warned you,” said Gates, his voice terrifyingly controlled, “D’you see now?” He took a step forward.

Snape sneered with grim pleasure. “I will leave you two with Alexander. I daresay he will have something to discuss or impress upon you. I will just…step outside for a moment and when I return I will determine the official punishments for this violation.” He turned around on one heel and made to leave, but Gates suddenly spoke.

“No, Severus. I will deal with Potter alone. Get out of here, girl. This is the second time you’ve been caught with Potter and you should hope there isn’t a third. My generosity is thinning. Out. Now.”

Hermione hesitated; about to argue. Harry gently ushered her to leave and she reluctantly complied. She joined Snape and left, throwing him once last glance before disappearing from view. Distantly, he heard Snape promising her that he would have her prefect badge by tomorrow morning.

Harry expected to be hit, or grabbed and tossed across the room like a rag doll. Instead, Gates simply stared at him appraisingly. After a minute, he said slowly and carefully, his voice much more frightening than it would have been had he shouted outright, “You begin to vex me, Potter. I don’t believe you comprehend the seriousness of the situation you are in. Wizards without a magical bond protecting them would have been severely physically injured at this point; I do not suffer insults lightly. But because of a series of unfortunate incidents beyond my control, I do not have that happy power. Not yet,” Gates paused in mid-thought. “I am unsure of your reasons for performing such a moronic feat, but you will be punished for it. I assure you that. It will be soon.” His eyes glowed menacingly, and he pulled back his lips to reveal a row of sharp, pointed teeth. It was a curiously savage gesture.

“What are you planning to do?” said Harry bravely; more bravely than he felt, anyway.

Gates’s voice became more icy and flat than Harry had thought possible. “You may think that physical punishment awaits you? No, that is dreadfully monotonous. Don’t concern yourself with my plans; just be aware that they exist.” His eyes surveyed Harry again, bringing the impression of a hawk eyeing its prey before the final, swift swoop and kill.

Harry had wondered for a long time why Gates and Snape were so strangely different. Now, he understood. While Snape exhibited an broad, obtuse viciousness that stung his skin, Gates produced an acute, subtle venom that he would use to psychologically undermine his enemies; and Gates paced with a cool aura of terror and superiority radiating from him, feeding off the fear of the people around him. Gates was strong and powerful, Harry never questioned that, but the unique trait Gates possessed was in his artistic sadism. He painted and sculpted his victims like canvas or clay; molding them all to reflect his inner self. All those years of lone vengeance had truly created a monster; a shell of a man who needed to fill himself on the demons of others. Harry shivered.

“And Potter, I advise you to keep the girl away from you,” Gates continued, eyes burning, “Do not force me to do anything I would normally consider dishonorable. I wish to keep my family name untainted, but I am, as you say, a monster.” As he said that, his necklace glittered and flashed, daring him.

At that exact moment, Harry saw that the necklace was not really a necklace, but an extended jaw with rows of white, gleaming crystalline teeth. He could not understand why he had not seen it before; it seemed so obvious now. The mouth, opening in an empty void of deep scarlet. Harry gaped, recoiling at the sight. Stronger than ever, the voices from the necklace called to him, their screams and shrieks echoing in his mind. The teeth shimmered and the circular, open jaw grinned at him.

As quickly as it had started, Gates whirled around and strode out of the open doorway, the necklace vanishing with a small smirk. Harry shook his head, not understanding what just took place and not wanting to understand.

(A/N: There it is, so close yet so far. I hope no one was disappointed. I can’t reveal everything about the necklace/bracelet/etc all at once, can I? And before I get bombarded with people saying how there are contradictions and flaws at the end of this chapter with Gates etc, I ask you to wait until chapter 7. And I hope everyone found my Hagrid dialogue bearable. Comments/criticisms/something you want to see more of/Something you want to see less of? Email or post a review; this story is very flexible.

The next chapter will probably come out this weekend or Monday; don’t know which. It’s probably going to end up getting split in half into two separate ones. (If I don’t split it, it’s going to turn out to be 16000+ words and that will force me to hastiness, and that’s a bad thing)

In the next chapter, you can definitely expect: Some elaboration on what the hell happened at the end of chapter 6 for those who are a bit confused, Snape finds out about Sirius’s third request, Gates takes something of Harrys’, and Gates makes good on his threats by getting seriously mean. It won’t be the happiest of chapters, but its definitely going to be original.)

7. Neville's Worst Nightmare

(A/N: This is the shortest chapter yet, though I shouldn’t really call it a chapter. There was going to be one, single, massive chapter, but I split it up in two; so this is really only the first half. Its approx. 7000 words long, and frankly a bit of it is simply restating what happening at the end of chp 6. And thanks to Eschiva; whose work has managed to make the grammar in this fanfic coherent!

Chapters 7 and 8 will be the pinnacle of Gates’s abuse of control; so you can pretty much expect the worst.

Here is chapter 7:

The next morning Harry awoke with a mild headache. He had not been dreaming, but he guessed vaguely that it was a result of the apprehension that rolled around his mind like a smooth rock. Gates’s threats and promises had not been lost on him, and a small sense of dread wrapped itself around his stomach like a snake; its coils settling in his gut.

More and more, his thoughts turned to Sirius’s third favor; his subtle request that Snape be ‘humiliated’. Although he had little concern for Snape’s welfare, he wanted someone else besides himself to know what Gates will eventually be up to. What happens to the potion master is not his concern; Snape has his fate and Harry has his. If Snape ended up badly beaten, however, Harry would be rather satisfied. A fleeting image of Snape arguing with Sirius in Grimmauld Place over Occlumency lessons flashed into his mind, but he quickly repressed it. Snape would get what he deserves, and he will not earn Harry's pity at all.

Deciding to owl Lupin the first chance he got, Harry leapt out of bed and, after throwing on his robes, lightly stepped down the spiral stairs and out the portrait hole. Breakfast was likely already being served, so he continued straight towards the great hall, barely aware of Gates’s presence behind him. The usual uneasiness that surrounded Gates was no different today; students stalwartly avoiding Harry as though he carried some strange disease; throngs of people parting like schools of fish. They sometimes offered a brief nod or wave before vanishing around a corner, but more often than not Harry ignored them. Right now, his only real friends were in the Defense Association.

He absently felt the galleon in his pocket, pleased that he had scheduled a D.A. meeting for this evening after Quidditch; about eight o'clock. Last night before he went to bed, he decided that he would teach them some stunning spells again; as they had probably forgotten or fallen out of practice over the summer. Then, if all went well, he would work on Patronuses with them the next meeting. Most likely, many of them will want to learn more advanced curses and hexes for the Dueling Club this year; the tournament will commence this November. Sometime, he told himself, he would organize a lesson so that they could practice full duels against each other.

Entering the great hall, he quickly spied Hermione, Ron, and Neville all sitting together at the end of the Gryffindor table. Luna stood nearby, swaying back and forth slowly as she continued her conversation with Ron. He took a seat next to Hermione, helped himself to a helping of pancakes and then quickly glanced around him, feeling slightly unnerved for some reason. Luna was studying him carefully with a resigned stare; Hermione was grinning as she completed an Arithmancy assignment; and Gates had his eyes locked fixedly on Ron's face, as though trying to penetrate his skin with a piercing gaze.

"Mate, look over here for a second," Harry said, flitting his hand furtively towards Gates, and Ron picked up the gesture immediately.

Ron nodded his head and shifted in his seat so Gates could not get a clear view of him. "I really wish he'd stop doing that. It's starting to get annoying."

Neville's interest perked up. "Doing what?"

"Occlumency," said Harry, “Sort of like mind reading.”

Neville's lips formed a silent "oh", as in realization, and he fell silent.

"I heard you two got caught by Snape," said Ron casually, as though this was something to be expected, "Got caught twice, in fact. How did you manage that?"

Harry noted Ron's suppressed laughter and answered. "Yeah, well, it was Gates's fault we got caught the second time. Apparently he went and got Snape after we locked him out of the kitchens."

Ron snorted into his food. "What?"

"Didn't Hermione tell you guys yet?" Harry asked, quizzically glancing at Hermione.

"No, she claimed you would be the better story teller; but more likely she couldn't be bothered to stray from her schoolwork, as usual."

"There really isn't much to tell," Harry said, "Me and Hermione managed to close the kitchen door on him, and he couldn't figure out how to get in. He stalked away positively raving. Anyway, Dobby gave us a tour of the kitchens and after that Snape and Gates came barging in. Gates took me aside while Hermione went with Snape; he probably hoped Gates would tear me apart."

Ron dropped his fork. "Did he?"

"No," Harry said flatly, "He threatened and warned me, but didn't, say, throw me against the wall or anything. He just told me that I would be suffering for this, and that the punishment would come later. Somehow, I think I would have preferred a plain beating. This psychological stuff is subtle to the point of pain."

"Don't say that," Hermione chided, her eyes still set on her book, "Though you did humiliate him rather badly. Gates was still excessive with his punishment, however; threatening the person he supposed to guard. Honestly."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean I humiliated him? I just locked him outside the kitchens. He didn't even suffer any of pain from the magical bond..." he paused, "...Which doesn't make any sense."

Hermione put down her quill and turned to him, her intellectual side clearly surfacing. "In order for him to get through the door, Gates had to ask Professor Snape for help. He had to acknowledge failure. And considering that Snape and him aren't exactly the best of friends, Gates was all the more disgraced. You see? The man is so arrogant that asking for help would deal a severe blow to his ego. That's how you humiliated him, albeit unknowingly."

"And what about him escaping the magical bond's punishment?"

"That's a little more tricky to explain, since magical bonds are rather complicated to begin with," she began, taking in a deep breath, "I'd imagine that since you were the one who locked him out, the bond registered that as your fault rather than his. Really, though, the magical bond’s punishment is so infinitesimally short, you probably wouldn’t even be aware about it. Gates wouldn’t have enough time to even react to the pain. It will feel like an eternity of torment to him, however.”

"But what about the time when Ron had one of his fits? Wasn’t the magical bond hindering Gates’s reaction time? I don’t get any of this magical bond stuff…” Harry said exasperatedly.

"But that wasn't your fault, Harry, and it only delayed him for a fraction of a second," Hermione interrupted, "And that makes all the difference. Like I said, magical bonds are complex and vary considerably with the wizard who‘s affected by them. You can rarely predict precisely how a magical bond will react to anything, but most follow simple lines of logic. If the wizard in question feels that he is at fault, even if its at the subconscious level, the magical bond will function appropriately. If he fails his task, the magical bond will overcharge his mind and shut it down; resulting in his death. Therefore, he cannot kill you, Harry, without killing himself. You will be learning all about magical bonds in seventh year Charms." She returned to her work.

"Ah, I see," Ron said with feigned sagacity, "Yes it is very clear."

Hermione cast him a scathing glare.

"So what happened next?" said Ron, ignoring Hermione.

"Afterwards Snape came in and told me he docked forty points from Gryffindor and that I will be having detentions every Thursday for a month; more or less a cover for Occlumency."

Ron eyed him skeptically. "He let you off that easy? For him, that's a slap on the wrist."

"Maybe he figured Gates would have something more sinister in mind..." Harry paused as another thought entered his mind. "What did Snape say to you Hermione?"

"He reported me to Professor McGonagall," said Hermione, anxiety entering her voice, "I don't know what she is going to do yet. She told me that she will decide my punishment tonight; and whether I will keep my prefect status."

"What?!" said Ron incredulously, "She can't be serious!"

Hermione nodded sadly. "She told me she was very disappointed that I ignored Professor Snape and went to the kitchens anyway."

"But did you tell her it was me?" Harry said quickly, "I was the one who got you to go."

"I am a prefect; I should know better. It was my fault." said Hermione with finality.

Unable to come up with a decent response, Harry watched Gates standing alone across the great hall, hating him. Why does he always have to be a git? He could've just waited.

"The galleons had their dates changed," Luna's voice drifted into his mind and broke him out of his reverie. She was steering the conversation out of tense territory. "I take it we have a meeting tonight?"

"Yeah," Harry said, taking his eyes off of Gates, "At least to get a sense of what roster we have left and a measure of our skills."

"But it won't interfere with Quidditch, will it?" Ron asked slowly.

"'Course not," said Harry, "It'll be after Quidditch practice, so don't worry about it. I have it all planned out."

Ron looked unconvinced. "Well as long as you remember the, err, priorities. With these schedules you're coming out with..." His voice trailed off into a faint string of mumblings.

"Any ideas on who can replace the people we lost this year?"

"Well let's see," Ron said, beginning to count off positions with his fingers, "We need to replace Fred...George...Angelina...Katie…Ginny can play chaser…so two beaters and two chasers. Unless, of course, we want to keep the people we had to use last year. I reckon that anyone who wants to tryout will show up tonight, right?"

"I'd imagine..." Harry's thoughts wandered off into this evening's Quidditch practice. He would probably be out of shape, rusty, and a bit slow. Still, the promise of being able to fly and dance across the sky on his Firebolt lifted his spirits above the brooding fear of Gates's threats. For the first time since last year, since Umbridge banned him from Quidditch, he would be flying again. The Thestrals did not really count.

"Oooo, it looks like Draco is upset about receiving those extra detentions..."said Luna vaguely, gazing towards the Slytherin table. Malfoy was sulking and shooting angry glances at the staff table; particularly at Snape.

"Wait, you two caught up with Malfoy too?" said Ron, "How did Luna know?"

"Hermione mentioned it in the common room this morning," Luna said.

Ron scowled. "So Luna was told the whole story and I wasn't?"

"Oh, you'll live," Hermione said, "I wasn't busy at the moment. Maybe if you got up earlier, you would've been told the entire story as well. I don’t have time to repeat it for everyone, you know.”

Wanting to stop the imminent row, Harry quickly cut in. "We ran into Malfoy on the way down. He was just being his usual git self and insulting Hermione when Snape came up from behind him and docked some points from Slytherin. He also got another detention.”

"Maybe Snape is taking his oath about being nicer seriously..." said Ron thoughtfully, his eyes resting on the greasy-haired Potions master at the staff table.

"Father always said Professor Snape was lost," Luna said dreamily, apparently unaware that her statement held little meaning to any of them.

Their discussion of Snape reminded Harry of another errand he needed to complete. Pulling out a quill and a piece of parchment, He laid it flat on the table and began to write a message to Lupin, relating everything concerning Sirius’s third favor and the necklace and bracelet; including his own private thoughts concerning the necklace’s possible connections with Voldemort.

When he finished, he quickly reread it and filled in whatever details he missed. Tucking the letter in the folds of his robe, he stood up and said, “I’m going to send off a letter to Lupin about, well, Sirius’s third favor…among other things.” He added cryptically.

“What for?” Ron said, not looking up from his food, “I hope Snape gets his; he had it coming for ages. As for the other, err, stuff, you could just tell Dumbledore about that.”

“Someone should know,” said Harry, “And Lupin would know what to do.” In actuality, he felt that Lupin was the last of his family; the last of the Marauders.

“And Professor Dumbledore?”

Harry’s turned and his eyes met Gates’s gaze, which bored into him. Suddenly, he remembered with cold irritation Dumbledore’s decision to damn him for another year with Snape’s Occlumency lessons in the dungeons; and his absolute refusal to do anything about Gates. He knew it was illogical, but he said “I’ll tell him later.”

Hermione looked slightly put out by his response. “Don’t you think you should tell Professor Snape?” she said quietly.

“Well,” Harry found himself seriously considering the possibility. “I suppose I will.” he said uncertainly, rubbing his chin.

An isolated part of him shouted: You’ll tell Snape but not Dumbledore? Have you lost your mind? Harry, however, ignored it.

Wanting to send the message before the first classes began, Harry strode over to the stone stairway that led to the owlery, thinking absently of telling Snape of his danger.

Snape was a git, there is no denying it, but he needs to be warned. Gates probably interpreted ‘humiliate‘ for ‘destroy‘ he thought to himself.

As he climbed higher and higher into the tower, the wide, spacious windows narrowed into thin slits; spilling narrow beams of light across the floor. Passing one window, he saw an inviting green Quidditch field with endless blue skies and a sun muted behind a cloud; perfect for preventing sunlight from blinding the players with light. It promised to be a beautiful day; especially with the prime Quidditch conditions.

The dream quickly left his mind when he entered the dim owlery; with the pungent stench of hundreds of birds living together. Skeletons of small animals picked clean of their flesh littered the stone floor, which was matted with years of straw and owl droppings. Feathers seemed to rise up in a flurry at the slightest gust of wind, causing Harry to sneeze several times. Finally finding the pure white figure of Hedwig, he called her down and attached the message to her leg.

“Send this to Lupin,” he said, stroking her back, “I don’t know where he is right now, but find him okay?”

Hedwig hooted and flew away, attracting the squawks of a few disgruntled eagles and hawks in the higher rafters. When Harry saw her soar through the top window below the vaulted ceiling, he lowered his gaze and turned to leave. Standing at the entrance of the owlery, inevitably, was Gates.

“What did you send?” Gates said evenly.

Harry shrugged him off. “I just sent a letter to a friend; its for a school essay.”

“I daresay it is,” Gates drawled, “But tell me-” He drew a long, blank piece of parchment out from his scarlet robe. “-do you know what this is?”

Harry’s stomach dropped. It was the Marauder’s Map. “I don’t think so.” he lied.

Gates tilted his head and leered. “Don’t bother lying, Potter, I already know what this is-” He tapped the map forcefully with his wand. “It’s the Marauder’s Map, correct? Of course it is. I found it among your luggage yesterday night.”

“So you’ve been going through my things, have you?”

“I decided I should have that right after you pilfered through my coat last week…” said Gates, “Regardless, since yesterday I have decided that I am going to need a tool to keep a better eye on you. Especially since you have that rather extravagant invisibility cloak.” He lifted the parchment towards his face to examine it more closely. The sunlight made the old paper glow brightly.

“And you know how to use it?” Harry asked skeptically.

Gates lowered the map. “Oh yes, I do. Sirius shared many secrets with me during our time here. His friends, however, weren’t as trusting. He managed to keep the most important secrets from me, unfortunately…” he added with a spike of bitterness.

“Which were?”

Gates’s head jerked up. “Nothing,” he said sharply, “I will be keeping this, so do not try to play any of your silly games with me. You can’t hide from me now.” He shook the map for emphasis.

Harry said nothing, feeling quite furious. It had little to do with the fact that Gates had taken something of his, but more to do with the map’s previous owners. Every relic that he possessed of his parents and Sirius was treasured more than even his Firebolt. He would not give Gates the satisfaction of knowing that, however.

“Fine, take it.” Harry said shortly, feigning indifference and concluding the exchange.

As Harry walked away, he could feel Gates’s eyes piercing into him. Ignoring them, he strode down the stairs and proceeded to the great hall, hoping to intercept Snape after breakfast. For the past several days, he intently contemplated Sirius’s reasoning behind the request for Snape’s punishment. There was no doubt Sirius loathed Snape, but was it enough to order an attack on him?

Harry could only arrive at one conclusion. Sirius, while writing his final wishes, wanted revenge on Snape for the incident at Grimmauld Place, as well as kicking Harry out of his office when he should have been teaching him Occlumency. Dumbledore had said that Sirius was not one to let words get to him, but Harry was not so sure. During his last few months in Grimmauld Place, Sirius changed; became another man. A man that did not think things through entirely; though Harry did not blame him for it.

Truthfully, Harry forgave Sirius for assigning Gates to protect him; Sirius had no idea what Gates became. Sirius’s intentions were pure, but, Harry knew all too well, pure intentions did not guarantee pure results. He could not be angry with Sirius without being furious at himself. As Sirius made an error in judgment in hiring Gates, Harry made a blunder when he charged blindly into the Department of Mysteries. Nothing could be rectified now, so Harry simply remembered Sirius’s advice: Never forget anything, and never regret.

Finally, Harry caught Snape as he left the staff table in the great hall. The head of house Slytherin had just finished his sparse breakfast and was already halfway across the great hall when Harry called his name. Snape whirled around, his eyes examining Harry closely. From across the room, Gates stared at them curiously.

“Well,” said Snape impatiently, “What is it Potter? You’re punishment from last night stands. Consider yourself fortunate I wasn’t in a more severe mood.”

“That’s not what this is about, sir.” Harry said quickly, hoping to curry some tolerance so Snape would listen to what he had to say.

Snape tilted his head. “Yes?”

“I found something in Alex’s cloak, sir, I found out what Sirius’s third favor is.” Harry explained briefly the bond between Gates and himself and Sirius’s three requests. When he finished, the Potion’s master looked quite stunned. He was about to tell Snape the precise wording of Sirius’s third wish when he was interrupted.

“This is all very interesting Potter,” interjected Snape slowly, his lip curling, “Especially the part where you just confessed to trespassing on another’s property. Unfortunately, I do not see the relevance. While you may have time to waste relating all this useless information, I’m afraid I have no such luxury.”

Harry restrained himself from lashing out. “I’m getting to that, sir,” he said with bitter contempt. I’m doing this for his own damned good. “Sirius wants you to be humiliated by Gates.” He fell silent, waiting for Snape’s reaction.

“I see,” Snape said softly, his face paling as he turned towards Gates, “I see Sirius reaches out even from the grave. So now he gets his old school friend to do what he couldn’t. Never ceases to amaze me…”

“What are you going to do?” Harry blurted out.

Snape’s head whipped back towards Harry in a flash. “Nothing,” Snape said, his eyes glinting dangerously, “I refuse to be drawn into petty rivalries. Alexander would never outright attack anyone outside of a fair duel. Not without being provoked.”

Harry contemplated the irony of Snape’s response. This coming from a man who has never dropped the schoolyard grudges with the Marauders.

“And why are you telling me this, Potter?” Harry suddenly found himself being studied intensely by Snape’s black eyes; the eyes that so very much reminded Harry of dark tunnels.

“I, well,” Harry stammered. There was no reason, he discovered, except that Hermione had asked him too. Then, an excuse presented itself. “Because no one should be attacked from behind, sir. And you’re in the Order.”

Snape snorted. “How very noble and idealistic. Get out of here, Potter, I am quite confident in my abilities.” He strode away, leaving Harry standing awkwardly in the middle of the empty hall.

“Last time I bother to help him out,” Harry muttered, “Not that he’ll have much of a chance against Gates.”

Harry strode out of the great hall, finding Ron and Hermione waiting for him shortly outside of it. While Harry and Hermione had Charms class next, Ron needed to go to Herbology. Because Ron averaged only an ‘Acceptable’ in his Charms O.W.L., he was not eligible to take N.E.W.T. level Charms. They continued a little while in silence, before Ron said “See you in Transfiguration this afternoon.” and left for the greenhouses.

“That was a very decent thing you did,” Hermione said, “Warning Professor Snape.”

A tinge of pink touched Harry’s cheeks. “It was your idea in the first place.”

“Yes, but you still did it. I know how much you dislike Professor Snape.”

Harry grinned. “That’s not exactly a big secret,” he quipped.

Charms class, normally one of the more robust and exciting classes, turned out to be more dull than interesting today. When Professor Flitwick stepped on his usual stack of books to oversee the classroom, he immediately asked that everyone put their wands away and to draw their quills and fresh parchment. The class sighed and obeyed, automatically slipping into daydreaming mode to better pass the time.

The reason for the sudden change, however, was well founded. For N.E.W.T. Charms, students were required to be able to conjure and control a creature for at least twenty seconds. From what Professor Flitwick described, the process was often complicated and draining, usually requiring a good deal of concentration and effort; largely depending on the animal summoned.

Conjuring creatures allowed the witch or wizard to summon an animal, and then to control it for a certain period of time. Non-magical creatures were relatively easy to conjure, but harder to control and keep around. Magical creatures were much more difficult to summon, and they were not expected to be able to conjure a magical creature unless they were heading into a profession that required it. This was what Hermione called ‘Specialized Magic’, or magic used only in certain professions.

Towards the end of class, Professor Flitwick conjured a rabbit on his desk, and had it perform a series of stunts and performances which drew most of the class out of their collective stupor. After a minute passed, Professor Flitwick thrust his wand into the air and the rabbit disintegrated and vanished, leaving the students who had not been paying attention the entire class to wonder what exactly happened. The Professor explained that the rabbit could only be summoned for a period of time before it disappeared. Master wizards could conjure larger animals and magical creatures for several minutes on end. Summoning more than one animal, however, was impossible as it demanded incredible amounts of power and focus.

As Professor Flitwick discussed the finer pointed of conjuring, Harry leaned back in his chair and chanced a glance at Gates. For the first time since last week, Harry saw him gazing longingly at a silver object cupped in his hands, which Harry now knew to be the Black family bracelet. Harry watched him for a moment before Gates senses his stare and tucked the bracelet under his scarlet robes. The diamond necklace glittered warningly from the movement; the tiny prisms flashing from the slightest movement. Despite the countless times Harry caught Gates admiring his bracelet, Harry was baffled as to why Gates did not glare at him as he did at other times when Harry did something that annoyed him. A small, almost imperceptible flicker or shadow crossed Gates’s face; a glimpse of emotion that looked strangely like embarrassment.

At the end of class, the Professor assigned the class to write fourteen inches of parchment on the dangers and benefits of conjuring; along with bonus points if the report included references to the longest times ever recorded to the summoning and sustaining of a magical creature by a witch of wizard. From the way Hermione’s eyes lit up when he said that, Harry guessed she already knew the longest recorded time.

They met up with Ron in Transfiguration, and they continued yesterday’s lesson involving the transfiguration of certain parts of objects. Harry considered this to be significantly less entertaining than Charms; as at least in Charms he got to see a rabbit perform circus tricks. Transfiguring specific areas of tables and the like was more frustrating than interesting.

“I see some of you did not complete your homework as I asked you to,” Professor McGonagall said above the dull groans and mutterings of the class, “And I find it difficult to believe that my N.E.W.T. students will seriously expect to pass without at least completing the necessary assignments.”

At last, Harry managed to turn his desk leg into solid marble. Ron frowned; his appeared to be marble but splintered apart like wood. It was among one of the most bizarre things that Harry had ever witnessed.

“Ron,” Hermione said, her face betraying puzzlement, “I don’t have the faintest idea of what you did to create that effect,” She bent over and tapped the half-marble, half-wood desk with her wand. “But its fascinating.”

Ron, however, did not think it was much of a compliment.

When the bell rang and students began to pack up to leave, Professor McGonagall called out “Homework is to practice the transfiguration and to be able to perform it to an acceptable degree. Tomorrow I will be handing out zeros to those who are unable to turn their desk leg into stone. Class dismissed.”

The students slowly shuffled out of the classroom, griping as they went.

“Unbelievable, this is all I need.”

“I don’t have the time!”

“Now I have Charms and Transfiguration-”

“They said N.E.W.T. classes were going to be hard, but this is ridiculous.”

Walking out of the class, Hermione clucked her tongue. “Honestly I don’t know what they’re complaining about. We haven’t even started the more complex forms of transfiguration.”

“The more complex forms?” Ron repeated, sounding terrified. “This is hard enough.”

“That’s why you study, Ron.” Hermione said airily.

They eventually winded their way through the corridors and made their way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, and Harry noted with a small amount of apprehension that Ron’s ears were steadily darkening into a delicate shade of red. It seemed that he was not at all eager to see his brother again, nor was he any closer to forgiving him. Mercifully, there were no physical confrontations between the two…yet.

Taking their usual seats near the back, with Gates in a corner, Harry glanced furtively at Ron, remembering Dumbledore’s request that he keep an eye on his best friend during this school year. Two rows over, Harry saw Luna turn to smile at Ron, who in turn pretended valiantly to be looking through his textbooks. Harry pointed this out to Hermione and she giggled.

“Ron she’s really nice you know,” Hermione whispered to Ron.

Ron gave her a look reminiscent of a deer trapped in headlights. “You told me that before; but she’s Luna.”

Harry stifled a laugh. The late bell rang out, alerting everyone that class was in session. Professor Whams, in his customary purple silk robes and oversized spectacles strode into the room and set a heavy tome on his desk, knocking over a precarious stack of papers onto the floor in the process. Unaware of his accident, he turned to the class and cleared his throat. Percy, who stood nearby, mechanically began restacking the fallen pile of paper onto the desk.

“Ah, yes! Hello dear students!” He called out jovially, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Just noticing Percy cleaning up the paper, he said in a hushed voice to Percy “I wish you’d be more careful Perseus.”

Harry grinned with Hermione, and was relieved to see that Ron had a small smile playing on his lips as well.

“Now where was I?” Professor Whams asked rhetorically, his eyes wandering up to the ceiling, “We’ve been discussing the Grendels, have we?” The class gave a murmur of assent. “Excellent. I believe I checked your essays on the um, errr,” He paused.

“The summary of the muggle Grendel legend?” Hermione offered.

“Yes, that’s the one!” Whams said cheerfully, “Though I can’t say for sure how you all did, as I am not quite sure when I checked them in the first place. But, well, yes…”

“Here they are, Professor,” Percy said quietly, handing Professor Whams a small stack of parchment. On the topmost paper there was a large splotch where it suspiciously looked like Professor Whams spilled a bottle of ink.

Whams accepted them gratefully. “Yes, straight to business. Can anyone give me a summary of what we went over the previous class?” Harry thought privately that it was more for the Professor’s benefit than theirs.

Percy rolled his eyes behind Whams as if to say “I already told you where you are in this class ten minutes ago.”

Hermione’s hand shot up instantly. Whams squinted from behind his thick glasses and said, “Ah, err, Miss Her-mine-,” he stammered, “Miss Granger!”

Hermione was unfazed. “We discussed known Grendel anatomy and vulnerabilities.”

“Good girl! Five points to Gryffindor!” Whams said, clasping his hands in front of him, “You will all split up into groups of exactly five people and draw and label a Grendel‘s complete anatomy. I will be along now to pass out your essays-” Whams hesitated as Percy whispered quickly into his ear.

“It seems there are only twenty-four students in this classroom,” said Professor Whams, chuckling, “So therefore split up into groups of four.”

The class began to break up and form small groups. Desks screeched as they were pulled across the hard stone floor, and Whams watched them amiably from behind his magnifying spectacles. Soon, they were all properly separated. Harry was grouped with Neville, Ron, and Hermione.

Hermione drew the tall, lean outline of a Grendel on a piece of empty parchment, pausing occasionally for more ink. As she sketched, Whams moved from each cluster of students, passing out papers and sometimes becoming absorbed in conversation with a student. When Hermione finished, she showed them the clear figure of a Grendel.

“Alright so let’s start labeling the parts…” Hermione began, examining the sketch carefully.

Ron sighed. “Hermione we all know you already know the complete Grendel anatomy. Why don’t you just label it for us and-”

“Because that would be cheating Ron,” she snapped, her eyes flashing, “And how would you ever learn?”

Class continued to crawl by slowly, with Harry and Hermione doing the majority of the work on the project; Ron and Neville mostly watching in amazement. They had the Grendel nearly half finished when Whams finally stepped up to their group.

“Ah, here,” The Professor said, “Mr. Neville Longbottom and Mr. Weasley,” Whams passed them both their respective papers. When he pulled out another, he smiled. “Mr. Harry Potter, you received full marks. Well done young man.”

He continued shuffling the stack of essays until he pulled out a long, three foot scroll. “I spent the majority of my time reading this one, I believe,” Whams said absently, “This belongs to Miss -” He stopped with the name, squinting from behind his thick glasses, as though he could not see Hermione’s name properly.

“Miss Her-mine-ee Granger?” He hesitated. “Maybe, Miss Her-mon-nine?” Professor Whams frowned. “Miss Her-min-ine…”

Ron laughed openly while Hermione blushed a deep shade of crimson. Harry resigned himself to grinning broadly, not wanting to laugh at his friend’s expense.

“Har-mine-ine? Her-moyne?"

Ron laughed harder, his face now beet red.

“Oh, of course,” Professor said, his frown turning into a smile, “Miss Harmony Granger. Full credit as well. Wonderful job.”

Hermione accepted her essay quickly and tucked it into her robes. As Whams left for the next table, her face began to clear and she smiled hesitantly.

“Anyway,” breathed Harry, wanting to get back to the task at hand, “This is the secondary jaw, right?” He placed a finger on an area just above the extended neck.

“Wrong, Potter,” said a cold voice behind him. It was, of course, Gates. “That would be the frontal bone shield. That is vital for the Grendel to protect its upper neck and skull. Also believed to resist certain hexes and curses, as well.”

“Thanks,” Harry muttered, scribbling in the answer on the drawing.

Gates leaned over and plucked his Grendel essay off of the table. His eyes darted back and forth as he scanned it. “No, I’m afraid you’ve gotten certain parts of the muggle legend wrong. Muggles myth claims the Grendel is descended from Cain,” He shook his head. “Amazing what senility can do to a wizard. I‘m truly astonished Henry gave this-” he shook Harry’s paper disdainfully, “-full marks.”

“Are you through?” Harry said flatly.

“No,” Gates said, lowering the essay. His voice turned hard and icy. “Your conversation with Severus this morning has been troubling me for the majority of the day, Potter. What did you share with him?”

“Just needed to ask him a question about The Draught of Death.” Harry said coolly, the lie coming easily. Somehow, he felt Gates would be angrier if he realized the real content of Harry’s message to Snape.

“Interesting how you spoke with him immediately after sending off that owl…” Gates continued slowly.

“Are you trying to make a point?” Harry said through gritted teeth.

Gates narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I am Potter. The point, as you so eloquently put it, is that lying to a Legilimentist is extraordinarily unwise. Now tell me what you read in your damnable Godfather’s letter to me? What did you tell Severus? Answer me?” He slammed his fist on the wooden desk and the class fell silent.

“I told him about the Sirius’s third request alright?” Harry said loudly, “Are you done?”

Gates blanched. “You wait, Potter. You wait and I will wait and when the time comes you will beg me for your very life. I know the subtle ways of torture, Potter. I learned a trick or two from the old masters I found in eastern Europe. Such that it will drive you to-”

“Shut up!” Neville shouted, his face red and fuming. “You’re- You’re-” Neville looked wildly around, as though realizing what he just did. Harry stared at him in shock. He never believed Neville possessed such raw courage; or recklessness. “You’re insane! That’s what you are!” Neville continued resolutely, “A raving old madman!”

Gates recoiled, and the entire class held their breath. The Hit Wizard’s face twisted into an expression of profound ferocity, his lips pulled back in a vicious challenge. His eyes zeroed in on Neville with terrible precision; like a hawk targeting its prey.

“Tell me what you want Gates-” Harry began, trying to take the attention off of Neville. He feared that Gates would take his bottled wrath out on him. Harry recalled instantly that the subject of torture had always been an exceptionally sensitive issue with Neville, and he quickly needed to draw Gates’s anger away from the poor Gryffindor.

“SHUT UP!” roared Gates, his rage more apparent than ever. Gates locked his eyes with Neville, and Harry saw the blood slowly drain from Neville’s face. Gates was reading Neville’s thoughts again, learning his worst memories and terrors. Harry could do nothing but stare; mind numb and body petrified.

When Gates finished, he wore a broad, sadistic grin; as though he had just uncovered a cache of honey. His expression contorted into an appearance of utter malice, and when he spoke again, it was in a deathly quiet whisper that slowly rose as he continued. “Neville Longbottom?” He began to tremble with excitement.

Neville nodded meekly.

“Yes, you would be quite the authority on insanity, wouldn’t you Longbottom?” Gates snarled, his lips pulled back to reveal his sharp teeth, “Since you’re parents are like they are. You know, completely driven insane by Bellatrix? Isn't that why things are as they are?"

Whispers spread through the class, and Gates appeared unfazed. Tears brimmed on the edge of Neville’s eyes. Something inside of Harry screamed out in injustice.

“I know spells and curses that would do the same to you, or anyone else, in fact,” Gates continued, “Spells that aren’t even illegal. They require much more skill and talent and power, but I find the screams are considerably more satisfying.”

The murmur in the classroom grew. Students whispered to one another, their eyes never leaving Gates and Neville. Gates was swooping down onto Neville like a great hawk.

“Neville,” Gates said, mocking him by using his first name, “Don’t your classmates know about your parents? How they were tortured to madness?” Gates voice feigned surprise. Harry’s brain froze; completely unable to react.

“Yes,” Gates said, his voice louder. He turned to address the class. “Young Longbottom’s parents were driven to madness by the use of the Cruciatus Curse. Alice and Frank, I think their names are. They are in St. Mungo’s now; the mental ward, of course, as they are little more than walking vegetables.”

Any trace of defiance Neville possessed a moment before quickly wilted and vanished under Gates’s piercing glare and biting sarcasm. Burying his face in his hands, great, shuddering sobs shook Neville’s body; proving beyond any doubt to everyone in the class that Gates was speaking the truth. Percy and Professor Whams, shocked speechless, blinked disbelievingly but said nothing. They too were fixed into their positions by their exchange. Fleetingly, Harry wondered if their inability to react was related to Gates himself. It seemed as though he had cast a silent, brooding spell over the entire classroom.

“So here in front of me sits their only son. Tell me, Longbottom, do you visit your parents often?” His tone promised that he already knew the answer. “Of course you do. Tell me, do they recognize you?”

Neville answered with a heaving sob.

“No, they don’t, do they? But, what do we have here…” Gates plucked a large, fat folder from under Neville’s elbow, obviously already aware of the contents. Neville struggled feebly for possession but failed. “Yes, let’s see what we have here…” His eyes brightened with a hellish light.

He tore open the seal on the folder and dumped everything onto a clear desk; masses of paper and junk and…Harry gasped. At least a hundred small green bubblegum wrappers fell into a massive heap on the desk. They were the same wrappers that Neville’s mother, Alice, gave her son every time he visited her at St. Mungo’s.

“I see, young Longbottom, is this evidence that your mother does recognize you? Giving you empty gum wrappers as a gift, perhaps? Damning proof that she is stark mad, more likely.” He spun back towards Neville on the heel of his boot. Almost spontaneously, he snorted with laughter.

“DOESN’T ANYONE FIND THIS AMUSING?” Gates bellowed, his grin broad with humor and mirth; though his eyes blazed with inferno. “Gum Wrappers?” He seized a handful and tossed them into the air. Gates’s pupils grew and shrunk as he raved, and bits of froth gathered at the corners of his mouth. “And he calls me insane? Isn’t that hilarious?!” Nobody laughed. Hermione clasped a hand over her mouth and she watched Neville anxiously, reaching out to hold his hand. Neville moved away.

The Hit Wizard stepped forward and slammed his hands onto a student’s desk, the sound cracking through the breathless silence. “No one?” Gates said loudly, his hands shaking with a surging thrill, “Why am I the only one? The boy is utterly deranged! Don’t you see? GUM WRAPPERS!”

Gates sneered at the silence and continued. “So what-”

Harry grabbed a handful of Gates’s scarlet robes and yanked hard on them, effectively stopping Gates from speaking. He had managed to break out of the paralyzing trance Gates imposed upon the class. From the looks of those around him, the interruption was allowing them to regain control as well.

“Leave him alone!” Harry hissed through clenched teeth.

“Potter,” Gates spat with utmost venom. The countless diamonds that hung around his neck sparkled darkly. “What are you-”

“You’re sick,” Harry said lowly, not letting go of Gates’s robes, “You’re a sick deluded madman.”

Gates‘s eyes turned into slits. Harry sensed the cogs of intellect in Gates’s mind slowly grinding as they reached a decision. Casually, Gates’s hand drifted towards his wand. “Is that right-”

“That’s quite enough, Alex,” An unusually stern, threatening voice said softly. Professor Whams, who had broken out of the hypnosis, stood directly behind Gates and has his wand prodding into Gates’s back. “I don’t care how powerful you are; it doesn’t matter at this range. Leave the boy alone. The headmaster will be informed of your conduct.” This was not the first time Harry saw a glimpse of strength behind Whams’s senility, and for a moment it unsettled him.

Despite Harry’s knowledge that Gates’s power rivaled (Or possibly surpassed) Dumbledore’s, Harry saw a flicker of fear cross Gates’s face. “So be it,” said Gates, his hand falling back to his side.

“Let’s go, Neville,” Percy said encouragingly, helping Neville to his legs. The young Gryffindor’s legs were wobbling and his face was tear-streaked and red. Percy hastily retrieved Neville’s scattered belongings and tucked them under his arm. “Let’s take a walk around the greenhouses, alright? Professor Sprout tells me that you have a mimbulus mimbletonia; those are rare, aren’t they?” Percy continued to speak soothingly to Neville as they passed through the door, leaving the stunned class behind.

Gates retreated to his corner, his expression betraying uneasiness, while Professor Whams addressed the class. His tone was firm and rigid. “I trust you all will remember your decency and not spread cruel rumors through the houses concerning Mr. Longbottom’s parents. If I catch anyone discussing Mr. Longbottom’s parents, I will deduct forty points from their house. I assure you that every other professor will do the same.”

The rest of the period passed in a slow, wounded fashion; most of the class spending their time recovering and processing this new information. True, a few of the purebloods already knew about the Longbottoms, but they kept it to themselves and did not know the details. Gates’s cruelty, however, was not lost on anyone in the class; and disgust was etched into every student’s face. Sporadic thoughts surfaced inside Harry’s mind, and he contemplated plans for revenge. Ron, appearing to be on the same train of thought, glared furiously at Gates, his hands clenched into fists.

That bastard attacked Neville to get to me. He can’t get away with this; not on Neville. Is this the lunatic’s idea of punishment? Neville didn’t do anything. Harry would have preferred physical pain to the look of humiliation that was written on Neville’s plump face.

Hermione, seeming to read his mind, frowned and whispered “Don’t do it, Harry. Don’t duel Gates; he’ll destroy you,” her eyes pleaded with him, “We’ll think of something, I swear we will.”

“I won’t,” Harry assured her, “But it’s just so wrong.”

“I know, Harry, trust me I know…” she said sadly.

When class ended, the trio rushed out of class, Gates in tow. Harry saw a smoldering fire burning in Ron’s eyes, and Harry felt the immediate need to calm him down. Students, if possible, avoided Gates even more as he strode imperiously out of the classroom. Whatever disquiet that Gates experienced after Whams’s threat quickly dissipated when he stepped across the doorway. He looked supremely and impossibly confident.

“Breath, Ron,” said Harry with a touch of forced humor. Merlin, how it hurt. “You and I can rip him limb from limb later, but right now we’ve got to go to class.”

Ron merely nodded in response.

(A/N: Alas, poor Neville. I didn’t enjoy doing that to him, (Well, not too much) but it was necessary. After chapters 7/8 we can put old Gates on simmer for awhile and like move on with the plot. And if you’re wondering why Harry didn’t say anything to Dumbledore: there will be an explanation later on.

And I hope everyone caught that one reference in honor to the souls on brave HMS Harmony who currently sail the dangerous waters of the mugglenet forums.

On a side note, next update may be a little while. (Like a week or maybe a tiny bit more) The Thanksgiving holiday is throwing me off a bit since I will be taking a brief break from the fic. This coming Saturday or Sunday is a safe bet for next update.

Chapter 8: Quidditch practice where something that is very-cliche-but-absolutely-necessary-happens. Oh, and Percy sees it. Then the DA, where Neville shows up for the meeting and things get a bit crazy. Dumbledore has a short chat with Gates, and there is a reprisal. Then I finish up the chapter with something that I can guarantee none of you would ever foresee. Its so incredible screwed up and twisted that its only something Gates could think of. If you think you know what it is, you’re wrong.)

8. Undeserved Retribution

(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. )

9. Inner Demons

(A/N: I just realized how lame chapter 8’s title was after I posted it. Oh well.

Erm, here’s chapter 9:

"Ah, finally, mail," Harry said to himself, watching a mass of owls descend upon the Gryffindor table. "I nearly thought they forgot."

It was now Thursday, and Harry was eagerly awaiting Lupin's response to the letter he sent yesterday. True, it would probably bring no new information, but he was glad to read a few words from his old professor all the same.

The fury Harry felt last night when his parents’ wedding photo was burned still boiled fury in his throat, making every word he uttered come out dry and flat like concrete. Oh how he loathed Gates now. No longer did he simply hate the man: he positively abhorred him. Gates’s passionate cruelty gnawed incessantly at Harry’s mind, escalating their antagonism to a whole new level. The hate they shared evolved into a deep, unforgivable loathing of a breed that Harry recognized as an inevitable lifetime feud.

He furtively glanced down the table, catching a glimpse of Ron prodding his breakfast with a fork, appearing glum. Gates was studying Ron carefully from across the hall. The thought that he had possibly been too hard on Ron last night concerning Percy was not lost on him, and he felt a twinge of regret at doing that to his best friend; especially when it was not totally his fault. He made a mental note to talk to Ron after breakfast, wanting to sort their issues out. It would not do to have Ron in a sullen mood for the entire day. Chancing another glance down to the far end of the table, Harry was relieved to see that Dean and Ginny were not sitting next to each other; as Ron did not need extra pressure on his emotions at the moment. He was notoriously overprotective of his little sister.

Across from him, Hermione was staring blankly at her porridge, stirring it absently with her spoon. Harry suddenly remembered that she had met with Professor McGonagall yesterday evening, and that, whatever the punishment, Hermione was likely not in the best of moods. He was about to ask her what happened when Hedwig landed heavily on the table, nearly knocking over his pumpkin juice. He eagerly grabbed the scroll and fed her a bit of toast. Hedwig hooted gratefully and flew off, a few short, snow-white feathers floating through the air in her wake. Hermione looked up from her porridge curiously.

The name on the letter confirmed his suspicions. It was from Lupin.

Harry,

If Gates is going after Professor Snape, then you had best keep yourself distanced from the two of them as much as possible. Although I did not know Alexander nearly as well as Sirius did in school, I knew that Alex was obsessed with honor. He would never hex Professor Snape in the back, or any other 'dishonorable' thing. When Sirius told Alex to 'humiliate' Severus, he most likely took it to mean fight him. I believe Alex will attempt to draw Professor Snape into a duel.

I have no idea how Alex could possibly achieve this, for Severus, if anything, has built up a resistance to taunts. Alex, though, is bound to complete Sirius's request, and will try to do it honorably. I have no doubt that Alex will resort to dishonorable means if Professor Snape does not give in. When that happens, you had best be a good distance away, because it will be very ugly.

I suggest you warn Professor Snape about Alex; but do it discretely. If Alex realizes you are interfering, he will be quite angry. Other than that, you can do nothing other than let these events play themselves out. As Sirius may have told you, Severus is a very competent wizard and knew more curses in his first year than most seventh years did.

I cannot give a reason for Sirius's request. To be honest, I did not think Sirius would seek revenge. Unfortunately, it seems that Sirius took Severus's insults far more personally than I originally believed. Deep down, though, I do not think Sirius wanted Severus attacked. Just humiliated like he was in the old days.

As for the necklace and bracelet, I’m afraid I cannot help you there. I have no recollection of Alex possessing either during our time at Hogwarts. I talked to Arthur, and he remembers Alex having both during his time at the ministry as an Auror.

On another note, Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall, as well as the other Order members, have been keeping a close eye on Alex and you. If he becomes violent, do not hesitate to contact Dumbledore or any of the other Order members.

Remus

When he finished reading, Harry frowned, thinking of the hammer Gates held over his head that prevented Harry from telling anybody about future punishments. The threat of Gates severing his last connection with his parents with a simple burning spell sent shivers down his spine, and he unconsciously clenched his fist. Now, he thought, Gates has absolute control. He gazed at Hit Wizard, who stood stiffly against the stone wall, and saw the smirk playing across his lips, as if Gates knew what Harry was thinking.

"Can I see?" Hermione asked timidly, losing interest in her cold porridge, "If its not personal..."

Harry immediately handed her the message. "'Course you can. Show it to Ron, too. Me and him aren't exactly on speaking terms right now."

"I thought so," Hermione said as she read the letter, "What happened with you two last night? Let me guess. Percy, right?"

Harry nodded his head. "I sort of tried to convince him that he's the only one holding a grudge against Percy. I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, you did the right thing. Someone would have to tell him eventually. Who knows, maybe now they'll start talking again." Hermione added doubtfully.

"Maybe."

"What did Percy want yesterday, anyway?" Hermione asked casually.

Harry paused. He had forgotten about it. "He was telling me that he would have a talk with Gates today; that he had some influence. Now that I think about it, I think it was just Percy being pompous."

"Well, we'll have to see."

"Even if Percy's assurance ends up empty, at least he isn't being a git anymore." Harry remarked.

"So it doesn't look like Professor Snape has much of a chance, does it? Gates is going to be provoking him all year." Hermione said when she finished reading the scroll. She handed it back to Harry.

"No," Harry groaned as a sudden thought struck him. "And I have Potions and, err, detention with him today. It's going to be unbearable."

"Just be careful around the two of them," Hermione cautioned, "You don't want to get involved."

"Yeah, that's what Remus told me. Easier said than done, unfortunately." Harry muttered.

Hermione looked at him pityingly. "Please try? This isn't your fight."

"Alright," Harry agreed, somewhat grudgingly, "But tell me what Professor McGonagall said to you last night. She wasn't mad, was she?"

Hermione tensed. "Well, when I came in she looked at me sadly and told me to sit down. After I did, she started telling me how disappointed she was in me, and that I was supposed to be more responsible. I wish she‘d of just yelled at me," Her voice began to crack as she continued. "Then she said that Professor Snape demanded that I have my prefect status suspended, and she agreed. She took my badge and now I am suspended for a week." Hermione covered her face with her right hand to hide her eyes.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry," Harry said earnestly, his mind being overwhelmed with guilt, "I'm the one who got you into that. You're the one who wanted to listen to Snape. Did you tell her that? It was my fault!"

Hermione dropped her hand and Harry saw that she was on the verge of tears. He suddenly regretted bringing this topic up. "Of course not because it wasn't. I'm the one who wanted to go out in the first place, remember?" She gave a dignified kind of sniff and continued. "But she wants to see you anyway, I almost forgot. She told me to tell you to report to her office this evening. My last prefect duty for a week..." Harry thought she was going to break down again but she recovered.

"I can't though, I have detention."

"She knows," said Hermione as she wiped her eyes. "She said to come earlier than your six o'clock detention."

"Any ideas on what she wants to talk about?"

"No, and I knew better than to ask. She was disappointed, and rightly so."

Harry felt a twinge of apprehension as he helped himself to an extra waffle. Whatever the head of house Gryffindor wanted to speak with him about, it could not be good. On the lighter side, Harry would be able to explain his involvement and take the blame off of Hermione.

"Don't you dare," Hermione warned, as if reading his thoughts, "I know what you're thinking. I already told her that it was my idea."

"I'm thinking no such thing," Harry said innocently, not meeting her eye.

Hermione hmph'd an returned to staring at her porridge, which was now cold and runny. After while, she took a brave spoonful of it and swallowed it quickly, a look of disgust playing about her face. Satisfied that she was eating again, Harry reread Lupin's letter and mulled over his next move.

"Hey Harry, Hermione," Ginny said as she sat down, startling Harry out of his thoughts, "Where’s Ron?" She pulled out a rather large Transfiguration book and dropped it heavily onto the table, rattling the surrounding plates and cups and causing Hermione’s goblet to slop over. Ginny did not seem to notice.

Harry watched her disbelievingly. "Studying at the breakfast table? Isn’t that sacrilege in your family?"

"No that’s only Ron’s custom," Ginny answered nonchalantly, "The rest of us enjoy breathing while eating." Drawing her quill, she began scribbling in the book’s margins and underlining the text.

"That’s a good habit to have Ginny," Hermione commented, "Especially with O.W.L.’s coming up. Ron delayed his studying and his scores weren’t as good as, umm, they could’ve been."

Harry could barely see Ginny’s face because of the veil of red strands that fell down in front of her as she leaned over the book. "This isn’t actually for the O.W.L.’s. Professor McGonagall assigned the fifth years a foot long report on the second day of classes, so now everyone is panicking. I don’t want to procrastinate, so I’m getting it done now."

"Better not let Ron see you, he’ll have a stroke. Procrastination is his art."

Ginny looked up at the mention of Ron’s name. "So where is Ron? He isn’t sick again is he?" she added in a worried voice.

"No, well, he’s down there," Harry replied, pointing his finger down the table at Ron’s forlorn form, "I haven’t talked to him yet today."

Ginny frowned. "What’s causing him to sit down there? You three are usually inseparable. Oh no," she said grimly, "Did he have a nightmare last night Harry?"

"Err, no, I don’t think so," Harry said, "Actually it’s my fault."

"What happened?"

"I sort of got angry with him over Percy. Essentially, I told him to grow up, but not in those exact words, of course." he added hastily.

"I can’t say that’s surprising," Ginny said, turning back to her Transfiguration book, "Ron’s been fuming over Percy since forever. They’re polar opposites, you know?"

"What do you think of Percy?" Harry asked tentatively.

To his relief, Ginny sounded indifferent. "Really, I don’t care right now. Percy admitted he was wrong, which is more than I thought he could do, so fine. I certainly won’t deny his existence anymore, but he better not expect any help from me with Ron or anyone else. But if he betrays us again," Ginny’s eyes visibly narrowed, "I will hex him into dust. By the way, what made you change your mind about Percy Harry?" she added in an afterthought.

Harry briefly related Percy’s birthday ‘gift’ and their few verbal exchanges. When he came to the part where Percy promised to ‘talk’ to Gates, Ginny furrowed her brow.

"Percy not respecting misguided authority?" Ginny said skeptically, raising an eyebrow, "Small wonders never cease. What is with Gates anyway?"

Figuring that he might as well tell Ron’s sister, he gave her a skeleton explanation of his situation with Gates. When he finished, Ginny looked only slightly surprised.

"I see…" Ginny said slowly, "I guessed some of that from Ron’s conversations with you guys, and the way you three always acted around, err, Gates. I suppose I see now why you’ve forgiven Percy, though I’m not sure his plan with…talking to Gates is going to work."

"So why’s Ron different?" Hermione asked, no longer feigning interest in her thin porridge. "Ron sounds like he’s the only one who is still holding a grudge."

"I have no idea," Ginny said, passing a subtle glance in Ron’s direction, "But lately he’s been almost stalking me and Dean. Not like he’s angry or anything, but like he’s guarding over me or something."

"He’s always been a protective brother."

"No, this is different," Ginny said, closing her book and tucking her quill away. She crossed her arms over the table and began rubbing her wrist absently. "I don’t know. I’m probably just being stupid. He’s just being Ron."

She threw open her book again and continued scrawling feverishly in the margins, not looking up. Harry and Hermione exchanged nervous glances.

"I’m definitely going to talk to him after breakfast." Harry said quietly to Hermione.

Instinctively, Harry’s ears pricked as he heard the familiar squeaking of polished boots approaching the Gryffindor table. Turning his neck so fast that his backbone audibly popped, Harry locked his eyes onto Gates’s scarlet-robed figure; which was now mere meters away from where he sat. Harry shot a glance at Dumbledore, who appeared to be watching Gates intently. Soon, the entire staff table joined him in silent observation. Even Professor Whams, who was normally oblivious to his surroundings, gazed at him curiously, his great owl-like eyes blinking rapidly behind the powerful lenses.

To Harry’s surprise, Gates strode past where he sat and stopped abruptly nearby, as though he had ran into a wall. He pivoted on his right heel and stared down pointedly at the back of a student, who sat hunched over his plate of eggs and sausage. Harry’s heart dropped with a dull thud. The boy Gates was staring at was Neville. A surge of rage coursed through him and he turned to Dumbledore, expecting the headmaster to be on his feet and stepping down from the elevated staff table. Instead, Dumbledore sat as still as stone, his eyes hard and expectant.

Gates cleared his throat and sucked in his cheeks, looking very much like a man who has just swallowed a rock. At length, he said with forced politeness "Young Neville Longbottom? May I have a word?" The noise in the great hall began to dim and fade away as students turned curiously in their direction.

Neville whirled around in his seat and gazed up at Gates, all color leaving his face. His jaw worked itself mechanically; though in anger or fear, Harry could not tell. "What?" Neville croaked.

Gates’s fixed smile never left his face, though behind the façade, Harry could tell that he was immensely embarrassed at what he was about to do; evidently apologizing was something that he was not used to. He shot a wicked glance in Harry’s direction, and then turned back away with a much more believable grin. It was as if a reminder of his absolute control over Harry had outweighed the humiliation he felt, and that his mind dwelled on that thought rather than concentrating at the task at hand. In other words, he retreated into the depths of his brain.

"I would like to apologize for my unnecessary outburst towards you yesterday," Gates said, his smile easy and benign and empty. He sounded as though he was simply reciting the words from an old speech. "I’m afraid that, on that day, I was frustrated with a certain charm that I was practicing, and I released my frustration on you. You were completely undeserving of my wrath, and for that, I beg your forgiveness." The double meaning of his last statement was not lost on Harry, and he quelled a sudden urge to curse Gates with a full body bind. Gates’s expression was that of someone who did not have the faintest idea of what true remorse was; and was merely mimicking that of other people.

Neville, too stunned for words, nodded meekly.

"I am grateful for your acceptance," Gates said lowly, giving a short, formal bow and extending a letter with a gold seal from his hand. "I have sent copies to your immediate relatives, and as a courtesy am providing you with the original."

Gates stood like that for a minute, until Neville, finally understanding what he was supposed to do, quickly snatched the scroll out of Gates’s gloved hand. Gates, his grin now bordering a smirk, straightened, smoothed out his robe, and walked away with a supremely haughty air. Dumbledore, as though he expected such an exchange, steepled his fingers and said nothing; though his eyes never left Neville. Professor Whams, shifting his spectacles nervously over his eyes, darted his head back and forth, as though uncertain of what happened.

"That’s disgusting," Hermione muttered, "He didn’t mean a word."

For a brief, fleeting moment, Harry made eye contact with Gates. Instantly, Harry understood that Gates was attempting to read his mind, and Harry automatically willed one single, powerful thought to surface in his mind. He concentrated until it hurt.

Gates you bastard. I swear that one day you will get yours. Damn you and your line for what you did to Neville.

Gates recoiled as though struck, and then turned sharply away. His robes billowed out behind him as he strode to his usual section of stone wall, the satisfaction gone from his face and malice replacing it.

Suddenly, Harry saw Percy stand up from his position on the staff table and walk confidently towards Gates, his eyes level and back straight. Gates watched him approach with a sneer that made Snape look like an amateur.

Gates met Percy with his arms crossed, and, as Percy spoke, Gates’s eyes became steadily narrower. Abruptly, the few traces of color that lurked in his hawkish face vanished in an instant. Percy, excellently hiding his inevitable elation, continued on with a masked face, his expression betraying nothing. When he had finished, Gates regarded him dangerously, and remained silent for a moment, as though carefully considering his words. Gates’s eyes flitted in Harry’s direction and Harry quickly turned away, not wanting Gates to think that he was aware of Percy’s actions.

At length, Percy returned to the staff table, leaving Gates with a very sour expression on his face. Gates’s lower jaw was thrust out, a clear sign of an internal struggle taking place within his mind. Eventually, his face cleared and his mouth was drawn into a thin line. He was apparently not pleased with the decision he arrived at, and Harry could only view this as a good thing.

"Percy came through," Harry said, unable to keep a large grin off of his face, "And, whatever he said, I think it made Gates absolutely furious."

"Ooooo, wonderful," Hermione said, her eyes sparkling as though this was the best news she had heard in some time.

"And Harry," she continued, her smile faltering slightly, "Yesterday I went down to Hagrid and, well, the Centaurs have expressed their displeasure at his ventures into the Forbidden Forest. You remember how they warned him last year?"

Harry nodded.

"They tried knocking him around a bit to prove their point. Nothing serious," she added in a hurry, "But he insists that those ‘mules’, as he put it, wouldn’t try it again."

Harry mulled over this new problem, and could find no solution. Hagrid would visit his little brother no matter what the Centaurs say, and there is nothing he could do to change that. The only possible answer is, of course, to get rid of the Centaurs.

Absently, Harry shifted his gaze towards where Gates stood in the corner, his eyes smoldering with anger. Whatever Percy had told him, it did not go over well with the Hit Wizard.

Idly pouring more pumpkin juice into hid goblet, a sudden idea formulated itself in Harry’s mind, nearly causing him to drop the pitcher. The plan would be perfect, and he would hold no guilty conscience afterwards. Gates’s own arrogance would do him in. Unable to fully contain his glee, Harry settled for a broad smile as he tore out a piece of parchment and scribbled down a note to Hagrid.

Hermione, watching him with a tilted head, said "What is it?"

"A plan," Harry said as he finished the message. He would send it off with Hedwig this afternoon sometime, as he did not have Care of Magical Creatures today. "A plan to get Gates back. He’ll regret taking my- err -I mean tormenting Neville like that."

"What are you going to do?" Hermione replied slowly and suspiciously.

Harry grinned wider. "Not me. I won’t be doing anything. That’s the best part. I can’t tell you now though: Gates might be able to lip read and this isn’t worth risking." His exchange with Snape and his following conversation with Gates was the foremost on his mind.

"Then write it down."

Smacking his forehead for missing the obvious, Harry scrawled down the plan on a piece of parchment, than pushed it towards Hermione. As she read, Harry took casual bite of toast, watching her for her response. To his delight, she seemed to approve.

"That’s clever," Hermione praised, then her tone turned serious. "But that’s risky. Are there…precautions?"

Harry arched an eyebrow. "’Course there are. I can ward them off easily now that I know the required spell. I doubt Gates would know it, as its probably only used by specialists."

Harry took a large bite of bacon when he saw Ron stand up to leave, his expression unreadable. Harry took a long, confident sip of his juice and moved towards him, conscious of Gates’s malevolent glare. He felt Hermione’s gaze on his back. Ron was now aimlessly shuffling his books, preparing to leave the great hall. His eyes were wandering and unfocused, reflecting the turmoil within. When Harry approached, Ron fumbled with his books and accidentally dropped one on the ground. He bent to pick it up.

Harry noticed with alarm that Ron’s breakfast was only half-eaten, as though he had lost his appetite; which was very un-Ron like. Pretending to just notice Harry’s presence and failing miserably, Ron feigned a look of surprise.

"Oh, hey, mate," he said awkwardly, his eyes darting from his books to Harry’s face.

Harry crossed his arms uncomfortable, feeling guilty about his temper last night. "Sorry I was so short with you about Percy, Ron. He’s your brother. I shouldn’t be telling you how to feel about him. These things don‘t fix themselves overnight, and I think I was asking for too much."

A look of confusion crossed Ron’s face, then one of relief. "Oh, that? No problem mate, forget it." he said quickly, sounding like he expected something much worse. He grinned, though Harry thought it was rather hollow.

"Erm," stuttered Harry, thrown off by Ron’s placidity, "Aren’t you a bit upset about what I said?"

"No, why would I?" Ron answered, his grin faltering and turning crooked. His ears slowly deepened into a shade of red. "We all have our own opinions, don’t we? I guess I could give Percy a shot?" It sounded as though he was willing to agree with anything at the moment.

Harry scratched the back of his head. "Well, you did sit down at the far end of the table." Harry said, pointing out Ron’s isolated seat.

"Blimey, you’re right," Ron said, sounding genuinely bewildered, "I was just a bit tired when I came down, that’s all. I was up fairly late last night. Yeah, just some lack of sleep. Sorry ‘bout that. Didn’t mean for you to get the wrong idea." He began wringing his hands nervously.

"That’s okay," Harry said inelegantly. His conversation with Ron was not going like he planned. He thought of several scenarios, but none of them were remotely like this.

"Right, so, uhh, classes are coming up. I’ll- I’ll see you in Care of Magical Creatures today." Ron stammered, sounding as awkward as he looked. His ears were dark red and paper was falling out of his books. "So gotta go!"

Ron strode quickly away, almost running, and vanished before Harry could point out that they did not have Care of Magical Creatures today. On the whole, Ron seemed friendly but was evidently hiding something. Turning around, Harry noticed with growing apprehension that Gates had watched the entire exchange, a smirk tugging at his lips.

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The afternoon slowly passed in Transfiguration as beams of sunlight breached the narrow windows and spilled onto the stone floor. Harry found it difficult to concentrate on his studies as the bright sun tempted him to leave and go outside. Absently, he gazed out the window rather than listen to Professor McGonagall’s lecture, and ended up losing Gryffindor five points when she asked him a question on the subject they had been discussing for the past twenty minutes.

On the other hand, Ron seemed to become more cheerful as the day continued; the distant expression he wore at breakfast no longer visible. He returned to his normal, unenthusiastic self and shot bored glanced at Harry in short intervals when the professor had her back turned, though Harry was sure that Professor McGonagall could see out of the back of her head as she eyed Ron suspiciously throughout class when she turned around. Hermione hissed angrily at him, but Harry could tell she was relieved to see Ron back to his usual self. Harry suspected that she only scolded him in Transfiguration in an effort to make up with Professor McGonagall. By the way the professor smiled discretely in Hermione direction, he knew that Hermione was forgiven.

At the end of class, Professor McGonagall held him back briefly to remind him of his obligatory meeting with her tonight, and then sent him off. Ron split off from Harry and Hermione as they descended into the dungeons for Potions, this class promising to be exceptionally hellish by the way Gates’s eyes glinted as he strolled behind them. Clearly, he was already making plans on how to draw Snape into a duel.

When Harry stepped into Snape’s perpetually chilling Potions classroom, he met Snape’s eye and focused strongly on Gates’s intentions. Snape, evidently understanding his meaning, gave a curt nod and stood in front of his desk, waiting for the class to file in. Harry decided that Snape might as well have a fair chance against Gates; as much as he hated the Potions master, he hated Gates more. He wanted Snape to have every possible advantage to deflect Gates’s attacks.

Gates chose to stand stiffly in the front corner of the room, rather than his usual place in the back. Knowing this could not bode well, Harry looked meaningfully at Snape and then flicked his eyes at Gates. Snape made no move to acknowledge Harry’s warning, but curled his lip back in a severe sneer, the meaning clear: Mind your own business Potter.

Harry and Hermione took their seats near the front, and waited expectantly to see what would happen next. The rest of the class must have sensed the tension, as nearly everyone was looking uneasily from Gates to Snape. Malfoy, normally brimming with taunts and insults, was for once silent with nervous foreboding. Obviously, his confrontation with Gates on the train was still fresh in his memory.

"As you all have proven to me that you are far too incompetent to safely produce relatively elementary potions," Snape said in a seething voice, "I will lecture you on the concoction you will be creating in your next lesson. Our benevolent headmaster has decided that it would be too…reckless of me to ask you to create the more difficult and dangerous of solutions without prior knowledge. And who am I to argue with the administration?" he added in a tone that assured everyone in the classroom that he would love nothing more than to have an accident occur so that he could cut someone out of his N.E.W.T. Potions class. "Therefore, further screw ups will be taken as a personal insult, as it proves that you have indeed been wasting my time. Thus, failure will be judged more harshly." His eyes rested with a peculiar intensity on Harry when he said this.

The class continued uneventfully as they jotted down notes on a solution insidiously named ‘The Avenger’s Poison’, a potion particularly well known for becoming acidic whenever comes in contact with saliva in the mouth, resulting in a particularly gruesome death to anyone who swallows it. Hence, it is commonly used by assassins or bored dark wizards for entertainment. Harry was not sure the purpose of learning a potion like this as it had no practical value, but from the vehemence and passion Snape exuded when he described its effects, he had a nasty feeling that the professor simply found a potion that perfectly matched his personality.

"-and while the Potion appears to be simple at first class, my young and foolish disciples," Snape lectured, "I assure you that if you are inconsistent with your measurements, you will find your cauldron reduced to molten metal and yourself suffering wounds that no amount of time in the infirmary can heal."

At this point, Harry was nearly sleeping. Snape’s mind-numbing voice faded away as he hunched over his desk and propped his head up with one hand. He stared open mouthed at Snape, as though he was watching a dead flobberworm in a zoo. He had never known Potions could be so utterly boring, and he now completely understood why Snape never gave lectures. Potions rivaled History of Magic in dullness. Hermione tried poking him several times to snap him out of his trance, but with little avail. Instead, he watched his frozen breath slowly drift up to the ceiling.

"Potter," said Snape softly, "What is the last ingredient you add to your solution to prevent it from prematurely boiling?" When Harry did not answer, he continued. "Did I interrupt your nap Potter? As taxing as being a celebrity can undoubtedly be, I do ask you try to spend some of your precious concentration on your Potions, as merely scraping an ’Acceptable’ will no longer be considered an adequate performance. Is that clear? Ten points from Gryffindor…" Harry gazed absently around the room to see most of the class sunk in a similar stupor, with some blatantly burying their heads in their arms.

Gates seized his chance. "Severus, which Potter are you referring to?"

Snape continued as there was no interruption. "As I was saying, The Avenger’s Poison can prove to be highly unstable if a sprig of gillyweed is not added promptly after ten minutes of stirring. This will-"

"Severus," Gates repeated loudly, "Which Potter are you referring to? You did not answer me before. The ghost of the one who humiliated you, or the one who intimidates you?" Harry’s attention spiked as Gates finished his statement, and Harry knew from the sudden intake of breath from around the class that they were now enraptured in the confrontation taking place before their eyes.

A shiver of rage visibly coursed through Snape’s body, but the Potions master valiantly continued on. "This will prevent any build-up of muck on the bottom of your cauldron, which would eventually lead to the entire solution to congeal and solidify. This, class, would result in a zero as well as a trip to Madam Pomfrey to treat scalding."

Gates looked unimpressed. "Or have you forgotten? I understand that the fumes of so many potions would addle your brains, causing derangement and psychotic episodes. Possibly even something more…primal." he added with a smirk, apparently making an inside joke.

"-remember to keep your solution under low heat at all times," Snape spat, his voice becoming steadily more enraged. His face turned white with fury and his teeth were bared. "Not doing so will-"

"I think I can jog your memory, however," said Gates with feigned serenity, "I believe the Healers at St. Mungo’s try to use familiar terms on the subject‘s childhood -- you know, to help revive old scenes and acquaintances. Let’s see, what was that nickname? Oh yes, James called you Snivellus. Does that bring back any memories?"

A suppressed, inaudible snort shuddered through the classroom, and Snape glared at them furiously, as though daring them to laugh openly. His hands gripped the edge of his desk tightly, causing his knuckles to turn pearly white. "I will not be taunted, Alex, especially by juvenile insults," Snape warned in a low voice, "That man’s deluded requests will go unfulfilled."

Gates’s eyes narrowed. It was his turn to become irritated. "If you say so, Snivellus. For one who claims to be above such juvenile insults, you are still stuck in petty feuds by hating your long dead enemy’s son."

Harry could tell by the furious whiteness in Snape’s face that this comment struck home, and that several years of barricades crumbled into dust. Regardless, he snarled "I will not be lectured on morals and ethics by a renegade Hit Wizard who came from a family in the league with the Dark Lord himself."

A collective gasp resounded through the class, all eyes locked on Gates, aghast. With a significantly more arrogant expression on his face, Snape resumed his lesson. "The Avenger’s Poison must be on low heat at all times because if it is too hot, the potion will boil prematurely and the fumes will dissolve your eyes and most of your face. Again, this cannot be rectified by a simple healing spell…"

Gates resigned himself to a quiet brooding, and, despite himself, Harry concentrated on the Hit Wizard rather than Snape. Hermione, constantly scribbling down notes (She already had at least two feet) poked at him with her quill and mumbled under her breath for him to pay attention. Finding it hard to ignore her, Harry compromised by alternating between staring at Gates and writing down Snape’s words.

"As the more perceptive of you bunch may tell," Snape drawled, "This potion required precise timing. However, this potion is far from excessively demanding, and I will expect no one to suffer any injuries now that I have explicitly explained every step of this procedure. Those who are moronic enough to foul the solution up-" Snape glared at Harry. "-will suffer whatever consequence I feel is suited to the crime."

Pulling his face back into a sneer, Gates said loudly "Perhaps you, Severus, would enjoy elaborating on your family history?"

Snape, who clearly expected Gates to keep to silence, froze instantly. "My family is none of anyone’s concern, Alex." he said slowly and deliberately.

"Your family was blacker than the night itself. True dark wizards. Why, its even known that your very parents wore the mark." Gates’s face contorted into a visage of grim pleasure. "Such things tend to be almost….hereditary, are they not?"

Snape’s face paled considerably, and every muscle in his face twisted and moved as though it could not decide whether to snarl, sneer, or feign shock. Gates’s grin grew wider as he realized that he hit a nerve. Harry sucked in his breath, his entire being aware of the exchange playing out in front of him. The monster versus the git. Who will win?

"Presumptions and conjectures made by wizards with over-active imaginations." Snape snapped, his response even weaker than the silence surrounding it.

"And I suppose you pretend to be ignorant of the reason why the headmaster consistently refuses your request to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Gates accused, going in for the kill, "I daresay the he would find you teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts unbearably ironic."

Harry had never thought it possible, but he was actually pitying Snape. True, the Potion’s master was now getting his comeuppance for his arrogance, but no one deserved this. It was just like Neville Longbottom…all over again. Unidentifiable, long-concealed expressions and emotions crossed Snape’s pale face, and Harry could tell that Snape was running out of options. Snape could no longer speak, as it took all of his concentration to reign in his rage.

"Snivellus is speechless, is he?" said Gates icily, all feigned amusement gone from his face, "Yes that’s what happens when the old demons surface, Severus. Do you see? The old demons, severing your heart." Gates’s clawed hand clutched at his chest, the imitation unmistakable.

Next to him, Harry felt Hermione shaking. He felt the tension mounting in the room; the irrevocable, growing power that threatened to tear the room asunder. Without realizing what he was doing, he timidly reached out and covered her hand with his. His own instinctive fear stopped, and, as far as Harry could tell, Hermione’s fear vanished as well.

"Alex," Snape said at length, his voice absent of force, but still managing to carry subtle malice, "You know nothing of my demons. They have incubated, but I prefer them to yours. Drawing strength through the demons is fallible and inevitably leads to self destruction." His voice was strange, as though Snape was not really speaking, but someone else. His tone was older somehow. It sounded like something that Dumbledore would say. Abruptly, it turned back into the heartless, conceited tone that Snape was so famous for. "Your demon is alive and flourishing and horrific, Alex."

"But my demon is not on my forearm!" Gates spat. All remaining traces of color drained from Snape’s face.

The clear implication and accusation in that statement left the class stunned with mixed revelations. Most were in denial; absolutely refusing to believe that the man who has been teaching them for the past six years, however cruel, was a Death Eater. A few Slytherins, namely Malfoy, showed no surprise.

Harry stared blankly at the two wizards, not quite believing what he saw. In front of him, two terrible wizards were lashing out on each other, the wounds deep and vicious, with old scars breaking open. Lupin warned Harry that it would be ugly, but Harry never dared to imagine enmity on this level. It made himself and Draco look like old, bantering friends.

"Look at that necklace you wear!" Snape snarled, "You think I don’t know what it is? I’ve seen one before. The Death Eater it belonged to had an ego far larger than his ability, and it got him dead." Suddenly, Snape’s eyes locked onto Harry and Hermione’s clasped hands, and he froze, his mouth halfway into a sneer.

Gates, following Snape’s gaze, saw their hands and grinned. Harry and Hermione quickly withdrew, blushing slightly. "I see. Yes I think I do," Gates brought his hand up and stroked the countless diamonds on his necklace gently. "He looks just like James, doesn’t he? And, well-" he hesitated. "Brings up old memories, eh? Strange time to be reminiscing, Severus."

Snape whipped his head around so fast that Harry thought he heard it snap. "Just what do you think-"

"Would you like me to tell young Potter your little secret, Snivellus?" Gates mocked, bringing up the nickname for effect, "How does that sound? Would you be able to look him in the eye after I tell him?"

"You wouldn’t dare," Snape snarled, his voice low and threatening and underlined with trepidation. "You would never-"

"I would in an instant," Gates retorted, taking full advantage of Snape’s position with a renewed malice. "Now what will it be?"

"You want your duel?" Snape demanded, his face white with fury, his right hand clutching his wand tightly. "Have it! Formal. Bring your wand."

"Tonight, then," Gates said in a restrained voice, obviously taking great effort to hide a surge of ecstasy, and then fell silent.

Snape, positively infuriated, addressed the class. "You are all dismissed. Get out of my sight."

The class rushed to obey, not daring to say a word as they left. Everyone regarded Gates and Snape in an equally eerie and suspicious light, glancing often in their directions. When Harry crossed the room to the door, he found himself called back.

"Except you Potter. Come here." Snape commanded, pointing to a spot a pace in front of him.

Harry timidly approached the fuming Potions master, unsure of what to expect. Snape was in a rage that surpassed all others. "I will be at detention at six," said Harry, knowing that Snape did not want to discuss his detention.

"Yes you will," Snape said in a voice just above a whisper, "But you will call off your bulldog first."

All the memories of Snape insulting Sirius at Grimmauld Place came flooding back to him in one, blinding image. "I can’t," Harry said loudly, "And even if I could I’m not sure if I would. I remember what you said to Sirius-" Harry dropped his voice. "-and Sirius didn’t forget either. It’s finally coming back around, isn’t it?" He spun around and strode out of the classroom before Snape could formulate a retort.

Gates, wearing a triumphant smirk on his face, strolled out behind Harry and Hermione, practically bouncing on his feet. Wearily, they retreated towards the Gryffindor common room.

Portraits whispered excitedly as they passed by, their conversations obvious from the way they stared at Gates meaningfully and ceased speaking when he approached. The news of Snape’s dueling challenge was apparently spreading through the school at a speed only gossip can manage. By the way Gates was nearly skipping down the corridors, Harry inferred that he was dazed with euphoria. His sharp face was distorted with an unusually gleeful grin, as though his Christmas had come early. It looked like someone had hit him with a Cheering Charm.

When they met up with Ron again by the common room fire, Harry and Hermione immediately cornered him and bombarded him with questions on duels. Though Harry read The Art of Dueling, the book described how to duel properly, and did not elaborate on the traditions and nuances behind duels.

"Wait! Hey!" Ron exclaimed, "Slow down! What’s this about?"

Quickly, Hermione related everything that had occurred in Potions, with Harry sometimes adding a detail or event that she missed. When she finished, Ron sat back in an overstuffed chair, a mix of shock and elation written across his face. His brooding, detached mood that existed earlier this morning was no longer there.

"Well old Snape is going to get his, then!" Ron declared, his mouth forming a wide smile. "Gates taunted Snape into dueling him? How the hell did that happen?"

Harry quickly answered. "Gates threatened to tell me one of Snape’s secrets, so he pretty much blackmailed him."

"More secret than being a Death Eater?" Ron asked incredulously. At their simultaneous nods, Ron continued. "Snape can’t back out now. Formal duels take place the night they are made. Usually nine o’clock. And since the challenge was made in public…it has to be performed in public."

"Which means?"

"Everyone in the entire school is going to see Professor Snape get humiliated," Hermione finished for him. "Just like Gates planned."

"That’s pretty much it," Ron said joyfully. "I hope Colin brings his camera."

"Not in front of the entire school?" Harry scoffed.

"It’s got to be. The challenge was made in public, so it has to be executed in public. No one can be refused a view of the duel. it’s a matter of honor." Ron explained, sounding as though everyone knew these things. "Don’t you already know all this Hermione?"

"I can’t know everything Ron," Hermione said, sounding offended, "There are entire eras of wizarding events for me to research. Really, nothing about duels has ever come up in any school projects yet. Besides, reading up on how wizards try to kill each other isn’t exactly high on my priorities."

She did not notice as her eyes were focused on Ron, but Harry stared at her sadly. What if she knew what I must do?

Ron looked at her disbelievingly. "Anyway, this duel ought to be real vicious if Gates is half the wizard he’s supposed to be. Snape isn’t a slouch, either, mind you. They’ll be really going at it."

"Not to the death…" Hermione said slowly.

"Of course not," said Ron quickly, "Not unless Snape specifically said it would be a mortal duel. Did he?"

"No," Harry and Hermione answered together.

Ron nodded. "Then no, it won’t be to the death. Old Snape will live, because if Gates holds his honor as dear as he pretends to, then he won’t kill in this duel," Ron sounded disappointed. "It would be very dishonorable if he did. In fact, it would be enough to strip him of every title he ever earned."

"Then how do you know who wins?"

Sighing, Ron said "They’ll conjure a Dueling Shield, which is basically a massive blue dome that blocks every spell imaginable. Except the killing curse, of course. Then whoever yields, is knocked out, or is physically thrown out of the dome is the loser. I don’t think anyone has ever been thrown out before," Ron added thoughtfully, "Those domes are supposed to be nearly impossible to breach. I reckon they just made that rule just as a precaution." He began rubbing his chin, staring vaguely into the fireplace.

"Ah, and what is the purpose of this little congregation?" Gates drawled at a distance, moving directly towards them with an easy bounce in his step.

Ron stiffened instinctively and coughed, while Harry, now used to Gates’s sporadic intrusions, simply spun around and greeted him with a blank stare. "We’re just discussing…things. You made quite a spectacle in Potions class today." Harry said tonelessly, intentionally matching Gates’s bored drone. He shuddered at how similar he sounded to Malfoy, but knew that he had managed to throw Gates off balance with his even reply. His more subtle message, however, was clear. You won’t intimidate me you bastard.

Gates’s eyes narrowed. "I imagine so," he said, now sounding perturbed, "Old Severus hasn’t changed much in all these years. No, that’s incorrect. He hasn’t changed at all."

Drop the small talk, Harry thought, You aren’t here to tell me about Snape’s school days. Get to the point you old madman. "What are you saying?"

"Severus always hated your father," Gates continued as though Harry did not speak, "Did he ever elaborate on the reasons?"

"No," Harry replied snappishly. "Is there a reason you’re here?" Privately, he desperately wanted Gates to tell him Snape’s secret, but he was not about to let Gates know that.

Gates was now annoyed. "If you think I tolerate your blatant displays of disrespect because of third parties, you are mistaken. I tolerate it for the simple reason that I don’t care whether you or any of you other worthless little children show respect. It is enough that I know that you all cower when I draw my wand." He inhaled deeply.

Harry was immensely pleased that he had managed to provoke a minor outburst out of Gates despite his glowing elation that Gates possessed since Potions class. It showed that he now could control, to a very small degree, Gates’s reactions.

Gates crossed his arms. "Your father and Snape were very…possessive men, if you understand my meaning."

"Is this really the time for reminiscing?" Harry said, echoing Gates’s remark towards Snape earlier. He sat back to observe the response..

A low, feral growl escaped Gates’s throat. "You tempt me, Potter, but you do not direct me."

The answer stunned Harry though he did not reveal it. He did not believe Gates was so perceptive. The warning in Gates’s statement was clear: I know what you are trying so back off.

"What were you saying about Harry’s dad, Mr. Gates?" Hermione said in a small voice, evidently understanding the conversation and attempting to disarm it. Harry had nearly forgotten she was there. "About his dad and Professor Snape."

"Wouldn’t you like to know?" Gates snapped, "This is a matter between Severus and Potter, not outsiders."

"Then tell me already so I can tell them." said Harry flatly

Gates’s eyes became slits and his thin mouth twitched. "Since you asked…no. I changed my mind."

Harry suddenly became aware that Gates was cruelly playing with him, toying with his thirst for knowledge concerning his father’s life and school days. Gates never had any intention of telling Harry a word about his dad. His hands gripped the arms of his chair.

"If you are through…" Harry stood up to leave, collecting his books and parchment.

In a quick, deft movement quite unexpected from such a towering man, Gates jerked forward and forcibly sat Harry back down into the chair. "No I am not done, so sit down." he spat. Harry resisted the urge to rub his shoulder where Gates had clutched it.

Gates thrust his hand into his robes, and for a moment Harry thought he was going to draw his wand. Instead, Gates pulled out a tiny, glimmering object and tossed it on the carpeted floor. He then extracted his wand delicately from a crimson pocket and raised it above his head, pointing it directly at the object. He sucked in his breath and spread his arms, as though poised for flight. Then, with a look of intense concentration, he muttered "Finite!" and a white beam shot out of his wand and spilled onto the floor. The tiny object stopped glimmering.

Gates lowered his wand, apparently satisfied. "Upon some reflection, I have come to the conclusion that there would be no point of keeping your Firebolt any longer." He sounded incredibly displeased when he said this, as though he would like nothing more than to toss the broom into the fire.

With another swift wand movement, another beam erupted from the end of his wand and the object on the floor swelled and grew into what Harry recognized as his prized broom. It appeared to be completely intact. In stark contrast from his earlier delight, Gates’s expression was now etched with repressed fury, as though he could not stand to see ‘Potter’ happy. With a snort of forced apathy, Gates resolutely stared at a distant wall.

"You have permission to attend Quidditch practice, play Quidditch matches, et cetera et cetera…" said Gates, sounding supremely violated. It was as if someone had mugged him on the way back from the bank. "I suppose I am acting out of the belief that if you get maimed or permanently injured in some way, as you are wont to do, your misfortune will simplify my task significantly. But I mustn’t get my hopes up." He began to idly smooth out the wrinkles from his gloves.

A long dormant memory in Harry’s mind stirred, and Harry though he had heard Sirius say something similar to that awhile ago…so very long ago.

"Any particular reason you’re doing this?" Ron butted in, his voice laced with suspicion. Ron was evidently unaware of Percy’s conversation with Gates this morning, which, Harry was sure, was the reason Gates was returning his Firebolt. Whatever tactic Percy used to bend Gates, it must have been one hell of an idea.

Gates’s lip curled. "Out of the goodness of my heart, why else?" Gates snorted. "Don‘t concern yourselves with my decisions. You meddling children should watch your hands if you don‘t want to get bitten." Without another word, Gates whirled around and strode away.

Enraged, Harry jerked up from his seat, his hands balled up in fists. Gates had no right to threaten Ron and Hermione. No right at all. "I hope Snape crushes you! I hate him but I hate you more! Merlin knows you’ll get yours!"

Gates froze in mid-stride. He dramatically turned around and cast Harry a death glare. "Severus will be humiliated tonight. And your fate isn’t any kinder." He swept away and allowed the shadows of the common room to envelope him in darkness.

Harry stared at the black figure, Gates’s wordplay and the prophecy the foremost in his mind. What does Gates know?

"Merlin, what a dramatic fool," Ron muttered and Harry laughed. "Is he expecting a prize or something?"

(A/N: This chapter is setting loads of stuff up for later; most of it you can probably guess. IF not, well, good.

The H/Hr is going to have to be pushed back slightly (I rather wish I didn’t have to, but there you go) as I have tons of scenes I need to get through. Besides, this is the second week of school. No need to rush anything..yet.

I hope everyone enjoyed the Snape interaction, I found it hilarious. Gates’s lines are great to write.

Next Chapter: Fairly obvious what happens here. Meeting with McGonagall, Occlumency lessons with a peeved Snape, and the duel. I’ve been focusing on the duel action, so you can expect some great stuff there.)

10. The Third Favor

"Err, hello professor," Harry stammered nervously, finding it difficult to meet Professor McGonagall’s omniscient gaze. He had left the common room a few minutes ago for his required meeting with the Head of House Gryffindor. "You wanted to speak with me?"

She shuffled parchment aimlessly in a tactic Harry was sure was meant to make him tense. Wearing a small, fake smile on his face, he waited patiently for her to finish. When she finally looked up, she appeared unimpressed by his façade. "I assume you know what this is about?" she said tersely as she leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms, surveying him closely.

Harry felt beads of perspiration form on his forehead, and he was not sure why his Transfiguration professor was having this peculiar effect on him. He had never felt so uneasy in her presence before. "Professor McGonagall, this has all been a huge mistake. It was my idea." He laid his hands on her desk unconsciously and began to relate the entire excursion, sometimes exaggerating his role in an effort to land the blame more effectively on him.

Professor McGonagall nodded her head as he spoke, her eyes betraying nothing. Harry described Draco’s taunts quickly, not wanting her to think that he was trying to draw other people in the punishment. Hey eyes widened slightly in faint surprise when Harry mentioned Snape’s arrival and reprimands. Obviously, she did not think the Head of Slytherin would punish one of his own house members, either.

When he came to the part about his fleeting vision and Gates’s brief interrogation, her mouth became very thin. Unless Harry was quite mistaken, she was steadily becoming more furious as he elaborated on Gates’s involvement. The Hit Wizard, who was currently standing outside the door, was clearly not favored by her. Harry’s explanation ended with Snape and Gates entering the kitchens. He had intentionally left out the part involving Gates’s threats, his dire warning of what would result if Harry reported any of his excesses to the Order, the headmaster, or anyone still branded painfully on his brain.

Finished, Harry waited stiffly for her response, inwardly praying that the professor nullifies Hermione’s punishment and transfers her wrath towards him. As he waited, he watched a thick, tattered tome crawl out from its nook in the bookshelf and lumber down the board to the other end, where it squeezed its way between two newer, more fashionable books. The line of books began to rumble angrily at this action, and soon the old tome skulked back to its old position at the opposite end. This time, however, it slammed itself backwards forcefully and caused a flower pot on the top shelf to slide to the edge, almost falling off completely.

At length, Professor McGonagall spoke. "Miss Granger told me a similar story, though she tended to emphasize her role in this atrocious example of rule-breaking. Two sixth years, one of them a prefect, wandering about after hours. This is a poor precedent to set."

Harry bowed his head, vocalizing an apology. Earnestly, he tried to explain to the professor that he was the one who caused the trouble, but she cut him off

"I’m already familiar with dealing with students who have incurable cases of altruism," she said, her mouth becoming visibly less thin. "This, I believe, is why I let you two off so easily. While Professor Snape punished you somewhat, he left the lion’s share of the reprimand to me, the head of your house. That was unusually considerate of Severus." she added thoughtfully.

"So what is my punishment?"

Professor McGonagall’s eyes flashed in the direction of the doorway then fell back to Harry. "I believe that, despite what you’re telling me, Mr. Gates is filling up more than enough of your plate already. Professor Snape, myself, Professor Whams, and the headmaster have been observing your relationship with that man, and in this case, I do not think a punishment is necessary. I understand you have detentions with Professor Snape? That is more than adequate." Harry swore he saw her give him a tiny, almost imperceptible smile.

Harry was shocked. "But you took away Hermione’s prefect status!"

"Yes, I did. She, however, is a prefect and is therefore obliged to have responsibility," she answered, "Though I do hope you won’t be spreading this among your classmates." Professor McGonagall’s voice became more stern. "I understand that Mr. Gates confiscated your broomstick?"

"Yeah he did," replied Harry, feeling guilty about receiving a lesser punishment than Hermione, "He took it during Quidditch."

The professor nodded curtly. "That’s strictly against school policy. Only heads of house or the headmaster may suspend a student from Quidditch. Do not worry, Mr. Potter, you will have your broom back within the week."

"I already got it back," Harry said quickly, "Gates gave it back to me an hour ago. I think Percy talked him into it."

"Percy?" Professor McGonagall repeated, her expression reflecting puzzlement, "Percy Weasley? What did he say?" She leaned forward and her tone took on a concerned tone. "Does he know what he‘s getting into? You don’t idly meddle into Alexander Gates’s affairs."

Harry’s thoughts suddenly went out to Percy, who, he realized, was taking a great risk by influencing Gates on his behalf. "I don’t know. He wouldn’t say."

Professor McGonagall sighed. "I hope whatever he is doing, it isn’t reckless. Our forgiveness won’t matter if he’s gone."

"Professor?" Harry began tentatively, "What’s going to happen with Professor Snape and Gates?"

Her face clouded over, and Harry could tell that she was severely disgruntled with the duel. "Those two will have to sort it out for themselves. Tradition dictates that it gets done tonight at nine o’clock with the entire school watching. Like it’s some sort of show." Her eyes narrowed. "I’m disappointed in their behavior; Severus most of all. I should not be saying this to a student, but I never expected that he could be so juvenile."

"It didn’t look like Professor Snape had much of a choice. Gates was really going at him…" Harry’s voice trailed off as he remembered the heated taunts that were traded in the eternally frozen dungeons.

"What happened?" Professor McGonagall asked, placing her elbows on her desk and looking at him intently. The fingers on her hands were spread out across the polished wooden top. "I have only heard brief sections of the account while passing some portraits. Severus himself refuses to discuss it, despite the staffs’ demands…" she added almost to herself.

"Gates used Professor Snape’s old, erm, nickname, then brought up his history as a Death Eater, then threatened to reveal Snape’s - I mean Professor Snape’s - most personal secret to me."

Professor McGonagall’s expression hardened. "I expected as much."

"Gates told the class that Professor Snape was a Death Eater," Harry said, "Isn’t that going to ruin his position as a spy?"

"Severus is not that type of spy," the professor said simply.

Harry wet his lips. "What do you mean? Isn’t he working for both Voldemort and Dumbledore?"

Professor McGonagall closed her eyes, then opened them. "Severus’s contributions to our cause are very important, and, I might add, very secret. This, Mr. Potter, is strictly between Dumbledore and Severus."

"Do you know what Professor Snape’s secret is?" Harry questioned slowly, watching her eyes.

"No," she answered crisply, "Whatever it is, only Headmaster Dumbledore and Severus would know about it." She frowned. "Though it wouldn’t explain how Mr. Gates knows, does it?"

"Gates implied that my dad was somehow involved."

Harry saw a flicker of understanding cross the professor’s face before it was quickly masked. "No, I’m afraid I don’t know."

Feeling slightly annoyed at having things hidden from him, Harry nearly gave a retort. As abruptly as it surfaced, it vanished when he realized that, whatever the secret was, it was none of his business. Instead, he resigned himself to staring absently at the shaking bookcase, which now had several large books moving from their position in the row. Suddenly, one tome, apparently annoyed at all the commotion, jutted itself outward, effectively stopping the other books from moving along the shelf. Soon the entire bookcase was engulfed in a raucous fight of bickering hardbacks. Professor McGonagall, becoming irritated with the noise, knocked loudly on the side of the bookcase and the tomes ceased the brawl and sullenly returned to their original niches.

"I better go, then," said Harry awkwardly, "I have to serve my detention with Professor Snape at six o’clock."

"Of course," Professor McGonagall said briskly, "But Mr. Potter, do know that we are keeping an eye on you throughout this school year through the portraits, so try to stay within the viewing of one." She waved her hand in the direction of a large, ornate painting of an old cottage hanging on the adjacent side of her office, and, sure enough, Phineas Nigellus was standing lazily within the frame, leaning against a tree with a bored expression on his face. His shocking green and silver robes looked very much out of place in the tranquil setting. Fleetingly, he wondered whether Phineas had seen Gates threaten Harry's family photo album. Then he remembered that there were no school portraits in the sleeping quarters.

Harry swallowed a groan. He had hoped that tonight’s Occlumency lessons would have been canceled in light of the duel. Understanding that the meeting was now over, Harry stood up to leave.

"Take a biscuit before you go." Professor McGonagall offered, extending the silver tin towards him and shoving it practically right under his nose.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, knowing that it was futile to refuse.

As he left, he heard his Transfiguration Professor raise her voice loudly as she scolded the bookcase that had resumed scuffling as soon as Harry passed through the doorway. He heard something heavy slam into the ground in her office as he closed the door.

Harry descended into the darkness of the dungeons, Gates walking smoothly behind him. The subliminal malice that lurked in the stone corridors stung at his nostrils and throat, making him cough. The unwashed walls and floors that led to Snape’s office were caked with grime and mildew, giving Harry at least some idea as to why the Potions master was perpetually vindictive. Long hours of working and teaching in these halls would be enough to put a rise to anyone’s temper.

Reflecting on the end of his Potions class today, Harry decided that he had been rather rash. It was probably unwise to provoke Snape when he had Occlumency lessons later that same day. Unfortunately, he did not possess any foresight at the time, as his mind was being bombarded by images of Snape’s trespasses against Sirius. His outrage, if anything, would only serve to make Occlumency worse than usual, as he was sure Snape would make him suffer for his remarks.

After several minutes of traipsing through the dark corridors, Harry finally stood outside the high, ornately carved door that seemed completely out of place in the dank dungeons. There were several long, detailed serpents cut into the door, signifying the entrance to the Head of House Slytherin’s office. Inhaling, Harry knocked twice, the sound echoing down through the hallway.

At length, a voice spoke. "Enter."

Harry pulled the sturdy door open and stepped inside, closing it behind him and leaving Gates outside. He turned to see Snape placing the last of his silvery thoughts into a wide bowl with runes chiseled into its side; a pensieve. Wordlessly, Snape lifted the bowl up and set it in the cupboard, this time locking it closed.

Snape’s office had not changed much since Harry was in it last. There were still long shelves stocked with small, glass jars with various dead creatures suspended in a vile green liquid. On the far end, there was an assortment of clear containers holding masses of dead cockroaches, beetles, and centipedes. The entire office was bathed in an eerie glow from a single, hovering ball that was attached the center of the ceiling. Despite the globe, the room was dimly lit and especially dark in the corners, where small insects scurried and scampered.

Set on Snape’s desk, precariously overhanging the side, was a large, deep red leather-bound book entitled Confessions of a Dark Wizard: The Pravus Necklace in peeling gold letters along the spine. The word ‘necklace’ stood out from the rest of the title in his mind. Harry had an eerie feeling that the book contained some insight concerning Gates’s enchanted diamond necklace. Curiously, it was just within arms reach of him. At this range, he could probably steal it without Snape noticing, as the Potions master was still fiddling with the lock on the cupboard. However, he refrained from any such attempt.

The lock clicked, and Snape turned to Harry and stared, as if daring him to mention the duel; daring him to gloat or throw insults.

A voice like Hermione spoke in his head. Don’t do it. That’s exactly what he wants. He wants you to be James; don’t aid the delusion.

"Ah, Potter," drawled Snape, slightly unnerved by Harry’s silence, "It seems that once again third parties have managed to excuse you from your own failures."

"If you say so."

Snape sneered. "Since I doubt you have practiced Occlumency since we last met, we will start with the basics again. Am I correct with my assumption?"

The lesson was going exactly as Harry had expected so far. "I practiced a little. I’m not getting full dreams anymore."

"We shall see. Your Occlumency will be more important than ever now." said Snape smoothly.

"Why’s that?"

"You will address me as ‘sir‘, Potter," Snape warned, his eyes glittering, "Occlumency will be vital to you this year as Alex is modestly skilled at Legilimency, and you are not yet proficient enough to resist anyone’s intrusion. Just today, Alex broke into your mind."

"What?" Harry asked, startled, "When did he?"

Snape sighed, then said contemptuously "He did after Potions, Potter. He made eye contact with you and it was apparent to everyone, except to you, obviously, that he probed your mind. Tell me, what were you thinking about when I called you back after class?"

"I remembered you taunting Sirius," Harry muttered, looking at the ground to avoid Snape's inevitable grin.

Snape smirked. "Yes, I thought so. When Alex entered your mind, he subtly revived old memories. I imagine your mind flashed with visions and pictures of that event?"

Harry nodded.

"Then he was tampering with your thoughts, Potter. And I can only begin to visualize what else he has seen or suggested you do over the course of this school year. As I said before, you have knowledge of the Order that you should not have," said Snape, eyes narrowing, "And if Alex uncovers some of that information, it could be devastating if he leaks it to spite the Order. The man is irrational, Potter." He wetted his lips with his tongue.

"Like he might leak the Prophecy." Harry muttered under his breath.

Snape raised his thin eyebrows. "There should be little fear of that, Potter, as only Professor Dumbledore is aware of its contents," His face wrinkled with contempt. "Unless he informed you of it. Reckless decision on his part. Now you’re an even greater liability, Potter."

"I s’ppose its your duty to make me less of one, sir." Harry said evenly.

Snape ignored him. "When did you first meet Alex?"

"The beginning of August, sir."

"And you never wondered why Alex came a month earlier than he had to?" Snape spat, his eyes glinting in the dim light, "Your idiocy confounds me," He paused to breath. "He came early so that he could intrude upon your mind and learn its tendencies."

Harry regarded him evenly. "What can I do about that now?"

"The damage is done there, so there is nothing that you can do," Snape said coldly, "What do you see in your dreams that you do have?" He turned away and began examining a toad suspended in one of his glass jars.

"Just flashes of a face." Harry said flatly.

"What face?"

"Antonin Dolohov."

"Then it seems that the Dark Lord’s thoughts are concentrating on him for some reason," Snape muttered to himself.

"How very perceptive of you," said Harry acidly.

Snape whirled around, his expression reflecting utmost anger. "One…two…" Snape began darkly, drawing his wand without warning, "Legilimens!"

Harry had no chance to clear his mind before horrible visions scrolled before his eyes. His wrist was bleeding as he wrote lines for Umbridge…He saw Cedric Diggory die next to him…He was taking his History of Magic O.W.L. when he envisioned Sirius being tortured…Sirius fell through the veil…

"Get…out!" Harry shouted, falling to his knees. The images of Sirius threatened to overwhelm his brain. Even now, it saturated his thoughts. He did not realize that he had managed to push Snape out of his thoughts without the use of a hex or spell.

"Pathetic, Potter," Snape said disdainfully, "Get up. That’s all the Dark Lord would need to control you. I said get up!" He bent over and physically forced Harry to his feet. Harry stared back at him, hating every part of Snape’s pitiless face. "I thought you practiced, Potter."

"I did," Harry argued, "You just started without-"

"You expect the Dark Lord to give you a warning before he breaches your mind?" spat Snape, "You expect Alex to? I will not have you wasting my time, Potter." He held his black wand at both ends and began to bend it up and down like a sapling.

"Why did Professor Dumbledore put me back with you?" Harry said in a low voice, "He told me it was a mistake last year. Why did he do it?"

"Don’t concern yourself with the headmaster’s decisions." Snape snapped. "Now let’s try again, shall we? Do try to put up more resistance, Potter," He closed his eyes and raised his wand. "One…two…Legilimens!"

This time, Harry was prepared. Instead of the normal, traumatic images, he now pictured milder events. The Dursley’s had forgotten his birthday…He was left, confused, as to how to get on platform nine and three quarters…He snuck out of bed to meet Malfoy for a duel in the library…Gates stalked him through Diagon Alley…

Snape’s office abruptly came into view, and he saw the Potions master rubbing his left arm. Evidently, Harry had produced a Stinging Hex to stave off the mind probe. This time, Harry managed to stay on his unwieldy legs and was now waiting for Snape to speak.

"Better. But it could have hardly gotten worse," said Snape sleekly, "If I was to delve into your mind for much longer, I would have found a more powerful memory to use against you. Your resistance was crumbling, Potter."

"But I still forced you out of my mind." Harry rubbed his head, his skull vibrating from Snape’s intrusion.

"Only after using a spell," retorted Snape, "And you won’t be able to use a spell on the Dark Lord to break the connection." He flexed his wand as his eyes glittered mockingly.

Does he have to tear down every victory I have? "You’re-," Harry stammered, his freshly tilled thoughts swirling in his brain. Suddenly, he locked onto one.

"I’m what Potter?" Snape said dangerously, twirling his wand.

The ache in his head combined with his irritation to eclipse the remnants of his restraint. "You’re a hypocrite, Snape." Harry said in a low voice, deliberately omitting the Potion master’s title.

A low growl escaped Snape. "I’m a hypocrite, am I?" said Snape slowly, "How am I a hypocrite, Potter?" Snape stopped twirling his wand and held it stiffly in his fist.

"I heard what you said to my mom," Harry snapped, his chest heaving, "You punish Slytherins for using the word ‘mudblood’ and nothing else. Meanwhile, you used it on my mom. I heard what you said you arrogant-" Harry caught himself before he said something that would land him in severe trouble.

Snape looked taken aback. He seemed very aware of what Harry had said or left unsaid. "Things change, Potter," he said in a threateningly low voice.

"You don’t," Harry shot back. "You’re still the same, slimy-"

Snape eyed him intensely, daring Harry to continue. "Just like a Potter. Always starts but never finishes. Has an ego that is expanded like a balloon, insufferable arrogance, and an immunity to criticism. James-" Snape spat the name. "-possessed the most overbearing ego I have ever encountered; surpassing that of most Death Eaters. I daresay his friends all shared similar traits."

Something within Harry burst and a torrent of words flowed out of him. "YES BUT THEY’RE DEAD!" Harry roared, fists clenched and eyes burning. "HAVEN'T YOU REALIZED THAT YET, SIR?" He spat the last word with every ounce of venom he could muster, and he stood like rock, glaring straight back at Snape.

All of the color drained from Snape’s face, and it appeared like he was having a difficult time restraining himself from grabbing Harry and shaking him violently. "You will not raise your voice in this room, Potter," Snape warned through gritted teeth, the volume of his voice raising sharply, "There will-"

Suddenly, the office door swung open and slammed heavily into the stone wall, causing a glass jaw to vibrate and fall onto the floor, shattering and spilling slime across the dirty floor. Gates stood silhouetted in the doorway.

"What is this about?" Gates demanded, eyes flinty. "I don’t remember Occlumency sessions that included the student screaming out loud." His gaze locked onto Harry, who was glaring at Snape hatefully.

"This is about nothing," Snape said contemptuously, "Potter is merely having difficulties suppressing his emotions. Get out of my office."

"It is my duty to see that he is not harmed, Severus, and I am aware of that vicious temper you keep," said Gates slowly in a deadly, quiet voice, "I advise you to keep the screams to a minimum."

"Get out of my office." Snape repeated forcefully.

Gates scanned the room quickly and then said "I will see you at the great hall tonight. Don’t overexert yourself, Severus. I expect you to give me some sport." He shut the door loudly as he swept out of the office.

Snape whirled on Harry, his eyes flashing with malevolence.

"Don’t you dare," said Harry warningly, "Don’t you dare blame Sirius for him. I gave you fair warning of what Gates was going to do, and you spat in my face. So you don‘t have any right to say anything."

Snape’s expression became stony and unreadable. Harry noticed from the corner of his eye that the luminescent green slime from the broken jar was now creeping towards his feet. He carefully stepped away and allowed the liquid to spread across the floor, a thin steam hissing from it as it went. Snape, just appearing to see it, waved his wand and muttered "Evanesco". The slime vanished.

"Your arrogant godfather got himself killed," said Snape softly, enunciating his words, "I did not murder him."

"You didn’t have to, sir," Harry replied, gripping his wand tightly in his robes so his hand would stop shaking with rage, "You drew him out. You didn’t have to be the one with the wand in order to kill someone. Surely someone in your profession would understand that. The value of discretion and the value of not being the one who holds the wand."

Snape darkened. "I am an Order member first, Potter. I don’t let emotion cloud my judgment." he finished dangerously.

"Funny, you‘re an Order member are you?" Harry said with feigned surprise, "When Moody showed me the picture of all the original Order members last year, you weren’t on it. Tell me, sir, where were you?"

Harry was satisfied to see Snape tilt his head ever-so-slightly. It was a strangely appraising look. Or was it annoyance? "I was otherwise occupied."

"Were you? What lie did you have to tell Dumbledore in order for him to think that you changed your ways, Professor?"

There was no question now; Snape was furious. "I swore an oath, Potter, on something stronger than anything you could ever begin to understand or comprehend. That oath, Potter, is not a lie. The headmaster trusts me implicitly for good reason, even if he doesn’t share the reason with you." He smirked slightly as he said this, savoring the taste that he received when he treated Harry condescendingly.

"And what was it, sir?"

"None of your business," Snape said shortly, "Enough," He raised his wand. "One…two…Legilimens!"

Harry’s riled emotions prevented him from erecting any sort of defense to Snape’s mental intrusion. Before he could effectively react, he found himself spinning down an thick spiral of memories and nightmares. Unable to fend Snape off, Harry resisted feebly as his most personal thoughts were examined.

"Clear your mind, Potter," Snape muttered.

Gates threw him into a locked room at The Leaky Cauldron…Umbridge banned him from Quidditch…He encountered Voldemort in the graveyard and witnessed his return…Voldemort possessed his body in the Ministry of Magic…Hermione was lying behind him, presumably dead…Sirius fell through the veil, a surprised look in his eyes.

"GET OUT!" Harry bellowed, firing a random curse. It hit the wall and a small chunk of rock exploded.

"PATHETIC, POTTER!" Snape roared, "You are getting worse, not better. You expect to make it through this year without the Dark Lord possessing your mind? You can’t. That was the worst attempt I’ve seen yet!"

"Shut up!" Harry shouted back, "Just shut up!" He heard a snort of laughter from outside the door.

"Potter, do you think the Dark Lord will hesitate for a moment? No memory will be sacrosanct," Snape snapped, "And Alex will break into your mind with ridiculous ease. Do you know how much depends on your ability to perform Occlumency Potter? Do you think I would be wasting my time doing this if it wasn’t vital?" Snape drew himself up to his full height, his wand clenched tightly in his fist and his eyes blacker than ever.

Harry glared up at him. "I know, damn it! What are you supposed to be teaching? All you’re doing is breaching my mind and expecting me to figure it out by myself."

Snape regarded him with undisguised contempt and disgust. "Utterly worthless. This has been a complete waste of my time and yours. Nothing new can be accomplished tonight. This lesson is finished."

Harry brushed off his robes and moved towards the door, eager to leave Snape’s office and get back to the common room. The past hour had been a living hell. Nothing had changed, he thought, Snape was the same old git who refused to see the difference between the son and the father.

"Potter, where do you think you’re going?" Snape asked softly, his dark eyes glistening.

Harry stopped. "Back to the common room. Isn’t the lesson concluded?"

"Potter," Snape said, virulence lacing his voice. He set his slim wand carefully upon his desk. "This is a detention, remember? You still have a detention to serve." He gestured to a long shelf of empty but filthy rows of glass jars. "I want all these cleaned without magic. Use this bucket, water, and rag." He pointed towards the far corner where the required equipment was lain out. "You can start now." He sneered broadly.

Hating Snape, Harry turned to the countless jars and picked up the rag. The glass was smeared with gritty slime, blood, and tiny pieces of insects, and everything reeked of death. He tiredly began scrubbing the grimy jars as Snape watched on.

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

"How did it go?" Hermione asked quietly, sitting across from him in the great hall. Harry had just returned from Snape's detention, and he was exhausted. Cleaning the glass jars out had been arduous work, especially when Snape seemed to have and endless supply of them in his office and storerooms. Harry strongly suspected that the Potions master had been saving up a massive collection of filthy jars just so he could have Harry clean them all out during one of his numerous detentions.

In addition, Snape's continual probing into his mind had left his head aching. While last year's Occlumency lessons were intense enough, the incidents in the Department of Mysteries had given Snape a whole new set of memories to feed upon, unscrupulously examining them and bringing them to surface in his mind. The session itself was painful, and he did not like Snape compounding it by his constant flow of insults and taunts.

"It went as well as I expected it would," Harry replied evasively. He found himself becoming increasingly interested in examining the circular architecture of the common room.

The common room was buzzing with excitement over the impending duel between Snape and Gates. Students chatted in hurried conversations in every corner of the room, each arguing and taunting and betting on who would be the victor. All of them seemed oblivious to the fact that this would be a real wizards duel, and that real injuries would occur. The pure bloods were especially popular right now, as they were relating stories and tales of duels they saw, and were often explaining the more intricate rules of professional dueling and the usual customs that wizards followed before the fight.

Hermione surveyed him concernedly, her face etched with sympathy. "I don't know how anything your dad did could justify what he's doing to you." Harry was relieved that Hermione had picked up on the hint that he did not want to discuss his Occlumency lesson further, and had moved on with the conversation.

Harry distantly remembered his father's words as to why he hexed Snape. "Its more because he exists," he had said, "If you know what I mean." Whatever his father said, Harry knew that there was more to the story than a simple Gryffindor versus Slytherin rivalry. Someday, Harry promised himself, he would find out what caused the feud, one way or another.

"Who knows," said Harry, "It could be anything. One thing is for sure: Snape's not going to tell me. Willingly." Harry added under his breath. Catching the time, he realized it was eight thirty. "So I take it that the duel is set for nine?"

"That's tradition," Hermione answered. She began searching the room with her eyes for the tall redhead whose pure blood ancestry gave him superior knowledge of dueling customs. "Where is Ron, anyway?"

"I'm right here," said Ron loudly in her ear. She nearly jumped out of her seat. "I was just coming over to see Harry."

"Prat," Hermione muttered, staring daggers at Ron.

Ron laughed. "I don't see how you can be in a bad mood this evening. To think that Snape will finally get his crooked nose shoved into the ground, and we'll all be able to see it." He paused thoughtfully, as if not quite believing his own words. "Only a half hour away. Wonderful evening, isn't it?"

An introspective silence fell over the room, and was abruptly ended when Seamus and Dean, smiling from ear to ear, walked up with a rather large tin can that jingled with a large amount of coins.

"Hey mates," Seamus said, a strange light in his eyes, "Anyone care to place a bet?"

Ron's interest immediately peaked. "How much and on who?"

Seamus nodded knowingly to Dean, then continued. "Well, all you need to do is contribute one sickle, and you can place one bet. You can either say Snape will lose in under a minute, Snape will lose between one and two minutes, Snape will lose in two to three minutes, or that it will take longer than three minutes for Snape to lose. The winnings will be spread equally among the winners."

"Nothing for Snape winning?" Harry asked.

"No one wants to put money on that slimy git," Dean said, laughing, "Really, who would? It has already been determined by the higher powers-" Dean gestured vaguely to Lavender and Parvati Patil, who were currently reading tea leaves in the corner of the common room. "-that Snape will lose. The only thing the fates are unsure of, apparently, is how long it will take."

"I will put a sickle on Snape pulling something sneaky," declared a fifth year Harry knew only as Ian, "He wasn't in Slytherin for nothing, you know. If Snape doesn't turn Gates to stone with that sneer of his, he will sneak in a potion that will reduce Gates into a pile of bones."

They all laughed heartily as Ian threw a single sickle into the tin and walked away. Seamus pulled out a piece of parchment out from his robes and scribbled something on it, then put it away. Presently, he turned back to Ron.

"So how about it?" Seamus said, shaking the can temptingly, "Are you in or are you out?" He waved it under Hermione's and Harry's noses, but with little effect.

"I'm in," Ron said quickly, fumbling with the pockets of his robes, "I'm putting a sickle on Snape lasting more than three minutes." He tossed the coin into the can, and it joined its brethren with a sharp clink.

"Good man," said Dean, "That's the time I placed my bet on, too. We're in for a fair share of sickles if we win." He winked at Ron, who was currently grinning with anticipation. The tin can shone brightly from the flickering flames in the common room fireplace.

"Harry?" Seamus offered, extending the can towards him.

Harry shook his head. "No thanks."

"Hermione?"

"Me neither."

"Suit yourselves." Dean and Seamus shrugged and walked away, undoubtedly going to try to convince others to join in on the bet. When they were a good distance away, Hermione rounded fully on Ron.

"You shouldn't be betting money when you need it for ink and parchment," Hermione snapped, "What would your mother say?"

"She wouldn't say anything," Ron retorted, "Because she wouldn't know. I can spend my money as I wish, and if I win a large slice of that pot of sickles, I could have it made for the rest of the year. Its a small risk."

Hermione looked ready to explode. "That's not your money, its your mother's! And she gave it to you so you would have money for school supplies, not gambling! Which, I might add, is strictly against the rules."

"Oh no you don't. We aren't going to give Seamus and Dean detentions or something for doing a little gambling. You need to loosen up a little."

"Loosen up?" Hermione said shrilly, "You are a prefect. You're supposed to reinforce school rules, Ron, not undermine them. You even took part in it, for Merlin's sake. That's- that's- conflict of interest! Dereliction of duty!"

Harry watched with growing alarm his two friends argue, and frankly, he was not about to get involved. Siding with Hermione would lead to Ron feeling utterly betrayed, which, in his condition, would be a very bad thing. Siding with Ron would make Hermione feel isolated, and he did not want her to feel that way. He took a step back, unsure of what to do.

"You’re a fine one to talk! You broke school rules when you went down to the kitchens after-hours for spew!" Ron argued.

"That was for a worthy cause!" countered Hermione. "Gambling is restricted for a reason, Ron!"

Ron shook his head vehemently. "Then why don't you go shut them down, Hermione? You are always the one to do stuff like that."

"Because I'm suspended from my prefect duties, Ron," hissed Hermione, "Professor McGonagall took away my prefect status for a week. That leaves you!" She darted his eyes to Harry, softening them briefly, appealing for support. Harry, thinking that he knew better, said nothing. He regretted it an instant later.

"Took away prefect duties?" Ron scoffed, "Sounds more like a vacation to me."

Harry could see that this remark had hit home on Hermione, and he needed to intervene soon before something drastic occurred.

Hermione gaped at him. "Some of us might not care about prefect duties, but I do!" She stomped hotly away, leaving Harry feeling like a tidal wave had just washed over him. He was about to follow her, but she had already retreated into the girls' dormitories.

"Sometimes," Ron muttered, "Sometimes she really gets to me, you know? Doesn't she get it?"

"Yeah," Harry replied noncommittally, though he personally felt that Ron did not have a clue. He wanted to express his displeasure in more derogatory terms, but at length decided against it.

Harry turned to see Gates standing nonchalantly against the wall, his eyes piercing nothing. Harry’s gaze fell to the vain diamond necklace, and a part of his mind prickled. He wondered for the hundredth time where Gates had received that necklace, and what its purpose was. His instinct told him that it could only be evil, but his logic was not so sure. He remembered Hermione telling him to talk to Dumbledore, and, since it seemed that they would be learning nothing new out of the books from the library, he decided that he would speak the headmaster tomorrow. Even Gates could not object to that. His mind fleetingly wondered whether he should have taken the book out of Snape’s office after all.

Why do you wear those diamonds, you bastard?

To his surprise, Gates's head jerked up and his eyes blinked. As if just wakening from a deep sleep, Gates shook his head and strode over to Harry, gazing around him disdainfully as he went. Standing in front of Harry, he briefly scanned Ron's figure with an expression of contempt on his face. Obviously, he found Ron's second-hand robes insulting. He snorted and shifted his eyes back to Harry.

"Are you ready, Potter?" he asked carelessly.

"Ready for what? You're the one that's going to be dueling."

Gates drew his wand and carefully examined it as he spoke. "Custom dictates that the participants in the duel arrive relatively early. As I have no plans to abandon you during this time period, you must accompany me to the duel. So if I must arrive early, so must you."

"Right," said Harry. Turning to Ron, he continued "I'll meet you and Hermione in the back row of seats."

"Right mate," Ron said, dislike written in his eyes as he stared at Gates.

"Come," Gates commanded as he put his wand away, evidently satisfied with its condition.

He led Harry to the portrait hole and they both clambered through, the fat lady eyeing the Hit Wizard with extreme distrust. In the background, Harry saw the green and silver form of Phineas Nigellus, who watched him with an apathetic expression.

"Hello Phineas," Harry muttered. His only response was a hoarse cough coming from the painting.

As they traipsed through the long and empty corridors of the castle, Harry sensed that the entire castle was tense with apprehension; like a swimmer taking a deep breath before the plunge. The portraits were mostly empty, as the occupants were likely gathering in the few paintings located within the great hall, waiting for the duel to begin. Behind him, Phineas moved confidently through the portraits, trying to keep a distance between himself and Harry. It seemed that Phineas was trying to be discrete, and was going at great lengths to keep Gates from noticing his presence.

For this first time ever, Harry felt that the castle was rather dry. He let his hand graze the stone walls, and found that there was no trace of moisture. He sniffed the air and sneezed when he inhaled a large quantity of dust. The air was heavy with something that stunk of copper, and it was as though the passageways were protesting the imminent duel as irresponsible. The ancient oak floor creaked and groaned as Gates stepped on it, the heel of his boots biting in the ground with a sharp click. Dumbledore always hinted that the castle itself was actually alive, but Harry had never thought so until now. There was no question that the Hogwarts castle severely disagreed with Gates's presence; the subtle protest becoming more obvious with every step. Gates, though, appeared oblivious to the remonstrance.

When Harry entered the great hall, he was surprised to see that it was completely reorganized. The four house tables were removed, and there was a small, elevated circular platform in their place. In front of the platform, lined in small arches, were many rows of seats, which were clearly intended to seat the entire castle population. Hanging in the back behind the last row of chairs were three massive portraits, and within them was gathered what appeared to be every person from every portrait in the castle. They had set out their own rows of seats, which were probably collected from various paintings. Aloof from everything was the staff table, which had a solemn, ominous atmosphere surrounding it as though it was about to witness a funeral. Harry looked up and saw, with a vague sense of dread, that the ceiling reflected a cold, black, moonless evening.

Standing isolated from the rest of the staff, Harry saw Snape waiting by the circular platform. His eyes glittered strangely, and his robes were unusually long and stiff. His wand was casually tucked into his side pocket, a dangerous aura radiating from it because of its obviousness. Harry had never seen the Potions master so terrifyingly detached; those tunnel-like eyes threatening to suck him in.

Grinning, Gates said, "Find yourself a seat, Potter." He then left and stood on the opposite side of the platform, his necklace sparkling from the torch light.

Harry sat down at the very back, just below the middle portrait. Behind him, he noticed Phineas Nigellus take a seat in the very front of the painting, his eyes darting from Harry to the platform erratically. Sighing, Harry resigned himself to staring idly at the great hall ceiling while students and professors slowly began to filter in.

At length, Ron and Hermione came in, carefully sitting on either side of Harry. The tension was not lost on him, and he sighed. Could they go for a week - even a day - without having a row?

"So I meant to ask you," Ron began somewhat awkwardly, "Did Dumbledore ever talk to Gates?" Harry saw Hermione stiffen with attentiveness instantly.

"Yeah, they exchanged a few words. Dumbledore is going to get Fudge to repossess Gates's manor and auction it off, and Gates also had to write Neville a letter of apology. Turned out to be kind of a joke." Harry said irritably.

"Auction off his manor?" said Ron, his eyes widening, "That's clever. Dumbledore has some real style, doesn't he?"

Harry turned to Ron and viewed him disbelievingly. "Ron, Gates doesn't even live there. That's the whole cover for the repossession. Gates hasn't been paying the ministry for ownership, so they're taking it back."

"Nobody pays the ministry for their manors," Ron said, smiling knowingly, "It's one of those laws no one pays attention to. Ministry officials stopped trying to enforce it when the families began to place gargoyles and security trolls around their property to ward off visitors. He really gave Gates a backhand to the face."

"He doesn't live there..." Harry repeated.

"So?" Ron continued, "That's a family manor. Being the one to lose a family manor practically banishes you from the pure blood family line. Its a matter of honor to keep the property, not a matter of wealth. If they're taking it away, it's a huge personal insult. Gates would be rightly furious. And with Gates and his fanatic sense of honor..." Ron whistled softly.

The first few rows of seats were already packed with chatting students. Most of the professors were huddling around the staff table in an informal meeting, casting disapproving glances towards Gates and Snape. Dumbledore sat alone at the center of the table, fingers steepled and eyes forward, apparently deep in thought. Professor Whams and Percy were standing at one end, absorbed in conversation. Whams's glasses continually slipped down his nose and were pushed up again by his forefinger as his magnified eyes stared over Percy's shoulder and fell onto Snape's side.

Though Harry could not read any of the teacher's expressions, he knew they were all thinking the same thing: Professor Snape is setting a poor example for the students in this school. Dueling over petty insults. Really!

"Can't be much longer now, huh?" Ron said as he shifted in his chair to get a better view of the platform. Casually, Luna drifted over and took a seat next to Ron, blinking at him expectantly. Ron's ears reddened and he tried valiantly to appear occupied.

"Would you like to sit together Ronald??" Luna said dreamily as she floated next to him. Ron stiffened with surprise.

Ron's ears reddened deeply. "Well I-" He stumbled over words, quite thrown off by Luna's sudden appearance. "-I, err, was actually going to, ummm." His eyes appealed to Harry and Hermione for help.

"Sure you can sit with us tonight, Luna," Hermione replied, grinning mischievously, "There are plenty of seats in the great hall, after all."

Ron appeared betrayed. "But, I gave something to discuss with you two tonight."

"We don‘t have to leave, Ronald." said Luna, moving towards Ron and placing her hand gently on his forearm.

He looked absolutely petrified of the possibility of sitting next to Luna throughout the entire duel. "I, uhh, suppose," he stammered, "If you two don't mind, of course."

"Not at all."

Ron’s face glowed crimson. "Err, are you going to place any bets tonight Luna?"

"No," Luna said dreamily, "I am not going to be too interested in the duel, Ronald." Ron’s ears darkened even more.

A moment later, the professors took their seats and Dumbledore stood up and cleared his throat. Immediately, the great hall fell silent and all eyes turned towards the headmaster, who smiled gently. Harry noticed, however, that there was no twinkle behind his half moon spectacles. When the murmur grew silent, Dumbledore began.

"Young students at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, his voice resonating throughout the hall, "Tonight you will witness a formal duel between two talented wizards. I warn you, however, that this is a professional duel and consensual. This does not mean that dueling is an acceptable practice within Hogwarts. Both participants are experienced and capable of making such decisions for themselves. In addition, this duel will be taking place within a closed area, where there is no possibility for anyone outside of the duel to become harmed. I stress that there is no such protection in school hallways, and if two students were to duel, they will be dealt with as harshly as possible. With that said, we may now begin."

Dumbledore now began something that sounded like it came off of a script. "Severus Conrad Snape, Alexander Black Vladimir Gates, you may take the arena. As this is a non-mortal duel, all illegal curses or hexes and memory charms are hereby banned from this conflict. This includes in particular the possession curse. Use of muggle devices and artifacts of invisibility is prohibited. The right to substitutes has been waived as determined by the duelers."

Stepping upon the circular elevation, Snape and Gates glared at each other from across the platform, their wands at their sides, each eager to begin. Snape's eyes burned into Gates's scarlet robes, while Alexander's gaze pierced into Snape's face. The two men were practically frothing, and though no words were yet shared between them, there was no mistaking the mutual hate. Gates's bald head shined in the dim light as it moved up and down, his eyes scanning his opponent. Snape's lip curled and he appeared ready for war.

If looks could kill, Harry thought.

"And now, the Shielding Charm shall protect the outsiders." Dumbledore said, his words coming off of a script. He raised his wand and was about to speak the necessary charm when Gates interrupted him. Harry did not have to know common dueling customs to know that this was a deviation from procedure.

"Allow me, Albus," Gates called out, "Tectum!"

A flash of a thin, liquid light erupted out of the end of his wand and flew up into the air, stopping some six meters and spreading out and falling around the edge of the circular platform, creating a transparent blue dome. It shimmered and glowed as blobs of liquid flowed over the shield, sometimes breaking off into separate shapes. Though Harry was unfamiliar with the charm, he had a innate feeling that the blue dome was impenetrable, and that nothing could pass through it save sound and light. He heard Hermione gasp, and he knew instantly that he just saw an example of very advanced magic being performed.

"I bow to your courtesy," Dumbledore said, tilting his torso slightly forward. He returned to his seat, his flowing silver beard coming to rest onto his lap.

The two wizards within the dome stood in silence for each other, sizing each other up and taking long, deep breaths as though preparing for a dive. The look of pure determination on Snape's face told Harry that the Potions master would not go down easily, and that his skill was vastly underestimated. Gates, however, appeared as haughty and arrogant as ever, and a small smirk tugged at his lips as he waited.

"May your wand betray you." Snape announced, bowing, and sounding like he was reciting from a script.

"And may yours as well." Gates replied. He gave a short bow in return. His eyes frosted over with black ice.

No more than a few seconds passed when Dumbledore rose again from his seat. "Let the duel commence!" he said in a forcefully loud voice, his tone suggesting that this too was part of tradition.

Despite his distance away from the stage, Harry still possessed an excellent view of the duel. Gates and Snape circled each other, eyes focused and brows furrowed in concentration. Each held their wands tightly in their right hands while their left hung casually down their side, allowing for the possibility of a physical confrontation to exist. If either wizard would draw too close to the other, the cleverer of the two would swing his fist out for a punch and therefore throw the other one off balance. Using muggle tactics in dueling was not uncommon, but was actually recommended. At least, that is what Harry had read in The Art of Dueling.

Snape was the first to attack. "Stupefy!" he roared, sending a large flash of energy towards Gates, who easily disarmed it with his Aegis Shield spell.

"I'm of a higher caliber, Severus," Gates taunted loudly, "Don't expect to succeed using petty fifth year spellwork."

Snape glowered and sent a flurry of stinging hexes, appendage curses, and even a few spells Harry did not even recognize. Numerous flashes of red and green light ensued, and Gates swung his wand backwards and forwards with lightning speed, his face hardening with every spell he blocked. Snape's tactic was clear, however. He was trying to overwhelm Gates's shielding spell by flooding it with sheer numbers rather than attempting to produce a single, powerful curse to break through the defense. Unfortunately for Snape, he had underestimated Gates's speed, and for a moment, his concentration faltered. He looked confused, even afraid. Harry shot a glance towards Dumbledore and was unnerved to see that the headmaster wore a disturbed expression on his face.

"Come on, Severus," called Gates, "That can't be everything."

"Reducto!" Snape shouted, aiming his wand at Gates's feet. Alexander, expecting the spell to be targeted at him, waved his wand in a backward swipe motion, performing the Aegis Shield. Snape's curse, however, connected with the platform just in front of Gates's feet, causing a large chunk of rock to explode and sending Gates wavering on his heels.

Snape performed another stunning spell, hoping to catch Gates in his momentary weakness. "Stupefy!"

Gates moved with surprising agility for a man his size and swung out of the way of the oncoming curse, effectively dodging it as it flew past him and connected with the transparent blue barrier. The dome shivered from the impact and small, whitish waves materialized around the area where the spell hit.

Harry remembered reading in the Art of Dueling that using weaker spells in the beginning of a duel was a wise plan, as it allowed you to conserve your energy while your opponent drained his own. Snape was obviously hoping that he could tire Gates out and then knock him down with a strong curse.

"Infligo!" Gates bellowed as he ran sideways along the edge of the arena. He thrust out his wand as an ever-enlarging silver cone of energy shot out of it, a large, resounding boom like a cannon accompanying its presence.

Snape countered with "Protego!" but could not stop its full effects. When the cone slammed into him, he was violently knocked backwards several meters into the blue wall, his body crashing into the dome with a sickening crunch. The wall, apparently resistant to physical objects as well as magical ones, prevented Snape from flying entirely off the circular platform. A flicker of solid blue liquid appeared on the spot where the Potions master's body had hit and then vanished.

Snape instantly leapt back on his feet and met Gates's next curse with another, stronger "Protego!". This time, however, he managed to deflect it completely and sent Gates reeling back to avoid the ricocheting spell.

"Ignis!" Snape shouted, and a stream of liquid inferno flew out of his wand, arching slightly over a distance, and then caught the side of Gates's robes on fire.

The Hit Wizard sent another "Infligo!" curse back towards Snape as he quickly brushed out the fire on his scarlet robes. Snape managed to dive to the side in time to avoid the massive cone of energy.

"Using the spell of elemental fire, are we?" said Gates sleekly.

Even from this distance, Harry could see the beads of perspiration starting to form on each of their foreheads. Both of their eyes were slits, and if it were not for the color of their robes, Harry would have thought that he was looking at mirror images. Next to him, Ron was fidgeting nervously, his eyes intent on the duel in front of him. Hermione was sitting on the edge of her seat, eyes wide and fearful.

"Serpensortia!" Snape countered, and a thick, black beam of energy fell out of his wand, landing on the floor to form a thick python.

Gates muttered something under his breath, and a stream of fire like Snape's erupted from the end of his wand, and he waved it around like a whip. The liquid fell to the ground and burned, creating lines of inferno on the platform and giving the duel a hellish air.

Snape, trying to parry the whip of fire and simultaneously urging the serpent onward with flashes of sparks from his wand, rolled sideways and ducked. With increasing speed, the python slithered towards Gates and prepared itself to strike with bared fangs.

When the snake came within lunging range, Gates cut off his spell and staved off the python with short bursts of energy from the tip of his wand, trying to build some distance between himself and the snake to perform a disintegrating spell. The serpent snapped at him with its fangs, its red eyes locked onto Gates's massive figure, and attacked with quick, decisive motions.

Suddenly, Snape shouted "Petrificus Totalus!" and Gates ducked just in time for the spell to whiz over his head, singing his scalp.

Running out of patience, Gates jumped backwards with a great leap and raised his wand. Just as the python reared its head back to strike, he roared "Deletrius!" and the snake wavered and morphed into a coil of black smoke.

Grinning, Gates turned his attention back to Snape. He made a slashing movement with his wand, and a beam of purple energy fired out from it reminiscent of the curse Dolohov used on Hermione.

Snape instantaneously conjured an opaque, silver shield and held it stalwartly in front of him, clearly expecting the worst. When the purple beam slammed into the shield, a tremendously loud sound like a gong rung out through the great hall, causing many students to cover their ears. Gates scowled and performed the curse a second time with the same result.

"Stop fooling around, Severus," Gates warned, his necklace gleaming and his pointed teeth showing from beneath red lips, "I've barely warmed up yet. This is amateur. Do you want to see real spellwork?"

Just then, Snape drew a long, leather flask out of his robes and, after uncorking it, threw the contents across the arena and at Gates. A thin green slime covered the Hit Wizard's hands and arms, causing him to recoil with disgust. It steamed and hissed and, from the looks of it, was binding Gates's arms together as it congealed into a thick glue.

"Nothing like some good old fashioned Slytherin cunning!" Phineas Nigellus cried out from the portrait, thrusting his fist into the air.

Wasting no time, Snape's shield vanished and he raised his wand to strike. "Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!" he shouted in quick succession.

Gates tried to dodge out of the way but was too slow. The last stunner connected with his thigh, and it knocked him sideways, keeling over. The stunner, though performed correctly, only managed to make Gates wince painfully. Clearly, more than one stunner was required for a man of his size and build.

"I've suffered through more stunning spells than you can imagine, Severus," Gates spat, "Builds up resistance, I daresay."

Gates tried wiping the slime on his arms on his robes, but with little avail. After awkwardly pointing his wand back towards him, he muttered "Evanesco!" and the muck disappeared.

A strange look crossed Snape's face, and he quickly crouched down into a dueling stance, apparently not ready to strike again because of the enormous drain put on him from creating three stunning spells in such a short period of time. He carefully avoided the lines of fire that crisscrossed the platform, treading instead in a triangular area on the far end from Gates. Recovering, Snape straightened himself a little to get a better view of his target.

Gates, however, cast his curse first. "Exuro!" he bellowed, and an unrecognizable bolt of orange light fired into Snape's robes, setting them on fire.

His black robes, now swirling in tongues of inferno, shook and blew from nonexistent air. The Potion master’s face was contorted with torment, and his chest crested outward from the burning flames. Snape, looking as though he was about to scream out in pain, tore the robes off and threw them on the ground. Harry saw, with some confusion, that there were no traces of burn marks on Snape's body, and that the robes themselves had not turned into ash. Apparently, this was simply an illusion used to play with the mind and senses. Snape, now robeless, stood in little more than a shirt and shorts, his scrawny body very obvious to the entire student population.

Gates snorted with laughter. "Well, Severus, your undergarments definitely do not suit you."

"That spell he used," Harry found himself muttering, "That's no better than Cruciatus Curse; it must hurt like hell. How can that be legal?"

"It's perfectly legal because of one reason," Hermione murmured absently, "The person its used on can stop it at any time. That spell Gates used can only be performed on clothing and objects. All you have to do is take off the clothing to stop the pain...though you still need a license to use it. Its an Edward Skinner Curse. There was a big court case about it..." Her words trailed off as she became more enraptured with the duel in front of her.

Presently, Snape, his face resolutely emotionless, shouted "Incarcerous!". Thick ropes shot out of his wand towards Gates, honing in on their target. The Hit Wizard performed a backward wiping motion with his wand and a brief flash of the Aegis Shield appeared, but it did not block all of the ropes. After the brief instant in which the Aegis Shield appeared and disappeared, the remaining trailing ropes tangled themselves around Gates forearm and torso, binding him tightly. Though his position was likely highly uncomfortable, he was not incapacitated.

Snape followed it up with another curse. "Stupefy!"

Managing to free his wand hand and performing the usual backward wiping motion synonymous with the Aegis Shield, Gates blocked the stunning spell and awkwardly stumbled away. Pointing his wand towards the binding ropes, he incanted "Abrumpo!" and the cords severed in half and fell uselessly to the floor. He stood back up to his full height and stepped over the now dying lines of fire that had resulted from his stream of elemental flame.

Snape backed away, as though unsure of what to do next. He held his wand in a guarded position, waiting for a chance to strike. There was no point in wasting his energy on curses that were easily deflected, after all.

Gates shoved his hand in his pocket and drew out something that looked like a fist full of lint. Taking a pinch of it and putting the rest away, he tilted his wand towards it and muttered a few inaudible words. The specks turned to metal and rapidly grew into roughly the size of a baseball. When he was done, he held four simple steel balls in his hand. Beside him, Harry heard Hermione gasp.

Gates tucked three of the balls into his robes and, when he held only one, grinned maliciously at Snape, his eyes glinting darkly. The necklace glittered like teeth across his chest, contrasting strongly with the plain, crimson robe. Harry saw Snape pale significantly.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Gates bellowed, and the single steel ball in his hand hovered in midair. Harry was baffled as to what purpose this could possibly serve.

"Waddiwasi!" Harry instantly recognized the spell as one Lupin used in his third year to shoot a piece of bubblegum up Peeves's nose. He realized with a large degree of horror what effect this spell would have on the large projectile in Gates's hand.

As the last syllable of the incantation left Gates's lips, the steel ball shot towards Snape like a bullet, slamming into the platform and ricocheting towards the dome wall. When it connected with the wall of energy, however, the ball lost whatever speed it gained and fell harmlessly to the floor. From the large impression the ball left on the ground, Harry knew that the ball could easily break bone and pierce flesh.

Ron's breathing picked up. "Almost anything goes in duels," he was explaining to Luna, "As long as it's not directly against the rules, he can do it." Luna, who probably already knew everything about duels, nodded politely.

He drew another steel ball out from his robes. "Wingardium Leviosa! Waddiwasi!" The ball whizzed over Snape shoulder, smacking off of the blue dome and joining its brother on the ground.

Irritated, Gates pulled out the third steel ball, and tossed it nonchalantly in his hand. Abruptly, he said "Wingardium Leviosa! Waddiwasi!"

The ball hovered briefly and then shot out towards Snape, aiming for the chest. The Potions master instinctively dived to the side, his face landing in a low line of leftover flame, and he quickly rolled himself off of it with his elbows and reached out for his lost wand. The third steel ball struck the blue curtain with a clang and dropped to the ground, rolling a little way before stopping.

Gates lazily drew the final steel ball and examined it closely, as though he found it incredibly fascinating.

Snape extended his hand even further, stretching his joints for an extra inch. His fingertips touched the wand, and, pulling it back a tiny bit, he grasped it with his hand and picked himself up off the ground. A sheen of sweat was running down his face and he looked worn out and old. Calling in his reserve strength, Snape drew himself up and inhaled confidently.

"Stupefy!" Snape shouted, obviously hoping to take Gates off guard.

Without even taking his eyes off the ball in his hand, Gates waved his wand and blocked the white energy with the Aegis Shield. Sighing deeply, Gates raised his wand again and stared vindictively at Snape, his coal black eyes smoldering.

Gates roared "Wingardium Leviosa! Waddiwasi!" and thrust his wand violently downward for emphasis.

In almost a blur, the steel ball struck a glancing blow on Snape's ankle, sending the Potions master reeling to the ground, clutching his foot with his free hand while tightly gripping his wand with the other. He stared up defiantly at Gates, inevitability etched into his face.

"Come on, Severus," Gates drawled, "You wanted to play rough. Now that you have, do you want to continue? I will accept your surrender now, if you wish. Just give me your wand." He extended his smooth, gloved hand.

Harry watched Snape, pitying him. He doubted that even Sirius would want Snape humiliated in this way. It was cruel, twisted, and, most of all, unnecessary. Despite his oath that he would never feel sorry for Snape, he did.

"Go to hell," spat Snape, "Infligo!" The words were accompanied with a ear-deafening boom and a silver cone erupted from the tip of Snape's wand and slammed heavily into Gates's chest. The huge Hit Wizard was sent flying backwards, spinning while in the air, three meters to land roughly on his stomach with a dull thud.

Snape slowly climbed to his feet, heaving himself up as if it took great effort. His wounded foot was dragging on the ground, as though it was too maimed for use. Snape seemed to be trying to perform a strange balancing act on his stronger leg, his upper body wavering back and forth as he tried to even out his weight. At length, he found a medium and stood still with his wand threateningly raised.

Presently, Gates lifted himself up off the floor, his teeth bared and his eyes flashing maniacally. "Just who do you think you are?" he snarled.

"Legilimens!" Snape spat, his wand directed at Gates.

An expression of terror crossed Gates’s face, but it was quickly masked over again when Snape broke the connection. Snape, who was evidently pleased at being able to unbalance his opponent, grinned.

Gates was almost trembling with rage. "You’ll regret that Severus."

"Expecto Patronum!" shouted Snape, and a massive, silver scorpion crawled out of the tip of his wand, landing lightly on the ground. The curl of its sting bobbed at around the height of Snape's head, and its pinchers snapped menacingly. Gates growled savagely.

The scorpion wasted no time in charging towards Gates, its pinchers wide with anticipation and the promise of pain. The sting swung to and fro, positioning itself for a precise strike. Harry had no doubt that the poison in the sting would be enough to temporarily paralyze, even possibly kill, the towering Hit Wizard. While he knew that the Corpreal Patronus was unreal, it could still move physical objects, and its alternative uses were listed in The Art of Dueling.

Gates sidestepped swiftly, avoiding the pinchers and trying to move into the scorpion's blind side. The scorpion's sting struck out at Gates's head, but the Hit Wizard managed to duck before the barb connected with its target. The pinchers simultaneously swung out for his legs, and Gates was just barely able to jump out of range before the scorpion's right pincher snapped shut with a strength that would have severed Gates's leg clean off.

Evidently wanting to take advantage of Gates's momentary weakness, Snape bellowed "Petrificus Totalus!" and the body bind curse flew out of his wand, just grazing the hem of Gates's robes as the Hit Wizard leapt to get away. Unfortunately for Gates, the scorpion used this moment to strike out with one of its pinchers, and the claw sliced easily through his robes, and would have hit flesh had Gates been less agile.

"Reducto!" Gates incanted, and the spell connected with the scorpion, causing it to hesitate briefly before its sting cleaved downwards.

"Reducto!" Gates repeated, and again, the patronus wavered before attacking, as though the curse had interfered with its movements.

Snape bellowed "Infligo!" and the ever-enlarging cone of silver exploded from his wand, rushing directly at Gates's vulnerable position. Gates countered it with a backward wipe of his wand and a "Abiuro!", banishing it away with his Aegis Shield.

"You're going to have to do better than that, Snivellus!" taunted Gates, his eyes focused on the scorpion as it tried to lunge out with its sting. He neatly parried it.

"Accio robes!" Snape shouted, pointing his wand directly at Gates. The Hit Wizard's scarlet robes pulled strongly in Snapes direction, irresistibly dragging Gates with them. Snape made small tugging motions with his wand, urging the robes to pull harder towards him. Harry immediately saw Snape's strategy, and his jaw dropped. Even as the clothes were bringing Gates slowly towards Snape, they were also dragging Gates closer to the scorpion, which was waiting patiently between the two men with open pinchers. Snape's face pulled back into a sneer.

"He’s going to kill him!" gasped Hermione.

"We don’t know that," Ron muttered, "We won’t know for sure until afterwards. Duels are based on technicalities."

Suddenly, Gates thrust out his wand and muttered an incantation. When Harry saw the flash of light leave his wand, he recognized it instantly as a simple stinging hex. The hex connected with Snape's hand, and the Potions master dropped his wand in surprise as a welt sprung up on his hand, which Harry knew from experience burned painfully. Gates's robes halted, and the Hit Wizard was no longer being pulled towards the scorpion.

"Reducto! Reducto! Reducto!" Gates roared, jerking his wand upwards and downwards to make the curses more potent.

The scorpion became noticeably more paler after each of the three curses struck its carapace, and its movements started to become slower and delayed. It whipped out its sting towards Gates, but was only an instant too slow and only managed to cut through empty air. Gates, seeing that the curses were effective, grinned.

Snape snatched his wand off the ground and pointed it at Gates. "Stupefy!"

Harry now saw that the Potions master was simply distracting Gates so that the scorpion would be able to attack, but his efforts seemed to be failing. Gates conjured his Aegis Shield and the stunning spell was nullified just as the Hit Wizard leapt out of the way of the scorpion's barbed sting.

"Deletrius!" Gates incanted as he dodged the scorpion's left pincher. The spell hit the patronus, and, to Snape's visible dismay, the scorpion faded and dissolved into dust and then into nothing. Gates lowered his wand and sneered.

"Are you done yet?" asked Gates in a bored tone.

Snape slashed his wand diagonally and a thin beam of purple light shot from its tip, which was deflected instantly by Gates's Aegis Shield.

Damn, Harry thought, That defense charm is incredible.

"No, no," Gates said, "This is how you use that curse." He slashed his wand and the purple light, thicker than Snape's, fired out and flew towards the Potions master. Snape conjured his opaque shield and a tremendous bang resounded.

The two men circled each other, the elemental flames that had once crisscrossed the platform now nothing but a pile of ash. Snape looked particularly exhausted, and his limp was not more apparent than ever. He tried in vain to use his wounded foot, but every time he walked he winced painfully. Gates saw this and snorted.

"I think it's time to end this." Gates said matter-of-factly. "Expelliarmus!" Harry sucked in his breath. Gates had just successfully performed a second year spell on the Potions master. Harry had the sinister feeling that Gates had been planning this all along, and the majority of the duel was simply a game.

Snape's wand flew out of his wand and arched in the air towards Gates, who again raised his arm in an incantation. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Snape's slim wand obediently stopped in midair, waiting for additional commands. Slowly, at Gates's subtle wand movements, the wand lowered itself down to Snape's head, and, after several seconds, it hovered directly in front of Snape's face. The Potions master did not even reach out to grab it, but stared at it strangely, as though he was looking at an old friend that he had not seen in thirty years. The entire great hall held its breath, and Harry chanced a glance in Dumbledore's direction. The headmaster's expression, Harry was unsettled to see, was troubled.

"I am offering you your wand, Severus," Gates said icily, his eyes glinting in grim amusement, "Are you worthy enough to take it?"

Suddenly, the tip of Snape's wand drew back slightly, and then held there. Snape tilted his head slightly, and for a moment no one breathed. With a single blurred motion, Snape's wand slapped its owner across the face with a loud crack and sent the Potions master recoiling, his right hand rubbing his cheek. Gates jerked the wand backwards and he caught it easily with his free hand. He abruptly began to laugh, his chilling voice echoing throughout the hall. Just as quickly as it began, it stopped.

"As you have no wand, you have no choice but to surrender. This duel is finished, Severus." said Gates mirthlessly. He waved his wand and the massive blue dome vanished without a sound. Wordlessly, he strolled off of the platform. Dumbledore leaned over to Professor McGonagall and began whispering into her ear.

A dull murmur broke out as students and professors alike discussed the duel they had just witnessed, and Harry sensed an underlying uneasiness in all their voice. Hermione looked very pale, while Ron appeared to be distant, almost detached. Gates leaned easily against a stone wall, watching Harry carefully for his reaction. Harry gave him none.

"Well mate," Dean said as he walked up to Ron. He carried the familiar tin can loosely in his hand. "It was over three minutes. Your share is thirty sickles." He counted off the amount and handed it to Ron, who now had color returning to his face.

"I won!" Ron said eagerly, "Thirty sickles! I could buy a whole package of dung-" He caught the look on Harry's face. "A whole package of quills and ink!" he said rather unconvincingly.

A few meters away, Harry heard the boy named Ian arguing with Dean and Seamus. "I said that Snape would use a sneaky tactic," he was saying, "I never claimed that Snape would win!"

Harry chuckled inwardly. When he saw Snape's face, though, his chuckling stopped. Standing on the platform, being tended by Madam Pomfrey, was Snape, his eyes reflecting those of a broken man.

"Well," Ron said, "I can't say old Snape deserved that. That was rough."

"No kidding," Harry agreed. Beside him, Hermione sniffed.

"Do you know what we just saw?" Hermione said shakily, "He transfigured specks of dust into much larger objects. That's incredibly difficult. You know what that means?"

No words were spoken for a long moment. Phineas Nigellus, sounding supremely annoyed, said "Damn him. He'd have made a better Slytherin." Harry, however, did not hear him.

(A/N: Hope You all enjoyed it; I thought it was one of my better chapters. Yes, I realize there was no romance, but that’s coming. Trust me.

The main scene I am concerned with is the duel: I’ve never really written anything like it before and I would appreciate any sort of feedback on it, even if it’s a one-liner. Was it too slow/fast/boring/unoriginal/etc? That was an epic-sized duel (Almost 4000 words) so I’m not planning on doing too many of those in this fanfic. Most will be much shorter. These next few chapters are going to be on the larger side, so bear with me.

Next chapter: Malfoy attempts to sabotage C.O.M.C class, Harry has potions with a delightful Snape, Harry steps up with his ‘plan’ (And its revealed for those who haven’t guessed it yet) and finally we get some answers from Dumbledore (And other sources) regarding Gates’s colorful history. And Harry gets a ‘gift‘ from someone, or something.)

11. The Sorting Hat's Most Difficult Decision

“If you don’t stop stuffing yourself, Ron, you’re liable to explode.” Hermione chided as she watched Ron get served yet another plateful of roast by an eager house elf. It was Friday, the day after the duel, and they were ‘interacting’ with house elves by being waited on by them. Apparently, this was the only way Hagrid could get the house elves to reveal themselves to the students.

School had continued as normally as could be expected for such a traumatic event occurring the previous day. Groups of students gossiping away in the hallways were now more numerous than ever, and disgruntled gamblers who lost Seamus and Dean’s bet skulked through the hallways while the winners unabashedly flaunted their newfound wealth as often as they could. Students also cast more frequent glances in Gates’s direction, but other than that, nothing had changed with the Hit Wizard. Gates had returned to his usual brooding, condescending self and put down students whenever he had the chance, yesterday’s glee now only a faint memory.

“Come on Hermione,” said Ron, digging into a large slab of meat with gusto, “Can’t you see I’m trying to learn here? I’m testing the speed and efficiency of the house elves, if you don’t mind.” Around him, several other groups of students were sitting cross-legged in the grass, patiently waiting for extra portions of food.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you are,” she said sarcastically.

“It’s true!” argued Ron, swallowing his food before speaking in a rare display of manners. “It’s their job, Hermione. Honestly.” he added in a voice so reminiscent of Hermione that Harry had to stifle a laugh.

“They’re just preparing another generation of wizards to enslave the house elves,” Hermione shot back, “Getting everyone used to the idea of having house elves serving them. Then it won’t seem so strange when they see the aristocrats do it.”

“Mind you, I could really go for a nice chunk of Honeydukes chocolate,” Ron continued as if she had not spoken, “Pity they only have it at Hogsmeade.”

“Speaking of which,” Harry began, “That’s coming up soon, right?”

Ron shoveled a fork full of mashed potatoes in his mouth before responding. “Just next weekend, I think. And I have twenty five sickles to spend on whatever I want…thank Merlin for Seamus and Dean.” he added as though he had just realized this. Harry could almost feel the surge of anger radiating off of Hermione’s body.

“Twenty five?” Harry asked, “I thought you won thirty?”

Ron finished the last of his roast beef and started waving a house elf over for more. “I did win thirty. I spent five sickles on buying a new quill and enough ink to last the rest of the year. See?” He drew a long, extravagant eagle quill out from the folds of his robe and held it up to the air. “I bought it off of some bloke from Ravenclaw who needed the money. It was a steal!” He placed it carefully back into his pocket.

Hermione appeared genuinely surprised. “You spent five sickles on school supplies Ron? That’s unheard of.”

“Yeah, well,” Ron said as a nearby house elf took away his plate and set another one in front of him. “I needed a new quill badly. What can I say?”

“It would’ve been better if that money was honestly earned, however.”

“That’s fine,” Ron said shortly, his eyes focused on his food, “You won’t have to see me spend it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Hermione, raising an eyebrow inquiringly.

Ron’s ears began to turn red. “I, err, have other plans on Hogsmeade.”

Hermione leaned forward eagerly. “What kind of plans?”

“Oh, alright,” Ron muttered, his eyes never leaving his plate. His ears were now solid red. “At the duel, umm, Luna Lovegood cornered me and asked me to go to Hogsmeade with her. None of you guys were around to help me-” he glared at Harry accusatorily, “-so I had no choice but to accept.”

“You know she could come with us and we can all go together, right?” Harry could tell Hermione was enjoying this.

Ron mumbled something inaudible.

“What Ron?” Hermione said, cupping her hand to her ear and shuffling closer to Ron on her knees. “I didn’t hear that.”

“She asked me to go alone.” Ron said in a voice just above a whisper, looking furtively around for eavesdroppers.

“See? That wasn’t so hard. She likes you. You’ll have a wonderful time.” said Hermione, smiling broadly.

Ron scooped up some sweet potatoes. “So why did you just do that?”

“You teased Harry whenever he kissed Cho.” said Hermione.

“I did not! I just wanted the details.”

“Admit it,” Hermione said, “You did. I’m just extracting revenge on Harry’s behalf.” She grinned evilly.

Ron’s fork stopped just outside his mouth and he paused for a moment, an unusually thoughtful look crossing his face. He was evidently deep in retrospection. “Now that I think about it, you were rather upset that night, weren’t you? Actually, I think you were worse than me. You were the one interrogating him.”

Hermione began to blush. “No I wasn’t.” she said with a tone of finality.

“So what are we going to do in Hogsmeade, then?” Harry interjected, sensing an aura of awkwardness surrounding them.

Hermione seized the change of subject. “I guess that means we won’t be stopping in the Hog’s Head so Ron can keep trying to order some fire whiskey off of that old bartender.”

“What to do with all the spare time…” Harry said aloud, rolling his eyes.

“He’ll give in someday,” Ron muttered, “All I need is an aging potion. Fred and George got one in their fourth year…I wonder how they made it.”

Seeing Hagrid beginning to visit each group of students, Harry caught his eye and subtly motioned for him to come over. Hagrid nodded his head and extended one finger in the air, the meaning clear: One minute.

Hermione, seeing Harry’s gestured and interpreting it, turned to him. “Are you still going through with it?” She began biting her lower lip, a sign that she was having second thoughts.

“Yes…” Harry answered uncertainly.

“I don’t think you should go through with it,” Hermione said flatly. “Do you know how many ways it could go wrong?”

“Nothing will go wrong,” Harry said confidently. “And besides, you said it was clever, remember?”

“Of course I do, but, Harry, it’s not worth it. What if the spell fails? There are too many things that could go wrong…”

Harry had one overwhelming reason to believe that he would come out of the forest alive. The Prophecy stated that there would be a confrontation between himself and Voldemort eventually. How could that confrontation occur if he fell in the forest? “It won’t fail. I’ve been practicing it.”

Hermione sighed. “Think on it, will you? Is Gates really worth the danger your putting yourself in?”

Harry saw the half-giant starting towards him. Harry had sent Hedwig to Hagrid’s hut yesterday afternoon, and he was anxious to receive his response. While Hagrid did not know of the details of Harry’s plan to wreck some measure of vengeance upon Gates, (Harry felt that Hagrid was safer not knowing) his assistance was necessary for the plan to work. The pretense, visiting Grawp, would be needed to prevent any retaliation on Gates’s part.

At length, Hagrid walked over to the trio and crouched down, his shaggy beard and eyebrows appearing even hairier than normal close-up. He smiled and clapped Harry on the back, eyes wide with excitement. “So you want ter visit Grawp ‘Arry? I got yer owl.”

Harry nodded. In truth, he really does want to visit Hagrid’s little brother, at least briefly, and see how the giant is progressing. He harbored a small corner of guilt in his heart over using a visit to Grawp as cover for a slightly more sinister operation, but he buried it. There was no chance Grawp, Hagrid, or anyone else could get hurt (Except Gates and those who deserve it) so why should he hesitate? The Centaurs getting a beating would be like a bonus. In essence, he was doing was killing two birds with one stone, as muggles say. The only remaining problem was getting Gates to come along…

“Yeah,” Harry replied, “I’m looking forward to meeting Grawp.”

“Glad ter ‘ear it. He’s been missin’ you two,” said Hagrid, eyes shining, “He’s always intereste’ in meetin’ new people.” He glanced expectantly at Ron when he said this.

“Don’t worry Hagrid,” Ron said, “I’ll be coming this time.”

Hermione, looking less than eager to meet Grawp a third time, merely nodded.

“No, I’m afraid they won’t be able to,” Harry said, not looking at his friends’ faces.

They can’t go. I have to do this myself. They can’t be involved with what I’m doing.

“What do you mean?” Hermione said a little too quickly.

“You’ll have prefect duties during the evenings,” said Harry, providing them with an excuse, “Me and Hagrid can go alone the first time.” Hermione and Ron looked betrayed, both staring questionably at Harry. Neither, fortunately, spoke.

“Tha’s alrigh’, I guess,” Hagrid said at length, “There will always be other times, I s’ppose.”

“He’ll have to go too, though,” Harry said, gesturing to Gates, “He’s sort of my second shadow.”

Hagrid looked up at Gates. “Oh, tha’s no problem. So long as he’s quiet ‘bout it.”

“How are the Centaurs treating you?” Hermione asked quietly.

Hagrid stiffened. “Jus’ like they always do. They won’ scare me away from my brother, no matter what.”

“They haven’t attacked you,” Harry said slowly, “Have they?”

“They tried,” said Hagrid defiantly, “But they won’ be keeping’ me away.”

Suddenly, Harry felt that his plan was more important than ever.

“So when do you want to meet up, Hagrid?” Harry said quickly.

Hagrid glanced quickly around him to ensure they were not being overheard. Harry saw Gates standing idly apart from everyone else, looking bored out of his mind. “Well,” Hagrid said in a hushed voice, “It’ll have ter be after Hogsmeade weekend. I’m going ter be busy from the house elves an’ all this week and next.”

“I think that will work fine,” Harry agreed.

Hagrid beamed. “I’ll send yer an owl with the time we will be meetin’. Talk ter you later, ‘Arry, Ron, ‘Ermione. I got ter go back to my hut for a minute. Need ter grab somethin’.”

Harry watched as Hagrid disappeared into his wooden hut, his massive body bending slightly in the doorway. The door closed behind him and Harry sat back on his hands.

“What was that all about?” Hermione demanded, rounding fully on Harry once Hagrid was gone.

“Yeah, what was that about?” Ron said, echoing Hermione.

Harry sighed, expecting this reaction. “You guys can’t, not this time. What I’m doing is risky enough, there isn’t any need to put you two in danger too.”

“What?” Ron spat. “Danger? From what?”

Harry briefly related his plan concerning Gates, and when he finished, Ron grinned.

“That’s brilliant, mate. Gates won’t even know what hit him.”

“No it’s not,” Hermione whispered, but neither boy heard her.

“Exactly,” Harry said, “That’s why you two have to stay behind. It’s not necessary.”

“Since you already decided for us,” Hermione said with a venomous tone, “It seems we’re left with little choice. We will have prefect duties, so I expect we will see you when you return,” Hermione lowered her voice dangerously and drew her wand in a hinted threat. “But if you ever make a choice for us again, you won’t be let off so easy.”

Harry knew that she was more concerned with the fact that he would be alone with Gates.

An awkward silence prevailed over the trio, and Harry nervously began to examine blades of grass, finding them fascinating. The tension was instantly shattered by Draco Malfoy’s bellowing voice.

“Hey you!” Malfoy shouted from thirty meters away, pointing imperiously at a group of house elves. “You lazy servants bring us some more juice and roast. This isn’t an excuse to slack off, you know.” Malfoy was apparently taking full advantage of Hagrid’s absence to abuse the house elves.

A dozen house elves jumped up, startled, and instantly brought Malfoy and his Slytherin cronies heaps of meat, drink, and dessert. Crabbe and Goyle were guffawing stupidly as they tore off great hunks of chicken flesh off the bone with their teeth, sometimes intentionally spilling over their drinks so that the house elves had to rush over to clean it up. In the end, the Slytherins had their own, permanent detachment of house elves to meet and serve their every need.

“That’s what happens all the time in those snobby old rich pure blood families,” Hermione said scathingly, “Ordering around the house elves like its their right. Just bondage.”

Ron set down his fork. “After seeing that,” said Ron, his expression contorted with disgust as he stared at Crabbe’s greasy face, “I think I lost my appetite.”

“You’re not the only one,” Harry muttered.

Hermione crossed her arms, pulling her robes tighter around her as a chilly breeze blew past. “That’s not right. You see why I’m starting S.P.E.W.? This-” She gestured to the group of raucous Slytherins. “-isn’t right. House elves should not have to work for free for people like that. They shouldn’t have to work for free for anybody.”

Ron grunted, though in agreement or exasperation, Harry could not tell.

“You! Dobby!” Malfoy was now shouting, clearly trying to gain the attention of the lone clothed house elf in the bunch. When Dobby did not respond, Malfoy threw a chicken bone at the elf. It landed next to Dobby’s foot. “Don’t just stand there! Don’t you see we’re hungry?” he said with a laugh as he knocked over a heap of fresh fruit the house elves had just brought over.

“Dobby will be right with you, young sir!” Dobby squeaked back.

“That’s right you will be!” Malfoy called out with a haughty, aristocratic air, “I even hear you get paid to do this kind of work. And here you are, milling around like some sort of unemployed blood abandoner!” He pounded his fist on the ground to emphasize his point.

More house elves came rushing over holding a massive platter that contained a vast assortment of chicken, pork, and beef. Upon seeing this, Malfoy sneered and smacked the platter to the ground, grinning maliciously. “I want Dobby to bring me my food, not you four. Tell him to get me my food.”

A moment later, Dobby ran up to Harry, his ears bent downwards in an expression Harry figured reflected annoyance or sadness. Dobby’s apron had greasy stains all along the front of it from the large quantities of food he had been delivering. “Harry Potter sir!” he squeaked. He waved his hand about and in front of him materialized a massive platter of the finest cuisine imaginable. “This is for young master Malfoy, sir!”

“Yes…” Harry said, not quite understanding what Dobby was getting at. Behind Dobby, Malfoy was talking loudly about Hagrid.

“-not that I would ever call that great oaf a professor. I mean, he’s a dirty half-breed.” Malfoy was saying as Pansy Parkinson squealed with unnecessarily vivid laughter.

Dobby continued to stare at Harry, and then at the platter. “Does young Harry Potter understand? Dobby will be right back, he must go get young Malfoy a drink! Dobby will come right back for young Malfoy’s food!” He stared pointedly one last time at the food and bounded away, his ears flapping as he went.

Suddenly, Hermione grinned. “You know what he’s asking, right?”

Harry and Ron both shook their heads. “Err, what do you mean Hermione?” Harry asked at length.

“He wants you to do something to Malfoy’s food!” Hermione said, rolling her eyes as though this was something that he should pick up on easily. “Since Dobby can’t do it without punishing himself, he rather subtly asked you to do it for him. House elves are rather clever; more than most give them credit for.” she added, looking pointedly at Ron.

“Well let’s waste no more time!” Ron clapped his hands together, eyes wide and excited.

They spent the next minute casting every jinxing spell that they could think of on Malfoy’s heap of food, trying to make the tampering as subtle as possible as to not raise any suspicion. When they were done, the food looked no different than it had when Dobby had originally brought it, which they were aiming for. The thin glaze of honey over the pies and other desserts appeared untouched, and no one would know without careful examination that the apple pie was jinxed with the Curse of the Bogies.

Soon, Dobby came bouncing back to them, carrying two pitchers of pumpkin juice. “Dobby thanks Harry Potter and Harry Potter’s best friends for watching young master Malfoy’s food while Dobby was gone!” He bowed to them deeply, and the tower of woolly hats he wore on his head wavered but did not fall. Evidently, they were now tied to his head with a mess of string and yarn.

Setting the two pitchers on the edge of the platter, Dobby carefully lifted the entire feast and carried it over to the group of Slytherins, the pitchers wobbling slightly but remaining balanced. When he set it down before Malfoy and bowed, Malfoy sneered widely.

“It’s about time, you lazy slob,” Malfoy jeered, “Now you better stay extra close to me in case I need something else.” He dismissed Dobby with a vague wave of his hand and turned to the food in front of him.

Harry turned and was pleased to see Hagrid stepping back out of his hut, Fang barking wildly from inside as he left. Malfoy immediately stopped insulting the house elves since the threat of detention loomed over his head if he got caught. He idly picked up a leg of chicken and took a large bite of it.

“That’s mine!” said Ron joyously, “This is going to be great! This one is personal.” Ron watched Malfoy with absolute anticipation in his eyes.

For a minute, nothing seemed to happen to Malfoy, as he continued drawling to Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson in bored tones. After several moments of breathless anticipation, however, Malfoy began to hiccup erratically. When a third spasm shook him, two small, black slugs flew out of his mouth and landed on Pansy’s leg, causing her to shriek and jump away, attracting stares from the entire class.

“What the-” Malfoy began, but he hiccupped again and a handful of slugs fell out of his mouth, landing in a heap on his lap, crawling in a slimy mass. Pansy shrieked louder. Goyle stared dumbly at Draco, looking even duller than usual, while Crabbe scratched his head like a great ape.

Ron clutched his side and rolled on the ground in laughter, his entire face turning a deep shade of red. “Funniest-thing-” he gasped through fits of mirth, “-Too-funny-” He began pounding his fist on the ground as he laughed. Harry, while he found Malfoy’s plight hilarious, did not find it quite as amusing as Ron. He figured Ron enjoyed the payback more than the prank itself, as Malfoy inflicted the very same curse upon him in his second year.

“What’s goin’ on over ‘ere?” Hagrid said as he strode over the where Malfoy was heaving up another mouthful of slugs. “Malfoy what did yer get in ter now?”

Malfoy replied with another revolting spasm.

“Someone cursed his food!” Pansy said shrilly, speaking for him, “One of those house elves you brought here!” She pointed her finger accusatorily at Dobby, who stood aloof from the whole scene, watching innocently.

“Now Dobby couldn’ do nothing’,” said Hagrid, “He’s a ‘ouse-elf, and they can’t jus’ go around’ jinxin’ yer food.”

“It was! It had to be!” Pansy was evidently in no mood for logic, as she continued ranting about house elves as Hagrid continued to ignore her.

“Now come on Malfoy,” Hagrid grumbled, lifting Draco to his feet. Malfoy teetered on his legs and stumbled, throwing up more slugs. “Let it all out.”

“Easy - for - you -” Malfoy gasped, his voice absent of arrogance from the flow of slugs, “Can’t - won’t - stop-”

“Spit ‘em out Malfoy,” Hagrid urged, patting him on the back. “Now wha’ happened?”

Malfoy took a deep breath, and for a moment it seemed like he recovered. “It was those filthy-” A fresh fit spasms shook him and he fell to the ground, holding himself up with one hand while he clutched his chest with the other.

“We ca’ talk lat’r,” said Hagrid, leading Draco back to his hut, “Lemme get yer somethin’, ‘old on.” He vanished into his cabin, and reappeared with a large wooden bucket that Ron had used previously for the very same reason. Malfoy snatched it out of Hagrid’s hands and heaved in it freely.

“Alrigh’, tha’s enough fer the day, go on ter yer next class.” announced Hagrid, causing many students to break out of their fixed stares to gather their books. Hermione, Harry, and Ron, still laughing heartily, stood up to leave. The house elves all bowed deeply to the students as the students walked away, and vanished with a loud crack when the last of the meal was cleaned up.

“I think Care of Magical Creatures is starting to turn out to be a really great class,” Ron was saying as they crossed the expanse of green grass that was spread out between Hagrid’s hut and the castle.

Harry threw one last glance over his shoulder, and across the field Malfoy vomited slugs into the wooden bucket. Hagrid stood nearby, his expression not visible at this distance, but Harry was sure that he was privately amused. “Malfoy’s always trying to ruin Hagrid’s class. It’s good to see it backfire for once.”

“I wonder if he will be in Potions today?” Hermione asked rhetorically.

When Harry entered the Potions classroom, he found that Malfoy had indeed not shown up for class. Harry guessed that he was in the infirmary, being tended by Madam Pomfrey. As he sat down, he noticed with a large degree of foreboding that Snape was appearing particularly vindictive today as he swept into the classroom, his eyes dark and severe. He slammed his books down onto his desk and instantly whipped out his wand, waving it decisively around him to list today’s instructions. The front board, as if sensing the Potion master’s demeanor, reacted immediately and the directions, normally written slowly and clearly, were nearly scrawled across the board in haste.

“You all know what you have to do,” Snape snapped, his face choleric. His right cheek was significantly bruised, and he glared angrily around the room, as if daring someone to mention it. “Now get to it.”

Gates, apparently satisfied with defeating Snape in the duel, smirked in the shadows and watched Snape with a distinct pleasure in his eyes. The necklace slunk and jangled across his chest as he shifted his posture, and he then reached deeply into his pockets. When Harry saw a small flash of silver in the palm of Gates’s hand, he knew that the Hit Wizard had pulled out his bracelet, and was preparing to gaze at it with a curious, detached intensity.

Harry laid the first of the ingredients he would need onto his desk, and set the flames under his cauldron higher. Since the potion he would be working on was The Avenger’s Poison, it was necessary to have all the required material out beforehand, as steps would sometimes have to be performed in quick succession. Laying down a few Lacewing flies, a hunk of Wormwood, and a few cuts of Ginger Root, he reached down and pulled out a slim, wooden rod out from his brewing kit, which he needed to stir the cauldron’s contents.

“I hope none of you foul up this solution,” snarled Snape as he limped around the room, peering down into students’ cauldrons with his great hooked nose and snorting, “As that would prove that I wasted my time yesterday when I spent the entire period lecturing you dunderheads on how to brew The Avenger’s Poison properly. I assure you that there are several store rooms in these dungeons full of glass jars that need to be cleaned out as they are encrusted with ages of grime and filth. I will reserve this duty to the first person who manages to screw up their potion first.”

Not wanting to be the one who received Snape’s punishment, Harry worked more diligently than ever to ensure that he followed the instructions to the letter. He carefully weighed each Ginger Root out to a fraction of an ounce, and checked and rechecked his Lacewing flies for blemishes on their feet, which would render his solution worthless if they were used.

Beside him, Hermione was frantic with worry. She muttered something about he Lacewing flies under her breath and began to slice her Wormwood chunk into precise dimensions. While she had never spoiled a potion before, Snape’s threat seemed to cause her self-confidence to waver, and she feverishly studied every ingredient before placing it delicately into her solution.

Snape limped over to his cauldron several times during the class, critically examining his potion for flaws or mistakes. Finding none, the Potions master would walk away only to return a minute later to repeat the procedure. Clearly, Snape was bent on finding a mistake in Harry’s potion so that he would have to scrub out the rest of the bottles in the store room.

“So, Potter,” Snape said in a soft voice meant for Harry’s ears only, “I imagine your father would have been quite amused by that little situation Sirius put me in with Alex. Don’t you think? Your father would’ve found it hilarious, as his humor, like his personality, was juvenile and childish and utterly bloated.”

Don’t let Snape provoke you. He’s just trying to find an excuse to give you detention since you aren’t messing up your potion.

Harry looked up and saw Gates trying to catch his eye. Suddenly, he had a flashback of Snape taunting Sirius in Grimmauld Place. Resisting Gates’s influence over his mind and rationale, Harry gritted his teeth and met Snape’s gaze. “I’m not my father, professor.” he said, hoping Snape would get the point.

From the unidentifiable look that crossed Snape’s face, Harry guessed the Potions master understood the point quite well, as he could not place Snape’s expression. An exhalation of air hissed through Snape’s teeth and the Potion’s master whirled away, his black cloak flapping over his back. Harry grinned, thinking that he had won that battle. Fleetingly, he cast a irritated glance in Gates’s direction, his meaning clear: I know what you are trying so forget it.

Snape did not return to Harry’s table, and instead spent most of his time hovering over a sweating Ravenclaw’s desk, his searching eyes trying to find a flaw in the potion. At length, he blinked and then continued to the next cauldron in the row. He had skipped over Hermione, no longer bothering to check up on ‘Know-it-all Gryffindors’, as he put it.

About halfway through the class, Malfoy walked into the classroom, his wooden bucket in one hand, looking very pale. He practically fell into his seat and slumped downwards. Abruptly, he bent over a hiccupped, and a single, small slug fell into the can. Several people in the class wrinkled their noses in disgust.

“Mr. Malfoy,” drawled Snape, “May I ask where you have been?”

“Infirmary, professor,” Malfoy muttered, sounding out of breath. “Someone jinxed my food in Care of Magical Creatures.”

“And yet you showed up for Potions,” Snape continued, “Though you were tardy. I suppose your reason makes it excusable.” Harry nearly spilled his potion. He certainly would not be excused from being tardy because of a trip to the infirmary.

Snape turned to Harry. “Perhaps you should take a page out of Mr. Malfoy’s book, Potter. He did not skip his class because of a malady, while you have missed your classes every time you had a headache.”

“I was usually unconscious, professor.” Harry muttered under his breath. Snape pretended not to hear.

“What happened to your face, sir?” Malfoy asked, apparently without thinking. He looked sick enough to make such a mistake. “It’s all bruised.”

Snape froze, and a dreadful silence fell over the room. The entire class had their eyes locked on Snape, and a cauldron overflowed without anyone noticing. “Is it?” he said in an icy soft whisper. Even when he lowered his voice, his words came out clear and pronounced, as there was little other noise in the silent dungeons to detract from their clarity. He brought his hand up and rubbed the black splotch on his cheek. “An accident, I’m sure.” No one seemed eager to question his strange response, as they all immediately returned to their cauldrons.

“Perhaps I can help you remember, Severus,” a rising voice called out from the corner. It was, of course, Gates. “Yes, I believe that is where you were slapped with your own wand, no?” Gates smiled his usual frosty smile, the humor never reaching his eyes.

The class was stricken. “I recall receiving this…injury…when I stumbled down a staircase.” Snape said slowly; a weak and flat out lie. A sneer crawled onto his face as he surveyed the room, waiting for someone to contradict him.

“The duel did not break the sneer, did it?” said Gates softly out of the darkened corner.

Snape’s visage became ice. “That was no duel,” he spat, spittle flying from his lips, “Take off that necklace of yours, and we’ll see who’s the better dueler.”

“Careful, Severus,” Gates warned, his tone becoming serious and his smile vanishing, “You know, I know.” Harry could make neither heads nor tails of this statement.

The two men glared at each other, apparently engaged in a battle of minds. At length, Gates broke off his gaze and Snape sneered. “Too many demons in you to be an effective Occlumentist. Isn’t that right?”

“You don’t know my demons, Severus.” said Gates. Snape shot him a fierce look and then returned to surveying cauldrons as if the exchange had never happened.

At the end of class, Harry bottle up a flask of The Avenger’s Poison and set in on Snape’s desk, unable to think of a single error he had made. As far as Harry could tell, no one else had spoiled their potion either, as Snape appeared immensely disappointed as he watched each student place a flash full of clear liquid on his desk.

“As none of you have reported any problems with your solution,” said Snape as they filed out of the room, “I expect that I will be recording at least an ‘Acceptable’ for every one of you. Should you receive a grade lower…well…the bottles are still waiting to be cleaned.”

Waiting outside of the classroom, Ron leaned idly against the stone wall of the dungeons. “Hey, Professor Sprout let us out early after Ernie’s Spiked Tendril plant began attacking the other herbs in the garden, so I came down here to meet you guys. How did it go?”

“Fine.” Harry and Hermione said in unison.

“That’s a first,” said Ron, “Say, you wou-” Suddenly, Malfoy charged out of the Potions classroom, knocking Ron’s books out of his hands and sending them flying halfway across the hall. “Hey!”

Malfoy turned around to smirk, then walked away as Crabbe and Goyle met him further down the hall.

“Bloody git,” Ron muttered as he began picking up his scattered books. Harry and Hermione knelt down to help him. “But I still got him good with that jinx.” He reached out to grab his new eagle quill when a long, pale hand snatched it off the ground.

“Mr. Weasley,” Snape said slowly, “Where did you get this?” Snape twirled the quill in the air, studying it closely.

“I bought it,” said Ron shortly, extending his hand so Snape would give it back to him. When Snape did not, he withdrew it. “So can I have it back?”

“I asked where you received this, Mr. Weasley, not how you received it.” Snape surveyed Ron with a suspicious glint in his eye.

“I bought it from a sixth year Ravenclaw.” Ron repeated.

Snape raised the eagle quill up into the light again. “Do you have any idea how much something like this would cost? How much did you pay for it, Mr. Weasley?”

Harry knew where this conversation was going. If it was any other student, Snape would not have bothered Ron about the quill, but as Ron’s family had little money, Snape suspected foul play.

“Five sickles.” Ron said flatly.

Snape narrowed his eyes. “And where did you get five sickles? As I understand it, your money goes towards basic schooling supplies, not-” His eyes flickered towards the quill. “-luxuries.”

“I earned it.” Ron replied, sounding a bit nervous. For obvious reasons, he was not eager to disclose the origin of the money to Snape.

“He honestly worked for it, professor,” interrupted Harry, “He-”

“Silence!” spat Snape, “If I wanted your input I will ask for it.”

“I did, I earned it.” repeated Ron, trying to inject some confidence into his voice by stiffening his back. Harry could see, though, Ron’s hands shaking in the pockets of his robes.

“Earned it did you?” said Snape softly, “How? There have been reports of stolen money among the students-”

“No, no, I didn’t steal it,” Ron said quickly, “I won it in an, err, bet.” he said before he could stop himself.

Snape regarded him with cold, calculating eyes. “A bet? What sort of bet? What can you students possibly gamble on in Hogwarts?” The Potions master began to outline his lips with his finger.

“The duel,” said Ron in an uncharacteristically small voice.

“The duel?” Snape repeated, his voice seething with fury. Apparently, having students betting, and winning, on him losing the duel did not sit well. “That’s truly fascinating, Mr. Weasley. Tell me, how many of you young innocent children placed their bets on me?” Harry figured Snape was satisfying his own curiosity than interrogating for facts.

“Answer me!” Snape spat.

Harry’s eyes fell on Ron, and he silently pleaded with him to lie. Unfortunately, Ron appeared too terrified to even think straight, much less tell a lie to a professor. He realized that gambling was against Hogwarts rules, and that he was treading on very thin ice right now. Regardless, he responded before thinking. “Only one, professor…sort of.” he blurted out. Harry and Hermione exchanged horrified looks.

Snape’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I see. No doubt this little Gryffindor gambling ring needs to be broken up. I will inform Professor McGonagall of this gross infringement on school policy that evidently occurs in House Gryffindor on a frequent basis, and I will also make a point to mention your involvement, Mr. Weasley. All three of you will be having detention next week.”

“For what?” Harry demanded, hating Snape and the injustice of it all.

“If one member of the golden trio is involved then the other two are probably involved as well,” Snape said sleekly, “You will all serve your detention next Saturday.” Hermione went very white: it was the first detention she had ever received since her first year.

Ron looked ready to explode from all the conflicting emotions that ran through him. “But that’s Hogsmeade weekend!”

“Why, I do believe it is,” drawled Snape, sneering, “You will all report to my classroom in the morning. If you can manage to clean out the entire store room of glass bottles, without magic, before the buses leave, then you may go to Hogsmeade.” With that, he whirled on the back of his heel and limped back into the classroom, a terrible smile twisted onto his face.

“Wonderful,” muttered Harry sarcastically, “You couldn’t clean all those jars and bottles that fast even with magic, much less without it.”

“I can’t believe he gave me detention,” Hermione said in scandalous tones, positively fuming, “I’ve never had detention before; and I didn‘t even do anything,” She turned furiously towards Ron. “I told you that gambling would lead to nothing good Ron.”

“How was I-”

“Not now-” Harry said, more harshly than he intended. “Just for five minutes, stop.”

Ron looked at him as if seeing him in a new light. Hermione blinked.

The trio stared to leave, but Harry’s eye caught Gates’s lean figure standing ominously in the darkness. Remembering that he needed to speak with Gates about an excursion into the Forbidden Forest, Harry sucked in a breath and said “You two go on ahead, I need to stay back for a moment.”

Hermione frowned and nodded, understanding what he needed to do. Ron stared at him blankly for a minute before comprehension dawned on his face. “We’ll meet you in the great hall for lunch, then?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll be there soon.”

Ron and Hermione left and vanished up the spiral staircase; Hermione casting him one last concerned glance before disappearing upwards. Turning, Harry saw Gates slowly approaching him.

Harry felt a sudden draft tug at his robes, and he pulled them tighter around his waist. The dungeons, while perpetually cold, for a moment felt as though the temperature had dropped to absolute zero, and his breath was freezing before his eyes. His senses became increasingly acute, and he could hear the steady drips of water from somewhere down the long, mildewed corridor. The musty dankness, often reminiscent of a swamped concrete basement, became as thick and heavy as the air in a partially flooded tomb. A speck of dust stung his nostrils, and he sneezed. Suddenly, he forgot the predetermined words he was going to use to persuade Gates and an overwhelming sense of helplessness swept over him. Swallowing, Harry took two tentative steps forward, trying hard not to think of his family album that the bastard held hostage somewhere in his scarlet robes.

“Potter?” Gates spoke, his obsidian eyes boring into Harry. It was the first word he had said to Harry since before the duel.

Good start, Harry thought, He must be slightly mollified from the duel. He didn’t even insult or mock me with his greeting. Let’s hope it lasts…

He opened his mouth, struggling to think up an appropriately vague but specific question. “I need to go to the Forbidden Forest next week,” Harry said ambiguously, not giving Gates any more information than he needed to know. He was not about to tell Gates about Grawp until he received certain assurances.

Gates‘s face split into a grin. It was almost grotesque. “Why?”

“I need to see someone.” Harry answered, his eyes not wavering under Gates’s gaze.

“No,” Apparently one word responses is the order of the day.

This was not going as well as Harry had wished. He had hoped that Gates would be in a better mood since he won the duel. “It’s rather important,” Harry said determinedly, not willing to give up yet.

“Is it?” Gates drawled, “And why should I convenience you, Potter?” The expression on his face told Harry that Gates was considering his request but denying it all the same.

“You would be doing this for yourself as much as you would be doing it for me.” Harry said smoothly.

Gates shot him a cold glare that could freeze water. “And how’s that?”

“I’d imagine that it would break the monotony very nicely.” said Harry, appealing to Gates’s mood. He crossed his fingers on the inside of his pockets, his entire plan for some measure of retribution now tottering on Gates’s whim.

Gates looked at the filthy stone walls around him. “You may have a point. But you will tell me the purpose of this little field trip.” he demanded coldly.

Now came the difficult part. “Swear on your honor that you will never repeat, in signs or words, anything that I am about to tell you, or about what you may see, should we go. And that would won‘t harm anything we find out there without cause.” He waited patiently, practically hearing the gears of reason in Gates’s skull grinding as he mulled over Harry’s words.

“You aren’t serious,” Gates said flatly, “I already know all your secrets, Potter.”

“Only the ones Sirius knew,” Harry answered coolly, “And he didn’t know everything.”

This seemed to unnerve Gates immensely, though he quickly covered it with his usual façade of confidence-cum-arrogance. “You find me untrustworthy?” he asked, revealing every last one of his pointed teeth in a wide grin. It exuded malice.

Sometimes I wonder if he even realizes how much sarcasm he uses. “You’re a killer.” Harry replied evenly.

Gates leaned towards Harry, dropping his voice to a deathly whisper. “Let me share a secret of mine, Potter. I’ve only killed one man in my life.” He snorted and his diamond necklace flashed as he laughed.

Liar, Harry thought. “Do you swear on your honor?” Harry said, getting back to the subject at hand.

Gates‘s worked his jaw, as though chewing the words. “I will swear…in return for a favor,” Gates said silkily. “A favor that I will use at the time of my choosing.”

Harry hesitated. He had not expected this. What does he want a favor for? He’s already got me entirely within his power. “What kind of favor?” asked Harry slowly.

“A reasonable one, I assure you.” Gates replied evasively, his enunciations slow and deliberate.

“One that won’t require me to divulge secrets of the Order?” Harry asked slowly.

Gates waved his hand dismissively. “I am not interested in petty secrets of the Order. They may be excluded from the favor.”

“Fine,” Harry said, very aware of what he was agreeing to yet having no choice, “I agree. Now swear.”

Gates’s smirk vanished as he clasped both of his hands around his wand and stared past Harry at a far wall, a solemn expression on his face. At length, he said, his voice formal and pronounced, “I swear by my family honor and name that I will not convey any of the information I am about to receive to anyone, be it language, signs, or hints. Nor will I harm a creature in that forest without just cause.”

He lowered his wand and the familiar malicious grin returned to his face. “Is that sufficient?”

Harry’s tone was flat. “I suppose.” He then relayed the story behind Grawp and his relationship with Hagrid, ignoring the astonished expressions that crossed Gates’s face. When he finished, he waited quietly for Gates’s response.

“I see…” Gates said, bringing a finger up to his lips, “A giant in the Forbidden Forest? Well, I suppose there’s a first for everything…” He turned his back on Harry, obviously wanting some time to reflect on this new information.

After a minute, Gates turned back to meet Harry’s eyes. “I will grant your request, if only because I am desperate for a break in the utter boredom I am experiencing and have not seen a giant in many a year. I daresay this will prove exciting.” He gave Harry a curiously appraising look that betrayed an internal feud.

“You won’t harm him…” Harry said slowly.

Gates snorted. “Of course not. I swore on my honor.”

“Thanks,” Harry muttered, whirling around so that Gates would not see the elation on his face. He practically skipped down the hall, smiling widely. Gates has agreed to receiving some retribution.

At the end of the hall, Harry paused briefly to stare at a portrait of a white, sandy beach getting lapped at by ocean waves. It looked very much out of place in the derelict dungeons, and Harry swore that the portrait had not been there last year. When he saw Phineas Nigellus standing in the corner of the portrait, his boots sinking into the sand, he grinned with sudden understanding. The headmaster had placed new portraits across the school so Phineas would have better access to Harry’s whereabouts.

“So what was that all about?” Phineas asked smoothly, pulling his feet up out of the sand. He was sweating heavily from the heat, but he did not seem to notice.

“I just asked a favor from Gates.” Harry replied.

Phineas tilted his head curiously. “And he did not request a favor in return?”

“He did, and I accepted.”

Phineas’s eyes grew wide. “That was foolish of you. Just like a child to not consider the consequences of his actions,” He took off his boot and dumped the sand out from it. “They always procrastinate and never do what is necessary,” His speech slowly degraded into a rant. “Oh how I hated the times when I had to read unacceptable work from students who obviously finished the assignment five minutes before class. And do you know why? Because of some Quidditch match.” he added contemptuously.

“If you’re done…”

“Yes, I am,” said Phineas conceitedly, “And I will be reporting this to the headmaster.”

“Don’t bother, I will be visiting his office after dinner.” Harry replied curtly, remembering the promise he had made to himself yesterday, and then strode up a nearby stairwell.

As he climbed the stairs, he was surprised to find Professor Whams leaning heavily against the wall, his eyes darting around and his spectacles askew. His silk purple robes were lopsided and it seemed as though he had only put them on only a moment ago. When he saw Harry, he leaned over and squinted from behind his thick glasses.

“Ahh-” Whams said jovially, his head hovering an inch from Harry‘s face. Slowly, he pulled it back as recognition surfaced. “Mr. Peter! Could you tell me where the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom is?” The fine wisps of hair that covered his head flew wildly back and forth as he scanned the staircase as though looking for a sign.

“You might want to try to second floor.” Harry said uncomfortably, feeling awkward at giving directions to a professor.

“The second floor!” said Whams as though in sudden revelation. “Yes of course. It just slipped my mind. It becomes rather confusing when all the floors of the castle look the same, eh?” he added, smiling a broad smile.

Harry looked around at the dank, grimy dungeon walls. “Yeah, I can imagine it could become a bit disorienting.”

“Well I should get going,” Whams continued, “I did have a class five minutes ago. I’m sure Perseus can take care of them until I return. He’s a brilliant young fellow, though rather taxing. I had to convince him to let me go back to my office alone.” He chuckled, stroking the whiskers on his chin. “Though I now see his concern may have some merit.”

“Perhaps,” Harry said, inwardly vehemently agreeing with Percy. It would be too blunt to flatly concur.

“I’ll be off now. I must really be going,” said Whams, “Take care, young Mr. Peter.” He strode off down the staircase, and Harry was about to tell him that he was going down into the dungeons, not towards the second floor, but Whams had already vanished. There was a myriad of passageways Whams could have gone through, and Harry could only hope that Snape would intercept the lost professor before he entered the dungeon’s bowels.

However, Harry was unsure of how even the most incompetent of people could mistake the dungeons for the second floor.

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

After he finished his dinner, Harry excused himself from the Gryffindor table, explaining that he planned on visiting the headmaster. He decided that Gates’s necklace, whatever it is, could not be found in the library, and that he would have to ask Dumbledore if he wanted any information. Hermione nodded approvingly, agreeing with his assessment. (Though privately Harry felt that this discussion was overdue)

As he traipsed through the meandering corridors of the school, worming his way down the familiar path to the headmaster’s office, his thoughts drifted towards Hogsmeade. Most of Gryffindor have been avidly talking about the upcoming event, and many students shared in the usual school gossip surrounding the trip -- especially who-was-going-with-who. While the ‘news’ was often petty and trivial, it was somewhat refreshing to hear people talk about normal, vapid subjects, rather than always hearing about the more serious threat of Voldemort.

There is a time and a place for fear, and right now is not it, Harry thought.

Once again, Harry recalled that Ron was going with Luna, (One of the hottest topics in Hogwarts gossip) leaving Harry and Hermione to go together. The implications of such a pairing was obvious, and it was likely that people would get the wrong idea. The problem in the foremost of his mind, however, was what are he and Hermione going to do all afternoon? One could only spend so much time in the Three Broomsticks, and Harry did not think Hermione would appreciate being dragged through a Quidditch store. Surely it would not be too difficult to kill a few hours with his best friend, right? Two months ago, he would not have thought so, but now Harry found spending an evening in a locked room with Gates more comfortable than going to Hogsmeade alone with Hermione.

That is, of course, if he was going to Hogsmeade. Snape’s detention did not bode well, and Harry felt a lump rising in his throat. He would find some way to change the day, he told himself. He would talk to Snape later his week and maybe work him over…though the chance for success was slim. Gates seemed to put Snape into an eternally sour mood with his mere presence. Maybe if they went to Snape’s detention very early in the morning, perhaps one o’clock, they could finish before the school left for Hogsmeade. He would have to ask Snape if that’s possible…

And what about Gates? How far could he be trusted to keep the secret?

Harry had complete confidence that Gates would keep his oath; as, if anything, Gates guarded his honor fanatically. All he had to do was lead Gates into the Forbidden Forest, Hagrid close behind, and visit Grawp. On the way back, however, he was nearly positive that the Centaurs would confront them. Gates, being the arrogant bastard he is, would undoubtedly engage the Centaurs in a fight, and he would lose. Or he might win. It did not really matter. Harry, using a spell that he learned in Defense Against Dark Magical Creatures, would put up an encasing shield around himself that would ward off any Centaurs from approaching them. Hagrid, in the meantime, would have to be left behind with Grawp. There was no sense of putting anyone else in danger. He was sure that Gates would not know the encasing spell, as it was specialized magic learned only by gamekeepers and those who interact with magical creatures.

If the Centaurs won, there would be one less sadistic creep on the face of the planet and Harry would have fulfilled his oath that he had made so long ago at the Burrow. If Gates won, then the Centaurs would not dare to harass Hagrid or anyone else who cared to visit Grawp in the forest. Either way, Harry and Hagrid benefited. While the Centaurs would probably become more hostile if they fought and overcame Gates, they could not be any worse than they were now, and the fact that they met with resistance (And strong resistance it would be: Gates would use every ounce of his skill before succumbing) might be enough to dissuade them from bothering Hagrid as often as they do. He did not tell Hagrid his plan for the simple reason that the half-giant would fear for his safety (Not knowing that Harry was damned to perpetual danger from the prophecy) and would likely reject Harry’s plan. He briefly reviewed every stage of his plan and could find no flaw.

Behind him, Harry heard Gates’s heavy footfalls, the heels of his polished boots clicking and squeaking on the various surfaces of marble, lacquered floorboards, and dry, gray stone. You won’t even know what hit you, you bastard. At that moment, Harry was very glad that you needed eye contact to perform Legilimency.

Harry stepped up to the stone gargoyle and muttered the password “Skiving Snackboxes”. The statue immediately leapt aside, clearing the way for Harry to climb up the long spiral staircase to the headmaster’s office. Knocking twice on the door, he stepped inside. Sitting behind his desk, hands folded, Dumbledore appeared to have been expecting Harry.

“Ah, hello Harry,” he said, smiling gently. Turning to Gates, he said “Alex, would you mind waiting outside for a brief moment? Me and Harry would like a private word.”

Gates blinked, as though unused to requests rather than direct commands. “As you wish, Albus.” As silently as he came, he left, his scarlet robes vanishing down the staircase.

“What brings you to my office, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, bringing a jar of lemon drops up from under his desk and extending them to Harry. Harry accepted one, and then the headmaster took one as well. Dumbledore carefully placed the jar onto the desk, and then turned to Harry, waiting. His eyes came to rest on Harry’s right shoulder.

The overpowering flavor of lemon flooded his mouth, and he sucked on the drop for a moment before answering. “I have a few questions about, err, Mr. Gates.” Harry decided that it would be too brusque to refer to the Hit Wizard as simply ‘Gates’ to Dumbledore. A few of the portraits stirred curiously out of their feigned slumber, moving into a better position to overhear the conversation.

“How have you been feeling, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, throwing Harry completely off balance. It was a deliberate change of subject that Harry found confusing. “I would just like to take this chance to ask of your welfare before we dive into the murky pool of Gates’s life.”

Irresistibly, Harry remembered Gates’s possession of his photo album, and he quickly suppressed the temptation to tell the headmaster everything. A flashing image of his parents’ wedding picture burning into ashes surfaced in his mind, and he covered his sudden uneasiness with a cough.

“I’ve been doing fine,” Harry said, forcing a smile, though he was sure he could not fool Dumbledore. “Really, Gates hasn’t even talked to me, so I’m doing all right.”

“Phineas informed me that you now owe Alex a certain favor,” said Dumbledore, his expression solemn, “May I ask how?”

Harry choked on his lemon drop. It was highly uncomfortable deceiving the headmaster, and Harry did not think he could keep up the pretense. “Oh, well, err,” he stammered. Harry glanced behind him to see Phineas smirking in his portrait. “I will owe him a favor in return for him letting me go visit Hagrid during my free time.” Harry decided to settle on a half-lie. The favor did involve Hagrid, after all.

“Is there anything you wish to tell me Harry?” Dumbledore said, his tone becoming serious and the twinkle in his eye flickering, “Anything you say will not leave this room, despite its various-” His eyes flitted towards the portraits hanging on the walls. “-occupants.”

“No,” Harry said a little too quickly. He felt his chest tightening. Nothing was worth risking his entire family photo album. Nothing.

Dumbledore leaned back into his chair, not satisfied with the response. Regardless, he smiled. “I understand that you do not completely trust me after last year. I must confess I am disappointed, but I realize that I earned it. Remember that you can go to Professor McGonagall, Professor Whams, and even-” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled brightly. “-Professor Snape.”

Completely sure that the last person on Earth he was going to share this problem with was Snape, Harry nodded. “I will keep that in mind should I come to mistrust you, headmaster.” He grinned fragilely.

If you trusted him you would have already told him everything.

Dumbledore’s smile widened slightly, and Harry was sure he saw relief cross the headmaster’s face. “So what did you want to discuss concerning Alex?”

A question sprung unbidden to Harry’s mind, and for a fleeting fraction of a second, he wondered where it came from. “Does Gates know about the prophecy?” He felt especially uncomfortable because he had not been planning on discussing the prophecy with Dumbledore at all.

“Only myself and you know the complete contents of the prophecy, Harry,” Dumbledore replied, “While a few others are aware of a prophecy, they do not know the words. I assure you that I did not divulge the contents to such a one as Alex. You may tell who you wish, but I advise you to choose carefully.”

Thank Merlin, Harry thought, The less Gates knows the better.

Presently, Harry sat up a little more in his chair. He started tracing the fine grooves the arms of his chair. “What is Mr. Gates’s necklace? It’s not normal…it feels wrong.” he said, not sure how to express his suspicions to Dumbledore.

The headmaster popped another lemon drop into his mouth, and it seemed to Harry that Dumbledore was formulating his response very carefully. “Truthfully, I only know that it is a rare type of Pravus necklace. A rather strong one, at that. It’s power that is as ancient as it is rare. Its primary use is to increase the magical potency of the bearer.”

A flurry of questions swirled in Harry’s head. “We couldn’t find anything like that in the library.”

“That’s because there are scarcely any books in existence concerning the Pravus necklace; and they are jealously guarded by only the most ancient of pure blood families. In fact, I know that the bits of knowledge that we do possess concerning the Pravus necklace is known by Professor Snape. He knows more than this subject than I. Few have ever dared to make a Pravus necklace in many centuries.” Dumbledore answered, his glasses flashing from the rays of the setting sun.

“Why not? Something like that would be invaluable, right?”

“In the right hands, oh yes. Very. But,” Harry could hear Dumbledore pause to roll the lemon drop around his mouth. “It is extraordinarily difficult to create, and there are…drawbacks. As the necklace gives him power, it also corrupts the mind, damages the soul. In the long run, it will shorten the wizard’s lifespan and eventually turn him into a wretched, twisted creature. Alex, however, is not at that stage yet; though he’s well on his way. For this reason, the Pravus necklace is most frequently used among vampires. Even Voldemort avoids it, as he too realizes its tendency for self-destruction.” The last word escaped from Dumbledore’s mouth with an ominous air.

“But how does it work?” asked Harry, arching an eyebrow, “Magic can’t come from nowhere.”

Dumbledore turned his eyes towards the window. “The Pravus necklace does not create magic, Harry, it channels it. Every Pravus necklace has certain elements or material. In Alex’s case, it’s diamonds. Others use rubies, claws from Thestrals, or anything that can be enchanted. Everything on Earth contains some amount of magic, even muggles. One could use gravel for a Pravus necklace, though it would be ineffective. The only material that cannot be used is anything from a unicorn. Their power is pure and cannot be fused with any other being’s blood.”

“Diamonds?” said Harry, “His power comes from the diamonds on his Pravus necklace?”

Dumbledore nodded. “Diamonds are especially potent, and their use in magical artifacts in general is quite common. Alex was a very formidable wizard to begin with, and the power he gains from the necklace boosts his strength considerably.”

Harry stayed silent for a minute, digesting this information. “Where did he get it? Lup-, err, Remus told me that Alex did not have the necklace during school.”

“This, Harry, is where my knowledge ends,” Dumbledore said, “After he graduated, Alex hunted after his parents’ killers, and, as far as we know, he destroyed them. When he received his Auror position at the ministry immediately afterwards, he wore a necklace, so Arthur told me. I’m afraid I never saw Alex again after his graduation. Until, of course, he came to see me concerning Sirius’s death wishes.” His midnight blue robes took on a reddish hue as the sun sunk further into the horizon.

“So he could’ve stolen it, not made it?”

“That is a possibility,” Dumbledore replied, his voice appraising, “One that I have considered. I’m afraid we may never know how he got it, as he is not one to share such information.”

“Why does it scream?” Harry asked in just above a whisper.

“Screams?” Dumbledore repeated, and Harry noted a tone of surprise in his voice. “I have never known a Pravus necklace to speak. That is strange…very strange.” It was unusual for the headmaster to be unsure about anything, and this made Harry feel nervous.

Where did that bloody necklace come from? Harry thought to himself. If he took it from the dead bodies of those…wizards…then…

“Who killed Mr. Gates’s parents?” Harry asked slowly, realizing he was asking a personal question but needing to know anyway, “What kind of people were they?” His underlying question, however, was whether such men would have a Pravus necklace.

“Not vampires, if that is your latent question,” Dumbledore said, “Their names were Corlov Dren, Lodrick Regeal, and Nori Katashi. We are certain Dren is dead, though Regeal and Nori are unaccounted for. They are believed to be deceased as well.”

“If you don’t know whether the last two are, how do you know whether Dren died?” Harry asked, not sure whether he wanted to know the answer.

Dumbledore paused, as though considering whether to respond. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded foreign and distant. “Arthur once told me how Alex came upon his profession as an Auror. When Alex wished to become an Auror for the ministry, the ministry officials wanted to know his credentials. As though he had expected this, Alex disappeared for a brief moment, and then flooed in the corpse of Corlov Dren. The ministry hired him instantly.”

“And the ministry hired someone for an Auror position who had just graduated from Hogwarts?” Harry asked skeptically.

Dumbledore spread out his hands across his lacquered desk, as though feeling the texture. “He was gone for an entire year avenging his parents before he returned, so he had not ‘just graduated’.” Dumbledore fell silent, then spoke again. “When he came back, he was already feeling the effects of the necklace he had acquired somehow during his year absence. He was a different man.”

“Different?” said Harry, perplexed. The word itself implied that Gates’s sadism was an irregularity; a mistake to be rectified.

The headmaster frowned. It was an expression of old sadness and disappointment. “You have probably wondered why your late godfather placed so much trust in a man that was apparently so cruel. When he was at Hogwarts, he was not. True, he was isolated and distant because of his parents’ deaths, but he was not mean as children tend to be because of such situations. Sirius befriended Alex because Alex was a relative, but more so because Alex detested the Dark Arts. He privately agreed with Voldemort’s ideals, but he hated the Dark Arts that had killed his parents. Because Alex was Sirius’s closest relative that hated the Dark Arts as much as he did, Sirius and Alex bonded -- to an extent. I believe Sirius was Alex’s best and only friend while he was here. This is why Sirius entrusted your care with Alex. He would not believe -- could not believe -- that Alex changed. Whatever Alex says, he loved Sirius like a brother.”

Harry tried to replace Gates’s sneering expression with one of a lone and dejected schoolboy, but could not.

“But he hates Sirius,” Harry protested, “He told me how Sirius lied to him and-”

Dumbledore waved him into silence. “The Pravus necklace has corrupted Alex’s mind and memories. Even the most positive of Alex’s memories can be twisted around and manipulated until Alex firmly believes that he hates Sirius. That is how it is with all of Alex’s memories. The necklace has forced Alex’s mind to focus on the twisted versions of his memories -- his parents’ deaths, his relationship with Sirius -- until it turned Alex into the spiteful, cruel man you know today. The Pravus necklace has such a strong influence over Alex’s mind that the two are now inseparable. To destroy one would be to destroy the other. Do you see now what I meant when I said Alex became different when he gained the necklace?”

“Are you saying he’s free from blame?” Harry asked with a hint of irritation.

“I’m saying no such thing. It was Alex’s choice to bear the necklace, so the blame is his alone. But Alex has memories -- terrible memories -- that the Pravus necklace has used to turn Alex into another man. The necklace is now so entrenched into Alex’s mind that the damage is irreversible. In a way, the ‘real’ Alex is gone forever.” Dumbledore said with a tinge of regret. “Do you remember when I told you love made him a monster? It was what made him bear that necklace. So much potential…” the headmaster murmured.

“Sirius told me that Gates would’ve become a Death Eater if his parents weren’t killed by them.” Harry remarked.

Dumbledore appeared genuinely surprised. “Did he? I believe Sirius mistook pure blood pride for support of the Dark Arts. Truthfully, Alex believed in pure blood superiority, but that belief and the support of the Dark Arts are two very different things.”

Abruptly and without warning, Dumbledore’s office door swung open. Snape stood statue-like in the doorway, his face expressing utter disdain. “Headmaster-” His eyes fell onto Harry, and his expression deepened.

“Yes, Severus?” Dumbledore asked politely, locking his gaze onto Snape.

“There is a problem in the dungeons that I need your assistance with.” replied Snape, now ignoring Harry.

“Could you be more specific, Severus?”

“It seems that our confused Defense Against the Dark Arts professor managed to wander down into the lower dungeons,” said Snape silkily, “He ran into one of the more insidious creatures that inhabit those parts and is now quite panicked. He will not communicate with either me or Mr. Weasley, and I am hoping he may respond to you. He is fortunate that I happened to be down there today to-” His eyes flitted towards Harry. “-pick up some old glassware that has been down there since my predecessor’s time. Otherwise, he may have been stuck down there for days.” He brushed off the sleeves of his robes, indicating his total indifference to the entire situation.

A sting of guilt stabbed at Harry’s stomach. He suddenly wished that he had not left the poor professor to his own fate down in the dungeons; though he probably would have gotten lost himself if he had started his own search for Professor Whams without help.

“Yes, quite fortunate,” Dumbledore agreed, standing up from his desk.

“Your reasons for choosing such inadequate professors for such an important position in the school confounds me, headmaster,” Snape continued carefully, “When there is a qualified Defense Against the Dark Arts professor in this very school.”

“The required disposition for teaching that particular class is lacking, I’m afraid.” Dumbledore answered evenly.

Snape opened his mouth, as though about to give a retort, but then shut it again. At length, he said “Then shall we proceed, headmaster?”

“In a moment,” Dumbledore replied. He turned to Harry. “Wait in my office until my return. I should be back shortly.” With that, he met Snape and they both swept down the spiral staircase, their footfalls echoing as they went.

A sudden, biting need to know more entered Harry’s brain. While Dumbledore’s replies were adequate, he still wished to know more about how Gates’s mind worked…what Gates remembers. For that, however, he would need to be inside the Hit Wizard’s mind, and that is impossible…

For a fleeting moment, he considered using Legilimency on Gates to pry into his mind. He quickly shoved that idea aside. While it would give unprecedented insight into Gates’s thoughts, it would likely lead Gates into a sudden (And probably violent) reaction. Besides, Harry had never performed Legilimency before, and there was no guarantee that his skills at Occlumency would aid his ability at Legilimency. He needed something else…

Harry moved from his chair and began to pace around Dumbledore’s circular office, his mind empty of ideas. The desire to see into Gates’s mind stirred in his chest, encouraging him to continue. His need was foreign, inexplicable, and overwhelming; there had to be a way to peer into Gates’s brain. If it was impossible for him to view Gates’s mind, then perhaps he could speak to someone who had. That resulted in a single, unanswerable question: Who had examined Gates’s mind before?

Then, in Harry’s moment of puzzlement, the answer presented itself. Sitting serenely on the wooden shelf, its tattered tip bending slightly from its own weight, was the Sorting Hat. He had never been so glad to see the ancient hat before.

Stepping forward, Harry delicately lifted the hat from its place on the shelf and ritualistically raised it over his head. Hesitating, he sat back down into his chair before continuing. Harry held it above his scalp for a moment, and then lowered it until it completely enveloped his head and its wide brim came down to around his chin. He waited in silence.

“Is anyone, err, home?” Harry asked, knowing just as he said it that the question was absurd.

“Is there anywhere else I’d be?” answered a familiar small voice. “I would ask you what you want, but as I can read your thoughts the question would be rather pointless. So you want to know about young Alexander Gates, do you? Well, let me see what you know about him so far…” The voice fell silent, leaving Harry with the uncomfortable feeling that his mind was being probed.

Harry fidgeted in his chair. “What do you see?”

“Patience,” the small voice said, “Please relax. You’re Occlumency training is making it difficult for me to see into your mind. Quite defensive of certain memories, are you?” the hat added with something suspiciously like a chuckle.

Harry waited a minute. “What do you see?” he repeated.

“Everything. It’s all in your head, you know.”

“So I’ve heard,” Harry replied irritably. Why did the hat have to make so much small talk?

The hat spoke distantly, as though reacting to a specific memory in Harry‘s mind. “The Pravus necklace, yes, that would explain things. Alexander has changed much since he last wore me. Even then, his memories tormented him but he suppressed them.”

“What happened with Gates?” Harry asked, wishing the Sorting Hat would cease its vagueness.

The hat was silent for a few seconds, and then spoke in its usual small, soft voice. “I do not usually share what I see in a wizard’s mind with others, but with you, I will make an exception. The bond that you two share makes it necessary for you to know his mind. You two are very alike…”

“Professor Dumbledore told me that,” Harry replied, “He said that we were almost brothers.”

“Albus was quite right,” said the hat, “When he wore me those many years ago, I saw potential, ambition, and a strong thirst to prove himself; something that I also saw in you. The lone difference was that, while you grew up with your ability to love intact, he did not. He was an isolated, detached young boy. When his parents died, he too had to live with relatives; whom, I should add, actively supported Tom Riddle. Alexander’s hatred of Tom led to conflict with his guardians, and this, of course, led to an environment similar to your experiences with your Aunt and Uncle. The memories I saw in his mind…among the worst I’ve witnessed. They brought in vampires, Death Eaters, and dark wizards; all of them hired to train and convert Alexander into Tom’s fold. Needless to say, their efforts were wasted and Alexander suffered. Isn’t that interesting? All the pain begins in childhood: Tom’s life in an orphanage, Alexander’s life with his relatives, your experiences with the Dursley’s.”

Harry silently absorbed the Sorting Hat’s words and contemplated it for a while before speaking again. “So which house did you choose for him?”

“Salazar demanded that Alexander be sorted into House Slytherin,” continued the hat, “And I agreed. Like you, all of Alexander’s traits pointed towards Slytherin, but, also like you, he was vehemently against being in it. Death Eaters had killed his parents, and he was unwilling to be a part of the house that held so many students that openly supported Tom and his followers. He put me in quite a predicament. I spent several long minutes considering all of the variables carefully. I believe that Alexander’s sorting was probably the most difficult sorting that I have ever made.”

Harry sucked in his breath. “So what did you do?”

Harry felt the air in the hat become suddenly chilled and still. “Did I not say that Alexander was incredibly similar to you? I went against Salazar’s demands and placed him into the only house where his qualities could be used: Gryffindor. I admit that I was reluctant to send him to Slytherin in the first place, as Alexander’s potential could easily turn into great evil. In the end, I decided to sort him into Gryffindor in the hopes that perhaps it could divert him from the path he was going down.” The Sorting Hat sighed. “It did not.”

“What happened?”

The small, quiet voice became solemn; as though it was giving a eulogy. “His isolation and detachment morphed into a zealous form of desire for revenge. Revenge itself is a dangerous thing, and when coupled with an emotion as powerful as love, it is more perilous than anything in this world. To bring rest to his parents‘ names, he would need power; even more power than he already had. Not power for himself, but for them. Do you see? Because of this, he accepted the Pravus necklace. The necklace, in turn, corrupted his revenge and loss and isolation into a lust for cruelty. It used Alexander’s most painful memories to control the mind: the memories are key to its influence. And as for Alexander’s bracelet and sense of honor, well, I believe that those are his last vestiges of self; something the necklace cannot use for its own ends. Those two remnants of Gates’s former self have tempered the influence of the Pravus necklace and prevented the worst of its excesses. Everything else: his ethics, morals, sense of trust, and emotions are all decayed and no longer his. He is not, as muggles say, his own man.”

Harry remembered Sirius once saying “The world isn’t split into good people and Death Eaters.”

“So the Pravus necklace is conscious?” Harry asked, unable to keep the skepticism entirely out of his voice.

“No, it is something that gives with one hand and takes with thirty others. An object. The surge of power it gives tampers with the mind, alters the senses. All of this, unfortunately, leads to utter malevolence. Its design is such that its effects occur simply because they occur, and for no other reason. There is no grand plan behind it. The corruption of the Pravus necklace is like the cold that comes from ice; they are inextricably related.”

The hat remained silent for a while, and then spoke again. “You’re confused.”

Something that the headmaster had once told him seemed to contradict the Sorting Hat‘s conjectures. “Professor Dumbledore said that Gates possessed a governing emotion of hate; like he was inherently evil.”

“No one is inherently evil, though Alexander had great potential to be,” the hat said sagely, “The Pravus necklace has such influence and control over Alexander’s thoughts that it managed to warp his governing emotion into hate. When I originally sorted him into Gryffindor, it was vengeance. The Pravus necklace affects us all to varying degrees, but when it ensnares a man like Alexander -- a man with such a terrible life and potential -- it will bring out the very worst of evil.”

“But Dumbledore said Gates could’ve been me-” Harry started.

“Alexander had no prophecy,” The hat said, cleanly cutting him off. “At least no prophecy that we know of. Albus offered the idea that Gates had a nullified prophecy? Such an occurrence is rare, if not impossible. Prophecies are never misaligned without a very dangerous third party.”

“How do-”

“I am aware of everything in Albus’s mind, just as I am not aware of everything in yours.” The Sorting Hat continued, once again reading Harry’s thoughts before they were verbalized. “I know of your prophecy, Harry.”

“Why didn’t Dumbledore just tell me this when I first came into Hogwarts this year?” Harry thought aloud, bitterness in his voice.

“What comfort could be found in it?” replied the Sorting Hat, “It would only serve to alarm you unnecessarily when your sixth year is going to be difficult enough. Albus cares for you, Harry, I see it in his mind whenever he puts me on. Knowing that your guardian is wearing a Pravus necklace is most disturbing, indeed. Is it not?”

It sounded as though the Sorting Hat was doing a lot of guesswork concerning Gates‘s mindset, but Harry felt sure that the hat was accurate. “Any advice?”

The hat answered him even before the words left his mouth. “Stay away from that necklace. Remember that Alexander is no longer rational in a human sense; the Pravus necklace has twisted his mind into something else. As for Miss Granger…I think it best if you don’t go into the Quidditch Supplies store; its safe to assume she wouldn’t enjoy that. Try something public yet secluded.”

Slightly taken aback at the depth of the Sorting Hat’s Legilimency skill, Harry stiffened in his chair. “Uhh, thanks,” Harry said after a moment. Privately, he questioned the Sorting Hat’s qualifications to make such a suggestion.

“Before you leave,” the Sorting Hat said, sensing Harry’s uneasiness, “Take this.”

Harry felt something small and metallic hit his head, and he reached into the hat, bringing out a small, bronze signet ring. He studied it in the palm of his hand, and found that it was a relatively plain ring with only one distinguished feature. On it, engraved into the metal, were the initials ‘V.G.’

“What do the initials ‘V.G.’ stand for?” Harry asked absently, still examining the delicate -- almost fragile -- ring.

“This ring should offer you some protection,” the hat said, evading the question, “Should anyone grab you or touch you with malicious intent while you have this on your person, they will feel a burning, magical charge. It is enough to keep anyone from physically harming you. In addition, it will heat up and burn if it senses the presence of someone untrustworthy. I advise you, however, to keep this out of Alexander’s sight.”

Harry lifted the ring up to the light. “Why?”

“The initials on it stand for Vladimir Gates, Alexander‘s great paternal grandfather. If Alexander recognizes it, which he might, he will be quite angry. I came into its possession when Albus gave it to me some years ago. I do not know where he received it.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, meaning it.

The Sorting Hat’s tone was sincere. “It’s nothing. You will need all the assistance you can get this year.”

Harry placed the ring in his pocket and then removed the Sorting Hat from his head. Carefully, he set it down on the shelf and brushed away a bit of dust on its brim.

“Maybe-” said Harry to no one in particular, “Maybe something can be done after all.”

(A/N: I bet loads of people hated this chapter; mostly from Dumbledore’s conversation probably. We aren’t done learning about the necklace, and I hope no one jumps to any conclusions with it. (Though conjectures are nice)

All I’m going to say is this: I have made no oversights in this chapter.

Chapter 11: One word: bizarre. Some of you ask where this fanfic is going? This chapter is your answer. We pick up on a little something called the main plot and end with probably one of the strangest scenes I’ve ever written. (Though the chapter is mostly light).)

12. The First Attack

(A/N: I wanted to get this chapter out before the Christmas holidays so here you are; chapter 13 will be out Jan 1)

The rest of the week passed by in a blurred flash, and, when Hogsmeade weekend approached, Harry found that he could remember very little of what had occurred during the past days. Consciously, he rehearsed statements and phrases he could use to convince Snape to let him, Ron, and Hermione come in early to serve the detention so they could go to Hogsmeade. The script, however, never sounded right when he spoke it aloud, and he had a sneaking suspicion that it would not matter anyway.

When he approached Snape during Thursday‘s Occlumency lesson, he stated his request in the kindest, most polite voice he could muster, and willed himself to plaster a convincing expression on his face. He stared up into those black, tunnel-like eyes and repeated the small speech he had prepared, speaking in formal and regretful tones, which, he hoped, would appease Snape and curry some mercy. As he finished, he could already tell that Snape was not satisfied.

“As much of a shock as this may come to you,” Snape had said, “The world does not revolve around your desires. I am not about to wake up six hours earlier than I normally would just so you and your friends can complete their detention before the school leaves for Hogsmeade.”

“But sir,” Harry argued back, “Couldn’t you make it after Hogsmeade, or even the day before?” He had never begged Snape for anything, but, for the first time, he shelved his pride and could practically feel himself groveling. He planned to take a shower after this exchange.

“Since you put it that way Potter,” Snape said with feigned thoughtfulness, “Absolutely not. You will serve your detention like any other student would. I’m afraid that I will not be swayed by your pleas, as our dear headmaster has been.”

A shiver of annoyance coursed through Harry’s body but he hid it. It was now necessary to go to plan B. For the first time in his life, he was going to apologize to Snape. “Sir, I am truly sorry about the duel,” Harry said honestly. He had indeed pitied him during that duel. Snape, using Legilimency, seemed to sense the sincerity and tilted his head curiously. “And I apologize for the gambling.”

Oh Merlin, I’m going to have to wash my mouth out with boiling water after this. Anything to be able to go to Hogsmeade this weekend…anything.

“Potter,” said Snape, smirking. He was enjoying this far too much. “Even your father made sniveling apologies to serve his own purpose. Do you really think that I can’t see through you like glass?”

Harry suppressed his outrage at Snape’s reference to his father. “You know Legilimency. You know when I’m lying.”

Snape’s sneering grin vanished and something unreadable replaced it. “You will report for detention after breakfast on Saturday morning,” he said, “There will be no allowances.”

So now all three of them sat in the great hall on Saturday morning, apprehensively waiting for their appointment with Snape in the dungeons to arrive. The worst part had been the fact that Harry and Hermione had, indeed, done nothing. An even stranger development was that Professor McGonagall, nearly always one to chaste her Gryffindors, did not approach any of them concerning Snape’s accusation that they were gambling. In fact, she had said nothing at all, which led Harry to believe that she was not informed of the situation. The reason being, of course, that Snape did not want to admit that he was giving Harry and Hermione, his two most hated students, detention with no evidence. His enmity towards Harry apparently outweighed his dislike of everything Gryffindor.

If this had been any other weekend, Harry was not sure if he would have minded. Truthfully, the novelty of going to Hogsmeade had worn off with the years, and he was no longer as eager to go as he once was. The only thing that made this trip particularly special was that he would be with Hermione the entire day while Ron went out with Luna. He chuckled as he remembered the Sorting Hat’s ‘advice’, and wistfully thought of what he could be missing.

And all because of Snape.

No, not necessarily. Gates was the one who provoked him into dueling and riled him up into such a foul mood. None of this would have happened if Gates could have just settled for humiliating Snape in the classroom. But no, he had to make a spectacle out of it and Seamus and Dean started the bet and Ron took it and it all ended up landing us in detention. Strange how everything comes back to Gates. He stared at the Hit Wizard, who was currently gazing at the ceiling as if he found studying the weather the most fascinating activity in the world. Merlin, I wonder what it’s like to be that bored. Dumbledore must be keeping him in check, though, as he has not been bothering Neville or anyone.

His eyes fell onto Hermione, and he wondered fleetingly why everyone called her hair ‘bushy’, as though it was a bad thing. Watching her discretely, Harry felt both relieved and disappointed that Snape had insisted on the detention. While the absence of Hogsmeade effectively prevented any potential awkward moments, he also thought he would have genuinely enjoyed it. She looked up from her food, and Harry immediately turned his gaze so that he appeared to be observing Gates. (Who stood on the far end of the hall, over her shoulder)

Isn’t that sweet, spoke a sly voice. There was something recognizable in it.

Shut up.

But Harry could not help but wonder what had changed. The past week had become one long confusing puzzle, and something subtle had happened to him. There was a thin, imperceptible chain that linked Hermione to him, and, while he tried to churn it over in his brain, found that he could not identify it. Harry felt that he should know it, but when he came an inch away from recognizing it, it slipped out of his grasp. His brain demanded something comparable to it, and Harry was unable to oblige.

Suddenly, Gates’s stare landed on Ron, and Harry turned to his best friend to see that his goblet was shaking in his hand, pumpkin juice spilling onto the table. Harry looked at Hermione, who then widened her eyes. She appeared to be experiencing a revelation.

“Ron,” Hermione said slowly, “What’s wrong?”

Ron jerked his head at Hermione as though just realizing that she was there. “Oh, nothing. Just a bit nervous about Snape’s detention, I guess.” He set the trembling goblet down and put both of his hands under the table. He tried to grin but it came out as a grimace. “I think I want to be alone for awhile.” He moved to stand up.

“What are you thinking about?” Hermione said, halting his progress.

“Nothing,” Ron said a little too quickly.

“That’s it!” Hermione hissed, glancing scornfully at Gates. “Ron, do you know what he’s doing to you?” Harry, catching on, felt his heart turn into rock.

Ron gave her a look of bewilderment. “What?” he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.

“Gates is probing your mind, Ron. He has been for the past two weeks,” said Hermione, “Now sit down.” Ron obeyed. “Listen, remember when Harry offered to give you Occlumency training?”

Ron’s expression became aghast. “Merlin,” Ron murmured, “That’s what’s been happening. I keep getting these thoughts into my head; terrible, guilty ones. It makes me remember…” He struggled for words. “What I am.” He was clearly referring to his possession.

“Ron you’re not dangerous,” Harry said seriously, “Not to anyone. Gates is putting those thoughts into your head, see? He’s even doing it to me, though I am starting to resist him.”

“So what about those Occlumency lessons?” Ron asked determinedly.

“It’s time we go through with that.” She cast one more scathing look at Gates before continuing. “Even if you only have rudimentary defenses against Gates, he won’t have as much of an influence over your mind.”

“Why the bloody hell did he choose me?” Ron asked rhetorically, “I don’t even say anything to him.”

Hermione shook her head. “It’s not about that. He’s trying to split you away from Harry. He knows that he cannot force us apart overtly, but he thinks he can separate us by violating our minds. He knows your possessed, Ron, and though we know that you would never hurt us, he doesn’t. Since he’s here to protect Harry, he’s trying to push you away. In his mind, he’s doing his duty, though I have no doubt there are more sinister motives behind his peculiar choice of tactics as well.”

Despite Hermione’s confidence, Harry was not sure whether he could teach Ron Occlumency. It was a challenging ability; one that he had not even mastered yet. Besides, he would need to be able to use Legilimency too, and he had never tried it before. Probing into Ron’s mind would also put a strain on their friendship, as Harry might see some very personal memories that Ron would be uncomfortable with him seeing. Regardless, they had to do something. Gates must not be allowed to skip through Ron’s mind at whim.

A cold hand fell on Harry’s shoulder, and an even colder voice that Harry recognized belonging to Snape spoke. “Ah, Potter and his very distinguished friends. I know how much you all have on your minds, and detention tends go to the wayside, so I took the liberty of escorting you three down to the dungeons myself. I did not want your respective detentions to slip from your collective minds. Let’s go. Now.”

Harry pushed away the last of his breakfast and Ron and Hermione did the same. They slowly moved from their seats and followed Snape to the entrance of the dungeons. Harry chanced a glance towards the staff table and saw that Professor McGonagall was engaged in a conversation with Professor Flitwick.

“Come now, unless you wish to waste more time. It doesn’t matter to me, really,” Snape said, “You won’t be leaving the dungeons until every last glass bottle is sparkling clean.”

When they entered Snape’s classroom, they found countless stacks of dusty brown boxes stacked against the far wall, some looking like they have existed for centuries. The odor radiating from them, however, was the worst part. It stunk of grime and mildew and decay. Hermione pinched her nose while Harry’s eyes watered. Snape, who alone appeared unaffected by the stench, (A real surprise with a nose that large) directed them to three buckets of water and rags, his meaning clear. Gates retreated into a dark corner on the opposite side of the room, looking as though he was ready to fall asleep.

“Take as much time as you need,” Snape drawled, “You will stay here until I dismiss you. I will only do that when I see that your work is satisfactory.”

Snape strode over to his desk and sat down. He pulled a massive stack of parchment towards him, and then meticulously began grading them. Harry recognized the stack as the essays they had to write on The Cleansing Potion that they had turned in on Friday. From the look of nasty disdain that was on his face, he was not pleased with the particular student’s work.

He hoisted the first box off of the wall and nearly dropped it down next to his bucket. It was heavy with glass jars, bottles, and flasks; all of them filthy and caked with scum. Ron tossed him an exasperated look, and Harry simply shrugged. He just hoped that his hand would not cramp up like it did last time.

“And be careful,” Snape said absently, his eyes reviewing a piece of parchment, “I’m not sure what was made in all of those jars, and I advise that you avoid touching the grime with your skin. Some of the effects can be…permanent.”

Harry bent down and began cleaning the first jar, which glowed with a fluorescent green light. He wrapped the rag around his hand, carefully avoiding exposing his skin, and scrubbed at the inside of the jar. The slime, which apparently hardened over the years, stubbornly held on to the glass, forcing Harry to dig his nails through the rag and practically scrape it off. When he withdrew the rag, the jar was clean and the rag, once a grayish white, was now tinged with a greenish hue.

He turned to his friends to see that they were having similar trouble. Ron was desperately trying to pry something that looked like mold from the bottom of his flask, while Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust as she wiped away a collection of smeared insect appendages off the side of her bottle. The pity that Harry previously felt for Snape now gone, he reached down for another jar.

“This is never going to get done,” Harry muttered as he plucked a dirty flask from the open cardboard box.

The process continued for the next twenty minutes, and Snape showed no signs of relenting. In fact, when he saw Ron finish his first box, Snape floated a replacement into the room and set it down in the exact spot where Ron’s box previously was. He smirked and returned to his enormous stack of papers. Evidently, Snape possessed several store rooms of glassware for the trio to clean, and he was trying to make them as miserable as possible. Harry was relieved that when Ron finished his second box, Snape did not bring in another.

Beginning to feel weary, Harry looked up to see Snape’s classroom book cupboard, usually locked and sealed, was slightly ajar; just enough for him to see the book Confessions of a Dark Wizard: The Pravus Necklace on the bottom shelf. Harry remembered seeing it in Occlumency training last week. Again, he felt the temptation to steal the tome, as the book would undoubtedly contain insight that even Dumbledore could not provide. Snape would not even notice, as the Potions master was currently too absorbed in failing his students to see Harry’s actions. Again, like last time, he quelled the urge. The book obviously came from Snape’s private collection, and he would know if it went missing; and there was only one person who could possibly have any interest in it. Eventually, it would lead back to Harry. More influential, however, was the fact that stealing from Snape, or anyone, for that matter, was wrong.

Another ten minutes passed, and Harry’s bucket of water began to be thicken with scum and filth from the various bottles he cleaned. He now had a small heap of glassware nearby, and the collective muck Harry cleaned off from their insides was now swirling in the once-clean water. Hoping that the water diluted the solutions and prevented them from deforming his hand, Harry wrung out his rag and started cleaning yet another jar. When he finished, however, the jar was even dirtier than it had been before, and wet streams of muddy water now ran down its sides. Frowning, he turned to Snape.

“Err, professor?” Harry said.

Snape scrawled something that looked like a ‘D’ on the essay he was grading and looked up. “Yes? What is it?”

“This water,” Harry began, gesturing to the bucket, “It’s filthy. I can’t clean anything with it. Where can I replace it?”

Snape sneered evilly. Never a good sign, Harry thought. “Well, Potter, I suppose I can help you there.” He went under his desk and pulled out something that looked like a piece of scrap metal. He tossed it lightly across the room and it landed a meter away from Harry’s feet. “Clean it out with that. Where’s your sense of conservationism? We don’t have water to waste on you.”

Harry picked up the object, and found that it was a crude muggle filter. He dipped it into his bucket, and when he pulled it out a large amount of slime. Unsure of what to do with it, he made sure Snape was not looking and then tossed it inside of an empty box. He repeated the process until the water was mostly free of dirt. Though Harry could still not see the bottom of the bucket, and the liquid was still murky, it was clean enough for his purposes. He handed the filter off to Hermione and Ron, who in turn used it for their buckets.

“Potter,” Snape said again, his voice biting through the chilled dungeon air, “Come here for a moment.”

Wondering what Snape could possibly want, Harry tentatively approached him. By the way Snape was grinning, Harry knew that the Potions master had something nasty planned. “Yes, professor?”

“Where did you receive this information on The Cleansing Potion?” he asked casually, pointing to the essay in his hand. Harry’s stomach dropped when he realized it was his. He had put at least two hours into writing the essay alone. That did not count all the research he had to do…

“The library and school textbooks, of course.” Harry said cautiously.

Snape regarded the parchment in his hand with feigned interest. “And which textbook informed you that The Cleansing Potion works by ‘burying’ the excess waste?”

Harry leaned over the parchment. “That says ‘burning’. As in acid.”

“No, this most certainly says ‘burying’,” said Snape, unable to keep the humor out of his voice, “I fear that I am not responsible for your poor handwriting.” He crossed out the entire sentence with his quill.

I see what you’re doing. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Harry, however, made no audible comment.

“You spelled ‘Asphodel’ incorrectly, Potter. Another point lost…” Snape continued. He looked ready to lick his lips. “My, what are you trying to say here Potter?” He underlined a section of his essay and read it out loud. “The mixture of the Wormwood and Asphodel can result in undesirable consequences.”

Snape paused, absorbing the statement. “What kind of consequences, Potter? After reading this, I’m not sure if you do. This is an essay, Potter, you don’t make broad generalizations. Undesirable is completely within your point of view.” He crossed out yet another sentence.

I would think the potion letting off poisonous gas would be listed under ‘undesirable’, Harry thought, but said nothing. He merely stared at Snape, not wanting the Potions master to derive any pleasure from failing his essay.

“And your mention of the Porvelian stone, did you forget to add the fact that the Porvelian stone often originates from different types of material? Such as rubies, coal, or even plants?”

Harry blinked. “If you read the fourth paragraph, you will-”

“Yes I see it now, nevermind Potter.” Snape said, cutting him off. “But do you know that the Porvelian stone is often concealed in its several other forms, so to prevent its full implications and value from becoming apparent?”

Harry stared at him, perplexed. “It’s in that same paragraph, sir.”

Snape eyed the paper again. “So it is. Do you have anything else to say, Potter?”

Harry could not help himself. “Is there anything factually wrong with the paper, sir? Or is my grade based on grammar and interpretations?”

Snape did not even look up from the parchment. “It’s based on whatever I think it should be based on. Now, here’s your grade.” He scribbled down an ‘A’ for Acceptable on the top right corner of the paper.

Harry was annoyed. There was no reason at all for him to earn anything under an ‘E’, especially when all of his facts were accurate. He had checked and rechecked every single sentence in his essay for errors, and even had Hermione review it for him. She found nothing wrong with it.

“I thought you were supposed to be less, err, harsh, sir.” Harry said with a hint of irritation.

Snape’s quill stopped abruptly as he was making a note on the next paper. “So the headmaster took the liberty to inform you of that, did he? I’ll have you know that you are fortunate to receive an ‘A’ on that paper. I read nothing on it that exceeded my expectations, so why should you have that grade?” Though Snape’s face was not turned towards Harry, he knew that he was smirking.

Harry grudgingly returned to scrubbing out the glass jars. He was now on his third box, and he wearily looked at the huge heap of boxes that awaited him. He estimated their number to be around thirty or forty -- at least. And that, of course, assumed that Snape found his cleaning adequate, which, Harry was sure, he would not.

Harry heard Snape’s quill scratch on parchment as the Potions master (He was sure) crossed out passages and phrases on some poor student’s essay. From the amount of noise Snape’s quill was making, Harry was sure that, whoever the student was, he had received a ’D’. He turned away from his work to see Snape put the paper onto the shorter stack of finished essays with a pleased expression on his face, as though he had just found a galleon lying on the ground.

Suddenly, someone Harry had not expected swept into the room, appearing very self-important with a pompous expression on his face. Percy, subtly winking at Harry as he went, stopped in front of Snape’s desk and waited with an elevated air. Gates eyed him curiously from his corner.

“Yes, Mr. Weasley?” Snape said silkily, looking up at Percy. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Percy sucked in his breath and began. “Professor Whams requires assistance in some work that he needs done, and, as he heard that you have some students in detention, he asks if you could be so kind as to lend them to him for the rest of the day.”

Snape raised his eyebrow. “And where did Professor Whams hear this from?”

“I do not know, sir,” Percy replied with the unmistakable tone of a former Head Boy.

“What work does he need help with?”

Harry swore that Percy almost smiled. “He needs aid in cleaning the Grindylow tanks and the other various dark creatures. They are far overdue for this sort of work, and Professor Whams, in his condition, is quite nervous about performing this task.”

“Where are you keeping the Grindylows in the meantime?” Snape asked suspiciously.

“They’re still in the tanks,” Percy answered, “I’m afraid Professor Whams has no spare equipment.”

Snape looked positively gleeful. Apparently the heightened possibility of physical injury made the change of work more appealing. He glanced at Harry with a menacing look in his eyes and turned back to Percy. “I am certainly not one to deny the requests of my associates. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger: You will all server the remained portion of your detention by cleaning out the various tanks that Professor Whams instructs you to clean out. You may leave.” He waved them away.

They quickly filed out of the room, leaving their buckets and rags behind, barely able to believe their luck. Gates followed them from behind, almost strolling. Percy led them away until they were out of earshot, and then spun around.

“Are you three still interested in going to Hogsmeade?” Percy asked hurriedly.

“Yes,” the three of them said in chorus.

“Then you have twenty minutes to get on the bus.” Percy said, peering down the corridor as if expecting Snape to be tracking them.

Ron looked perplexed. “What about the detention with Whams?”

“Look,” said Percy, “I’d understand if you still want to go to detention, even though it was unjust, so we can go head up to Professor Whams’s office and you can help me file his folders. You don’t have to go to your detention; Professor Whams overheard what Professor Snape told you three and I heard him muttering about it during lunch yesterday, so I know you didn’t deserve it. If you had really done something wrong, trust me, you’d still be with Professor Snape right now.”

“Isn’t Professor Whams going to know we’re gone?” Hermione asked, biting her lower lip.

“No, he’s probably already forgotten,” Percy said, “So he won’t know the difference. I’ll cover for you and tell Professor Snape that you finished your detention with Professor Whams. If he comes up, I’ll just say Professor Whams dismissed you early.”

“You’re going to lie to a teacher?” said Ron with disbelief in his voice. He stared at his brother in a whole new light. “Who are you?”

Percy actually grinned. “Look, I’m a bit less naïve about authority now, okay? I realize what can go on…” He paused, as though a sudden thought stuck him. “There isn’t going to be a problem, is there?” He asked, looking directly at Gates.

The Hit Wizard merely stared back. “You can’t be serious. Anything is preferable to watching Potter scrub jars for hours on end.”

“Good, then that’s settled.”

“Thanks, you didn’t have to do this, though, Percy.” Harry replied.

“I know,” said Percy, “So do you want to go to Hogsmeade or do you want to serve your detention.” He looked furtively at Hermione. “I know how, err, sensitive one or two of you can be about following the rules, so you can still finish it up if you want.”

“We’ll go,” Hermione said, knowing the question was directed towards her.

Percy nodded. “Then go now. The buses leave in ten minutes. Professor Snape never told Professor McGonagall about your detentions, so she won’t say anything. I reckon its because Professor Snape doesn’t have any evidence on you, and he knows Professor McGonagall will just overrule him.”

“I figured that.” Harry muttered.

“Alright,” Percy said at length, looking around, “Go on, you three. Professor Snape isn’t leaving the dungeons, so you’ll be in the clear.”

They all (Ron included) murmured their thanks and ran off, hoping to catch the buses before they left. The dungeon stairway never seemed so long when they clambered up it before, but now it felt like it took an eternity to climb. Harry heard Gates’s heavy footfalls below, but he did not care. They needed to make the bus in time.

“Percy has really changed, hasn’t he?” Ron said aloud as they ran, “I never would have thought…”

They reached the front entrance of the castle and found Filch marking off the last names on the students leaving for Hogsmeade. When Harry, Ron, and Hermione approached, he narrowed his eyes and tightened his lips.

“And where have you children been? Haven’t you and your nasty little friends been waiting all week to go to Hogsmeade and fill up on dungbombs and-” He visibly shuddered. “-Skiving Snackboxes and all those other devices those twins sell? I was so close…I had the approval and everything…” His eyes glazed over as he reminisced.

“So are we in time?”

Filch snapped out of his fond memories of Umbridge’s order that allowed him to administer corporal punishment on Fred and George. “Yes,” he muttered, crossing off their names. He did not even look up when Gates passed him by.

They hopped onto the buses, and Ron suddenly hesitated when they began to take their seats. “I should, err,” His ears deepened into a shade of red. “You know, sit with Luna. So I should go and find out where she is…” His voice trailed off into faint mumblings.

“Oh, go ahead Ron,” said Hermione, giggling, “We don’t mind.”

“Of course we don’t,” Harry agreed rather quickly.

“Well, that will work,” Ron said somewhat nervously, “How about we meet in the Three Broomsticks sometime? Maybe about one-thirty?” He began to play with the hem of his robe.

“Sure,” Harry replied, “If that’s alright with you, Hermione.”

Hermione appeared slightly taken aback by the thoughtfulness. “That’s fine, Ron. We’ll see you then.”

Ron nodded and eased his way to the back of the bus, disappearing into the mass of students. Harry sat back in the cushion seat, and let out a long sigh.

He racked his brain for a place they could go in Hogsmeade, and could not think of anything appropriate. What was the advice the Sorting Hat gave him? Try something public, yet secluded. Well, there were plenty of public places in Hogsmeade, but secluded too? Harry was beginning to dislike the intentional contradictions that people passed off as ‘advice’.

Then an idea that could only be categorized as pure brilliance hit him. The bookstore! Sure, it was not necessarily his favorite place, but he really did not care. Bookstores were open to the public, yet few people spent any great deal of time there. It would be easy to find a relatively isolated table in the corner of the store and sit down, stretching his legs and glancing through some books (Possibly some that could come in handy for the D.A.) while Hermione read only a few feet away from him. The Hogwarts library may contain a vast array of tomes and books, but Harry was sure that the collection was not absolute.

Feeling much more comfortable, Harry settled down a little more. They could go to the bookstore straight after meeting Luna and Ron. As the bus jolted and rumbled down the road to Hogsmeade, Harry, feeling awkward, started a conversation.

“So, err, what do you want to do when we get there?” Harry asked, trying to lessen the foreign tension that surrounded them. Merlin, why did this sort of stuff have to be so difficult?

“I don’t know,” Hermione said, sounding unusually hesitant, “Maybe we can go to the Quidditch supply store for awhile.”

Harry understood what she was trying to do. “No, we’ve been in there loads of times. There’s never anything new in there.” Of course, it was a flat out lie, but he knew that Hermione would be bored and that she was only offering to go for his sake. “Let’s stop at Honeydukes for awhile; we can meet up with Ron and Luna afterward.” He wanted to put off the bookstore idea until after they met Luna and Ron, as they would have more time then.

“That sounds fine,” Hermione replied. From the way she was looking at him, Harry could tell she was surprised.

When the bus finally slowed to a halt, a flow of enthusiastic third years leapt down the steps, followed by the usual mass of older students, who were mostly divided into female and male pairs. The day was surprisingly hot for September, and the students who brought a heavier cloak to wear over their robes soon found themselves carrying it in their arms, their hair becoming moist from the heat. Gates alone remained unfazed from the temperature, and he stubbornly wore his heavy crimson robes and matching cloak like some sort of warrior’s regalia.

Throughout Hogsmeade, Harry noticed that there were several Aurors in ministry uniforms patrolling the streets, obviously assigned to boost security since Voldemort’s reign returned. In addition, many Hogwarts professors, including McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout, spread out from the buses to positions around Hogsmeade to reinforce the Aurors. Evidently, every precaution was being made to prevent Death Eaters from wrecking havoc during the field trip.

Mercifully, Gates kept to himself as Harry and Hermione browsed through Hogsmeade, never even throwing a veiled insult in Harry’s direction. He seemed especially wary of his surroundings, often peering into dark corners and alleys as though expecting to see dark wizards. His hand was always thrust deeply into his robes, undoubtedly clutching at his wand. His bald head shone with sweat as his eyes darted about erratically.

Entering Honeydukes, Harry was dismayed to see it packed with young witches and wizards. Hermione, apparently indifferent, eased through the crowd and motioned Harry to follow her. Almost shoving past a tight knot of witches, they at last stood before a case displaying a variety of exotic candy, including the infamous cockroach clusters.

“Nothing’s here, let’s try the main desk,” she said, shaking her head. Hermione grabbed his hand and led him across the shop.

They stood in front of a glass counter, which enclosed a vast array of chocolates, mints, and caramel treats. An old wizard, who just finished up serving a small group of students, saw them and came down to their end.

“Anything I can get for you two?” he asked genially.

Harry considered his choices. “I’ll have two of those, three of the candy bars on the bottom shelf, and a bagful of the lemon drops.” he said, pointing to them respectively. Since Dumbledore had offered him one in his office last week, he had become quite fond of the lemon candies. The old wizard gathered the desired candy and set them on the counter.

Hermione’s eyes quickly scanned the shelves. “I’ll just have a bag of lemon drops too, but can they be sugarless?” Harry suddenly remembered that Hermione’s parents were dentists, and he mentally kicked himself for the oversight.

“Certainly,” The old wizard smiled, filled a bag of lemon drops, and then murmured an incantation on the candy. The lemon drops glowed white for an instant, and then dimmed back to their natural color. “They’re sugarless now.”

“Thanks,” Hermione accepted them. “How much?”

“Fifteen knuts.”

Hermione counted out the money and Harry asked, “And mine?”

“Yours comes out to three sickles and fourteen knuts.”

“I’ll take care of this,” Harry said, “They come out to an even four sickles, so I might as well.” he added.

“You don’t have to-”

“I insist,” Harry said, already paying the cashier. Hermione hesitated, them put her money away.

They grabbed their purchases and left, relieved at finally escaping from the crowded store. Meandering down the street, Harry realized that, for the most part, he was blissfully unaware of Gates’s presence. The only sign of his existence was when Harry glanced over his shoulder to see the Hit Wizard’s towering form looming over the surrounding students like a tree. Hardly believing his luck that the afternoon was going so well, Harry walked on, a smile playing on his face. He barely noticed an Auror roughly bump into him as he went.

“What are you so happy about?” Hermione asked, grinning slightly.

“Nothing is wrong for once.”

Hermione blushed and turned away.

A moment later they passed Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecomb, both of them appearing rather dejected. When Marietta saw Harry, she leaned nearer to Cho wand whispered non-too-quietly “I told you.”

Hermione cast a puzzled glance at Harry and he shrugged.

Hermione’s eyes widened in realization. “Harry, they don’t think-”

“Nah, ‘course not,” Harry said, though he had a sneaking suspicion of the exact opposite.

At one thirty, Harry and Hermione entered The Three Broomsticks, searching intently around the tavern for Luna and Ron. They did not have to look long, however, as Ron began vehemently waving them over to a secluded table in the corner where he and Luna now sat, both drinking tall glasses of pumpkin juice. To Harry’s surprise, Ron was wearing a large grin on his face; a sharp contrast to the uneasy expression he had when he was on the bus. Several meters away from the table, a ministry Auror (Harry recognized him as Dawlish) carefully watched over the bustling bar.

Harry waited for Hermione to pick a seat and then sat down. “Hey mate.”

“How’s it been going so far?” Ron asked. He was positively beaming.

Harry saw, out of the corner of his eye, Gates wait for a moment, then sit down on a stool at the end of the bar, just within earshot of their table.

“Great,” Harry answered, and Hermione nodded in agreement. She, like Ron, was smiling broadly.

Harry heard Gates mutter “Red Haze; make it Horntail.” to the bartender, Madam Rosemereta.

“I’m sorry, we don’t have that here,” Rosemereta said apologetically, “Can I interest you in something else?”

Gates, with obvious irritation in his voice, answered “No, nothing.” Luna, who seemed to have picked up on this exchange, watched him curiously.

“So where’ve you been?” Ron asked, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

“Nowhere in particular,” Harry said, “Honeydukes mostly.”

“Did you check out the Quidditch supply store?”

Harry tried to find a way out of this line of questioning but failed. “Err, no.”

Ron looked puzzled. “Why not? Everyone was checking out the new Cleansweep series.”

“They were?” Harry said, feigning ignorance, “Well, I didn’t know. I mean, it must’ve just slipped my mind.” He knew he was babbling and sounding like a fool, but at the moment he was running out of options. Luna looked at Harry and Hermione with a curious look in her eyes.

Ron snorted into his drink. “Slipped your mind? Have you gone mental?” He adamantly refused to believe that anyone could possibly think that anyone could forget about Quidditch. “It’s-“

“Me and Ronald went to Honeydukes, too.” Luna interrupted, her ethereal voice halting Ron’s tirade. “He bought me some chocolate frogs.” She turned to Ron with a dreamy smile on her face.

Ron’s ears tinged pink. “I suppose I did.”

“Did you two buy anything at Honeydukes?” Luna inquired, returning her gaze to Harry and Hermione.

“Harry bought some chocolate bars and lemon drops,” Hermione said, “Though he bought some sugarless ones for me since I never really cared for sugar as my parents are dentists.”

Luna nodded as if this confirmed something.

“Have you run into any professors?” Ron asked, “We should try to avoid ‘em.”

“Why? Snape was the only one who knew we had detentions.”

“If word gets back that we were at Hogsmeade,” said Ron, his voice low, “Snape will kill us. So we better keep a low profile while we’re here.” Harry suddenly understood why Ron chose a shabby, distant corner of the tavern to sit.

“I doubt Severus would do such a thing,” drawled Gates, coming up from behind. Harry silently cursed. He knew that Gates’s apathy was too good to last. “And you may be surprised at how little word gets back to him. Few teachers bother to inform Severus of anything...I daresay most professors find the dungeons far too cold.”

Harry sighed. “So what made you decide to speak? You were doing so well up until now.”

Gates stared at each occupant of the table before answering. “I’m afraid they did not have my preferred drink in stock.”

“I’d imagine the Red Haze is a hard to come by,” said Luna, turning her protuberant eyes onto Gates, “Though you seem to be the type who drinks a concoction simple because of its name. Why drink a Red Haze when you can create your own, more realistic, variety?”

Gates licked his teeth as if debating whether to react. “I am here for the entire year, Lovegood.”

“And Potter,” Gates abruptly said, whirling onto Harry, “I advise you to tell your friends to keep their tongues securely within their mouths. You would not want me to express my displeasure at being thrown subtle taunts by the daughter of the editor of the Quibbler.” he added, his voice mocking as he finished.

Before Harry could respond to Gates’s weak attempt to shift pressure, Luna said “My father once told me a story, Mr. Gates. Can I tell it to you?” Luna continued without waiting. “My father told me a story about a fisherman they found dead on the beach. This particular fisherman had holes on the top of his shoulders, where slender spikes apparently entered the flesh. Now, the muggles automatically assumed it was murder, but upon further investigation, they found that the man actually drowned. The holes on the man’s shoulders were created by small gripping spikes, which are on every fisherman’s boots. These spikes help fishermen keep their balance on slippery surfaces, such as a deck on a boat. It was later discovered that this fisherman was part of a larger party of fishermen whose boat sunk off the coast. The final report dictated that another fisherman in the party stood on the now-dead man’s shoulders in order to keep his own head above water. This put the spikes into the dead man’s shoulders, and this also caused him to drown. Do you understand? His partner stepped on his shoulders to keep alive, at the other man’s expense.”

“Is there a point to the story?” Gates interjected impatiently.

“Yes,” Luna replied, smiling gently as though readying herself for an especially enjoyable moment. “The point of the story, my father said, was that such actions, while they are excusable sometimes in mortal situations, are not acceptable anywhere else; particularly, I might add, in social gatherings.”

Hermione clasped her hand over her mouth to hide laughter, and Harry, just beginning to understand the insult, stared up at Gates with a broad grin on his face.

Gates, however, was not amused. His hands were clenched tightly together in rage and his eyes were glittering darkly with unmistakable fury. “Your father is an interesting man,” Gates snarled, his voice seething. “It’s a pity he wastes his potential like he does.”

“I don’t know about that,” Luna replied nonchalantly, casually sipping her drink. “He’s been preparing a massive piece for the past several weeks. It’s going to be on the front cover.” she added happily.

“Should I care?” Gates asked with a measure of mocking superiority, “The Quibbler’s subscription barely extends beyond a circle of gossiping, middle-aged witches.”

“We now deliver to nearly three times as many people as we used to,” Luna said proudly, “The Daily Prophet’s nonsense has increased sales considerably. People want an alternate news source, and we can provide fair, legitimate coverage. Most of Hogwarts subscribes to the Quibbler as well as the Daily Prophet.”

Gates’s eyes flashed. “Dare I ask what it’s about?” His jaw began to work itself as if he was chewing rocks.

Luna’s tone was light and dreamy. “Just you and the Gates family history.”

“What?” Gates spat as though the word was ash. Recovering, he continued “You will inform me of the details of this article before it is released, which is required, by law, when a family name is introduced.”

“Suit yourself; though you won’t change anything. I will provide you with apt warning.”

“You- What-” His eyes blazed yet he seemed unable to form a single statement to express his anger. “Never-” Something worked inside of the Hit Wizard’s head, and his hand went up to his temple.

He inhaled. “One day you will be out of this school and will be an adult; and I may remember and then I will have no scruples.” He spun and strode back to the bar, his rigid posture reflecting his fuming disposition.

“He never cares about his own name,” Luna said when Gates left, “It’s always the family name. You should pity him, Harry.” she added sadly.

It was an hour later, and Gates had returned to being pleasantly silent. Luna’s remarks, it seemed, submerged him into an expression of brooding irritation; the only emotion etched into his sharp face being resigned anger. His wounded pride festered within him. At the moment, he was sitting stonily at a far table, his eyes occasionally glancing up from a rather ancient-looking tome he was reading.

At Harry’s insistence, they entered the relatively empty bookstore and found an area dedicated exclusively to reading. Hermione, initially trying to politely dissuade Harry, agreed to spend at least an hour or two reading over a few of the rare tomes in the store. She knew, of course, that he was only suggesting this for her benefit, as he was not ‘into’ books like she was. In other words, both of them were trying to please the other, though Harry won in the end.

To Harry’s surprise, the bookstore functioned as both a library and a bookstore, as, for a considerable fee, one could rent out a book for months or even years. As some of the tomes were exceptionally rare, purchasing them would be impossible for everyone except the most wealthy of wizards. They set aside an area where studious wizards and witches from Hogwarts could browse through their stock without paying a fee. Normally a card would be required to read through a tome for a long length of time.

“I’ve been searching for this Ancient Rune book for ages,” Hermione murmured as she opened up a book labeled Ancient Druids Revisited. “The library at school, of course, has books on the druids but they don’t have nearly the level of detail of the ones you can find in Hogsmeade.”

“Yeah, I think I know what you mean.” Harry said, flipping through a book that described counter-jinxes and defensive charms useful against the Dark Arts. Next to it was an edition of Mountain Trolls and Giants: A Definitive Guide to Protection.

Hermione set her book onto the table. “Harry?”

“Hmm?” Harry asked, pretending to vastly interested in what he was reading. It was really just an excuse not to meet her eyes, as at the moment, he was not sure what they would betray.

“Why did we come here?” Her question was simple, direct, and precisely what Harry had expected her to ask.

Because…why? So far the day had proven to among the most confusing ever, and Harry could scarcely formulate a response. Something pulled at his chest.

Well think of something soon, you dunderhead, said a sleek, sly voice in his head that Harry had now come to identify as Snape’s. It was weird to hear the Potion master’s voice echoing in his head to say the least, but Harry figured it was from some strange side-effect of having Snape probe into his mind constantly. The development was recent, and Harry believed it had only started this past week.

What do you suggest? I can’t very well answer that without sounding stupid.

Well you better think of something soon. You’ve been staring at this page for a minute now and you can’t keep this up forever. You’re failing at this horrendously. And here I thought your Potions skill was terrible.

“Why did we come here?” Hermione repeated, and Harry was startled out of his internal conversation.

“Because you like reading, don’t you?” Harry said, not taking his eyes off of his book. It’s a simple question, why does it have to be so hard to answer?

Because giving the real answer could very well break your friendship, isn’t that right? You’re floundering, Potter.

Thanks Snape, you’re a real pal.

That’s Professor Snape to you.

Hermione was apparently not satisfied with Harry’s response. “But you don’t.”

“I reckoned that we could do something you like for once. It seems like me and Ron are always dragging you through the Quidditch supply store.” Harry replied, settling for telling the incomplete truth.

Harry chanced a glance at Hermione’s face and saw surprise.

“Thank you,” Hermione said, and took up her books and moved across the table. For a minute, Harry thought she was going to kiss him on the cheek, but instead she sat down on a chair adjacent to him; much closer than before, he noticed.

“No problem.”

Harry subtly scooted his seat towards Hermione, and then he sat back, enjoying their closeness. He was now strongly aware of every curve on her face and the location of every strand of her brown hair. Her eyes moved back and forth slightly as she read the lines in her book, and, when she finished the page on her left, her head would imperceptibly turn as she went to the other page. Sometimes, perhaps once every thirty seconds, she would blink and her eyes would shine with an intensity she usually reserved for books and S.P.E.W. Her lips began to tug into a smile, and Harry quickly locked his gaze back onto the Dark Arts book. Heat rose into his cheeks. Why was he staring?

Now if you could pay attention to your Potions work like you do to her face, you may be able to salvage your grade. Unfortunately, you’re doomed to failure. I believe it’s something in the blood.

Harry was beginning to tire of Snape’s dry comments. My grade isn’t a reflection of my work.

True, but surely even you must realize that my teachings extend beyond Potions.

“Hermione,” Harry began to ask without knowing why, “What ever happened to Krum?”

Hermione looked slightly taken aback by the question. “What makes you ask about him?” She sounded slightly anxious.

“Well,” said Harry, once again unsure of his reasoning, “You sort of didn’t get anything for Valentine’s day last year, and I just thought that was kind of strange. If you don‘t want to talk about it…”

There was no doubt now: Hermione was surprised. “No, that’s quite all right. Don’t tell Ron, but I broke up with him last fall. It was never going to work out, honestly,” Hermione looked back down at her book as though avoiding something. “So I decided that we should move on.”

Harry’s lips formed a silent “oh” and he returned to reading his book. He had been staring at the same page for twenty minutes and had not absorbed a word.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you help me with something?”

“Sure, what is it?”

Hermione took a rather long time to answer. “I can’t reach this book. I wanted to get it earlier but I’m too short.”

“Alright, where is it?” Harry said, closing the Dark Arts book and standing up from the chair expectantly.

“It’s in the back,” she continued as she led him into the rows of shelves that contained dusty racks of tomes, books, and old copies of extinct magazines. Harry shot one last glance towards Gates to see that the Hit Wizard was watching them critically, and was now moving to follow.

At length they came to the very back, and Hermione stood next a particularly tall shelf of books bound in green and red covers. “Could you get that for me?” she asked, pointing to a scarlet tome about nine feet off the ground. He would have to be a giraffe to reach it.

He bordered on asking Gates for help, but, coming to his senses, he dragged a footstool up the shelf and, standing on the tip of his toes, eased the book out of its nook and brought it down into Hermione’s waiting hand.

“Thanks,”

“It’s nothing.”

“Harry,” Hermione continued, “It isn’t just the book.” Hermione appeared to be restraining herself from biting her lip; a habit Harry began to associate with nervousness or indecision.

Harry pretended to be distracted by a particular textbook on the shelf. “Hmm?”

“I wanted to ask you a question…away from him.” said Hermione, unable to keep a hint of unease out of her voice.

Harry, having a good idea of what the question was, said “What’s the question?” His palms began to sweat.

This ought to be good, said Snape sarcastically. I confess that I usually do not find amusement in students’ relationships, but in your case, I’m making an exception.

Hermione drew a deep breath, as though preparing to say the next several sentences very quickly. “You see, do-”

“Potter?” A new voice sounded from down the row of books. Harry turned to see a ministry Auror, wearing simple black robes with the ministry crest, practically sprinting towards him, his blonde hair stuck up wildly and giving the overall impression of extreme haste. His eyes flitted to Gates’s towering form and then went back to Harry. “I’ve been searching for you for the past half hour. Miss Granger? Both of you, come with me.”

Harry and Hermione followed him unquestionably; his authority as an Auror irrefutable. Was there an attack? Are they evacuating the students? What happened?

“Quickly,” the Auror urged, “We don’t have much time. We’ll go out the back way.”

They were now running, and, suddenly, the Auror winced and stumbled as though in pain. He clutched his side, audibly inhaled, and then straightened. Harry did a double take. Was it a trick with the light, or did the Auror’s hair get considerably shorter?

Harry glanced behind him to see Hermione one step away. People poked their heads out from behind bookcases curiously, wondering what all the noise and ruckus was about. The store’s clerk (And almost perfect replica of Madam Pince) shriveled her nose as she watched them from afar.

“Hermione, are you all right?” Harry asked, concerned. She was beginning to fall behind.

“I’m fine, let’s go.”

“Slow down,” Harry said to the Auror’s back, “She’s falling behind.”

The Auror was unwilling to comply. “We can’t. There’s not much time. Go through that door!”

He pointed to a door marked ‘Employees Only’ and threw it open. Inside was a large, plain room with an adjoining corridor. Several cardboard boxes and stacks of books were heaped in the corners, and it looked more like a storage room than anything else. The Auror closed and magically sealed the door behind him, and then turned to Harry and Hermione, who were now panting.

“There,” the Auror said in a slightly higher voice. “Now-”

The Auror raised his wand, as though preparing to summon a curse, when he abruptly doubled over in pain, wrapping his arms over his stomach. He sucked in a breath, and then leveled it again. His face, once round and full, was beginning to narrow and contort into something that looked chillingly familiar. His wand was now pointed rigidly at Harry’s chest.

Harry stared at the wand. “Err, what are you doing?”

The Auror’s voice came out like a growl. “Fulfilling my master’s will. Avad-” The Auror’s wand drooped downwards, and he shut his eyes in pain. An instant later they opened again, and this time the face was pale, long, and malicious. He recognized it immediately; he had seen flashes of it almost every night for the past two weeks. Standing before him, in the flesh, was Antonin Dolohov.

Harry’s eyes grew wide. He seized Hermione’s arm and began to pull, but he already knew that it would be impossible to escape.

“Avada-”

Simultaneously, on the opposite side of the door, someone shouted “Reducto!” The door burst into splinters, and Harry was showered in a flurry of wooden chips. Antonin, his curse only partially performed, staggered to the side and whirled onto his opponent. Gates leapt through the doorway, wand drawn and ready, his expression one of utmost excitement.

“Get out of here Potter!” Gates commanded, and then rounded fully on Dolohov.

“Hermione!” Harry said, snapping her out of her trance. He grabbed a handful of her robes and yanked hard. She quickly responded and followed Harry as they crept out of the room, trying to stay between Gates and Dolohov.

Antonin, however, saw this and grinned. “Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!” He knew that he would not be able to hit anyone at that range with the slow killing curse, so he used the quicker stunning spells to disable his targets for later destruction.

A mass of white light smashed into the wall on either side of Harry, and he ducked down to escape the third. He reached out for Hermione’s hand, and was horrified to see her lying inert on the floor beside him. Her position told Harry that the stunning spell had connected with her side when she had been distracted by Dolohov’s first three spells. Harry grabbed her shoulder and turned her face upwards.

“Get out of here Potter!” Gates repeated, his massive body blocking any further attacks from Dolohov.

“I’m not leaving her here!” argued Harry, and his mind raced.

“Reducto!” Antonin bellowed, and the wall beside Harry exploded, sending him reeling backwards from the blast. He tripped and a sharp surge of pain from his foot told him he had twisted his ankle; possibly breaking the bone. Biting back the hurt, Harry crawled back to Hermione, drawing his wand and trying desperately to remember every defensive and healing charm he had ever learned.

“Infligo!” Gates roared, and a cone of white light emerged from the end of his wand, advancing on Dolohov at a slow but unstoppable speed.

Antonin leapt out of the way as the curse slammed into the wall behind him, the wood buckling and warping from sheer force. “Avada Kedavra!” he shouted as he dived sideways.

In a blurred motion, Gates flicked his wand and a massive tome shot through the air and connected with the curse, exploding into a million fiery pieces.

“Crucio!” Dolohov countered, not pausing for breath.

Gates made a backwards wiping motion with his wand and said “Abiuro!”. The curse cracked and vanished. Antonin looked dumbfounded.

“You’re lucky Antonin,” said Gates, “When we first met the Aurors saved you. If I had found you first…your fate would not have been so kind.”

Dolohov sneered and shouted “Avada Kedavra!” Gates neatly sidestepped and the curse whizzed past his head and drilled into the wall, leaving a burning hole in its wake.

“What happened to your sense of style Antonin?” Gates asked mockingly. “Exuro!”

A bolt of orange shot at Dolohov and, with a blurring reaction, was deflected by Antonin bellowing “Infligo!” the instant before the curse made contact. The cone, absorbing the bolt and shattering it, flew back at Gates, who in turn banished it with his Aegis Shield.

Seemingly irritated, Gates jerked his wand towards a stack of books. “Accio books!” The stack wavered, then took off with surprising speed towards the Hit Wizard. “Wingardium Leviosa!” The books abruptly stopped in midair. “Waddiwasi!”

The mass of tomes shot at Antonin like individual bullets, and, before he could so much as blink, Dolohov was thrown backwards as the objects slammed into him, and Harry though he heard a few ribs break from the force. Antonin landed heavily on his back, and he laid there helpless, gasping for air. Harry felt himself become dizzy, and he put his hand on his head to keep the room from spinning.

Gates advanced on Dolohov as one wielding a terrible power.

Alexander Gates knelt down and examined Dolohov with a passionate air, and, like he always did, he wondered what he would look like if their positions were reversed. Would he show fear? Courage? Strength? Would he show anything? Antonin’s expression was one of disgusted self-hate, a look of someone who had failed their lord.

His eyes fell to the Death Eater’s black, signature robes, and something stirred. Gates’s gaze locked onto skull-and-serpent symbol of the Dark Lord; the lone icon that made him want to smash and kill and mutilate and shout and destroy and behave in the way an honorable wizard never should behave.

A soft, familiar voice spoke into his head. Do it now…do it now.

Gates placed his hand on Antonin’s neck and began to caress it, almost lovingly. In reality, he was testing its firmness; its resistance to injury and how much strength would be required for the necessary operation. It was always this way. Alex had this procedure down almost to an art.

At length, his fingers, hardened like steel, felt behind the neck and touched the backbone. He probed into the bone, feeling out the niches and crevices, finding the unique spot where he could effectively paralyze the lower half of the body with a quick jerk. He pressed into the skin, and, sensing the blood vessels there, moved further down the spine, almost to the shoulders.

“My cousin - he was a squib - once told me that I should be a muggle chiropractor,” Gates said absently. He found it easier to perform his task if he talked while he examined the bone with his fingers. Some would say this was a sign of reluctance or nervousness, but he did not think so. “He’s dead now. Your kind killed him.” He stared into Dolohov’s pupils with unrestrained hate in his eyes.

Gates’s fingers stopped abruptly when he found a likely spot. Hidden between the bone, he found a nest of sinew and tendon; the hard muscle containing elixirs of blood. He probed deeper, and felt a tiny crevice in the bone; an excellent sign. Moving a bit up, he was disappointed to feel a mere notch. Anatomy was a difficult science, and to become adept at it one had to persevere.

“Actually both my kind and your kind killed him,” Alex continued, “You see, my relatives were not nice people. Squibs had no place in their family. He died when they found out they he spoke to me. He apparently tainted me with his vileness.” he added with laced sarcasm.

His fingers probed a sensitive area that he knew contained a bundle of nerves. He was close now. Vaguely, he wondered if anyone had really appreciated the brilliance of the human spinal cord. It’s a magnificent network of nerves and electricity, all of them tied and connected into one endless circuit. This, Gates decided, made it all the more exciting to break. He did not understand why he found joy in shattering near-perfect things, but only knew that he did.

“My relatives, they had me study human Anatomy during the summer. They always told me how useful such knowledge could be for the Dark Lord-” Gates hesitated. “-But I didn’t tell you how I came into their infallible care, did I? Well, it so happens that that involves your kind, as well.”

Alex looked down into Dolohov’s eyes once more, and saw the beginning of fear in them. He smiled, reveling in the fact that the procedure was going as planned. It always went as planned, but he found it satisfying regardless.

The voice in his head urged him on.

“Your kind killed my parents in their own home, and I was left with my relatives. How they utterly enjoyed that. They always wanted to take me away from my parents. They said my mother came from ‘bad blood’ and it made me weak. They decided they would drain me of that blood, figuratively and literally.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “They didn’t even share my last name. I hate them more than I hate the Dark Lord. There will come a time…”

Finally, success! Gates found a tiny crack in the backbone that would allow him to paralyze Dolohov irreversibly. It was wrapped in nerves and cords of tendons like a gift. Grinning, he withdrew his right hand and placed it securely on the side of Antonin’s neck. A sudden, foreign feeling swept through his body, and this, like everything else, was normal. Alex never knew how to interpret the feeling, but only understood that it was something weak and to be suppressed. He stilled his shuddering hands and, with a quick, sharp jerk, he snapped Dolohov’s backbone and severed the spinal cord. Once again probing Dolohov’s neck, Gates found that the backbone was shattered in several places, and the muscle and sinew were either critically damaged or severed completely. Dolohov was not dead, but was paralyzed from the shoulders down. Antonin stared at him, the terror evident in his eyes.

Gates surveyed Dolohov’s body, and was pleased to see that it was no longer shivering. “You may think that was unnecessary, but it has a purpose. I can’t have you squirming around when I perform the transfiguration, can I? That would cause the spell to go awry and things may become nasty. You may wonder why I don‘t simply use a full body-bind, but your kind made me forsake that spell.”

And now he had to perform the most important part of the rite. Bending down, Gates whispered into Antonin’s ear, telling him words that no one but his victims would ever hear. When Alex finished, he withdrew his head and continued with the final step of the procedure.

He raised his wand, and, with a faint muttering and a flash of light, Dolohov’s body disappeared. In its place was a single, small, white diamond. Alex pocketed it for later use and then straightened himself. The voice in his head sounded most elated, and that, in turn, satisfied him.

Gates turned to see Harry with a blank expression on his face: the look of profound horror. Alex recognized it from the many times he had seen it.

Gates was now staring at Harry with a twisted smile on his face, and Harry felt the need to retch his stomach out. He knew the purpose of that diamond, and he realized with growing terror the origin of every diamond on Gates’s necklace. Everything suddenly fit together like individual pieces on a terrible puzzle.

Dear Merlin, Hermione was wrong.

“That’s where they’re coming from,” Harry murmured to himself, “He’s channeling the old powers of the men he- the men he-” He what?

The sinister, mocking voice of Gates echoed in his mind. It was a statement from long ago. “I’ve only killed one man in my life.” The necklace glittered on Gates’s chest.

Oh Merlin, the dark wizards on that necklace: they’re alive! Paralyzed but alive. The screams…it makes sense now. The wizards he attacked…after he graduated…they were his first victims. That’s why he never had the necklace during Hogwarts. He created the Pravus necklace out of the bodies of his parents’ killers, so he came back. But wouldn’t Dumbledore notice there were only three diamonds on the necklace when he came back instead of the hundreds there are now? Well, Dumbledore never saw Gates, so he is just going off of what Mr. Weasley told him. Arthur just said there was a necklace, he never commented about how many diamonds there were. Merlin, what has he done?

Gates regarded Harry with a cold, detached gaze. “I think it’s time to begin the second favor.”

Harry, his brain beginning to short-circuit, saw the light dim and then float away; his last sight being that of the necklace that screamed.

As he laid there, he saw flashes and images of muggles screaming.

(A/N: First off, Luna’s fisherman story was borrowed from ‘Dune’, one of the best books ever written; so it’s not mine.

That last scene wasn’t exactly in sync with the Christmas cheer…but blame bad timing. Frankly, this entire chapter was just bizarre. Harry is hearing Snape’s voice for a reason, so no one write anything out yet. This fanfic is approximately 35%-40% completed.

Chapter 13: Harry finds out that it wasn’t isolated to Hogsmeade; Snape has a little discussion with Harry concerning skipping detentions; we learn a bit in Professor Whams’s class; and I pick up a subplot that I haven’t touched on since chapter 8.

On a side note, Portkey’s awards are coming up and I suggest that, for those of you who read Non-H/HR, to submit some more nominations for that category otherwise it’ll be narrowed.

Some people write out a quote for their next chapter. I like that so here it is:

“Alex,” Dumbledore said, uttering the name with a distaste he normally reserved only for Riddle, “What have you done?” )

13. The Edward Skinner Curses

(I hope everyone had a good holiday. This is hardly the place to put this, but I want to send my condolences to anyone who has been affected by the tsunami in Asia.)

"And how did a known Death Eater just stroll into Hogsmeade and attack Harry, Alex?" asked the familiar voice of Arthur Weasley in calm tones. Harry opened his eyes to see a group of blurred figures surrounding him, though he could see two distinct figures speaking in rather raised voices at the far end of what looked like the school infirmary.

"It was the Polyjuice Potion. Someone got a hold of some Auror’s hair and brewed the potion and gave it to Dolohov," Gates answered, sounding detached. Harry noticed that a new diamond twinkled on his Pravus necklace. "Dolohov, in turn, drank it. Evidently he only had enough for one gulp, as he was already transforming back to his original self when he met up with Potter. The pain of the transformation was probably what saved his life."

Mr. Weasley looked incredulous. "And he managed to find Harry in thirty minutes, did he? He scoured all of Hogsmeade without arousing suspicion and found Harry, all in thirty minutes? Impossible. Someone tipped him off. He knew, Alex. He knew where to look."

"What are you suggesting?" Gates voice seethed with brutal annoyance.

"You know very well what-"

Another voice that Harry recognized as Molly spoke up from next to him. "Quiet! He’s awake." The conversation abruptly ended and the various shadows in the room advanced towards him. Suddenly, he felt someone’s arms pull him into a tight hug, and, from the way it felt, he knew they were Molly’s.

"Someone hand me my glasses." Harry groaned, wiping his eyes. There was a dull ache in his head, but nothing more. He came out relatively unscathed, it seemed.

"Of course, dear." Molly fumbled with the nearby nightstand and a moment later Harry found that he could see. Shifting the glasses to a more comfortable position, Harry sat up and absorbed his surroundings.

Next to his bed was Molly and Ron, who watched him with worried eyes as he glanced around the room. Molly seemed to be restraining herself from wrapping him in another hug, while Ron looked as one who had just been relieved of a heavy burden. Luna stood next to him, her face reflecting distant curiousity. Arthur, his expression one of sympathy, was evidently waiting for him to speak. Gates leaned against the far wall, apparently unable to find a corner dark enough to conceal himself in. Realizing that someone was missing, Harry swept his gaze across the room once more. Then a morbid thought struck him, and he turned to the bed next to him. Hermione was lying there, sleeping, her features placid and calm. Harry felt the now-familiar tug of an unseen connection.

"Is she all right?" he asked instantly. He wanted to stand up and see her more closely, but found that he did not have the strength.

"She’s sleeping right now," Arthur said softly, "She’ll be up in an hour or so."

"So she’s all right?"

"Yes. She’ll be well enough for classes tomorrow. Madam Pomfrey gave her a sleeping draught."

"And how are you doing dear?" Molly asked, her voice trembling with concern.

Ron finally spoke up. "Yeah, how’re you doing?" He looked very pale at the moment, and Harry guessed that Ron could muster only a few words at the moment.

Harry readied himself for another hug. "I’m fine, just a little headache." Sure enough, Molly scooped him up and hugged him again; though this time it was slightly tighter. After a moment, she let go, and Harry inhaled deeply.

Gates’s voice stung out from the air. "Amazing how resilient human bodies are."

Harry breathed a few more times then spoke again. "How long have I been here?"

"Just two hours. It’s evening now," Arthur continued, "I’m sure you want to know what happened in the bookstore-"

"I heard you two talking," Harry interrupted, "So Dolohov was using a Polyjuice Potion?" Harry remembered Dolohov wincing in pain several times as he led himself and Hermione away. It also prevented him from incanting the Killing Curse, which saved Harry’s life. He guessed that the pain was caused by the transformation.

Arthur nodded gravely. "Yes he was. From what Alex reported, Antonin was in pain as he transformed; the potion was improperly brewed. Though, from what the various ministry Aurors have reported from Hogsmeade, he already knew where you were. As soon as he entered the town, he went directly towards you. We can only assume he acquired the hair of the Auror by chance, and merely transfigured a common robe to bear the crest of the ministry. Also, we suspect that someone has been leaking information of your whereabouts to You-Know-Who while you were in Hogsmeade. Do you remember being followed by anyone?"

Harry inadvertently looked at Gates then answered. "No, no one."

Arthur frowned. "Then I’m afraid we may never know."

"Are you saying I’m incompetent?" said Gates. "Am I blind? No one was following the boy."

"The fact remains that Dolohov knew where Harry was at that exact time."

"Aren’t you going to tell him the rest, Arthur?" Gates said silkily, his black eyes locked onto Harry.

"I’m coming to that, Alex," Arthur said tersely, "You-Know-Who’s attack was not limited to you, Harry. He sent his Death Eaters to strike at various targets across Britain in a blatant attempt to instill fear into the population. His targets included muggles, various wizard families, and a few Order members. Our members were well-trained enough to deflect the attack, but the others were not as…fortunate. The Death Eaters have killed twelve wizards and nearly eighty muggles. The Dark Mark flew over thirty-five homes…" Arthur’s voice trailed off, leaving a solemn silence in the room.

At length, Arthur continued in a more brisk and business-like fashion that was probably meant to keep his voice utterly empty. "The entire operation was meant to flaunt his strength, and he has succeeded. There is an inquiry at the ministry."

"It’s about time," cut in Gates, "Fudge is a fool. Almost as bad as his predecessor."

Arthur closed his eyes, then opened them. He was valiantly trying to suppress something. "Minister Fudge may not be minister a month from now. With this new attack came a lot of pressure. Something is going to give, and from the looks of it, it’s coming from the very top."

The infirmary doors swung open and Dumbledore and Snape strode in, their expressions contrasting sharply. Dumbledore smiled gently, though his eyes seemed troubled. Snape, on the other hand, looked venomous, and Harry severely doubted that the Potions master was here to give him a ‘get well’ card.

Dumbledore’s voice was firm, benign, and very headmaster. "Harry, Madam Pomfrey told me you’re awake. You’re doing well?" In it, though, Harry sensed a touch of personal concern.

Harry moved his ankle where he had twisted it. To his surprise, he felt nothing. "Good enough for classes tomorrow," answered Harry.

The headmaster’s eyes twinkled. "If you are ready, then yes."

Harry gazed at Dumbledore, waiting. "You want to know what happened." It was not a question.

Dumbledore nodded. "I wish to have your perspective of the events."

Gates stirred, but Harry ignored him.

Harry did not dare look at Gates when he told Dumbledore what had happened. When he came to the part where Gates transfigured Dolohov into a diamond, a heavy, tangible silence fell onto the room, covering everything in a thick blanket. Molly had her knuckles in her mouth and her face was stricken, while Snape, usually sleekly calm, stared at Harry with a strange expression in his eyes. Dumbledore, his eyes absent of any twinkle, nodded slightly and turned towards Gates.

"Alex," Dumbledore said, uttering the name with a distaste he normally reserved only for Riddle, "What have you done?" The question, so simple and flat, managed to rock the whole room as everyone listened breathlessly for the answer.

Gates appeared more icy and more conceited than ever, and he spoke in a low and frightening voice. "I’ve done nothing. You think those bastards don’t deserve an eternal hell for what they did?" Harry felt Molly’s hand shudder from where it rested on his arm. The tension in the room was like a overstretched cord of wire.

"No, Alex," Dumbledore replied almost sadly, "What have you done to yourself?"

Harry’s lips went dry, and nearby, he heard Hermione move. He glanced over quickly, and found that she was still asleep. She was just dreaming…

Gates was taken aback. "Don’t lecture me on what I have done," Gates spat, his entire body trembling. He defended himself with the viciousness of a wounded animal. "Do you know what kind of men they are? Those bastards, do you know what they have done? To me?" Gates was positively livid now, his hand clenched around his wand and his eyes narrowed like a hawk.

Dumbledore shook his head. "Antonin did not kill your parents, Alex."

If there was a table nearby, Harry had no doubt that Gates would have smashed it. "HE MIGHT AS WELL HAVE!" Gates roared.

"So you insist on self-punishment?" the headmaster continued, his expression calm in the face of Gates’s utter wrath. "Don’t you see what you have done to yourself?"

"I’ve done nothing, Albus," said Gates in a low voice that seethed with malice,
"Nothing." His lip curled back to reveal a row of sharp, pointed teeth.

Harry was looking at Gates in an entirely new light. The Hit Wizard was a literal variation of trying to spite the face by cutting off the nose. The man, though, was a ruination of something that could have been great.

"Take it off, Alex, you’ve taken it off before. You had it in your pocket when you met with me." Dumbledore urged softly.

Gates grinned a violent grin. "I always have it on my person, though I only wear it on…formal occasions."

"Take it off," Dumbledore repeated forcefully. His eyes seemed to bore into Gates’s body, and the Hit Wizard shifted his weight onto his right leg. It was a sign of indecision.

"I will not," answered Gates, his teeth grinding in his mouth as he spoke, possibly tasting the words. He was no longer grinning. "Wizards are still permitted by our illustrious ministry to bear Pravi necklaces, correct?"

Reluctantly, Dumbledore nodded. "Only because there are few wizards who exist that are foolish enough to wear one, and nearly none that are powerful enough to create one. It is almost a myth."

"Then we are finished. I will be waiting outside." Gates’s gaze swept around the room one last time, and he strode out, his scarlet overcoat billowing out behind him.

For a moment, Dumbledore watched the exit doors solemnly, as if expecting Gates to return. When it became apparent that he would not, the headmaster turned back to Harry, the twinkle back in his eye, though considerably dimmer than usual. "So someone has been spying on you?"

"We believe so, yes," Arthur said, "And we have no idea who."

Dumbledore looked towards Snape. "Could Voldemort-" Almost everyone in the room shuddered. "-be entering Harry’s mind subconsciously? Is Harry proficient enough at Occlumency to resist yet?"

Snape hesitated, as though he was about to admit something unsavory. "I believe that Potter-"

"Mr. Potter, Severus, please," Dumbledore said gently.

Snape showed no reaction. "He is skilled enough to keep the Dark Lord out of his mind while he is conscious. During sleep and other periods of low brain activity-"

Snape cast Harry a glance that said: In other words, all the time.

"-his mind is still vulnerable," Snape smirked as he continued. "He still reports having dreams, though disconnected ones, and, from what I read in his brain, they are increasing in frequency. He is improving."

"Very well," Dumbledore said, "I am pleased with the progress you two are making. I take it there have been no…incidents that require a mediator?" He sounded almost amused.

Snape barely moved his lips. "None, headmaster."

"Harry," Dumbledore said, turning towards the person he addressed, "Phineas Nigellus and others will be able to watch over you while you’re within these castle walls," He nodded towards a nearby portrait of a hospital waiting room, where the former Slytherin headmaster stood resplendent in his silver and green robes. "Needless to say, all Hogsmeade trips are canceled for the rest of the year. Voldemort has now visibly surfaced again, and it is best if the school population do not leave the castle grounds."

"Alright," Harry said, not really minding the restriction in the least.

"And Harry," continued Dumbledore, "You did nothing wrong." He watched Harry carefully, waiting for a response.

"Okay," Harry replied, understanding the purpose of that statement. Evidently, the headmaster was unaware of Snape’s detention; or he had believed Percy’s explanation. Either answer made him uncomfortable.

"If you two are done, headmaster," Snape said, "I wish to have a private word with Mr. Potter." He used the title so sleekly that he might as well have not used it at all. Harry immediately stiffened.

"Not yet, Severus," said Dumbledore. "Harry, I would appreciate your presence in my office every Friday evening at a time of your choice. I need to discuss certain issues with you, as well as see how you are coping with your arrangements. Even if you can only spare a moment, that would be enough."

"I’ll do that, professor," Harry responded.

Dumbledore smiled warmly. "Thank you. I will now go and inform your guardian of our meetings. Severus, you may have your word, if that’s fine with Harry."

Harry, sensing inevitability, nodded. Snape watched him coldly.

"Take care, Harry," said Dumbledore, and the headmaster left.

Snape, making it clear to everyone in the room that he wanted to be alone with Harry, stood motionless. At length, Molly gave Harry’s hand a gentle squeeze and left with Arthur. Luna, taking Ron’s hand, smiled at him and they both walked away. Ron shot him a weakly determined glance before he disappeared that said "Snape is a git no matter what."

"So, Potter," Snape said silkily, "Did you enjoy your Hogsmeade trip?"

Harry did not answer.

Snape slowly crossed the infirmary floor and sat down in the chair once occupied by Molly. "I asked you if you enjoyed your Hogsmeade trip, Potter, now answer."

"For the most part, yeah," Harry said evenly, carefully staring at Snape’s wand arm.

Snape brought his hand up to his mouth as though stifling a cough, but Harry expected it was something much more sinister. "That’s good Potter. I’m very pleased to hear that. I hope it was worth it."

Harry felt the room go cold. When Snape says he’s pleased about anything, its usually a prelude to something insidious. The hair on the nape of his neck twisted.

"Mr. Weasley told me that you finished up early and Professor Whams dismissed you just in time for the buses," Snape continued, tracing his lips with his finger. That was yet another bad sign. "Professor Whams, of course, is in no position to verify that, so I must accept young Mr. Weasley’s story; though I daresay it is nothing more than just that: a story."

It appeared that Snape was expecting some sort of response, so Harry said "Okay." It was an appropriately neutral answer that revealed nothing.

"I suppose placing my trust in a former Gryffindor was a mistake, despite him being a former Head Boy."

Harry could not resist making a comment. "I thought Slytherins learned to trust no one but themselves?" he blurted out.

Snape smirked. "Point taken, Potter."

Harry gulped. This was a very, very bad sign.

You know what’s coming, don’t you Potter? said the pseudo-Snape within his head. That was a stupid move, leaving Hogwarts. A move worthy of your father.

Do shut up.

"So, err, what did you want to speak to me about?" Harry asked, wanting Snape to get to the point. This conversation was so far unnerving him.

"I’m coming to that," said Snape, "As a result of your little excursion into Hogsmeade, you will be having detentions every Sunday and Thursday from now until December. I might add on to that, depending on whether I have any more undesirable tasks I need completed." He grinned, and he seemed to be restraining himself from licking his lips with great difficulty.

Harry groaned inwardly. He was going to be alone with Snape for hours on end twice each week for at least two and a half months. This is just what he needed…

"Detentions?" Harry said slowly, "For what? I didn’t do anything wrong in the first place. I shouldn’t have been at that stupid-"

"Shut up, Potter," Snape said with such tenacity that Harry fell silent. "You think I am doing this because I enjoy your company? Professor McGonagall would have reinforced my decision had you come whining to her like I had expected you to."

"So sorry to disappoint you, professor," Harry muttered.

Snape ignored him. "Be grateful that I decided against assigning Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley additional detentions as well. That can be changed, however, should you prove to be…clumsy."

"I will keep that in mind."

"I remind you that it is our unfortunate duty to watch over you during this school year, and I am fulfilling it. I have and will be using your detentions to keep a closer on eye on you, Potter." Snape snorted. "That is why I kept you from Hogsmeade, Potter. I knew you would somehow become involved in some catastrophe that would destroy everything that we have so patiently built."

"And I suppose trying to fail my essay in front me was you fulfilling your duty too, right?" Harry said with undisguised sarcasm.

"Wake up, Potter!" Snape snarled, "Have you no sense? Are you so thick that you cannot pick up on even the most obvious of clues?"

Harry reflected on the words the Potions master had shared with him yesterday in detention, and, upon retrospection, found that they took on an entirely different meaning.

Ron had once said: "Poisonous toadstools don’t change their spots."

We are not dealing with toadstools, Ron, Harry answered silently.

Suddenly, a revelation hit him. "You knew? You knew what that necklace was?" Harry sat up in his bed. "You knew and you said nothing?"

"I didn’t know," Snape said softly, "I suspected, but I didn’t know; so hold your tongue. Now you will be showing up for these detentions, Potter."

After a moment, Harry spoke again, this time more calmly. "But I can’t. I already have Quidditch on nearly every Wednesday, Occlumency every Thursday, meetings with Professor Dumbledore every Friday, and probably some…sessions with Gates at his whim. I’m going to end up failing my N.E.W.T. classes."

"Since Quidditch is undoubtedly vital and cannot be dropped, I will allow you to bring your books," Snape said sleekly, "I will permit you some time to work on your studies, but you will work on nothing else. However, I still have several storerooms full of glassware that has your name on it, Potter, and I expect them all to be spotless by December. If not, well, I can add a few detentions." he added with a grin.

Trapped again, Potter. Harry was beginning to wonder whether he should ask Snape about the fact that his voice was in his head, but instantly decided that that would probably be a bad idea. Potter you dunderhead, don’t you realize that if you tell me about me you’ll end up in St. Mungo’s? That would be unbearably monotonous for me.

Harry’s internal conversation was beginning to make his head ache, so he shook his head and tried to conclude the exchange with Snape. "If that’s all…"

"Yes that’s all, Potter," said Snape. He stood up from the chair. "You can begin your detentions next week. I expect you in my office at the usual time on Thursday, however, for your sessions."

"Right," Harry muttered as Snape left. Something odd was going on in the Potion master’s head, and Harry was not sure what.

Suddenly, he began to feel very tired.

He glanced over towards Hermione’s bed, and found that she was still sleeping peacefully. She did not appear to be physically injured, and for that Harry was relieved. Had the curse been the beam of purple light that Dolohov preferred instead of a stunning spell, Harry had no doubt that she would have been more seriously injured…possibly irrevocably. The thought alone seeped into his bowels and chest, constricting and chilling them.

Unbidden, Lupin’s words surfaced in his mind. "I expect you can give it to anyone you wish. Perhaps…someone…you need to communicate to often." He was referring to Sirius’s mirror.

Immediately, Harry resolved to give the other end of Sirius’s mirror to Hermione. She was far too important to be out of reach at any given moment, and she was, Harry knew, at least his best friend. Although he shared a deep, impenetrable bond with Ron, it was not the same with Hermione. It was something different: not better or worse, but different. For this reason, the mirror would go to Hermione.

The urge to sleep slowly overtook his senses. Tomorrow, Harry thought vaguely, he would give her the mirror. With that thought in mind, he fell back into his pillow, and slowly drifted off into a dreamless slumber.

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When Harry awoke to Madam Pomfrey’s early morning huffing and preaching. He did not remember yesterday’s resolution about the mirror, and instead yawned sleepily.

Madam Pomfrey was currently sorting through her cupboards across the infirmary. "I happen to feel that you both should be spending the day in bed," she said almost to herself, "But don’t let that stop Headmaster Dumbledore. He insists that you two are well enough to go to class, so go on to breakfast before you miss it. You should at least get some food in your system." she added in a mutter.

To Harry’s surprise, Hermione was already up and in her school robes, running about as though she was late for a Prefect meeting. Her cheeks were tinged red and she seemed rather embarrassed.

"Good morning," yawned Harry as he stretched his arms.

Hermione nearly jumped. The red in her cheeks deepened slightly. "Oh, good morning."

"Did you, err, hear about what happened?" Harry asked, referring to the attacks.

"Yes I woke up yesterday evening and Professor Dumbledore came and told me everything that happened," she said very quickly, "Breakfast is almost over, isn’t it? We should probably get going, then."

Before Harry had even managed to wipe the sleep from his eyes and crawl out of bed, she was already gone, leaving Harry feeling slightly bewildered in her wake.

Snape, of course, had to make his usual internal comment. Even you should be able figure this one out, Potter. You nearly spilled your guts out to her yesterday in the bookstore, and she obviously feels awkward now. Good move, Potter. It could’ve been worse…I suppose…

And good morning to you, Professor Snape.

For a moment Harry carefully considered pseudo-Snape’s words, and an instant later rejected them. He remembered, of course, that the voice, however fake, was based on a real person and that that person hardly provided any good advice. It was strange to regard the voice as a separate entity, but that was exactly how it felt like. The pseudo-Snape’s remarks were definitely alien to Harry, and the dialogue seemed more real than the times when his conscience spoke in Hermione’s voice. All in all, it was like Snape had somehow found a way to inject a replica of himself into Harry’s head.

After several minutes of silent debating, he threw on his robes, mumbled a farewell to Madam Pomfrey (She replied "I will see you soon, no doubt.") and staggered down the steps to the great hall. From the moment Harry left the hospital wing, Gates followed from behind, his sleek boots announcing his presence with clicks and squeaks. His ankle still ached slightly from its injury, but he was slowly able to work out the pain as he continued down the corridor. When he entered the great hall, he sat down on a free chair across from Hermione and Ron.

The usual babble from the students in the great hall was underlined with vague uneasiness, and several people cast expectant glances towards the staff table, obviously awaiting a speech from Dumbledore. So far, the headmaster had not moved, but was surveying the hall carefully, as though testing the waters before a dive. Something strange near Ron caught his eye and he turned his head to see what it was. To Harry’s surprise, Ron’s food lay abandoned and in its place was a large, battered Charms book.

"Err, Ron," Harry said, quite alarmed at his friend’s behavior, "You realize you don’t take N.E.W.T. Charms, right?"

Ron, who was evidently absorbed in what he was reading, grunted affirmatively. After a moment, he turned the page and caught a glance of Harry’s face. "I borrowed Hermione’s book," he explained, misreading Harry’s confusion.

Harry turned to Hermione, expecting to see her smirking or grinning or something that would hint at some sort of colossal joke that the two were playing. Seeing nothing, Harry’s eyes returned to the book in front of Ron. If Harry was surveying him correctly, then Ron was reading the Charms book with the same intensity he devoted to Quidditch.

"Err, Ron."

"What?"

"What are you doing reading a book?" Harry asked in his calmest voice, fearing for Ron’s sanity.

"I am trying to figure something out," Ron replied evasively.

Harry gave Hermione a quizzical look, but found that she was intently buttering her toast, her eyes focused on the slice of bread in her hand.

"Hermione?" Harry said, "What’s Ron doing?" He was not sure what had passed unsaid in the bookstore yesterday, and he prayed that, whatever it was, it did not ruin their friendship. He knew how he felt -- he was positive now -- but he was unsure of her standing. Was she about to tell him off back there before disguised-Dolohov interrupted them?

Hermione snapped out of her trance. She smiled but Harry could tell that there was something different in it now. "Oh, Ron almost begged me to let him borrow my Charms book during breakfast. We don’t have Charms today, so I ran up to the dormitories and grabbed it."

"So, um, what’s he doing with it?" Harry asked, trying to get to the bottom of the whole situation.

"Honestly, I don’t know," Hermione answered levelly, "He shocked me a bit when he asked. I mean, this would be the first time he ever asked me if he could borrow a book. How could I refuse?"

"I’m reading up on the Narro Charm," Ron said vaguely, flipping a page in the book.

Hermione appeared rather surprised. "Ron, that’s sixth year magic. We won’t be entering that for a few months yet in N.E.W.T. Charms."

"What’s the Narro Charm?" asked Harry, intrigued.

"It’s a charm that is used on certain objects. When the enchanted object recognizes a predetermined keyword, a scripted action occurs," Hermione said briskly, "The Marauder Map is enchanted with all kinds of Narro Charms. When you say the secret phrase, the parchment responds by showing the map. What ever happened to the map anyway?" she added in an afterthought.

"He took it," Harry muttered, tilting his head towards Gates. Hermione frowned with understanding but said nothing, seeming to sense Harry‘s reluctance to discuss it. Harry was relieved that she did not pursue a line of questioning.

"So, how did your date with Luna go, Ron?" Hermione asked with a broad grin. Harry thought that she was enjoying this entirely too much.

Ron’s ears went predictably red. "It wasn’t a date."

"Well did you have fun, then?" Hermione continued innocently.

Harry discretely murmured, "He’s going to get you back, you know."

Hermione gave him a smile that said, "Perhaps."

"I had loads of fun," Ron said nonchalantly, and Harry instantly knew the redhead had something up his sleeve, "We went to the Quidditch store and everything. How did your date with Harry go?" Ron smirked as Hermione blushed. Harry felt his face burn as well.

"Date, Ron?" Harry asked, trying to keep the embarrassment out of his voice. He knew Ron was teasing, but that did not stop the embarrassment.

"Date, Harry," Ron continued, "You know, those times when a guy and a girl go out somewhere together and the guy pays for everything. You know?"

Suddenly, a the great hall sky clouded over as a mass of owls descended upon the hall, most of them landing heavily on the tables and spilling drinks and food. Absently, Harry watched a massive, black eagle fall down towards the Slytherin table and drop a package on Draco Malfoy’s lap. Draco unwrapped the parcel, grinned evilly, and cast a malicious glance in Harry’s direction. Malfoy quickly pocketed it, but not before Harry managed to see a flash of light from the object; almost like a mirror.

Harry was not able to investigate further as a tawny owl swooped down in front of him and dropped a letter onto his plate of food. He ripped it open and discovered, to his delight, it was from Hagrid. Written in his usual scrawl, Hagrid asked if Harry would be able to come down to his hut on Wednesday at six o’clock for the ‘meeting‘. Feeling grateful that Quidditch happened to be cancelled that day, Harry replied and attached it back onto the tawny owl’s leg. The owl hooted and then flew off, veering off to the right towards the gamekeeper’s hut.

"It’s all over the newspaper," Hermione said as she unraveled today’s edition of the Daily Prophet. "Voldemort’s attacks and the ministry’s inquiry. There’s a lot of people pushing for Fudge’s removal, it seems."

"No surprise there," Harry remarked. Something had been bothering him for the past few minutes. He remembered making some sort of decision before he fell asleep yesterday, but what was it?

Unable to recall what he had forgotten, he leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms and turning his head. On the adjacent wall, Harry saw Phineas staring at him in his startling Slytherin robes, his arms crossed and a disdainful expression on his face.

"What did Professor Snape want?" Hermione asked, jolting Harry out of his reverie. "Did he issue us more detentions?" Her voice was even but Harry detected some anxiety.

"Oh, uh," Harry gathered himself quickly. "No, well, just me. He gave me a load of detentions, though he didn’t give you guys any. He was sort of strange." Harry added, seeing Hermione’s surprise. He briefly related his conversation with Snape.

"He really thinks he is helping you," said Hermione, "Though he’s going the wrong way about it."

"He’s just trying to find a medium between making my life hell and fulfilling his duty to Dumbledore," Harry muttered.

"That’s probably true," Hermione agreed, her eyes exuding sympathy, "He doesn’t like you at all, though it was completely irresponsible of him to throw you out of your Occlumency lessons last year."

"Yeah, I wish he’d move on," Harry said evasively. When Snape had told him never to mention what he’d seen in the pensieve to anyone, Harry complied, not wanting to attract any more of the Potion master’s wrath.

"Though it won’t detract from your studies, will it?" Hermione said almost brightly, trying to lift the mood. Ron groaned.

"Yeah, I suppose," Harry said. Then, wanting to change the subject, he added, "Ron, how’s this weekend for some Occlumency practice?"

Ron’s eyes did not waver from the Charms textbook. "Well, err, I don’t think I need to."

"What?" Hermione nearly exclaimed, "Of course you do. Didn’t you see-"

"I saw it, okay?" Ron snapped, "But I have a lot going on right now. I can’t have people dabbling in my head. I mean, we all saw what Harry was like after he came back from Snape’s lessons last year. No offense mate, but you were out of it."

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. "This is about Quidditch, isn’t it?"

"So what if it is?" Ron retorted, tearing his gaze from the text.

"There are more important things than Quidditch, Ron," countered Hermione.

"Like what Gates can do to your mind," Harry muttered. Responding the Hermione and Ron’s questioning faces, he related in detail the Hit Wizard’s Pravus Necklace and its true nature. When he finished, an uneasy silence fell between the three of them.

"Well, mate," Ron said through the tension. "I suppose that confirms it. He lost his marbles."

"That explains why I couldn’t find it in the library," Hermione said. "Those books are ridiculously rare. And that explains why you heard those voices Harry! Whenever you were so physically close to the necklace, it must have channeled some of its power to you. That’s what does on in Gates’s mind…"

Presently, the great hall abruptly fell silent, and Harry sat back up in his chair to see Dumbledore standing resolutely at the staff table. His eyes possessed their usual twinkle, but Harry could see that the headmaster was troubled. Slowly, Dumbledore folded his glasses and placed them carefully upon the table, his eyes now gazing around the room, now better able to absorb their surroundings without the obstructing spectacles. The headmaster rarely removed his glasses, and Harry began to recognize it as a sign of gravity. His long, silver beard shimmered in the light, and Harry was irresistibly reminded of Gates’s necklace; though in a more benevolent form.

Ron’s gaze broke away from the Charms book, and he watched Dumbledore with an unusual curiosity.

"I know you have all read about Voldemort’s most recent attack," Dumbledore said, ignoring the shiver that ran through the hall at the mention of Voldemort’s names, "The attack that resulted in the deaths of pure-bloods, half-bloods, and muggles alike."

"Every gene pool needs to be drained occasionally, Albus," said Gates loudly from his corner, shattering the brief silence. A few Slytherins sniggered, but quickly stopped when the Hit Wizard advanced upon them menacingly. He appeared to be most displeased to have evoked the laughter of the Slytherins.

Dumbledore did not respond to Gates’s provocation. "This is a clear sign that Voldemort is indiscriminant in whom he kills."

Gates had now arrived at the Slytherin table and began muttering something in each of their ears. Soon, the Slytherins were quite pale, and stared at Gates with an expression of obvious terror. Gates strode away, smirking. The Slytherin’s had mistaken Gates’s remark for support for Voldemort, while in fact the Hit Wizard was just prejudiced. It was an unwise error to make…

"Being pure-blood is no longer adequate protection from Voldemort’s wrath," Dumbledore continued, pointedly glancing at the Slytherin table, "If you do not wear the Mark, you will not be spared. I do not mean to inspire fear, but I am merely stating the reality. You are all safe as long as you are within these walls, but once you leave, you will have to make a choice. The choice will be between what is easy, and what is right."

"You may accept the Mark and live in eternal servitude. You will have your life, no doubt, but you will have little else. But even to his followers, Voldemort is not merciful, and there is no doubt that, should you join with him, you will suffer much. Do not hold any illusions concerning power; he will not share it with no one but himself. If you wish to live a hollow life, then join the Dark Fold; this is easy." Dumbledore paused for a minute, allowing his words to sink in.

"Or you can choose to resist Voldemort, and fight against the terror he represents. In order to fight, we must be united, and in order to unite, we must put aside long-held prejudices and beliefs, and come together as one. This road is long and difficult, and holds no promises of victory. Though it is uncertain, it is also right." Dumbledore spoke the last word with such vehemence that someone from the Slytherin table dropped their goblet

"I do not know how long it will be until the war is resolved: it could be tomorrow, or it could be in ten years. That is not up to us. The war will be a violent one, and its outcome will be the single most important event in the past thousand years; surpassing even Lord Grindewald’s reign. Should we fail, I assure you that, whether you wear the Mark or not, life will be an empty thing."

When he finished his last statement, Dumbledore replaced his glasses and sat back down, surveying the hall serenely. His face displayed no sentiment, betrayed no feeling. It was as though the headmaster had poured every ounce of emotion he possessed into that speech, and was now recovering from the drain.

Harry turned to Hermione, and saw that she was biting her lower lip as she mulled over the headmaster’s words. He knew better than to disturb her now; it would be better to talk to her again after she had ample time to extract every possible meaning from Dumbledore’s speech. Ron, seeing this as well, shook his head at Harry as if to say: She’ll be lecturing us on it later.

As Harry sat there, eyes sweeping across the great hall, he could not but think that Dumbledore was wrong; there were actually three sides in this terrible war: Good and evil and Gates.

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Many people were anticipating that afternoon’s Charms class, as Professor Flitwick, after two weeks of theory, was finally allowing them to begin conjuring and controlling creatures. He permitted them to summon any animal they wished, providing it was not restricted by the ministry. In addition, only one person was allowed to summon at a time, since the room would easily become chaotic if more than five people conjured a creature at once.

"And remember," Professor Flitwick reminded them, his voice coming out like a squeak, "Magical creatures and entities such as Dementors and ghosts require a ministry license, and you will not be permitted to summon either in class. If you ignore me and do it anyway, Hogwarts is obliged to inform the ministry."

Harry heard Gates snort from his back corner.

The professor immediately began calling up students to perform conjurations. A variety of dogs, cattle, cats, reptiles, and insects were summoned, and an instant later disappeared. From what Harry could see, the initial summoning was the easy part. It was difficult to maintain and control the animal for any longer than a few seconds.

"Miss Granger," Flitwick said, motioning her to the front of the room.

Hermione reluctantly left her seat, looking insecure and rather nervous. When she stood next to the professor, clutching her wand as though she might lose it. Harry caught her eye and gave her an encouraging smile. Hermione smiled back, albeit timidly.

"Picture the animal you wish to conjure in your mind’s eye," said Professor Flitwick in his high voice. "It will be easier if it’s an animal you are familiar with. Whenever you are ready, Miss Granger…"

Hermione nodded, then took in a deep breath. She raised her wand and incanted, "Arcesso!"

A tawny cat fell out of her wand and landed on the ground, and, wavering slightly as though on unstable ground, took four tentative steps forward. The class watched in amazement: no one had managed to control their creature yet. Hermione’s eyes were closed and she was biting her lower lip, as though she was struggling to master her vibrating wand. She leaned forward imperceptibly, a sign Harry understood to be a sign of extreme stress or concentration.

The cat halted, and then opened its mouth as though to meow. Its paw froze in midair, and the mouth suddenly shut itself. It started to fade away, and Harry looked towards Hermione to see she was weakening. He wished she did not push herself like this; she appeared to be ready to collapse. Abruptly, she opened her eyes and jerked back her wand. The cat dissolved into a smoky substance and then vanished with a sigh.

Hermione turned fearfully towards Professor Flitwick as though to say, "Did I do it right?"

"Excellent work, Miss Granger," Professor Flitwick squeaked, "You held your creature for nearly thirty seconds; the most I’ve seen today. That was very good work for a first try. You never summoned anything before? Notice, class, how she controlled herself as well as her summoned creature. Ten points for Gryffindor."

Blushing, Hermione returned to her seat.

Professor Flitwick announced the next student. "Mr. Potter."

Standing in front of the class, Harry met Gates’s gaze, who was currently grinning maliciously. The Hit Wizard delicately began probing into his mind, trying to unnerve him, but as soon as Harry sensed it, he forced Gates out of his mind with surprising ease. He broke off eye contact and turned to Hermione, who was smiling reassuringly. This gave him the confidence he needed.

If you’re done, Potter, I suggest you move on. You’ve been standing here like a fool for a full minute.

Harry closed his eyes, and tried to think of a good creature he could summon. An image of a black, shaggy dog appeared, and then was replaced by that of a python. Half-hoping his Parseltongue ability would aid his control over the serpent, Harry muttered, "Arcesso!"

His view suddenly became foggy and blurred, and he realized that he was falling out of his wand. (Or was he slithering?) He landed heavily onto the floor, and, when he gathered his bearings, he gazed at his surroundings, and fear crept into his heart. He wanted to flee. Harry now understood that he was actually seeing through the eyes of the snake he summoned, and was controlling its actions. The fear, he assumed, was the serpent’s own primal instincts reacting to its environment.

He tasted the air with his forked tongue, and found that it smelled foul. He wanted to leave; to creep into some dark hole and curl up into sleep. The sun dazzled temptingly out from a window, and he resisted slithering over and bathing in the warm sunlight. Looking up, Harry saw his own face, his brow furrowed in concentration and his lips moving slightly. Losing interest, he crawled over to a nearby pair of legs and began looping through them.

An abrupt pain shuddered through his body, and he wondered fleetingly what it was. Then, it happened again; more violently this time. He felt himself weaken, and he wanted to close his eyes, but then realized that snakes had no eyelids. A deep, overwhelming desire for sleep flooded him and he rested his head upon the ground.

In a split second, his eyes shot open and Harry found that he was no longer laying on the ground, but was now standing in front of the class. He looked down to see a vague hint of smoke disintegrate -- the only remnants of his summoned python.

"Well done, Mr. Potter," Professor Flitwick squeaked. Harry noticed that the class was staring at him strangely, but he ignored it. Hermione’s were shining with pride for him, and he grinned. "I believe that was a little over twenty seconds. Very clever use of your Parseltongue ability. Five points for Gryffindor."

Harry caught Gates’s face and was pleased to see that it was very white. Sirius never knew that Harry could speak Parseltongue, and therefore neither did Gates. Dumbledore, Harry assumed, decided to keep that detail away from the Hit Wizard as well. While Harry did not understand specifically why Gates was so disturbed, it was enough to know that he had something to do with it.

Harry sat back down at his desk, feeling that the day was becoming better as it went. The throb in his ankle had faded into a dull itch, he had performed a successful conjuration, and, most importantly, he impressed Hermione. Intimidating Gates was practically a bonus.

When Professor Flitwick dismissed the class, Harry waited for Hermione to gather her belongings and walked by her side as they proceeded to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Ron was nowhere in sight, so they continued without him.

"Err, Hermione," Harry said, watching as she fumbled with a stack of thickly bound books. The bag she normally carried her books in had recently split at the bottom from strain, and, despite several attempts at knitting it sealed, it could not longer hold more than three tomes at a time. It was now slung over her shoulder. "D’you need any help carrying those? Let me take those."

Pseudo-Snape chose this time to make his usual snide remarks. Carrying her books…yes, Potter, that’s very original. She’s going to fall head-over-heels any minute now, I can tell.

Hermione looked at him curiously. "Sure," she said appreciatively, passing him five of her books. On their spines, Harry read Obscure and Ridiculously Difficult Charms, Magical Creatures Volume Three, Life of a House-Elf, Edward Skinner, and Hogwarts: A History.

Hogwarts: A History. Of course.

Harry did not have the slightest clue why she had to carry all of these books to her D.A.D.A. class, but he did not ask. When she gave him the last volume, Harry silently groaned under the combined weight of his and her books. The fact that Hermione’s hand had grazed his went she handed him the first book, however, made it worthwhile.

"Are you sure you don’t want me to take a few of those?" Hermione asked.

"’Course not," replied Harry, shifting the books for a better grip. How did she carry these every day?

Potter, you are a fool, Pseudo-Snape said in a sleek voice identical to real-Snape, with a unique touch of humor.

No I’m not, Harry said bitingly.

Entering their Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Harry and Hermione took their seats near the windows. Professor Whams did not seem to notice if students changed their seats sporadically, or if, indeed, they did not show up to class at all. As always, Gates strode to the back of the room, trying to stay as far out of the way as possible, for which Harry was eternally thankful. He dropped Hermione’s stack of books next to her desk, and she smiled.

A moment later Ron came bustling in, his fiery hair disheveled, and plopped down just behind Hermione. "Can I borrow your Charms book again?" Ron asked quickly.

Hermione, looking slightly puzzled, (Something that was quite rare for her) pulled the book out of her tattered bag and gave it to Ron, who delightedly accepted it and instantly flipped it open. Harry simply watched, as confused as Hermione was.

"Maybe if you showed this kind of interest last year Ron," Hermione gently chided, "You would have done better on your Charms O.W.L."

"I don’t like Charms," Ron murmured, "I just want to learn how to do the Narro charm, that’s all."

Hermione mouthed the inaudible words to Harry: "And I remember when I had to use thumbscrews just to have him glance at his homework."

Professor Whams swept into the classroom, his dark purple silk robes flying out from behind him, and moved directly towards his cluttered desk. His eyes were not covered by the usual pair of glasses, and this gave his head a distinctly smaller look, as though the top half of his head had suddenly shrunk. An instant later Percy stood in the doorway carrying several pairs of spectacles; some of which had large, spidery cracks on the lenses. These, evidently, were Whams’s old spares.

"Ah, good afternoon class," Professor Whams said jovially, giving them all a wide grin. "I think it’s time we moved on from Grendels. Since my first year class is already on the Unforgivables-"

The class collectively gasped. He was showing the illegal curses to first years? From the expression on Percy’s face, he had no idea what Whams was talking about. Whams, on the other hand, did not notice their surprise. Then again, he would be hard pressed to notice anything when he was not wearing his spectacles. Percy, seeing Whams’s plight, dutifully placed a set over his eyes. Whams nodded gratefully as he continued.

"-We should go on to the Edward Skinner -- is something wrong?" Whams had just seen their expressions, and was apparently taken aback. His smile slipped off of his face. "Oh no," Whams muttered, "Did I forget my robes again?"

Percy immediately stepped in. "No, you just got a little, erm, confused. We did not go over the Three Curses with any first years yet."

"You didn’t, but I did," Professor Whams said brightly, "I ran into a few students from my morning class earlier today in the hallways and decided to give them a brief demonstration. It just so happened I was carrying the material for today’s lesson," He pointed with his wand at a tall bell jar that sat on his desk, currently filled with fluttering insects. "They were quite impressed. So impressed, I might add, that the three of them went directly to the nurse afterwards to help calm their excitement."

Percy went exceedingly pale.

"So, yes, where was I?" Professor Whams continued, turning away from a horrified Percy, "The Edward Skinner Curses. So, can anyone tell me what they are?"

Hermione hand shot up.

"Miss, erm," Whams settled for pointing at Hermione’s arm.

"The Edward Skinner Curses are a set of four spells that can only be used by licensed Aurors," Hermione said, not deterred by Professor Whams’s ignorance of her name, "While the four are generalized as curses, they are actually a variety of hexes, curses, and jinxes. There is the Energy Jinx, the Mind Possession Curse, the Burning Curse, and the Blinding Hex. The similarity between them all are that they were all created by the same wizard, and that they all solely affect the mind."

"Precisely," Whams praised, "Ten points to-"

"Gryffindor," Hermione said instantly.

"Ten points to Gryffindor," agreed Professor Whams. "The four spells cause no physical damage, but affect the mind in oftentimes severe ways. If used improperly, any one of these spells can result in permanent damage to the brain. The usefulness of these spells, however, is unquestionable, and certain wizards are permitted to perform them, but only under the strictest of guidelines. For that reason, none of you will be using these curses. Precious few Aurors have both the ability and the privilege to carry out any of these spells. Illegal use is enough to earn a few decades in Azkaban." He licked his lips and paused, the gray whiskers on his chin twitching as he chewed his jaw. He seemed unsure of what to say next. Unconsciously, he rubbed circles around the rim of his ink jar with his thumb.

"So, I suppose I should tell you about Edward Skinner himself, eh?" Professor Whams said, his face splitting into a grin. He withdrew his thumb and brought it up to his face, where he stroked his chin with his hand, smearing long, black lines of ink across it. He looked a little like a tribal warrior bearing war paint. "Edward was born and raised in London during the Black Plague. For those of you who know your history, you will remember that London at that time was a place of terror, and many people died of madness before the plague had ever reached them. The belief that mental pain was more significant than physical pain was what inspired Edward to create the Four Curses. His intentions at the time were malevolent, but they hold attributes that today’s wizards can use to great effectiveness."

The sound of quills scratching on parchment was the only noise made as Professor Whams waited for his students to write down their notes. As though in sudden thought, Whams whirled around and tapped his wand lightly on the wall behind him. His words were quickly transferred onto the blackboard.

"Now for a demonstration," Professor Whams announced as he pulled the jar of crawling insects towards him. He wrinkled his nose and withdrew his hands into his robes. "Perseus, if you could be so kind, please pluck a beetle out of the jar?"

Percy surveyed the jar with a hint of reluctance, and then hastily snatched a spider out of it. He replaced the lid and then dropped the arachnid onto Whams’s desk.

"Insects are such filthy creatures," Whams muttered as he raised his wand. "Far too many legs."

Ron nodded his head vigorously, expressing his strong agreement.

Whams examined the spider carefully, and then turned his eyes back to the class. The ink smears on his chin were now more prominent than ever. "We will begin with the comparably harmless of the four: the Blinding Hex," Professor Whams aimed his wand so that it was a mere four inches away from its target. "Caecus!"

A beam of light struck the spider and it began to stumble around drunkenly, its legs uncoordinated and it seemed as though one or two of its appendages were frozen stiff. As it staggered dangerously close to the edge of the desk, Whams gave it a gentle push back towards the center with the tip of his wand.

"A common misconception is that the Blinding Hex affects only your eyesight," Professor Whams continued, "In fact, it affects all of your senses. It alters your sense of touch, smell, sight, taste, hearing and even your sense of balance; as you can see from our poor friend here."

"A talented wizard can make the effects either permanent or temporary. For an effective hex the spell must be performed at close range. In this case, I have designed the spell to wear off in a few minutes. Most Aurors, however, are not so merciful towards Dark Wizards. The majority of you will not be able to wield the spell correctly, and you therefore risk unwittingly causing irreversible damage to anyone you use it on. For this reason, the ministry restricts its use to only professionals." He waved his wand in a small circle over the arachnid and then motioned Percy to put it back in the jar. The spider now blundered blindly around the bottom of the container.

"Now I am going to need a piece of cloth…" Whams murmured as he searched his immediate surroundings. Unsuccessful, he abruptly ripped off the end of his silk sash and set it down on the desk.

Percy just stared. The stress of watching over Whams was catching up to him.

"Next is the Burning Curse," Whams said, flattening the torn silk sash onto the desk. "Pay close attention. Perseus, if you please…"

Percy jerked out of his trance and mechanically plucked a squirming insect out of the jar, its body twisting as it dangled. His fingers pinching the insect’s leg, Percy lowered it onto the silk and released it. It immediately began trying to scamper off of the cloth, but was pushed backwards by Whams’s wand whenever it tried to escape. It appeared to be a fat roach.

"Well," Professor Whams continued addressing the class, though his eyes never left the roach. After a shaky minute, Whams closed his eyes and placed the jar of multi-legged creatures under his desk and out of sight. He breathed a sigh of relief. "The Burning Curse is a prime example of a mind-altering spell. Watch closely. Exuro!"

A bolt of orange shot at the sash, and an instant later the silk erupted in a whirlwind of flames and inferno. The roach rolled about on its back as the flames licked its body, ominously reminding Harry of the Cruciatus Curse. The students in the front row shuffled their chairs backwards and raised their hands to their eyes to ward off the heat. Percy, sweating, backed away two paces. Whams alone seemed unaffected.

"Are you watching? Do you see why this is a mind-altering curse?" Professor Whams asked above the crackling flames.

Squinting, Harry saw upon closer inspection that there was no smoke rising from the fire. While the roach and silk sash should have both been reduced to ashes at this point, they were still an unfazed, as though the flames were nonexistent. True, the roach appeared to be in a great amount of pain, but it was alive, amazingly enough. Then Harry realized what was happening: the flames were an illusion.

"For those who are still unaware, the Burning Curse has been altering your senses for the past few moments," Whams said serenely, his face glowing from the fire, "While you see the flames flickering, smell the ash burning, and feel the heat radiating from the fire, it is, in reality, not there. There is nothing physically happening. The fire’s presence is registered only by your minds, my mind, and the roach’s mind."

The flames lowered into nothing, and Whams carefully wrapped up the sash and set it under his desk and into the jar. (Taking particular care not to touch the roach with his hand) He straightened and blinked expectantly from behind his magnifying lenses. An eerie silence fell over the room.

Neville’s hand rose from the back of the classroom.

"Yes?" Professor Whams asked, no longer attempting to remember the students’ names.

"Why isn’t the Burning Curse labeled as unforgivable?" Neville asked timidly.

Harry shut his eyes, knowing Neville’s reason for asking such a question.

"Ah, a very good inquiry," said Professor Whams cheerfully, "There is only a single difference between the Cruciatus Curse and the Burning Curse. Can anyone tell me what it is?"

Hermione’s hand predictably shot up.

Whams gestured for her to speak, and she did. "As the Burning Hex can only be used on nonliving objects, the wizard and witch in question has a chance to escape the pain." Harry, who had heard all this before, nodded inwardly.

"Correct. Five points to Gryffindor," said Professor Whams. He turned to write on the blackboard, but the hem of his robes were evidently caught on something. With one, strong tug, Whams’s robes slackened and the cacophonous sound of shattered glass followed it. The professor, apparently oblivious to his accident, continued as though nothing happened. Percy leaned and peered to see what Whams had smashed.

"The line between the Cruciatus Curse and the Burning Curse is a fine one, indeed," lectured Professor Whams, his words appearing on the blackboard as he spoke them, "The ability to control one’s subjection to pain is the lone cause for its legality. Regardless, its use is strictly regulated by the ministry." He pivoted on his hear and something crunched sickeningly.

As the class was running relatively smoothly, Harry guessed Whams had switched into competent-professor mode. While Whams’s face betrayed uncertainty and his eyes erratically darted around in momentary fits of confusion, his voice remained even and resonant. His physical appearance and his tone of voice seemed to be possessed by conflicting personalities.

"Thirdly, there is the Mind Possession Curse," Professor Whams continued. Harry’s interest perked. He remembered the spell firsthand when Gates had used it previously at Diagon Alley. "This curse is by far the most dangerous, and is one I don’t care to demonstrate on any living creature. It causes an immense feeling of pain in the brain region, and it can only be described as brutal when used on a healthy mind."

"You may be wondering why I used the term ‘healthy’ mind, and I will elaborate. The Mind Possession Curse is only beneficial when it is used on a mind that is suffering from some sort of personality ailment, often in the form of possession by a third party. It purges the brain of all alien influence, and, in fact, of all thought altogether. For this reason, Aurors find it useful in certain situations. Performing the curse on a non-possessed mind is enough to send the caster into Azkaban for the rest of their life. The ministry regulates this curses’s use very stringently."

Harry raised his hand without really knowing why. "What are the side effects of the curse?"

Professor Whams seemed slightly surprised. "If you are referring to an infected mind, then I’d say nothing. On a healthy mind, however, the Mind Possession Curse can open a pandora’s box of brain-related maladies. It leaves the mind very open to outside forces, including skilled Legilimentists."

Harry sat back to ponder this new information while Whams droned on.

"I believe we can move on to the Energy Jinx," Professor Whams continued. "This jinx is used mainly for trapping purposes. The spell charges the target with magical energy, and, when touched by someone other than the caster, the energy is dispersed into the first person it comes in contact with. Do not confuse this with muggle electricity. There are no physical damage caused by the energy surge, though the mental damage can be devastating. Wizards have been put into a deep coma for several years before ever coming out. This Jinx is extraordinarily difficult, and is mastered by few outside of Gringotts. I’m afraid I will be unable to demonstrate-"

"Allow me," Gates said smoothly, gliding up to the front of the classroom and drawing his black wand. Professor Whams wore an expression almost like exaggerated appreciation, as he beamed widely as the Hit Wizard advanced to the front.

"Where?" Gates asked airily. It held a tone that reassured everyone that he was merely doing this out of boredom.

"On the sash, if you could be so kind," Whams replied with his usual joviality, though Harry could sense something under it.

His brow furrowed in a look of utmost concentration. Gates slashed his wand in a series of practiced movements, muttering "Forca!" as he jutted his wand outward like a spear. The jolt of lighting struck the frayed end of the severed sash, and a wave of light swept over it. Afterwards, the entire sash faintly glowed bluish silver. The color of raw energy. Something inside of Harry smoldered.

"Thank you for your assistance, Alex," said Professor Whams. The Hit Wizard bowed stiffly and retreated to the back.

Whams’s gaze returned to the class, his eyes showing a little less amiability. "That was an excellent and rare example of the Energy Jinx. You almost never see this jinx anywhere except the deepest vaults in Gringotts."

That and my Firebolt, Harry thought irritably. The old memory and anger did not completely die away with the broom’s return.

"Perseus, if you could use a-" Whams abruptly stopped. He bent over and picked up something from behind his desk. When he held it up, Harry could see that it was a large, curvy shard of glass.

Oh no, he shattered that jar full of insects when he turned to charm the blackboard.

Harry leaned down and, sure enough, there was a small army of crawling beetles, spiders, centipedes, grasshoppers, and various other crawling creatures scampering under Whams’s desk and were now approaching the front row of students. Ron, understanding at once, lifted his feet up and stared at the ground searchingly, apparently terrified of the prospect of so many multi-legged insects a few meters away. His fear extended beyond simply spiders and included everything with more than four legs. He drew his wand and frantically waved it around, a few white sparks slipping from the tip.

Several girls squealed and wrapped their arms around their knees as they brought their legs up. Hermione searched the area around her and then shook her head exasperatedly at Harry as though to say "Do you believe these people? Honestly, it’s just a few bugs."

Professor Whams, however, went white, and his phobia of insects seemed, if possible, to be greater than Ron’s. "There is no reason to panic," Professor Whams said, his voice quaking. "None at all." He carefully backed away from his desk, eyes wide and alarmed.

"Err-" Percy stepped forward, obviously trying to take charge, "That’s enough for today. Umm-" He shook his wand at a nearby cluster of roaches, and they promptly froze. "-I’ll take care of this. Class dismissed."

As the class filed out (Ron being the first to leave) Harry heard Professor Whams say, "Vile little things!"

Hermione giggled and Ron glared.

"Potter," Gates said as he crossed the threshold of the doorway. "This Wednesday we will begin your training. Be ready."

Harry held back, motioning Ron and Hermione to go on. "Remember the request? We will be going into to forest Wednesday evening."

"Then we’ll do it beforehand," Gates said smoothly, "And since you’re calling your request in, I’ll call in mine. You are to report every dream, image, or vision you have this year in explicit detail to me, leaving nothing out, as soon as you have them."

Seeing he had no choice, Harry nodded.

"Don’t disappoint me on Wednesday, Potter. Failure will mean pages." He smirked, seething arrogance.

Harry stared up at Gates, hating him. At length, Harry spun around and strode down the hall to Transfiguration, Gates’s sudden snort of laughter echoing down the corridor behind him.

***

Later that same evening, around eleven o’clock, Ronald Weasley moved restlessly in his bed. His sheets were twisted around his legs, and his head ached from an unknown hurt. Though he was sleeping, his mind was surging with activity, the dreams feeding energy to the brain. He licked his lips. His dream was a strange one.

Ron was strolling through the Forbidden forest, not really knowing where he was going nor caring. The tangled brush and brambles scratched his robes and tore at his skin, but he was quite unaware of it. He needed to go somewhere; to some vague destination. He did not have the faintest inkling of where to go, but he knew he had to be there. Actually, he was already late.

Ron fell to his knees and started clawing at the ground like an animal, digging into the earth with his fingernails. He ripped through dried leaves and thin roots before arriving at a small, locked chest. He felt it with the tips of his fingers. The iron latch was rusted. He grew frustrated and smashed at the keyhole with a rock. It held, and he whipped the rock into a nearby bush. It crashed and rolled somewhere in the fallen branches and leaves.

He suddenly remembered he had a key in his pocket, so he reached down and drew it; examining the mixed diamonds and rubies encrusted upon it. Envy burned in his heart.

Ron thrust it into the keyhole and turned. With a strained creak of disused joints, the chest opened and revealed a swallowing blackness. Soon, he found himself falling into the deep, something laughing as he fell. The chest had consumed him.

He landed on an ancient stone floor. Hard. Ron looked up and saw that he was in a room like Snape’s dungeons, except this one appeared to be thousands of years old. Mossy curtains of plants draped down from the ceiling like organic veils. Roots of old trees were pushing through the rock walls, cracking and splitting the stone with patient ease. He felt the floor with his hand, and found that it was covered with a thin layer of wet slime; though he could not see what it was in the dim dungeons. On the opposite wall was an assortment of shackles, chains, and leg irons. Something far away dripped.

A sheen of sweat covered Ron’s forehead, and he wiped it away. He wanted to leave this creepy place; he knew that, wherever he was, it was the stuff of nightmares. He stared around for an exit, but found only heaps and piles of bones and skulls in dark corners, their paleness obvious against the greenish black of the stone walls. Above him, a chunk of rock cracked and fell, landing with a splash in a puddle of murky water. Leaning down, Ron sniffed the air. He realized that there was no slime on the floor after all. It was congealed blood. He emptied his stomach onto the floor, and ,feeling slightly dizzy, searched desperately for a way out. He found nothing. The putrid stink of decaying bones hung heavy in the air.

Ron staggered towards an area where the ceiling caved in and sat down on a gray hunk of stone, chest heaving. He remembered that his dad had once told him about dark wizard towers; how they were devoid of everything except stone, flesh, and iron. From what he saw, this was definitely some sort of dungeon in an abandoned tower; probably underground. Whoever was this tower’s occupant, he was insane. Who could live here? He had asked dad that very same question, and his father’s response was solemn. Some men in this world are cruel and deranged. They do not kill out of necessity, but out of entertainment. When wizards meddle in the Dark Arts, they believe that they are stronger than the powers that they are toying with. In the end, it’s not the wizards who meddle with the magic, but the magic that meddles with the wizards.

"Mr. Weasley," said a cold voice, "I see we have now met. The subconscious and the conscious, at long last, have joined."

"Who are you?" Ron croaked, standing up and searching the dungeon for the voice’s owner. Standing in a shadowed corner was a lean figure; his face pale against his black robes. His visage was hooded and all that Ron could see was a pair of acid-green eyes.

"We will get to that later," the man continued, "But first I ask: Do you know what you want?"

What the hell kind of question is that? "I want out of here, first off."

The robed figure sighed and stepped into the dim light. His facial skin was sagged and looked as if the flesh was already dead and decayed. He drew a mottled hand from his robes and extended a single finger. "What is the one thing you desire above all? I can give it to you, you know."

"Bullshit. Let me out of here."

"Do you know where ‘here’ is?"

Ron hesitated. "Where am I?"

The figure looked around the dungeon almost fondly. "The last place I remember with detail. This is my old laboratory. It was where I met my end. Well, my physical end."

"Let me out," Ron repeated. "You can’t give me anything I don’t already have."

The figure laughed. It was cold and high pitched. "Don’t lie to me, Ronald. I am your subconscious. I already know everything."

Ron took a step back. "You’re that- that brain in the Department of Mysteries."

"Correct," the man replied, "Though that it hardly relevant. Me and you have to share this body, whether either of us like it or not. I want to have some sort of truce. I confess I no longer care much for life anymore, and I desire only occasional pleasures that blood alone can bring me. What I can do for you, however, is limited only by your dreams."

Ron gazed around at the room; eyes resting on the dripping ceiling. The tendrils of mossy plants seemed to wave from a nonexistent wind. "Yeah, you seem like the type that does stuff for other people’s benefit." Ron heard the debris behind him creak as stone slid against each other, but he ignored it.

"I can give you great power," said the sallow figure. He grinned and his teethed were pitted and yellow. "I know how you envy the Potter boy. Yes, it’s all here. You want to be powerful like him? Well, I can give you power and more. Even," he added with a sinister tone, "the girl."

Despite himself, Ron was tempted. "What do you want?" He needed time to decide.

A fanatical gleam entered the man’s eyes. "In return for my gifts, all I wish is the ability to satisfy my…desires on occasion. You needn’t even do anything, though you can watch, if you want. You may even come to like it. One must learn to appreciate the silky, warm feel of running blood; it‘s an acquired taste."

"You’re sick," Ron snarled, backing away from the man. He hated himself for even considering the offer. "Get out of my head." A rock fell and splashed into a small puddle of liquid.

"Oh, no I’m not," the man replied with an easy rasp on his voice. It added a sense of mastery. "If you don’t want to do what it takes, I will do it for you. I understand your reluctance. Just let me have control for a single minute tonight, and I will bring you more than you can ever imagine." The figure moved and touched a protruding rock, stroking it gently with his ruined hand. Ron swore that it actually shuddered under the figure’s touch.

"I know who you are," Ron spat, "And you’re a liar. You’re stuck in my head and you can’t leave without me allowing it." A tremendous crash echoed through the dungeon, and Ron, listening, decided that an adjoining room had collapsed. The tower is falling apart.

The figure turned his head sharply. "Wrong. You have no idea who I am…" He rolled up his black sleeve to reveal a decaying arm. On it, clearly imprinted on the peeling flesh, was the Dark Mark. "You insult me with your impertinence, boy."

Ron took another pace backwards, nearly slipping on the slippery floor. "You’re nothing without me. You’re just another crooked Death Eater."

"Is that right?" the figure growled, drawing himself up to his full height. He advanced upon Ron like an executioner. "I am everything. I merely wanted to convenience the both of us with this little chat, but you are too stubborn to see what I can bring you. All I need is Potter’s wand. The phoenix feather within it will be all I need to return. Don’t you see, you stupid boy?" A few more stones dropped from the ceiling, landing loudly on bare spots on the floor.

Ron could now smell the rotten flesh reeking from the figure’s body. "I’ll never betray him."

To Ron’s surprise, the man laughed. It was hoarse and raspy and high. "You’re ignorance astounds me. I told you before I know your mind. The seed is in here."

"You’re lying," said Ron shakily. He could not be sure, but he sensed that the man’s temper was somehow connected to the tower. Every time the man’s jade eyes darkened with rage, bits of debris fell from the walls and ceiling.

"I’m not," he said flatly. Again, a carved stone shivered and shattered.

Ron managed to produce a terse smile. "You’re the one dead, not me. I think it’s clear who depends on who, so don’t pretend to intimidate me."

The green eyes glittered like jewels. "I am your potential. Wizards would beg for a chance like this. Do you know what I am offering you?"

"Yes I do, so get the hell out of my mind."

"You don’t even know who I am," the figure continued, "You couldn’t have any idea…"

"So it comes back to that?" Ron said in an unnecessarily low voice, "Who are you?"

The figure grinned a sadistic grin. The tower groaned as rocks shifted from sheer weight. A massive stone block fell from the ceiling, smashing into fragments when it hit the ground. "You can call me Corlov."

Somewhere, the rocks and walls caved and Ron awoke with a gasp. He sat there, heaving, for several minutes, wondering wildly what he had been dreaming about.

(A/N: I hope Whams’s class didn’t bore anyone. I really needed to write out what the Edward Skinner curses were and that was the perfect opportunity. Those who said in chapter 12: Isn’t the h/Hr going a little too fast? I tend to agree. It seemed like a huge jump because I put no h/Hr in chapters 9 or 10, which were supposed to be one chapter not two. My fault for not foreseeing that.

And for those who are concerned about whether Dolohov’s, erm, removal, from the story marks the end of Voldemort’s relevance as a plot device in this fanfic, well, I suggest you reread chapter 12’s title.

And for the people who read this on fan fiction.net: I finally got around to updating chapter 1 to remove the infamous "His birthday is on the 31st not 30th" typo error, and ended up deleting the entire story, so I had to upload all 12 chapters again. My mistake!

Happy new year.

Chapter 14: The training lesson goes about as well as people expect. Harry follows through with his plan, and it leads to a little chaos. (If you’re expecting an epic battle scene like the one in chapter 10, you’ll be disappointed, I’m afraid) And Gates takes one in the face after making a rather snide remark.

Chapter 14 quote:

"That requires a ministry license," interjected Harry before he could stop himself.

Gates’s eyes glittered. "Yes, I know. But do you think dark wizards stop and ask for your license if you perform an Edward Skinner? If you win, there’s nobody around to turn you in. If you don’t, well, it doesn’t matter, does it?" He grinned maliciously. Harry swore that Gates looked ready to lick his lips.)

14. Into the Forest

(A/N: Comments, reviews; the more the better! I didn’t really intend on releasing this chapter this early, but a strange mood struck me and I’m working on a whim. Chapter 15 next Saturday; I‘m sticking to that day this time!)

The next two days passed easily, and Harry found that he could meet Gates’s eyes without feeling a well of hatred. The small measure of revenge that Wednesday would bring glowed in his chest, making the Hit Wizard’s stinging remarks brittle and blunt. For the first time, Harry did not care about Gates’s absolute presence; he only knew that Wednesday would provide a much-needed retribution. Seeming to sense Harry’s newfound mollification, Gates began watching him with a wary eye, unsure of his motives.

Harry called together the D.A. Tuesday, and they were able to practice dueling tactics to use during the upcoming tournament in November. He did not show them anything advanced, as most were still inexperienced, but corrected their postures and sharpened their reflexes by having the Room of Requirement fire stunning spells at them in sporadic intervals; letting only the most agile of members to escape unscathed. While several others were knocked out, they were usually revived by a spell an instant later. By the end of the session, the D.A. had a firm grasp on Moody’s timeless law of ‘CONSTANT VIGILENCE’.

Harry decided to push back his plans on having the D.A. fight against dark creatures. In a few weeks, after they had mastered some dueling concepts, he would initiate the lessons involving defenses against creatures such as Runespoors, Spinxes, and Boggarts. While they had already dealt with certain creatures, Harry figured that they should start with the basic ones before moving on to the more dangerous creatures. His main problem, obtaining and fighting the creatures in a relatively secure environment, was quickly solved when he discovered that the Room of Requirement could oblige nearly every request, and produced a wide room with a glass cage where the necessary creature could be conjured (Harry had no idea how) and battled without the human participant being endangered.

Coming down to Wednesday’s breakfast in the great hall, Harry could not see how the day could be any better. When he entered the hall, he halted abruptly at the scene that had greeted him. Instead of the usual four separated tables for each house to dine out, there was now a single, long oak counter that ran in an arc across the hall. The cloth draped over it was plain, blemishless white rather than a respective house color. Shafts of light crisscrossed over it, covering it with a angelic air. Harry down awkwardly at the far end with a cluster of Gryffindors who appeared to be as confused as he was. Ron and Hermione soon joined him.

“Err, so what happened here?” Ron asked uncertainly, his eyes running up and down the length of the table.

Harry looked up at the staff table and saw that Dumbledore’s eyes were twinkling brightly as he gazed across the great hall, his half-moon spectacles shining from the first beams of sunlight. His eyes fell briefly on Harry, and then moved to where a small contingent of Ravenclaws gathered nearby. The professors that had already gathered at the staff table, apparently having no foreknowledge, whispered to each other over plates of waffles and pancakes, anxious expressions on their faces.

A group of Slytherins, led by Malfoy, snorted and sat down on the opposite end, complaining loudly about being forced to sit with “Mudbloods and muggle-lovers”. From the way they were huddled together, Harry guessed that the Slytherins were staking out their territory, warning outsiders to stay away. Everyone was all too happy to oblige.

“Don’t you see Ron?” said Hermione, “He’s trying to unite the houses. And what better way to start than with the dining area?”

Harry watched the Slytherins conspiratorially muttering to each other when a band of Hufflepuffs passed by. “This isn’t going to go over well.”

“There’s no question about that,” Hermione said matter-of-factly, “People always resist change.”

Ron was staring expectantly at Dumbledore. “Well isn’t he going to make a huge speech about it like he always does?”

“Come on Ron,” Hermione chided, “He has more tact than that. Dumbledore made his point, he doesn’t need to announce it.”

Ron shrugged and extended his hand. “If you say so. Can I borrow your book again?”

“Here,” Hermione said, pulling it out of her book bag and offering it to him with both hands as though handing over a priceless treasure. “We don’t have Charms today so you can keep it until this evening. Then I need to work on my conjuring.”

“Right,” Ron mumbled as he flipped it open and immediately began to read. Occasionally, he would tap on a piece of parchment with his wand and mutter something, but to no effect.

A moment later, Luna Lovegood drifted across the hall and settled down in the chair next the Ron, staring at the book he was reading with intense eyes. Ron, seeming to be unaware of her presence, continued reading as though he was utterly absorbed in the text. Bringing his wand up once more, he tapped it stiffly onto the blank parchment and muttered something. Nothing happened. Frowning, Ron returned his gaze to the book. Luna’s head was now directly above his shoulder.

“You’re doing that all wrong, Ronald,” said Luna, causing Ron to nearly jump out of his seat. “You have to add a backward twist when you touch the parchment.”

“Really?” Ron said, recovering. He tried again. “I still can’t get this, though.”

Luna leaned over him and examined the text. Blood flowed and concentrated in Ron’s face. “I’ve used the Narro Charm before for my father’s newspaper. What do you need it for?”

“Oh, err,” Ron cast a swift glance and Harry and Hermione then turned back to Luna. “It’s sort of a secret.”

“Secrets? I love secrets,” Luna replied, and Harry was sure that she mouthed the words “-and you” as well.

“Do you think-” Ron began awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck, “Would you be able to help me with the spell?”

“It would be my pleasure, Ronald,” answered Luna, smiling slightly as her eyes focused on the book. “On the condition that you help me with some food this weekend.”

“Help you with some food?”

“Father sent me some packages of Snockle-Lock beef and I hardly know what to do with it,” Luna breathed. She was luring Ron in with food; an ingenious plan if Harry ever heard one.

Ron’s response was immediate. “Sure, sounds fair to me.”

“Then I’ll be looking forward to it,” said Luna, her eyes misting over. “Hogsmeade was wonderful, by the way, Ronald.”

Harry was so engaged in Ron and Luna’s exchange that he did not notice an owl swoop down and drop an edition of the Daily Prophet on Hermione’s plate. Nearly tearing it open in haste, she unraveled it quickly and scanned the front page. Her grin slowly grew wider.

“So what’s the good news?” Harry asked curiously.

Hermione turned towards him with shining eyes. “They’ve brought charges against Fudge. That makes it official. Let’s see…” She began listing them off. “The specific charges are: Failure to provide reasonable security despite substantial forewarning, corruption of performance by personal interests, unlawful extensions of authority…the list goes on.”

“So what’re they going to do now?”

“Try him in front of a Wizengamot,” Hermione said simply, “It will be weeks before we hear a verdict, but with the amount of evidence they have…”

“Did the article mention his replacement?” Luna chimed in.

Hermione did a double-take. “No, no one has been nominated yet.”

“Well it’s about time,” approved Ron, nodding his head, “Fudge never did have all his marbles. When the ministry asked Dumbledore to take the position, they didn’t expect him to refuse, so they nominated Fudge as a sort of a backup choice. Dumbledore declined the position, so the ministry ended up getting stuck with him.”

“Any new attacks?” Harry asked with some trepidation.

Hermione shook her head. “Thankfully, no. There hasn‘t been anything new since Saturday.”

“Good, though I wonder why…”

Hermione flipped the page, and her face went pale. “Oh no…” she murmured.

“What?” Ron and Harry asked in unison.

She flipped the paper over so they could see the page. Ron, sounding bewildered, said “Err, Hermione…what is it? All I see is an ad for quills and ink.”

“Ink, Ron,” Hermione snapped, “Don’t you see? Their gouging the prices. Three sickles for a bottle of ink? Have they gone mad?” Her voice slowly became more high pitched and panicked. “They’re just using the situation in the ministry as an excuse to throw their prices through the roof.”

“I guess we’ll just have to conserve more,” Ron said simply, returning to his book.

“Conserve more?” Hermione retorted shrilly, “Three sickles for one bottle. I went through an entire bottle on my Charms report alone. This- This is illegal!”

Ron apparently could not fathom how anyone could become so riled up over a trivial issue such as ink. “I think we’ll survive, Hermione. At least it’s not parchment, right?”

Hermione began shooting through the pages, evidently searching for prices on parchment. Her face visibly cleared, and Harry assumed that the cost of parchment, at least, had not fluctuated.

“Err, Hermione,” said Harry timidly, “If you ever need extra ink so you can write your five foot-long reports, just let me know and you can have some of mine. I mean, mine usually goes dry after awhile anyway.”

Hermione’s lip trembled. “You really mean that?”

“Err, yeah. Why not?”

Luna smiled and Hermione was on the verge of tears.

Harry was flabbergasted. What did he do now? “Err, I’m sorry I didn’t mean anything-” Before he could finished his sentence, Hermione threw her arms around him and wrapped him in a tight hug. Harry, utterly confused as to what was going on, hugged her back awkwardly.

Pseudo-Snape, of course, butted in. Potter, you really are incredibly dense. I don’t see how anyone could possibly read a mind that thick.

“You’re the best Harry,” Hermione murmured into his shoulder. Students began to stare curiously in their direction, sometimes grabbing their friends and pointing. A few first years giggled.

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry said, and released her. Again, he felt an invisible line pull at his chest, and, for the briefest of moments, he felt sure he knew what it was. Then, just as quickly, it turned foreign again. What was wrong with him?

Harry turned and saw Gates wearing an amused expression. Luna, still smiling knowingly, gazed at Harry with her mystic eyes, her Ravenclaw intellect simmering just underneath them. Ron squinted, and Harry could tell that the redhead was dumbfounded. “Mental,” he muttered.

Gradually, the various eyes that had been watching him fell away, until at last only one pair remained. After several minutes, Dumbledore turned away as well, the twinkle in his eyes brighter than ever.

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

“Let’s go, Potter, I don’t have all day,” Gates drawled as Harry followed him down a marble staircase. “We will use the Room of Requirement.” The diamonds on his necklace glittered like tiny teeth as little tremors shook them.

Gates was making good on his second favor to Sirius, and this evening he was beginning their first session. Sirius had requested Gates to teach him some advanced dueling spells and curses, and the Hit Wizard, bound to fulfill the favor, complied. Harry was not at all comfortable with the arrangements, and he was wary of having Gates performing dangerous spells within his immediate vicinity. While Gates was could undoubtedly show him more than anyone except possibly Dumbledore, Harry would rather skip the training entirely. Gates, none too pleased with the second favor, was sure to make Harry’s training hellishly difficult.

“Stay back, Potter,” Gates ordered. He paced back and forth three times, and, on the third passing, the familiar door to the Room of Requirement appeared and he swiftly swung it open.

Harry crossed the threshold and was more than a little surprised at what he found. It was a bizarre cross between a dungeon and a library. Various shackles and chains were bolted on the rough stone walls, and there were narrow, black holes that led like pipes out from the upper corners of the room. A thin mossy substance dribbled out of it. There was a tall bookshelf on the far end of the room, packed with countless thick, heavy tomes, all of them seemingly irrelevant to the task at hand. (Harry had a strong suspicion that they would be used for target practice) The center of the room was barren except for an ornate Persian rug which appeared to be the lone vanity in the room. There were not portraits in the chamber, so there would be no way for Phineas Nigellus to watch their interaction. Huddled in a nearby corner, there was a table and two chairs, a flask of a dark red liquid and a foaming goblet sitting upon the counter. Shutting the heavy oaken door behind him, Gates swept over to the table and motioned Harry to sit at the chair opposite from him. A faint burning in his pocket told him that the bronze ring he received from the Sorting Hat found Gates untrustworthy, which was not surprising. The ring had been burning so much, in fact, that Harry had wrapped it in parchment to dull the irritation.

“We are here so I may complete your godfather’s second request,” Gates said serenely as he brought the flask and goblet closer to him. He sniffed the dark liquid with the air of a connoisseur. “Have you been preparing yourself Potter?”

“Sort of,” Harry said uncertainly. He read through the Art of Dueling again and had practiced a few curses, but they were nothing compared to the spells that Gates obviously expected him to learn.

“Sort of?” Gates snorted, tipping the flask and pouring its contents into the goblet. The foam and the liquid mixed with a sizzle like water on flame. A curl of steam rose from it, and Gates began idly stirring it with a small steel rod. “I suppose we shall see what you sort of did, won’t we?”

Harry nodded his head slightly.

Gates stared into the newly rising foam. It took on a reddish hue. He seemed oddly fascinated with it. “Do you know what this is, Potter?” he asked, referring to the drink. It was a confusing change of subject.

Harry decided to take a guess. “The Red Haze.”

“Quite right,” Gates said absently, still stirring the drink, “The Red Haze is actually both a poison and a beverage, as, when the dragon’s blood is added, the drink slowly becomes lethal. You see how I am stirring it? If I were to leave it for exactly fifteen seconds, the mixture would become irreversibly poisonous and I would have ruined a perfectly good drink, and, if I was clumsy, my life as well. I believe this flask contained Norwegian Ridgeback, judging from its shade.” He stared at it in silence for a long while, as though he was contemplating the meaning of life itself.

“Okay…” Harry said at length, unsure of what the Hit Wizard was getting at.

Gates jerked out from his reverie. “I will be showing and teaching you a variety of intricate and complicated curses, Potter. Many of these, you might know, produce ghastly effects, and, in the wrong hands, can be mortally dangerous.” The Pravus necklace quivered, seeming to sense the surrounding gravity.

The Hit Wizard set down his stirring rod on the table. Harry counted slowly in his head. One…Two… He barely heard Gates’s words, catching only occasional phrases. In fifteen seconds the Red Haze would be poison.

“-What you will experience in here will not leave this room-”

Three…Four…

“-Fully qualified Aurors are not all able to master the spells I am about to show you-”

Five…Six…

“-These are spells that can maim, spells that can destroy, spells that can burn your very soul-”

Seven…Eight…

“-Dark wizards are among the most cunning men on earth, and for that reason, you must know more than just curses and hexes-”

Nine…Ten…

“-Therefore, I will be teaching you every trick and tactic that I know of-”

Eleven…Twelve…In three more seconds the drink will be lethal.

“-Some of what I show you is considered immoral by the modern wizard world. However, honor dictates otherwise-”

Thirteen…Fourteen…

Gates stopped abruptly, plucked up the stirring rod, and swirled the mixture for one revolution. Without glancing into the goblet, he drank deeply. Was it safe? Gates had been cutting it close; Harry was sure that the Hit Wizard had only stirred the drink within a fraction of a second of the limit. Gates set the goblet back down, and then waited. After a moment, he continued, a new tone in his voice. Was it disappointment?

“If you obey me I can teach you more than any professor in this school, and you will learn enough to rival even the most powerful of dark wizards. Should you choose to ignore my instruction, well, you have only managed to waste my time. I don’t like wasting my time, Potter. And for that reason, failure means pages.” Gates paused and finished the last of the Red Haze. “Questions, Potter?”

“Err, no.”

“I should hope not,” Gates said softly, “Very well, stand up Potter and go to the center of the room.”

Harry rose to his feet and complied. He turned and saw that Gates was eyeing him critically, his sharp hawkish features very evident in the dim light. Harry had the strange feeling that Gates was sizing him up, determining his strengths and weaknesses.

“We will begin with the Burning Curse-”

“That requires a ministry license,” interjected Harry before he could stop himself.

Gates’s eyes glittered. “Yes, I know. But do you think dark wizards stop and ask for your license if you perform an Edward Skinner? If you win, there’s nobody around to turn you in. If you don’t, well, it doesn’t matter, does it?” He grinned maliciously. Harry swore that Gates looked ready to lick his lips.

“But-”

“Potter,” Gates said in his silkiest and most venomous voice, “If you expected to come here to practice stunning spells, then you will be disappointed. Dark wizards can deflect that fifth year nonsense with a flick of a wand, and some can even build up resistance to such weak magic. You cannot expect dumb luck to save you.” He paused, a sneer forming on his face. “This isn’t a class, Potter. This is real, potent, strenuous magic that the Dark Lord holds complete mastery of. Now do not interrupt me again.”

“How?” Harry asked simply.

“Watch,” Gates commanded, and jerked his wand sideways. A book flew out from the bookshelf and landed a few feet in front of him. “Concentrate and make yourself believe that the book is on fire before you attempt the spell. I find it helpful if I imagine that I’m standing in hell. Now, say Exuro!” A bolt of orange shot out from his wand and connected with the tome, lighting it up in unreal flames. Despite his knowledge of the Burning Curse, Harry was hard pressed not to believe that it was an actual fire. All of his senses defied his reason.

“Finite!” Gates incanted, and the fire went out. “Try it, Potter.”

Harry focused his eyes on the book and tried to pretend that flames were emerging from between the pages. He slowly raised his wand and bellowed “Exuro!” Rather than an orange beam, a white jagged light spilled out of his wand and vanished.

“That, Potter,” Gates said disdainfully, “Was one of the weakest attempts at the Burning Curse that I have ever had the misfortune to witness. Again.”

Harry inhaled, exhaled, and then raised his wand once more. He repeated the curse with the same result, and found that even attempting the spell was taxing his mind, testing his elasticity. He felt weary on his feet, and he needed a moment to recuperate.

Gates shook his head. “Potter, I want you to be practicing that curse on your own. If you continually try and fail, you will be too tired to move on to another spell and this entire session will end up a colossal waste of time and effort. Do you know the Severing Curse?”

“The Severing Curse?” Harry echoed, not really understanding Gates’s words. His head was swimming and his temple throbbed. He had never known magic to be so straining.

“Yes, I believe it’s N.E.W.T. level, if memory serves,” Gates continued, “When performed properly, a horizontal disk of light should emerge from your wand and cut cleanly through anything in its path. It is quite useful for removing brush, walls, or other obstructions. And when you find yourself trapped in a locked room, you will find this curse extraordinarily useful.”

Gates drew his wand and whirled it in the air. “Discerpo!” he bellowed, and a white disc shot out of his wand and connected with the thick tome, slicing it into perfect halves. Harry bent down and examined the book in amazement; the cut was as thin as a hair, and, when Harry gently touched it, the book fell apart like dried leaves. Hermione would be furious.

“How did you do that?” Harry inquired, standing up again.

“Easily,” Gates answered, withdrawing his wand and studying his gloved hands, “It requires little focus and concentration. However, the pronunciation of the incantation is key, so don’t foul it up.”

“If this can cut through books,” Harry persisted, “Can’t it cut through flesh too? Wouldn’t that make the curse illegal?”

Gates’s expression did not change. “The Killing Curse is considered unforgivable for two reasons: It is impossible to deflect, and it serves no other purpose than to kill. It’s complete and legal banishment from wizard kind is a relatively recent development, as the ministry outlawed it in 1745. There was hardly any need, though, as the Killing Curse was widely considered to be a shameful spell and is never used by those of us with any sense of honor. Unfortunately, honor has fallen to the wayside in recent centuries… Regardless, using the Severing Curse to kill another human will still earn you a life sentence in Azkaban, so only use it with caution and…discretion.” He added, letting his true meaning become quite clear. Gates stepped backwards, obviously expecting Harry to proceed.

Harry nodded, then leveled his wand with the shackles on the far wall. Jerking his wand sideways like Gates had done, he shouted “Discerpo!” and a thin disc fired out of his wand, hurtling towards the wall with frightening speed. When it came in contact with its target, however, it passed through and vanished, leaving the shackles completely intact.

Gates, needless to say, was displeased. “You didn’t say it forcefully enough, Potter,” the Hit Wizard criticized, “You aren’t ordering a sandwich, you’re using a curse. Put something into it.” He stood back and waited.

“Put what into it?”

“Think, Potter,” Gates commanded. His necklace flashed and danced across his chest as he moved closer to Harry. “Don’t you have something powerful to put into your words. You loved your godfather, correct?” Gates grinned grotesquely. “Think about seeing Bellatrix in front of you, her neck so very near, and force those thoughts into the enunciations of your words.”

Ignoring Gates’s advice, Harry raised his wand once more. This spell was absurdly difficult; students would not be learning the Severing Curse until late in their seventh year. Still, he had to produce something. Gates’s words rang ominously in his head. Failure will mean pages.

He recalled what Dumbledore had said about governing emotions, and tried with some difficulty to think of how he could use it to his advantage. Didn’t the headmaster say that his was love? Maybe if he focused on a memory that could bring about that emotion, no matter how rudimentary…

Well, he had loved his parents, but he did not have any clear memories of them; and, on the contrary, trying to picture his faces achieved only the opposite effect: it depressed him. Harry needed something strong, lucid, and not attributed with anything dismal. Gates cleared his throat impatiently.

He certainly loved his best friends, would that work? He summoned an image of them in his head: Hermione and Ron sitting by the lake, waving him over. Something tugged at his chest, and he let himself fall further into the memory. He remembered the cool wind that had skimmed bits of moisture off of the lake; the small tower of textbooks Hermione brought with her to read; the overwhelming innocence of the entire scene where there was no prophecy.

Harry readied himself to incant the curse, but hesitated briefly. In his memory, he turned to Ron and saw that he was no longer there. There was only Hermione now. Another, more forceful tug at his chest propelled him forward, and it was almost like he and Hermione were linked together by an ever-shortening cord. Harry walked forward and she smiled.

Touching, Potter, touching, Pseudo-Snape said.

“Discerpo!” Harry murmured almost serenely, and an opaque disc of white shot out of his wand, spinning at the targeting shackles with more vehemence than it had done before. When the curse reached the wall, it broke through the shackles and stone with a shriek like hissing metal. The shackles, glowing molten red at the ends, fell to the floor, now nothing more than a heap of twisted steel. The disc continued to slice through the grimy stone walls, making an incision an inch wide; far more than the hairline crack that Gates’s produced.

“At least you know a few intermediate curses, Potter,” Gates said indifferently, though Harry could tell that he was irresistibly impressed. “Perhaps you can yet be salvaged, we shall see. Let’s move on to something more…interesting.”

Gates drew a shiny steel ball from his pocket and held it up to the air as though he was offering it to an invisible deity. “Do you know of the Movement Charm?”

“Yes,” Harry said, remembering the steel balls that Gates had used against Snape during the duel. “Though that’s N.E.W.T. level too, right?”

“The Movement Charm is only effective in combat if you get your projectile to the optimum speed,” said Gates, ignoring Harry, “While it is relatively simple to move objects at a slow pace, it requires much time, effort, and power in order to fling them like missiles. You will work with smaller ones first.” He tossed the ball over to Harry, who caught it.

Harry studied the ball in his hands. It felt cool, as though it had come from the dungeons. It was completely unadorned, and this only increased the horror Harry felt when he thought about the damage and pain such a simple object could inflict.

“You know the incantation; you’ve seen how it’s used,” Gates said in a business-like way, “Again, it’s all in the mind and the words. All you need to do in the wand movement is a simple wrist flick. Understand?”

“Guess so,” Harry answered, not taking his eyes off of the steel ball. It seemed to only become colder as he held it in his hands.

“Then do it.”

Harry scanned it once more, than tossed it lightly into the air. “Waddiwasi!” Rather than bolting away like Gates’s had, the ball arced a few feet then fell lamely to the floor, rolling a bit and then stopping. Evidently, mastery of this charm was going to take more than a few attempts.

“What did I tell you about harnessing your mind and reigning in your emotions?” Gates spat, taking no effort to hide the contempt in his voice, “That was weak; even for a first attempt. Focus, Potter, or this-” He gestured towards the ball. “-will be a complete waste. Again.”

Harry picked up the steel ball, sighing. Gates’s expectations were impossibly high. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine that familiar scene by the lake. Once he felt the tugging in his chest, he raised the ball a little higher and sucked in his breath. He could do this, he knew he could.

“Waddiwasi!”

The steel ball jumped out of his hand, but quickly lost momentum as it flew through the air. Harry exhaled when he saw it land heavily on the ground only a few feet further than the last one. He might as well be trying to throw a bowling ball. There was no way he could perform the charm at Gates’s level in one session.

“Potter,” Gates snarled, and Harry turned to face him, his expression equally malicious. “What did I tell you about using your mind? Can’t you envision Bellatrix? Do you need something stronger?” He licked his pointed teeth and his necklace shivered with anxious delight. “Even your damnable godfather was a modesty skilled dueler. He was a lying, filthy blood traitor, but at least he could hold his own. I can’t say as much for you. You will be eradicated by the first Death Eater you stumble across.”

Harry clenched and unclenched his hands, anger boiling in his stomach. The bastard was taunting him again, cruelly provoking him to satiate his own sadistic pleasure. A primal, uncontrollable force urged him towards physical confrontation, but Hermione’s voice pleaded with him to calm down. His thoughts turned to tonight’s excursion into the Forbidden Forest, and he relaxed somewhat as he remembered his plans for Gates.

The Hit Wizard, however, would not be deterred. He continued his verbal assault with growing ferocity, lowering his head down until his face was less than a foot away from Harry’s. Gate’s grin broadened. “What about your father? Didn’t you know that he was as weak and as moronic as you? He single-handedly managed to get most of his family murdered by the Dark Lord. What sort of fool would place his trust in the rat Peter? Eh? Oh, yes, your father could scarcely walk without tripping over his shoelaces. I understand that you enjoy hearing about your father’s past? Well, old Severus was right in some respects. He was reckless, unwieldy, powerful, and unbearably foolish. He could perform a few token spells, true, but what does that matter when he‘s too much of an idiot to use them properly?” Gates paused, lip curling, seeming to feed off of Harry’s hate.

It took every ounce of restraint that Harry possessed in order to keep his hands at his sides. His heart pumped adrenaline through his veins, and he felt his head become hazy as primeval instincts wracked his mind, pulling and tearing at the fabric of his brain. He wanted so badly to lash out and smash and shout, but his rationale and pseudo-Hermione’s soothing voice kept him at bay.

The Hit Wizard sneered further. “A coward now, are you? I know what you’re feeling now, Potter. You’re feeling hate in the most extreme sense, yet you refuse to act upon it. It’s because you’re a recreant who cannot get used to the feeling of holding a hot wand in his hand.”

Gates moved his head even closer to Harry‘s. He could feel the Hit Wizard’s hot breath on his face.

“There is something that will make you snap,” Gates continued viciously, “I know you, Potter. I’ve opened your mind and dissected it and picked at the gray matter. I know how you’ve heard your mother’s screams, and I know how you feel about that mudblood.”

Something insider Harry’s brain snapped, and before he knew it, his fist swung out and smashed into Gates’s jaw; breaking with a satisfying crack. The Hit Wizard stepped back a pace, rubbing his cheek. He spat a bit of blood onto the floor and grinned. “Excellent, Potter. There is your hate. Now use the damned charm!”

Harry scooped up the steel ball, still feeling a hatred and rage that rivaled Bellatrix in intensity. He glared at Gates, and then grinned, selecting the tall Hit Wizard as his target. Without hesitating, he tossed it into the air and roared “Waddiwasi!”

The steel ball, despite the anger in Harry’s voice, slanted forward slightly and then fell weakly onto the floor. Harry stared at it, dumbfounded. He expected it to crash into Gates. His body still trembled with a maddening rage, and, when he looked up at Gates, he saw that the Hit Wizard’s face was choleric. Evidently he took Harry’s failure as a personal insult.

I’m not like you, Harry shouted inwardly, I don’t feed off of rage and hate like you do, you bastard.

“You aren’t even trying Potter,” Gates snarled, “This is going nowhere. This lesson is concluded. One page-” He whipped out the battered album and roughly tore out a page. On it were pictures of Harry when he was an infant. “-will be incinerated. Get out of my sight.”

Harry turned away just as the page burst into flame in Gates’s gloved hand.

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

Harry and Gates were now trudging across the empty black field in front of the castle, making their way to Hagrid’s hut. The sun was a little higher than the horizon, and threatened to drop down at any moment. In the distance, he saw a small pinprick of light and knew that Hagrid must be waiting for him. His pace increased.

The earth was soft as he walked upon it, as though it had just rained. Behind him, he heard Gates’s black boots crunching dried leaves and twigs, sometimes pausing to brush away a snagging branch. They were skirting the edge of the forest now as they approached the hut, and Harry could hear faint growls echoing from under the thick canopy of the trees. Deeper into the forest, something moved and sniffed.

The wind seemed to inhale and exhale like a living thing, biting at the hem of his robes as he walked. It carried a vitriolic taste with it, as though it disapproved of Harry’s actions. He looked up and saw that the moon was full, and wondered vaguely how Lupin was coping with his Lycanthropy. The air around him was cooling off, and Harry wrapped his cloak around him a little tighter. He began to recall the brief conversation he shared with Hermione after Transfiguration; her dire warnings about his safety.

“You can’t be doing this Harry,” Hermione had said earlier. “I can’t believe you. You’re going to end up…” She could not bring herself to say exactly how Harry would end up.

“Trust me Hermione, there I’ll be fine,” Harry assured her, the prophecy on his mind. “This is nothing. I’ll make sure Hagrid is far away; so the only ones at risk will be me and Gates. You know what those Centaurs will do to Hagrid…I’m solving two problems here.”

“You’re not doing this for Hagrid,” cut Hermione gently, “You’re doing this for yourself. Don’t you see that Gates’s entire life has been one long journey for revenge? That’s what you’re doing…”

Harry shook his head. How could she understand? She did not see his parents’ wedding photo be burned to a crisp by that bastard. “It’ll be fine, I know it will.” Harry restated, though now feeling a little less sure of himself. The Department of Mysteries scenario surfaced and he shuddered. She was right then, why not now?

She has not seen…

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Hermione asked, her eyes showing concern.

Harry could not bring himself to meet them. How could he explain the deep, passionate enmity he felt for Gates? He could not. At least Voldemort was far away…Gates was always nearby, always sneering. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Harry,” Hermione said again, her voice quaking. She recognized the change in the emerald eyes, and it scared her. “Promise me you won’t do anything rash if you go. I can’t stop you, but please promise me.”

“I promise,” said Harry, and he meant it.

Presently, Hagrid’s hut was now a short distance away, and the doubts Hermione had firmly implanted into him were beginning to fester. Hermione was always right; what the hell was he thinking? Regardless, it was too late now. The favors have already been exchanged.

“Hello Hagrid,” Harry said.

Hagrid swung a massive crossbow over his shoulder and held a lantern in his hand. “Ready?” He looked to Harry, who nodded, and then to Gates.

The Hit Wizard seemed to be sizing Hagrid up, determining the half-giant’s strength and formidability, and, apparently satisfied, he brought his hand down to his wand and drew it. Hagrid, taking this as a yes, grunted.

“You aren’ sayin’ anything, then?” Hagrid asked gutturally.

Gates regarded Hagrid with black ice for eyes. “No.”

Hagrid looked down and smiled at Harry. “Come on, Harry, Grawp wants ter see yer.”

Hermione Granger was sitting anxiously in the Gryffindor common room, a book propped up on her knees but not reading it. She bit her lip as she stared blankly into the fireplace, her thoughts focused on Harry and where he was and what might be happening. She checked her watch. It was too early.

Why couldn’t he take my advice for just once?

In truth, she could find nothing strategically wrong with Harry’s plan, but then again, that had always been Ron’s department, not hers. Was she missing something? She checked her watch again.

The Centaurs were being far worse than she had let Harry believe. So far they had broken a few of Hagrid’s ribs with their hind legs and left it at that. Soon, Hermione was sure, the Centaurs would go too far. She wanted to tell Dumbledore about the whole situation, but wouldn’t that betray Hagrid’s trust. He probably did not want the headmaster to know about it…but still. Then Harry came up with this plan, and she delayed. It sounded all right at first, but then doubts sprung into her mind. She hated it when he made her worry.

And I hate how dense he can be sometimes, she thought with a smile, But I love how dense he can be sometimes, too.

How else do you feel?

Now is not the time for this sort of conversation, she said to herself. When Harry was nearby something invisible tugged at her, and no amount of introspection could help her discern whether what she felt was an intensely deep friendship or…something else. Harry and Ron always told her that she was ‘good with feelings’, but when it came to understanding her own, she was baffled.

But she knew when she was missing something, and now was one of those times. Setting the book aside and leaning forward, she mulled over Harry’s plan once more.

Hermione turned slightly in her seat, expecting to see Ron sitting at a nearby table, still pouring over her Charms book. Then she remembered that, since they did not have Prefect duties tonight, (Despite what Harry claimed to Hagrid) he would practice the Narro Charm with Luna in the Room of Requirement. He had left about an hour ago.

Harry should not have gone against the centaurs; the more she thought about it the more convinced she became. The shielding charm Harry was using was finicky at best. What if it failed?

I wish he would have just not gone. I would asked him to promise not to go but he would never have agreed. Or would he? He’s changed so much since last year; he’s become more…reckless? Maybe that’s not the right word.

She should be doing her Ancient Runes work but she could not concentrate; a rare occurrence since Ancient Runes was one of her favorite classes. How was she supposed to focus on her work when Harry was out in the Forbidden Forest, doing who-knows-what. Gates was a monster, but he was not worth Harry taking such a risk. It was almost like Harry thought he was invincible.

Hermione stood up from the couch and, for the first time, began to pace.

Face it, Hermione, you’re worried sick. Look at yourself.

Hermione went into the bathroom and glanced into the mirror. She was, indeed, rather pale. She had not even noticed how stressed she was becoming as her thoughts raced through her mind.

I’ve got to get to him. He can’t be out there by himself.

She was gazing out the window when it hit her. “Rita Skeeter,” she breathed. Hermione whirled and ran to Hagrid’s hut, hoping desperately that Harry had not left yet.

Shafts of sunlight filtered down through the web of branches and leaves that made up the canopy of the forest. True, most of the leaves have already yellowed and fallen onto the forest floor, but there were still thick patches of stubborn greenery that refused to yield to the inevitable. It created a strange effect with the dim light, giving it a faint, almost imperceptible, golden hue that resulted from a combination of the sunset and the colored leaves.

It was not a pleasant stroll through the forest, however. Jagged thorn bushes snagged at his robes, and, while the trail was considerably wider than it was last year, it was still rough and uneven and had deep ruts carved into it from water runoff. Several times Harry tripped over a protruding rock, stumbling clumsily before regaining his stride.

Strange, alien howls broke through the eerie repetition of crunching debris, and Harry realized that this was how the Forbidden Forest must be like at dusk. Now that he had thought about it, he had never been in the forest at this particular time of day. The forest normally teemed with life of all kinds, but at the moment, it felt lifeless and empty, as though all the creatures had taken a permanent vacation. Somewhere, Harry knew, there were Centaurs. But they would arrive later; it would take them awhile to notice their presence.

Gates, on the contrary, was excited; almost thrilled. He held his wand lazily at his side, his icy gaze sweeping across his surroundings, like a predator searching for prey. Harry figured that the forest must be a no-man’s-land to him; a place where he could do what he pleased no matter how sinister without retaliation. He was in his element; his niche. Men like Gates had no place in society, and instead belonged with the instinctive beasts that stalked the forest in the night. Gates passed under a dark shadow, and, for the briefest of moments, only his ever-shining necklace could be seen.

“Almost there,” Hagrid said as he forced his way through a thick tangle of bushes, “Not much longer now.”

The trail branched off into a fork, and Hagrid went down the right path, now becoming more cautious, throwing his lantern this way and that, casting light into the shadows. Harry guessed that this must be the area where the Centaurs most often attacked him. The area was fairly cramped with thorny brush, and Harry could see why the Centaurs would choose such a place. The dense growth would render Hagrid’s size a disadvantage. Harry felt a fresh wave of anger come over him, and he tramped down the trail with more intent.

They finally entered a clearing, and Harry saw Grawp, Hagrid’s little brother, serenely bending a massive pine tree back and forth as if it was nothing more than a sapling. When Grawp saw Hagrid emerge, an expression resembling something like joy crossed his face and he lumbered over as fast as his size could allow.

“Hagger!” Grawp rumbled, his dull eyes fixed on Hagrid, who was beaming at Harry.

Hagrid strode up to the giant, a smile like pride spread across his face. “Grawp, how’re yer feelin’?”

A great, deep, dull murmur of assent issued forth from Grawp’s throat, and Harry could only assume that it was a positive response to Hagrid’s question.

“It’s a runt,” Gates murmured as he surveyed Grawp, his eyes looking the giant up and down. He appeared supremely disappointed. “Most giants are far bigger.”

Grawp bent his knees and looked directly into Hagrid’s eyes, questioningly tilting his head. He pointed a thick finger at Hagrid’s chest and made some noise that only remotely resembled speech. “Hagger feel?”

If possible, Hagrid’s smile grew wider. “I’m feelin’ fine,” He reached deeply into his pockets. “I brought sommat for you.” He pulled out a large slab of meat wrapped crudely in paper. Grawp took it greedily and devoured it.

Grawp swallowed the meat and then turned to Harry. A faint look of recognition came onto his face, and his mouth twisted upward. “Har-ee?” he rumbled.

“He remembers you, ‘Arry!” Hagrid said, face alight.

“Err, hello Grawp,” Harry replied, waving his hand at the giant. When Hagrid had originally told him that Grawp was becoming better behaved, he was skeptical. Seeing the Hagrid’s little brother in front of him now, though, changed his mind. He certainly seemed more civilized, and was even able to comprehend and articulate some human speech.

Grawp’s eyes fell on Gates and his expression hardened. He extended his finger at the Hit Wizard and grunted shortly, his meaning clear. Who is he?

“He wants ter know who you are,” Hagrid translated, looking pointedly at Gates.

When it became clear that he was expected to introduce himself, Gates cleared his throat and jerked a thumb at his chest in a sort of sign language. “I am Alexander Black Vladimir Gates.”

Grawp’s face turned into puzzlement, and he simply stared at Gates dumbly for a moment.

“You might wanna shorten tha’” advised Hagrid. Harry tended to agree. Though the giant was probably smarter than most of his kind, he did not look ready to pronounce anything longer than two syllables.

Gates looked affronted. “He may call me Alexander, then.”

Grawp squinted at Gates for a minute, and no one said a word to interrupt the giant’s thought processes. Then he pointed at Gates, and spoke in his throaty voice. “Al.”

Gates gritted his teeth. “Alexand-”

“Al,” Grawp repeated more forcefully. Harry tried hard not to laugh.

After another moment of silence, Grawp became bored and began pulling up great tufts of grass and dirt with his massive hands, sometimes pausing to pick something out of it and toss it in his mouth. Hagrid was ecstatic, Gates was annoyed, and Grawp was bored. So far, this meeting was going better than Harry had anticipated.

“So,” Hagrid began a little awkwardly, “You introduced yerselves, so go ahead an’ talk.”

“Can this great brute understand anything more than grunts and gestures?” Gates asked in a voice tempered with mockery. Harry’s head whipped towards Hagrid.

“You watch what you say abou’ my lil’ brother,” Hagrid warned, taking a step forward, wearing a look reminiscent of the time Umbridge tried to ambush him in his hut.

Gates sneered, the mask of arrogance and pure-blood superiority possessing him. “Or you’ll what?”

Hagrid clenched his fists. “Apologize to ‘em”

“No.”

Grawp, who seemed to sense the surrounding tension, lifted up and smashed his fist into the ground, leaving a huge print a foot deep into the earth. “Hagger?” He seemed confused and angry; a dangerous combination.

“It’s all righ’,” Hagrid said soothingly, forgetting about Gates as he stepped over to Grawp. “Don’ worry ‘bout ‘em.”

Harry looked over to Gates, who was glowering, over to Hagrid, who now had an expression of obvious contentment on his face. It was very obvious that he loved his brother.

I wonder what it would be like to get a piece of your family back like that.

“Sommats bin upsettin’ ‘em,” Hagrid said at length. “Sommat in this forest.” He gazed around the clearing.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

Hagrid shook his head, his shaggy beard blowing in the wind. “I don’ know. He doesn’ want ter talk ‘bout it.”

Another, stronger gust of wind scattered a pile of nearby leaves and dead grass.

Hagrid looked up, and saw that the sun was now halfway into the horizon. Frowning, he turned to Harry. “You can’ be out here after dark.”

Harry spoke up instantly. “Why don’t you stay here with your brother, and we’ll go. I remember the way back.” He had wanted to suggest this later, but Hagrid had handed him the opportunity to mention it without sounding offhand.

Hagrid fell silent, evidently doing some heavy thinking. “Alrigh’, you two coul’ probably go faster withou’ me. I always get caught up in the brush.” He gestured to his tattered moleskin coat. “I’ll stay ‘ere with Grawp for a lil’ longer, you two go ahead.”

Harry said goodbye to Grawp and then departed, Gates in tow. When they reached the cool shadows of the trees, he distinctly heard Gates mutter, “A favor for this? Waste…”

He has no idea, Harry thought with a grin. Hermione’s voice chided him for the imminent risk, and he was hard put to suppress it. Fleetingly, he wondered what happened to pseudo-Snape, as the Potions master had not made any comments for several hours; a new record.

Of course, Harry only jinxed himself. Missing me, Potter?

Harry sighed. Never.

Gates and Harry continued back down the meandering trail, easing their way through thickets and bristling shrubs. Harry was making no effort to be silent, and his ears searched for the telltale sounds of hooves. He reached down into his pocket and gripped his wand, readying himself, remembering the charm that would be necessary to ward off any advancing centaurs. Hopefully, they would instead focus on Gates.

Harry made sure he snapped ever branch on the path, and coughed and sneezed loudly from time to time. As he did not want to make his intentions so obvious that Gates would notice them, he worked subtly. Still, Harry heard no clapping of hooves that announced the centaur’s approach.

Then, something out in the woods rustled, and Harry froze. A few more bushes and saplings shook and waved as though a strong gust had took them. Gates was jerking his wand wildly around, his eyes peering into the surrounding darkness. Voices drifted out from the shadows, hushed and hurried. The Hit Wizard murmured “Lumos” and the area lit up, revealing a group of centaurs around them. They stood statue-like on the other side of the bushes, none of them stepping onto the rugged trail.

“Centaurs,” Gates breathed, his wand arms stiff and prepared. He takes a step closer to Harry.

“And still they enter our domain,” rumbles the deep voice of Bane. “It has gone as I feared. First Hagrid, and now all the other mortals.”

“This isn’t yours,” Harry argued. “Hagrid doesn’t owe you anything.”

A shudder of laughter ran through the centaurs, and again Bane spoke. “Do you know who guards the borders of that school? It is us. Foreigners have tried to pass through this forest many times…even now, one has succeeded. Hagrid’s excursion three days ago stretched us far, and one passed through our net.”

“Who are you working for, Bane?” Gates snapped.

The sudden surge of tension told Harry that this was a bad question. “We work for ourselves,” Bane said in a deeply angered voice, “We keep out territory clean, not yours. You merely reap the benefits.”

“Who passed through the net?” Harry asked quickly.

Bane eyed him critically. “We do not know. Whoever the foreigner was, their thoughts were malevolent. Now I order you both to leave this forest now and never return. This is the fourth time the younger one has come here. If it wasn’t for what the heavens were telling us, you’d both be dead. Should you see Hagrid again, warn him never to come here. Our patience wears thin, and even centaurs can kill should the crime merit it.” He stomped his hooves threateningly.

“Who are you to order us?” Gates demanded with an aristocratic air.

“The masters of the forest,” a centaur called out. Others murmured in agreement.

“You are questioning our authority?” Bane demanded in a concrete voice.

Gates’s tone might have been that of a prosecutor delivering his closing remarks. “Yes, I do believe I am.” A cord twanged and an arrow embedded itself into a nearby tree. Harry felt himself chill as he realized with increasing dread that the encasing shield would not deflect physical projectiles.

“This forest is ours, Alexander Black Vladimir Gates,” Bane responded so lowly that his voice echoed off of the trees. “Not yours. I will not tell you again. Leave this forest and never return.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Harry urged to Gates, “Come on.”

“We have nothing to fear from these mules,” Gates snarled savagely, “What do they threaten me with? They’re inbred beasts who live off of pretense.”

Harry whipped out his wand as the surrounding centaurs reared up in fury. “Intolerable!” Bane roared in an uncharacteristically savage-like voice, “Take them both!”

“Contego!” Harry shouted, and a small, shimmering globe surrounded him, which emitted an unbearable whine that only centaurs could detect. He ducked and ran down the trail, barely able to see the path in front of him in the rapidly dimming light.

Nearby, one collapsed to the ground, writhing, while Bane screeched “Hunt them!” A loud rumble of hooves told Harry that his orders were being obeyed, and that the charm, while effective at close range, was little more than an irritation at a distance. Harry glanced over his shoulder to see the centaurs fall onto the path like a torrent of water, and Gates standing at the neck of the trail like a dam.

“Run Potter!” Gates shouted above the fray of centaurs and dust. He held his wand like a sword, ready to slash the first thing that approached. The line of centaurs did not slow; they were going to trample him. “Reducto!”

The spell smashed into the base of a tree, sending it toppling down across the path, temporarily cutting the centaurs off from any further advancement. Gates whirled and took off at a sprint, quickly closing in on Harry, who had briefly paused to watch the Hit Wizard’s actions.

“Keep going you fool!” Gates bellowed, and Harry immediately complied. Bane and the others backed away and then leapt over the fallen tree, determined on catching their targets.

The centaurs landed in a cloud of dust and three quickly placed arrows in their bows. Simultaneously, they pulled back and released, sending the missiles flying down onto the escaping wizards. Gates spun around and flicked his wand, and the arrows halted obediently in midair. Whirling his wand once more, they jerked around and shot back at the charging centaurs. Two caught a centaur in the leg, while the third plunged into Bane’s flank.

Gates grinned and brought his wand again. “Infligo!” he shouted, and the cone fired out from his wand, sending centaurs flying as it smashed into them, knocking them away like rag dolls. The few that managed to leap out of the way in time returned to the chase, charging Gates with increased ferocity. Bane drew his crossbow and took aim.

Harry halted suddenly at the fork, forgetting which direction to take. His brain was disoriented, and the enveloping blackness made everything more confusing and similar. He concentrated, trying to remember the path they took. After all, he had only visited Grawp once before.

You’re an idiot, Harry roared at himself, You always have to think you know better!

He turned and saw Gates wielding a silver spear in his left hand, wand in his right, looking ready to fight to the death. A maniacal glint was in his eyes, and Harry was sure that it could only be madness.

Gate slashed his wand and purple light shot out of it, crossing Bane’s waist and making the centaur’s aim to go awry. The crossbow bolt fell from the shaft and Bane growled. The curse had made a deep gash along the side of his hip, and it now bled freely. He readied himself to meet Gates’s spear.

Rather than impaling himself upon the spear, Bane kicked his front hooves and tried to knock Gates’s weapon away to allow himself to more easily attack the main body. Gates crouched, and, as Bane’s hooves came upward, he swung his spear around and brought the shaft smashing sideways into the centaur’s side, cutting deeply into the flesh. Bane groaned and staggered. The trailing centaurs watched curiously from afar, as though witnessing a religious rite.

Harry turned and advanced upon the two struggling adversaries; the wizard against the centaur, both locked in what apparently was a mortal duel. Bane’s wound was grievous, and he kept his left arm pressed strongly against the opening, trying to stop the flow of blood as he circled Gates in a ritualistic fashion. Harry stared, trapped in what he was seeing.

Gates’s spear transfigured into a mallet, and the Hit Wizard sneered. “Come, Bane, let me take you closer to the heavens.” He swung out with his weapon and missed.

“Your soul is misguided, Alexander,” Bane replied, his voice a void. He stumbled once but recovered. He now carried a long, carved wooden cudgel, and he held it limply at his side. “You will never enter these woods again.”

Gates snarled and lashed out once more, this time bringing the metal mallet down upon Bane’s back. Again, Bane staggered away, his breathing heavy, his fur wet and matted. The loss of blood rendered him weak and slow, his back now arched over like an old croon.

“Tired?” Gates said, grinning, “Come now, there’s more to you than that.”

Bane summoned his remaining strength and brought his cudgel up above his head. Exhaling, he swung in down, aiming for Gates’s skull. The Hit Wizard parried neatly and countered it with another blow to Bane’s flank. This time, however, the centaur gasped and fell, his legs sprawling out from under him. The cudgel laid where it had fallen, and the surrounding centaurs in Bane’s clan watched breathlessly.

Gates circled Bane’s form, his mallet tossed aside like a trinket. “Now, what am I going to do with you?” he mused. Gates’s eyes locked onto the centaur’s open wound and Harry swore that the Hit Wizard cringed.

Bane looked up and wore an expression that appeared to be the centaur’s version of a sneer. “You wish to end my life and take me into the beyond?” He laughed. Harry had never heard a centaur laugh before, and it sounded something like you would hear in the wind during a storm. It seemed like the collective ages and years were all contained in the laughter, as though Bane was trying to spill his life into the air. It had an oddly disturbing effect that had little to do with mirth. The laughter fell and a look of silent foreboding replaced it.

Gates’s tone was ice. “There are things worse than death, Bane,” he said with a deathly seriousness. “What cause do I have to free you?”

Bane’s face might have been carved into stone.

“You will no longer confront old Rubeus…ever,’ Gates continued, “You will let him use this trail if he wishes, and you will never bother anyone who ventured on this path. Agree.”

“On the trail, no further,” Bane said, his voice and expression blank of all emotion.

“Then leave.”

Harry saw the exchange and understood immediately. This was no benign act on Gates’s part, this was the Hit Wizard insulting and humiliating the fallen centaur on his own turf. What greater insult was there for a centaur than to have others walk freely in his domain?

Gates whirled and strode away wordless, a look of pleasure written across his hawkish features. “To the castle,” he muttered as he passed Harry. His wand was no longer in his hand, and had been replaced in the folds of his cloak. Taking one last glance at Bane, who was now surrounded by murmuring centaurs, Harry followed.

When they returned to Hagrid’s hut, Harry found Hermione waiting for him, her face very pale. He walked up to her tentatively, her expression reflecting something like anxiety. When she saw Harry approach, she ran up to him, her hair flying out behind her.

“Hermione is something-” Harry’s words were cut off as she almost tackled him in a hug that rivaled Molly Weasley’s. He had been receiving a lot of those lately.

“Harry tell me you’re all right. The spell didn’t fail did it? What happened in there? I heard noises echoing out of the woods…”

Hermione rambled on for a minute and Harry just held her, reorganizing his thoughts. The sun had now fully sunk into the horizon, yet a few, blood-red rays still stretched across the sky. “I’m fine, Hermione, I’m fine,” he said calmly, feeling a profound change in himself as he stood there. The connection was stronger than ever, and he did not want to let go.

“Poor Hagrid,” Hermione murmured into his chest.

“Hagrid is fine,” Harry said quickly. “The centaurs won’t be bothering him anymore. Bane swore that-” He stopped when she saw her face. “What’s wrong?”

“Rita Skeeter,” Hermione said in a voice just above a whisper. She released him from her embrace.

That name rocked him to the core. How could he have forgotten about that woman? What she must have seen…If the ministry knew about a giant being in Hagrid’s care, the results would be disastrous.

YOU’RE A FOOL POTTER, pseudo-Snape roared in his head. SHE WARNED YOU, JUST LIKE LAST TIME. HAVE YOU TAKEN LEAVE OF YOUR SENSES?

“What have I done,” Harry said to himself, shock and self-hatred and fury rising up in him.

“Don’t blame yourself,” Hermione said, “It was bound to happen eventually. Hagrid knew he couldn’t keep Grawp secret forever. It’s that Skeeter woman; she’s going to make it terrible for him. I hate her.”

Harry stared at Hagrid’s hut, not quite believing his stupidity. It had to be just a bad dream. “I should’ve listened…” Hermione did not respond.

“Don’t do this again,” Hermione said at length, “Not again.”

Harry, not quite sure of how to interpret that, said, “Never again.”

“I hate to interrupt,” droned Gates. Harry wished more than ever that the Hit Wizard did not exist. “But it is time to go.”

“Shut up,” Harry said so softly that the words did not fully register in Gates’s mind. Harry was hardly aware that he spoke at all. The Hit Wizard’s expression was unreadable in the darkness.

“We have to tell Hagrid,” said Hermione.

“And Dumbledore,” Harry added. “Dumbledore will know what to do. I’ll go see Dumbledore this evening; but first I want to give you something.”

Hermione looked up to him, puzzlement on her face. “What?”

“Let me show you,” Harry said, and then took her hand and led her up to the common room. Sirius’s mirror once again resurfaced in his mind, and now he knew for sure who must have the opposite end. Hermione was invaluable, and he needed her to be within reach constantly. He did not want a repeat of his stupidity. He had ignored her twice so far, and the consequences had been terrible. Sirius lost his life, and Hagrid may very well lose his freedom.

Merlin, what have I done?

They reached the staircase to the boy’s dormitories. Hesitating briefly, Hermione followed him.

Harry threw open his trunk and began digging through the contents, tossing old clothes, books, and parchment behind him as he tried to reach the very bottom. When he came upon a wrapped, oval-shaped object, he brought it up and tore off the paper. A moment later he held an ancient mirror; the old runes carved into the ash border newly-polished.

For a moment Harry just stared at it, lost in thought. Once again, Lupin’s words came to mind and he knew immediately that he was making the correct decision. He possessed and innate understanding that Hermione was the only person who could have this counterpart. Harry needed sensibility, wisdom, and strength; and who better to provide it than Hermione? She was there…always. Ceremoniously, he offered it to her, and she wordlessly accepted it.

“It’s a mirror,” Harry said, stating the obvious. He wanted to speak to relieve the tension. “I need you to have it.”

Hermione looked up at him, a slightly hurt expression on her face.

Harry looked back at her, perplexed, until he suddenly understood his mistake. “No, it’s not that kind of mirror. I’m not saying you’re ugly and you need a mirror - you’re really pretty, I mean-”His face started to burn.

Pseudo-Snape’s dry and irresistible voice crept up into his head. You always had a way with words, Potter. I have never known another human being to possess such eloquence.

Hermione began blushing furiously. “No, it’s all right, I was-”

“It’s Sirius’s mirror, it‘s enchanted,” Harry blurted out. “He gave me one half of the mirror last year so we could talk to one another. After he…died…Remus gave me his half to do give to someone else. I want you to have it, Hermione.”

Hermione’s eyes went down to the mirror in her hands, a change in them. “Harry I- I don’t know what to say. I really don’t. This was Sirius’s?” she repeated, as though she could not believe it. The connection Harry felt in his chest became stronger than ever.

Harry nodded. “I can’t be stupid anymore. Everything I do just turns out…” He gestured helplessly into the air.

“That’s not true,” Hermione said. “The Defense Association has turned out great, Harry. Don’t devalue yourself like that.”

“The D.A. was your idea, Hermione,” Harry replied, “Not mine. And that‘s why I want you to have the other half. I will keep my end of the mirror on me all the time, and whenever I start something reckless, pester me until I listen. I’m serious.” he added, seeing Hermione’s slightly amused expression.

“Harry you act as though the world is going to fail if you make a mistake, that’s all,” Hermione said.

Maybe the world will, Harry thought. “No one else tells me like you do; and I trust you implicitly; even if I haven‘t realized it until now.”

Hermione’s expression became serious. “I can’t believe you gave this to me,” she said, and her voice trembled ever-so-slightly. “I thought you’d give something like this to Ron.”

“You aren’t Ron,” Harry said simply. He did not mean to insult Ron, but he did not possess the necessary demeanor and responsibility that the mirror required. Plus, Ron was not Hermione.

“Thank you Harry,” Hermione said quietly, once again gazing into the mirror.

“If you ever need to speak with me, just look into the mirror and say my name and I will be there.”

Hermione nodded. “I’ll always keep it with me.”

Harry did not know how to respond to that so he said nothing. At length, he said, “Thank you.”

(A/N: There’s chapter 14; hope no one was too disappointed with the Centaur scene. It could’ve been loads longer, but frankly there was no need to make an epic battle scene, so I cut it short. But I think I’m done with idiot!Harry, so we can all breath again.

Here’s a quick question that I feel I MUST address: Why did Gates let Bane live? Well, Harry claims Gates’s own enjoyment of seeing other humiliated is the reason, while Gates himself claims to be doing it for Hagrid. While both of these reasons are true, to an extent, neither are the PRIMARY reason. Trust me, there’s a much better reason for why Gates wouldn’t kill Bane. You may even pick it up during the brief battle. It will be revealed in like chapter 24.

Chapter 15: A chapter that I’ve especially enjoyed. Very light, humorous, and not a trace of bizarreness in it. All I’m going to say is that Ron pulls a prank and Snape hands out detentions during Potions. Very light chapter before we dive once more into the main plot.

Quote from chp. 15:

Snape slowly brought up his clipboard and scrawled something that looked suspiciously familiar. His face was scrunched up, as though it physically pained him to do this.

“That’s a zero,” Harry said, positively furious.

“No, Potter,” Snape said as though his throat burned. “It’s an ‘O’, not a zero.” Without another word, he strode away.)

15. The Lower Dungeons

(A/N: Alas; disaster! My burned cd of mp3’s has been scratched and I’ve had to listen to the radio while writing this. ..and if I don’t get a new one soon I think I am going to pause this fic until I get a new one…or at least until I find a station that doesn’t play John Melloncamp’s ‘Daughter’s’ every five minutes. God, I hate that song.

To my betas: Send me an email because I lost your address. Outlook Express decided to manifest another feature and deleted my contact list.)

To Harry’s surprise, Dumbledore seemed to be already aware of Grawp’s presence in the forest, and nodded gravely as Harry explained how Rita could potentially have seen Hagrid’s connection with the giant. Harry’s actions appeared to have disturbed him more than the threat of Rita’s literary wrath.

“You led Alexander out there with the full intent of having him become harmed by the centaurs?” Dumbledore said, his voice even.

“Yes, I did.”

Dumbledore folded his spectacles and set them on the lacquered desk. He looked up to meet Harry’s eye. “I do not think I need to tell you what risks and senseless danger you put yourself in when you did that. Phineas and others report that, while Alex has indeed been abhorrent, they witnessed nothing to you personally that would warrant this sort of…undertaking. Nothing that would require…intervention. I ask you again whether there is anything you wish to tell me. I have never used Legilimency on you before, Harry, and I will not use it in the future. What has happened?” An expression of deep, genuine concern etched itself into Dumbledore’s face, and Harry had to break his gaze.

“Nothing, sir,” Harry answered fragilely. He had to deal with the album on his own. The headmaster had already admitted his impotence, so what use would it be? “Does it really matter?” he added in a bitter tone.

Dumbledore regarded him sadly. “I have asked more from you than I have most of the Order members,” he said. “I ask you to tolerate him this year. Despite his…excesses…Alex is nearly unmatched in dueling, and can protect you far better than anything I can provide. He may despise you, but he will follow Sirius’s wishes even if it leads to his own death. And now that we know that Voldemort has someone watching you…” His voice trailed and died. “Is there anything you need, or want, to tell me?”

“Nothing.”

The headmaster nodded slightly, as though expecting this response. “As you wish.”

“What’s going to happen with Hagrid?”

“I don’t know,” Dumbledore said. “I have not yet decided our course of action.”

Harry walked out of the office, hating himself for not implicitly trusting the headmaster. What was he going to do, though? Dumbledore already said that Gates was a factor that could not be changed.

Some wounds heal more slowly than others, Pseudo-Snape said sagely, I would know.

Harry next related what had happened with lowered eyes to Hagrid, apologizing at the end. The half-giant did not blame him in the least, which made Harry feel worse.

“Wha’ happens happens, and there’s nothing’ you ca’ do ‘bout it.” Hagrid said. “I knew wha’ I was doin’ when I took Grawp in. It was goin’ to happen eventually.”

This was so similar to Hermione’s line of thinking that Harry was momentarily rendered speechless.

“Though you shouldn’ have done what you did,” Hagrid said in a sterner tone, “I can handle those centaurs myself, I don’ need help.”

The next two weeks passed in a blur of refreshingly uneventful Quidditch practices, D.A. meetings, and detentions with Snape. So far, Harry had become much more adept at Occlumency; so much, in fact, that Snape had increased his effort so that he would have a more suitable challenge. When Snape inquired how he acquired his newfound proficiency with the talent, Harry honestly answered that he did not know. Despite the truthfulness of his response, Snape snorted and continued with the lesson. On the whole, however, detentions with Snape were becoming much more bearable, and the Potions master even allowed him to take short, three-minute breaks when his hands began to cramp up. (Snape justified this by saying, “I don’t need any jars broken because you’ve become handicapped, Potter.”)

Gates had given Harry one more lesson since Wednesday; and it proved to be rather brutal. The Hit Wizard had set up a sort of mirror that, when struck with an improperly performed curse or hex, would fire the correct form of the respective spell back at the caster, giving Harry a reason to practice outside of the sessions. Seeming to find the entire situation amusing, Gates stood nearby, sometimes commenting on Harry’s agility or lack thereof. While the lesson proved to be physically exhausting, it did not end with one of his family photos being incinerated. Harry suspected that this had occurred only because Gates had come to the realization that, eventually, he would run out of photos to burn.

It almost seemed that luck had been on his side and Rita had missed his excursion into the forest. The Daily Prophet was conspicuously empty of her articles, and there was no mention of giant-sightings anywhere in the newspaper. When he told Luna about this, she said “Sometimes in daddy’s paper it takes weeks for an article to go through the editing process. I imagine it’s the same with the Daily Prophet.”

That morning, as fate would have it, proved to be the very morning the Daily Prophet implemented Rita’s article, which was labeled ‘A Giant in our Midst?’.

The massive black bird, seeming to reflect the contents of the newspaper it brought, cawed and flapped away, leaving a few feathers in its wake. Harry managed to scan the headline before Hermione snatched it up and scanned the front page. Her face gradually went pale, and her teeth grinded in her mouth.

“Wha’s it?” Ron spoke through his food, peering curiously at the newspaper. Hermione slapped his hand away when he reached to take it. There was something different in Ron today, though Harry could not place it.

“I’m not done yet,” Hermione snapped, “This is terrible. I’m sorry Harry, but I guess we weren’t lucky. She saw and wrote. Look.” She flipped it over and showed it to Harry. He took it with trembling hands, reading it over. It was just as bad as he expected. Skeeter had made it sound like she had just happened to come across Harry, Hagrid, and Gates in the middle of the Forbidden Forest on some sort of hiking trip.

“I can’t believe it,” Harry murmured.

“What is it?” demanded Ron.

Hermione looked up at them, her eyes smoldering. “Rita wrote about Hagrid.”

“Oh,” Ron said quietly. Harry and Hermione had told him what had happened the morning afterwards.

“Go ahead. Here,” Harry said, offering it to Ron. He was sick of reading Rita’s blatantly skewed article.

Ron accepted it. “Yeah, so, err, is this all?” he asked uncertainly after a minute. Once again, Harry sensed a change in Ron that was not there yesterday.

“Ron, you realize this revealing the fact that Hagrid harbors a giant, right?” Harry said.

“For one thing,” Ron began airily, rolling up the newspaper and setting it down. “the ministry doesn’t base investigations on what it reads in the Daily Prophet. For another, the ministry is bogged down as it is with You-Know-Who and Fudge’s inquiry. They aren’t about to spare an army of Aurors to search to Forbidden Forest for a rogue giant simply because Rita Skeeter claimed to have seen one. Maybe if she had some hard evidence…”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. So long as Dumbledore denied everything, nothing would happen.

“You remember what she wrote about Hagrid last year,” said Hermione. “All those awful people sent him cursed letters. He’s going to go through that all over again.”

Harry sunk slightly in his chair.

“I’m sorry Harry,” Hermione said apologetically.

“No, you’re right,” replied Harry quickly. “Hagrid is going to have a bad time with this.” He glanced down her robes and saw a flash and bit of polished wood protruding out from her pocket. It was pleasing to see that she indeed carried it everywhere, even though Harry already knew that she would. The connection once again tugged at his chest.

“Is there something wrong with the two of you?” asked Ron with a furrowed brow. “For the past two weeks-”

“No,” Harry interrupted. Ron was still unaware of Harry giving the other half of the mirror to Hermione. Harry decided it would be better if Ron stayed uninformed, though he was unsure of his reasoning. “It’s about Occlumency.” Harry added, giving a half-truth. Ron’s need for proper Occlumency training had been the subject of many conversations with Hermione these past two weeks, as Gates’s infringement upon the redhead’s psyche seemed to become steadily more frequent.

“Forget it,” said Ron flatly, giving no room for negotiation. Every time Harry had tried to approach this matter, Ron always closed it for some reason or another. “Maybe later, but not now. I need my concentration…” He started piling his plate with a variety of breakfast meats, breads, and fruit.

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh.

Harry looked once more at Ron, and then finally pinpointed the subtle difference in Ron’s morning behavior. For the first time in two weeks, there was no Charms book before him. “So you’ve mastered the Narro Charm, have you?”

Ron stared at him blankly for a moment, then grinned. “Yeah I did, actually. Or understood enough of it for my purposes.”

“And what were your purposes, Ron?” Hermione asked, serenely stirring her freshly-poured cup of coffee.

“Well, I’m not going to tell you, but as a hint, let’s just say it involved me going out last night with Harry’s invisibility cloak.” Ron grinned mischievously; an expression all too similar with his older brothers, Fred and George. He took up a bit of roll and swallowed it whole.

“You gave him your invisibility cloak?” Hermione said, rounding fully on Harry.

Harry found his food increasingly interesting, and began absently stabbing at it with his fork. “Erm, well, I didn’t see why not. I figured he wanted to go down to the kitchens.”

Hermione huffed. “So what did you do?” Hermione asked briskly, her voice shrill and annoyed.

Ron’s grin widened, and his eyes locked onto Harry. He began cutting into his ham. “I just extracted a little revenge on our dear Professor Snape for giving us detention for no reason.”

Hermione gaped. “You didn’t,” she said incredulously.

“I did.”

Hermione took a sip of her coffee and did not speak to Ron for the rest of breakfast.

“What did you use it on?” Harry asked in the same voice he used with his last question.

“You’ll see,” Ron said simply. “You guys are working on the Cleansing Potion today, right? I made sure the charm was relevant to the subject.” He chomped lustily on a remaining piece of sausage on his plate.

“What is it?”

“It’s going to be a prank worth of Fred and George,” Ron answered evasively. “They’ll be talking about it all year. Fred might even give me a discount in their shop.” he added as an afterthought, and would say no more about it.

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

As Ron had planned it, Harry and Hermione had Potions class first in the morning, which meant that the dungeons would be especially cold, even by their usual chilled standards. When he walked in, Harry searched frantically for anything that Ron could possibly have charmed or jinxed, but could find nothing obvious. The Narro Charm was a writing spell; there was a very limited amount of objects to use it on. It was most commonly used on parchment and the like.

Before Harry could conduct a more thorough investigation, Snape swept in briskly, his body sending a gust of air across the classroom as he passed. The oblong bruise on his cheek was nearly completely healed, and one could only detect it if Snape’s head was at a certain angle. The unusually dim lights in the room proved to make it even harder to see, and Harry wondered if that was intentional.

Gates, having become more brooding and silent over the past two weeks, stood wordlessly in the corner, the whites in his eyes and his glittering necklace the only things visible in the inky shadows.

“Well, class,” Snape said softly. “For the past two weeks you have been brewing lesser variants of the Cleansing Potion so you may be prepared for today’s lesson. No longer will accidents merely give you a scar or open wound. Failing now will result in nothing less than two hours of pure agony as the Cleansing Potion slowly and irresistibly seeps into your bloodstream. Needless to say, you must be especially careful today if you place any value on your physical well-being. As I’ve taken great and unnecessarily strong steps to ensure you are all prepared for today’s potion, I will regard it as a personal insult should any of you foul up your solution. Now-” He whipped out his wand. “-you possess all the required experience-” He directed it at the blackboard. “-to brew the Cleansing Potion. Instructions-” He tapped the blackboard without looking at it. “-are in the front. Start now.”

He withdrew his wand and mechanically began to patrol the classroom, ignoring the curious stares that he was receiving. After thirty seconds he realized that no one was retrieving their ingredients, and he instantly stiffened. “Well what are you waiting for?”

Harry, however, had his eyes glued onto the front board. On it, in a strong, thick handwriting, it said: “Why?” Harry realized with a groan what Ron had enchanted.

Gates stirred in his corner. “Perhaps you should answer it, Severus.” His voice was laced with thin amusement.

The Potions master whirled onto the blackboard. “What is the meaning of this?” Snape demanded. He stalked up to it and struck it hard with his wand saying, “Professor Severus Snape requests the Cleansing Potion instructions.”

The word on the blackboard split and formed a new phrase. This time, the lettering was large, legible, and dangerously clear: Not even the Cleansing Potion can take the grease out of your hair, you slimeball.

The board then went on with several other remarks, such as: Professor Severus Snape is the greasiest wizard ever to come into this school. It reeked of Ron.

Harry closed his eyes, and beside him, Hermione was shocked beyond words. Harry knew that she was inwardly deciding how she could hex Ron into the next millennium. Snape waved the board clear with his wand.

My, my, it isn’t going to take a great leap of logic for me to figure out who was behind this, Pseudo-Snape droned.

Snape turned slowly around, and no one dared to grin, laugh, or breath. After a moment, Gates burst out with unnecessarily abandoned laughter, the sound sharply conflicting with the stark seriousness of the classroom. “The board has a point, Severus,” Gates said.

“Who did this?” Snape asked in a deathly soft whisper, ignoring Gates‘s taunt. “Which one of you amusing young children decided to play an amusing prank? Let’s see…”

Snape drifted around the room, his eyes darting from face to face, trying to detect any signs of guilt or weakness. When he came to Harry, he paused and a malicious grin twisted its way onto his face.

“Well, Potter,” Snape said silkily, “Your father always had a taste for rather humorous pranks. I daresay it’s hereditary. I am willing to-” His grin widened. “-bet that the culprit is you. Detention. This evening. Be in my office by six o’clock.”

“That’s not fair, he never came down here,” Hermione said in a small voice.

Snape’s head jerked sideways. “What? Perhaps you’re right. It isn’t fair. For that reason, I believe I should spread the blame. No doubt all Gryffindors hold a certain enmity against me.”

“Only because you hold a grudge against us,” retorted Harry.

“So all Gryffindors in this class shall receive detention. That means…” Snape considered them carefully. “Potter and Granger: You will both have detentions with me tonight. Six o’clock.”

Snape spun on his heel and returned to the front of the class, appearing to be slightly mollified but furious all the same. “Let’s see, since I doubt any of you have the Cleansing Potion memorized…”

He bent over and heaved up a massive, dusty tome and slammed it onto his desk so heavily that a glass flask rattled and fell, shattering on the stone floor. He made no move to clean it up. Snape flipped to the very back and struck the page with a long, pale finger. Whatever he had in store for them, it was likely ridiculously difficult and arduous.

“The Wolfsbane Potion,” Snape said smoothly. “I don’t think any of you are familiar with it. Well, most of you.” He shot Harry a wicked glance. “Those who do may know that this is normally not even attempted with seventh years, but since we have little else to do today, I believe we can at least give it the - how does the muggle phrase go? - the old college try.”

“But sir,” Hermione protested. “That isn’t taught for a reason. It’s-”

“Ten points from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn,” Snape snarled. “If you feel that this potion is too dangerous by all means leave and don’t bother returning. I will be grading this, so don’t expect to slack off, either. I will make it…one fourth of your grade. Is that enough incentive?”

The class gave their silent assent.

“Good,” Snape continued. “As I no longer have any use of the board, I will have to make use of the wall.” He pointed at a clearing in the stone wall and whirled his wand. Words and instructions written on fire appeared there. “Start now, or it will be impossible for you to finish on time.”

Harry stared down into his cauldron, thinking of ways he could escape. He could really use one of Fred and George’s Skiving Snackboxes right now. Lupin had once said that the Wolfsbane Potion could only be made by a handful of wizards in the world; Snape could not possibly expect anyone in class to brew it properly. He glanced down the line of instructions. It was, as he had guessed, absurdly complicated. Snape was evidently bent on failing Harry in his class, and, in his attempts, taking the entire class down with him.

“Are you waiting for something Potter?” Snape smirked as he looked down into Harry’s empty cauldron. “Get started.”

Harry dumped a flask of water into his cauldron and began to heat it up.

Just one step at a time, he told himself, And it’ll be a piece of cake.

The first bubbled began to surface so he carelessly tossed in a handful of wormwood roots.

Pseudo-Snape scolded him. Careful, Potter. You aren’t making a cup of soup, you’re brewing a rather volatile potion. Are you a Neanderthal?

Harry glanced up at the instructions. Once the bottom of the cauldron began to turn the faintest shade of red, he was to slow the flames or the wormwood roots would burn. In order for the potion to come out right, he needed to be absolutely precise. He began to sweat; if he did not succeed with this potion, he was bound to earn a ‘Dreadful’ for the first quarter.

Come now, Potter, Pseudo-Snape continued. You will allow me at least this one pleasure, will you not? I may be trapped in this head of yours, but I can still appreciate the subtly of a softly simmering cauldron…the profound impact of its unique gases and vapors.

Another, odd chill came over Harry: this was yet another time when he felt that the voice within his head was a separate entity. It was not quite Snape, (Real-life Snape was much more cynical; and he would never offer aid) but it was not a reflection of his subconscious, either. It was completely baffling. At least Hermione’s voice had reason to it.

If you don’t listen to me, Potter, you’ll be earning a ‘D’ faster than you can say ‘Floundering’.

Harry considered what he was doing for a moment. Was this really happening? A nonexistent voice in his head was offering its services as a potion brewer. He looked up from his cauldron, expecting to see the Gryffindor boys’ dormitories in front of him at any second.

Do exactly as I say, Potter.

Harry silently assented. He moved to collect his Rosewood branches.

Not yet, Potter. Placing the branches in this early will result in an early coagulation, and, therefore, a mess similar to muggle wet cement. Turn the heat down or you will steam too much of the fluid. Where is your sense of perception, Potter?

Harry turned down the heat and waited, hoping that Pseudo-Snape was accurate and not just a delusional personality locked within his mind.

Of course I’m not, Potter. You can add the Rosewood now, unless you find stirring an acidic substance appealing.

Harry followed Pseudo-Snape’s instructions implicitly, no longer bothering to look up at the directions on the wall. Beside him, he heard Hermione squeak as her potion let off a foul odor. She quickly compensated it with an extra dose of wormwood, salvaging the situation. Even Hermione was having trouble with the solution.

Snape began berating one of the Ravenclaw girls. “Stupid. Barely fifteen minutes into class and this potion is already worthless. Not even Potter has fouled his up yet.” Malfoy began to snicker from the adjacent desk.

Another thirty minutes passed as Harry diligently followed Pseudo-Snape’s direction, and, as real-life Snape had not come to insult him, Harry assume that he was brewing his potion properly and not being mislead by the inner voice. Every ounce of reasoning and logic within him screamed out for an explanation, but he stifled them. Plenty of time for that later; right now, he had a class he needed to pass.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape drawled. “I am severely disappointed. There is no saving this…I’m afraid I must give you only half credit. While this is not suitable for Wolfsbane, it can be used in certain cases to counter drowsiness…”

Add the werewolf hairs now, Potter, unless you enjoy losing appendages. Delicately! We aren’t dealing with crackers and noodles.

If Harry had spared a moment to look around the class, he would see that he and Hermione were the only ones who have not yet ruined their solution. Students stared at them, intrigued. Snape silently moved towards them.

Hermione let out a soft “oh” as she feverishly began stirring her potion, her voice squeaking in anxiety and pressure. There was a hiss like water on red-hot metal, and Hermione gasped. All of the fluid had left her cauldron, and at the bottom was the gritty slime of broken-down asphodel. She appeared to be in shock.

Snape lowered his hooked nose over her cauldron and then grinned. “Seems that you added the werewolf hairs too early. Pity. That makes this mixture useless…zero.”

Hermione seemed not to have heard him, as her eyes were now locked on Harry’s feverish undertaking. Something close to wonder was written across her face. Snape seemed to notice it too, and slowly walked over to Harry’s cauldron.

Harry noticed none of this, as he was too absorbed in the potion. He had reached the most difficult part of the process; he must stir in exact intervals on the exact temperature or the entire potion would dissolve into waste. He placed a sprig of Knoxgrass into it and watched as flames engulfed it.

Gates casually approached and leaned over his cauldron, pretending to be interested in its contents. Harry eyed him suspiciously, as one would eye a villain who was about to snatch a wallet. Before Harry could react, a few flecks of something white and powdery fell from his hand, and if Harry did not know better, he would say it was dandruff. When he peered into his cauldron, his heart sank. A sweet odor was curling up from it. The powdery substance was sugar; and it rendered his potion completely useless.

Well, I can’t say that that man doesn’t have style.

“You-” Harry said fiercely at Gates’s retreating back. “You-”

Calm yourself, Potter. We can salvage this.

Despite Harry’s knowledge that it was impossible, he grudgingly complied. What now?

Quick, you have bezoar root, do you not? Powder it. We have little time, Potter. Consider yourself lucky that he did it in this stage. This will be simple…though you should pray that the sugar he added was refined or you may be without arms after this.

Harry ground his roots into a fine substance; roughly like flour. He took a pinch of it and sprinkled it across the surface of his solution, praying that it would work. A satisfying sizzle told him that it was successfully counteracting the sugar. He had defied Gates. It was all he could do not to look up and-

That’s a good sign, Potter. We’re almost done. Prepare to stir one revolution on my signal. Three…two…one…now Potter!

Harry slowly brought the stirring rod around in one full turn. His forehead was covered with a thin sheen of sweat from the heat. The foul odor (That also told him he was brewing it properly) stung his nostrils and eyes, making them water. He wanted to rub them away, but knew that he could not. Everything was far too delicate at this stage.

Careful…once more…stir as gently as the wind.

He did, and then withdrew the rod. He set it down, turned off the flame, and sat back in his chair, hoping that the solution would be at the very least acceptable.

“So, what do we have here, Potter,” Snape said from behind him. Harry had just realized the Potion master’s presence. “Let’s see how badly you ruined this solu-” The Potions master was temporarily rendered speechless. The hardness of his black eyes told Harry that Snape was startled.

Harry looked towards Hermione, wanting to see some sort of assurance. She nodded, a clear sign that he had, indeed, mixed it correctly. Her eyes practically shined.

Snape slowly brought up his clipboard and scrawled something that looked suspiciously familiar. His face was scrunched up, as though it physically pained him to do this.

“That’s a zero,” Harry said, positively furious.

“No, Potter,” Snape said as though his throat burned. “It’s an ‘O’, not a zero.” Without another word, he strode away.

Harry raised his eyebrows, too shocked for words. If he had heard Snape correctly, (And he was not sure that he did) he had just earned an ‘Outstanding’ in his Potions work for the first time since…ever. And unless he was greatly mistaken, he was the first Gryffindor besides Hermione to receive one.

“Well, we seemed to have finished, or in some cases, failed, early,” Snape said, sounding greatly perturbed. “That is not, however, an excuse to speak. You will all remain silent for the remainder of this class period.” He turned to Harry. “Potter, come with me.”

Harry followed Snape out the door and into the hallway. The Potions master shut the door behind them and rounded fully on Harry. “Just when did you become so proficient at Potions, Potter?”

“I, err, never,” Harry stammered. How was he supposed to say that he heard the Potion master’s voice in his head and that it walked him through the procedure?

“You never even looked up at the instructions. I know. I was watching. I don’t know what you are using, Potter,” Snape snarled. “But when I find out, I will make sure this grade is nearby. That ‘O’ can just as easily be erased.”

“I am doing it legitimately,” Harry said hotly.

Snape’s lip curled. “You’re skill at Occlumency suddenly increases dramatically, and now, by sheer coincidence, your Potions work becomes outstanding as well?”

Harry felt slightly taken aback. “Well, err, thank you, sir.”

“Get back in there,” Snape ordered, pointing imperiously at the door.

He reentered the classroom and returned to his seat. He noticed he was receiving stares from nearly everyone in the class. Malfoy’s sneer was cleanly wiped off to be replaced by an expression of utmost bewilderment. The best part, in Harry’s opinion, was Hermione’s face; which reflected absolute elation. Harry understood that it was best if she did not speak as Snape was back in the room, so he smiled and sat down. Words were not needed for them to exchange meaning.

“Class dismissed,” Snape said, and the class instantly filed out.

“Harry,” Hermione said as soon as they were in the hall. “I can’t believe you were able to brew that potion. I mean, that’s difficult. Beyond N.E.W.T. level.”

Harry glanced around to ensure that they were not being overheard and whispered, “I need to talk to you about something. Come on.”

He led her up the stairwell into the main body of the castle; went down another corridor and slipped into an empty classroom. Once he closed the door, he turned to her and gathered his thoughts. His eyes rested on a stack of dusty desks and chairs in the back, and he sucked in a breath.

“Right, this is complicated to explain.”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Hermione said carefully.

Harry nodded. “Okay, you remember Hogsmeade? I couldn’t identify it until then. I think…I think I’m hearing Snape’s voice in my head.” He turned to her, expecting shock, bewilderment, or a mixture of both. Instead, her expression was simple curiosity. He should have known her better than that.

“Professor Snape’s voice?” Hermione said, biting her lip. “Harry, well, that doesn’t make too much sense. I mean, how can hearing his mere voice help you brew the Wolfsbane potion?”

“He told me what to do,” said Harry quickly, wanting her to understand. “He gave me step-by-step directions, and I did it.”

“Like having a real-life Professor Snape in your head? A separate entity?”

“Yes,” Harry said, “No. I don’t know. The real Snape wouldn’t be helping me with Potions, would he? He would rather watch me screw up.”

“I honestly don’t know what to say,” Hermione said. “It sounds like…like maybe he left a bit of him in you during your Occlumency training. I read all kinds of material on Occlumency, but I never heard of any side-effects. But then again I studied the procedure and self-training; not the in-depth history and analysis of the skill. I should know this stuff, but I’ve been so absorbed in my N.E.W.T. classes…”

“No, you’ve helped me already,” said Harry quickly. “It’s great just to have someone to talk to about this. I never really thought about it before, but it’s becoming strange.”

“Maybe it’s an anomaly,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “I’m sure the school has something on it…”

“Thanks Hermione,” Harry said, meaning it. He reached out and touched her hand and a chill ran through him. “Thanks a million.”

“No problem,” Hermione replied in a quavering voice.

For a moment, it seemed that he was about to bend down to kiss her, but he gathered himself before he did. Hermione was blushing furiously and Harry, realizing that he was now holding her hand, released it. The bond, which had for one moment been so strong that it was almost not there, weakened considerably. It was like he lost a part of himself when he let go.

“What’s next?” Hermione said a little breathlessly.

“Charms, I think,” said Harry. Wait a minute, what did she ask right there? Too late now…

“We’re going to be late,” Hermione said.

Harry nodded and they both left the classroom, alien feelings coursing through them. What was done and almost done was on both of their minds.

Hermione desperately broke the tension. “Ooooh, I am going to kill Ron for getting us detention,” she muttered angrily. “And he was the reason Professor Snape gave us that Wolfsbane Potion to do. Just wait until I get my hands on him…”

Harry simply laughed, and Hermione’s serious expression broke as she could not help but laugh too.

Later that afternoon, Harry and Hermione had caught up with Ron, though Hermione was considerably more merciful by that time. While Ron was immensely interested in the effects of his prank, he appeared crestfallen at the knowledge that Gryffindors had received detention anyway, despite the lack of evidence. Seamus, when he heard of the outcome, found the entire situation incredibly hilarious and retreated into the common room, laughing.

Ron muttered his apologies and this, perhaps, was the only thing that saved him from Hermione’s wrath; though she refused to speak to him any more of the remainder of the day.

When evening came around, they both descended into the dungeons, heading to their detention with Snape. Gates, as usual, stayed a good distance behind, the clicking of his boots the only thing signifying his presence. The sound seemed sharper in the silent corridors, the stone walls.

Harry opened the door to Snape’s office and allowed Hermione to pass through first, then coming up behind her. The door closed with an ominous reverb. Snape looked up from his ancient desk, his eyes glittering.

“You will knock before entering my office,” said Snape softly, “ I will excuse the both of you this time. I expect that it won’t happen again.” He fell silent, waiting for something.

“So what are we going to do?” Harry asked, eyeing the rows of glass jars on the shelf.

Snape, following his gaze, grinned. “No, not those. Come with me. I have a more…desirable selection for you.” He got to his feet and swept out the door, Harry and Hermione close behind him, with Gates a little farther back.

“I’m afraid I was not able to bring these ones out from the store rooms,” Snape said. “There were far too many, and, in fact, they held a stench that I could not possibly bear.” Considering the Potions master continually floated around reeking cauldrons all day, Harry could only hope that Snape was exaggerating.

He took them to the back of the dungeons led them down an old, dank staircase that was caked with centuries of grime and filth. Harry had never been quite this far down into the castle, and he assumed that Snape was leading them into the lower dungeons; an almost mythical place inhabited by various foul creatures, vermin, and beasts. Fred and George had once ventured into its fathomless depths, and came out claiming to have seen a vampire. Harry reckoned that they were lying, but now that he was actually in the lower dungeons, it seemed like the precise type of place where vampires would live.

“Careful, now,” Snape warned. “I wouldn’t want you to miss your detention on the excuse of breaking your ankle.”

They had now entered a corridor that appeared to be older than the castle itself. Torches that seemed to be specially lit for this occasion lined both sides of the corridor. The gray, mildewed stones were roughly hewn and chipped, and there were several spots that looked like they were stained with blood. Old, iron shackles hung carelessly on the walls, the prisoners they once held now nothing more than the dust on the floor. They passed a black, dark chamber, and Harry covered his mouth and nose. A foul, impossible stench wafted out of it, and even Snape flinched under its odor.

“Where are we?” Hermione whispered into the empty hallway.

“The lower dungeons,” Snape answered softly, his voice sounding loud against the silence. “You are now in the oldest part of the castle. Hogwarts was originally a bastion against the ancient dark wizard Belial, but I suppose you already knew that.” he added with a sneer.

They took a right turn at an intersection and came down a length corridor lines with sturdy iron doors. The torches were now few and far between, and made the already dim light even dimmer. Strange, oddly-formed shadows crawled on the wall, moving like snakes in the flickering torch light. Harry assumed that they were now in the wing where prisoners were kept in their individual cells.

“We’re almost there,” said Snape. “My predecessor used these various chambers as store rooms for all kinds of equipment; books, cauldrons, jars. Several of my colleagues use these rooms for similar purposes…”

Harry stopped to peer into one of the narrow, barred windows in the cell door. The inside was packed wall-to-wall with dusty boxes and piles of unidentifiable chunks of metal and wood. It looked to be more of a junkyard than a store room; a place where useless items were thrown away and forgotten.

At the end of the corridor, Snape stopped, studying three cell doors with the intensity of a boy deciding which gift to open first on Christmas Day. At length, he grinned. He strode forward, swung open the door, and peered inside.

A gust of air rushed out of it and Harry pinched his nose. Whatever was in that room, it smelled like it had died and decayed a very long time ago.

Snape drew his wand and entered, carefully examining the nooks and crannies of the chamber. After a minute of examination, he stepped out again, apparently satisfied.

“This cell will do,” Snape said silkily. “I see no evidence of any…malevolent creatures within the room, so I believe it’s safe to enter. Go on.”

Harry and Hermione reluctantly crossed the threshold into the room. If the air flowing out of it was bad, the stench within it was fatal. Something had most certainly rotted in here. The chamber would have been spacious had it not been for the towering stacks of boxes that lined the walls, intimidating him with their sheer numbers.

“Something wrong?” Snape said smoothly. “Well, detentions aren’t meant to be pleasant. You will find an assortment of jars and flasks within those crates. You need not clean all of them, but I expect to see at least fifty boxes worked on by the end of this detention. I will be working in an adjoining room, so don’t think you will be able to slide off.” Snape flicked his wand and a hovering globe near the ceiling began to glow. “I will be checking periodically on your progress, so I suggest you start now.” Harry caught one last glimpse of Gates leaning against the corridor wall before Snape slammed the cell door, rattling the jars in their crates.

They found two separate buckets and sponges in the room, as well as the crude muggle filter to clean the water out with. Feeling exceptionally tired, Harry bent down and started on his first box. It was not long before the two of them were leaning lazily against the stacks of boxes, trying to rub the ache out of their cramped hands. Their sponges lay sopping on the floor.

“I don’t know how you do this every week,” Hermione said, clenching and unclenching her hand in an effort to relax the muscles.

Harry looked down at his own hand. It was nearly claw-shaped in its form. “It’s not too bad after the first couple times. Really, it’s not as bad with you here.”

Hermione blushed. “Thanks,” She sniffed the air and made wrinkled her nose. “This place smells horrible…I wish we could do something about it.”

“Actually,” Harry said, grinning, “I think we can.” He thrust his hand into his robes and drew his wand. “I forgot to leave it behind, I suppose.”

Naughty, Potter.

“What if he notices?” Hermione hissed.

“He won’t if incant it quietly.” Harry said. “So should I use a odor charm?”

Hermione blinked. “You hardly need my permission, Harry.”

“But I do,” said Harry, running his hand through his hair. “I know this sounds trivial but I need your support.”

“It’s not trivial,” Hermione said softly. “Just use it quietly.”

Harry nodded. “Nidor!” he whispered, and the air began to clean instantly. Soon, a scent reminiscent of honeysuckle filled the room, making even the strewn and dirty jars and flasks smell sweet. He withdrew his wand.

“So what’s the difference?” Harry asked exasperatedly, trying to voice the racing thoughts in his head into one question, and unable to express them in more words.

“You have good intentions, Harry, that‘s the difference,” Hermione continued, almost reading his thoughts and insecurities. “The end result isn’t as important as the intentions. That’s what’s so great about you; you have your heart in the right place.”

“But that doesn’t mean anything,” Harry said a little forcefully. “What does it matter? That’s why I gave you the mirror. You-” He hesitated. “You’re the one who makes my intentions match the end result. That’s why I gave you the mirror…” His voice trailed off into nothing.

“It means everything, Harry. Gates’s results are wonderful; he does a great service to the world by ridding the earth of dark wizards,” Hermione said softly. “But his intentions are wicked, as well as the way he goes about it. He is only out for revenge and for personal gain, not for the good of wizard-kind. And the way he takes the…” She shuddered. “See? That’s the difference between evil men and good ones.” She took a step towards him, and Harry felt the tug in his chest. Did she know how much her words meant to him?

Harry sighed and again ran his fingers through his raven hair. He began to pace. “But the Department of Mysteries, the Forbidden Forest…” He absently rubbed his chin. “The reason Snape caught us in the kitchens for S.P.E.W. was my fault.”

Her expression turned into one of utmost concern. “Don’t beat yourself up like that,” said Hermione gently. “Besides, the tour of the kitchens was worth getting caught by Snape…”

Harry paused. Did she mean what he just thought she meant? “Was it?”

She gave him a small, timid smile. “The company was wonderful.”

The air was now heavily laden with the delicate scent of honeysuckle. It was somehow intoxicating. The chamber suddenly did not seem so utterly forbidding. Harry looked down at Hermione, the connection in his chest growing stronger with every passing second. The sweet honeysuckle scent mingled nicely with the image in his eyes. How did that muggle phrase go?

The thing you need the most is often right in front of you, Pseudo-Snape offered.

Thanks, professor.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, concerned.

Harry shook his head. “Nothing,” he replied a little too quickly. In reality, he was thinking about their time in Hogsmeade; the way she read through the various books in the store. It brought a faint smile to his lips.

Really, Potter. This is becoming disgusting.

“What’s so funny?” said Hermione, grinning slightly. Her eyes sparkled with something for the briefest of moments.

“Just something the Sorting Hat once told me,” Harry replied evasively; his eyes reflecting his smile. He breathed in more of the sweet air, taking in more of the honeysuckle scent. How absurd it was for that particular odor to be conjured in the deepest pits of the dungeons.

“What did it tell you?” she inquired. Her bushy hair was falling down her shoulders…her back.

“Don’t you think we should go back to work?” Harry asked with a light grin. Telling her of the Sorting Hat’s advice to take her somewhere ‘Public yet secluded’ was obviously not something he wanted to share.

Hermione smiled gently. “I don’t think so. Not until you answer some of my questions.”

Harry arched an eyebrow. “What kind?” The thought of her asking questions excited him somehow.

She took a small, thoughtful step sideways. “Well, when you promised me on the train that you would not start any conflicts with Malfoy, did you really mean it, or did you say it just to satisfy me?”

“Both,” Harry said instantly.

Hermione nodded and stretched her hand. It was no longer cramped. “Did you enjoy the S.P.E.W. tour of the kitchens?” If Harry read her tone correctly, this question was more important than the previous one.

“I loved the part afterwards,” Harry said easily. He never knew he could talk so simply with anybody. His conversations with Dumbledore were often complicated and riddled. This was refreshingly plain. “The tour I wasn’t so keen on, but the dinner was great. I never had a private meal like that before…” he added in an afterthought. The pull in his chest became like a steel cord winding back on a pulley. Her eyes were darkening…

Oh, I can feel this one coming. I’m eagerly awaiting the usual Potter eloquence.

Her tone became very serious. “Why did you give me the mirror, Harry?” asked Hermione, her eyes probing his. She seemed to be looking for something. The question was oddly similar to: Why did we come here?

Harry turned. How was he supposed to answer that? How was he supposed to tell her that he trusted her more than he trusted anyone ever before? How do you explain the enormity of that concept in mere words? The connection, the bond, whatever it was; it was too strong for the mind to contemplate. It was transcendental. The feeling he received when he looked at her was only remotely comparable to the feeling he felt when he soared high above the Quidditch fields and danced among the clouds; and even that seemed insignificant against the sheer potency of what he experienced now. It made Quidditch a feeble joke. How can anyone possibly express that in words?

He gazed into her eyes, seeing them widen, and his instinct hijacked his mind. His chest felt constricted, his heart quickened. The force, the connection between them abruptly surged, drawing them close. His hand reached out and touched her hair, so soft and warm. Caressing her. A little shiver and Harry bent down and kissed her, a sudden, remarkable feeling like electricity coursing through his body, turning his head into jelly. Her lips were so soft, and, after a moment, welcoming, just a little moist, without lipstick, the taste so clean and good.

Harry’s hand moved down her side and to her waist, feeling the heat radiating off of her body. She shivered, and his heart raced in his confining chest. Her hands moved up to his chest, touching him, feeling him. Harry felt himself being pushed backwards, so he conceded, knocking over and shattering a glass flask in the process. Neither of them seemed to notice.

A second later the cell door swung open with a clang and they instantly broke apart, breathless. Snape stood like a statue in a mixture of shock and astonishment, silhouetted in the dim light the torch provided from the main corridor. For a moment, he seemed incapable of speech or even thought. His breath rose in cold clouds from his mouth, and the sweet honeysuckle scent had at once fled from the chamber.

Harry’s hands had not moved from Hermione’s waist, and, suddenly becoming aware of their placement, he released her. Their faces might have been graven out of stone and marble, as though the blood had been drained from their bodies, making it impossible for them to think or move. Harry stared unblinkingly at Snape, not daring to look away as he waited for the blow to fall.

Emotions warred across Snape’s face, none of them identifiable or prominent. A long, dreadful sneer crawled onto his face, and he drew himself up again. It was something like a vampire rising from its coffin. There was nothing even remotely reassuring about his posture or expression.

(A/N: Ouch, that was cruel, I know. But really I don’t use too many cliffhangers, so I figured, ‘why not?’. I’ve always read about H/Hr kissing on a broomstick, or in a closet, or something else. Then this idea (Kissing during Detention with Snape, which, by the way, was initially going to be a one-shot) came into my head and I went with it. I kind of liked the effect, I hope you did, too. On a side note, originally I was going to have their first kiss occur in the kitchens on some sort of SPEW mission, but I decided against it because I liked this one better.

Anyways, I hoped you all enjoyed this relatively ‘light’s chapter, because it was only a breather before I delve into the bizarre again. And don’t think Rita is just going to vanish, either.

Chapter 16: You expect this one to be light and fluffy? Think again. The plot - I mean - Disaster strikes and we are all reminded that Voldemort isn’t napping during Harry’s sixth year. And we see a new face in the nemesis mirror…one that we all most certainly know. For those who have no clue what the plot is yet, here is your answer. I’ve been building up to it for awhile now.

Quote: Floating serenely near the ceiling of the Transfiguration classroom was the Dark Mark.

That’s almost too big of a quote.)

16. Visage in the Mirror

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

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

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

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

Harry was silently smoldering.

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

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

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

Was it a mistake?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Finished, Potter?"

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

"Good, then leave."

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

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

"Where’s Hermione?" Harry asked stiffly.

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don’t think I care."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you sure? About this?"

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

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

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

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

This is going rather well, he thought.

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

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

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

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

"Has this happened before?"

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

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

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

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

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Waffles for lunch?" Harry asked out loud.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No one is going to tell Fred and-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You’re telling me you don’t sleep?"

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

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

Gates hesitated. "I don’t know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Transfiguration professor nodded and left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Snape nodded reluctantly.

"And to what do you attribute that to?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry nodded, unnerved.

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

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

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

"I’ll see you on Friday, headmaster."

"Sooner than that, I hope."

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

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

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

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

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

Harry watched wordlessly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So what happened?" Harry asked.

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

"I see," said Harry slowly.

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

"So what happened mate?"

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

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

Yes, I know.

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

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

17. Boggarts

“Righ’, so I wan’ you all ter get separated inter groups and start lookin’ after yer Wyrms,” Hagrid said as he gestured towards a row of steel trays. Harry gulped. The ‘Wyrms’ Hagrid was referring to were the Voracious Wyrms, a distant cousin of the Flobberworm. Unlike their docile counterparts, however, they were absolutely ravenous and had mouths that were ringed with several rows of razor-sharp teeth. Needless to say, Voracious Wyrms preferred meat over lettuce.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione picked up a tray and settled it in the grass nearby, peering into it to see the Wyrm tear apart a hunk of meat twice its size. It made a buzzing sound as its teeth cut apart the flesh.

Gates was watching them from under the boughs of a large elm tree, his stance betraying indifference. Ever since Harry’s wand got jinxed, he had been keeping a closer, more scrutinizing eye upon them, the magical bond probably reinforcing this behavior. The Hit Wizard had made good on his word that he would personally guard Harry during the night, and, sometimes when he woke up, Harry could see Gates, his frame silhouetted in the cold, dim light, his stance alert and primed.

“So what’re we supposed to do?” Ron asked with a hint of trepidation.

“Feed it,” said Hermione.

Since Hermione and Harry came together two weeks ago, they have been, in public, stalwartly pretending that nothing between them had changed, and, for the most part, succeeding. Cho alone seemed to be aware of the sudden change, and whenever they came across her in the halls, she would sniff and whisper something into Marietta’s ear, who would then vehemently nod. Harry carried her books from class to class (Or at least as many as he could handle) and thankfully Ron did not mention anything. Besides some discrete, brief physical contact, no one would known the difference. However, when they were alone in the common room late at night, they would sometimes stay up to midnight talking with each other, or even simply holding hands, with Hermione buried in his chest, watching the fire. Despite the intimacy, Harry felt that it was somehow ruined by Gates’s leering presence, his eyes boring holes into his back.

Ron stared at the Wyrm as it devoured the last of the meat. The entire process took barely more than ten seconds. “You’re not serious. How much do they eat?”

“According to Hagrid,” said Harry. “we’re going to have to feed them at least once today. And then observe and record the Voracious Wyrm’s actions.”

Malfoy, flanked by his cronies Crabbe and Goyle, came over and sat down, their foreheads contorted into an expression of dull amusement. Pulling a paper out of his pocket, he threw it to Crabbe, smirking and casting a knowing glance towards Harry and then to Hagrid. A moment later, Crabbe started guffawing loudly and tossed the paper back to Malfoy. They were little more than a meter away and Harry could see that the paper was an issue of the Daily Prophet.

“Any particular reason you’re sitting there Malfoy?” Ron asked with a trace of annoyance.

Draco looked at them as though just noticing their presence. “As a matter of fact, yes. Catch.” He flung the newspaper over to Ron, who picked it up and read it. The nasty sneer on Malfoy’s face told Harry all that he needed to know.

“Too bad this is a fake,” said Ron. “I read today’s issue already. This isn’t it.” Ron waved it in the air and carelessly threw it aside.

Malfoy laughed. “You can keep it, I have extras. But actually that is tomorrow’s issue, you see,” He turned his full attention onto Ron. “Mother, after reading that article on that monster the half-breed is keeping in the forest, decided to assist Miss Skeeter in getting the ministry to act upon it. You know how slow the ministry can be on these sorts of things…I mean, with them hiring mudbloods and muggle-lovers nowadays.”

“Are you going somewhere with this Malfoy?” Harry snapped. With the amount of time Draco was taking to get the point, it must be something truly awful. It was like Malfoy was savoring every second.

“Did I touch a nerve?” Malfoy asked innocently, looking back from Hermione to Harry. “Well, anyway, my mother donated a some money to Skeeter and she in turn will use it to…help the ministry get its priorities straight. We can’t have filthy, dangerous half-breeds blundering around, doing whatever they like.” He looked towards Hermione. “Don’t you agree? I hear you’re quite the authority on all things dirty.”

Anger flared in the bowels of Harry’s stomach and he went for his wand. Hermione grabbed his arm and whispered “Don’t.” Harry conceded and just glared at Malfoy, promising himself that when the Dueling Club began the tournament he would beat the Slytherin.

Draco laughed again, harder. Crabbe and Goyle exchanged smirks. “Right,” Malfoy continued, tossing a stray bit of meat into his tray which was instantly swallowed by his Wyrm. “So Skeeter forwarded us an issue so we can see her handiwork. She wrote a good bit on how the ministry allows dangerous creatures to stumble around a school full of students. And, well, I hear she’s become very influential.”

“So she’s joined the Malfoy payroll, has she?” said Ron viciously.

“Yes, I do believe she has,” Malfoy drawled. “That’s what they refer to as a ‘connection’, Weasley. Or don’t you know about those?” He smirked. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. After all, those things require money, and-” Malfoy eyed Ron’s robes. “-your fortune has definitely not changed, though everything else has…or is about to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean,” Ron demanded dangerously.

“You don’t know?” Malfoy said with exaggerated surprise. “The Weasley’s are becoming more ignorant by the hour, though they are in that little mudblood-lover club. What’s it called? Oh, yes, the Order of the Phoenix. You can’t really afford to ignore this warning, Weasley.” Malfoy returned to his Wyrm, a conceited sneer on his face.

“How does he know?” Ron asked in a low voice. Hermione was biting her lip.

“I don’t know,” Harry said, not looking up. “I don’t bloody know.” He dangled a mangled piece of Flobberworm flesh over the tray and watched as the Voracious Wyrm tore it from his hand. It was amazing how far the Wyrm could jump when it did not even have legs.

“Maybe the ministry won’t do anything,” said Ron. “They have their plates full enough as it is-”

“Oh come on Ron,” said Hermione, aggravated. “That’s the point. They’re pulling the ministry in so many directions they won’t be able to respond to Voldemort.” The Wyrm in the tray seemed to shiver when she spoke the name. “See? Distract them with complete nonsense so Voldemort can go on his merry way. The ministry is old and weak like a rotten log, and all it’ll take is a good push for it to cave,” she continued, her voice becoming almost panicky. “It’s-just-so-stupid!” She angrily picked up a hunk of meat out of a pale and threw it into the tray. The Wyrm caught it in midair.

“Hermione-” Ron began, but Harry eyed him and cut him off. Harry placed a reassuring arm on Hermione’s shoulder. It was best if she let it out now. The threat to Hagrid, the ministry’s continual incompetence, and Rita Skeeter had slowly been building up a reservoir of frustration.

“And it’s that Skeeter woman,” Hermione continued viciously. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing. Does she know she’s helping Voldemort? And poor Hagrid…it’s always Hagrid.”

Harry could not find any words to say, because in fact he shared the same views as Hermione. He turned and looked at Hagrid, who was currently bending over a cluster of Gryffindors, whose Wyrm had evidently gotten loose. How could Hagrid extract himself from this situation?

“It might not even be true,” Harry said without conviction. With the way this school year was going, he was beginning to just expect the worst. Hermione shook her head.

“Mudblood’s taking it hard,” Draco sneered. “I suppose it always hurts when a mudblood loses one of its own. I mean, a half-breed isn’t that far off from a mudblood, is it?” Crabbe and Goyle snorted with thick laughter.

Harry gritted his teeth and focused his eyes on Hermione, ignoring Malfoy‘s taunt. “Thank you,” she whispered, and smiled. Harry nodded, but just barely, and eventually found himself smiling back. His eyes irresistibly flickered towards Ron. He hated himself for deceiving his best friend, but what else could he do?

. Malfoy burst out with more laughter while Ron looked slightly bewildered.

“Don’t worry Weasley, I’ll let you figure it out for yourself,” Malfoy said and laid back in the grass.

I never liked that boy, Pseudo-Snape said. He thinks he’s far smarter than he actually is, he’s egocentric, and dark magic runs in his family bloodline. Watch yourself, Potter.

The class proceeded without any injuries from the Voracious Wyrms, and when Hagrid dismissed them, they immediately went on to Transfiguration.

The next morning, the long awaited issue of The Daily Prophet arrived via a large, ancient owl that looked much like Errol. On the front page, typed in bold print, was the article that Harry had been dreading. Malfoy was not lying, as he had so desperately hoped. Fortunately, it seemed that Malfoy’s threat concerning the Order carried little weight, as there was no mention of it at all.

A Gigantic Threat

By Rita Skeeter

Nearly three weeks ago, this reporter wrote an article concerning a wild, untamed Giant that was currently lurking within the Forbidden Forest near Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite overwhelming evidence-

Harry nearly spilled his drink. What evidence?

-that there was, indeed, a Giant being harbored by a Hogwarts professor, no action has been taken by the Ministry of Magic to remove this threat to the students. Can Hogwarts be considered safe when a full-blooded Giant lurks upon its very grounds?

Further evidence shows that the Giant is being nurtured and protected by a half-giant named Rebeus Hagrid, who teaches the Care of Magical Creatures course. Of all the wizards within Hogwarts, should not this one be the most aware of the creatures inherent danger to society?

Rebeus Hagrid, known as simply Hagrid to his students, became a professor three years ago when his predecessor retired due to numerous injuries and loss of limbs. Since his appointment to the post, Hagrid has come under continuous watch by the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures,, which had investigated and convicted a Hippogriff which had attacked a student during his class. Additionally, Rebeus Hagrid had been fired from his post last year for displaying ‘extreme incompetence and inability to fulfill his duty’. Instead of accepting the judgment, the half-giant attacked Hogwarts staff and fled from the school. He was later acquitted of the charges-

Harry threw the paper down, tired of reading Rita Skeeter’s usual nonsense. He knew, though, that the ‘nonsense’ would be believed by nearly every witch and wizard in Britain, and that the Ministry will almost certainly be investigating the accusations. He looked over at Ron, who had a glum expression on his face.

Charms class went particularly fast that day, as Professor Flitwick finally let students summon magical creatures, which had some rather unique effects. When one of the Raven claws (whose name Harry later discovered to be Benjamin) summoned a Thestral, several people exchanged confused glances, as they were the ones who could not see it. Hermione gave Harry a sympathetic look.

After barely ten seconds, the Thestral disintegrated into smoke and vanished, and Flitwick asked Benjamin for his observations, and he noted that he could not see.

“That, class,” Professor Flitwick explained. “is because Thestrals are blind. When the creature you summoned cannot see, neither can you. That is an important fact to keep in mind when choosing which creature to summon.”

“But Thestrals have eyes,” someone said.

“Yes they do,” continued Professor Flitwick. “But they rely far more on their sense of smell. So much, in fact, that their sight has deteriorated into near-blindness. For all intents and purposes, however, Thestrals are completely sightless.”

After class ended, Luna came up to them during lunch and eagerly asked if anyone in the class had summoned a Snockle-Lock. She had heard they had begun conjuring magical creatures in Charms class from Ron. Hermione had lightly replied that summoning a Snockle-Lock would be impossible, as you need to picture the summoned animal in your mind, and, as far as she knew, there were no pictures of Snockle-Locks.

“Well, maybe you haven’t seen one,” said Luna in her drifting voice. “But father and I have seen plenty during our trips to Asia. Perhaps next year…” She floated away from the Gryffindor table, Hermione watching her leave with incredulous eyes.

“She doesn’t give up, does she?” said Hermione disbelievingly.

“Sort of like you and club S.P.E.W., right?” Harry said, grinning.

Hermione sent him a warning eye. “At least you didn’t say spew.” Harry laughed.

“P’ss te’ ‘olls, p’ease,” said Ron without looking up from his plate. Hermione rolled her eyes tossed him a bun. “Gotta kee’ my str’th up f’r t’h D.A.”

“You should,” Harry said. “You’ll need it all for the Boggart.”

“Bigert?” said Ron, jerking his head up and swallowing his food. “Where did you get one?”

“The Room of Requirement evidently produces them as well. Gates had me fighting mature Blast-Ended Skrewts last week.”

Ron shuddered at the mention of Hagrid’s former armor-plated pets. “ What for?” he asked uneasily.

“We’re going to do them again. We’re all going to be afraid in a duel,” Harry said. “We need to be able to master our fear.”

“We’re not going to be dueling ten foot spiders though,” Ron argued, stricken at the prospect of encountering a manifestation of his worst phobia.

“It’s the fear we’re fighting not the boggart,” Harry said, going back to his food. “It’ll be tonight.”

Ron put down his fork, no longer having an appetite. His eyes briefly met with Gates’s gaze, and his body stiffened and froze. Breathing becoming labored, he moved to stand up but Harry quickly grabbed his hand. Ron almost did not notice.

“He’s doing it again,” said Harry flatly.

Ron snapped out of his trance. “It doesn’t matter,” he said bitingly. “Look, I’m fine, alright. So what if he goes into my head once in awhile? It’s not hurting me.”

“Occlumency-” Hermione began.

“No,” said Ron with a tone of finality. “I have to-”

“-play Quidditch,” Hermione finished for him. Ron glared and left.

“After tonight’s meeting,” Hermione said. “whether he likes it or not.” Harry nodded, exasperated, seeing no other choice. Ron had to build up some resistance; Gates‘s influence over him was becoming absurd.

When the time for the D.A. meeting came around, Harry, Hermione, and Ron left the common room (followed closely by Gates) and began climbing to the seventh floor. They were passing the staff room when Harry heard two voices: Dumbledore and Snape.

“-Dark Lord could not have entered the school,” Snape was saying, his voice neither silky nor sarcastic. It was clear that they were discussing Voldemort, from the tone their voices were taking.

Harry intentionally dropped his books so that he could continue listening. Hermione caught on instantly while Ron bent down to help him clean up. He did not dare turn around to see Gates’s expression. Harry hoped that the Hit Wizard was far enough away that he could not overhear the voices, as he did not want Gates to stumble onto any information regarding the Order or the Prophecy.

“-wards are completely intact,” Dumbledore sighed. Harry strained his ears. “They’ve detected nothing.”

“Didn’t the Centaurs claim that the Dark Lord himself crossed through the Forbidden Forest?” Snape insisted. The Potion master’s voice was almost fearful.

“Calm yourself, Severus,” Dumbledore said. “I have spoken with Bane myself. He claims that merely an entity with evil intent walked through the forest, not Voldemort himself.” Harry could feel Snape shudder through the wall. “And the wards were not tampered with.”

“And tell me, headmaster,” said Snape. “What exactly do the wards do?”

“Any magical artifact that passes through the wards is detected and registered,” Dumbledore replied. “You cannot bring so much as an enchanted pen into Hogwarts grounds without the wards detecting it and alerting me. Additionally, Hogwarts is protected by wards that were erected in the founder’s time. Not even Voldemort can tamper with those. No wizard can come onto school grounds without my explicit permission.”

“And the Fat Lady? Did you ask her if she saw anyone? Anyone who enters the tower must go through that portrait hole.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said. “Of course I have. She says she remembers the entire night clearly, and that no one went through. I found no evidence of any memory charms.”

“Then how did the Dark Lord jinx Potter’s wand?” Snape hissed.

Harry leaned slightly closer to the wall, not even breathing for fear that he would miss Dumbledore’s response.

“I don’t have the faintest idea.”

Harry finished gathering his books and they continued up to the Room of Requirement. He looked at Hermione, asking “Did you hear?”, and she nodded meaningfully at him.

When they reached the seventh floor, they found Professor Whams engaged in a conversation with Barnabas the Barmy, who had evidently taken a break from being beaten by a troll. The troll, who Barnabas had supposedly been teaching ballet to, was off in the distance, scratching its head as it stared at its reflection in a mirror. Percy stood nearby, leaning against the wall, his expression and posture expressing weariness.

“-hardly believe that’s necessary, Barnadous,” said Whams cheerfully. “Did you really have to bring them all the way from Asia?”

“It’s Barnabas, Henry,” said the stooped, disheveled figure of Barnabas the Barmy. He glanced fearfully over his shoulder, as though expecting the troll to be there any moment. “And Asian trolls are far more mild-mannered. Though, I admit, it’s rather refreshing to have a respite like this. The troll’s resistance to learning is almost insurmountable.” Harry was irresistibly reminded of Hagrid’s attempts to civilize Grawp.

“Professor,” Percy said pleadingly. “The second-years’ exams have been sitting on your desk for nearly two weeks now.” He looked down at his watch and shook his head. “If we start now, we might be able to finish them tonight.”

Whams turned towards Percy with mingled shock and irritation on his face. “Perseus, don’t be so rude. Don’t you see I’m speaking with Barnadous-”

“-Barnabas-”

“-concerning his work with trolls? I’ve just stopped by!”

“It’s been nearly an hour now,” Percy said weakly.

“And it’s rare for me to have a conversation with anyone outside the student body,” Barnabas said a little defensively.

“Percy,” Harry interjected. “We’re going to use the Room of Requirement for an, err, meeting. Is that all right?” Ernie Macmillian and Hannah Abbot came down from the other end of the hall, and then stopped to eye Percy suspiciously.

Percy blinked. “Why wouldn’t it be? Ah, and hello Ron,” he said somewhat tentatively.

Ron returned a curt greeting and Harry paced back and forth near the wall, and, on the third passing, the familiar oak door appeared and they stepped through. Despite the thick, wood-paneled walls, they could still hear Whams’s discussion on the other side, though the words were unclear. Gates automatically walked towards the far corner, covering himself in the shadow of a bookcase, the niche specially set aside by the room for the Hit Wizard’s purposes.

As Harry had planned, there was a closet on the far side of the room, the doors of which shook violently from an enclosed Boggart as more of the D.A. filed into the room. A few members exchanged quizzical glances, not knowing what today’s lesson was going to be about. When Terry Boot entered, Harry did a brief roll call and then stood up front, less than two meters away from the Boggart’s closet. He cleared his throat and began.

“Right, so we’re working with Boggarts today,” said Harry to the disorganized group of Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, and Ravenclaws. A few surprised murmurings arose at this announcement. “I decided that we should start out with something easy before we move on to the bigger creatures. Besides, this will serve a dual purpose. Facing the Boggart is facing your fear, and, to win a duel, you’re going to have to control your fear.”

From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Gates stir in his niche, and began to feel his piercing eyes focus on his head. The closet doors shuddered from a particularly forceful kick from the Boggart within.

“So, any questions?” Harry ventured. He looked towards Ron, and saw that he was not at all eager to encounter a giant spider again.

Some of the D.A. glanced fleetingly at Gates, their expressions varying from intimidation to embarrassment. Harry gazed in Gates’s direction and saw that the Hit Wizard was looking them over, one by one, like an officer inspecting his troops; everything inanimate. His eyes locked with Neville’s, and, for a while, they stared unblinkingly at each other. Though Neville was putting up a good front, his legs were quivering from underneath him.

“Is something wrong?” Harry almost-snarled, his eyes fixed on Gates. The Hit Wizard broke eye contact with Neville and then turned to Harry, his mouth, barely upturned, being the only feature that betrayed any sort of emotion. It was amusement.

“Why does he have to be here?” Terry Boot asked, nodding his head towards Gates. “He’s your bodyguard, isn’t he? Send him away.” There were various murmurs of agreement from the rest of the D.A. Neville sent Harry an understanding look, while Hermione appeared to be slightly unnerved by the question. From the silent glances people were exchanging, Harry guessed that the D.A. had been harboring a secret distrust concerning Gates’s and Harry’s association; which had been meticulously scrutinized ever since Rita Skeeter wrote an article saying that the Hit Wizard was his personal bodyguard. The difference between her column and the truth was, of course, that Harry had no choice in the matter.

Harry hesitated. He knew that Terry’s question was going to come up sooner or later, but he had never managed to formulate an appropriate response.

No time like the present, Potter, Pseudo-Snape said.

“I don’t have a choice,” Harry admitted, not wanting to divulge the details to too many people. He knew he could trust the D.A., but he felt somewhat ashamed of his connection with Gates. His response, while evasive, seemed to satisfy most of the D.A. members. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Distantly, he heard Professor Whams speaking loudly with Barnabas about Ogres and Giants.

“So,” Harry continued. “Everyone remembers the spell Riddickulus?” At their nods, he said, “Any volunteers?”

The room went quiet. No one seemed eager to face their worst fear, especially since it had likely matured and become more terrible since their third year. Harry severely doubted that he would see any mummies or zombies or other juvenile manifestations of fear.

“I’ll go first, then, to refresh everyone’s memory,” Harry said, figuring that he should be the one to go first anyway. “Also,” he added with sudden thought. “If any of you feel…excessively uncomfortable with facing the Boggart, don’t step up.” He looked meaningfully at Neville when he said this, knowing what fears lurked in the round-faced Gryffindor’s mind. In order to counter the Boggart you had to laugh, and how could someone laugh off that sort of manifestation? Neville’s face betrayed nothing.

Harry stepped up the closet’s rattling doors, taking in a deep breath, apprehensive of the…thing he was going to meet on the other side. How could he make a Dementor less horrifying? Gates eyes were locked onto the closet, expectant and waiting.

I have to do this, Harry said to himself. How can I ask them to do something I can’t?

He knew that once he opened the closet, he would hear his mother’s screams and his father’s shouts. The strong, groping cold would lash at him, and Voldemort’s high-pitched laughter would cut through his brain. He worked to steady his breathing, preparing himself to incant the Riddickulus spell as soon as the Dementor manifested itself.

Harry found himself intently studying the woodwork. There were ancient runes carefully carved into the closet doors, almost like the kind marking the entrance to some sort of religious sanctuary or tomb. He could not make any of them out, and fleetingly thought that maybe Hermione would be able to interpret them. Realizing that he was only delaying the inevitable, he reached out and grabbed the handle. With a quick jerk, the closet door flew open and a towering, black Dementor drifted out, filling the room with its freezing presence.

Harry backed away, holding his wand in the air, trying desperately to think of the incantation but unable to recall the words. Invisible claws grabbed at his arms, constricting them. His chest became very tight, and his vision began to dim. There was no other sound except the faint gasping of the Dementor’s breath, its decaying face only barely visible underneath its hood. The surrounding air and light seemed to bend towards its ebony shape, as though it was sucking in its surroundings like an insatiable maw. It extended its one, long arm, as if it was trying to touch Harry’s shoulder, like an old friend would do. Harry saw the grotesque tips of its fingers and he stepped backwards, almost stumbling in his haste.

“Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off-”

A voice cackled and echoed, a flash of green light blinding his eyes.

Harry gathered himself, shutting and opening his eyes rapidly as he tried to organize his bearings. The Dementor still hovered close to him, and, had it been a real Dementor, it would have surely kissed him by now. The Riddickulus spell surfaced in his mind, and he raised his wand to shout the incantation, but remembered he needed a vision to accompany it. How could he make a Dementor less threatening? His wand quavered and nearly fell to the ground, but Harry managed to tighten his grip. His mother screamed in his head, resonating in his skull.

The Dementor seemed to laugh, its rippling robes shuddering as though in bouts of strong humor, though Harry knew, in the recesses of his mind, that Dementors could not laugh. Harry, petrified, thought he saw its rotting mouth twisted into a grin.

Its flowing black robes fluttered above the ground as though pushed up by air, and Harry stared at them for a moment, entranced. Everything was taking on a darkish hue; even the walls, which were formerly shining with polished oak panels. The lights dimmed even further, and Harry sensed his vision failing. His mind raced with ways to make the Dementor appear silly, but his thoughts were clouded by piercing, feminine screams. He wanted to shout out to silence the voice, but he found that he could not.

Suddenly, an idea presented itself. Picturing the Dementor’s robes turning into the frilly, red dress robes that Ron wore his fourth year to the Yule Ball, Harry bellowed “Riddickulus” and forced himself to laugh weakly. The laughs were in sharp contrast to the cries and pleas that echoed throughout his head.

Instantly, the Dementor’s robes went from black to hot pink, and its edges were fringed with Victorian lace. Though it did not look exactly like Ron’s old dress robes, it was close enough. Harry managed to laugh again, this time more earnestly. The Dementor’s freezing spell vanished, and the light returned with an even greater power and a warmth spread throughout Harry’s body. The Dementor wavered in the air, confused.

“Next…someone, next,” Harry managed, stepping away and leaning against the wall. The physical effort involved was exhausting, and his heart pumped wildly, the tightness in his chest loosening and then disappearing. Hermione laid a comforting arm on his shoulder.

“Here’s some chocolate,” Hermione said soothingly. Harry took it gratefully, biting into it and letting it course through his body. He could only assume that Hermione had foreseen this scenario and had come prepared.

“Thanks,” Harry said at length. His reactions to Boggarts were becoming worse, not better. Was his connection with Voldemort making the experience more terrible?

Surprisingly, Ron was the next one to face the Boggart. He evidently wanted to have it done and over with as soon as possible. He timidly approached the Dementor, clearly regretting every step, and, when he was fully separated from the group, raised his wand, but then paused. The shape the Dementor took was more bizarre than anything Harry had ever witnessed.

Bewildered, Pseudo-Snape asked: Potter what the hell are we looking at?

It seemed that the Boggart was trying to become a giant spider and Gates at the same time, as though trying to satisfy two fears at once. From the head to the torso was the sneering, crimson-robed body of Alexander Gates, his wand raised in a manner that inspired mortal fear. Below his waist, however, were eight long, spindly tarantula legs that bristled with stiff hairs. It was a dual transformation. However, there could not be a dual transformation without the Dementor being confused by two peoples’ individual fears, and Ron was the only one standing there. Unless…

“Oh my God,” Hermione murmured, reaching the same conclusion as Harry. Was it possible that the brain that had possessed Ron’s mind in the Department of Mysteries confused the Boggart so that it had shown two fears in one transformation?

“The brain-” Harry began. Hermione immediately caught his meaning and nodded, verifying his suspicions. The half with the spider’s legs had been a display of Ron’s worst fear, while the half presenting Gates had been the brain’s worst fear. What had the brain, or personality, experienced in its lifetime to warrant its fear of the Hit Wizard? “I thought Ron’s…problem…was supposed to get better instead of worse? Didn’t the Healers say it gets better over time?”

Ron stood there, dumbfounded, more confused than frightened. He gave them a quizzical look and then said “Riddickulus”, almost lazily, and then gave a weak laugh. The spider’s legs got tied in a knot and the Gates-half of the Boggart tripped fell onto its face. Ron stared at the struggling Boggart as if to say: “That’s it?”

The real Gates was just as bewildered. Then, slowly, the same conclusion that Hermione and Harry attained dawned on him. A shadow crossed his face.

Ron retreated back into the crowd, and Luna Lovegood confidently emerged from the back.

When she stood before the Boggart, it instantly turned into a massive issue of the Daily Prophet. As a headline, it said “Tabloid The Quibbler Goes Bankrupt”, followed by a lengthy article examining the reasons behind the shut down of the paper. One paragraph, Harry noted, said that the magazine had never been the same ever since the original founder, Elizabeth Lovegood, died due to an experiment that combined magic with muggle electricity.

Luna, after apparently reading the column, smiled faintly and waved her wand and murmured “Riddickulus” under her breath, though her eyes seemed slightly less protuberant and more withdrawn. A moment later, the ink on the newspaper began to run and soon the text was illegible. Serenely, Luna turned joined Ron nearby.

Next, Neville stepped up, a look of determination written on his face. He held his wand tightly by hid side, and approached the Boggart in five apprehensive strides. He licked his lips, and then steadied himself for what he knew was coming.

The Boggart wasted no time in transforming into, as Harry had foreseen, Frank and Alice Longbottom. Both lay motionless on the floor, side by side, their eyes wide and facing the ceiling, their expressions showing only terror. Besides him, Hermione stifled a sob.

The room went deathly quiet. The D.A. was watching Neville, pitying him, the situation the epitome of sadness. Despite the fact that Frank and Alice had been tortured to madness, and, for all purposes, dead to the world, Neville’s worst fear was losing them. Harry felt like he was witnessing some sort of religious rite or ceremony. He had the strong urge to leave, as if his presence had somehow defiled the moment.

Neville raised his wand, his mouth inaudibly shaping the word but producing no sound. His new wand, the one he had received from his grandmother, drooped downwards slightly, as though holding it had become too physically taxing. Neville’s brow was wet with perspiration, and he lowered his wand even more. Finally, he dropped it to his side, and it became apparent that he was lost, and had completely forgotten that he was in the Room of Requirement and that he was facing a Boggart.

Harry could almost guess what was running through Neville’s mind. How could Neville attempt to make his parents’ deaths any less horrifying? Would not laughing to destroy the Boggart be an insult to their deaths? Harry decided that Neville was facing a manifestation far worse than any Dementor.

Harry, deciding that enough was enough, stood up to intervene.

“Come now, Neville,” Gates said smoothly. Harry felt his hands tighten into fists. “I already told you, they’re vegetables. Why, death would even be a step up for them. Surely you can take care of a Boggart without Potter having to come to the rescue.”

Neville appeared not to have heard him. His eyes were still locked onto his parents’ bodies.

“But we’re all just children here, Mr. Gates,” said Luna, her ethereal voice drifting up from the cluster of D.A. members. She eased her way to the front and stood before them. Gates’s head snapped to her direction, his expression turned scornful.

“Perhaps,” Luna continued. “you could teach us how to deal with a Boggart. Why, you are the illustrious Debauched-Savior.”

Gates sneered defensively. “I have little I need to prove.”

“Oh, but you do,” Luna said matter-of-factly. “From what I’ve heard, you almost failed with your duty twice.”

Gates glowered. “I have failed at nothing,” he snarled dangerously.

“Then could you explain why you are afraid to face the Boggart?” she said sweetly. “I didn’t know the Gates family line carried cowards.”

That did it. Gates bristled and his body became rigid. “Longbottom,” Gates ordered. “Step away.”

Neville snapped out of his trance and, as if just realizing where he was, stepped backwards four paces. Gates stepped forward, holding his wand stiffly at his side, his face stony and cold.

Harry watched him advance upon the Boggart, and he felt Hermione gripping his arm. He made no attempt to remove it though he was intensely aware of it.

Gates took a solid step forward, sneering arrogantly.

Now what does that bastard fear? asked Pseudo-Snape rhetorically.

The Boggart, noticing his presence, gathered itself up and turned into a woman. Shocked, Gates staggered backwards, his black eyes wide in an expression of terror, his wand now loose by his side. Whatever the Hit Wizard was expecting, it was obvious that he did not expect this. His teeth were clenched so tightly together that Harry thought he was going to break his jaw.

The woman was turned away, staring directly at the Hit Wizard, her face visible to no one except Gates. Long, straight black hair fell down her shoulders and back, not styled in any way. She wore a regal ebony dress, designed more for comfort than appearances, that trailed on the floor, almost like a feminine form of a Dementor’s robe. She watched Gates for another minute before pointing an accusing finger at him, and she spoke soft, inaudible words. Harry never thought he would see it, but the Hit Wizard was petrified.

Like Neville, Gates seemed to have forgotten that he was facing a Boggart, and not an actual person. He began speaking in low assuring tones, his face very pale and his eyes desperate for something. His hands were trembling and his back was slightly arched forward, as though he was trying to persuade her and ward off allegations. Like a defendant pleading before a judge. She shook her head and Gates’s brow furrowed.

Harry tried to move to get a better look at the woman’s face, but found that his feet were frozen to where he stood. The exchange was having a profound effect on the rest of the room. Nobody was moving. They all stared at Gates and the woman, enraptured in what they were seeing.

Gates’s pleading became more intense. It was like he was begging for his life. The fear in his eyes was evident now and he drew his wand up to his chest, not in a threatening gesture, but as a sort of defense. He was clutching it as if it was going to shatter into splinters at any moment.

Harry managed to catch the woman’s voice. Though he could not make out the words, her tone was soft and soothing, like someone speaking to a small child. Gates, however, took each one as if they were nails into his coffin. He extended his hand and she backed away yet again, possibly offended by it. The Hit Wizard was quivering yet he continued in a faster, more hushed voice. He was completely oblivious to his surroundings.

She held an aristocratic aura about her, and made small, barely noticeable movements; a step there, another step here, but never being more than a full pace away from her original spot, almost like a little dance, with her face never visible to anyone besides Gates. She carried herself with a patrician air when she moved, never clumsy, but impeccably graceful. The Hit Wizard seemed to have run out of words, as he stood there, his mouth opening and closing, a myriad of emotions passing over his face. Harry had never seen him quite so…human.

His wand fell and clattered to the ground, and he looked helplessly at her. She rose up, the aristocrat aura turning into a menacing one, and raised her hand, and then brought it slashing down through empty air. Gates watched her, his face blank.

As though entering a dream, Luna walked forward and approached the woman, her eyes sad. When she looked into the woman’s face, she nodded understandingly and then gazed fleetingly at Gates, who appeared stricken. Luna tentatively placed her hand onto the woman’s shoulder, and the woman instantly transformed into an edition of the Daily Prophet. With another Riddickulus spell, the Boggart cracked and vanished completely.

Gates showed no reaction. His glazed, dead eyes remained fixed on the place where the Boggart was, possibly expecting the woman to come back. When it became clear that she was no longer there, Gates bent down, picked up his wand, and studied it silently.

Luna waited there for a moment, watching him sympathetically, and then said, “I think you should be alone for awhile Mr. Gates.”

Gates’s head jerked up, as though he had just remembered that he was in a room full of people. Pocketing his wand, he grunted something and swept out of the door and into the corridor, where Professor Whams was still engaged in a lively conversation with Barnabas. He might have died, just then.

The monster has a weakness, then, said Pseudo-Snape.

“Hermione,” Harry said, looking down at where Hermione still gripped his arm. It was cutting off the circulation.

Hermione looked distant. “Hmmm?”

“If I could detach my arm and give it to you, I would,” Harry said, grinning.

“Oh!” she said, and let go, embarrassed.

Since Luna destroyed the Boggart, the D.A. began to practice various hexes and curses to train for the upcoming Dueling Tournament. Neville had recovered from his encounter with the Boggart, and was now performing excellently again. He would certainly win the first few matches of the tournament, anyway.

At then end of the meeting, Harry motioned Ron to stay behind and discretely nodded at Hermione, who instantly took the hint and proceeded to stand near the door. Once the last of the D.A. left, she locked it with Colloportus.

Ron saw this and rounded on Harry. “What’s this about?”

“Ron,” Harry said with a touch of exasperation. “You need some Occlumency training.”

Ron’s eyes flashed. “I already said that-”

“We can’t wait until Quidditch season is over Ron,” Hermione interjected. “You can’t let Gates walk all over you like he does.”

“What?” retorted Ron. “I’m fine, really. It’s not like he’s doing anything. Whenever I break eye contact the feeling goes away. It-doesn’t-matter.”

“The reason I was tired after Occlumency lessons had more to do with Snape than the session itself,” Harry continued. “I won’t be piercing your mind like a knife. I’ll take it easy and you will probably be able to sleep it off.”

“Have you ever done this before?”

“No,” Harry admitted. “But we’ve got to try something, and I think it’s safe to say that Snape won’t help.”

Ron seemed to be running out of arguments.

“What’s the real reason you don’t want to Ron,” Hermione said calmly, taking a step towards him. “This isn’t about Quidditch, is it?”

“No,” he said in a voice just barely above a whisper.

“Then what is it?”

“I’ve-” Ron stammered, as though unable to form words. He turned away from them. “Well, what if-” He kicked the floor with his foot. “What if you see some of the memories of how I am in my…fits? I don’t-” He abruptly stopped, his eyes lowered to the floor.

“Ron,” Harry began, seeing his friend‘s plight. He actually felt the same thing. What if Hermione and Ron had seen him attempt the Cruciatus Curse? “We’re not going-”

“You don’t know that!” said Ron snappishly. “I hate everything so much when I am…him…and if he had control he would kill anyone in the room just for the fun of it! I can feel his anger.” His voice trembled as he spoke, his eyes begging them to understand. “He’s sick,” Ron continued, dropping his voice. “Disgusting.”

“Then maybe Occlumency would help with that too,” Harry said. “I mean, that’s what Occlumency is, right? Blocking your emotions and controlling your mind.”

Ron glared then nodded, defeated. His shoulders sagged and he exhaled a long held breath. “Right, so, when do we start?”

“Now,” Harry stated. “Are you ready?”

“No, but let’s begin anyway.”

“Eye contact is required for this,” Harry said, hoping to give Ron some help. “So, if possible, don’t make eye contact with Gates in the first place. The secret to Occlumency is to become absolutely emotionless. Concentrate on a rock if you have to, or focus on memories that have no emotional value. That’s how I practiced in the beginning. When you become good you will be able to do this without even thinking about it.”

Ron looked up and met Harry’s gaze. Trying to remember Snape’s wand movements, Harry stared back at him. He had never performed Legilimency before, but from what he read, it sort of like Occlumency in reverse. The tension in the room grew, and Harry aimed his wand directly at Ron’s eyes, as Snape had done to him. He muttered, “Legilimens!”

The room fell away and everything suddenly went black. Ron’s mind unraveled before him like a roll of film, snapshot images flashing and vanishing like sparks, and it dawned on him that he was seeing into Ron’s memory. Harry saw himself sitting in the compartment with Ron; their first train ride to Hogwarts. Several indecipherable pictures flew by, and Harry could not interpret any of them. A few were merely smears of light as though someone had badly smudged a freshly painted portrait.

The memories went deeper and became more personal. He felt a surge of jealousy (Ron’s jealousy) as he saw Hermione with Krum, standing across the great hall in the Yule Ball. The images became slower and more distinct. Ron had just learned that Scabbers was gone, the blood on his bed indicating that Crookshanks had devoured him. Suddenly, Harry felt himself being pushed back. Ron was resisting.

It was incredible how clear Harry could feel every one of Ron’s emotions. As he became further entrenched into the mind, he was better able to focus on certain memories and images, and then move on when they revealed something far too personal. It was strangely like changing channels on a television. Vaguely, it disturbed Harry that anyone could have such insight into another’s mind. With the amount of times Snape had probed into Harry’s, he likely gained intimate knowledge of his mind. Far more knowledge than what Harry was comfortable with him having.

Then, Harry found a weak point and he pried it open and dived in, now sensing that Ron’s front was buckling. An image emerged and played itself out like a video.

Ron and Hermione were staring daggers at each other, obviously furious about something. Though Harry could not make out the words, he could clearly see that Ron had said something that had put Hermione on the defensive. Her arms were crossed and he could feel Ron’s pain and hurt. The image was fading fast, and Harry could not make out the words, but Ron was experiencing rejection. Before Harry could analyze the scene further, it dimmed into blackness and joined a swirling whirlpool of faces and colors and locations.

Another scene presented itself, though it was much different than any of the previous images. It sucked Harry in, as though it was demanding his attention, and engulfed his senses in a flurry of light, sound and emotion. At that moment, Harry literally felt like he was standing in a dungeon of a dark, abandoned tower. No other memories or scenes were interfering with this one, giving it unprecedented clarity. Shackles hung on the stone walls. Nearby, water dripped onto mossy stone. Feeling slightly apprehensive, Harry studied the surrounding room, and saw a dark-robed man with shocking green eyes staring at him from deep, sunken sockets. His face was pallid and peeling, as though he had been dead and decaying before coming to life again. What was this room doing in Ron’s mind?

“You’re Potter,” the man said, taking two steps forward. Harry’s heart froze. How could a memory speak to him? Something is not right. He tried to pull away, but found that he could not.

“What?” Harry tried to mouth the words, but, as he was merely an invisible spectator, he was not sure whether he made any sound.

The man’s jade eyes flickered with excitement. Despite himself, Harry found himself staring at a pile of crumbling rock in the corner of the room, the edges jagged and rough as though they were merely smaller pieces from a larger rock that had recently been shattered. The figure turned to where Harry was staring, and, with surreal power, the rocks split and broke and disintegrated into piles of dust on the floor. It was not normal magic that he was seeing, Harry knew, but the figure had somehow sped up time in that specific area of the room, forcing thousands of years to take place in only a few seconds, pulverizing the ancient stone into fine sand.

“This is my niche, my memory,” rasped the figure. “I can do whatever I wish.” The man’s eyes locked back onto Harry and the decaying face split into a grin. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I knew I would, eventually. Those few seconds in the tavern don’t really count, I think.”

Harry hovered there, paralyzed, feeling the figure search him with his eyes. He was horrified to realize that the man, whoever he was, was actually going back into Harry’s mind and reading his memories.

“Alexander Gates,” the figure murmured, and sounded almost afraid. “An old friend. Well, he certainly complicated things. I will deal with him later. But first…”

“Who are you?” Harry managed. He found it excessively difficult to form words.

The figure jerked his head towards him. “You aren’t easily controlled, are you? Well, no matter. You’ve opened the lock, now all I need is to go through the door.” He raised his hand stiffly, his fingers outstretched, and bellowed: “Out!”

Harry felt himself being thrown away, the images flashing away at lightning speed. Wanting to end the Occlumency instantly, he pulled away and opened his eyes. He found that he was now in the Room of Requirement again, and Ron was now doubled over, clutching his stomach as though someone had impaled him with a spear.

“Ron?” Harry gasped, his breathing ragged. “How long was I in there?”

“Not more than ten seconds,” Hermione said quickly. “What happened? He started muttering something and - Oh my God!”

Ron was now standing up, wielding his wand in his right hand with a newer, more confident way. His eyes clouded over with dark mist which served as a frame for two snake-like slits of green. Harry instinctively stepped in front of Hermione and drew his own wand. A high, wicked laugh erupted from Ron’s throat.

The walls in the room began to bend and warp into stone, as though trying to accommodate a new power. The bookcase transformed into a rack, and chains and leg irons thrust themselves out from the walls. Staggering amounts of energy surged through the air, and it seemed that it was making the room’s enchantments go haywire. It was slowly forcing itself to take the shape of a dungeon; the same one that Harry had seen in Ron’s head. The ceiling lowered and created organic tendrils and veils that hung down like wet rags. Old runes carved themselves into crude wooden tables. Unless Harry was greatly mistaken, it was turning into a Necromancy chamber.

“Get out of here Hermione,” ordered Harry. “Unlock the door and get help. Now!”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Ron in a raspy, painfully loud voice. His words echoed off of the bare stone walls and drilled into Harry’s brain. “Give me your wand, Harry Potter.”

Ron reached out and grabbed Harry’s wrist, trying to pry the wand out from his fingers. When his own hands touched Harry’s skinned, he screamed and recoiled, clutching his hand as though it seared with pain. Harry suddenly remembered the ring that he kept in his pocket.

Ron’s eyes turned an even more violent shade of green. “I will not-”

Just then, someone shouted “Reducto!” and the now-iron door to the Room of Requirement burst into fragments, and Gates and Whams leapt through, both wands drawn. Despite the serious situation, Harry could not help but think: Hasn’t Gates ever heard of Alohomora?

“He’s in a fit,” snapped Gates, extending his wand. Ron jumped sideways, putting Harry and Hermione between himself and the Hit Wizard’s wand. “Move to the side, Whams!”

Whams, his face tightened with an expression of unusual concentration, cautiously sidestepped, his wand never leaving Ron’s head. Harry grabbed Hermione’s arm and pulled her away to the side of the room. Ron made no move to stop them.

“Ron,” Hermione said in a quaking voice. “Are you there?” Harry readied his wand, preparing himself to conjure a deflecting charm in an instant’s notice.

Ron’s vibrant eyes flashed in Hermione’s direction and he looked ready to fire a curse. “Shut up, you silly child,” His eyes rested on hers for a moment, as though seeing her for the first time. “It’s a mudblood.” He said scornfully, sneering and raising his wand. “I am much, much more than Ronald Weasley.”

Whams and Gates slowly advanced upon him, trying to come within range to fire a mind possession curse. Ron, however, backed away, holding his wand in front of him like a ward.

“I can kill you with a word,” he snarled, then jerked his wand downwards while muttering an incantation. Nothing happened.

“Still not have enough control for a Killing Curse?” Gates spat, eyes flashing. The diamond necklace sparkled with a new light, radiating its power like heat. Old excitement flared up into his pupils, the lust for the duel hijacking his mind and rationale, passionate fervor coursing through his veins.

“Oh, no I don‘t in fact,” Ron rasped and Harry saw his face contort into an expression of vast amusement, his luminous green eyes with the cloudy obsidian background highlighting his features. “But then again, we didn’t need a Killing Curse to destroy your parents, did we? I always like Katashi’s way best.” His grin broadened mockingly, as though relishing the moment. The fathomless green eyes threatened to suck them in.

Gates’s face hardened and Harry never saw such intense hate in anyone’s eyes. “So that’s who you are, Dren? Mentis Dolor!” he said, spitting the curse with absolute venom.

White light slammed into Ron’s forehead, sending him reeling to the ground, wand thrown aside. Struggling on the ground with successive convulsions, Ron gasped for air, as though his lungs were perpetually empty and could never be filled. After a long moment, he grew still and his eyes closed. The fit passed, and Harry breathed again.

Gates strode up to Ron’s motionless form, unbridled fury fuming off of him. For a long minute, the Hit Wizard stood over the body, his wand clutched so tightly that Harry was sure that it was going to snap if he did not release it. Whams ran over, almost dropping his wand in his haste, and bent down to Ron’s side and pulled open his eyelids. They were clear. He studied Ron’s form and then straightened again. He nodded to Gates, who did not reciprocate any sort of response, and then picked him up.

Harry turned and saw Percy in the doorway, his face stark white.

The hospital wing was spotless. Sanitized. Harry had never been able to fully appreciate the cleanliness as he was usually the one unconscious on one of the infirmary’s beds. This time, however, Ron was the one who was injured, and Harry was now experiencing the same painful waiting that his friends had also undoubtedly suffered.

Hermione’s head was buried in his chest, and he gently smoothed her hair as he gazed at Ron’s face. He did not appear to be in any sort of pain or discomfort, and actually looked rather placid; his facial complexion even and colored, the freckles no longer starkly pale. Percy sat across from them, hair ruffled and unkept. He had been taking his youngest brother’s injury the worst. Harry fleetingly wondered how Professor Whams was getting along without him.

“I thought it was supposed to get better, not worse?” Hermione murmured, referring to Ron’s fits. She had not spoken for so long that Harry was startled to hear her voice.

“I thought it was too,” Harry said quietly. “Could the Healers have been wrong?”

Hermione shook her head. “What if- What if Gates’s probing into Ron’s mind had made his brain more susceptible to outside influences; like the personality the brain had imprinted onto his mind,” She bit her lower lip. “So now his own mind is succumbing to the outside personality?” It was both a statement and a question, and Harry could not respond to it.

Ron stirred in his bed.

“Madam Pomfrey!” Percy called out instantly. “Ron’s waking!” Hermione pulled her head away and watched.

The nurse hurried over, carrying two vials of potions in her hands. Bending over Ron, she searched his eyes and then busily shifted his head and uncorked one of the vials. Slowly, she fed it into his mouth. Ron sputtered but then was silent.

“He’s showing good progress, very good,” Madam Pomfrey said to a worried Percy. “He should be fully awake in an hour. He’s recovering quite rapidly.” She once again shifted Ron’s head. “Using an Edward Skinner on a sixteen year old boy. What’s the world coming to?” she muttered under her breath.

“His recovery is that fast, Madam?” said Gates from across the room. Harry had nearly forgotten about the Hit Wizard’s presence. When she nodded he continued, “Almost like he’s…building up a resistance the curse, wouldn’t you say?”

Madam Pomfrey glared at him, thoroughly despising Gates’s presence in the infirmary. “That is possible, but that would require repeated encounters with the curse, which is unlikely for a boy this young.”

Just then, the hospital wing doors flew open and Professor Whams swept in, his silk purple robes gleaming in the bright light. His thick and heavy spectacles bouncing on the bridge of his nose as he walked, wearing a cheerful smile that faded when he saw Ron.

“Poor boy,” Whams said, sounding genuine.

“Is there something you need, professor?”

Whams’s tone did not change. “You are dismissed from your duties for today and tomorrow, or until your brother wakes up. I believe I can manage my classes by myself for a little while,” he said with a weak smile.

“Remember to follow the schedule I gave you,” Percy said without looking up. “And follow the floor plan, as well. I traced the hallways that you need to take to get to each of your classes and to the great hall. I made several copies of your daily lessons, which should be sitting on your desk. And remember to give back the homework that’s been sitting in your top left drawer for the past five weeks.”

Whams nodded, though it was apparent that he did not have the faintest idea of what Percy was talking about.

“You,” Ron muttered accusingly, opening his eyes and pointing a finger at Whams.

Whams looked more perplexed than usual. “Please?”

“Get away,” Ron murmured, eyes squinting and dazed. Then, in a louder voice, “I KNOW YOU. DUMBLEDORE TOLD ME-” His voice faltered, and then his head fell back into his pillow, where he fell back to sleep.

“Perhaps I should come back later,” Whams said. With a short bow, he turned and left.

“This brings back memories from last year,” Hermione said softly. “When Ron was recovering from that brain attack, and from this summer, after Diagon Alley.”

“He’ll be all right,” Harry assured her. Her back was tense and began rubbing it. “He’ll get better,” A thought hit him. “How do we know that he won’t still be possessed when he wakes up? I mean, we can’t be sure, can we?”

Gates looked at him as if he was the world’s biggest idiot. “The mind possession curse rarely fails, but as a precaution, I have checked the map. It shows the name of the conscious, not the entity,” His eyes flitted down to a slight bulge in his pocket. The Marauder’s Map. “If the Weasley was still possessed, his name would not show up on the map. Rather, Dren’s would.” he added, his voice tapering off.

Harry remembered that Gates had called Ron ‘Dren’ back in the Room of Requirement. He heard the name before then, he was sure of it, but where?

Then, it hit him.

Dren was one of the wizards that killed Gates’s parents. Corlov Dren. Dumbledore had told him their names during their discussion. How would Dren have ended up as a brain in the Department of Mysteries?

Dren was the only one Gates killed. He sent it to the ministry to gain a position as an Auror. The ministry must have…kept his body and had given it to the Unspeakables, where they…

The rest was too disgusting to comprehend. What would the ministry need with dead dark wizards? More importantly, what is Gates going to do now that he knows that one of his worst enemies is living inside Ron’s body. Harry remembered the hate Gates had in his eyes when he spat the Edward Skinner Curse.

Looking over to where the Hit Wizard now stood, Harry saw that his face was carefully blank, as though he was fighting an inner battle with himself. On one hand, attacking Ron would be attacking, in his mind, a weak, underage boy, which goes against his strict code of honor. However, Corlov Dren was in Ron’s mind! Harry could only begin to imagine the two thoughts warring against each other.

Madam Pomfrey bustled over again with ice and a bottle. “Sometimes muggle remedies work better than wizarding ones,” she explained, and then placed the ice underneath Ron’s head. “He’s improving.”

But Harry was not listening. His emerald eyes were focused on Gates’s glittering black ones.

(A/N: I think this chapter turned out rather well; loads of information stringed throughout it.

I know this is going to be a FAQ so I’ll answer it now: if Dumblebore knows everyone coming in and out
of the castle, doesn't that mean he would have known about Sirius, Pettigrew, and (possibly) Tom Riddle in
various books?

Answer: No, he wouldn’t of. The wards detect magical artifacts, not people. Sirius and Pettigrew weren’t carrying wands, so they wouldn’t be detected. (And neither would Crouch, for that matter) Tom Riddle in the book would be detected, but it’s merely registered as a magical artifact being carried on the train to Hogwarts; nothing unusual. In other words, whoever came through wasn’t carrying any wards, books, mirrors, or whatever.

Next Chapter: A rather amusing prank leaves Snape angrier than he had ever been in his life; and leads him to do something that he has been promising to do ever since GoF, with some interesting results.)

18. Revelations and Threats

“Oh look,” Ron said, reading over one of Hermione‘s posters. “Looks like we finally have a spew meeting.”

Ron had left the infirmary two days after the accident, his mind and body making a full recovery from the trauma induced by Occlumency and the mind possession curse. While he was now obliged to go to Dumbledore’s office every Thursday. When questioned about the reasons, his expression would become pained and he would say that he would rather not talk about it. Though Harry was alarmed by the fact that Ron would be concealing something, he did not press the issue. After all, he had his own skeletons that he had never shared.

“Indeed we do have a S.P.E.W. meeting, Ron,” chimed in Hermione, sounding pleased. “All the material is ready and I’ve charmed the posters to mark the date and time. That is, today at five o’clock.”

Ron gave Harry an exasperated look, appealing for support, then turned back to Hermione. “Well, we’ve Quidditch practice this evening and we won’t be able to make it.” He gave Harry a discrete nudge with his elbow.

Hermione waved her hand dismissively. “Save it, Ron. I already asked and you never have practice at five o’clock.”

“Err,” stammered Ron, cornered. His eyes flitted towards Harry in a silent plea for help.

Harry arched an eyebrow. “Well, then I guess we can make it then, right?” he said innocently, feigning ignorance. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione flash him a smile.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, now,” drawled Gates, stepping out of the shadows like a wraith. His eyes rested on Hermione, shifted to Harry, and then landed on Ron for the briefest of instants before going back to Harry.

Ever since the Hit Wizard’s discovery that Ron carried the personality of one of his parents’ killers, Corlov Dren, he had avoided speaking to him, looking at him, or even acknowledging his presence. Harry strongly suspected that Professor Whams had something to do with it, as he had seen the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor speaking to Gates in hushed tones in the hospital wing while Ron recovered. It was almost like they were bargaining, as Gates, appearing severely disgruntled, eventually nodded his head and the two men separated.

“What is this inane discussion concerning?” Gates finished, sounding indifferent. Along with Ron’s recovery, the Hit Wizard had also regained his usual arrogance. Harassing Harry was once again becoming a popular pastime to ease his boredom. Other students, who were just beginning to accept Gates’s presence around Harry, veered off as they approached, intimidated by the wizard’s nasty demeanor.

“There’s a club meeting tonight,” Harry said flatly, wanting the exchange to end as soon as possible.

Gates’s weight shifted to his left foot and he eyed Harry critically. “On what exactly? Dueling? Curse breaking? Hex research?”

“Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare,” replied Hermione.

Turning towards her, Gates’s eyes narrowed and he looked at her as one would look at a moldering, filthy rag. “Excuse me?” he said conceitedly, his words so biting that no one could possibly mistake him for being polite.

“The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare,” Hermione repeated in a stronger voice. Harry and Ron exchanged glances. If they ever doubted the lengths Hermione would go to benefit S.P.E.W., this quickly dispelled them.

“And what,” Gates said slowly. “is that?”

“It’s an organization that promotes the advancement of elves in society,” Hermione said briskly. “Our short term aims are to secure fair wages and working conditions, and out long term aims are to change the law about non-wand use and to get an elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”

Gates stared at her, as though he did not know what to make of her. “Why would you need an elf in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?” he said in a carefully even voice.

“Because they don’t have a single representative!” said Hermione. “So can I interest you in a donation?” She drew a tin can from out of her robes and extended it.

Harry watched her with incredulous eyes. If this was not happening directly in front of him, he would never have believed that this was happening. He turned to Ron and mouthed the words: Did she really ask him for a donation?

Ron nodded slowly, unsure of it himself. Hermione’s passion for S.P.E.W. knew no limits.

To Harry’s surprise, it appeared as though Gates was seriously considering it. “You are fully aware that house elves have no interest in wages, correct?”

“Only because they are brainwashed by centuries of control by wizards,” Hermione said crisply.

Gates blinked several times. It was clear that he did not intend to get engaged with S.P.E.W. when he first approached the trio. “Gates manor possesses several house elves on its grounds, and none of them have ever expressed disapproval to the way they were treated.”

“That‘s because they‘re ignorant as to what the world has to offer,” Hermione said brightly.

The Hit Wizard’s expression quickly darkened. “And what do you think the world has to offer?”

“A better life where they can do what they please without having to earn a wizard’s approval.”

Gates snorted. “Idealistic nonsense. A wizard’s home provides them with comfort, security, shelter, and food; things they could not be guaranteed if they lived on their own. House elves exist to be subservient.”

“Very well then,” said Hermione said with a hint of feigned indifference, withdrawing the tin. They left for the great hall, Gates now trailing behind them, as though puzzled at what had just happened.

“You’ve lost your mind,” Ron said, staring at Hermione up and down. “You asked the bastard for a donation of all things.”

“Well,” said Hermione. “It was the perfect opportunity, and S.P.E.W. needs funds, and I’m not picky of where they come from. You can let him intimidate you. He is rather powerless, after all, no matter what he pretends.”

“But- But-” Ron sputtered, trying to find a hole in her logic. “He’s Alexander Gates! The sadistic Hit Wizard! You just- just-” he stopped, unable to formulate the words to describe exactly what Hermione just did.

They entered the great hall and took their seats at the far end of the long table. Since its introduction, the four houses seemed to situate themselves on certain area of the table. The Slytherins would take the extreme right, the Ravenclaws to the left of the Slytherins, the Hufflepuffs next to the Ravenclaws, and finally the Gryffindors on the left end after the Hufflepuffs. Just as they sat down, a thick flurry of owls descended from the ceiling and swarmed over the hall. Harry noticed with a small measure of alarm that many of them were carrying scarlet envelopes: howlers.

“Wonder which poor blokes are getting those,” Ron said absently, pulling every plate of food towards him.

“I’ve never seen so many,” Harry murmured. He remembered the howler Mrs. Weasley had sent Ron in their second year after they crashed a flying car into the Whomping Willow. With morbid interest, he watched the owls’ descent. To his surprise, all of them were heading towards the staff table. The babble of chatter that resonated within the hall died down as everyone else joined in watching the deliveries.

The first of the owls fluttered directly towards Snape’s position at the table, and the Potions master stared at the owl with confusion written on his face, his expression showing disbelief. The owl hesitated, as though momentarily fearful of Snape’s wrath, and then dropped its burden in midair, not even bothering the land. The red envelope fell from the air and collided with his goblet, knocking it over and spilling liquid across the table.

More owls joined in - barn owls, snow owls, screech owls, horned owls - all of them delivering the red envelopes in the same fashion: dropping them like bombs from the air, pelting Snape’s meal and effectively ruining the food. The Potions master leapt backwards, heedless of his chair falling over. With growing shock, he watched as countless other owls delivered the same burdens: solid red howlers. Soon, his place at the table was piled with a small mound of crimson envelopes.

Dumbledore watched curiously from his seat, his eyes twinkling with faint amusement, though only one acquainted with his facial expressions would know it. Several of the other professors wore similar expressions, though Whams seemed to be unaware of the whole occurrence. He was currently reaching blindly under his seat for his lost spectacles.

“Fred and George,” Ron said in an awed voice. “I know it’s them. I owled them about Snape giving you all those detentions, and, well, they wanted to help out their former team Seeker. But don‘t worry, they were planning this for awhile. The detentions only gave them an excuse to go through with it,” He grinned. “They’ve must have sent him at least fifty howlers!”

When the last owl delivered its howler, Snape tentatively stepped towards the small mountain of red envelopes, as though afraid that they would suddenly explode. Smoke and steam began curling up from the pile, and if the Potions master did not open them soon, they would open by themselves. He reached out and the howlers simultaneously burst open, thick black smoke billowing out from each one, and the loud, mocking voice of Fred erupting from them all in chorus. Snape went deathly white.

“PROFESSOR SNIVELLUS SNAPE!” Fred shouted. “YOU’VE BEEN WORKING AS A HOGWARTS POTION MASTER FOR SIXTEEN YEARS YET YOU STILL CAN’T BREW A SINGLE BOTTLE OF SOAP; OR EVEN SOMETHING TO COVER UP THAT HIDEOUS SMELL.”

The letter paused, letting the entire great hall burst out with laughter. Even some of the Slytherins laughed, though they made sure to carefully hide behind their textbooks as they did so.

“WITH THE AMOUNT OF GREASE YOU HAVE IN YOUR HAIR,” Fred continued in an even louder and mocking voice. “YOU COULD EASILY USE SOME TO FRY UP SOME SAUSAGE, OR EVEN SMEAR A SMALL AMOUNT ONTO THE HINGES OF THE DUNGEON DOORS WHICH HAVE BEEN SQUEAKING FOR THE PAST HUNDRED YEARS! PLEASE DO THE SCHOOL A FAVOR AND EITHER DOUBLE AS A SOURCE OF COOKING GREASE FOR THE SCHOOL KITCHENS OR WASH YOUR HAIR! AND TO EVERYONE ELSE IN HOGWARTS: VISIT THE WEASLEY’S WIZARDING WHEEZES AT DIAGON ALLEY AND WE‘LL DISCOUNT ANYTHING YOU BUY UNDER THE SAME TERMS AS UMBRIDGE; PROVIDED YOU USE IT AGAINST THIS SLIMEY GIT, OF COURSE!”

You’re finished, Potter, said Pseudo-Snape.

The letter burned and shriveled into ash, leaving a terrifying silence in its wake. The laugher was long gone, and Snape looked positively murderous. The Potions master’s eyes went straight to Harry, and he did not need to be proficient at Legilimency to know what Snape was thinking.

“This is going to be bad,” Harry said apprehensively.

“I can’t believe they did that!” hissed Hermione. “That was a teacher.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that?” Ron asked, the grin on his face very broad. “I mean, it’s Snape.”

Snape stood up and stalked out of the great hall, looking fit to kill. He glared at whoever so much as glanced in his direction, and his eyes were particularly fixed on Harry. Suddenly, Harry found himself dreading tonight’s detention in the dungeons.

The next few hours passed by slowly, and soon, rumors began to circulate around the school that Snape was handing out a record amount of detentions. Students muttered ‘Snivellus’ under their breath as they passed by the dungeon classroom, or disguised it with a cough. Livid, Snape assigned lines or detention to anyone who even smiled in his presence. After managing to cram his schedule full of so many detentions that he could not possibly assign any more, he deducted ridiculous amounts of house points for minor offenses, such as laughing in the halls or whispering. When Harry next saw the hourglasses, nearly every house (Slytherin included) had lost at least a fourth of its total points.

In turn, the other professors were all too eager to replenish the house points Snape took away by giving out more rewards, even to students outside of their respective houses. Professor McGonagall awarded Ron twenty points for finally managing to transfigure his desk into a pig, and Professor Flitwick gave fifteen points to Hufflepuff for staying awake during a lecture. Every professor seemed bent on counteracting Snape’s unbridled wrath, and an unofficial war was being waged across Hogwarts.

Snape’s vindictiveness extended beyond detentions and house points, however. Within ten minutes of class, the Potions master vanished the contents in Harry’s cauldron without saying a word. He went along and did the same to a few Ravenclaws and a Hufflepuff, and for the last person Harry was sure that Snape did not even look into the cauldron. During Potions, Gates wore an obvious smirk and watched Snape carefully the entire period, his eyes never wavering from their target.

“The Weasley’s are right,” Gates had said sleekly. “You do smell like a cauldron, Severus.”

Snape pretended not to have heard and proceeded to take thirty points from Gryffindor for no reason at all. The Potions master’s eyes rested on Harry for a moment, and a vindictive grin spread across his face, as if to say: Just wait. I know you were behind it.

Needless to say, Harry was relieved when the last class of the day ended and they headed to the empty classroom in which the S.P.E.W. meeting was going to be held.

“And Harry,” Hermione said as they traipsed through the corridors to the distant room. “I looked through the library on Occlumency related ailments, or anything regarding alternate magical personalities, and, well, they were all gone.”

“Gone?” Harry asked almost incredulously. “You mean checked out?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, all of them. Granted, there weren’t that many to begin with, but someone has apparently taken an interest, because they’re all in circulation.”

Harry pondered this as they continued, and, at length, they came to a musty room with ancient wooden door.

Gates took one look inside and then stepped out again. “I’ll wait here. I hope you can survive for an hour without causing some disaster, Potter.”

“Well, here we are,” Hermione said when they entered. Harry could see instantly why Gates preferred to stay outside. The air was stale and unused, as if the room had been closed off for the past five centuries.

Hermione drew the tin can again and placed it next to the door. “It’s not much, but I think we can work with it.” She strode over to the corner of the room and unloaded a bag that was there, apparently full of yarn and other knitting supplies.

“Erm, Hermione?” Ron asked indecisively, looking at the tin can by the door. “Aren’t you supposed to be holding the can so you can shove it under everybody’s nose?”

Hermione glared at him. “I don’t shove it under anybody’s nose, Ron,” she said irritably. “I decided to place it next to the door so people can place money in it discretely when they leave. I think I was too direct before.” she added as an afterthought.

“That’s an understatement,” Ron muttered.

“Well, well, I wouldn’t have believed it unless I saw it with my own eyes,” drawled Malfoy, sauntering through the door and peering disinterestedly at the dusty classroom. A wide, condescending smirk played on his lips. “And here I thought that those stupid posters - which have been ripped down off the walls in the Slytherin wing, by the way - were misfiring. You three are seriously going through with this?”

“Get out Malfoy,” said Harry forcefully.

Draco wore a face of pure innocence. “I’m just taking a look, that’s all. Just seeing what nonsense the mudblood is up to now. So starting up a, erm, club to free the house elves, are you?” he added, turning his gray eyes toward Hermione.

“Yes I am,” Hermione said evenly, eyeing Harry, subtly telling him to stand back. “Why? Are you trying to get back the one you lost four years ago?”

Malfoy flushed. “Oh, well, I suppose you can have him. What was his name? Oh, right, Dobby. There’s plenty more where he came from. Ever since that elf left, the other ones had to take up his duty of polishing the third floor galleon vault. All that gold never shone as brightly as when he did it, though,” he sighed nostalgically. He rounded on Ron. “I think Donna had to take his place. Do you remember Donna, Weasley? Oh, wait, that was when the Weasleys had a bit of money, so you wouldn’t know.”

Harry and Hermione looked at Ron questionably.

“I’d rather not have loads of gold than be inbred, Malfoy,” Ron retorted.

Malfoy shook his head and smirked. “If you say so, Weasley,” He turned back to Hermione. “Anyway, the Malfoy family always helps those who are less fortunate, and when I owled my mother about how the school mudblood was starting a club to free house elves, she asked me to donate, and, well, here.” Draco drew a handful of knuts, sickles, and galleons and tossed them carelessly onto the floor. Drawing his wand, he waved it and covered the coins in a thick pool of muck.

“Whoops,” Malfoy said in a bored tone. “I hope the mud won’t be a problem. Then again,” His eyes flashed at Hermione. “That shouldn’t be a problem for some of you. I’d hurry up and pick them up, Granger, before Weasley goes and steals them to buy himself new robes.” Ron’s ears turned a unique shade of red.

He’s baiting you, Potter, Pseudo-Snape said.

Harry stared at Hermione, waiting for her to give him a signal to go ahead and hex Malfoy into oblivion. To his surprise, it never came.

“Waiting for the wife’s permission, Potter?” mocked Draco, pausing to spit into the pool of mud near his feet. “I can’t wait around any long, though, so unless you grow some in the next five seconds, you’ll miss your chance.”

That was the last straw. Whipping his wand out from his robes, Harry snapped “Waddiwasi!” at the pool of mud, and hoped to achieve the effect he was planning. The muck flew up and splashed Malfoy along the front of his robes, causing the Slytherin to recoil in disgust.

Draco’s expression turning into a feral snarl, he drew his own wand and the two were prepared to duel when a commanding voice shouted “Enough!”

Malfoy whirled to find himself face to face with Gates. His expression quickly transforming into one of fear, he stepped back, almost slipping in the slippery puddle of mud. Gates advanced upon him, a dangerous look coming onto his face. He had been watching the entire encounter through the open doorway.

“You will not attack Potter in my presence,” said Gates smoothly, his hand casually coming down to where he kept his wand. Malfoy’s face went very white. “I am obliged to keep the boy alive, preferably without injury. And he will suffer no injuries by anyone, especially from a Death Eater’s bastard son.”

Malfoy seemed unsure whether to sneer or flee.

“Oh, yes,” Gates continued, now thoroughly enjoying this. “You were conceived out of wedlock, Draco. How does it feel to be an heir of convenience?”

From the way Malfoy’s fists clenched and unclenched, this was a dire insult. “Watch yourself Gates. The Malfoys know all about you,” He smirked. “I even heard your mother was a half-blood. Is that true? Katashi told me she screamed like a muggle when Katashi performed Cru-”

Gates’s wand was out so fast that it was practically a blur. Before Malfoy could even react, he dropped his wand and his body was thrown and pinned against the wall with such force that he cried out in pain. Stricken, he stared at his attacker, his face the manifestation of terror.

The Hit Wizard panted heavily, as though doing this cost him great exertion. “When you are of age,” said Gates in a dangerous voice. “I will come for you.” His wand snapped backwards and Malfoy fell from the wall, crashing roughly onto the ground. He quickly snatched his wand and scampered out of the room, stumbling in his haste, his slick blond hair tousled and disheveled.

Gates followed him out into the hall and vanished, the door slamming heavily behind him.

“Stupid git,” Ron snarled. “If it wasn’t for the upcoming Dueling Tournament, I would have cursed him into next week. But why bother when I can do it without getting in trouble a month from now?”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione drew her wand and vanished the muck Draco left on the floor, everything vanishing; including the coins. “I don’t want anything from him,” she said simply, and returned to unpacking her knitting supplies.

“Didn’t she just tell us not to be picky about where to get donations?” Ron asked in a disbelieving voice. Harry shrugged. When Hermione went into S.P.E.W. mode, it was better just to leave her to it.

A steady stream of students began to flow in, consisting of a total of sixteen Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Gryffindors. Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood were the only ones Harry recognized from the group, and it soon became clear that they had only come because of a whim, or simply out of boredom, as was the case of three second years near the back. Seeming pleased with the turnout, Hermione immediately began dividing out the material into separate piles.

“So what’s this about?” whispered Neville, who sounded anxious. “She just came up to me and told me to sign.”

Harry looked at him for the briefest of moments, then said: “It’s the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare.”

A look of understanding lit up Neville’s face. “Oooh, that’s what she was talking about.” he said, and then lapsed into silence as Hermione came to the front.

“So here we are,” Hermione said albeit briskly, sounding more than a little nervous. “This is club S.P.E.W., and it’s mission is to increase the status of house elves in wizarding society.” She picked up a rolled up poster, unfurled it, and stuck it to the wall using a sticking charm. On it was listed each of the goals of S.P.E.W.

“Under short term goals,” she continued, pointing at the poster. All of the goals listed under the ‘short term’ category were instantly highlighted. “we want to have house elves earning fair wages in acceptable working conditions, and for the long term,” She directed her wand again with the same effect. “we want to eventually alter the law concerning elfish non-wand use. Also, we want to get an elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Questions?”

One student raised her hand. “If house elves wanted to be free couldn’t they just rebel?”

“House elves can’t rebel,” Hermione said, as if expecting this question. “That’s the reason they’re so popular among pure blood families. Once an elf is bonded to a master, it can’t attack any wizard at all, even in self defense.”

Everyone in the room was looking slightly dazed. A third year in the front had her mouth agape, while the second years in the back appeared perplexed. Sounding disconcerted, she continued on, her voice beginning to tremble. Harry locked eyes with her, trying to induce confidence.

“As a club, we are going to make occasional trips to the kitchens to visit the house elves and to observe and log their treatment within Hogwarts.”

“We’re going to see house elves?” a first year piped up.

“So far,” continued Hermione, not hearing the student’s statement. “I’ve noticed a distinct lack of social integration between the house elves. They only rarely speak with each other, and when they do, it’s only on professional matters, not personal ones. They are so absorbed in their work they never learn each others’ names, and they don’t notice the coming and going of their coworkers. Dobby, one of the house elves, once told me that one of his partners accidentally trapped himself in a closet on the seventh floor, and no one noticed. He was living off of whatever little food was stored in there until a professor stumbled in on him. He even had to boil his own hands in water for eating food that belonged to the school!” she finished indignantly.

Suddenly, the stone wall behind her silently slid open and, to Harry’s surprise, Dobby bounded through, carrying a rather large package and setting it on the ground. He bowed deeply. The first years watched him with odd fascination, some standing up to get a better view.

“Hello Dobby,” Hermione said cheerfully. “Did everything come in through owl order?”

“Yes, miss!” Dobby said from under a wavering tower of knitted hates. Harry noticed that he was now wearing a thick green sweater that he was sure was the same one Hermione was knitting a few weeks ago. “Dobby is pleased to deliver this to young miss, and is also pleased to be in master Harry Potter‘s presence!”

Bowing once again, he turned and stroked the stone wall that he had come through with his finger in a way that reminded Harry of the goblins at Gringotts. Griphook, the goblin in question, had used his finger to open up a secure vault that could only be opened by goblins at Gringotts.

“That was Dobby,” Hermione said, once again turning her attention to the students gathered in front of her. “He’s the only elf in Hogwarts that accepts pay and wears clothes. While it is definitely a start, we still have a long way to go. Dobby proves that house elves can be converted into accepting payment for their services.”

“But what if they don’t want to be paid?” asked a third year curiously.

Hermione looked at her, startled, as though the answer to the question was obvious. “Well of course they want to be paid! They just don’t know it yet. They’ve been brainwashed by centuries of custom and tradition that makes them think bondage is acceptable!”

“So, err, what’re we going to do to free them?”

“Knit them clothes!” Hermione said eagerly, gesturing to the piles of yarn and needles. “The more clothes we knit, the more elves we can free.”

“Hermione,” Harry said in a hushed voice for her ears alone. He was sitting in the front. “Dobby has been taking all the clothes you hide.”

“That’s solved easily enough,” said Hermione logically. “We’ll hide them in different places and ask Dobby to only take some of them.”

A deafening silence greeted this solution, and it was clear that several of the club members thought Hermione was mad. Ron stared at her as if she grew a third arm, and then nodded to everyone nearby, letting them know that she was, indeed, mental. Harry tried to silently reassure her but failed.

Looking uncertain once more, she said. “So you can come up and get your knitting supplies, I guess,” she squeaked, becoming more and more nervous.

Harry instantly got to his feet and subtly glanced in Ron’s direction to let the redhead know he was obliged to follow suit. No one else moved to stand up, but stared at Hermione with blank expressions. Granted, Harry would not have guessed that knitting would be a part of club S.P.E.W. either, but Hermione’s confidence was diminishing quickly, wilting underneath the surprised gazes of her peers.

Ron muttered “Harry-” but caught on a second later. Hermione, fumbling slightly, handed them each a small kit of supplies and beamed at them as they sat back down. Soon, the rest of the club followed their example and awkwardly accepted the material, the boys looking positively confounded as to how they were going to work with, as they put it, ‘two needles and a bit of string’.

Casually glancing towards the door, Harry found that it was open, giving a clear view of the outside hall. Standing directly across the corridor, pointedly within easy sight, was Gates, distractedly flipping through a battered book that Harry instantly recognized as his photo album. Occasionally, the Hit Wizard would stroke the photos with his wand, and then grin and turn the page, sometimes looking up to catch Harry‘s eye. Despite the distance, Gates’s actions could not be any more obvious. He was defacing the pictures, one by one. Something within his bowels churned furiously.

Hermione, seeing that puzzled looks on everyones’ faces, came around the room and showed them the basics of knitting, usually advising the beginners with socks or hates, and slowly moving up to sweaters. To the most desperate cases, she would show them how to use charms to aid their progress, though she reminded everyone that spells would only take them so far.

By the end of the meeting, nearly everyone held a shapeless form of clumped yarn, stray ends poking out from them and unsuitable for all practical purposes excluding fuel for the common room fire. Neville had cut himself several times with the ends of the needles. Slightly crestfallen, Hermione told them to take the material with them and work on it over the weekend. Ron stared at her incredulously, and, when she finally dismissed them, could not get out of the room fast enough.

While Hermione placed stray supplies back into a large, cloth bag, Harry discretely snuck over and peered into the donation tin by the door. As he suspected, there were a mere two knuts resting at the bottom, the bronze metal shining forlornly against the steel. Clearly, no one had much real interest in S.P.E.W. Making sure Hermione was not looking, he subtly drew a handful of sickles, knuts, and a few galleons and carefully placed them into the can, trying to make no noise in the process. He had planned for this particular predicament beforehand, and brought money to cover his donation and the others’. Harry knew that if she found out, she would most likely reject such a large donation, but that did not stop him. She had spent most of her money on material for the club, and was probably depending on those funds to continue her club. He was not deceiving her, was he?

Of course you are, Potter, said Pseudo-Snape. But that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?

Not maliciously, he answered, and Pseudo-Snape did not respond.

Pushing those thoughts from his mind, he tentatively approached her. Her back was facing towards him, and her arms were crossed as though debating something.

“Hermione?” he said softly.

She turned around and smiled a brittle smile. “Hi Harry, how do you think the meeting went? Bad? Terrible? Horrible?” she tried to chuckle weakly and failed.

“It went how all first meetings go,” Harry said reassuringly. She wrapped her arms around him in a hug and his first thought was that this was hurting her more than he originally suspected. “Remember when we first started the D.A. in the Hog’s Head? That didn’t go too well at first, either.”

“They hated it though,” Hermione said. “Did you see the way they looked at me? It was awful.”

Harry had never known for Hermione to be upset over other peoples’ opinions before, and he wondered what had changed. It came to him, though, that she was not worried about what they thought about her, but what they thought about her idea with club S.P.E.W. She was not used to her plans being rejected so offhandedly.

“They’ll see,” Harry said. “That’s what the club is all about, right? Informing people about the plight of house elves.” he added with a hint of logic that surprised him. He gently kissed the top of her neck and separated, his eyes locking with hers.

“So you think they will come around?” asked Hermione, her eyes shining.

“Positive,” Harry said instantly. “They wouldn’t have signed up for the club if they didn’t have some interest.” He really, really hoped he was right with that presumption. “Well, except for Ron.” he added. They both laughed; genuinely this time.

“To him it will always be spew,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Then you’re okay?” Harry asked seriously.

“Of course,” Hermione said, and stood on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the lips. He kissed her back, again, thoroughly enjoying the few moments of private time that they managed to acquire.

Just then, Gates strode in and Harry’s head snapped in his direction.

“I hate to interrupt,” Gates drawled. “But you have Occlumency with Severus, Potter, and I suggest you leave now so you will not be late. I won’t remind you again: I’m a guard, not a babysitter.”

Ignoring him, Harry smiled rather fragilely at Hermione, and then turned and went with Gates to the dungeons, his walk noticeably stiffer. He could not help but remember how carelessly Gates had marred his album, and cold rage flared within him.

“Potter,” said Gates with a nasty sleekness. Harry’s attention peaked. This was usually a prelude something especially sinister. “I could not help but notice your…attachment to the Granger girl.”

“Yes?” Harry said evenly, knowing there could be no denying it. The Hit Wizard had seen them several times before.

“And I don’t think you realize how easily I could make your life a literal hell,” Gates said with the indifference of someone talking about the weather.

“Is there a point you are coming to?” Harry said, seething. He knew all too well the point the Hit Wizard was going to make, and it, if possible, made him hate Gates even more.

Gates looked at him easily from the corner of his eye, a smirk growing on his face. “You wish to keep this relationship secret, do you not? Wise idea, especially with your numerous enemies,” he said. “I understand that you do not wish the Dark Lord to uncover this…affair, as it will add a rather attractive target to his list, would it not? Yes, Potter, I know how the Dark Lord wishes you dead. You have foiled in far too many times for him to disregard you, and you have now earned his wrath.”

Harry struggled to control his warring anger. That bastard better not be implying what I think he’s implying.

“So,” Gates continued, his voice slowly growing tendrils of vindictiveness. “If you want your personal life to remain…personal…you will do as I say. I fear that your little album is not longer enough incentive, so if you so much as step out of line, I will break you three apart as easily as I broke Dolohov‘s spine.”

That man has a mindset of a Gryffindor and the morals of a Slytherin, Pseudo-Snape said. The most dangerous kind.

Logic clicked through Harry’s brain, leading him to disturbing conclusion. Gates realized that he was eventually going to run out of pages to burn, and he would need an alternate source of control, should additional control become necessary. This, of course, had become Hermione, and there was nothing he could do about it. If he went to Dumbledore about it, he might as well burn his family photo album himself and then owl Voldemort everything Hermione, because any intervention on the headmaster’s part would only lead to retribution from Gates.

“Are you threatening her?” asked Harry in a tenaciously low voice. If he understood Gates’s threat correctly, then the Hit Wizard had just said that he would somehow contact Voldemort and inform the Dark Lord of Harry and Hermione’s relationship. It was a vague, low-key, and barely evident insinuation, but it was still there.

Gates paused, then slowly regarded him. “Why yes, I do believe I am.”

Harry had his wand out so fast that he could only see it in one, blurred motion. But Gates, whose vast experience yielded him quicker reflexes, whipped out his ebony wand even faster, bringing it out with one swift jerk and slapping the wand out of Harry’s hand, sending it spinning down the hallway. Smirking, Gates withdrew his wand.

“You need to work on your wand movements, Potter,” Gates drawled. “A Death Eater isn’t going to stand around and wait for you to bring your wand out. He could curse you two different ways in the time it takes you just to reach into your pockets.”

Glaring, Harry marched over and reached down to pick his wand off the floor. When his fingertips touched the wood, it skid out from under him, and Harry looked up to see Gates grinning widely, flicking his wand like it was a fishing rod. Hate flared up in his chest, and he envisioned Gates himself being thrown down the corridor like a rag doll. Of course, no such thing happened.

Harry went over and this time snatched up his wand in one motion, thrusting it into his robes and starting the descent down into the dungeons.

They were greeted by a strong gust of reeking air, the draft flowing through some invisible hole further down the unlit section of corridor. The stone walls seemed to groan and creak, setting up a forbidding aura. Ever since his first year, there had been rumors that the dungeons were enchanted to reflect Snape’s mood, and he never believed it until now, feeling chilled in the cold, dark stone hallway. Something scurried within the walls, a faint growl escaped from under the thin crack of a hinged steel door that appeared to be rusted shut. If Harry had not known better, he would say that this was a Grendel’s lair.

Coming at last to Snape’s office, Harry knocked twice and wrenched the door open, his first sight being a rather calculating Snape sitting behind his desk, his fingers steepled together. His expression was terrifyingly cold, and when he looked up at Harry, it could only be described as disturbing. When the door closed, his face transformed into a sneer and he motioned Harry to sit. Gates, as usual, waited outside.

“Well, I daresay it’s Potter. Tell me, did you bring your books?” Snape said softly.

Harry looked down at the bag at his feet then returned his gaze, deciding that his meaning was clear. He noticed subtly that the book Confessions of a Dark Wizard: The Pravus Necklace sitting on the corner of his desk.

So he didn’t pack it away, Harry thought.

“Good,” said Snape. “You won’t be using them. I have far more important duties for you,” He strode over to his shelf and pulled down a massive storage box. “My third years fouled up their potions so badly that the liquid has quite literally turned to rock. I want you to clean every last one of my flasks, Potter. We can’t go around wasting them.”

Harry severely doubted that throwing away a few flasks would put a dent in Snape’s extensive collection, but he said nothing. There was no point in provoking the Potions master’s wrath. Wordlessly he grabbed the bucket from the corner and began scrubbing away at the concrete-like grit that clung stubbornly onto the fragile glass sides of the flasks.

He wanted to get out of there. Gates’s threat was still fresh in his mind, and Haryy knew that he could not allow that. The Hit Wizard could insult, taunt, or otherwise provoke Harry all he wants, but he was not going to allow him to threaten Hermione

“You’re becoming a natural, Potter,” Snape said tauntingly, watching him chip away a particularly resistant piece of stone. It was not a compliment. “Have you considered pursuing a career in that field? I daresay I could use someone with your kind of talent.”

Harry could imagine Snape enjoying nothing more than having the opportunity of endlessly berate him over the grime that caked the sides of jars, bottles, and various glassware for the rest of both their lives.

“I asked you something Potter, now answer.”

Harry, not daring to look up, said: “I figure I could come back and teach Defense Against the Dark Arts,” he said with a concealed grin. “Becoming rather attached the place, you know?” He could almost feel the heat radiating off of Snape’s body at the mention of his long-coveted position going to his arch nemesis.

“That’s an interesting dream, Potter,” Snape said, then went back to his desk. “Unlike your other dreams, however, this one has no basis with reality.”

After a back-breaking hour of scrubbing flasks, Harry looked up and saw that Snape had not moved. He was not sure of the time, but he was positive that it must be getting late.

“Is there something you need Potter?” asked Snape contemptuously.

“I think I might’ve missed dinner,” Harry said.

A small, minute smirk tugged at his lips. “I think you’re right,” Snape said with feigned surprise. “I suppose I accidentally forgot to dismiss you for your meal. Pity…” He went back to failing essays.

He went back to work, his neck becoming cramped and stiff. Looking up to stretch it, he saw the rows of dead creatures suspended in their individual jars of liquid, and he wondered vaguely whether the Potions master actually used them for brewing, or whether he simply thought they added to the décor. One of the worms twitched in its pool of vile potion, and then had a spasm and went limp. After another minute, it came to life again, animatedly repeating the death process.

What the hell? Harry almost said aloud.

One of my finer experiments, Pseudo-Snape said casually. It’s a draught of resurrection. Necromancy. Strictly controlled, of course, but I’ve only managed to brew it once. Ridiculously difficult, and the ingredients are worth more than some of those trinkets you broke in Albus’s office. How many merchants do you know that sell Basilisk poison?

“Something interesting, Potter?” real-life Snape said softly. Harry rubbed the crick out of his neck and bent down once again.

When Harry started on the last batch of flasks, Snape got up from his desk, and, after making sure his cupboard was securely locked, left the office, undoubtedly to retrieve more bottles for him to clean. Seizing the chance, Harry stood up, stretching his aching knees, and walked around the room, gazing absently at the various objects lining the shelves. His shoulders begged for rest, but he could provide none. Remembering the book he had seen earlier on Snape’s desk, he swiftly went over and flipped it open. He sneezed from the smell emanating from it.

At first glance, it appeared to be an unabridged textbook regarding the Pravus necklace. However, he found that several sections had pages missing, and in one instance an entire chapter was gone. Harry reexamined it and found that many of the pages were attached to the spine by hand, as though they too were torn out previously and then replaced. Knowing that Snape would be back any minute, and that it would be best not to be caught leafing through an exceptionally ancient book, Harry went back to the case of flasks and sat down.

It was a good thing that he did, as not more than a second passed before Snape once again swooped back into his office, this time carrying a tray of food, rather than a dusty box as Harry had been expecting. He set it indifferently on the chair and went back to his desk, not even bothering to look at Harry.

For several minutes neither of them said a word, Harry not daring to hope that that food was intended for him. His stomach growled hungrily, and he was reminded that he had not eaten since lunch, and that was probably eight hours ago.

Timidly, he stood up and approached the tray of food. It was a bland ham sandwich with a side of applesauce, and a goblet of pumpkin juice for a beverage. Not imaginative, but in Harry’s eyes, it was a feast. He took another step forward, and Snape did not move.

“It would not do well for you to starve on my watch, Potter,” Snape said without turning his eyes away from the essays. “Eat. I assure you I have not laced it with poison, though I was terribly tempted.”

That was all the encouragement Harry need. He snatched the tray and backed away from the chair, almost afraid that Snape would change his mind. Once it became clear that he would not, Harry picked up the ham sandwich, hesitated, and then checked for tampering. Deeming it free of any harmful solutions, he took a large bite of it and swallowed, watching for Snape’s reaction.

The Potions master flipped over one of the essays, scrawling a large ‘D’ at the bottom.

Taking this as a good omen, Harry finished what was left on the tray, shoveling the applesauce into his mouth in a Ron-like fashion, barely stopping to breath. At length, Snape looked up at him, disgust on his face.

“I have seen Voracious Wyrms with more couth eating habits than you, Potter,” he said disdainfully. Harry easily ignored him.

Harry lifted the goblet and washed it all down in one swift gulp, feeling much more contented than he was ten minutes ago. Whatever had brought about this new, benevolent side of Snape, Harry had no idea, but Pseudo-Snape warned him that it was too good to be true. Harry subconsciously agreed. Suddenly, a strange, alien feeling crept up in his abdomen, and for a moment he was unsteady on his feet.

Setting down the goblet, Harry placed the tray back onto the seat and then turned to resume scrubbing the remaining flasks. Before he did so, however, he caught the sight of an evil sneer working its way on Snape’s face, and my spine instantly turned to ice. That sneer told Harry only one thing: Run.

“Silencio! Colloportus!” said Snape softly, and his office door sealed itself with a squelching sound. “Now sit down in the chair, Potter, me and you are going to have a long…chat.” he grinned and rose from his seat like a vampire, rubbing his long pale hands together menacingly.

Almost knocking over the chair and tray, Harry backed away, his eyes darting around the room as he frantically searched for an exit. Trapped. The odd sensation that he experienced when he drank his pumpkin juice surfaced in his mind, and he came to a single, terrible conclusion: The Potions master had spiked his beverage. He did not know what specific potion Snape had put into his drink, but he was sure that it was something malevolent. It could be poison…or worse…Veritaserum. He was overcome with an instinctive urge to flee.

“I said sit down, Potter,” repeated Snape, pointing at the chair by his desk with his wand. The sneer had become more pronounced than ever.

“You-” Harry fumbled for words. “You poisoned me!” he accused.

Snape tilted his head in an expression of amusement. “No, I did no such thing. I assured you that I did not place poison into your food, did I not? Are you calling me a liar?”

Harry nodded his head without even realizing it. His instant and irresistible response confirmed his suspicions: He was under the absolute influence of Veritaserum, and he knew enough about Potions to know that there was no way to subvert its effects.

“I’m most disappointed you don’t put more faith in me, Potter,” Snape said, smirking. “Veritaserum is a drug, not a poison. But I suppose such a fine distinction is beyond your capabilities, isn‘t it?”

Harry shook his head.

“Those delusions will be rectified,” said Snape scornfully, obviously disliking Harry’s response. “I have wanted to do this for a long time, Potter. I even made up a list of questions I would ask you during the…interrogation. There have been so many strange occurrences that I have believed your person to be involved with, and, I’m afraid, I’ve succumbed to temptation since this morning‘s little prank. Where shall I begin?”

Snape strode over to his desk, yanked open a drawer, and drew a pale sheet of parchment. He reviewed it briefly, his grin becoming wider by the moment. Anticipation dripped off of him.

“Let’s see,” said Snape softly. “How involved were you with this morning’s joke with the howlers?”

The Veritaserum answered through Harry’s mouth. “I was not involved at all.”

Snape blinked…once…twice, and then curled his lip back. “So be it,” he sneered. “Did you use the Narro Charm, or any other spell for that matter, on my classroom’s front board?”

“No.”

A slight hiss escaped from Snape’s lips, and he spoke in a quicker voice, as if on a time limit. “Did you steal gillyweed from my private stores in your fourth year during the Triwizard Tournament?”

“No,” Harry replied truthfully. In fact, it was not him. It was actually Dobby, but Harry responded strictly within the question’s parameters.

“Did you steal the Boomslang Skin from my private stores in your second year?” Snape demanded, his anger and impatience growing, causing him to speak faster and faster. Harry could not understand why. Shouldn’t Snape be slightly mollified by the fact that he was not the culprit?

“No.”

“You’re lying Potter,” Snape spat, his face whitening with rage.

Harry wanted to shout. “You’re the one who put me on Veritaserum.”

Harry swore that Snape almost growled. “How many of your friends did you tell about the contents of the pensieve that you looked into during Occlumency last year?” he snapped furiously. “Hurry up and answer Potter.”

“I didn’t tell anyone sir!” Harry countered. While the Veritaserum made it impossible for him to lie, it did not make him groggy, and it certainly did not stop him from adding: “I didn’t do any of that!”

Snape’s hands trembled with rage as he glared at Harry, the fragile parchment tearing down the middle as his fingernails dug into the paper. The tips of his teeth were just barely visible underneath his curling lips, and his eyes were rapidly darkening, the pupils dilating. It was like Harry was watching Snape transform into a gigantic bat.

Snape’s face turned into the literal expression of a snarl. “What did you take from my storerooms when you broke into them?” Snape said so softly that it was frightening.

Harry was genuinely bewildered. “I was never in your storerooms except for detention!” Every one of Snape’s long held beliefs and prejudices were flying out the window, leaving Harry with a satisfying taste of justification.

“Did you cheat on your Potion O.W.L. exam?” Snape continued in a louder voice. He looked ready to hit something. “How did you brew the Wolfsbane Potion?” he snapped. He clutched the paper in his fists as if it was his life.

“I followed your instructions,” Harry said, letting the words play with themselves. In essence, he did follow Snape’s instructions; the directions on the wall and the directions in his head. Right?

“How much money did you place on that duel between me and Alex?” Snape demanded, tearing the parchment fully in half and throwing it furiously onto the stone floor. “HOW MUCH?”

“I DIDN’T BET ANYTHING!” shouted Harry, desperately wanting to hit Snape or shake him. From the silencing charm Snape had placed on the office door earlier, Gates did not hear a thing.

“GET OUT OF MY OFFICE!” Snape snarled through his bared teeth, kicking over a simmering cauldron in his anger. “GET OUT AND DON’T YOU DARE COME BACK!”

The abrupt burst of rage surprised Harry so much that he actually stepped backwards a pace, but then quickly recovered his ground. “THEN LET ME OUT!”

“ALOHOMORA!” bellowed Snape, displaying some rare wandless magic as the door had suddenly clicked open. “OUT!” He snatched a jar full of vile green potion off a nearby shelf and heaved it at the wall directly behind Harry, the glass shattering into a thousand glittering fragments and a light spray of liquid wetting their robes.

Harry did not need to be told twice. He whirled and wrenched open the door, but not before he realized that he was missing his books. “I need my books,” Harry snapped, reigning in his anger and striding over to grab his bag.

A terrifyingly dangerous expression crossed Snape’s face and he violently waved his hands in the air, almost like he was tossing an exceptionally heavy case. On command, Harry’s bag leapt up and shot through the air and through the doorway, landing some meters down the corridor. The bottom split and his books sprawled out across the stone floor.

“DON’T LET ME EVER SEE YOUR FACE IN THESE DUNGEONS AGAIN!” Snape roared and thrust his hand into his robes as if looking for his wand. Harry dashed out the door and slammed it shut with a metallic clang, his chest heaving from the incredibly violent encounter with the Potions master. It was the worst he ever had.

“Something wrong, Potter?” Gates asked, faint amusement on his voice. Evidently he did not regard one of Snape’s rages as mortally threatening…at least not now.

Harry stalked up the steps returned to the Gryffindor common room, still fuming. He went over to the couch, fell down into it, and stared into the fire, his thoughts concentrated on the detention that he had just had with Snape.

Why did Snape explode like that? Harry asked rhetorically. He should have known that he would receive a response.

Because you just shattered my real-life self’s illusions, Potter.

And I suppose you would know all about that, seeing as your just a voice in my head, Harry replied bitterly.

Pseudo-Snape answered: No; just a weak personality that has been warped around in that brain of yours.

Before Harry could respond, he felt someone sit down next to him and turned to see that it was Hermione.

“That bad?” she asked, biting her lip.

Harry remembered the sly threat Gates had made regarding her and he felt fresh anger returning. But of course, she was not referring to the Hit Wizard, but the detention.

“The worst I’ve ever had, actually,” Harry said, sighing, not really caring about the detention at the moment. What was he going to do about Gates?

“He kicked you out again, didn’t he?”

Harry looked at her. “How did you know that?”

“You returned three hours earlier than you usually do. That and a few first years came running up here claiming they heard a Grendel roaring in the dungeons.” she answered, her warm brown eyes locking with his, probing for what happened. Harry knew instantly that he might as well tell her about the entire fiasco.

“Harry-” Hermione said when he finished, her voice trembling. “Harry that’s illegal what he did,” she sounded positively horrified. “He used Veritaserum? Are you- are you sure? Harry, that’s illegal.”

“Yeah and he interrogated me on everything he ever suspected me of doing since my first year,” Harry said with a little fake laugh. “He really hated the answers though.”

Hermione’s brows knit together. “What do you mean?”

Harry said: “He started asking questions about stuff he thought I did, like whether I stole the Boomslang Skin during second year, which, of course, I didn’t. I just told him ‘no’, so I didn’t implicate you. Well, at the end he was running out of questions, and he began asking me random ones, like how much I bet in the duel.”

“I think you scared him Harry,” she said, frowning. “It’s not your fault, of course, but I think you scared him.”

Harry just stared. “Scared him? Are you serious? I doubt Voldemort himself could make him flinch.”

“Regardless I think you should go to Professor Dumbledore…and tonight,” she said logically. “He can’t kick you out again. Not since your Occlumency is more important than ever.”

Harry conceded with a nod. Remembering that her ideas tended to work out the best, he resolved to go tonight.

“I’ll go see him tonight, he wants me to stop by once a week, anyway,” Harry said, and stood up from the chair.

She smiled appreciatively and said, “Good luck.”

With Gates on his tail, Harry climbed through the portrait hole and proceeded directly to the headmaster’s office, wanting to get it over with. He was completely in the right this time, and there was no possible way for Snape to turn this around. He resolutely said the password and leapt up the steps, coming to a standstill outside of the office.

For a moment he stared at the door, puzzled. For some reason, the door had shrunk considerably and it just barely permitted him entrance. Had it been an inch smaller, he would have to duck just to pass through. Knocking on the door, he came in, greeting Dumbledore with a wave.

Gates, however, stopped at the doorway. As he was far taller than Harry, he could not enter in an erect fashion. His stature prevented him from cross the threshold with a straight back, and, in order to pass, he would have to bend down, or, in his mind, bow down. This, needless to say, was not something he was about to do willingly.

“You’re an amusing man, Albus,” Gates said, irritably eyeing the shrunken door. “I believe I can wait here.”

“I had that precisely in my mind, Alex,” Dumbledore said, and shut the door with a wave of his wand. “What would you like to speak with me about, Harry?”

“First,” Harry said. “I want to know whether you could do something for me. No questions asked.”

Dumbledore eyed him over his spectacles, a calculating look in his eyes that looked very much unlike the usual twinkle. “I will certainly consider your request, assuming it’s a fair one.”

“I have reason to believe Hermione and her parents will be in increased danger from Voldemort,” Harry said quickly, hoping Dumbledore would not interrogate him. “And I would like it if her house had more protection.”

Dumbledore stroked his long, silver beard, the only sound in the small office being the feigned snores from the various portraits on the walls. He popped a lemon drop into his mouth and rolled it with his tongue. “I see your concern, Harry, and it’s very justified. While I do not understand your reasons for not volunteering the information that led you to this conclusion, I suspect it is well founded. And you can assure me that it is well founded, yes?”

Harry nodded. “Yes,” he said quietly.

“Then I will allocate more Order members to the Granger residence, and I shall assign another portrait to watch over Miss Granger herself,” He turned to the wall. “Norman Carwin?”

A bearded, venerable wizard stirred from his sleep and looked up with one sharp eye. While his face appeared old and wizened, his gaze alone was hard and penetrating, like that of a Legilimentist. His hair, carefully trimmed and combed, was cut short, though it was thinning with age. His expression stayed deliberately stony and Harry doubted that this man had ever laughed in his life. The epitome of seriousness. Adjusting his stiff gray robe and collar, he regarded Dumbledore with a curious and respectful eye. The characteristics of this man screamed “Ravenclaw!”

“Yes?” The venerable wizard said, his voice tempered with deference. “Is there something you require from me? You need only to ask.”

“Would you be so kind as to keep an eye on Miss Granger?” asked Dumbledore pleasantly. “I fear that she has become a significant target for Tom, and that we must keep a closer watch on her. Though Hogwarts is far safer than anywhere else, we must ensure that no harm comes to her.

Mr. Carwin bowed deeply. “The Gryffindor girl with the mind of a Ravenclaw? Yes, I believe I know her. I sometimes listen to the Arithmancy lectures, and she always seems most studious. I daresay she would have been an asset to my own house, though who’s to question the Sorting Hat’s wisdom?”

“Then please do so, Norman.”

“At once,” Mr. Carwin replied, and immediately vanished from his portrait, undoubtedly heading for the Gryffindor common room. Harry caught the eye of Phineas in his original portrait niche, but did not say anything.

“And there’s something else,” Harry said heavily, and went on to tell Dumbledore about Snape’s detention. When he finished, he was sure that he had never seen the headmaster so angry. Though his expression was outwardly calm, Harry could see his blue eyes become like lightning, the twinkle turning into a flash of electricity. It was rather alarming.

Dumbledore did not speak for a long moment, and his long hands slowly moved about on the desk, almost like they had a life of their own; gently moving the lemon drop jar under the desk, placing the quill in a drawer. These were all signs of inner turmoil that Harry had never seen in Dumbledore before. The flashing blue eyes grew harder, and it seemed that the headmaster had reached a decision.

“You are being completely truthful with me?” Dumbledore asked, though it was clear they both knew the answer and he was only asking for the sake of confirmation. “You are not leaving anything out?”

“Yes,” Harry said quietly.

As if on cue, the door burst open and Snape ducked through, his expression betraying a sort of alien coolness as though he was trying to cover something. He sneered when he saw Harry in the chair. “Of course, I should’ve known you’d come running-”

“Severus,” Dumbledore said in a voice that could only be described as disappointment, scorn, and astonishment all collided together. “Do you remember your oath? Or has time stolen it from you?”

Snape took a step back, and it was obvious that he also had never seen the headmaster in such a disposition. Carefully, he said, “There is much to discuss, I presume.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore sighed, sounding older than ever. It was strange how he could be extraordinarily powerful one moment, then tired the next. What was draining him? “Harry, I’d like to speak with Severus alone, please. If you have anything further to discuss, I would appreciate it if you come back tomorrow.”

Harry silently got to his feet and stepped out of the office, going part way down the steps, not wanting to meet Gates down by the gargoyle, and slightly curious about what Dumbledore was saying to Snape. From this short distance, he could hear muffled parts of the conversation from the other side of the door.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said sadly. “I am afraid I am more disgusted with you right now than I have ever been in my entire life. What happened to warrant this?”

That’s harsh even for Albus, Pseudo-Snape said.

Snape’s response was inaudible.

“A prank? This morning’s silly prank? Severus, how old are you?”

“Old enough,” Snape conceded.

“Exactly my point,” Dumbledore said. “When will you learn? Is your oath no longer relevant today? Should I begin to doubt your loyalty as well?”

“You know the answer to that, headmaster,” Snape said, affronted. “You know my motivations as well as have my oath. The trust is explicit.”

“Then-why-did-you-use-Vertaserum-on-a-student?”

Snape hesitated and did not answer.

“And I heard you’ve been deducting house points for no reason at all, as well,” Dumbledore continued. “Which, I admit, I have little concern of, but only shows me that your spite runs deep. Where does it end?”

Snape still did not answer, and Harry suspected that he was holding his head in his hands.

Dumbledore sighed a long, exhausting sigh. “So be it. Next week you shall restart the Occlumency sessions. You will apologize for your infringement on his rights, and you should be grateful that you do not get reported to the ministry. If he had even hinted that he wanted you punished in that way, I would not hesitate to do so, Severus. You are vital to our cause, no doubt, but I will not tolerate your bitterness. He-is-not-James, and you should do well to learn that.”

“I know,” said Snape in such a low voice Harry had to strain his ears. “But he is. Why don’t you teach him?” he asked without sarcasm.

“Because Harry needs the best training that the Order can offer,” said Dumbledore. “And I am simply not as proficient at Occlumency as you are, Severus, and I will not give second-rate lessons when a much better trainer is so readily available. I will not allow your personal prejudices interfere. This is the last time.”

Snape remained silent.

“Tell me, Severus,” Dumbledore said calmly. “What did you discover from the Veritaserum?”

A long, deep silence fell over the office and Harry wanted desperately to see what was going on. From the distinctions in sound, Dumbledore got up from his seat, walked around his desk, and stood next to or near Snape, possibly to put his hand on the Potions master’s shoulder.

“What did you discover?” he repeated gently.

“Don’t ask me that question, headmaster,” Snape said, attempting to use his usual biting voice but failing. “Don’t ask me questions I don’t know the answer to.”

“Your further actions will determine whether I suspend you or not,” Dumbledore continued softly. “Remember, you-will-apologize. I suggest you get some sleep.”

“Why do you care so much about the boy?” Snape asked almost desperately, as though he was asking a question that he did not expect to receive an answer to. “He’s a tool, headmaster, nothing more.”

A long, quiet silence fell over the office, and, at length, Dumbledore spoke, a hint of harshness in his voice. “I could say the same for you, Severus,” Harry did not need to see Snape to know that the Potions master recoiled. “But for me, men do not equate into tools.”

Harry silently crept down the steps and came down into the foyer, Gates not far behind. He was not sure what had happened in Dumbledore’s office, but he thought that Snape was, even for just a moment, more human than he had ever intended to be.

(A/N: I was more than a little wary with this chapter…it brought up loads of issues where I had to basically go out on a limb and guess on Harry’s reaction. I hope you liked the Snape sequence though. I am rather proud of that. And the howler-prank idea. I’ve been wanting to use that scene for a lonnggg time.

Side note: Nothing is in stone yet, but is there any huge outcry against bringing Dr. Perry back for a brief cameo appearance before the end of this fanfic? (It would help me solve some plot issues) Frankly, I don’t know if anyone liked him, but I sure did, if not only for his dark humor.

And I’m going to take a week off, so the next chapter won’t be posted until 2/19. I really, really need a short break. But don’t worry; this won’t be abandoned. I swear. I’ll give an extended summary of what’s going to happen next.

Next Chapter: The Quibbler releases a long-awaited article; the ministry brings in an Auror to survey Hogwarts; Snape and Gates have another lovely confrontation; we learn a little more about possession in Whams’s class; and lastly, Gates has another training session with Harry, in which he brings up a demon in Harry’s past.)

19. The New Ministry Official

The next day, Luna came up to Gates and told him that her father had nearly finished his article, and that it would be in print within the week. While she refused to disclose its details, she implied that it would involve a full background investigation into the Gates family affairs, and, in a much subtler manner, she said that it would call into question their self-proclaimed title of pureblood. Needless to say, Gates was choleric with rage.

“You won’t get away with this one, child,” he threatened, towering over a very unintimidated Luna Lovegood.

She gazed serenely up at him, a faint smile on her lips. “Why not?” she asked.

Gates glared down at her, his jaw working as if trying to grind out a response.

“I am doing you a favor, you know,” Luna said quietly. “I lost my mother, too. I can see Thestrals.”

Of all the statements Luna could have made, that one was the strangest, and for a moment, Gates was speechless. Then, his face contorted and his eyes turned to slits, anger cresting. “What do you think you understand child?” he snapped. “Don’t think I can simply turn away.”

Luna fixed her protuberant eyes on him. “I’ve seen your Boggart’s face. You’re madder than a Pordian Horse under the full moon,” she said, and walked away, leaving Gates looking oddly stiff behind her.

Ron stared at her retreating back, muttering, “Nutters, that one.”

Since Dumbledore’s meeting with him, Snape had become resigned in Harry’s presence, and never spoke unless necessary. Gone were the various taunts and insults that he muttered as he pretended to check Harry’s progress during Potions, and he no longer even bothered to vanish his cauldron contents. In fact, Snape avoided Harry’s corner of the room completely during class, and essentially pretended that he was not there.

While Ron had deemed this to be a step up in things, Harry could not help but be unnerved by it. He had not caught the entire exchange between Snape and Dumbledore, and he wondered what exactly the headmaster had said afterwards that had left the Potions master fangless. Granted, Snape still berated the other students ruthlessly, and, in some cases, more so, as if trying to make up for Harry’s immunity by making his punishments more excessive.

One time, Harry had accidentally broken his flask on the stone floor, and he instinctively swept it under his desk with his foot to hide the debris from Snape view so that the Potions master would not take off twenty points from Gryffindor. However, Snape walked up, looked down at the bits of glass, and then quietly ordered Harry to dispose of it immediately.

The Slytherins, who expected Snape to give at least a detention, stared at him dumbfounded, until Malfoy spoke up. “Potter tried to cover it up, sir. I saw him.” The other Slytherins murmured in agreement.

Snape turned, gazed at Draco curiously, and then blinked. “Well, I am sure he is more than willing to cover the expenses of damaging my stone floor and destroying the equipment,” He turned pointedly at Harry. “are you not?” His tone suggested there was no room for negotiation.

Harry nodded dumbly, not quite sure of what to make of this exchange. Malfoy just gaped at him.

At the end of class, Harry came up to Snape’s desk to turn in his vial of Cleansing Potion, and, fleetingly, his eyes met Snape’s. The Potions master’s mouth twitched and he jerked away, immediately beginning to sort through parchment on his desk. Awkwardly, Harry left, more perplexed than ever at Snape’s behavior.

“I don’t understand what he’s doing,” Harry said to Hermione once they were back at the common room. “First he’s slipping Veritaserum into my drink, then he’s giving me better treatment than the Slytherins. Even the Slytherins get detention for breaking classroom equipment.”

“Maybe he’s trying to bury the hatchet,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “I don’t know, but it sounds like this is Snape’s way of being nice. I’m sure Dumbledore told him to make it up to you somehow, and now that’s exactly what he’s doing. Wasn’t he supposed to apologize?” she added as an afterthought.

“Yeah,” Harry replied. “he was, but Snape hasn’t said more than a sentence to me ever since he threw me out of his office that day.”

“And has, erm,” she hesitated, as though unsure of how to proceed. “the Snape in your head said anything?”

Now that Harry thought about it, Pseudo-Snape had become rather quiet over the past few days. He only rarely spoke, and when he did, it was barely audible. Not that he was complaining, of course.

“No, nothing at all,” Harry said. “Did you find new anything on the voice, though?”

“Well,” Hermione said, raising her eyebrow. “I’ve found a few references to something called the Occlumensia Anomaly, which sounds a lot like what you’re experiencing.”

“The Occlumensia Anomaly?” Harry echoed. “What is it?”

“Sometimes, when a Legilimentist probes your mind, he leaves behind an imprint of himself. Sort of like a trace of himself,” she said. “Most of the time this imprint is ignored and fades away by itself. Other times, however, it entrenches itself into the host mind, affecting it with a variety of symptoms. I think Snape left a bit of his own personality in your brain after all the times he entered, and it’s manifesting itself in a voice.”

“So you’re saying that Snape is literally in my head?” Harry asked, a little fearful of the answer.

“Not exactly,” continued Hermione. “As the imprint affects the host mind, the host mind affects the imprint. The resulting manifestation, or voice, in your case, is tempered by your own personality.”

“In other words,” Harry said slowly. “The voice is like a medium between my own personality and Snape’s.”

“Essentially, yes.”

“If it’s only a personality then how can it tell me how to mix Potions?” asked Harry.

Hermione tilted her head slightly, as though in a new train of thought. “I suppose because the imprint also contains some of Snape’s knowledge, and it’s carrying over into the voice.”

Suddenly, everything made sense. He had not been hearing the voice lately because he had not had Occlumency lessons with Snape for quite a few days, and the imprint gradually faded away.

“The textbook that I read from only had two pages on the Occlumensia Anomaly because it’s a reference book on mind maladies in general, and did not contain much specific information,” Hermione continued. “So if we want to know the answers to the most important questions, such as how to get rid of it, you will have to ask someone who specialized in that area.”

“Snape,” Harry answered.

Hermione nodded her head.

The next time Harry had the chance to speak with Snape was during Potions that day, and, as fate would have it, Snape avoided him even more, preventing Harry from approaching him. Harry barely paid attention to his cauldron as he brewed an unusually tricky type of Cleansing Potion, and instead carefully observed Snape’s movements, watching him slowly make his way around the room and then veer off suddenly when he came near Harry’s desk. It was beginning to get slightly annoying.

At the end of the period Harry hastily slipped some potion into a vial, not really caring about delicacy, and strode up the front desk and set it down. He was planning to stay behind after everyone left, but Snape surprised him by calling him back to the rear of the classroom. The Potions master was rearranging some flasks and ingredient jars, determinedly not looking at him.

“Potter,” Snape said coldly. “I have spoken with the headmaster, and your Occlumency sessions and detentions will restart this coming Thursday.”

Old anger flared up. For some reason, he began to feel intolerant of Snape’s begrudged attitude. Hermione was wrong. The old devil probably hated Harry more now because he was proven wrong. “Sir-”

“And one last thing,” Snape said, ignoring him. He carefully set down the flask in his hand and turned to face Harry, his eyes glittering. He opened his mouth as if to say something, and then paused, his lips and jaw twisting as though he was unsure of how to proceed. Finally snapping his mouth shut and opening it again, he said stiffly, “I apolog-”

“Save it,” Harry interrupted heatedly. Snape recoiled as if struck. “You can go ahead and tell Dumbledore you apologized, but I don’t want to hear it.” At that, he whirled around and marched out of the room before Snape could recover and deduct a hundred points from Gryffindor.

As Harry left the room, he decided he would tell Snape about the voice in his head during Thursday’s Occlumency lesson, when they would both hopefully be in a better mood.

The next morning, all thoughts of Snape’s new demeanor were pushed out of his mind by Luna saying that The Quibbler would be delivering its issue on the Gates family this morning, and that she had ordered them all complementary copies. Eagerly, Harry watched as the owls dropped off their packages, and soon, they all held a freshly printed edition of The Quibbler. Apparently, even Gates received a free one, as he was already scanning it with his eyes, his pupils becoming darker as he did so. Harry recognized that look. It was rage.

Ron tore open his newspaper and Harry followed suit, wondering what Luna’s father had written that would make the Hit Wizard so furious. When he saw the headline, though, the answer presented itself.

The Gates Family Line: How Pure Is It?

The Gates family has been widely considered one of the most ancient and pure lines in the world, and their lineage has been regarded as indisputable in many aristocratic circles. One of the last remaining wizards who carry the surname, and indeed one of the most renowned members of the entire Gates line, Alexander Vladimir Black Gates, claims that he possesses a family tree that accurately traces his family all the way back to the time of the Romans. However, such a tree has never been revealed, and, indeed, there is no proof that such a one exists. So is the Gates family line really as pure as we are led to believe?

While ministry officials have been tight-lipped concerning the Gates family records, The Quibbler has found several branches of the Gates line on different continents, and has even found astonishing inconsistencies in the little information produced by the family’s public account.

Intense investigation has revealed that the Gates family line has produced an unusually high number of squibs over the generations, which cannot be explained away. Wide-spread beliefs dictate that squibs are more common in families that have muggles laced throughout their line. Indeed, several pure-blood families have already been disgraced for having muggle ancestors; which was done to avoid the excessive inbreeding that has run rampant in the families.

However, the official spokesperson for the family Gates said that we have no proof. Or do we?

A muggle programmer in America under the name of ‘William Gates’ is the owner of a successful business that is affiliated with something muggles call ‘computers’. Why would a muggle share the Gates family name? Has the Gates family fortune influenced the muggle’s success? What other lesser-known descendants are scattered about the globe, unknown but well-paid. Only time will tell, but The Quibbler is dedicated to uncovering the mysterious irregularities within the family Gates and will report its progress in the future.

See also ‘Gates Manor Available For Auction’ on page A4.

Harry looked up and saw that Gates was in a silent rage, his face contorted in a bizarre expression as though someone had thrust a knife into his gut and was slowly turning it. Luna smiled serenely from the Ravenclaw table, and she carefully placed a teaspoon of sugar into her pumpkin juice and stirred it. Fuming, Gates’ eyes bored into her, as though contemplating whether violence would be an appropriate reaction for such an insult.

Just then, the great hall doors burst open and a man in sharply cut black robes bearing the ministry crest marched in, his bulk somewhat obvious against the fine robes, striding directly towards the staff table, wearing an unreadable expression. His face, coarse and unshaven, contrasted strongly with his attire, which was the epitome of neatness. He was heavy, his arms thick, his neck like a trunk, though not tall. Possibly his body weight could be attributed to muscularity, but the round face contradicted it. Short and plump, one would almost think that he was a jovial fellow, were it not for his eyes, which darted erratically around the room, the pupils piercing and hard, taking but not giving. Snake‘s eyes. Still exuding a strict and formal aura that rivaled Professor McGonagall’s, he bowed to the staff table and stepped up the elevated platform with surprising speed for such a heavy man. Again, Harry could not help but notice the sheer precision in all of his movements, the deliberateness. His robes, which had a strange luster on them, barely swayed as he walked, almost as if they were cut personally for their owner. Everything about him was crisp.

Dumbledore stood and greeted the man, the rest of the professors following suit, and gestured to an open chair to his right. The newcomer bowed again, not as deeply this time, though, and sat down, his expression one of regality.

A few scattered murmurs arose throughout the hall, all of them concerning the identity of this stranger. The students at the Slytherin end, however, were rather quiet, and Harry saw a smirk on Malfoy’s lips that nearly always were a prelude to something terrible. Harry stared up at the man, trying to judge his character, wondering if Rita Skeeter had managed to rouse the ministry with a combination of gold and public pressure.

The man whispered something to Dumbledore, who once again stood up and clasped his hands, waiting for the great hall to fall silent. When it did, he began. “My dear students,” the headmaster said. “I welcome a guest from the ministry, who will be with us for the next several weeks.”

To the groans of small cluster of Hufflepuffs, Dumbledore said: “Do not worry, he is no Dolores Umbridge.” An expression of fleeting amusement crossed the ministry official’s face, but vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“His name is Mr. Robert Alverton, and he is a high ranking ministry Auror. Mr. Alverton may approach you individually over the course of these weeks and ask you some questions,” Dumbledore continued. “You may answer them if you wish. They will be concerning your experience here at Hogwarts, and your responses, however colorful some of them may be, will not be held against you.” He smiled, and then returned to his seat, the twinkle in his eye still quite alive. He leaned over and engaged Mr. Alverton in conversation. As they spoke, though, Alverton’s eyes flickered over to the place where Percy and Whams sat, as though in confusion.

Harry turned back to where Gates stood and saw that his issue of the Quibbler was blackening into ash before his very eyes, without flame. It looked horribly similar to an old horror film he saw when he was with the Dursley’s, where a witch cursed a boy into dust with a single word. Of course, such an action on a living thing was impossible, even in the wizarding world, though it being performed on an inanimate object was still unsettling. Something smoldered in Gates’ eyes.

“So what do you think he’s about?” Ron whispered, gesturing to Mr. Alverton.

“He’s here to find out more about Hagrid, of course,” said Hermione instantly, reaching over and picking up a piece of bread. “And he’s most likely going to grill us for information to see if there really is a giant in the Forbidden Forest. For clues. Regardless, it’s a good way for Fudge to displace some of the pressure he’s been taking on.”

“Isn’t that trial over yet?” Harry sighed.

“Not with the delay tactics Fudge has been using,” Hermione continued. “He’s really doing a great job of dragging it out, and I don’t think he knows how much damage he’s doing to the ministry - to everyone. While he ties up the courts and offices, the ministry is virtually powerless until it resolves the issue. Powerless to face Voldemort and the Death Eaters, that is, not to harass individuals.”

“That’s stupid,” Ron said.

“That’s ancient wizarding law for you,” said Hermione airily.

***

When Harry and Hermione descended into the dungeons for Potions class, they completely forgot about Mr. Alverton and concentrated instead on recalling the instructions they must use to brew The Scourge, a common type of poison that is cheap yet difficult to produce. Snape had promised them that he would not be giving them directions this time, and their success would be dependent on their notes and chapter he had assigned for homework.

While Snape gave his usual threatening, deadly speech at the beginning of class, Harry subtly slipped the Quibbler article out of his robes and began rereading it, enjoying it immensely. Gates was probably going to have a hernia as the news filtered around the school and eventually to letters back to parents. That Hit Wizard had been wearing a sour expression on his face all morning, his own copy of the issue now little more than flaky ash.

Harry barely heard Snape continue the lecture. “While some of you may consider knowledge of poisons beneath you, I assure you that such experience will be vital no matter what field you go into. If you wish to become an Auror, you must learn to recognize it. If you wish to become a Healer, you must learn its antidote. If you wish to become a complete failure, you will ignore me and continue reading whatever irrelevant dribble that is printed in The Quibbler-”

Harry’s eyes instantly shot up and he instinctively thrust the paper into the folds of his robes, but Snape was far too fast. The Potions master’s wand was already drawn, as though he had prepared for such an opportunity to present itself.

“Accio parchment,” Snape drawled, and the paper obediently flew out of Harry’s robes before he could snatch it up again. Snape caught it with his free hand.

“What is the boy wonder up to now?” Snape said softly, causing the Slytherins to chuckle maliciously. “Have you been giving more interviews out, Potter? I daresay you like seeing your name in print. Perhaps you were planning on adding this to your scrapbook? Pity, you won’t be having it back.”

Almost indifferently, Snape scanned the headline, and a long, dreadful sneer came across his face. “Now what is this, Alex? The Gates family purity is being brought into question? Can‘t even hold onto your own manor, either? Dear me.”

Gates stiffened in his corner, though remained silent.

“Yes, it appears that the purity of your blood is, indeed, in question, much like Potter‘s competence,” Snape continued softly, yet his voice sounded much louder against the stone walls. He seemed to savor the fact that he had insulted both Gates and Harry in one blow. “Five points from Gryffindor, Potter, for not bringing in enough copies for everyone…”

Snape whirled his wand and the issue automatically multiplied until there was a small stack of newspaper sitting on the desk. Smirking, he resumed his lecture. ”Now, if anyone wishes to read this unusually thought provoking article, by all means, take one on your way out…now, back to The Scourge…”

Harry let out a held breath, surprised that he had gotten off so easily, and, not wanting to test his luck that Snape was in a relatively good mood, brought out a piece of parchment and began studiously copying notes, transferring every last one of Snape’s words onto paper.

Distantly, Harry thought he heard a faint murmuring in the classroom, as though someone was muttering under their breath or talking into the wind. Under the pretense of stretching his fingers, Harry glanced around, searching for the origin. Rather apprehensively, he saw Gates’ lips barely moving, his face dimly visible in the shadows of the classroom, speaking in an incantation. Suddenly, his hands jerked downwards and the incanting abruptly halted, and the Hit Wizard expectantly turned his black eyes onto the Potions master, waiting.

For a moment, nothing happened. Snape went on discussing the various dangers and injuries that could result from mishandling The Scourge, and the hours of agony that they could look forward to should they foul it up. As soon as Harry thought Gates’ spell was annulled, however, Snape’s eyes widened in surprise and he instantly began trying to rip off his robes, plumes of smoke now beginning to billow out of them. It was like he was being burned by an invisible fire.

The robes now on the ground, Snape now stood in black silk pants and a matching silk undershirt. On his forearm, however, was a thick, tattered pad, that covered up most of the skin. Undoubtedly, it also hid the Dark Mark.

Once again thrusting his hands out, Gates muttered an incantation, his face becoming furrowed with concentration. This time, the smoke curled up from the pad on Snape’s arm, and the sound of something like sizzling skin served as a background to the prominent silence in the room, interrupted only by Snape’s sporadic grunts.

The Potions master struggled with the pad for a while, hesitating, and then wrenched it off, gritting his teeth in pain. During this time, he did not let out a shriek or any other noise that would betray the agony that he most certainly felt. The skin on his face was taut, his lips pulled back, but he bore it noiselessly, and Harry could tell this angered the Hit Wizard.

The pad fell to the floor, and Snape straightened, trying to cover up the black splotch on his arm, but it was already obvious to all that it was, indeed, the Dark Mark. The students exchanged horrified glances, the suspicions Gates had planted earlier in the year now proven beyond any doubt. The Mark was the only thing they noticed, somehow ignoring the fact that Snape stood half-naked before them. Malfoy looked utterly unsurprised.

No one laughed. Not a single person. Not even Gates. The Hit Wizard seemed to regard this as a delicious moment, something to be remembered and then savored in private.

Slowly and silently, Snape struck his clothes with his wand and the smoke abruptly stopped, the impression of heat ceasing to present itself. His face turned into a death glare, and he jerked his wand so quickly that it was little more than a flash of light.

A curse shot across the room, hurtling towards Gates at alarming speed. The Hit Wizard neatly brought his wand backwards in a wiping motion and shattered the curse, sending the fragmented shards to the floor.

“Everbero!” Snape spat, and another curse shot towards Gates. The Hit Wizard neatly dodged it and raised his wand in retaliation.

“Infligo!” incanted Gates, and a concentrated cone of light flew across the room at Snape. The Potions master conjured an opaque shield, and, leaning into it, managed to remain standing.

Gates looked up at Snape, smirking. “You don’t learn, do you Severus? Do you want another duel?”

Snape snarled, gritting his teeth in indecision, hand still clutching his wand as if it was a dagger. His head jerked away from Gates, looking down at the students before him.

Wrapping the robes around him in a sweeping fashion, like a bat with its wings, Snape glared down at the class, his gaze momentarily resting on each and every individual in the room. When he was finished delivering his wordless threats, Snape waved his hand in dismissal, and the class practically fled out of the room.

“Not a word,” Snape warned dangerously to the students’ retreating backs. “None of you.”

Harry caught one last glance of Snape before he left, the Potions master’s back leaning heavily against his desk, hands gripping the edge.

Somehow, the air felt cooler than it was earlier.

***

Harry went down the worn stone corridor and up the crumbling steps out of the dungeons, coming into the main marble foyer, at Hermione’s side. Knowing that Defense Against the Dark Arts was next, they climbed another floor and proceeded to the classroom, thinking absently of all the former professors that he had over the years. Quirrel…Lockhart…Lupin…Pseudo-Moody…Umbridge…and now Whams.

Strange how few of them were normal…but then again, how can you acquire extensive experience with the Dark Arts and remain normal?

Up ahead, Harry saw Mr. Alverton speaking with a couple of students, jotting down notes on a clipboard, the picture of professionalism. Sometimes, he nodded, occasionally asking an offhand question or two. Formal.

“Mr. Potter,” Alverton said when Harry passed him. It was almost like he planned it to happen. “May I have a word? Only a few questions, I assure you, and I will provide a pass if I hold you for too long.”

Harry was about to decline, but he noticed Mr. Alverton’s eyes flicker briefly at Gates before shifting back, and this, if nothing else, piqued his curiosity. Harry wondered if Mr. Alverton knew Gates during the Hit Wizard’s time in the ministry. The chance to receive new information tempted him.

“I don’t mind, no,” Harry answered hesitantly. “As long as I get to my Defense Against the Dark Arts class on time.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Alverton said, though it did not sound like he meant it. “Tell me, what do you think of Rubeus Hagrid as a teacher?”

This was a difficult question, and Harry felt Alverton’s eyes probing his. “I like him. He wouldn’t put any of us in danger.”

Mr. Alverton frowned, creating several wrinkles in his smooth forehead. “It says here that he attacked Madam Umbridge during his term at the school, along with several of her colleagues. She may have been a distasteful woman, but there is no excuse for him to react violently.”

“When she came up to his hut she was already planning to remove him forcefully,” Harry countered gently. “She hated Hagrid because he is a half-blood.”

“I see…” said Mr. Alverton rather stiffly, making a note on his board. “Have you noticed him acting differently lately? Have you seen anything unusual around the school?” Harry had the distinct impression that the official disliked him.

“Nothing, sir,” Harry answered.

Mr. Alverton scribbled down a few lines of script and then turned to Hermione. “And you, excuse me, what’s your name?”

“Hermione Granger.”

“Yes, well, have you anything you wish to add? Anything out of the ordinary that you may have witnessed?” he asked casually.

“No, sir.”

“And Alex,” said Mr. Alverton, his eyes flashing fleetingly in the Hit Wizard‘s direction. Harry swore he saw disgust in his expression. “What about you? You were once an Auror, what have you seen?”

Harry stared at Gates, knowing the myriad of secrets that he may reveal at a whim. Instead, he merely shook his head. “I have seen nothing that would concern the ministry, Robert,” he said coldly.

Mr. Alverton arched an eyebrow, then shifted his weight onto his right foot in an indecisive gesture. Harry looked back and forth between the two men, sensing the tension there, their mutual gazes almost tangible in their intensity. What history did they share?

“Any more questions sir?” Harry asked, checking his watch. If they did not leave soon, they would be late to class. Ron was probably wondering where they were.

The ministry Auror’s eyes snapped back onto Harry, and a faint touch of color touched his cheeks, as though he was embarrassed. “Excuse me, but only a few more. How long have you known Hagrid?”

“Six years.”

“That’s quite a long period. Could you tell me your background with him?”

The conversation was becoming a little too personal for Harry’s liking, and he was beginning to want to break it off. “When I was eleven, he took me from my relatives and helped me prepare for my first year at Hogwarts. He took me to my Gringotts vault and through Diagon Alley.”

“Gringotts, eh?” said Mr. Alverton offhandedly. “You must have quite a sum if you have a vault there. Only old families hold vaults in Gringotts. You might not even have to work when you graduate. Must be nice.”

Harry regarded him stiffly. The official’s tone was tempered with barely detectable bitterness. “I plan on becoming an Auror when I graduate, sir,” Harry replied in a wary voice.

“An Auror?” Mr. Alverton said, his face lightening considerably. “An excellent profession to be in. What were your O.W.L. results, Mr. Potter?”

Harry answered him, watching the official’s face closely for his reaction.

“It’s been a while since we’ve had anyone new enter the Auror division,” said Alverton, studying Harry appraisingly. “And you’ve the grades for such a career. And you, Miss Granger, what about you?”

“I don’t think I want to be an Auror,” Hermione said meekly.

Mr. Alverton looked slightly disappointed. “Well, I can’t say it’s too surprising. Interest in Aurorships decreased since You-Know-Who disappeared. Though,” he turned back to Harry. “if your abilities match your grades in Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, young man, you will definitely have a good chance of joining.” Once again, his piercing eyes swept over him, leaving Harry feeling vulnerable.

Harry was taken aback by this change in attitudes. First, the official seemed resentful towards Harry, but now he appeared to rather like him. “Thanks, I’ll give it a shot.”

Assuming you live that long, said a nasty little voice in Harry’s head that did not belong to Pseudo-Snape.

“If you’re still interested after you graduate,” Alverton continued with a wink. “Come and see me. I’m sure we could work something out. Merlin knows we need some new blood in the Auror division. Just not enough capable people with interest in law enforcement anymore…”

“What do you mean, ‘capable people’?” Hermione asked curiously.

Mr. Alverton’s clipboard fell to his side and his posture turned casual, and his hand gesticulated as he spoke, the professional façade dropping to reveal a surprisingly personable man. “For one thing, you need the talent. For another, you need courage and strength of heart. Lastly, and most importantly, you need to be obedient. We’ve gone through a few Aurors because of that requirement. But when you finally do join, very rarely does anyone willingly quit.” His eyes flashed towards Gates and then rested back onto Harry.

Seeing this, Harry said, “Didn‘t Gates quit?”

Mr. Alverton’s face darkened at the mention of the Hit Wizard, and Harry realized that he was treading on sensitive territory. “Alex did not quit,” he said in a low voice, as if he was telling a secret. Hermione leaned closer to hear better. “We let him go. Fired him.” Harry glanced towards Gates, and saw that the Hit Wizard was well outside earshot.

“But didn’t Ron’s dad say he quit?” Harry asked Hermione quizzically. She nodded.

“Who?” he asked quietly so Gates could not hear.

“Err, Mr. Weasley,” Harry replied. “Mr. Weasley works for the ministry and said that Gates quit.”

Mr. Alverton shook his head. “He works in a different department, so he wouldn’t know. Alex was fired because he refused to follow a particular order…frankly it surprised me. He had never shown the slightest hesitation before the incident. Even so, ignoring a direct order from a higher officer is disgraceful, and rather than openly firing him and tainting the name of the entire Auror division, we simply told him to say he left on his own. That we he loses no honor, and we don’t lose any honor either.”

“What happened that made Gates disobey an order?” Harry asked incredulously.

Mr. Alverton sighed heavily. “That, young man, is the question that has been bothering me for years now,” he said sincerely. His face became very drawn. “Alex is a man who would ‘disappear’, as he called it, dark wizards without so much as hesitating. He entered dark towers that we did not dare ask any other to enter. Alex is a cruel man, but efficient. Yet-” He paused, carefully contemplating his next words.

“One time, we responded to a Dark Mark floating over a muggle house. When we walked in…” A shudder coursed through Alverton’s body, and Harry felt a strange sense of foreboding at the fact that something could possibly unnerve a high-ranked Auror. “The Death Eaters had themselves a bit of fun, it seemed,” he continued uneasily. “They didn’t use any Unforgivables. When they use a Killing Curse, the bodies are clean, with no trace of violence. This time, however, they did it in a slightly…old fashioned way. The bodies were dismembered. Blood on the walls…ceiling…floor. Everywhere. We needed Alex in there to handle a rather nasty rogue gargoyle the Death Eaters left there and he refused to enter. I warned, threatened…he remained adamant. If there is one intolerable action for an Auror, it’s disobedience. I was forced, for the sake of upholding standard Auror tradition and law, to disregard his achievements and let him go. I had to set an example to the others.”

“Did he give a reason?” Hermione asked.

“None. I asked him why and he did not even respond,” Alverton said. “That is the true story, and I would appreciate if neither of you spread that around. But, since you are going to be an Auror anyway,” he smiled and nudged Harry with his thick arm. “I suppose I can let you on in a few secrets.”

“Thanks Mr. Alverton,” said Harry. “We better go-”

“Oh, right, of course,” Alverton said hastily. “Sorry for keeping you so long. Wouldn’t want to keep you from your Defense Against the Dark Arts class - you need that to be an Auror, of course. A fundamental requirement, actually.”

They left together, and Harry managed to see Gates suspiciously gaze at Mr. Alverton before passing. From his reactions to both Percy and Mr. Alverton, it appeared that Gates gave ministry officials a grudging, if not tenuous, respect.

Just making it before the bell rang, Harry and Hermione went directly to their seats. To Ron’s puzzled glance, Harry said: “We were held up by Mr. Alverton.”

Over the course of the year, the classroom had steadily become more and more decrepit and cluttered. Unwieldy stacks of parchment and ungraded essays lay in piles on the floor, desks, and around the overstuffed waste bin. Forgotten bits of half-eaten donuts, moldy sandwiches, and curdled milk lay in hidden niches around the room, where Professor Whams had set them and never returned. Stained poster projects lined the front and side walls, some of them several weeks old, others freshly added with a sticking charm. Of course, in nearly every drawer was a pair of old dusting spectacles, the lenses cracked, or simply lost. While the smell was not quite as bad as the dungeons, the slowly rotting food added a foul odor into the air.

As a rule, Whams’ classes never begin on time, but this one proved to be an exception. Professor Whams was already standing in front of the class, a hairline crack in one of his lenses, with a brittle sheet of parchment in his hand. A black splotch around the knees of his silk robes betrayed an accident involving liberal amounts of ink, the area around his chest rumpled and worn. Overall, he looked like he had just crawled through a mixture of old school supplies. Percy, however, had aged at least ten years. There were dark rings under his eyes and he watched Whams warily, as if expecting disaster at any moment.

“Hello class,” Whams said with his usual cheer, a wide smile on his face. “I decided it is time we moved on to mind afflictions, and, more specifically, different types of possession.”

Harry cast a furtive glance at Ron’s expression, and saw that it was completely unsurprised.

“Perseus, if you will,” Whams continued, motioning Percy to hand out a rather large stack of yellowed parchment. He went around the room, handing out the sheets. “Perseus will be passing out a vague outline of the topics we’re going to discuss today, so you may take more accurate notes. It is important to distinguish the finer points between the types of possession, as, contrary to popular belief, there are more kinds than simply the Imperious Curse.”

Harry accepted the parchment from Percy and scanned the paper, his brow furrowed with confusion. The script was running and distorted, as if it was placed on a sloping surface while the ink was still wet. While Harry could make out an occasional ‘the’ or ‘and’, the rest of the writing was utterly undecipherable. Looking around him, he saw that everyone had received parchment in similar condition. He set it on the side of his desk and pulled out a fresh sheet, deciding that it would be useless to try to interpret the words.

“So, while you’re reading over that,” Professor Whams continued jovially, oblivious to the looks of bewilderment he was receiving. “I will start this lesson with a question. What is possession?”

As always, Hermione’s hand shot up. “Possession is temporary control of another’s body or mind.”

Whams blinked, then smiled. “Five points to Gryffindor. Yes, that is mostly correct.”

At the mention of the word ‘mostly’, Hermione looked up at him, perplexed.

“A more precise definition would be control of any of the multiple aspects of the brain; such as memory, emotion, personality, or kinesthetic control. But exact definitions vary, depending on which textbook you read from. The one I assigned uses the one you provided, Miss-” He hesitated, then decided to settle for ‘Miss’. “To start, I will begin discussing Direct Possession. As you are all already familiar with the Imperious Curse, reviewing that aspect would be redundant.”

“Direct Possession is a type of control used by leaders to control their subordinates, and, essentially, effects all areas of the brain,” Whams continued. “While Direct Possession can happen at any time, it requires an enchantment to link the master and the underling together. An example of such an enchantment would be the Dark Mark.” Whams paused, almost for effect.

“So that means You-Know-Who can control any one of his followers at any time?” someone asked a little tentatively.

“Mostly,” said Whams. “Nothing is absolute, and the Dark Mark is not, either. Through careful use of Occlumency, one can actually resist the link, or even control it, depending on their proficiency. However, such an attempt is dangerous, and often very, very difficult. When they wear the Dark Mark, Death Eaters can feel their master’s emotions, moods, or even his thoughts, depending on the individual wizard’s power. Both master and underling are bound together, and, at least in the case of the Dark Mark, nothing can sever that link.”

Harry immediately thought of Snape. Was the Potions master actually reversing the link and going into Voldemort’s mind? It would explain Snape’s ‘report’ in Dumbledore’s office. Perhaps Snape was strong enough at Occlumency to stop Voldemort’s influence.

“Isn’t that sort of stupid, though?” Ron asked suddenly in a rare display of interest. “I mean, why would You-Know-Who risk some of his followers to read his thoughts?”

Whams nodded. “It carries great risk for the master, it is true, but the benefits for him are far greater. He can keep an eye on all of his followers all the time, and, if required, take full control of their bodies should the need arise.”

“The next type is Full Possession,” said Whams, the gray whiskers on his chin swaying back and forth as his gaze swept across the room. “Of all the types of possession, this is the rarest and most difficult. It can only be performed by true masters of Legilimency, the subject of which I will not get into today. Indeed, though You-Know-Who is a skilled Legilimentist, not even He can perform a Full Possession. Full Possession involves the complete transfer of personality, memory, and essentially the entire mind into a foreign brain, effectively hijacking the body. Many times, this is done by wizards who are trying to attain some bizarre form of immortality, but, most often, they fail in the attempt and their minds simply vanish into nothingness. As it is so rare, you will likely never encounter it, but you must know it for your N.E.W.T.’s.”

Neville raised his hand, surprising everyone except Harry. “What happens to the old body, then, if a wizard transfers his entire mind to another brain?”

Whams smiled his usual vapid smile. “An excellent question. It is discarded, of course. The brain becomes empty and the physical body becomes nothing more than an empty shell. Any other inquiries?”

The class exchanged disturbed glances. The act of usurping another person’s body was an unsettling subject, indeed.

“Thirdly, there is Shadow Possession,” said Whams in a tone that one might use in discussing a movie or play. “Somehow, in some way, a system of memories or a personality is contained in a nonliving thing, and imprints itself on a living mind. This can be done in a multitude of ways, and, as this is associated with the Dark Arts, it is quite illegal to own any such vessel that might have a personality or memory magically sealed within it, except possibly under strict control of the ministry.”

Harry remembered Riddle’s diary. That must be what happened to Ginny. Shadow Possession. And Ron, the brain he was attacked by was not alive, was it?

“Of all the types of possession, this is the most harmless, if you can call it that,” continued Whams. “As there is no real living source behind the memories or personality, Shadow Possession will gradually fade away on its own accord, given time. On the account that, of course, it is not interfered with.” Professor Whams’ eyes flickered towards Ron for a fleeting instant.

“How difficult is it to create something like that?” Harry asked. “I mean, how can you put memories into something that is inanimate?”

Whams’ eyes rested on him for a long moment in an unusually serious expression. “Quite difficult. Extensive training is required to perform Dark Magic of that level.”

Without further elaboration, Whams went on to the next type of possession. “Lastly, there is Spiritual Possession, which is indeed nearly nonexistent. So rare is it that many wizards question whether it is possible at all.” He sighed, folded his spectacles, and placed them on his desk. His eyes looked strangely small without the magnifying lenses. “It involves a nonentity literally entering the brain and taking control of it. This type of possession is experienced even by muggles, who often call upon priests to exorcise the supposed demon that is inhabiting the body. Of course, this has little to no effect. This type of possession is completely theoretical and unproven, but I feel obliged to at least mention it.”

“Wait, so you’re saying there’s ghosts?” Dean said suddenly.

A nearby cabinet door creaked open and a foul odor wafted out, making several people wrinkle their noses in disgust. Harry looked over and saw that Whams had apparently left an entire meal in there by mistake. Percy strode over and closed it shut, using his wand to conjure a Odor Charm to clear the air.

Whams, however, was oblivious to the proceedings. “I believe the term ’ghosts’ is inaccurate. It implies that these entities were once alive themselves, which we are not sure of. Bodiless, conscious entities would be more specific.”

Harry shifted in his chair. The notion that bodiless beings could inhabit people sounded a little too much like something Trelawney would say for him to remain comfortable.

They spend the remainder of the class scribbling down various notes on each of the possession types, and, at the end, they quickly filed out, glad to leave one of the most unnerving lessons they have ever had. Or, at least, that is how Harry felt. He had too much experience with the different types of possession to be comfortable with it. Really, he was astonished that Ron had managed to keep a calm face during the entire class, especially when Whams described in explicit detail the Shadow Possession.

After class, he walked Hermione to the library, who decided she needed to study for Arithmancy class, which, she assured him, was as fun for her as Quidditch was for him, though Harry could not help but heartily disagree. To him, Arithmancy was the decoding of a few lines of numbers, something, it seemed, he could never find interest in. However, that did not keep Hermione from consistently trying to show him how fascinating it was, sharing with him the codes and numbers she had finished with. Though he still could not enjoy Arithmancy to the extent Hermione did, it was still pleasurable to be close with her, sitting next to her at the table, breathing in the air she exhaled.

“Harry, are you even listening?” she asked lightly, smiling, breaking him out of a short reverie.

“Oh, erm,” Harry stumbled for the appropriate answer. His mind had locked up. “Yeah, ‘course’ I am.”

Hermione closed the book and looked up at him, still smiling gently. “Did you ask Professor Snape about the Occlumensia Anomaly?”

Harry felt his face heating up. “Well, no, but I’m planning to talk to him about it tomorrow during Occlumency. I tried to discuss it with him yesterday but he was too busy being a git for me to mention it. He tried to apologize.” Harry added in a mutter.

“He was going to apologize?” Hermione asked, slightly surprised. “What did you say to him?”

“That’s just the thing,” continued Harry uneasily. “I pretty much shoved him off. He wouldn’t have meant a word of it anyway, so I just told him to save it and tell Dumbledore that he apologized.”

Hermione grimaced. “I can’t imagine that went over too well.”

“I wouldn’t know. I left as soon as I said it.”

Involuntarily, Harry’s eyes strayed over to where the Hit Wizard was standing, his black eyes glittering in the library’s bright light. Madam Pince, disgruntled at having such a clearly distasteful man near her valuable tomes, watched him carefully from behind her oak desk, occasionally taking breaks to stamp the inside covers of the returned books. Her eyes were trained on the diamond necklace as though it was something revolting.

Seeming to sense Harry’s gaze, Gates livened and stiffly walked over to his desk, his boots clicking against the hardwood floor, very much unlike the usual sound of Madam Pince’s polished shoes squeaking against the waxed floorboards. When at last he stood next to Harry’s seat, he spoke.

“Tonight we will have a lesson, Potter,” said Gates. “The usual place, the usual time, so be ready.”

“A bit of a short notice, isn’t it?” Harry asked, arching an eyebrow.

The only facial response Harry received was a very slight curling of Gates’ upper lip. “I’m sure you can manage. After all, this takes priority over everything else, this favor, that is. Wizards would pay hundreds of galleons for a single hour of such training. Your godfather demanded very great favors.”

“And what, exactly, did he do for you in the first place?”

Gates’ head jerked in one abrupt motion. “That is none of your concern, child, and never will be. It was scarcely a favor. It should have been expected. One would like to think that friends-” He spat the word. “-such as he would not require favors in return. But all blood traitors are shrewd in that way, aren’t they?” He whirled and left.

***

It was not until that same evening that Gates spoke again, and when he did, it was low and venomous. “Come, Potter. The Room of Requirement awaits us.”

He quietly told Hermione and Ron where he was going and she, despite his resistance, promised to wait up for him until he returned. He would likely not be back to the common room until around midnight, but she refused to listen, and Ron, stirring from his seat by the fire, matched her claim and said he would stay up until Harry returned, as well. After shaking his head exasperatedly, he went with Gates through the portrait hole and down the corridor, thinking of how lucky he was to have Ron and Hermione by his side.

“Have you been having any dreams?” Gates asked irritably.

“No,” Harry replied. Gates arched an eyebrow but did not pursue it.

“Tonight, Potter,” Gates began when they reached the carven oak door that marked the entrance of the Room of Requirement. “you are going to actually duel. Knowing how the throw curses and hexes is all fine and good, but irrelevant when it comes to fighting. You will need your wits this time.”

“Who am I going to duel?” Harry said as Gates reached for the door handle. He certainly was not going to duel the Hit Wizard.

Gates’ grin could only be described as sinister. “An illusion. A manifestation that can duel you without causing any lasting effects.”

“A manifestation?” Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.

“This Room should have contained within it a shadow of Bellatrix LeStrange,” said Gates. “I trust that seeing her face will give you all the strength you need to duel to a greater magnitude. You hate her, do you not?” He looked down upon Harry with malicious eyes.

When he did not answer, Gates swung the door open to reveal a relatively barren room, some clutter in the corners, but Harry hardly noticed it. His eyes were instead focused on the lone figure standing in the middle, wand held lazily in her left hand, face contorted with madness from her long term in Azkaban. A condescending, half-sneer played on her face, and her sunken eyes mocked him. It was, of course, Bellatrix, Voldemort’s protégé.

“What’s the matter Harry?” she said with a growing smile. “Is the little baby still crying over his dead godfather?”

The wand in his hand grew warm and old, repressed anger threatened to manifest itself in the form of a curse. Not just anger. Sadness. Bellatrix saw this and let out a peal of horrible laughter. What sadistic pleasure did Gates extract from seeing Harry confront his old demons?

“Not yet Potter,” Gates said from behind him, his voice very light. He was obviously pleased with Harry’s reaction. Maybe it was comforting for him to know that other people could hate as much as he did. “She won’t attack until I give the command. First, I want to give you some instruction, so you don’t screw up and inflict needless pain on yourself before I can stop it. As this is merely a reflection of LeStrange, it will not give you the same challenge that the real one would. This weaker one is more your level. Are you listening?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” continued Gates. “As you duel her, remember what happened in the Department of Mysteries. You personally saw your godfather die, correct? Picture that, and focus it into your wand. Do you understand?”

Harry nodded tersely, intent on doing the exact opposite of Gates’ suggestions. He had remembered that scene far too many times during Occlumency with Snape. He did not want to have to relive it during these training sessions as well.

“Look at me, Potter.”

Harry glared up at him, trying to see what was behind those glittering black eyes. Eyes like cold obsidian.

“Hate is what you need you overcome your enemies,” Gates said in a low and dangerous voice. “I won’t have you wasting my time with your idealistic nonsense. The Dark Arts isn’t power. Hate is power,” the Hit Wizard spoke of the emotion with such intensity that Harry’s body instinctively stiffened. “The greatest men in the world know hate, and use it. The muggle Josef Mengele, Grindewald, even the muggle Hitler-”

“And look what happened to them,” Harry snapped before he could stop himself.

Gates’ head jerked backwards and his hand clutched his wand. “Excuse me, Potter?”

“They all got their’s, didn’t they?” continued Harry savagely. “Grindewald by Dumbledore, Mengele vanished off the Earth, Hitler committed suicide-”

“They were men of power, Potter,” Gates snarled. “Not necessarily leaders, but they were strong. How many men have ever become powerful, muggle or otherwise, on the account of love and mercy?”

Harry remained silent for a moment. “Dumbledore-”

“Don’t let the old man fool you,” interrupted Gates, his face twisting with either a grimace or a grin, Harry could not tell. “He’s killed his share of wizards. And you don’t kill without having hate in you, Potter.”

“Let me tell you something else,” Gates continued, bearing down on Harry like a hawk. “Love and mercy is exactly what brought about the Dark Lord’s second rising. Your own weak mercy allowed the rat Pettigrew to escape from your clutches and return to his master. Bartemius Crouch Sr. let the love of his wife hijack his rationale. He agreed with his wife, after much pleading, to extract Crouch Jr. from Azkaban, therefore freeing a known Death Eater. Eventually, that love brought about his own death, and nearly brought yours. Indeed, that same love has indirectly killed over a hundred witches and wizards so far. What is your view on love and mercy now, Potter?”

“Maybe you should be thankful,” Harry countered with malice. “Headmaster Dumbledore told me that love made you a monster.”

Gates advanced upon Harry, eyes blazing. “Did he now?” he said in a voice just above a whisper. “I hate to hear that old Albus takes part in gossip. Yes, Potter, you proved my point, love creates evil. I already know I’m dangerous. To you and all the arrogant pure bloods who fester in the same gene pool like so many fish.”

“And yet you’re afraid,” continued Harry, undergoing a revelation. “You’re terrified.”

Gates‘ face was slowly turning into stone. “I fear nothing!” he spat

“Then who was your boggart?” Harry said in a voice that sounded quiet against Gates’ roar. “You were so overcome that you forgot where you were.”

“Shut your mouth Potter,” said Gates viciously, and he turned to Pseudo-Bellatrix, who currently watching this exchange with amused eyes.

“Is that what Snape meant when he said you’re terrible at Occlumency?” Harry pressed, ignoring the warnings in his head. “That you have so many fears and memories that you cannot possibly keep anyone from examining them at any time?”

Gates‘ teeth were bared and the diamonds on his necklace filled up with light. “LeStrange! Commence dueling!” he snarled.

Harry barely had any time to react as a curse went flying over his shoulder, singing his robes. He drew his wand and deflected the second volley with a simple Shielding Charm, casting a brief glance towards Gates, the Hit Wizard’s face twisted with fragile hilarity. Bellatrix advanced upon him, her wand flashing through the air like a sword.

“Ignis!” Bellatrix shrieked, and liquid fire shot out of her wand, spraying flames like water out of a hose. Harry dashed out of the way, feeling heat licking the heels of his feet, the burning inferno splashing onto the walls and floor.

Harry spied a roll of carpet leaning casually against a nearby wall, and then sprinted towards it, snatching it up an muttering the spell to transfigure the cloth into a substance like steel cord. He unraveled it and held it in front of him, his fingernails digging into the cold metal wires, using it as a shield against the liquid flame that came pouring out of Bellatrix’s wand. Heat began to seep through, but Harry kept his grip firm. He nearly buckled under the force of the fire. She may be a reflection, but surely she would eventually run out of energy like any normal witch or wizard.

Soon, the rug’s cords began to split and snap with a twang, the intense heat causing them to melt and break. A little flame flickered through, and, seeing no other option, Harry grabbed his wand and thrust the rug to the side, simultaneously diving in the opposite direction.

“Stupefy!” he yelled as he fell, and Bellatrix broke the stream of fire and sidestepped to dodge the Stunning Spell. He hurled another hex at her and saw Gates grinning widely from nearby. Enjoying it, was he? Well, Harry would find a way to get him involved.

“Crucio!” Bellatrix countered, and Harry leapt out of the way, narrowly avoiding the curse. He slowly made his way in an arch, trying to be discrete, his eyes alternating between Bellatrix and Gates. If the damned Hit Wizard wanted to initiate this stupid confrontation, he would have understand the term ‘collateral damage’.

Seeing that Bellatrix was preparing herself for another Cruciatus Curse, Harry made a final run behind Gates, effectively putting the Hit Wizard directly between himself and LeStrange. Bellatrix, without hesitating, shouted “Crucio!” and the curse slammed into Gates before he realized what was happening.

A strange thing happened. When the spell hit Gates’ body, he was merely jolted, almost like he absorbed it. The Hit Wizard stared down at Harry, a grin on his face.

“Is little bity baby Harry scared?” she said in a mocking voice. “He’s hiding behind his body guard.”

“Silencio!” Harry shouted, pleased with the fact that her taunts had prevented her from dodging in time. The charm his her square in the face, rendering her mute. She looked positively furious.

Bellatrix made a slashing motion with her wand and a solid beam purple light fired out of it, leaving behind a trail of dusty particles behind it in its wake. Harry ducked, and the purple light smashed into the wall, creating a small, circular hole in the plaster.

Harry threw a Body-Bind Charm back at her, buying himself time, and ran sideways, feeling curses burn through the air behind his back. Thankfully, as she had not audibly spoken the curses, the spells were slow and inaccurate.

“Incarcerous!” Harry incanted, and ropes flew out of his wand and wrapped themselves around Bellatrix before she could move. Harry halted when he saw that she was thickly bound with cords, and he cautiously approached her, not at all eager to confront a cornered serpent.

Turning her wand at an awkward angle, Bellatrix mouthed out incantations but to no effect. The ropes frayed from the handicapped spells, but did not snap. She looked up at him and hissed through her teeth. Harry could only imagine the tirade of anger she would release had she use of her tongue.

"Deletrius!" Gates said lazily, and Pseudo-Bellatrix dissolved, leaving the ropes wrapped around thin air. After a moment, the cords vanished also, leaving no trace of the duel that had taken place there.

“She used Unforgivables,” Harry said hotly. “What if she used a Killing Curse? Wouldn’t that have ruined your precious favor?”

Gates looked at him as though he was a moron. “You can’t create magic from nowhere, Potter. None of the curses or hexes she used would have had any effect on you, had they hit you. Notice when I was hit with the Cruciatus Curse that I was unharmed? It was merely an illusion, a weak one at that. For real curses to occur, you need to have some sort of magic in you, and reflections do not have any magical ability.”

Harry mouthed a silent ‘oh’.

“And Potter,” Gates said a little more venomously. “What spells did you use during that duel? List them. All of them.”

Harry was slightly taken aback by the question. “Err, well, I used Full Body-Bind, the Stunning Spell, the Entanglement Charm, the Silencing Charm, and, err, that’s it.”

“Exactly,” Gates said very softly. “Can you tell me what’s wrong with that?”

Harry’s mind was blank.

“Let me answer for you,” said Gates, his voice steadily becoming angrier. “For the past several weeks I have been teaching you various spells, curses, hexes, and jinxes to use in combat, yet, when you duel, you use ABSOLUTELY NONE OF THEM!” Gates finished in a roar. “ARE YOU TELLING ME I’VE BEEN WASTING MY TIME POTTER? WHY DID YOU NOT USE THEM?”

Harry stared, mouth agape, completely startled by the reaction. In truth, it had not occurred to him to use the Severing Curse, or any other curse that would have a rather grotesque result if used on a human body. Is that what Gates expected him to do? Gates’ face, enraged, told him the answer to that question.

“I didn’t think it was necessary to kill her,” Harry said quietly.

Gates stared at him, then blinked several times. Rage was replaced with shock. “That woman,” he said slowly, gesturing to where Bellatrix previously stood. “Killed your godfather, whom, I understand, you were close to. You’re telling me you would not kill her, or wound her grievously?”

“No,” Harry said. “but it wouldn’t be for her benefit. It would be for mine.”

“Is that so,” Gates said softly. He seemed unable to grasp the fact that someone would not extract violent vengeance when given the chance. “And how would it benefit you?”

“Sparing her would stop me from becoming a monster.”

Gates stared at him for a moment, then broke out with a horrible grin. “You say that now, but what will happen when you face the real thing?”

“I still wouldn’t kill or maim her,” Harry said, his gaze not wavering. “Perhaps she would be better off dead, though. Didn’t you say that before? There are things worse than death?”

“You will never know how true that statement is, Potter, so don’t bandy it about like you understand it,” Gates said warningly, his eyes turning into black ice. “Now, we are going to review. Show me every last spell that I have taught you. Repeat each one five times. Consecutively. No screw ups.”

For the next several hours, Harry practiced Severing Curses, Colliding Curses, and every spell that he had learned from Gates. The Hit Wizard drove Harry mercilessly, making him perform them until they were like second nature. It was not until he reached a level of skill that he was sure was above some Aurors that Gates was satisfied, and they then went on to the next spell. It was grueling hard work, and after they finished, Harry was exhausted. It was nearly midnight.

Staggering out of the Room of Requirement, he tiredly climbed the stairs and crawled through the portrait hole, his body aching and crying out for rest. If he did not reach his bed soon, he was going to fall and sleep on the ground. His mind was saturated, his fingers were cramped, and his legs protested their continual use. When he began to cross the common room floor, he fell to his knees and laid down on the warm carpet, taking his glasses off and setting them aside.

He would only stay here for a few minutes, he promised himself. There was no way he could possibly climb the circular stairway into the dormitories, and the act of opening his chest to put away his wand sounded like an impossible feat. It was not a delicious exhaustion, like the kind after playing an exerting game of Quidditch, but a painful type that demanded he receive some rest or his appendages will becoming mutinous and disconnect from his body.

He felt the tiny vibrations of Gates’ boots heading towards his usual corner in the common room. Undoubtedly, the Hit Wizard would stay there until Harry went up to his bed and slept, in which case he would follow and stand over his bedside, nothing more than a silhouette in the moonlight. Or wraith.

Suddenly, he felt more vibrations. Softer ones. He wanted to look up and see who it was, but his eyelids refused to open and his neck was positively numb. Instead, he simply laid there, hoping that whoever it was would not notice him.

“Well, you weren’t kidding about being out until midnight,” said Hermione. Harry managed to open his eyes long enough to see that she was kneeling over him. “Ron stayed down here waiting too, but he fell asleep on the couch.” He did not need to see her face to know she was smiling.

“Thanks, that was good of you guys, but I’m really very tired,” Harry murmured into the carpet. He was very glad that the house elves, or whoever picked out this flooring, chose a soft textured type. It was like velvet on his cheek.

“I’m going to wake Ron and have him carry you up into your bed,” Hermione said, sounding amused.

“No, no,” Harry mumbled. He summoned his remaining strength and took her hand. “I will be fine down here. You go to bed, you shouldn’t have waited up in the first place.”

“What did he have you do to make you so tired?” she asked. She released his hand and moved. Harry was not really sure where.

“Went against Bellatrix,” Harry said vaguely.

“What?” she asked instantly, alarmed.

Harry explained the lesson to her as clearly as his drained mind could remember it. Everything seemed so fuzzy. When he finished, the air was very still, and he swore he heard Gates shift his posture from the other side of the room.

“That’s terrible,” she whispered.

“Educational,” he corrected with a hint of a smile. He found nothing about his session with Gates even remotely amusing, but he did not want Hermione to worry over his wellbeing. It was not any worse than the other ones, really.

“Don’t try to be funny,” Hermione said in a voice lighter than her words. “That was horrible what he did.”

“It wasn’t too bad,” said Harry, letting out a yawn. Suddenly, he felt two hands on his back, rubbing his neck…his shoulders.

While he did not ask for a massage, he was not going to argue with her. Her soft hands moved up and down his backbone, releasing little elixirs of blood, unknotting his muscles, loosening his tendons. It sort of hurt, but in a good way. Exquisite. It sent a shiver down his back. Harry had no idea where she learned this new talent, but she was very, very good.

Probably from a book, he mused.

Hermione continued to massage the sore area between his shoulder blades. Harry groaned when she probed a particularly aching muscle, and then felt relief sweep through him as the heat caused by the friction warmed it, numbing it. She moved up his back and to his neck, making little circles with two fingers, her hands both gentle and unyielding. They seeked out all the tiny niches and rubbed the bits of pain that holed itself up in there, slowly easing his stiff neck.

“Where did you learn all this?” Harry said, not sure if he spoke aloud or not.

“I didn’t,” she said, sounding a little uneasy. “I’m just making this up as I go along.”

Harry chuckled. “Careful, me and Ron are rubbing off on you. Or maybe it’s- it’s- what’s that word?”

“Innate?” Hermione offered.

“Yeah, maybe it’s innate.”

Hermione bent down and lightly kissed the nape of his neck.

“Definitely innate,” Harry murmured, and found that he could probably get to his feet if he wanted to, but was rather reluctant.

“Harry, what’s been bothering you?” Hermione asked so quietly that he was not sure if he heard her right.

Harry’s body instant tensed, and his mind jolted awake. He slowly eased his way out from under her hands. She knows, she knows. “What do you mean?” he asked, trying to buy time.

“You’ve been acting…strange ever since you left the Dursley’s. I understand about Sirius, but, you’ve been acting, well,” she struggled for words. “You’ve been taking more risks than usual. I was hoping you would tell me on your own eventually, but you haven‘t said anything.”

A part of him wanted to tell her everything about the prophecy…to finally let it out, but the other half wanted to lock the secret up and bury it somewhere deep. What right did he have to spread this burden onto her? If she knew, she would probably go crazy trying to help him, when there was no possible way to end it with the exception of killing Voldemort, or die trying. But he could not lie, could he?

“I’ve just been thinking of- of- the Department of Mysteries, that’s all,” Harry said somewhat uneasily, telling a half-truth. He could not look up at her when he said that. It was a lie by omission. And in addition, he thought he lied well. It was slightly alarming. Was he becoming so good at Occlumency that he could actually partially lie to Hermione? He was suddenly disgusted with himself.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, I’m fine, I was just thinking. Nothing‘s wrong.”

“If there was anything wrong, would you tell me?”

There was no way he could tell her what was truly bothering him. Rather than have her worry, he said, “Yes.”

“Promise?”

Harry hesitated for a second. “Yes,” he almost whispered.

He felt wretched. Unclean. Covered with filth that no shower could wash off. He lied and was good at it. He tried to ease himself out from under her hands.

His answer seemed to satisfy her, and that, more than anything else, made Harry hate himself more.

(A/N: Alas, Harry is sinking himself deeper into trouble without even realizing it.

There it is; for those of you who hate new characters, don’t worry. Alverton and Carwin will be minor. By the way, I suggest you all look up Josef Mengele on google (The guy Gates mentioned during the training). This guy was extraordinarily messed up.

Remark on Harry’s mindset: Right, I’ve been trying to establish this throughout the story, but evidently I havent been doing too well. The reason Harry appears so, well, reluctant to stand up against Gates isn’t necessarily cowardice. He lost his godfather last spring due to his actions, and he is nervous about doing anything on his own…especially after the Forbidden Forest incident with Hagrid and Skeeter. He’s terrified of losing everything, and, frankly, he has changed considerably. And, in a VERY subconscious way, he believes that Gates’ presence is a sort of indirect punishment on him for Sirius’s death. -in a VERY subconscious way-

Next Chapter: More Snape than you can handle. The illustrious Potions master discovers a few things that Harry would much rather have kept hidden, and we see a rather strange side of Snape. The complete truth of Pseudo-Snape is revealed, as well as the secret behind Harry’s scar. (Which, by the way, I think will prove true in cannon as well in book 6 or 7. You will know what I mean when you read it)

20. Occlumensia Anomaly

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But I play Quidditch," Harry added.

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

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

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

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

"Why? What is it?"

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

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

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

"But did he say it?"

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So what-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What’re those?" Harry asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I am very disappointed in this class today," Professor McGonagall said sternly. "I expected more from my N.E.W.T. level students. Your homework will be to practice this spell, and don‘t be surprised if I individually test all of you tomorrow. Dismissed."

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

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

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

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

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

"Like you?" Harry said sarcastically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is it Potter?" Snape demanded.

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

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

"I still don’t follow you."

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

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

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

Harry flipped through the pages incredulously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What had he seen?

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

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

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

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

"It’s none of your business."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You believe the headmaster to be untrustworthy?"

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

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

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

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

"I won’t care."

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

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

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

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

Harry blinked. "What?"

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

"And why would you tell me anything?"

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

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

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

"Tell me everything."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry interrupted: "But doesn’t he-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I didn’t think-"

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

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

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

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

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

"What did I do?" Harry said indignantly.

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

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

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

Harry slowly shook his head.

"Then you’ll find out. Come."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Snape sneered at him. "Undoubtedly."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Harry-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I’m afraid it is, Harry."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

21. The Unspoken Curse

(A/N: summary: In chapter 20: Harry finally acquired the Confessions of a Dark Wizard: The Pravus Necklace book, and the secret behind his scar was revealed. Draco makes it a point to harass Neville before the upcoming duel.)

To say that Hermione was surprised by the revelations that Dumbledore revealed would be an understatement. She was positively shocked. And Ron’s reaction was, if possible, more intense

“That Dark Mark?” Ron asked, half exclamation and half question. “But he couldn’t of. You-Know-Who just went up to you and gave you the Dark Mark? That-”

“He didn’t intend to,” Harry said quietly, sitting on the overstuffed couch by the common room fire. It was late at night, and Ron had just returned from Dumbledore’s office. Gates stood on the far side of the room, comfortably outside of earshot. Harry checked the room five times for signs of Rita Skeeter, and, fortunately, he found none. “Dumbledore implied that it was some sort of weird side effect of the Killing Curse.”

“But it makes sense now that I think about it,” Hermione added, wrapping her arms around herself as if warding off a chill. “When the curse failed, it transferred some of his power to you, right? It probably burned the Dark Mark, or the bare example of one, onto your skin as well.”

“Blimey,” breathed Ron. “So what does that mean? He can’t-” He hesitated, as if searching for words. “-he can’t just take over your body any time he wants, like Professor Whams said in class last week. Can he?”

Harry shook his head. “No, at least not without direct contact. I don’t have the pure version of the Dark Mark, but a crude kind. And with Occlumency, I can resist most of the effects entirely.”

“And what about Occlumency?” Hermione asked. “Is Snape still going to take you?”

Harry suddenly felt very uncomfortable. “I’m going to train with Dumbledore now,” he said uneasily. “I want to break my Occlumensia Anomaly bond with Snape.”

“And I don’t blame you,” Ron said heartily. “The sooner that greasy git gets out of your head the better.”

“Well,” said Hermione. “As long as you take your lessons with Dumbledore very seriously, you should be fine. I imagine it’s easier to learn with a teacher you can cooperate with.”

Harry let out a small sigh of relief. He had been worried that Hermione would disapprove of severing his sessions with Snape. He broke off a week of lessons with Snape before without experiencing any dreams, so hopefully that trend would continue.

“-as long as you don’t have any more dreams,” she added as if reading his thoughts. “The first time you have a dream, you should go straight to Dumbledore and ask him to reinstate your lessons with Snape.”

“I’m going to have to agree with her mate,” Ron said. “Having Snape in your head is bad, but You-Know-Who is worse.”

“Alright,” Harry agreed. “I’m going to give this a go, and if I get any more dreams, I’ll talk to Dumbledore.”

This solution seemed to satisfy everyone, and Harry found himself having nearly nightly Occlumency lessons with Dumbledore. While they proved to be much more productive and pleasant, Harry knew that his skills had declined since he had broken the Occlumensia Anomaly with Snape. He was adamant, however, in learning the skill himself, so that he would not have to rely on the Potions master.

The tome Snape gave him, The Pravus Necklace: Confessions of a Dark Wizard, proved to be one of the most explicit Harry had ever encountered. The writing on its pages was tiny, and Harry needed to squint just to make out the words. Additionally, most of the information Harry had already learned from Hermione. The book seemed to be more of an account of a bearer’s experiences and feelings rather than a strict textbook of knowledge. Regardless, Harry found parts of it surprising.

For example, it detailed times when a newly created necklace would actually kill the bearer from injecting too much magical energy into him. Whoever the author of this book was, he seemed very keen on experimenting with Pravus necklace in all the forms possible. Most of his experiments, from what was implied, ended up with the death of the subject. Few people could actually wear the necklace without ill effect, and, unfortunately the page that elaborated on this concept was missing, undoubtedly torn from the spine.

Hermione helped him when she could, often sitting down with him and reading it out loud when Harry’s eyes grew too tired. Indeed, she also asked to borrow it between classes, and many times Harry could see her carefully leafing through it at a study table, Norman Carwin watching and sometimes whispering from his little frame.

Snape’s behavior, it was strange before, became positively bizarre. When Harry bent over his cauldron, he could sometimes see, from the corner of his eye, Snape stare at him for a few seconds before flicking his gaze towards Gates and then returning to whatever he was presently doing. Actually speaking to the Potions master was now impossible, as Snape practically ran out of the room when class was over, and disappeared down the mildewed corridor, leaving the students somewhat confused behind him. For most of them, however, that was all fine and good, as he did not have the chance to accidentally smash their vials, which had been taking a peculiar liking to as of late.

Gates, on the other hand, was an entirely different story. He eyed Harry with an expression of suspicious contempt. Ever since Snape whisked him off to Dumbledore’s office, he had been lingering strangely close to Harry, as though trying to subliminally pry the information from his mind. It was not until the weekend when he directly approached him when they were both alone after a training session in the Room of Requirement.

“Potter,” he said softly, walking in a slow, deliberate circle around Harry, reminiscent of a shark around its prey. “would you mind telling me what happened in Albus’ little office the other day? I could not help but notice how secretive you and your…friends have become.”

“Yes I would mind, actually,” Harry said bluntly and eased out of Gates’ psychological cage. “What we discussed in there is between me and Dumbledore. You can ask him about it, if you want.” he added without looking back.

“Potter,” Gates said sharply, and Harry turned suddenly, as though the Hit Wizard’s voice carried some sort of undeniable command. In his hand, the ragged at the edges where it was torn, was a picture of his mom and dad cradling him in their arms. Both were smiling peaceably. No words needed to be spoken for the threat to be understood.

“You animal,” Harry snarled, his eyes fixed on the picture but his mind very aware of the menacing look on Gates’ face.

“An animal?” asked Gates mockingly. “Well, definitely a step up from a monster, I must say. I suggest you tell me what happened in the headmaster’s office, and quickly, because this photo will be burning very, very slowly, and I will not hesitate to burn the whole damned thing.”

Almost like it obeying a wordless order, a small, curling flame flared around the top corner, dancing along the top edge of the picture. His parents, still smiling and lightly kissing the baby in their arms, were oblivious to the flame. In a painstakingly slow fashion, the fire made its way downward, working its way to James’ hair.

Harry instinctively opened his mouth, his mind racing for some lie or deception to tell Gates.

“And don’t forget,” said the Hit Wizard with a broader grin. “I will know when you’re lying. Legilimency.”

Harry silently cursed himself. Of all the times he could have used Pseudo-Snape, this was definitely one of the biggest. There was no possible way he could successfully lie to the Hit Wizard. No chance at all.

Lily was the first to look up and see the flame. Her expression turned into one of abject fear and she tugged on James’s shirt and pointed upwards. His face paled and he wrapped the baby Harry with his arms, then led took them into a corner, looking frantically around for a nonexistent exit. It was all soundless and terrifying, the silence highlighting the complete horror of it all.

If they could speak, Harry was sure that he would hear: Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run!

And then, maybe, following the exclamation, there would be a high pitched cackle of laughter, and green light, and then nothing.

“Dumbledore-” Harry wildly began. “Dumbledore was telling me about some Order business. About some Death Eater movements.”

Gates’ face glowed from the small amount of light the flames produced, every shadow on his face distinct and sharp. “You’re lying,” he sneered, and then, as if in response to his words, the flames spurted with life.

“Put it out!” Harry almost shouted. “Put it out now!” He advanced upon Gates determinedly, and he was pleased to see a slightly surprised look enter Gates’ eyes.

“Put it out?” he said softly, slowly turning his head towards the photo. “So be it.”

With an abrupt burst of inferno, his parents’ mouths widened in a scream and the entire picture disintegrated into ashes, the fire flaring up and dying in less and an instant, leaving nothing more than a pile of grayish dust in Gates’ gloved hand, a bit of it trickling onto the floor. Swiftly, he drew another photo out of his pocket, holding it in the air where the last one was only moments before.

Something in Harry’s chest died and then hardened. Slowly, he stepped backwards out of the Room of Requirement, fumbling with the door briefly, hardly aware of where he was going. “You bastard,” he said so quietly that it actually increased its strength. From somewhere, lightning cracked, though there was no storm nor cloud to produce it, and the room’s enchantments seemed to warp the walls from a surge.

Gates’ eyes turned to slits, advancing upon him as they left the room. “You be very careful in how you address me, Potter. Let’s try this again.” He extended two fingers to touch the edge of the photo.

“Dumbledore said-” began Harry angrily, trying his best to make his words more deceptive with Occlumency. It was nearly impossible with his now-rampant emotions. From inside the room a bookshelf burst in shreds, but Gates barely acknowledged it. “He said-”

“Dumbledore said nothing,” said a sleek voice behind him. Harry whirled and saw Phineas Nigellus in the portrait of Barnabas the Barmey, a rather hard expression on his face. He had been waiting out there ever since they entered the room for the training session. “He said nothing of relevance to you, Alex. If he wished you to know, he would have told you.” Harry doubted that he was ever more glad to see Phineas’ conceited face in his entire life.

Gates stealthily slid the small photo into the folds of his robe and faced Phineas. The former Slytherin headmaster had apparently not noticed this sly movement, because he went on as if nothing happened. “And should you continue this little interrogation at a later time, Dumbledore will know. He is quite skilled at Legilimency, as you may know, or at least skilled enough to evade your slower Occlumency reflexes, Alex. Now that he knows what to look for in that brain of yours, he will find out whether you’ve been questioning Po- Mr. Potter behind his back.”

“And perhaps you could be so kind to satiate my curiosity,” Gates replied coolly.

“No, I’m not,” Phineas said, smoothing his silk gloves.

Gates glared down at Harry as though he had half a mind to ignore Phineas’ warning and grill him anyway, but he hesitated and marched off a good distance, a clear sign that he was done. Trying to hide his relief, Harry strode down the hall, suddenly glad of Phineas’ presence.

Though he got away from Gates unscathed, Harry should have known that fate would have something worse in store for him later on, and, sure enough, the time came when Neville had to go down to the great hall for the first duel of the Dueling Club on November first. During Defense Against the Dark Arts, Neville slowly got to his feet, and, after handing a pass to Professor Whams, left the room as if he was heading to his own funeral, eyes slightly downcast. It was very unlike the other Neville that Harry had gotten to know over the past few months. Ever since dinner last night, Neville had been looking peaky.

Harry exchanged an unsettled look with Hermione, and then raised his hand. Professor Whams gave him a surprised expression, then called on him.

“Yes, Mr. Peter?”

Harry overlooked Whams’ error in regards to his name. “Err, professor, I’m feeling rather sick. Can I go down to the infirmary?”

Whams blinked at him with wildly magnified eyes. “Well, I suppose so.”

Harry passed Percy, who wore a quizzical expression, and then left, breaking into a stealthy sprint down the hall when he closed the door. He wanted to be there for Neville during the duel, and did not want to miss a single minute. Despite Neville’s newfound ability, Harry knew that the Gryffindor would need all the support he could get when he faced Malfoy, who, if his suspicions were correct, was being given Death Eater training.

Gates stalked behind him as Harry went down the steps to the main floor, now beginning to slow down as he came closer to the great hall. He was vaguely aware of Gates’ hissing commands, but he ignored them.

“Going somewhere?” Gates said in a louder voice.

Harry could no longer feign deafness. “Yeah, actually. I’m going to see a duel.” He severely doubted that the Hit Wizard would have a problem with watching Neville and Malfoy exchange curses.

They came to a heavy, half-opened door that lead into the great hall, and Harry peered through to see Dumbledore, alone, sitting at the staff table, his eyes fixed on Neville and Malfoy, who were standing, facing each other, on a raised platform underneath the transparent blue dome that was used when Gates dueled Snape. Madam Pomfrey, undoubtedly there to treat injuries, stood nearby, tutting silently.

Even at this distance, it was apparent that Neville was perspiring heavily. Malfoy wore and expression of cool arrogance, his wand lazily at his side, his face developing into a sneer. Harry moved forward, pushing the door a little wider. Since he was supposed to be in class, he did not want Dumbledore to see him.

“A Malfoy,” Gates muttered under his breath. “Longbottom is finished.”

Dumbledore said something to the two duelers, and Malfoy and Neville bowed to each other, drawing their wands with the customary slowness. Squinting, Harry could see Neville’s wand vibrating, as though the hand that held it was shaking.

“May your wand betray you,” Malfoy drawled loudly, speaking the traditional challenge.

“And may yours as well,” Neville said in reply, though his voice was considerably less composed. Malfoy smirked.

For a single moment, everything in the hall was absolutely still. The shimmering blue dome shield looked like a thin layer of gel, distorting the images within with its shapeless wandering blobs. Gates’ breathing hitched, and Dumbledore sat motionless in his chair at the table. A bird cawed from somewhere outside, the ceiling somehow transferring the sound indoors with its enchantment. Even Neville grew still with the almost regal stillness, and, abruptly, it all shattered.

“Stupefy!” Neville shouted, firing off the first curse before Malfoy. Harry was glad to see that his reactions, at least, were up to par.

Malfoy neatly sidestepped and brought his wand down vertically in a violent, jerking motion. “Fumo!” he roared back, and a deafening sound like a muggle shotgun blast exploded in the hall, actually causing Harry to cover his ears.

Neville stumbled away as though struck, clutching his stomach with one hand as he coughed up thick plumes of smoke. “Impedimenta!” he coughed, the words coming out distorted from his mouth.

“Protego!” Malfoy countered, Neville’s spell deflected easily off the shield.

“Finite Incantatem!” Neville said, pointing to himself, then added, in a quieter voice, “Tarantallegra!”

Malfoy, who barely heard the spell being uttered, was not able to move out of the way in time to avoid the oncoming jinx, and was hit squarely in the thigh with the light. His legs danced uncontrollably, sending his aim askew. “Petrificus Totalus!” he shouted, but the curse went awry and shot up to the ceiling. A look of rage crossed his face.

“Stupefy!” Neville said gleefully, taking his chance. Malfoy had just enough time to use ‘Locomotor Mortis’ and leap out of the way before the curse whizzed past.

Malfoy snarled, “You fat little- Infligo!”

The curse, while weaker than it would be if used by a full wizard, knocked Neville down, taking the wind out of him. As long, croaking sound came out of him as airs rushed into his lungs, and he clumsily tried to get back to his feet.

Draco jerked his wand horizontally, shouting, “Everbero!”

Neville was sent reeling back down onto the ground again, as though Malfoy had punched him across the face. In fact, a large, oblong bruise formed on his cheek, and Malfoy smirked gloatingly.

Neville was not through. “Stupefy!” he said, mustering all the force that he could.

Malfoy did not expect it, and the curse shot across his shoulder, singing his robes and making him grimace in pain. He held his afflicted left arm at his side, as though it had become numb or invalid from the partial encounter with the stunning spell. Harry gave Neville a silent applause.

“Everbero! Everbero!” Neville bellowed in quick succession, with more strength. Harry did not remember ever teaching Neville those curses, and was pleased to realize that the Gryffindor had been working on his own.

“Petri-” Malfoy began, but was cut off as the two curses hit him, knocking him across the head as though it was slugging him. A little blood formed at the corner of his mouth, and he spat bitterly onto the ground. “You’ll pay for that one, Longbottom. A-” He paused suddenly, as though in hesitation.

For a brief fleeting instant, he looked ready to shout the Killing Curse, his face contorted into an expression of fury, his hand clenched tightly around his wand. His slick blonde hair was disheveled from where Neville’s latest curse had struck him, and a flush was rising into his cheeks. Harry was not sure, nor could he ever be, but he thought that if Dumbledore was not in the room at that moment, or if he was an ounce angrier than he was already, he would have spat the Killing Curse without so much as a hiccup.

Instead, Malfoy shouted, “A- Accio Robes!”

Neville was dragged irresistibly towards him, his robes flared out around him, waving his arms wildly in the air as he tried to find something to hold onto. Then, retrieving his bearings, he shouted, “Morsus!” Malfoy nearly dropped the wand when Neville’s stinging hex connected with his hand, breaking his summoning charm and effectively releasing the Gryffindor’s robes.

“Fumo!” Malfoy countered in a half-snarl.

Neville’s reaction was immediate. “Protego!” he retorted, and managed to block the majority of the curse. A small bit of light broke through the defending shield and dived into Neville’s stomach, sending him into another set of coughing fits.

“Fumo!” Malfoy repeated, a broad grin on his face. Another violent explosion accompanied the curse.

This time Neville could not even erect a makeshift defense. Feebly he held up his arms, as if trying to ward off the blow, but the curse easily smashed into his chest. Hard. Neville keeled over backwards, heaving and gasping as he tried to force the smoke out of his suffocating lungs.

Malfoy smirked, advancing upon the struggling Gryffindor, wand held up as though he was a God distributing a divine retribution. “Everbero!”

When the curse hit his face, Neville did a little flip like a fish on land, his mouth wide, the smoke still pouring out of his mouth.

“Not tough now, are you?” Malfoy sneered. “Caries!”

At first, Harry thought that a cloud of smoke erupted from the end of his wand, but, when he squinted, he saw that it almost glittered in the light, as if there were tiny crystals in the black mass. Additionally, a low buzzing noise grew as the mass increased, and soon, it was swirling around Neville, enveloping him like a thick blanket, the fallen Gryffindor just barely visible between the little gaps in the cloud. Then, with horrific realization, Harry saw that they were thousands of flies, swarming around Neville as if he was a rotting carcass of some long dead animal. Neville weakly swiped at them with his hand, his wand now forgotten.

“Finite!” Malfoy spat. The cloud of flies disintegrated into nothingness, and Neville was left squirming on the ground. “You don’t even deserve to be called a pure blood. Go crawl around with the-” His eyes flickered momentarily towards Dumbledore, and he did not finish his sentence, though it could not be clearer as to what he was going to say.

Instead, Malfoy twirled his wand and a familiar flash of light fell down onto Neville’s legs. Draco strolled up, snatched Neville’s wand from his hands, and then swaggered off the platform. It took a moment for Harry to realize what the Slytherin had done. Neville tried multiple times to get to his feet, but found that his legs were rubbery and elastic, almost like they were jelly. Slowly, it dawned on Harry why the flash of light had been so familiar. He had seen it once before. Lockhart had once used it to ‘cure’ his broken bones after a Quidditch match. Unless Harry was greatly mistaken, Malfoy had removed every bone in Neville’s legs.

As Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey tended to Neville, Malfoy caught sight of Harry and arrogantly sauntered over, a new bounce in his step. He twirled Neville’s wand absently in his left hand.

“I believe this belongs to one of yours,” Malfoy drawled when he came closer, and he roughly thrust the wand into Harry’s chest. “I expected him to have at least put up a fight, seeing as he was supposed to be part of that little club called Dumbledore’s Army or something like that. Pity. Almost makes me feel like I wasted my time.” He gave a long, fake sigh and continued. “Nothing I can do about it now, I suppose.”

“You spiked his food, didn’t you?” Harry accused softly.

Malfoy’s sneer faltered, and then returned with a greater intensity. “I’d like to see you prove it, considering only house-elves have access to the meals.” He smirked and brushed past Harry and Gates and made his way down the corridor. “I’ll see you later, Potter.”

“You can count on it,” Harry called out to his retreating back. He then turned, hoping to meet with Neville in the infirmary.

***

It may have been the day’s stress, or it may have simply been built-up aggravation, but when midnight rolled around and he was sleeping soundly in his bed, a vision came to him. Not a vision in the prophetic sense, but in the surreal sense of his connection with Voldemort.

“I will not have another failure,” said Harry in a high pitched voice. He looked over a small gathering of groveling Death Eaters, their foreheads pressed deeply into the ground. “Have I recruited a bunch of fools?”

“But sire,” said one. “You chose when to strike. You chose-“

This was the wrong response. “Crucio!”

A single bowed form twisted and writhed in pain. Harry watched absently as he continued. “I executed what I ordered you to set up, and you failed with your end of the task. Must I deal with ever last detail in every plan because I have fools like you who can barely control their own bodies? I don’t want to hear your sniveling excuses anymore, Rookwood. I assigned you this elementary task of killing the boy, and what have you to show for it?” He jerked his wand upwards and the writhing figure stopped. “ANSWER ME!”

“Nothing, milord,” Rookwood managed as he returned to his knees.

“It seems you’ve underestimated your enemy,” continued Harry. “I will not permit another mistake. Fail this time, and there will be dire repercussions. Lucius?”

“Yes, master?”

“There are no problems with the commands, correct?”

“None, Lord,” he said in a partially masculine and partially fervent voice.

“But Alexander Gates…” murmured another masked man.

“Alexander Gates is no threat to me,” spat Harry instantly. Anger flared up in his chest. He suddenly felt disgusted to be in the presence of such morons! “Can I not concern myself with undermining the Ministry and preparing the Genocide without having to worry about whether my Death Eaters can carry out my other, trivial tasks? I-”

Every molecule of his being suddenly became alert. He felt the presence of another. “Potter,” he hissed softly. “The boy is here. He’s here!”

Suddenly images filled his head. Voldemort was prying through his mind, searching for something. Then, as quickly as it began, it stopped.

Harry shot awake, his scar searing, the permeating coolness of the room doing little to ease the fire that burned on his forehead. Sucking in a deep breath, he looked around, drawing the curtains back to get a better view of his surroundings. Silence. No one moved. He had not screamed like he had usually done during nightmares. He breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted was to cause a scene in the middle of the night in the boy’s dormitories. He needed to Dumbledore, and fast. He wished had not broken off his lessons from Snape. He had never had any dreams before, and he felt stupid for thinking that that would remain the same under Dumbledore.

Stealthily, he crawled out of bed and headed for the door. Fleetingly, he considered going to Hermione, but then he remembered the time, and that he had agreed to go straight to Dumbledore when he had a dream.

“Did you have a nightmare?” asked a voice from the bed next to him. Ron.

Harry mentally kicked himself. He should have known from the complete absence of snoring that Ron was awake. “Was I talking?”

Ron shrugged. “A little. Not enough for anyone else to notice, though.”

“Except for those of us who do not sleep,” said Gates softly from a shaded corner. He stepped out of it, the few rays of moonlight from the windows falling upon the right side of his face. “Return to your bed, Weasley. Potter and I must discuss some things.”

Before Ron could respond Gates swept over and opened the dormitory door. His meaning was clear. He and Harry were to speak alone.

Blood rushed into Ron’s ears. “He’s my friend, Gates, and if you think you’re just going to push him around like this, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Utterly forgotten, Harry watched as Gates took two long steps towards Ron, almost as if he was going to strike him. “You’re on unstable ground already, Ronald Weasley,” he said quietly. “Do you know who you keep in your head? Even before the debacle in the Room of Requirement, I saw glimpses of his presence, though I dared not believe it.” He held up one hand, which almost trembled with meaning. “You will stay very far away from me for now on, do you understand? And Potter. You’re more of a danger to him than you could even know. I don’t care what Whams says-” He visibly winced and hesitated. “I have made myself clear. Now return to your bed.”

Ron opened his mouth as though to issue a retort, but his words died on his tongue.

Harry followed Gates down the circular stairway, hoping that this encounter would be kept brief so that he could go off to Dumbledore’s office and reinstate the Occlumency lessons. When Voldemort realized Harry’s presence, there was a small, prickling sensation in the back of his mind, as though the Dark Lord was ransacking his memories and knowledge. Harry shuddered when he realized what Voldemort could have discovered. The Prophecy, for example.

“You had a dream,” Gates hissed as he whirled around to face Harry. His eyes were bright and his face glowing with the dull light from the dying embers in common room fire. He was inexplicably excited. “You remember the favor I asked of you. What was this dream?”

Harry’s initial reaction was to ignore him, but he found that his mouth had suddenly opened on its own accord. Before he could stop himself, he was explaining, in explicit detail, the dream and its contents, leaving nothing out. He even mentioned the slow, steady breaths from the prostrate Death Eaters. Apparently, his tongue obeyed the favor he agreed to, even when his mind did not.

When Harry finished, Gates stood silently, digesting the information. “There was no clue as to where the Dark Lord is hiding? No inference as to their location?”

“No,” Harry answered instantly and irresistibly. He was getting tired of this conversation and wanted to talk to Dumbledore.

“Return to your quarters,” muttered Gates.

Harry tried to ease his way past him. “Err, actually, I need to see Dumbledore.”

“What?” said Gates sharply.

“Dumbledore. I need to see him.”

Gates’ lip curled, as though he was having trouble deciding something. “Go then.”

Gates did not need to tell him twice. Harry stepped through the portrait hole (the fat lady chastising him as he turned the corner) and traipsed down the steps, not looking back. Where did Dumbledore sleep at night? Harry had no idea, and hoped that the headmaster stayed in his office during the nights.

His scar still prickled from the nightmare. What had Voldemort discovered, and what was he planning?

When he approached the gargoyle, he said, “Skiving Snackboxes.” However, the statue did not move, and he stared at it for a minute, panic began to set in.

“Perhaps Albus changed his password,” Gates said absently from behind him.

“Skiving Snackboxes,” he repeated. Nothing. The gargoyle did not move.

“Ah, Harry, Alex,” said a light voice. It was Dumbledore, sounding rather lively considering it was later than midnight. “What brings you to my office at such a late hour? Skiving Snackboxes. I’m afraid it will not respond to the password when I am not in my office.”

“So,” Dumbledore continued as they climbed the circular stairs to his office. “I take it you had a dream?”

“Yeah,” Harry said quietly.

Gates, when seeing the lowered doorway, paused halfway. The headmaster bowed his back slightly and went through, Harry following right behind him. The dull snoozing of numerous portraits greeted them, some of them stirring from sleep when Dumbledore entered and waving at him cheerfully. The headmaster nodded at each of them in turn.

Dumbledore went behind his desk and sat down in his chair. “What did you see in this dream?” Slanted light spilled through the high glass windows, highlighting the texture of the lacquered desk. It somehow made the headmaster look intimidating.

Harry told Dumbledore, in perfect detail, everything that he could remember, pausing occasionally to catch the headmaster’s expression, which stayed locked in a comfortable look of thought. Perhaps Dumbledore was expecting this and had already braced himself for the inevitable, but Harry somehow doubted it. Though the headmaster liked to keep an image of unshakable strength, Harry knew that it was merely a façade. Voldemort’s return was taking a toll on the old wizard. His hands were a little thinner than they were before, and his voice hesitated a little more than what was normal. These small changes alarmed Harry more than if Dumbledore had simply broken down and surrendered.

“I see,” said Dumbledore, still retaining the look of imperturbable power. “Tom is becoming anxious.”

“Anxious? He was furious.”

Dumbledore laughed softly, and reached into his drawer for a lemon drop. “No, I’ve seen Tom when he is furious. You would know it. That was anxiety. Why else would he have Rookwood doing his work?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“Tom is afraid to confront you,” Dumbledore said. “He’s afraid because he fears that if he confronts you, he might lose, so he’s sending his Death Eaters to do it for him.”

“But he did confront me,” Harry said quickly. “He jinxed my wand. My wand almost exploded in my hand in Transfiguration. How could Rookwood be trying to kill me when Voldemort’s face is showing up in the Nemesis mirror.”

Dumbledore sighed. “I do not know. Perhaps Rookwood is merely setting up the opportunity for Tom to strike, and his role is limited. Alas, the wards that defend Hogwarts only detect the intrusions of wizards with wands or any other magical artifacts, as well as prevent apparating. Not even my power is enough to place several defensive wards around this school and all of its grounds.”

“So you mean that Death Eaters can come onto Hogwarts grounds whenever they want to?”

“No, not at all,” continued Dumbledore. “It’s not that simple. Centaurs, for the most part, guard the Forbidden Forest. The gates are enchanted to be impassable and unbreakable. Gargoyles line the rest of the walls. And the secret passages are diligently monitored by Mr. Filch. Unfortunately, it seems, the Centaurs had a lapse, and a single person managed to sneak through.”

Harry watched Dumbledore uneasily. “Voldemort?”

“Possibly, and from the fact that you saw his face in the Nemesis mirror, almost certainly,” said Dumbledore carefully. “But this school can hardly be broken into at whim.”

“Do you think Voldemort discovered anything?” asked Harry. “In the dream I felt him entering my mind, like he was reversing the process and trying to possess me.”

“From the fact that you experienced no elation or glee after your dream, I would say no, he discovered nothing of consequence,” said Dumbledore at length. “Though we might not be so fortunate next time.”

“Occlumency,” Harry said with meaning.

Dumbledore nodded. “Do you understand the need Harry? Do you agree?”

“Yes I do,” said Harry quickly. “That’s the reason why I came here.”

“Very well then,” said Dumbledore. “I will speak to Professor Snape and-”

“No, sir,” Harry interrupted. “I will. I’ll take care of it.” He was becoming tired of people acting on his behalf, and, he knew, he would never hear the end of it from the Potions master if the headmaster had spoken for him.

Dumbledore surveyed him from behind his half moon glasses. “I think that is a wise decision, Harry,” When Harry stood up to leave, he added, “And when you speak with him, tell him that he is to teach you the Dark Mark.”

“Teach me?” Harry repeated, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Professor Snape will know,” said Dumbledore. “And he will comply.”

***

Harry was beginning to regret agreeing to talk to Snape when, at the end of Potions class, he had to practically chase after the Potions master when he sped down the hall after dismissal. His black robes, spread out like wings, flared dramatically out behind him, and Harry could not help but think of how easy it would be for Snape to simply wear a sash.

“Professor-” called Harry, barely able to keep up with Snape’s impossible pace.

The Potions master froze in mid-stride, slowly turning around on his heel to face Harry with a carefully blank face. “What is it?”

For most people, such a response would be considered curt or even rude. But for Snape, that was positively civil. “I think we need to restart the Occlumency lessons.”

“Need extra help for your Potions work, Potter?” Snape said with a hint of a snarl. “If you think that I will allow you to use the Occlumensia Anomaly in the classroom to earn higher grades, then you are sadly mistaken.”

“I had another dream, sir,” said Harry, holding back a biting retort.

Snape’s face visibly changed. Now, it became calculating. “A dream? Damn you, Potter,” he said softly, his voice strangely absent of its usual viciousness. “Are you incapable of learning Occlumency under Dumbledore?”

“Not enough to fight off Volde- You-Know-Who,” Harry said. Using ‘Voldemort’ would only antagonize Snape further, which is something he did not want to do.

“Will you put forth every effort to learn Occlumency?” asked Snape. “Or will you not take it seriously?”

Harry was beginning to feel irritated from Snape’s snide insinuations. “I’ll practice, if that’s what you mean, sir.”

Snape sighed. “So be it. I expect you to show up for every last one of your detentions at the exact time. Not one minute late or early. I will not tolerate foolishness this time around.”

Just as Snape turned to leave, Harry added, “And Professor Dumbledore told me to ask you to teach me the Dark Mark.”

Snape whirled back towards Harry so quickly that the wind from the Potion master’s cloak slapped into his face. “Teach you the Dark Mark?” he said sharply.

“Err, yeah.”

“The headmaster must think very highly of you, Potter,” said Snape, surveying him critically. “Few would dare to mettle in that sort of magic. I trust you don’t have the faintest clue as to what ‘teaching you the Dark Mark’ means?”

“As we’ve never learned it in Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Harry countered. “I don’t see how I could.”

“Only a Potter would never work outside of the classroom,” said Snape disdainfully. “It means, Potter, that you are going to reverse the effects of the Dark Mark and actually see into the heads of other Death Eaters. A tricky practice that requires much work before it can be mastered.”

Something inside Harry burned at Snape’s subtle implication that he was, somehow, a Death Eater. “I’m not a Death Eater, sir.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Are you not? Tell me, what do you think a Death Eater is?”

“A willing follower of Voldemort,” Harry said easily. “It has nothing to do with a Mark.”

Snape blinked. Once. Twice. “I had no idea a Potter could make such distinctions,” he said condescendingly. “Pity it doesn’t reflect in your Potions work. You have a remaining detention to serve with Professor Whams, so you will report to him for your next detention. Afterwards, you shall come to me. If you have any more dreams, you are to tell the headmaster the instant you can. And, as my stores of glass jars and flasks are nowhere near completely cleaned yet, I am obliged to extend your detentions until the New Year. Remember: not a minute late.”

“Right,” Harry said, as Snape obviously expected some sort of response.

“And Potter,” continued the Potions master. “Have you told the headmaster about your…memory problem?”

Harry became instantly wary. He knew exactly what Snape was referring to: the incident where Gates burned the wedding photograph. “No,” he said quietly.

Snape just looked at him. “I suggest strongly that you do so. And soon.”

With those last words, Snape whirled away once more, striding down the corridor without looking back.

***

Harry was disappointed (and slightly alarmed) to easily defeat his Ravenclaw opponent in the Dueling Club match. His additional training with Gates had given him an extra edge, and even Dumbledore seemed impressed with the strength of his curses. Hermione’s duel with Dean was better, from what she told him, as he was a member of the D.A. and therefore more practiced in offensive spells.

The main issue Harry had with his duel, however, was Mr. Alverton’s presence throughout the entire match. Harry saw him, or, more accurately, his wide waist, in a near corner of the great hall, subtly nodding in his direction. The Ministry official’s endless string of advice and reminiscing was starting to become tiring. Of course, Harry fully understood Mr. Alverton’s need to recruit more Aurors, and that he would zealously court any potential new candidates, but his behavior was bordering on excessive. From what other students told him, Mr. Alverton presented a stern front whenever they spoke to him, and that his open amiability was evidently limited to Harry.

When the day came for the Quidditch match against Slytherin, emotions in the school were running high. Slytherin, bitter over the fact that, despite Malfoy’s victory, their duelers were mostly overwhelmingly defeated by Harry’s D.A. club, thirsted for vengeance, and planned on putting up a ferocious fight on the Quidditch field. Malfoy was brimming with taunts and insults, evidently trying to shake Ron’s confidence. For some reason, however, the redhead’s temper had miraculously remained in check, and the few fights that had occurred happened mainly between lone Gryffindors and Slytherins.

In private, however, Ron would constantly bombard Harry with questions about the upcoming match. “We’re going to destroy Slytherin, right Harry? There’s no way they can win, right?”

Harry, quite taken aback by his questions, usually gave a determinedly positive response, and Ron would leave looking slightly satisfied. Harry suspected that the Slytherin taunts, while not making react overtly, was subtly feeding his anxiety, resurrecting his dormant self-doubt. Ron’s ability, while considerably better than last year, was never good under pressure, and Harry could only hope that he would not cave.

The day of the match was exceptionally windy and cold, with, being the classic fall day, a biting chill on the teeth of each gust of air. This would make controlling their brooms difficult, even for exceptional broomsticks like the Firebolt. The wind kept pushing Harry’s glasses up and down the bridge of his nose, sometimes making them crooked or sending them sliding down his face. He was forced to use a binding charm to lock them in place. He could see Gates standing in front of the nearby stands, carefully watching the proceedings.

The Gryffindor team met the Slytherins in the middle of the field, Madam Hooch standing between them. Alicia and the Slytherin captain shook hands, and then cautiously backed away from each other, each one expecting the other to start throwing curses.

The howling wind drowned out most of Madam Hooch’s words, but Harry could still hear her say, “-and no funny business with the Quaffle-”

The loudspeaker was completely inaudible, and even the crowd’s exuberant cries were reduced to a low din from the roaring wind. Faintly, Harry could see Hermione cheering for him in the stands, wrapped up in a red and gold Gryffindor scarf, her cheeks tinged pink from the cold, holding her hands up high. He looked behind him, towards the goal posts, to see Ron, eyes fixed forward, determination on his face. Harry, who was still concerned over Ron’s apparent anxiety, breathed a sigh of relief.

“-clean game, you hear?” Madam Hooch finished, and looked pointedly at both captains.

Finally, she bent down, unlocked the chest, and the Bludgers, Quaffle, and Snitch show out, disappearing into the swirling wind. The Chasers and Beaters took off after them, leaving Harry and Malfoy to chase after the Snitch.

“Well, Potty, you ready to lose?” Malfoy sneered.

Harry kicked off the ground and soared high into the air until he had a good view of the pitch and the players. The occasional black and red blurs of the Bludgers and Quaffle told him that the game was in full throttle, and that the wind, while still hampering the game, did not have too much of an effect on the Chasers and Beaters. It was devastating, however, on the Seekers, because, neither he nor Malfoy could hold their brooms still in the air long enough to catch sight of the Snitch, which remained as elusive as ever.

Descending slightly, Harry squinted to get a better view. He saw a flash of red pass through a Gryffindor hoop, and he vaguely registered Slytherin going up ten points. He hoped that Ron was holding up, but, at this point, there was nothing he could do about it. The announcer’s voice was so distorted from the wind that Harry could not make out the score, and he severely doubted that the spectators could, either.

Gryffindor came back a few minutes later and made two consecutive goals, making Harry feel a little lighter at heart. Still, there was no sign of the Snitch, and he was beginning to worry. Looking around, he saw Malfoy winding around the opposite end of the field, searching with equal intensity. Harry decided to rise a bit higher into the air.

Another ten minutes passed and Harry remained luckless. The wind was tossing his broom around like a toy, and, even with the Firebolt’s balancing charm, Harry was hard pressed to keep his broomstick parallel to the ground. Eventually, he was forced to waste precious minutes adjusting himself in his seat to counteract the effect of the wind. It helped a little, but not enough.

“Hey Potter,” Malfoy shouted over the dull blaring of air. “The score is seventy to thirty, Slytherin! Looks like Gryffindor is getting destroyed! That’s what you get for making Weasley a Keeper, I suppose!”

“We’ll see, Malfoy,” retorted Harry without looking at him. “You better tell your team to score another hundred and ten points, because there’s no way you’re going to catch the Snitch.”

Suddenly, Harry felt something hard smack into his shoulder, and the force of it nearly caused him to fall off his broom. The Firebolt veered off to the left, following the wind current, and for a moment had no control over his broomstick. Regaining his balanced, he seized the tip of his broom and jerked his it back and recovered, curving once more into the middle of the field. Malfoy was smirking from where Harry had hovered only a moment ago.

“Oops,” drawled Malfoy, his voice being carried by the wind. “This weather, it’s bizarre, you know? Blew me right into you.”

Harry did not respond. His eyes were locked on a spot on the field where he saw a fleeting glimmer of gold. Trying to appear casual, he drifted over, and, once more, he saw gold flash, no more than a foot over the ground.

Without warning, a silent alarm went off in his head, and apprehension crept up his spine. Something dangerous was emanating from the ground, or maybe the stands. Harry tried to pinpoint it. He tried peering through the air, but the jostling wind prevented him from focusing. It almost felt like it was radiating from Hogwarts, under the stone eves of the battlements. It was bewildering and confusing, and the sense of danger darted erratically from source to source, as a filled balloon does when released. His mind turned sluggish, like he was mentally and physically exhausted, and he found that he had to focus more to simply remain situated on his broom.

Just as quickly as it started, however, it ended, and Harry heard a whoop of elation over the wind. Malfoy had seen the Snitch!

Abandoning caution, Harry went into a dive and sped downwards, straining his hand out in front of him to catch the small golden ball that hovered tauntingly over the grass. His brain screamed that pulling out of this dive in time would be impossible, and, for the first time, Harry was unsure of himself. There was no possible way he could catch the Snitch without smashing into the ground.

Rationale hijacked his pride, and, throwing all thoughts of catching the Snitch away, he tried to slow his descent and form a gentle curve, but found that the Firebolt was unresponsive. He pulled harder, and then yanked at it. His arms felt weak from some sort of foreign weakness. The old exhaustion crept over him. He yanked yet again. Nothing.

The wind, announcer, and crowd all seemed to fall silent, and the roaring in his ears fell, as if he had suddenly gone deaf. All that he could see was the vibrant gold Snitch, the polished Ash tip of his broomstick, and his extended right arm. He tried pulling up again, weakly from his tired arms, but his broom ignored his command, and continued on its course straight towards the ground.

A lone, distant voice shattered the bizarre silence. “Suicidal!” someone shouted. It was Malfoy.

Everything sped up at once. His Firebolt was hurtling towards the ground at frightening speed, and, out of options, Harry gripped the handle and braced himself for impact.

The brief, spike of pain lasted for less than a second, and then tapered down to a dull throbbing that reached all the way from his skull to his ankle. His hip ached from where he slammed it into the earth. A taste of copper flooded his mouth, and he tried to spit it out, but to no avail. Vaguely, he realized that he had bit down on his tongue. Hard.

Harry reached over for his broom, but found that it was not there. Opening his eyes, he found that everything was colored in dull shades, as though the color was sucked out of the sky, the grass. Screams and shouts approached him, as well as frantic commands. He felt himself being lifted up, and saw, through a dim haze, that it was Dumbledore.

“Headmaster?” he said, or thought he said. He was so tired that he could not tell the difference. He wanted nothing more than to drift off to sleep.

In a painfully slow fashion, he turned his head to see Mr. Alverton inspecting the place where he crashed, where there was nothing more than upturned soil. There was no sign of his broom. The Ministry official stared at him, as though in horror.

“Harry!” he heard voices shout. Ron and Hermione. They were both being forced away, Professors McGonagall and Snape holding them back.

“THE DARK LORD WAS HERE!” bellowed an all-too familiar voice. Gates was holding a drawn wand, revolving slowly in a circle, as though expecting an attack from any direction. “GET THEM INSIDE! THE DARK-”

“What are you shouting about Alex?” Mr. Alverton demanded, advancing upon Gates with a commanding air. “You-Know-Who did not-”

“I SAW HIM!” Gates roared, rounding on the Ministry official. “GET AURORS HERE! CALL THE MINISTRY!”

The madness in Gates’ voice pried into Harry’s brain, making him groan aloud. Dumbledore protectively drew him closer. The tension and emotion in the air was palpable.

Dumbledore’s voice, sounding weak and fleeting against the wind, said, “Alex, Voldemort was not here-”

“I SAW HIM ON THIS MAP!” shouted Gates, drawing the Marauder’s Map. He waved it violently in the air. “THIS MAP SHOWS EVERYONE PERSON ON THESE GROUNDS! I WAS WATCHING! HE WAS HERE!”

Gates looked ready to explode. Students and adults alike began to back away from him, until only Dumbledore stood before him, still cradling Harry in his arms. Energy radiated from the Hit Wizard’s body, distorting the air around him with its charge. Mr. Alverton drew his wand.

Dumbledore watched him, his expression stony. “He cannot apparate onto school grounds-”

“HE WAS HERE!” roared Gates. “EVERYONE INSIDE! GIVE ME THE BOY!” He strode up to Harry meaningfully. Gates’ voice sounded far away. Sleep tried to overcome him, but Harry resisted. The natural fear that stabbed at him was vague and indistinct.

Dumbledore stepped in Gates’ path. “Did you see Voldemort? Physically,” he said calmly. “Breath, Alex.”

Gates dropped his voice to a whisper. “No, but he was on the map,” he hissed. “I saw him on the map.”

And then, before Harry could listen any further, he fell unconscious, his exhaustion putting out his thoughts.

(A/N: I don’t know about you, but I really enjoyed writing the Neville/Draco duel. The almost-U.C. pretty much shows Malfoy’s mindset at this point and his potential for cruelty. Some of you may hate me for picking on poor Neville all the time, but alas, he is an easy target.

Next chapter will be out on 3/19.

FAQ: How many character deaths will be there by the end of this fic? One and a half.

Next chapter: Hogwarts receives some visitors in the wake of the Quidditch disaster. Accusations fly. Harry has a rather confusing detention with Whams. Harry and Gates receive a rather unexpected visitor during one of their training sessions, and Dumbledore has some news that may spell relief for Harry over the holidays.

22. Vision

(A/N: Here is a list of all the errors I have made over the course of this fic. (That I know of at least)

1. Alicia Spinnet graduated and could not be the Quidditch Captain. This isn’t too important.

2. Luna should be a year behind Harry; I accidentally had her in his DADA class.

3. I stated in chapter 6 that House-elves cannot apparate. On JKR’s webpage, it says they can. In this fic, house-elves cannot apparate.)

Harry woke up with a groan. The intense lighting in the infirmary burned at his eyes, and he slowly brought his hands up to rub them. Everything was conspicuously silent, and, apprehensively, removed his hands and looked around, his surroundings appearing blurry without glasses to focus them.

“You’re awake,” said Gates in a characteristically smooth fashion.

“Where is everybody?” Harry muttered, still trying to shake the grogginess from his head. He tried to make out the details of what happened, but found that the more he tried, the less he could recall. It was like capturing sand with his fingers. “Where is Hermione?”

Gates took a long time to answer, as though he was carefully considering the question. “Not here. Madam Pomfrey has set you in a private section of the hospital wing. She fears that any excess excitement would send you back into your unconscious state. I am the only one allowed in this room until you are alert and ready once more.”

“And why’s that?”

Gates just stared. “Do you really have to ask Potter?”

Suddenly, a memory came back to him. He remembered Mr. Alverton standing over a large, gaping hole in the earth. “Where’s my broom?” he asked with trepidation.

A slow grin crept onto Gates’ face. “It’s six feet under, both figuratively and literally. Your broom dove into the ground with the force that would have killed you had I not reacted with a few well-placed cushioning and slowing charms. You came out relatively unscathed. Your Firebolt was not so fortunate.” He gestured to the far corner, where the Firebolt, while not quite smashed to pieces, was nearly split in two as the tip was bent at a bizarre angle.

Harry could not bear to look at it, so instead he threw his head back onto the pillow. “I need to see Hermione.”

“Perhaps you have forgotten exactly what happened on that field yesterday, Potter,” said Gates slowly and carefully, as if weighing every word. “The Dark Lord made a second attempt to kill you.”

“And whose fault is that?”

The Hit Wizard’s voice became laced with menace. “I did not demand this task. Remember that. I did not foresee the Dark Lord himself apparating to the Quidditch match to jinx your broom.”

“You can’t apparate onto Hogwarts grounds.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Gates snapped. “I will tell you what I saw. On the Marauder’s map-“ He drew the said map from his pocket, waving it in the air. “-I saw the Dark Lord’s name appear, out of thin air. Before I could go and confront him, he began jinxing your broom, and I was forced to save your life rather than slay the Dark Lord. After you smashed into the ground, I checked the map again, and he was gone. The Dark Lord came, attacked you, and then left in the space of thirty seconds. That is only possible with apparation, regardless of what Albus says. His wards are failing.”

These words left Harry feeling stunned. He could see no error in Gates’ logic. “So what now?”

“For now, Potter,” said Gates. “We remain here for a few hours, until Albus reinforces the wards and ensures that the anti-apparating defenses are still intact.” He was evidently taking great pains in keeping his voice calm to prevent himself from inadvertently causing any problems as Harry recovered.

Slowly and deliberately, Harry sat up in bed and threw his legs over the side. Slightly dizzy from the abrupt change in position, he waited for a moment and then stood up. His elbows and knees still ached, his head still hurt, but other than that he could find no severe injuries. Compared to his other Quidditch accidents, this was nothing.

“Lay back down, Potter,” said Gates distantly. “You won’t be going anywhere for quite awhile. Not until you’re ready.”

Harry looked at him quizzically. “Ready for what?”

“The ministry, of course,” Gates said absently. He sounded almost preoccupied. “Robert Alverton informed Minister Fudge of the debacle and now we will be having Aurors swarming all over the school. Obviously, they want to ask you some questions about how you felt, what you saw, et cetera.”

Being interrogated by ministry officials is not something Harry wanted to do at the moment, so he reluctantly sat back down in his bed. But damn it, he wanted to see Hermione and Ron. Madam Pomfrey’s wild concerns that he would for some reason faint from overexertion if he talked with anyone were absurd.

“As ministry Aurors will now be marching the halls,” Gates continued evenly. “I believe I can, at least for short intervals, separate myself from you in order to set up wards and investigate the…happenings that have been occurring within these halls as of late.” The Hit Wizard could not help but add a bitter tone to his speech. “The Dark Lord has insulted me twice with his near-successes. There will not be a third.”

“So that means I will have free time to be on my own?” Harry asked, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. He hardly dared to believe it.

Gates stared at him blandly. “On the condition that you do not do anything foolish and restrain yourself to any parameters I may set, yes, you will be away from me. I am hardly required to personally guard you every second of every day. I merely ensure your safety, and, most of the time, that requires my presence. However, any failures or stupidities on your part will mean pages,” he added in a tone so even and calm it was rather unsettling.

“Additionally,” continued Gates. “You’re training schedule will have to be increased. I fear that the Dark Lord may use some of his Death Eaters next, and I, as talented as I am with defensive charms, will not be able to block curses from multiple directions. This means I will be expecting more out of you, Potter. Next Saturday we will begin.”

“Begin what?”

“You’ll see.”

Harry’s gaze fell upon his bent broom, and sadness welled up in him. The Firebolt was Sirius’s first Christmas gift to him, and, quite possibly, the most important object he owned. Now, it was most definitely in no condition to fly, and he was not sure if it could be repaired. While it was not shattered into splinters like his Nimbus 2000 was, it was warped from the impact.

“Don’t concern yourself with your broom,” Gates said suddenly, following Harry’s gaze. “Albus has suspended Quidditch until he can assure the safety of all the participants. Which means, more or less, indefinitely.”

The knowledge struck Harry like a hammer. He would have to go yet another year without Quidditch. He had not played a full season since his third year.

A knock came on the door, opening to reveal a formal-looking wizard holding a clipboard all-too similar to the one Dr. Perry used to possess. Mr. Alverton stood behind him, his bulk dwarfing the other man. “Mr. Potter? May we have a word?”

Harry wondered briefly how they knew he was awake, but then decided that his voice must have been carrying farther than he originally thought. Bowing to the inevitable, he conceded and hoped that this interview would be kept short.

“Excellent,” said the still-unidentified wizard. He took a seat next to Harry‘s bed. “I am Tyler McClagger, a ministry representative. I would like to ask a few questions about the Quidditch game in which You-Know-Who supposedly appeared and caused your Firebolt to malfunction.”

Malfunction. That was a light way of putting it. “Alright, where do you want me to begin?” Harry might as well begin practicing. People were sure to ask him for the same story a thousand times after this. Maybe afterwards he could see Hermione and Ron. Especially Hermione.

McClagger brought out a long, raven quill and poised it over his thin clipboard. Mr. Alverton gave Harry a reassuring wink over his shoulder. “Well, what did you see? Did you see You-Know-Who, or any of his underlings on or near the Quidditch pitch?” He looked up at Harry expectantly.

“No,” Harry answered.

When McClagger finished scribbling down his response, he asked, “Did you experience anything before the…incident? Any fatigue or-” His eyes flitted up to Harry’s scar. “-headaches?”

“Sort of,“ he began. Harry tried to relate his sudden exhaustion, the strange, bizarre sense that he had somehow gone deaf midway through the dive, and the disorientation he experienced beforehand. As he spoke, McClagger watched him curiously, and Mr. Alverton appeared almost worried. Clearly they had no idea as to what to attribute his experience to.

“Have you ever experienced these problems before?” McClagger asked hesitantly.

Harry paused. Did Dumbledore tell the ministry about his first encounter with Voldemort this year? With Fudge still in charge, he doubted it. “No,” he half-lied. In fact, he had experienced exhaustion the day his wand was jinxed, but not the disorientation.

McClagger frowned slightly, and jotted down a short note on his clipboard. “Well, that makes sense, I suppose. Has anyone else had contact for any long period of time with your broom by themselves for any long period of time?”

There was one person, and, upon realizing this, he glanced at the Hit Wizard in the corner. “Yes, there was,” said Harry. “Alexander Gates had it for awhile.” It did not matter, he supposed, since Percy already knew, and he worked for the ministry.

McClagger began scribbling furiously onto his clipboard and Mr. Alverton whirled around. Gates merely stared at them.

“Alex,” said Mr. Alverton with a little anger bubbling up into his voice. “May I have a word in private?”

For a moment, Gates said nothing. “I suppose I can grant that small request. Shall we stay within the next room, preferably close to this door?” He gestured to the lone entrance to the room.

Mr. Alverton nodded stiffly. Without a second glance at Harry, Gates swept through the door, Mr. Alverton following him. That single question unsettled Harry more than all the others. What if the Hit Wizard had put some sort of controlling charm onto his broom before giving it back? There would be no way for Harry to know, as he had not inspected it since the very beginning of the season. And, to compound it, Gates was the only one to supposedly ‘see’ Voldemort on the Marauder’s Map. Did he sabotage Harry’s broom, using Voldemort to cover up his attack? With Voldemort’s previous presence in the Nemesis Mirror, the Quidditch match would provide the perfect opportunity. It all made far too much sense.

And the most unfortunate aspect of this plan was that Gates’ face would probably not show up in the mirror because the threat would have passed by now.

Who would suspect Gates, especially since he bore a magical bond within his mind? There was no possible way for the Hit Wizard to directly attack Harry, but there were indirect ways to bring him to harm without dirtying his hands, evading the magical bond’s retribution. Could Gates subvert the magical bond in that way? He decided that he would have to ask Hermione.

One thing was for certain, however, and that he would be staying as far away from Gates as possible for the rest of this school year.

“Do you have any suspicions of Alex…tampering with your broom?” McClagger asked in a lowered voice.

Harry suddenly felt very uncomfortable. “It wouldn’t be below him.”

McClagger nodded understandingly. “I can’t argue with that. If there are any further issued between you and him, contact Mr. Alverton or any of the Aurors stationed around the school-”

“Stationed?”

“Yes, we are assigning a large detachment of Aurors to aid in the school’s defense. It is apparent that You-Know-Who is targeting students, so the ministry will be doing everything it can to protect Hogwarts. Don’t worry, you’ll be safe from now on.”

Somehow, the Auror’s assurances felt hollow.

McClagger asked him a few more questions, but Harry was not really paying attention. His thoughts were still on Gates, who undoubtedly stood directly outside of the door, talking with Mr. Alverton. After receiving several negative responses, McClagger withdrew his quill, wished Harry good health, and left the room. Harry caught a glimpse of Mr. Alverton joining McClagger and the two left.

When Gates reentered, he looked on the verge of saying something, but then apparently thought better of it and returned to his corner, where he stood silently, though his eyes were primed and alert, watching for any interlopers.

At last, after another day of complete isolation from all visitors, Madam Pomfrey very reluctantly released Harry to go back to his classes.

“Don’t overexert yourself or become excited,” she warned in dire tones. “If you do, there’s a very good chance you’ll faint. So I expect you to go to your classes and go back to your dormitory after dinner. You’re at a very delicate stage right now, but Headmaster Dumbledore insists…”

Indeed, Harry was glad to finally be released from the nurse’s care, and, as he was let out in mid-afternoon, he nearly sprinted out of the infirmary. The ache in his joints and head were gone, due to liberal amounts of rest and Numbing Potion. He heard Madam Pomfrey chastising him from insider the hospital wing, but he ignored her. Excited? Never mind that, he wanted to see Hermione!

Harry looked down at his watch, and groaned when he saw that it was time for Potions. While he was excused from all of the day’s classes, he could not wait to see Hermione again. Despite his initial desire, that is, to stay as far away from the dungeons as possible, he found himself turning and climbing down the nearby circular stairway. Gates followed wordlessly from behind.

When he reached the classroom door, he hesitated, second-guessing his plan. The prospect of sitting through Snape’s class when he did not have to was not appealing, but he wanted to anyway, if only to see Hermione sooner. Tentatively, he knocked twice on the heavy, iron-wrought door that lead into the dungeon classroom. Faintly, he could smell the vapor of simmering cauldrons.

The door swung open and Harry was greeted by Snape, who was staring down at him with a slightly surprised expression on his face. He could see Hermione over the Potion master’s right shoulder, who looked positively ecstatic when she saw his face.

“Potter,” said Snape somewhat coldly. “What reason do you have to be here when I know for a fact that Madam Pomfrey dismissed you from all your afternoon classes?”

Harry tried his best to ignore the Potion master’s tone. “I’m feeling well enough for class. Madam Pomfrey said I had the option of missing classes today, I wasn’t ordered to.”

Snape just stared at him for a long moment, and then widened the door and stepped out of the way to let Harry in. When Harry crossed the threshold, Gates locked his gaze with Snape’s.

“If you can ensure no harm comes to the boy for this period,” said Gates, pressing his hand against the door so Snape could not close it again. “I will proceed to reinforce the wards. I believe they are in a dreadful state of disrepair.”

Snape gave a curt nod and then shut the door and latched the lock. As he strode back to his desk, Harry noticed that the Potions master had trouble hiding his pleasure. There was a new bounce to his step and this was as close to gleeful that Harry had ever seen Snape become. Gates’ absence had a near-tangible effect on Snape’s personality. Suddenly, he had the feeling that Potions class might not be as terrible as he had anticipated.

Harry looked towards Hermione and saw she was looking at him, her eyes asking a thousand questions. He gave her a small grin to assure her everything was all right, and then waited for Snape’s instruction.

“You should be adding your root now,” announced Snape in a rather light voice. Casually, almost absentmindedly, he walked around the room, occasionally pausing to inspect cauldrons.

“You will take notes on what Miss Granger is doing, Potter,” Snape said once he realized that Harry had been standing up front.

To say Harry was surprised was an understatement. He expected points to be deducted on the excuse of showing up late, or some other nonsense the Potions master regularly invented. Instead, Snape appeared apathetic towards him, almost mellow. While they were still not on good terms by any means, there was, if anything, an unspoken truce. It was a change Harry found very agreeable.

“Are you all right?” Hermione whispered when he approached.

Harry cast a furtive glance towards Snape to ensure that the professor was a good distance away. “I’m fine, I’ve been through worse.” She looked concerned but Harry did not elaborate.

He sat next to Hermione and drew his quill and parchment, being sure to take careful notes of her procedure. Not wanting to test Snape’s newfound patience, Harry remained relatively silent, just glad to be near her again after their brief separation. There would be words after class, and, from Hermione’s expression, she had the same thought in mind.

It was strangely refreshing to be away from Gates’ continuous presence. Harry no longer felt the hairs on his back prick up when he was hunched over his desk, nor did sense any of the overwhelming power that Gates (or his necklace) emanated.

When Snape wandered nearby, Harry increased his note-taking pace to a feverish level, not wanting any points deducted for ‘slacking’.

“Remember your detention with Professor Whams tonight,” Snape muttered as he fleetingly reviewed Harry’s notes. “It’s already been scheduled. After that, your detentions will continue with me.”

“Right,” Harry muttered back, and there were no more words exchanged between them for the rest of the class.

The bell rang and students stood up to leave, but before Harry could leave with Hermione, he was beckoned over to the back of the room, where Snape stood ominously, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed. Signaling to Hermione that he would meet up with her outside, he met the Potions master quickly, wanting this encounter to be over within the next minute.

“Yes?” Harry asked in the most polite voice he could muster.

An expression flashed across Snape’s face as though he regretted calling Harry over. The corner of his mouth twitched. “It has come to my attention that you and Alex have dueling lessons in the Room of Requirement.”

From the silence that followed, Harry decided that Snape wanted some sort of response. “Err, yeah, we do.”

“I also understand that Phineas Nigellus cannot witness these lessons, as the room’s enchantments prevent portraits from entering.”

Harry shrugged. “If that’s the way it works.”

“That is the way it works, Potter,” said Snape disdainfully. He paused thoughtfully, then added, “From now on, you will report to me these lesson times.”

“And what are you going to do with them?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“Inform the headmaster of the situation, of course,” Snape said with a raised eyebrow.

Snape’s answer almost sounded weak. “Doesn’t Professor Dumbledore already know about the lessons?” asked Harry.

“Perhaps,” said Snape with finality. “Now what is your training schedule?”

Harry told Snape the normal days he worked with Gates in the Room of Requirement. It was not exactly a huge secret - Ron, Hermione, and most of the Quidditch team already knew his schedule - so he figured Gates would not care if he divulged that bit of information. “Is that all?”

Snape hesitated, and it did not take a Legilimentist for Harry to realize that he was either being deceptive or flat-out lying. “I have no further questions for you,” he said dismissively. “Go on to your next class.”

His irritation at being so casually dismissed was surpassed only by his eagerness to join Hermione. When he caught up with her, he was overwhelmed with a shower of questions concerning his health.

“Harry we were all so worried,” Hermione looked ready to throw her arms around him, but she refrained, as though afraid he would break. She held her books tightly to her chest and her eyes shone. “The entire Weasley family wanted to see you, of course, and so did I, and Lupin, and even Cho. But Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore said your condition was too delicate and that you couldn’t have any visitors until you were ready and that only that monster Gates could be in your room.”

Harry tried to get a word in but Hermione continued at an unstoppable pace.

“Then Rita must have seen something because there was an article in the Daily Prophet and the ministry practically stormed the school an hour after you fell. Everyone saw how hurt you were and Mr. Alverton contacted the Auror division so now there are ministry officials all over Hogwarts and everything is so confusing-”

Harry managed to get out a few words. “It’s all right, really-”

“And how are you feeling?” Hermione asked hurriedly, taking a step towards him, trying to get a better look. “I can’t believe Madam Pomfrey let you out so early- Oh my God, is that a bruise?”

“I’m fine, I swear,” Harry said, beginning to laugh. “The bruise is nothing. It could’ve been a lot worse.” He took her shoulders and pulled her closer to him.

“It’s not funny!” Hermione countered, though she was beginning to smile too though it was apparently against her will .”V-Voldemort could’ve killed you-”

The laughter quickly died on Harry’s lips. Not because she mentioned the name of his worst nemesis, but because he suddenly remembered McClagger’s question.

Do you have any suspicions of Alex…tampering with your broom?

Harry took her aside and lowered his voice. “That’s another thing. I’m not sure that it was Voldemort at all.”

Hermione was perplexed. “Harry what-”

“I think Gates lied,” Harry said quickly. “I think he said he saw Voldemort on the Marauder’s Map to cover it up. I think Gates attacked me, not Voldemort.”

“He…Dumbledore…” Hermione’s eyes widened and her lip trembled. “He wouldn’t dare. Not in a Quidditch game.”

“But could he?” asked Harry seriously. “Would the magical bond prevent it?”

“Yes. No,” Hermione struggled for words. “It depends on the wording in Sirius’s letter. All magical bonds are different.”

For Harry, this reinforced his suspicions. He was about to speak again when another voice arose further down the hall.

“Hey mate!” Ron called, a wide grin on his face. “You got out of the infirmary? Great!” Then, when seeing their grim faces, he added, “What’s wrong?”

Quickly, Harry related to Ron his fears, and, when he finished, the redhead’s face was considerably paler.

“Blimey, I can’t believe it,” Ron said in an awed voice. “Right in front of the entire school, too.”

“But Harry,” said Hermione tentatively. “Didn’t you see Voldemort’s face in the mirror?”

“I’m not saying that Gates jinxed my wand as well, I’m only saying that he jinxed my broom.”

Ron’s face lit up, as though realizing something. “Why don’t we check the Nemesis mirror right now?”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other. It seemed so obvious now.

“Let’s go.”

They had approximately thirty minutes before Transfiguration class began, so they immediately climbed up the spiral staircase out of the dungeons, and, eventually, came to a breathless halt at the gargoyle.

“Skiving Snackboxes.”

The gargoyle leapt aside and, when Harry came to the office door, he swung it open and was greeted by no one. Dumbledore was gone.

Only vaguely thinking that he should not be ransacking through Dumbledore’s office outside of the headmaster’s supervision, but believing the reason to be important, Harry crossed the room and lifted up the Nemesis mirror, which was laying on the lacquered desk, as if tossed aside.

Peering through the curls of smoke and clouds, Harry searched for a definite form, looking for the familiar sharp face, hawkish expression, and bald scalp.

“What is it?” Ron whispered.

“Do you see him? Voldemort?” asked Hermione anxiously. Ron shuddered at the mention of the name but otherwise remained silent.

“I- Well-“ Harry was having trouble seeing anything through the haze. He squinted, tilting the mirror back and forth, thinking that perhaps he had it at the wrong angle. Then, abruptly, a wicked, serpentine face emerged, with red slits for eyes, and a wide, sneering mouth. His scar began to sear with pain.

Harry recoiled, almost dropping the mirror in his shock. It was not Gates. It was Voldemort.

“Who was it?” Ron said urgently.

Harry shook his head to clear his senses. “Voldemort.”

“Is it right? Can the mirror be wrong?” Ron asked in quick succession.

Confused, Harry looked towards Hermione.

“Well,” said Hermione. “The mirror only shows whose magic will be of the greatest personal and physical threat to you.”

“Wait, what does that mean?” Ron asked, perplexed.

“It means,” said Hermione with infinite patience. “That magic can be cast through different mediums. Besides, it doesn’t necessarily disprove anything. Gates might have only planned to attack you this one time, and is no longer a threat. It is subject to interpretation.”

“Like Divination.”

Hermione’s tone was quite confidant. “Exactly like Divination.”

**

Harry learned nothing more about Gates’ involvement in the attack, and, when the Hit Wizard came striding up into the Gryffindor common room that evening, they were unable to discuss it further. However, it probably would have proven fruitless anyway. Gates, if he was the one behind the broomstick malfunction, hid his guilt well, and Harry had little tangible evidence to go by.

Rita’s article, which Hermione mentioned before, had made the rounds throughout Hogwarts. Though they had all seen Harry crash into the ground themselves, Rita injected tidbits of skewed and sometimes blatantly made-up information, suggesting strongly that the entire school was in danger while Harry was within its walls. It was complete trash, and he was thankful that the majority of Gryffindors did not believe a word of it. Some of the younger students who were not around during Rita’s fourth year antics scooted away from Harry when he approached, but other than that, few reacted negatively to the article.

Still, it was infuriating that Skeeter could write lies with impunity.

When it came time for him to go to Snape’s detention (which would be spent with Professor Whams), Harry said goodbye and left Hermione to the protection of Norman Carwin, who was currently lecturing her on Arithmancy from within his frame.

He went the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, absently aware of Gates’ presence, wondering if the rather forgetful professor would even remember the detention.

He did.

Professor Whams, with Percy beside him, greeted Harry with a large stack of files and a few folders, each with labels such as Second Years or Exams. Percy told him to organize the material, and, afterwards, to clean up as much of the classroom as he possibly could.

Harry was reluctant. “Isn’t that, err-”

“Require a lot of responsibility?” Percy finished for him. “Yes, but frankly it needs to be done, and there is no time for either me or Professor Whams to do it. It shouldn’t be too difficult. Simply separate it and then put it into piles. I can finish putting it away when I come back.”

“Professor Snape said specifically that you had to be here for at least two hours,” continued Percy wearily. “If you finish up early, just stay in here until we get back. And stay away from the back cabinets. Something has been chewing away at the woodwork and, from the looks of it, it is large and nasty.”

“Wait, where will you be going?”

“Me and Professor Whams have to reorganize his filing cabinet in his office,” Percy replied. “It’s in a dreadful state, as you can, err, imagine.”

“There’s insects crawling about in my papers,” said Whams from behind his desk. “Nasty little creatures. I can barely stand to use them during class.”

Percy said, “That’ll be cleaned out in the end, professor.”

Whams mumbled something inaudible.

The said professor was now shuffling through his drawers, yanking out great handfuls of parchment. For a moment, it looked like Percy was going to say something, but then he thought the better of it and remained silent.

At length, Whams finished and went to the door, wielding a great stack of old torn papers (they looked like essays) and holding a small box under his arm. “Coming, Perseus?” he asked when he got to the door.

“Of course, professor,” Percy sighed, then turned to Harry. “We’ll be back soon.”

With that said, Percy joined Whams, and together they left.

Harry was left with a desk heaped with slanting stacks of boxes and parchment, which swayed dangerously near the edge. The entire surface of it was covered with layers of parchment, scrolls, quills, a few pairs of glasses, and a wide assortment of books and tomes. Harry was confounded as to how anyone could allow their workspace to become so cluttered, and he was at a loss of where to begin. Should he clear it all off first or should he try to categorize the litter? He assumed that there was nothing he could throw away.

Gates stood casually across the room, wandering from cabinet to cabinet, fiddling with little artifacts he found among Whams’ heaps of paper. One he seemed particularly fascinated with. If you were not agile enough to avoid its sting, it would lash at your finger with a zap of energy, burning it. It was nothing more than a training tool.

Somewhat hopelessly, Harry picked his way around the edge of the desk, separating everything into little piles. In the beginning, at least, he could try to sort the mess out into narrower heaps. The true cleaning could come later.

Finally, Harry finished cleaning off Whams’ desk. Every last bit of litter was cleared off, except, of course, the parchment that was somehow glued to the top with large quantities of ink. Then he moved on to the drawers, pulling them out and dumping their contents onto the floor. He went from drawer to drawer this way, without pausing, when he came across a peculiarity that immediately caught his eye.

Harry was used to seeing Whams’ perpetual state of disorganization. So far, he had come across drawers full of old sandwiches, drawers full of dirty robes, and even drawers full of cracked ink bottles and books. But never once had he seen any evidence of neatness on the professor’s part. The drawer he had just drew out of the desk, however, was carefully organized, containing sheets of paper with clear, distinct notes.

At first he thought that this belonged to Percy, but the signature at the bottom was clearly signed ‘Henry Whams’, and there was no doubt as to their ownership. Why in the world was this drawer, of all the others, carefully maintained?

Looking closer, he saw that his name was written several times on the papers. In fact, so were Ron’s and Hermione’s. He read a random line on the top sheet.

Ronald Weasley also partakes in a group that identifies itself as the ‘D.A.’, led by Harry Potter, also known as the Boy-Who-Lived.

“Is something wrong, Potter?” Gates called.

Harry deftly replaced the drawer. He had the innate feeling that he did not want Gates to read whatever was in those notes. “No,” he said as innocently as he could.

Gates narrowed his eyes. “Is that so? Let me see, then.” The Hit Wizard put down the toy in his hand and strode over to the desk.

“Step aside,” he commanded under his breath, and yanked open the drawer. Pausing for a fraction of a second, he quickly sifted through the contents, glancing over all the sheets in turn. He then grinned.

“I know what this is,” muttered Gates. He carelessly tossed the paper back into the drawer. “Irrelevant.”

Just then, the door to the classroom swung open and Professor Whams swept in, going directly to his desk and taking the drawer from Gates’ hand. The Hit Wizard let him, without so much as putting up a resistance.

“You must excuse me,” said Professor Whams with a jovial bounce in his voice. “I will be needing this information for my office’s filings. I hope you are making sense of my desk, Mr. Peter.”

“Most of it, professor,” answered Harry carefully. He was suddenly suspicious of everything from Whams’ velvet slippers to his wide, vapid smile.

“Excellent,” said Whams without missing a bit. He made to leave. “I will be back to make a better check on your progress.”

“Interesting drawer you have, Henry,” said Gates sleekly. Whams made an exit as if he did not hear, though Harry was sure that he did. After a moment, Gates turned to Harry. “Wouldn’t you say?”

“What was it?” asked Harry slowly.

“Forget the drawer,” said Gates dismissively. “Tell me, do you know who Henry Whams is?”

“He’s an Auror who spent twenty years in St. Mungo’s,” answered Harry, recalling what Hermione had once told him in the Leaky Cauldron.

“Let me tell you a little fact,” continued Gates. “If a wizard is to recover at all from a Memory Charm, he will be able to heal in twelve years.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Gates raised an eyebrow. “Think, Potter. Nothing is as it seems.”

Harry did not feel like pondering Gates’ cryptic statements, and, unless he was going to receive something more straightforward, he went back to shuffling through Whams’ trash.

***

At last, Occlumency came, and Harry found himself actually eagerly awaiting the session. While he did not have any more full-fledged dream sequences, he caught brief, fleeting glimpses of groveling Death Eaters and crusted stone walls in his sleep. Voldemort, caught unawares the first time, has been blocking Harry off, preventing him from seeing too much. Regardless, the images were disturbing, and Harry wanted nothing more than to banish them for good, even if that meant having Pseudo-Snape return. Hermione, of course, wall all for this.

“Just because you don’t see into his mind doesn’t mean he doesn’t see into yours,” Hermione told him during one late night by the common room fire. They were curled up on the couch, her head resting in his arms. “He might be reading your mind while you sleep and you don’t even realize it.”

Hermione had summed up in two sentences his own complicated feelings towards his present situation. Voldemort could be doing a variety of things to him, especially since he bears the Dark Mark. Occlumency is the only way to negate the Mark’s effects, and in order for that to happen, he would need Pseudo-Snape. There was simply no other way for him to become as good as Snape at Occlumency in such a short time period.

So when Harry descended into the cool dampness of the dungeons, he sincerely hoped that, given the Potions master’s newfound apathy, a sort of truce could be reached with Snape. Indeed, the last time they spoke, Snape noticeably kept the insults to a minimum, and Harry wanted to continue this trend. At least for a while.

When Harry entered the office, he found Snape staring forcefully at the wall, as though trying to bore holes into it with his stare. He looked strangely uncomfortable, as if the lining of his robe was made up of rough wool.

“You wish to learn how to control your Dark Mark, do you?” asked Snape at length, still not looking at Harry.

“Dumbledore said-”

“I know very well what the headmaster said,” interjected Snape. “I want to know whether you wish to learn this skill. It is incredibly difficult and dangerous, and you may find yourself mentally brushing against the Dark Lord.”

Harry hesitated for a long moment. “Yes, teach me.”

“Fine,” Snape said. “But first, we will rebuild the Occlumensia Anomaly‘s connection.” For the first time, Snape turned to face him. “It should be a simple matter, requiring no more than a few intrusions before it is reinstated. You will know when it has returned.” Snape paused, almost reluctantly. “You will hear the voice.”

Harry merely nodded his head.

“Then let us begin your Occlumency lesson.”

With that, Snape probed several times into Harry’s mind, each time with more and more difficulty. A small, faint voice surfaced in Harry’s mind, and he knew instantly that the Occlumensia Anomaly bond was strengthening. While Pseudo-Snape was not yet recognizable, he was reforming. Harry could feel it.

“Legilimens!”

Snape breached into his brain, though he met with considerable resistance. Harry barely had time to recuperate before the Potions master repeated the incantation.

“Legilimens!”

More resistance.

“Legilimens!”

Images. Shapeless, amorphous frames of light, then pictures which warped around his brain like funneling water. Nothing became definite. Harry would not allow it.

Out, murmured the voice, and, with a force of will alien to Harry, he pushed Snape out of his mind.

Snape stepped backwards with slightly narrowed eyes. “That is enough. The bond is now strong enough to give you Occlumency skills that equal my own. The Dark Lord cannot enter your mind. You are effectively cut off from him. Unless, of course, you meet him in person, in which case no level of Occlumency can override the Dark Mark’s influence.”

“Like you,” Harry said without thinking. He was not sure why he said those words, but he did.

“No Potter,” said Snape icily. “Not like me.” He inhaled. “With that detail out of the way, let us return to the subject at hand: controlling the Dark Mark.”

“Controlling the Dark Mark requires no incantation, nor spell of any sort,” continued Snape. “It requires nothing less than a great strength of will. You must force your mind to go beyond your body, and seek out fellow bearers of the Dark Mark. At first, you will have little control, but after you gain some experience, you should be able to select your targets, be it Rookwood or Bellatrix or even the Dark Lord himself. There is only one requirement: they must bear the Dark Mark.”

“So it’s like Legilimency?” asked Harry.

“No, it’s nothing like Legilimency,” said Snape softly. “When you’re reversing the effects of the Dark Mark, you are using an established bond to travel from Death Eater to Death Eater. That bond is, of course, the Dark Mark itself. With Legilimency, no bond can be formed.”

“But if no bond can be formed with Legilimency then how did I get the Occlumensia Anomaly?”

Snape sighed deeply. “As the headmaster and I explained previously, the Occlumensia Anomaly came about because of the bond established by the Dark Mark. When I used Legilimency upon you, it hooked onto the bond formed by the Dark Mark, and caused the…problem.”

“As I was saying,” Snape continued, his tone now telling Harry that he will no longer allow himself to be interrupted. “You can travel from Death Eater to Death Eater using the bonds created by the Dark Mark. By force of will, you can cross over and into another…into a Death Eater’s mind, seeing through his eyes, reading his senses. I believe the headmaster wishes you to become proficient in this skill because it can prove to be exceptionally useful in dire situations. When you become experienced, you will be able to sense the Dark Mark nearby, thereby detecting Death Eaters before they come into view.”

“And that’s how you do it,” said Harry carefully. “You reverse the effects of the Dark Mark to get into Voldemort’s, sorry, You-Know-Who’s brain. That’s how you spy on him.”

Snape stared at him for a long moment. “Precisely. Though you will be doing no such thing. You can easily lose control if you aren’t careful, and you will find the Dark Lord probing into your now-vulnerable mind easily. For that reason, you will only use this skill for life-preserving purposes. Is that understood?”

“Yes.”

“Then we can start now,” said Snape. “You will be needing that…entity in your mind to muster the force of will and control required. I suggest you close your eyes and focus. You will know when you have been successful when you experience new and foreign sensations, particularly in sight and sound. You will be practicing on me, and, though you will be unable to enter my mind due to my skill at Occlumency, you will acquire the general idea of it. Remember: pretend you are climbing out of your skin. Begin.” He stepped back, looking at Harry expectantly.

Harry stared at Snape for a minute, unsure of how to continue. He closed his eyes and then concentrated, envisioning a transparent cloud of himself rising out of his human form.

“Focus,” Snape said. He sounded far away.

Push, urged Pseudo-Snape, and, sure enough, he felt himself let go, and a curious numbing sensation swept over his body. The only feeling he sensed was the distant tingling of his scar.

Some might consider it bliss, but Harry found it frightful. Where was he? It was like he was stuck in a void. Then, abruptly, he felt himself connect with something, and a variety of sensations came over him. He felt cool dampness. He smelled the scent of an old cauldron. His breathing caught in his mouth. As soon as it happened, it stopped, and Harry found himself once more in his own body. Harry’s eyes snapped open.

Snape stood before him, his face made of stone, staring down at him. “Acceptable. Again,” he said stiffly.

Deciding that that was the closest thing to praise he had ever received from Snape, Harry closed his eyes without complaint, once again locking down his mind as he tried to push from his body. Pseudo-Snape stirred in the recesses of his brain, and, as it did previously, his scar pulsed while his body went numb.

His awareness floated away, and, fleetingly, he sensed Snape’s presence, and the possibility of wandering into his mind. Instead, wanting to test his limits, he let himself meander away aimlessly, not knowing where the next connection could take place nor caring. Suddenly, he found a path, and he inexplicably followed it, drawn by another power. Another Dark Mark. It was not Snape.

In a flash, Harry found himself looking through the eyes of another. Everything passed in multicolored blurs, and he could smell food wafting from somewhere, but he could not identify nor place it. He was trying to reach something placed on what appeared to be a towering table or counter, but, to his frustration, he could not reach it. What was he looking at, and more importantly, where was he?

Anger. Bitter, wretched anger of the likes Harry had never felt before. It was practically coursing through his body, surging, pressing outward everywhere, begging to be released.

Just as suddenly, he jerked back into his original body again, the hate and fury that he felt now only a lingering memory. He was staring up at the Potions master, dazed.

“What happened?” Snape demanded, clasping his hands around Harry’s shoulders. His hands were neither painful nor constricting, but were there to keep Harry steadily on his feet. “Speak!”

“I-” Harry shook his head to clear away the confusion. “I think I entered someone’s mind. In Hogwarts.”

“Impossible,” Snape said instantly. “You can only enter the minds of Death Eaters this way.”

“Maybe there is a Death Eater in Hogwarts,” Harry said darkly.

Snape visibly paled. “Nonsense,” he said disdainfully, though his words and tone sounded forced and awkward. “That cannot be. You are mistaken. The headmaster made an error in assigning you these classes. You could not have entered the mind of a Death Eater in Hogwarts. You simply…” Snape’s voice trailed off, and it was clear that he was at a loss to explain Harry’s vision. He released his hold on Harry’s shoulders and stepped back.

“Professor?”

“You’re wrong Potter,” Snape snapped. His voice became harsh and condescending. Old Snape was back. “You misinterpreted what you saw. You most likely envisioned a random sequence of colors, or didn’t properly reverse the Dark Mark and left a part of yourself in your body.”

“I know what I saw, sir,” countered Harry. “And it was real.”

Back to that again, are we? Pseudo-Snape said.

Snape glared down at Harry venomously. “THERE ARE NO DEATH EATERS IN THIS SCHOOL POTTER!” roared Snape. Then, seething, he said, “This was a mistake. Get out of my office. You aren’t capable. Leave. Remember, I’ve extended your detentions. You will go back to cleaning jars tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Harry snapped, and turned to leave. He stiffly snatched his books off the floor and strode to the door. Before he managed to slam the door, Snape spoke again.

“And Potter,” said Snape, his voice now devoid of emotion. “I suggest you shelf your arrogant Gryffindor pride and go to the headmaster concerning your memory problem.” The ‘memory problem’ being, of course, the memory Snape uncovered during Occlumency. “Or would you rather follow in your father’s steps?”

Furious, Harry slammed the office door, and he was sure he heard the cauldron tip over from inside.

***

“So you’re saying you think there’s another Death Eater in the school?” Ron asked incredulously, almost dropping his fork. Harry, Hermione and Ron were sitting at the far end of the table in the Great Hall, eating breakfast, the following morning after the Occlumency session. Harry had just finished explaining to them what he experienced the night before.

Ministry Aurors stood at random along the walls, watching vigilantly for any disturbances. Ever since the attack on the Quidditch field, the ministry has been maintaining a contingent of Aurors in Hogwarts under the pretense of keeping the students safe. Hermione believed that Fudge’s intentions were less than admirable, and were actually more for the sake of keeping Dumbledore from gaining too much power. It implied the question: how could Albus Dumbledore protect the wizarding world when he needs the ministry just to protect his own school? Regardless, Aurors stalked around the school in pairs, hands always on their wands as though expecting Voldemort himself to swoop down and attack the unwary.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” said Harry, glancing darkly around him.

Ron furrowed his brow. “So that means Gates has nothing to do with it?” He sounded disappointed.

“I dunno,” replied Harry. “Who knows. All I know is that I connected with a Death Eater, and I am certain that he was in the school. It was written throughout his mind.”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Hermione said tentatively. “Death Eaters can’t just hide in a broom closet for weeks on end. They need food and water and…orders.”

“Orders?”

“How could a Death Eater operate without orders?” Hermione said. “They couldn’t just enter and leave Hogwarts randomly; that would be impossible. And, if this Death Eater was behind the jinxing of your Firebolt, then he would have to receive orders. That match was only scheduled a few weeks ago; long after your wand was jinxed. He would need orders from Voldemort.”

“I’m sure he would have no problem with getting Malfoy to transfer the orders,” said Harry, looking in the Slytherin’s direction.

“I doubt they would risk having Malfoy getting orders by owl and then giving them to the said Death Eater,” said Hermione logically. “Malfoy isn’t exactly a master spy, and he would risk giving away the Death Eater by delivering the messages. There’s too much risk involved. Besides, the wards around this school are too strong to be tampered with. Any wizard that attempts to break through will be given a rather nasty welcome that will send them catapulting into northern France. Only Voldemort could get through, as unlikely as that seems.”

“So maybe,” Harry began grimly. “I did misinterpret the vision.”

“What do you remember about it?”

“Not too much honestly,” Harry confessed. “But it seemed so real. I was so sure I was in Hogwarts.” He ran his fingers though his hair. “I don’t know anymore. Snape might’ve been right.”

Never would I have expected that to come from a Potter, remarked Pseudo-Snape slyly.

Oh, shut up.

***

The next week brought about another training session with Gates. Harry sighed deeply as he climbed a circular staircase, glancing through slitted windows to the outside grounds. Winter seemed to have snuck up on him. The leaves were already long gone, and a oppressive, biting chill swept through the barren castle in great gusts. The sky turned into a dark gray, and, distantly, Harry could see a curl of smoke rising from the chimney out of Hagrid’s hut. It had not yet begun to snow, but, judging from the weather, it was not far off.

The Dueling Club had continued, despite the concern over Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Perhaps the school staff thought it best for the students to be prepared for the coming war. Harry, for one, thought that was a good idea. The D.A. was eagerly training for the tournament. Even Neville, who was beaten by Malfoy in the first round, trained as hard as the rest of them. So far, about three-quarters of the D.A. remained in the competition. Harry and Hermione, for their part, defeated their competitors rather easily, and were climbing up the rungs. They were both widely expected to make it to the final rounds.

Presently, Harry reached the Room of Requirement with Gates, who was following a few steps behind him. He halted in his tracks. Leaning against the wall was the last person Harry expected or even wanted to see. Snape watched them both with a small sneer on his lips.

“Severus,” said Gates with the sound of utter boredom. “What brings you here?”

“Albus has become most interested in the training sessions you have been giving Potter,” said Snape. “He informs me that you owed them to Potter as a favor to Black.”

Gates’ eyes narrowed. “That is correct. I wish to know, however, how you came upon knowing the schedule?”

“Were they meant to be a secret?” said Snape smoothly. “The headmaster learned of the schedule merely from observing the times Potter has been absent from the common room each week.”

“I see,” said Gates. “And would you kindly share the reason for your presence here?”

“I am to watch and ensure you don’t teach Potter anything…distasteful,” said Snape smoothly. “It would not do for him to learn anything that could lead him into Azkaban, especially now that the ministry is out for him. Particularly the Edward Skinners.”

“That is scarcely necessary, Severus.”

“The headmaster insists,” replied Snape evenly.

The two men stared darkly at each other for a minute, before Gates said, “If Albus wishes it, by all means, make yourself comfortable.”

Snape curtly nodded, and, after the Room of Requirement prepared itself, they entered and the Potions master took a seat in the corner, idly watching Harry and Gates.

“Now Potter,” said Gates. “The Numbing Charm is a complicated little spell that can, if done properly, will effectively prevent you temporarily from feeling any pain. If done improperly, it could result in stopping the circulation of your blood and starve the brain of oxygen. That would kill you,” he added as an afterthought.

“What’s the incantation?” Harry asked inanely.

“Ferreus,” Gates said. “Make sure you lengthen the first syllable. Turn your wand upon yourself and say it.”

“Right,” Harry muttered, and, supposing it did not matter, he point his wand at his foot. “Ferreus!”

A bizarre feeling came over him, like his head has suddenly detached from his body and was now floating in air. He was aware that he still had arms and legs and a torso, of course, but he felt nothing. No warmth. A faint tingling sensation played on the tips of his fingers, but, other than that, he felt absolutely nothing. It was beyond disturbing. When he looked at his hand, it was like staring at a piece of plywood. It did not seem to belong to him.

“Correct on the first try, it seems,” Gates said indifferently. “Now, this time, while you are using the incantation, think evil thoughts. The particulars don’t matter. Fire at this book-” Gates summoned a tome from the bookshelf and it skidded onto the ground.

Trying to imagine himself hexing Gates into oblivion, Harry shouted “Ferreus!” and, to his surprise, the book collapsed in on itself.

Gates grinned. “When used on a human, it will effectively turn their insides into mashed potatoes. A very rare and-”

“-Illegal use of that spell,” Snape said from his corner. He stood up and stared evenly at the both of them. “Using that spell in that manner on another human being will result in nothing less than a term in Azkaban.”

Gates’ head jerked around and his face turned into a narrow sneer. “I believe I choose what is relevant in these training sessions, Severus.”

“Not when the headmaster expressly forbids such teaching,” Snape countered, sounding more venomous than ever. “I suggest that if there is a problem, you go to Albus, Alex. But perhaps you wouldn’t dare. Are you afraid Albus might defeat you and halt your self-initiated crusade to kill Voldemort yourself?”

“We are through here, Potter,” Gates snarled, not taking his eyes off of Snape. The Hit Wizard’s hand drifted down to his wand. “We will continue at a later date. Out.”

Not wanting to stay there a moment longer than he had to, Harry backed out of the room, expecting Snape and Gates to begin dueling at any second. To his surprise, Gates casually withdrew his hand and, after sweeping his scarlet cloak around in a half-circle, strode away. The diamond necklace flashed furiously as he stalked across the threshold.

“What are you waiting for?” Gates snapped.

“For you,” Harry said heatedly.

Gates threw him a malevolent glance and then gestured down the hallway. Slowly, they climbed down the circular stairway, and finally returned to the common room.

***

“So Snape just shows up, right there in the Room of Requirement?” Ron asked in a disbelieving tone. It was the next day and Harry, Hermione, and Ron were heading to Transfiguration class.

Harry shook his head. “Snape was there when me and Gates came up,” he corrected. “He claims that Dumbledore sent him.”

Gates had left them earlier, telling them he was going to reinforce the wards. Considering the heavy presence of ministry Aurors within the school, Gates’ protection scarcely seemed necessary, and the Hit Wizard was taking advantage of this by separating from Harry for short periods of time. Not that Harry was complaining, of course.

“But why didn’t Dumbledore send someone earlier?” Hermione pointed out. “He knew about it all year. And besides, isn’t Phineas following you?”

Harry glanced towards the wall, just seeing the former Slytherin Headmaster dart behind an oak tree. There was a flash of bright green and then nothing. “There aren’t any portraits in the Room of Requirement. I suppose none can be put in there, either.”

“Dumbledore could’ve come himself,” wondered Hermione aloud. “Why didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” agreed Ron vehemently. “I don’t like the sound of that greasy asshole-”

“Ron!”

Harry stepped in before a huge row broke out. “Forget Snape. He helped anyway. The session was cut short, so in my opinion, Snape can hang around all he wants.”

They entered the classroom and were immediately greeted by Professor McGonagall, whose lips were pursed tightly together. Harry was not sure whether she was angry or not. “The headmaster requests your presence in his office, Mr. Potter,” she said. “So you are excused for the remainder of this period.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look. “Did he say why?”

“The headmaster did not provide an explanation,” replied Professor McGonagall. “I will inform Mr. Gates of your whereabouts.”

“I guess I’ll go then,” said Harry uneasily.

When he entered the office, he found Dumbledore sitting in his usual position behind the lacquered desk, hands folded together, back straight. He practically exuded confidence and security. “Lemon drop, Harry?” He held out the glass jar, to which Harry politely refused, and then took when and set it down again.

“As you know,” continued Dumbledore. “the Christmas holidays are approaching, and-”

Harry’s mind leapt to Dumbledore’s implication. “I’m not going there,” he whispered. There was no way Dumbledore could convince him to go to Grimmauld Place over the holidays. It was bad enough over the summer at Pivet Drive. Going to Sirius’ former dwelling would be more than he could bear.

Dumbledore frowned. “I am not suggesting you go to Grimmauld Place, Harry. In fact, I would advise against it. In addition to…your loss, I fear that, with Tom’s new knowledge of his connection with you, he could break the Fidelus Charm that hides it and storm the headquarters.”

“He can do that?” Harry blurted out.

“No charm is unbreakable,” Dumbledore said soberly. “And, through you, he could potentially override it. Your proficiency at Occlumency is outstanding, but even a monetary lapse could cause the entire Fidelus Charm to shut down and reveal Grimmauld Place to Voldemort. Of course, Voldemort would have to be conscious of such a opportunity first, and that is why it is no longer safe there for you. I believe Tom was not aware of your mutual connection until long after the attack on Mr. Weasley.”

“So I’m going to stay at Hogwarts,” said Harry, feeling lighter at heart.

To Harry’s surprise, Dumbledore shook his head. “I cannot ensure your safety here, Harry,” he said sadly. “There have been two attacks so far, and both of them nearly resulted in your death. Voldemort is somehow attacking you within these walls, and I think it unwise for you to stay here over the holidays, when these halls are virtually empty.”

“Not the Dursley’s,” said Harry almost to himself.

“I’m afraid it must be,” said Dumbledore. “Though, before you raise an outcry, let me speak. I have spoken to your Aunt, and she has informed me that they will be going on a vacation to Haiti during the holidays, and will not be there. She has reluctantly given me her consent to allow you to stay there, provided the house remains in an acceptable condition.”

“Additionally, I have spoken to Alex, and he agrees with me that the protections around the Dursley’s home on Pivet Drive would render any additional protection redundant, and will stay at Hogwarts to aid in the reinforcing of the wards, which is critical.”

No Dursleys, no Gates, Harry said to himself. “But I can’t be protected. My mother’s blood-”

“Does not require you to be within the close proximity of Aunt Petunia at all times,” said Dumbledore gently. “The wards will still hold even while your Aunt is on vacation. But I must make myself clear on this point: you must stay indoors at all times.” He leaned forward on his desk, as if emphasizing his point. “While indoors no harm can come to you, but if you stray outside we cannot protect you. The Order is scattered right now and we can spare no one to watch over you, so I must ask you to stay indoors.”

Harry nodded understandingly. “And what about emergencies?”

“You are permitted use of a wand, and I will give you a portkey that will take you directly to my office,” said Dumbledore. “Also, Lupin will be making brief daily stops. I’m afraid that I’ve been giving him very little time off, and he swore that if I did not allow him to spend time with you over the holidays, he would curse me across the River Styx.” The headmaster chuckled softly. “Of course, arrangements can be made for Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley to visit you, as well. I daresay it would be impossible to keep the three of you apart anyway.”

Harry grinned a true, genuine grin. Not only would he be away from Gates (which would be long overdue), but he would also be able to see Lupin again. He actually laughed. “And to think I was worried about Snape less than twenty minutes ago,” he said absently, his mind still on the Christmas holidays.

“Professor Snape,” corrected Dumbledore gently. “Why did he worry you?”

“It was just how it didn’t make any sense for you to send him to the Room of Requirement to oversee the training sessions between me and Gates,” Harry said vaguely. “Like he was snooping around on his own accord.”

There was a long, quiet silence.

“Harry,” Dumbledore began seriously, and there was a tremor of uncertainty in his voice. “I didn’t ask Professor Snape to oversee your training sessions. I saw no reason to, as no reason has been given to me. So, forgive me, I do not know what you are referring to.”

Harry just stared.

(A/N: The beginning of the end; it may not seem like it, but I am less than ten chapters away from this fic’s conclusion. Not too much to say in the A/N, so I hope you all are enjoying this fic thus far.

Next Chapter: You won’t need to be psychic to figure out what’s going to happen in chapter 23. This is probably one of the most enjoyable chapters I’ve written so far, and has some very, very funny scenes if you can pick up on the humor. Gates tries to swindle Vernon and everyone’s favorite muggle psychiatrist makes a house call. (And it’s not Dr. Phil folks).

23. Return to Number Four, Pivet Drive

(A/N: Sorry I was a bit late! As fate would have it, the very chapter after I list the errors I have made in this fic is the chapter where I have to add yet another one. I overlooked the D.D.’s office access/password issue, which some of you reported. I am kicking myself for overlooking it, but let’s hope that’s the last of the inconsistencies!

Summary of chp 22: Harry’s detention with Whams became a little bizarre with his uncovering of a few odd files in the professor’s desk; during his first session of ’controlling the Dark Mark’ Harry has a strange vision, and apparently sense a Death Eater in Hogwarts; Snape intrudes on Harry’s training with Gates; Dumbledore organizes a way for Harry to get away from Gates for awhile.)

As the end of December approached, Harry became increasingly anxious. Not only was Gates nastier than ever from Snape’s new involvement in the training, but there were also reports of skirmishes between Aurors and Death Eaters in London. The war was slowly rising, and, under increased pressure, Fudge’s trial was moving to a close. The verdict was expected to be delivered in January, and Harry thought that it was not a day too soon.

Rita, on the other hand, had become strangely scarce. Harry only managed to catch her once flying through the stone corridors by the kitchens, when Hermione held her S.P.E.W. meeting down there to show the club the sheer amount of food the house elves needed to prepare for each meal. Most students looked impressed, while a few others appeared bored. Regardless, Hermione deemed it a success and planned to hold another one after the holidays.

Occlumency lessons with Snape turned into a rather monotonous string of events. When he entered, Snape would merely point his wand at Harry and begin the lesson, without so much as a greeting. After several practice rounds, he would then move on to ‘controlling the Dark Mark’, which, to Snape’s surprise, Harry was beginning to excel at, apparently with only a little help from Pseudo-Snape. After that, Snape would dismiss him with a single question: “Did you inform the headmaster yet?”

“No,” Harry would respond, and would leave as Snape gave him a customary glare.

The Dueling Club had continued with several more rounds, all of which Hermione and Harry beat their competitors in. To their dismay, Malfoy also cruised through his opponents, hesitating against no one, even members of his own house. His desire to eventually duel Harry in front of the entire school became more and more evident with every sly smirk and narrow sneer he threw Harry in the halls.

At last, when the Christmas holidays finally came, Harry felt rather reluctant to leave Hogwarts. While Ron and Hermione assured him that they would at least spend part of the holidays together at Pivet Drive, he could not help but feel depressed. In addition to Sirius’ absence, he would be spending time away from the only place he could call home: Hogwarts.

So when he reported to Dumbledore’s office when it was time to leave, he did so with heavy and slow footsteps. Hermione and Ron accompanied him, but regretfully told him that the earliest they could come was tomorrow. The headmaster insisted, as, apparently, the Dursley’s were not leaving on their vacation until tomorrow morning, and they were not aware that Harry would be having visitors. Dumbledore had left out that little detail when he convinced Aunt Petunia to allow Harry to stay over Christmas.

“This will be the portkey,” Dumbledore said, holding up a silver cube. It was completely unadorned, and was little more than a geometric figure. “In case of emergencies, use it. It will take you directly into my office. Hopefully it will prove unnecessary, but I believe we should take every precaution.”

“When will it activate?” Harry asked.

“When it senses danger,” explained Dumbledore. “It will self-activate. Lupin will come by tomorrow afternoon with Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley. Professor Snape will come at the end of the week for Occlumency. As it would be unwise to come via floo powder or portkey due to security reasons, they will arrive in muggle fashion. Anti-apparation wards have also been installed.”

“I also must impress upon you the importance of not leaving your home,” continued Dumbledore. “There will be no Order members watching, as most of them are now preoccupied with tracking Death Eater movements. Do-not-leave.”

Harry nodded.

Dumbledore visibly relaxed. “Then you may leave when you are ready.”

Hermione squeezed Harry’s hand. “We’ll be there soon, I promise.”

Ron nodded in agreement. “Real soon mate.”

“Then let’s go,” Gates said, taking the silver cube and holding it in his palm. “Take hold of it, Potter.”

Harry regarded him suspiciously. “You’re going too?”

“Of course,” said Gates impatiently. “I plan on inspecting the premises to ensure that the protection is adequate.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you expect me to simply allow you to be spirited off to some crooked slum?”

“Can’t imagine it happening any other way,” Harry muttered, and, with one last look at Hermione, he touched the silver cube and felt a tug behind his naval. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them he found himself standing in the Dursleys’ living room, Gates standing beside him.

“Well, it appears we have arrived,” Gates said absently, then thrust the silver cube into Harry’s hand. “Keep this. In the case of an emergency, it will take you back to Hogwarts.”

The Hit Wizard made his way around the room slowly, eyes inspecting the walls, sometimes pausing as if to listen. When he came to Aunt Petunia’s collection of vases, he merely glanced up and down at then, looking supremely unimpressed. While most muggles would consider the Dursley’s affluent and well-to-do, Gates barely acknowledged even the more valuable ornaments throughout the room, focusing instead on windows, entryways, and various glass cases, sometimes tapping the said case with his wand. Apparently satisfied, he turned to Harry and nodded.

“I see no flaws in the wards in this room,” Gates said. “But I intend on checking every last inch of this house. All it takes in one misspoken incantation for the wards to be rendered useless.”

“INCANTATA-WHAT?” blustered Uncle Vernon, blundering in from the kitchen, his face a deep shade of puce. He was dressed in his very best suit and tie, and, from what little he could see of Dudley and Aunt Petunia from behind his bulk, they were similarly clothed. “WHO- WHAT-” His eyes fell down to the diamond necklace on Gates’ chest, and his eyes grew wide.

“You must be young Potter’s guardian,” said Gates guardedly.

“What?” Uncle Vernon stammered, his eyes still fixed on the necklace. His voice became suddenly polite and his posture relaxed, and a broad smile spread across his face. Obviously Gates’ apparent wealth overrode any predetermined impressions Uncle Vernon had on the man he would usually term a ‘freak’. “Oh, yes, I give the boy food, clothes, shelter. Petunia and I are sympathetic to the handicapped.” He shot a subtle, nasty glance at Harry that Gates most certainly did not miss.

“I had no idea his relatives were so…charitable,” said Gates silkily, wearing an expression of hinted pleasure. He slowly looked Uncle Vernon up and down appraisingly.

Uncle Vernon nodded his head, then brought his hands up to his beefy chest. “Dudley, go mix a drink for Mr-” He hesitated. “I don’t believe we have been properly introduced. My name is Vernon Dursley.” He puffed up proudly and extended his hand.

Gates’ grin became more pronounced. “Alexander Vladimir Black Gates,” he replied, but did not accept Uncle Vernon’s hand.

Uncle Vernon withdrew, looking somewhat disappointed, but quickly regained his composure. “So, you seem like the respectable sort,” he said in his most diplomatic voice. “I’ve never met another one of the boy’s…kind…of your-” Uncle Vernon’s eyes lingered on the necklace. “-stature before.” His face lit up as though he had just delivered an enormous compliment.

“Kind…” Gates echoed darkly. “I question your use of terms, and would prefer if you did not affiliate me with…Potter in that way ever again.”

For the first time during this exchange, apprehension crossed Uncle Vernon’s face, but, with one short glance of the diamond necklace, it disappeared. “You can’t stand the boy either?” he chortled. “Well, no surprise there. He’s an absolute menace.”

“Yes, he’s quite the danger,” agreed Gates, giving Harry a furtive look. “Always finding ways to bring about destruction.”

A quiet guilt in Harry stirred. While Harry should have been used to it by now, Gates’ repeated prods at his insecurities were becoming no less injurious. The debacle at the Department of Mysteries vividly replayed itself in his mind, and he bowed his head slightly. He did not need Gates’ sly remarks to know how insufferably (Insufferable! echoed Pseudo-Snape. Now there’s a word you learned from me!) foolish he had been to ignore Hermione’s logic and charge off to the Ministry of Magic.

Uncle Vernon, of course, missed the insult. Instead he laughed heartily, patting his bulging belly. “Well, we do our best to teach the boy proper manners.”

“I can understand your difficulty. Potter seems most resistant to instruction, and coercion is a tactic I oftentimes have to use.”

For the tenth time, Uncle Vernon’s eyes flitted down to the diamond necklace. Harry fleetingly wondered what his uncle would say if he knew the necklace’s true nature.

“Perhaps you would be interested in staying for dinner,” Uncle Vernon proposed pleasantly. “I’m sure we can discuss the boy some more, and possibly some other things…”

Gates seemed to carefully consider the offer. “Discussing Potter would be most interesting,” said the Hit Wizard slowly. “I delightfully accept your invitation, Mr. Dursley.” His tone could be described as many things, but ‘delightful’ would not be one of them.

“By all means call me Vernon,“ said Uncle Vernon courteously. He turned to Harry, his one eye twitching warningly. “Boy!” He clapped his hands as if addressing a servant. “Fetch an extra chair. Mr. Gates will be joining us. And that’s us, not you.” he added threateningly.

“No,” Harry said simply. He did not feel like participating in Uncle Vernon’s attempted display of power. He turned to leave.

Uncle Vernon bristled. “You listen here boy,” he said angrily, his voice matching his purple face. “You will fetch-”

But before Uncle Vernon could finish his sentence, Harry was already up the stairs and heading into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He went to his bed, threw his wand and the portkey into the corner and opened Defense Against Dark Magical Creatures, smiling as he remembered that Hermione and Ron would be there tomorrow. He could last through a single evening of the Dursley’s, right?

Don’t count on it Potter.

***

That evening Harry cracked open his door to hear the conversation downstairs. The smell of roasted pork wafted up the stairs and his stomach rumbled hungrily. The slices of bread Aunt Petunia brought up ten minutes ago were barely sufficient. When he told people that he lived off of bread and water, he was not kidding.

The exchange between Uncle Vernon and Gates was frequently punctuated by his uncle’s repeated, blunt attempts to interest the Hit Wizard in his drills. From the sounds of it, Gates neither rejected nor accepted Uncle Vernon’s offers, and instead resigned himself to responding with ambiguous answers such as ‘That is most interesting’, though Harry had no idea of what use the Hit Wizard could have for drills.

“So, what do you do? What’s your occupation?” Uncle Vernon asked charitably. There was a clatter of silverware. “A managerial position?”

To those unfamiliar with Gates, the Hit Wizard’s tone would be described as civil, but Harry could tell that it was laced with dislike. “No, I’m afraid I’ve been reduced to watching over the boy - Potter - during his school year.”

“Ah, most unfortunate,” said Uncle Vernon. He sounded positively delighted at the fact of being able to complain about Harry to someone else. “The boy is enough of a nuisance over the summer. Does it pay well?”

There was a momentary silence before Gates answered. “I suppose it does, in a manner of speaking.” There was a hidden meaning in his sentence that Harry did not catch. “If I may be so bold, may I ask you why, when you obviously cannot stand Potter, you keep him in your home?”

“We are a generous family,” said Uncle Vernon with false sincerity. “Petunia could not bear to let a relative of hers to go to the orphanage, though we now regret our decision.”

“I see. That was very admirable,” Gates said almost off-handedly.

“So you’ve been in his school, have you? Do they use the stick there?”

“Excuse me?”

“The stick,” Uncle Vernon explained hesitantly. He obviously picked up a dangerous tone in Gates’ voice. “The beating stick to use when students get out of line. They used the stick in Smeltings.”

“I fear that they don’t. Such punishments have been deemed unnecessary by the current administration.”

“Pity. I never liked how they were phasing those punishments out,” Uncle Vernon said. “It’s only healthy for boys of his…kind…to be beaten regularly.”

The sound of Gates’ glass being set down carried the entire way upstairs. “Kind? I am unsure of what you are implying. Are you calling those with the gift of magic animals?”

A deathly silence fell over the house. “Not you, of course,” said Aunt Petunia nervously. “Vernon was referring to Harry’s gross lack of discipline and courtesy.”

Uncle Vernon caught on instantly. “Yes, the boy is almost a different species, if you will.” he said in a tone that suggested he thought himself clever.

Gates’ voice took on a stiff tone. “I see.”

There was the shuffle of chairs and Harry could here Aunt Petunia’s high-heeled shoes clicking on the ceramic kitchen floor. “Would you care for some wine?” she offered.

Gates accepted and soon the conversation turned lighter as the alcohol took effect. While there were no signs of any of them being blatantly drunk, Uncle Vernon steered the discussion towards drills repeatedly, oftentimes mentioning the same details over and over, though it possibly could have been from design.

Harry was beginning to tire of listening to them when Gates’ deep, resonating voice broke through the incoherent babble of the Dursley’s.

“So,” Gates said loudly, the edge no longer on his voice. “What other nonsense has Potter been up to in your care? I suspect the brat can’t go through a single week without blundering over something.”

“You’re quite right, it’s always something,” Uncle Vernon said. The alcohol’s effect on him was more perceptible. “More wine, Mr. Gates?”

“Yes, that sounds delicious,” said Gates almost absently. His words were becoming slurred. “My mother - Cassiopeia Black - was always rather fond of wine. Especially merlot. Merlot and tea.” He paused, as if immersed in deep thought. “I suppose that’s another thing that estranged her from the main line of Blacks. They always considered merlot to be a peasant’s wine.”

Uncle Vernon grunted. “They must have had poor taste.”

“Because you are a muggle and therefore defenseless I will permit you certain allowances,” said Gates in a distant voice that did not become him. Whether it was the wine or the sudden turn in conversation, Harry did not know. “But in this I will warn you once: don’t insult my blood again.”

“Vernon forgets himself at times,” said Aunt Petunia in a placating tone.

“I always found her name ironic,” continued Gates as if he had not been interrupted. He was still using the same far-away voice. “It’s Black tradition to name their sons and daughters after constellations, and, despite her severance from the main line, her great grandmother continued that tradition. How very strange.”

An eerie silence fell over the house, and for a few tense minutes all that could be heard was the splashing of poured wine. At length Gates spoke again.

“I admit I accepted your dinner invitation with the intent of learning more about Potter’s summer habits,” said the Hit Wizard in a more official tone. “Any information you can give me - even that which you might deem trivial or irrelevant - would be most helpful.”

The chair groaned and squeaked as Uncle Vernon leaned back into it. “I don’t know where to begin,” he said heartily. “The boy has been acting strange all summer, even by his standards.”

“What do you mean?” drawled Gates unconcernedly. “You don’t suppose it was over his poor dead godfather, was it?” He spoke those last words loudly, as though to ensure Harry heard them.

“Dead godfather?” Uncle Vernon said blankly. Aunt Petunia audibly cleared her throat. “He was asking to see the newspaper nearly every day, and he started getting up early. I had to order the boy to keep down the racket so the rest of us could get a decent amount of sleep!”

“The newspaper,” Gates murmured so quietly that Harry barely heard him.

“What’s so special about that?” grumbled Uncle Vernon. “It’s freakish if nothing else.”

“Clearly he was looking for information regarding the activities of the Dark Lord.”

“The Dark who?”

“The Dark Lord,” Gates repeated stiffly, as though he was becoming annoyed. “The master of the Death Eaters.” His voice took on a darker tone. “The killer of purebloods and muggles alike.”

Aunt Petunia gasped, but she was the only one who was audibly shocked. Uncle Vernon and Dudley, from what Harry could tell, were confused.

“Death Eaters?” stammered Uncle Vernon. “Why would the boy be involved in any of that.” His voice became angry, and Harry could practically feel his uncle’s face turning red. “I see what this is! Last year when we received those bloody owls! I bet that’s what those things were about!”

“Vernon-”

“I’ve had enough of that boy’s nonsense!” spat Uncle Vernon. The alcohol was now fully taking its effect on his mind. “Now I’m going to get to the bottom of this business-”

“Completely unnecessary,” said Gates softly, silencing Uncle Vernon easily. “The boy won’t be anywhere near the Dark Lord, if I have anything to do with it.”

“What do you mean?” asked Aunt Petunia timidly.

Gates did not speak for a long while, and when he finally did, his words came out in a slow, deliberate, and dark fashion. “Because when I find where the Dark Lord is hiding, I will tear him apart and smash the bones until the marrow runs out. I will bolt his skull to a stone wall, and have him as a trophy. And when I am through with him, I will track down every last one of the Death Eaters and destroy their souls.”

Uncle Vernon was the first who mustered enough courage to speak after that little speech. “What do you have against what’s-his-name?” he stuttered.

“Everything,” Gates said simply. Harry heard him stand up from the table. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“Do stay for dessert,” Uncle Vernon insisted. “Petunia makes an excellent peach cobbler-”

“I’m honored by your hospitality but I must leave,” said Gates formally. “I bid you a farewell, but before I go, I request that you do not harm the boy during his stay here. I am his guardian, and it would look terrible for me if he came upon any…misfortune.”

“Of course,” said Uncle Vernon instantly. “BOY! COME DOWN HERE NOW AND TAKE AWAY THESE DISHES!”

Sighing, Harry climbed down the stairs, figuring that it might be worth seeing the physical interaction between the two men, and went into the kitchen. Both Gates and Uncle Vernon looked rather flushed, and it was apparent the alcohol was taking its toll.

“Clean and stack,” Uncle Vernon ordered, pointing a pudgy finger at the messy table. Harry apathetically went to work, the entire time keeping one eye on Gates.

“Have you thought any more on those drills?” Uncle Vernon asked, obviously straining to keep the enthusiasm out of his voice.

Gates did not respond for a moment. “Why yes, I suppose they can be most useful in my line of work.”

Uncle Vernon’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. He fumbled for some paper. “And what classes of drills do you want? Grunnings produces everything from-”

“I will have five of everything,” Gates said with a wave of a hand. His words were slightly slurred. “Send them to-“ He paused blankly. “I will inform you later of where to distribute them.”

“Very well,” Uncle Vernon said excitedly. It looked like he forgot about Harry’s presence in the room. “What will be your method of payment?”

“I hope gold is acceptable,” Gates said, reaching into his pockets and tossing a handful of gold galleons onto the table. Uncle Vernon practically drooled at the sight. Harry regarded the galleons suspiciously. He had never known Gates to carry money around, and he strongly suspected that Uncle Vernon was just given worthless Leprechaun gold.

I would bet my cauldron on that, Pseudo-Snape concurred.

“Oh yes, very acceptable,” stammered Uncle Vernon, eyes fixed on the small pile of coins on the table. Granted, the galleons were useless to Uncle Vernon for their true, wizarding value, but as they were apparently cast from solid gold, he found them valuable all the same. Dudley and Aunt Petunia matched Uncle Vernon’s transfixed gaze.

“Then that’s in order…” said Gates, and, gathering himself up once more, he made for the front door. “I will take my leave of you now, Vernon. Once I am outside of the wards that surround your home, I shall apparate away. I will contact you soon.” With a faint, barely perceptible smirk, he swept out of the door. Uncle Vernon made no sign that he had even heard Gates speak, as his eyes had never left the gold on the table.

“If there’s one thing your kind is good for,” Uncle Vernon muttered to Harry as he gathered up the coins. “It’s knowing how to spend money.”

Harry inwardly grinned and said nothing. He was not about to tell Uncle Vernon that Gates had just cheated him out of a business deal with a pile of Leprechaun gold.

**

That same evening Harry sat down in his bed, propping The Pravus Necklace: Confessions of a Dark Wizard against a pillow. The text was wiry and faint, and he absently scanned the pages, looking for anything of interest. Parts of it almost seemed like a diary, where the said wizard wrote out the day’s events. From what Harry could discern, the wizard was apparently an Alchemist who used to live in northern France. The book itself began at the time where the wizard created the necklace (approximately 1342) and extended to a last entry at 1400.

He couldn’t have been more than ninety when he died, Pseudo-Snape remarked. Whether madness took him or another wizard finished the job is irrelevant. Few wizards die so early. Alex is a relatively young bearer of the necklace, but regardless, he will be lucky to live to be eighty.

Some pages were nothing but pointless and confused ramblings with vague mentions of ‘voices’ and terror, while others were deliberate and carefully written. Explanations were sometimes made concerning the spouts of madness, where the author wrote:

The fits have only begun a few months ago, but they are increasing in intensity. Sometimes, during the night, I wake up, groping for my wand, my mind frayed. Energy sparks from the tip of the wand, and I am subject to causing catastrophic accidents with my surplus of power. The elves are terrified. I am uneasy. This journal provides little solace.

I can only presume that the necklace has been focusing so much energy into my body for such a long time that it is overloading my brain, causing these fits. I remember only flashes of these hour-long rampages, but what I see disturbs me greatly. What if I destroy the entire tower? With the amount of power I have attained, it’s not out of the question.

Upon further introspection I have come to the conclusion that the nightmares are the root cause. The necklace has been conjuring terrible memories from my dynamic adolescent life. Memories that were at one time repressed. Originally, I ignored them, but now they are becoming stronger and more poignant. I must brew a Potion for sleeplessness. Insomnia will cure these fits.

Harry turned the page, unsettled. He vaguely remembered Gates telling him once that he only slept ten minutes every night.

I’ve been experimenting further with other Pravus necklaces, hoping to uncover more secrets within this bizarre enchantment.

I have found, after extensive experimenting, that the necklaces are almost indestructible. On a few occasions, I have found that if a subject’s wand core encounters its source, it will inadvertently cause an energy surge which will result in the necklace’s destruction. One fellow with Unicorn hair as his core touched the Unicorn that I keep in a pen. The resulting surge caused the necklace to shatter and put him into a coma. He is on the brink of death, and it seems unlikely that he will return from it. I tested several others with the same result. This will require further studying.

No other experiments yielded the desired effect. I hypothesize that the only way to destroy a Pravus necklace would be to channel the energy it produces back into itself. This, of course, requires further experimentation before it can be law.

Harry, on a whim, flipped to the last page, and scrunched his eyes as he tried to read. It was written in a hasty scrawl, as if the author was trying to share some massive revelation in the last few seconds of his life. Harry could tell that this Dark Wizard, whoever he was, was slowly losing his mind.

My rages have lengthened and become more violent. I found the bodies of two elves in the second floor bedroom. I am unsure as to when I killed them, but that is not surprising. My memory is fading. I am having trouble remembering latin, greek, and the various other languages that I had learned long ago. All that remains are the nightmares. I am only well enough to write these entries perhaps once every two weeks, and even then it requires great effort.

I no longer believe I can die. The amount of power that has been channeled into my body is incalculable, and surpasses that of even death himself. I fear I am losing my mind, if I have not already lost it. I believe that I have been insane for some time now.

He skipped the next entry.

Cort formen. I speak in tongues I do not understand. Lors- What am I?

Harry scanned down to the last entry.

Begh la dan. I no longer care. Peghlan al seron. What is life? Orlon prot. An escape from death. Loftor pro Dementia. Sweep me into the arms of the Dementor.

-Warlock Marco of the Badlands (1400)

A deep chill circulated through Harry’s body. Something about the dead wizard’s words unnerved him to the core. The author spoke of madness and violence so casually that it stabbed at some purely moral part of his being, giving him the urge to wretch.

Deciding that that was enough for one night, Harry carefully set the tome down and rolled into bed. He heard an owl screech from outside. Despite his lack of glasses, he thought he could see a faint silhouette by his bedside. He innately knew it to be nonsense, for Gates had left hours ago, but that did not stop a seated fear from moving inside of him. He remembered Gates’ words from dinner.

“Because when I find where the Dark Lord is hiding, I will tear him apart and smash the bones until the marrow runs out. I will bolt his skull to a stone wall, and have him as a trophy. And when I am through with him, I will track down every last one of the Death Eaters and destroy their souls.”

Gates’ words had been spoken with such venom and conviction that Harry, for one, fleeting moment, felt connected with the Hit Wizard. Harry, like Gates, hated Voldemort, and perhaps that is why he felt the strange sense of kinship. It was as if Gates was an almost-defeater-of-Voldemort, and through some cruel twist of fate was left crippled. With those thoughts in mind, Harry fell into a restless sleep.

***

The next morning Harry came downstairs to find that the house was abandoned and that Uncle Vernon had left him a single note on the kitchen table.

You’re not here.

-Vernon

Predictably, the refrigerator was empty and Harry decided to simply wait for Lupin to arrive. Surely the headmaster would have foreseen the Dursleys’ actions, and would have sent some provisions with Lupin. A little uncertain, Harry resigned himself to watching television, vaguely wondering if he would see anything that could hint towards Voldemort’s actions over the holidays.

It was twelve o’ clock sharp when there was a knock on the front door. Harry peered through the side window before opening it, cautiously ensuring that he was not receiving any unwanted visitors. As he expected, Lupin stood on the front doorstep with an unwieldy stack of boxes in his hands.

Harry swung open the door and immediately took the top half of the stack and set it down inside. Lupin looked down on him and smiled warmly. “Merlin, you’re looking more like your father every time I see you.”

Harry’s neck heated slightly. “Thanks, you’re looking good, yourself,” he said, meaning it. Lupin’s robes, which were once old and worn, appeared to be freshly bought. His heart lowered in memory when he realized where Lupin had probably received the money. He made to close the door, but Lupin stopped him.

“Not yet,” Lupin said with a small smile. “I believe Ron and Hermione want in too.”

Sure enough, Ron and Hermione were now coming from the sidewalk, Hermione’s cheeks and Ron’s ears pink from the cold. Harry greeted them warmly, his eyes resting on Hermione for an instant longer than usual. She was bundled up in a winter jacket, scarf, and a wooly hat that Harry suspected she knitted herself. It took a moment for him to register how truly cold it was outside, and he hurriedly closed the door once they were inside.

“Hey mate,” Ron said. “How’s it been going?”

Before Harry could answer Hermione had already enveloped him in a hug. “The muggles didn’t give you a hard time did they Harry?” Hermione asked quickly. From the corner of his eye, Harry could see that Lupin looked very awkward. At length she released him, and Remus, gazing at them curiously, waited for a response.

“No, they were fine about it,” he said. He neglected to mention Gates’ extended stay for the evening.

“Dad was practically begging to come along,” said Ron. “I reckon being in a house with all these muggle artifacts would be like a dream come true for him. He was going on about how Lupin would need help in carrying all those supplies.” He paused, his gaze falling onto Aunt Petunia’s prized vases. “Those look expensive,” he remarked.

“They are,” Harry replied. “Uncle Vernon keeps reminding me of their great value.” Harry let out a short laugh, though it died instantly when he saw the slightly tragic look he was getting from Lupin. An awkward silence fell over the room, and Harry mentally kicked himself for causing it.

“Erm,” Lupin began, trying to break through the muck that was the silence. “So how about we unpack this food? Dumbledore said that we couldn’t expect to receive anything from your relatives.”

“They didn’t leave anything,” confirmed Ron, who was already in the kitchen. “Not even a slice of bread. They’re stingy gits, aren’t they?”

As they began to put away the boxes of food, Lupin took Harry aside and looked at him sincerely. His expression was pained and he could not meet Harry’s eyes.

“Harry-” he began, but the words caught in his throat. “I’m- I’m sorry for not-” His eyes fell to the ground. “I haven’t been around when I should have been, especially with Sirius- well-” He inhaled deeply. “I can’t replace Sirius.” he said quietly.

From the look in Lupin’s eyes, Harry could tell that this had been bothering the werewolf for some time. “You have Order business,” Harry said tentatively.

“That’s not an excuse,” said Lupin softly. “I haven’t sent you a single owl besides the one. This year has been terrible for all of us, and I’ve-” His voice trailed off, as though lost.

“You’ve been staying away from everyone,” said Harry. It was unsettling that something could break through Lupin’s rational demeanor, his normally logical personality akin to Hermione’s. However, it seemed that Sirius’ death had hit him harder than it should have. He was now the last of the Marauders. The real ones, anyway.

“When I met with you in the Burrow,” continued Lupin. “I- it caused pain. I’ve been burying myself in work. I’m not sure- I’ve been unfair to you, and I’m sorry. You should have a guardian.”

Harry could not quite find a way to respond to that, so for a minute he remained silent. “So what have you been doing in the meanwhile?”

Lupin’s eyes flashed with something dangerous. “I’ve been searching for Kreacher.” Harry’s eyes widened. He had never known Remus to be a violent man, but Kreacher seemed to have created a wound in his normally patient personality. “And he’s nowhere to be found. But I have a few guesses…”

“Lup- Remus,” Harry said carefully. “I don’t think Sirius would have wanted you to do this to yourself.”

“Would he?” asked Lupin rhetorically. “It’s just-” Flames flared in his eyes. “-Kreacher killed Sirius!”

Ha! And at one time I thought the werewolf was the sensible one! said Pseudo-Snape with a laugh.

Inwardly, Harry agreed with Lupin’s assessment. Kreacher deserved to die, of that he had no doubt. However, he did not want his former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor to waste his life away in an impossible quest.

“Remus…”

Lupin suddenly looked older than ever, and, solemnly, he lowered his head, as if remembering something. “And what am I doing?” he said quietly to himself. “I haven’t been here. I left his godson for vengeance.” His hair caught a few rays of light, highlighting the gray streaks. “I left him.”

He turned to Harry. “I left you with Alexander Gates!” Lupin said in a restrained shout. “And Dumbledore refuses to let me near that debauched monster. Merlin help the both of us if I see Gates on a full moon.” He visibly calmed down. “I left.”

“You didn’t leave. You were still there when I sent you an owl.”

Lupin gave him a faint smile. “Just like your father,” he said. “He lessened the evils of others too. It doesn’t change the truth, however. I’ve been neglecting you, and I will work to remedy that, starting today.” Lupin took a brief pause, reviewing the young man before him. “Sirius- James- they would both be proud of you Harry. Never forget that.” He shook his head. “My words towards Alex were harsh. He’s a demon, of that I have no doubt, but he saved your life when I was not there. For that I owe him at least something.”

Harry was on the verge of telling Lupin about the album, but hesitated at the last moment. Remus put an arm over Harry’s shoulders and together they went back to the kitchen.

***

They finished putting away the last of the provisions and were now sitting at the kitchen table, munching on fish sandwiches. Ron, fascinated with the concept of electricity, seemed to be restraining himself from toying with the light by flicking it off and then on again every minute. Harry, amused, had let him have a run with all the electronic devices in the house, provided he did not take anything part. Ron was particularly interested in the television, and asked: “How can they live in a box?”

“It’s sort of like with the portraits, except with real people,” Harry explained. Ron looked confused, but did not ask anything more.

Strange how the muggle lifestyle is like ‘magic’ to wizards, Pseudo-Snape observed. Both worlds are veiled with superstition.

Ron was the first to finish his meal and contently leaned back in his chair. His gaze fell onto the microwave and his brow furrowed. “What does that do?” he asked.

Hermione set down her sandwich and went into scientific-mode. “It uses waves to-”

“It’s used for heating and cooking food, Ron,” Lupin interjected gently. To Hermione’s slightly put out expression he added, “I’m afraid the mechanical details would be a bit overwhelming.”

Ron shrugged indifferently. “How long are you going to be able to stay Professor Lupin?”

“I’m no longer a professor, Ron,” said Lupin, smiling. “But I’ll be leaving at four o’clock, and I‘ll be taking you with me back to the Order, where we‘ll meet with Arthur.” He turned to Hermione. “When Mister and Misses Granger arrive home from their business trip, the Order will send someone to take you home, Hermione. They said they would be back at any time between five and six o’ clock.”

Hermione smiled, and slowly, the implications sunk into Harry’s brain. For one to two hours, Hermione and him would be alone.

“So,” Lupin continued, clearing his throat. His voice took on a responsible tone. “How have your Occlumency lessons been going, Harry?”

“Err, they’ve been fine,” Harry said truthfully. Snape and him have not had a major row for at least five weeks, which must be some sort of record. “Snape has been all right this year.”

Lupin raised an eyebrow. “Has he?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Harry said, becoming rather reflective. “I’m not so sure its on his part though. He really hates Gates, and maybe he’s just going easy on me because I have to put up with Gates everyday.”

“That doesn’t sound much like Severus,” said Lupin.

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” added Ron, who suddenly jumped into the conversation. “Personally I think Snape is just trying to get back at Gates through Harry.”

Lupin frowned. “That’s possible, but not probable. Whatever other faults Severus may have, he would never put one of his students in danger.”

“And what’s more,” Harry said. “Snape has been watching my training sessions with Gates.”

“Did Dumbledore ask him to?”

“No,” Harry said instantly. “That’s the weird part. I never asked Snape about it, but its like he’s there on his own initiative. And he’s done loads of other stuff to.” Harry went on to explain his previous experiences with the Potions master. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

Lupin’s face took on that same troubled look that Dumbledore’s had. “No, it doesn’t,” he whispered. “Unless…”

“Unless what?” Hermione probed.

Remus shook himself out of his reverie. “Listen, Harry,’ he leaned forward. “I believe Severus is trying to payback something that he owed- no, that’s not right. Something that he believed in.”

“Dumbledore told me about my dad saving Snape’s life,” said Harry. “So wouldn’t he have fulfilled it in my first year?”

“This is not about that,” said Lupin. “Its about something else. Regardless, I believe he is genuinely trying to help you, Harry. He’s being irrational, something I never would have thought Severus could be. He’s playing a very dangerous game by toying with Alexander Gates.”

“What do you mean?”

“Harry, Severus has been giving you tools,” said Lupin quietly. “He’s being subtle about it, of that there is no doubt, but he’s doing it. Telling you the history of Alex’s family, going out of his way to ensure you remain unharmed during the training sessions. Both of these instances are signs that he wants you to fight Alex yourself. He expects you to duel Alex yourself.”

“Those fumes in the dungeons must have muddled with his brain,” said Ron disbelievingly.

“He thinks he’s doing you a favor, Harry,” said Lupin solemnly.

“What for?” Harry asked sharply. “I never wanted anything from him. I never asked for anything, least of all pity from him. If he wants to help-” He remembered Snape’s concession in keeping Harry’s album memory a secret, and he suddenly felt ashamed.

“No matter what Severus is doing,” continued Lupin as if Harry had not briefly lost his temper. “Do not duel Alexander Gates.” Harry nodded absently, still dwelling on his abrupt recollection.

“What he’s doing for Harry makes sense, I guess,” said Ron uneasily. “But there’s still one thing I’m confused with. Why did Snape give detention to Malfoy for saying m-” he hesitated. “-you know the word.”

To their surprise, Lupin put his head in his hands and murmured, “Merlin’s beard, Severus, what are you doing?”

It took Harry a moment to realize that, throughout the conversation, Pseudo-Snape had not made a single remark.

***

Lupin refused to elaborate further on Snape’s actions, and instead took on a somber expression and shook his sadly. Whatever Lupin knew, he was not going to share it with Harry, and that made Harry more than a little annoyed. Later, when he was about to join Hermione and Ron in the family room, he heard Lupin mutter “Severus never lets anything go” under his breath. Remus had then sat down at the table to prepare various Order reports.

Meanwhile, Ron was having a great time playing on Dudley’s new Playstation, which proved to be luckier than its predecessor in that it had so far avoided being flung out the window. Admittedly, he was not too good at it, but he seemed more interested in the fireworks of gunfire and explosions that played out across the screen. Hermione watched him from the couch, a slightly amused expression on her face.

“Blimey,” Ron murmured when a sound like a bomb going off erupted from the television’s speakers. The screen went black. “This is better than anything at the Burrow.”

“The grass is always greener on the other side,” said Hermione.

“What level have you made it up to Ron?” Harry had watched Dudley play long enough to have a vague idea of the game.

“Whatdoyamean?” asked Ron. He had already restarted the game.

Rather than give a detailed, Hermione-like explanation, Harry said simply, “Nevermind.”

“Oh, okay then,” replied Ron absently, now fully engaged in a firefight. From what Harry saw on the screen, he was quickly annihilated by a wall of turrets. Ron frowned. “This muggle stuff isn’t easy.” He carefully set down the controller. “You know, you don’t have to be scared of me anymore,” he said offhandedly. “I haven’t had a fit for a month now. I think that’s a record.”

“Ron!” Hermione said. “We have never been afraid of you.”

Ron shrugged. “It’s okay,” he said shakily. “You must think I’m a nut.” He laughed with forced enthusiasm.

Hermione’s mouth gaped open. “Ron, you’re not crazy!”

“If I’m not crazy then I don’t know what crazy is!” said Ron sharply, then he breathed deeply. “Who am I kidding. The only people that know for sure are the Unspeakables, and they aren’t talking.” He laughed again, bitterly this time. “No, I’m wrong. They talk, but it’s just lies.”

“Calm down Ron,” said Harry slowly. “You’re working yourself up again.”

“That’s what he said,” Ron retorted. “Practice Occlumency he says. Protect your friends from the monster in your head, he says.” Ron snorted. “Fat lot of good that stuff does. I still have the nightmares.” Smoke black clouds began to gather at the fringes of his eyes, beginning near the eyelashes. Something menacing filled the air. Harry was suddenly aware that he did not have his wand, and that Hermione did not bring hers.

“Ron,” said Hermione in a quiet voice. “They’re trying to help you.”

Harry realized how very close Ron was to succumbing to the personality in his head. Ron had not yet raised his voice, so Lupin was unaware of the unfolding tension. “Clear your mind Ron. We’re your friends-”

“Friends,” Ron snorted, casting an unreadable glance back at Hermione. Harry carefully stepped in front of her, intensely aware of Ron’s meaning.

“Remember winning the Quidditch cup last year?” said Harry encouragingly. “Focus on that.”

Ron blinked, then exhaled. The cloudy murkiness seemed to lighten, and the air softened. He brought his right hand up to his forehead and pressed it against his brow. Hermione tentatively got up from the couch and bent down next to Ron. Harry joined her, clasping his own hand down onto Ron’s shoulder.

“My head is killing me,” Ron muttered.

“Are you focusing on that memory?” asked Hermione gently.

“Yeah.”

“Focus on nothing else,” added Harry. “It’s not as good as clearing your mind, but it’ll work in a pinch.”

“Right,” Ron said, and for a moment the three of them were very still.

Harry looked up at the screen. It was frozen on a single frame, and, whatever game Ron had been playing, it was clearly violent. Severed body parts and gore were spread in grisly heaps. Was that what had set Ron off and had nearly given him one of his fits? The implications were disturbing.

“I think I’m all right now,” Ron said quietly, and he slowly got to his feet. He refused to meet their eyes. “I dunno what happened. I can‘t believe I almost exploded like that…”

“Take it easy, mate,” Harry said. “You’re okay now.”

I wonder what Gates would’ve done if he saw what just nearly happened, Harry said inwardly, unable to resist the thought.

Probably would have cursed the boy into oblivion, said Pseudo-Snape calmly. That’s his style, after all. Destroy and pulverize into dust.

Ron looked up, and, to Harry’s relief, there was no trace of blackness in his eyes.

***

At four o’clock, Lupin collected his various material and told Ron that it was about time for them to leave.

“Arthur is probably waiting for us at the Order,” Lupin said. Harry noticed that he was very careful not to mention Grimmauld Place. “So we should probably get moving. The portkey will activate as soon as we get outside of the wards.”

“Look,” Ron said to Harry and Hermione in a lowered voice as Lupin retrieved his coat. “I’m sorry for- for- earlier.” His ears were red and he looked ashamed.

“You don’t have to be.”

“I have to be,” replied Ron softly. To Harry he added, “I’ll see you again soon.”

“I know mate,” said Harry, smiling. When Lupin returned, they bid each other additional goodbyes and reluctantly Ron and Remus left, leaving Harry and Hermione behind.

“We have to tell him soon,” said Harry quietly. He felt wretched for having deceived Ron for so long about himself and Hermione. Every time the three of them were together Harry could feel an intangible tension in the air, like a weight on their shoulders.

“I know,” replied Hermione softly, her eyes downcast. “But we can’t. Not yet. You saw how close he came to a fit. It would be bad for him and us.”

Harry sighed. “We can’t hide it forever.”

For the first time ever, Hermione could not provide an answer. The silence was quickly broken when Harry spied a book resting on the kitchen table. “Is that yours?” he asked, gesturing to the table. Only Hermione would bring a book over the holidays.

She looked at him questioningly for a moment, then turned to where he was pointing. “Oh no,” she whispered. “Professor Lupin must have forgotten it when he left.”

Harry glanced out the window. “Well, it’s too late to give it to him now. They’re already gone. I suppose he’ll be back for it, though.”

“I should hope so,” Hermione said uneasily. “It’s rather rare.”

Another awkward silence followed, and eventually Hermione said timidly, “What now?”

Harry shrugged, his mind blank.

Books, Potter. Library.

An idea suddenly struck him. “You want to read over that book on the Pravus necklace again? ” Harry asked.

She smiled wryly at the suggestion. “Sure.”

***

They both ended up in the couch, the book being so large that they had the cover resting on Hermione’s lap with the back on Harry’s. Hermione traced the text with her finger, sometimes pausing when the writing became smudged or illegible. Harry could tell that she was vastly enjoying herself. He suspected that having such an ancient and unique book in close proximity brought her nirvana. The side benefit, besides working with his girlfriend (he was not sure he could ever get used to that term), was, of course, understanding more about the diamond artifact that hung around Gates’ neck like a ring of teeth.

“Enjoying yourself?” Harry asked with an amused expression.

“I don’t see how I can’t with you here,” she said. Harry felt himself blush. “This book goes into just about everything, but there are parts missing, as well as entire sections.”

“Like what?”

“Like on how it’s created,” Hermione said. “I can’t imagine the process being simple by any means, and it certainly isn’t something you can look up in a common library.”

“You don’t think-”

“Absolutely,” said Hermione with a factual air. “I think the Gates family owns all, or most, of the chapter on creating the Pravus necklace. That would explain how Gates learned how to make the thing in the first place.”

Harry nodded. “Makes sense.”

“And I’m willing to bet that’s not the only part the Gates family has,” continued Hermione. “There are many, many pages missing. I’m not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse.” she added bemusedly.

“Definitely a blessing,” Harry said instantly. “Having that much power in one book is dangerous. Just look at what happened to the author. He- He-”

“He went insane,” Hermione finished for him. “The necklace turned on its owner. The language he was speaking at the end-” She flipped to the back page. “He was speaking Dark Magic incantations and didn’t even know it. All power, no matter its source, is inherently corruptible. It brought out the worst in that man and destroyed him.”

“You’re saying that’s what is going to happen to Gates,” said Harry slowly.

“Yes, eventually,” answered Hermione. “He only acquired it a relatively short while ago. It may be years before he goes completely mad. The energy from the necklace has to be dispersed somehow, after all. I have the feeling that we haven’t seen the worst of Alexander Gates yet.”

Harry was not sure whether he believed her last point, but as he was about to speak up, the front doorbell rang.

“Looks like Professor Lupin came back for his book,“ said Hermione.

“I thought it’d take him longer, to be honest,” Harry said, looking at his watch. It was only twenty minutes after four.

He mechanically grabbed Lupin’s book from the kitchen table and, accompanied by Hermione, walked up to answer the front door. Without thinking, he released the latch and swung open the door, and was greeted by a man he had never wanted to see again in his entire life.

“Errr, salutations Mister, uhhh, Potter,” said Dr. Perry. Standing next to him was a massive bull of a man, with arms the size of Harry’s neck. Muscles were wrapped around his shoulders like ropes, and were barely covered by a white buttoned shirt that look laughably small on his massive frame. His face was completely impassive, and his posture was reminiscent of a young cadet standing beside a Major.

Harry tried to slam the door but was stopped by a swift, deft move by the bigger man, whose thick arm snatched handle and pushed, knocking Harry backwards. “Hermione, run! The portkey is in my bedroom! Go!”

Hermione hesitated for an instant, reaching for her back pocket. Upon realizing that she had no wand, her eyes grew wide as Dr. Perry stepped through the door, the larger man standing behind him like a sentry.

“Hermione!” Harry hissed. He was back on his feet, deciding he was going to use his hands, his feet, or whatever he had to to get Hermione out safely. “GET HELP!”

Harry’s raised voice snapped her out of her brief shock, and she dashed for the stairs.

“GET HER BRUTUS!” Dr. Perry shrieked, reaching down for his baton. The giant man, his name apparently Brutus, leapt out, his arm within grasping range of Hermione’s bushy hair.

Harry dived at the man’s feet, knocking him awry. Brutus made a guttural sound like a growl and grabbed him at the cuff his neck, lifting Harry up until they were at eye level. The man’s face was contorted with rage, and Harry realized that he was waiting for some sort of signal from Dr. Perry.

“Brutus,” said Dr. Perry in a deceptively calm and silky voice. Harry, however, detected an edge to it. “Please don’t harm the, uhhh, patients. Set him down, we have too much, uhmmmmmm, work to do yet.”

Grudgingly, Brutus set Harry down onto his feet, but kept a painful grip on his forearm.

“I suggest you don’t make any, uhmmm, unwise attempts at leaving,” said Dr. Perry. He absently drummed his pale fingers on his now-drawn clipboard. “I would rather keep our meeting sufficiently, ummmm, civil.” He turned to Brutus. “Brutus, please search the upstairs bedroom for the, uhh, girl. She most likely already escaped, but it is best to be, errrrr, thorough.”

Brutus nodded and released Harry’s arm, proceeding to obediently climb the steps before vanishing around a corner. His heavy footfalls could still be heard downstairs. A dull tingling sensation in his arm told Harry that he would most likely have a bruise from the man’s tight grip.

“Brutus is a most, uhmmm, faithful associate,” Dr. Perry said with false civility. Anyone who might have been looking in would not have realized that the two had even met before. “He’s a mute, I’m afraid, but he is most effective at, err, dealing with my more resistant, uhh, subjects. Come, I am eager continued our conversations.”

Harry did not budge. “What are you doing here?” The fact that there was no sound of struggling from upstairs implied that Hermione had safely escaped, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

The doctor’s eyes flashed. “Your uncle called earlier this morning, claiming he had an, uhh, emergency. Normally I would not take cases with such late notice, but I am willing to make exceptions for my more, uhhhhhh, desperate cases.”

“Right,” Harry said neutrally. His eyes scanned his surroundings for escape routes. He found none. Inwardly, he cursed himself for leaving his wand in his bedroom rather than keeping it in his back pocket like he usually did. It was in all likelihood sitting under his bed somewhere. Perhaps if Hermione had seen it…

She couldn’t have hung around to ransack your bedroom for a misplaced wand, Pseudo-Snape said sharply.

“I believe the family room would provide a much better, uhhh, environment for our sessions,” said Dr. Perry, leading Harry into the adjoining room. The dented trophy still sat forlornly over the fireplace, Harry noticed. “Take a seat on the couch, please.”

Brutus had now returned, and from the scowl on his face, it was evident that he found nothing of import. Dr. Perry read this as well and motioned the orderly to stand behind the couch. Brutus’ face returned to an expressionless, blank mold.

“Your uncle contacted me this, uhmm, morning, as I said earlier,” continued Dr. Perry. “He mentioned something about ‘fool’s gold’ and told me that he ‘wouldn’t be tricked at his own game’. I wouldn’t suppose you know, errr, what that’s about.”

Harry knew exactly what Uncle Vernon was referring to, of course, but was not about to tell the doctor about Gates’ offering of Leprechaun gold. Uncle Vernon, obviously, was likely not at all pleased by Gates’ hoax, and was getting back at the Hit Wizard by going back on his own promise, that is, not to touch Harry.

“No, I don’t,” answered Harry simply.

The doctor’s mouth twitched, but quickly morphed into a forced smile. “And the girl? Would she have anything to do with it?”

“Leave her out of this,” Harry said warningly. “She had nothing to do with this.”

Dr. Perry looked as though he did not believe him, but did not press the issue. “So,” the doctor began, holding his clipboard in a classic psychiatrist pose. “Let us return to what I have, uhmmm, determined to be the root of your problem: your parents’ deaths.” He waited for a reaction.

“Forget it,” Harry said flatly.

The doctor glowered. The faint rush of blood did not go well with his pale skin at all. He jotted down a short note, and then spoke again. “I desire only that we be, uhhh, open with each other, Mr. Potter. I can see your pain, so very near to the, ummm, surface.”

Dr. Perry’s words struck a personal cord, and Harry snapped, “No you can’t.”

The doctor’s eyes flickered at his words, though in excitement or anger, Harry could not tell. He motions Brutus, who had stiffened at the words, to rest. “Explain what I, uhmmm, cannot see, Mr. Potter.”

“Is this some sort of sick game?” Harry demanded. He felt his temperature rise and the surrounding air quickened. “Go to hell.”

Stupid, Potter, Pseudo-Snape admonished. You’re not in a position to curse anyone.

Dr. Perry’s eyes narrowed. “I see,” he said. Then, more calmly, he added, “Perhaps some, ummm, music will lighten your temper. I have found that among many, uhhmmm, cases that a simple song or two can help unlock the mind. Is one with a holiday theme to your, uhhh, taste?”

When Harry did not answer, he stood up and moved to Uncle Vernon’s old record player. He drew a dusty cover and gingerly placed the record onto the phonograph. A scratchy but familiar Christmas melody played. He vaguely listened to a few snatches of the lyrics, the majority of his attention focused on the doctor before him.

“You better watch out

You better not cry”

“Ah, that’s better,” said Dr. Perry with a very satisfied tone. “Now,” He took a seat on a nearby wicker chair and once again raised his clipboard. “Let’s try again with your parents.”

“Santa Clause is coming to town”

“They’re dead,” Harry said sharply.

“Mmm-hmm,” said Dr. Perry. He feverishly began writing. “They died in a car crash.”

Harry was on the verge of contradicting the doctor, but decided against it.

Dr. Perry looked up, his professionally fake smile made all the more disturbing by the background music. “Tell me, ummm, aloud that they died in a car crash. Admission is the, uhmmm, first step in healing.” He looked ready to scrawl down another few lines of notes.

“He’s making a list

He’s checking it twice”

Harry’s answer was devoid of any sort of emotion. “No.”

“Excuse me?” Dr. Perry asked in an oily voice. He glanced up at Brutus, then back to Harry. “I wish for you to cooperate, Mr. Potter. Our relationship must be built on trust-”

“You’re the sick one, not me.”

Stupid, Potter, Pseudo-Snape admonished. You are in no position to curse anyone.

“He’s gonna find out

Who’s naughty or nice”

“You believe yourself to be, uhhmmm, natural?” Dr. Perry asked in a forcibly reasonable voice. He cleared his throat. “Brutus, if you please-” He made a furtive gesture with his hand.

With a speed that was surprising for such a large man, Brutus, in one, long stride, sidestepped and placed his calloused hands on Harry’s shoulders, gripping them warningly. For a second, nothing happened, and then Brutus let out a gurgled grunt and recoiled as if Harry was on fire. Staggering backward, his mouth gaping open in shock, his face the picture of confusion, he stared at his hands.

“Brutus!” Dr. Perry said instantly, impatience bubbling up into his normally placid voice. “What is wrong? What did Mr. Potter do?”

Brutus mouthed soundless words. He was holding his hands close to his stomach, as if sheltering them from danger.

Suddenly, Harry remembered. The Gates family ring that the Sorting Hat gave me.

Dr. Perry was suddenly stern. “I will not tolerate, ahhh, violence during an appointment,” he said, unable to keep the impediment out of his voice. “Your uncle, uhhh, informed me that such abnormalities might occur. He said you were most adept with tricks of light. Like, uhmmm, magic tricks, I suppose.” His stance turned rigid. “You will cease this, uhmmm, nonsense this minute, Mr. Potter. My patience is finite.”

Still, the cheery music continued.

“He sees when you are sleeping

He knows when you’re awake”

When Harry did not move, Dr. Perry’s expression darkened.

“I see,” Dr. Perry said, carefully setting down his clipboard. He smoothed his impeccable uniform, steepled his pale fingers, then breathed deeply. Slowly, he reached down and grasped the handle of his baton with his white, almost skeletal, hand. “I give you one last chance to surrender your trick.”

“He knows when you’ve been bad or good

So be good for goodness sake!”

“There is no trick,” Harry shot back.

“You take me for- for a fool?” Dr. Perry demanded, momentarily overcoming his oratory impediment. “There is no magic here, Mr. Potter!”

Harry’s reason fled through the window. “You just saw for yourself that there is!”

“Ah-ha! So I have found the foundation for your dellusions!” declared Dr. Perry. “There is no magic, Mr. Potter. Magic lived in the minds of, uhmmmm, barbarian tribes and celtic druids, not, ahhh, modern man.” He paused in revelation. “Is believing in magic your, uhh, outlet for your parents’ deaths? Yes, I see now-”

“Of course not.”

Dr. Perry’s mouth twitched. “Do not lie to me. There is no use, uhhhh, denying it Mr. Potter,” he said quickly, fervently. His manic grin grew wide. “Magic is fake!”

“I’ve been studying it for six years,” Harry shot back, heedless of the multiple ministry regulations that he was breaking.

Dr. Perry’s grin faltered. “What did I say about lies?” he said angrily. “Your uncle has, uhhh, informed me of your yearly, errrr, schedule, and it most certainly doesn’t involve magic. They are of the respectable sort, not into dealing with, uhhh, chicanery and other nonsense.”

“You’re a complete madman!”

Dr. Perry’s eyes widened. “Am I now?” he snarled. His benign façade had long ago fallen into shambles, and a wicked sort of evil was replacing it. “You will tell me this instant, Mr. Potter, how your parents died. CONFESS THAT THEY DIED IN A CAR CRASH!”

“THEY DIDN’T!” Harry bellowed back. He suddenly realized that he was on his feet and was now staring eyeball to eyeball at Dr. Perry, who was practically fuming from the ears.

“You better watch out-“

Something in Harry’s brain surged and the old record exploded into a thousand tiny black fragments.

“YOU WILL NOT TELL LIES!” Dr. Perry shrieked, his eyes bulging madly. “YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW? I KNOW WHO THAT GIRL WAS! PART OF THE SATANIC CULT THAT GATHERS IN THIS HOME! I SHALL PERSONALLY SEARCH HER OUT AND REPORT HER TO THE AUTHORITIES!” His hand went up sharply in some sort of signal. “BRUTUS!”

Another flare fired up in Harry’s head, and a muffled yelp and oomph! told him that Brutus had just fell to the floor. Dr. Perry went slack-jawed. Energy and power flowed like blood through Harry’s body, tingling at his fingertips. His hands trembled with rage. Sirens screamed off in his skull, so loud that he though he might burst. The air around him began to turn hot from the excess energy.

Dr. Perry took one look at Brutus’ unconscious body and stepped back, terror evident in his eyes. “DEMON! SATAN INCARNATE!” he shouted, making the sign of the cross. “STAY AWAY YOU FIEND FROM HELL! YOU KILLER OF SOULS!”

At the words ‘killer’ another pulse clicked in Harry’s brain. A boom resounded throughout the room, and Dr. Perry was thrown backwards, slamming heavily into the wall. Harry collapsed to the floor, a sharp pain shooting through him, his hands clutching his temples.

Suddenly, the front door swung open, bashing through the door stopper and smashing into the wall, the knob burying itself into the plaster. Gates swept through, his face contorted with rage. He took one look at the room before him, and drew his wand, wildly whirling it in the air. Dr. Perry, again on his feet, stared at Gates disbelievingly. As though sensing the Hit Wizard’s menace, the doctor backed away.

Gates either guessed or understood what had happened, because he turned onto Dr. Perry with a glare that could probably kill weaker muggles. “I should’ve known,” he snarled. He strode towards the doctor, slashing his wand through the air as he did so, and muttered an incantation. Dr. Perry was lifted up and slammed against the wall, his shoulders and knees pinned against it at uncomfortable angles.

Dr. Perry let out a strangled squawk. “It’s not magic!” he managed through labored gasps of breath.

“It’ll be much worse than magic,” said Gates venomously. Harry had seen that look before. It was the look of reckless abandon. Sirius’ bond was having its full effect on Gates’ mind.

Dr. Perry could scarcely speak. “Uhhhhhmmmmmmmmmerrrrrrrrruhhhhhhhhaauuuummmm.”

“Obliviate! Obliviate! Obliviate!” Gates roared in quick succession. The pain in Harry’s head subsided, and he managed to look up long enough to see the result of the Hit Wizard’s curses.

The curses hit Dr. Perry with the strength of independent, nonfatal killing curses. With each impact the doctor recoiled as if struck in the gut with a baseball bat. They left Dr. Perry as an unconscious, sagging man on the wall, strung up with invisible strings. His normally neat and crisp white St. Brutus uniform was rumpled and torn. A faint sound like a chuckle rattled from him.

Gates freshly examined the room, as if searching for something. His expression became puzzled and he looked down at Harry. “You performed wandless magic, didn’t you?”

Harry grunted an affirmative, and found himself roughly picked up by Gates’ hand. Dr. Perry’s chuckling increased into full-fledged laughter, and Harry thought for sure that Perry was cracking up. His voice was completely red and he was shrieking “Magic!” between bouts.

“What were you feeling?” Gates asked intensely, locking his eyes with Harry’s.

“Anger,” Harry coughed. “Lots of anger.”

Gates’ eyes narrowed. “I understand that Dumbledore explained to you the concept of governing emotions, yes? The magic you performed here was wild. Uncontrolled. That is what happens when you allow emotions to go haywire. The magic gained by feeling the governing emotion is easily bridled and harnessed. This type-” he gestured to the shattered record. “-was obviously nongoverning. Reign your emotions in, Potter. Any fool can be roused. Only the brilliant can master themselves.”

Gates let Harry go and approached the fireplace. With another wave of his wand, the fireplace burst into flame, and he grinned. Unless Harry was greatly mistaken, Gates had just connected the fireplace to the floo network.

“You cannot stay here,” Gates said bitterly. “Albus was grossly mistaken. Gather your wand and the essentials; we will be leaving.”

Harry quickly ran upstairs and snatched his wand and gathered a bag of clothes, his books, and the other essentials that Lupin had brought over. When he came back downstairs, Gates had already thrown a pinch of floor powder into the flames.

Dr. Perry continued to laugh from his place on the wall. “I can perform magic!” he squawked. “See?” He grew still for a moment, then burst out with another shaking string of laughs.

“Which part of Hogwarts will we be coming out at?”

Gates grinned. “We won’t be going to Hogwarts,” he said, and then, before Harry could say another word, he was involuntarily urged into the fireplace. The Hit Wizard shouted, “Gates Manor!”

(A/N: I hope you enjoyed Perry’s comeuppance. That was deliciously fun to write. God, that guy deserved it. You’ll be hearing a little more about Perry in chapter 26, but that’s not for awhile.

Is Lupin seeming to be a little OOC? Yeah, I can’t argue with that. You saw a little of his enmity towards Kreacher in chapter 3, but here you see a lot of it. I see Sirius as being Lupin’s last true childhood friend; who came back from the grave for a few years before dying again. I can’t really imagine Lupin being ‘normal’, so to speak.

Anyway, more bad news. My workload has really been picking up as of late and from now on I am not going to make any promises of when these chapters come out. Chapter 24 will be released when I have chapter 26 completed, and so on. I prefer to stay one chapter ahead because if I don’t errors will be strung abound.

Hope no one hates me too much!

And I am going to respond to this right now: No, Harry was not kidnapped. This would go against Sirius’ will.

Next Chapter: Another very fun, very long chapter that I wrote. It’s a good mix of action, adventure, drama, and loads of other stuff. Harry explores the mysterious, winding corridors that is Gates manor. Features an unprecedented look into Gates’ history and psychology, and, to the keen-eyed, answers some important questions. But is Gates manor really safe from the Dark Lord? You bet not.

24. Gates Manor

(A/N: Summary of 23: Harry, for reasons of protection, spent the holidays at Pivet Drive, and had his final confrontation with Dr. Perry which resulted in the good doctor's incapacitation. Gates, of course, stepped in, finishing it, and whisked Harry off to his manor.)

Harry fell roughly down onto a hardwood floor, a sharp pain shooting up from his knees. His luggage was sprawled across the floor. There was another swirl of flame and Gates stepped through, looking very tense and nervous. His wand was drawn, and he gazed suspiciously around him. It was as if he had not stepped foot in this place for years.

Harry massaged his kneecaps and got to his feet, all the while staring unabashedly at his surroundings. He had seen vast amounts of wealth before. He even had in his possession a considerable sum of galleons. However, the room he now stood in probably exceeded in net worth anything that he had ever seen, with the possible exception of Dumbledore’s office. While Sirius’ manor, Grimmauld Place, had been dark, dreary and decrepit, Gates’ manor was lavish and extravagant. The floor was deeply and carefully lacquered and polished, their own two forms visible in the shine. A rosewood table, with spindly, elegantly carved legs, stretched horizontally before him, a few glass bottles filled with a violet liquid and a little porcelain bowl sitting in the center. Sofas and ornate wooden chairs, cushioned with velvet, surrounded it. Old, meticulously cared-for tapestries hung along the walls, all of them bearing some figure or crest in the fabric. One, looking a little more threadbare than the others, bore a golden circle with the faint, regal image of a swooping hawk in the center. Over it, written in a material like silk, was “Malo Mori Quam Foedari.” Archaic runes that Harry did not recognize were written along the bottom.

“It’s the Gates family tapestry,” Gates said from behind him. “It says: Rather Death Than Disgrace.” Harry did not comment, but he found the Gates family motto to be very appropriate.

“Menial welcomes master Gates and his esteemed acquaintance,” squeaked a voice. Harry looked down and saw that he had somehow missed a house-elf entering the room. The elf was dressed in formal-looking pillowcase, which slightly startled Harry as he had expected to see them in rags as he did with Dobby. It was rather neat, for a pillowcase. “Master Gates’ esteemed acquaintance appears to be a very great wizard indeed!” he peered up at Harry with wide eyes. “Master Gates’ esteemed acquaintance defeated the You-Know-Who! Master Gates’ esteemed acquaintance must-”

“That’s enough of the formalities, Menial,” cut in Gates harshly. The Hit Wizard was staring at the elf as if it was something unpleasant that had occurred in a different life. The elf shrank a little.

“Can Menial fetch master Gates or his esteemed acquaintance a drink? Master Gates has not been in his manor for many years-”

“You will not refer to Potter as ‘esteemed’,” Gates said. “Nor will you discuss my doings in front of guests. Perhaps the long years have worn away your sense of duty.”

The elf’s face went very pale. “Of course not, master!”

“Are the wards in place?” asked Gates almost indifferently. The aristocratic air that he carried around himself was almost palpable now that he had returned to his family’s manor. “Have the elves maintained them?”

“Menial made sure of it himself, master Gates!” the elf squeaked. “Even the Fidelus charm!”

“Very well.” Gates turned to Harry. “My manor’s Fidelus charm is the absolute strongest in the world. My ancestors have been building on it and reinforcing it for centuries. Right now, I daresay you are safer here than at Hogwarts, especially since the recent attacks have proven Hogwarts’ defenses to be…fallible.”

Or, if what Ron thinks is true, it’s an easier way to have me killed, Harry thought.

“Is there anything master Gates or his est-” Menial hesitated. “-acquaintance wishes?”

“Nothing,” said Gates immediately. “Now leave us.”

Menial bowed deeply, picked up Harry’s scattered luggage, then quietly backed out of the room.

“Potter,” said Gates, turning his attention once more onto Harry. “Follow me.”

As Harry followed Gates through the corridors, he listened vaguely to what the Hit Wizard was saying. His eyes were instead focused on the antiques that surrounded him as he walked down the corridors. Warm redwood wood panels lined the walls, and in every corner there was a marble pedestal with a Grecian vase sitting at the top. Busts of ancient, long-dead philosophers overhung the archways, and expensive Persian rugs helped soften the sound of heavy footfalls on the floor. Bronze statues stood like sentries in niches along the walls. Various paintings were spread out at long intervals. There was a portrait of a swampy rice field with scattered Chinese workers on a silk canvas. Another of a quaint village with red-tiled Italian roofs. Soon, Harry began to pass rich oil paintings full of deep color, and then he came across one painted by a vaguely familiar artist. It was Rembrandt.

“That one,” Gates said suddenly, pointing to the before-mentioned Rembrandt painting. “Muggles don’t even know exist.”

Harry took another look at the portrait, letting his eyes rest on the robed old man standing underneath the boughs of a willow tree. A few patches of light told Harry that the setting was during the daytime, but the extensive use of shadows and dark color gave the impression that it was dusk.

“It was made specifically for our family. Privately, of course,” Gates continued. “The man in the portrait is Nicholas Redoren Gates. We’ve had it for centuries, and this is the only copy. Don’t touch it.”

At last they came into a massive, circular, with bookcases built into the walls. The domed ceiling was the color of cream, and seemed to shift like it was made up of clouds. On the far wall was a small section of wall cleared of bookcases. Built into a stone base was marble fireplace, its hearth crackling as it devoured several thick logs. Facing the fireplace was a single winged chair. It was a deep shade of red, and next to it was a little stand on which sat a wine glass and a book. A rug concealed the hardwood, lacquered floor, giving the place a homely appearance. Whoever had designed this room was evidently a lover of dark woods and old books.

When Harry turned to look at Gates, it was apparent that the Hit Wizard was not focusing on the décor. Instead, his eyes were locked onto a large portrait that hung above the fireplace. It was of a woman with high, sharp cheekbones and long black hair, whose eyes seemed to be almost alive. Harry suddenly realized that he had not seen a single ‘living’ portrait in the entire manor yet.

“Menial,” Gates whispered. “MENIAL!” he shouted.

It’s the woman, Potter, said Pseudo-Snape. The Boggart.

Harry looked at the portrait again. Pseudo-Snape was right. The woman was undoubtedly the same woman that the Boggart had manifested itself into in the Room of Requirement. Suddenly, it all made sense. The high cheekbones. The sharp facial features. Gates’ mother.

Harry furtively glanced at the Hit Wizard once more, and saw once again the expression of abject terror on Gates’ face. His face was stark white, and his hands, which had become fists, trembled. His lips moved and he was murmuring something under his breath. Abruptly, he thrust a hand into the pockets of his robe and grabbed at something. Gates relaxed slightly.

“Master Gates!” Menial called, bounding through the door, his eyes wide with alarm. “What is wrong master?”

“WHAT IS WRONG?” Gates roared, rounding on the elf as if it had somehow grossly offended him. He pointed a finger at the portrait. “TAKE HER DOWN! TAKE EVERY LAST PICTURE OF HER FACE OFF THESE WALLS!”

“Yes master,” Menial said complacently and bowed, his nose almost touching the floor. The few gray hairs on his head were wet and matted. He was sweating profusely. “Immediately.”

“THEN GET ON IT!”

Menial leapt into the air and dashed over to the fireplace. Muttering some incantations, he climbed onto the mantle and gingerly took the portrait from its place on the wall. Without another word, the elf swept out of the room, evidently bent on fulfilling his master’s orders as soon as possible.

Breathing heavily, Gates staggered over to the wing-backed chair and fell into it. His eyes stared blankly at the fireplace. “Potter,” he said stiffly. “You will not go into the manor vaults. You will not go into the lower dungeons. And most of all, you will not go into the locked room on the third floor. If you desire food, drink, or anything else, you will go to Menial. He will supply you with what you desire.”

“Will we have training sessions?”

Gates paused for a moment. “No.”

Harry was about to leave the room when Gates spoke again. “I suggest you owl Albus concerning your new temporary residence,” the Hit Wizard continued. “The Fidelus Charm is of a variety that will allow familiars to pass. You will be spending the remainder of your Christmas vacation here. You will be living in the guest room. I’m sure Menial has already taken your commodities there.” He paused. “And you should probably thank that Granger girl as well. She’s the one that took the portkey and informed me of your unfortunate…plight.”

When Harry once again turned to leave, the ceiling caught his eye. A few minutes ago it had been amorphous and vague, but now it had turned into some sort of fresco. Roman pillars reached up from all sides of the dome, stopping about a third of the way to the top. The sky itself had turned into a mass of swirling tin, with a few somber clouds floating above the pillars. The most disturbing feature, however, was the addition of massive, black-winged creatures with curved talons and a woman’s face. They were like demons, soaring through the forbidding sky, their wings spread out, their mouths open with silent shrieks. One paused in midair and looked down at Harry with bared fangs. Harry had to remind himself that he was simply staring at an enchanted ceiling, no more dangerous than the one in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. However, this one was far more frightening, and Harry wondered what is was based on. The ceiling in the Great Hall reflected the outside sky. What did this ceiling represent?

Your mood, Potter. The mood of the man sitting in the red wing-backed chair.

Harry eased his way out of the room and quietly shut the door behind him. Whatever demons were flying around in Gates’ head at the moment, Harry did not want to see them.

He came to wide foyer with two arching marble stairways that spread out from the base, following the rounded walls before intersecting at the top. Menial was hanging off the top banister, swiping with his hand at an elegant picture of the dark-haired woman standing next to a man with high, thin eyebrows. It was an oddly formal portrait.

“Master Gates’ acquaintance!” squeaked Menial, nimbly jumping over the banister and running down the stairs. “Menial has already moved your luggage to the Gates manor guest bedroom! Menial hopes master Gates’ acquaintance can forgive Menial’s ineptness at all tasks.” He bowed very deeply.

Harry was not quite sure how to respond to that. “Err, so where’s the guest bedroom?”

“This way!” said the elf brightly. As Menial lead Harry up the steps and down another portrait-lined corridor (all unmoving, Harry noted), he chatted away happily as though he had not spoken to anyone for years. “Menial is most delighted to have guests once more!” Menial said. “Master Gates has not been in his manor for years upon years-” He abruptly stopped and began violently beating himself with his fist. “BAD MENIAL! BAD! MASTER GATES HAS JUST RETURNED AND YOU ARE ALREADY DISOBEYING ORDERS!”

Harry almost jumped into the air with surprise. He reached out, grabbed both of Menial’s hands, and struggled to calm the elf down.

“Master Gates’ acquaintance must not interfere with Menial’s due punishment!” Menial said in an extraordinarily high pitched voice. “Menial is a bad elf! Bad!”

Harry wished Hermione had designed some sort of countermeasure against the elf fits of self-inflicted punishment. If she had not already, he thought wryly.

An idea popped into his head. “Menial, where’s the guest bedroom?” Harry asked quickly. Hopefully, the question would distract the elf and override its instinct.

Menial stopped suddenly, and then, almost stiffly, ushered Harry through a nearby door. The elf, still in the same, aloof posture, continued, “Master Gates’ acquaintance will tell Menial if he needs anything,” he said, and with barely a moment passing, shut the door.

Harry stared at the closed door, perplexed. Menial sounded almost agitated. He shook his head exasperatedly. There was no possible way for anyone to fully understand a house elf, no matter what Hermione declared to the contrary.

His luggage sat neatly on a down mattress with silk sheets. Red, velvet drapes hung around the four-poster bed, tied back at the moment with another little strip of velvet. A desk, chair and table, all ornately carved and constructed, without a single straight angle on them, stood on an Oriental rug next to the bed. He took a closer look at them, and found them all to have been designed and created in a village in France. A vase full of fresh flowers with white and cream-colored petals was placed on the nightstand.

Now, how was he supposed to contact Dumbledore? He realized that Hedwig was still at the owlery at Hogwarts, and, while the manor undoubtedly had large store of owls, he did not care much for asking Gates permission to use them.

The mirror!

The idea struck Harry strongly because it was so obvious. He fumbled with his robes for moment, intensely glad that he had brought the mirror along, and looked at its slightly cloudy surface.

“Hermione Granger.”

An instant later Hermione’s face appeared in the mirror.

“Harry!” she said breathlessly. Harry noticed she was biting deeply into her lower lip. “You disappeared from your relatives’ house! We’ve been looking all over you-”

“I’m fine,” Harry said quickly. “Well, I think I am. Gates took me to his manor.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide. “So that’s where he took you?” she asked in a quaking voice. “Harry you have to get out of there!”

“I don’t have any floo powder.”

Hermione frowned, and suddenly her face lit up and she began talking animatedly with someone.

“Mr. Carwin just reminded me,” she said quickly. “Professor Dumbledore should be able to help.”

Before Harry could get in a word, her face disappeared from the mirror and Harry waited for a minute, staring blankly at the empty mirror, expectantly awaiting Hermione’s return. At last, Hermione’s face reappeared. “Here’s Professor Dumbledore-”

“Harry,” the familiar voice of Albus Dumbledore began. For a second Harry saw nothing but the silvery gray of the headmaster’s beard, but then it tilted up and Dumbledore’s face came into view. “Miss Granger tells me Alex took you to his manor. Have you been harmed?”

Harry noted the seriousness in Dumbledore’s voice and became nervous. It was akin to the tone Dumbledore took on when he stunned Pseudo-Moody at Hogwarts. “No, but Gates just told me to tell you where we are.”

The headmaster’s expression did not change from its stony state. “Oddly considerate for Alex,” he said. “I trust you won’t object if your stay at Gates manor is cut short.”

“Not in the least.”

“Very well,” said Dumbledore. “I must have a discussion with Alex,” He seemed ready to leave, but he hesitated at the last minute. “Harry, is there anything you aren’t telling me?”

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. This was something Occlumency could not hide. “Err, Menial just arrived with dinner,” Harry said, feigning haste. “I’ll see you later, professor.”

Before Dumbledore could respond, Harry set the mirror face down on his bed. He stared at the smooth, featureless back of the mirror for a long time.

***

“Master Gates’ acquaintance?” said Menial loudly, pounding on the door. The squeaky voice shook Harry from his reverie and he moved to answer the door.

When he did, the elf continued. “Master Gates asks that you not use any more magical, non-wand devices in the manor,” said the elf formally. His attitude had completely changed ever since Harry had stopped him from beating himself. “They inadvertently damage the Fidelus Charm, which must be kept strong at all times. He also said that, although he doesn‘t know of any non-wand magical device in your keeping, he doesn‘t care either.”

With that, Menial bowed and disappeared down the hall. Harry blinked. What had brought about Gates’ sudden apathy? At one point, Gates himself would have climbed the steps and would have personally demanded to know what magical device Harry was keeping, but it seemed that ever since they arrived at the manor a strange mood had overtaken the Hit Wizard.

Idly, Harry wandered through the corridor, sometimes pausing to look at the peculiar, unmoving portraits. He had long since come to the conclusion that the Gates family was fabulously wealthy, but what he saw continued to amaze him. Gold was ornately worked into various mahogany chairs and tables with no apparent purpose except for blatantly flaunting the family’s ridiculous riches.

At length Harry came to a plain, single door. Curious, he tried to open it, but was immediately met with a faint shock and a push backward. It was enchanted with numerous locking charms, and, if Harry was correct in his assumption, Gates had placed some of them himself.

“I wonder if this is the locked room Gates was referring to,” Harry murmured aloud.

Of course it is, Pseudo-Snape said snidely. But every lock has a key. Find it.

Harry bent and searched the handle for any sort of hole that would betray the existence of a key. The only detail on the bronze handle was a strange emblem with two characters that he did not recognize. When Harry studied it further, he found it was ‘V.G.,’ backwards. Frowning, he straightened. There was no keyhole in sight, so therefore there could be no key.

Not all keys are made in muggle-fashion, said Pseudo-Snape. Think!

Harry’s brow creased as he mulled over the situation. Suddenly, he realized how he could get through the door. Remembering the ring that the Sorting Hat had given him, he searched frantically through his pockets, hoping that he had not lost it at some point. Something cool and hard brushed against the tips of his fingers. He grasped it, brought it out, found it to be the ring, and thrust the engraved ‘V.G.’ initials into their counterpart on the handle. There was a click and the latched released. Hesitantly, as though he was an explorer entering a lost Egyptian tomb, he pushed the door open and crossed the threshold.

Pseudo-Snape was the first who managed a coherent thought. What the devil are we looking at Potter?

Harry could scarcely describe the room that was sprawled out before him. It appeared to have the commodities common to any aristocratic home, but the proportions were warped far out of scale. On the far side of the bedroom, an ancient, hardwood desk leaned precariously to the side, as its right legs were spindly and tall, thrusting the desk at least three feet into the air. The other pair, however, were short and fat, barely pushing the main body of the desk off of the carpet. The nearby chair looked impossible to sit in, as its arms were crooked and angled poorly, and its back was so thinly tapered that Harry guessed that if anyone attempted to sit back in it that the entire creation would collapse. The ceiling slanted sharply downward, and the right side of the room was at least six feet shorter than the right side, making the adjoining bathroom inaccessible because of cramped space. The bed itself was covered with painfully intense pink sheets, with pillows that appeared to be made from concrete. The mattress was in the shape of a trapezoid, and Harry could not fathom why anyone would wish to design it in such a way. Taking another step into the room, Harry found that the floor itself was uneven, with many shallow dips and strange lumps. The bizarre night stand, with its legs that seemed to be thinner than paper, could not possibly exist. The wooden legs should have been buckling from the weight, but were not. It was a room full of impossibilities, and Harry was becoming nauseated just from staring at it.

What is Alex hiding here, I wonder, said Pseudo-Snape rhetorically.

Harry ran his hand along the warped chair. The hairs stood up and crackled with electricity, sending a tingling sensation down his spine.

Energy, Pseudo Snape remarked. Whatever caused this, it was powerful, violent, and magical. When wizards with extraordinary power - such as Alex, Albus, and the Dark Lord - lose control of their emotions, it wrecks havoc upon their surroundings. Certain muggle physics laws that I am familiar with no longer apply here.

“What could’ve happened?” Harry said out loud, slowly studying his hand. The tingling feeling had vanished.

Pseudo-Snape was oddly quiet. This room must have reminded him of something truly horrible to cause such a reaction. I have no doubt that it was somehow related to Alex’s parents’ sadistic killer, Nori Katashi.

“Master Gates’ acquaintance should not be here,” timidly squeaked someone behind Harry. He whirled and found that it was short female house-elf that could have been Winky’s sister in terms of appearance. Her pillowcase was stained and dirty, completely different from what Menial had been wearing. “Mr. Potter must leave,” she added in a whisper.

“I’m not hurting anything. Gates is downstairs. He won’t know I’m up here,” said Harry with more confidence than he felt. “What happened here?”

The elf’s eyes shifted back and forth uneasily. “Mr. Potter must leave! Head elf Menial will be furious with Petra if she leaves Master Gates’ acquaintance in the room-that-must-not-be-spoken-of.” She sounded fearful.

“Why can’t it be spoken of?”

“It is forbidden,” she said in a hushed voice.

Be forceful, Potter, advised Pseudo-Snape.

“Just tell me what happened in here,” urged Harry. “Then I’ll leave.”

“Petra doesn’t know!” she said. “Only Master Gates knows what happened when the Interlopers came-” She slapped her hand over her mouth.

The interlopers? Could she possibly be referring to Death Eaters? That would confirm Pseudo-Snape’s hunch, then. “Why didn’t the elves stop the Death Eaters- the Interlopers?”

Petra, the elf, was apparently undergoing an internal battle. On one hand, she could not reveal her master’s business, on the other hand, the stranger before her said he would leave the forbidden room if she divulged that very same information.

“Elves with masters cannot fight Interlopers,” Petra whispered, as though afraid of being overheard. “Elves with masters cannot strike any wizard! Arger, the old Head elf, brought us all into the kitchen. That is why no house-elf knows what happened in the room-that-must-not-be-spoken-of.”

“And Gates never mentioned it?”

Petra was rubbing her two hands together nervously. “Master Gates left and returned only once! Many years ago, Master Gates came back, and Menial replaced Arger as Head elf.”

“What happened to Arger?”

“No one knows!” Petra said hurriedly. “Arger vanished.”

Harry frowned. “Didn’t you ever ask why?”

Petra appeared shocked. “No one ever questions Master Gates!”

Harry nodded tentatively. He had a very good idea of exactly what happened to Arger.

Petra continued as anxiously as ever. “Then Master Gates went into the room-that-must-not-be-spoken-of, and when he came back out, Master Gates was very angry and the forbidden room looked like- looked like that!” She pointed a quivering finger behind Harry, clearly indicating the warped desk, chairs, bed, and walls. “Now Master Gates’ acquaintance must leave! Master Gates’ acquaintance said he would!”

Harry, suddenly feeling guilty over pushing the harmless elf so far, nodded his room and shut the door. Petra quickly cast some spells that Harry did not recognize and disappeared with the abruptness with which she came.

Bored, Harry once again began wandering the decorated halls in Gates manor. He thought absently of ignoring Menial’s admonishment and using the mirror to talk to Hermione, but did not want to attract Gates’ attention. Especially if he was going to be forced to stay at this manor for the entire holiday.

“Monster,” Harry muttered. For a moment he was surprised. The word had come unbidden to his tongue.

But is that not what Gates is? The Hit Wizard was a needlessly cruel, demented man whose mind was partially ensnared by a corrupt necklace. Was that not, essentially, what a monster is?

“Love made him a monster,” Dumbledore had once said. Did Gates love his parents so much that their deaths had twisted his mind into something evil? Harry shuddered.

He was suddenly reminded of Dumbledore’s comparison of the two of them; Gates and Harry. Was that where fate had made its fatal error, designing their respective lives so that Harry had not grown to know his parents, while Gates did? If Harry had been older when he lost his parents, would he have become a monster like Gates? The answer was too horrible and uncertain to contemplate.

And then there was the question of what happened in the so-called forbidden room. Whatever had occurred, Harry felt that it was intricately tied to Gates’ current mindset. If the ceiling in the domed room was any clue as to the Hit Wizard’s mood, Gates’ mind was disturbed, indeed.

The last question was, of course, Gates’ involvement in the Quidditch incident. Ron’s conjectures were false before, but could he be on to something? Was Gates’ psychological makeup so distorted that the Hit Wizard could have done something so irrational? He had done it once before, in the Leaky Cauldron. Harry possessed, however, no hard evidence, and he was not even sure whether he believed it himself. Sirius’ bond should have prevented that. In fact, Gates had attested that he had actually saved Harry’s life by slowing the broom down it as it fell from the air.

Harry abruptly stopped. Without consciously knowing it, he had been walking directly to the door of the domed room where Gates was currently resting. He was facing a towering, imposing door, with an intricate carving of a soaring hawk, its face the picture of nobility. It was unpainted, though it seemed to made up of some very dark wood. Ebony, possibly.

Voices came from the other side, and Harry pressed his ear against the frame.

“What were you thinking, Alex?” It was Dumbledore. “Let me through. This is best discussed in person.”

“No, I will not bring down my wards for your comfort, Albus,” said Gates. He sounded bitter, irritated. “We can adequately discuss this matter through the fireplace.”

“You took Harry away from Pivet Drive,” Dumbledore said. “That was reckless and inexcusable.”

“Excuse me?” Gates said angrily. “That home was not safe. If I would’ve known that some muggle would come to threaten him, I would have never given my consent. He is in my charge, Albus, and you deliberately mislead me.”

“The wards were not designed to ward off muggles. Only wizards. And regardless, Harry did not inform me that his relationship with his relatives had reached such an…extent.” Dumbledore sounded almost sad.

“I could imagine,” scoffed Gates. “Not only do I now have to keep Potter in my manor, but the time I spent on rebuilding the wards around Hogwarts was completely wasted.”

“I told you before, Alex, I am more than capable of upholding the wards myself.”

“And yet there were two attacks under your watch on Hogwarts’ grounds.”

“Why did you choose to take Harry to your manor, Alex?” said Dumbledore in a sudden change of subject. “Is it from the auction?”

“I don’t care about the damnable auction this spring,” snarled Gates. “Hogwarts is unsafe, and so is the muggle residence which you had supposedly made infallible.”

“And Gates manor is infallible, Alex?”

“Of course. My ancestors have lived here for centuries. The Fidelus charm resides in my very blood.”

“You had no right to kidnap Harry.”

Gates let out a snort of laughter. “I am permitted to do whatever it takes to ensure the boy’s safety. That includes making any changes that I feel are necessary. You hardly need to be so dramatic, Albus.”

“Hogwarts is the safest place for Harry right now,” said Dumbledore vehemently. “You know it and so do I. Do you believe that Voldemort cannot find a way past your wards? Hogwarts has some of the most powerful wizards in Britain within its walls. You are one man.”

“Nonsense,” Gates retorted. “You are in no position to dictate anything.”

“Percy Weasley will be more than willing to request a removal of the Gates family name from the ministry’s formal records,” said Dumbledore quietly. “Would that not bring disgrace upon your family? How much shame are you trying to pile upon your family? I find this tactic to be crude, but I find your arrogance to exceed my distaste for it.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Gates hissed, quietly, dangerously.

“I know what you desire, Alex,” continued Dumbledore. “Do you wish to settle this feud?”

There was a long, considering silence before Gates spoke again. “I hardly think that it should come to that,” he said slowly. “It would be wiser for you to simply return my grandfather’s ring which you had stolen from my family.”

“I stole nothing,” said Dumbledore patiently. “We both know the origin. Your mother privately gave it to me as part of my charge to watch over you should Yegor and her perish. She was quite an intelligent woman.”

“You ignorant bastard. Who are you to even speak her name?”

Dumbledore sighed heavily. “She trusted me, Alex, and although I see no hope for you now, I keep that trust. I fear that your relatives, which had, against my wishes, acquired you after your parents’ deaths, ruined you beyond any chance of salvation. You have a twisted soul, Alex. One that used to be governed by love, but, because of terrible circumstances, been turned into something evil.”

“Sirius lied to me for seven years,” said Gates slowly and venomously. “You may not have known what he did, but you are still nothing more than an old fool who spouts baseless assertions.” Gates’ voice turned bitter. “May you burn in hellfire.”

Dumbledore’s tone did not change. “You will return Harry to Hogwarts or I will personally come to break down the wards around Gates manor. It may take me days, but you know I can.”

“You want the boy?” Gates spat. “Have him. Tomorrow and not a moment earlier. Use this time to secure Hogwarts from the Dark Lord. Now get out of my sight.”

There was an explosion like an air pocket bursting and then there was silence. Gates had extinguished the flames

***

The next day Harry found himself bored. In a sudden disregard for consequences, he had tried to use the mirror to talk to Hermione, but found it inactive. Either Gates had constructed some ward that prevented its use, or Hermione did not have the mirror. Harry felt that the former was more likely.

In the end, he was once again forced to wander aimlessly through the halls. A certain rebelliousness stirred within him, and he sometimes he imagined himself kicking over a marble pedestal for the simple sake of having something to break the sheer monotony. At the best of times it was difficult for him to stay locked up in one place for long, and at worst it was dangerous.

He was wandering through a wing of the manor he had not explored before when he came upon a large, round bronze door with archaic carvings and symbols carved onto it. Despite its highly polished exterior, it looked old, even ancient. A mage, the tip and flash of his wand intricately detailed, stood like a sentry at the center. His right hand was facing up, the palm open. On it was some sort of locking mechanism. There was no handle or keyhole, but instead was that familiar symbol that Harry had seen on the handle of the door to the forbidden room.

Harry decided immediately that this was the vault Gates had been referring to, and his initial reaction was to leave. However, the ornate carvings on the door fascinated him, and he found himself outlining the runes with his finger. The bronze was cold to the touch, and felt as though it had never been touched in a thousand years. This vault must be the oldest artifact in the manor.

Curiosity overtook him, and he gingerly drew the ring and pressed it against the mechanism in the mage’s palm. Air hissed from along the rim. A long, strenuous rumbling issued forth from it, as though it was being pushed backwards against its will. More air rushed out from the ever-widening opening, and Harry coughed from its stale taste. Dust. At last the rumbling stopped, and the bronze door latched into place with a metallic clang. Harry, examining the opening, could find no hinge on the bronze door, and concluded that some extremely tricky charms must have been placed for it to have apparently floated back.

Harry turned around, searching for any sign of another. The hall was empty. Gates was on the other side of the manor, and, while the door was truly loud, he probably did not hear the disturbance. Harry crossed the threshold and stepped onto a plated floor.

There was no treasure, or any sign of riches as Harry had expected. Instead, he was now in yet another corridor, its walls lined with smaller, similarly shaped bronze doors. Evidently, the vault was split into individual rooms for organization. The only objects that broke the rather plain and Spartan look were two empty suits of armor at the far end of the hall. They guarded a plated gold door studded with rubies.

Harry slowly went down the hall, his eyes going back and forth as he passed each pair of doors. One of them was crude and was reinforced with a titanium bar which could only have a purpose of keeping something inside. Its battered and strained appearance made Harry uneasy, and a sudden jolt of movement from within shook the hinges. Harry gave it a wide berth.

When he finally stood before the ruby-encrusted inner-vault door at the end, he locked his hand around the unadorned handle and, with a hint of trepidation, pulled. It slid with surprising ease, and revealed a long corridor line with live, hundreds of moving portraits on both sides, the far wall cleared of any feature save a gigantic, life-size painting of a comely, black-haired man. The frames would have been considered tacky in any other setting, but the presence of authentic gold and wealth had somehow eliminated that impression. Harry stepped inside, feel like he was entering some religious shrine.

“You there,” said the first portrait on Harry’s right. He looked a little like Gates except for his swept-back, groomed appearance. “You are not of the Gates line. State your business and the reason for your coming here.” He eyed Harry with a critical air.

“Errr,” Harry said, looking nervously from portrait to portrait. None of them said a word, but their scowls required none. He turned back to the portrait he was currently addressing, who was apparently a spokesman of some sort. “Alexander Gates brought me here.”

“Alex?” the portrait said with some glee, his expression clearing up immediately. “Ah, it’s about time. I’m afraid the current family of Gates have forgotten their ancestors who have been residing in the vaults for so very long. We are, after all, the ancestors. Every last one of us, starting with the very first.” He nodded to the back, where the comely wizard nodded imperceptibly.

“Forgive me,” continued the portrait. “My name is Vladimir Zadav Vasili Gates. I am Alexander’s grandfather, the most recently deceased, therefore bearer of the family title of Vladimir.”

“What?”

Vladimir looked politely puzzled. “I see. You know not of our traditions. Whenever a son that belongs to the paternal line of Gates dies, he earns the addition of the name Vladimir. I am the current holder. When my son Yegor dies, the title will pass to him.”

There was something very tragic in the way that the portrait was unaware of his son’s death, and Harry did not have the heart to correct him. Instead he said awkwardly, “What is this place?”

“The shrine of the ancestors, of course,” said Vladimir proudly. “Yegor and young Alexander have not visited us in many years. I have long wondered why. I suppose you are here to deliver some sort of message? To inform us of Yegor’s absence?”

Vladimir’s question had brought up a valid point. Why was he here? Harry was not sure. “Not exactly.”

Vladimir frowned. “Then I would like to see Yegor or his wife, Casseopeia. It is within in our rights to request, or even demand, an audience with a blood relative once a decade. Where is my son?”

“He’s dead,” Harry said quietly.

Vladimir’s eyes went wide. “Dead? Impossible. Our blood does not whither until at least two centuries.”

“Death Eaters killed him and his wife,” Harry said. He did not look up to meet the portrait’s eyes. Reporting the deaths of others disturbed him.

“Death Eaters,” echoed the portraits through the corridor, for the first time speaking. Their words were cold and malevolent, like ice.

“I warned him!” Vladimir declared. “The Dark Lord and his followers were no place for a wizard from the Gates line. Why, the majority of them are nothing more than common wizards, using the killing curse in the most boring fashion possible. No honor at all. Yes, this was the one issue I agreed with Casseopeia on. The witch had more sense than the wizard!” He laughed.

The portraits nodded and murmured in agreement.

“Forgive me for being so blunt, but it was foolish for Yegor to become involved!” Vladimir hissed. “The entire line has been put into question.” He turned to an adjacent portrait. Picture of a bulky man in a small robe. “Nicholas, what others of the paternal line still exist?”

“Few,” reported the wizard. “Only two families.”

“And Alex,” said Vladimir suddenly. “Did he survive?”

Harry felt the surrounding eyes focus on him. “After a fashion,” he said darkly.

“What do you mean?” asked Vladimir with narrowed eyes.

“He took on the Pravus necklace.”

Vladimir’s mouth gaped open, and even the normally immobile wizard at the end of the corridor turned to face Harry in grim shock. More whispers. Harry felt strangely like he was on trial. The stillness of the room was palpable.

“Blasphemy,” snarled Vladimir. His complexion blanched and he looked quite angry. “You slander an heir to the Gates crest. Why the devil would he take on the Pravus necklace?”

“Honor dictated that he had to avenge his parents’ deaths, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Vladimir said. “But one does not create a Pravus necklace for the sake of vengeance. It is distasteful! The monstrosities that such an artifact could do to a wizard would outweigh any possible increase in honor.”

“Vladimir,” said the bulky wizard tentatively. He shifted his weight forward on the chair he was sitting on and dropped his voice. “Yegor’s wife had the creation chapter as part of her dowry. Alex had access.”

“A lie,” snapped Vladimir, rounding fully on the fatter wizard from within his resplendent frame. “Impossible that a Gates could fall into that pitfall.” He spat the last word. The hall erupted in a cacophony of sound and voices.

“It would explain why Alex hasn’t come to us-”

“It’s a lie! We must not trust outsiders!”

“We should never have brought that damned chapter onto manor grounds! Burn it from its place in the vault!”

“-worth thousands of galleons, at least-”

“Never!”

“SILENCE!” Vladimir roared. Breathing heavily, he gazed at Harry with piercing eyes. “There have only been two Vladimir rings made. If Alexander truly sent you here as you claim-”

“-brought me here-”

“What is your reason for being here?” snapped Vladimir impatiently.

“I don’t have one.”

“Seeing the sights, then?” asked Vladimir scathingly, his voice becoming high as he continued. “I suggest you leave. The crest of Gates is decaying and dying. No pure heirs are left save Alex, and he must be banished from our line.” Seeming to gather himself up once more, Vladimir directed his imposing glare down upon Harry. “Leave. Get out of this falling house. The Gates line is failing at last, and there is no preventing it.”

Another wave of voices.

“You speak nonsense Vladimir.”

“-completely unfounded-”

“On what basis do you make your ascertains?”

“The Gates family line can continue through a lesser branch, nonetheless.”

However, Harry’s eyes were fixed on the comely old wizard at the back, whose eyes had turned into bits of obsidian. He was solemn, as though he was witnessing a slow funeral procession. Heavy gravity wore down on his face, and his eyes became downcast.

While the portraits bickered, Harry furtively backed out of the room, going unnoticed by Vladimir and the fat wizard, the two of which were engaged in a fierce argument. Many other such arguments broke out through the corridor. Their loud, vehement voice resonated out of their portraits, spilling together to form a thick torrent of anger.

“YOU DARE ACCUSE ME OF ABANDONING THE HOUSE?”

“WHO ARE YOU TO DOUBT ME?”

Behold, the greatest of the Gates line, said Pseudo-Snape.

Vladimir’s voice rang out above the mingle, but was quickly lose again. Somehow, the scene was disappointing. Generation upon generation of deceased wizards found their home here, and now, faced with the possible destruction of their line, they instantly turned against each other, like animals fighting over scraps. It was ignoble, more so because these men claimed to be refined.

When Harry closed the gold-plated door the voices lowered into a muffled din, their collective outrage now mostly silenced.

The fat wizard had mentioned the missing chapter. The creation chapter, as the fat wizard had called it. Somehow, Harry knew that, whatever he wanted to know about Gates, it would be found in that section. He only needed to find it.

***

Alexander Vladimir Black Gates sat in the red velvet chair, staring blankly into the smouldering fireplace. The fire had long since died out, but he did not notice. His sense of vision was hardly being recognized in his mind. He felt the coolness of the wine glass in his hand -- his mother’s, he remembered. He could smell the musty scent of hundreds of decaying books on their respective shelves, the yellowing parchment mixing with the scent of smoke and tea leaves. Tea leaves. Alexander could scarcely believe how much the room still smelled like tea despite the fact that its occupant had long since gone onward.

This room was his mother’s. Her niche. Her little corner of the manor which was completely and undeniably her own. Her dowry was composed of old books and tomes, and Yegor, her husband and Alexander’s father, who never had much interest in books, had given her permission to construct her own library. So she did, and almost as soon as it was constructed, that was where mother had spent the majority of her time.

For a long time, when he was much younger, Alexander would watch her from the doorway, his eyes peeping from behind the woodwork, trying to understand why she spent so much time there. Father never complained, and when Alexander asked him about it, Yegor would simply stare at him with his cold gray eyes until Alex lost his nerve. She was never what one would call a particularly loving mother. For the most part, she stayed apart from Alexander’s life, choosing instead to be remote from the family, whittling away time and her precious beauty by reading page after page of her books.

Sometimes, when Alexander was feeling a bit reckless, he would creep up behind the winged chair and stare blankly at the page his mother was reading, trying to decipher the lines of symbols. Her silver slip of a bracelet, a genuine Black family artifact, flashed in the firelight as she turned the pages. When he came this close, he could smell the tea in her cup, the special dark blend that she had imported from some isolated village in China. And, occasionally, during the evenings, there was a wine glass there too, filled with a rich red wine from the manor’s private vineyards. His mother, seeing him, would give him a brief smile, and then return her gaze to the book. She was never one to speak idly, and those times were no exceptions. She was educated.

As for physical displays of affection, she tried, but it always felt forced. Almost on a whim, on some of these evenings, she would gather him in her arms and hold him for a minute, whispering something softly into his ear. It was in another language, so Alexander never understood it, but it was reassuring nonetheless.

Yegor, however, frowned upon the amount of time he spent with her, and Alexander could sometimes hear them shout in blazing arguments.

“HE’S OLD ENOUGH!” Yegor would shout. “IT’S TIME!”

“LET HIM CHOOSE!” she was scream back in a half-furious, half-pleading voice.

She used all of her energy and strength in these rows, and every time she ended up winning. Yegor would stomp out fuming, and she would slump back into her red velvet chair, sip her tea, and close her eyes. Of course, back then Alexander did not understand the reasons behind these arguments, but he did now. What other evils had his mother saved him from?

When Yegor invited his sister to the manor, Alexander was terrorized by his two burly cousins, whose magic prowess had far exceeded his. They, unlike Alex, had already begun meddling in the dark arts, and while their hexes were not permanent or exceptionally powerful, they were painful. And disgraceful.

When Yegor saw this, he called Alexander to him. “You are a Gates pureblood!” he scolded. “You will eventually inherit this manor, this power, and all of my worldly possessions, and yet you cannot fend for yourself. What shame will you bring upon my manor?”

“None, sir,” Alexander mumbled. This was the appropriate answer to every one of Yegor’s questions.

“If your mother-” Yegor’s jaw worked as though he was trying to swallow a rock. “Your mother is very stubborn about many things. She believes you to be unready. You are a Gates. Do you think yourself to be ready?”

Alexander hung his head and Yegor straightened, suddenly disgusted. “Leave.”

Alexander, his throat clamping up, dashed away, hoping to avoid the counterattack that his cousins were undoubtedly planning. When he came to the double doors of the library, he saw a fleeting image of his cousins charging up behind him before he shut the door and locked it.

His cousins whispered taunts and insults from the other side.

“Is Alex too afraid of getting his precious blood on the floor?”

“What’s wrong? Afraid? You coward.”

Alexander crept up to his mother’s chair, but unlike the other times he did it, he was choking on some imaginary lump.

When she looked down and saw his face, the corners of her mouth turned down in a faint frown and, for the first time ever, she set the book casually onto a nearby table. Without questioning him, she swept him into her arms and held him close. She might have known what had passed between Yegor and Alexander, or she might not have. Regardless, she sensed his deep distress, and to him, became a savior.

“Your cousins,” she said simply, looking at his bruised chin. Alexander smiled weakly.

The next day Yegor and Casseopeia had a momentous argument. Even the house elves, who were normally indifferent to the tribulations, seemed shaken. The two of them fought for at least an hour before Yegor thrust open the double-doors and stalked out, pausing briefly next to Alexander.

“If the only trait you inherited from us is your mother’s stubbornness, you may be formidable yet.” And with no further words, he strode away.

The next day a man in white robes came to the manor and went into the library, where he greeted Casseopeia with a smile and a nod. One of the house elves retrieved a comfy chair for him and the two of them spoke for a long time, the man’s face occasionally nodding understandingly. His gaze would flicker sporadically at the door where Alexander was standing, as if in appraisal. It made Alex feel very uncomfortable.

At last, mother picked up a mass of papers that had been sitting on a nearby table, and, with surprising deftness for such a gentle woman, tore a single page from the makeshift spine and handed it to the man. The man smiled and gingerly pocketed it. Alexander’s mouth went agape. If he was correct in his observation, his mother had just given the man a page from her most treasured possession: a chapter from a book called Confessions of a Dark Wizard: The Pravus Necklace.

From that day on Alexander learned so-called ‘clean’ magic, or defensive curses and hexes. Unlike Yegor, who desired Alex to master the Dark Arts, mother had chosen a safer, less malicious method of defense. Yegor, whenever he saw these sessions, grumbled under his breath. He was clearly unhappy.

At the end of each session Alexander would go back to the library and gleefully tell his mother about every spell he had learned, sometimes giving demonstrations. She would smile faintly the entire time, never saying a word, and when Alex performed a spell with his wand, her eyes would go wide with surprise. She would watch him with some surprise, trying to read him. It was not often that mother was surprised. In fact Alexander was not sure that she was ever surprised.

Soon, another page from Casseopeia’s collection disappeared and another man arrived, this one wearing a sleek black robe with carefully sewn fringes. He was not as kindly as the other teacher, and his lessons proved to be more difficult and challenging.

When each lesson concluded, Casseopeia would give her son one of her faint, almost nonexistent smiles. It did not matter to Alexander that she could never be a proper mother. Her solace was in books. What he knew was that she saved him from his cousins, salvaged him from humiliation, and brought him up from ruin. When he was in dire need, she sacrificed a personal part of herself.

And, on that fateful day when the Death Eaters came, she died with an irrevocable finality that Alexander could not reverse, and in the worst way possible. Many times Alexander would sink into a fitful depression, remember his failing, and never forgetting. The Death Eaters would pay, he promised himself. He would kill every last one of them, and restore the honor that had been lost.

Murder, kill, the voices would murmur in his dreams and in his waking state. He absently held the silver bracelet - his mother’s silver bracelet - in his right hand. Kill for that which is lost.

And so, when given the chance, that is precisely what he did. His mother, his savior and the only person who had ever loved him, would never go unavenged. Alexander had promised himself that, and, for completion, he promised it to himself again.

“Master Gates!” squeaked Menial, dashing into the room. His thoughts were rudely shattered. “Bad men! Evil men! Interlopers! Evil men in the manor!”

Gates’ mouth gaped open, then pulled back into a feral snarl. His hand involuntarily squeezed and something burst. He looked down and saw that it was the wine glass. The wine glass that his mother had so delicately sipped wine from for countless years. Sadness struck him, even as he looked at his now-bleeding hand.

“Master!”

The blood had transfixed him, revolted him. He was frozen to the ground. Abruptly he broke out of his daze and stammered, “Sano!” The blood vanished, and wounds healed. He breathed again.

“They’re in the front hall, master! Four!”

How-?

Hot, icy rage coursed into his brain, frying his nerves. How dare they enter these halls! He bared his teeth, and, clenching his wand, he rushed through the library doors, hardly glancing up. The ceiling was now showing tumultuous gray clouds with patches of deep red sky. Crimson winter.

***

Harry opened the third circular door in the vault, yanking it open with a single, forceful pull. Stale air swept into his face.

The last two vaults he had entered contained nothing but heaps of gold and jewels, thrown carelessly in brown sacks, some splitting open from weight. It was very revealing for him to see the indifference in the way the gold was stored, as thought it was placed there in an afterthought or whim. The former families who had occupied this manor apparently stored little importance on raw wealth, and instead focused on the more refined niches of life, such as arts and paintings worth millions apiece.

This vault, however, was nearly barren, the floor covered with nothing more than dust. Standing in the precise center of the room was a short, marble pedestal, and on the pedestal was a small stack of papers. Harry’s breath quickened. Was this what he hoped it was?

Carefully, he approached it, taking care to check the corners for anything particularly nasty. Nothing. Some of the miniature vaults, Harry suspected, held an array of vicious creatures, some of which, if the strength of the locks on the doors were any clue, were quite large. His feet stirred up the dust as he walked, tossing it in swirls.

When he at last stood before the pedestal, he carefully picked up the first page and squinted to read the writing. The ink was still distinct and clear, but the parchment it was written on was yellowed and old, and, had there not been any appropriate charms cast on it, would have crumbled in his hands. He went back to the door, angling the paper so that it caught more of the corridor’s torchlight.

Power; that is what my research is trying to find. I, who merely research the effects of the Pravus necklace, spent many years searching for the original material made by the original creator of the Pravus necklace. Many years I searched Mongolia for the source, until at last I ventured upon it in the most unlikely of places. A muggle tradeshop.

The original works written have long since decayed away, and I, who have uncovered the almost-lost secrets of the Pravus necklace, will once more relate the process of its creation.

The very strength of the Pravus necklace lies in the material used. Anything will due, but the more complex the object, the more power the necklace shall create. Enchanted objects must not be used under any circumstances. The effects are sporadic and dangerous. A subject, who once bore a necklace made from gravel with the portkey enchantment, was teleported to Southern China. It seems that the source object somehow retains some of its original enchantment, and transfers it to the host. I am unsure of the precise process. Further investigation will, of course, be necessary.

-cccccrack-

A wand fired off a screeching spell from down the corridor, making Harry nearly drop the papers. Almost throwing them back onto the pedestal in his haste, many of the papers falling onto the floor, Harry drew his wand and leapt out of the room, eyes searching for the source of the interruption. Nothing.

He dashed down the corridor, his shoes slapping against the hard plated floor. When he crossed the threshold of the vault, the bronze door slid back into place with a resounding clang. He froze, suddenly very aware of the battle that was occurring further down the hallway, perhaps in the main foyer. There were shouts and orders, and the cold realization came upon Harry that he was being hunted.

***

“Infligo!” Alexander Gates roared, sending a cone of white fringed foam at the four clustered Death Eaters. They scampered apart as the curse approached like so many cockroaches.

“It’s Gates!” shrieked one of them.

“Exuro! Exuro!” shouted Gates, firing curses at their retreating backs. One smashed into a table, causing it to burst with nonexistent flame. “Accio Mask!”

The mask from the nearest Death Eater ripped off of its owner, revealing the sneering face of Augustus Rookwood. “It seems that I at last stand before the great patriarch of the family Gates!” he said scathingly.

Anger flared up in Alexander’s bowels, and he spat, “Infligo!” The spell smashed to pieces several mahogany tables and a porcelain vase, though it missed its target. It at length faded away, but not before damaging the walls and making a Death Eater dive away in panic. Gates now stood alone in the main foyer, the four Death Eaters now hiding behind corners, overturned tables, or furniture.

“Avada Kedavra!” screamed a Death Eater. Gates leapt out of the way as a flash of green light thundered past. Alexander was surprised. It would take quite a powerful wizard to produce a Killing Curse of that magnitude.

Kill, murder! urged the voices. String up their necks!

Gates snarled and hardened his resolve. He bent his legs slightly, preparing himself to deliver a strong curse. “Accio Pedestal!” He roared, and a nearby, heavy marble pedestal leapt to his command. “Wingardium Leviosa!” It halted obediently in midair. He paused for a moment, as if to gather his strength, and with a loud voice bellowed, “Waddiwasi!”

The pedestal shot across the room as if expelled by a slingshot, smashing into a table a Death Eater was hiding behind. The finely crafted rosewood table exploded into splinters, and the Death Eater flew backwards, landing with a heavy thud on his back. An agonizing groan came out of him.

Gates was about to finish the Death Eater off when another voice shouted, “Stupefy!” The fallen Death Eater slumped down. The Hit Wizard’s wand rigidly jerked to the direction of the newcomer, and something in the back of his brain prickled. He sucked in his breath. It was Potter.

“Foolish boy!” Gates roared. “Get out of here!”

Rookwood, leaping out from behind a corner, seized his chance. “You two,” he ordered. “hold off the Hit Wizard! I’ll fulfill our master’s will on the boy!” Potter, with a confounding look of determination, looked at Gates meaningfully, then turned and sprinted back down the corridor.

The other two Death Eaters rose from their positions and shouted, “Avada Kedavra!” simultaneously, sending two jets of green lights in Gates’ direction. The Hit Wizard’s eyes grew wide and he agilely whirled behind a nearby wall. He saw both Killing Curses smash into the wood paneling across from him, putting gaping holes into the woodwork. He had to get to Potter, and soon. It seemed that the boy had somehow premeditated his sudden arrival and flight, perhaps trying to split up the Death Eater group.

“No,” Gates muttered. “Too clever for him.”

Timid footsteps approached Alexander’s position behind the wall, and the Hit Wizard stiffened in preparation. Just as the footsteps seemed to be directly on the other side, Gates sidestepped and spat, “Infligo!”

The curse struck on Death Eater a glancing blow, sending him reeling backwards but not knocking him down. His partner managed to fire off a “Crucio!” before Gates could return to his cover behind the wall.

The Hit Wizard’s wand slashed in a horizontal movement. “Abiuro!” he incanted, and the Aegis Shield absorbed the Cruciatus Curse, freezing it and then singing it into a harmless vapor. Gates managed to catch the shocked expression on the Death Eater’s face before he returned to his cover. Evidently the Death Eaters were unacquainted with such rare magic as the Aegis Shield.

A Death Eater shouted something unintelligible and a deafening boom followed by the sound of splintering boards and cracking plaster. The wall shook from what was evidently an explosion, and he grabbed a nearby chair to steady himself. The Death Eaters had used a Reducto curse on the wall, trying to destroy the barrier and the man behind it. Unfortunately for them, Gates manor was wrought with wood from the strongest and healthiest trees, some of which came from private groves in eastern Europe, and were charmed with several spells. The walls were sturdier than steel beams. But despite these facts, the curse had done considerable damage. Gates realized he was dealing with some skilled Death Eaters. Professionals.

A Death Eater growled in frustration. Gates tried to furtively glance at them but was nearly hit with a curse when he approached the end of the wall.

The second Death Eater began muttering something to his partner. Alexander leaned closer to hear, but all he caught was, “-careful.”

When the first Death Eater started to respond, Alexander, who did not want to miss his chance, sidestepped until he was at the doorway and roared, “Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!” in quick succession.

The Death Eaters crouched and dived sideways with surprising speed, and to Gates’ dismay only one of the spells hit their mark. Two hit the sofa while the other one shot further down into another room in a red streak of light. The last singed the back of a Death Eater’s leg, not enough to render him unconscious, but enough to send him sprawling to the ground.

“Infligo!” countered a Death Eater, a wild grin on his face.

Gates clenched his teeth and snarled, “Abiuro!” The shield blocked the majority of the curse but he still felt himself being pushed back from the enormous amounts of force.

The curse faded and Gates readied his wand. “Accio pedestal!” The marble pedestal, which had been laying on horizontally on the floor since Gates’ last use of it, leapt off the ground. “Wingardium Leviosa!” It halted directly between Gates and the Death Eater, preventing the Death Eater from gaining a clear short. His partner, who had been crawling back onto his feet after Gates’ first salvo of spells, finally got to his feet. “Waddiwasi!” Gates roared, flicking his wand at the unsteady Death Eater. The pedestal slammed fully into his chest, sending him flying backwards. He crashed into the wall and crumpled to the ground, totally inert.

The last Death Eater rigidly raised his wand, as if preparing himself for Gates’ next move. The two circled each other slowly, each searching his opponent for weaknesses. It was Alexander who attacked first.

“Everbero!” Gates shouted, and an invisible force smashed the Death Eater across his face, making him reel backwards. Grinning, he slashed his wand downwards, and a purple light shot out of his wand, slicing through the air like a knife.

The Death Eater leapt to the side and bellowed, “Fumo!”

Alexander, who had not been expecting the curse, sidestepped too late and was hit in the thigh with the Smoking Spell. His mind raced in alarm, realizing the implications of the spell.

“In-” A coughing fit shook Gates’ body, and he could not finish the incantation. Plumes of smoke rushed out of his mouth, his nostrils. He quickly retreated, all the being overtaken by fleeting spasms.

“Avada Kedavra!” shouted the Death Eaters, almost laughing. The green light burst through the wall Gates was using for cover.

Gates tried to concentrate. “Finite Incan-” More coughing.

“Avada Kedavra!” A priceless painting, which had been in the family for centuries, exploded in a flurry of flames and ash.

“Finite Incantatem!” Gates managed, pointing the wand at himself. The fits ended, and the last of the constricting smoke escaped through his mouth.

An alarm sounded throughout his skull. Potter was in trouble. Rookwood would most definitely catch up with him, and there was no way the boy could hold off the Death Eater for long. Gates had to end this duel, and soon.

The Hit Wizard directed his wand at his stomach. “Fortitudo!” he said in a voice just above a whisper. The strengthening spell surged into his body and flowed into the tips of his fingers. His legs, arms, and muscles felt hard and powerful, a strange numbing sensation coming over his calves and forearms. Perhaps attacking the Death Eater in muggle-fashion would overwhelm him.

“Where is The-Debauched-Savior?” mocked the Death Eater, his voice slightly muffled from behind the mask. “Where is the great hero? The invulnerable wizard? The wizard born to a blood traitor.”

Gates felt his temper rise. The necklace on his chest seemed to scream out in fury, demanding, ordering, commanding him to tear every last limb from the Death Eater’s body. He rounded the corner, coming face to face with his opponent, blood surging into his head, adrenaline heightening his senses. The strengthening spell further tightened his muscles.

The Death Eater smirked. “Death to blood traitors. Avada Ked-”

The Death Eater never finished the curse. With a speed and agility that made Gates little more than a blur, the Hit Wizard grabbed the Death Eater’s neck and lifted him into the air, tightening his hand as his anger increased.

Slice, tear, rip apart, smother.

The Death Eater struggled, dropping his wand, making throaty gasps for air. His legs kicked at Gates’ knees but the Hit Wizard did not care. The tiny bones that made up the elaborate masterpiece that is the backbone snapped and cracked under Gates’ grip, slowly, irrevocably crushing the man’s spine.

At last, in one great fit of rage, Gates let out a primal roar and threw the Death Eater against the wall with all his strength. The Death Eater’s head smashed heavily into the carved wood panel, ruining it, breaking it into splinters. He fell to the ground, bleeding at the head, his lips moving but producing no sound.

The coppery scent of blood filled the air, and something in Gates’ bowels squirmed. His anger cooled. To see fresh, warm life gush from its source unsettled him. Who knew the human body had so much blood? A prickling in his brain alerted him to something further down the hall.

***

Harry was sprinting down the hall with Rookwood in close pursuit, desperately dodging the hexes that the Death Eater was sending his way. He had originally planned on splitting the Death Eaters up by leading a few away while Gates dealt with the others, but he was beginning to regret his hastiness. He had not counted on Rookwood’s speed or agility, and he was having a hard time staying far enough ahead to evade the curses.

“Avada Kedavra!” Rookwood shouted.

Harry turned hard to the right and a wooden table erupted into emerald flames. Harry rolled and fired a counter spell. “Stupefy!” he incanted. “Stupefy!” It was not enough to cause any real damage, but it was adequate for his purposes.

Rookwood’s wand was little more than a light flash. “Protego!” The two stunning spells rebounded off the shield, flying harmless through the air. “I have to admit, Harry, the Dark Lord wasn’t exaggerating when he emphasized your skill. But it won’t be enough to save you, I’m afraid. Crucio!”

The curse flew over Harry’s head and smashed into the wall. A cold chill settled into his stomach as he realized the corridor he had ran into was a dead end. It merely led to a small, doorless dome sitting room. Using an elegant rosewood pillar as cover, Harry tried to buy time.

“So Voldemort punished you for failing the first time, did he?” Harry called out.

Rookwood abruptly halted, and a sharp intake of breath told Harry that the Death Eater had clearly heard his words. “You arrogant child, how dare you say the Dark Lord’s name!”

“What?” Harry continued loudly, very aware of his enemy’s growing anger. “You afraid that if you mess this up too that Voldemort will kill you this time?”

Rookwood laughed, but it came out as harsh and forced. “Ignorant boy. You are already dead.”

“You screwed up last time though, didn’t you?”

“Only blind luck saved you from the Dark Lord's jinx,” snarled Rookwood, all traces of laughter gone from his voice.

“I always thought Death Eaters used more direct tactics,” said Harry. He chances to glance around the pillar. Rookwood was several meters away, glowering, but keeping a distance. “Why the jinxes and traps? You never hesitated to kill muggles and wizards in their own homes before.”

“You astound me with your ignorance,” Rookwood said scathingly. “There is no doubt in my mind that the Dark Lord overestimated you. Hogwarts is scarcely a common wizard home, and your mind cannot possibly appreciate the subtleties that went into formulating my plan. I gave the Dark Lord the chance to come within reach - within the reach of your wand. Every loophole in the wards, every-” He abruptly stopped.

Further down the corridor, there was the sound of something crashing.

“It’s over, Harry. Submit now and I will permit you a painless execution.”

Harry clutched his wand tightly to his chest but said nothing.

“Very well,” drawled Rookwood, responding to Harry‘s silence. “Now the fun begins…”

Harry whirled around the wooden pillar and bellowed, “Infligo!”

Rookwood’s eyes went wide and he clumsily dived sideways to avoid the oncoming cone of white. His right arm smashed against the wall and he let out a growl of pain.

“Stupefy!” Harry incanted, hoping to catch the Death Eater unawares.

“Protego!” spat Rookwood, still managing to wield his wand despite an injured arm. “Reducto!”

The curse slammed into the ornate wooden pillar Harry was hiding behind, demolishing it into dust, leaving Harry dangerously exposed.

“Petrificus Totalus!” said Harry, desperately searching for a way out. Then, seeing a chandelier hanging precariously from an alcove in the ceiling, he shouted, “Discerpo!”

The Severing Curse shot up into the air like a bullet, the disc of light cutting cleanly through the bronze chains that hung the mass of gold and glass from a cherry ceiling. Rookwood, who hesitated briefly upon hearing the curse’s incantation, glanced up soon enough to see the chandelier tumbling down from the ceiling. He leapt forward just before the chandelier crashed into the place where he was standing only a second ago.

“Clever, Harry,” Rookwood hissed. “But not enough. Expelliarmus!”

Before Harry could conjure a defense his wand flew from his hands and skidded across the ground. His mind went blank.

Use it Potter! snapped Pseudo-Snape.

The words barely registered. Harry was staring up at Rookwood’s grinning face.

The Dark Mark! Use it!

Almost unwillingly, Harry closed his eyes, trying to focus on himself and to ignore the heavily breathing Death Eater before him. It felt like minutes, but it was less than five seconds when he felt a release and a numbing sensation.

He felt himself being pulled along as if in a tide, the connection being very strong and very near. Soon he was experiencing a variety of emotions. Fear. Anxiety. Hate. His right arm was faintly throbbing, and it was at this moment when Harry realized he was probing Rookwood’s mind.

Throw away the wand, Pseudo-Snape gently urged. He felt himself echoing that command.

Obediently, through a misty haze, he sensed and knew that his wand was now lying inertly on the ground.

Sit-

A sudden, sharp pain flooded his senses, and Harry felt himself being forcibly thrown out of Rookwood’s mind. His eyes snapped open, and he was once again in his original body, watching Gates stand over Rookwood’s unconscious body. Gates had either used a spell or his hand to knock the Death Eater out, but either way, Rookwood was now thoroughly disabled. And, sure enough, Rookwood’s wand was lying at Harry’s feet.

“Potter, get your things,” said Gates through clenched teeth. “We are leaving for Hogwarts. Now.”

A million questions popped into Harry’s head. “How did they get through the Fidelus Charm-”

“I don’t know,” said Gates bitingly. “The secret to the Fidelus Charm is in the Gates family bloodline, specifically, mine. The Dark Lord has been accomplishing impossible things as of late. I will not repeat myself. Gather your luggage, or it will be left here. Menial and the other house elves have been ordered into the kitchens for the time being, so expect nothing from them. Go.”

Harry did so, and when he met Gates by the fireplace in the manor’s library, he could not help but see that four new sparkling diamonds had been added to his already extensive necklace.

(A/N: And so concludes chapter 24. I hope it wasn't too overbearing for anyone; I know it dragged for a while. It was a real pain in creating an entirely new location, especially considering we don't really know what a normal pure blood wizard's house looks like, except for the extremes. Gates manor isn't normal, granted, but I think I pulled it off OK.

Chapter 24: Back to Hogwarts. We learn more about Harry's earlier 'vision' from Snape, and, specifically, why Snape never saw it. Plus we learn the fate of Fudge, and Dr. Perry (which many of you will find to be deliciously ironic, I'm sure). Secondly, Christmas gifts are exchanged (and Harry has yet to purchase his) and awkwardness ensues. Lastly, Snape receives a letter (one that he doesn't want at all) and the Dueling competition is reduced to four contestants. It's better than it sounds.

25. Winter Exchanges

(A/N: Corrupted Chapter should be fixed!

Summary of 24: Harry's trip in Gates manor goes awry with a Death Eater attack; and just as he was discovering some information on the Pravus Necklace, too! But Harry finds 'controlling the Dark Mark' to be infinitely useful, and it ends up saving his life. How was Gates Manor invaded? No one knows...)

The next day Harry sat idly in Dumbledore’s office, waiting for the headmaster to begin a line of conversation, vaguely wondering how long it would take Gates to finish inspecting the school grounds. The Christmas holidays were not yet over - indeed, Christmas had not even arrived - and the Hit Wizard, from the moment they arrived, put Harry in the care of Dumbledore as he ensured the Hogwarts was secure.

This led to a rather boring wait.

The halls were empty of students and the only occupants were a few professors, Aurors, and ghosts. Many parents, who were already leery about sending their children away to school with Voldemort rising, brought them back home. While the school was still surrounded with ministry Aurors, little faith was placed into them.

More troubling, there was an unsettling absence of any public attacks or Death Eater activities over the past few weeks. It seemed like Voldemort had lost interest in any sort of mass murders since Hogsmeade, and was instead focusing his attention on another project. Those who knew of the prophecy knew that the goal was, of course, killing Harry.

The sun was rising, spreading its rays through the windows and reflecting off Dumbledore’s lacquered desk. Some of the light was caught by the headmaster’s half-moon spectacles, adding a bit of a twinkle where there perhaps was none. Dumbledore surveyed Harry for a long time before speaking.

“I have arranged for the Weasley’s and Miss Granger to come to Hogwarts on Christmas Day,” began Dumbledore, obviously intent on breaking through the awkward silence between them. “The Granger’s, due to previous engagements, could not come, though they were very understanding concerning Miss Granger’s wish to be here.” A twinkle in his eye flashed and disappeared.

Harry sighed deeply. “Yesterday reminded me of the- the prophecy.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, I see. Do you understand the reasons for us not informing the public of the incidents in Gates manor?”

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled. He remembered Dumbledore saying something about reducing public anxiety and fear. He had not really been paying attention. To him, the less public attention he received, the better.

“Then that leaves one other alternative,” Dumbledore said. “Have you told Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley of the prophecy?”

“Why would I do that?” Harry said suddenly, defensively. “What good would it do? Hermione- she would panic, and Ron can’t be put under that sort of stress. I can‘t, I just can‘t.”

“You need all the friends you can get, Harry,” said Dumbledore reasonably. “This isn’t something that can be accomplished alone-”

“That’s not what the prophecy says.”

“But you certainly cannot expect Voldemort to descend from the skies to duel you alone,” Dumbledore replied. “Your friends will be needed to take you far enough to confront Voldemort yourself. I believe Miss Granger already suspects that you are hiding this. She can read you easily, Harry.”

“You want them- you want her to become fodder for me so I can get close enough?” Harry said angrily. “They can’t know. That’s exactly what I’m trying to prevent-”

“That is not what I want, Harry,” Dumbledore said calmly. “Hiding the prophecy’s contents is damaging - to yourself and your friends. Share it with those you trust. It is a burden too heavy to carry alone.”

Dumbledore always did have a flare for the dramatic metaphors, said Pseudo-Snape.

“They can’t become involved,” Harry said with finality.

“I’m afraid they already are involved, Harry,” said Dumbledore sadly. “Severus, you may come in now…”

Harry jumped in his chair as the door behind him swung open. Snape, dressed in a full black robe with a high collar, swept in, his expression not at all like it was normally. His stiff and arrogant posture was replaced with an almost anxious stride, as though he were running from something. His expression, always on the verge of a sneer, was stony and reserved. Something was deeply troubling the Potions master, and that, in turn, disturbed Harry.

Harry could have swore that Pseudo-Snape hissed, fear.

“Thank you, headmaster,” said Snape smoothly, surrounding himself once more with an aura of confidence. He looked down at Harry. “Mr. Potter,” he added shortly.

“Professor Snape informed me of the…vision you had during your lesson,” said Dumbledore. “And, as I could not simply view it as a hallucination, I asked him to investigate further into this anomaly. Severus, I suppose it is best if you explain the rest…”

“It now seems that your inexperience with reversing the Dark Mark’s effects had sent your mind astray,” Snape said, his tone sparing none of its innate hardness. “I- We now believe that you did indeed detect a Death Eater in Hogwarts.” A chill air took the room as he said this, and, for a fleeting moment, Harry saw something like fear cross Snape’s face.

“But wouldn’t you have seen the Death Eater previously?” said Harry. “Why didn’t you detect the Death Eater?”

Snape gritted his teeth. “As I said, your inexperience sent your mind astray. It took avenues of travel that I would not normally attempt exploring. The Death Eater you had…found has a mind that did not operate on normal wavelengths, if you understand my meaning.”

Harry’s expression turned confused.

“The Death Eater is insane,” said Snape evenly. His gaze went out the window, towards the open grounds. After a moment he continued, “Insane minds are difficult to read under the best of circumstances, and most difficult to detect. I would not have found him had I not known what I was looking for.”

“What does this mean?”

“It means, Mr. Potter, that we will not be able to pinpoint the Death Eater’s location at any given time,” Snape said impatiently. “I do not doubt that the Dark Lord had designed this way. Perhaps he had even driven a healthy mind insane for this very purpose. Either way, your proficiency with controlling your Dark Mark will prove to be worthless unless you are in the Death Eater’s presence. Which, I should add, will not be happening this year.”

“Thank you, Severus,” Dumbledore said, effectively shortening the Potions master’s tirade. “This threat cannot be ignored. I confess that recent events have left me to reevaluate Voldemort’s power.”

“The attack on Gates manor has left me particularly troubled,” continued Dumbledore. “I am uncertain as to how Voldemort has accomplished either of these feats: breaching Hogwarts wards or the manor’s Fidelus Charm. Perhaps the two are related, perhaps not, but it is beyond any doubt that Voldemort’s sphere of strength and cunning has grown.”

Abruptly, unexpectedly, Snape spoke. “Even I, who had served the Dark Lord for years, did not foresee this.” His normally calm voice almost wavered.

“Everyone is doing as much as they can,” Dumbledore said. “Aurors are securing the most commonly used corridors and the castle’s secret entrances. Mr. Alverton himself has allocated some ministry resources into reinforcing Hogwarts’ defenses. Alex and I are strengthening the wards, and Severus is attempting, at great personal risk, to discover Voldemort’s plans.”

“Why would Fudge give out ministry resources?” Harry asked. “I thought Fudge was just trying to keep the public off of his back by diverting attention.”

“Minister Fudge is no longer minister,” said Snape distantly. He looked very tense, as though expecting Voldemort himself to burst through the window at any moment.

“Cornelius’ plan backfired,” Dumbledore explained. “Rather than diverting attention, it made the public and the council all the more anxious. They came to the conclusion that Cornelius is not a suitable minister, and his negligence has threatened the security of both the muggle and wizarding worlds. He was impeached, and the same day Amelia Bones was chosen as a temporary substitute.”

“Fudge is no longer a concern,” Snape said. He still sounded distracted. “The wizarding community seems to have…settled.”

“Settled?”

“As you know,” Dumbledore said. “Rita Skeeter has ignored my warnings and has been entering Hogwarts illegally. Since her article on Hagrid, however, her writings have suddenly ceased.”

Harry nodded. Hermione and him had noticed as much. “What does it mean?”

“I do not know, but it is very suspicious indeed,” Dumbledore said slowly. “Individuals such as Rita have been known to put profit before all else, even their own futures. I cannot begin to imagine what she has been up to, whether it be good or evil.”

“Gates has the Marauder’s map,” Harry said suddenly. “The map- it was my dad’s. It shows everything in the school. He will be able to see her.”

Dumbledore sighed, and glanced fleetingly at Snape. “Me and Severus are well aware of the Marauder’s map, and have already approached Alex. I’m afraid that he does not see Rita’s disappearance as a concern. All of his efforts have been focused on finding the Death Eater that attacked you, and, apparently, he has been unsuccessful.”

“How could Gates be unsuccessful?” Harry asked incredulously. “The Death Eater is in Hogwarts, so he should show up on the Marauder’s map, right?”

“Unless,” Dumbledore said. “The Death Eater can travel in and out of Hogwarts at will.”

“That’s impossible,” Snape countered. There was a vehemence in his voice that was quite unrelated to logical reasoning. “You cannot simply waltz into Hogwarts on a whim. We already established that the Death Eater must be residing within these walls. There must be another explanation."

"Many impossible things have already happened this year, Severus."

The Potions master did not respond. There was no arrogance or anger in his countenance, but a cool wariness.

Abruptly, the door behind them burst open and Snape whirled around, drawing his wand in a flash. Gates strode in, and, exhaling deeply, Snape lowered his rigid arm. Harry could not place it, but there was something unidentifiable in the Potion master’s expression at that second. It was evident in the slight widening of the eyes, the clenched teeth. As soon as it came, however, it vanished, and Snape relaxed. He looked as though he had just experienced a heart attack.

“Careful, Severus,” said Gates, whose own hand was on his wand. “Such accidents can prove to be fatal.” He swept by the still-recovering Potions master and went before Dumbledore’s desk.

“So you have found Hogwarts to be secure?” asked Dumbledore.

Gates nodded shortly. “I searched the Owlery, Great Hall, Infirmary, the main grounds, part of the forest, the towers, and the dungeons. Nothing. Not even a trace. I suppose it should be safe for Potter to use the rest of the castle, presuming he is never without guardianship.”

“Then we should all be eternally thankful for your presence,” said Snape, sparing none of his sarcasm.

Gates’ head snapped towards Snape. “If it weren’t for me, the boy would’ve died at Hogsmeade. Not that it should matter. He deserves little concern. I can’t understand why so many dwell on that fluke at Godric’s Hollow when others have fought and risked much more than him.”

So that’s what it comes down to, Pseudo-Snape said.

“You think I wanted it that way?” Harry blurted out, staring venomously up at Gates.

The Hit Wizard looked down at him in a slightly surprised fashion. “He was mine,” Gates said angrily.

“Fate determined Voldemort’s destruction, not Harry,” Dumbledore said calmly.

Gates looked ready to explode with rage, but suddenly he snorted. “Another nonsensical statement. What is fate to you, old man?”

“He didn’t steal any of your honor because you had none to begin with,” said Snape. “What makes you think slaying the Dark Lord would change what you are?”

Gates’ mouth twitched. “None of you know what you are referring to,” he said viciously. “You spout wise, utterly inane words. None of it has any real meaning.” He pointed accusingly at Harry, his necklace glittering as he did so. “His luck-” He sputtered, fumbling with words, as though he knew what he wanted to express but could not put it into words. “That scar is simply a mark, nothing more! Not skill nor strength made him survive, but luck.” He paused and looked over to Dumbledore. “-Or fate, if that satisfies you, old man. He- he stole it from me! THE HONOR WAS MINE! IT BELONGED TO ME!” Gates closed his eyes, breathing. “He’s a little thief,” he snarled.

“He is no thief,” Dumbledore said sharply, rising from his desk. He looked very imposing, standing up. “Sirius put him in your charge because he trusted you at one point. Earn what little honor is left to you and complete your charge.”

Gates backed up a little, though from fear or shock Harry could not tell. Perhaps both. He blinked. Despite his great height, he seemed rather small compared to Dumbledore’s rising impatience. Slowly, Gates inhaled and stiffened his stance. Fighting posture. To Gates, Harry realized, the combative tension could only end in one way: a duel. His honor was on the line, and he was not ready to surrender it.

Dumbledore, sensing the change, sank back into his chair. Carefully, he folded his glasses and set them on the desk. He had done this only a few times before, and each time Harry was startled by the power he saw in Dumbledore’s eyes. The lenses must have dimmed the color, because the raw strength of the blue in the headmaster’s pupils was enough to shake the stoutest of wizards.

“Is there anything further we need to discuss?” Dumbledore asked calmly.

Gates’ posture relaxed but Harry could tell he was not yet fully at ease. “No,” he said shortly, and turned. He went back through the door without looking back once.

“The man is volatile,” Snape said warningly. “He can’t be kept here, headmaster.”

Harry glanced back and forth between the two men, trying to interpret what had just occurred. Dumbledore seemed somewhat introspective, and for a long while stared at the glasses in his hand. At that precise moment, Harry felt sure that he could count every wrinkle in the headmaster’s face.

“I know, Severus,” Dumbledore said at length. He sighed and replaced his spectacles. The blueness of his eyes was once again muted. “I know.”

***

It was not until Christmas was two days away when Harry realized that he had not bought Ron or Hermione their gifts.

Normally this would not have been a problem. For Ron he would buy a sack of sweets or a Quidditch magazine subscription and for Hermione he would buy some rare book from a catalog.

However Hermione was no longer simply Hermione. Even he, who still knew little to nothing about girls, knew that it would be tactless to buy her a book. Ordering chocolate from Honeydukes for Ron would be simple enough, but what could he possibly get Hermione? She seemed to defy all traditional stereotypes. She rarely wore jewelry, perfume, or anything else that she deemed unnecessary or bothersome. Unlike Lavender or Padma, Hermione never woke up early to dress herself up for class.

Harry resigned himself to searching through stacks of glossy catalogs from the library in the Gryffindor common room, sighing deeply the entire time. All of them were full of moving pictures of models wearing fashionable robes, scented pictures of flowers and perfumes, and talking pictures that featured jewelry while explaining the various enchantments placed upon them. Nothing looked even remotely like it could be given to Hermione. Finishing yet another one, he tossed it aside, adding it to the unorganized sprawl of magazines that stretched over the library table.

For a moment he considered looking through a book magazine, but he immediately decided against it. While Hermione would likely love a new book, Harry was not sure whether that was the right message. It seemed somehow dry and impersonal.

“Troubles, Potter?” Gates asked from over Harry’s shoulder, startling the younger wizard.

“No,” Harry muttered, pulling a nearby catalog towards him and flipping it over. Nothing new or refreshing.

Slowly, deliberately, Gates’ hand drifted across the table and picked up a discarded magazine. On its cover was a stylishly vapid witch wearing a flowing dress robe complete with matching earrings and a bracelet. The Hit Wizard regarded the picture with a small measure of disgust.

“What is this?” Gates asked slowly.

“A catalog,” Harry answered, taking it from Gates’ hand. He set it on the far end of the table.

Gates’ eyes narrowed. “Obviously. I hardly think I need to mention that these…types of magazines aren’t too common among teenage boys.”

“I’m going to order something.”

The Hit Wizard stared at him with hard eyes for a moment, and, suddenly, a slightly amused, slightly sinister grin crossed his face. It vanished just as quickly as it came.

“Well, then, I wish you luck in your endeavor,” Gates said evenly, his voice laced with irony. He turned on one heel and went to the iced-over window on the far side of the common room. Harry stared at his retreating back, skeptical as to whether Gates could fully appreciate the difficulties he was having.

Once Gates was out of sight Harry pushed the magazine away and leaned back in his chair, running his hands through his hair. What did he want to get Hermione that she truly needed? The question was giving him a headache. Rubbing his eyes, the answer suddenly came to him.

“There’s one thing that she’ll need,” he said to himself. “Her especially. Protection.”

Well, Potter, said Pseudo-Snape snidely. I didn’t think that you and Miss Granger-

Shut up.

Pseudo-Snape’s faint laughter echoed through his head.

With a renewed fervor, Harry dived into a stack of catalogs displaying various charmed necklaces and amulets. Pearls were specially made and embedded into gold jewelry to ward off Merpeople and Grindylows. Gemstone necklaces, crafted by hand in Asia, were charmed to give the user immunity against flame. A bracelet studded with small emeralds was advertised to ward off evil entities. Harry continued flipping through the pages. All of the jewelry had one thing in common. Besides being extraordinarily expensive (though that was not even an issue), all of them required a special ministry license in order to be purchased.

He groaned aloud. Another setback. Sighing, he pushed the small stack of magazines he had gathered to the edge of the table. He looked at the considerable pile of catalogs he had so far collected, wondering why this was becoming so arduous.

A tingling in his robe pocket jolted his mind awake from its brief reverie. Hurriedly, he pulled out the ring - Vladimir Gates’ ring - and held it in his palm. He could not believe he did not think of it earlier. Why would he need to purchase a defensive talisman when he already owned one? Granted, the Sorting Hate had given him the ring for his own protection, but Hermione needed it more. Harry dreaded the thought of the Death Eater in Hogwarts reaching her-

“Master Potter!” squeaked a voice. Harry whirled around in his seat to see that it was Winky. She was dressed primly in a traditional female house-elf skirt and blouse, and there was an exaggeratedly wide smile on her face. She curtseyed.

“Errr, hi,” Harry said tentatively. He was still a little overwhelmed by the strict properness in the entire scene. “Call me Harry.” He set the ring on the table.

There was a flash of something in Winky’s eyes, but Harry barely registered it, much less understood it. “Thank you Master Harry Potter!” she said in a voice that would be considered high-pitched even for a house-elf. “Dobby knew Winky would be cleaning the Gryffindor’s common room and asked her to deliver a message to master Harry Potter.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Dobby asks if you would allow him to serve you dinner tonight,” she squeaked. Her eyes were appealingly large.

Harry almost laughed out loud, but he was glad he did not. Winky’s expression became gravely serious. “That sounds good,” he said. “I’ll come down at six o’clock.”

“Dobby will be very, very happy!” Winky said. “Winky will tell Dobby as soon as she gets a break, master Harry Potter!” She looked up at him, as though for confirmation.

“That’s, errr, fine,” said Harry uncertainly.

Winky curtseyed again, and swiftly vanished. The ring - the same ring that Harry had remembered Dumbledore mentioning through the floo connection at Gates manor - laid motionless on the table, nothing betraying its true power.

***

Harry went through the portrait of the fruit bowl at six o’clock sharp, not wanting to inadvertently offend any of the house-elves with tardiness. His precaution was probably needless, but he did it anyway.

He was ushered to a table by a nearby house-elf, and was then given a basket of freshly baked bread and a kettle of hot water for tea, as well as a frosted pitcher of pumpkin juice.

“Harry Potter sir!” Dobby squeaked when he saw Harry sitting at the table. Harry noted that the house-elf was wearing his best pair of clashing socks. “Dobby never would have believed- never would have thought-” He dropped his voice conspiratorially. “Alexander Gates is a bad wizard.”

Harry nodded, quite sure that Dobby had no idea how very evil Gates actually was. Wanting to change the sensitive topic, he said, “Thanks for inviting me down here Dobby.”

Dobby’s eyes went wide, and the surrounding elves politely pretended to be busy cleaning the floor. “A wizard-” he choked. “-a wizard thanking a mere house-elf-”

“It’s all right Dobby,” Harry said hurriedly, not wanting Dobby to break down. “So, erm, what are we eating?” As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry knew that he had made a mistake.

“We?” Dobby whispered. “Dobby cannot sit to eat with a wizard- as- as an equal.”

Harry looked over the small array of house-elves before him. Each of them was staring at him blankly, their mouths slightly agape. Suddenly realizing what they were doing, each of them abruptly went back to working. His first urge was to go on with the meal, but he knew that this was a chance that Hermione would use to promote S.P.E.W.

“Why not?”

From deep within the kitchen, something clattered on the floor.

Breaking this awkward moment, a team of house-elves swept in, carrying a large tray of ham, sweet potatoes, and a wide assortment of various meats and vegetables. They carefully placed the steaming tray on center of the table, quickly setting polished silverware on either side of Harry as well as a cloth napkin. When they were finished, they filled Harry’s goblet with pumpkin juice and bowed away.

“I hope Harry Potter enjoys his meal,” said Dobby formally. When he made to leave, Harry called him back.

“So, err,” Harry tried to think of a way to make conversation. Sitting here, eating by himself, felt awkward to him. “Meet any new house-elves lately?” He knew the question was inane. Hermione had already told them in a Club S.P.E.W. meeting that house-elves never used any time for social interaction.

Dobby shook his head vigorously. “Dobby only knows Winky. No house-elf knows any other house-elf. There’s too much work to be done! Hogwarts is a large castle.” He shifted his foot uneasily.

“And,” Harry began more seriously. “Have you seen anything strange around the castle?”

“Headmaster Dumbledore asked Dobby that same question,” Dobby squeaked. “Dobby has seen nothing.”

“And you haven’t heard anything from the other house-elves?”

Dobby shook his head. “Dobby only talks to Winky, Harry Potter sir, and she never told Dobby anything.”

Harry frowned, and, upon seeing that Dobby was becoming uncomfortable, said hesitantly, “Well, it was good talking to you, I guess.” He could see the other house-elves staring at Dobby’s back nervously.

Dobby beamed at him. “Thank you Harry Potter sir!” And, before Harry could get another word in, Dobby dashed further into the kitchens.

***

The days leading up to Christmas was a long, continuous stretch of boredom, sparsely broken by an Occlumency lesson and a training session. For the most part, Harry stared blankly out the common room windows, watching the white flakes of snow fall to the ground. There was surprisingly little accumulation, however. It seemed that the weather had turned too cold for much precipitation.

Thankfully, the house-elves had erected a larger-than-normal fire in the common room, which helped greatly to counter the chill. Many evenings Harry would sit in one of the overstuffed chairs by the fire, either reading a jinxing book or simply relaxing. He had already placed orders for his friends’ gifts, so there was little left for him to do. Gates, however, stayed carefully aloof from the heat. He remained in a shadowy corner by the window, wrapped up in his crimson overcoat, absolutely still and unmoving. The only sign of life was the occasional cloud of heated air rising from the dark silhouette that was his head.

So when Christmas day finally came, Harry was glad for the change.

The wind was horrendous as Harry waited in the great doorway for Ron and Hermione’s carriages to pull up to the front of the castle. The air yanked violently at his robes and overcoat, forcing him to wrap them tighter around his body .Through the haze of mixed snow and wind, Harry managed to see the dim outline of a carriage further down the road. He saw the black Thestrals clearly against the white background, and a grim realization of who he was swept over him. Could he ever be normal?

The resounding answer was no, not in the traditional sense. Not after his fourth year.

Gates stood nearby, seemingly unaffected by the strong wind. His scarlet robe swirled wildly in the tumultuous winds, but he seemed not to notice or care. His face, which had always been sharp and militant, had turned even more stony in the face of the freezing weather. His teeth were bared and clenched, apparently to keep them from chattering, and he held his wand firmly in his right hand. He peered intensely through the white blur of snow.

Squinting, Harry saw the carriage pull up before the short stairway that led up to the main doorway where he was waiting. Raising his arm to ward off the stinging bits of snow, he climbed down the steps and came up to the carriage door. It swung open and Ron leapt out, grinning from ear to ear, wearing what evidently was a hand-knit coat.

“Hey mate!” exclaimed Ron, reaching out to clap his hand on Harry’s back. His voice took on a more serious tone. “Dad told me what happened, and I just want to say I’m never going to leave you like that again.”

The conviction in Ron’s voice sent off an alarm in Harry’s head. “Don’t say that,” he said quickly. “You shouldn’t promise me that.”

Before Ron could respond, Harry walked over to the carriage and helped Hermione step out. She wore a thick, fluffy scarf and coat, complete with one of her knitted hates, which concealed everything except her eyes. Despite this, he knew she was smiling.

“Hi,” Harry said. Then, turning to Ron, he added, “Let’s get inside.”

After they put away their coats and scarves, they took the three closest seats around the fire in the Gryffindor common room, trying to warm up. The heat was delicious after the biting cold, and Harry was sure that even Gates had moved imperceptibly closer to the fire. Mechanically, Harry began relating to them his holiday at Gates manor, skipping a few details, downplaying some events, but otherwise giving them the full story. At length he finished.

"That's horrible," Hermione murmured. Ron's disbelieving expression wordlessly told him the same.

"You did that to Rookwood?" Ron managed, his mouth slightly agape. "That guy was a killer. I mean, they all are, but blimey."

Hermione's expression told Harry they she was thinking along to same lines as Ron, and she gazed steadily at him, as though waiting for him to speak.

None of them spoke, but Harry was aware of the tension between them, and he felt Ron and Hermione’s expectant gaze on him. The firelight played across their faces, and, in Hermione's case, highlighter her hair, turning its color into some exotic mix of gold, amber, and red. The only sound was the crackling of the fire.

“So,” Ron began. “Dad was telling me about how the ministry had to send a crew of wizards to your house.” At Harry’s non-response, he continued. “He said that one of the muggles - the doctor one, I think they called him - was obliviated so badly that they couldn’t reverse it. They had to send him to some muggle hospital. A half-way house, whatever that is."

More silence.

"Why'd you tell me to leave?" Hermione asked suddenly.

"We couldn't have fought them off," said Harry distantly. "Not alone. One of us should've been able to get away."

"And that one had to be you?"

Harry did not respond for a long time. "Yes," he said at length.

"What makes you say that!" Hermione said loudly. Harry instinctively jerked in her direction. blinking. He was not sure of the last time Hermione lost her temper, but she seemed close to it now.

Seeing the uncomfortable tension between them, Ron said, "We'll be there for you, whether you like it or not."

That's the one trait that kept Slytherin from becoming truly great, said Pseudo-Snape. Greater than it already is, I mean. Loyalty to something other than self-interest.

Harry smiled faintly. "Thanks, but don't." Before either of them could open their mouths to argue, he added, "Let's open presents."

"Sounds good to me!" Ron said vehemently, and then moved closer to the small stack of presents that were laid out on the couch.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, seeing as your mind is already made up-"

"This one's for you, Harry!" Ron interjected, tossing a small, red-wrapped gift to Harry. Eventually, he separated the presents into three separate piles. Harry made sure that his personal gift to Hermione - the warding ring - was not in her pile. He would give it to her later.

"Mom and dad wanted to come," continued Ron as he unwrapped his first gift. "But Dumbledore said only use two could come. He said that, like it or not, the Weasleys' and the Grangers' are targets, and to have all of us in one place would be a bad idea." Tearing the last piece of paper from the package, he found that it was a large parcel of chocolate and sweets from Honeydukes. "Thanks Harry!"

Something clicked in Harry's brain. "Hermione, your parents weren't, errr, panicking when they realized that you weren't there when they came to pick you up over the holidays."

"Well, when I came back to Hogwarts with the portkey, the first person I ran into was Gates, and he immediately ran off Hogwarts grounds until he was outside apparition-"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Ron said through a mouthful of chocolate.

"I'm getting there," said Hermione with infinite patience. "Now, Gates ran off Hogwarts grounds until he was outside of anti-apparition wards, and then apparated to Pivet Drive - outside of the wards that surround your home. He then went in normal means, or so I gather from Dumbledore. Anyway, I ran into Professor Dumbledore in the Great Hall, and together we went back to Pivet Drive, but you had already left with Gates."

"Wait- Dumbledore took you back there?" Harry asked sharply. Old ashes stirred.

"Well, he didn't have much choice in the matter," she said airily. "When my Mom and Dad got there, Dumbledore decided to take us all back to Hogwarts temporarily as a precaution. Of course, the car was a little tricky, but he managed it. We all ended up quite all right."

Hermione picked up her parcels and very carefully unwrapped them, making sure she did not tear at any of the paper. She thanked Ron for his gift of a homework planner (which Harry was pretty sure was the same one she gave him last year) along with a bag of sugarless candy, and when she came to Harry's gift, which was a book on Year Seven spells, she momentarily paused. A second later, she glanced up at Harry, understanding in her eyes, then said, "Thank you."

Harry nodded.

Nearby, Ron tore through his second present, the wrapping paper flying all over the ground. Within it was a scroll that announced a year subscription to Quidditch Weekly. The wide grin that spread across his face proclaimed his pleasure.

"I decided that if you weren't going to read your textbooks, you might as well read something," Hermione said, sounding amused.

"Thanks," Ron said, flipping through the very first issue that the scroll had enclosed.

"What about you Harry?" Hermione asked, gesturing to Harry's large, untouched pile.

For a moment Harry's mind remained blank, but, coming out of his reverie, he stooped down and opened his gifts, tossing the paper to the side. From Ron he got a box of sweets from Hogsmeade, from Moody a wand grip that prevented his hand from burning during prolonged duels, and from Lupin a repaired version of Sirius' pocketknife, which Harry had thought he had destroyed in the Department of Mysteries. The blade was replaced, and an attached note encouraged Harry to owl Lupin at any - and any was emphasized - time. Next, he received a butterbeer-cap bracelet from Luna (which looked strangely like its necklace counterpart), and Tonks took it upon herself to repair his Firebolt. He had also received the usual sweater from the Weasley’s. At last there was a lone package at his feet. Hermione's.

He picked it up, and, without any hesitation, opened it. It was A Guide to Concentration and Focus, by someone named Peter Lindern. "Thanks," Harry said, meaning it.

"I thought you could use it during your sessions," she replied, a look in her eyes which told Harry that she had a plan similar to his own.

"Right then," Ron said, missing the exchange. He got to his feet. "So-"

"Aren't you forgetting one?" Hermione asked innocently. Surely enough, laying next to Ron's right foot was a small, blue box.

Ron's ears went very red. "Must've missed that one," he mumbled. Slowly, he stooped down and lifted it with his hands. He looked ready to dash from the room at any second.

"Well? What is it?" Harry added. "Who's it from?"

Ron opened it up and, after he timidly reached into it, withdrew a bizarre contraption that looked somewhat like a pair of dentures. Ron stared at them, bewildered. Suddenly, it began to speak.

"Merry Christmas Ronald Weasley!" said the teeth dreamily. It was an exact replication of Luna's voice. It was incredibly strange, as the voice had no apparent origin. "I hope you are enjoying your holiday. Unfortunately, daddy and I are in Norway in search of Snackles - they only come out in the winter, you know - so I'm afraid I am unable to join you, Harry, and Hermione for Christmas. Enjoy your gift. It's a pair of Chattering Teeth, and it's enchanted to talk freely in any conversations it overhears, or at least when it wants to. You can take it wherever you want, and we will be able to talk, in a fashion. Daddy said the charm was experimental, so I hope it doesn't accidentally go haywire and kill you. Some of the other versions have proven to be rather dangerous. I'll see you soon."

Well, this is what you get for being the Boy-Who-Lived, Pseudo-Snape said with a masterful hint of sarcasm. Nothing is normal, and the holidays prove to be no exception.

When the teeth finished reciting its message, Ron's mouth dropped open in horror, his eyes blinking rapidly and quite wide. His neck, ears, and face were all beet red, and Harry guessed that he was warmer than the nearby fire. Hermione was blinking rapidly, though in interest or shock, Harry could not tell. Suddenly the teeth sitting on the table appeared to be very sharp.

"She's completely insane," Ron said with conviction.

"I suppose she was exaggerating with the killing part," said Hermione reassuringly, seeming to have recovered her senses. "It might not even work. This is the girl that believes in nargles for goodness sake."

"I better hide it somewhere," Ron said. "Just in case."

"I think that's a good idea," added Harry.

Slowly, as though he was holding a bomb, Ron set it down on the floor. When nothing seemed to happen, he breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll just leave it there until...uhhh..." He paused for a moment in thought. "You wouldn't suppose the house-elves would mind taking it away?"

"You will not have a house-elf carry a dangerous and potentially lethal artifact," Hermione said flatly.

"We might be overreacting," Harry said calmly. "Luna wouldn't send Ron anything that was really dangerous. Would she?"

No one answered. The Chattering Teeth remained motionless on the carpeted floor.

"Now what is this?" asked Gates rhetorically, very purposely and deliberately winding through the sprawl of upholstered and overstuffed chairs that surrounded the common room fireplace. When he came before the Chattering Teeth he stood there for a long time. "Chattering Teeth, she called it? I'm sorry, I could not help but overhear." His tone did not match his words. It was sarcastic.

"I bet," Ron muttered.

Gates ignored Ron's comment. Instead he crouched to get a better look at the anomaly. "What would her intentions be in giving this away, do you suppose?" He prodded it with his wand with no visible effect. "I overheard the word dangerous," he said flatly.

"I'm sure Luna's intentions were good," Hermione said evenly.

Gates looked up at her, his gaze rather cold and distant. "You know what they say about good intentions, don't you?" he asked steadily. "The road to hell is paved with-"

"-self-interest and greed, Mr. Gates," said the Chattering Teeth in Luna's ethereal voice, startling both the Hit Wizard and Harry. Gates whirled around, wand drawn, until his shoulders slackened and he glared down at the teeth. His anger slowly turned to an expression of cool appraisal, as though he was sizing up the teeth.

Pseudo-Snape snorted. Quite a defiant set of teeth, aren't they?

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Gates said at length. He straightened, very carefully straightening his robes as he did so.

“That was very clever of Luna,” Hermione added, looking rather impressed. “You are going to keep it in a safe place, right Ron?”

Ron looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “Keep it in a safe place?” he echoed. “We should be worrying about putting it in a place that will keep us safe. Who knows what this thing Luna sent me could do-”

“Refrain from using it clumsily and all of you will retain your limbs,” interjected Gates. “Though should this…artifact go berserk, it will probably make task much easier.”

“Mr. Gates is quite correct in the former,” said the Chattering Teeth. Hearing Luna’s disembodied voice coming from it was becoming rather eerie. “The enchantments are only dangerous to Snockle-Locks, and they don’t live near Hogwarts.”

“Well that’s real reassuring!” Ron said loudly. The teeth did not respond. “This is ridiculous. I’m- I’m going to put them away and then I can forget about them. Okay?”

Before anyone could respond, he marched up into the boy’s dormitories, leaving Harry and Hermione looking awkwardly at one another. Gates, who had apparently lost interest wandered towards the fire, where he stared deeply into it as if waiting for someone’s head to appear via the floo network.

When Ron finally came back down, he held an empty pillowcase in his right hand and wore a thick, clumsy dragonhide gauntlet on his left, the likes of which they would use to handle elder Blast-Ended Skrewts in Care of Magical Creatures. With a look of grim determination, he grasped the Chattering Teeth and shoved them roughly into the pillowcase. The teeth did not protest. He wrapped it up and thrust the parcel under his arm.

“Well that’s that,” he said with finality. “Don’t need any of that nonsense - dangerous nonsense, mind you - laying around the common room.” He turned on one heel and purposefully strode back up into the dormitories, loudly rambling about something, though Harry was not really paying attention.

“Well, that went well,” Hermione said.

Harry looked at her, unable to detect any trace of sarcasm on her features. “Huh?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and then sighed. “Notice that, while he went on and on about how dangerous Luna’s gift could potentially be, he did not at one time suggest throwing it out.”

Harry did not understand. “What do you suppose it means?” he asked.

Hermione laughed, or gave the appearance of laughing. Her smile was so ambiguous that Harry could not tell. She could have been laughing so softly that his ears had not caught it. “He was putting on a show for us, you see? He didn’t want us to get the idea that he might like Luna.”

Harry was not sure that he understood. “Uhh, why?”

The Potter disorder strikes again, Pseudo-Snape said. Doesn't miss a single generation.

“Because he would be embarrassed,” Hermione said as if this was something that should be obvious to him.

Now that Harry had re-analyzed the situation, he was definitely able to relate to Ron's predicament. He remembered wanting to keep his first kiss with Cho a secret up until the day he died. Of course, it did not work out that way, but he understood anyway.

Presently, Ron had returned from the boy's dormitories, his hands in his pockets and steadfastly avoiding Harry and Hermione's eyes. His ears had taken on a pinkish tone. Harry was surprised that he had not noticed it before.

"So, err," Ron stood there awkwardly. "I'm going to get something to eat? You two want anything?"

They both shook their heads.

"Right, then," continued Ron, toying with the fringe of his robes. "I'm going to go down to the kitchens, you know, for food. I'll be back in a few minutes."

After standing there silently for some time, he hurriedly left the common room.

As soon as he had gone through the portrait hole, Hermione had got up from her chair, walked over, and tenderly placed her hand on Harry's shoulder. Gently, she withdrew a small package from her robes and placed it on his lap. It was slightly heavy, and when Harry looked up at her, he saw that her eyes had a wet sheen.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked concernedly.

Hermione just smiled. "Just open it. Merry Christmas."

Adjusting himself in the seat so that Gates could not see, he tentatively began unwrapping the dark green paper, taking his time, eager and at the same time nervous to see what was inside. All the while Hermione spoke, though Harry only managed to catch a few of her words through her breathless pace.

"-I wasn't sure at first whether to make this for you, as it's very personal and I wasn't sure if I was overstepping my bounds or not-"

Harry unraveled the paper to find an unadorned book with an intricate gold border on the cover. On it, faded, was a name Harry dared not whisper aloud.

"-didn't want to give it to you in front of Ron. I wasn't sure how you'd take it and besides if he saw me giving this to you he might become rather..." her voice trailed off uncertainly.

With even more caution, Harry opened the book to the first page, and what he saw made his eyes burn. Sirius with Harry at Grimmauld Place during Christmas beneath an archway festooned with garland. Little silver bells were worked in at random.

Hermione, who took Harry's silence for displeasure, continued at an even more hurried speed. "I'm so sorry I knew I shouldn't have done that after what happened. I know how much he meant to you and I didn't think I should've been the one to prepare it for you and-"

"Hermione," Harry whispered, gently taking her arm. "Thank you." He turned the page. More pictures of him with Sirius. An entire album. The very thought put a lump in his throat. Despite himself, he remembered the other album of his parents, and what might have or might not have become of it.

It vividly reminded him of Hagrid's gift in his first year, and this one felt just as poignant. It was no substitute for his godfather. Nothing ever could be. It was, however, a partial recovery of something lost, a memory preserved in photograph form, ensuring that nothing could be forgotten. Just like his parents, Sirius was prematurely torn from him, and this collection of photos eased that void.

He suddenly felt very foolish, sitting there, while Hermione had not yet received her gift. Carefully and reverently placing the book aside, he took out the small bronze ring and placed it in her hand. Hermione's eyes turned into saucers.

"Harry," she said in a trembling voice. "I don't know what to say-"

With the force of a mallet, the full implications of this scene struck Harry. He, a boy, was giving a ring to her, a girl. To an ignorant bystander, it would look like he was proposing marriage. Pseudo-Snape's faint laughter echoed throughout his skull.

Harry blushed deeply all the way, he was sure, to his collar. "No, I don't mean in that way, it's-" All of his pre-planned words escaped him, and he began to feel stupid. "It's an enchanted ring for your protection. A talisman."

She made a sound like an "oh," and she relaxed a little, her eyes going back to Harry. Her gaze was both steady and gentle, and Harry felt the old sense of attachment again. She was supposed to be here just like he was supposed to be here. That was the only way he could explain how he was feeling.

"It heats up when it senses the presence of someone untrustworthy," Harry continued, blushing more as she watched him. "And if anyone physically attacks you, it'll burn them. When-" Suddenly he found himself enveloped in a tight hug and was lightly kissed. He felt slightly dazed.

"Thank you," she said softly. "But don't think I'm vulnerable. Don't push me- don't push me and Ron away." Her eyes appealed to him deeply.

Hermione's words had struck the weakness in Harry's core; the fact that Voldemort was a real and close threat to himself, Hermione, and Ron. The attacks were proof enough of that.

If they knew of the prophecy, they would become targets as well. Anyone who possessed the fatal knowledge of the prophecy was marked, and the fewer who had it the better. Never would he allow himself to unburden his load on Hermione and Ron. Never.

How very Gryffindor of you, Pseudo-Snape said disdainfully.

She remained silent for a while and then asked quietly, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Harry said. "Nothing at all." Though, he knew, that was very much a lie, and this made him hate Occlumency more. The dusty orb from the Department of Mysteries was not a talisman, but it burned in his mind all the same.

***

The Christmas holidays soon ended, and eventually Hogwarts returned to having a vague semblance of normality. A few students, namely those from Hufflepuff, were absent, and it was apparent that their parents had decided to keep them out of school since the second rising of Voldemort. Harry, however, felt that there was no safer place than Hogwarts. Vigilant Aurors in ministry robes patrolled the drafty stone corridors, peering into dark corners. Security had become far more strict since before the holidays, and Harry strongly suspected that it had something to do with Madam Bones' appointment.

Harry began receiving weekly owls from Lupin, some of them asking for his welfare, others simply informing him of their progress (with no specifics, obviously, but instead generalities on their progress) in fighting against Voldemort. Harry appreciated them greatly, as he now had someone he could easily turn to for guidance or help. In his letters, Lupin always urged him to be cautious and to never travel the castle's halls alone. Harry had no intentions of going against what apparently was very sound advice.

His professors had also decided to bombard him with a fresh wave of spells and charms, overwhelming him and leading to many late nights full of practice. They apparently wanted to keep them so far buried in their work that they could not have any free time to dwell on the quiet, sporadic Death Eater movements across Britain. The Daily Prophet reported muggles vanishing from their homes and reappearing days later in the very same home, dead and grotesquely broken.

The recent news had also lead to another unfortunate but not unexpected change: his sessions with Gates had become more frequent. Snape, who now prepared beforehand a chair for himself to sit in, watched from a far corner, his arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Harry had not confronted the Potions master with the fact that he was not under the orders of Dumbledore, and decided it would be best if he did not look a gift horse in the mouth. With Snape's presence, Gates' sessions became slightly less intense, and much less unpredictable. Needless to say, Harry was no longer forced to attempt illegal spells or subjugated to manifestations of his worst enemies.

To Harry's surprise, he was actually becoming better at dodging curses and firing counterattacks in a duel environment, and even Gates was having trouble finding details to criticize. Instead, the Hit Wizard merely grunted and moved on to another, often far more advanced curse. At the end of each session, Harry had to duel with a faceless Death Eater (another illusion similar to the previous Bellatrix doppelganger), and, depending on his performance, Gates would either curtly nod or stare at him with a flare of flame in his eyes. The responses were easily interpretable.

His Occlumency lessons with Snape were advancing quickly, and the Potions master, who evidently rethought his previous declaration, restarted Harry’s secondary training: Dark Mark reversal, as he learned it was called. Snape’s temper was considerably shortened during these lessons, and it seemed like he was trying to force the talent into Harry with bland repetition. It seemed to have worked, however, as Harry experienced significantly more control, and he did not have any anomalous glimpses into a rogue Death Eater’s mind.

Only one question plagued him: if Snape and him shared the Occlumensia Anomaly, should not Voldemort and him share it also? When he asked the Potions master this, Snape stared at him blandly and answered, "I believe that's why they call it an anomaly, Potter. No one knows why it occurs in some situations and not in others."

The Dueling contest steadily narrowed itself down to fewer and fewer candidates as the weeks passed. Students were called out of their classes to participate in their duels, and the tension rose as the number of members decreased. Houses Slytherin and Gryffindor dominated the duels, with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff trickling to barely more than a handful of contestants.

Harry, Hermione, and Malfoy had all survived so far, though Harry strongly suspected foul play on the part of the Slytherin. Malfoy's opponents conspicuously came down with strange illnesses the evening before the duel and were in poor shape when the time came to go to the Great Hall and battle. According to school gossip, when Professor McGonagall spoke to Professor Snape about the bizarre string of coincidences, the Head of Slytherin curtly replied that he was responsible for ensuring that no wrongdoing occurred within his own house.

It came as no surprise when Professor McGonagall approached him after Transfiguration class and asked whether he had been training in preparation for his upcoming duel. When Harry answered positively, she continued, "Good. I believe you are Gryffindor's strongest candidate for winning this tournament-"

"Hermione knows loads more spells than I do," Harry interjected, feeling himself blush from his professor's unexpected praise.

Professor McGonagall looked at him as though not quite understanding what he was saying. "It is true that Miss Granger is one of the best witches to pass through Hogwarts in many, many years, but your dueling technique surpasses hers in every category. This is one of the reasons why I believe you would make an excellent Auror, should you choose that career path." Harry thought he saw the briefest of smiles cross her features, but before he could confirm it, it was already gone. Her serious expression returned.

"Thanks," Harry said, unsure of what else to say.

"And watch what you eat, and what you do," continued Professor McGonagall briskly. "It seems that several Gryffindor students have been coming down with a mysterious sickness over the past few weeks the day before their duel. It would be unfortunate if you shared a similar fate. Don't worry overmuch, however, as my colleague-" Harry was very aware of Professor McGonagall's use of the singular with the word 'colleague,' and he sensed that she was hard pressed to keep all traces of bitterness out of her voice. "-assures me that it is being looked into."

"Alright," Harry said.

Professor McGonagall nodded shortly. "Good. Then go to your next class." As Harry turned to leave, she added, "And good luck at your duel."

So far Harry had beaten two Hufflepuffs, three Ravenclaws, two Slytherins, and two Gryffindors. His most recent opponent, a fifth year named Peter Colin from Ravenclaw, proved to be a challenging adversary, and while Harry eventually one, he had two close calls where he had almost been struck by a body binding curse. The number of participants was slowly dwindling as more duels occurred, and Harry knew that the time where he would have to face Malfoy was coming soon. Draco had totally decimated his opponents, sometimes adding unnecessarily potent curses when the duel was obviously over. A few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs privately told Harry that they were rooting for him.

It was mid-March and Harry sat with a bored expression on his face in Potions, idly grinding bits of limestone into a fine powder with a pestle, trying not to fall asleep as Snape lectured them on various ingredients to the Lifting Potion and their respective properties.

"I trust that you are all thoroughly crushing your limestone," said Snape from across the room. "Having lumps in your limestone powder will result in rather grotesque results when the Lifting Potion is drunk. As you all will be giving a sample of your potion to a cat, I suggest you all work diligently, unless you wish to scrubbing the classroom walls from an explosion caused by an ineptly brewed solution."

"Harry," Hermione whispered. "Don't let up. It's going to take at least another ten minutes for you to crush your limestone down into a flour-like powder!"

Harry looked down and realized that at some point he had stopped working. Quietly thanking her, he resumed the uneventful task of crushing rocks, wondering when the period would end.

A brief respite came in the form of a large barn owl tumbling through the open classroom door, landing heavily on Snape's desk, almost knocking over a set of glass vials that teetered dangerously on the edge. In its right claw it clutched a thick, tightly-bound scroll, and its yellow eyes gazed patiently at the Potions master, waiting for Snape to accept the message. Snape, who had been staring disbelievingly at the bird for some time, snapped out of his reverie and strode to his desk, his eyes narrowed and his lip curling.

"Who dares to interrupt my classroom with an owl?" Snape said softly, venomously. He snatched the scroll away from the owl, causing it to jump, and briskly unraveled it. The owl hooted indignantly and flew away, making a point to scatter a stack of papers on Snape's desk with his wings before he left. Snape hardly noticed. All of his attention was now focused on the scroll in his hands.

His face was stark white, and a sneer began to form even as he read the message. While most of the class politely pretended not to notice their professor's plight, many already watched open-mouthed as a variety of expressions crossed Snape's face. His lips began to tremble, and he muttered, "The nerve of that werewolf!"

Harry's interest peaked, and he tried to maneuver into a better position. Whatever was in that note, it seemed clear that it had come from Remus. Snarling, Snape tore the scroll in half and threw it into the garbage.

Snape continued to mutter, even as he returned to inspecting their work. "Presumptuous, insulting werewolf."

I'm forgetting 'ignorant,' Pseudo-Snape said blandly.

"Ignorant-" the real Snape muttered loudly. Harry had to stifle a laugh at the correlation.

When Snape passed by his desk, Harry paused for a moment to rub his now-cramped hands. As he did so, his eyes fell upon the trash bin, and he wondered vaguely what Snape had read that had made him so upset. His brief exchange with Lupin at the Dursley's about Snape came back into his mind, and he wondered if the message had anything to do with that.

"Too coarse," Snape said from over his shoulder. Evidently the Potions master had doubled-back at some point. "Grind."

Following that one word command, Harry picked up his pestle and returned to smashing the limestone into a fine powder. When the bell rang, Snape stood before the class and said, "If you have not crushed your limestone into an acceptable form, you are to do so tonight. I will expect everyone to be ready for tomorrow. Dismissed."

Harry and Hermione met Ron at the spiral stone stairwell, and he excitedly began talking about what had been announced.

"They're down the last four contestants," said Ron, walking backwards so that he could face them both as they walked up the narrow stairwell. "Both of you are in it, of course, but so is Terry Boot and Draco Malfoy."

A chill ran down Harry's spine. What if, by some sort of design, Harry was paired with Hermione? He was not sure what he would do.

"Anyway," Ron continued. "They're going to begin tournament dueling. So now everyone's going to-"

"Tournament dueling?"

"Yeah, the rules are different for tournament dueling," said Ron. "Since there are so few people left, now the remaining duels will be viewed by the entire school. Plus, it won't be about who wins anymore."

Harry stared at him uncomprehendingly. "If it's not about who wins..." In the back of his mind, he realized that this was what Malfoy was waiting for. He would almost certainly be dueling Malfoy before the entire school within the week.

"After a duel is ended, the judges give each dueler a score out of ten," explained Ron. "I think the judges will be the heads from each of the houses. Anyway, whoever gets the better score wins. Like how they did it in the Triwizard Tournament," he added.

"So you're saying that even if I knock Malfoy out of the circle, he could still potentially win?" Harry asked incredulously.

"That's right," Ron affirmed. "But it almost never happens that way. The scoring is just there in case there is a strong suspicion of foul play, so that the judges can overturn a victory if they believe the winner cheated."

And to give the wealthy wizards someone to bribe, added Pseudo-Snape.

Harry looked dubiously at Hermione, who nodded. "I think he's right, Harry," she said. "I began reading about it last week in preparation for these duels."

"Of course I'm right," Ron said proudly. "So let's see who you guys will be facing..."

"No need for that," Harry muttered under his breath. "It's going to be Malfoy." Ron, however, did not hear him.

They came to the large, vibrantly green Slytherin poster on the wall in the Great Hall, the long serpents slithering along the border, their eyes peering sightlessly from the parchment. Harry looked down the very short list (only two duels, obviously), and what he saw made him angry. No, that was not right. It made him furious.

Duels:

Harry Potter versus Terry Boot

Draco Malfoy versus Hermione Granger

"He set that up," said Harry hotly. "That bastard."

He glanced at Hermione. She had not yet moved. At length she nodded and then turned to him, a faint smile on her lips. "I can't say this is surprising."

A familiar, drawling voice called out from behind them. Harry whirled around, his temper flaring, ready to punch the ferret if he was within arms length. To his dismay, Draco Malfoy was standing several meters way, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, and within full view of the professors sitting at the raised staff table. A nearby Auror turned curiously in their direction.

"Well, you remember what I said, don't you?" Malfoy drawled tonelessly, idly examining his fingernails in a fashion that screamed aristocrat. "On the train in our fourth year. Mudbloods and muggle-lovers first. Then I'll deal with you, because I know for a fact that you are no lover of muggles, are you Potter?" With one last smirk, he turned and strode away.

(A/N: Yes, I realize it was a bit slow at parts, but it was necessary, as you'll later see! Next chapter is a lot better, I promise. Not too much more to mention.

Next Chapter: Harry's overprotectiveness of Hermione goes into overdrive, and Gates makes an offer that leads to a bit of embarrassment. One of the the so-called 'bad guys' gets their just desserts, and we learn a great deal about what is exactly going on, presuming you read between the lines!

26. Black Beetle

(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!

27. Granger vs. Malfoy

(Summary of CHP 26: Harry tries to train Hermione for her duel, Neville offers some advice, Gates offers assistance, and finally, we discover that Rita has been acting as a sort of messenger between Voldemort and the interloper in Hogwarts.)

From what Harry later heard, the Aurors extracted no additional information from Rita using legal means. The Death Eater, whoever he was, put layers of Confusion and Obliviation spells on her, making her essentially useless to the ministry. When Harry asked what was to be done with her, the Aurors shook their heads and said they were not permitted to say. Even Mr. Alverton, who was normally generous with information, remained tight-lipped.

"You think they sent her to Azkaban?" Ron wondered aloud.

"I dunno," replied Harry. "If she was helping Voldemort, then they just might have. But then why wouldn't they want to tell us?"

"What do you think Voldemort would do if he found out where Rita was being kept?" asked Hermione quietly. "If they revealed where she was being kept, Voldemort would have her killed."

If she's lucky, that's all that will be done, said Pseudo-Snape darkly.

"Well, it's not like she knew anything," muttered Ron. "They're still no closer to catching that freak than they were before. If the parents ever found out there was a Death Eater actually hiding in Hogwarts there'd be an uproar."

"And there are enough students missing as it is," said Hermione sadly, looking up and down the table in the Great Hall. A few of the more zealous parents had kept their students home. It was a small minority, but significant nonetheless.

"If they can't keep us safe at Hogwarts," said Harry. "I don't know what they expect to accomplish at home. We have Aurors and everything here."

But as soon as he said it, a sinister thought struck him. The difference would be that he would not be there to act as a magnet for Voldemort's Death Eaters. Of course, he had still not told Hermione or Ron of the prophecy, and the dangers associated with being near him. If he had not known them so well, he would have told them long ago to keep a distance, but he knew that neither of them would do that. They would only get closer. That fact was simultaneously his greatest comfort and greatest pain.

"Don't worry about it mate," said Ron, misreading Harry's troubled expression. "He can't hide forever. He'll be caught eventually, and then we'll really find out what's going on. If Gates ever gets his hands on that Death Eater..." Ron made a motion with his hand as though he was cutting his own neck. His eyes rolled back in an overly dramatic fashion and his tongue lolled out.

Harry snorted with laughter, but despite himself, he felt slightly better. If there was one benefit of having Gates nearby, it was the fact that Gates hated Death Eaters more than anything else, except Voldemort. He would track down the Death Eater with unmatched diligence. And when he finally got his hands on him...

"I suppose there's always a good part of having a psychotic madman on your side," said Hermione lightly.

Yes, but it's best to always having that madman busy, said Pseudo-Snape warningly. Alex can be just as dangerous to us as to the Death Eaters.

Hermione's Club S.P.E.W. meeting went relatively well, as nearly all the members showed up, though Harry strongly suspected many of them were mislead by the contents of this meeting. Hermione gave a lengthy speech detailing what they had done so far this year, and what she hoped to accomplish before the year ended.

Winky had turned into a reluctant poster child for Hermione, as she was continually referred to as an example that they could, through strong effort and diligence, persuade the house-elves to enjoy freedom. Harry did not mention that, in Winky's case, it happened by itself.

It was finally the day before the duel between Hermione and Malfoy, and the day was going rather well. Hermione assured Harry that she was well prepared, and that she had been taking time away from her studying to practice her curses and hexes in the Room of Requirement. This mollified Harry somewhat, but he still could not be completely comfortable. He had the sneaking suspicion that Malfoy would try something underhanded to sabotage Hermione’s efforts, and, with as much discretion as he could muster, he kept an eye on her throughout the day, even when in Potions he was supposed to be working on his solution rather than monitor every movement Malfoy made at his table.

“Is there something interesting about my back, Potter?” taunted Malfoy when he caught Harry scrutinizing him. “Or are you planning on letting Granger do all the work like usual since you're too stupid to do it yourself?"

The Slytherins in the class laughed uproariously. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him humorously, and this took the edge off of his rising temper.

Stupid to be taken in by Malfoy, he thought. He should be more careful.

When the laughter abated, Snape said in a tone that made him sound as though he was reciting from a textbook, “Now, Mr. Malfoy, you should always respect your peers.”

“Sorry, sir,” replied Malfoy with mock sincerity.

You’re forgetting the wormwood, Potter, Pseudo-Snape drawled. It took Harry a moment to realize which Snape was talking, and when he did, he quickly complied. You’re becoming sloppy.

Pseudo-Snape had a point, he decided. He was concentrating specifically on Malfoy, not liking the Slytherin's proximity with Hermione, and his potion work was suffering because of it. If he was not more careful, his cauldron would overheat and then he would have a real disaster to clean up.

Harry sighed and began stirring his cauldron's contents, settling instead for casting a furtive glance in Malfoy's direction every once in a while rather than setting up a constant surveillance.

Though Snape had not said a word to him, the Potions master often addressed the class as a whole, warning them to focus on their potions. Harry knew, of course, that these were directed solely at him. He caught Snape shooting him glares whenever he leaned back to ensure that Malfoy was not straying from his table. Hermione, who was deeply engrossed with her work, did not notice Harry's actions, much to his relief. He was sure that she would urge him to focus on his Potions rather than worrying about her.

At the end of the period, Snape stood before the class, his expression giving Harry the feeling that the Potions master was preparing to deliver a nasty announcement. Clearing his throat, Snape said, "I gather from your performance today that you all need more practice before we can move on. The majority of you, I sense," -he glanced briefly at Harry- "also need to form a sense of respect for the solutions you are brewing. These potions demand your full attention, and they are not receiving it. For these reasons, I am going to assign you all some extra work. Tonight's work is for you to write a thirty inch report," -scattered gasps came from around the classroom- "on the history of the Prophetic Potion, and then list and describe the practical and mystical purposes of this solution. It will be due tomorrow, of course." He slowly went behind his desk and pulled out his grade book, looking as though he had said nothing that warranted any sort of surprise or shock. "Failure to turn it in will result in the loss of half your grade as well, so do not skive off this essay. That is all."

An excellent example of Slytherin cunning, said Pseudo-Snape. Devious, mean, and inconspicuous.

For the first time in the history of Snape's Potions class, no one made a move to leave after dismissal. Everyone sat in a stunned silence, as though they were expecting to wake up at any minute. Malfoy, Harry noticed with growing suspicion, was very carefully and deliberately putting his books away, smirking the entire time. Something was wrong, but Harry could not place it.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" asked Snape sharply. "Don't expect to receive any passes for being late to your next class. My second years will be here any moment."

Slowly, the class filed out, still stricken from what was just imposed upon them. Dull, rebellious murmurings broke out, which grew steadily in intensity. Harry saw Malfoy walking ahead of the class, still smirking, a new bounce in his step.

"This is going to take all night!" Hermione whispered in a panicky voice. "I've got Charms and Transfigurations to study for already! If I have to write this essay..."

Suddenly everything came together. Harry grabbed Hermione's arm and looked into her eyes. The rest of the class slowly went past them. "That's what this is all about! Malfoy got Snape to assign us this huge essay so you would be so overworked that you wouldn't be able to duel tomorrow! That's what this is!" He was becoming angry. Malfoy had just gotten away with cheating.

"But that doesn't make any sense," Hermione said, biting her lip. Harry could see that she was considering it. "Malfoy has to do it too."

"What if Snape just gives Malfoy the grade?" Harry said. "He does it all the time anyway."

Hermione was looking more and more convinced, but she said, "No, Professor Snape couldn't- shouldn't do that. That's-" She sighed.

He put his arm around her, holding her close. "Maybe Dumbledore-" He stopped. Dumbledore would not interfere for a Dueling Tournament, especially with only a weak assumption as evidence. They lapsed into silence.

"I'm going to have to stay up past midnight, but I'm going to get it done," said Hermione quietly.

"And I'll stay up and do it with you."

She grinned. "Are you trying to find a way to copy my essay?"

"Well, if you don't mind..." Harry said playfully.

"Dream on," she said. "But I'll check it."

"Deal," Harry replied, and let go of her as she moved away.

"I'm going to have to go to Arithimancy now," Hermione said when they came to a stairwell. "I'll see you at dinner, okay?"

"Alright," said Harry. "And Hermione-" She paused at the first step. "Don't worry about the duel. I've been putting a lot of stress on you over it, but it's only because-" He hesitated. "-because I care about you."

Hermione smiled. "I know. But just because I have to do this Potions essay doesn't mean I'll lose to Draco. I've learned plenty about duels from books and the D.A. Draco shouldn't come unprepared."

As Harry turned to leave, she added, "And Harry-" Like Hermione, he paused and turned. "I care about you too."

Blushing, Harry watched her go up the stairs, and when she was gone he began winding through the corridors to the Gryffindor common room, a bemused expression on his face. For a few blessed minutes, he had totally forgotten that Gates was not far behind him, a silent form in the shadows.

***

To Harry's knowledge, Hermione had slept for less than four hours. It was difficult to tell because, as he struggled with his essay, he repeatedly fell asleep while resting his head on his hand. Hermione woke him up every time, of course, but he passed the time in more or less a dream-like state, his mind not functioning, staring blankly at the illegible text he had scrawled onto the parchment. The last clear thing he remembered that night was being shaken awake by Hermione, who then told him they had to go to sleep if they planned on going to classes tomorrow.

So it was no surprise that, at breakfast, Hermione sat next to him in a slumped manner, her eyelids drooping, poking disinterestedly at her eggs. He himself scarcely felt better, but he figured he had taken quite a few naps that night, as well.

"You feeling all right?" Ron asked, staring at her untouched food with a look of amazement. "Maybe you should eat some of that. To feel better."

Harry was not sure Hermione had even heard Ron, as she did not answer.

"Maybe you should go to Madam Pomfrey," Harry said quietly.

Hermione instantly perked up. "No, I'm fine," she said cheerily, reaching over and pouring herself a glass of orange juice. She cut her egg and ate a piece. It looked like she was chewing glass. "It's good."

"Well, you should get a little more food in you," said Ron wisely. "It wouldn't do for you to go into that duel on an empty stomach. Or without any sleep, for that matter," he added, scrutinizing her closely.

"I had to get that essay finished, Ron," said Hermione heatedly. "I couldn't just brush it away. It's going to be the biggest grade so far this year! Harry and I stayed up for most of the night, and really I'm surprised we managed to finish it." She thoughtfully turned to Harry. "And I still need to check over yours, Harry. I forgot to read it over before I went to bed."

Harry broke into a fit of coughing. While he had made great progress on his essay, he had not quite completed it. Frankly, he was amazed by the amount he had managed to get done. Between his naps, he had apparently written several inches worth of text. With any amount of luck, he could finish it before Potions class today, but it certainly was not ready to be checked by Hermione yet.

Squeezing in a session at the library between his Transfiguration and Care of Magical Creatures classes, Harry finished writing a very crude essay. The several ink splotches on the paper betrayed his hastiness, and would surely lose him points. He relied heavily on Pseudo-Snape's knowledge of the subject, as well as a few reference books that Madam Pince had directed him to. It would not earn him an Outstanding, but he thought it was worth at least an Acceptable.

When Potions class began, he saw that many other students had suffered a similar plight. Many were even now making finishing touches, while others, who looked to be in a state of panic, had only written half of the required amount. Hermione, Harry noticed, had her parchment neatly scrolled up and on her desk, though she still looked like she did this morning: exhausted. Malfoy pointedly turned in his seat, glanced over her once, smirked, and then turned to the front again. Harry swore that that smirk was meant for him.

Snape stalked in with his usual long strides, slammed the door, locked it, and then faced the class with a self-satisfied expression. This, however, was only evident by the slight tilt of his lips. Slowly, he approached the nearest desk and picked up a ragged, sloppy essay. The Ravenclaw shook uncontrollably as Snape began reading it. He put it back down and then moved on, doing the same to the next few students. When he came to the desk before Harry’s, he paused, evidently reading the parchment with particular care.

At last Snape said softly, “This is what you are all planning to hand in?” He waved the essay around and then tossed it back onto the student’s desk as if disposing of trash. “You expect me to waste my time reading this? I remind you all that you are in N.E.W.T. Potions class, and we are now approaching the conclusion of this year. The papers I have read so far would all earn Dreadful’s , and only that because there is nothing lower. As this is worth a large portion of your grade, this would, of course, lead to most of you failing.” He took a deep breath, as though what he had to say next pained him greatly. “The headmaster beseeched me to give you more time, citing that none of you are masters at this craft. I am compelled to comply.”

A restrained silence broke out, and Harry could tell most of the class were forcibly stopping themselves from cheering. Hermione, however, looked horrified. She had spent all those long hours at the study table for no reason.

Snape went back to his desk, but not before casting a small, almost imperceptible smirk at Malfoy. Draco smirked back.

All of Harry’s guesses had been confirmed with that tiny gesture. Snape was helping House Slytherin in the Dueling Tournament by using Hermione's studious nature against her. Malfoy, obviously in on it, knew that the essay would not have to be turned in, and so did not even start it. He received a full night's worth of sleep, while she did not. Harry wondered if Dumbledore had actually intervened, or whether it was merely an excuse for Snape to extend the deadline without warning. It was a despicable, blatant act of cheating, and Harry doubted that he could even prove it to the headmaster.

Draco had better hope that Hermione beats him, Harry thought. Because if she doesn't, he'll be dealing with me.

***

“Don’t take any of this personally, Harry,” Terry Boot whispered to him on the raised, circular platform in the middle of the Great Hall.

“Of course I won’t,” replied Harry amiably.

It was evening, and the Dueling Tournament had commenced in the Great Hall, all the students and staff in the school in attendance. A the same shimmering blue dome that was used in Gates’ duel with Snape encased them both, shutting them off from the outside. Upon closer inspection, Harry noticed little waves in the wall that gave the impression of liquid. This, combined with the muffled sounds of the audience, made it seem as though they were underwater. Gates stood directly on the other side, ready to spring into action, his figure distorted from the dome.

Hermione and Ron sat in the front row, looking tense. Hermione’s anxious expression was clear despite the blue barrier, and Ron was sitting clear to the edge of his seat. Malfoy, unsurprisingly, was smirking and whispering something into Crabbe’s ear. The two of them laughed, and Harry forced himself to turn away.

Terry was standing across from Harry, his wand at his side, his face furrowed with concentration. Terry, Harry knew, was one of the more advanced members of the D.A., and would prove to be a worthy adversary. While Harry felt confident, he inwardly reminded himself that he could make no mistakes. Terry’s specialty was exploiting his opponent’s errors and making them fatal.

Harry’s hand securely grasped his wand, his eyes focused on Dumbledore. Soon, he knew, the headmaster would rise and give the signal to begin.

After what felt like several minutes, Dumbledore stood and bellowed ritually, “Let the duel commence!”

The Art of Dueling stated that one must either strike at his opponent the first instant, or wait longer for a clear advantage. Harry’s strategy was the former, and he wasted no time in whirling his wand and shouting, “Stupefy!”

Red light streaked across the dome, whizzing past Terry’s chest just as the Ravenclaw leapt away. The power and strength concentrated within that single curse was such that it singed Terry’s shirt, making his eyes widen with surprise.

Harry was about to throw another curse when he hesitated. It was unwise to become greedy in a duel, especially with one as quick-witted as Terry.

“Infligo!” Terry countered quickly, which in turn made Harry’s eyes widened. He had no idea that the Ravenclaw had learned that spell.

Harry, knowing there was no way he could conjure a shield charm strong enough to resist it, dived out of the way, but not soon enough. His legs were caught by the curse, and he spun around wildly before collapsing to the ground. With practiced speed he leapt back to his feet and parried an oncoming Stunning Spell.

“Impedimenta!” Harry shouted. Terry, who had not expected a counterattack so soon, tried to dodge the spell but was struck in the leg. His movements immediately slowed.

“Incarcerous!” Harry shouted, elation entering his voice, but even as the incantation left his lips, he knew it was a mistake. Terry was a seventh year, which meant he knew-

“Discerpo!” Terry managed, and a disc of light shot out of his wand and sliced the ropes to ribbons. They fell to the floor, worthless. He directed his wand at his leg. “Finite Incantatem!”

Harry knew he needed to end this duel quickly. The longer it took, the more of a chance he would slip and make a fatal mistake. “Expelliarmus!” he bellowed, hoping to catch Terry unawares.

“Protego!” Terry incanted, barely speaking the words before the oncoming spell smashed into the newly-formed shield. It ricocheted backwards, and Harry sidestepped to avoid it. It crashed and burned away with a sizzle on the wall of the dome.

Harry wanted badly to use some of the curses he had learned from Gates, but understood that most of them were banned from being used in the tournament. He was limited to whatever was taught in classes.

“Infligo!” Harry shouted. He had a stroke of luck. Terry, whose shield charm apparently had not blocked the entirety of the Disarming Spell, was recovering as the white cone of light sped to him. He was only able to look up as it slammed into his chest, sending him reeling backwards. When his back hit the dome’s amorphous wall, it repelled him violently, and he landed on the ground with a sickening thud. Harry felt a twinge of regret. He had not planned on the reaction to be so strong.

“Expelliarmus!” said Harry, and the jet of light struck the floor just as Terry rolled away. It left a small scorch mark in its wake.

Terry reached under his body and drew his wand, almost grunting the incantation, “Stupefy!”

Harry ducked down to avoid the curse, and then leapt aside completely when Terry sent a second Stunning Spell his way. His breathing was becoming heavy, and his hands were slick with sweat. It took him a moment to realize that Terry was already back on his feet, and it was too late for him to act when the Ravenclaw raised his wand and bellowed, “Arcesso!” His eyes closed and he began murmuring something under his breath.

Realization crawled up Harry’s spine and jolted his mind awake. Terry had just used the Conjuring Charm, and he would undoubtedly soon be faced with a summoned creature that Harry was unsure he could deal with.

You’re becoming sloppy, Pseudo-Snape warned. You should’ve never let him up. No Slytherin worth his wand would’ve let him return to his feet. And did the Sorting Hat not want you in Slytherin?

Harry could not issue a retort, as he was instead focused on the newly formed gorilla before him. It was hunched on its legs, its massive arms flexing in the empty air, bristly hair covering its body, with patches of skin that shone with a black light. As though recognizing Harry for the first time, it leered dangerously at him, and he had to remind himself that behind those dull eyes there was the controlling force of Terry Boot. The beast was merely an extension of the Ravenclaw, and could not harm him without conscious thought on Terry's part. At least, that is what Harry kept telling himself. It did little to relieve the fear that he felt upon seeing the gorilla intently advance upon him, its great arms helping to thrust its heavy bulk forward.

Harry jumped away when the gorilla leapt at him, its hand stretching out to grapple at Harry's shoulders. It missed and instead fell and rolled on the ground. With an abrupt, jerk-like movement, it scampered to its feet and bared its teeth in an unmistakably primal gesture. Harry suddenly understood Terry's plan. The gorilla was trying to pin him to the ground.

With a cautionary air, the gorilla circled Harry, its beady eyes transfixed onto its target.

Harry crouched slightly as he went into his general dueling stance. While the gorilla was nothing more than a wisp of magical energy, it would still react to spells and curses just like any other living creature.

You're missing the point Potter-

Harry shut Pseudo-Snape out. He needed all of his concentration, and he could not spare any for a false voice's sarcastic remarks.

The gorilla suddenly pounced, its muscled legs pushing upwards with astonishing force. Harry's reaction was instantaneous. He shouted, "Stupefy!"

A red light shot out of his wand and struck the beast square in its chest, causing it to grunt and its aim to go awry. The gorilla landed on its legs, surprisingly, and brought its arm up to its chest, as though trying to rub away the pain. Harry stared at the tip of his wand incredulously. The Stunning Spell would have easily knocked out a full grown wizard.

The Stunning Spell doesn't work on animals, said Pseudo-Snape scornfully. His voice overrode all other thought. Different brain patterns- different nervous systems-

With another effort of will Harry ignored Pseudo-Snape, but the voice persisted.

Pseudo-Snape roared out in his head. Missing the point entirely! Get the wizard, not the familiar!

Harry's eyes went wide as he realized that Pseudo-Snape was right. He whirled around, temporarily forgetting about the recovering gorilla, and raised his wand towards Terry Boot, who was deep in some sort of trancelike state synonymous with summoning.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Harry bellowed, and the curse soared at its vulnerable target with a speed that matched the urgency in the caster's voice.

Terry Boot's body locked up immediately, as though invisible rope had suddenly contracted around his form, and he toppled over onto the floor. The summoning connection snapped, and the gorilla, just as it made to leap at Harry's back, disintegrated into a smoke. Harry turned to see a vague outline of the primate before it swirled away from a draft.

The blue dome vanished with a wave of Gates' wand, and Madam Pomfrey came up to remove the curse that had been placed on Terry. Harry let out a long, rattling breath. That had been close, he realized. Terry was finally unbound, and went to shake Harry's hand.

"And the winner apparent of the first round of the finals is Harry Potter!" said Dumbledore's resonating voice. Harry vaguely thought that the headmaster must be using Sonorus. "Judges, if you would please finalize the results."

Professor McGonagall raised a nine for Harry and a seven for Terry. Professors Flitwick and Sprout gave similar scores, with Harry still strongly in the lead. When it came time for Professor Snape to announce his scoring, Harry's breath hitched in his throat.

Snape grudgingly raised a six for both of them, a sour expression on his face. He apparently had hoped that Terry and Harry would somehow have knocked each other out.

A cheer erupted from the Gryffindor section of the Great Hall, and, to his slight confusion, he felt nothing at all. The only thing he could feel was the warmth emanating from his wand, and a bit of cool air rushing in from some unseen opening. There was no sense of accomplishment or victory. When his eyes fell on the silent Slytherins, he understood. His real rival - Malfoy - was as of yet unbeaten. There would be no triumph until he saw Hermione strike him down with a well-placed curse. She could defeat Draco. Harry was sure of that.

He stepped down from the platform amid more cheers from the Gryffindors. Several hands patted him on the back, but he locked eyes with Hermione, and he slowly eased his way through to crowd towards her.

"That was really great Harry," Hermione said, her eyes gazing into his. She still seemed tired, but there was a certain intensity about her that told him that she remained a formidable witch. They stood there awkwardly for a moment before Ron broke in.

"Yeah mate," agreed Ron. "I reckon the only reason they took points off of you was because you didn't use enough advanced spells. Snape gave you both the same score because he's a git, but that's a given."

"I suppose you're next," Harry said, looking once more at Hermione.

A sort of mutual understanding passed between them, and Hermione nodded and stepped up to the platform as Dumbledore announced the next pair. Harry felt the connection - always indistinct yet strong - tug at his chest. He did not want her to go up there. Draco had almost used the Killing Curse on Neville. If things became desperate, he might end up using it on Hermione.

Several rows over, Harry saw Malfoy's slickly blond head make its way to the platform. Malfoy cast a knowing smirk in the Gryffindors' direction, a gesture of superiority, and then climbed onto the platform. He wore a formal dueling robe especially made to prevent the normally bulky clothing from interfering with spell work. It was black and sharply cut, with the outline of a Slytherin serpent over the breast. Hermione showed no reaction, her eyes watching him warily as though expecting him to strike at any second.

“Tectum!” Gates bellowed, and the blue dome flowed down like water around them, curtaining them off from the rest of the school.

“May your wand betray you,” said Malfoy ritually.

“And may yours as well,” said Hermione, completing the exchange. But to Harry, there was a hint of exhaustion. Whatever her outside appearance, she needed sleep.

Silence fell over the Great Hall, and everyone looked expectantly at Dumbledore as he stood at the staff table. Then tension was skyrocketing. Here, before them, was the embodiment of the rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Hermione, the brightest witch in Gryffindor and the school, was dueling Malfoy, a Slytherin if there ever was one.

“Let the dueling commence!” Dumbledore said, though his tone suggested that he was somehow disquieted.

Before the last word had even left Dumbledore's lips, Malfoy threw the first curse. "Fumo!" When the curse shot out from his wand, an earsplitting boom accompanied it, as though it was a cannon firing. The entire Great Hall instinctively crouched and covered their ears.

Hermione, who had been preparing for such a move, shouted, "Protego!" at the same moment, deflecting Malfoy's curse so that it shot back towards him. His eyes widened and he dodged aside, just missing it as it smashed and sizzled into the blue, gel-like dome wall.

Must've been one hell of a Shielding Charm to stop that kind of magic, said Pseudo-Snape appraisingly.

"Infligo!" Hermione incanted quickly, taking advantage of Malfoy's brief surprise. Her wand let out an explosive boom as the spell flew at the Slytherin.

Draco did not move. In fact, he stared at the ever-slowing cone of white light, a grin growing on his face. Suddenly, he waved his wand and bellowed, "Protego!"

Harry almost snorted with laughter. A Shielding Charm would not be able to stop such a strong curse.

But, when the cone met the shield, it slid around it, like a river does when it meets a particularly sturdy boulder. A shimmer of impressed murmurings ran through the audience, even affecting some of the teachers. Harry scarcely believed his eyes, and, from Hermione's agape mouth, similar thoughts were running through her mind.

That's impossible, said Pseudo-Snape in a strangely uncertain voice.

"What's wrong?" Malfoy gloated, twirling his wand in his hand. "Never seen a real pure blood wizard duel before? Stupefy!"

Hermione just managed to dodge the oncoming red light. Her reactions were slow, delayed.

"Where you going?" taunted Malfoy. "Stup-"

Hermione had whispered a Full Body-Bind Curse under her breath, and would have incapacitated the Slytherin had he not seen it. It whizzed past his right ear, smashing into the blue dome with a crackle.

Malfoy ground his teeth. "You little m- Protego!" He had just managed to deflect yet another curse Hermione had sent his way.

Another folly of the Slytherin, said Pseudo-Snape. Cannot keep from gloating in a duel. It's still better than insufferable Gryffindor arrogance, however.

"Fumo!" Malfoy shouted angrily, the curse seeming to reflect his emotions by coming out a shade of black instead of the usual gray.

Hermione was not able to erect a Shielding Charm nor was she able to dive away before the curse struck her left shoulder, making her cough hoarsely. Clouds of smoke spewed out of her mouth with each spasm.

Fear coursed through Harry and he nearly stood up from his chair. Malfoy was especially brutal to opponents whom were disabled.

"Stupefy!" Malfoy said gleefully.

Hermione managed to duck. She pointed her wand at herself and said, "Finite Incan-" More coughing.

“Come on Hermione,” Harry murmured under his breath. His hands were tightly gripping the arms of his chair.

Malfoy's lips pulled back into a sneer. "Petrificus Totalus!"

"PROTEGO!" Hermione incanted through another fit. It was barely intelligible, but apparently it was enough to create a rudimentary barrier. The curse ricocheted across the platform, and Hermione fell to her knees, coughing and heaving. She gasped throatily. “Finite Incantatem!”

“Yes!” Cheers erupted from the Gryffindor section, and groans from the Slytherins.

“What!” Malfoy spat furiously. His face was flushing deeply. “I’ll show you- Infligo!”

Hermione, who had just clambered to her feet, dived gracelessly to the side, the rush of air whipping around her feet indicating that the curse had passed harmlessly.

"Infligo!" Hermione shouted as she fell. A sound like a cannon resounded through the Great Hall, and when the cone of light fired out of her wand, Malfoy scrambled to prepare a Shielding Charm.

He was too late.

The curse smashed into his chest, knocking him back and sending him sprawling to the ground. His wand skidded a few feet away, out of arm's reach. He grunted as he strained to reach it, but to no avail.

"Stupefy!" Hermione incanted.

Malfoy rolled, and Hermione's spell struck the spot where he was laying just a second earlier. The Slytherin groped desperately for his wand, crawling, and at last he managed to grasp the end with his fingers. He pulled and brought it firmly into his grasp.

"Stupefy!" Another miss on Hermione's part. She must be really tired, Harry thought.

"Blimey," Ron said next to him. "There's her chance. All she needs to-"

Before Ron could finish his sentence, Malfoy rolled onto his back and shouted, "Everbero!"

There was a crack and Hermione reeled and stumbled as though physically hit. Harry squinted and saw that there was indeed a scarlet splotch on her cheek as though she had been slapped.

Malfoy grinned and leapt to his feet. “What’s wrong Granger? That’s right. Go ahead and take it like a-”

“Everbero!” Hermione shouted.

Malfoy grunted and reeled, clutching his stomach, wheezing as though he had been hit hard in the gut. The flush in his cheeks quickly spread to his neck, and he glared up at Hermione with unrestrained hatred. He raised his wand, and then paused, as though unsure of what to do next. He held it as though it was a sword above her head. From the way his entire body was shaking, it was apparent that he was fighting in some internal struggle. There was a glint in his eye that Harry had seen once before.

Harry pushed his seat back and went for his wand, getting ready to put a stop to the duel. Unless he was greatly mistaken, Malfoy was about to use an Unforgivable, but just as he left his seat-

"Everbero!" Hermione incanted again. Malfoy's head jerked back from the sudden force of the curse. His jaw was bruised badly, and his lip was cut. Almost as badly as Neville's, Harry thought with a degree of satisfaction.

"Sit down mate," whispered Ron, tugging at his robes. "You're blocking their view." He gestured to Seamus and Dean, who were staring at Harry questioningly.

"Right," Harry said. "Sorry." He went back to his seat, considerably relieved that Hermione had reacted. He looked towards the staff table and saw that Dumbledore too was watching the pair keenly, as though ready to spring at any moment. Perhaps Dumbledore and him shared the same fears.

Malfoy whirled his wand, shouting, "Stupefy!"

"Protego!"

The curse ricocheted off the shield and went over Malfoy's shoulder, making a few threads of his robe sizzle and curl. Malfoy angrily spat a bit of blood from his cut lip on the floor. "This-is-a-pure-blood-tournament!" he snarled ferociously. "Expelliarmus!"

His spell hurtled towards Hermione with a devilish speed, and the Gryffindor's eyes went wide and she shouted, "Protego!"

The spell deflected and shot back at Malfoy, and the Slytherin attempted to leap away, but was struck in the arm by his own magic. His wand flew from his fingertips, and he tried in vain to snatch it back. It was, of course, completely beyond his reach.

Hermione caught it in the air with her free hand, raising them both at the unarmed Slytherin. The entire Great Hall, with the exception of the Slytherins, erupted into a cheer. Harry shouted loudest of all. She suddenly looked very tired, as though she was ready to fall asleep while standing. Harry caught her eye, and she managed a little smile.

Malfoy, however, did not seem excessively troubled. His pointed face was sour and angry, but he was not in the type of mood that Harry would normally have associated with the Slytherin when he lost. He seemed to be holding out for something, though Harry had no idea what.

The blue dome collapsed, and Madam Pomfrey rushed up to attend to the duelers' wounds. The nurse tenderly healed Hermione's injury on her cheek, while Draco flatly refused her aid, despite a freely running cut on his lip and several bruises.

"And the winner apparent of the second round of the finals is Hermione Granger!" announced Dumbledore. "Judges, if you would please finalize the results."

Professor McGonagall, unable to keep an unnatural-looking grin off her face, held up a ten for Hermione and a seven for Draco. Flitwick gave a nine and a six, and Sprout an eight and a five. Lastly, Dumbledore gestured towards Snape, and the Potions master slowly stood up from his seat and held up his first card. It was Hermione's score.

And it was a zero.

An angry rumble rolled through the Great Hall's attendance. The other judges stared at Snape with disbelief written across their face. Professor McGonagall looked enraged. Dumbledore, on the other hand, was wearing a very faint smile, as though he was amused. Draco stared at Hermione with a gloating grin.

Snape raised a second card. It was for Malfoy. A perfect ten.

"WHAT!" Harry and Ron shouted. Several Gryffindors were already on their feet, while the Hufflepuffs looked simply bewildered. The Ravenclaws, however, were the least surprised. Those the quickest at math were able to figure out that Hermione had twenty-seven points, and Malfoy had twenty-eight. She had lost by a single point.

Must be the Ravenclaw intelligence, said Pseudo-Snape. They foresaw it. Perhaps even Miss Granger herself did as well. You see, Slytherin always comes first in Slytherin. Another admirable house trait.

"That's an absurdity!" Professor McGonagall shrieked, now on her feet. Her face was covered with angry splotches, and her glasses were slightly askew. "What reason could you possibly have-"

"Judges need not give reasons, Minerva," said Snape coolly. Smoothly. He seemed pleased at the reaction it was getting.

Harry looked at Dumbledore. Surely the headmaster would intervene at a blatantly biased score. But Dumbledore had not moved since the judges began delivering their scores, and he made no move now. At last, he spoke. "It seems the result has been overruled. Draco Malfoy is the winner of the second round of the finals."

No cheering this time. While the Slytherins all wore smug expressions, not one of them clapped. Finally Draco took his wand back from Hermione, whispered something to her, wiped the wand on his robes, and then sauntered down from the stage and went back down the narrow aisle, the entirety of the Great Hall devoting all of their attention to him. He cast Harry a smirk, and then took his seat by Crabbe.

Hermione still stood on the stage, looking disappointed but not shocked. She had been expecting this, he realized. His heart sunk in his chest. She knew Malfoy would find a way.

When they were dismissed, Harry quickly intercepted Hermione and put his hand on her shoulder. The last of the students filtered out, and they were alone. Only Gates infringed upon their privacy, standing further down the corridor, half-enveloped in a shadow.

"I beat him, you know," Hermione said quietly. "It doesn't matter what Professor Snape says. I beat him."

Harry was not sure how to respond, so instead he stood there, his hand still resting on her shoulder.

"It just shows me," continued Hermione, shifting slightly into lecture-mode. "It shows me how deep the division in Hogwarts run. It doesn't matter what Dumbledore does. He could dissolve the houses right now and it wouldn't make an ounce of difference. Professor Snape reminded me how strongly the lines between the houses are etched."

"S.P.E.W.," Harry said.

Hermione nodded. "It isn't about Malfoy or anybody. I'm not upset so much at not being able to make the final round but at the fact that Professor Snape adamantly refuses to forget about house loyalties."

"Well, on the bright side of things, it does save us some awkwardness, doesn't it?"

Hermione laughed. "I suppose it does," she said, turning to face him for the first time. Gently, slowly, they kissed.

When they heard the slapping of feet coming down the marble stairs, they split apart. Harry turned to see Ron just coming through the archway.

"Hey," said Ron. "I was wondering where you two were."

"I just needed a minute," Hermione said.

Harry nodded in affirmation. He looked into Ron's eyes, guilt hitting him once more, the intricate deception himself and Hermione were performing before the entire school. One step away from outright lying. And then there was the ever-present burden of the prophecy, which he had disclosed to no one so far...

Should get used to it, Potter, said Pseudo-Snape. If this is the biggest betrayal you ever commit, you'll be a saint.

"Well, come on," said Ron eagerly. "They're breaking out the Butterbeer, even though you were overturned. We figured you gave the ferret a good enough beating to merit it."

Together they laughed, and together they proceeded up through the hallways and together they went through the portrait hole. As one the entirety of the Gryffindor common room raised their mugs and chanted, "To Hermione!"

***

At the end of the evening, Harry, feeling rather warm and content from the Butterbeer, bid Hermione a good night and slowly climbed the steps into the boy's dormitories. A chorus of snores greeted him as he creaked open the door. He was one of the last to go to bed.

After dressing into night clothes, he crawled into the comforting folds of the bed and set his glasses on the nearby nightstand. Ignoring Ron's constant tossing and turning, Harry closed his eyes and buried his head in his pillow, feeling only a fraction of the troubles he had experienced earlier in the day. He heard Gates slowly move into position at the end of the bed, standing like a sentry over him. But Harry did not really mind. Maybe it was the Butterbeer, or maybe it was just the company, but he felt more relaxed at that moment than he had for several days.

So when he woke up the next morning, he stretched his arms and threw his legs over the side of the bed, feeling energetic. He could sense that it was going to be a good day. He glanced towards the window and saw that the sun was just barely creeping over the horizon. He was the first one up.

Suddenly, Harry realized that something was wrong. Very wrong. Something was missing. Ever since his wand became jinxed, Gates had vigilantly stood watch over him while he slept. For some reason, Gates was no longer there. He leapt out of bed and took two tentative steps forward. His foot hit something both soft and warm. Like velvet. He looked down and realized that he had just bumped into the motionless body of Alexander Gates.

(A/N: That cliffhanger was evil; probably the most evil one I've ever used; but that only makes it better, right?!

Anyway, hope the duels didn't disappoint anyone; especially the results for Hr vs Malfoy. I didn't really think that Draco would be able to defeat Hermione, so I had to have him cheat somehow, and I figured that subverting the judges would be a very Slytherin thing to do.

Next Chapter: Title: Monsters and Men. Title says it all. Harry will be dueling Malfoy (in, probably, the best duel I've written so far), and all hell breaks loose. Harry confronts monsters, both literal and figurative, and at last finds out the Death Eater in Hogwarts. The only thing more shocking that his deeds is his identity. Includes the death of a major cannon character.

28. Monsters and Men

(A/N: Summary of chp 27: Malfoy and Hermione finally duel, but, while the Slytherin loses the fight despite his underhanded tactic of depriving Hermione of sleep, he wins the duel with the help of Snape overturning the judges' decision. At the end, Harry finds Gates lying motionless at his bed.)

"That is all?" Dumbledore asked rhetorically. He was rarely one to waste words, and now it seemed that the headmaster had become more and more remote with every passing second.

Harry nodded. He had just finished relating every detail from last night. Almost every detail, rather. He left out his first sinister idea of leaving Gates right there on the floor.

"I confess that I find the Death Eater's actions puzzling," said Dumbledore slowly, steepling his fingers. "Why did he leave Alex alive by only using a simple Stunning Spell when there was the opportunity of killing one of Voldemort's most significant enemies?"

"If I may state my opinion, headmaster," said Snape from the far wall. "I believe this was a mistake."

Dumbledore leaned back on his chair and fixed his bright blue eyes onto the Potions master.

Snape tossed a short glance at Harry. "Perhaps this will be better discussed in private, Albus-"

"No, I'm sure Harry is as interested in what you have to say as I am," Dumbledore said.

Snape stared at the headmaster, and, upon detecting no irony, he said, "When I looked into the Death Eater's mind, I saw only madness. This, as you know, prevents me from pinpointing his location within Hogwarts-"

"What about the Marauder's map?" Harry blurted out.

"We already covered this, Mr-" He flashed a cold look at Dumbledore. "-Potter. Alex has scanned the Marauder's map several times. He's seen nothing. Not a Death Eater presence. Nothing."

"But if the Death Eater was insane, would he still show up on the map?" Harry insisted.

Snape was beginning to look annoyed. "As I don't know the exact properties of the map, I don't know for sure. But, assuming your father had any sort of talent in Charms, he could easily have overcome that loophole. Returning to the subject at hand, I believe that since we have successfully prevented Rita Skeeter from delivering any more messages, the Death Eater has gone out of control."

Dumbledore's eyes darkened into the color of navy or midnight blue. "I see."

"And, as it happens, Alex was the unfortunate victim," Snape said, lacing the word 'unfortunate' with as much sarcasm as he could.

"That doesn't make any sense," said Harry. "The Death Eater just lets Gates off with a Stunning-"

"There are several lapses in the theory," interrupted Snape. "But regardless I feel that it's the most likely scenario."

"Then shouldn't have someone heard him stun Gates?"

"There are ways to ensure that no sound is made during the incantation," said Snape. "The Death Eater is obviously as stealthy as a house-elf."

"There are too many unanswered questions," said Dumbledore. He was not looking at either of them now. "None of the portraits recalled anyone going through the Gryffindor portrait hole, and there is no evidence of any Confusion Charms."

"First the Death Eater breaches the wards," exploded Snape, completely losing his temper and normally cool control. "Then he sneaks unnoticed into the Gryffindor common room. Then he manages to curse a Firebolt class broomstick right under the staff's noses." He was ranting, raving. Harry and Dumbledore simply watched as months of frustration and fear poured out of the Potions master in a torrent of rage. "Then, somehow, the Dark Lord's underlings manage to break through a supposedly unbreakable Fidelus Charm. Now a Death Eater once again sneaks into the Gryffindor dormitories, and stuns one of the most powerful wizards in the world. Something is very wrong."

"Calm yourself, Severus," said Dumbledore placidly. "Nothing can be accomplished through-"

Suddenly, the door burst open and Professor Whams stumbled through, looking a bit sharper than what was normal. He was wearing no spectacles. Harry presumed he had lost them in his apparent rush to reach the headmaster's office.

"Albus," he said breathlessly. "I found someone. Dead."

It took a full second for these words to register, and when they did, the blood drained from Snape's face, Dumbledore appeared more remote and distant than ever, and Harry felt a chill creep into his heart. The sun went behind a cloud and the room darkened considerably

Hermione! Where was Hermione?

"Who is it?" Harry asked.

Not her not her not her.

"A house-elf," said Whams. "By the name of Winky, I believe."

***

"One of the other elves brought her up," said Madam Pomfrey, shaking her head as she put away an array of vile-looking concoctions. "I believe the name was Dobby. Poor thing, he was in tears."

"Was it the Killing Curse?" asked Snape with a strange tinge in his voice. He might have been asking an oracle of his own fate. "Or something less clean?"

Madam Pomfrey stared at him uncomprehendingly. "No," she said. "Heaven's no. If you're thinking that the Death-" She sighed and leaned against the table. "The wounds weren't caused by any Death Eater."

Now it was Harry's turn to stare. If a Death Eater had not killed Winky, then who did? Harry could think of numerous possibilities. Maybe Malfoy, still sore over his near-loss, decided to take it out on some poor kitchen attendant. If that was the case...

"The wounds were self-inflicted," Madam Pomfrey said sadly.

Harry's jaw sagged open, and a silence fell over them like a blanket. He knew that house-elf punishments were dangerous, painful, and hazardous; but never lethal. What sort of mistake had she committed for her to beat herself in such a manner? Nothing could possibly warrant such a reaction. At least in a human mind.

"When did this happen?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

"Dobby said it was during the night," she replied. "Otherwise he would've stopped her. Somehow I doubt that he could've, with the house-elf mentality the way it is..."

"She was a free elf, right?" asked Harry. It would be a small comfort to know that, at the very least, Winky died free. He never before really believed in S.P.E.W., but now he was beginning to see Hermione's points more clearly.

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "Technically, she was. She wore clothes, though she accepted no pay, and was granted full access like any other elf."

Snape shook his head. "Damn it," he muttered. "This cannot be leaked to the students, headmaster. We must impress upon Pot- Mr. Potter the direness of this-"

"I am fully aware of what must be done to prevent a panic," said Dumbledore with unusual sharpness. "And Harry fully understands the gravity of what happened. I trust him to be responsible with this information."

"Headmaster," said Snape. "If this were-"

"I am not a fool, Severus," said Dumbledore. "If you would be so kind, please go to the kitchens and address the house-elves."

Snape's jaw twisted, and he seemed to be inwardly debating whether or not to issue a retort. Finally, he gave a curt nod and stormed out of the infirmary. Dumbledore visibly relaxed.

He's cracking, warning Pseudo-Snape, sounding almost afraid. The Dark Lord's return. It's getting to him. He can't even deal with me without becoming stressed anymore. He's old, Potter. Absurdly old, even by a wizard's standards. Most men of his age would have retired comfortably by now.

"Let me see her," Dumbledore said. The reassuring blueness returned to his eyes. Like pure electricity in their intensity.

Madam Pomfrey nodded, then hesitated. "You're going to have to wait here, Mr. Potter."

The nurse led Dumbledore to a screened section of the infirmary, and, after waving her wand, she crossed the threshold and approached a white curtain. She drew it back: not far enough for Harry to see, but enough for Dumbledore. The headmaster peered through, grimaced, then shook his head. Madam Pomfrey wordlessly replaced the curtain.

One time, long ago, I had seen Albus walk into a house of mutilated muggles, Snape said. He never flinched. He never showed any sign of weakness. None of us did. It was a time in history after the Dark Lord, when the more radical elements of his following went on blind rampages, murdering anyone in their path. Those bastards were tough to hunt down, and even harder to apprehend. More often than not they died fighting. And now, here he is, now truly an old man. He’s human. All of us are now. Maybe that’s our problem.

In a hushed voice Dumbledore said something to Madam Pomfrey. She nodded. Somewhat reluctantly, it seemed. When they returned to where Harry stood, Dumbledore turned and cast a different - and probably stronger - charm on the screened area.

A groan issued forth from a nearby bed.

"He's awake," said Madam Pomfrey, and bustled over to a private area set apart from the rest of the wing. Dumbledore and Harry followed her.

"Mr. Gates?" Madam Pomfrey said. She moved aside and Harry saw clearly the form lying on the bed, motionless, with only a head wearing a hawk-like face appearing above the sheets of fine linen. "Mr. Gates? Can you hear me?"

"Of course I can," grunted Gates, stirring. He sounded groggy, disoriented. Upon seeing Dumbledore, he pushed himself forward with his arms, sitting up.

"Mr. Gates, I suggest you lie back down-"

"Don't be absurd," Gates said sharply, his eyes flashing. A new vigor entered them, and it was as if he had fully recovered in the space of a second. "I feel well enough."

"He can't be having visitors," said Madam Pomfrey to Dumbledore. "He had just woken from a severely traumatic-"

“That’s enough,” Gates snapped. “I can’t be lying here with animals on the loose.” Much to the nurse’s dismay, he threw his legs over the bedside and stood up. He seemed unsteady for a moment, but when he managed to balance himself, he looked straight at Dumbledore and said, “Luck.”

“Excuse me?” asked Dumbledore.

“It was luck,” repeated Gates angrily. “Ridiculous, absurd luck. No one- No one has ever snuck up upon me before.”

“Perhaps you’d like to tell us what happened,” said Dumbledore.

Gates fixed him with a hard stare. “Obviously. It was late. How late, I do not know, except that I vaguely remember the moon being near its zenith. I was standing guard, occasionally glancing at the Marauder’s map, when I was struck with a spell. A strong Stunning Spell. Very strong.”

Dumbledore appeared puzzled. “You said you were looking at the Marauder’s-”

“I know very well what I said,” Gates interrupted. “He came out from nowhere. It was like he manifested out of the very wall. Stealth.” He paused, as though something new had occurred to him. “Potter seems well enough,” he said appraisingly.

“I wasn’t attacked,” Harry said. “I was left alone.”

Gates said nothing, though his expression darkened considerably. He tilted his head to the left, much like a predatory bird does when it spots prey. “I was the target?” he asked softly. “Then why am I alive?”

“We cannot be sure that you were the target,” said Dumbledore. “Nothing is certain, especially with an insane Death Eater.”

“I was the target, that’s plain enough,” argued Gates. “Or...” Blood drained from his face. He frantically dug through his robe. “Where are my possessions?”

Madam Pomfrey nodded shortly and went back to her wall of drawers and closets. After digging through a variety of articles, she retrieved an ornate little chest, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. With an expression indicating that she disapproved of his going, she handed it over to Gates, who grasped it with both hands, as though he was holding his very soul.

The Hit Wizard muttered some vague incantation and the chest sprung open. "You have not been through this, have you?" asked Gates slowly, eyeing Dumbledore suspiciously.

"I would not infringe upon your privacy, Alex."

Gates snorted and drew a tiny glittering object. He tapped it with his wand, and it instantly expanded into a sort of gold goblet. Shaking his head, he shrunk it again and placed it back. As time went on, his hands moved quicker, with abrupt, feverish motions.

"Where is it?" Gates said. It was as though shock, desperation, and terror had all rolled into his voice at once. "WHERE IS IT?" he demanded.

“Alex?” asked Dumbledore steadily. “What is-”

But Gates had already dumped the contents of the chest onto his bed, the tiny objects looking like jewels against the rumpled sheets. The Hit Wizard sorted through them recklessly, as though they were little more than junk marbles. The necklace was sparkling madly against his chest, and his face became whiter with every passing second. Harry had only seen him so utterly panicked once before.

Harry was only vaguely aware that one of those glittering jewels was the transfigured form of his album.

Gates shuffled through the piled one more time. Then he did it again. When it became clear that whatever he was looking for was gone, he slowly turned towards them, his eyes like bits of jagged glass. “It’s missing.”

Dumbledore’s expression scarcely changed. He might not have even been listening, but his next words told them that he had been. “What is missing?”

“A family treasure,” Gates said. It was like a growl, the way he said it. “From my mother’s side. Stolen by a damned Death Eater.” He slammed his fist down onto the bed. Hard. “Again,” he added in barely a mutter.

A lever clicked in Harry’s head. He remembered, earlier in the year, examining the silver bracelet that Gates had seemed to infatuated with. A design like a silver snowflake. Priceless. From what Harry now knew, it came from Gates’ mother, who was part of a branch from the Black family. A Black family artifact.

“Why would this Death Eater want it?”

Gates gave Dumbledore a glare that could melt iron. “Money, what else? Now we know why he attacked me rather than Potter.”

“And why would he leave us both alive?” Harry countered. “He could’ve stolen it, then killed us.”

“He’s a thief is what he is,” Gates snarled. “A filthy, despicably thief.”

“A thief that has gone out of his way not to kill either of you, when he clearly had the chance,” said Dumbledore slowly, attracting the stares of both Gates and Harry. “Twice in your case, Harry. Remember when your wand was jinxed?”

Harry nodded.

Indeed, you would be senile if you did not, Snape said sardonically.

“Why, when he could so easily use a Killing Curse upon you, did he instead go to the trouble of sorting through the chest at the foot of your bed and perform an extraordinarily complicated jinx in the dead of night?”

Harry had no answer, and, from his silence, neither did Gates. Indeed, the Hit Wizard appeared even troubled.

“And now once again you have been spared,” said Dumbledore.

“Perhaps he has honor after all,” said Gates, not sounding at all like he believed his own words. “Perhaps he believed himself too good to murder a wizard in their sleep.”

“One does not become a Death Eater by not taking every advantage possible,” Dumbledore said.

For a moment no one spoke, and Gates slowly began gathering the scattered trinkets on the bedside. One by one, he picked each one up and carefully placed them into the chest. Then, with a sudden burst of anger, he snatched a handful, raised it into the air, and smashed them into the ground. They shattered into a thousand glittering bits of dust, sparkling like glass sand across the linoleum floor. Gates stood over the shards, baring his teeth like a predator over fallen prey.

“I’LL KILL THAT DEATH EATER!” Gates roared, his face reddening with rage. “I SWEAR THAT I WILL! I SWEAR IT ON MY HONOR AND ON MY FAMILY’S HONOR!”

**

“Wingardium Leviosa!” Harry shouted, and the cushion before him raised into the air, hovering a few feet away from the tip of his wand. It shivered a little, probably from Harry’s own nervousness, but otherwise remained stable. Now came the more difficult part. “Waddiwasi!”

The cushion was flung across the room, smacking against the far wall and falling to the ground. It had not the speed that Gates managed to achieve, but he was working on that. So far, Harry could easily match the Hit Wizard in distance.

“But,” Gates would always say, talking to Harry as though trying to explain the concept of the wheel to a monkey. “Distance is irrelevant. What use is it to have the object be flung so far without causing any damage? Speed is key.”

This time, however, Gates did not go into a long speech regarding Harry’s weakness. Instead, he remained seated in the corner of the Room of Requirement, drinking a glass of Red Haze, watching his student carefully. Snape, whose presence was not even acknowledged, sat in the opposite corner.

“Again,” was the only word Gates spoke.

Harry repeated the spell, with the same result.

At last Gates put his now-empty goblet onto a nearby French stand and went over beside Harry, taking his own wand into his hand. “You realize, of course, the implications of this duel you have with Draco Malfoy,” Gates said.

“Implications?”

Gates sighed deeply turned away, folding his arms behind his back. “You understand how your godfather has damned me to ensuring that you come to no harm. You understand, therefore, that this duel can very well cause you harm. Death, in fact, if you are not careful.”

“Dumbledore-”

“Dumbledore could not possibly respond quickly enough to anything that occurs within that dome,” Gates said, sharply cutting him off. “You believe he can stop a Killing Curse, should the Malfoy decide to use it?” He turned to face Harry. “Are you naïve enough to believe that the Malfoy child would not dare to use it?”

Harry did not answer. He himself had seen Malfoy come dangerously close to using an Unforgivable. Twice.

Gates nodded. “This leaves me in a difficult position. On one hand, your godfather demands that you learn how to defend yourself, which will require a live duel, and on the other he demands that you come to no harm. So what am I to do, especially when harm and learning tend to come together?”

Harry did not answer, and from Gates’ expression, he understood that he was not supposed to.

“You must be trained to an extent where I can comfortably believe that you are capable enough to duel Malfoy safely,” continued the Hit Wizard. “While your mother’s protection saved you from the Dark Lord, I assure you that no such safety net will exist here. Your scar, which, I should say, has become something of a sacred cow in the modern wizarding world, will not deflect the Killing Curse. Only instinct and wits can keep you alive. You must not push young Malfoy over the edge. He will be a true killer. He already is. I can sense it.”

“He’s a Death Eater,” Harry said flatly. “I know that much.”

“No, he’s not,” Gates said. “Not yet. Not officially. No, there is only one Death Eater in this castle,” he said darkly. Then, with a furtive glance to the side, he added, “No, that’s wrong. There are two.”

Snape, who had remained silent for the entirety of the lesson, suddenly said, “And just what separates you from a Death Eater, Alex? A mark on your arm? I’ve seen Death Eaters who couldn’t possibly live up to your deeds.”

Gates jerked towards Snape, his eyes flashed. “You should tread more carefully, Severus. I know a Death Eater when I see one, and, while years may pass before full circle comes, I make sure I never let a Death Eater walk away. I have a long memory, and a longer arm.”

A small, wicked grin played across Snape’s lips. “Yes, I can imagine. I daresay you are taking your time with the one that is terrorizing Hogwarts.”

The Potions master had evidently struck a sore spot, as Gates’ expression turned choleric. “That Death Eater will eventually make a mistake and I’ll be there and I’ll be the one to finish him.”

“And what makes you so confident of yourself?”

“Sixteen years of experience and never suffering a single defeat!”

Snape leaned forward, and if he was being malicious before, now he was being positively cruel. “You’ve lost on your own territory, haven’t you? On Gates Manor in your youth.”

Harry expected a burst of outrage, a torrent of fury that would dwarf anything he had seen so far. Instead, in an abrupt manner, Gates turned away from Snape as if the sight of the Potions master burned his eyes, and then said distantly to Harry, “We will resume tomorrow.”

As Harry turned to leave, Snape said, “Potter, stay behind for a moment.” Then to Gates he added, “You won’t mind, I trust.”

Gates stared coolly at the Potions master for a moment, then, without any clear response he went through the door, shutting it behind him. Snape and Harry were alone.

“What is it?” Harry asked cautiously.

“You don’t know, Potter?” Snape said casually. “Surely something must have leaked into your mind over the course of this year.”

Harry did not reply. After Snape was through with his insults, he might actually yield some useful information.

Snape’s tone turned serious, and he began twirling his wand in his fingers in a gesture that Harry did not quite recognize. He carefully avoided meeting Harry’s eyes. “Do you feel that you can defeat Alex in a duel?”

Harry simply stared at the Potions master blankly. It was a question he had never considered before. “Errr…”

Harry had been expecting Snape to snort disdainfully, or perhaps make a sarcastic remark, but none came. Instead, the Potions master’s expression became all the more grave.

“You don’t understand Alex’s nature yet,” Snape said. “That much is apparent. He’s been planning for the two of you to duel. He’s been planning for a long time.”

“What?” It was the only response Harry could formulate.

“He’s been sizing you up in your duels and during your training sessions,” continued Snape. “He’s been evaluating your strengths and weaknesses. He’s learning all about you, and you, it seems, have not been doing the same.”

“But he can’t. He’s supposed to be-”

Snape cut him off. “Forget that. Forget your godfather’s petty favors. You don’t understand what Alex is. He is the ultimate monster. When he makes a decision, he fulfills it. He has no concern for his own welfare. If he suffers for it then so be it. He’s a man who wants to die, and shower himself in as much honor as possible before he does. And the damned necklace - that is the force that drives him.”

“And what am I going to be able to do about it?” Harry demanded. “None of you have. You’ve been letting him wander around at whim.”

“You feel it’s my decision?” Snape burst out angrily. “If it was up to me, Alex would be categorized right along with the Dark Lord in threats to the ministry.” He took a deep breath, then relaxed slightly. “Dumbledore’s ability to make a sound choice in this matter has been clouded by another…matter. The fact remains that it is inevitable that you will encounter Alex between now and the end of the year.”

“I did nothing to him,” argued Harry. “I’ve done nothing!”

“You’re missing the point!” Snape said. “Alex hates you because of the honor he thinks you stole from him, and the necklace has only served to amplify this emotion. Being assigned to act as your guardian was the last straw. In you, I suppose, he sees-” He stopped suddenly, as though realizing what he was about to say. “Nevermind.”

“What can I do about him? There must be some way I can avoid this.”

“No, the headmaster believes Alex to be firmly reigned and in control. For the most part, I concede, this is true, but you must factor in the devil that lurks in every mind.” Snape stood up from his chair and walked across the room, as if he was beginning to reveal something of incredible import. “I’ve studied Occlumency for many years, Potter, and one of the facts you learn about every human mind is that there is a shadow. Even in Dumbledore’s. The best of us can suppress the demon and prevent it from ruling our actions. But no one can do it completely. This shadow- this monster will rise up at inopportune moments, eclipsing rationality and morality.”

“I’ve never seen it happen to Professor Dumbledore.”

Snape let out a dry, mirthless laugh. “I have.” He paused. “If there is one weakness in Albus, it’s that he is too trusting. He has too much faith in people.”

Fortunately, said Pseudo-Snape. We have people such as I who are not.

“When the Death Eater stole from him,” continued Snape. “it made a personal enemy of Alex. And Alex never takes his enemies lightly. He will be duly stressed, and therefore more likely to succumb to his demon.”

“I think his demon is always controlling him,” Harry said wryly.

“Anyone can become worse than they already are,” said Snape. He sighed. There was a long silence.

“Why are you doing this?” Harry asked suddenly.

Snape’s shoulders visibly tensed. “Excuse me?”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Harry asked. “You didn’t seem to have any problem overturning Hermione’s victory for Malfoy. And you aren’t even a Death Eater.”

“If I didn’t overturn Miss Granger’s victory,” said Snape. “There would’ve been revenge. While Draco lost the duel, the pure bloods would consider it a personal insult. They would harbor a grudge. Losing a trivial duel is a small price to pay for safety. Albus understood that, but few of the professors did, and none of the students.”

“Shouldn’t you have said something to her then?” Harry asked indignantly.

This caused Snape to pause. “No.”

“So you’re going to sabotage me as well?”

“I scarcely believe it would be necessary in your unique case,” countered Snape. There was a new edge to his voice. “Besides, I highly doubt my colleagues will allow it for a second time.”

“So then why are you-”

“Because it is in the best interests of everyone involved,” answered Snape impatiently. “Though someone as shortsighted as yourself might not see all the ends. And you will refer to me as sir.”

“Are you sure about all, sir?” Harry asked, beginning to feel a tinge of anger. “You sure you aren’t just telling me so you can, through me, get your revenge on Gates? What are you playing at?”

“Leave it to a Potter to make blind and blunt accusations towards his benefactor,” said Snape scathingly. “That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard-”

“Or maybe you’re just trying to ease your own conscience,” Harry said. “Remus said how you were trying to pay back something you owed. Could you tell me what that was all about, sir?”

Snape’s face went white. “That werewolf should keep his snout out of other people’s business. If my answers do not satisfy you, then go to him! Go to the last remnants of that quartet!”

Harry flashed him a furious glare and then left, slamming the door behind him. Gates stared at him curiously, but he did not respond. The Hit Wizard did not need to know what had just occurred in the Room of Requirement.

**

And so, before Harry even knew it, his duel with Draco had arrived, and he already found himself stepping up onto the smooth platform to face his longtime adversary.

“May your wand betray you,” recited Malfoy, smirking.

“And may yours as well,” answered Harry.

They were evenly matched, Harry knew. The bitter feud that they had shared over the years had now elevated to a climax, and the results would determine which of them could be called a true winner.

Dumbledore's voice boomed out, though it was hardly necessary. Everyone was already sitting in silent expectation, and the headmaster could probably have made himself heard with a whisper.

"Let the dueling commence!"

Harry and Draco began circling each other, their eyes narrowed, feet apart, wands ready. It was at that moment when Harry realized that he was now staring at a real bastard. A Death Eater in every way except in name. His enmity towards Malfoy was always there, but he never really acknowledged the full extent of it. They were mortal enemies and probably always would be.

His sleek black robes barely moved as he walked and seemed to stretch over his shoes, preventing Harry from seeing the Slytherin’s leg movements. That, of course, was the point of the entire setup.

And this, Potter, said Snape wryly. This is nothing more than a ritual for young Malfoy to become a Death Eater. He's proving his worth with this duel. No more play time.

"This is it," Harry said under his breath. He irresistibly glanced towards Hermione, who was sitting at the edge of her seat, her body rigid and tense.

“What is it Potter?” mocked Draco, grinning. “Missing your girlfriend already? Well, I’ve got news for you. I’m going to do the same thing to you as I did to her.”

“What?” Harry asked with feigned curiosity. “Lose the fight?”

“No,” snarled Malfoy, his cheeks flushing. “Win the duel. The fight doesn't even matter. Stupefy!”

Harry ducked as a beam of red light streaked over his head. "Infligo!" he said as soon as he recovered.

Draco twirled his wand, summoning a massive opaque shield with a striking resemblance to the one Dumbledore had used in the Department of Mysteries. When the cone of light emanating from Harry's wand smashed into the shield, it seemed to fade away, as though being drained.

Harry stared at the Slytherin, feeling shocked. Malfoy had just performed some very advanced magic.

"Everbero!" Malfoy said gleefully.

An invisible fist connected with the side of Harry's face, and his glasses were knocked askew. Inwardly cursing himself for losing concentration, he said, "Incarc-"

But Malfoy pressed his advantage, shouting, "Everbero!" again before Harry could finish his incantation.

Harry stumbled backwards, the blow landing hard in his stomach. "Incarcerous!" he countered.

The ropes flung from his wand like a nest of snakes, soaring through the air, stretching out to grasp and entangle their target.

"Finite!" said Malfoy, and the ropes went limp and fell far behind him, sprawling out across the dome floor. "Sorry, Potter. Nice try though." He smirked.

Harry fumed under the taunt, hardly listening to Pseudo-Snape. There's that arrogance again. The confidence that renders him weak.

Then, a plan formulated within Harry's mind. All he needed to do was distract Malfoy with words, and the Slytherin would make his own fatal mistakes.

"You seem pretty sure of yourself considering you lost your last fight against Hermione," Harry said, wearing a taunting grin.

Malfoy's smirk vanished. "You watch your mouth, Potter. Better show some respect now before you end up like your-"

"Accio Rope!" Harry shouted, pointing his wand at the sprawl of bristling cord that lay directly behind Malfoy.

The rope, urged on by the strength in Harry's voice, sprung to life and soared home. Malfoy was hardly aware of what had occurred when the rope, encountering an obstruction, whipped around both sides of his body. Harry jerked his wand and the ropes instantly became still, the Accio attraction now terminated.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Harry said.

The Slytherin, struggling with his binds, let out a cry of surprise as the ropes levitated into the air, and himself with them. Malfoy's feet kicked uselessly and his face became contorted with pure rage.

Harry's wand began vibrating from the strain imposed on it from the sheer concentration required for performing such a feat. Raising an inanimate object was one thing, but raising an inanimate object and a living wizard along with it was entirely another. Though the shimmering blue dome blocked out nearly all the sound, Harry could sense the audience's anticipation.

Suddenly, Malfoy tore a hand free, and he began clawing at the rope. Harry's hold began to waver, and, at once, he halted the incantation, and Draco fell gracelessly to the ground, landing heavily on his back.

"Stupefy!" shouted Harry, but his wand only emitted a showed of red sparks. It felt warm, almost hot.

You're saturating your wand, Pseudo-Snape warned.

Malfoy grinned, a bit of blood showing between his teeth. "Caries!"

A black cloud poured out from Malfoy's wand like a dark liquid before picking up and swarming into the air. A heavy, oppressive buzz filled the air, reminiscent of a drill, and a peculiar scent stung at Harry’s nostrils. The scent of disease and rot. As he watched the cloud rise above him, casting a black shadow on the dome floor, Harry realized what he was staring at. It was the same dense mass of flies that he had seen Malfoy use on Neville.

“Father calls it Pestilence,” Malfoy said, the flies still surging through his wand to increase the ever-growing cloud above them. “The best part about it is that I don’t even have to be conscious for them to do my work. Be careful, Potter, you wouldn’t to Stupefy me right now. Those flies, when uncontrolled, can do some very horrible and wonderful things.”

Harry did not need to think about whether Malfoy was bluffing. He had already heard of the Curse of the Flies being used in ancient Egypt, and knew of the havoc that such a swarm could wreck upon its surroundings when loosed.

Still, that left him with very few options. As Harry apprehensively watched the cloud of flies, Malfoy stood away, arms crossed, smirking, taking his time. He was apparently enjoying his show of power.

He decided to try the direct approach first. “Stupefy!” The red streak burst through the mass of flies, burning a few of the insects into cinders, but leaving the majority unscathed.

“If you keep that up, Potter,” drawled Malfoy. “You might just be able to kill them all in a few years. Unfortunately, I don’t have that kind of time.” With an arrogant, superior air, he drew up his wand and thrust it downward.

The buzzing from the thousands of flies crested, and all together they fell upon Harry, surging like one, massive wave of blackness.

Harry darted to the side, his mind racing. "Infligo!" he bellowed.

A cannon boom and a cone of white light shot from his wand, soaring up into the air and slamming against the approaching black cloud. For a moment it seemed to work. Where the cone went, the flies were thrown backwards, disrupting the swarm's structure and scattering the individual insects. To Harry's dismay, the flies quickly recovered, and none were fatally harmed by the spell.

It's effectiveness is reduced against so many targets, obviously, said Pseudo-Snape.

Vaguely, Harry heard Malfoy laughing. The Slytherin was now circling the dome casually, waving his arms in the air as though he was the declared champion.

With sudden inspiration, Harry dashed towards Malfoy, his wand carefully pointed to the side. He would not need it. Draco's eyes went wide, and, thinking that his opponent was about to tackle him, he tried to draw his wand. He was too late. Harry had already grabbed his shoulders and whirled him around to face the swarm of flies.

Malfoy writhed under Harry's hands, but that only made the Gryffindor hold on tighter. Harry was very conscious of Malfoy's wand, as he knew that if it was separated from its owner, the flies would go berserk. Harry could only hope that, to save himself, Malfoy would cancel the curse. He did not.

“Get off of me,” snarled Malfoy, unsuccessfully trying to pry off Harry’s hands.

The black cloud, adjusting itself to Harry’s new position, reared up like an animal and charged. Malfoy shielded his eyes with his arms.

The force of the flies struck them both at once, sending them flying towards the dome wall. They smashed into the wall together then fell to the ground, groaning. Harry fumbled for his glasses which he had lost in midair, and was relieved to find them in one piece nearby. When the lenses sharpened his blurry vision, the first thing he saw was Malfoy - wand still in hand - climbing to his feet. The cloud hovered a few meters away, regrouping.

“Fighting like a muggle, huh?” Malfoy said, his teeth bared. He stepped away cautiously. “You’ll pay for that.”

Harry leapt to his feet, seeing that Malfoy was now beyond his reach. The Slytherin would not make the same mistake twice. To beat Malfoy he would need to stop the flies, and Harry had no idea how to accomplish the latter. Gates had only taught him to duel individual adversaries, not an amorphous, ravenous mass of individual insects.

With growing alarm, Harry noticed that the cloud was now ready to charge him once more. Feeling the handle of his wand, he realized that it had cooled enough for use. But what good would that do him?

“I wanted the flies to finish this for me,” said Malfoy. “But this is taking too long, Potter. Stupefy!”

Harry dodged the flash of red light, a sensation of heat running over his right shoulder. He heard a slight pop as the spell struck the dome’s wall.

“Stupefy!” Malfoy said again. Impatiently. Angrily.

“Protego!”

The red light ricocheted off of Harry’s Shielding Charm, streaking straight back to Malfoy, who had to duck to avoid his own spell.

“I’ll have you burning before I’m through!” Malfoy spat with a reddening face.

Burning! A brilliantly simple plan formulated itself in Harry’s mind, and his heart sped up as he glanced at the black cloud. It was moving. He aimed his wand at it, hoping to Merlin that Malfoy had to pause after firing two successive Stunning Spells.

“Ignis!” Harry shouted, and liquid fire sprayed out from his wand, bathing the black cloud with inferno.

The black, monstrous creature that had composed itself completely of flies dissolved like a pearl in vinegar under Harry’s continuous stream of fire. They broke apart, burst into flame, and buzzed in crazy circles and then died under the incredible heat. The stench of hundreds of insects simultaneously burning filled the air, the resulting smoke rising and then settling at the zenith of the dome, apparently unable to cross the blue barrier. It hung like a storm cloud, dimming the two larges forms and the thousands of smaller ones below it.

Harry waved his wand wildly through the air, spraying randomly into the air, catching the flies that had so far escaped from the flames. Many were struck and subsequently fell to the ground, instantly turning into a bit of ash. Harry jerked his wand to the side and the stream stopped, leaving little lines of fire on the floor.

"What!" Malfoy bellowed, every inch of him shaking with anger. The crisscrossing lines of fire were reflected in his coal black eyes. "Stupefy!"

The red flash of light was more like a rocket that exploded on the dome wall just behind Harry's head, singing a few hairs. The wall had not been able to absorb all the power, apparently.

Now we know what young Malfoy's governing emotion is, said Pseudo-Snape. Rage. Fury.

Malfoy was not deterred. He advanced upon Harry menacingly, casting curses with every step forward. "Everbero! Petrifectus Totalus! Stupefy!"

Harry dodged each of them in turn, but, with Malfoy's increasingly close proximity, this was becoming more difficult. He was dodging the curses so quickly that it seemed like he was doing some sort of strange dance.

"Stupefy!" Malfoy shouted. "Damn you! Why don't you just lose! Everbero!"

The last curse struck Harry in the leg, making him lose his balance and fall to the ground. His jaw smacked off the hardwood floor first, and he tasted something bitter.

"You dare!" Malfoy continued, now almost raving. His eyes glowed with excitement. "You never stood a chance."

Harry knew that this was his one chance - his only chance - to win the duel. Malfoy was more furious than ever, and was preparing to deliver a final curse. The Slytherin raised his wand up high.

"Waddiwasi!" Harry bellowed, shouting the first thing that came to his mind.

Malfoy's wand shot out from his hand and flew high into the air, leaping into a great curving arc before landing on the other side of the platform. In his moment of absolute horror, Draco froze, his eyes turning into saucers.

"Everbero!" Harry bellowed.

The curse slammed into Malfoy's chest and knocked him to the ground. Harry leapt to his feet with a renewed vigor, his heart beating up into his throat.

Malfoy, the full import of his situation hitting him, desperately scrambled for his wand.

"Accio wand!" Harry shouted, and Malfoy's wand flew through the air and into his outstretched hand. He grasped it tightly, and then turned it towards its owner.

The liquid dome abruptly fell down around them, and Dumbledore's booming voice over the roaring crowd announced, "And the winner apparent is Harry Potter!"

The entire Gryffindor section was on their feet, giving him a standing ovation. Hermione and Ron were especially thrilled, jumping up and down in front of their seats. From over at the judge's table, Professor McGonagall looked positively delighted, while Snape's face gave the impression that he had swallowed something particularly sour.

It was just then that Harry realized that Malfoy had gotten to his feet. His blonde hair was disheveled and mussed, and his face was a dark, blood-red.

"This isn't over," Malfoy snarled. The Great Hall suddenly went silent. "The duel ends when I say it ends." He clenched his fists and with a furious cry he charged at Harry, his teeth bared and eyes wide and wild.

With an instantaneous reflex, he turned both wands towards Malfoy, almost as a threat. When the Slytherin did not stop, he shouted, "Infligo!"

The cones of light from the wands struck Malfoy at the same time directly in the chest, throwing him into a back flip where he crash-landed on his face. Harry dropped Draco's wand, and withdrew his own. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gates carefully replace his wand into his robe.

The hall once again erupted into applause, the only ones who were not clapping being the Slytherins. Madam Pomfrey bustled up onto the platform and attempted to attend to Harry and Malfoy's various bruises and cuts, but neither of them would have it. Malfoy, still positively fuming, got to his feet and shook her off, glaring directly at Harry. Clicking her tongue, the nurse gave them both a few healing spells before retreating.

"I'm going to win anyway, Potter," said Malfoy, a confident smirk returning to his face. "You just wait."

Harry barely heard him, as he was instead was focused on Hermione, whose eyes were shining. For a precious few seconds, he felt at the top of the world.

"The judges, if you would please score the winner apparent," Dumbledore said, his gaze falling onto the four heads of house.

Professor McGonagall, with a venomous glance towards Snape, gave Harry a ten and Malfoy a zero. Flitwick and Sprout's scores were along the same lines, ensuring that there was a big enough point gap that Snape could not possibly overturn the results. When it came for the Potions master's time to vote, Harry felt inexplicably curious. He should have already been celebrating, as Snape's vote scarcely mattered, but for some reason the coming score was the most important of the four to him.

Snape's quill was poised over his scorecard, quivering with indecision. At last he put it to the parchment and scrawled the two numbers that reflected his judgment. He was about to raise it when Professor Whams burst into the hall, his face red from exertion.

Dumbledore, concern wrinkling his face, stepped down from his stand and met the seemingly hysterical professor halfway. Upon seeing this exchange, Gates left the platform and joined them, and almost at once his eyes went wide and he bellowed, "THERE'S A GRENDEL AT HOGWARTS?"

A Grendel. Harry remembered the vicious creature from the Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson in the beginning of the year. A chill crept up his spine. Hermione and Ron - they were vulnerable!

For a moment it seemed like the words had absolutely no affect. Every remained - apparently petrified - in their seats. Then, all at once, an uproar ensued. The First and Second years shrieked and leapt from their seats, preparing to flee.

Dumbledore tried to restore calm, raising his voice over the din. "Please remain in your seats-"

Any last semblance of order was completely shattered when a heavy, ominous thumping emanated from the massive oak door on the far side of the hall. Footsteps. Gates drew his wand and slowly approached it.

Most of the seventh years jumped to their feet, and the first years were already at the doors. Someone screamed, "RUN!" and anarchy ensued. Students pushed and knocked each other out of the way as the primal instinct for survival overrode reason. Several professors, who had tried to block the tide of students, were nearly run over from the mass of people.

Harry's eyes searched the crowd for Ron and Hermione, and he just barely managed to see a flash of red and brown hair among the jostling students. He jumped off the platform and began to force his way through, sometimes thrusting his hand forward and thrusting himself into the small parting.

"Hermione!" he called out. "Ron!"

No answer.

"Follow your professors to the nearby exits and back to your respective dormitories," said Dumbledore, his voice completely devoid of any sense of panic. It seemed scarcely possible that he could retain such an aura of command over the surrounding chaos.

Perhaps he has finally resigned himself to death, said Pseudo-Snape.

Aurors jumped intro action, half of them trying to organize the students and file them safely out of the hall, while the other half joined Gates in the advance towards the main door. They were flanked on both sides of the Hit Wizard, their wands drawn. Mr. Alverton shouted out orders to his subordinates from the stand that Dumbledore had previously occupied, but few, if any, of the Aurors seemed to hear.

Harry called out Hermione's name again, but his voice was lost among the cries and shrieks of his peers. He thought he saw some bushy hair a few meters away, but when he tried to approach it, he was almost pushed over. It was like he was struggling against the current of a river.

The sound of heavy, thundering footfalls grew ever louder, and the walls began to tremble. The portraits had long since fled, and their abandoned frames remained sealed to the wall. Dumbledore himself joined the group that stood resolutely before the door.

At last the footsteps stopped, and for a moment, it was as if the monster had disappeared, and a wildly illogical part of Harry's brain claimed that it had disapparated. But, before his hopes had even taken root, there was a thunderous bash of fist against wall, and the bronze emblem worked into the door burst off. There was another crash and another. The door was beginning to buckle from the sheer damage inflicted upon it, and an unearthly roar erupted from a gaping hole. Many students bent down and covered the ears, and even the stoutest of Aurors hesitated at the sound. It was the cry of the Grendel.

"GET THE STUDENTS OUT OF HERE!" shouted someone.

The Grendel's fist met the door again and one of the decorative, reinforcing beams snapped, and a black claw with long, webbed fingers broke through, groping at the air. One of the Aurors shouted a curse but the hand did not even seem to notice. It gripped the edge of the hole and pulled, prying the ancient beams apart as though they were toothpicks. There was the fleeting image of a grotesque face with yellow, sunken eyes before the tearing resumed.

"My God," a student next to Harry gasped. "Azazel! Devil!"

If the rush was inconvenient a moment ago, now it was positively dangerous. People climbed over each other, stepped on each other backs, and fought for an exit. There was little either the teachers or the Aurors could do except watch.

Suddenly, Harry felt a hand grasp his wrist and he was yanked sideways. He emerged from the crowd and found himself standing face-to-face with Ron.

"You're likely to get killed in there," Ron said. "But then again..." He looked warily at the door. The graven images and artwork carved into it were distorted and warped from the successive pounding.

An instant later Harry felt a pair of hands clutch his arm and he turned to see Hermione, her face as white as a sheet, standing next to him.

"We were looking all over for you," Hermione said. "When you-"

"Maybe we lost each other," replied Harry.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Very funny."

"Come on mate," Ron said urgently. "We've got to get out of here."

Harry glanced at the lone doorway which over a thousand students were trying to squeeze into, then at the massive, main door that was now being demolished by the monster on the other side. If they tried to join the crowd, they would likely get crushed, while if they stayed-

"I don't think this is going to work," Harry said.

"Well, we can't just stay here!"

"Look," Hermione said, pulling on Harry's arm. "Let's find a professor. They'll know what we can do."

Running around the perimeter, they managed to find Professor McGonagall vainly trying to restore calm. When they came up to her, a look of relief crossed her features.

Harry did not even have to ask her a question. "Mr. Potter, I want you to take Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger to the staff tables. Professor Flitwick is reinforcing that area rather than here. This-" she gestured exasperatedly towards the door. "-is indefensible. Go on, and try to get as many of your peers to go along too."

Just as she finished speaking, there was a deafening crash as the remnants of the massive oak door fell to the ground, revealing a monster with a small torso and grappling arms that ended with claws that looked like razors. Its lower jaw swung back and forth as it stepped over the broken threshold, and it leered down at the small gathering of wizards before it like a God at a sacrifice.

"Tectum!" Gates shouted.

The light from his wand struck a point directly over the Grendel's head, and a thick liquid sprayed out from it in all directions, coming down like rain in a circle around its feet. Soon, it was encased in a blue dome, its yellow eyes staring curiously at the new barrier. Gates grinned, looking exceptionally pleased with himself.

"No reason to fear this beast," he said with a superior air. "Not when a wizard from the family Gates is confronting it."

Tentatively, the creature extending a claw and grazed the dome's wall, and almost at once it let out a shriek of pain. The sound was so high that it made Harry's ear drums throb. With a burst of anger, it lashed out at the wall by striking it, and, to the collective shock of the Aurors, professors, and the students who were watching, its fist broke through the gel-like wall. Gates grin faded a little, and he pointed his wand at the dome, as to reinforce it.

For a moment the Grendel stared uncomprehendingly at its own hand from across the barrier, but then it withdrew and thrust its whole body through. This, evidently, was too much. The dome's exterior glowed blindingly bright for a fraction of a second, and then collapsed into thin air.

"GET BACK!" Gates commanded, and he leapt to avoid the Grendel's swiping claw.

One Auror, however, was not quick enough. With a grunt he was scooped up in the Grendel's left hand, and hung in the air like a ragdoll. Squirming, he dropped his wand, and let out a scream as the other claw came around and slashed at his body. The Grendel flipped the body in the air and caught it with its waiting jaws, and then chewed greedily upon its prey. Hermione buried her face in the crook of Harry's arm.

When the Grendel was through, it snarled and turned towards the mass of students. It's eyes gleamed, and it bared its teeth in a primeval show of aggression. A bit of the Auror's leg was still hanging from between its teeth.

"Ron," Harry said quickly. He gently untangled himself from Hermione. "You've got to take Hermione over to Professor Flitwick. I need to help Professor McGonagall get everyone away from there."

"Now wait a minute," protested Ron.

"Do it!" argued Harry, and without another word he dashed off, vaguely hearing Hermione calling for him to come back. But he could not. Not with all the entirety of the school threatened by a savage monster.

Like the knights of old, eh Potter? said Pseudo-Snape sarcastically.

"You three," said Harry sharply, grabbing a few first years by their shoulders. The only way for them to listen would be to individually confront each and every one of the students. The mob mentality prevented the group from listening to a single authority. "Go to Flitwick, there's no way you're going to be able to get through this way."

"But-"

"Just go!"

Gates stood between the Grendel and the students, his massive frame the being the only barrier. His wand was gripped tightly in his right hand, and his hawkish features stood all the more prominently as he glared up at his adversary.

The Grendel faltered, seemingly unnerved by this display of courage, and then drew itself up with a terrifying snarl. It stomped towards Gates, its long arms almost dragging on the ground, its footfalls shaking the very foundations of the castle.

Gates' wand flashed left and then right as he performed a spell within a fraction of a second. An assortment of axes and swords that hung on the stone walls sprung to life, and instantly soared to their new master, obediently stopping in front of the Hit Wizard's body. The Hit Wizard grinned, his teeth looking like fangs in his mouth.

Gates flicked his wand again and the weapons spread apart into rows and columns, all pointing directly at the Grendel, swaying in their new positions like hummingbirds. Before the Grendel could make the first move, Gates slashed his wand and the axes and swords dived down at the monster , slicing at their target, cutting at the thick skin, making it ooze purple blood. The Hit Wizard controlled the weapons masterfully, wielding them as if he was a puppeteer, making the monster roar with frustration.

The Grendel swatted at the swords as if they were flies, knocking several out of the air, sending them to the ground as useless slivers of metal. If anything, the attack only seemed to make the Grendel angrier.

Dumbledore, who was slowly coming up from behind, bellowed, "Incarcerous!"

The Grendel, caught unawares by the spell, was quickly bound by the thick cords. It writhed and struggled, snarling and snapping his jaws ferociously, stumbling drunkenly all the while.

"I don't need your help, old man," shouted Gates angrily. "Go help the children."

Dumbledore's hardening face suggested that the headmaster was irritated, but instead he said, "As you wish, Alex. I thank you for leaving the more honorable duty to me."

Gates brought his wand up, and then roared, "Engorgio!" The weapons in the air swelled to five times their original size.

The larger swords and axes were heavier and more clumsy, often smacking the Grendel on the blunt end, or even missing completely. Regardless, the flurry of objects the relative size of baseball bats made the Grendel retreat somewhat. Its yellow eyes were half-hidden, and it made desperate swipes at the Hit Wizard, beginning to learn that the weapons were merely an extension of Gates' power.

Gates, now feeling that he had the situation fully under his control, moved slowly to the left, forcing the Grendel to retreat to the right. The swords in the air were little more than silver flashes of light, the blades diving at the monster at every opening. The Grendel was becoming overwhelmed, and the pools of blood that were now scattered across the stone floor made the Great Hall look like it was partially encroached upon by a swamp.

Harry, now relaxing slightly upon seeing Gates forcing the Grendel away, became confused. In Whams' class, he learned that the Grendel was nearly impossible to defeat. the Hit Wizard was strong, granted, but was he strong enough to overcome such a foe? Harry sensed that something was wrong.

Suddenly, Harry heard a shriek of fear. For a moment he could not locate its source, but finally he spied a form struggling underneath a wooden hunk of debris on the far side of the Great Hall. With growing alarm, Harry saw that the person was directly in the shadow of the Grendel. If he was not freed, he would in all likelihood be crushed beneath the Grendel's callous foot.

Squinting, Harry saw Gates' eyes flash in the direction of the form, and a horrible realization came over him. The Hit Wizard knew that the person was trapped. He was leading the Grendel there intentionally.

But who-

Harry saw a blur of blonde hair and a lone arm thrusting up into the air. It was Malfoy.

Alex never forgets, said Pseudo-Snape. He warned Draco, didn't he?

Without thinking, Harry dashed across the Great Hall, Hermione's words burning with a painful intensity in his mind.

A saving-people thing.

Harry leapt onto the platform and ran to the other side, heedless to the warnings from the people he left behind. He was instead focused on the Grendel's every movement, every twist of thick muscle, every twitch of an arm. The monster's back was toward him, and Malfoy's fallen form was less than ten meters away. Draco was clawing at the wood - which, apparently, was once a part of the door the Grendel burst through - that had pinned his leg to the floor.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING YOU FOOL!" shouted Gates from the other side of the Grendel. "GET OUT OF HERE POTTER!"

Malfoy's head whipped around and his eyes went wide. "HELP!" he screamed. His wand laid by the Grendel's feet, completely out of reach.

Snarling and cursing, Gates moved to the right, trying to lead the Grendel away, but he was beginning to lose control over the beast. Flecks of saliva foamed at the corners of the Grendel's mouth, and it made a few brave swiped before retreating a few meters.

"Hold on," Harry said. He drew his wand and said, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The great hunk rose off the floor a few inches, which was just enough for Malfoy to slide his leg out from under its weight. As soon as Draco was clear, he released it, and it fell heavily to the ground.

Draco tried to stand up, but quickly fell down with a groan. His expensively tailored robes were rumpled and smudged, and his face was the picture of terror. Along the right hand side, he noticed, was blood. Probably from his leg.

"Come on, grab my shoulder," Harry muttered. If anyone else had been watching, they would have gaped with disbelief. Harry would never have lifted a finger to help Malfoy under any other circumstances. At Malfoy's shocked face he added, "Grab it!"

Malfoy threw his arm around Harry's neck and, stumbling, they climbed onto the platform. Limping, they managed to get across, and they nearly fell as they tried to step down from it.

A feral roared threatened to split their ears.

Harry glanced back to see the Grendel storming towards them, its arms outstretched, its jaws opened wide to reveal rows of sharp teeth. The stench of rotting flesh invaded Harry's nostrils, and he pressed on, practically dragging Malfoy along with him, hoping that they would be able to escape.

Draco tripped and fell, almost landing smashing his face on the hard stone floor. Harry grabbed his forearm and yanked him to his feet. As he did so, a small mirror fell from Malfoy’s pocket and shattered on the ground. The Slytherin looked at the mirror, then to him, his face turning incredibly white. Then, understanding came to Harry in the form of an echo of another’s words.

Mirrors can be used for channeling energy…

Malfoy had cheated again, using the mirror to give himself an advantage over his opponent. That was why his spells were so strong.

Harry was about to make the accusation, but instead decided against it and threw Malfoy’s arm over his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Grendel coming ever closer, his progress barely slowed by the flurry of curses sent by a contingent of fresh Aurors.

They broke into as fast as a run as Malfoy’s leg would allow, and, gasping, they managed to keep a from falling back, but Harry doubted that they would be able to make it. Judging from the sound of the Grendel’s footsteps, and the speed that they were running at, they would never be able to cross the distance in time to enter Flitwick’s small, concentrated white dome.

To his surprise, Harry found that he was neither scared nor saddened by this fact. Perhaps it was just the Occlumency, or maybe it was bravery. Regardless, Harry did not once even think of abandoning Malfoy to the rampaging Grendel. He gripped the Slytherin even tighter around the shoulders and arm, not looking back at the gaping jaws that were surely behind them.

Harry began to feel the Grendel’s hot breath on his back, and Malfoy turned and let out a cry, stumbling and falling. Harry stopped and pulled, but to no avail. The Slytherin would not budge, and, for the first time in a while, Harry looked back.

The Grendel was staring right at them, a mixture of blood and saliva dripping from its jaws, its eyes wide and filled with a certain predatory thrill. The protruding lower jaw dropped the rest of the way, and Harry could look down into the impenetrable blackness of the monster’s throat, its maw.

Suddenly, Harry was pushed aside by an even greater force, and he looked to see Dumbledore, his legs and arms spread apart, standing over Malfoy, facing the Grendel without a trace of fear in his face.

The Grendel grinned, or seemed to grin, and lunged.

The next fraction of the second passed so quickly that Harry could barely register what had happened. Dumbledore wand glowed a bright, vibrant gold, and out of his wand shot a missile of light shaped like a spear. It plunged down the monster’s throat, lighting up the purple, throbbing passages along the way, and smashed into the side.

The Grendel’s jaws snapped into empty air as Dumbledore apparated away, and, as if just sensing that it had received its deathblow, it let out a deep, prolonged moan. Its eyes began to film over, and it began to stumble, as though it was losing control of its legs. With a resounding crash like a tree falling, it collapsed onto the stone ground, its skull crunching as it struck the dueling platform.

The massive exodus out of the Great Hall did not cease. As though expecting the Grendel to leap up again and renew its attack, the students continued to force their way through the doors. With a trouble look on his face, Dumbledore tentatively approached the fallen body of the monster and crouched near its broken head. Purple blood dribbled from its mouth, and its long, narrow tongue lolled out onto the ground. Dumbledore tapped it once, and, with a sigh, it began to disintegrate into thin air. In less than a few seconds the hulk had completely vanished.

Dumbledore straightened and turned around, his eyes showing neither elation nor dismay. He met with Professor Flitwick and Gates. “It seems that the Grendel had been conjured.”

“Conjured?” Flitwick asked, sounding incredulous. That was an unusual tone for the Ravenclaw. “No, that can’t be right. Only You-Know-Who himself could possibly even think of-”

“Maybe it was,” said Gates quietly. He sounded almost hopeful.

“That’s the only way it could have disappeared like it did,” said Dumbledore. “And a real Grendel would have killed us all. This conjured version was a weaker variant, as summoned creatures tend to be.”

“So Voldemort is here?” Harry asked. “Now?”

Dumbledore turned his startling blue eyes onto Harry. “Yes, I believe so.”

Gates drew his wand instantly. “Then let’s not waste a minute.”

“You have an obligation to Harry,” said Dumbledore. “The Death Eater is still out there, waiting.”

Gates’ glare could have melted glass. “I have an obligation to my honor.”

“We must first get the students into their dormitories,” interrupted Professor Flitwick. “They’re already beginning to fight among themselves-”

Something exploded in the hallway, and a shower of red sparks flew out from the doors. Students began running, screaming.

Dumbledore and Flitwick dashed off towards them, their wands drawn, the headmaster’s advanced age causing him to lag behind a bit. Harry was about to go join them when Gates grabbed his shoulder.

“Absolutely not,” said Gates sharply. “You must be taken away from here.”

There was a sound like a cannon booming, and the entire castle shook violently, as though an earthquake had took hold of it. More screams. Even some of the professors were beginning to look scared. Then, they looked up.

Hovering in the sky, reflected by the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, was the Dark Mark. Underneath it, written in a small script was: Alexander Vladimir Gates and all the blood traitors, mudbloods, and vermin shall be cleansed tonight. Consider this a formal challenge.

For a moment the Hit Wizard stared up at it, uncomprehending. The definition of shock was written across his face, then: “DAMN YOU!” Gates roared. This was the last straw. “BASTARD COWARD! YOU HIDE!”

Then, slowly, something dawned upon him, and he looked down at Harry with a sinister look in his eyes. “But you know, don’t you, Potter? You are connected with the Dark Lord…”

He grabbed Harry’s arm and yanked him aside, practically dragging him into a side corridor. When they entered, Gates looked up and down the empty hallway and then pinned Harry to the wall, his hawkish face looking more intimidating in the torch light.

“You there,” called an imperious, aristocratic voice. Phineas from his portrait. “Release him now or Dumbledore-”

Gates whirled, drew his wand, and blasted the portrait into a thousand pieces with a single curse. He returned his attention to Harry.

“Time to see what you know, Potter,” Gates said slowly, venomously. His eyes were lit up with a feverish light. “I am doing you a favor. Saving the Potter family’s honor. The Dark Lord is slowly taking over your mind and body. Nothing can save you. You must be sacrificed for the greater good. How much you suffer through this is your choice, not mine.”

Gates jerked forward and pressed his necklace to Harry’s neck. Tortuous screams and voices filled Harry’s mind, all pulling and struggling for attention and relevance. He saw images and faces of old twisted souls. Dolohov’s face fleetingly appeared, but it looked nothing like it had previously. His hands were covering his ears and his mouth was open in an eternal, bloodcurdling scream.

Harry’s scar seared with pain, and yet Gates did not take the necklace away. He pressed it hard, staring deeply into Harry’s eyes, digging, searching, probing.

“Where is it,” he murmured.

More clips, a thousand times worse than his worst nightmares, surged into his mind’s eye. He wanted to cry out, to release the pain, but more kept coming. With it, though, came power that filled his every limb. He felt he could lift the world with a single finger. He could kill Voldemort at whim.

And then came the contortion of memory.

Glorious memories became dark and evil. Horrible thoughts became worse. Distantly, he heard Pseudo-Snape struggling against the onslaught of emotion, but he was overwhelmed.

At last a single, prominent memory surfaced.

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have a power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...

In the inky blackness, Harry only saw a pair of red eyes.

The pain in his forehead crested, then fell, and the voices drifted and fell as Harry collapsed to the ground, shaking. Gates stepped away, his face displaying blatant shock, looking as though someone had just told him that Snockle-Locks really did exist.

“No,” he said. His voice trembled. “No, that can’t be.” He took deep, gasping breaths. His eyes grew wide and he shook his head furiously. “YOU’RE WRONG!” he exploded. “YOU’RE A RUNT! AN ANIMAL! NOTHING MORE THAN A SHAM WITH A SCAR! IT’S A LIE!”

Just then, Hermione and Ron burst through the door, stopping with drawn wands a few meters away from Harry. The next second Hermione ran over to Harry, and helped him up, but he barely noticed. It was as if Voldemort himself had touched his face. He gazed at the necklace, realizing that it had happened because of the extreme concentration of Death Eaters within the diamonds. It was basically the same as having hundreds of Dark Marks pressed against his skull at one time.

“What did you do?” Ron asked shakily, his wand trained on Gates.

The Hit Wizard, who had not quite recovered, stared at him, then at his wand. Something like confidence crossed his face, then disappeared. “You think you know how to use that?” Then, turning to Hermione, he said, “Be careful on how close you are to him. Don’t you know who he is?”

Hermione looked up at Gates, saying nothing.

“I should say that he’s been hiding something from you,” Gates said softly. “You’ve been sensing it, haven’t you? Well, I’ll tell you now.” He gently took Hermione’s shoulder, and simultaneously the necklace flashed. She was under the necklace’s art of persuasion, much like Whams’ class was when the Hit Wizard had began harassing Neville.

Gates led her away, and Harry did not have the energy to resist. He could barely stand up, and had to lean against the wall for support.

“He’s a real monster, you know,” Gates said reasonably, his arm still around her shoulder, as though he was shielding her.

“Get your arm off of her,” Ron snapped.

Gates glanced sharply at him, but his voice remained soft. He then proceeded to ignore Ron completely. “Do you know why Potter is a monster?” Gates asked rhetorically. “He has a prophecy.”

“It was destroyed-”

“It wasn’t,” Gates replied as though speaking to a two-year-old. Gently. Persuasively. “I know all about it now. Tell her about the prophecy, Potter.”

Hermione turned to Harry, a questioning look in her eyes. Harry did not dare to look up at her. He felt ashamed, wretched.

“He’s going to be a killer,” Gates said. His eyes probed deeply into hers. “The prophecy said: And so shall it be that when the newly risen gains the throne, that he too shall follow in the Dark Lord’s steps, and cover the world with his black shadow.” He paused. “Do you deny it Potter?”

Harry tried to speak to tell her that Gates was lying, but his mouth would not respond. His throat felt constricted and tight, like he had just swallowed sand.

Hermione’s eyes shined with tears. “No,” she whispered. “No, it can’t be.”

“It is,” said Gates with mock sadness. “That’s why he never spoke of it. He knows that he will become a true monstrosity.”

“What are we- what?” she said, her voice choking up. “How-”

Gates went around her back and put both of his hands on her shoulders, then lowered his face so that it was right next to hers. Harry could almost feel the aura of power exuding off of the necklace.

“Run,” Gates said quietly. The necklace glittered madly. “Run from the monster. Run from the Dark Lord’s successor.”

She backed away from Harry, seemingly shocked beyond words. At once she turned and fled, disappearing down the hall.

“Hermione!” Harry managed to sputter, reaching out and nearly falling.

“Gone,” said Gates in a self-satisfied way.

“No,” Harry coughed. “The Death Eater is in the school. He’ll-” He began to cough in long, hoarse gasps.

“Just what are you doing?” Ron snarled, beginning to lose his temper. He advanced towards Gates with a dangerous look in his eyes. “I bet you think you’re real hot shit, don’t you Gates? Walking around here like you’re the devil incarnate. Now just what do you think you are doing?”

Harry looked at his redheaded friend, fear beginning to clutch at him. The battle with the Grendel had already strained Ron’s emotions to the breaking point, and this would likely toss him over the edge. He was very vulnerable to the hibernating personality in his mind.

“That’s a question better directed at Potter,” said Gates smoothly. The necklace flashed and Ron froze. “After all, he’s the one that’s been with Granger behind your back.”

Ron clearly had not expected to hear that. “What?” he sputtered.

“I see them all the time, of course,” said Gates idly. “You don’t, of course. I don’t think they want you to know, since you’re their poor, emotionally-challenged friend.”

“I’m not poor!” Ron snapped.

Gates smiled placatingly. “Does this really come as a shock? Surely you must have noticed how much time they have spent together alone. When, for example, has been the last time you have been alone with Potter, or you with Granger? Why are they always alone together? The conclusion is obvious.”

Ron shook his head furiously. “Harry’d never do that.” Harry’s heart sunk into the pit of his stomach. “Go on, tell him off Harry.”

Both Gates and Ron looked expectantly at him, and, while he found that he now could talk, he could not lie to his best friend. “Ron…it’s true.”

Ron simply stared at Harry, his mouth agape, looking completely and utterly betrayed. “How long?”

“Since fall.”

Ron continued to stare, blinking rapidly, as though his mind refused to process the new surge of datum.

“See?” said Gates. “And you called me a liar. Look at the real traitor here. Look and see where Potter’s loyalties lie.”

For a moment nothing seemed to happen. Then black clouds began to swirl around eyes that looked like pieces of jade. Blood began to pump furiously into his face, making it a bright, vibrant red. His hair turned into a raging inferno. He laughed, and it was like an echo from a deep, cavernous opening.

Gates took a step back. He apparently had not expected such a strong reaction. “Dren,” he hissed.

Ron’s eyes - acid green on jet black - locked onto Gates, and his mouth contorted itself into a grin. In a voice very unlike Ron’s, he rasped, “Indeed. Our fates seemed to be intertwined.”

Gates groped for his wand, but Dren - formerly Ron - already had his wand in hand. “Stupefy!” shouted Dren, and, as the Hit Wizard countered it with an Aegis Shield, he sprinted down the hall.

“Damn it!” Gates spat. “Stupefy! Stupefy!”

Both shots missed and struck the wall, as Dren was already around the corner by the time he managed to react. “Not this time, Alex,” he called out. The voice was throaty and deep. “Not this time, or ever!”

Gates looked from Harry to the place where Dren fled, his entire body shaking with rage. His eyes were sparking and his necklace seemed to blaze with emotion. He seemed to be fighting an internal battle. Was attacking his nemesis Corlov Dren more important than fulfilling his oath to Sirius to guard Harry at all times?

“You will stay right here,” snapped Gates. “Don’t move an inch.”

And with that, Gates sped off after Dren, his crimson robe flapping out behind him, leaving Harry by himself.

The stress from the past few minutes was giving Harry a migraine, and he was having trouble thinking clearly. In the span of no more than a single minute, he had lost both Ron and Hermione, and with a Death Eater on the prowl, either one of them could be in danger.

What are your priorities, Potter? Pseudo-Snape asked.

At the moment, Harry was in no position to duel Ron and help him recover from his fit. He could only hope that Gates could catch up with him and purge his mind of the personality without harming him. While it was a weak thread to hold on to, it was the best he could do. Desperately, his mind turned to Hermione.

She had run away in tears, practically hysterical. Even if Harry caught up with her, there was no guarantee that she would even let him near her; especially after the lies Gates had told her. But she was vulnerable, and if a Death Eater was going to attack anyone…

And he certainly could not get Dumbledore. The headmaster was busy enough rounding up the other students, and by the time they managed to organize a search it could be too late…

His mind was made up. He drew his wand and frantically looked back and forth. Another problem. Where the hell was she?

Think! Think!

Where would Hermione go when she needed solace? The library was too far away. Somewhere closer…

Where had she spent a lot of her time? Where could she be assured comfort?

The answer struck him like the proverbial ton of bricks. The kitchens!

A moment ago he was exhausted and could hardly stand. Now, a new kind of energy surged through his veins, and he sped down the hall so quickly that, had there been anyone watching, he would have been little more than an unidentifiable blur. He raced down the steps, turned, and then went down the corridor to the portrait of the fruit bowl. Almost at once he sensed something strange. His scar prickled, and his instinct cried out in protest.

Harry looked down and saw the ring he had given to Hermione for Christmas. He picked it up and let it lie in the palm of his hand. His heart began to sink as he realized the full extent of the damage done by Gates. It was temporary, granted, but the strength was disturbing.

Despite himself, he reached out, tickled the pair, and crossed the threshold of the newly-opened door.

The sight that greeted him was his worst fear and nightmare. He was indeed too late. Standing in the middle of the empty kitchen, was a lone figure holding a carving knife to Hermione’s neck. Her legs were quaking and her eyes were transfixed on the shiny blade at her throat. The bearer of the knife, grinning widely, was Kreacher, and blazed onto his arm was black stamp of the Dark Mark.

And, suddenly, a slight prickling in the brain brought Alexander Gates to a halt. His real quarry was up ahead, he knew, but, even as he stood there, the prickling turned into a burning, and the long-embedded bond screamed for him to return to Potter. Cursing, he spun around and dashed down the corridor, heading directly to the kitchens.

(A/N: Another cliffhanger! This one was probably the worst, though. If it's any comfort, the next chapter is the one you've all been waiting for.

Surprised by Kreacher? It should all come together soon...I hope you all didn't think the purpose of those SPEW meetings and such was simply for the sake of fluff! Don't worry, explanations will be coming in the next two chapters. If you already knew it was Kreacher, well, great job!

I hope no one was disappointed with chapter; because this was actually one of the few I genuinely liked. The Grendel (which you all should remember me mentioning in chapter 5!) gave me lots of maneuverability in terms of description, and it was fun to write. I also tried to used animalistic words to describe Gates as he dueling, which gives the impression of him being one of the 'monsters' mentioned in the title of this chapter.

Next Chapter: Climax!

29. The Reckoning

(A/N: Summary of chp 28: Gates is revived, and explains how he was stunned. Winky is found to have died of apparently self-inflicted wounds. Harry duels Malfoy, defeats him, and, just as scoring was to be finalized, A Grendel charges in and wrecks havoc. Harry ends up saving Malfoy's life, and Dumbledore slays the Grendel. The Death Eater shoots a taunt into the sky, and Gates, thrown to a point beyond rage, takes Harry aside and tears the prophecy from Harry's mind. He then proceeds, using a combination of the necklace's persuasion and deceit, to drive Ron and Hermione away. Ron turns into Dren, and Hermione flees to the kitchens. Harry, all too aware of the danger in the school at the moment, runs after Hermione, and is confronted by Kreacher holding a knife to her throat.)

“Mistress will be pleased!” shrieked Kreacher, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree. Hermione was kneeling with Kreacher directly behind her, and the knife at her throat shook with the house elf’s excitement It gleamed maliciously, as though eager to get a taste of her blood.

Harry could hardly speak. He could not believe that the Death Eater in Hogwarts - the one that had almost killed him several times - was a house elf. And, more than anything else, that it was Kreacher. A nightmare resurrected in a fully demented and deranged form.

“Mistress is proud of Kreacher,” raved Kreacher. “Mistress says Kreacher is a better servant than the dirty blood traitor was a son!”

A flare of anger rose up in Harry at the mention of Sirius, and old, dormant scars in him reemerged.

“Let her go Kreacher,” Harry said hoarsely. His entire being was focused on the blade, and he felt his entire grow cold and numb. He felt beads of sweat collect under the bangs of his hair, and he was vaguely aware that he was experiencing the emotion that Snape had spoke out most strongly against. Panic.

Kreacher seemed not to have heard Harry. “Not only did Kreacher get his mistress’ bracelet from the blood traitor to return to the family, but he will even be able to kill a mudblood!” His legs shuffled on the floor in the way that Dobby’s did when he was given a pair of socks, and Harry noted that the elf now indeed had Gates’ bracelet inside of a ragged, torn pocket.

“Let her go,” Harry repeated. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he felt completely and utterly powerless. He could defeat everyone in the school in a duel, but he could not save Hermione. What!

“Aurors will be here soon,” he added, though it sounded feeble even as he said it. He looked around, seeing no one. The house-elves must have been evacuated.

Kreacher laughed an insane, high-pitched cackle. “If Harry Potter wants the mudblood, he’s going to have to put down his wand!”

Harry was again intensely aware of the Dark Mark on Kreacher’s arm. Even as he stared at it, the pieces slowly began to come together. No one made any provisions against house elves joining Voldemort. Indeed, they were animals by ministry standards.

And that animal is about the slit her throat, Pseudo-Snape pointed out.

“Mudbloods, traitors,” Kreacher muttered under his breath as he stared at Harry. “Vermin in mistress’ house.”

It dawned on Harry that Kreacher was not even aware that he was speaking aloud. The crazed elf’s subconscious was speaking, and this, in turn, chilled Harry far more than anything else he had so far seen.

“Mistress is becoming impatient!” said Kreacher suddenly. He stiffened and the edge of his knife bit slightly into Hermione’s neck. A thin trickle of blood emerged, and Hermione gasped.

“Alright,” Harry said quickly. “Don’t hurt her.” He reached into his robes for his wand, and, upon feeling Hermione’s ring in there as well, he subtly slid the ring onto his wand’s shaft. Taking care to have his hand wrapped over the ring, he drew his wand.

“Mistress says for you to throw it to Kreacher!” said the house-elf. Bits of foam gathered at the corners of his mouth. “Throw it!”

Harry nodded, and then lightly tossed it. The wand - with the ring still around the shaft - landed by Hermione’s feet. Her eyes went wide with understanding. All she needed was an opening to reach down, snatch the ring, and she would be protected from Kreacher’s vice-like grip.

“Harry Potter will sit down now,” said Kreacher. “Sit down, close his eyes, and be very still.”

The grand house-elf conspiracy, Pseudo-Snape muttered.

Pseudo-Snape’s remark only served to reinforce Harry’s idea of what exactly was happening. Under normal conditions a house-elf would be no threat. As he had learned in Hermione’s S.P.E.W. classes, a house elf with a master could not harm a wizard. But, just like Dobby could sometimes break the rules, Kreacher could potentially snap and do something drastic. Judging from the fact that Hermione was not resisting, such a fact must have also entered her head.

But who was Kreacher’s master? The Malfoy’s…it had to be.

“Kreacher says for Harry Potter to sit down!”

Harry knew very well why he was being asked to sit down.

To turn you into the proverbial sitting duck… said Pseudo-Snape.

And, if he did not, Hermione’s throat would be slit. Granted, Kreacher would probably have to punish himself drastically, but what did that matter?

Harry, Hermione mouthed. He could almost hear her completing the sentence. Don’t do it.

Gates’ curse, spell, charm, or whatever it was had long since worn off.

Kreacher’s lips bared back to reveal two sets of jagged teeth and he wordless repeated the warning by bringing the knife directly over Hermione’s jugular.

Harry slowly closed his eyes and got to his knees, his blood turning cold, his mouth drying out. He felt fear stabbing at his chest and grappling his mind.

Then, almost instinctively, he felt himself become lightheaded, and all of his previous thoughts rushed out of him as thought a large vacuum had opened up in his mind.

Then, through that vacuum, he felt his entire being fall through, and he experienced the strange numbing sensation that he had always associated with-

Controlling the Dark Mark, Potter, said Pseudo-Snape. Though I daresay your proximity to the Death Eater should make it interesting to say the least. Don’t foul it up, Potter, it would lead to an embarrassing end to the both of us.

Like dust in the air he wafted over to where Kreacher was holding Hermione, and he saw himself kneeling a few meters away. Hermione’s eyes glistened with tears, and she tried to struggle but Kreacher held onto her with a surprisingly strong grip.

The house-elf turned his left hand towards Harry, and he said, “The mistress hates nothing more than a filthy blood traitor defiling the house of the fathers.”

Then, just as suddenly, he leapt into Kreacher, and he could feel himself holding a cold blade in his hand, and he could smell the faint scent of the shampoo Hermione had used that morning.

But with the senses came the crazed, insane thoughts of a creature long devoid of any reason or logic. They came in eerie half-phrases.

The mistress will be pleased!

Kreacher will not disappoint his mistress!

Harry Potter will die, and so shall Kreacher!

But let the mudblood go first!

With an abrupt movement, Harry jerked his right hand - that is, the house-elf’s right hand - to the side, freeing Hermione’s neck from the edge of the knife.

Hermione hesitated, shocked at her newfound freedom, but in the next moment dived forward onto the wand and ring, grasping onto them with both hands.

“No!” Kreacher shrieked. The house-elf was struggling, and Harry, unfamiliar with the thoughts of the insane and inhuman, could barely hold on. The elf staggered forward, clearly against his own will.

“Harry! Help!” Hermione cried, but, unbeknownst to her, he was helping. His body, however, remained as motionless as ever, still kneeling as though to a god.

Harry felt himself thrown back into the recesses of Kreacher’s mind, and found that he no longer possessed any sort of control of the elf’s movements. The sheer vehemence and fervor that rested inside of Kreacher’s psyche overwhelmed Harry’s powers, he was left with only being able to watch through the elf’s eyes as Kreacher reached out for Hermione’s shoulder.

As soon as his hand came in contact with her robe, however, Kreacher reeled backwards in pain. He looked at his hand, which was now blackened with a long, charcoal mark. Pure, unbridled anger filled his mind. Harry was amazed at the amount of rage and fury the elf could muster.

Harry tried again to take control, but failed. It was like being stuck in a rut. He could go neither forward nor backward.

Hermione tried to escape to make room for her to wield a wand, but the elf would not let up.

“MUDBLOOD!” Kreacher shouted in a high-pitched voice. He lunged forward with his knife, and slashed horizontally at Hermione’s throat. Blood sprayed from her collarbone to her shoulder, and she stumbled and fell sideways, coughing and gasping.

Joy replaced the anger that was in Kreacher’s mind just a moment before.

But for Harry, shock followed by hate frothed. Hate of such magnitude that it made his feelings towards Bellatrix pale in comparison.

Distantly he heard Pseudo-Snape scream, No! You’ll destroy us all!

But he did not care. All he cared about was killing Kreacher. And this time, however, he did not want to fail. He did not want to fail Sirius, who was gone through the veil. He did not want to fail Hermione, who was bleeding from an open wound on the floor.

It all happened in less than a split-second, but what it was not even Harry knew. All of his emotions focused into one point, and from this point he psychologically lunged at Kreacher. He felt a sharp pain split his mind open, and then, just as quickly, he found that he was once more back in his own body, staring blankly at the white floor of the kitchens. He stood and rushed over to where Hermione - and now Kreacher - laid motionless. Both were unconscious, or possibly dead. Fear coursed through Harry so thickly that he trembled.

He did not even notice a door open and close behind him.

He took his hand to Hermione’s neck and wrist, and, to his enormous relief, he felt a soft, weak pulse. Alive. His heart lightened a little, but he knew that if he did not use a Healing Spell on her neck soon, she would not live. And the blood was running fast…

All he needed to do was a quick-

“So you didn’t listen to me again, did you Potter?” said an all-too familiar voice. He felt his shoulder being grabbed and his body being lifted to its feet. He whirled around to see Gates, looked disturbingly composed, standing over him. “Pity. I’m out of time.”

“What the hell do you mean? She’s still alive-”

“Shut up,” Gates said softly. “You hear but you do not listen.” He stepped over to the bodies. “Granger is quite alive, I see that, and-” He paused. “-this is the Death Eater? Alive. You didn’t do the job properly. Flawed work.” He glared at Harry. “Weak work.”

Gates stepped forward, kneeled over Kreacher, and then drew his silver bracelet. The Hit Wizard’s face lit up in something like flee for a moment, before it hardened once more into its original hawk form. The bracelet quickly vanished into his pocket, and he straightened, and then placed the heel of his boot on Kreacher’s neck as if to crush it.

“Oh no,” said Gates to Kreacher, so softly that Harry could barely hear him. “I have plans for you.” He slowly removed his heel.

Gates turned back to Harry. “We have business now, Potter.”

Harry shoved past Gates and stood to deliver a Healing Spell to Hermione. Gates snatched his shoulder and pulled him back.

“LET GO!” Harry snapped. “She’ll die if-”

“I know that very well,” Gates said dangerously. “I know that! Think, Potter! She’s a weak spot. A blind spot. I have come here to make a dueler out of you and you cannot perform well with any sort of distractions. The Dark Lord would have a lever. And besides…I can’t possibly allow her to live after what she witnessed earlier.”

“But Ron has- Oh my God,” Harry said, stepping back. “That’s murder!”

“WRONG POTTER,” snarled Gates, advancing upon Harry. “IT IS NOT MURDER. IT IS MARTYRING. THE DARK LORD DOESN’T PLAY THE GAME KINDLY, AND NEITHER CAN WE.” He breathed, then said in a calmer voice, “Since you and her have become…closer, the Dark Lord has provided me fewer and fewer opportunities to cross the gap into his mind. Every time he infiltrates your mind, I can see into his. You believe I stay by your bedside to guard you? I stay there to look into your mind, to see into your dreams. To see into the Dark Lord's mind. And how can I when your dreams deter the Dark Lord from entering? Your dreams of-” He stopped, making it all too clear what he was about to say.

“Occlumency kept V-"

“Codswallop,” Gates said sharply. “The Dark Lord does not care about your amateurish attempts at Occlumency. He won’t infiltrate your mind if what’s in there physically burns him. Dumbledore hasn’t informed you of this yet has he? You are a tool, and nothing more. A tool for seeing into the Dark Lord’s skull.”

“No, you’re wrong,” said Harry with more confidence than he felt. “But you have no idea how much I wish you were right.”

Gates’ eyes grew wide. “You think yourself strong enough to take on the Dark Lord?” He laughed. “Absurd. I’ll show you the meaning of the prophecy. The Power-He-Knows-Not, is it? Well I’ll make sure I take that power. And you’ll be the one to give it to me.” He brought his hand up to his necklace, and made it blindingly clear what he planned to do.

And the only thing more terrifying than that was that it could possibly work. Make Harry a part of the necklace, and give Gates the Power-He-Knows-Not.

Harry drew his wand. “You can’t. Sirius bound you to protecting me.”

Gates scarcely blinked. “That’s very true. But I told you a long time ago, I am a very creative man. Tectum!”

A large blue dome sprung up around them, enclosing them from any outside forces. Gates casually gestured over to where Hermione bled, just outside of the dome. If Harry could have reached out across the dome, he could have touched her hand.

“Now what’s more important?” Gates said calmly. “Do you want to watch her die, Potter? Throw your best curse at me, Potter, and I have every right to strike back, just like it’s been written in your dead godfather’s scroll. So strike me, try to beat me, and if you do, you can heal her. If you don’t, well, she dies a slow and very agonizing death. And you get to watch.” Half of his mouth contorted into a grin. “Nothing is more important than the death of the Dark Lord. Not her, not you, not even me.”

He came so close that Harry could almost feel Gates’ breath on his face. “And, should you have forgotten, you wear the Dark Mark. You are a Death Eater. I heard everything that day in Albus’ office. It is best if you joined your colleagues.”

Harry looked up into Gates’ hawkish face, and saw nothing. Monster, he could hear Hermione repeating endlessly in his mind.

“I’m not a Death Eater.”

“Then why do you wear the Mark?”

“It wasn’t my choice!”

“Choice! Choice is irrelevant!” Gates said. “Fact is important. Fact and end results.”

Harry looked down at Hermione’s inert form, and felt his breathing speed up. She could not hang on forever, and, while the Aurors would arrive eventually, they will not be there in time.

“You bastard,” Harry said quietly, venomously. “You want to duel? Fine.”

“Then you understand the meaning of sacrifice,” said Gates, nodding slowly. His tone had turned placid and even, without a hint of the usual sarcasm. “Prepare yourself. At least go into the void as a man, not a coward. Tell me when you're ready.”

“I’m ready right now,” said Harry vehemently.

He glanced again at Hermione. She had not changed, though the pool of blood was becoming steadily larger. Gates seemed to force himself not to look at it. There was something strange about that, Harry noted. Gates had done it before, when Harry’s jinxed wand had cut into his wand. The Hit Wizard recoiled rather than heal the wound, and Professor McGonagall had to restore the flesh.

Gates gazed at him appraisingly, then nodded once more. “May your wand betray you.”

“And may yours as well.”

“Then let it begin,” Gates said.

The two circled one another, Gates obviously waiting for Harry to make the first move. “You know how many Death Eaters have ever fought me in a fair duel, Potter? Excluding Severus, you’re the first.” He grinned wryly, overconfidently.

Here it was, Harry realized. The pivotal, inevitable duel that Snape had warned him of. He glanced once more at Hermione. It felt that, even as she was bleeding, he was dying with her.

“Distractions, Potter,” said Gates. “I warned you to avoid distractions, but it seemed the lesson never quite sunk in. Too late now…”

Harry could delay no longer. “Caecus!” he shouted.

“Abiuro!” Gates said in a flash, the Aegis Shield effectively countering the Blinding Hex. “Well, Potter, I certainly didn’t expect you to use an Edward Skinner. I must say, I’m impressed. Though it won’t matter. You’re outclassed.”

The necklace seemed to glitter as he grinned.

“Infligo!” Harry incanted, barely allowing himself pause enough to breathe. “Stupefy!”

Gates tried to leap aside, but the fringe of the white cone struck him along the side, sending him spinning. He quickly caught his bearings and said, “Infligo!”

Harry tried to dodge Gates’ curse, but the Hit Wizard’s spell was far stronger and faster than he had ever expected. In little over a second the cone smashed into his stomach, throwing him backwards against the blue dome.

Gates sighed. “Disappointing, but I can’t say totally unexpected. Stup-”

“Everbero!” Harry shouted from the ground, half-gasping. “Everbero! Everbero!”

Gates, unable to avoid or counter the bolts of energy in time, was struck in twice in the chest and once in the side from the three curses. Harry managed to scamper to his feet and throw another curse, though Gates managed to summon an Aegis Shield to block it. The Hit Wizard was still clutching at the spot where the strongest curse hit when Harry leapt backwards.

Gates turned his wand on himself and incanted, "Ferreus!" The Numbing Spell.

"Incarcerous!" Harry shouted, his mind frantically trying to form some sort of strategy.

"Discerpo!" countered Gates, and a disk of white light shot out of his wand, shredding the mass of rope into ribbons.

"Is this the best you can do?" Gates taunted. "What exactly is the Power-He-Knows-Not? Do you even know?" He grinned. "Tell me, what do I have to do to defeat the Dark Lord?"

"You can start by calling him by his name," said Harry. "Voldemort. Stupefy!"

"Abiuro! You ingrate!" spat Gates. He slashed his wand downwards, and a beam of purple light flashed from his wand.

Harry, remembering the last time he had encountered the curse, jerked his wand through the air, not even thinking of the possibility that he could fail at performing the complex charm. In an instant he was holding a heavy shield, its sheer weight making him stagger. He managed to crouch behind it just as the purple light connected with the shield. The resulting crash was like the booming of a gong.

The Hit Wizard's expression betrayed nothing but shock. "What!" He quickly recovered. "Absurd luck! Exuro!"

Harry felt a rush of heat go over his shield and down his back, missing him by inches. He peered around to see the Hit Wizard holding a small pile of dust in his hand. He waved his wand, and the pile transfigured into a group of silver balls.

"Infligo!" Harry bellowed, hoping to catch Gates off guard. He felt a great release of energy within himself. With every curse he threw, he lost a little more of his strength.

He was not so fortunate. "Infligo!" countered the Hit Wizard, the cone of light he produced overpowering and actually reversing Harry's.

The resulting spell smashed into Harry's shield, but, whether it was because of some obscure enchantment in the shield or due to his own strength, Harry managed to remain steady.

He stole a quick glance at Hermione. She had not moved. Unless Harry acted quickly, she did not have a chance.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" said Gates. Harry closed his eyes and braced himself, clutching his wand tightly. "Waddiwasi!"

The silver ball hovered for a moment and then shot through the air like a bullet. There was the sound of metal splitting and the ball ricocheted across the room. Harry's enchanted shield cracked out of existence and he was thrown to the ground.

Gates advanced slowly, mockingly. "Now it's over."

"Everbero!" Harry incanted, but it barely seemed to register. Gates grunted slightly, but was otherwise unfazed.

Gates lightly tossed a silver ball up and down in his free hand, taking his time. Harry could hardly look at anything else. His fate resides in that gleaming ball, he realized. Unless he did something fast, he was finished. There was no way he could recover from such a blow.

And Hermione, who was still outside the dome, would bleed to death...

“Wingardium Leviosa! Gates said calmly. “Wad-”

Harry had a sudden burst of inspiration. “Legilimens!”

What occurred next happened in a flash. Gates cried out and his wand went awry, the silver ball dropping from the air. A single, solid image of black flooded Harry's mind. He could see black. He could smell black. He could hear black. It made no sense to him, and his orientation was utterly lost. All that was left was black. Whether it was swallowing or blinding, Harry could not decide.

A clearer image began to surface, and Harry could only barely make out the outline of a bedroom before he was torn away. With enormous effort, Gates had forced him from his mind.

Harry stumbled backwards, feeling as though he had overexerted himself. He was suddenly very aware of Pseudo-Snape's absence. Harry could not remember hearing Pseudo-Snape since his fight with Kreacher. Could he have inadvertently...

Harry began to feel completely alone.

"YOU'LL PAY FOR THAT!" snarled Gated. A tongue of flame sputtered out of the tip of his wand, and the temperature in the surrounding air began to rise. The blue dome began to audibly hum, like a gigantic industrial machine. "YOU'LL NEVER-"

"You should really learn to keep that temper of yours in check, Alex," drawled a voice like an old man from the side. Harry whipped his head aside to see Corlov Dren leaning lazily against a countertop, pointing his wand at Harry and then at Gates. His figure was slightly distorted by the blue wall between them. "Now don't do anything rash. Drop your wands. I'm in control here."

Gates' face turned deathly white, but he did not lower his wand. "How so, Dren?"

"You see, Alex," rasped Dren. "None of your curses can escape from this blue dome of yours, can they? But thankfully, the Killing Curse can. It's handy that way."

For a moment, Gates said nothing. Harry's eyes never left Dren. While the Death Eater merely existed inside of Ron's body, he could not help but associate the personality with Ron. Everything about his posture and bodily manner was reminiscent of the real Ron. But then again, the jade-on-black eyes did not seem like they could belong on any body.

And, more than anything else, he monitored the distance between Dren and Hermione’s fallen body.

“Then why aren’t we dead yet?” Gates said with the vaguest hint of amusement. “Still can’t use an Unforgivable in that body, can you?”

“Oh no, I could very easily kill you both right now,” replied Dren, and Harry did not for a second doubt him. He shifted his gangly form, then sighed. The gesture screamed of Ron. “As we all have little time, I will get straight to the point. But first lower you wand. I am growing rather impatient.”

Reluctantly, Gates lowered his wand a fraction of an inch.

This must have satisfied Dren, as he said, “I want Potter’s wand. Lower the dome-” -Dren stared directly at Harry- “-and you will toss me your wand. Of course, if I have to kill you Alex, lowering the dome would prove exceptionally difficult, so please convenience me and do it for me.”

“And afterwards you will simply stroll away?”

Dren turned his eyes onto Gates. It somehow reminded Harry of a lizard or a snake. “Indeed, and I will leave you two to finish whatever you were-” He smirked. “-doing.”

“You think I can’t see your motives?” Gates said. “Phoenix core. That’s all you need to restore yourself.”

“Yes, you’re quite right,” said Dren in a half-drawl, half-rasp.

“No,” Harry snapped. Gates looked at him sharply. “You’re not just going to walk away with Ron’s body.”

Harry thought Dren did not hear him, as the Death Eater did not answer, and instead walked closer to the dome. He stopped at Hermione’s body, then looked down at it. He got to his knees and placed his hand on her neck.

“You’re friend is alive.”

He slowly dipped two of his fingers into the crimson pool of blood, then withdrew them. Vacantly he stared at the fingers, and then put them to his nose, as if to smell them. Seeming to lose interest, he wiped the blood on his robes and looked up at Harry.

“I can easily change that,” Dren said.

Harry’s mouth went dry. “Take my wand, but don’t hurt her.” His mind raced, trying to find ways that he could save both Ron and Hermione.

“I know,” said Dren, grinning. “The mind that I occupy already knew your answer.”

Dren got to his feet, continuing to smear the little of Hermione’s blood left on his hands on Ron’s robe. Appearing supremely careless, he said, “Curious how difficult blood is to clean away.” He turned to Gates. “Now kindly lower the shield, Alex.”

The corner of the Hit Wizard’s mouth twitched. “No.”

“Oh, I see,” Dren said with feigned understanding. “Alex, you’re afraid of me? How ironic. It should be the other way around. After all, it was you who stormed my tower and defeated me in my own chamber! But times change, it seems. Summer turns to fall, fall turns to winter, and hawks flee south!”

In a flash, Gates twirled his wand and the dome vanished in an instant., leaving nothing more than a thin wisp of smoke where the walls previously were. With the walls down, Gates had his wand thrust rigidly forward, and his massive frame was slightly crouched. For a moment it seemed like nothing more was going to happen, and then he shouted, “Funis!”

At first Harry thought that a long, thick cord of rope had sprung out of the tip of Gates’ wand, but he then realized that it was actually a sort of whip, and it streaked through the air towards Dren.

The Death Eater ducked, and the whip flew over his head and, as soon as it was stretched to its full length, the end burst forth a sphere of smoke and fire. Dren glanced over his shoulder, saw the explosion, then dived to the side.

“You won’t be going anywhere Dren!” Gates roared, and again he cracked his whip through the air. The tip slashed at the counter that Dren was hiding behind, and the wooden frame exploded into splinters.

Harry was crawling across the floor, underneath the whip, trying desperately to reach Hermione so that he could use a Healing Charm. Her face was pale, but the flow of blood showed no signs of slowing. He saw Kreacher laying nearby, but paid him no mind.

But there was also the chance that Dren would deliver a Killing Curse upon Hermione for Gates’ attack. Harry wanted to curse the Hit Wizard, but had no time. Hating Gates was low on his priority list against Hermione’s plight.

“Avada Kedavra!” shouted Dren from behind the partially-destroyed counter.

Gates leapt to the side to avoid the flash of green light, simultaneously striking at Dren with his whip. The Death Eater was too quick, however, and the tip merely smashed the tiled floor.

Dren’s wand cut through the air like a sword as cast a spell from his prone position. “Discerpo!” he bellowed, and a disc of white light shot from his wand and spun through the air. When it touched the midsection of Gates’ whip, it easily sliced through the cord and slammed into the ceiling. The severed section of the whip fell uselessly to the ground.

Gates jerked the whip, and instantly a new length of cord replaced the part that had been cut from Dren’s Severing Curse.

“Clever,” called out Dren. “But not enough. “Avada Kedavra!”

The Hit Wizard did not even flinch as the curse whizzed inches away from his right side. He cracked his whip again, this time almost slashing the fringes of Dren’s robes. The resulting explosion caught the edges of the cloth on fire, but little else. Had it been a foot nearer to its mark, it would have blown off both of Dren’s legs.

Harry finally grasped Hermione’s wrist and felt for a pulse. Upon finding it, he breathed a sigh of relief, and brought his wand up to use a Healing Charm.

Dren whirled, looked for cover, and, upon finding none, hesitated. The tips of Fear’s fingers were beginning to grip him. He spied Harry just as he was about to issue a Healing Charm, and shouted, “Accio Harry Potter!”

Harry flew backwards into Dren’s arms. Before he could even resist, his hands were bound with some sort of charm, and his wand had escaped his grip into the Death Eater’s - Ron’s - eager fingers.

He was an impenetrable shield, or so Dren thought.

“You come near me, Alex,” rasped Dren. “And I’ll kill this boy. I doubt the magical bond that resides within your skull would appreciate that much. Don’t look so surprised; you’d be amazed at what I’m learning from my host’s brain.”

“His name is Ron,” Harry said bitingly, feebly trying to struggle.

“Ron, then,” said Dren indifferently. “And, just for you, Alex, I’ll make it exceptionally messy. You wouldn’t like that, would you?”

Gates’ face paled in a fashion unusual for the Hit Wizard. Harry was not quite sure what to make of it. His death should not elicit such a reaction from Gates, so then what was it?

There was also something in the way Dren had said ‘messy’ that seemed strange. Was he referring to something that Gates and him mutually knew?

Gates seemed unsure of what to do next. His whip laid forgotten on the floor, and he simply stared at the two of them.

“Now I’m going to leave,” said Dren. “And you will stay here. If you move, I’ll kill Harry. You made this needlessly difficult, I’m afraid.”

Dren pressed Harry closer to him, squeezing him. They began to walk backwards, Dren never moving his wand away from Harry’s neck. Harry could feel a slight wetness on Dren’s robes, and with a sickening realization, he realized he was touching the drying streaks of Hermione’s blood.

Harry stared back at Gates, forcing himself to think. Why had the Hit Wizard not killed him? Gates had no qualms killing him five minutes ago in the duel. Dren’s presence must have changed the nature of the magical bond. Gates could not harm him now. The magical bond not allowing Gates to use the fragile string of self-defense to attack Harry, for Harry was now in clear need of rescuing.

Harry wanted to think more. He wanted to focus on the wand in Gates’ hand, or Dren’s slow, awkward walk, but found that he could not. He could not get rid of the knowledge that his hands were now brushing against the blood from Hermione that Dren had wiped on his robes earlier.

Gates still had not moved. He had resigned himself to watching Dren, and if he was formulating any sort of brilliant plan, Harry could not see it. The magical bond prevented him from taking any action that could potentially harm Harry. Dren was in full control.

“Goodbye, Alex,” Dren said when they reached the door. “Perhaps we’ll meet another day, but I doubt it.”

Harry, sensing that this would be his last chance, twisted himself in Dren’s arms, and managed to catch one short glance of the Death Eater’s face, which was pulled back in a sneer. In Ron’s body, it looked bizarre. He tried to pry at the fingers, but they were like iron. Far stronger than anything he had before encountered.

“You don’t think I didn’t use a Strength Charm before I came into the kitchens, do you?” Dren whispered in his ear. A soft, gentle rasp. “It’ll wear off in an hour, but until then, you’re going nowhere, so enjoy the little time that’s left to you. Because once I’m outside the castle, I’m going to kill you, and I won’t be using the Killing Curse.”

“Now that wouldn’t be a very nice thing to do, would it?” asked a voice that Harry could only identify as Luna’s. “You are hardly a Bazarian Quakleback.”

Harry whipped around, trying to find the origin of the voice, but failed. Dren was positively shocked. He whirled in a circle, grasping Harry ever tighter, pointing his wand through the now-open doorway that led into what looked like the laundry room. Nothing was there.

“Who’s here?” Dren shouted, bringing Harry around once more. “Who speaks?”

Harry caught a lone glimpse of Gates, who had so far not moved from his position. He too seemed uneasy, unnerved.

“It’s me, of course,” answered Luna in a sing-song voice. “Simply a voice without a source. And who are you? You are not the Ronald that I once knew.”

Dren slowly grinned. “Clever with words, aren’t you?”

“I am at least as clever with words as you are at most clever at anything,” replied Luna.

“Where are you?” Dren demanded, his grin vanishing. He repeatedly glanced over at Gates, and then retreated from the room that he had entered only seconds ago. “Come out where I can see you. Now!”

“Maybe I’m already out and you’re just blind,” Luna said. “But anyway, I’m beginning to dislike you. I wonder who you are. Ronald wouldn’t just let anyone into his brain.”

“I am Corlov Dren, one of the Dark Lord’s Death Eaters.”

“I suspected as much,” said Luna. “I hope Ronald will forgive me once he recovers. This could hurt quite a bit.”

Dren brought his wand back to Harry’s neck. “Enough games. Come here or-” He let out a scream of pain and lurched sideways, releasing Harry and bringing both of his hands to his side. He howled again, clenching his teeth and tearing at something in his side as though he had been struck with a Pain Hex.

Harry leapt away, picking up the wand that Dren had dropped and pointing it towards the fallen Death Eater. Gates came up behind him, and then cautiously advanced with a drawn wand. Dren did not seem to notice.

“Bloody-” Dren clutched at his side, and then pulled at a slight protrusion in his robe. The cloth ripped into his hands, and, in the bloodied shreds, Harry heard Luna’s voice.

“Ronald would never hurt Harry,” she said. “You should do well to remember that, Mr. Dren.”

Dren unraveled the torn cloth, and what he ended up holding in his hands looked like a pair of false teeth. The Chattering Teeth.

Dren stared at them as he knelt on the floor, utterly perplexed. “What in Merlin’s name-”

He never finished the sentence. Gates had already stepped up to him, pointed his wand at the Death Eater’s head, and said, “Obliviate!”

Dren, or, rather, Ron’s body, slumped to the ground.

Gates lightly stepped over the fallen form, then, upon confirming that Dren was unconscious, stepped towards Harry.

“He’s fortunate to be living in the body of a child,” said Gates. His eyes were like ice, and when he turned them onto Harry, they were completely devoid of any sort of emotion. “You are a wizard, Potter. Whatever else you are is irrelevant. We will finish our duel properly. Now. Tectum!”

The blue dome formed around them, its amorphous walls carefully separating Hermione from them.

Harry felt like he was ready to explode. This was nonsense. Complete nonsense! “SHE’S GOING TO DIE!” Harry roared, pointing at Hermione’s body. “SHE’S GOING TO DIE UNLESS WE GIVE HER A HEALING CHARM!”

“Lots of people die, Potter,” snarled Gates. “People die in wars. Wake up! We don’t live in an idealistic paradise. One life is a small price to pay for the death of the Dark Lord. That is your final lesson. I will tell you no more. Your naiveté will be the death of you.”

“To struggle for idealisms is not naïve,” said the Chattering Teeth in Luna’s dreamy voice. “But to give up on the struggle for idealisms is nothing short of terrifying.”

Gates whirled, brought out his wand, and destroyed the Chattering Teeth with a single Reducto curse. “Enough. Are you ready, Potter? Or are you going to surrender in the most meaningful duel that you will ever have in your life? You wish for her to live? Then defeat me and shut down the Dome.”

Harry stared coldly at him, then began moving towards the dome wall, closer to Hermione.

“You’re watching her die, Potter,” said Gates as Harry walked. “You’re letting her die.”

Harry finally came to the edge of the dome, knelt, and murmured to Hermione's motionless body, “If I lose the duel, Hermione…”

Gates stayed silent for a moment, then exploded, “DUEL ME! I HAVE NO QUALMS AGAINST SEEING HER DIE! YOU THINK I WON’T LET HER BLEED OUT ACROSS THIS FLOOR? I AM NOT ONE TO INTERFERE WITH THE NATURAL COURSE OF THINGS!”

Deep within himself, Harry knew Gates was right. He had no choice but to duel the Hit Wizard. If only for Hermione’s sake, he would try. He stood and turned towards Gates.

“I’ll duel you,” said Harry in a steady voice. “But if I lose, you will heal her anyway. Swear that on your honor, and I’ll fight you.”

Gates tilted his head, seeming to calculate Harry’s words. “Distractions, Potter. If you're already preparing for a defeat, then you’ve already lost. So when you lose, I will try to save her life to the fullest extent of my powers. Should she die anyway, I hold no responsibility. I swear that upon the honor of House Gates.”

Harry nodded, feeling comforted by the fact that, if Gates defeated him, Hermione would live. But he held no illusions about his own future. He realized that if he lost, Gates would transfigure him into one of his diamonds and he would never see natural light again.

And, strangely enough, he felt nothing.

“Are you ready, Alex?” Harry asked, making a slight echo of Gates’ own words. He surprised even himself with the sound of his voice. It was calm, resigned.

Gates blinked once…twice. For an instant he looked somehow intimidated by the use of his first name. The dome cast faint bluish shadows across his face, but it did little to lessen the expression of hesitation that he wore. His eyes flicked up and down Harry’s body appraisingly. At length he nodded, his confidence returning.

Harry widened his stance, feeling much more prepared than the last time he had encountered Gates. He looked over Gates stiff, aloof posture, and saw the arrogance there. The Hit Wizard had not considered the possibility that he might lose.

Harry tried to meet Gates’ eyes, but found that he could not. The Hit Wizard looked away every time, seeming to have learned from what happened to him previously. As eye contact was necessary to perform Legilimency, Harry could not launch a psychological attack.

Harry eased himself closer to the Hit Wizard as he moved sideways, an idea beginning to form in his head. For the first spell of the duel, he had to perform something unexpected, and that was exactly what he was planning to do.

Once he felt that he was close enough, he raised his wand and aimed it at Gates’ eyes. “LUMOS!” he bellowed with far more strength and energy than what was required. His wand vibrated as a constant surge of blinding light flowed out from his wand.

Gates recoiled, almost dropping his wand as he moved to cover his eyes.

“Conjuctivitis!” shouted Harry.

Though disoriented from the flash of light, Gates managed to duck in time to avoid Harry’s curse, and when he rose again he was already delivering a counterstroke.

“Mentis Dolor!” Gates roared, baring his teeth as he grinned.

Harry, instantly recognizing the Mind Possession Curse from the Leaky Cauldron, slashed his wand through the air and raised a shield. The curse crashed into the shield, causing it to shake madly and finally shatter.

“Caecus!” Harry shouted, fighting back despite the violent burning sensation he felt in the back of his head.

“Abiuro!” Gates countered, and Harry’s Blinding Hex disintegrated before reaching its mark. “Everbero!”

Harry tried to raise a defense, but was too late. The curse struck him in the stomach, and the sheer power of it threw him off of his feet.

“Everbero!” Gates repeated almost lazily.

Harry felt a fist-like force smashed into his jaw, and a mixture of copper and iron flooded his mouth.

“Forget about it, Potter,” said Gates, watching idly as Harry struggled to his feet. “I’ve spent most of my life developing my skills to a level near perfection. I was fighting Death Eaters and Dark Wizards before you were even born. That’s the reason I’m meant to kill the Dark Lord. That’s the reason why I won’t be losing to a sixth year student. You- you are merely a device. A mule to carry this so-called Power-He-Knows-Not. It will be I who acquires The Power from you!”

Even Harry had to admit that Gates’ logic was true. There was no prophetic protection in this duel. The prophecy made no assurances that it would be Harry who defeated Voldemort. Merely the Power-He-Knows-Not. And he would not be dead either, would he? He would be another diamond on the Pravus necklace, living a half-life with the Death Eaters…

“The Power can vanquish Voldemort, can’t it?” Harry said, forcing the words through his mouth. A sudden revelation came to him, and he remembered everything he had learned about the bracelet as well as from what Luna had said. “But it can’t bring them back. No power can bring your mother back from the dead, just like no power can bring my parents back from the dead.”

Gates went so white and still that he could have been mistaken for a marble statue. A second later, blood rushed into his cheeks and he snarled, “HOW DARE YOU SPEAK OF HER! IMPERTINENT INGRATE!” He stormed up to Harry as if to strike him.

“Exuro!” Harry shouted, and the Burning Curse hit Gates’ squarely in the chest.

Amazingly, the Hit Wizard did not stop. He did not even flinch. He continued to advance, looking even more threatening from swirl of inferno that ran up and down his crimson robes. He wore a collar of flame and there was not one part of his that was not touched by the fire. Like a demon from hell.

Then Harry remembered. Gates had used a Numbing Charm on himself earlier. The Hit Wizard was not feeling a single thing. As the Burning Curse’s flames were only an illusion, there were no ill effects.

Harry raised his wand defensively. “Infligo!”

Gates whirled his wand and conjured an Aegis Shield in a flash. The booming light vanished with a crack. He did not slow down or turn, but instead approached Harry with an outstretched arm.

Harry backed in the blue dome wall, and, suddenly realizing the full implications of his position, tried to dive sideways and throw a curse. Gates, however, put on a final spurt of speed and knocked Harry’s wand arm away with his hand. With the flames from the Burning Curse still surrounding him, he grabbed Harry’s neck and lifted him into the air. Tongues of fire licked at Harry’s chin and neck, and, while Gates felt nothing, he could feel the pain intensely. Rather than scream, he clenched his teeth together until his head began to ache.

After what seemed like an hour, Gates threw Harry to the side as though he was nothing more than a bag of trash.

“You will never speak of her again,” Gates said as he turned to face Harry. “Or I will make sure your doom is a long one. She is not related to this duel!”

“What were you saying about distractions?” Harry countered, trying not to groan in pain as he got to his feet. His thigh felt bruised and he was aching all over. All he wanted to do now was to anger Gates as much as possible, so that the Hit Wizard was more likely to make mistakes. An old lesson.

Gates’ eyes widened. “Mentis Dolor!” he spat.

The curse whizzed over Harry shoulder, and he was temporarily frozen in shock as he realized how extraordinarily powerful that curse was. Perhaps antagonizing Gates was not such a good idea after all. The Hit Wizard was becoming careless, it was true, but his fighting ability seemed only to increase exponentially.

Then he remembered: Gates’ governing emotion was hate.

Harry almost swore.

Gates rose his wand high above his head and waved it in a circle, the flames on his arms blurring so that it looked little more than a flickering orange cone. Abruptly, he brought his wand streaking downwards, as though he was wielding a hammer, and a huge fireball shot from it.

The mass of inferno exploded at Harry’s feet, sending him flying through the air. His back crunched as he landed on the hard tile floor.

Gates, still wrapped in an everlasting fire, stepped forward, and then paused. His face remained carefully blank, but he could not hide the horror that was apparent in his shaking hands.

Harry looked around, bewildered. He slowly got to his feet, his knees aching, and then raised his wand. It was smeared with blood, and so was his hands and sleeves. In an instant he came to an understanding.

Why, in the story Mr. Alverton had told, Gates had hesitated in entering the ruined building.

Why Dren had used the word 'messy' in such a sinister fashion.

Why he spared Bane in the forest.

The bastard was afraid of blood. He could not stand the sight of it. The more Harry thought of it, the more sense it made.

Gates drank the dragon's blood in vain, trying to conquer is fear, but failing. He could pretend he was drinking something else, but when he saw the red stains, the severed limbs, he could not ignore it.

Presently, Gates snarled, and then pushed himself forward.

Harry knew at once that his fate was marching towards him, and his heart began to thump wildly in his chest. His head, however, remained clear. Planning a last-ditch effort for survival, he felt and grasped a piece of broken tile with his left hand, and then touched it with the tip of his wand. He focused every particle of his body into the incantation he was about to use.

“Forca!” Harry said, and a bolt of energy flashed from his wand into the tile. They both glowed blue, and then faded as the Energy Jinx activated.

Harry released a breath of air, hardly daring to believe that he pulled off the complex spell, and then climbed to his feet, still holding the tile in his hand. While the Energy Jinx would shock anyone who comes in contact with it into a deep state of unconsciousness, it would not be triggered by the touch of the caster. Though the jinx was normally used to secure treasure and precious artifacts, Harry was planning to use it in a very different way.

Gates stopped in his tracks, eyeing first the tile and then Harry, apparently unsure of what to make of the new turn of events. The Burning Curse was just beginning to die, and now the flames barely reached up to his neck.

“Go ahead, Potter,” said Gates. “Try and use it.”

Harry hesitated. This, in all likelihood, would be his only shot. He doubted that he would be able to perform the Energy Jinx a second time.

“Stupid to hesitate,” Gates said.

With his free hand Gates reached into his pocket, and, after fumbling with something for a moment, he drew a stone of some sort. He jerked his wand, and the stone transfigured into a book. Harry felt his anger rise even as he recognized it. His family album.

Gates grinned at his reaction. “Running out of time, Potter. The Granger girl is dying, and now so is your album.” He opened it, and then placed his fingers on one of the pages, as if to pluck it out.

Harry could bear it no longer. All of the anger, frustration, and fury that he had been harboring for the past year came pouring out in a violent torrent. He threw the glowing tile into the air, and bellowed, “Waddiwasi!”

The tile shot through the air, and, had Gates been an ounce less agile than he was, he would have been struck in the shoulder be the projectile. Instead, he spun sideways, bringing his wand around and blasting the tile with a Reducto curse. Because of the Energy Jinx the tile did not burst, but was knocked off of its course and smashed into the blue dome wall.

The failure of the Energy Jinx trick barely registered in Harry’s mind. For the past few minutes he had been able to keep a cool composure, but he could no longer. Gates had created a crack in his Occlumency-refined exterior, and this crack had grown rapidly in the past few seconds into a gaping hole.

“Stupefy! Infligo! Exuro!” Harry shouted, spewing curses without even thinking. “Mentis Dolor!”

Gates frantically tired to block the barrage of curses, and his wand was just a blur in the air as he conjured Aegis Shields in quick succession. Despite his attempts, a few curses slipped through, and he twisted and stumbled when he was hit with a Writhing Hex.

Harry, however, did not even feel like he was controlling his wand. He half-muttered under his breath between curses, his mind no longer functioning like a normal organ. Pictures of Hermione bleeding, of his album burning, and of Gates speaking blatant lies repeated over and over again in his mind.

This is for Hermione- “EVERBERO!” -this for Ron- “EVERBERO!” -this for Sirius- “EVERBERO!”

The last curse snuck through Gates’ defenses and the Hit Wizard groaned in surprise when it smashed into his stomach.

"Petrificus Totalus! Infligo! Caecus!"

Harry was not tiring from the curses. In fact, he was feeling as though he was becoming stronger. His scar was burning insanely from a strange foreign energy it was receiving. Hate and power.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!” Harry screamed in a voice not wholly his own. Gates leapt aside to dodge the flash of green. “CRUCIO! AVADA KEDAVRA!”

Even as he spoke the words, he could feel a cold chill creeping into his bowels. He wanted to stop, to throw his wand aside. He realized that something very, very wrong was happening, and that he needed to stem the tide of malevolent thoughts that were filling his head.

He imagined stabbing Gates again and again with a knife, and enjoying it.

"Avada Kedavra!"

He imagined taking Wormtail’s head and smashing it with an iron hammer.

"Crucio!"

He imagine using the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix repeatedly, driving her to insanity.

"Crucio!"

He imagined murdering Albus Dumbledore.

His scar was ready to split open from pain, and he fell to his knees, rubbing it, clawing at it, wanting to tear it from his skull. He felt another presence in his mind. He heard himself make a high-pitched cackle. He stood up, taking his hands off of his forehead, but Harry was aware that it was not himself doing it, despite the unbearable doses of pain that were plaguing his consciousness.

Voldemort was within him.

No protection anymore? Asked a voice. Voldemort’s voice. What happened to it, I wonder…

And when he at last turned his eyes upon Gates, he saw that there was nothing but pure, undiluted hate in the Hit Wizard’s eyes. Hate and terror beyond words.

You have to admire a man like that, said Voldemort. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He should be dead, though. Katashi didn’t do his job properly, it seems.

“Hello, Alexander Vladimir Black Gates,” said Harry. Not Harry. Voldemort.

Gates stared at him, grinding his teeth. “MENTIS DOLOR!”

Harry waved his wand in a manner that he could scarcely believe. Gates’ Mind Possession Curse blew into dust as though it was nothing more than a Stunning Spell.

“I expect more,” Voldemort said. It came out like a hiss. “Especially from one of my closet followers.”

“I’m not one of your worms,” snarled Gates, and Voldemort laughed with reckless abandon. “Caecus! Exuro!”

Harry raised a shield, effectively blocking the Burning Curse, but the Blinding Hex, which was thrown at an angle, singed his knee, giving him a moment of blank dizziness. Harry stumbled and nearly fell.

Gates pressed his advantage, and spun his wand above his head in the manner that had created a gigantic fireball previously.

“Crucio!” Voldemort shrieked, managing to recover his senses.

Gates abandoned his Fireball Curse and streaked his wand horizontally, bringing up an Aegis Shield. The Cruciatius Curse crashed into it an turned into a thin vapor of smoke.

He’s strong, isn’t he Potter? said Voldemort. But stupid. And gullible. The perfect Death Eater.

“Kill me, Alexander,” said Voldemort, and Harry felt himself sneer. “If you can. Don’t you remember what my Death Eaters did? They gave me a full report. Right down to where-”

“Discerpo!” Gates roared, and instantly he bent over in pain. The magical bond did not appreciate his violation of his oath.

The Severing Curse shot from Gates’ wand and flew towards Harry. Voldemort stood still, not moving, and Harry could feel his pleasure. With a spurt of willpower, Harry regained partial control and threw himself sideways, jumping out of the way just as the disc whizzed past the spot where his neck was less than a second ago.

YOU WRETCH! Voldemort screamed. The pain Harry felt increased tenfold.

“Infligo!” Gates shouted, and Voldemort, who was still psychologically scrambling to recapture Harry’s body, was knocked backwards and smashed into the dome wall.

Harry opened his eyes, his scar still searing, Voldemort still raving, and, through the haze, he could see the vague outline of something. Of some familiar form. He smelled blood, and he knew what it was. Hermione. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but found that he could not.

It was over, Harry decided. He doubted he could use a single curse. His entire body was exhausted from the effort he used to overthrow Voldemort temporarily, and he could not resist as Voldemort wrapped his entire being around his brain.

But at least he would be able to drift out of consciousness within sight of Hermione. Gates had to take care of her. He swore an oath.

But he wanted to touch her. One last time.

He was suddenly aware of Voldemort screaming, not in anger, but in an agony that rivaled the worst Harry had ever felt from his scar.

Harry felt an old connection in his chest strengthen as he remembered Hermione, and pictured her image in his mind’s eye. Due to the dome, he could only see her outline with his eyes, but his memory was keener than his any of his senses were at the moment. The connection grew to a pulling, and some vigor entered his muscles.

He could win this, Harry realized. Something had changed.

Voldemort continued to scream and struggle, but he was losing.

NOT THIS TIME! Voldemort roared. I WON’T FAIL THIS TIME!

The sensations Harry felt as his brain was torn and pulled and yanked were indescribable, yet he somehow managed to retain Hermione’s picture as he, with new hope, fought against the acidic presence in his mind. The pain in his scar amplified, and then, in a silent burst, stopped and fell to a dull throbbing.

The heel of a boot dug into Harry’s back, and rough hands turned him onto his side. His vision clearing, he saw the monstrous form of Gates, staring down at him as though looking into hell itself.

“I am Alexander Vladimir Black Gates,” said the Hit Wizard. His voice dripped with rancor and arrogance. “I am the one who will defeat the Dark Lord. I am the savior. I, and I alone. Not Harry Potter!”

Gates raised his wand, preparing to deliver the finishing blow, and poised it to just above Harry’s forehead.

Harry, however, was barely aware of anything in his surroundings. Something new was injected into his veins. Like adrenaline except far more potent. His senses had reached an acuity that could not be matched in anyone in the Wizarding World. The amount of magical energy in his hands felt astronomical.

But his brain had not yet fully reached consciousness. He became increasingly aware of Gates’ wand, and knew that he needed to do something, but could not. His focus was elsewhere.

Fleeting thoughts sparked and died. He thought of everything that was and could have been.

Of giving Hermione her Christmas gift.

Of Ron, Hermione, and himself all graduating happily.

Of taking Hermione to Hogsmeade.

Of possibly, hopefully, faintly, he and Hermione being together even after Hogwarts.

In an instant he reached full cognizance. It was as if someone had flicked on a light switch in his brain that had brought him to his normal level. Except he felt nothing normal. The connection in his chest and his heart felt whole and complete, and never stronger. He somehow sensed that this not permanent, but that did not bother him. It was the experience that put him in awe.

And Gates was still hanging over him, like an executioner.

And Harry knew what to do. He knew what he had to do.

He thought of the most horrible picture of a Dementor imaginable, and, concentrating on it, he said, “Arcesso!” The Conjuring Charm.

He felt himself sprout from his wand and grow. A deep, fathomless coldness swept over him, and he was suddenly aware that his Dementor was fully summoned. He was aware of the velvet black robes, aware of the ice fingers, and aware of the fear that surrounded him. He could taste it, and it was delicious.

It was nothing like the times he had conjured the other creatures. The others were simple, basic animals. The Dementor's mind was layered and intricate, and Harry had much more difficulty controlling it than he had with the others.

He could not see in the normal sense, but could sense hundreds of figures in the room. Three were unconscious. Several hundreds were incapacitated. One, he knew innately, was himself, that is, Harry. The last was standing four meters away from him, and the terror radiating off of him was tangible.

Drink the memory, Harry’s instinct told him. Kiss him.

Harry retained control, not willing to let the Dementor revert to its base and sadistic pleasures.

But slowly, irresistibly, he approached Gates. The Dementor wanted nothing more than to swoop over to the Hit Wizard, lift him up, suck the few exciting memories that were retained within his skull as if it was eating an oyster, and then devour his soul as a savory dessert. Gates’ fear was only making it more appetizing.

Harry could sense that Gates was waving his wand, incanting some sort of charm. The Dementor halted, becoming unsure of whether to progress.

“Expecto Patronum!” Gates bellowed, but the wild, untamable terror was clear in his voice. “Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum!”

And nothing happened. Nothing rose from his wand. Nothing was summoned. One of the most powerful wizards in the world could not summon a Patronus.

The Dementor, now completely crazed with desire, lunged forward and grasped Gates’ arms, and picked his way through the memories, eating only the choicest parts. Harry managed to see the replays of the Hit Wizard’s worst memories. They unraveled themselves in a terrifying fashion, and, at last, he came to a memory that was crystal clear. The Dementor knew what it was. Gates’ worst memory.

And, just like Gates, Harry was seeing the memory, and he wanted to scream. He pried himself away from the memory, shunning it, wanting to forget about it but being unable to. He viewed the Hit Wizard in an entirely different light.

Everything began to make sense with the playing of that single memory.

Gates’ insistence on removing all of the portraits featuring his mother in Gates manor.

His hatred of Corlov Dren, Nori Katashi, and Lodrick Regeal.

His quest for vengeance against Voldemort.

His innate fear of blood.

At last the Dementor finished swallowing the memories, and regurgitated the unwanted bits. A primal hunger gnawed at Harry’s mind. It wanted to complete this meal. It wanted to be satisfied.

It wanted to Kiss.

With all of his might Harry restrained the Dementor, forcing his creation to abandon its pursuit. But then, with equal vehemence, it turned its mind to another goal.

An Embrace, then, it hissed.

The Dementor stretched its arms around Gates’ back and held the Hit Wizard close, squeezing him, hugging him. Had there been observers, they would have thought that the two were lovers, or maybe mother and son. The Dementor absorbed something. Something massive.

The Dementor sensed the Pravus necklace. It could sense, not the diamonds, but the souls in their trapped chambers, forever locked in the damning necklace. There was a surge of something reversing itself, of energy rerouting, and the souls became stronger and stronger as more energy surged into them. At once they exploded and were released, and the Dementor could track them no more.

It was far too occupied in gulping down the last of its meal.

Finally, apparently full, it drifted away from Gates, letting the Hit Wizard fall to the floor. Alive or dead, not even the Dementor knew. It did not really care.

Harry began to feel himself weakening, and his senses became cloudy and distorted. In a moment he was restored to his original self, and he looked up to see the remnants of the Dementor dissolve into smoke. He felt drained, emptied. He had poured all of his energy into summoning the Dementor.

Gasping, Harry staggered over to Gates’ body and picked up his wand. He did not notice the broken shards of the shattered Pravus necklace. He waved it in the air in the fashion he had seen Gates do at the end of the duels, and, upon seeing the dome fall away, practically crawled over to Hermione’s body.

He lifted her wrist and felt for a pulse, silently praying he was not too late. He was not. She was faint, but alive. He took his wand to the hole in her neck, murmured the Healing Charm and collapsed, breathing heavily.

His strained limbs refused to respond to his pleas to move, and, quickly, he fell into unconsciousness.

(A/N: Hope that was a satisfying climax. I don't think anyone can appreciate the sheer fun I was having as I was writing Gates finally getting his comeuppance. What happened to the Hit Wizard? You'll see in the next chapter. What was his worst memory? You'll see...

How many chapters are left? Good question. I dont have a clue. Probably 3.

Next chapter: Everything is explained; we see what exactly drove Gates to his path.

30. A Glimpse of the Maw

(A/N: Oh no, I just looked at the calendar and realized I have a little more than two weeks to finish this fanfiction; which I said I would finished BEFORE the HBP came out. Never fear, this only means more frequent updates…and more all-night writing sessions!

And thanks for the reviews; I got a record number with the last chapter.

And I realized I said I would post an update last Friday, but better late than never!)

Harry opened his eyes, and then quickly closed them again. The lights burned his eyes. From the clean, sterile smell, and the warm blankets covering him, he knew that he was lying in the infirmary.

Someone whispered from nearby, and Harry realized that he was probably surrounded by various well-wishers.

He did not feel particularly ready to deal with everything. His head ached dully from the pain he had experienced...how long ago? How long had he been lying in the hospital wing?

Then it all rushed back to him in one, overbearing wave. Kreacher's attempted murder. Hermione's inert form. Ron's possession and subsequent subjugation to a Memory Charm by Gates. Gates' betrayal. Voldemort's invasion. The long, cold summoning of the Dementor that had done...something...to Gates that had left the Hit Wizard incapacitated and had destroyed the Pravus necklace. And, finally, the horrible, horrible memory that resided inside Gates' mind.

The Dementor had thought something about an Embrace.

"Harry?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry, sensing inevitability, opened his eyes. Slowly. "Yeah, I'm here," he said. His voice sounded hoarse and strained, as though he had been shouting for hours.

"It's only me and you here," said Dumbledore. "I felt that you would be more comfortable if it was only you and I speaking. I understand that there are things that you would rather not have the Weasley's, and, indeed, anyone else, hearing about."

"Hermione," Harry said, remembering suddenly. Anxiety struck him. He fumbled for his glasses and then tried to lift himself from the bed. "Is she all right? What about Ron-" He felt a stab of pain in his gut as he swung his legs out from the covers, and his brain swam in his skull.

Dumbledore took Harry's shoulders with his wrinkled hands and gently held him in place. "You need to rest, Harry. You can't be visiting them for some time yet. I can assure you, however, that Miss Granger is on her way to a full recovery."

"And what about Ron?" Harry asked, letting himself fall back down into the bed.

Dumbledore did not answer at first. "Mr. Weasley's position is extremely delicate," he said carefully. "As you know, Alex placed a Memory Charm on Mr. Weasley, essentially erasing parts of his mind. Unfortunately, the charm was so powerful that it rendered him unconscious and eliminated an entire region of his brain."

"Wait, what do you mean?" Harry asked. "Are you saying he's lost his marbles?"

"I'm saying nothing of the sort," Dumbledore said. "We do not fully know the effects the charm has had upon Mr. Weasley yet. I am hoping you could tell me more about Mr. Weasley's state during the time of the charm's execution. Madam Pomfrey had ascertained the spell that was used, but little else. What happened?"

"Gates-" Harry hesitated. He wanted to go into excessive detail, but found that his throat would not allow him more than a few words at a time. "Gates used the charm when Ron was in one of his fits. Ron - or I guess it was Dren, really - was kneeling, distracted, and then Gates did it."

A mixture of relief and apprehension crossed Dumbledore's face. "Then it is as I had feared."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. "One of the treatments the Mediwizards recommended to treat Ron's fits was a Memory Charm. If Gates used a Memory Charm-"

Dumbledore waved Harry into silence. "Using a Memory Charm on a human is dangerous in any condition. One of the reasons for this is because you can never be sure of what exactly you are erasing. For that reason, Memory Charms can only be for a last resort. And, in Mr. Weasley's case, it would have been unnecessary, as his possession would have worn off with time. Unfortunately, Alex's psychological interference prevented this from happening. Instead of becoming weaker, Ron's fits became stronger."

"What I'm trying to say, Harry," continued Dumbledore. "is that, when Gates used the Memory Charm, he did not know what he erased. Just as young Mr. Weasley's alternate personality could have been removed, his source personality could have."

Harry took a deep breath. "So what you're saying is that Ron could wake up to be Ron, fine and healthy, or he could wake up as Corlov Dren."

Dumbledore nodded.

"But wait-" Harry said, beginning to have an idea. "If you checked the Marauder's Map, it would say who Ron was. The map's with Gates. Check his pockets."

"We recovered everything from Alex," said Dumbledore. Harry nodded in return, missing the import of the headmaster's words. "And we checked the Marauder's Map. His name shows up blurred."

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, gazing vacantly at the far wall. His heart quickened in his chest as it slowly dawned on him that Ron might not be around ever again. Harry would never be able to lose another game of chess to him. They would never share jokes by the common room fire, or insult Snape in such a fashion that, if the Potions master ever heard, would cause Gryffindor to lose no less than a hundred points.

"I found a collection of other items in Alex's possession," Dumbledore continued. "Some of which, I believe, most certainly do not belong with him. It was my understanding that you allowed Alex to use the Marauder's Map for reasons of security, but I can see no use in him having your family photo album."

Dumbledore drew from his robe a leather-bound, battered book and set it on Harry's nightstand. Harry did not dare take it, but instead stared at it, not quite sure whether to believe his eyes. Then he looked towards the headmaster, saw the disappointment in his eyes, and his hear plummeted. He was now aware that he was about to have one of the worst conversations in his life.

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" Dumbledore asked quietly. "You have never completely forgiven me for keeping the prophecy from you, I see."

Harry found himself looking at the bed sheets, the flickering overhead lights, through the window: anywhere but Dumbledore's eyes. "If I had told you," Harry said. "Gates would've burned the whole thing."

Dumbledore took off his half-moon spectacles and set them on Harry's nightstand. His electric-blue eyes seemed to have taken on a duller tone. "I suspected that Alex had created such an arrangement," he said. "Even before the school year began, I knew he would attempt something like this. But I never dared to think that-" He stopped, seemingly unable to find words.

"You should keep my album for now," Harry said, quickly taking the book and offering it. "I can't keep it. When Gates recovers, he might try to destroy it."

Dumbledore stared at him for a moment, confused, but then his face cleared and he pulled up a nearby chair and sat in it. "That won't be necessary, Harry," he said, shaking his head. "Alexander Gates won't be recovering."

"What-" Harry sputtered. "You mean- Gates is- He's dead?"

"That's not an easy question to answer," said Dumbledore. His eyes took on their old, vibrant hue. "Certainly he's not alive, but neither is he dead. But before I go on, I would like you to tell me everything that had happened after you left the Great Hall with Alex."

In a slow monotone, Harry related the events that had passed, occasionally glancing towards the headmaster, looking for disapproval. He did not even find a reaction. Dumbledore's face never changed, even when Harry went over the darkest parts of his story, and somehow this made him feel more comfortable, more at ease. He might as well have been talking to a statue; so unmoving was the headmaster's expression.

"Then that explains many things," said Dumbledore. "And answers many questions that I had. As for Alex, well, it is now apparent that my initial reasoning was correct. He was subjected to the Dementor's Embrace."

"You mean he lost his soul?" Harry asked, the thought beginning to chill him. The very idea that one could lose his soul was terrifying.

"No," said Dumbledore. "A Dementor's Embrace is not like a Dementor's Kiss. Alex's soul was not devoured by the Dementor, but was actually imprisoned. His soul is trapped, and cannot escape." He shook his head, stroked his white beard, and then sighed. "Alex is neither alive nor dead. When the Dementor that you had summoned Embraced him, it performed a sort of transformation that I cannot even begin to understand. In a few decades, Alex will no longer be Alex. He will eventually become a Dementor."

All of Harry's unanswered questions unraveled themselves. The origin of the Dementor. "What? I've never heard of a Dementor doing that before."

"That's because there are very few people who are in such a condition as to allow such a transformation to happen," said Dumbledore. "In order for a Dementor to perform an Embrace, the victim would have to be in such a weak state of mind that the Dementor could easily ensnare it to its own purposes. Alex's unfortunate life and history made it easy for him to succumb to the Dementor's powers."

"So you're saying that all of the Dementors in the world were once human?"

"Yes," answered Dumbledore. "Every last one. How the first one was created, I do not know. But all of the successive Dementors were once incredibly depressed and pained individuals, who were twisted and corrupted into the Dementors that you know now."

Somehow, everything about this seemed wrong to Harry. He could not put his objections into words, however. "So we're going to- to let him become a Dementor?"

"The Dementor's Embrace leaves the victim incapacitated, Harry," continued Dumbledore. His voice, so soft and gentle, sounded unfit for the topic of conversation. "Alex's waking hours for the next decades will be very few. Until he becomes a full Dementor, he will remain unconscious and dead to the world. Excepting very few occasions."

"What do you mean about 'very few occasions'? You mean he can wake up?"

"During his unconscious state, Alex will be reliving his worst nightmares," continued Dumbledore. "These nightmares, in fact, are caused by the Embrace. The Dementor literally eats all of the victim's joyful memories, leaving, them with nothing but the worst horrors of their lives. As individuals with terrible pasts tend to have fewer positive memories, you can see why the Dementor's Embrace is most common among such people. To answer your question, while Alex has these nightmares, there will be - in fact, has been - periods where he will become roused, and will mindlessly wander. Sometimes these occurrences are peaceful, sometimes not. Do not ask me for the specifics. The subject is currently being studied by the best minds in the Department of Mysteries."

"I think I know what Gates is seeing," Harry said. "He's seeing what happened that night, when the Death Eaters came." The thought of the memory send shivers up and down his spine.

"Don't let that memory control you, Harry," Dumbledore said. "All forms of Legilimency and Occlumency are inherently dangerous to all parties involved. Seeing inside another's mind can be traumatic, sometimes fatal." He leaned closer to Harry as though to get a better look at him. "Do you desire to set what you saw in Alex's mind aside, into a pensieve?"

"That sounds good," Harry replied. Gates' memory...always residing in the back of his thoughts...he was not completely sure whether he could shelf it away. It seemed almost too simple.

"Once you recover I'll let you borrow my pensieve," said Dumbledore. "It can be stored there indefinitely, if you wish."

"What are we going to do with Kreacher?" Harry asked. He never heard of what they did with lawbreaking house-elves. Did they go to Azkaban with wizards? Hermione would know...

To Harry's great unease, Dumbledore took an unusually long time to answer. The headmaster looked unsure as to how to proceed.

"I didn't...kill him, did I?" All of the memories of the hate and anger that he had felt in Kreacher's mind resurfaced, and he wondered whether, in a fit of rage, he had actually murdered the house-elf. He remembered wanting to, but since then, his anger had cooled, and he no longer desired to see Kreacher's death.

"No," answered Dumbledore quickly. "You did not kill him." He sighed. "When we brought Kreacher into the infirmary, he was badly hurt. He was half-awake, and was muttering unintelligible phrases. After his condition had stabilized, Professor Snape fed him a draught of Veritaserum. What we learned was incredible." Dumbledore paused to replace his spectacles, and then continued. "We learned everything regarding Tom's repeated attempts on your life this past year. Kreacher had learned through indirect means many of Voldemort's plans and operations."

"What happened then?" Harry said. "Is he dead or not?" His heart was pounding in his chest, and he wanted badly to know the fate of one of his worst enemies.

"Alex, whose bed was not far from where we were interrogating Kreacher, was roused," said Dumbledore. "It is now apparent that one of the fits we had discussed earlier had seized him, and, when he saw Kreacher, he turned violent. I think something in particular infuriated him. Among the possessions Kreacher had on his person was what I believe was Alex's bracelet. Alex at once tore it from Kreacher's grip, and then, well..."

"And no one could stop him?"

"We tried, Harry, we tried," said Dumbledore, shaking his head. "But the transformation into a Dementor makes the victim resistant to every known curse. We could not stop him, even as he took Kreacher and tore him apart. He did it all with his hands."

Harry remembered Gates' words. I’LL KILL THAT DEATH EATER! I SWEAR THAT I WILL! I SWEAR IT ON MY HONOR AND ON MY FAMILY’S HONOR!

And he did, didn't he?

"And that's how..." Harry stopped. Kreacher's death was worse than anything he could have imagined.

Dumbledore continued. "Alex calmed down on his own, but not before he thoroughly pulverized Kreacher. Since then, we have locked Alex in a heavily charmed and reinforced room in the dungeons. He still has his bracelet, I believe." He said this all so calmly, so evenly, that Harry could scarcely believe that Dumbledore was not talking about anything more than a rather boring Quidditch match.

"Does he still have to follow the magical bond?"

"No. As he is not alive in our sense of the word, the magical bond is broken. He has been released from fulfilling the favors he owes Sirius."

Harry let out a breath of relief. Gates was gone. Truly, fully gone. His shoulders slackened, and felt the tense muscles in his lower back slowly loosen. But still, there was a question in the back of his mind.

"How did he do it?" Harry said. "How did Kreacher get in?"

Dumbledore nodded as though he had been expecting this question all along. "He managed to sneak into Hogwarts because of hubris, Harry. The hubris of wizards. The hubris of the ministry. The hubris of our ancestors." He paused, seeming to gather his breath. "Hubris is pride, arrogance. The word is derived from a Greek goddess named Hubris, who embodied those traits. Greek plays oftentimes had the hero suffering from hubris, and he would be punished by the gods for it."

"What do you mean?"

"I am saying, Harry, that wizards never considered house elves as equals," continued Dumbledore. "Wizards use house elves as servants, and never for an instant consider the risks. Wizards look down upon them as creatures. Inferior. You saw this in Hagrid's class, I believe. Did you not think it odd that the nature of a house elf would be taught in Care of Magical Creatures?"

Harry was too deep in reflection to respond.

"Our hubris has finally caught up with us, it seems," said Dumbledore. "The wards surrounding Hogwarts are among the strongest in the world. As you might know, they only detect artifacts passing into Hogwarts grounds. While it would be a relatively simple matter of preventing anything from entering Hogwarts grounds, we cannot restrict the movements of creatures in the Forbidden Forest. So instead we focus on recording the objects inherently associated with every wizard. Wands and other magical artifacts."

"House-elves don't need wands," Harry muttered.

"Precisely," said Dumbledore. "The wards around Hogwarts were built to prevent wizards from coming into Hogwarts, not house elves. Once Kreacher was safely inside Hogwarts' walls, he could move about freely. We have so many house elves in Hogwarts that they are not monitored or even counted. Not even I know exactly how many there are. The house elves themselves would not if an outsider joined their midst. Indeed, they believe that social activities are a waste of time."

Dumbledore's words were echoing Hermione's from the S.P.E.W. meetings. Harry was mentally cursing himself for missing the obvious.

"So, now that he was inside Hogwarts, Kreacher received his first order," said Dumbledore. "He was told to sneak into your dormitories. House elves with masters receive a bond that prevents them from attacking wizards, so Voldemort had to have Kreacher make an indirect assassination. Did you not wonder, for example, why, when Kreacher was obviously so close to you, he did not kill you? He could not. Even if Kreacher's master, whom I presume to be Lucius Malfoy, had ordered it, he could not have harmed you. The bond embedded into his brain would have prevented it. Additionally, Kreacher had nearly no experience with magic. How was he supposed to perform such a complicated jinx on his first try? So Voldemort had to possess Kreacher using the power that resides in every Dark Mark, and jinxed the wand himself. He could not attack you directly, Harry. Though Voldemort was controlling Kreacher, he was still governed by the elf's bonds."

"But still, some of the portraits must've seen Kreacher. Even the Fat Lady should have."

"House-elves do not use the same modes of transportation that wizards do," explained Dumbledore. "There are tunnels throughout Hogwarts which house elves use to quickly transport themselves around the castle. While they could potentially use apparation, I discourage them from doing so, as the process, as you know, creates a good deal of noise, and this would disturb many sleeping students and staff. One of these tunnels leads directly to the Gryffindor dormitories."

"Wait," Harry said, beginning to remember some of Hermione's S.P.E.W. lesson. "The elves that use those tunnels have to have you as their master, right? If Kreacher snuck in, you aren't his master."

"You are quite right, Harry," said Dumbledore, and for the first time weariness entered his voice. "We suffered a betrayal from inside. Wizarding hubris repeats itself, manifesting itself in yet another soul. Winky led Kreacher through the tunnels."

Harry was shocked beyond words. The implications of Dumbledore's words were enormous. "That can't be right," he said. "Dobby was always telling us how happier Winky was. He said that she must have been getting used to Hogwarts."

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, I'm afraid that's not true. At least not for the reasons Dobby gives. It seems that Rita approached Winky earlier in the year, before Kreacher was even in Hogwarts, and offered a chance to work for those described as 'Winky's master's relatives.' The Crouch's were pure blood, and were related to other, less reputable families. Families such as the Malfoy's."

"It was an easy matter for Miss Skeeter to convince the broken and depressed house elf to work for her master's relatives," Dumbledore continued. "As Hogwarts does not regulate its elves, and Winky never had any particular sense of loyalty to me, she was ensnared. This, I believe, is why she appeared to be happy. She was once again working for those who she viewed as her true masters. What elf wouldn't be happy?"

Harry's brain struggled to process the information. By Merlin, she was given the access of an elf belonging to Hogwarts, but really served the Malfoy's.

But suddenly, it made sense. Now Harry knew how Draco managed to tamper with Neville's food before his duel...

"So you're saying that Winky led Kreacher into my dormitories through the tunnels, Voldemort possessed Kreacher, and then he jinxed my wand?" Harry said, amazed at the ingenuity of it all.

"Yes," replied Dumbledore. "Voldemort's presence in the Nemesis mirror confirms this. It showed not Kreacher's face, but the mind controlling it."

"But what about the Quidditch match?" Harry asked. "Gates said that Voldemort apparated out of thin air."

"That's what Alex saw on the Marauder's map," said Dumbledore. "And the Marauder's map shows the name of the consciousness, not the body."

"But Voldemort's name and dot still couldn't have come out from nowhere," Harry countered.

"The answer is simple," said Dumbledore. "House-elves do not appear on the Marauder's Map. When Voldemort possessed Kreacher to jinx your wand, however, the map no longer registered Kreacher as a house elf, but as the entity controlling the elf. Voldemort. You have to understand the original reason for the creation of the Marauder's map, Harry. It was meant to help your father and his friends to sneak out of their dormitories late at night. It showed only what would be a threat to them. House-elves would not have been a threat, and your father would not have bothered to enchant the matter so that they were tracked."

Harry nodded. It was true. He had never noticed it before, but he had never seen a house elf on the Marauder's map.

"Did Kreacher have anything to do with the attack on Gates manor?"

"I do not believe so," said Dumbledore. "And Kreacher knew nothing about it, it seems, which is not surprising. We may never know how the Death Eaters broke through the Fidelus Charm. It might not have been a result of Voldemort's planning at all, though it seems like it."

"However," Dumbledore continued. "In the spring we captured Rita Skeeter and learned of her involvement with the Dark Lord. Kreacher's link to Voldemort was severed, and he did not know what to do. He was still connected through the Dark Mark, but possession is not an efficient mode of communication, and he could not receive orders. So, unsupervised, Kreacher did whatever he desired."

"He attacked Gates," Harry said slowly.

"Not directly," corrected Dumbledore. "He used Winky for his own purposes. Creating a fictitious order from Voldemort, he told Winky to attack Alex. To stun him and steal his silver bracelet. Winky, who feared that if she disobeyed she would lose her master, had no choice. Using the stealth and powers that every house elf is born with, she snuck up behind Alex, stunned him, and then took the bracelet."

"Why?" Harry asked. "Why attack Gates?"

"Kreacher learned a long time ago from his mistress that one of the Black treasures had fallen down an obscure branch of the family," said Dumbledore. "He must have somehow learned of Alex's possession of it, and, remembering his old mistress' ravings, he set out to retrieve it."

"But, as soon as Winky returned the bracelet to Kreacher, she had to punish herself," said Dumbledore. "And there is only one punishment harsh enough to reach atonement. Death. She, quite literally, killed herself."

Despite Winky's betrayal, and despite everything else, Harry felt nothing but pity for her. For years she wanted her master back, and, when she finally got a substitute, she was faced with the choice of fulfilling an order and dying or disobeying her master. She chose the former. Misplaced loyalty; the greatest tragedy of them all.

"If Voldemort wasn't sending Kreacher orders, where did the Grendel come from?"

"You don't know it, Harry, but Voldemort is afraid of you," said Dumbledore. "Terrified, in fact. With every plan of his that fails, his fear grows. Unnerved by the sudden loss of communication with Kreacher, he likely became impatient and angry. So, not bothering to attempt to warn Kreacher beforehand, he initiated a possession through the Dark Mark, and then, using every ounce of power that he had, conjured a Grendel. It failed, and Voldemort was too drained to attack further."

"There's one thing that's been bothering me, professor," said Harry awkwardly. "How did I fight off Voldemort's possession and then summon a Dementor? I mean, a moment before that I was exhausted."

Dumbledore turned his blue eyes onto Harry. "You should know that answer to that by now. It saved you before in the Ministry of Magic. The-Power-He-Knows-Not. Voldemort couldn't stand being with it. Alex, for all of his strength, could not even fight it. The Power gave you the energy to use the single spell that would result in his destruction."

Harry's agitation would not cease. "But a Dementor..."

"You conjured it in self-defense, Harry," Dumbledore said mildly. "Normally, you need a license to summon such a creature, but due to the nature of the scenario, I doubt Madam Bones will allow the ministry to press charges. I believe Auror Alverton will be especially opposed to prosecution. This, of course, includes your unlicensed use of the Edward Skinner Curses."

"What's going to happen to Gates?"

Dumbledore took a long time to answer. "He will not be leaving Hogwarts. I...knew Alex's mother, Casseopeia, decades ago. When she was arranged to be married Yegor Gates, she knew that she was going to be endangered. Back then, the family Gates was desperately trying to stay neutral in the war, not publicly taking sides with either Voldemort or the ministry. It was well known that Voldemort would oftentimes attack neutral families to...help them make up their minds. Casseopeia foresaw that she and her family could die in the conflict. When she had children, she contacted me and made me swear that, should she die, I would protect them. I agreed, and to seal the promise, she had given me a ring of the family Gates. With it, I could access any part of Gates manor, should the need arise."

Harry remembered the ring that the Sorting Hat had given him. It must be the same one...

"I have never forgotten it," continued Dumbledore. "I tried, once, to save Alex from himself, but when I did so, he fled east, where I could not follow. When he came back, he would not listen. But now, I will keep him securely in Hogwarts for as long as I can, perhaps in one of the many sealed areas that were once used to hold prisoners before the castle became a school. I could not afford to risk him coming loose among the students."

"If I was like that," said Harry. "I'm not sure I would want to live."

"He's not alive, Harry," Dumbledore said. "He merely exists. Nothing could possibly destroy him now. His body is like granite, and poisons have no apparent effect on him. No known curses could hurt him while he is in the transition stage. Like a Dementor, he can no longer be vanquished by normal means."

"At least the necklace is gone. What happened to all of the...people that were on it?"

"They continued into whatever afterlife there is," said Dumbledore. "The Dementor could not snatch the souls when they were in such a form. How precisely the Pravus necklace was destroyed I do not quite understand, as there are precious few references on the artifact, but it is possible Severus could give more insight."

Destroyed, Harry thought. He remembered reading a passage on how to destroy a Pravus necklace over winter break. Something to do with a wand’s core…

"It’s also becoming apparent that the Pravus necklace played a greater role this year than we previously believed," said Dumbledore. "Don’t you think it strange the sense of timing Kreacher had, and, indeed, the other Death Eaters had as well? I believe Voldemort was observing you throughout the year. Not through your own mind, as your Occlumency training was too good, but through an alternate source. I believe the Pravus necklace held so many Death Eaters that it actually allowed Voldemort to experience Alex’s senses. If you remember, the energy from the Pravus necklace is fed directly into Alex’s body, so why, theoretically, could Voldemort not see into his mind? Alex’s powers of Occlumency were weak due to the amount of painful memories to exploit, and it would be an easy matter for Tom to sneak into the mind without Alex even being aware of it."

"That could explain how Dolohov knew exactly where I was in Hogsmeade," said Harry.

The headmaster nodded. "It would also explain how Alex was so easily taken unawares by Winky."

Dumbledore drew a bag of lemon drops, popped one in his mouth, and then offered the bag to Harry. After Harry declined, he put it back into his robes and said; "Now I must leave you to your rest. I have to retrieve Professor Whams so that we may better assess young Mr. Weasley's condition."

"Professor Whams?" Harry asked, puzzled. "Why him?"

A look of real confusion crossed Dumbledore's face. "Because Henry Whams is very qualified, Harry. You know as well as I that Professor Whams would insist on being present."

"I don't follow you."

Dumbledore returned to his seat, the first impressions of understanding beginning to enter his wrinkled face. "You don't know that Professor Henry Whams is an Unspeakable from the ministry?" he asked slowly.

Harry's eyes widened with shock. "How would I know that? After what happened last year you let another ministry official in here?"

"The ministry would never have let Ronald Weasley back into the school without some sort of supervision," said Dumbledore. "The ministry also wished to have an agent within our school for security reasons. Madam Bones herself requested it when she headed the Office of Magical Law Enforcement."

"They had an agent in our school before," said Harry heatedly.

"Professor Whams, unlike Dolores, is not a representative from the ministry," responded Dumbledore. "For many reasons, Professor Whams was a suitable candidate, not the least being the recent scarcity of Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers."

"But he's senile!"

"Harry," said Dumbledore quietly. "Professor Whams is a professional, and his apparent incompetence was an act. Only myself, Madam Bones, a few key Department of Mystery officials, Minister Fudge, and one other individual is aware of it. And now you, of course. He came to Hogwarts to monitor Ronald Weasley and to play the part of a free hand."

Harry furrowed his brows. "Free hand?"

"Yes, he would not be restricted in any, way, shape, or form," said Dumbledore. "No one, especially possible undercover spies to Voldemort, would believe him to be any sort of threat. They would therefore become careless around him, and say and do things that they might not normally do. After all, there were spies before in Hogwarts. Unfortunately, Professor Whams looked in all the wrong places. He went as far as to break into one of Professor Snape's storage rooms and ransack it to ensure that Severus was not working for Voldemort, I believe."

"Percy never knew?"

"As I said before, Professor Whams is a professional," said Dumbledore. "And Percy's ignorance is testimony to his skill. Percy tends to believe only what he's told be his superiors. It never occurred to him that Professor Whams was more than what he seemed, especially when he spent long hours during the night shuffling through the papers that Henry intentionally spilled. Percy's presence was necessary not only to aid with the disguise, but also to help Ronald through his difficult time. Strained relationships with other family members only serves to increase the stress of the mind, and when there is a second personality fighting for control, the strain could easily develop into something dangerous."

"I still find it hard to believe that you never knew," said Dumbledore, twirling his white beard.

"How could I have known? You should have told us! Told Ron!"

"The last individual that knew..." continued Dumbledore. "The one that I left unnamed…it was Ronald himself. He spent many hours with Henry practicing Occlumency. I expected that he would tell you and Miss Granger himself, as I never expressly forbidden him to do so, but it seems that I miscalculated. I cannot tell you how unusual that is."

Harry felt his mouth go dry. How could Ron not trust him with something so important? Though, admittedly, he should be the last one to think that way, considering what he had kept from Ron and Hermione for so long. He knew what Ron had hid it from them. He was afraid of what they would think.

"Well, Henry is probably waiting," said Dumbledore. "Do you still wish to borrow my pensieve, Harry?"

Harry nodded numbly.

"Then I'll bring it here this evening, provided you're feeling well," He paused, scrutinizing Harry closely. "Are you?"

"I'm fine, professor."

Apparently satisfied, Dumbledore softened his gaze. "Good. I'll be back in a few hours."

"If Hermione or Ron wakes up, you'll get me, right?"

"Of course."

When the door clicked into place behind Dumbledore, Harry laid back in his bed and stared at the ceiling. He knew that if he closed his eyes, the nightmares would return. The replay of Gates' worst memory, a relic from when the Dementor had pried open the Hit Wizard's brain.

Irresistibly, his eyes closed, and, as if the very scene was playing out on the back of his eyelids, the nightmare unraveled itself.

Harry was standing in room that could only be described as aristocratic. It was staffed with Louis the XI chairs, a heavy, four-poster bed with a dark red, velvet curtain. An ancient desk, made out of perhaps oak, sat in the corner. It was neatly organized, with paper, ink, a quill, and a letterbox all carefully and methodically placed. On top of the dark, deeply lacquered hardwood floor was a Persian Rug, the exotic designs on it painstakingly preserved with some sort of charm. A portrait of a rocky cliff hanging over a whitewashed sea hung over a side desk, its frame carved to match the regality of the surrounding furniture.

Despite the change from the last time he saw it, Harry knew where he was. It was the forbidden room inside of Gates manor, and he was seeing it before it was warped out of proportion by the Hit Wizard's unbridled anger.

A young boy was sitting at the foot of the bed, shaking, his arms wrapped around his knees. He seemed too petrified to move. It was hard to believe that inside of that young boy was the potential to become a monster. The soft, round cheeks and full black hair betrayed no notion that this boy would one day become a ruthless Hit Wizard, who, driven by madness, would perform unspeakable deeds. There was not a trace of the arrogance or cruelty that Harry would normally have associated with Alexander Gates.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and three figures strode in, their wands at their sides, looking vastly different from one another. Death Eaters, though none of them wore masks. None of them saw Harry, of course, as he was viewing nothing but a memory.

"The man and the woman are dead, correct?" asked the first one. He wore formal robes with purple lining, and his expression was relaxed, almost bored. His sleek black hair was combed to one side, and he could probably have passed himself off as a politician had it not been for his shoes, which were stained with blood.

A bodiless voice that no one but Harry could hear said; "Lodrick Regeal." To Harry, the voice was vaguely familiar, but he could not identify it. The name it spoke of, however, was clear enough. It was the name of the wizard that he was watching; one of the killers that had invaded Gates manor.

"Oh, yes," said another. Harry did not need the voice to tell him who was speaking. He had seen him once before in a previous memory. His robes, hands, and face were soaked and dripping with blood. It looked demonic against his pale skin. "The woman put up a bit of a fight, but I got her eventually. The man, however, I made quite a mess of."

Harry felt as though he was going to be sick.

"Corlov Dren," said the familiar voice. Harry struggled to place the voice with a name, but failed. It seemed so close; on the tip of his tongue.

"That's a pity, some of the artwork were copies of classics," said the third Death Eater in a foreign accent.

This one was the strangest yet, and Harry did not know what to make of him. Unlike the other Death Eaters, he was spotless, impeccably aristocratic in manner and dress. He wore a muggle Brooks Brothers suit with a white silk shirt and matching gloves. His shoes were Italian, and his slacks and jacket were hand-cut. A gold chain fell stylishly out of his pocket, which Harry assumed to be attached to some sort of timepiece. At his side was a curved sword and scabbard, and, unlike others Harry had seen, it seemed to belong with the man. In fact, Harry suspected that the Death Eater would look very out-of-place without it. Lastly, Harry came to his eyes, and his breath hitched in his throat. They looked as though they were made out of glass, and the pupils seemed to change color as they darted around the room.

"Nori Katashi," said the voice, and Harry agreed. The wizard's short, white beard and eyes betrayed an Asian descent.

Then, in an instant, a name surfaced in Harry's mind, one that he had not thought of for a long time. A long time indeed. The voice belonged to Sirius Black.

And Sirius' speaking the three names could only mean a single thing, Harry realized with growing shock.

"Let's finish this," said Lodrick Regeal. His voice was refined, educated. "The Dark Lord wishes him dead, then so shall he be."

Dren stepped forward. "It would be a pleasure. Look at him. He's too terrified to move."

"Patience," said Katashi. His polished shoes squeaked as he moved to place his hand on Dren's shoulder. "There is no need to be hasty."

"What do you have in mind?" Dren asked. Respect and awe entered his eyes like a light.

"This is not a fooling matter," said Regeal, losing some of his composed manner. "The Dark Lord disapproves of his Death Eaters wasting time on their kills. He deemed the boy a threat! He needed a Seer to break the prophecy, and he has rewarded you well for it!"

"I am not one of Voldemort's Death Eaters," said Katashi calmly. "And this will be the last time I do this for him. I don't enjoy being hurried, nor do I enjoy being ordered around by a subordinate."

Regeal blanched, but said; "Just make sure the job is done properly, that's all!"

"We don't necessarily need to kill the boy to break it," said Katashi. "My job may already be finished." He drew an oval mirror from his pocket and raised it into the air. He seemed to be looking for something. "Is Alexander Gates a threat to Voldemort?"

Satisfied, he lowered and pocketed the mirror.

"What did it say?" rasped Dren.

"We've already accomplished our work," said Katashi softly. He was eyeing Gates up and down, as though appraising a piece of art. "The boy is far too traumatized to become any sort of threat anymore. He'll probably spend the rest of his days in St. Mungo's."

"Not if we do what we're ordered," said Regeal through gritted teeth.

Katashi ignored him. "Corlov, you say you killed the mother? She wasn't...vaporized, was she?"

"She's in one piece, if that's what you're asking."

"Excellent," Katashi said, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. "Could you be so good as to retrieve her?"

Dren nodded deferentially and went through the door and out of sight. Katashi drew an old-fashioned timepiece on a chain, checked it, and then put it away again.

"Don't take too long," warned Regeal. "We're already overdue, and the Dark Lord-"

"Shut up," said Katashi, and Regeal fell silent.

Throughout this exchange, Gates had not moved. He remained motionless on the bed, his jaw opened slightly, his eyes wide and staring. His face looked bleached, drained of all color. Fear was rocking him back and forth.

"I hate doing this to children," Katashi muttered under his breath. Then, louder, "This is the first and last time Voldemort so much as mentions attacking a child in my presence. If I knew he was only - what, ten years old? - I would've never agreed to this."

"What are you planning to do to him?" Regeal asked quietly.

"Not kill him."

Lodrick looked ready to argue again, but Dren passed through the door, silencing everyone in the room, carrying a body that dripped with blood.

"Is she in adequate condition?" Dren asked.

"Enough to suit our purposes," replied Katashi passively. "Set her down on the rug - wait - charm the rug first. We don't want to needlessly dirty it."

Dren did so, and then gingerly set down the body, as though setting down a doll. The corpse rolled onto its back, and she - as the body was female - stared vacantly up in the ceiling with white orbs for eyes. Harry turned away, clasping his hand over his mouth. Her face was torn and scabbed, and looked like it was subjected to some sort of burning multiple times. Pearly white teeth pushed out of charred gums. Bones poked through broken skin at some parts, and around the eyes and mouth the flesh curled back, revealing the veins and arteries underneath. Harry did not want to see what the rest of the body looked like. All he saw was the face...

"Body bind the boy," said Katashi.

Dren obeyed immediately, taking a step towards Gates, and then incanted the necessary spell. For the first time, Gates seemed aware of his surroundings. He shrieked and scampered away across the bed, raising his hands defensively.

Dren laughed and waved his wand. The curse struck Gates directly in the chest, straightening his legs and making him as stiff as a board.

"Very good," said Katashi. He went over to the bed, picked the boy up with his hands, and then leaned down to his ear. He spoke words meant for Gates and Gates alone.

"Don't worry, child," said Katashi softly. "You'll live. The next days will haunt you for a while, but you'll live."

He placed Gates next to his dead mother, and then arranged the two so that they were facing each other, the future Hit Wizard's eyes staring directly into his mother's sightless ones. Due to the Body Binding curse, Gates' face betrayed no change in his expression, but his eyes rolled frantically in their sockets, and he seemed to be silently screaming.

"Ingenious," Dren said in an awestruck voice.

"Cast a charm on him to make sure he doesn't starve," said Katashi. If Harry had been less alert, he would have missed the slight tinge in the Death Eater's voice. Pity. "The Aurors will find him in a week or so."

"Are you two finished?" Regeal demanded. "We'll be fortunate to be spared the Cruciatus Curse-"

Katashi waved his hand dismissively. "Don't be absurd."

Muttering, Lodrick left the room, followed closely by Katashi. Reluctant to leave, Dren stole one last glance at the two - mother and son - and then left.

Time flew forward, and days passed as Gates watched his mother decay before his eyes. Her eyes sunk deeper into her skull, and then the worms and maggots came, and the smell...

Who could look into their mother's face after seeing that? Harry knew now why Gates removed all of her portraits, and kept only her bracelet in memory. Who could not develop a mortal fear of blood after walking through meter after meter of their father's remains to go into the kitchens to find help after the Binding curse wore off weeks later? Everything began to make more and more sense. But with every revelation, Harry wanted it to end. He had never felt so sick in his life.

"Harry?" said a voice gently, breaking from his vision. Dumbledore. "Harry? Madam Pomfrey told me you've been screaming."

Harry shook out from his dream, feeling sweat down his back and on his forehead. "I'm fine. I'm all right now. I mean, I'll be all right."

"I've brought my pensieve," said Dumbledore, motioning to Harry's nightstand. The stone bowl sat there, a faint glow issuing from it.

"Before we do that," Harry said. "I want to ask you something."

Dumbledore looked slightly taken aback. "Yes?"

"Why did Sirius tell Gates the names of his parents' killers?"

"How did you learn of that?" Dumbledore asked quietly. "How long have you known?"

"I realized it in a dream," said Harry. "In Gates' memory. Sirius' voice spoke all of their names. Lodrick Regeal. Corlov Dren. Nori Katashi."

"Then I see there's no point of hiding it from you any longer," said Dumbledore, sighing. "Sirius' brother, Regalus, had joined with the Death Eaters while he was still in school. Sirius once told me that his brother had a tendency to tell stories of what the Death Eaters did, and one of these stories apparently was about what had been done years ago. It was a popular tale among Voldemort’s underlings. Regardless, Sirius heard it all, and memorized the names. At graduation, Sirius told Alex the names, hoping it would bring him some closure. It had the opposite effect. I believe that this is why, over the past year, Alex has called your godfather a liar. Alex believed that Sirius had been hiding this information from him."

Dumbledore continued: "Sirius did not wish to have any favors, but Alex, being obsessed with honor, grudgingly gave them anyway. One for each name."

"Sirius didn’t know what he was getting into."

"No, indeed he did not," said Dumbledore. "Are you ready for the pensieve?"

Harry nodded, and grabbed his wand. Dumbledore showed him the technique required for drawing the memories, and then handed the pensieve to Harry.

Taking a deep breath, concentrating on the memory he wished to be purged of, he took his wand to his temple and drew it from his head. He tapped the tip of his wand on the seemingly liquid surface of the pensieve, and then waited.

Dumbledore took the pensieve from him and looked at him questioningly.

Harry nodded.

The memory was no longer there.

(A/N: There’s the explanation for Gates’ hate. Hopefully this didn’t leave anyone disappointed, but the sheer cruelty of what was done to him is enough to explain his quasi-insanity.

This chapter should also have answered every question in regards to the main plot. I’ve examined it several times, and there shouldn’t be any plot holes (God help me if there is) but if anyone stumbles across one, post a review and I’ll address it (in other words, bs my way out), but there really shouldn’t be any.

For those who want to know, approximately two chapters left!

Next chapter: The nightmares return, which results in Harry getting a view of the wrath of Voldemort as well as dire hints of the Dark Lord’s future plans in the form of a child’s poem. Hermione and Ron’s fates are decided as this fanfic works its way to a closing.

31. Crimson and Silver

(A/N: And the race to finish this fanfic before the HBP races on! I apologize in advance for any grammical errors that I’m making. Since I have little time, I’ve released by betas and am simple going to post the next chapter when I finish it. If any of you are strict about grammar and spelling, be warned. Also, since I'm sure at least one or two of you are going to be camping in front of Barnes and Nobles Friday night, I'll try to finish this fic by Thursday.)

"You're all fools!" Harry shouted over a congregation of Death Eater in a dark stone chamber. His underlings were spread out before him, their foreheads pressed to the cold floor, muttering apologies.

It was Voldemort.

He had never been so angry, or terrified, in his life. None of them sensed the latter, fortunately. There were no Legilimentists among them. The fact that he was aware of his own fear made him even more furious, and he struck a nearby Death Eater with the Cruciatus Curse.

"We were close!" he roared. "Yet close counts for nothing!"

"Alexander Gates..." murmured someone.

"ALEXANDER GATES MEANS NOTHING!" Voldemort shrieked, whirling and striking the speaker with a curse.

The man writhed, twisting on the stone floor, as his blood literally began to boil in his veins. His hand shot upward, he gasped, and a sound like gurgling water escaped his lips. He fell to the ground, motionless. No one dared to move.

"It's Harry Potter who is in the prophecy," hissed Voldemort, quietly, venomously. "I will tolerate no more distractions. Crucio!" Another man began to scream in pain, and Voldemort continued, his voice sounding very clear against the high-pitched shrieks. "I cannot understand the thoughts that run through your minds. IT IS HARRY POTTER WHO MUST DIE!" he exploded.

The room went still, and the lone Death Eater's screams died away as soon as Voldemort lifted the curse. Voldemort stood to his full height, and slowly walked past the groveling Death Eaters as if inspecting them. He came to a stop before Rodolphus, and, looking down at the wizard's trembling hands, immediately sensed his own phobia manifested into a Death Eater.

"Lord-" Rodolphus began, but was cut off when Voldemort dragged him to his feet and yanked his head back. Voldemort leaned forward, peering into the Death Eater's eyes.

"Let's see exactly what foolishness is going on inside of your minds," said Voldemort as he pried into Rodolphus' mind and picked through the memories.

Nothing enlightening, though he had not really expected anything to be. He only wanted to make sure his Death Eaters knew that he could flip through their minds just as easily as he was doing with Rodolphus.

He slowed his absorption of thoughts as he neared the present. The clarity became such that he could almost hear Rodolphus’ internal battles and debates.

Then he came across a recent thought. A minute or two old.

“It’s Riddle’s own fault. He let the Potter boy get away. We fulfilled out obligations.”

Rage and fear surged inside of him. Rage at the thoughts, and fear at the truth they contained.

THE POTTER BOY IS NOTHING! he shouted at himself.

Voldemort released Rodolphus and stepped away. Immediately he drew his wand, pointed it at the Death Eater’s forehead, and incanted, “Avada Kedavra!” Rodolphus slumped to the ground, lifeless. Two dead Death Eaters. That was one more than he had planned.

From the corner of his eye, he was pleased to see that Bellatrix had not so much as flinched.

“Weak,” Voldemort said in a breath. “But what can I expect from the same followers who had abandoned me at their first opportunity?”

No one dared to speak.

Becoming satisfied with their abject terror, Voldemort said, “A reevaluation is in order. There will be no more delays. My enemies were not idle as we wasted time on Harry Potter.”

Voldemort paused suddenly, and a searing realization swept across his mind like a giant wave. All of his thoughts and emotions vanished, locked away in an instant.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” hissed Voldemort softly. “No longer protected, are you?”

Harry struggled, trying to end the dream, but could not. He felt tired, borderline unconscious.

Voldemort presented Harry with a psychological flash of amusement. “Weak too. It’s a matter of time, Potter. You know that. I’m patient. I’ve spent years waiting for my chance, and I can wait one more. You won’t want to be alive when I unleash what I have stored.”

Abruptly, the hold released and Harry felt as though he was being physically thrown from Voldemort’s mind. The dream went black, and then, quietly, it ended.

**

“Harry! Wake up!”

He woke to the blinding lights of the hospital wing, shocked from sleep by someone’s incessant shaking of his shoulders. He opened his eyes to see the hazy outline of a snow-white beard, a pair of vibrant blue eyes.

His head throbbed painfully, and he was relieved when someone - he wasn’t sure who - pressed a cool cloth to his forehead. Disoriented, he grabbed one of the arms that were grasping his shoulders and held onto it as though it was keeping him from falling.

Harry’s dream with Voldemort was all too clear in his head, and he could see two points of red before his eyes. Like eyes.

“A nightmare,” said a voice. Harry recognized it as Lupin’s. “And a bad one, from the looks of it. By Merlin, he was screaming.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions yet, Remus,” replied Dumbledore. Then, to Harry, “Have the dreams returned?”

Lupin removed the cloth from Harry’s forehead and leaned down questioningly over the bed. Several times over the year, Harry thought of how old Lupin seemed. Even in the letters he sensed a sort of exhaustion in them, as though they had all been written after a very long duel. Now, looking at Lupin, Harry saw that he was not far from the mark. While wizards could live to be quite old - incredibly old, by muggle standards - Harry wondered whether Lupin would live to see a hundred. He could see it all in the sagging eyes, the graying hair.

“I was in his head again,” Harry said. He was still remembering the dream. He had never read Voldemort’s emotions and thoughts so easily. “He was angry and…and afraid, talking about how the Death Eaters had fouled up his plan. He killed two of them.”

Lupin grimaced, but Dumbledore managed to keep his expression clear. “Tom never cared overly much for his followers. You were able to feel his emotions?”

“Wait,” interrupted Lupin. “I thought Severus and you had solved this. There shouldn’t be any dreams.”

“Snape’s gone,” Harry said. He turned to Dumbledore. “He vanished from my mind after whatever I did to Kreacher.” Remus stirred at the mention of the house-elf. “I think I pushed him from my head somehow.”

Dumbledore frowned. “I suspected as much. I did not mention it before, but what you performed upon Kreacher was actually a form of Telekinesis.”

“Impossible,” said Lupin. “Telekinesis takes years of practice and training. And even then only the best wizards can perform it consistently.”

“Other wizards aren’t as…gifted as Harry in certain respects,” Dumbledore said cautiously. “Regardless, it is clear that it was unintentional. He could’ve received no such training at Hogwarts.”

Harry looked to Dumbledore, to Remus, and then back to Dumbledore. “What are you saying? What did I do?”

“In a spurt of mental energy, you, quite literally, attacked Kreacher’s physical brain,” said Dumbledore. “Only considerable amounts of emotional distress and trauma could possibly trigger such a reaction. What can you remember feeling when it occurred?”

Harry shifted in his bed. He recalled all too well what he was feeling. “I remember hating him. I remember wanting him- wanting him dead. Like with Bellatrix.”

Lupin put his face in his hands. “You followed my model. A fool’s model.”

“That’s not it at all,” said Harry. “I just…I remembered Sirius, and then what he was doing to Hermione…I didn’t think of you at all.”

“Then it is now clear what happened,” said Dumbledore after a pause. “There was so much telekinetic energy, and you were so inexperienced in its use, that you inadvertently purged the Occlumensia Anomaly from your mind.”

“We’ll have to restore it,” said Harry instantly. “Voldemort can look into my head whenever he wants now.”

“It’s not as simple as that,” continued Dumbledore. “The Occlumensia Anomaly is the most unresearched phenomena of the mind. While we know that the people who share it have a certain bond to begin with, we know nothing of its creation. Having more Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape may or may not restore the anomaly.”

“Then what’re we supposed to do in the meantime?” Lupin asked.

“I would first like to assess Harry’s dream,” said Dumbledore, turning to Harry. “Before we began delving into the mysteries of Telekinesis and the Occlumensia Anomaly, you mentioned you sensed Tom’s emotions.”

“It was strange,” said Harry, still trying to hold onto the fragments of the dream. It was like trying to hold onto sand. “Voldemort didn’t even notice me at first. I was able to read him without him sensing me. He was furious at the Death Eaters, but, more than that, he was terrified. That’s why I think he lost his temper.”

“Severus told me that he was reading similar emotions from the Dark Mark,” said Dumbledore, nodding. “Tom’s sensing his own mortality. For years he had thought himself invincible, and then the prophecy told him differently.” He sighed. “Unfortunate.”

“What do you mean?” asked Harry. “If Voldemort is afraid, that’s a good thing, right?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “Not necessarily. With Tom, his own arrogance and anger was his greatest weakness. He would overextend himself and make rash decisions. His fear will now make him more cautious and calculating. We cannot expect him to make too many mistakes in the coming year, I’m afraid.”

“Voldemort also said that he wasn’t going to delay any further,” added Harry. “And he said a reevaluation is in order.”

Lupin and Dumbledore exchanged dark looks. “Then the real war is beginning,” said Remus. “He won’t be focusing on you any longer.”

“What do you think he’s planning?”

“I don’t know,” said Dumbledore. His eyes were gazing across the room. He seemed distracted. “With Tom Marvlo Riddle, no one will know until the very end.”

“But we have clues,” Lupin said. “Madam Bones ordered raids on several Death Eater manors since her replacement of Fudge, and Shacklebolt says they’ve turned up only vague but sinister references to it.”

“Like what?”

Lupin looked to Dumbledore for confirmation, who nodded. “The central clue came off of a high-level Death Eater captured in one of the raids. When he was put under Veritaserum, he answered all of our questions about Voldemort’s future plans in gibberish. Obviously a complex Confusion Charm. The Aurors attempted to break it, but Shacklebolt said they received only one coherent answer before he went completely mad.”

“The response came in the form of a child’s poem,” continued Lupin. “He said:

Ring around the rosie,

A pocket full of posies,

Ashes, ashes,

We all fall down.”

“We assume that the charm was so strong that it prevented him from giving any sort of direct answer,” said Dumbledore. “So he recited a rhyme that, in some way, tells us what Tom is planning.”

Harry recited the rhyme in his head, but could make no sense of it. “I don’t get it. What’s he saying?”

“It suggests a multitude of possibilities,” Dumbledore said. “None of which tell us specifically what Tom is doing. All of the theories, however, share one common thread. They all involve massive amounts of deaths among wizards and muggles alike. Millions, even.”

“What do you mean?” said Harry uneasily. He didn’t see how one person - even someone as powerful as Voldemort - could possibly kill so many people. “He’s not that strong yet, is he?”

Dumbledore’s distracted gaze returned. He seemed extraordinarily uncomfortable, which was quite a feat for the venerable headmaster. The way he stroked his beard, the way the corners of his mouth moved, all spoke of agitation.

“The poem the Death Eater recited is actually a reference to the Black Plague,” said Dumbledore at length. “The ‘ring around the rosie’ is a reference to the round, red rash that first appears on the unfortunate victim. The second line alludes to the habit of people stuffing their upper pockets full of flowers to mask the scent of the dead and dying in the streets. The ashes spoken of in the third line were the result of mass-burnings, where corpses were incinerated without burial. The last line’s meaning is self-evident.”

“You’re saying that Voldemort is going to release the plague on England-”

“We’re saying nothing of the sort,” interjected Lupin. His eyes turned fleetingly towards Dumbledore - possibly in anger - and then returned to Harry. “The poem is ambiguous at best, and we all should keep in mind that they were the words of a man losing his mind. It is possible that he was meant to recite the poem in a double-feint. Besides, it is questionable as to how much of an effect the disease would have on today’s world. We no longer live in the past, when the Black Plague wrecked havoc across Europe. There are quarantines and other such measures that could be taken against an outbreak.”

“I agree with Remus,” said Dumbledore, and, for a moment, Lupin looked at him in surprise. “It is plain that there is no clear meaning. However, I do believe that Tom is capable and willing to take another disease and modify it to make it immune to modern technology. The poem might merely be describing the desired effects Tom wishes it to have.”

Lupin shook his head in disagreement. “There are those that question whether that is possible. The Department of Mysteries once released an annual report that declared that such magic is beyond the capabilities of any wizard.”

“You underestimate Tom’s power,” said Dumbledore. “You have never seen him work to achieve a goal. You have never known him personally.”

Harry began concentrating on the headmaster’s words. Never before had he heard Dumbledore speaking of the kind of person Voldemort was in Hogwarts.

“More than anything else, he desired perfection,” Dumbledore continued. “He could not merely be equal with his house brothers, he had to surpass them. Being in Slytherin as a half-blood, he had to. He had to be exceptional, or he was ignored. And, above all else, Tom hated being ignored. In Transfiguration, he was so far ahead of the rest of the class that I began tutoring him on the side. My colleagues at the time all told me similar stories of his massive potential. When Tom starts on a path, he always finishes it.”

Harry repeated Dumbledore’s last sentence in his head. The implications the headmaster had made with that simple statement were enormous.

Dumbledore’s expression suddenly lightened, as though he had just remembered something. “Enough of this talk. We won’t do Tom the favor of speaking of him constantly. If you’re feeling well, you have some visitors waiting in the main infirmary hall.”

“Albus!” said Lupin in a lowered, sharp voice. “He had just come back from a nightmare only twenty minutes ago-”

“I’m fine,” said Harry quickly. “Used to them, I suppose. But have Ron and Hermione…”

“Miss Granger awoke the previous night,” said Dumbledore. “However, Madam Pomfrey has been keeping her restricted to her bed, and not allowing any visitors. Her wounds need much care and treatment to heal, but, above all else, she needs time. As for Mr. Weasley, no progress has been made.”

Little relief was gained by Dumbledore’s news, and he could not help but feel a little more anxious. There was a chance that Ron might be lost forever, and Hermione-

Wait a minute.

“Wounds?” Harry could only remember one. The blurred flash of a dagger slashing at Hermione’s neck, missing, but still managing to tear into her collarbone and shoulder.

“Mental injuries, Harry,” Dumbledore said, his blue eyes locking onto Harry’s emerald ones. A gesture of sincerity, Harry assumed. “As you know, Alex performed a sort of Persuasion Charm upon Miss Granger with his necklace in order to have her flee from you. The necklace, as it so excellently does, exploited her susceptibilities, twisted the truths in her mind, and manipulated her so that she would listen to no one but Alex. In the process, however, it damaged key areas of the brain. Namely, her abilities of analyzation and logical reasoning.”

Harry’s mouth went dry. “Forever?”

Dumbledore shook his head, and a massive weight slid off of Harry’s shoulders. “Fortunately, no. Madam Pomfrey has applied the necessary remedies, and she should be well again within days. Indeed, a loss of those abilities would have hurt her renowned reputation around Hogwarts.” He gave Harry a small, brittle smile.

“What about Ron?” said Harry anxiously. “You said there was no progress, but there’s got to be something.”

“We won’t be able to tell until he wakes,” Dumbledore said. “We can only hope for the best.” He paused for a moment. “Would you like to greet your visitors?”

Absently, Harry nodded. His mind was still on Hermione and Ron, and on how they were and what could be happening. He kept trying to tell himself that things could have been worse. Kreacher’s dagger could have dug an inch deeper, or Dren could have escaped from Hogwarts completely in Ron’s body. These thoughts did little to console him. The same dreaded thought persistently resurfaced. They would have been fine if only they didn’t know you…

“Harry, dear, how are you feeling?” asked Mrs. Weasley as she walked into the room. Lupin and Dumbledore had already gone.

Harry felt his heart sink into his stomach, and he began staring at the wall. He dared not meet her eyes. “I’m good,” he said, managing to look into her eyes. Once. That was enough to see the exhaustion in her eyes…the worry. She had not been sleeping.

“Albus told me what happened,” Mrs. Weasley said. She moved to sit at the foot of his bed. “Don’t blame yourself. None of the fault lies with you…”

Harry wasn’t sure how to respond to that. If he had not hid his and Hermione’s relationship from Ron for so long, Gates would not have had any leverage over him. Ron would never have gone into one of his fits…

Instead of voicing his thoughts, Harry said, “How’re the rest of the Weasley’s doing?”

He silently cursed himself. The rest of the Weasley’s…

“They’re in the next room,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Madam Pomfrey did not want us all to come in at once. But we all wanted you to know that, no matter what happens with Ron, you’ll always be a part of our home.”

It was becoming too much. Mrs. Weasley’s words were having the opposite of their intended effect. Harry was feeling worse with every passing second. He should be the one comforting her, not the other way around.

“Mrs. Weasley…” he began, fumbling with words. “I…Ron…”

“Don’t you dare begin to blame yourself,” she said, her voice suddenly stern. She got to her feet and stood over him, her hands on her hips. “It’s Alexander Gates’ fault for being reckless and arrogant. It’s Albus’ fault for letting that Hit Wizard in the school.” Her voice began to crack, but her expression lost none of its seriousness. “It’s the ministry’s fault for never telling us exactly what happened with our son. It’s You-Know-Who’s fault for starting this war. And it’s my fault for not being more careful with him.” Tears began forming around her eyes. “It is not your fault. Stop it right now. I couldn’t bear to lose two sons.”

Before Harry could even so much as speak, Mrs. Weasley wrapped him into a motherly hug, squeezing him so hard that the air was forced out of his lungs.

Two sons…

“Ron’ll be all right,” Harry managed to say. His chest was becoming tight, not so much physically from the hug, but from grief. “We’ve always gotten through it before.”

“I hope so,” she said, pulling away a bit. Harry could see tear streaks on her cheeks. “But I’m worried about you too, Harry. We all are. You-Know-Who has been trying to kill you since you were a baby. One day he might just-” She stopped in mid-sentence, wiping her eyes.

This was it, Harry realized. Mrs. Weasley had no idea what she was getting into. Helping him meant putting her entire family in danger. She was diving into a well without truly knowing how deep it was.

“Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said quietly. It was time for him to release the secret that he had kept locked in his chest for the past year. “There’s more to it than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that there’s a reason that Voldemort has been trying to kill me,” said Harry, immediately feeling guilty over using The Name when he saw her flinch. “I never told Ron or Hermione about this. Only Professor Dumbledore and I know the full prophecy.”

Mrs. Weasley, contrary to what Harry expected, sat close to him and looked into his eyes. “Prophecy? What do you mean Harry?”

At some point during his explanation, Harry expected a look of terror to cross Mrs. Weasley’s face. Or, at the very least, he had expected her to move away from him. He would not have blamed her if she did.

Instead, Mrs. Weasley was shocked beyond words, and, as soon as he had finished, she grabbed him and pulled him into an embrace.

She was even sobbing. “I’m so sorry for you Harry.”

“No, I had to tell you,” said Harry, trying to disentangle himself but failing. “Now you’ll understand why I can’t be at the Burrow as much anymore-”

“Don’t be absurd!” Mrs. Weasley nearly shouted. “To think that Albus had hid this from you for so long. From all of us! I’m going to have a talk with him, don’t you worry.”

Harry almost laughed.

Perhaps it was relief from not having seen her run off screaming, perhaps it was his burden’s long overdue removal, or perhaps it was the fact that could just imagine seeing Mrs. Weasley confronting Dumbledore, armed only with a spatula, in a dark alleyway at midnight to have a ‘talk,’ but he was feeling much better than he had in weeks.

“Mr. Potter?” Madam Pomfrey bustled into the room, holding a clear vial, and glanced once over the room as though to ensure that it had remained as spotless as it had been when she had last left it. “It’s time for your Sleeping Potion.”

Mrs. Weasley gave Harry one last squeeze, and when she finally released he felt air rush back into his lungs.

“Don’t tell anyone else,” said Harry. “I want to talk to Hermione and Ron first-” He hesitated, realizing that Ron might not be there to talk to.

Mrs. Weasley smiled, or tried to. “Of course, dear. Now get some rest.”

Taking Madam Pomfrey’s vial, he quickly downed the bitter substance and closed his eyes, feeling a strange coolness sweep over him. He went to sleep not thinking of Voldemort, but of lazy summer nights at the Burrow. He could not remember ever sleeping so well.

**

"Harry, I believe I have some good news for you," said Dumbledore. It was the next day, and last night's rest had worked wonders on him. His headaches had all but gone, and he felt well enough to stand and meander around the room.

Not that there was much to see, however. The little marble counter in the corner which Madam Pomfrey used to measure doses was bare of all instruments. Beside it was a locked wooden cupboard that Harry assumed contained various medical supplies.

Indeed, there was little reason for Harry to leave his bed at all, the lone exception being the window. He had spent his morning sitting before the window, staring out across the Forbidden Forest, the canopies of the trees meshing together to form the impression of a wide lawn sweeping out from under the castle ramparts.

He wondered what was going on in the outside world. The newspapers were probably having a field day, he thought grimly. Not only that, but Voldemort's plans were running without interruption. The Order and ministry could make all the raids they wanted to, but he doubted that it would make any difference. There were always more wizards drawn to Voldemort's power to replace the captured Death Eaters, like flies to a light. The key was, of course, to put out the light.

And only he could do that.

Dumbledore's arrival provided a much needed distraction from his mostly brooding thoughts.

"What is it?" Harry asked, turning in a hurry to face the headmaster. "Is it about Hermione and Ron?"

"Yes, both of them," said Dumbledore. His robes, made from a midnight-blue material that almost shimmered in the light, seemed to illuminate as he stepped closer to Harry's position by the window. "Madam Pomfrey has deemed Miss Granger healthy enough to return to classes and return to a relatively normal routine, though she must come back to the infirmary for a checkup once a week for the next three weeks."

"And Ron? What's happening with Ron?"

"He's beginning to come around," said Dumbledore. "He will not be fully conscious for a day or two yet, but Madam Pomfrey has performed several tests on his mind and there are no signs of a foreign influence. However, we cannot know for sure until he wakes. He will be very lucky indeed if he comes away unscathed."

To Harry, the news could scarcely have been better. He shakily got to his feet, causing Dumbledore to look at him in surprise.

"I must say that your recovery has taken me aback," Dumbledore remarked. "It would take most wizards a week or more to stand after being subjected to such events as you were."

"I've had a lot of practice," said Harry with a grin. Then, "When will I be able to talk to Hermione?"

"Right now, if you are feeling well."

"Great," said Harry, wondering how much better the day could get. "Where is she?"

His blue eyes twinkling, Dumbledore nodded. "Before I go, I would like to give you a few words of advice, Harry. I don't think you've been entirely honest with your friends over the course of this year. I am not one to interfere with my students' affairs, but I suggest you keep no more secrets from them. You are not alone in this terrible world. I can't stress this enough. You believe that you are sparing them by not sharing the prophecy, but you are, in fact, only hurting them more."

Needing no response, Dumbledore turned and went through the door, leaving Harry to his thoughts.

It was foolish of him, he realized, to have hid everything. He had been trying to go through the entire year without surrendering a secret. He had kept the secret of the prophecy from Ron and Hermione in the hopes of protecting them. He had kept Gates' possession of his album a secret because he did not wish to gamble to lose everything. He had kept his relationship with Hermione a secret because he did not want Ron to feel excluded.

And, like Dumbledore had subtly hinted, secrets had ways of surfacing at the worst possible times.

Like when Gates took them, warped them, and used them against Hermione and Ron.

In the end, what had he caused? Hermione had been wounded severely. Ron might have lost his mind forever. Gates was turning into a literal monster...

Despite the Hit Wizard's cruel behavior, Harry pitied him. While he had removed Gates' worst memory, the deep emotional impact that it had on him did not disappear. It would never disappear. He felt guilty for cursing Gates with an unending existence as a twisted creature, but he did not regret it. He still hated the Hit Wizard with a smoldering passion.

But the pain and risk he had brought upon Ron and Hermione...that was unforgivable. He could have prevented everything in the space of a half hour.

"Merlin, I'm stupid!" he said aloud.

"I'm not sure if stupid is the right word," said Hermione. To Harry it was as if she appeared out of thin air. "Deceptive, maybe."

Harry looked up and saw her standing in front of the door, wearing her black school robes, and he could see a white bandage poking out from the neckline. Her face was carefully expressionless, and she gazed at Harry in an impersonal and distant way. Like he was a stranger.

"How much of what Gates said was true?" Her voice trembled as she spoke, though she gave no other indication of anxiety or nervousness.

Harry tried locking eyes with her, but failed. In them he only saw the reflective shine of the infirmary light. "There's a prophecy, but what he said about it isn't true."

Hermione closed her eyes, exhaled, then opened them again. Something akin to relief. "Do you remember when I asked you if you were hiding anything from me? Were you lying?"

Harry bowed his head. "Yes."

"I believed you," she said, her voice becoming steadily higher. "I thought that after six years I would know when you were lying. I was wrong."

DAMN OCCLUMENCY! Harry roared at himself.

Instead, rather calmly, he said, "No one knows me better than you, Hermione. You didn't have any reason to think I was lying. Hermione...I didn't want you to get involved with something that couldn't change, especially when knowing it could mean death."

"You thought you were doing me a favor?" Hermione's stone exterior began cracking, and it was like she was no longer speaking, but whispering. "You pushed me away, and I didn't even know it."

Dumbledore's words began hitting home. You believe that you are sparing them by not sharing the prophecy, but you are, in fact, only hurting them more.

"I'm sorry," said Harry, her tears making his shame grow more. "I shouldn't of, but I did." He moved towards her, his legs threatening to collapse underneath him with every step.

"I know you're sorry," Hermione said, some of her coldness returning. She stepped back. "I want to know what's going on. What's been scaring you so much that you won't tell anyone? What does the prophecy say and how do you know?"

"Dumbledore told me after I came back from the Department of Mysteries," Harry explained, and for the first time Hermione met his eyes. "He told me about a prophecy that he had heard during an interview with Professor Trelawney. To make a long story short, one of Voldemort's spies overheard, but didn't quite hear it in its entirety. That's why Voldemort tried to kill me as a baby."

Hermione's face was slowly turning white. "What did the prophecy say?"

"Are you sure you want to know?"

She nodded without hesitation.

Watching her expression carefully, Harry recited the words that he had managed to memorize the first time he heard them. First her jaw lowered, then her lips began trembling, and lastly tears began to moisten her cheeks. By the end she was hugging Harry with all her might, as though he might vanish if she let go.

While Harry was greatly comforted, his aching legs rebelled and nearly buckled under him. He stumbled backwards, carrying Hermione with him, before he grabbed and steadied himself on the chair by the window.

Hermione at last released him as he sat in the chair, though she did not move away. "I can't believe you never told me. You left me out- You left all of us out of your life. And this prophecy is forcing you to duel Voldemort? I don't- I can't see any other interpretation for it-" She looked pleadingly at him, as though expecting him to take it all back. "Dumbledore is going to do something, right? He can't just-"

"-Hermione, it's a prophecy. There's nothing he can do-"

"-But listen Harry!" Hermione said, speaking more and more quickly. "You'll never win. You can't win. You've all read about Voldemort, but you never- I studied him. I read everything I could about his life and his accomplishments, if you can call them that." She turned towards him in desperation. "In all of recorded history there has never been a wizard or witch so proficient with Unforgivables. He's used them so much that he doesn't even have to try anymore. You know what that means Harry? You know how frightening that is?"

"I don't have a choice," Harry said. "I have to fight him."

"See? You're going out of your way to fulfill it," said Hermione, and she began to pace as her logic began to run rampant. "You don't know if it's true! Divination is sketchy at best. For all we know, this could've been Professor Trelawney just trying to put on a convincing act in order to get a job. Prophecies don't always come true, Harry!"

Harry could have come up with a million replies to counter her argument, but instead he stared steadily at her, saying nothing.

"It's not true," Hermione said, shaking her head. "It can't be. You're only sixteen!"

"Dumbledore is convinced it's real," said Harry quietly. "Parts of it have already been fulfilled." He lifted the bangs of his hair to reveal his scar.

She opened her mouth, as if to speak, and then closed it again. The reality of the prophecy was finally beginning to sink in, and, judging from her expression, she was horrified. Like someone had just told her she swallowed poison during lunch.

After a long pause, Hermione said, "What're we going to do? If this means what I think it means, then you're going to need a lot of help-"

"I don't want any," Harry interjected. "I can't be getting anyone else involved. It's meant to be between me and Voldemort alone."

"You can't be alone!" Hermione retorted. "What is the Power-He-Knows-Not that the prophecy refers to? Why are there so many ambiguities?"

Suddenly, the door open, and in walked one of the most enormous people Harry had ever seen. She was grossly overweight, flesh bulging everywhere, and her robes just barely managed to stretch over her body. She wore suspenders like horse straps around her thighs and waist, which seemed to be enchanted to help support her bulk and keep her balanced in a fashion that her legs alone could not. Her beady eyes were deeply inset, like her body, running out of places to store the excess fat, ended up fattening the area around her eyes. A string of pearls surrounded her neck, looking ridiculously flimsy in comparison to the size of her neck.

"Oh, why, you two," she boomed, the fat under her jaw rippling as she spoke. She pointed towards Harry with one fat, stubby finger "You haven't happened to have seen my dear nephew Alex, have you?"

Harry, still somewhat shocked by the intrusion, stammered, "Uhhhhh-"

Not waiting for an answer, she stepped into the room and looked around herself. She leaned to the side, looking around the bedside, and Harry knew at once that her suspenders were indeed magical. There was no way she could have performed such a maneuver on her own.

She yawned an unnecessarily long yawn, covering her mouth with a jeweled hand as she did so. Harry only managed to see a glint of a ring, as fat covered most of the band.

"Albus?" she called loudly, turning and going back to the door. "Albus? What have you done with my nephew?"

"Ah, Madam Bassel," Dumbledore said as he walked into the room. He was smiling but not smiling. "It is truly a pleasure to have you in this castle."

"Yes," she said indifferently. "But I fear I must keep my visit to your-" She glanced once more over the room. "-castle short." She sniffed. "I do, however, admire your dedication to your institution, despite its recent troubles."

Dumbledore's expression showed no acknowledgement of her sweetened barb. "I do not deserve your admiration. Do you wish to see your nephew?"

"If it's not too much trouble, Albus," Madam Bassel said. She had a certain aristocratic bore in her voice that managed to irritate Harry. "I haven't seen my nephew in many, many years. I was most distressed when I heard of his unfortunate fate. Absolutely dreadful, to be turned into a Dementor."

Harry doubted if he had heard a more emotionless voice in his entire life. There wasn't a hint of sincerity, sarcasm, or anxiety in her tone. Total apathy. From the corner of his eye he looked at Hermione, and saw that she was having a similar reaction towards the woman.

"I assure you that it was not intentional."

Madam Bassel nodded, her chin moving like jelly as she did so. "I trust your judgment, Albus." She glanced towards Harry then back to Dumbledore. "Is this the young man who did it?"

Harry was continually amazed by her indifference. "Yes, I did it."

"Mmmmmm," she said, turning towards him and raising an eyebrow as though she found him to be rude. First sign that she was a real person. "Alex was never exceptionally cultured. I have no doubt that he was the one at fault. Albus' story of what happened sounds most genuine."

"Harry," Dumbledore began, appraising him carefully. "Would you like to come along?"

Harry did not answer immediately. He looked towards his nightstand, where his album still sat untouched. He had not opened it yet, despite having received it yesterday. Something in his head told him that Gates was just outside the door, like he always was, waiting for him to leave. It did not seem possible that the Hit Wizard had been incapacitated, Dementor or no.

He felt the need to see Gates one last time to ensure that the Hit Wizard was truly gone. Until then, he doubted that he could ever work up the willpower to pry open the album and see the inevitable damage done to it.

"Yes," said Harry. Then, in a lower voice to Hermione, he added, "This is something I want to do alone."

Hermione looked at him, then nodded. He could still see the dried tracks of her tears on her cheeks.

A twinkle returned to Dumbledore's eye.

"Very good, then," said Madam Bassel, oblivious to the exchange between the three other people in the room with her. "Shall we proceed?"

Dumbledore held the door open for Madam Bassel, and she wobbled through, her hips barely squeezing through the entrance. The headmaster gestured to Harry, and, with one swift glance at Hermione, he left.

"Albus, does Hogwarts serve dinner this early?" Madam Bassel asked, walking beside the headmaster as they exited the infirmary and continued down the hall.

"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore replied. "But I'm sure arrangements could be made. The house elves will be pleased to have the extra work."

"Wonderful," she boomed, her eyes lighting up. Another emotion. "I haven't eaten since noon, and a bit of lamb sounds rather delicious right now."

They went down a circular stairwell to the dungeons, and Madam Bassel fell behind Dumbledore as her bulk prevented them from walking side by side. When the reached the bottom, they passed under an archway and came to a wide, stone corridor. Torches began to light as they walked by, triggered by some ancient enchantment.

Water dripped from the moss tangles that lined the ceiling, their roots working with time to dig into the grout between the rocks. One bare area, which had apparently been wiped clean by someone in a vain effort to restore the architecture, was pockmarked with wear the vegetation had dug into the stone. If left alone, the entire corridor might be collapsed within a century.

"Interesting," commented Madam Bassel. Harry had expected something more insulting, but, evidently, she had nothing more to say.

"We're now in what's called the Lower Dungeons," Dumbledore said. "These tunnels have been here since the Founders' time. Few people realize how truly old Hogwarts is."

Recognizing the name, Harry took a closer look at the walls and saw that they were indeed in the same area where Snape had taken them to clean his vast storeroom of jars and flasks. Broken pieces of rusted iron shackles lay strewn on the floor, and the floor was stained with dark areas that appeared to be the residue of spilled liquid. It was easy to see why the Lower Dungeons were rumored to be inhabited by vampires and other such monsters.

Not rumors any more, Harry thought. Now there's a real monster...locked away in one of the cells.

"It's a pity you could not do better to accommodate my nephew,” said Madam Bassel idly. She did not seem to mind her surroundings in the least. “These dungeons look most uncomfortable.”

“It’s merely a short term residence,” said Dumbledore. “Until I can find a more secure location for Alex, I will have to keep him down here. The enchantments in each cell are the only ones strong enough to hold him should he revive.”

Madam Bassel nodded. “Completely understandable. One should never be too careful when dealing with uncouth beasts.”

Heavy, steel doors with small slits for windows began to line both sides of the hall. Prison cells. An eerie silence fell over them as they walked past the doors, as though they were waiting for one to creak open and reveal a forgotten prisoner. Of course, nothing of the sort happened, and the only sound in the corridor was the crackling of burning torches. Harry thought that it was strange, however, that the doors seemed to be in perfect working order. There was no sign of rust or decay.

As though reading his mind, Dumbledore said, “This castle tends to take care of itself, especially near its foundation. When it senses danger, it takes the appropriate action. Look around you, at the polished steel handles and bars. Hogwarts is preparing for war.”

Madam Bassel chortled softly. “That’s a lovely observation, Albus.”

Dumbledore did not respond.

Harry, who was trying to steer clear of conversation, was put under pressure when Madam Bassel slowed her pace with the intent of walking along with him. She gazed sideways at him and cleared her throat, though it came out more like a grunt. Her weight swayed back and forth with every step she took.

“I trust you hold no grudge against my branch of the family for Alex’s behavior?” asked Madam Bassel. “I assure you that he was not raised that way. Ever since he was dropped on our doorstep he was nothing but trouble. He had too many foolish ideas about muggles and mudbloods. I’m afraid even our most extreme actions did little for him.”

Harry said nothing, though the woman was beginning to remind him more and more of Aunt Petunia.

“As Alex was banished from House Gates, and there is no other heir apparent, his will has been declared void and my family has inherited Gates manor,” she continued. Harry was forced to move over as she moved closer to him. “If you feel you need to take legal action to receive the appropriate compensation for the wrongs done to you by my nephew, I assure you that that is unnecessary. I would be more than willing to give you a share of the inheritance.”

“I don’t want any of Gates’ money,” Harry said coldly.

“Then I’m glad that you hold no enmity against my family,” said Madam Bassel, oblivious to the tone of Harry’s voice. “I apologize on behalf of our family.”

Harry grunted, not wanting anything from the enormous and callous woman next to him. Her apology was hollow, holding nothing but words and air.

“I could not help but overhear that Alex had lost his manor,” Dumbledore said. “May I ask how?”

Madam Bassel waved her pudgy hand dismissively. “Certainly you may ask, Albus. The Hall of Portraits declared him a traitor and revoked his status as a coming-Vladimir. He was to be informed this coming week. Of course, that’s irrelevant now.”

“Why did they take it away?”

“Evidently they found his actions disgraceful,” she said. She seemed to pay little attention to her own words. “More than that, he allowed intruders to enter Gates Manor. I’m sure they’ve been frustrated for many years. No one has been in contact with them since dear Yegor died. I only told them of all this when I learned of my nephew’s unfortunate accident.”

She wasted no time, Harry thought.

“Could you tell me how the wards could’ve been broken to allow the intruders to enter?” Dumbledore asked. “I’m afraid I know little of the wars that surround Gates Manor.”

“The wards are rooted in the blood,” said Madam Bassel, yawning. “If the blood is ensnared, so are the wards. When the manor was broken into during Yegor’s time, it was because You-Know-Who managed to deactivate the wards through the Dark Mark on his arm. Any such bond could easily jeopardize the wards.”

Dumbledore glanced meaningfully at Harry, and he caught the message. For the same reason how Voldemort was able to use Gates to spy on Harry, he was also able to dismantle the manor’s defenses. The concentration of Dark Marks in the necklace tampered with his body and mind.

“Ah, here we are,” said Dumbledore at last. They came to a particularly heavy door, and the headmaster drew a rusty key and set it into the lock. It clicked, the handle loosened, and he pushed it open. Light poured into the darkness within.

The cell might have belonged to a hermit. Its lone feature was a single chair, and, on it, was the outline of a larger-than-normal man. He leaned forward slightly, as though there was a chain around his neck. Dumbledore moved forward and set a torch on the far wall, bringing more light into the otherwise shrouded room.

“He’s quite unconscious, then?” said Madam Bassel. Harry thought it was an odd question to ask.

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes. Do you wish to have his wand?” He drew a long, ebony wand and offered it to her. The sight of the wand brought a flood of memories into Harry’s mind.

“What ever for?” she asked, puzzled. Without accepting it, she turned away and stepped forward.

Without hesitation, Madam Bassel grabbed Gates’ hand and began to try to pry the fingers off of a piece of silver in his hand. Unfortunately for her, Gates’ grip was still like steel, and her best efforts did not budge his fingers. When she gave up, the silver object was still being held securely in the Hit wizard’s hand.

It was then when Harry realized what it was. The silver bracelet that had formerly belonged to Gates’ mother.

“Is he supposed to be so strong?” asked Madam Bassel, rubbing her sore hands. “I don’t believe that is normal, Albus.”

“Yes it is,” answered Dumbledore. His face appeared calm and relaxed, but his eyes betrayed an underlying disgust at the woman. “He’ll be like granite until the transformation is complete. Hard and unmovable, but just as inactive.”

Madam Bassel frowned. “And how long does that take?”

“Varies. It can take anywhere from a few years to a century.”

“That won’t do at all,” Madam Bassel said. She kneeled by his hand and began peering at it with her beady eyes, looking for weaknesses. Gates remained as motionless as ever in his hardwood chair, mentally shut off from the outside world. His eyes held a blank, placid look that one would associate with those at peace, but Harry knew that, in Gates’ case, it could not be further from the true. Behind the facade, the Hit Wizard was living out his worst memory...over and over...

At length she stood up and set one jeweled, pudgy hand on Gates’ lean one. Posing next to each other as they were then, Harry was amazed that the two were related. Where Gates was strong and thin, Madam Bassel was soft and fat, making her look like his physical antithesis.

With another burst of strength, Madam Bassel pulled at the bracelet in Gates’ hand, her entire body laboring, the suspenders humming from the additional strain. Quite by accident, the bracelet slipped out, and she stumbled backwards and would have fell had it not been for the suspenders. She clutched in her fat hand the shining silver bracelet.

Harry was unnerved. He felt as though he had just witnessed someone robbing a grave.

“Good,” said Madam Bassel as she recovered from her near-fall. She turned to Dumbledore. “My business is done. Can we set out for an early dinner? I do hope your elves have lamb available...”

Harry, however, ignored her. His eyes were still locked on the figure in the crimson robes, the man whose hand still rigidly clutched at nothing but air. He was staring at a decaying husk of which the mind and soul had long since fled from. Slowly, his mind began to absorb and accept, but he found himself only a little comforted by the confirmation.

There were bigger monsters in the world, he realized. Voldemort was just beginning his war, and he would prove to be more of a threat than Gates ever was. While the Hit Wizard lived by honor, Voldemort had none, and, indeed, had none of the faint traces of morality that Gates, if nothing else, possessed.

“-and gravy should go well with that,” continued Madam Bassel. Then, as an afterthought, “I trust you have mint jelly, Albus?”

“Worry not, Madam. You will not want for food in Hogwarts.”

**

When he returned to the infirmary, Madam Pomfrey checked him once over and reluctantly conceded that he was healthy enough to leave.

"But do any strenuous excercise for the next few weeks, at least," she warned. "And don't you dare even think about going on that broom of yours, either. Flying is hazardous enough without physical complications."

"Thanks," Harry said.

"Don't thank me, thank your headmaster," said Madam Pomfrey. She tutted as she examined his arm. "If it was up to me, you wouldn't be leaving until tomorrow at the earliest."

Remembering that he had left his wand and album in by his bedside, he excused himself and went back into the side wing. Seeing that Hermione had gone - undoubtedly at the nurse's request - he walked towards his nightstand. He hesitated when he saw the album, unsure what to do. It slowly dawned on Harry that Gates had left a mark on his mind that would make him forever associate his album with the destroyed Hit Wizard, a last, posthumous stroke. Deciding that the infirmary was hardly the place to open it, he slipped it into his robe, grabbed his wand, and left.

Harry went through the corridors to the Gryffindor common room on auto-pilot. The album burned in his pocket, and he was simultaneously eager and apprehensive about looking through the pictures. What did he have left? How much had Gates destroyed? His worst fears told him that, when he opened it, he would only see ash.

Harry climbed through the portrait hole and, not wanting to be noticed, gave the chattering Gryffindors around the common room fireplace a wide berth and headed for the stairs to the boy's dormitories. Just as he made the first turn of the circular stairway, he was intercepted by Hermione, who was staring at him with a worried expression on her face.

"Madam Pomfrey told me that she was going to release you today," she said. "I thought I'd meet with you so we could talk. Harry? You seem...off."

Harry only managed to stutter, "Uhhhhhhhh, actually...no."

"What's wrong?" Hermione's eyes went wide. "Is it about the prophecy? Did that woman have something to do-"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "Nothing like that. It's, ummm, more personal." He looked behind him anxiously, looking for other students. "Would you mind-?" He pointed up the steps towards the dormitory door.

"Oh, right!" She moved out of his way and followed him through the door. Together they went to a nearby table that was flanked by two seats and sat. An awkward silence ensued.

Hermione stared at him, taken aback by his strange mood. "What is it Harry?"

"Look, the prophecy wasn't the only thing I was hiding from you this year," Harry confessed, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "There was a lot going on that you and Ron didn't know about. It was stupid of me to have hidden it, but there's nothing I can do about that now..."

Harry sighed, and then told her the story of how Gates had taken his family photo album earlier in the year, and how the Hit Wizard had used to to blackmail him into silence. He told her how Gates had burned pictures whenever Harry had done something to displease him, and how Harry had fell into submission because of his fear of losing the entire collection. How it had occurred throughout the year, and Harry having done nothing about it.

By the end, Hermione was shaking her head in abject shock. "He did that? That's- that's- monstrous, horrible, terrible!" She stared at him with a questioning look in her eyes. "Why couldn't you just have told us? Told me? You think that we would've let that monster do that to you?"

"I didn't want to risk losing them, Hermione," Harry said. "Telling anyone - anyone - would have endangered my album. I- I'm- I didn't know what to do."

Hermione's eyes softened. "Did you look back into it yet?"

"No," said Harry, looking once more at the battered book that was on the table between them. "I couldn't. I suppose I didn't really believe Gates was gone until I saw him."

They both fell silent, Hermione obviously waiting for him to reach over and open it. When he did, however, Hermione clasped her hand over his and whispered, "Do you feel comfortable with me here? I could go back-"

"No," Harry said quickly. "Don't leave. I want you to be here."

Gently he lifted the album and set it before him, taking a moment to appreciate the poorly bound spine that Hagrid had created five years ago. It felt lighter, he realized with a sudden surge of dread. A lot lighter. Hesitating no longer, he flipped the cover open to see the first page.

Harry let out a slow, steady breath. It was a picture of his father riding his broom over a Quidditch field, the wind whipping over his robes, a near perfect image of Harry as he flew over the pitch at Hogwarts.

He turned the page to see James playing with Harry as a baby, Harry tugging at his fingers, James grinning and laughing. Familiar and untainted.

Again, he turned the page, this time to see another picture of James, this time in front of a home at where Harry guessed to be Godric's Hollow. Judging from the informality of the picture, and James' raised eyebrow as he turned around to look at the picture-taker, Harry assumed that his mother had probably taken it as a sort of surprise.

He turned again and again, pausing at each page, the bit of alarm gnawing in his chest slowly growing. Picture of James with Harry on his lap. Picture of James at Hogwarts. Where was Lily?

Harry came to the last page, and, his heart frozen with shock, he looked up at Hermione. Almost robotically, he closed the album, sat back, ran his hands through his hair and stared at the ceiling.

"Harry?"

"She's gone," he said quietly. "She's gone."

Of all the pictures in his album, not one of his mother remained.

(A/N: I was debating whether to throw Gates’ aunt in, as she wasn’t truly necessary, but I think she goes a long way as to exactly what kind of people Gates’ relatives were. Besides, it adds a bit of finality to the whole Gates subplot.

The biggest issue in this chapter was the scene with Hermione where I was quite literally deleting paragraphs after writing them, after deciding that they were too mushy/dramatic/etc. I really, REALLY tried to avoid cliche’ng it too much, but, frankly, there are only so many ways Harry can reveal the prophecy.

And for those of you who are ready to dispute the interpretation of the ‘Ring around the Rosie’ poem, I’m already familiar with the reasons why that poem can/cannot be about the Black Plague. But as this is a fiction story...

Next Chapter: The very last one, and, as such, it’s going to be a chapter of lasts. Harry’s going to encounter Snape for the last time, Gryffindor is going to get it’s last load of points, Harry’s going to get one last surprise...etc. Oh, and I’ve explained precisely what the Maw in the title was intended to mean!

32. The Great Below

(A/N: Short, but I didn't need to make it long.)

It was a week before Harry received any news of Ron. While he made daily pilgrimages to the infirmary to ask Madam Pomfrey about his friend's condition, the answer remained the same.

"No," she would say. "Nothing's changed."

He was sitting in Transfiguration, barely listening to Professor McGonagall's lecture, when Dumbledore entered the classroom. The entire class froze, and Professor McGonagall stopped in mid-sentence. Dumbledore gazed over the class, pausing pointedly when he looked at Hermione and Harry. Not bothering with his books, Harry got to his feet and in an instant was by the headmaster's side with Hermione. Dumbledore took them both aside and lowered his voice.

"Harry, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore quietly. "Ronald Weasley is just beginning to come around. We don't know whether he'll be himself or...something else. Are you sure you want to witness this? I will not pretend that this could not easily become a very traumatic and horrifying experience. Mr. Alverton himself will be overseeing his revival, and if he sees any sign that Corlov Dren is in control, he has authorization to subdue Mr. Weasley by any means necessary. Do you understand?"

Harry and Hermione both nodded. Harry's heart was racing in his chest. He knew and realized that there was a real chance that he would not be seeing his best friend when he went down to the infirmary, but he had not accepted it. Not seeing Ron again...it seemed impossible.

"Good," said Dumbledore. "Then we'll go." Louder, to Professor McGonagall, he asked, "Minerva, do you mind if I take Harry and Miss Granger away from you for the remainder of the period?"

"Not at all," said Professor McGonagall. She too knew the gravity of the situation.

The three of them breezed through the halls, and, for once, the corridors and stairways seemed to cooperate and not throw any hazards or dead-ends in their way. Normally, Harry would run into at least one misleading passageway on his way through the school. Today, however, there were no obstacles, and they reached the hospital wing in only a few minutes.

Harry and Hermione walked into the infirmary to see the entire Weasley family surrounding Ron's bed, some standing, some sitting, but all of them wearing the same expression of deep apprehension. Mr. Alverton stood nearby, wand at his side, staring warily at Ron, looking as though he would rather be fighting dragons in Romania than being in that room.

"Hello Harry and Hermione," Mrs. Weasley said in a little-too-cheery voice as soon as she saw them, going up and giving them both hugs. Harry was close enough to see the tears in her eyes. They didn't seem to fit with the welcoming smile. "I'm so glad you both came down to see- to see-"

She choked, covered both of her eyes with her hands, and began to sob. Fred and George, who were sitting nearby, came up from behind her. Fred put an arm over her shoulder and led her back to a seat, while George leaned closer to Harry.

"She a wreck," said George, his face as grim as Fred’s. Unusual for the twins who were always cracking jokes and causing ruckus. “She keeps trying to act like nothing’s wrong, but breaks down every time. Strange woman...”

“It won’t be much longer now,” said Professor Whams, coming out from some side doors.

He wore his usual purple silk robe, though it seemed to have lost some of its sheen over the course of the days. His glasses were missing, as usual. Percy, Harry saw, hardly noticed the professor, as he was so absorbed in standing by Ron’s nightstand, looking down at his younger brother.

“I just finished my analyzing of Mr. Weasley,” continued Whams. “He seemed to be doing well enough.”

Looking at his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Harry wondered how he had not seen through the facade earlier. It was so obvious now that he looked at him. It was obvious in the way his eyes darted around the room in a quick but careful fashion, it was obvious in the way he carried himself. Harry could see through mask of foolishness and realized that he was looking at someone who rivaled Voldemort in cunning. Not in power, but in simple manipulation and cleverness.

Harry was beginning to dislike Professor Whams.

“That’s good news,” said Mr. Weasley throatily. Deep circles ran under his eyes.

“Good news,” echoed Bill, not looking as though he was listening at all.

“I’ve been monitoring him closely over the past few weeks,” said Whams, making wild and unnecessary gesticulations with his hands. How obvious he was now! “The wizarding community is just beginning to understand how these sorts of possessions occur and how they work. Various tests have shown how the auxiliary personality, that is, Corlov Dren, can become a primary one-”

“Tests?” Harry repeated suddenly. Whams looked at him strangely. “He’s a person, not an experiment. What does any of your testing have to do with saving him?”

Whams was beginning to look rather uncomfortable, though his foolish, oblivious facade still held. “Every bit of information we can extract from his condition can help him and other afflicted with this unfortunate complication. The problem is being studied heavily.”

“Is that why there is a tank of brains sitting in the middle of Department of Mysteries?” asked Harry. “And not just any brains, mind you, but brains of Death Eaters and who-knows-what.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about what occurs within the Department of Mysteries,” said Whams with feigned surprise, though Harry detected an underlying chill.

“Well, I happen to know a little bit,” said Hermione, and Harry turned to stare at her. Dumbledore must have told her as well.. “And I know that they enjoy their research. So much so that I sometimes wonder whether they understand the point of possessing knowledge. Small wonder that there aren’t Unspeakables here performing tests of their own.”

Whams’ eyelid twitched imperceptibly, but he covered with one of his vapid grins. “Interesting, but I do wonder how much data they could possibly collect.”

“Enough to fill a desk drawer, possibly,” said Harry evenly.

Whams glanced sharply at Harry, but evidently decided that he would pretend not to have heard.

Suddenly, Ron stirred in his bed, his legs kicking into the sheets. The surrounding visitors fell around him in a tight circle, but quickly parted as Madam Pomfrey emerged from her office and hurried over to Ron's bed. Harry managed to catch a glimpse of one of Ron's arms jerk violently, as though he was experiencing some sort of seizure.

"What's going on?" Mrs. Weasley cried. She eased her way through and grabbed Ron's hand.

"Let the boy breathe," said Whams, trying vainly to pull the Weasley clan back. "Remember that you need to be here to trigger his old memories."

Ron let out a long, wheezing gasp, like air rushing into an empty vacuum.

"Try to make eye contact everyone," said Madam Pomfrey, leaning over and checking his pulse, then his eyes. They were dilated. “Not long now.”

Another spasm seized Ron, and his swung wildly, almost hitting the nurse with a stray hand. His back arched upwards and he groaned.

Madam Pomfrey grabbed a vial from the nightstand, and, struggling, tried to force it down Ron's throat, but with little success. Bill and Charlie jumped in, taking their brother's shoulders and pinning them to the bed. Still, they had a difficult time.

"It's a bad one, that's for sure," Madam Pomfrey said, and at last managed to pour the liquid into Ron's mouth. He sputtered and spat, but swallowed some regardless. "Wear him down!" Mrs. Weasley was crying in the background.

From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Mr. Alverton slowly, discretely draw his wand. The Auror was obviously taking no chances, and Harry saw a determination in his eyes that led him to believe that Mr. Alverton would curse Ron if it would protect the people in the room.

"Move aside," said Whams, easing his way through the Weasley's to get a better look at Ron.

"Almost there!" announced Madam Pomfrey, dodging one of Ron's legs. "Make eye contact!"

Ron's eyes snapped open and, for the first time since the seizure began, he seemed completely calm. He stared around the room, as though not recognizing it, then, smiling, he shut his eyes.

Hermione's eyes went wide with alarm, and Madam Pomfrey's face froze. Something was wrong.

"Quickly, there's little time!" cried the nurse. "Prop his head on some pillows! Hurry!"

Ron's body had gone limp, and there was no sign that he was conscious or even alive. It was as though he had suddenly fallen asleep.

"Ennervate!" Madam Pomfrey incanted.

The spell struck Ron in the forehead, and for a moment, it did not have any apparent effect. Bill and Charlie stood as still as stone, supporting Ron's head with several pillows, while Percy leaned heavily on the side wall, shock written across his face. Mrs. Weasley was sobbing in Mr. Weasley's shoulder, and the twins were sitting at the foot of the bed, unmoving. Hermione was clutching at Harry's arm, and, if Harry had been paying attention, he would have seen that she was cutting off circulation. Whams was staring at Ron with deep interest.

A fraction of a second passed and Ron's eyes shot open for a second time. This time he seemed aware of his surroundings, and, weakly, he pushed himself up from the pillows and looked around in a confused fashion. Mrs. Weasley had stopped crying and was now watching Ron with mingled disbelief and joy. Mr. Alverton was gripping his wand so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. No one spoke.

"Something wrong?" Ron asked, rubbing his neck. There wasn't a trace of green in his blue eyes. "What're you all doing here?" He paused. "What am I doing here?"

Madam Pomfrey quickly grabbed him and turned his head this way and that examining his ears and mouth. "Dear Merlin, I see nothing wrong-"

"Of course not," said Ron, pulling away. "Now what're you all doing here?"

Mrs. Weasley tried to speak, but no words came out.

Ron's eyes turned to Harry. "Hey, mate," He got off the bed.

"Hey," Harry said, sucking in a deep breath. "Are you...feeling all right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Ron asked, grinning. "How could I be feeling bad with winter break right around the corner?"

**

Harry wished that the year's final exams would have at least created some sense of normalcy to Hogwarts. He hoped that, with everyone too busy studying, that the gossip would end and he could go on with his life in peace.

Of course, no such thing happened.

Ever since Harry had told Ron of his new relationship with Hermione, the redhead began acting rather coolly towards him. The were never together as often as they used to, and, when Hermione was around, he would clam up and find an excuse to leave the room.

Not that Harry had seen much of Ron since the day - now over a month ago - he had revived from Gates' Memory Charm. The Obliviation had not been without its adverse effects. While Corlov Dren was thoroughly eliminated from Ron's mind, so was a large part of his sixth year. They had spent an hour convincing Ron that it was, in fact, early April, and not December as he had originally thought. Now Ron spent much of his time in the common room, catching up on schoolwork and other material that had been previously wiped from his mind. In all likelihood, he would have to find a tutor over the summer to help make up for the loss.

At first Harry thought that his difficulties with Ron would pass on their own like they always did, but this time they did not. Most time Hermione acted as a sort of a mediator between them, but since Ron had separated himself from her as well as Harry, there was little possibility for reconciliation.

As if this alone was not problem enough, the schools view of him became more polarized than ever. On one hand there were treated him with a sort of special reverence, and on the other were those who hated every last bit of him, with a tiny slice of those who actually knew him in between. The Slytherins especially took Gates' absence as an opportunity to make up for an entire year's worth of pranks which they had abstained from because of the Hit Wizard.

Snape returned to his usual sarcastic, bitingly sarcastic self, though Harry found himself usually spared from the worse of the Potions master's excesses. The one thing Harry found strange was that, despite Snape's legendary hatred for Gates, he was never asked about the duel in the kitchens. Indeed, Snape seemed to be acting like he was disinterested in the whole affair, which Harry knew for a fact that he was not.

Harry never saw another sign of Madam Bassel, nor of Gates. Dumbledore mentioned the Hit Wizard from time to time, so he knew that Gates was still inside of the school, but they never went there again. Harry had no inclination to change that, either.

Defense Against the Dark Arts classes became something like watching a circus act. Now realizing that Whams was intentionally putting up a facade, the professor's antics no longer seemed so ridiculous or amusing. On the contrary, they annoyed him. Harry saw Whams as a callous Unspeakable whose sole reason for being at Hogwarts was to observe Ron like he was some sort of guinea pig. But then, Whams was there to help, wasn’t he?

Occlumency lessons actually became something to look forward to. There, at least, Harry knew exactly what was expected of him and what to do. There were no gray areas or ambiguities.

The final exams passed without event, and it was coming to a point where there were only a few days left before Harry would be leaving on the Hogwarts Express. He had finished the last of his Potions and Transfiguration classes, and there were only a few Care of Magical Creature, Charms, and Defense Against the Dart Arts classes to go before he was finished.

So, when Harry walked into the dungeons for his last Occlumency lesson, he could not help but feel depressed at the fact that this was yet another sign that the year was nearing an end.

Harry was about to knock on Snape’s office door when he heard, “Come in.”

He turned the handle and walked in, seeing the now-normal scene of Snape sitting behind his heavy oak desk, scrawling what were undoubtedly failing grades on a stack of parchment. Nothing unusual.

“Sit,” said Snape, not looking up.

Harry silently sat in the chair, and, as usual, waited for the Potions master to begin. At length Snape stood from his desk, drew his wand, and stared down at Harry, as though waiting for a signal. Harry nodded in return.

“Legilimens!” Snape said, and the session began.

Harry’s mind was repeatedly bombarded by Snape’s probing, relentless attacks. The Potions master showed no mercy, and seized the very worst of Harry’s memories and attempted to twist his mind with them. While they were difficult to fend off, they were not impossible, and Harry managed to push him out again by the end. However, it was not nearly as easy as it had been, especially without Pseudo-Snape there to help.

At the end, Snape set his wand on his desk and moved back to his seat. Harry watched him warily, remembering all too well the last time where Snape pulled out a hidden wand and performed one last Legilimency attack before he reached his seat.

This time, however, no hidden wand was drawn. “You are not prepared to face the Dark Lord,” said Snape flatly. “I would not feel comfortable with you facing anyone who is moderately skilled at Legilimency. Your mind is tumultuous with emotion, Potter.”

Snape clearly expected a response, so Harry asked, “More practice then?”

“Obviously,” said Snape. “It did not come as a surprise when your Occlumency skill fell when you lost the aid of that...shadow...but I do expect better performance in the future. It should now be very clear to you how important your mission is.”

“I’ve been practicing,” countered Harry. Then, drawing Confessions of a Dark Wizard: The Pravus Necklace from his robe, he said, “I brought this back, too.” He leaned forward and set it on Snape’s desk.

The Potions master picked it up and slowly turned to the first page. He examined the binding and the paged meticulously, taking particular care to inspect the spine and cover.

“It seemed to have survived your care in adequate condition,” Snape said. He set it back. “But I daresay that’s because it was never used.”

“I read it,” Harry said with finality.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Not for my sake, Potter, for yours. Foolish if you passed up such an opportunity to learn of the Pravus necklace. Then, I doubt the material is relevant now, with Alex gone.”

Harry stared at Snape for a long time, not speaking, knowing exactly what he was trying to do. The Potions master wanted to know what happened in the kitchens, but was too proud to ask.

“You really wanted Gates dead, didn’t you?” said Harry, reading a little more into Snape’s blank expression.

“Of course,” said Snape casually. “I would’ve done it myself it didn’t make everything terribly inconvenient.”

“Then that’s why you were monitoring those dueling practices with Gates?” asked Harry.

Snape glared at him. “I won’t answer stupid questions, Potter. No. Dumbledore asked me to, like I told you before-”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” Harry said. “Dumbledore told me he made no such request.”

Snape did not answer immediately. “My motives are of little concern to you, Potter.”

“Lupin told me it was something else,” Harry said, not relenting. He wanted answers from the Potion master, and he was not going to leave until he got them. “He said that you were trying to do me a favor- that you were trying to give me tools. What the bloody hell for?”

“The werewolf should keep his snout out of my business,” snapped Snape, standing up. “This Occlumency session is over. Get out.”

Harry did not move from his seat. “What were you trying to do this year? Why do you keep helping Slytherins even though they know you’re a traitor? Why-”

“Fool!” Snape said. “You think detentions and lines keep the Slytherin House whole? I do what I can to keep their parents off Hogwarts grounds and the students in line.”

“That didn’t stop you from giving detention to Malfoy earlier this year for insulting Hermione, did it?” shot back Harry. “Lupin made me think that that has something to do with me too.”

“Get out of my office. That werewolf has no reason to divulge any such information to you,” said Snape.

“Why not?” Harry said. “It’s about me and my parents, isn’t it?”

Harry regretted the words as soon as he said them. They conjured memories that he wished would go away. He could remember vividly opening his album, and seeing nothing but ash in the place of his mother’s photographs.

Just then, Snape did the worst possible thing. “You want to stay, Potter? Then let’s make more productive use of our time. Legilimens!”

Snape instantly latched onto Harry’s mind, and, with absurd ease, he picked open the scab and revealed the so-recently remembered memory of the album. Of losing his mother forever. Of ashes and flame.

It all lasted less than a second. Snape stepped back, staring at him. “What did I tell you, Potter?” snarled Snape. “I warned you what Alex would do. And look where your warped decision brought you.”

“You- You-” Harry wanted to sum up all of his thoughts of the Potions master in a sentence, but could not. It all came out in one barely coherent tirade. “You aren’t me, Snape! You think that by prying into someone’s mind you can understand anything and everything, but you can’t! You don’t understand. You’ll never understand.”

Snape recoiled and his eyes turned into slits. “You be careful what you say.”

“You tell me what this year was about, Snape.”

The Potions master advanced upon Harry like a man swathed in a black storm cloud. “That is and never will be your concern. Stop your melodramatic ravings and learn to analyze and think. Only L-” He stopped, looking furious with himself for some reason. “GET OUT!”

Harry had the sudden impression that he came less than an inch away from something vital. He stood up from the chair. “What-”

“Out!” Snape repeated, still advancing.

Harry backed out of Snape’s office, not quite comprehending what was happening. “Snape what the hell was going on?” he exploded.

Snape stared at him icily. “Get out of my office, Harry.” And then he slammed the door.

**

His last day at Hogwarts. Harry stared around at the common room surrounding him, his thoughts once again turning to Hermione. She was across the room at a table, absorbed in a book, and he did not want to interrupt her. Especially since she was in an already-anxious mood.

Ron was sitting next to him on the couch, which was unusual, and he considered talking to him, but figured that would only serve to make things more complicated. Better to save that for a later day.

His luggage was already packed, and he was now waiting with the rest of the great hall for the announcement that they were to go down to the carriages, which would then take them to the station where they would board the Hogwarts Express.

So when Professor McGonagall went through the portrait hole, he was surprised when she only called his name. Confused, he went to her, wondering if he had done something that would warrant punishment over the past few days.

“Is something wrong professor?” he asked, trying to figure out from her rather-severe expression whether he was in trouble or not. It was difficult to tell, as she was always annoyed about something.

“You could say that, Mr. Potter,” she said in a business-like way. She drew a folder and offered it to him. “Did you forget to report to the headmaster’s office this morning?”

“Was I supposed to?” he asked, looking at the folder but not taking it.

Professor McGonagall’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been in this school for six years, correct? On the last day of the year, you always report to the headmaster to receive any materials that may have been confiscated from you over the course of the year. Presuming, of course, that they are not so dangerous that they should not be returned.”

“But nothing was confiscated from me,” said Harry, more confused then ever.

Professor McGonagall made a long show of reading the name that was scrawled across the manila folder. “Yes, it definitely says Harry James Potter. The heads of house have free access to the confiscation box, so clearly one of us submitted it."

Reluctantly, Harry accepted the folder, but did not open it.

"I will not make such an allowance for you again," she continued. "If you forget to come to the headmaster, then your confiscated materials will remain in the headmaster's possession until next year."

"Errr, thanks," Harry said.

Professor McGonagall nodded curtly, turned, and went back through the portrait hole. Harry went back to the couch, sat down, and, wondering what it could possibly contain, opened the folder.

A slip of parchment and a slim package fell out.

Harry read the paper, which looked as though it had been stuffed in there as an afterthought. It said in a vaguely familiar scrawl that did not belong to him, "This doesn't belong to me."

Slightly apprehensive, Harry turned to the package and was about to tear it open when Professor McGonagall called, "All Gryffindors gather your luggage and please report to the carriages."

The common room scurried into life, and Harry put the package away, figuring he could look at it later. He went back to the dormitories to gather his suitcase and, after telling Hermione that he would meet her on the train, went to the Owlery to pick up Hedwig.

After a short carriage ride, he arrived at the train station and, after putting away his luggage, went to the back of the train where he usually met with Ron and Hermione. Nothing had changed. Both of them were there, though Ron was visibly tense and Hermione was nervous. At least they were both in the same place for once, Harry thought.

"Hey," Harry said.

Ron grunted and Hermione greeted him with a hug.

"What's that?" Hermione asked, looking at the package in Harry's hand.

Harry had nearly forgotten about it. "Oh, I don't know, actually. Professor McGonagall said it must have been confiscated off of me at some point during the year.

"You never told me about that!"

"That's because, frankly, I have no idea what she was talking about," said Harry. "I don't remember having anything taken off of me, but it has my name on it and everything."

Hermione frowned. "That's strange. Why don't you open it? Maybe you'll recognize it."

"That's what I'm going to do now."

He took a seat across from Ron and unfolded the package. He gasped when he saw what it was, and Hermione grabbed at his arm.

It was a picture of Lily in her seventh year. Harry did not recall ever seeing it before, but he was sure that this was not part of his original collection. It was by far the most beautiful picture of her that he had ever seen. She was standing outside on one of the hills outside Hogwarts, her red hair flowing out from behind her. She did not seem aware that her picture was being taken. Indeed, Lily seemed to be aware of very little, as her eyes were closed and she was smiling.

"Oh, Merlin," Hermione whispered. "Where did this come from?"

"I don't know," said Harry, pulling out the note that came with it. "All it came with was this."

Hermione read it then shook her head. "This doesn't make any sense. That was confiscated, wasn't it?"

"What, Potter got in trouble?" taunted a voice that Harry had not heard in a long time. Draco Malfoy. He was standing in the doorway with both of his cronies. Smirking, as usual. "I didn't know you could get in trouble when you've got a prefect-"

"Shut your mouth," Harry snapped.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Testy, are we? You should really fix that temper of yours. It won't do you any good." He sauntered over to where Harry sat. "You know, things are going to change real fast around here. You just wait."

"You make it sound so easy Malfoy," said Harry. "Did your dad tell you about what happened a few months ago?"

Malfoy did not answer.

"Do you even know what you're getting into?" Harry asked. "Voldemort had a big gathering of his Death Eaters and tortured a few of them. Killed two."

"Dad said they had it coming," hissed Malfoy.

"What makes you think that you don't?"

"You think you're such a big shot for beating me in that duel, huh?" said Malfoy, a smirk crawling back onto his face. "You're not. In the real world there aren't any rules, Potter. There aren't any restrictions. Use all the techniques you want, Potter. They won't stop a Killing Curse."

"You might be right," said Harry. "But a Killing Curse won't stop a backstabber."

Malfoy snorted. "No one betrays the Malfoy's. That's something you'll never understand."

"You're disgusting," Ron said suddenly, speaking for the first time. He stood up and glared at Malfoy in a look fit to kill. "Look at yourself, will you?"

Malfoy regarded Ron coolly. "Who's disgusting?" He eyed Ron's tattered robes. "I think your clothes speak for themselves."

"Harry saved your life, Malfoy, or have you forgotten that?" Ron asked. Malfoy froze. "You walk around like you own everything, but you owe Harry your life. You're just too cowardly to admit that."

“Saved my life?” Malfoy spat. “I could’ve gotten out by myself-”

“That’s a lie,” said Ron. “And you know it. I saw how Harry almost got eaten by that Grendel because you were slowing him down with your wounded leg. Don’t you give me any of that.”

Malfoy's mouth contorted as though he was about to say something, and then, thinking the better of it, he turned and strode out of the compartment, Crabbe and Goyle in tow.

Harry exhaled, then turned to Ron. "Thanks mate. I didn't feel like a duel."

Ron simply grunted.

Looking down at the picture of Lily in his hand, he quickly put it into his robes and sat back down, hoping there would be no further excitement.

"Harry?" Hermione murmured. "You'll send me owls, right?"

"Sure," Harry said distantly. "Every day."

Hermione laughed. "Don't make a promise you can't keep."

**

The hissing of the train's engines told Harry that they were nearing King's Cross, and when the Hogwarts Express finally came to a complete stop, he gathered his luggage and stepped onto the platform with Ron and Hermione next to him.

He was very surprised to see Dumbledore and Lupin standing a few meters away from him, beckoning him to come over.

When he did, he realized that this was by no means going to be a normal conversation. But then, conversations with his headmaster rarely were.

"What is it?" he asked, looking from Dumbledore to Lupin. Both wore similarly grave expressions.

"We're getting reports," said Dumbledore, being purposely vague for the surrounding crowd. "Remember what we discussed before concerning Tom's plans?"

Harry nodded. The plague.

"It's begun," said Lupin grimly. "Muggles and wizards are both coming down with it, and so far it's killed a dozen people. We're trying to contain it, but we aren't confident of success."

Harry wanted to ask more about it, but he realized that, because of the possibility of being overheard, there could be no further discussion.

"I wanted you to know before you left," said Dumbledore. "I did not want you guessing from what you will eventually read in muggle newspapers." He paused. "Also, I wanted to pose to you this one question. I want you to understand Tom and what he is. It is the belief of wizards that everything has its opposite. Good and evil. Light and dark. A door and a wall. If this is true, what is the opposite of a soul?"

Harry's mind went blank. The question was so utterly incomprehensible that he did not even know where to begin. But before he could express his confusion, Dumbledore had vanished.

"There's something else I'd like to talk with you about, Harry," said Lupin quietly. "I understand that Alex had in his possession your album for some time. Dumbledore explained to me the...circumstances."

"I lost a lot," Harry said. "But then I got this-" He pulled out the picture of Lily and handed it to Lupin.

"Amazing," Lupin murmured. "Harry, where did you get this? I don't believe I ever saw this photograph before."

Harry explained how he had received it, and then finished by saying, "But it's the best picture I've seen of her."

Lupin furrowed his brows. "That's most unusual. But then-” A light flickered in his eyes. “Perhaps not. Come on. I'll take you back to your uncle's car. I'm sure they're waiting."

Together they crossed the barrier and arrived on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Uncle Vernon was standing off to the side, trying to look inconspicuous, but failing.

"You're Harry's uncle?" asked Lupin.

Uncle Vernon nodded slowly. His eyes, however, were searching the crowd for others. Apparently he had expected Harry to come with the same entourage as he did last year.

"I'll see you next year, Harry," said Hermione, giving him a swift kiss on the cheek.

"Yeah, mate," said Ron. He reached out and offered his hand. Harry, somewhat taken aback, shook it. "Next year."

"Where's that Alexander Gates character?" said Uncle Vernon, looking around once more, heaving his bulk as he turned a full circle. "No longer around, is he?"

"No," said Lupin. "Not anymore. He got out of control and Harry had to defend himself from him."

Uncle gave Lupin a second glance, then turned to Harry. "Let's go, boy. Don't want anyone we know to see us..."

"Before you go, Mr. Vernon," Lupin began. "I strongly suggest that you take more care of how you treat Harry in the future. You have no idea what you're dealing with."

Uncle Vernon gave Lupin a long, wary stare, and then grunted. He turned and led Harry back to the car where Aunt Petunia and Dudley were waiting. He sighed, and then felt reassured by the picture of Lily that he had in his robes.

But the question remained: Who had given it to him?

Harry turned and saw Hermione and Ron waving frantically at him, and, as he got into his uncle’s car, he remembered how close they all came to death. He himself had come the closest of all, with Gates standing over him, aiming his wand at his chest as he lay inert in the kitchens.

He knew now what a monster really was. It was Voldemort and Katashi and Gates and Kreacher. It was all of them, terrible but blind, reaching forward with an iron fist, not seeing nor caring who they struck.

More than ever before, Harry felt strong. He had confronted a monster, fought it, and overcame it. Was the glory of surviving the cause? He had come close to death many times before, and he decided what he felt now was very different. Nothing could describe how he felt. Something had changed, but what it was, he did not know.

Perhaps it was his new knowledge of the monsters of the world, of those demons that never, truly die.

The knowledge that, beyond the iron fist, behind the rows of teeth and fangs, and down its slick throat is the monster’s maw. It is the maw which separates the monsters, divides them into categories, makes them cruel in their own different ways, driving them. It makes Voldemort kill and torture the innocent. It made Gates torment Death Eaters.

It was the answer to Dumbledore's question.

Oh, Harry knew he could glance at it, fleetingly peek into it, but no more. Not the best Legilimens in the world could. The maw was something off limits to everyone, even to the monster itself. It was too immense, too intricate for it to be quantified or even expressed.

The unanswerable questions of the maw still and will forever exist: What lies at its bottom? Who knows its depth?

(A/N: Wow, it's finally done. I can hardly believe it.

I appreciate everyone who left a review, and that at times was one of the few reasons I actually finished this monster (approx. 340,000 words).

Will there be a sequel? I don't know, but I want to do one. But feedback concerning what you think I should do better, what I should focus on, or anything on how I could have improved this fanfic would be helpful and raises the chances of a sequel. How will you know if I do a sequel? I'll simply add another chapter to this fanfic describing the sequel with a summary, and if you have story alerts enabled, you'll get an email.

I stayed up most of the night to complete this today, so I'm afraid I won't be responding to any of the reviews on my fanfiction.net side. I'm not sure of the quality of this chapter...I didn't intend it to be long, but I didn't intend it to be quite this short, either. Hopefully it wrapped everything up for you.

Good night.)

33. Sequel Update

All right, I've now decided whether to write a sequel or not. I said previously that I wasn't sure whether I could write one because of increasing real-life pressure, and time issues.

But, to come to the point, I'm going to write one, but it's going to be considerably shorter than HP and the Maw. Granted, it's still going to be around 150,000 to 200,000 words, but it's not going to be the monster that the Maw was. To ease my workload, the chapters are going to be MUCH shorter, the average being about 5,000 words. This'll give more frequent updates, as well as help me out.

Anyway, the sequel is going to pick up where The Maw left off. The plague is going to be very much a big issue, and the 'villain of the year' is going to be someone who was introduced in HP and the Maw. Gates will be playing a background role for the majority of the fanfic, the reasons for that being obvious (he's not going to be up to too much while he's incapacitated). Another change is that the sequel (planned title: Harry Potter and the Nexus) is going to be less darker than The Maw.

The main thing is that I want to make sure that anyone can read the sequel without being confused. I'll be going over the main plot points again, so the first few chapters might be a bit dull, but other than that, everything will be fresh. The old concepts and ideas I used in HP and the Maw (think of the Occlumency Anomaly and other such stuff) will be ignored, with fresh ideas to replace them.

For those of you who want a broader view of the sequel, the main themes explored will be time, immortality, and life and death. Some of these themes (especially the last one) will be expressed through the new DADA professor, whose identity I'm going to keep a lid on (though much more important would be his supposedly former occupation).

The central plot is going be designed differently from the Maw as well. It's no longer going to be a whodunnit type of story, but there will be questions that won't be answered till the end.

I should also mention that there will be main cannon character deaths.

And for those who MUST know, the main 'ship' of this story won't be changing. I certainly can't warp it around this late in the game, so it's staying like it is.

Also, if there is anyone out there willing to beta for me (I need someone with a good eye for spotting my infamous inconsistencies) email me or contact me in some way. My email can be accessed through my profile. Background in beta'ng is recommended, but certainly not required.

When will it be released? I have no idea. Sometime in August.

Lastly, here is the summary I'm planning to use:

Harry Potter and the Nexus: It's Harry Potter's seventh year at Hogwarts, and Voldemort's power is growing despite the Order's best efforts. An unstoppable plague has been unleashed by Voldemort upon both the muggle and wizarding worlds. Not only that, but a corrupted Seer with his own agenda has been hired by the Dark Lord to try what Voldemort has been so terrified of attempting personally: killing the Boy-Who-Lived.