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Chapter Text

He was standing over Hermione's body.

Ron gritted his teeth and pulled out his wand. Not even a year ago, he would have charged recklessly at them, firing curses left and right, never mind that his leg was probably shattered. But so much had changed since Harry had disappeared (he refused to think "died" because they'd never found proof of that) and it had all changed so quickly. It seemed Harry had been all that held You-Know-Who back and with him gone, not even Dumbledore scared him enough to stay still. The Order seemed to finally be gaining the upper-hand lately, but for a while there, You-Know-Who had seemed unstoppable. Those months had forced grim reality on them all, and Ron wasn't the child he'd been anymore; he knew better than to do much of anything with his leg in such a state.

But he wouldn't let Hermione get hurt anymore either. He took a deep breath and started dragging himself across the ground, careful not to jostle his leg more than he had to, as quietly as he could. He had to get closer if he had a chance of hitting him with a spell before he noticed and blocked it.

He was saying something to Hermione, who wasn't moving. Ron couldn't tell from where he was whether she was alive or dead, unconscious or injured or just Body-Bound. Armaros spoke with confidence that she could hear him, but everyone knew the only man madder than You-Know-Who and Bellatrix Lestrange was Lord Armaros. He might have spoken to a half-rotted corpse with the same tone.

What was certain was Armaros having any interest in Hermione being a very bad thing. He and his Knights didn't often take prisoners, but those he did were never returned whole and more often never returned at all. They still had very little idea of what went on in Armaros's stronghold because he left no one to talk about it, and his followers were almost religiously loyal. They had managed to capture a couple of his Knights and they'd been sent to Azkaban without having said a word. Even Veritaserum hadn't been able to get any information out of them. Ron would not let Armaros take Hermione away to never be seen or spoken of again so long as he was still alive.

He finally got close enough to see that Hermione was alive and awake after all, but blood was oozing through the fingers of the hand she had clamped on her side. She was already looking quite pale; he thought she might pass out if she didn't get help soon.

"Weasley! How nice of you to join us. I hope that leg's not giving you too much trouble."

Ron froze for half a second before continuing on with even more determination. He hadn't counted on being noticed so soon, but Armaros didn't move to do anything about it, so he might as well take advantage of that. It was just very unnerving how sane Armaros sounded when he spoke. He couldn't be, not with what he'd done, but he really did sound like it.

"I was just telling your girlfriend that you might as well surrender now. Your forces are surrounded and outnumbered. They'll be taken out shortly. If you surrender, or even join me, I promise you won't be harmed." The man paused and added almost thoughtfully, "Well, any more than you already are."

Ron pulled himself up beside Hermione and carefully shifted her hand so he could see the damage. He couldn't help a low growl; it was more than he could fix. She had to get to a Healer.

"Like I'd believe anything you said," he spat back.

Though he couldn't see his face under his dark hood, Ron had a feeling Armaros smiled. "I knew you would say that, but I thought it kind to offer anyway."

"You're insane," Ron said, and Armaros just laughed. Ron couldn't help a slight shiver. That laugh was so familiar, but it was too cold and cruel for him to say why.

"Is that so? You think I'm mad?"

"You killed my best friend and now you think I'd join you? Yeah, I do! You're bloody bonkers!"

Armaros just laughed again and started twirling his wand. "Ah, so I did. What a pointless death it was, too. He didn't even fight back."

Ron did move then, jumping to his feet in fury only to collapse again when his leg folded beneath him. He bit his tongue and rode out the pain. Armaros was laughing again, and Ron was not about to give him the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

Then Armaros fell silent again, and Ron knew he was a second away from being hit by a Cruciatus or worse. He tightened his grip on his wand and got ready to block it.

He looked up after a moment of nothing happening. A man had appeared at Armaros's side and grabbed his wrist, keeping him from flicking his wand. The blood left his face so fast he felt himself go pale. Sanguini, the leader of the vampires allied with You-Know-Who and Armaros's second in command, was rarely seen on the battlefield but he was as ruthless as his masters. Ron had been nervous enough to take on Armaros alone; both of them would be impossible, not the least because his magic couldn't easily counter Sanguini's blood magic.

But Sanguini hadn't seemed to notice him yet. His gaze was fixed on Armaros's hidden face. Armaros himself seemed to be frowning down at the hand on his wrist and was trying to shake it off.

"We must leave immediately," Sanguini murmured, only tightening his grip on Armaros's wrist. "Our favour has turned, and our Lord wishes no further casualties."

"I don't care what he wants--"

"Please. You've made your point. He asked me to tell you he is not angry, but we are to return to him unharmed."

A soft snort left the darkness of his hood, but Armaros lowered his wand a fraction. Rumour had it that he would only listen to You-Know-Who himself and Sanguini, and it seemed that was the case. None of them had been aware of any sort of rift between the two Lords, and Ron wondered briefly if they could work with that, but it had been so impossible that You-Know-Who had taken anyone on as a partner in the first place that he doubted it.

He decided to worry about it later. Right now he had to get Hermione to a Healer. He didn't even bother to check if the Anti-Apparition wards had been dropped yet; there was a Portkey in his pocket that would take them where they needed to go. As long as Armaros forgot about them and left, they would be okay.

But Armaros looked back down at them. His hood must have shifted slightly, because now Ron could see the lower half of his face and the mocking smile he wore.

"I suppose luck was on your side today, Weasley," he said in a light voice. "We'll have to continue this another time." But as he turned to follow Sanguini, the firelight caught his face and vibrant green eyes glinted out of the darkness.

Ron gasped and almost bolted to his feet again. "Harry?"

Armaros paused and looked back around. His eyes were only faintly visible under the hood, but they were visible enough and horribly familiar. They were definitely Harry's.

Even though he wanted to deny it, even though it made him sick to stare at those eyes, he couldn't figure out how he hadn't seen it before. Armaros had come out of nowhere--even with You-Know-Who, there had been hints about him long before he became active--and it wouldn't be just any wizard who convinced You-Know-Who to take on a partner. Harry had been growing Dark for months before he'd disappeared; at the time, Ron told himself Harry was just moody, or mourning Sirius, or he'd started taking his duty to defeat You-Know-Who more seriously, but that was because he didn't want to consider the truth. Even Armaros's wand was familiar; Ron recognized it now as one Harry had bought in their fifth year, supposedly so he could duel You-Know-Who without their wands connecting again.

"It seems you've been discovered, my beloved," Sanguini murmured, his dark eyes glinting.

"So it does," Armaros said. He reached up to push back his hood. "Too bad, I was hoping to play in secrecy a little longer."

Ron gaped at him. Though he hadn't seen Harry in half a year, and he looked a little older than Ron had expected, there was no doubt this was him. He had the same bright green eyes, which almost seemed to glow on their own now, and same messy black hair, though it was a little longer, the same lightning bolt shaped scar as a bright red mark on his forehead. The only big differences were his lack of glasses and how pale he was, but Armaros was well known now as being You-Know-Who's other prominent vampire ally.

"What the hell, Harry?!" was all Ron could say. Any other thoughts had been driven out of his head in his shock.

Armaros--Harry--cocked and eyebrow in mock surprise and Ron couldn't help but think how wrong that type of arrogance looked on him. "C'mon, Ron, didn't you think it was odd when Harry Potter disappeared without a trace and Armaros appeared just as suddenly? And it was only then I let anyone see my face? I didn't really hide it. I thought someone had figured it out by now."

Ron swallowed a couple times, his voice thick in his throat. "How could you? He killed your parents, Harry! He killed Dumbledore!" His fists tightened even more and he choked out the rest. "He killed mydad!"

"I really don't have time to explain myself to you, Weasley," Harry said, all his previous humour gone. Ron stared in horror as he raised his wand again and Sanguini did nothing to stop it. "But remember this. I am Lord Armaros, the cursed one, sole partner of Lord Voldemort. Harry Potter is dead. I killed him myself."

Then red flashed across his vision and he fell into blackness.

Chapter Text

Harry Potter was becoming no stranger to staring at the ceiling at three in the morning.

At least this nightmare had been one of the uneventful ones, full of doors that wouldn't open and endless corridors. In the weeks following Voldemort's return, he'd revisited the graveyard in his dreams more than enough times. He thought about that night enough while he was awake; he didn't feel he should have to dream about it too. Even now, he could clearly remember the dank smell, the laughter coming from the dark shapes all around--the high pitched laughter of one figure in particular--the smell of blood and pain, so much pain--a pair of grey eyes, glassy and staring--

Harry clapped his hands over his eyes, willing the memories to leave him alone. He would have given anything to save Cedric, but it had all happened to fast, what could he have done? He hadn't reallyliked Cedric until they met up in the maze, but he never, ever would have wanted the older boy to die. And he definitely didn't deserve a death like that.

He blew out his breath in a noisy gust and sat up. It didn't seem like he was going to get much more sleep tonight. Maybe he'd feel sleepier after a glass of water.

Something shifted in the room, cloth brushing against cloth. Harry immediately scrabbled for his wand and swung it about, looking for the source of the noise. There was another sound and smouldering red eyes appeared in the shadows near the desk. Even as Harry squared his wand on the dark figure, his mind started racing and he had to push back a feeling of dread. Was it Voldemort? Could he get past the blood protection his family gave him now that he had Harry's blood, just as he could touch Harry in the graveyard?

"Who's there?" he demanded while he started going over what spells he knew that might help in a duel. "How did you get in here?"

The figure blinked and shifted again. "I am not your Lord Voldemort. You have little to fear from me."

His voice was a rich baritone, which, if it hadn't sounded a bit raspy from disuse, might have easily convinced Harry to trust it. As it was, Harry felt the vague desire to let his guard down a bit. It made him tighten his grip on his wand. There was no doubt this guy was dangerous if he could do that with just his voice.

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Have you been having nightmares, Harry Potter?"

Harry's eyes narrowed and he shifted so he was in a better position to move if he had to. He could probably get to the door before this intruder, and he was more than willing to fight his way out.

"Who are you," he repeated, trying to sound as intimidating as he could while pyjama-clad.

The man shifted again. "I'm a friend. I'm here to help you."

Harry stared at him. "Help me?"

"Have you been having nightmares?"

"Why should I tell you?"

The man sighed, sounding tired and maybe a little annoyed, but Harry stood his ground. For a supposed friend who wanted to help, he was being frustratingly vague and unhelpful. Not to mention, Harry wasn't going to be in the habit of trusting random strangers for a while. Especially random strangers who could appear silently in his room and were frustratingly vague and unhelpful.

"I was not sent here by your Lord Voldemort either," the man said patiently.

"You know, the fact that you know he's back just makes me think you are," Harry said, bitterly thinking of the Daily Prophet and how they had yet to print an article about Voldemort's return.

The red eyes narrowed a little, but the man's voice was still soft and mild when he spoke. "Are you so unable to trust others?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, trusting random, shadowy figures who know about Voldemort is a really great idea right now."

The figure shifted again, then stepped out of the shadows, his sleeves rolled up and arms out enough to show his unmarked skin. He was quite tall and very pale, though it was hard to tell how much of that was from the moonlight. His robes hung loosely on his frame and didn't seem to have been washed or mended in a while, and he looked as though he hadn't eaten in a while either, nor thought he would again any time soon. As he stopped in the light from the window, his eyes lost their red gleam, but they didn't look any less wild or fierce. In fact, the only part of him that seemed to be completely under his control was his dark hair, with was immaculately combed and pulled back with a white ribbon. Harry thought he might have been fairly good-looking if he didn't look half-starved.

"I am not Marked," the man said with a small smile. "I do not support either Lord Voldemort or Albus Dumbledore. I am on my own side."

Harry lowered his wand but didn't loose his hold on it. "Why are you so eager to get me to trust you?" He was a little more willing to listen to what the man wanted to say, but he hadn't forgotten there were ways of covering up a Dark Mark.

"May I sit?" the man asked, gesturing at the chair tucked into the desk. Harry nodded and the man pulled out the chair to take a seat, careful to keep it from scraping the floor too loudly. Harry took the opportunity to shift into a more comfortable position himself. He was annoyed that his questions kept going unanswered, but this was a step in the right direction.

The man crossed his legs, laced his fingers together on his knee, and stared calmly at Harry. "My name is Sanguini. I was friend of Cedric Diggory."

And that was so unexpected, Harry had to stare right back at him for a moment. "I've never seen you around school."

"No, I have never been to Hogwarts,” Sanguini said with a faint smile, “except to watch the final Task of the Triwizard Tournament. I live near the Diggorys, so I would visit him during the summer. But that is not what is important, nor why I came to you. What is important is that he is dead now and all our plans have gone to waste.”

Harry bristled and raised his wand again. "That's all you care about? He's dead! But that doesn't matter if all your plans are ruined."

Sanguini winced and raised his hands. "Forgive me, that was callous. Cedric was a dear friend to me. I've been mourning since I heard the news."

Harry relaxed a bit, but only because the pain on Sanguini's face was hardly something that could be faked. It was the same pain he'd been feeling since that night.

“It was Cedric's wish that I contact you in the event of his death,” Sanguini continued, now regarding him with an expression Harry couldn't place. “He said that you would help me, if you knew everything. And I do need help, very much so. But I could never understand why it was you that he wanted.”

“Why not? What do you need help with?” Maybe he could help and then get the man to leave.

Sanguini stared at him silently for several minutes. Harry squirmed under the fierce gaze, but he stared right back and refused to look away. He could play that game, too. 

Finally, Sanguini smiled and leaned back in his seat. “I always thought that perhaps you were too close to Dumbledore. That man would hardly agree with what we wished to accomplish. But I think Cedric may have been right about you after all.”

Harry opened his mouth to ask him why he thought he wasn't close to Dumbledore--because as far as he was concerned, he was--but Sanguini stood before he could get a sound out, with one fluid motion so fast he could hardly see it. Harry flinched away before he knew he was doing it and Sanguini frowned at him, though he had the impression it wasn't because of anything he'd done.

"Didn't I say I before that I'm not here to harm you? I will not go back on that promise."

Promise or not, Harry kept his wand out and pointed at the man as Sanguini crossed the distance between them. He stayed still as Sanguini reached out a placed a cool hand on his forehead.

And then suddenly it seemed silly to have his wand out at all. They both knew he wouldn't use it unless he had no other option. The Ministry already thought he'd purposefully used his magic during the summer, after all. And obviously this man wasn't really a threat; he'd been here for a good half hour without attacking him. He felt the last threads of his nightmare drifting away, as well as his memories of the graveyard. He knew if he had to, he could call them up again, but for now they wouldn't bother him.

Under the sudden calm, Harry wondered what the hell just happened and why he was still sitting here with a hand on his forehead.

"It is getting late," Sanguini murmured. His voice had taken on a deeper quality and Harry found himself nodding even while he wondered how four in the morning could be considered late. "I only wished to meet you tonight and perhaps help you a little myself. If you would have me again, I will explain everything else. Call out my name, and I or one of my friends will hear and come to you. Now, you should get a few hours more sleep."

The hand started guiding him back down toward the bed and Harry let himself go with it. He felt sleepier than he had since before the Triwizard Tournament. The hand left his forehead and he laid down the rest of the way on his own. His glasses were lifted off his face and his wand was tugged out of his hand, but he couldn't find the energy to panic. He struggled to keep his eyes open long enough to watch Sanguini step back into the shadows, but he couldn't be bothered to make sure the man really left. He was just too tired.

His eyes slipped closed.

"Sleep well, Harry Potter..."

"I do not believe I have ever despised anyone so very much."

Lorcan stared as Sanguini sat heavily in the swing next to him, too preoccupied to move with his usual grace. Theirs were the only swings still usable in the play park; the rest hung broken and neglected. It probably would have looked odd to the Muggles around--two grown men sitting in the play park swings in the wee hours of the morning--but there were none around so he couldn't be sure.

"He's that bad, huh?" Lorcan said as he kicked off from the ground. "Too bad. Cedric seemed to like him."

"Not the boy. Those disgusting Muggles who raised him and Dumbledore."

Lorcan slowed to a stop again. Sanguini didn't look over at him. He was still staring in the direction of Potter's house where Potter was now getting a well deserved sleep. He didn't want Potter to still be there. He'd taken the opportunity to look into the boy's mind while Potter foolishly stared into his eyes, and he'd gleaned plenty of information about his home life and his relationship with Dumbledore. And he did not want Potter to still be in that house. He had been important to Cedric, more so than the boy could guess, and now was important to him. The boy should be coming with him, far away from his ungrateful relatives and the wizards who didn't even understand what they had.

But many of the reasons he didn't want to leave Potter in that house were the same reasons he had left him there. Potter would never have trusted him, and with good reason, considering what he'd been through lately, and he would have been driven even more toward the Light by the mere suggestion. He would leave Potter to discover his gift and to think on his intentions and perhaps collect him later in the summer, when he was more trusting and less in love with the idea of Dumbledore.

"What happened?" Lorcan asked cautiously.

"That boy was abused."

Lorcan started so violently he slipped off the swing. He sputtered a bit as he pulled himself back to his feet and brushed the dirt off his trousers. "What?"

"Perhaps not abused, per say. I am sure his aunt and uncle never laid a finger on him. But he was certainly neglected and bullied." Sanguini sighed and leaned back in his swing. The Muggles were lucky he'd gotten here after they'd started treating Potter better. "Most often by his cousin, I believe."

"That's--how could they do that to a magical child? Didn't they know what could happen? I should--"

"There's nothing we can do, Lorcan," Sanguini murmured, cutting him off. "Not at the moment."

Lorcan hissed through his teeth, but he flopped back down in his swing again. "Dumbledore has to know about it. Why would he keep sending Harry back there? Why would Harry let him?"

"We shall have to find out. I do not wish to leave him there for long." Sanguini paused and looked up at the stars, or what stars he could see though the moonlight and the light from the Muggle streetlamps. "I do think he'll be more sympathetic to us this way. He'll have a better understanding of what it's like. Cedric was right about him."

Lorcan let out a small sound of agreement and pushed off the ground to get his swing moving again. Sanguini's gaze slipped from the sky and back toward the bland Muggle houses that concealed Harry's home. He would have liked to stay there for as long as it took to get Harry to agree to leave. He supposed his promise to come when he was called would have to be good enough. He just hoped Harry would take him up on it.

Harry sighed as he flopped down in one of the two unbroken swings in the play park and stared off vaguely into the distance. Despite Sanguini's well wishes, Harry had certainly not slept well over the last few nights. Oh, his dreams were pleasant enough--he hadn't had a nightmare since that man's visit--but that was the problem. After having nightmares almost every night this summer, it was unnerving that they could be gone so quickly. And he had no doubt that it had been something Sanguini had done that had got rid of them. Not for the first time in the past four days, Harry cursed himself for being so quick to trust him. He'd only known about the wizarding world for four years; there was plenty of magic out there that he knew nothing about and had probably never even dreamed of. It would be just his luck if, in dispelling his nightmares, Sanguini had done something further that he wouldn't know about for months.

He moodily kicked back from the ground and dragged his feet when he swung back the other way. He'd just been so desperate for contact with the magical world, he thought, after almost two weeks of nothing but empty letters and the frustratingly uninformed Daily Prophet. Looking back on it now, he couldn't really be sure Sanguini was an old friend of Cedric's. He could be a nutter who saw that as an opportunity to get in with the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry had no idea how he'd gotten in and out of the room without making a sound, and that just made him more suspicious. Not to mention how he'd known about the nightmares when Harry hadn't breathed a word of them to anyone. After all, having nightmares of the graveyard was understandable, as Ron, Hermione, and Sirius would all say if he told them, and the dreams about the corridors meant nothing at all.

Sanguini could obviously get inside his head somehow, and he felt even more uneasy about that than he did about Voldemort's link to his mind. With Voldemort, he knew what to expect--pain and probably worse if Voldemort ever learned about it. Sanguini was an unknown. He did still grudgingly believe the man was not a Death Eater, if only because a Death Eater would have left him to suffer, but that left plenty of other things he could be.

Harry probably could have found out more about him if he'd wanted to. If the man lived near Cedric, then he also lived near the Weasleys, and Ron might know something about him. But Harry had been feeling distinctly less friendly toward Ron and Hermione lately and had decided to keep Sanguini's visit a secret for now.

He eventually slowed to a stop again and stared hard at the ground. Sanguini had said he would come if he was called. Harry had no reason to trust him or believe that, but it had been very nice to speak with another person who was part of the magical world. Even if he was a cryptic bastard.

"Sanguini!" he called out.

He tried not to feel too disappointed when nothing happened.

It was probably just as well. He could hear Hermione now, asking him what he could possibly be thinking, inviting a possible Death Eater to come back. He might as well have walked right up to Voldemort and handed over his wand.

"You called?"

Harry started and whipped his head around. The swing next to him was now occupied by someone he'd never met before but who was looking at him curiously.

"Who are you?" Harry demanded. He couldn't remember when he'd gotten to his feet.

"Lorcan d'Eath," the man said, brushing his dark fringe out of his eyes. "Sanguini had something to take care of, so he asked me to answer if you called."

Harry stared at him. This man did not look like he would be friends with someone like Sanguini. He had the look of a rock star on his day off, and he seemed to be wearing robes only for show over his very Muggle shirt and trousers. Harry's impression of Sanguini was of a considerably more tolerable Snape whereas this man reminded him strongly of Sirius. The idea that they might be friendly was bewildering.

"So what d'you want?" Lorcan asked, seeming to decide that he'd had enough of Harry staring at him.

Harry opened his mouth, shut it, shifted in his seat, and opened it again. "How do I know I can trust you?"

Lorcan eyed him with a look Harry couldn't place and leaned back against one of the chains of his swing. "Ask me something only you and he should know."

Harry thought back to their brief conversation, and it turned his stomach, but there was really only one thing he could think of to ask. He doubted Lorcan would know everything that was said, even if he had been sent here by Sanguini. "Who told Sanguini to meet with me?"

"Cedric, of course. He told me I should meet you sometime too. But that--" Lorcan laughed and smiled at some private joke-- "that'd be front page material for sure."

Harry let himself relax a bit, but he didn't sit back down. "So you know him. I'm still not convinced you're not both working for Voldemort."

Lorcan gave him a rueful smile. "Believe me, Voldemort'd love to have us, but mindless slaughter's not really our thing. He did...ask the first time around. Seems he hasn't got back to us this time yet." He shrugged and continued as if Harry hadn't just tensed back up again, "So what'd you call about?"

Harry found himself lost for words again. Why had he called for Sanguini? He didn't think he had any reason in particular, though there were things he'd certainly like to ask him. Finally, Harry admitted a bit sheepishly, "I was mostly just seeing if it'd work."

Lorcan smiled his private smile again and started rocking his swing a little with one foot. He seemed content to simply sit in silence for a while. Harry, however, was not. He had too many questions, and now he thought he might have a good chance of having them answered; Lorcan was not nearly as cryptic as Sanguini. And here was another chance to have a conversation with someone from the magical world, someone who had shown no signs of hexing him or trying to take him to Voldemort.

He waited for Mrs Figg to pass by the gates of the park and out of hearing distance before he finally asked, "What did he do to me?" He hesitated a moment, then flopped back down in his swing as well. He could still get up and run or fight if he had to, but he might as well show some friendliness or Lorcan might decide he wasn't worth his time. "I haven't had a single nightmare since he showed up. When I think about--about Cedric it doesn't hurt as bad." He reached up and touched his scar but he did not want to mention that it had stopped prickling as well. That would be too much information.

Lorcan cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. Harry had a sudden understanding of why Sanguini might tolerate him. "Isn't it better that way?"

Harry felt his face heating up. He didn't want to sound ungrateful, but... "I don't want anyone messing with my head. I can live with the nightmares."

Harry gave Lorcan a furtive glance, but Lorcan wasn't looking at him. The man had his eyes trained on the sky and a look on his face that Harry thought might be annoyance. Harry stared back down at his feet. He had every right to feel that way, there was no reason for him to feel ashamed. He didn't have to accept help from random strangers. And they shouldn't expect him to, not after what he'd been through lately.

"So what if," Lorcan finally said, like he was carefully picking his words, "you were only having the nightmares in the first place because of someone messing with your head?"

Harry gaped at him. "How would that work?"

"Well, there's more than one way to mess with someone's head," Lorcan said mildly. "Especially in our world. What Sanguini did was just one of them, and a beneficial one at that."

"So...do you mean...Voldemort? Voldemort's been putting nightmares in my head?" Harry could not think of what else he could mean, as much as the idea unnerved him. He knew he had a connection to Voldemort through his scar, but it hadn't been much more than a sort of early-warning system. Could he really manipulate their link more than that?

"Not Voldemort," Lorcan said. "Your relatives."

"The Dursleys?"

Lorcan jerked his head in a way that could have been a nod.

"They never did anything to my head," Harry said, completely bewildered. "Well, Dudley sat on it once, but I didn't get hurt."

Lorcan stopped moving abruptly and Harry saw his knuckles turning white around the chain of the swing. "Like I said, there's more than one way to mess with your head," he said, sounding like he was straining to get the words out. "I guess I could go back and tell him you didn't appreciate it. He was going to ask before doing anything like that again anyway. He wasn't even planning to do it in the first place."

"You don't have to do that," Harry said quickly. That would definitely seem ungrateful, and he should at least be the one to ask if he decided he needed to.

"You sure?" Lorcan asked, looking like he was trying not to laugh.

"Y-yeah, I mean...I guess I don't mind getting some decent sleep..."

"It won't last forever," Lorcan said, and he looked so satisfied now that Harry opened his mouth to demand why he hadn't just said that in the first place. Harry felt his words die in his throat when a spasm crossed Lorcan's face and he grabbed at his chest and almost fell off his swing. Harry bolted out of his own swing and knelt in front of him, wondering if he should run and get help. A heart attack was mundane enough that he might be okay at a Muggle hospital. But no, Lorcan wasn't clutching at his heart, he was grabbing at something else under his shirt.

"What is it?" Harry asked, reaching toward Lorcan's hand. Lorcan shook his head and tightened his grip on whatever it was.

"It'll pass..."

So Harry sat there, feeling somewhat foolish, while Lorcan silently dealt with whatever was hurting him. There wasn't much he could do if Lorcan didn't explain what was wrong, and even then he might not be able to do much anyway. He couldn't use magic right now, and he doubted anyone in the houses nearby would want to help him, not when they all thought he was deranged. He wasn't even sure he should help, but it was seeming less and less likely Lorcan and Sanguini had anything to do with Voldemort. It certainly wasn't his forearm Lorcan was grabbing at in pain.

After what seemed like an hour but was surely only a few minutes, Lorcan loosened his grip on his shirt and he slumped over in his swing. His eyes were still closed and he was still breathing heavily, but it looked like whatever had hurt him had indeed passed. Harry waited another maybe another minute before asking again, "What was that?"

Lorcan's eyes opened a crack and he eyed Harry for another couple moments. Then he reached under his collar and pulled out a delicate silver chain. Hanging from the chain was a small crystal vial filled with something that looked suspiciously like blood. Lorcan let it drop back to his chest and brushed his fringe out of his face again.

"It's blood," he said, confirming Harry's suspicions. "My blood, with a drop of some potion I don't remember the name of. We all have one. It's how the Ministry keeps track of us. I probably shouldn't stay much longer; they'll be aware I'm here now."

Harry gaped at him, unsure of where to start with all that. Was this some new development since the holidays started or did no one think to mention that the Ministry kept track of everyone? He didn't remember ever seeing anyone else double over in pain like that though. And the only people he could think of that the Ministry would need to keep track of like this were people who'd been in Azkaban. Harry had a very hard time imagining Lorcan ever being in Azkaban.

"Why would the Ministry need to keep track of you?" he finally asked, feeling like he was missing something here. Maybe he was a werewolf, although he though Lupin would have written if something so drastic had happened, and besides Lorcan didn't look very haggard, and the full moon had been just a couple days ago.

Lorcan's lips twitched like he was fighting back a smirk. "Sanguini didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Harry asked, and it came out more aggressive than he'd intended. He was just getting so tired of having things kept from him.

"We're vampires," Lorcan said, lightly as if he were discussing the weather. "Sanguini's full-blooded. I'm only half, so the sun doesn't bother me much." He gestured vaguely toward the west, where the sun had finally slipped behind the houses but still hadn't set completely yet.

Harry wondered vaguely what the usual reaction was to that pronouncement. He had a feeling it was one of those things only someone raised in the magical world could understand, but he only felt a slight amount of awe and maybe nervousness, and a good deal of disgust and anger at the Ministry. He knew the Ministry had ways of keeping track of certain wizards, since they kept track of underage wizards and whether they used magic or not, and they didn't have to hurt anyone to do it.

Lorcan stood and stretched his arms over his head. "Anyway, the Ministry'll be wonder what a vampire's doing around their precious Saviour, so I should probably leave before--"

"Why should they care where you are?" Harry interrupted, standing up as well. "They'll see you haven't done anything--"

"It's not that easy," Lorcan said with a small smile. "We're supposed to stay in certain areas and file a request if we want to go outside them. Usually they don't care if we don't bother, but they've been getting antsy lately. I don't feel like testing their patience."

Harry suddenly felt very sick, not the least because Lorcan spoke about this like it was normal. He had very little idea of what might have led to policies like that, and he didn't much care. No one should be treated like a dangerous criminal just for existing. It was wrong with the werewolves and it was wrong here.

"Can't you take it off?" he asked, wishing he could destroy the little vial just by staring at it.

"It's charmed so only a Light wizard can take it off. If I tried, it'd send me straight to Azkaban--"

Harry only hesitated enough to wonder if his Parseltongue ablility might keep him from doing this, and then he reached out for the necklace. The chain lifted away from Lorcan's neck and over his head with ease.

"I might not really trust you yet," Harry said as he stuffed the necklace into his pocket, "but you don't deserve that. The Ministry shouldn't be hurting people just because they can."

It was Lorcan's turn to stare at him, speechless. He reached a hand up to touch his chest where the vial had been moments before as if he couldn't believe it was gone, and Harry had to wonder just how old this policy was if he was so used to it being there.

"If any other vampires want freedom, you can send them to me," Harry added, and he knew the grin on his face was a vicious one, but he didn't care. It felt good to be doing something again, to be helping someone. "And," he went on, though this was more hesitant, "if you and Sanguini ever want to visit, I wouldn't mind. I'd like to apologize to him."

"I'll pass it on," Lorcan murmured. He still hadn't quite stopped staring at Harry in amazement, though a strangely victorious looking smile was starting to form on his face. "Now I really need to go. I--thank you, Harry."

The air around him seemed to darken for a moment, as if he was suddenly in a shadow, and then he was gone, disappearing without a sound. Harry had to admit he was sad to see the man go. He'd been a good deal more talkative than Sanguini.

The there air around him shifted again as, with the tell-tale cracks of Apparition, a half-dozen wizards appeared in the bushes nearby. Harry had to put a serious effort into keeping his expression neutral as they started spreading out; if they'd appeared just a second earlier, they would have seen Lorcan Dissapparating away. He made a note to only call for Sanguini or Lorcan in his room and to spend a good deal more time there from now on, so other vampires would have a slightly safer place to talk to him. They would at least get some warning that way.

One of the wizards, a very tall, bald black man, broke off from the rest with a small gesture and walked straight toward Harry. He didn't look around, searching for the vampire that had brought them here, like Harry expected him to--no, his gaze never left Harry once, and Harry found himself cowed a bit under the intensity of it in spite of himself.

"Good evening, Mr Potter," the man said as he stopped in front of Harry. His voice was warm and deep and probably somewhat soothing in the right situation. "My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt. I'm an Auror with the Ministry. Would you mind answering a few questions for me?"

"Yeah, of course. Did something happen?" Harry said, trying to sound as casual and confused as possible. He was not sure he managed it, but he was at least sure he didn't sound too distrustful.

If he did, Shacklebolt didn't seem to catch onto it. Or maybe he was just better at controlling his emotions--that wouldn't be difficult. He continued on as professionally as before, "We caught wind of an illegal magical creature in the area. I just need to know where you were in the last half hour and whether you saw anything unusual. Anything at all."

Harry fought to keep from clenching his fists. Why would the Aurors be bothering with something like a vampire being in the wrong place when Voldemort was out there, probably gathering supporters as they spoke? He doubted they thought Voldemort had appealed to the vampires, or he would have said a Death Eater had been around rather than "an illegal magical creature." Which was a terrible thing to say about Lorcan in the first place; if the man hadn't said anything, Harry never would have suspected he was anything but a wizard.

"I've been here all that time and I haven't seen anything," he said in a tight voice. "Well, besides Mrs Figg walking by without muttering to herself. That's always odd."

"She's the only person you saw?" Shacklebolt asked. He was trying to hide it, but he definitely looked sceptical. It just made Harry more determined to lie for his new friend.

"She's the only one." Then, taking a gamble, he added, "She's my next door neighbour, if you wanted to talk to her too." He really didn't think Mrs Figg would have noticed anything, but she was also batty enough that they probably wouldn't believe her if she had.

Shacklebolt stared at him a moment, but nodded soon enough. "Wait here. I'll walk you home. It isn't safe to be out so late by yourself right now."

Harry bristled at the idea that he couldn't look after himself, but he crossed his arms and waited as Shacklebolt gestured to one of the other Aurors and they both walked a short distance away. It was far enough that Harry couldn't hear their low whispers and they faced away from him so he couldn't try to read their lips or expressions. He felt his temper start simmering under the surface. He had no doubt that Shacklebolt didn't trust him, and even if he did, the other Aurors didn't. Well that was just too bad; if they wanted to spend their time chasing vampires instead of Death Eaters, they wouldn't be getting any help from him.

When Shacklebolt came back, he had his wand out and a grim look on his face. Harry stood a little straighter and uncrossed his arms. He had to be able to get to his own wand if he needed it.

"Do you mind if I test for any spells that might have been cast on you?" he asked, though it was clear Harry really didn't have a choice. "You may well have been forced to forget something. Nothing I cast on you should hurt or do anything more than what I've said."

"I--yeah, all right," Harry said. He felt he could have resisted spells like that, but it would do no good to argue about it.

And Shacklebolt made a good showing of casting spells to check for tempering, though he kept his mouth shut the whole time, so Harry had no idea what they were. Harry stood there tamely while Shacklebolt did his job, but he tried to remember every spell he could so he could look them up later. Or, more likely, so he could tell Hermione about them and have her look them up. They might be useful spells to know.

Then the tip of Shacklebolt's wand erupted in warm, golden light. It would have felt pleasantly comfortable if Harry didn't know exactly what it was testing for. Instead, it made him feel quite sick again to know that the Minsitry tested for vampires by exposing them to the Sunlight Charm. Most vampires had enough tolerance to the sun that they wouldn't die right away to something like that, but it wouldhurt and it would certainly incapacitate them.

But he couldn't show it, or they really would think he was the vampire they suspected and he'd be taken to the Ministry. They would sort things out there, undoubtedly, but they would also find Lorcan's vial and then there would be trouble.

So Harry crossed his arms and fixed Shacklebolt with a cold stare. "What was that last?"

Shacklebolt just smiled and flicked his wand to end the spell, though he didn't drop his guard just yet. "Nothing you have to worry about Mr Potter. Let's get you home now."

Harry's fingers clawed into his arms as he followed Shacklebolt to the gate, which was unlocked with a tap of his wand, and then out of the park and off down the street. Harry didn't bother to ask how Shacklebolt knew where he lived--the Ministry knew well enough, so of course the Aurors would know--or to mention that he'd noticed the second Auror trailing after them while the rest Disapparated away. He was too busy wondering if Dumbledore knew how corrupt some parts of the Ministry had become. Surely he wouldn't stand by and allow such treatment of any magical creatures, even Dark creatures, if he knew about it. He'd always seemed okay with werewolves and giants, so why not vampires too?

But even as he thought it, Harry had that same sinking feeling he'd felt when he'd thought about writing to Ron about Sanguini. Would they really be okay with him making friends with vampires and even helping them escape Ministry control? His heart told him firmly that they would not.

Chapter Text

It was a couple days before anyone new arrived in his room to ask for freedom. Sanguini had come the night after Harry's talk with Lorcan to thank him and let him know that he too would pass the message on, and he'd come back the next night as well just to talk, but he hadn't been able to stay long either time. Harry had to admit that it had been hard to see him go. He wasn't sure if he particularly liked Sanguini yet, but he was definitely glad to have a stronger connection to the magical world again.

But the next night, Harry returned to his room to find a stranger waiting for him on the end of his bed. At first glance, the boy looked nothing like Sanguini and Lorcan—he seemed to be not that much older than Harry himself and had fairly long hair that was such a deep color of red it must have been dyed. But he also looked about twice as gaunt and tired as Sanguini did and was just as pale, so that even if Harry hadn't already been sure he knew why the boy was here (why else would there be a stranger waiting for him in his bedroom?), he would have known he was a vampire.

The boy had been staring off into space as he waited, but as soon as he heard the door open, his gaze snapped back over to Harry.

"Harry Potter?"

Harry nodded as he stepped into the room and then carefully shut the door again behind him. His relatives were still downstairs, but there was no telling how long they might stay there. Harry tended to keep his door shut as it was, preferring to keep as much of a barrier between himself and his relatives as possible.

The boy smiled and leaned back on his hands. "You look shorter in your pictures."

"Er...thanks. I think," Harry said, staring at him. "Did Lorcan send you?"

"Lorcan...d'Eath?" The boy looked genuinely bewildered and even amused for a moment. "No, I don't know him. Sanguini told us we should come here."

"Us?" Harry asked, looking around the room again. But he hadn't been mistaken; this boy was the only other person in the room.

"Yeah, he gathered a bunch of us together and told us about you. I volunteered to come first to see if it was true."

For a moment, Harry almost felt a bit offended that they hadn't simply believed in him in the first place, especially with Lorcan already walking around without the Ministry's tracking vial. But he quickly shoved that feeling away; if it had been him, seeking help from someone associated with people who had been torturing him for years, he would have been pretty sceptical too.

The boy must have interpreted his silence the wrong way, because he abruptly got to his feet and instantly closed the short distance between himself and Harry, a genuine and surprisingly open look of worry crossing his face. "It is true, isn't it?"

Harry was too caught off guard by suddenly having someone in his personal space to come up with anything more intelligent than: "What?"

"It's true that you're helping us," the boy repeated, and this time he reached up to grasp the vial hidden under his shirt.

Harry opened his mouth, decided he should probably actually sound sure of himself, and promptly shut it again. So he gave the boy the most confident smile he could and nodded. "Yeah, I am."

The effect was instantaneous and just a bit dramatic; a wide smile broke across the boy's face and he grabbed Harry's hands to squeeze them so tight he thought bones might start cracking.

"I thought so! Asya didn't believe me, but I knew you couldn't be so bad." He gave Harry's hands one more squeeze and abruptly let go. "I'll be back soon!"

Harry opened his mouth and started to reach out to stop him—he hadn't gotten a chance to take his own vial away yet—but before he could say anything, shadows rose up around the boy and he disappeared. Harry stood there for about five minutes before he headed over to his desk to sit down and wait. The other boy hadn't said how long it might take for him to come back.

It was not until one in the morning and Harry had been close to falling asleep on his desk that shadows coalesced in the corner of his room again and out walked the boy and two other vampires: another boy with long black hair like a hedgehog who towered over all of them, and a very pretty girl with dark hair and deep blue eyes that almost glowed in the darkness of his room.

The first vampire bounced over to Harry and set his hands on the desk so he could bounce more easily on the balls of his feet. "Hello, Harry! I came back and I brought my friends," he said unnecessarily.

"Right..." Harry slowly got to his feet, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He was going to have to figure out a way to both stay up and not be tired during the day if this was going to be the usual time he got visitors.

"You're really taking them away?" the girl said, eying him sceptically.

Something about that look made Harry stand a bit straighter. "Yeah, I am," he said. "If you want me to."

She did not look as though she really believed him, but she glanced over at the redhead, who was looking between them eagerly, and sighed. "Well, if Len believes you..." she said and she pulled the vial out so it lay on top of her robes.

One by one, Harry solemnly lifted the cursed necklaces over their heads (the second boy had to bow deeply for him to be able to reach). The girl watched him suspiciously until he had taken hers away, but then, while she didn't seem to warm up to him even after, she at least stopped watching his every move.

The first vampire, on the other hand, grabbed Harry's hands again once he had dumped the vials in a desk drawer and squeezed them harder than ever.

"Thank you, Harry," he said, looking as though he might like to start bouncing again and it was taking his every effort to keep from doing so. "I'll make sure everybody knows you're really helping us."

"As will we," said the tall vampire in a shockingly deep voice.

They both looked at the girl, who frowned back at them for a moment before she sighed, "Oh, yes, I suppose."

Harry smiled as nicely as he could while his hands were being crushed. "Thanks, er..." And then he realized that none of them had actually told him their names. He thought maybe the redhead was called Len, but they had not actually told him outright.

The redhead blinked at him for a moment, and then he laughed sheepishly. "Oh yeah, I forgot..."

Behind him, both of his friends gave him exasperated looks. Harry had a feeling this was not an uncommon occurrence for him.

"I'm Len," the redhead said with a bright smile. "And that's Asya"—he pointed to the girl—"and Tyr"—the very tall vampire bowed his head—"and I always forget this part, we don't talk to a lot of people who don't know us already."

"Or who would care to know our names," Asya added, shaking her head at him.

"But I'm really glad you do," Len said, his smile turning a bit bitter. "Most wizards don't like us much."

Harry gave him the best smile he could and squeezed his hands back. "Yeah, I know. But I'm not most wizards."

Speaking to Len and his friends had been like opening the metaphorical flood gates. Thankfully, the vampires had enough sense to not all come rushing to him at once, though Harry suspected there might also be some manoeuvring behind the scenes to make sure they spread themselves out a bit. But he still ended up with at least one visitor other than Sanguini every night.

And Sanguini did try to stop by almost every night. Harry wasn't really sure why he felt he had too, but he couldn't help but feel a it bit grateful for it. As great as it was to have constant contact with even a small sliver of the magical world again, it was even better to have one person who seemed to really want to get to know him. He was very rarely able to stay long, but Harry appreciated it all the same.

He still wasn't entirely comfortable around the vampire, though. For all their differences, Sanguini did still remind him horribly of Snape at times, and Snape was probably the second-to-last person he would ever want visiting him in his bedroom. And he was still a little unnerved that he'd known so quickly about Voldemort when the Daily Prophet had been stupidly silent on that front.

It was something he noticed less and less the more time he spent with the man though. And Sanguini so obviously cared for his people and was so concerned about their welfare, that the similarities to Snape were mostly superficial. Snape had certainly never shown himself to care so much about anyone.

"Do all of you have these vials?" Harry asked one night while Saguini walked around his room, looking at the various broken trinkets he still had from when this had been Dudley's second bedroom.

Sanguini paused next to the shelf of still untouched books, looking over the titles. "All of us?"

"All the vampires."

"Oh, hardly. Other countries have their own ways of dealing with us, though most will look the other way in regards to your Ministry's policies." He paused to pull out a thick textbook that had never been opened and carefully brushed the dust off it. "Even within Britain, there are plenty of us without them."

"Really?" Harry asked, watching the small snowstorm Sanguini was creating out of dust. If he really thought about it, it didn't seem like the Ministry should be able to track every single vampire, but he'd had a steady flow of visitors ever since Len had reported back to his friends that this whole thing wasn't just a trick. Not so many that he'd felt overwhelmed, but enough that he'd started taking naps in the afternoon so he could stay up most of the night. Luckily, his aunt and uncle no longer seemed to care where he was most of the day so long as he wasn't trying to watch the news and was back in the house by the time Dudley was, so they hadn't noticed.

Sanguini slid the book back on its shelf and made his way over to the desk. "If one of us happens across a member of the Ministry, they'll likely try to bring him in, and enough of us have a public presence that we've had to report in. But we are hardly going to volunteer to be tagged like animals."

"Oh."

Sanguini sent him an amused look. "Did you think that the Ministry had hunted us down?"

"Our Defence books make it sound like that. When they mention it at all," Harry said, feeling a bit stupid.

He had made a point of going back through a few of his textbooks and reading up on vampires since his first meeting with Lorcan, but he had found that Lupin had actually covered that material quite thoroughly—it was the material itself that was lacking and vague. He'd found that to be particularly true when it came to the Ministry's policies. The most he'd been able to find on that subject was only that the Ministry had regulations, and that vampires had a devoted office in the Being Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures which was understaffed and very rarely used. 

And that the centaurs had requested to be considered "beasts" because they objected to sharing the "being" title with creatures like vampires, which made Harry wonder, not for the first time, if he was really doing the right thing.

Sanguini snorted softly and rolled his eyes. "Wizards have a habit of making themselves out to be far more important and powerful than they usual are, particularly British wizards."

"They managed to get a bunch of you," Harry muttered. Maybe it wasn't the nicest thing to say, but he felt a little defensive, despite somewhat agreeing with that.

Thankfully, Sanguini didn't seem too offended. "There aren't as many of us, and they generally come after us one at a time, as I said. We, like many creatures, are far more powerful in groups." He smirked a bit and added, "When we're capable of putting aside our differences long enough to work together, that is."

"Yeah, sounds about right," Harry said, thinking back to Dumbledore's speech at the end of the year. Working together, House unity, putting aside differences in the face of a common foe...Harry suspected it would be one of those things that was easier said than done.

Sanguini smiled again and fell silent. His fingers slowly moved across Harry's desk as he looked at the mess of papers and books strewn across the surface. Harry knew the moment he reached a certain set of letters; his fingers stopped and his face became very blank.

"Your friends seem very concerned about you," Sanguini said after a moment. His voice was light and even, so Harry couldn't tell what he might really be thinking.

Harry scowled at the letters. "Yeah. Sure they are."

The letters had arrived the day after Len and his friends had been by, one each from Ron, Hermione, and Sirius. But like all the letters that had come before them, none of them really said much, to the point where Harry wondered what the point was in writing him at all. Even more frustrating was the fact that Ron and Hermione's letters were more and more frequently starting to sound like they might be in the same place, while he, Harry, was still stuck here at Privet Drive. Sirius, at least, seemed to understand just how difficult it was for him to be kept out of the loop, but his letters were still just as empty and laced with platitudes.

Their most recent letters, though, had been even worse than what he'd come to expect. All three of them had sounded considerably more concerned than usual, and each of them had hinted in their own ways very heavily that they knew he'd had a visitor who the Ministry thought shouldn't have been there. Sirius had been the least subtle about it, filling his letter with pleas for Harry not to do anything stupid out of frustration and loneliness. All of them had promised that he would be able to leave Privet Drive soon, which hadn't come up at all up until now, but "soon" could have meant anything.

Harry had no idea how they could have known about Lorcan, since he hadn't mentioned it at all. The only thing he could come up with was that maybe Ron's dad had heard about it at work, but he though that if that were the case, Mrs. Weasley would be working desperately to get him out of here, and there had been no signs of that. The thought crossed his mind that maybe Dumbledore had something to do with that, but he dismissed it just as quickly. If Dumbledore knew, he surely wouldn't allow Harry to stay here any longer.

But he was also immensely glad that he'd decided to keep to his bedroom to meet with any other vampires who decided to stop by. His friends had only sounded concerned about the one instance of Ministry involvement, so if there was someone else keeping an eye on him, they probably weren't watching him while he was at the Dursley's. 

Of course, if they did know about the others, he'd probably be pulled out of here immediately...but then he wouldn't be able to help the vampires any more either. He did want to leave—he hated being here—but he really wanted to help who he could too.

A hand touched his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts. He winced and looked up at Sanguini, ready to apologize for spacing out and completely ignoring him for who knew how long, but Sanguini shook his head before he could open his mouth.

"I must go," Sanguini said with a brief squeeze to his shoulder.

Harry sighed, but really, Sanguini had already been there longer than any of his other visits, and he was a very busy person. Harry was thankful for the short visits he already got. And he would probably have plenty more visitors before the night was through, if the past few nights were any indication.

"I will return tomorrow night," Sanguini said with another brief squeeze, and before Harry could say anything, he'd faded into the shadows and was gone.

There were some nights where Harry thought he was lucky if he had anyone show up in his room. Those nights he was usually able to get a fair amount of sleep and he didn't really feel like taking a nap the next afternoon. One time, Lorcan had brought by the other members of his current band, but that only amounted to four new people and they were all Harry saw that night. Another time, only five vampires showed up, but they were so spread out that, while Harry did manage to sleep most of the night, it was only in one to two hour intervals.

Most nights, though, Harry thought he was lucky to get any sleep at all, with how many vampires Apparated in and out of his room, and that only grew truer as the summer wore on. And not all of them had a vial for him to take, either because they had never been caught and taken in to get one, as Sanguini had said, or because they'd been lucky enough to have already found a wizard to take it off.

That still left most of his visitors as needing his help, and there was a small bubble of anger at the Ministry in his gut that only grew larger as the days passed. More than once he wondered if this was how Hermione had felt as she learned more and more about house elves. He would have to make an effort to be a little more sympathetic toward S.P.E.W., no matter how silly it was, once they were back at school. He did agree that house elves should be treated better, especially by people like the Malfoys, who would let their elves practically kill themselves over the smallest error. Hermione could probably go about raising awareness and changing minds another way, but he didn't disagree that she had a point.

But at least house elves seemed happy enough with their lives when they weren't being mistreated. The house elves at Hogwarts, for example, had been thrilled to help them whenever they could while Hermione wasn't insulting them. Even Dobby, who was free to do whatever he wanted, chose to devote his time to working for Dumbledore.

But those vampires who stopped by to see him were definitely not happy with their lives on some level, and very few of them looked like they'd had a decent meal in a long time (although Harry did try to avoid thinking about what them being fed would actually mean). It was wrong. Something needed to be fixed.

He just wasn't sure what to do to fix it yet.

"Do you know, there is a wizard standing sentry in your front garden," Sanguini said another night as he stood by the window that looked out on the street.

"What?!" Harry shot up from where he'd been sitting on the floor and raced to the window to look outside, but the street below was dark and quiet, the only hint of life being the faint rumbling of cars on a distant street. Even Dudley and his gang were back indoors at this hour.

"At least, I would assume he is a wizard, seeing as he's invisible," Sanguini said with a small smile. Harry scowled at him, because of course he couldn't have said so from the very beginning, and went back to scanning the seemingly empty lawn.

"How d'you there's anyone down there?"

"I can hear him." Sanguini shrugged and leaned back against the wall, still staring out the window himself. "His breathing, his heartbeat, his fidgeting out of boredom. It's faint, from up here, but it is very clearly not one of your relatives down the hall."

Harry leaned out the window a bit to give the lawn one final look over, but the only bit of movement he could see was the leaves rustling in the warm evening breeze. He certainly couldn't hear anything—not that he really expected to; Sanguini was a vampire, after all, and vampires were supposed to have enhanced senses like hearing. 

It wasn't that he didn't believe that there could be a wizard down there, but it would have been nice to have a bit of proof. And maybe someone to take his frustration out on who wasn't his cousin. His room might have become a revolving door for vampires, but he still felt incredibly cut off from the Wizarding world.

"If there's a wizard down there, why doesn't he come and say hello, then?" Harry grumbled, finally abandoning his search in favour of slumping against the window sill.

"And if he is an agent of your Lord Voldemort?"

"I'd rather have that than nothing. Maybe then I'd be able to get out of here." He sighed, flicking a couple flecks off paint off into the abyss. "Besides, if he was a Death Eater, he would've attacked me already."

He felt Sanguini shift slightly beside him but didn't bother to look. He was pretty sure that if the vampire wanted to hurt him, he would have done it by now too. He'd had more than enough opportunity. 

He could almost hear Hermione and maybe even Sirius scolding him for being so relaxed around a vampire and even letting him visit practically every other day. Sirius's letters had been full of warnings not to do anything rash while he was stuck here in the Muggle world. Harry thought this was a bit rich coming from someone who had spent twelve years in Azkaban (even if it was for something he hadn't done) and then escaped and was now on the run from the Ministry, but even so, Sirius would probably see this as being rash.

"There have been others," Sanguini said suddenly.

Harry stood up a bit straighter and frowned over at him. "What d'you mean?"

"There has been a presence outside this house every time I've come here." Sanguini's eyes narrowed at the far wall and his voice was like ice as he added, "I imagine that is how the Ministry was alerted so quickly to Lorcan's presence here."

Harry gaped at him. "You think the Ministry's spying on me?"

Sanguini didn't answer immediately, instead taking a moment to mull over exactly what he wanted to say. He raised a finger to tap his lips, and his expression softened the tiniest bit as he stared at nothing.

"I think," he murmured finally, "that is very possible. However, I also think you might be under observation by more than just the Ministry."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, frowning at him. "Voldemort would've just—"

"Attacked you already. I agree. It would not surprise me to learn that Voldemort has been working on ways to spy on you, but no, I do not believe he is yet." Sanguini paused again, glancing at him once as though he wasn't sure how Harry might take what he had to say. "I think it is very likely Albus Dumbledore is keeping an eye on you, along with the Ministry."

Harry scowled, but he didn't immediately try to deny it like Sanguini probably thought he might. He'd already thought of that possibility. He thought it would be pretty stupid of Dumbledore to leave him here at Privet Drive with a single wizard watching over him instead of letting him stay with Weasleys the whole summer, or at Hogwarts, maybe. Voldemort wouldn't have a problem attacking the Weasleys if he thought Harry was there, and Harry didn't see what was stopping him from attacking him here at Privet Drive either other than maybe not knowing where he was, but he couldn't imagine Voldemort trying to attack him at Hogwarts so soon after his return.

"I see you've considered the possibility already," Sanguini commented after a moment. Harry looked over at him again. He was no longer staring at the wall. His gaze was pinned on Harry, his eyes sharp and gleaming.

"Maybe," was all Harry really felt like saying in return.

"What are your reasons?"

"What are your reasons?"

Sanguini looked tempted to roll his eyes, but he patiently answered anyway. "I found it very interesting that your friends were so concerned immediately after Ministry caught wind of a vampire presence here."

"Ron's dad works at the Ministry," Harry said. "They probably found out about it from him. They know he's my best friend's dad; I'll bet he heard about it as soon as it happened."

"That is true enough," Sanguini said. He traced his lips with his finger as thought. "However, the Ministry has no need to set a wizard to follow you to keep an eye on you. At least not for anything they care about. You are aware of the Trace, I presume?"

Harry shook his head.

Sanguini frowned slightly, but he did not allow this to get in the way of explaining. "The Trace is what allows the Ministry to keep track of wizards under seventeen and whether they are performing magic or not. It picks up on your magic as well as magic performed around you."

Harry stared at him. Then he remembered something. "That's how they knew about Dobby's Hover Charm!"

"That would be how, yes," Sanguini said, looking a little amused.

"So, the Ministry might have noticed when Lorcan's Apparated next to me?" Harry said slowly. That had been the only time Lorcan had performed any magic that he could remember, but there was a gaping hole in that theory.

"It's possible," Sanguini said. He did not, however, look like he really believed it. "However, Apparition generally isn't included in the magic it checks for. You would have been receiving several owls a day if it did, I think. I'm not exactly sure how the Ministry found out about Lorcan so quickly. I'm still looking into it."

"So why d'you think Dumbledore sent him, then?" Harry asked, jabbing his thumb toward the window. "Maybe the Ministry decided they needed to spy on me a bit more."

Sanguini looked out the window again, becoming lost in thought for a long moment. Then he murmured, "I think it would be extremely foolish of Dumbledore to leave you here in this Muggle suburb without someone to protect you."

Harry shifted uncomfortably; he had thought of that too. "He could just let me go somewhere else, then."

"Yes, he could," Sanguini muttered. He was silent for another long moment, then he shook his head and said quietly, "I am sure he has his reasons. In any case, I thought you ought to be aware that you're not alone here."

Harry nodded and glanced out the window again. He wished that whoever was spying on him, friend or foe, would just come out and say hello. Just once. They wouldn't even have to stop being invisible; he would have appreciated any sort of connection back to the Wizarding world.

Maybe it was silly of him to ever think otherwise, and he probably had his school books to blame, but Harry soon found that the vampires were just as diverse and unique as his fellow wizards, if not more so (although few of them appeared much older than 50).

Lorcan's band reminded him a bit of the Weird Sisters and of some of the Muggle bands that made Aunt Petunia go white in the face and shake her head and wring her hands over what she thought was wrong with the country. And then there were some like Len and his friends who were maybe a little weird but wouldn't be given much more than a passing glance on the street by most people.

There were some who seemed to be very well off, despite the Ministry's meddling, and there were some who seemed to be barely getting by who reminded him painfully of how Professor Lupin tended to look around the full moon. And while some of them looked to be more in the middle, they and those who were well off were by far not the largest demographic.

There were some who looked like they had just stepped out of a time machine, coming from various times in the past; there were some who were clearly still heavily influenced from whatever time they'd grown up in but maybe tried not to stick out in modern society too much; there were those who were indistinguishable from the wizards and Muggles around them, other than looking rather gaunt and pale.

It was actually the amount of Muggle influence that surprised Harry the most. His Defence books had mentioned that vampires might sometimes find victims among Muggles, and there had been a couple in the past who had taken a particular pleasure in doing so, but they hadn't said anything about possibly living in the non-magical world. But that was all Harry could think of to explain some of them. Either they were just too good at dressing like Muggles, or they seemed completely at home in his room (as opposed to the ones who looked around in awe or disgust), or they were just the right shade of sympathetic toward a wizard stuck at his Muggle relatives' house for the summer.

Of course, there were those vampires on the other side of the spectrum as well, who very obviously had never stepped foot into the Muggle world, or if they had, it was only for very brief periods of time. And there were plenty who seemed to know a bit about Muggles, but they clearly still lived in the magical world, rather like Ron and his family.

He was just surprised by how many vampires were comfortable in either world.

"Of course some of us hunt and live in the Muggle world," Sanguini had said when he‘d mentioned this, giving him an impatient look. "Do you think we would stick only to interacting with magical folk when many of them dislike us? And why do you think there are so many stories about us among Muggles? Most of them are inaccurate in many ways, but they are far more accurate than the tales Muggles come up with about some magical creatures.

"Most of us have no problem moving in the Muggle world, whether to live among them or to hunt for food, and we have no problem bringing them into ours. It is one of the many problems the Ministry has with us, and with werewolves as well, for that matter. They are always so worried we might lead to the discovery of the magical world and bring angry or desperate Muggles down upon everyone." Sanguini made a bit of a face and added, "They might be better suited to worrying about the families of Muggle-born wizards, or to the dramatics of another war."

We have no problem bringing them into ours, he had said, and that certainly seemed to be the case. One of the larger groups to come all at once had been comprised of five vampires who had started out as Muggles, the vampire who had chosen to turn them, and his brother. The seven of them had come from all over the world but now formed a sort of family here in the British Isles, although they wouldn't say where they'd settled. Harry suspected from their clothes that it was in a Muggle town rather than nearby one or off in the middle of nowhere.

They were hardly the only ones either. Harry thought that even one or two of the members of Lorcan's band had probably originally been Muggles.

That wasn't to say that vampires never turned wizards, however. Another of the groups to appear on his doorstep was an actual family, a father and three sons, who had once been distant cousins of the main branch of the Malfoy family. The father had been employed by the Ministry, though he was very secretive about what he had done, except to say that it had all been very experimental. Then one day, a colleague had sabotaged his work and caused a disastrous magical accident, and before he could find a way to recover from it, a family enemy had tricked a vampire into turning him, and in the confusion that followed, he'd ended up turning all three of his sons as well.

And then there were the vampires who had just been born that way. Lorcan had been the one to explain that one, since he was one of them. One thing wizards had right, and one which Muggles had somehow gotten drastically wrong, was the vampires were another species entirely. They just happened to collectively have the ability to create more vampires out of other beings, a trait they shared with werewolves. But they didn't have to; they could have children like any other species, although most chose not to out of convenience. Wizards did like to ignore that vampires could and would have children as happily with a Muggle as a wizard, but they knew perfectly well that plenty of vampires had started out that way.

Sanguini had mentioned that the loose relationship with the Muggle world was part of the Ministry's problem, but Harry wondered if it wasn't that an awful lot of vampires had originally been Muggles that might be part of it too. He was sure plenty of Muggle-borns and wizards that had grown up in the Muggle world, like himself, worked at the Ministry, but there would be plenty of wizards raised to think poorly of Muggles there too. And even those wizards who didn't hate Muggles still didn't always seem to see them as equals a lot of the time. It wouldn't surprise him at all to learn that the Ministry's discrimination against vampires was just as much against Muggles too.

"Why do you continue to receive this tripe?" Sanguini asked another night. He was sitting at Harry's desk again, while Harry sat cross-legged on his bed, and his fingers were trailing over the Daily Prophet Harry had received that morning and hadn't bothered to throw out yet.

"Well, they'll be the ones to report it if Voldemort does something, won't they?" Harry said, feeling a bit defensive. Sure, he wasn't terribly happy with the Daily Prophet right now either, but how else was he supposed to find out when Voldemort finally made his move? His aunt and uncle kept blocking his efforts to listen to the Muggle news in the evening and he wasn't exactly receiving any other wizard newspaper.

Sanguini frowned and absently picked up the paper, turning it over in his hands. "Have you been reading any of it?"

"Not...cover to cover," Harry said. "Anything Voldemort does is going to be front page news."

Sanguini hummed softly and nodded as if that explained everything.

Harry just scowled at him. He was getting used to Sanguini often being cryptic and avoiding giving him a straight answer without being prompted, but that didn't mean he had to like it. "Why?"

"They don't seem to be particularly...fond of you," Sanguini said carefully. "But if you haven't been reading cover to cover, you wouldn't pick up on it."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, wishing he'd just get the point without needing to be asked a dozen questions first.

"They've been slipping you into unrelated stories as if you're some sort of joke," Sanguini said. His voice was mild, but he wasn't able to hide his disgust completely. "Only once or twice every few days, of course. But if a story seems particularly unbelievable, they'll say it's ‘a tale worthy of Harry Potter.' Or if there's a remarkably nasty or unusual accident, it might be something like...what was it...?" 

He picked up the paper and flicked through it without hesitation to the correct page. Harry had no doubt he could have quoted the appropriate article without looking it up if he'd wanted.

"Oh, yes. 'Let's hope it doesn't scar his forehead or we'll be asked to worship him next.'" He snapped the paper shut again and set it aside with a look of extreme distaste.

Harry gaped at him for a moment. Then before he knew it, he was getting to his feet. "I don't want anyone to worship me! I don't even care if they like me!"

"It is hardly a matter of anyone liking you or not," Sanguini said. "You might have noticed the only thing they've published about Voldemort was an article decrying his return at the beginning of the summer as well, and not a word since. He wasn't even brought up in the article mentioning Cedric's death."

"Yeah, but when Voldemort does something—"

Sanguini swiftly got to his feet as well, his fist still clenched on the desk. "He has already done something. They do not care. They do not believe you. More than that, they are deliberately trying to discredit you, to turn you into a spoiled, attention-seeking troublemaker, so that no one else will believe you either."

"But I'm not—I don't—I get plenty of attention!" Harry sputtered in outrage. "I'd just won that whole stupid tournament! What did I need with more attention?! Who'd make up a story like that anyway? No one wants him back!"

"That is precisely the problem," Sanguini said. "No one wants him back, especially those in power who will now have far more work than they've had to deal with in fourteen years. And they will be more than happy to ignore his existence until he forces them to acknowledge him.

"In the mean time, that means ensuring that no one will believe you, or people will begin to question why the Ministry is choosing to do nothing."

Harry sat down again as he let that sink in. How could anyone be so stupid?

"In fact, I'm not so sure they would attribute anything to the Dark Wizard himself unless there were too many eyewitnesses, once he begins to move. They may blame other things entirely until it is no longer feasible."

Harry shut his eyes tightly and clenched his hands in his covers. He couldn't afford to yell any louder than he already had—not only would he disturb his aunt and uncle next door, but the wizard out on the lawn might be able to hear through the closed window. But he desperately wanted to. It wasn't fair. People were going to die for no reason because the Ministry was too stupid to look past their own noses for one moment.

But then he frowned and glanced back up at Sanguini, who had taken his seat again too. What he'd brought up had reminded Harry of something that had been bothering him since they'd first met.

"Then how come you believe me?"

Sanguini stared silently back at him for a moment. Harry couldn't tell what he might be thinking but just the way he was staring made him nervous.

"There are other papers," Sanguini said at last, "and other sources of information than the Daily Prophet. I am certain he has returned, as you have said, and that is what matters." He paused, and then added with another expression of distaste, "However, you should not be surprised if I am one of the few. Vampires can buy into lies and manipulation as easily as wizards."

"What other sources?" Harry asked. The rest of that had been important, and it had hurt a bit to think that all these vampire coming to him for help might also think he was crazy, but he cared much more about this. He had his suspicions, but that was all they were.

For a moment, it almost looked like Sanguini wasn't going to say anything, whether to actually answer to question or to change the subject. He glanced around the room in a distracted fashion, letting his gaze linger in odd corners or on the window.

But at last he seemed satisfied with whatever he might have been looking for and he turned back to Harry. "Lorcan mentioned your Lord Voldemort reached out a hand of...mutually beneficial alliance to us the last time around, I believe? Most of us did not take it, but there were certain vampires who chose to aid him. And there are certain vampires related to certain wizards who might be more informed than most."

"The Arkwrights?" Harry asked, taking a stab getting a little more out of him than that, but Sanguini merely stared at him, neither confirming nor denying it. Harry thought they were the most likely though.

"In any case, I have other sources of information to rely on to confirm your story. Not all of us are so lucky."

Harry nodded, glad that there was at least one someone out there who believed him who hadn't already known him before this summer. He wished that it could have been everyone, but he was going to take what he could get for now.

Besides, he'd thought of something else even more important. Something that would turn his anger into determination, where it was always better served.

"So, could you find anything else out that way?"

Sanguini narrowed his eyes slightly in suspicion, but he didn't look like he was about to say no. "Such as?"

"What he's doing. Why he's been so quiet. Has he actually been quiet. You know, since the Prophet's been useless and my friends won't tell me if they know anything." And if that last bit came out a little bitter, well, that was Ron and Hermione's fault for writing such empty letters.

Sanguini regarded him silently for a long moment, and again, Harry had no idea what he might be thinking. He didn't really think Sanguini would say no, he couldn't do it, but maybe it had been risky to get what little information he needed to confirm Harry's story to himself. If he was dealing with vampires who actually had been Death Eaters, for whatever reason, that was more than possible.

Harry still mentally crossed his fingers. Sanguini was the only link he had to Voldemort and what he was doing, even if that link was thin and unstable. If he didn't agree to try to find out something, and Harry had to go back to relying on the Daily Prophet and the Muggle news, he thought he might go mad. Especially now that it looked like the Prophet wasn't going to be a reliable source anyway.

And then, after what seemed like hours, Sanguini leaned back in his seat and offered Harry a small smile. It was probably just his imagination, but he almost thought the smile seemed proud.

"I think I should be able to do that."

About halfway between his asking Sanguini to look into what Voldemort was doing and his birthday, Harry started dreaming again. 

Thankfully, he was still no longer revisiting the graveyard, and his painful memories of Cedric were able to rest in peace. No, it was the other dreams he'd been having at the start of the summer, dreams of endless corridors all leading to dead-ends, that appeared again. And it wasn't just part of the night; he'd woken up several times feeling restless and frustrated with his scar prickling uncomfortably, and every time he closed his eyes, the corridors were there, waiting for him.

He didn't sleep particularly well that first night. Or the night after. And he wasn't much better off while awake either; his thoughts kept drifting back to the dreams and what they could possibly mean, and why they suddenly showed back up again after several weeks of peace.

He wondered if they might have something to do with how trapped he'd been feeling recently. He liked his visitors, he really did, but they couldn't keep him from gradually feeling more and more isolated from his friends and the Wizarding world.

Or he supposed they might have to do with just how many vampires had actually stopped by to have the Ministry's tracking vials removed. He was sure there must be others out there who either hadn't had a chance to come yet or never would be, too. And very few of them had looked to be in great shape. Sanguini had never stayed long enough to tell him about what the other restrictions on vampires might be—and he was very sure by now that there were plenty that hadn't been talked about in his school books—and few of the other vampires seemed interested in discussing it or in staying long enough to talk either.

But in any case, he knew he wanted to help them with more than just letting them freely go wherever they wanted, and he was sure there would be a lot to do on that front, and he had absolutely no idea where to get started. He had half a mind to ask Hermione, because she undoubtedly knew more than he did through extra research for, at the very least, the vampire essay Professor Lupin had once assigned, and she would probably be just as horrified as he was, if her feelings about house elves were any indication. But he quickly dismissed the idea. There was a very real chance of his letter being intercepted or read by someone else. He might ask her in person if he was ever able to leave Privet Drive, but asking in a letter was out.

In the end, he decided to just keep the dreams to himself. He'd never told Ron, Hermione, and Sirius about them at the beginning of the summer because there wasn't much they could do about them then, and there wasn't much they could do now either. 

But he also decided that when Sanguini finally returned, because he hadn't been able to visit him at all in the days following Harry's request, he wouldn't mention the dreams to him either. He appreciated whatever it was Sanguini had done to suppress them in the first place, but he couldn't keep relying on that. For one thing, he wouldn't have the man around once he went back to school. He would just have to wait the dreams out and hope they went away on their own.

He was sure that once he was back at Hogwarts, or even wherever Ron and Hermione were right now, he'd stop feeling so lost and alone and the dreams would fade away.

Chapter Text

His birthday arrived without much ceremony, at least where the Durselys were concerned. They didn't even bother to acknowledge it this year, and he might have been invisible with how he was able to move about the house during the day, with no eyes following him and no one trying to speak to him. It was probably the best birthday he'd ever had, taking only the Dursleys into consideration.

His friends and new allies, on the other hand, seemed to think that the one thing he'd always wanted for his birthday was to be showered in gifts.

Hedwig had arrived with Ron and Hermione's gifts around noon—a card from each of them saying they hoped he would have a good birthday and he was sure to see them again soon, and two generous boxes of Honeydukes chocolates. Harry had thrown the chocolates away in a fit of rage without opening them.

The rest of the day itself was fairly uneventful, but as soon as night began to fall, owls began appearing at his window. All throughout the night, it seemed like there was a constant stream of owls coming and going from his room, all of them sent by the various vampires he'd helped. And with how many there were, he was glad most of them had come in the night, when they would blend in and when his relatives were less likely to notice them. 

Some of them brought with them small trinkets that he was sure probably had magically powers, but there was no explanation to go with them so he couldn't imagine what they might do. Some were, more usefully, laden with a book or two; most of these were about combat spells of one kind or another or about magic and magical theory in general.

But most of the owls arrived, thankfully, with food and candy of one sort or another. Aunt Petunia was still adamant in forcing the entire household to follow Dudley's strict dieting regimen, so the last time he had really eaten a proper meal had been at Hogwarts. He would have really regretted tossing Ron and Hermione's gifts if he hadn't gotten such a flood of other food.

And much as he liked trinkets and books, food was really the safer option. He could only imagine the kind of Dark artefacts he could have gotten instead. He couldn't even be sure that everything he hadreceived was entirely benign, even if he could be reasonably sure that he hadn't been sent anything that would hurt him.

There were also a few vampires who stopped by, though half of them were entirely new faces. Those he had seen before seemed to just not trust owls and had chosen to deliver there gifts in person. A few of them lingered to talk, but for the most part, the constant fluttering of owls was the most exciting part of his evening.

Then, around one in the morning, Sanguini appeared in the middle of his room.

Harry immediately shot to his feet. Sanguini had been gone for a week now, ever since Harry had asked him to look into what Voldemort was doing. And after it became clear Sanguini wasn't going to be returning until he'd found something, Harry hadn't expected him to come back so soon.

"Sanguini! You're back!"

"Hello, Harry." Sanguini stepped over to the desk to set down what he was carrying, which looked like it might be a Pensieve. "I thought I should make an effort to see you on your birthday."

"You're an hour late," Harry said, grinning. He stepped up next to Sanguini and looked down at the Pensieve. "What's this for?"

Sanguini was quiet for a moment and he slowly traced the edge of the bowl with his finger. "I know you didn't know Cedric very well, but he always spoke very highly of you. I thought you might like to see some of my memories of him."

Harry froze, staring at him. Did he? No matter that his nightmares of the graveyard had been stopped in their tracks; he still ended up feeling cold and sick any time he thought about that night. And Sanguini was right; while he and Cedric had ended up in somewhat shaky truce, and while he had never felt any real animosity for the older boy, they had been far from friends. His jealous irritation with Cedric over Cho seemed stupid and petty now, but it had still been there. And otherwise they had never really been more than friendly rivals, whether it was in Quidditch or in the Triwizard Tournament.

Really, it had surprised him to learn that Cedric spoke about him at all to someone other than his parents and more than just in passing. He certainly had never given the older boy that much thought.

But as he turned his gaze from Sanguini down to the shimmering surface of the liquid inside the Pensieve, he realized that he regretted that. Cedric had never been anything but friendly toward him, even though Harry had stolen his spotlight as a Triwizard Champion. Maybe that was how he'd been with everyone, which wouldn't surprise Harry at all, but he'd had every right to be angry with him and he hadn't been. Maybe he'd never really believed Harry didn't put his name in the Goblet himself, but Cedric hadn't seemed to hold a grudge against him for it. And wasn't he the one who'd wanted a replay of that disastrous Quidditch game the year before?

And as the one who had been there to see Cedric die, he felt he owed him something. He didn't want Cedric to be just another of Voldemort's victims. Sanguini didn't think he was, his parents didn't think he was, and he, Harry, didn't think so either.

Harry took in a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah. I would."

A hand gripped his shoulder just a little too hard. Harry glanced over. Sanguini's eyes were closed, but he looked relieved.

"Did you want to watch them with me?" Harry asked. Since they were Sanguini's memories in the first place, he wasn't sure if he'd want to, but Harry was hoping he would. Walking through memory worlds alone was a little unnerving. It might be nice to have someone else there.

Sanguini opened his eyes slowly and took his hand from Harry's shoulder, and after a moment he nodded once. "I would like that, yes."

Harry nodded too and looked back down at the shimmering surface of the Pensieve. He realized he was shaking and firmly told himself to stop. It wasn't like he was going to end up in the graveyard again; he was positive Sanguini hadn't been there.

He took in one more deep breath and leaned forward to plunge his face into the silvery not-quite-liquid of the Pensieve. He felt his feet leave the floor and he was falling, falling through whirling darkness. 

And then, just as abruptly, he stopped, and he found himself standing on a small grassy hill beneath a sky moon-less and covered in stars. Sanguini landed beside him a moment later.

The night was calm and clear, but the sounds of crickets and ambient background noise were louder than Harry had expected, and the sky twinkled with far more stars than Harry had ever seen. The world around them seemed different too, more sharply detailed and with richer colours than Harry could ever hope to see at night. It was like everything around them was enhanced in some way. He wondered if that was because this was Sanguini's memory; vampires were supposed to have enhanced senses.

The hill they had came to land on wasn't very tall, but it was just tall enough to give the impression of looking down on the twinkling lights of the village nearby, which Harry recognized with a jolt as Ottery St. Catchpole, the village near where the Weasleys lived. He supposed, thinking back, that the Diggorys must have lived nearby as well, since they had taken the same Portkey to the Quidditch World Cup. He just hadn't quite connected the dots to that meaning that Sanguini lived near them too. Although it did look like Sanguini lived on the other side of the village than the Weasleys, and where they stood now was at least as far away from town as the Weasleys' home, if not more.

"That is where I live," Sanguini said quietly, and Harry turned to look at where he pointed.

A little ways down the shallow hill, on the side opposite the village, stood a small cottage in a cluster of trees. From here, Harry could see that they were looking at the back of the house, where there was a large, but very overgrown garden and a small stream that ran the length of it, disappearing into the hills on either side of them.

It wasn't anything like what Harry thought his friend's house might look like, although if he was honest with himself, what he'd expected had been the stereotypical mansion on a hill, locked behind a wrought-iron fence and covered in gargoyles and gothic stonework. He found himself liking the little cottage much better, even if he had a hard time seeing Sanguini in it.

Harry turned again and finally saw the Sanguini of this memory at last. He was standing about ten feet away, his gaze fixed on the stars above. His clothes were considerably shabbier than they were when Harry knew him, and he looked about twice as tired, but his hair was still immaculately combed, although this Sanguini let it hang free about his shoulders.

Someone cried out from down the hill. Harry and both Sanguinis turned to look; hurrying up the hill was a boy who looked no older than eight, with dark hair and dark robes hanging open over Muggle jeans and a jumper. Harry's stomach twisted slightly as he realized that the boy was Cedric.

Cedric slowed down as he came to the top of the hill and stopped in front of Sanguini. "Hi," he said, sounding a little breathless from his run, but he was grinning happily all the same.

"Hello," Sanguini replied. He glanced down at the cottage and then back to Cedric. There was no familiarity in his gaze and his voice was politely neutral when he spoke. Harry wondered if maybe this was the first time they'd met. "Did you need something?"

"Dad sent me to tell you he's nearly done with the spells," Cedric said. "He said maybe five more minutes, and he'll be done."

A dark look crossed Sanguini's face at the mention of spells, but Cedric didn't seem to notice. Now that he'd had a chance to catch his breath, he was starting to look up at the man with something akin to awe.

"Thank you," Sanguini said. He adjusted his robes and turned completely in the direction of the small cottage. "I suppose I shall go meet him, in that case."

He started walking slowly down the hill. Cedric hurried after him. Harry and the present Sanguini moved to follow after them.

"Are you really a vampire?" Cedric asked. His eyes were wide, but he didn't seem to be afraid at all.

Sanguini glanced down at him. "Yes, I am."

Now the look on Cedric's face was definitely awe. "I've never met a vampire before."

Sanguini snorted very softly and looked back to where he was walking. The two of them walked in silence for a fair distance after that; Sanguini seemed to have no interest in making conversation, and Cedric was too busy staring at him.

But Cedric couldn't keep quiet long, and when they were halfway to the house, he spoke up again.

"Dad says vampires cause a lot of trouble," he said with shocking honesty. 

"Does he."

"He said that's why he has to put spells on your house. But if you were gonna do something bad, wouldn't you just do it? Charming your house isn't going to do anything but make you mad."

"Unfortunately," Sanguini said, crossing his arms, "it is the law of the land. Your father is only doing his job." But his voice made it very clear what he thought of that law and Amos Diggory and his job. And it was hard to tell from behind him, but Harry thought his knuckles might be white where he was trying not to clench his robes.

"It's stupid," Cedric said. "We have to put spells on our houses too, but it's just to keep Muggles away. I bet you could do that yourself."

"I could," Sanguini murmured. He was looking down at Cedric again, but this time, underneath the righteous anger, he wasn't regarding the boy like he was someone he'd never speak to again. "And I will, once you and your father have left."

"Really?" Cedric said, looking even more awed. Harry had a feeling that, despite how he acted to the contrary, he didn't know much more about vampires than Harry did right now.

Sanguini's lip curled back in a sneer, but it was directed toward the house where Mr. Diggory was. "Despite what your Ministry believes, we are quite capable of hiding ourselves from Muggles and we do so on a regular basis."

They reached the low wall surrounding the back garden of the cottage. Sanguini stopped to open the gate and let Cedric through first. Cedric paused like he wanted to stop first, but then he started waving and dashed down the small garden path toward the house. Harry looked up; Amos Diggory had just stepped out the back door. As Cedric ran up to him, he grinned and leaned down to lift him up, even though Cedric was far too old and definitely too big to be picked up comfortably.

A painful lump formed in Harry's throat and he had to look away. He'd known very well how hard Cedric's death had hit Mr. Diggory, and that made it even more difficult than it might have been otherwise to watch them living so happily together.

Sanguini slowly made his way through the garden toward the two of them. There was no mistaking the look on his face this time; his eyes glowed faintly red and he looked like he was doing his best to cause Mr. Diggory to go up in flames by just staring at him.

Mr. Diggory put his son back on the ground as Sanguini reached them, and when he looked up, Harry was surprised to see the vampire's dislike mirrored in his face. Harry knew from experience that Mr. Diggory didn't always think much of non-wizards, but even when he'd thought Winky had cast the Dark Mark, he hadn't looked quiet so hateful.

"Mr. Damiano," said Mr. Diggory stiffly. "The spells are set in place, and you've been hooked up to the Floo network. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Thank you, Mr. Diggory, but I should be able to handle it from here," Sanguini said, and he would have sounded pleasantly polite and cordial to anyone not looking at him. "I appreciate all you have done for me in helping me move in."

Apparently, that was the part Mr. Diggory had the most issue with, because he screwed up his face like he'd just smelled something very unpleasant. Sanguini pretended not to notice, although the glow in his eyes brightened very slightly.

"It was my pleasure," Mr. Diggory said, his tone sucking all meaning out of the words. "If you need anything, you know where to find me. Don't hesitate to call."

It sounded more like a threat than anything else, like if Sanguini didn't check in once in a while, he would be in trouble, and Sanguini no doubt took it that way. But if he did, he just smiled, though it was definitely a colder one than usual.

"I will be sure to."

Amos nodded, his mouth set in a thin line, and he spun on his heel to head back into the house. "All right, then. Let's go, Ced. Gotta give the vampire some space to get settled."

Cedric bit his lip, glancing between his father back and the scowl on Sanguini's face. He obviously didn't want to go anywhere, yet. And after one more glance at his father, he determinedly walked up to Sanguini and thrust out one of his hands.

"My name is Cedric."

Sanguini blinked down at him, but he took the hand and shook it lightly. "Sanguini."

"I'm glad you wanted to move here," Cedric said, loud enough so his father could hear. "It's really nice here, and the Muggle don't bother us much. There's some other wizards who live around here too, did you know that?"

"I was aware of that," Sanguini said. There was an odd look on his face now. It reminded Harry of the look Lorcan had gotten when he'd taken his vial away. Harry glanced up at Amos, who had paused inside the doorway when he'd realized Cedric wasn't following him; he, on the other hand, was wearing a decidedly sour face.

"We don't really get to see each other much, though," Cedric said. "Only sometimes." Then he grinned hopefully up at Sanguini and bounced on his feet. "But I can come say hi to you sometimes too, right?"

Behind him, Mr. Diggory was doing his best to not look horrified. Sanguini glanced up at him once and knelt down so Cedric didn't have to crane his neck back to look up at him.

"You are welcome to visit whenever you like, Cedric Diggory," Sanguini said. He was smiling at last, although it was still very small. "Only after sunset, mind."

Cedric rolled his eyes to say he didn't need to be reminded of that, of course it would have to be at night, but he was grinning even bigger than before.

"Now, I think you have left your father waiting long enough," Sanguini said, standing up again. "You are welcome, of course, to use my fire to return home, Mr. Diggory," he added as Cedric hurried to join his father.

Mr. Diggory nodded stiffly and set a hand on Cedric's back to guide him into the house and probably to make sure he stayed with him this time. Cedric went along happily enough, though he did briefly turn to wave enthusiastically to Sanguini.

The world began to fade away, dissolving like smoke back into the same whirling darkness they had fallen through before. Harry turned to face the Sanguini who was still solid and by his side. His dark eyes were fixed on the place where Cedric had disappeared with his father into the house, his expression inscrutable.

"Mr. Diggory didn't try to stop you visiting him after all that?" Harry asked, a little amazed. He'd figured that Mr. Diggory must have been okay with his son being friends with a vampire if it had gone on so long, but he'd looked like he would rather they'd never met in the first place.

Sanguini smiled bitterly at him. "He tried. However, Amos Diggory's one positive quality was that he would do anything for his son's happiness. Once he saw that I meant Cedric no harm and Cedric enjoyed my company, he stepped back." Sanguini paused and his mouth twitched in amusement. "It no doubt helped that Cedric would occasionally sneak out to Floo over in secret."

The darkness gave way again and they were standing in a small room with a steeply sloping roof. The room was panelled in a warm, golden wood that contrasted nicely with the dark wood of the furniture and the beams in the ceiling. At one end stood a fireplace and a door leading off to the rest of the house, and at the other stood an elegant desk beneath a boarded-up window. It was at this desk that Sanguini sat, writing furiously at the bottom of a crowded piece of parchment. 

Most of the light in the room came from the fire in the fireplace, though Sanguini had an elegant candelabra sitting on his desk to give him light to write by, and two matching, taller candelabras stood on the floor near the chairs and small settee. None of this seemed to provide quite enough light as far as Harry was concerned, but this was obviously Sanguini's house and he could no doubt see perfectly fine.

The door flew open with a loud bang. A young Cedric Diggory came marching through the doorway, a book under one arm and a startlingly outraged look on his face. He looked old enough to be attending school now, probably as a first or second year, so this memory must have taken place during the summer.

Sanguini looked up in surprise; he must not have been expecting visitors. But as soon as he saw who it was, he turned in his chair and waited politely for Cedric to stop in front of him.

"Cedric, good evening. I wasn't expecting you, or I would have met you downstairs—"

"Is this true?" Cedric interrupted, thrusting the book, open now, in Sanguini's face.

Harry moved closer to see what the title was, but it was either too dark in the room or the words had long been worn off, so he couldn't tell what the book might contain. Whatever it was, though, made Sanguini turn paler than usual and his eyes burned red with anger.

"Yes," he said simply.

Cedric snapped the book shut and set it heavily on the desk. "Show me."

Sanguini didn't move right away. His eyes were roving over Cedric's face as he decided whether he wanted to comply. But after a long moment, he nodded and reached under his collar to pull out a small vial hanging from a silver chain.

Harry gasped. He'd wondered what had happened to the vial Sanguini must have had once upon a time, since Sanguini had never come himself to have it removed and Harry was sure he was well known enough by the Ministry to have one. In fact, that Amos Diggory had helped him move into Ottery St. Catchpole was enough proof of that. If he hadn't been tracked before that meeting, he certainly would have been after.

But when Harry had finally asked about it, Sanguini had only said that he no longer had one and there was no point in discussing it further. His tone had been enough to convince Harry that he didn't want to talk about it. And now it seemed that this memory might be the reason.

Cedric eyed the vial with the same disgust that he would use to survey Krum years later, after the latter had held him under a Cruciatus Curse. Then in one swift motion, he grabbed the chain and lifted it over Sanguini's head.

Sanguini stared at him in shock. He reached a hand up to his throat as if unable to believe the vial was really gone. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the present-day Sanguini make the same motion and fury boiled in his gut toward the Ministry.

Cedric looped the chain around his own neck and stuffed the vial down his shirt. "That wasn't fair to you. They shouldn't have to hurt you to keep an eye on you. They don't have to for wizards."

"And a wizard's Trace is removed once he reaches the age of seventeen," Sanguini murmured.

"Doesn't matter. It still doesn't hurt." He picked the book up again, eyeing it with the same distaste as he had the vial. "It's really awful, how the Ministry treats you. I didn't know...Dad doesn't talk much about work unless it's something like an unlicensed crup or a gnome infestation in some Muggle's lawn..."

"I doubt he has had much else to deal with these last few years," Sanguini said quietly.

"I guess," Cedric said, but he didn't look convinced.

"I assure you, your father had far more to keep him busy while the Dark Wizard was still at large. Incidentally," Sanguini added mildly, "many of the restrictions in that book were laid down during that time, to counteract the creatures choosing to aid the Dark Lord."

"I know," Cedric said, hugging the book to his chest. "That doesn't make it right."

Sanguini smiled warmly, almost triumphantly. "No, it does not."

Cedric smiled back and opened his mouth again. Before he could say anything, however, a clock somewhere in the house, probably downstairs, began to sound the time. He winced and glanced nervously over his shoulder.

"I have to go," he said, giving Sanguini an apologetic look. "Dad doesn't know I'm here."

"Please, do not linger for my sake." Sanguini stood and reached out a hand to touch Cedric's head affectionately. "And thank you. The gratitude I feel...there are no words. But please do not allow your father to find that vial."

"Don't worry. He won't." 

Cedric grinned at him and ran off, disappearing behind the door. Sanguini waited until Cedric's footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs before he sat down again and turned back to his letter. As he settled down to write, his left hand reached up to his throat again, checking that the vial was really gone.

The world around them dissolved again, and then quickly reformed. In a moment, they stood in a small glen surrounded by tall trees. Harry was sure they were still in the area around Ottery St. Catchpole, though he couldn't say how close they might be to where they'd just been. There was a stream at the bottom of the glen, but it could have been any one of the myriad streams in the area which joined up with the river by the village.

Harry looked around for signs of either Sanguini or Cedric, but he didn't see anyone until the Sanguini with him pointed off toward where the trees ended by the stream. Harry stepped closer to get a better look; Sanguini stood in the shadow of a tree, his gaze fixated out into the moonlight. He seemed to be waiting for something.

"Where is this?" Harry asked, taking another look around. The trees formed a thick ring around the stream and most reached out to block out most of the sky as well, so that while it was fairly spacious inside, it was also quite secluded from anyone who might wander by.

"We're close to Cedric's home. It's on the other side of that ridge," Sanguini said, gesturing upstream.

The Sanguini of the memory suddenly straightened, alert to something off in the distance. A moment later, a figure appeared from behind the hill, running toward them and carrying what looked suspiciously like a broom. He started waving as soon as he saw Sanguini, although it was several more moments before he was close enough to comfortably call to him.

"You came!" Cedric said, grinning. He was, again, older than in the last memory, and this time, Harry recognized him right away, even without already knowing who he was. He looked like he might be going into his fifth year now, the age when Oliver had first pointed him out to Harry in the halls.

"Are you going to explain to me why you had me bring a bag of silly Muggle balls?" Sanguini asked, pulling a bag of ordinary golf balls out of his robes.

And before Cedric spoke, Harry had a very good idea of where this might be going, and he sat down so he'd have an easier time watching.

"It's this mad thing I saw Oliver Wood doing once," Cedric said, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "He was testing out his new Seeker. Don't look at me like that, I had a detention cleaning up the grounds and I happened to see them. I wasn't on the team yet, anyway."

"Go on," Sanguini said, still looking amused.

"Anyway, he threw those balls as hard as he could, wherever he could, and Potter had to try to catch them. They're about the same size as a snitch." His eyes glazed over a bit as he went on, "Potter's real good, you know? Best Seeker there's ever been at Hogwarts, I'll bet, and that's including Charlie Weasley. He caught this one Snitch that first year in about—"

Sanguini held up his hand to stop him before he could go on to list all of Harry's great winning catches, for which Harry was somewhat grateful. As flattering as it was that Cedric had thought he was so good, it was still a bit uncomfortable to hear anyone praising him so much. Especially when that person was the one Seeker to have actually beaten him once. 

"What does this have to do with us, out here, right now?"

"Oh, right. I thought maybe you could do that for me. You know, throw the balls and I'll try to catch them."

Sanguini raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you a Chaser?"

Cedric shrugged, rubbing his neck. "Yeah, but I've always liked Seeking better. Just, we had a pretty good Seeker, so I went for something else last year. But he graduated, so I thought I'd try out. That," he said, suddenly getting excited all over again, "and I want to see how this works so I can try it at school. I don't think I told you yet—I've been made Quidditch Captain!"

Sanguini smiled, leaning against the tree. "No, somehow that must have slipped your mind."

"Oh, come off it," Cedric said, but he was still grinning. "Yeah, I guess Professor Sprout thought I'd be good at it; she could've picked Bradley, he doesn't graduate ‘til next June. Still, I'm not complaining. Quidditch Captain...prefect too, actually..." His eyes got that glazed look again and his smile turned a bit silly. "Dad's real excited. Said he's thinking of getting me a new broom and everything."

That Harry could easily believe, as he remembered Amos Diggory's take on what had decided their Quidditch match in third year and how proud he had been of his son.

Sanguini, too, seemed to only find that information amusing and not at all hard to believe, but there was something else, something much more fond, in his voice as he spoke. "It sounds as though Professor Spout has immense confidence in you and your abilities. Congratulations. I shall have to pick out an appropriate gift for you as well."

"You don't have to do that," Cedric said, waving his hands in embarrassment. "It's enough listening to Dad go on about it all day."

"Nonsense. It would be my pleasure," Sanguini said.

Cedric looked like he might have liked to argue about it, but that he, too, had long since learned that it was pointless to argue with Sanguini about anything, particularly when it was about something Sanguini wanted to do for him. So after a moment, he grinned again, although he still looked a bit embarrassed.

"All right. Just don't make it anything too flashy; you know Dad won't be happy about it."

"It has been quite a long time since I cared what Amos Diggory thought about anything," Sanguini said serenely. "Thanks to you."

"Yeah." Cedric fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment, his eyes searching for something else to talk about. They landed on the bag of golf balls and in a split-second, he had remembered the original reason for coming out here. "So will you help me practice? Dad got called into the office and Mum's no good at Quidditch."

"Nor am I," Sanguini pointed out, but he did stand up straight again. "And you would be better off practising while the sun is out."

"Yeah, but you wouldn't be able to help me then. And besides, it'll make it more of a challenge, trying to spot them in the dark." He said this with a wicked grin that would have looked at home on Oliver Wood's face. Harry rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help grinning a bit too. Wood was absolutely crazy in his obsession with Quidditch, but that was what had made him such a brilliant Captain and Keeper. If it could work for Wood, it could probably work for Cedric too.

Sanguini shook his head, but he didn't seem to disagree. He gestured for Cedric to get going and started walking toward the center of the glen. Cedric straddled his broomstick and kicked off, swooping through the air after him.

What ensued was a Quidditch practice unlike any Harry had seen before. It was immediately obvious why Cedric had wanted Sanguini to help him practice, other than it being convenient for him—Sanguini was able to move as swiftly on the ground as Cedric could in the air, making the golf balls he threw even more random than if he'd had to stay in one place. He was able to throw them considerably faster than Oliver ever had, although he didn't always, and he made sure to mix up how high he threw them too. There wasn't a lot of space in the little glen, be it in height or width, but it was enough for Sanguini to give Cedric a fine challenge.

"Too bad you can't help me practice too sometime," Harry said.

The Sanguini sitting beside him just smiled and shook his head. "Perhaps sometime in the future. Though from what I hear, you don't need it."

Cedric was another story altogether. Oliver hadn't been lying when he said Cedric was an excellent Seeker, and Harry could tell that he had won their match just as much through talent as through luck. He dove around and about trees, through the branches and then diving to skim to surface of the ground, giving himself as much of a challenge to stay on his broom as Sanguini was. He didn't quite manage to catch every golf ball, but he made a good show of going after every single one, even though it was nearly impossible to see them or where he was going half the time.

As Harry watched, he found himself mourning the fact that they hadn't really had the chance to play a proper game, without the horrible weather and random dementors. He forced himself to just enjoy watching such an excellent flier; thinking about it too much made his eyes start to itch.

The scene dissolved again...

They were back in the attic study, and again Sanguini sat at the desk writing. The real Sanguini got to his feet and walked over to the side of the desk, gesturing for Harry to follow.

As Harry squeezed into the space between the two vampires, Sanguini pointed to one of the papers on top—a letter, by the looks of it, maybe even the one Sanguini was replying to in this memory. Harry leaned closer to get a better look.

Sanguini—

What an awful day for Quidditch! I've never played in worse conditions.

Strictly speaking, we weren't supposed to play today, but Slytherin's Seeker got himself "injured" and they managed to get the schedule switched around. I put "injured" in quotes because what Iheard happened was something Madam Pomfrey could have fixed in about five minutes. But he's a Malfoy; you know how they are.

So we played Gryffindor today instead. I can't say I blame the Slytherins for trying to get out of it today; the weather was abysmal. Couldn't see the nose on your face in that rain. Course they'll need all the help they can get against Gryffindor. Wood's team is excellent.

Still, we beat them! It's sort of a hollow victory, but we did it somehow.

Like I said, the weather was awful. It's really a testament to how well Wood's put together his team that they were able to get any points at all. I know my team wasn't doing great.

But then some of the dementors came into the stadium! I don't what they thought they were looking for; Black's not going to be stupid enough to show up in the middle of a Quidditch match, no matter how bad the weather is. I didn't notice them at first; I was too focused on the Snitch.

But they managed to affect Harry. As soon as I caught the Snitch, I looked for him, ‘cause he really should have been with me the whole time and I thought it was a miracle I'd caught it at all, and he must have fainted and fallen off his broom. It had to be the dementors; I heard he fainted on the train because of them too. 

Bradley was telling me he lost his broom too; the wind carried it off and threw it into the Whomping Willow. I hope he can manage to get a new one quickly. It's ridiculous trying to practice on a school broom; they're all ancient.

I tried to get Wood to agree to a rematch, but he said we won fair and square, so I guess that's that. We won. I don't feel like it was really that fair, but we can't do a rematch if one team doesn't want to.

I think I've really gotten a good handle on all the homework we've been getting lately. Some classes have been pretty decent about it; Flitwick's load hasn't been too much more than usual, and Lupin hasn't been bad either. Speaking of—Lupin's been excellent while he isn't ill. I hope he can come back next year. I know there's supposed—

The letter continued on the back or some other piece of parchment which Harry couldn't see, but he felt that what he had read had been enough. He knew that Cedric had mentioned that the reason he'd won that match had been because Harry had fallen off his broom, but it was still a little embarrassing reading about it. It had been embarrassing enough to have it actually happen to him.

"Do you truly react so poorly to dementors?" Sanguini asked once he saw the Harry had finished reading.

Harry made a face, at the question and the phrasing. But Sanguini only sounded honestly curious, so embarrassing as it was, he didn't really mind answering.

"I used to," he said. "I learned how to repel them, though. Professor Lupin taught me." He closed his eyes for a moment to decide whether he really wanted to say more than that. But it probably couldn't hurt, and it would only be fair to share something so personal after Sanguini had done the same for him. "When they got near...I'd hear Voldemort murdering my parents. It's the only memory I really have of them...Lupin said they affect me more ‘cause I've been through worse than most people."

The room was dissolving away again. Sanguini was looking at him oddly. As the next memory began to form around them, he smiled and said quietly, "To perform a Patronus capable of repelling them, you must have also had quite a bit of good happen to you."

Harry stared at him. Sanguini just smiled back.

They had appeared in the glen again, although this time, the sky was still light, like the sun had only begun to set. Here in the glen and in the shade cast by the hills, it was shadowed enough for Sanguini to feel comfortable risking coming outside so early, but he'd still chosen to wait well within the shelter of the trees this time rather than at the edge.

"Sanguini!"

Cedric came barrelling into the wood, waving a square envelope and a piece of paper over his head. This time, Harry felt his stomach turn and he had to close his eyes again to calm himself down. He hadn't grown much since the memory of practicing for Quidditch, but it was enough that this was the face he saw lying dead half the time when his thoughts drifted back to the graveyard. This memory must have been from the previous summer.

Sanguini smiled, but he waited for Cedric stop next to him before saying anything.

"I take it they came today?"

Cedric cuffed him playfully in the shoulder. "You wouldn't be here if you didn't know that. They're really good too. I didn't think I'd done this well..."

The two of them sat side by side at the base of a tree to look over the piece of parchment. Harry moved closer so he could get a better look at it.

Written across the top were the words ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS in bold letters. Then there was a list of the grades at what they meant, and under that was the list of how Cedric had done in each subject. Cedric looked to have gotten mostly ‘E's with a healthy smattering of ‘O's and an ‘A', which Harry could only guess was fairly good.

"Outstanding in Care of Magical Creatures," Cedric said with a proud smile, passing the parchment off to Sanguini. "And good marks otherwise, but that's the one they'll really be looking at."

"Only Acceptable in History of Magic," Sanguini said with a pointed look, but he didn't really sound anything but teasing.

"Hey, I'd like to see you do better with Binns teaching it."

"I have lived through several centuries of that history. I am sure I would manage."

Cedric made a face at him, but it seemed he was too excited about his O.W.L. results to make too much of a fuss. He took the parchment back from his friend and settled back against the tree, surveying his marks again with another smile.

"I think I can do it," he said after a moment. "I know I can do it. This was the first step. If I can get N.E.W.T. marks like this, they'll take me right out of Hogwarts."

Sanguini was silent, staring at him with an expression Harry had never seen on his face. It looked like he'd just been handed news he'd waited to hear for years and he wasn't sure how to feel about it.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked after a moment. "You could go on to play Quidditch for a national team first. I know you're good enough. And your father..."

Cedric sighed. "I don't know what I'll do about Dad. He knows I want to go into his Department, but I haven't told him why yet."

"You will have to tell him eventually."

"Yeah, I know. I'll start causing trouble as soon as I get in. He'll find out. But that's still two years away; I've got time to figure something out." He wrinkled his nose. "I love Dad, but he can be real daft about magical creatures sometimes. You remember when we met and I told you he thought all vampires were trouble? That's the least of it."

It was clear that Sanguini remembered exactly what he'd said in all it's glory, and he disliked it as much now as he had then. "Your father is, regrettably, in the majority in that belief."

"That doesn't make it right."

Sanguini smiled and closed his eyes. "No, it does not."

The two sat in comfortable silence for a time, as the world around them steadily grew darker and the ambient noise of the day faded away for the creatures who preferred to come out at night. Harry turned to the Sanguini who was not a memory. He was not looking at the pair beside the tree, choosing to instead look up at the stars gradually appearing in the sky.

"He wanted to go into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?" Harry asked. It was true that he really hadn't known much about Cedric before this, but if he'd been asked, he probably would have said he expected Cedric to stay with Quidditch after Hogwarts, at least for a while.

Sanguini shut his eyes, his voice a whisper when he answered. "Specifically the Being Division, although I know he was tempted to offer to work wherever he could."

"I want to do this," Cedric said suddenly, clenching his fist around his OWL results. The determination in his face was a little startling, and it made Harry's gut squirm uncomfortably. It was the same look he'd had on his face when he'd turned his back on the Triwizard Cup, because he'd felt that Harry had been the one who had earned it. He'd been trying to be fair then, even though it had cost him to do so, and once his mind had been made up, there had been no arguing with him. It seemed that had been the case here too.

"I want to help you. There's regulations on the books..." Cedric shook his head angrily. "I know why they're there, but they're no fair to anyone. We can't just lock up some kinds of magic and some kinds of beings because we're afraid of them. Especially beings and beasts like centaurs and merpeople."

"There are certain types of magic which were banned for good reason," Sanguini said conversationally. He looked rather more like he was quoting a book than actually saying something he believed in.

Cedric didn't seem to notice. He grimaced in embarrassment. "Well, yeah, there's some magic that's no good. The Unforgivables...and there's some other pretty nasty Dark spells...but that's wizard magic, I'm not talking about that," he added hurriedly, frowning at Sanguini.

Sanguini raised his hands. "I know. Forgive me." He dropped them again and went on, "I don't want you to do this because you feel you must. Only if you want to."

"I want to," Cedric insisted. "D'you think I would've tried so hard to get an O in Care of Magical Creatures otherwise? Hagrid's teaching was abysmal. Wasn't really his fault, of course, and I expect he'll be better this year...it's not like he doesn't know his stuff..."

"You would have worked hard regardless," Sanguini said.

"Well, yeah..."

Sanguini reached over and carefully tugged the parchment out of Cedric's hands again. He ran his fingers over it carefully, a wistful expression slowly forming on his face.

It was then that Harry fully understood what he had meant when he'd said their plans had been ruined, back when he'd first appeared in Harry's bedroom. Judging from what he'd seen, Cedric had been planning to go into the Being Division for a long time, probably at least since he'd taken Sanguini's vial away, if not earlier. Sanguini might talk like Cedric's happiness was most important, and maybe it was, but Harry knew how desperately he and the other vampires wanted more freedom. Then suddenly, not only had his friend been killed, but he had taken that hope of freedom to the grave with him.

Harry shifted uncomfortably and glanced up at the real Sanguini. He still had his eyes closed, and he was still determinedly facing away from his memories.

"Hey, are you going to the Quidditch Cup?" Cedric asked, trying to diffuse the awkward silence. "Dad just got us tickets yesterday. They're pretty good too; we don't have to be there ‘til the day of."

"No," Sanguini said simply. He didn't seem to want to elaborate, but when Cedric frowned at him he went on, "It would be near suicide to be a vampire among a hundred-thousand wizards, and I am not fond enough of Quidditch to try it."

This didn't stop Cedric from frowning, but he didn't look disappointed either. "Oh, yeah..." He dragged a hand through his hair. "You know, Dad's been weird this summer. He keeps hinting at some big thing happening at school this year. Won't tell me any details, just says I'll enjoy it and he's got big hopes for me...you wouldn't know anything about that though, I'll bet..."

Sanguini just looked amused. "No."

The scene began to fade away. Harry held his breath, dreading what might be coming next. Anything else after this would have to take place during the school year, maybe even during a Triwizard task. Sanguini had mentioned he had been there for the Third Task...Harry hoped they weren't about to be watching that from his perspective...

They were standing in the Entrance Hall back at Hogwarts. To their right, Harry could here the usual cacophony coming from the Great Hall that meant it was meal time. To his left, Sanguini was waiting in the doorway of the small antechamber off the Hall. Harry was a little amazed that he would be in Hogwarts at all, much less standing there so openly where anyone could see him. But as a pair of students hurried down from the first floor and off into the Great Hall, Harry thought he understood. Sanguini must have been using his magic to make sure no one noticed him, without actually becoming invisible.

After a few moments, a head poked itself out of the doors to the Great Hall to look around, and then, when he saw that they were alone, Cedric slipped out and dashed across the hall.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed as he reached his friend.

Sanguini placed a finger to his lips and headed inside the room, becoming Cedric to follow him. Cedric slipped inside and moved to close the door. Harry hesitated before he hurried to get inside before he was shut out; it felt like this might be a private moment for them, but then, Sanguini wouldn't have included it if he hadn't wanted Harry to see it.

"I can't stay long," Cedric said once the door was closed. "My parents think I'm off finding the loo. What are you doing here?"

Harry thought he knew the answer long before Sanguini opened his mouth, but it didn't make it any easier to hear.

"I wanted to wish you luck in the task tonight," he said quietly. "They've likely saved the most dangerous and trying challenges for last."

Something in his tone didn't sound right to Harry, and Cedric picked up on it too. He eyed Sanguini with suspicion. "I'm sure I'll do fine. We've had some time to get ready for this one..."

"I thought I might stay and watch, as well," Sanguini said. "I can sneak into the stadium without anyone's knowledge—"

"Except Dumbledore's. Probably Moody too." Cedric crossed his arms and frowned at him, trying to figure this out without having to ask. "You can't risk your safety like that for me. We don't even know I'll win. I mean, I've got a good chance of it—"

"It is my safety and well being to risk, Cedric. I've already put myself at risk by standing here; a few more hours will not make a difference. I'll be fine."

Harry might not have caught it if he hadn't been listening for it, but there was definitely a slight inflection to the way he said "I'll." He glanced over to find the real Sanguini, to see how he was reacting to this, but he had chosen not to follow him into the room. So Harry had to frown at the memory instead and try to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach all on his own. Could he have known something was going to happen...?

Cedric had caught the slip, too. His eyes narrowed for a slight moment, but then he sighed and dropped his hands so he looked less argumentive and more concerned.

"What's going on?"

Sanguini smiled bitterly. "I should have known you would not be content with that." He sighed and continued on in softer tone, "There have been whispers. Less than whispers. I have felt foolish even considering them. But they have continued and signs seem to point to this night."

"For what?" Cedric asked, looking a little nervous.

Sanguini shook his head. "I do not know. As I said, they have been less than whispers."

"So...probably nothing to worry about, then," Cedric said, although he didn't look entirely assured.

"Probably," Sanguini agreed, looking about as sure himself.

"Right. Well, I'll keep an eye out. If anything weird happens, least I'll be prepared."

He hesitated, but when it looked like Sanguini wasn't going to say anything else, he turned to open the door. But he hadn't quite waited long enough. Sanguini shot a hand out to grab his arm and keep him from leaving.

"Wait."

Cedric cast a nervous, longing look at the door, through which he was probably thinking his parents might be starting to get concerned, but he obediently turned back around.

Sanguini didn't let go of his arm, however. If anything, he held on tighter.

"Cedric," he said quietly, "people die in this tournament."

Something about this finally seemed to click for Cedric. Any hostility and nervousness that might have been left were gone, replaced with gentleness and understanding. He carefully reached over and pried Sanguini's hand off his arm, although he didn't let go of it.

"I know," he said. "I entered knowing that."

"I don't want anything to happen to you," Sanguini murmured.

"Nothing's going to happen to me. All the staff will be out there, and so will the judges, and all the students. It'll be fine; they've made sure of that. And anyway, if anything did happen, I've got you too, right?"

"Of course." Sanguini looked offended that he would ever think otherwise.

"Look, I'll tell you what." Cedric leaned in close, smiling and squeezing his hand. "If something does happen—and I don't think it will, but if it did...Harry's all right. He's helped me out in the tasks, and he's always the one going around, saving people. He probably would've tried to save all the hostages in the Second Task if he'd been able. And he's friends with this girl who's been trying to free house elves. I dunno if he'll listen, but he's pretty likely to."

"This is not about that!" Sanguini snapped. "This isn't about losing an ally among wizards or in the Ministry. This is about losing you."

Cedric sighed. "Yeah, I know. I've heard it from Mum and Dad already. When they're not gushing over me..."

Sanguini frowned very slightly. "Obviously, I am also proud of what you've accomplished..."

"No, it's okay, you don't have to...I know that, it's okay. And I'm really flattered that you're so worried so don't...don't go thinking I'm not, all right? I'm really lucky to have you for a friend. Even if Dad wouldn't think so."

He smiled weakly and rolled his eyes. Sanguini only stared back, clutching the hand that held his.

"But it'll be all right. They wouldn't have started it up again if they weren't going to do their best to keep us all mostly whole. And you know," he said with sudden grin, "there's no way there'll be anything worse in the maze than a dragon, and I got through that one all right."

"There are plenty of creatures or enchantments that could be worse than a dragon," Sanguini said, but he sounded as though he was now only arguing for the sake of it.

"Yeah, keep quiet on those, would you, I'm nervous enough as it is."

They both fell silent for a long moment. Sanguini didn't look entirely at ease, but Harry had a feeling that nothing but watching Cedric walk out of the maze at the end of the night would have put his worries to rest. Cedric looked like he knew that, too, but he still wanted to say something that would help.

But the moment passed and Sanguini's gaze flicked to the door. "Your parents are probably wondering what's happened to you."

"Yeah, I should head back over there." But he didn't turn to leave right away. He stared at Sanguini for another long moment, and then stepped forward to embrace him like a brother. Sanguini didn't seem to know quite how to react, but he very hesitantly placed his hands on Cedric's back in return. He pointedly kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling and away from Cedric's neck.

"I'm really glad you came," Cedric said as he let go and stepped back again. "It means a lot to me."

"I wouldn't have missed it," Sanguini said with a smile. "I only wish I could have been here for the other two, as well."

"Well, at least you can watch this one." Cedric turned back to the door and carefully opened it to make sure the Entrance Hall was empty. Once he was sure it was safe, and grinned one more time over his shoulder. "I'll see you later. Don't get caught, all right?"

And in another moment, he'd slipped out the door and was gone.

The real Sanguini stepped around the door and into the around just as everything began fading away again. But to Harry's relief, he took Harry's elbow and said softly, "I think that is enough."

In a moment, Harry felt himself flying through the darkness again, and then he was back on his feet in his room. The sky outside his window was no longer as dark as it had been; the sun would be rising soon.

Harry glanced over at Sanguini. The trip through his memories had been hard for him, much harder, Harry was sure, than it had been for himself. And it had not been easy for Harry, though he was feeling a bit overwhelmed at the moment. He was sure it would all sink in properly over then next few days, and then he wouldn't be much better off.

But he also hadn't lost a close friend and then gone walking through memories of when he'd been alive. Harry felt a sudden burst of sympathy for him; he had to have known how difficult it was going to be for him, but he had gone in and watched them anyway.

"Thank you," Harry said, because he felt he should say something, and Sanguini would have to leave soon, so they couldn't go into a lengthy discussion about what they'd seen.

Sanguini shook his head. "It was what he would have wanted. And it is I who should be thanking you, for agreeing to watch them." He carefully picked up the Pensieve again and took a step back from the desk. "I am sorry I can not stay longer. When next we meet, I should be able to give you some of the information you asked for."

And before Harry could say anything else, Sanguini faded away into shadow.

Harry slowly walked over to his bed and lay down, but he knew there was no hope of him falling asleep. Despite having not slept at all that night, Harry felt wide awake and his mind was going in about a hundred different directions.

He hadn't even realized it until they were deep into the memories, but Harry had still been sceptical that Sanguini and Cedric had been as close as he liked to imply. Now that he'd seen that it was true, he felt even worse about what had happened. Sanguini might have told Cedric that he was more worried about loosing a friend than an ally in the Ministry, but he had still really been counting on him being there in the future.

And Cedric...Cedric had been planning his future out for years. Harry could hardly imagine what he might be doing a year from now, much less once he'd graduated (although that was probably because he kept ending up in life-threatening situations every year). But Cedric had known, and he'd worked hard to make sure he could get there...

As he lay there, watching the dawn steadily creep through his room, his thoughts still whirling with what he had seen, a grim determination began to settle in his gut. He was going to make sure he survived beyond this year, and the next and the one after that. He wasn't going to make Sanguini have to find someone else who might want to help him; he doubted whether there might be anyone else other than Dumbledore and Voldemort, and Sanguini did not seem fond of Dumbledore, and Voldemort would only use him for his own gains.

No, it was going to have to be him. And he would make sure that he didn't let anyone down.

Chapter Text

The audience broke out in cheers and applause. The sheer noise made Sanguini shift uncomfortably in the seat his had claimed high in the stands, but it was easy enough to block it out and focus on what was important.

Harry Potter and Cedric had appeared at the start of the maze, gleaming Triwizard Cup in hand. It was a mystery how or why they had both come by the Cup—it had been impossible to see what happened within the maze once the champions drew nearer to the centre—but it was a fierce showing of Hogwarts solidarity that he could appreciate.

But something was wrong. Something had happened. Sanguini shot to his feet.

The first scream echoed through the stadium. Dumbledore was already out of his seat, pushing his way past the judges table and across the grass as more screams began filling the air. He reached the two boys and turned Harry over so he could look them over properly, so Harry could speak to him. Harry moved with him, even grabbed at him.

Cedric was not moving.

He felt the ice cold hand of panic grip his heart for the first time in decades. He could not be...he had promised everything would turn out fine...

The crowd was in disarray, and growing more so by the second. Minister Fudge had joined Dumbledore and a crowd was quickly growing around them and the two boys. Whispers flew through the air, reaching even the wizards furthest from the ground in moments.

He's dead...Cedric Diggory is dead...

If he cared to look, he was sure to see Amos Diggory forcing his way through the students to get to the ground, to his son. He did not care to.

He rode the shadows to ground at the bottom of the stands, careful to find a place protected from the swarm of people. He had wrapped himself in a shield of invisibility, which precious few wizards could hope to see through—Auror Moody, though he was determinedly pushing through the crowd and did not seem to care about anything but reaching Harry, and Dumbledore of course, though he was likewise occupied—but it would not keep someone from stepping on his feet or bumping into him.

From here, he could not hope to see Cedric and Harry, but he could hear what was going on. Fudge was trying to reassure everyone that Cedric was only injured, that he would be fine. The rest of the crowd was confused about just about everything but that one point, so he didn't seem to be getting very far.

Amos Diggory appeared in the crowd at about the same time as Auror Moody began guiding Harry back to the castle. Dumbledore hurried to intercept Amos, but he only said a few words before shunting him off to Minister Fudge and disappearing into the crowd again.

The other teachers had reached the ground and were making their way through the students, trying to restore some modicum of order and get everyone to calm down. It was a hard feat when they had Amos Diggory wailing over his son and Fudge blustering around doing nothing to stop it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape leave the crowd and dash out of the stadium, following the path Moody and Harry had taken to the castle.

Finally, the staff seemed to get a handle on their students, helped no doubted by the prefects and Head Boy and Girl, and they began guiding the crowd out of the stadium and back to the castle as well. It was necessary to get everyone away from the scene, so they could get a handle on the panic, so that they could figure out what was to be done next.

Now Professor Sprout was with the Diggorys, reassuring them in a low voice. It did not help Amos very much, who continued to sob, and his wife seemed to be so far gone with grief that she could do nothing but stare in shock.

Once the crowd had gone, Rubeus Hagrid, who had stayed behind with great reluctance, carefully gathered Cedric into his arms and began making his way back up to the school. Sprout and the Diggorys followed in his wake, though slowly.

Once they were gone, once the entire stadium was empty and he was alone...only then did Sanguini move from his place besides the stands. He walked over to the spot where Cedric and Harry had reappeared and knelt down, passing his hand over the ground. It was still warm where they had lain, though it had been long enough now that it was too faint for any human to be able to tell. Warmer where Harry had been than Cedric, even though Harry had left long before.

He had not needed this confirmation. It had been clear enough when Amos had begun wailing for all to hear. And there was nothing the ground could do for him. It could not bring Cedric back. He had not even been killed here.

It did not matter. He remained kneeling there, while the ground slowly lost what heat had been left in it.

It was more than an hour before he could find the strength to stand and make his own way back up to the castle, though he did not pay much attention to the world around him or where he was going. He felt as though he might be walking through a dream from which there would be no waking. No way back to the reality of hours before, when Cedric had been standing right in front of him, reassuring him that all would be well.

As he reached the front steps, Severus Snape burst out the front doors and came dashing down the steps, a dark cloak hung over one arm. He hesitated very slightly as he passed by, possibly sensing the presence of Dark and very strong magic, but he could not see through it and he was in too much of a rush to worry about it. He sped on, onto the grounds and into the darkness.

Cedric had been taken into one of the classrooms on the ground floor. He could hear Amos and Professor Sprout as soon as he stepped inside the castle and he followed their voices to the appropriate door. He did not dare go inside, but he did not mind waiting outside. He only hoped there would be an opportunity where the Diggorys might leave for a few minutes without their son.

He had been standing there hardly five minutes when Dumbledore appeared. He strode down the hall without seeming to notice him, but as he opened the door and stepped inside, he frowned very slightly at the space where Sanguini was standing. And then he was gone, commiserating with Amos and his wife in a low, soothing voice that Sanguini was sure was not at all put on.

It seemed to be another hour before the door opened again. Dumbledore's voice came drifting through it.

"Why don't you show them to the kitchens, Pomona; I'm sure the house elves will be happy to whip something up for them. It might be best to gather up Cedric's possessions tomorrow while his fellow students are in class."

The Diggorys shuffled out into the hall, followed by Professor Sprout. Amos had stopped crying and now looked as though he might be in a state of shock. His wife had her face half covered by a scarf, and she was dabbing her eyes every now and then. Pomona, looking a bit shell-shocked herself, led them past the other classrooms, out into the Entrance Hall, and through a door on the other side of the grand marble steps.

The door remained open. Sanguini waited a moment, but it seemed that Dumbledore would remain inside. He was probably waiting to see what he would do. Sanguini let himself scowl briefly, as he would have liked to see Cedric alone, but he doubted Dumbledore would let him leave without trying to speak to him.

He stepped inside and closed the door.

The room no longer looked entirely like a classroom. There were still a few desks and chairs pushed up against the walls, but most of them had been turned into four squashy chintz armchairs and a bed, upon which Cedric lay as though he could only be sleeping.

Dumbledore stood in front of one of the armchairs, where he had presumably been sitting minutes before, but Sanguini ignored him. He walked over to the bed and stood gazing down on the face of one of his closest friends.

"I had wondered which of them you belonged to," Dumbledore said lightly. "My suspicions were on Cedric, but we can never be too sure of these things."

Sanguini reached out to brush the fringe out of Cedric's face and said nothing.

"It is quite a risk you've taken, being here tonight," Dumbledore said. "Particularly more so now. Fudge has been rather erratic. He would be quite willing to blame the first bit of Dark magic to cross his path."

"It was worth it to see him compete," said Sanguini, finally acknowledging him. 

"Do you know what happened?"

"I know that he reached the Cup, along with Harry Potter," Sanguini murmured. He pulled his hand away. He could not stand to be so close to Cedric's cold flesh any longer. "And I know that he was murdered." 

Now that he was so close, he could tell that this had not been an accidental death. This had been a wizard's doing.

"He was murdered by Lord Voldemort."

Sanguini felt his eyes close. 

The name did not inspire the terror in him or any other vampire that it did among wizards, but it did inspire a deep frustration that had been asleep for fourteen years. Voldemort's offer to them had been very tempting, far more than they could ever hope for from Dumbledore's people or the Ministry. Some of them had taken it. Most of them, however, had been wise enough to know that, no matter how great the offer he used to lure them, they would still not be treated equally. And most of them did not want to place their hopes in a madman, who would as soon kill them as help them.

In the meantime, wizards would be killing and torturing each other left and right. The smell of blood and death would drive some weaker vampires mad. And the Ministry would react to everything by imposing themselves upon all Dark magic and Dark creatures without regard for those who were minding their own business. That had been how they had worked last time, and he could not see why it would be any different now.

"He has returned?" 

"He was returned to his body a couple hours ago," Dumbledore said quietly.

He nodded once, in a jerking movement. He did not want to believe it. He did not have to believe it. No one had seen what had happened in the very centre of the maze.

But he also did not know why Albus Dumbledore would be saying this is if it were not so.

"I am told that it was swift," said Dumbledore as he stepped up beside him, "and he did not suffer."

"Why are you telling me this?" The question was several moments too late, but at least Dumbledore seemed to catch on to that.

"If we are to be successful in fighting Lord Voldemort, if we are to have a hope of defeating him, we must first acknowledge that he has returned. And," he continued in a slightly more sympathetic voice, "it would be an insult to Cedric's memory to pretend otherwise."

"And if I see fit to inform my friends?"

"I encourage you to do so."

It was a vote of confidence he had not quite expected from Dumbledore. Or perhaps Dumbledore thought that those allies Voldemort had once had would soon know of his return regardless. Either way, he agreed that it should not remain a secret. He also knew it would be difficult to convince anyone without hard proof.

"What will you do?" Dumbledore enquired after a moment.

Sanguini did not answer that right away. He had a very good idea of what he was going to do—he was going to find Harry Potter and talk to him, like Cedric had wanted him too, and he was going to remain on his own side, because there was no other option, and he would be letting others know about Voldemort, if only so they could prepare for what might be coming—but he was not going to tell Albus Dumbledore that. He would certainly try to keep him away from his precious Boy-Who-Lived, for one thing.

"What we have always done, I expect," he said.

"Is there no hope in requesting that you join us against Voldemort?"

Sanguini looked at him coldly. "Would you or your Ministry be willing to abolish certain laws regarding my people?"

Dumbledore said nothing. He did not have to. His silence was enough. Even if he did not believe those in those laws, he would not be the one to encourage their removal. His excuse last time, the first time Voldemort had risen to power, was that there were other things that were more important to worry about, and that it did not seem they were turning the vampires to Voldemort in any significant capacity. That did not particularly matter to Sanguini. When his people were suffering because of them, any time was a good time to discuss those laws.

"I have no interest in helping the people who choose to oppress me without thought," Sanguini said, turning away. As he thought, he could not mourn properly with Dumbledore here. He would have to wait until Cedric was returned home. "Nor do I have any interest in assisting your Dark Wizard. I will continue on as I have always done, and in the mean time, I will pray that your Ministry does not enact even worse laws this time."

Sanguini stood at the foot of the grave. The earth was still disturbed from when it had been dug up and replaced only a month before. The headstone was new, its corners and engravings still sharp and clean.

He had not been able to watch the casket be lowered into the ground. The Diggorys had chosen to bury their son during the day, and it had been a clear summer's day with no hope of cloud cover. The best he had been able to do was visit the site at dusk, as soon as the last of the sun had disappeared behind the hills.

He had visited this grave every day since it had been dug. Those days that he met with Harry, he would stop here after and tell Cedric what they had discussed. Most other days, he would come by just before dawn.

Today, he had had come as soon as it was dark enough for him to move about safely, much as he had that first day. His time with Harry had run overlong and this had been the soonest afterward that he could come.

"Hello, Cedric," he murmured. If he imagined it hard enough, he could almost see Cedric standing before him, smiling as he listened to what he said, drinking in every word.

He stood there in silence for what felt like hours. It was not that he did not know what to say, but rather, he no longer felt as though he was obligated to say anything at all. A weight he had not known existed had been lifted from his shoulders.

He had been so unsure of Cedric's advice to speak to Harry Potter. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, Dumbledore's favoured Gryffindor student and Saviour of the Wizarding World. It had been difficult to believe that he would want to help such creatures as vampires or that he would want to think about anything other than defeating Voldemort.

Sanguini had gone to him because Cedric had trusted him, and he had been surprised.

But it had not truly sunk in until this morning that Harry would dedicate as much or more of his time to helping them as he would to defeating Voldemort. He doubted even Harry had realized that, or would for quite a long time, but his emotions had flared bright as the sun and Sanguini had turned to them as a flower.

Harry would help them, and he would not let his quest to stop Voldemort get in the way.

And Sanguini no longer felt as though he needed to say anything about it. He recognized now that he had not only been telling Cedric about his visits in an effort to include him, to ensure that he was not forgotten, but as part of a desperate appeal. He had been lost and he could not believe Harry was the star to guide him.

He did not think Harry would be the some sort of guide Cedric would have been. The uncertainty was terrifying and thrilling at once.

He stood there in silence for what seemed like hours, the events of that morning coursing through his mind, the memories of that last scene that they had not watched passing behind them.

And he felt at peace for the first time in a month.

He finally knelt and waved his hand, calling up a bouquet of flowers from nowhere to lay on the mound of earth.

"Thank you, Cedric," he murmured. "For everything."

Chapter Text

"It was Dumbledore!" Harry exclaimed, throwing his hands up, as soon as Sanguini appeared in his bedroom. "It was Dumbledore the whole time!"

Sanguini just stared at him, looking a little taken aback by being yelled at before he'd even had a chance to say hello and maybe a little confused by what Harry might even be referring to. "I'm sorry?"

"The wizards who've been hiding out around the house," Harry said with a scowl toward the window. "Dumbledore's been having me followed!"

Sanguini glanced at the window as well, although he looked unsurprised.

"I did warn you that might be case," he said as he calmly walked over to the window. He took one glance outside, frowned very slightly, and slid the window shut.

"Wait, Hedwig—"

"She will have to wait, if and when she returns," Sanguini said. He stepped back from the window and closed his eyes. "What I have to discuss with you requires privacy, and there is still a wizard standing sentry on your lawn. A moment, please."

Harry scowled at him, still wound up and in desperate need of someone to yell at and blow off steam, but he'd figured out early on that when Sanguini used that tone of voice, it was pointless to argue with him. So he stalked back over to his bed and slumped down on it to wait, although he didn't bother to look happy about it.

Not that Sanguini was even going to notice. His eyes were still closed and he'd begun chanting under his breath in what was probably Latin. As he came to the end of the phrase, the floor beneath his feet began to glow faintly, so faintly that Harry was sure that had the light been on, it would have been unnoticeable. Then as he began to repeat the spell, Sanguini reached into his robes and pulled out a small knife, which he used to prick his finger and send three drop of blood to the floor in time with his chanting. Immediately, the glow began to spread across the floor to all corners of the room. Sanguini started in on his third repetition and his magic crept up the walls, obscuring the view out the window, and across the ceiling, causing the whole room to look like it was bathed in moonlight that came from within the walls.

The chanting grew firmer as he reached the end of the line again, and the walls glowed just a bit brighter for a moment before the effect disappeared completely.

Sanguini carefully tucked the knife back into his robes. Harry was busy gaping at the walls of his room. It wasn't quite the same feeling as discussing Voldemort with his aunt in a brightly lit kitchen, but it was still very odd to see such a blatant display of magic in his bedroom.

"What did you do?" he asked as Sanguini walked over and sat beside him. And then he realized that Sanguini had, in fact, just preformed magic in his bedroom, at number four, Privet Drive, and he would have shot to his feet again if the man hadn't reached out to grab his arm and keep him in place. "Hey, wait! The Ministry's going to think that was me!"

Sanguini, however, looked entirely unconcerned. "There are ways to hide from the Ministry. We've had to become quite good at that, you'll remember."

True as that might have been, Harry didn't feel entirely at ease. He was already in trouble with the Ministry for defending himself and Dudley the other night. He was sure they would jump at a chance to make him out to be even more of a delinquent than they already thought he was, and they would probably try to expel him again too. His stomach still did nervous flip-flops when he thought about that first letter trying to expel him, and he hadn't even really been expelled after all. He didn't want to consider what the Ministry would try if they got wind of more magic happening around him.

"To answer your question," Sanguini continued, as if he hadn't just jeopardized Harry's chances of ever going back to school again, "I cast a privacy ward. I had to tie it into the wards already in place, but that should help to minimize the risk of detection. While it is in place, no one will be able to listen in on us."

Harry just stared at him. "What wards?"

"There are a half dozen wards placed on this house and the surrounding property," Sanguini said. "Ill-will wards, monitoring wards, a blood ward I've been meaning to research..."

"And I'll bet they're Dumbledore's, too," Harry said, feeling his irritation at the Headmaster come flooding back again. He got to his feet in a sudden need to start pacing again and this time Sanguini didn't try to stop him. "He's been having me followed all summer and there's wards all over the house and Mrs. Figg has known about the Wizarding world the whole time—can you believe that? Mrs. Figg...and now I've been attacked by dementors and no one will tell me anything! No one's been telling me anything at all since school ended! No, instead—and this is really great—instead everyone's been acting like I've done something wrong. Especially the other night. I get attacked by dementors and everyone's acting like it's my fault—"

"Harry. Enough."

Harry turned on him with a scowl, and then immediately felt awful for almost taking it out on him. None of this was his fault. In fact, Sanguini and his kin had been the only real bright part of the summer.

Sanguini spread his hands apologetically. "I'm sorry, I know this has been frustrating for you, and normally I would not mind listening, but we are a little short on time."

Harry felt a bit of resentment try to bubble up at that, not at being asked to stop but because they were always short on time and it wasn't fair, but he forced it back down again. He didn't doubt that they were short on time—or at least, Sanguini was—and trying to start an argument wasn't going to help with that at all. So he crossed his arms and, again, didn't try to pretend he was happy about it, but he flopped back down next to Sanguini all the same.

"All right. You said you had something to talk about?"

"More than one something, in fact." He paused, taking a moment to decide what to bring up first. "I've spoken to Christopher about looking into what Voldemort is doing, like you requested. I felt he and his family might be the best suited, since they are related to the Malfoys, and I trust them to only spy for us."

Harry nodded, his irritation ebbing a bit in the face of maybe finally getting some answers.

Of course, then Sanguini went on and squashed that bubble of hope almost before it had fully formed.

"It will take them some time to gain Lucius's trust," he said, and at least he sounded apologetic about it. "Lucius is almost surely aware that they are vampires, and that they've been somewhat estranged from the rest of the family for decades. He will undoubtedly wonder what made them decide to reach out to him, but hopefully it will lead to him trying to recruit them, as a large number of vampire allies are something Voldemort wanted very badly last time."

"And Malfoy would love to be the one to tell Voldemort he got him some new, powerful allies," Harry said. If he was anything like his son Draco, and from their brief interactions Harry was certain he was, Lucius Malfoy would be trying to suck up to his old master as much as possible right now. Voldemort had not be pleased with any of his followers, and that wasn't a position Malfoy would want to be in.

Sanguini smiled very slightly. "Most likely. So while he might be suspicious at first, once he learns they're interested in what he has to offer, that will undoubtedly matter more to him."

"But that'll take time," Harry said, repeating Sanguini's earlier sentiment.

"It will. But they are in a more unique position than most to quickly gain his trust."

"Yeah, but how's that supposed to help us know what he's doing right now?"

He knew he sounded ungrateful—and he was grateful that these vampires whom he had only met once were willing to risk their lives just to get some information for him—but Voldemort could start moving any time now. Harry couldn't understand what was taking him so long in the first place.

Sanguini placed a hand on his arm, as lightly as he possibly could. "Harry. I have looked into that as well."

"Right. Sorry."

"It seems that for the time being, he's looking into building up his forces again," Sanguini said. "And that seems to be all he is doing. He has, incidentally, invited us to join him again in the past few days. Those few of us who accepted last time have already gone back to his side."

"And that's all?" Harry said, feeling a little disappointed in spite of himself. It wasn't that he wanted Voldemort to start terrorizing people right away, but frankly, it had been what he'd expected. Voldemort hadn't had any problem killing whoever he'd wanted last year.

"That is all I have been able to discover. That he is overtly attacking no one at the moment, and he has no plan to in the near future. He would rather gather his strength again."

Harry nodded, letting that bit of information reform his current worldview. If Voldemort was just trying to gain his allies back, well, that was a problem, but it wasn't quite as bad as if he were secretly killing people or getting ready to. They would have time to prepare their own forces too.

"So, what does that mean?" Harry said after a moment. "He's come asking after you all and he's probably gathered his old Death Eaters again. He can't have done much, though, or people would know about it."

"I believe he has asked his followers to begin sending out feelers for anyone who might be sympathetic to his cause, and then begin convincing them from there. But his followers do not have to be willing, and he has probably directed them to begin the process of bewitching a number of people to his side, as well.

"He has also begun sending emissaries to various groups of magical creatures. Giants, banshees, hags, centaurs, merpeople, goblins, werewolves, vampires...all those who supported him fourteen years ago, and some who did not but might be swayed to his cause. Wizards have been denying us, all of us, certain freedoms for centuries, so while he might not gain the support of all of them, with the right words, he will be able to gain some of them. We are all also much less likely to let on to the general wizard population that he has returned."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, to say that was stupid, that they needed to be telling everyone if they knew for sure, but Sanguini shook his head and gestured for him to stay quiet.

"I am sorry, but there is very little trust between most magical beings and wizards, particularly wizards who seem happy with the Ministry. Voldemort is a wizard too, of course, but he will always state that he will help those creatures who help him, so they are more inclined to trust him and stand back to let him work. And, as he is a wizard, many creatures will see this as a wizard's matter and will simply ignore it. It is not something that will change overnight, no matter how you might wish it would."

Harry scowled at him, but he knew he was probably right. It was stupid, but that didn't matter. And what could he do from here, anyway? He couldn't just go out and try to convince anyone that Voldemort was back, much as he wished he could. He was already in trouble with the Ministry; he didn't need to make it any worse. He would just have to hope that those vampires who had spoken with him would realize that he wasn't crazy or lying to get attention, or that they would believe Voldemort's emissary; and he would have to hope that no more of them would join Voldemort's side.

He thought that while he had Sanguini on his side, they'd have a pretty good chance of that.

"All right," he said after a long silence. "Wizards probably wouldn't listen to them anyway."

"That is also true," Sanguini agreed with a bit of a smile.

"Yeah. Well, thanks. I know it probably wasn't easy for you. Or safe."

He almost missed it, but he thought Sanguini might have smiled even more at that. Well good. Harry had meant every word.

But in an instant, the smile was gone and a far more serious expression was in its place, and it was clear that Sanguini had more he wanted to discuss. And if he thought about it, there hadn't really been much they'd already discussed that needed such absolute privacy as he'd given them.

"Now, the second thing I wished to discuss." Sanguini shifted over so he was facing Harry a bit more. "I heard about what happened. With the dementors."

Harry blinked at him for a moment before moving to copy him. It was easier to stare at him this way. "How did you hear about that?"

Two nights ago, Harry had gone walking up to the park of Magnolia Road. He'd been talking these walks most afternoons when he wasn't taking a late afternoon nap; it did not matter how many late night visitors he had in his room, he still preferred to spend as little time in the Dursleys' house as possible.

He had ended up losing track of time as he sat there in the last remaining swing (Dudley and his gang had managed to break the other one, like they had all the rest), so that he was late enough walking back to Privet Drive to run into Dudley on the way. Harry had taken great pleasure in using the opportunity to antagonize his cousin as he had rarely had the chance to over the course of the summer, as generally their schedules did not line up enough to allow for it. But when he had the chance, it was always fun to take it; while Dudley did know that he wasn't allowed to do magic outside school, he was still terrified that Harry might decide to do it anyway.

But then, halfway between the park and the Dursleys', they night had grown cold and dark and two dementors had swooped down out of nowhere on him and his cousin.

He'd defended himself, of course, and Dudley, but the damage was done. He had preformed highly advanced magic in front of a Muggle in a Muggle neighbourhood. And while the Ministry apparently couldn't expel him from Hogwarts, they could and did suspend him and order him to attend a hearing later in the month.

It had been during that trip that he had learned that Mrs. Figg was not only a squib and perfectly aware of the magical world, but that she was in contact with Dumbledore. And he had also learned that it had been Dumbledore who had set the round-the-clock guard on him, although the wizard who had been meant to guard him that night had gone off to deal in some stolen cauldrons some time before the dementors had appeared.

"Dumbledore is not the only one keeping tabs on you, Harry," Sanguini said, allowing himself another, very brief smile. "Nor is he, incidentally, the only one with contacts in the Ministry."

Harry wasn't sure what Sanguini expected his reaction to that might be, but it was definitely to glower at him. Was everyone in the magical world spying on him?

"First I need to ask: are you all right?"

Harry had no doubt that Sanguini already knew the answer to that, or it would have been the very first thing he'd asked about period, but the thought was nice. It made him feel maybe a little less annoyed about having yet another group spying on him.

"Yeah. I'm fine," he said. 

And physically, he was. But otherwise, he could have been better. He started feeling sick and restless any time he thought about his upcoming hearing and the possibility of really being expelled after all. He didn't know what he was going to do if he couldn't go back to Hogwarts. That was assuming he didn't get sent to Azkaban first, because he would have to hold onto his wand no matter the cost, and assaulting Ministry personnel would almost certainly get him locked up if he couldn't escape first.

Sanguini eyed him suspiciously, but whatever made him suspect Harry was lying also seemed to make him think that Harry would not appreciate being asked about it. Or maybe he was just running out of time again. That was very possible; he'd already been here longer than usual.

Either way, Sanguini continued on as though Harry had been entirely truthful.

"I do not know whether those dementors were sent by Voldemort or not," he said, swiftly crushing a hope Harry hadn't even realized he'd had. "Although I do think it is very likely. The dementors were one group of creatures who gave him aid last time."

"Yeah, I'll bet he sent them," Harry muttered. He had already considered that possibility in excruciating detail, usually when he was trying not to think about the hearing.

"Yes, well. In the end, it matters less how they got here, and more that they did, and Dumbledore is rather unlikely to overlook such an acute threat to you."

"He's been doing a great job so far," Harry said coldly.

"I think that, no matter how he may have treated you thus far, he will not be overlooking this. I do not think he would have left you here so long if he thought you might be in danger. The wards alone betray that." Sanguini glanced thoughtfully around the room and added, "Not that any of them would keep out dementors. Ill-will wards only detect conscious thought; they do nothing to keep out creatures who act on pure instinct, such as a cat or a hawk. Or a dementor."

"Oh. Well, that's great, then." Harry shot to his feet, suddenly filled with the same nervous energy that had possessed him for the last two days. "So Voldemort could send whatever magical creatures he wanted, and I'm completely vulnerable! Hell, it doesn't even have to be magical. He could just send a great bloody snake!"

"Yes, he could," Sanguini said, still infuriatingly calm. "No doubt, that is the reason for your perpetual guard."

"Yeah, Mrs. Figg said something about that. About keeping me from doing magic at all costs." Harry snorted and glared out the window. "Fat lot of good that did."

"Well, quite," said Sanguini with a faint smile. "Obviously whatever protections he has had in place have proved inadequate. Dumbledore would be remiss not to recognize that. And he is generally not a man to miss things."

"So...what? You think he's finally going to get me out of here?"

"Yes."

Harry paused near the window and turned back to him. That was sure what it had sounded like Sanguini had been getting at, but he wouldn't have been surprised to learn it only sounded that was because of his own wishful thinking.

"You do?"

"Yes," Sanguini said again. "That is why I came." He reached into his robes and pulled out two small packages wrapped in black cloth. "I would have come sooner, but these were not ready yet. Truthfully, I would have preferred them to have been birthday presents."

Intrigued, Harry walked back over to sit down and take the two packages when he was offered them. Since Sanguini had already given him a birthday present—and one that had been almost too much to accept at that—Harry couldn't imagine what this could be, or what it might have to do with him possibly leaving.

The bundle on top was about the size of a small paperback and just about half the size of the other, and Harry chose to carefully unwrap the cloth on it first. Inside was a dark blue velvet-covered box, and inside that was an oval mirror about the size of his hand, framed in delicate silver filigree.

"This is a two-way mirror," Sanguini said before Harry had a chance to open his mouth. "I have the other one. It will allow us to communicate without owls. Speak my name, and we will appear in each other's mirrors and be able to speak to one another. Or so Christopher explained when he brought them to me. It is an Arkwright family heirloom," he explained when Harry frowned at him in confusion. "Many of the old pureblood families have similar items."

"I can't take this," Harry said, shaking his head.

"He would not have given them to me if he did not want you to have it," Sanguini said. "This was his idea. He also enchanted it so that as long as it is being used, no one will be able to listen in on us."

Harry still felt a little uneasy about accepting something like this, but even without looking over, he knew Sanguini wouldn't take it back. So he nodded and carefully set the mirror back in its box to set it aside. It really was a good idea, to have something like this, although he would have to be careful about when he used it. But it would have been pretty suspicious getting letters from someone none of his friends knew about, and he doubted Sanguini would be able to visit like this wherever he ended up.

"This one was my idea," Sanguini said as Harry started to unwrap the second gift. A large, leather-bound journal slid out onto his lap. Harry took a moment to flip through it; it was largely blank. The only bit of writing was his name on the back, embossed into the leather in small, golden letters.

"This should work similarly to the mirrors," Sanguini said as Harry looked through it. "When you write in it, the writing will also appear in a book in my possession, and visa versa. It is also charmed to never run out of pages."

There was something about that that made him a little uneasy too, but it was a moment before he could put his finger on it. Then he realized the idea of writing to someone he couldn't see and get responses instantly on the same paper reminded him of Tom Riddle's diary. He knew, logically, that they weren't anything alike and that he would know, for sure, that the book would not be thinking for itself, but he still couldn't help his stomach squirming at the thought.

He must have shown some of his uneasiness on his face, too, because Sanguini immediately looked concerned. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Harry said, angry with himself for being so stupid. "I'm fine. It's a good idea. It'll look a lot less suspicious writing in this than sneaking away to talk to a mirror."

Sanguini still didn't look entirely at ease, and Harry didn't blame him, but he didn't try to press him on this lie either. Which was just as well; Harry wasn't going to tell him about the diary. There were certain things no one but his closest friends needed to know about, and Tom Riddle's diary was very high on that list.

"You may find there are times you would prefer to use one or the other," Sanguini said, leaving the subject behind them as though it had never happened. "Anyone will be able to see what is written in that book. And though you will not be heard, the mirror does not obscure you from sight."

"Right." He had been thinking about that himself, that he would have to be careful either way. "Still, either one'll be loads less noticeable than using owls."

"They will also be impossible to track or intercept."

Harry stared at him. "D'you think that's likely? Someone intercepting my post?"

Sanguini shrugged very slightly, but his expression had gone blank again. "I would rather not take the chance."

Harry nodded and looked back down at the two objects in his lap. He could definitely understand why Sanguini would want to be cautious. He might have been able to write Cedric no problem, but Cedric wasn't the "Boy-Who-Lived" and they'd also probably been writing long before Hogwarts; it wouldn't have been a noticeable up-tick in the amount of letters going to and from.

The real question was whether he would actually use these or not. Had he been planning to write Sanguini once he was off at Hogwarts or the Weasleys'? And after a moment, he felt that he could comfortably say that he had. Maybe not regularly, maybe not even once a month, but after the last few weeks, and particularly after the night of his birthday, Harry had a hard time imagining himself not writing him sometimes.

The bigger question, really, had been whether Sanguini would welcome that. And it seemed that, in fact, not only would he, but he had been expecting it.

"Thanks," he said when the silence finally started feeling awkward. "For everything, really, but definitely for this. I'll use them."



Once Sanguini had disappeared, with a promise to continue to gather information, Harry went into action. He agreed that after being attacked by dementors, he couldn't possibly have to stay here for the rest of the summer, but he also had no idea when he might be leaving. Someone could show up on the front stoop—or, more likely, in the fireplace in the living room downstairs—any minute now, and he wanted to be ready.

And it was a good use for the nervous energy he'd been possessed with over the last couple days. Rather than pacing about his room without a purpose, he set himself to packing, starting with the many vials of blood and potion that he'd taken over the last couple weeks.

He had been using the bottom drawer of his desk to stash them in, out of convenience more than anything, but he did not feel comfortable leaving them there if he was going to be going elsewhere. He would have to find a suitable way to stash them in his trunk so that they didn't end up all over the place. The best option would have been a small box, but if Dudley had ever kept any of the boxes his various toys had come in, he had never kept them in here.

In the end, he decided that the best solution for now would be one that had worked once before; he took several pairs of ugly socks that had once been Uncle Vernon's, carefully dumped the vials inside, tied the tops together, and then wrapped the whole thing in a Weasley jumper and stuffed this lumpy package into one corner of his trunk. Once he got to Hogwarts, he was sure he would be able to find or create a box, or he would just ask Hermione to create one for him.

The other trinkets and food he'd received for his birthday went in the bottom as well, be he kept the mirror and the journal for last. Those he folded carefully inside the Invisibility Cloak he had inherited from his father, and these were placed on top of all the rest.

Two days later, Lupin, Moody, and a horde of other witches and wizards appeared in the front hall, come to take him away. Away, not to the Weasleys', but to number twelve, Grimmauld Place, the very heart of the small movement against Voldemort. This family home of the Blacks' had been enchanted with every type of security measure known to wizards, both under Sirius's father and then by Dumbledore when Sirius had offered it up as headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. Unplottable and guarded by a Fidelius Charm, it would be impossible for anyone who did not already know about it to find their way there.

It was here that Hermione and Ron had been spending their summer, along with the rest of the Weasleys. And after Harry made it clear how much he had not appreciated being left in the dark all summer (he had come very close to yelling at them, in fact, and was sure he might have if he really had been completely out of the loop), they had caught Harry up quickly on what had been happening...as much as they knew, anyway. That night at dinner, Sirius, Lupin, and Mr. Weasley were able to fill him in on considerably more.

To his disappointment, when it came to Voldemort, it wasn't much more than Sanguini had been able to tell him. Of course, he hadn't known that the reason Voldemort was busy working in the shadows and lying low was that he'd been counting on no one knowing he'd returned, and it was news that he was looking for a weapon that he hadn't had last time. But he had already known that Voldemort's main objective for the moment seemed to be building up his army again.

When it came to other things, however, he learned quite a lot, though there was still much of it that he and Sanguini had already known or guessed at. That the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore were doing their best to recruit their own people and convince them that Voldemort had returned. That Fudge, and by extension the Ministry, was doing his best to completely ignore Voldemort's return and that he was behind the Prophet's attempts to make Harry out to be a troublemaker. That Fudge was afraid of Dumbledore and thought he was trying to stage some sort of coup, and so he was doing his best to discredit him too.

That night, Harry had scrabbled off a short note to Sanguini to let him know that he had been moved after all, that it would be impossible to tell him where he'd been moved to, and that he'd write more later when he wasn't so exhausted.

Living in the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix quickly proved to be just as frustrating as being kept out of the loop entirely had been, namely because none of the Order seemed keen on sharing any more than they had the first night. People flitted in and out the front door several times a day, and he and the Weasley children would try to overhear what snatches of conversation they could at every opportunity, but they generally ended up overhearing very little. Either the visitors were never there for longer than a couple minutes, or they moved their conversation down to the kitchen, or Mrs. Weasley was keeping an eye on the six of them so that they could not sneak away at all.

On the other hand, Mrs. Weasley kept them so busy that Harry's restlessness had a place to go. The house had not been lived in for several years and the Blacks' old, miserable house elf had not taken care of the place in just as long. It was up to them to make the place fit for human habitation once again, and the house was putting up a very good fight to remain derelict and infested.

At the end of the day, Harry usually found himself too exhausted to do much of anything except go to bed, but he dutifully spent a few minutes each night writing in the journal. Over the course of several nights, he laid out a basic idea of what the house was like and what it was like to live there, although he pointedly left out anything about the Order or who the house belonged to. Mostly he described what room they had decided to tackle that day and what had been in it, and what he thought the house may have been like before it had been neglected.

For the first few days, his was the only handwriting in the journal. He forced himself to not think about it too much so he wouldn't get discouraged—Sanguini was no doubt busy himself, and nothing Harry had written really needed a response—but he couldn't help wondering once or twice whether the charm on the journal actually worked.

Then, the night before his hearing, he opened the journal to find two lines of unfamiliar text waiting for him, written in neat and elegant hand.

Is there a library?

Good luck tomorrow. If they abide by their own laws, you will be fine.

Harry could not, of course, investigate the remaining rooms of the house tonight, but he made a mental note to look around later once his hearing had passed. He also scribbled off a brief thanks and a question of why Sanguini was wondering about a library. That was really more Hermione's area than his own, though he doubted even Hermione would want to go looking for a library in a place like this. If there was one, it was sure to be full of books that would make the selection in the Restricted Section look tame.

The next day, Mr. Weasley took Harry to work with him so he would be at the Ministry in time for his hearing. It was a lucky thing he had, because Harry's hearing had been moved up and he would have missed it if he'd arriving just in time for it; he ended up being several minutes late as it was.

It was here that Harry saw Dumbledore for the first time that summer, and he could not have been more disappointed.

Oh, he doubted whether he would have got out of the hearing all right on his own, since it seemed that Fudge had set everything up to make that as difficult as possible, and he was grateful for Dumbledore's help, but it would have been nice if Dumbledore had spoken to him after to congratulate him, maybe, or even just looked at him once. 

In fact, he had been expecting Dumbledore to come by and have a talk with him ever since he'd arrived, to discuss the vampire presence in Privet Drive if nothing else. That he had not yet was both frustrating, because he would have liked to speak to Dumbledore, and also a relief—it meant that either he was not aware of anything more than the Ministry or that he did not particularly care. Harry thought the latter more likely, but he would have been happy with either if it meant Dumbledore was no longer ignoring him.

Still, it did not help the steady feeling of being ignored that had developed over the course of the summer. He did not understand why Dumbledore did not seem to want to speak to him at all, why he would flit through Grimmauld Place without stopping by to see him. And why, if he was not aware of Harry's new friends, he seemed to think Harry would be better off not knowing anything about what was happening. Or why, if he did know, he didn't trust Harry to keep certain secrets to himself.

There was no response from Sanguini in the journal that night, though Harry made sure to let him know that he had been cleared.

But there was one the next night, though it was, again, fairly short and to the point.

Congratulations. They really did have nothing to hold you on.

It sounds as though the house you are in once belonged to a Dark pureblood family, yes? They are very likely to have had a small library or a study with enough books to be one. They are also very likely to have books on magical creatures, particularly those considered Dark, which may be more detailed or more truthful than any you might find at Hogwarts. They are also likely to have books on law, though these might be outdated.

This was something Harry had not considered. While he did think that Hogwarts might contain some very Dark books, they would all be in the Restricted Section and he might have difficulty obtaining a note to get in there, and he also doubted whether anything truly horrible would be allowed into the school at all. A family like the Blacks was sure to have some of the worst books imaginable.

But could they also have better books on magical creatures? Harry rather doubted it, considering Hagrid's love of anything dangerous, but he had to admit, his curiosity was piqued. And it was clear Sanguini was curious about what there could be, and that was enough for him to start looking.

The next day, Harry posed the question to Sirius, as casually as possible, as if he was merely wondering what sorts of rooms there might be that they hadn't yet had the chance to get to.

"A library?" Sirius said, giving him a bewildered look. "No, no, no matter how great my parents thought they were, they never had anything like that. No...dear Aunt Druella and Uncle Cygnus, they were the ones with the grand house, with the ballroom and the great entrance hall and the private library."

"There's nothing like that at all?" Harry asked, feeling a little disappointed. He must have let some of that come through his voice—Sirius frowned at him and he quickly went on to cover himself, "So we won't have to deal with any screaming books or...or cursed books that make it so you can never stop reading them, or anything like that?"

Sirius laughed, waving one of his hand. "No, there's nothing like that, don't worry." He frowned in thought and glanced up at the ceiling. "I guess...there's my father's study. We haven't been in there yet. He had bookshelves lining the walls. Not that he ever read any of the books, of course, he just liked everyone thinking he did."

He turned back to Harry, still frowning, and Harry knew he'd been seen through. "I don't what you're planning, Harry, but don't go looking for trouble, all right? There could be all sorts of nasty things in there, not just books."

"I won't, Sirius, don't worry about it," Harry said, raising his hands. "Just wondering what might be left, that's all."

But he still took the opportunity to smuggle away a serpent-shaped candlestick, so he would have something to see by when he went to investigate once everyone was asleep. 



That night, he waited for what seemed like hours for Ron to fall asleep. When the snores from the next bed became loud enough that he could be sure Ron was fast asleep, Harry carefully got up and crept to the end of his bed and the trunk sitting there. He opened it as silently as possible and carefully pulled out the objects on top: the candle and candlestick, his Invisibility Cloak, the knife Sirius had given him that would unlock any lock, and the box with the two-way mirror inside.

He was not sure if this would work—he had no idea if Sanguini would have his own mirror on him or if he would be in a position to answer it—but if he didn't, he would just try again tomorrow. This was one of those instances where he was going to prefer using one form of communication than the other. He did not particularly want to explore an untouched room in Sirius's house by himself, and it would be difficult writing in the journal while he looked through books.

Harry glanced one more time in Ron's direction. Absolutely sure he was asleep, he slid the mirror out of the box and carefully set in on his knees.

"Sanguini," he whispered as quietly as possible.

He did not dare light the candle in here where it might disturb Ron, and in the dark it was difficult to see even his own reflection in the mirror. He had no idea if it had worked.

But then, the surface of the mirror brightened and Sanguini's face appeared inside. It was rather like looking through a very small window; he could easily see his friend and the room on the other end, as the room he was standing in was, while not terribly bright, much brighter than the room Harry was sitting in.

Sanguini, it seemed, was experiencing something very similar, only on his end he couldn't see much at all, because he learned in very close, squinting at the mirror.

"Harry? Are you all right? Why is it so dark?"

"I'm sneaking," Harry whispered. He knew that no one should be able to hear them, but it felt more natural to try to be as quiet as possible.

Sanguini smiled slightly in understanding and leaned back again. "I see."

"Sir—Snuffles said there's a study, with books in it," Harry said. "It's one of the rooms we haven't cleaned yet, so I wanted some company while I checked it out. And I thought you might want to see it anyway. If you have time."

He knew long before he said it that he didn't have to add that last bit; Sanguini had looked intrigued as soon as he'd mentioned the study. 

Sanguini glanced at something on his side, but then he shook his head at it and nodded once back at Harry. "You're in luck. You've caught me on a less busy night."

"Are you sure?" He really didn't want to drag Sanguini away from anything important.

But Sanguini just smiled again. "It's all right, Harry. I am glad you called on me. I would like to see the study. Although I'm not sure how useful I will be in keeping you safe..."

"You can tell me if you see any books you think might take my head off, how about that? Or if you hear anything funny on my end. You'll hear it before I do."

He tucked the knife and the candlestick into a pocket and pulled his Invisibility Cloak over his head. Sanguini jerked in surprise in the mirror.

"You have an Invisibility Cloak?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah..." He'd never actually mentioned it, and it wasn't exactly common knowledge, so Cedric wouldn't have known either. "Yeah, it was my dad's."

Sanguini looked even more surprised at that, but he didn't say anything else about it, so Harry put it out of his mind. He had enough to worry about at the moment.

He glanced one last time at Ron. Then he crept over to the door, unlocked it, and slipped out into the hall. He would have to hope that Kreacher didn't get it in his head to try wandering into the room while he was gone, because he couldn't bolt it shut again from the outside.

Sirius's father's study was at the end of the hall on the second floor, so Harry really had very little of the house to creep through. He paused by the stairs to listen for signs of life; he could hear a faint murmur of voices coming from the kitchen three floors below, too indistinct to make out what they were saying or who was down there, but this was the only sound other than the house's usual creaking and groaning. He could not hear Kreacher muttering to himself nearby either.

Feeling slightly less nervous, Harry carefully tiptoed down the hall to the closed door at the end. He tried the serpent's head handle and wasn't all that surprised to find it locked. If Kreacher hadn't locked it in a futile attempt to keep them from cleaning the room beyond, Sirius almost definitely had after their conversation, to stop Harry from doing exactly this.

But Sirius had also been the one to give Harry his means of getting inside. Harry took the knife out of his pocket, slid the blade into the crack between the door and the jamb, and moved it once up and down. There was a soft click and the door swung open. Harry quickly hurried inside and shut the door.

What he could see of the room in the moonlight coming through the window in front of him was about what he had expected from Sirius's brief description. Standing, dark and looming, in the middle of the room was a large desk, flanked by three chairs, one in the back and two in front, for guests. Set into one wall was a fireplace large enough to stand in. Two long, dark banners hung on a bit of wall on either side to the door. Every other bit of wall was covered in bookcases, and every shelf was filled with books.

Harry pulled off his Invisibility Cloak and carefully stepped further inside. He couldn't hear anything that sounded like there might be creatures in here, waiting to attack him.

"You'll have to move the mirror around a bit, Harry, if you want me to see anything," Sanguini said suddenly.

Harry started horribly. He'd almost forgotten that he wasn't completely alone in here.

"Right. Hang on a minute; let me get the candle lit..."

Harry fished the candle out of his pocket, stuck it in its holder, and carefully blew on the wick. All the candles in Grimmauld Place had been charmed to light this way since Sirius and his brother had been kids and couldn't just light them with their wands. The candle immediately flickered to life.

He turned the mirror around so Sanguini would be able to see where he was going and carefully moved closer to the nearest bookshelves. Many of the books did not have titles, or they were so old the titles had worn off long ago. Others had titles in languages Harry didn't know or couldn't read. Most of those titles that Harry could read were just as horrible as he had expected. As he walked around, he did recognize one or two—there was a copy of Moste Potent Potions, which Harry had become quite familiar with in second year, and A Guide to Medieval Sorcery, which Harry had looked at briefly the year before—but most of these seemed to be standard books that would be in anyone's collection.

Sanguini hummed in interest every now and then as he walked along the bookshelves, but he didn't seem to find anything interesting enough to point out to Harry. About halfway around the room, he did hiss softly and speak up at last.

"There's a rather nasty infestation of some sort of bug in these shelves. Move on, Harry, there's no need to deal with that tonight."

It wasn't until Harry reached the shelves on the other side of the window that Sanguini found anything worth pointing out, but when he did, he sounded a bit triumphant.

"In front of you, a little above eye-level, the dark blue book with silver writing. And nearer to your waist, the one that looks stained with blood."

Harry eyed both books warily. "You're sure they're all right?" He trusted Sirius's assurances that there were no cursed books, and he trusted Sanguini to keep him safe, but he'd cleaned enough areas of this house to know that it was always better the err on the side of caution.

"I don't believe they will harm you, no," Sanguini said.

Harry set the candle down on the windowsill and reached up to slip the first book of the shelf. Like all the other books in here, it was coated in a layer of dust, like the Muggle books he still had in his room back at the Dursleys'. Written on the cover in silver leaf were the words Unravelling the Web of Wizard Law

The other book, several shelves down, was indeed stained in something that Harry would have little trouble believing was blood. It, on the other hand, looked to be a book on Dark magical creatures. Harry flicked through it briefly; there was at least a whole chapter on vampires, and another on werewolves.

"Those should have more information than your school books," Sanguini said. "Although I would not be surprised if you could find either one in Hogwarts' library. The selection here is a bit disappointing; I had expected more..."

"Snuffles said his dad never actually read any of these," Harry said, but he was only half listening. His attention had been caught by another book on a shelf around his knee.

This one looked like it might be black or a colour so dark it might as well be black, and it too had silver writing on the spine. But this writing was the strangest Harry had ever seen; it seemed to swim in and out of his vision until he focused on it, and focusing on it for too long started to give him a headache.

He felt an overwhelming sense of curiosity, and he slipped it off the shelf without a second thought.

"Harry?" Sanguini murmured in the mirror.

Harry ignored him. He opened the book on his knee, slowly flipping through it. It was full of the same, swimming writing that only became discernible when he looked directly at it. This meant that much of the page was still shifting oddly even when he was looking at a part of it. 

Now he was definitely getting a headache. He shut the book again.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, holding the book up for Sanguini to see.

Sanguini shook his head, actually looking a bit confused. "I have never seen a book like that before."

That was not a reassuring sign. Still, Harry couldn't help but feel drawn to it. He set it on top of the other two books that Sanguini had picked out.

"Did you want to bother looking at the rest of these?" Harry asked, gesturing at the remaining shelves. After how long it had taken to find anything of interest, he wasn't terribly optimistic that there would be anything else, but Sanguini hadn't only wanted to look to find books Harry might be interested in.

"Yes, I would like—" He cut off, frowning at the mirror. "I think I hear footsteps..."

Harry stood up in alarm. "Is it on your end?"

Sanguini listened for another moment before shaking his head. "I don't think so. You should get your cloak."

Harry was already crossing the room before the words were out of his mouth. He grabbed his cloak and threw it over his shoulders. The door handle started jiggling as he made his way back to the window. He dove for the candle; he got it blown out and under the cloak with him just as the door opened.

And in stepped Kreacher, muttering under his breath like always. Harry cursed his luck and carefully got his small stack of books under the cover of the cloak as well.

"Who is that?" Sanguini asked. He looked less than impressed by the steady stream of unpleasantness coming out of Kreacher's mouth.

Harry glanced quickly over at Kreacher, but it seemed the charm on the mirror really did work the way it was supposed to, as he went on without any indication that he'd heard anything.

"Kreacher," Harry muttered. "The house elf I told you about."

He slowly stood up, careful to make as little noise as possible. He though he might be able to get away with being slightly less careful around Kreacher, who often did not realize others were in the room until someone said his name, but he didn't want to take the chance. Especially when there were now three open spaces in the shelf behind him that Kreacher might notice any second.

Kreacher started shuffling over to the desk. Harry tiptoed around the other side. He thought he might be able to squeak past Kreacher and slip out the door he'd left open.

He knew the moment that Kreacher noticed the missing books. His muttered speech became faster and angrier and he hurried around the desk as fast as Harry had ever seen him. Harry took the opportunity to dash over to the door and steal out into the hall.

Much as he would have liked to, Harry did not get a lot of opportunity to read any of the books over the next couple weeks. Mrs. Weasley still had them busy cleaning, although it looked like they might be reaching the end of it. Harry also did not want to pull them out while his friends were in the room, and not only because then he would have to explain how he'd gotten them. He'd also have to explain why, and he wasn't ready to share that secret yet. 

And he especially did not want to tell them about the book with shifting writing. He was surprised himself by how much it drew him to it, by how much in interested something deep inside of him. He was sure there was nothing malicious about this, but he could just imagine how alarmed Ron and Hermione would be if he mentioned it to them.

The fact was, Harry thought the book was rather harmless for all its oddities, and he could not imagine what it might have been doing in Sirius' father's study, among such books as Magick Most Evile andAn Argument for the Elimination of Muggles. The title, Riding the Wind, had made Harry think it might be a book about Quidditch until he spent a bit more time looking inside it. But what he had skimmed of one chapter seemed to be about the magic inherent in certain places, either because it had always been there or because wizards had lived there for a long time. Which certainly wasn't anything they learned about in school, but nothing about it screamed Dark Arts.

He didn't spend quite as much of his minuscule free time looking over the other two books, mostly because they, too, were not really what he had expected, and not for the better. The book on law Harry found extremely difficult to understand because of the technical language it was in; he would be much better served sitting down and wading through it than trying to read bits and pieces here and there when he had the time. The other did not seem to have much more information than Harry already had for his school book and the vampire essay Lupin had once assigned. It, too, would require a more in-depth study to glean the new information.

What those next two weeks did accomplish, however, was giving him the time he needed to decide that he wanted to start broaching the subject of rights for magical creatures to Hermione. Hermione would be the one most likely to understand, and she was a far better researcher than he was, and she had already delved deep into this area once before. He still didn't feel like he should reveal too much, but she might have an idea of where to start, and it would be a good way to see how receptive she'd be to the idea in the future.

And so it was that a couple days before the start of term, Harry found himself pulling Hermione aside after dinner and asking whether she wouldn't mind speaking to him privately for a few minutes.

"I...well, of course, Harry," Hermione said, casting a bewildered glance between him and Ron. "Are you sure you don't want to wait for Ron, though?"

Harry glanced over too. Mundungus had stayed for dinner again, and he was currently regaling Fred, George, and Ron with another tale of his less-than-scrupulous exploits. None of them seemed to have noticed that the table was beginning to empty for the night.

Harry shook his head and turned back to Hermione. "It's something Ron won't understand. I think it'll better if it's just us."

Hermione eyed him sceptically, but Harry had never known her to turn him down and this time was no different. "All right, Harry. Let's talk in your room; I think Ginny's gone back up to ours."

She led the way up the flights of stairs to the second floor where Harry and Ron were sharing a room. As soon as Harry had followed her inside, she closed the door and rounded on him.

"You haven't been fighting with Ron again!" she exclaimed, looking deeply unimpressed.

Harry wasn't sure if he should feel amused or annoyed that had been her first thought for why he didn't want to invite Ron along. "What? No, nothing like that. Besides, you'd know if I was."

He walked over to his bed and sat down. Hermione, still frowning sceptically, moved to sit on Ron's.

"I wanted to talk to you about S.P.E.W.," Harry said. It was probably the first time he had ever said the acronym properly, and Hermione's eyes lit up immediately.

"S.P.E.W.? Really, Harry?" Hermione sat up a little straighter and opened her mouth, ready to go on another tirade about elf rights. But a moment later, she shut it again and looked a little confused. "I didn't think you and Ron really cared for it much."

"Well, I'll bet Ron still doesn't," Harry said. He made that very clear any time Hermione started complaining about how Kreacher was being treated.

"What about you?"

"Well..." Harry trailed off. It wasn't that he suddenly thought SPEW was a great idea—he still thought it was a little too much effort put toward trying to change the wrong things—but he had a bit more appreciation for it now. But he also didn't want Hermione to start thinking that he was going to start handling out pamphlets and badges at school.

"Harry Potter, if you called me up here to convince me there's better things to worry about—"

"It's not that, Hermione, promise," Harry said, holding up his hands. "I'm just not sure how to put this..."

Mostly he didn't want to hurt her feelings. He must have betrayed some of that in the furtive look he gave her, because she immediately leaned back and stopped looking so aggressive.

"You can tell me, it's all right."

Harry nodded once, but it was several more moments before he spoke again. "It's just...look, I agree with you that house elves should be treated better. I can't be friends with Dobby and not think that. The stuff he used to do to himself just because he said something bad about the Malfoys, or because he was trying to protect me from him...well, you saw some of that last year. It was awful."

"It is awful!" Hermione said, nodding eagerly. "Punishing themselves to near death, just because—"

Harry held up a hand to stop her before she got too invested in her rant. He agreed, it was awful, but he wanted to go on before he lost his train of thought.

"Right, and I think that needs to change. But the other things, like paying...well, days off and sick days are good too, I guess—but if they really don't want it, then what are you going to do? You saw the elves at Hogwarts. They threw us out as soon as you started suggesting they might be wrong about things."

"They're just confused," Hermione said, although she was a bit quieter this time. "They don't know any other way to be. I still think Dobby is the best thing to happen to them; now they've seen how happy he is, I'm sure some of them will want to be free too!"

Harry shrugged awkwardly; he felt that any house elf who might want to be free because of Dobby was either off his rocker himself or otherwise would see how miserable Winky had been, but he kept this to himself. They were already severely off the topic he had wanted to bring up and annoying Hermione wouldn't help matters.

"I just think you might be better off working on the wizard side of it first. You know, convincing people to treat their house elves better, having them suggest to their own elves that they should take a day off if they're sick, that sort of thing. The elves are happy where they are. It's wizards like the Malfoys who're the problem..."

Hermione was frowning at him by this time, but it was more a thoughtful frown than an annoyed one. She said slowly, "You've put a lot of thought into this..."

Harry shrugged again. "I...yeah. I might've."

Hermione stared at him for another long moment. Then she sniffed and said, "Well, I think it's important that we start getting wizards to think about who cooks their food and cleans their homes, of course, but what's really important is that the elves want it. They just don't know that they should yet. It's more complicated than just getting wizards to treat them better."

Harry did not bother pointing out that what the house elves wanted was clearly not as important to Hermione or she wouldn't be making such a big deal out of all this.

"Right. Well. That's how I feel about it, anyway," he said lamely.

Hermione eyed him silently for a moment before she said kindly, "To be perfectly honest, it's more than I thought you felt about it at all."

"Yeah, well...I've been doing some thinking this summer."

He didn't miss the sharp look she gave him, but he ignored it.

"Anyway, this isn't really what I wanted to talk to you about. I mean, it kind of is. They're related, anyway..."

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Well, I know you did a lot of research last year about house elves and elf rights and that sort of thing," he said, trying to sound as casual as possible. "Did you happen to come across anything about other magical creatures while you were doing that?"

Her eyes narrowed at him. "Like what?"

"Well, like werewolves, or centaurs, or goblins—"

"Or vampires?"

Harry stared at her. She frowned right back.

"Or vampires," he said slowly.

Hermione's lips pursed into a thin line. She leaned forward on her elbows. "Harry, does this have anything to do with the vampire that was hanging around your neighbourhood at the beginning of the summer?"

Harry almost scowled at her. It seemed that his assessment of the letters that had come immediately after that had been right; someone (probably Kingsley, now that he thought about it, he was in the Order) had mentioned there had been a vampire in his neighbourhood and everyone had been concerned about it.

But Harry had told Kingsley that he hadn't seen anyone that day. It was a poor lie and he'd known that at the time, but he had that excuse. He could always pretend he didn't know what Hermione was talking about.

He chose to be honest instead. Hermione only knew about Lorcan, and only that one visit. He did not have to tell her about the others just because he admitted to this one that everyone knew about anyway.

"It might," he said finally.

Hermione now looked worried and anxious. "Harry, vampires are really dangerous! You know that; you've done the same work I have for class!"

"So are werewolves, but we still hang out with Professor Lupin," Harry snapped, unable to keep completely quiet on this. He couldn't defend them too much, or Hermione would know something was up, but he also couldn't just sit by while his friends were insulted. Vampires were supposed to be dangerous, yes, that was what all the books said, but he had never felt anything but safe while they visited him. Once it became clear they weren't going to attack him, at any rate.

"Yes, but that's different," Hermione said impatiently. "Werewolves only become murderous beasts once a month, and with Wolfsbane they can be quite harmless."

"Hermione, that vampire was only passing through," Harry said, biting back his anger. It would do not good to explode on Hermione now. "He didn't want to do anything to me. He didn't even know I lived around there."

"You didn't tell him!" Hermione gasped.

"I think he could've figured that one out on his own, funnily enough," Harry said dryly. "Seeing as I can't Apparate and all."

Hermione waved this aside. "Oh, but Harry, that's even worse, isn't it? What was he doing passing through a Muggle neighbourhood? Vampires are supposed to stay in the magical world. They can only enter a Muggle area if there's a large wizard presence—"

"From what it sounded like to me, wizards don't give them much choice," Harry said. And then before Hermione could speak up again, he quickly went on, "But that's why I wanted to know if you'd found anything about the rights of magical creatures. Because the picture he painted wasn't pretty."

Hermione bit her lip. "I don't know, Harry..."

Harry sighed in frustration. "Look, I know vampires are dangerous, Hermione. I really do. And I'm not just going around, believing everything I hear, either. But look at the werewolves. And the goblins; Lupin just said a couple weeks ago we've been denying them certain freedoms for centuries. And the house elves; they're mistreated too. Wizards don't exactly have a great track record on this."

Hermione was quiet for a moment. It looked as though she didn't know quite what to say to that. Finally she murmured, "Well, yes, I suppose that's true."

"I really just want to know, Hermione. They're people too, all of them—the goblins and werewolves and vampires and house elves—and it isn't fair to them to treat them like they're not. And then there's what Lupin said—that there's a serious risk of some of them going to Voldemort if they're offered a better deal. I just want to know why we're not the ones offering the better deal, why we're the ones who might be driving them away.

"And you'd be loads better at finding that out than I am. I'm good at the practical stuff, the spells and charms and blasting my way out of danger, but I'm rubbish at doing any real research."

Hermione smiled faintly and rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Harry, if you just put a bit more effort in, you'd be plenty good at it. You didn't have any problem last year looking up all those spells for the Third Task. It's the same as with your homework; I keep telling you and Ron, if you'd only try..."

"There's some homework that just isn't worth it," Harry said, thinking of the ridiculous assignments Trelawney liked to give out. "Anyway, that doesn't change the fact that you're the one who's really talented—"

"Are you asking me to look into laws on magical creatures for you?" Hermione interrupted. She still looked a bit exasperated, but she was blushing very lightly from the praise.

"Not...for me, exactly, but if you could point me in the right direction every now and then..."

"More like point you to the passages right under your nose," Hermione said, but she was still smiling as she said it. She sighed a moment later and went on, "You know I'll always try to help you however I can. If you're really worried that we might be driving some creatures to join You –Know-Who, then of course I'll help you. I've been meaning to dig deeper into the laws about house elves anyway."

Harry beamed at her. "Thanks, Hermione."

Someone knocked on the door. A moment later, it opened and Ron poked his head inside.

"Harry? You in here?" Ron looked around and his gaze stopped on Hermione. He looked a little bewildered. "Hey, Hermione. What are you guys doing up here?"

"I just wanted Hermione to look over that homework Snape gave us over the summer," Harry said before Hermione could open her mouth to answer. "You know, since school is only a couple days away now. No need to give him a reason to take off points straight away." 

Hermione sent him a sharp look, but she seemed willing to play along for now. "That's right. Why don't you get yours out too, Ron, we can go over them together."

It turned out that Ron had not finished his homework, and he and Hermione devolved into a round of friendly bickering about this as he scrambled to find what little he had managed to do. Harry let himself get swept up into it, teasing both of them equally and just enjoying being in the company of his friends again.

Chapter Text

The next few days were full of nasty surprises for Harry. 

The booklists finally came, as Dumbledore had finally found someone to take on the Defence Against the Dark Arts job, and with them came two shiny new prefect badges, one each for Ron and Hermione. Harry could not help but feel a tad resentful that it had been Ron to get the badge and not him, especially given how much Dumbledore had ignored him that summer. He pushed that feeling aside for Ron's sake, but he wasn't able to let it go completely.

Then, of course, they learned that Malfoy had been made a prefect as well. Hermione might have felt that they shouldn't abuse their power as prefects on the Gryffindor side, but Harry felt Ron was quite right in his take on the matter; better to get Malfoy's mates before he got the three of them for something.

Then there were the strange horses that had been pulling the carriages, which only he and Luna Lovegood seemed to be able to see. He did not try to convince his friends they were there once he had learned that the only other person to see them was the same girl who kept her wand behind her ear and read magazines with articles about Fudge baking goblins into pies. He was not so convinced himself that he had really seen them after that.

Then at dinner, they learned that not only had Hagrid not returned from the mission Dumbledore had set for him at the end of June, but also the identity of their new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher: a woman called Dolores Umbridge who had been at his hearing and had been one of the few who had not voted to clear him. Harry listened to considerably more of the speech than most of his classmates, although he was still glad for Hermione because he had not understood quite as much of it as she had. But what he had understood agreed with Hermione's assessment: Umbridge was there to give the Ministry a chance to interfere at Hogwarts.

He also found that it was surprisingly unpleasant to be back among his fellow students when a good number of them believed what the Prophet had been saying about him all summer—that he was delusional and only saying Voldemort had returned to get attention. Not once had this been more clear than that night, when Seamus had basically said as much. He had known Seamus for four years, and yet he still believed the lies and thought he was lying.

Harry went to bed that night feeling more miserable than he had since he thought he might be expelled.

The next day, if it was possible, only got worse. Their class schedule was miserable, packed full of every teacher he hated and Umbridge—and by the end of the day, he was quite cemented in his hatred of Umbridge as well. He had landed himself with a week's worth of detentions because she was taking the official Ministry line that Voldemort had not returned and he refused to stand for it. Even if he didn't feel passionately that people needed to know, that it would make things that much harder for Voldemort if everyone was expecting him, Harry was not going to insult Cedric's memory by pretending his death had been an unfortunate accident. It was out of the question.

And so it was that he spent the rest of his evenings that week in the most awful detentions he'd ever had, which resulted in not only horrible pain in his hand, but also in his becoming disastrously behind on his homework and his missing the tryouts for Gryffindor Keeper.

Then, as if one week hadn't been awful enough, he landed himself in another week of detentions during their second Monday with Umbridge. He supposed he should have been grateful that they were not any worse than they were—he could tolerate doing lines and cutting into his hand over and over if it meant getting one up on Umbridge—but thinking that did not make the long hours in Umbridge's office any less miserable, nor did it get his mounting pile of homework done.

The one shining beacon of light that second week had been Hermione's suggestion that they start learning Defence Against the Dark Arts on their own, and that he be the one to teach them. Harry did wonder if the suggestion had been borne out of Hermione's concern for his new interest in Dark creatures as much as it had her frustration with Umbridge's useless classes, but he found he didn't care much either way. He also wasn't sure just how much he liked the suggestion, but at least it was a nice distraction from how miserable his life was becoming otherwise.

On one hand, he didn't think he'd be much good at it. He rarely ever got through his various encounters with the Dark Arts with planning; usually he just stumbled through riding on dumb luck to the other side of things. And he nearly always had help of one sort of another—if it wasn't Ron and Hermione helping him, it was Fawkes or a centaur or a quirk of his wand. That was one thing Ron and Hermione didn't understand, that it was as much luck and thinking on one's feet as it was knowing the right spell. That wasn't something he thought he could teach.

On the other hand, if there was one subject he really, truly enjoyed, it was Defence Against the Dark Arts, and after two years of fairly decent classes, Umbridge's almost Muggle teaching methods were frustrating to no end. And he really did think he would enjoy looking up more spells and teaching the ones he already knew, especially when they would be doing it under Umbridge's nose. Over the next couple weeks, he even found himself dreaming up lesson plans and figuring out which spells had really helped him in which situations.

After two weeks, Hermione brought the idea up again, and Harry accepted. It helped that Hermione had finally begun saying Voldemort's name properly rather than hiding behind a lot of silly words like most everyone else.

These first few weeks were miserable for another reason as well—between his detentions, the dramatic increase in homework, and Quidditch practice, Harry had absolutely no time or energy to even jot down a few words to Sanguini. Nor could he entertain the idea of doing research outside what he needed for class, either in the library or through the books he had borrowed from Sirius's house. He desperately wanted to, but he just didn't have the free time. He had no idea how Hermione did it—and was still doing it, even now that their homework load had doubled. He was just glad that his request seemed to be keeping her from other pursuits, such as knitting hats and scarves for the Hogwarts house elves. She could still be found in the common room every so often directing a set of knitting needles and yarn, but Harry could only imagine how much more often it would be if she weren't in the library just as often.

But he couldn't help but feel he might be letting his new friend down in some way—even though he was sure Sanguini knew how hard O.W.L. year could be and he didn't know that Harry had decided on his own to do some serious research into wizard law. He just knew that Sanguini had to be lonely and he didn't want to be the reason for that.

It wasn't until the very end of September that Harry finally found enough time and energy to sit down with the journal and write. 

He excused himself from the common room a bit early with the excuse of wanting to get some much needed rest and made his way up to the fifth year dorm. He was the only one in the room when he got there, which suited him perfectly.

He crossed to his trunk, pulled out what he needed, and then climbed on the bed and pulled his curtains shut. A quick incantation, and his wand tip was alight, filling the small space with plenty of light to read and write by. He smiled a bit as he set his wand on the bed and pulled the journal onto his lap. It was very nice to be back at school where he could use magic when he liked.

Opening the journal revealed a bit of a surprise; Sanguini had not been as silent these past few weeks as he had been. He seemed to have picked up where Harry had left off in using it as more of an actual journal than a communication device.

Harry looked over the elegant writing eagerly, sure there would be more clues about what Voldemort was up to.

To his disappointment, however, there was very little about Voldemort, and much of what was there he already knew. Voldemort was still building up his army. He had begun reaching out to more magical creatures, but those negotiations would take time. Sanguini had heard nothing else about his plans; if he had others, he did not trust his vampire allies enough to tell them about it.

Otherwise, it reminded Harry of his own rambling about Grimmauld Place. There were a few places where Sanguini had only described what his day had been like, which was interesting, since Harry still had very little idea what he did one his own time. There were even more where he wrote about the various laws and regulations facing, not only vampires, but all the creatures Voldemort was interested in courting, leaving out just enough detail that Harry felt even more bitter that he had not had an opportunity to join Hermione in the library yet.

Not once, however, had he asked if Harry was still there. There were a couple times that he asked how Harry's day had gone or if he was enjoying his classes, but everything he wrote was with the confidence that Harry would be reading it, maybe not right away but sooner or later.

It was the same confidence Harry had written with at Grimmauld Place, and he appreciated it just as much as he thought Sanguini probably had.

Harry took a moment to read through everything, then he pulled out a quill and ink so he could start to return the favour. He would write down everything that had happened, from the strange horses, to Umbridge, to Umbridge's awful detentions, to Ron being made Keeper of the Gryffindor team. It would be good to have someone to vent to, someone new who didn't already know everything.

He decided not to include Hagrid's absence, worrying though it was. Hagrid was probably off on Order business, and Harry did not feel comfortable talking about that to anyone not already in the know.

He did, however, include Hermione's suggestion that they teach themselves Defence Against the Dark Arts as part of the larger spiel about Umbridge. He thought Sanguini would probably approve of the idea, but he did want to know what he thought about it.

It was almost an hour before he thought he might be done, an hour full of furious writing that nearly tore the page in more than one place. As he paused to consider whether there might be anything else worth mentioning (and to give his hand a break), elegant words that were not his own began scrawling across the page.

I am sorry to hear that your time at school has not been as enjoyable as you had hoped. Perhaps you have reached the bottom and it will only get better from here.

"Cheers," Harry wrote, grinning a bit. "Hello. You've been busy."

As have you, it seems. I am glad you found an opportunity to write. I was beginning to worry.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I barely had time to do my homework, forget anything else."

Yes, so I see here. The writing stopped for a moment, but that could hardly be all, so Harry waited eagerly for him to go on.

I had heard your new teacher was Dolores Umbridge, and her new title of High Inquisitor. There was an article in the paper.

"Yeah, Fudge forced her on us, so he'd have eyes here in Hogwarts, Hermione reckons." Harry frowned and tapped the end of his quill against his lips. That wasn't quite what he'd expected in reaction to his story about what Umbridge had been doing. "Do you know her?" he asked finally.

Oh yes. I am quite familiar with Miss Dolores Umbridge. She has a certain hatred for those of us you would consider to be "part-human." She was behind a certain piece of legislation which makes it exceedingly more difficult for werewolves to find a job, for instance.

Harry hand clenched tight around his quill. He had definitely not known that. As if he needed any more reasons to hate Umbridge. She might have even overtaken Snape as his most hated teacher by now.

"Has she done anything to you?" Harry wrote furiously. This time he did end up tearing through the parchment. He hardly noticed when the tear repaired itself before Sanguini started writing back.

The werewolf legislation was based on an earlier bill that was for us, yes.

"Well, now I have another thing to yell at her about and get myself into detention," Harry wrote, only mostly joking. If he had the opportunity to take her to task on this particular subject, he probably would. It was worth whatever awful phrase she might have him cut into his hand next. It had been worth it for Cedric and it would be worth it for this.

Harry, I appreciate the sentiment, but you mustn't give her a reason to attack you further. And you mustn't draw suspicion to yourself, especially with regards to us. We have been fighting Umbridge and others like her for years; we will be fine for now.

"Yeah, but, it's like Cedric said, it's not fair to you! And she's horrible. She a horrible, twisted, foul—"

I agree, but please do not get yourself in trouble with her for our sake.

Harry slammed his quill down on the parchment and crossed his arms, glaring at it so fiercely that he though the paper might catch on fire. This was something on which he had thought Sanguini would agree. That he too was arguing for exercising caution above all else, when he was the one hurt by Umbridge and the Ministry's stupid policies...

Now, Harry, you said you might be teaching some of your classmates Defence Against the Dark Arts?

Harry glared a bit more at this bit of writing that appeared. He did not particularly want to move on to another subject, not even this one. But he also did not want to possibly make Sanguini angry by insisting they stay on a topic he wasn't fond of.

So after a moment, Harry picked up his quill again and wrote back. "Yeah. Hermione isn't sure how many—she thinks I should teach anyone who wants to learn. But I don't think anyone except her and Ron are going to want to learn from me."

I think you might be surprised by how many might want to learn from you.

"That's what Hermione said. But the whole school thinks I'm barking; no one's going to want to spend any more time with me than they have too. Maybe the Weasleys, but I bet Fred and George already know most of this stuff."

They might think you're lying or delusional, but they are also not learning anything from Dolores Umbridge. And obviously, whether you are lying or not has nothing to do with whether you can perform certain spells.

"So you think we should do it?"

Absolutely. You can never know too much, and you can never be too prepared for what may lie outside the walls of the school.

Harry wrinkled his nose. "You sound like a Ravenclaw. Or Hermione."

From everything you have told me about your charming friend, I assure you, that is a great compliment.

"Well, I forgot to mention, she's been making hats for the house elves. She's obsessed with this idea that if only they had the chance to know, they'd see that they really want to be free and paid."

She might not be wrong about that. I don't know that freeing them without their desiring it is the way to go, however.

"That's what I told her! Ron, too. But she wouldn't listen."

People can be quite stubborn. Particularly those people who are used to being right.

Harry smiled at that. The sounded exactly like Hermione. He wouldn't be surprised if that was the case.

He leaned down to start writing again, but words started appearing on the page before he could.

Harry, I had something I wanted to ask you once I knew you were here. When is your next Hogsmeade weekend?

Harry definitely did not answer that right away. He was too busy staring at the parchment instead. Why on earth would he want to know that? Was he planning to come visit or something? But that was crazy; even if they did sell things like Blood Pops in Honeydukes, Harry doubted that most of the village would be happy to see him there. And he would risk running into Umbridge; Harry could only imagine how gleefully she might watch over their exploits in Hogsmeade, trying to catch someone breaking the rules when they weren't being as careful as the would in school.

And that was ignoring what Sanguini had been saying all this time, which was that no one would want to see him in the company of a vampire. That would get them both into trouble all on its own.

"Are you mad? You can't come see me in Hogsmeade!"

It will be fine, Harry. Do you think I've never been in Hogsmeade before? It would not be me to see you, in any case, unless Hogwarts has extended visiting hours to after dark this year?

"Yeah, but I can't be seen with any of you, remember? No vampires near the Saviour of the Wizarding World. You're the one who keeps telling me that."

There are ways around that.

"I'm not telling you."

Then I will find out through other means.

Harry slammed the journal shut in disgust. He did not want any vampire to risk getting in trouble because of him. And if it wasn't going to be Sanguini anyway, then what was the point of any of them being there? He didn't think he'd have time to talk to whoever it was if they came; Hermione wanted that to be the day that they met with whoever wanted to take lessons with him.

He gathered everything up again and shifted his hangings aside so he could go out and dump everything back in his trunk. It was probably better that he had ended their conversation when he had; in the time he had been writing, all but Ron had come up and gone to bed. Ron, he suspected, was a little more behind on his homework than he had been, so he was probably still down in the common room, trying to wheedle help out of Hermione.

Harry climbed back in his bed and frowned up at the ceiling. He could worry about vampires showing up in Hogsmeade when the time came. He didn't think he could talk Sanguini out of sending someone by Saturday. But at least now he was prepared and none of them would take him by surprise.

Now that he finally had his own homework situation under control, he really should find out how Hermione had been doing in her research and even start helping her. It wasn't anything she was particularly interested in that she was researching, after all. This was his project, and he really should be doing the work.

"I was wondering when you'd come ask," Hermione said when Harry brought it up the next day.

Harry winced and looked away. "I know. I'm sorry, Hermione. You know I would've said something before now if I'd had the time."

Hermione smiled and shook her head. "I know, Harry. It's all right. I'm glad you didn't put it off anymore, though; what I've found has actually been really interesting."

"So you were able to find something, then?" Harry said eagerly. He knew from experience that the library held all sorts of books on law and magical creatures and both, so he'd never thought that Hermione would have a hard time finding something. He just hadn't been sure how long it would take her to find anything she thought might be relevant.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of course I was, Harry."

"So what did you find out?"

Hermione eyed him thoughtfully for a long minute. Then she shook her head. "No, I think you ought to look some of it up yourself. I'll point you to some of the books I found that I think might be what you're looking for, all right?"

Harry grinned. They'd been lucky that Hermione had agreed to look over their homework and help them correct it this year. On something extra like this that she was only helping him with out of the goodness of her heart, he felt that was more than fair.

"No problem. Thanks, Hermione, I owe you one."

And so it was that Harry found himself in the library whenever he had free time over the next few weeks, surrounded by several large piles of books. Quite a lot of them had come from the restricted section, quite a lot more than Harry had really expected, and he had wondered Hermione could have gotten back there to find them.

"Oh, honestly, Harry," Hermione said when Harry wondered this aloud. "I asked Professor Grubbly-Plank for a note. I told her I wanted to do a little extra research into magic creatures, and she pulled out her quill to sign before I'd finished the sentence."

Truthfully, Harry had entertained the idea of asking Hagrid for a note himself, before they had arrived at school and discovered that Hagrid was not there. But he hadn't quite made the leap to asking theother Care of Magical Creatures teacher instead. He was quite glad Hermione, who was always far more clever than he was, had thought of it instead.

Hermione only pointed him to which books she had thought would be useful, so he had to muddle through them for the answers all on his own. It was not quite as difficult as he had thought it might be; although the language in many of the books was technical and dry, he had a fierce, burning hatred for the Ministry in his gut to drive him through it. He would do whatever it took to learn everything there was to know about the Ministry's laws and regulations regarding vampires (and other creatures if he came across them, vampires were hardly the only group the Ministry legislated against) so he could then figure out exactly what he wanted to do to fix things.

What he found was awful.

Most of the restrictions on where vampires were allowed to go and how they were tracked to make sure they weren't going anywhere else had been there for two centuries, ever since they had helped breach the Statute of Secrecy in 1749. The truly severe restrictions, such as the tracking vial, had not been put in place until the first time Voldemort had risen to power. The Ministry had begun passing more and more severe laws regarding all sorts of magical creatures in an attempt to keep them under control and away from Voldemort.

What was perhaps most frustrating about this, though, was that all the Ministry had done was make things worse. Far more creatures joined Voldemort in those years than might have if the Ministry had been more welcoming. They ended up driving many of them away, either to Voldemort or to simply not help anyone. Most of the vampires had taken this stance; the Ministry obviously did not want them and Voldemort would hardly be any better, so they had stepped back and helped no one. And the Ministry had punished them regardless.

In fact, it looked like most of the more severe laws had only been passed in the last fifty or so years, and most of those only in the last twenty. 

He found the law Sanguini had mentioned that Umbridge had supported and it made him see red. He could not see how any vampire could possibly get a job anywhere with that in place, unless he was able to walk in sunlight, like Lorcan, and was extremely good at hiding who he was. Lorcan only seemed to be safe because he might as well have been self-employed and most people wouldn't know what he was if they were just listening to his music.

He found a law that dictated where and when and how a vampire could find sustenance. Vampires were not allowed to feed in the Muggle world, period, and to be caught doing so would mean a lifetime stay in Azkaban (which could only be very long and miserable to a vampire). Vampires were not allowed to feed on anyone who wasn't willing, either (which Harry didn't think was so bad, although he did wonder how many wizards would be willing), and killing someone while feeding was also worth a lifetime sentence. They could feed on and kill animals if they liked, so long as that animal was not a magical creature of any kind. There were also blood banks they could go to, but they were run by wizards and had to register with the Ministry, who could choose to shut any of them down any time they chose.

Hermione had been right; vampires were not even supposed to wander into a Muggle area without a wizard escort or unless that area was also inhabited by wizards, such as Ottery St. Catchpole. (And Harry wondered now, had it been happenstance that the Ministry had activated their tracking devices when Lorcan happened to be in Surrey, or had someone tipped them off?) Vampires had to live in a magical area, and if they were moving into an area with a large Muggle or wizard presence, they had to alert the Ministry and have someone help them move in (he had seen that for himself in the Pensieve).

Another thing that became clear in his readings was that a lot of wizards were very uncomfortable with some vampires having wands (and a lot of them were uncomfortable with werewolves keeping their wands too, but it was much harder to justify taking them away when werewolves spent the majority of their time as humans). There had been numerous attempts to pass laws to keep any vampire from owning a wand, much the way laws had been passed against other creatures, like goblins and house elves. The current law seemed to be something of a compromise—a vampire could own a wand if he or she had once been a wizard, or had a wizard as a parent—and it didn't seem to be enforced unless the vampire in question was already causing trouble. 

This did not seem like much of a compromise to Harry, as much of the vampires' own magic had also been outlawed in an effort to combat Voldemort, and a lot of wizards did not keep much of their wizard magic after becoming vampires. And Harry had an uneasy feeling that once the Ministry finally realized that Voldemort was back, however, this would probably be one of the first laws they might look at making stricter.

Testing for vampires by using the Sunlight Charm was another thing that had only been allowed after Voldemort's first rise to power. Harry quickly turned to another page as soon as he saw that. It still infuriated him.

As he went through book after book, he did notice that vampires were hardly the only intelligent magical creatures to have ridiculously strict limitations passed on them. Just about every other creature was not allowed to use a wand, something which was the cause of numerous goblin riots through the centuries. Centaurs were only allowed to live in certain places, and these limits were far more strict as they were classified as "Beasts" by the Ministry and therefore their opinions on such matters were never considered officially. Werewolves, while not quite as heavily monitored or restricted by the Ministry as vampires, seemed to have been dragged along a similar path, and those wizards who had adamantly pushed for more were really only hindered by the fact that werewolves were only dangerous once a month. Veela, hags, banshees, merpeople, and giants all had laws of varying hindrance passed against them, depending on how Dark the Ministry thought them to be and how cooperative they were during the process (and how much the Ministry thought they might have been helping Voldemort).

The one thing that struck him most of all, as he went through book after book, was how unfair this all was. He had been aware that wizards didn't always get along with other races and that it often ended in conflict—if there was one thing that tended to pop up in History of Magic on a constant basis, it was goblin riots and wars. The usual History of Magic texts tended to portray wizards as always being in the right, and it looked like they also glossed over the nastier outcomes of the battles that had been fought throughout the ages. Looking over all these laws and regulations, Harry could not think of wizards as being in the right at all.

The other thing that struck him was just how difficult it was going to be to overturn any one of these regulations, much less all of them. The Ministry had made sure that it would be difficult, and many of them were either still popular with the general populous (or, more importantly, the Wizengamot) or no one was aware of them, and so half the struggle would be getting people to care. He had another sudden flash of sympathy for Hermione and resolved to actually wear his SPEW button occasionally from now on.

But he was also struck by just how much easier it might be to force the Ministry to change its ways. That might also take years, but maybe not as many, and as long as they won they would be able to change what laws they wanted.

He did not particularly want to go that route, but he did feel that it would take a little more than peaceful protest to get the Ministry to see that it was in the wrong and things needed to change. Maybe not all out war—not with Voldemort waiting in the wings to start his own war back up again—but something.

Then he felt a sudden burst of sympathy for Voldemort, of all people, and the purebloods whose cause he had taken up, who must have also felt it was the only way to get anyone to listen, and he knew that he had read far too much for the night.

Chapter Text

In twos and threes, the group around them took their leave. Harry watched them go with a burning feeling of satisfaction. Far more people had arrived in the Hog's Head than he could have ever anticipated, and while he was sure more than a few of them still did not believe his story (or did not want to, which he now felt was more likely), they had all signed Hermione's parchment and they had all agreed to learn Defence Against the Dark Arts from him. As nervous as he was, he was greatly looking forward to teaching them all right under Umbridge's nose.

But even though he was suddenly filled with a restless energy, and the other students were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, he hung back a bit under the pretext of watching everyone leave. The reason why was sitting in the most shadowed corner of the pub and had been since before he, Ron, and Hermione had all walked in an hour earlier.

Sanguini had said he would find a way to get a vampire presence in Hogsmeade that weekend, and he had succeeded in one Christopher Arkwright. Harry had recognized the man as soon as he stepped inside and looked around the pub; his long platinum blond plait and deep blue eyes were unmistakable...and unmistakably Malfoy. Along with his cool demeanour and the distain he had shown toward Harry's room during his brief visit in the summer, Harry had no trouble believing he was related to them.

He was uncertain about whether he particularly liked him yet—his younger brother Michael had been far more congenial—but he did appreciate what the man was doing to get information on Voldemort, and the mirror had been an awfully nice gift.

He was not sure he appreciated his following Sanguini's orders this time though; Christopher might be able to pretend exceptionally well that he was a wizard, having been one once upon a time, but he would still not be able to easily leave the pub and there was still a possibility of someone recognizing what he was. Harry thought he might have seen Ron look warily in his direction once or twice. Harry really did not want him to get in trouble because of him.

"Harry? Are you coming?"

Harry blinked and looked around. Ron was already at the doorway, but Hermione had stopped when she'd realized Harry wasn't with them, and she was the one looking back at him now. Harry thought he saw her glance over his shoulder at where Christopher was sitting, but it could have easily been a trick of the light.

"Oh, right. Sorry, I'll be right there." He grabbed his bottle of butterbeer and hurried to catch up with them. He did glance back once as they were leaving; Christopher had stood and pulled a heavy hood over his head to shadow his face.

"Well, I think that went quite well," Hermione said as they walked out into the bright sunlight.

"That Zacharias bloke's a wart," Ron muttered. He was glaring off up the street where they could still just see the figure of the blond Hufflepuff.

"I don't like him much either," admitted Hermione, "but he overheard me when I was talking to Ernie and Hannah at the Hufflepuff table and he seemed really interested in coming, so what could I say? But the more people the better really—I mean, Michael Corner and his friends wouldn't have come if he hadn't been going out with Ginny—"

Ron gagged and sprayed butterbeer down his front. Harry, who had been looking behind them again, hardly even noticed what Hermione had been saying in the first place.

"He's WHAT?!" said Ron, outraged, and he must have gone on to exclaim something else about how his kid sister shouldn't be dating and Michael Corner was obviously bad news, but Harry was no longer listening.

Christopher had stepped out of the pub behind them and was following them up the street. Well, following was perhaps too strong a word; he did not seem to actually be following them but rather just walking in the same direction they were. The shadow of his hood kept his face entirely out of the sunshine and every other bit of him was covered in dark robes or boots or gloves, so he seemed to be okay out in the bright daylight, even if he did look a bit suspicious.

Harry barely noticed when they first stopped in front of and then entered the quill shop, and he only stopped checking behind them when he heard his name.

"But," Ron was saying, sounding completely flabbergasted, "I thought Ginny fancied Harry!"

Hermione looked at him pityingly and shook her head.

"Ginny used to fancy Harry, but she gave up on him months ago. Not that she doesn't like you, of course," she added kindly to Harry while she examined a handsome black-and-gold quill.

Harry, who really could not care less about this conversation and only wanted to know what it was Christopher might be up to, was about to just wave that off, except that it did make sense of something he had not really registered until now.

"Is that why she talks now?" he asked Hermione. "She never used to talk in front of me."

"Exactly." Hermione spent another moment examining the quill. "Yes, I think I'll have this one..."

Hermione walked up to the counter to hand over the money for the quill, Ron still breathing down her neck. Satisfied with the answer to his question, Harry looked back toward the door just in time to see Christopher walk right on past it and on down the street.

Now Harry was immensely curious as to what he was doing here. He had only assumed Christopher had come because Sanguini had asked him to, probably to watch over him or to discreetly deliver a message, but if that were the case, wouldn't he stick around wherever Harry happened to be? Or maybe he had initially come because of him, but now had something else he wanted or needed to do.

Harry knew he should probably leave the vampire to go about his business in peace, but he knew he'd never stop wondering until he found out. So when Hermione finally began to lead the way out of the shop, Harry scrambled for an excuse to run off on his own.

"Hey, er, I've just remembered, I was going to, er..." Harry trailed off, scrabbling for any sort of inspiration he could find for an excuse. His mind wandered back to the most recent conversational topic and he was struck with inspiration. "I was, er, going to see if I couldn't catch up with Cho and...you know..."

He shrugged, trying to look as awkward as possible. It wasn't difficult. His stomach still did flip-flops whenever he thought about Cho, and the idea of actually trying to find her and ask her to hang out made him as nervous now as it had the previous year. Maybe even more so; she had no reason to like him after what had happened in June, but somehow she did.

Hermione smiled slyly; of course, she would have figured it out immediately. Ron, however, distracted as he was by his muttered tirade about Ginny and Michael Corner, only looked confused by why this seemed to mean Harry wanted to go off on his own.

"We'll come with you, then," he said, moving to follow Harry. "I like her. She can hang out with us if she wants."

Hermione sent him a scathing look. "Ron, I really think Harry wants to go find Cho on his own."

"Huh? You don't think she might still be mad about the Quidditch thing? That was ages ago..."

Hermione rolled her eyes and gave Harry an exasperated smile. "Go on. I'll take care of Ron."

"Thanks," Harry said. He waved to both of them and dashed off down the street in the direction he though Christopher must have gone.

He did not have to look for very long. As soon as he reached Honeydukes, Christopher walked out of the store right in front of him, accompanied by Draco Malfoy.

Alarmed, Harry quickly ducked inside. He could watch their progress through the front windows where they probably wouldn't see him. He did not really care if Christopher saw him, or even if he tried to come up to him as long as it was under the pretext that they were strangers. Malfoy, on the other hand, was not someone he was in the mood to deal with today.

Luckily, Christopher and Malfoy were far too deep in conversation for either one of them to have noticed him. Harry watched them make their way up the street in the direction of Hogwarts. Whatever Christopher was saying seemed to be extremely interesting to Malfoy, who was listening to him with a look on his face that was normally reserved solely for Professor Snape.

He kept watching until they were far enough away that it wouldn't look like he was following them if they happened to glance back down the street. Then he stepped out of the shop and started walking after them.

To his surprise, the two of them turned into the Three Broomsticks. Apparently, this had been an arranged meeting. Harry hurried to catch up with them.

The Three Broomsticks was bright and busy with students and residents like it always was, a far cry from the dreary scene of the Hog's Head. Harry wondered for a brief moment if maybe they should have actually held their meeting here, since even though it was packed, they would have blended in much better—but it was also very true that it would have been much easier to be overheard in here. In fact, now he was counting on it.

Harry quickly ordered another butterbeer and a sandwich from the bar so he would have some excuse of being here. While he waited, he looked around for the two Malfoys. They had found themselves a nice, shadowy corner as far from the windows as possible, although Chistopher had only pushed his hood back enough to expose his face and not taken it off completely. When Harry got his food, he made his way through the crowd of students and found a seat close enough that he could listen in but not be noticed right away.

"—dreadful woman, really, I wouldn't mind being rid of her," Malfoy was saying. "And of course, we aren't learning anything. ‘The Case for Non-Offensive Responses to Magical Attack'..." He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "It's always been a waste of time, that class, but at least the other teachers let us use magic."

Harry tried very hard not to stare. He definitely had not thought that even Malfoy might hate Umbridge. He certainly hadn't seemed to back at school. 

On the other hand, Lucius Malfoy was very well respected in the Ministry (even though Fudge had been told he was a Death Eater, Harry thought angrily) and neither he nor Draco probably wanted to bring attention to themselves right now, not with Voldemort lying low and gathering his forces in secret. It was probably wiser for him to act as though he actually enjoyed having Umbridge as their teacher.

"Then again, she does seem to have some sort of vendetta against Potter," Malfoy went on gleefully, and Harry looked away quickly before his own sneer could become too obvious. "So she's not all bad."

"A teacher who won't allow you to do magic," Christopher murmured. He sounded awed and a bit disgusted. Harry wondered suddenly if he had ever gone to Hogwarts. "Whatever for? That can't possibly be allowed."

"Father reckons it's because the Minister is afraid of Dumbledore, that he thinks Dumbledore turning us into a private army," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. 

"Well, the Minister has always been rather daft. And paranoid," Christopher added, wrinkling his own nose. "But of course, Dumbledore must know she is not allowing you to learn magic in her class."

There was a certain distain in the way he say the word "she" that almost made listening to Malfoy sneer at Dumbeldore worth it.

"Dumbledore's probably got other things on his mind."

"Harry!"

Harry jumped and looked around. Thankfully the urgent whisper hadn't been loud enough to alert anyone else.

Hermione and Ron rushed over and slid into the open seats at Harry's table. Harry gestured quickly for them to keep their voices down before either of them could open their mouths.

"Harry, I thought you were going to meet Cho," Hermione hissed, leaning across the table.

"Plans change," Harry murmured. He pointed over to the nearby table where Malfoy and Christopher sat. Hermione looked a bit startled when she looked over; Ron, however, just looked grim.

"I told Hermione I thought I saw you running in here after Malfoy," Ron said, frowning at them.

"Isn't that the vampire who was in the Hog's Head?" Hermione asked. Now she was frowning too, although she was spending equal time glancing between the two Malfoy and Harry. "What's he doing with Malfoy?"

"Dunno," Harry said, avoiding Hermione's gaze. He knew there might be some awkward questions in his future, and he was going to put them off as long as possible. "They've mostly talked about classes so far."

"Classes?" Hermione said, bewildered.

"He doesn't like Umbridge much either," Harry said.

They all exchanged looks of amazement and disbelief.

"I suppose that's why that vampire's so friendly with him, then," Hermione said. She glanced at Harry. "She hasn't exactly been on good terms with them, has she?"

"I don't like it," Ron said, frowning over at Christopher. "That can't be all he's interested in. You don't reckon he knows Malfoy's father's close mates with You-Know-Who?"

"Vampires weren't interested in helping Voldemort last time, Ron," Hermione said disapprovingly.

"Most vampires weren't," Ron muttered. "Trust me, I've heard plenty of stories about the ones who did. Maybe he's one of them."

"I seriously doubt that a vampire interested in helping Voldemort would have to go through Malfoy of all people," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

Harry tuned out of what was shaping up to be yet another round of bickering and focused on Christopher and Malfoy again. They had moved on to another topic of conversation and which involved Christopher doing most of the talking again. Harry made out the words "Michael" and "Thomas" and judging by the smirk on Malfoy's face, it probably had something to do with one brother's antics against the other.

Of course, he knew exactly why Christopher was reaching out to Malfoy instead of going directly to Voldemort or going through, say, Lucius Malfoy instead (although Harry was sure he was on equally cordial terms with the elder Malfoy). And after watching the two of them interact, he was somewhat glad that he was doing so. 

Christopher and his family had been miserable the first time Harry had seen them, although they had done their best not to seem that way. Looking at him now, Harry was sure that they had really only been looking for a good excuse to get back into contact with their wizard relatives, that this had been something they had desired for years. Harry did wish it didn't have to come with the cost of pretending to help Voldemort, and that the wizarding relatives were not the Malfoys, but if they were happy then it couldn't be all bad.

"Do you know why that vampire was with Malfoy?" Hermione asked him privately later that day. The way she frowned at him made Harry sure she suspected something, but as honest as he had been with her so far, that was the most honest he would allow himself to be.

He did think he might be able to hint at things and let Hermione come to her own conclusions, though. He shrugged and answered, "No idea. They kind of looked alike though, didn't they?"

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "You don't think they could be related?"

"I don't see why not. There's vampires who used to be wizards." Harry grinned a little and added, "Bet Malfoy wouldn't admit it though. They're not exactly purebloods, are they?"

"It would explain why he'd be talking to Malfoy instead of his father, I suppose. I mean, if he really is interested in joining Voldemort...Although he probably would be talking to his father too..."

Harry shrugged. "I dunno, they weren't exactly interested last time. I've found that much out." He hadn't had a lot of time to go through the books Hermione had put him on to yet, but that was one thing had had happened to come across already.

This had, apparently, been the wrong thing to say, because Hermione's eyes widened for a second and then narrowed at him again. "You wouldn't happen to know why he was watching us in the Hog's Head either, would you?"

Harry shook his head. He hated lying to his friends, but he really didn't think they needed to know about this. "No idea. Really, Hermione, I've never seen him before. The vampire who showed up in my neighbourhood definitely didn't look like Malfoy; I remember that much about him."

When Hermione kept on frowning about this, Harry added, "He can't have been there because of me, though, or he would have been waiting in the Three Broomsticks, right? He couldn't have known we were going somewhere else today. He probably just went there to get a drink before meeting Malfoy; I mean, he didn't exactly stick out there."

And while Hermione did not look like she entirely believed this, she at least looked like she might let it pass without asking any more questions.

"Hmm, I suppose so..." Hermione sighed and shook her head. "I wonder why they're so interested in you all of a sudden."

Harry shrugged and grinned back at her. "Hazard of being me, I guess. Can't just live a quiet life."

To Harry's dismay, Malfoy was soon proved correct—Umbridge did indeed seem to have some sort of vendetta against him. On Monday morning, he and Ron descended the stairs to the Gryffindor common room to find that a new Educational Decree had been posted over night—one that banned all student groups, teams, and organizations that had not received Umbridge's permission to exist. This not only included their secret Defence group, but also, as Angelina pointed out soon after, the House Quidditch teams.

Harry determinedly held his temper around Umbridge, even though he had to see her in Potions as well as in her own class, but by the end of the day, Angelina had not yet received permission to reform the team.

It was clear that Umbridge knew all about their Defence group and it was also clear how she had found out. There had been people other people in the pub other than their group of students and Christopher (although Ron had, of course, immediately blamed Christopher and Malfoy, since even if Malfoy really didn't like Umbridge much, he'd love to get one over on Harry. Harry, who thought it rather unlikely that Christopher would have mentioned it to him in the first place, quietly disagreed.) a fact which was then confirmed that night when Sirius fire-called them.

It did not particularly matter to Harry that Umbridge knew about it, except that they would have to be considerably more careful when they went on to gather together anyway, and also that it had gotten their Quidditch team briefly disbanded (Angelina quickly appealed to Professor McGonagall, and then Dumbledore through her, who then got Umbridge to allow them to reform). In fact, there was a part of him that was glad she did know; she would now be constantly worried, deep down, that what the Ministry feared would be coming true, and as long as they were careful, she had no way to stop them.

And they soon had the most perfect location they could have ever asked for. It was a challenge, trying to come up with a secret place for twenty-eight people to gather and practise hexes and jinxes, but Dobby had miraculously provided the solution: a room on the seventh floor that changed according to the users' whims called the Room of Requirement. The room that appeared when they called on it for their Defence group had everything they could have ever hoped for, and Harry couldn't help but wonder what else might be able to do.



Memories of their first meeting and anticipation for their second buoyed him throughout the week and the weekend and his still increasing load of homework and Quidditch practices. When Monday came again, he even managed to keep himself from sinking into the bad mood he had slowly come to expect from Mondays.

Dinner came, and it was fairly uneventful. Over the weekend, Harry had finally taken to copying Hermione by bringing a book to read to the table with him, because he was finding it more and more difficult to find enough free time to go to the library to research. Ron grumbled about this a bit, but when Harry reminded him of just how much homework he had to do, he quickly shut up about it. And besides, Harry was happy to engage in light conversation while he read; he didn't completely shut out the world like Hermione usually did.

But as they were leaving dinner, they had the unfortunate timing of heading out the great doors just after Draco Malfoy and a small group of his Slytherin friends. The three of them stepped out just in time to catch the end of what Malfoy had been saying.

"—been wondering if it's even safe having him in the same school. With brains as addled as his, who knows when he might just turn on us all because he got a bad grade on something? We don't know what happened in that maze; my bet is, he had something to do with Diggory's death—"

Harry saw red. His wand was in his hand before he realized he was even reaching for it and Malfoy's name ripped itself from his throat. Malfoy turned around, staring at him in shock. He raised his wand.

"Harry, no!" Hermione shrieked. Ron grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms to his sides.

"It's not worth it, mate," Ron hissed in his ear, though he sounded just as murderous as Harry felt. "He's trying to rile you up. He'll take points."

Logically, Harry knew this was true. Malfoy was only being his usual horrible self, and he had not even known Harry had been behind him.

But Harry was no longer thinking logically. Malfoy had insulted Cedric's memory far more than anyone else thus far. He knew perfectly well how Cedric had been killed, and he had the audacity to try to spread such awful lies about it just to get to Harry.

Well, it had gotten to him. And now he was going to hex Malfoy to oblivion.

Malfoy seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. As soon as he got over his shock, a nasty smirk curled his lips and his eyes lit up maliciously.

"Go on, Potter," Malfoy said quietly, pulling out his own wand. "Going to curse me like you did your pal Diggory?"

"Get a life, Malfoy," Ron growled. His grip on Harry tightened, though it was probably because of his own anger as it was anything else. Harry did not care. He could still move his wrist.

"Furnunculus!" Harry hissed, just as Malfoy raised his wand and said, "Tarantallegra!"

The two spells collided in midair and ricocheted off each other, sending them both flying off in random directions. Hermione hastily called up a shield charm to block the one that went flying in their direction, but Harry was already moving his wand for another spell.

"Densuageo!" he exclaimed, but Malfoy dodged out of the way and it collided harmlessly with the stone behind him.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

"Protego!" Hermione exclaimed again, this time blocking Malfoy's spell before it could go anywhere. 

But Harry's wand was moving again. His scar suddenly seared painfully, but an odd calm had come over him and his mouth opened to hiss out another spell.

"Protego!" Hermione said for a third time, sounding a little panicked as she blocked Harry's spell. Harry awkwardly ducked out of the way of the rebounding jet of light, managing to knock himself free of Ron's grip. 

Then before either of them could open their mouths again, Hermione silenced both of them with two well placed spells. Harry turned on her, angry and betrayed, but he could not even yell at her in this state. Malfoy, however, had frozen and was looking at him oddly; he did not even seem to notice that he had been silenced.

"That's enough, both of you!" she exclaimed. She looked more furious than Harry had seen her in months. Harry was reminded painfully of Mrs. Weasley when she ended up in a towering temper. "Harry, you're playing right into his hands! Malfoy, you ought to know better, you're a prefect for Merlin's—"

"What is going on out here?"

All of them turned around in alarm. Professor McGonagall had just stepped out of the Great Hall and she was now surveying them with narrowed eyes, her nostrils flaring slightly the way they only did when she was truly furious.

Harry almost breathed a sigh of relief. There were far worse people who could have walked through that door. At least he knew that Professor McGonagall, while she might be furious with them, would be fair and would not allow Malfoy to walk away scot free when he had been waving his wand about as much as he had. Of course, this did not help the sinking feeling he felt in his stomach when her gaze lingered on him just a little too long.

"I'm sorry, Professor, we tried to stop them—"

"Thank you, Miss Granger, that will do," said Professor McGonagall. She had not stopped looking between the two of them, her expression growing colder by the second. "Potter, Malfoy, to my office.Now."

She strode between them and headed straight for the stairs, not giving either of them a second glance. Harry looked back at his friends before he moved to follow; both of them were looking at him oddly, although Hermione was also looking considerably more worried than Ron. Malfoy did not begin to move until he did, but he was still wearing the same odd look that was reflected in his friends' faces.

As Harry climbed the stairs, he thought back to what had happened, in case there might be a clue there as to why everyone was now staring at him like he'd grown an extra head. He did not remember much about what had happened right before Hermione had silenced them; he thought he had thrown another spell—no, he must have, because he'd had to duck out of the way when Hermione had blocked it—but he could not remember what it was.

He reached up to rub at his scar. It was aching slightly, but he could not remember when it had started to hurt. Perhaps it was when he had cast the spell he also did not remember?

Malfoy glanced at him again as they stepped into Professor McGonagall's office, but he still only seemed curious. Any bit of malicious intent he might have had earlier was gone now.

Professor McGonagall sat behind her desk and waved her wand toward the door. It swung shut and locked itself.

"Sit," she said, jabbing his wand toward the two chairs sitting in front of her desk.

Harry finally felt the full awful realization of what had happened swell over him as slowly sat in the chair on the left. Malfoy sat next to him, looking considerably less concerned. At least he had finally stopped staring.

Professor McGonagall waved her wand again, flicking it once toward each of them. Harry could only assume this was to remove the Silencing Spells, as she then set her wand on her desk and looked at each off them as she said, "Dueling in the Entrance Hall! With absolutely no regard for your fellow students and their safety! Explain yourselves."

Malfoy, for once, did not immediately speak up to twist the facts and lay the blame on Harry. Perhaps he thought he could not get away with it now as he might have with Professor Snape.

Harry also did not speak up right away. He was trying to find a way to put this that did not sound as stupid as it did in his head and also did not accuse Malfoy's father of being a Death Eater, because while everyone in the room knew the truth of that, he did not think any of them would actually admit it for various reasons.

"He was having a go at Cedric," Harry finally muttered, forcing himself not to glare at Malfoy as he said it. It still sounded stupid, and he knew Professor McGonagall would wonder why that meant he'd felt he had to resort to hexes.

"I was not having a go at him—"

"You said there was a good chance I was the one who killed him," Harry snarled, cutting him off. "You know as well as I do what happened to him."

Malfoy sneered at him. "I haven't any idea what happened to him, and I'm not nutty enough to believe you."

"That is enough," interrupted Professor McGonagall, looking disgusted with both of them. "Mr. Potter, sit down. Do not make this worse on yourself."

Harry reluctantly sat down again. He was not about to hex Malfoy—or do anything else to him—right in front of Professor McGonagall, but it was very difficult to just sit still while Malfoy insulted him and people he cared about.

"Now," McGonagall said, obviously trying to rein in her own temper, "I do not care if Malfoy insulted every friend you have and every relative you have ever known, Potter. There is no excuse for your behaviour tonight. I have warned you about losing your temper in the past, regarding this very matter. I expected you to take what I said to heart.

"And as for you, Malfoy," she went on, turning her gaze on Malfoy, who very quickly lost the look of glee that had been forming on his face, "you are a prefect. If I were your Head of House, I would relieve you of your badge and give it to someone who can behave himself. And," she added, looking deeply disgusted, "your accusations, weak as they may be, are despicable and disrespectful. Cedric Diggory is no longer with us. You would do well to remember that."

Malfoy looked back at her stonily, but at least he didn't sneer and Harry thought it was more in response to being told he did not deserve to be a prefect than to being chastised for disrespecting Cedric.

Professor McGonagall took in a deep breath through her nose and Harry wondered just how much effort it was taking her not to yell at them. He thought he found her to be scarier this way. He had somewhat come to expect the yelling.

"I am giving you both detention and I will be taking fifty points each from Gryffindor and Slytherin. Do not look at me that way, Malfoy, you're lucky it's only one detention. You will both meet me in the Entrance Hall at nine o'clock Saturday morning. I will give you the details of your detention then."

Harry gaped at her. Ignoring that it sounded as though she intended them to do the detention together—which was a monumentally stupid idea, they'd end up killing each other for sure—Quidditch season was fast approaching and Angelina was sure to expect them to be able to practise on Saturday. Malfoy seemed to have noticed this too; he was almost out of his chair in disbelief.

"Professor, we've got Quidditch practise Saturday—"

"Which you will both be missing out on," Professor McGonagall said coldly. For a moment, her eyes lingered on Harry in disappointment. Harry looked away. He had already missed an awful lot of Quidditch practices because of detentions this year and he knew McGonagall was not happy he would be missing another one, even if it was she who was handing out the detention. It only showed just how disappointed with him she was this time.

"As for tonight," Professor McGonagall went on before Malfoy could protest again, "you will both head straight to your dormitories and you will stay there until breakfast tomorrow morning, or it will mean more points and another detention."

She waved her wand and Harry heard a small click from behind them. He turned around in his seat; the door had unlocked and swung open.

"Nine o'clock, Saturday morning," she repeated with an air of finality.

Malfoy pushed himself to his feet and strode out the door almost before she had finished speaking. Harry followed with considerably less enthusiasm. He was not looking forward to what was sure to follow when he reached the Gryffindor common room.

"And Potter," McGonagall said just as he reached the door. Harry paused and looked back around; her voice was no longer icy and held a somewhat concerned quality he had heard only once or twice before.

"Do keep in mind that you do not have to cope with this loss all alone," she said, looking slightly confused as to why she felt she needed to say it at all, but at least it was out there. 

Harry nodded stiffly and closed the door as he left. He knew no one would understand why Cedric's death had and still affected him so much, and he was not going to explain it either. He would just have to watch his temper even more carefully from now on.

But as he turned to head down the hall that would take him upstairs, he found his way blocked by none other than Malfoy, who stood just outside the door with his arms crossed. The Slytherin had not stomped off to the dungeons after leaving McGonagall's office as Harry had thought he would but had, instead, waited for him to emerge from the office as well to confront him.

"Get lost, Malfoy," Harry snarled, intending to just step around him. He was not going to get into another fight just after they'd received detention for the first one, especially when they were still right outside McGonagall's office.

But Malfoy moved with him, so he was still in Harry's way.

"What are you playing at?" he demanded in a low voice.

Harry just stared at him. "What are you on about? I got a detention, same as you."

"Oh, don't make like you're stupid, Potter, you know what I'm talking about," Malfoy sneered.

But Harry continued to stare at him. Racking his brain for anything that might have gotten Malfoy so riled up, the only thing he could think of was the spell he had cast that he did not remember. And while that unnerved him, too, he had no idea what it could have been to make Malfoy want to confront him like this.

"Sorry to disappoint you, then," Harry said, sneering back at him. Even if he had known what Malfoy was talking about, he wouldn't have said anything about it to him anyway. "Now get out of the way."

Malfoy did not move, but he did not try to stop Harry again when Harry shoved past him. Harry glanced back once when he reached the end of the hall; Malfoy was still standing there in front of McGonagall's office, watching him leave. As soon as he noticed Harry looking back at him, he turned on his heel and stalked back toward the stairs to the ground floor in the other direction. Harry frowned at him for a moment before he continued on own long trek up to Gryffindor Tower.

He did not know quite what to expect when he stepped through the portrait hole, but he was very glad to find that Ron and Hermione were waiting for him in their favourite chairs by the fire. He was not quite as thrilled to see that neither of them smiled at him as he walked over and in fact both were looking rather grim in their own ways.

"How'd it go?" Ron asked once Harry was close enough that they could speak without too much risk of being overheard.

"Detention," Harry said as he dropped his bag and sank into a chair. "Both of us, at nine on Saturday morning. And we both got about a hundred points docked."

Ron whistled softly. "Blimey, Angelina'll go round the twist when she hears you're missing another practice."

"Yeah, I know," Harry said; that was definitely not a conversation he was looking forward to. "But she can't say much; McGonagall's the one who set the detention."

He started pulling out his books and parchment so he could get started on his homework.

"You really shouldn't have done it, Harry," Hermione said softly. She was looking at him oddly, like she had back in the Entrance Hall.

Harry just grunted and opened his Potions book. He agreed with her, of course—he really shouldn't have lost his temper so badly—but he was still feeling rather like she shouldn't have gotten in the middle of their duel like she had.

"Yeah, what set you off like that in the first place?" Ron asked after a moment.

Harry did not look at him. He was sure he would end up glaring if he did. "You heard what he said about Cedric."

"Yeah, but you know it's just Malfoy being Malfoy," Ron said, sounding bewildered. "He's always been a little snot."

"And he's not exactly going to admit he knows the truth, is he?" Hermione chimed in quietly. "Not when his father stands so much to gain while everyone thinks you're mad for saying Voldemort's returned. Oh, get a hold of yourself, Ron."

"Look, I know I shouldn't have done it, all right?" Harry muttered, turning a page hard enough to tear it half out of the book. "It was stupid, and we were lucky it was McGonagall who caught us, and duelling Malfoy won't convince anyone Cedric was murdered by a madman. Well, other then them thinking that madman was me after all," he added bitterly. He was sure the story of what had happened would spread like wildfire, and he was also sure most of the school would end up hearing an expanded, elaborate version that would not show him in a good light. "I've already heard enough from McGonagall tonight, so leave it alone, would you?"

Hermione made a quiet sound and bit her lip. Harry glared at her, although he immediately felt sorry about it.

"What?" he asked, careful to keep his voice even this time.

"Well, it's just that...Ron and I, we were wondering..."

Harry suddenly had a bad feeling about where this was going, but he tried to remain civil anyway. "What?"

"Well, it's sounded like..." Hermione frowned and leaned in close so she could speak as quietly as possible, so as not to be overheard. "It sounded like that last spell you used might have been in Parseltongue."

Harry's mouth went dry, and he felt like he was doing an awful lot of staring tonight. "What?" he said for a third time.

This was obviously not the reaction the two of them had been expecting. They glanced at each other and then back at Harry. Hermione's frown had deepened, as though she thought he was pretending not to know what she was talking about, and Ron looked a little disconcerted.

"You know, Parseltongue? Snake language?" he said quietly.

"I know what it is, Ron, I've only known I can speak it for three years now," Harry said irritably. "What d'you mean it sounded like Parseltongue?"

"Don't you remember?" Hermione asked. She and Ron glanced at each other again.

Harry paused, but there was really no other way to go about this. He needed to know what had happened. "Let's say I don't," he said slowly.

"Well, you got this look on your face like...like you might really murder Malfoy," Hermione said quietly, looking a bit disconcerted now herself. "You were really calm all of a sudden...and then you opened your mouth and—"

"It sounded awful," Ron interjected. "Like you were having a fit or something. And then the spell came out...Lucky Hermione was able to stop it in time. Who knows what it might've done..."

Harry let his head fall into his hands. His scar was aching again. He wished it would stop.

"You really don't remember any of this?" Ron asked warily.

He had a very good reason to be nervous. The last time there had been a student who didn't remember short periods of time, she had been Ron's sister, and she had been possessed by a teenage Voldemort and forced to sic a basilisk on Muggleborns. He felt fairly confident that was not the case this time, if only because it had been for such a short period of time and he had not touched anything that might have once belonged to Voldemort, but the steady ache in his scar did not reassure him.

"We thought maybe you'd found a book in the library that had spells in Parseltongue," Hermione said, although she did not sound like she really believed this. Harry couldn't blame her. Could Parseltongue even be written down?

"I don't remember firing that spell," Harry admitted at last. "Everything right before and after is there, but that part is a little fuzzy..."

Hermione and Ron exchanged worried looks again. Harry wished they would stop doing that.

"You don't think it's him?" Ron said.

"It can't be," Harry said, but he did not feel as confident as he tried to sound. "He's got his own body now, and I haven't seen anything of his lying around lately, have you?"

"It does seem unlikely," said Hermione, but she also did not sound very sure of herself. "Are you sure you've never seen spells meant for Parselmouths before, Harry? You've been doing plenty of research lately..."

Harry gave her a sharp look, but thankfully it seemed that was all she was going to say on the subject. "I didn't even know you could use magic in Parseltongue before now," he said quietly.

"Neither did I. I suppose it wouldn't be in any books outside the Restricted Section, though, would it? Parseltongue isn't a very highly thought of ability..."

"Gee, I wonder why," Harry muttered.

Hermione frowned at him. "It's a perfectly fine ability on it's own, Harry, it's just been given a bad reputation. There's nothing inherently Dark about being able to talk to snakes."

"Yeah, but everyone's going to think I'm the next Voldemort or something. They already all think I'm barking, so how's it going to sound when they hear I attacked Malfoy with a spell in Parseltongue?" Something about the events of earlier in the evening finally clicked as he said this, and he groaned, burying his face further into his hands. "That's what he was on about."

"Who?" Ron asked. He had been mercifully quiet for most of this exchange, but Harry thought it likely he was really just too nervous to say anything. He was one of those who felt that Parseltongue had rightly earned its less than stellar reputation, after all.

"Malfoy. He cornered me after we left McGonagall's office. He didn't do anything!" Harry said quickly when both Ron and Hermione had shifted in alarm. "He wanted to know ‘what I was playing at.' He must've recognized the Parseltongue...he's heard it before..."

"Most of us have," Ron pointed out. "And if Malfoy and his friends recognized it, it's sure to be all over the school by morning."

Harry groaned, his hands curling painfully in his hair. He had realized that too.

"Harry," Hermione said cautiously, and Harry looked up at her through his fingers. "I think you ought to tell Dumbledore about this."

Even though he knew she was probably right, and Dumbledore really should know if Harry was casting spells without remembering he'd done it, Harry thought back to how Dumbledore had consistently ignored him and warned others not to get him too much information, and he scowled at the suggestion of trying to share anything with him.

"Maybe I came across it last year when we were looking in all those obscure books to help with the tasks and I just didn't remember until now," Harry said, trying pretend he hadn't heard her at all, but this excuse sounded weak even to his ears.

Now Ron was frowning at him too. "I reckon Hermione's right. If You-Know-Who's found some way to, I dunno, possess you or something—"

"I'm not possessed!"

He did not realize he had shouted this until he noticed heads turning in their direction from around the room. He scowled and set his book down on the table as he got to his feet.

"I'm going to bed."

"Harry—"

"I'm not telling Dumbledore. Or Snuffles," he said as Hermione's mouth opened. She promptly shut it again, frowning at him. "You can tell them if you want to, I don't care. I'm going to bed."

He grabbed his bag and made his way through the common room to the stairs up to the boy's dormitory, resolutely ignoring the stares that followed him as he went. He was sure that if rumours about what had happened down in the Entrance Hall had not already started, they certainly would now. He found he did not care. If the rest of the school wanted to be so stupid as to believe he was being possessed, then so be it. Maybe then they would at least believe Voldemort had returned.

When he reached the dormitory, he strode across to his bed, dropped his bag beside his trunk, and hastily pulled out his pyjamas so he could get dressed for bed. Then he grabbed the bottle of ink and quill that were now permanently on his nightstand, climbed into bed, and pulled the hangings firmly shut.

He might not want to tell Dumbledore about what had happened, but he did have someone in whom he could confide.

He had taken to keeping the journal under his pillow in the last week or so, and it was this that he pulled out and laid open on his covers. Sanguini had not written anything new since the last time they had spoken, but as that had only been an couple days ago, Harry wasn't terribly surprised. 

Harry grabbed his quill, dipped it in the ink, and began writing.

He kept his account short and to the point, primarily drawing attention to the Parseltongue spell he did not remember casting and whether Sanguini had ever heard of magic that could be cast in snake language. He did not even bother to mention that he had gotten detention; it wasn't nearly as important. He did make sure to mention his loss of a few seconds memory and the burning in his scar—which was still hurting even now. He had not really mentioned anything about his scar to Sanguini until now, but he felt it was an important part of what had happened and so he couldn't put it off any longer.

Then once he was done, he set everything aside and crawled under the covers. He had no illusions about falling asleep any time soon, so he resigned himself to staring up at the ceiling as he got his thoughts in order.

Was he being possessed? He didn't think so—he couldn't see how it could have happened—but he couldn't seem get the thought out of his mind. He had no idea where he could have picked up a spell in Parseltongue, and his scar still ached from when it had burned fiercely earlier in the evening. He knew very well by now that he was able to pick up on Voldemort's emotions when he was feeling something particularly strongly, and if there was anyone who might know magic that could only be preformed by a Parselmouth, it was Voldemort.

But he could not imagine how—or why—Voldemort could possibly be possessing him from so far away and for such a sort period of time. Still, the thought lingered and Harry had to force himself to think of something else or he thought he might start feeling sick.

So he thought about what was sure to happen the next day and on until something new caught the other students' fancy. Malfoy had almost certainly recognized that Harry had been speaking Parseltongue, and he had no reason to think that the spell had been anything but Dark and dangerous (nor did Harry, which only made him feel more ill). He had happily embraced the Prophet's narrative of Harry already being dangerous and their duel would fit in with that narrative spectacularly well. And even if Malfoy didn't try to make it out to be more than it was, those Slytherins who had witnessed it were sure to.

If no one accused him of being the next Dark Lord by lunch the next day, he thought might die of shock. The rest of the school had been all too happy to accuse him of that other times in years past.

Then he wondered if Malfoy would even still have detention by the time Saturday came around. He would undoubtedly appeal to Snape, and Snape was sure to try to override Professor McGonagall and issue a punishment of his own—if he issued one at all. The last time he and Malfoy had started duelling in a corridor, Snape had looked the other way completely.

And what about Umbridge? Maybe Malfoy really didn't like her much, but she definitely did not seem to dislike him, and she enjoyed tormenting Harry just as much as he did (which, Harry thought bitterly, was probably why Umbridge liked him). If Malfoy appealed to her, she would surely come up with a way to not only get him out of detention, but to make Harry's life even more miserable at the same time. Perhaps she would ban him from practising magic at all. Or maybe she would give him a few more detentions of her own and make him write with his other hand, so she could force him to carve a second message in his skin.

He lay there long enough that he heard when Ron finally came up to go to bed himself. He listened as Ron crossed to his bed, shuffled around for a moment, and then paused next to the hangings around his own.

"Harry?" he said quietly. There was still a wary quality to his voice that both made Harry seethe and doubled his own anxiety at once.

Harry did not answer. He did not want to talk about this until he'd had a chance to sleep on it. He forced his breathing to remain soft and even so Ron would think he had already fallen asleep.

Ron waited for a good long minute outside his hangings, but eventually Harry heard him shuffle away to his own bed.

Harry turned onto his side and stared past the journal sitting beside his head, not really looking at anything at all. He wished for a moment that he was back in his room at Privet Drive, so he could just call Sanguini to him and they could talk until Harry fell asleep.

He sighed and closed his eyes, but he secretly hoped he would not fall asleep any time soon. The sooner he slept, the sooner he would have to deal with the fallout in the morning.

When they entered the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning, however, there was nothing particularly unusual about anyone's behaviour. No one stared at him more than usual, no one started whispering when he passed any more than they had in the past two months, no one shot out of their seat and demanded to know why he hadn't yet been rounded up and sent to Azkaban. Perhaps the Gryffindors shot him a few more furtive glances than usual and the Slytherins around Malfoy began whispering a bit more when they noticed them, but it could have been any other morning for all that happened.

Harry glanced up at the Head table as he sat down. Umbridge and Snape were both watching him, and neither was trying to hide it. Dumbledore, on the other hand, was engaged in conversation with Professor McGonagall, and while she had looked up when they walked in, he had not.

Harry tried to ignore the fierce aggravation he felt as he sat down between Ron and Hermione. He did, however, feel that he had made the right decision in wanting not to tell him.

The rest of the day passed without much incident. 

As he had expected, Angelina cornered him during the break to let him know just how much she did not appreciate him landing himself in detention, again, particularly this close to the start of the Quidditch season.

"And I'll have you know that you're lucky we don't have a reserve Seeker, or I'd be seriously thinking of replacing you!" Angelina declared as she walked away.

"Go talk to McGonagall, then! She set the detention!" Harry called back, but he knew it was a hollow threat anyway. Angelina no more desired to replace him than she did any other member of the team, no matter how many detentions he ended up in.

Care of Magical Creatures passed without any sort of confrontation with the Slytherins. Harry had been feeling some trepidation about this class since breakfast, as it would be his first class with Malfoy since their impromptu duel. He felt that, if Malfoy had not made a scene during breakfast or lunch, he was surely saving it for this class.

However, other than a couple snide looks in his direction, the Slytherins kept to themselves the entire class. Harry found he was not able to concentrate much on what Professor Grubbly-Plank was saying anyway, as he was too distracted by his wondering about when Malfoy would finally snap, but at the end of class, the three of them were making their way across the grounds to the greenhouses without having said a word to the Slytherins.

"What d'you think is up with Malfoy?" Ron wondered aloud.

"Dunno. He was acting weird last night, too," Harry said, shrugging. "I thought he'd be over it by today, though..."

The three of them glanced back to where they could see the Slytherins making their way back up to the castle. They could not tell what they might be talking about, but Harry thought he saw Malfoy look back at them.

"I thought for sure he'd say something," Ron said, frowning at them.

"Well, maybe he's finally grown up," Hermione said, although she rolled her eyes like she believed it about as much as they did, which was not at all.

But they could not spend much time contemplating this mystery, as they had just arrived at the greenhouses and Harry did not want to talk about this particular subject in the queue when Zacharias Smith was already staring at him oddly.

It was not until after dinner that Ginny finally approached him. She sought him out in what was becoming his usual corner of the library and stood in front of him with her hands on her hips.

"Hermione says you've been avoiding talking to her and Ron all day," Ginny said.

"I haven't been—"

"And that you won't go to Dumbledore," Ginny went on, her frown growing more pronounced.

Harry frowned right back at her. While he had not thought it would remain a secret that he was suddenly casting spells he had no memory of, not when he had shouted it in the common room the night before, it was still annoying to hear that Ron and Hermione had been talking behind his back about it.

"Been talking about me amongst yourselves, have you?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't act like everyone's out to get you. We're worried about you, Harry."

"I'm fine," he said shortly, looking back down at his book.

Ginny slammed a hand down on the pages a moment later. "Harry, if you think You-Know-Who's been possessing you, you need to tell someone!"

Harry looked up at her again. She did not look angry, but rather extremely worried and urgent. Harry immediately felt guilty about being short with her; of course she would be worried, as she had experienced it herself and this would not be bringing back any pleasant memories. However, he was glad that she he kept her voice down; that particular bit of knowledge had not spread outside Gryffindor, as far as he could tell, and it really did not need to.

"He hasn't been," Harry said quietly. He wondered how many times he would have to say it to even convince himself of that.

"Are you sure?" Ginny said. This did not seem to reassure her; instead, she looked even more worried. "Hermione said you didn't remember—"

"Ginny, when he was possessing you," Harry said carefully, "was it ever for about five seconds at a time?"

Ginny's expression had gone stony, and Harry regretted bringing it up at all. But when she spoke, her voice was quiet and thoughtful. "No, it wasn't."

Harry thought that rather settled it. Ginny, obviously, did not, because she went on hurriedly, "But Harry, you're still doing things without remembering you've done them. You should really tell Dumbledore. Or Professor McGonagall, at least," she added when she saw Harry's expression.

"I'm not telling anyone until I've got a better idea what's going on," Harry said. He closed his book. He had a feeling he wasn't going to get anything done here anymore. He really did need to get back to the common room and start on his homework, in any case.

"And how are we supposed to know that's not his idea too?" Ginny said angrily as he started packing his things away. "If you don't tell someone, I will."

"Fine," Harry said. He stood up. "You do that."

Ginny glared at him for a good long moment. Then she huffed and turned on her heel, her long curtain of hair whirling about her as she stalked out of the library.

When Harry finally turned in for the night—not long after midnight, as he'd had a fair amount of homework to catch up on—he checked his journal to see if Sanguini had written anything, and he was not disappointed. Harry quickly drew his hangings and settled down to read and then probably think about what he'd just read.

Magic may be cast in any number of languages. Did you really think Latin would be the only one? Not even all wizards in the Western World use Latin as their primary magical base, though it has become far more common than any other language in the last few centuries.

I have never heard of magic to be performed in Parseltongue; however, that does not mean it does not exist. Parseltongue has always been a rare gift, so it would not surprise me to learn that very little has even been written about it, and I would also not doubt that much of what there may have been on the subject has been lost or hidden throughout the years. 

I will, however, admit that I have done little research into wizard magicks, having never been one myself. Byron and Christopher might have a better idea, if you would like me to ask them.

Are you sure it was not simply the shock of what was happening that caused you to forget a few moments? It is odd that it would occur at that particular moment, but it is not impossible that things were simply happening too quickly to process.

I'm not sure what to tell you about your scar, except that I think you might have been remiss in mentioning it up until now.

I do think, Harry, that you should not worry about whether this means you're becoming the next Voldemort. You are a good person with very good intentions. I could see that the very first time I met you. I think sometimes you might make a bad decision, out of temper or lack of knowledge, but your intentions remain pure and that is what matters.

Harry sat there in his private space lit only by his wand and stared at these words for a very long time. 

He had known Sanguini might not know anything about Parseltongue, and he thought it might be interesting to see what the Arkwrights had to say on the matter, as long as they weren't told too much about what had happened.

He had also thought Sanguini might wonder about his scar and why it would be important, and he thought he might tell him the absolute basics of the situation—that when Voldemort was near or feelings something particularly strongly, he could feel it, and it hurt. There was no need to mention any more than that, and he was sure he was going mad for thinking of telling him about it at all, but Harry couldn't shake the idea that it was important in this instance.

It was the last paragraph Sanguini had written that he spent his time staring at. He had not thought Sanguini to be the type who would issue out such words of praise, especially not to someone he had known less than half a year. He had not even commended Cedric quite so much when he had received his OWL results.

Harry had not realized how much he had needed those words, either. He had felt so angry lately, and producing spells without remembering he'd done so was never a good sign. To hear that someone who was not one of his closest friends did not think this meant he was turning into a Dark Lord made him feel happier than he had in weeks.

He finally pulled out his quill and began writing, telling Sanguini that he could ask Byron and Christopher about magic associated with Parselmouths but to please not tell them why he, Harry, was asking, and then telling him about his scar, though not about the visions he'd had in the past. It was no more than had been reported in the Prophet last year, though he was sure Sanguini had not taken that seriously, as it had been Rita Skeeter writing about it.

He hesitated as he finished writing, unsure of whether he should remark on Sanguini positive sentiments. In the end, however, he quickly dashed off two words before he set everything aside and crawled into bed.

Thank you.

Chapter Text

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear and cold. Harry woke early, but he took his time actually getting out of bed, dreading what was to come. McGonagall had been gracious enough to give them time to have breakfast, but that combined with the detention starting so early on a Saturday, did not reassure him. No, in fact, he was sure it would be long and miserable, taking up most of the day.

The sun was still low in the sky as Harry made his way down the stairs to the common room. He had thought about trying to squeeze in a good half hour of homework time, but he knew he wouldn't be able to concentrate on it at all. Instead, he had brought with him the journal so he could read over the last entry again.

It had taken until the night before for Harry to get a response to his request, and when he had opened the book, it was to find unfamiliar writing looking back at him. The hand was loopy, rather like Dumbledore's, and he would not have known to whom it belonged if Byron hadn't signed his name at the end.

Parseltongue was considerably more common many centuries ago, and those witches and wizards who could speak it did come up with much of their own magic. Many of them were rather arrogantly proud of the ability and guarded their secrets jealously, so not much was written down, and not much of that has survived. This is unfortunately the case of many of the writings from those times; much of what we know comes from second and third hand accounts, rather than primary sources.

But yes, it's entirely possible to cast magic in Parseltongue, although I've read that it does favour wilder magic than you might be used to. Wandless magic, Dark magic, magic of the sort that relies on nature and your surroundings. Magic, in other words, deemed too dangerous to be taught in institutions such as Hogwarts.

Actually, the relationship between certain languages and certain types of magic is something I've studied extensively—

At this point, there was a long slash across the page, as though someone had grabbed the quill to keep him from writing further. Or, more likely, to keep him from wondering off on a tangent Harry was not likely to care about.

I've also read that Parseltongue can indeed be written down, though I've never come across any books like this, so while it's entirely possible you found this spell in a book, it's very unlikely. That's assuming I would recognize it when I saw it, of course. I think that if you came across anything written in Parseltongue, you would not recognize it as anything but English, as is the case in spoken language. So, of course, if you did come across this spell in a book, it might be difficult to figure out which one.

If you would like a book or two on the subject, I would be happy to lend them to you.

—Byron

Of course, Harry could not think of any way to receive these books that wouldn't also draw suspicion, nor was he sure he really wanted to know more about this gift that was only a remnant of Voldemort trying to kill him, so he didn't think he would take Byron up on that offer.

Not much else he had written was anything Harry thought he might not have guessed. He hadn't really considered that there might be a way to write in Parseltongue, but it didn't really surprise him as much as he thought it should have. He agreed that he would probably think anything written in it would seem to be English to him, as he had difficulty noticing when he or Voldemort had switched languages when speaking aloud, so unless he could remember every book he had search through last year, looking for it would be of no help.

He also thought he could have guessed that if there were spells especially for Parselmouths, they would probably be Dark spells. After all, hadn't the ability always been linked to Dark wizards?

The phrase "magic of the sort that relies on nature and your surroundings," however, stirred something in his memories. He had a feeling he had encountered that sort of magic before, but he could not remember off the top of his head where it had been. Maybe once his detention was over and he had less to worry about, he could come back to it and figure out where he had seen something like that.

He had just started reading through these words a third time when he began hearing enough movement from upstairs that he thought he probably wouldn't be alone much longer. He closed the journal and head back up to his dormitory to put it back under his pillow. When he came back down, it was with Ron in tow. The two of them met Hermione in the common room and headed down to breakfast together.

Harry spent most of his breakfast with his eyes on his plate. If he looked down the table, he'd only see Angelina giving him furious looks every so often. If he looked up and across the Hall, he was sure to see Draco Malfoy doing the same thing. A glance up at the Head table revealed that Dumbledore seemed to be avoiding looking at him more than ever, but Professor McGonagall was not.

He knew why she was watching him more than usual. Professor McGonagall had asked him to stay behind after Transfiguration on Wednesday and had proceeded to repeat that if he needed someone to talk to, her office was always open and was there anything he'd like to tell her. He was sure this meant that Ginny or Hermione had gone to her after all, but he was not keen on giving the incident any more thought, so he had insisted that he was fine and he'd just been tired that day. He was sure she did not believe him, but she had kindly not pressed him for the truth.

He only wished that Dumbledore seemed to show the same amount of concern for him. While it was true that he had not gone to the Headmaster, he was sure that, again, Hermione or Ginny had, or Professor McGonagall after she had been told. Dumbledore, however, had not glanced at him once and he had not called Harry to his office either, like Harry thought he might have. After three days of this, Harry had had the urge to scream at him across the Great Hall and demand why he did not seem to care that one of his students was possibly being possessed again, but he had restricted himself to vicious glare in the direction of the Head table instead.

He could not say why he did not want to simply go to Dumbledore himself if he wanted Dumbledore to care so badly. He felt that maybe it was a silent competition between the two of them to see who would break first. If Dumbledore really cared, Harry thought he would eventually reach out to him.

As breakfast began to wind down and students began to leave to take advantage of the weekend, Professor McGonagall stood and made her way down from the staff table. Harry checked his watch and got up as well. They still had a few minutes to spare, but it wouldn't do to leave Professor McGonagall waiting long.

Across the room, he saw Malfoy scowl and push himself to his feet. Too bad, Harry thought viciously. It's your fault we're in this in the first place.

He and Malfoy reached the doors at about the same time. Malfoy sneered at him but did not say anything; perhaps he thought he couldn't risk it with McGonagall standing right on the other side.

When they came out into the Entrance Hall, they found that Professor McGonagall was not alone. She was standing near the front doors with Professor Grubbly-Plank chattering away at her side.

"Over here, you two," Professor McGonagall said, gesturing them over.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Malfoy hang back warily as soon as he saw the stout Care of Magical Creatures teacher. Obviously, he thought nothing good could come of this detention if she was involved. Harry fought back a grin as he led the way over to them; any sort of detention that made Malfoy uncomfortable would surely be worth it.

"You will be serving your detention in the Forbidden Forest today," Professor McGonagall said as they stopped in front of her. Malfoy almost took a step backward, and Harry had to suppress another grin. He remembered the last time Malfoy had entered the Forbidden Forest, and he had not had a good experience.

"Isn't that a bit dangerous for a detention, Professor?" he demanded, his voice wavering slightly. He was surely remembering that occasion too, when they had been unlucky enough to see Quirrell drinking blood from a unicorn.

"I have asked Professor Grubbly-Plank to accompany you, and she has graciously agreed," Professor McGonagall said lazily. "Between she and Mr. Potter, I'm sure you will have nothing to worry about, Mr. Malfoy."

Malfoy sent him another vicious glare. Harry serenely ignored it. He did not think it sounded as though Professor McGonagall approved of the fact that he could probably hold his own in the forest, but if it bothered Malfoy, he would take it.

And he was trying to ignore the fact that he agreed that it was not the best idea to have another detention in the forest. The last time he had nearly been killed by Voldemort. He did not think there was anything in the forest now that might want to kill him (other than the Acromantula colony) but he still did not feel reassured.

"Professor Snape has informed me that he is running low on certain Potions ingredients," Professor McGonagall said after a moment, "which he has also informed me are most easily found in the forest. Your detention will be to collect them for him. Mr. Malfoy, I have been told that you should recognize everything on this list, so it will be up to you to ensure that you find the correct ingredients."

She produced a long piece of parchment and held it out to Malfoy. He gaped at her.

"Professor Snape told you?" he said, looking furious. Harry wondered if he actually had appealed to Snape after all, and he was slightly amazed that Malfoy was still standing here next to him, having to serve his detention after all.

Professor McGonagall smiled slightly. "The details of this detention were his idea, in fact."

Malfoy angrily took the parchment from her and stuffed it in his pocket.

"How long have we got to do it, Professor?" Harry asked carefully. If it was Snape who had hammered out the details of this detention, he could very well want them back within the hour, if only because it would surely be an impossible task.

"However long it takes," said Professor McGonagall.

"Well then, we'd best be going, hadn't we, boys?" Professor Grubbly-Plank said cheerily. "Don't worry, Minerva, I'll bring them back in one piece."

Professor Grubbly-Plank turned toward the door. Professor McGonagall held out and hand to stop them from following just yet.

"Just a moment, Wilhelmina." She looked at them sternly. "If I learn that there have been any spells cast at each other over the course of this detention, you will have another weeks' worth of detentions and another fifty points taken away, am I clear?"

"Yes, Professor," they intoned together, Malfoy sounding distinctly less happy than Harry. He gave Harry another vicious glare and marched off after Professor Grubbly-Plank, obviously keen to get this over with. 

Harry followed, feeling a bit of trepidation himself. He did not know how he was supposed to survive a whole day with Malfoy when Malfoy was sure to be impossible to deal with and would probably lord his superior Potions skills over Harry besides. Now that Harry thought about it, he had a feeling Snape had arranged this detention with Malfoy's comfort in mind—he might not enjoy going into the forest, but collecting Potions ingredients was much more up Malfoy's alley than Harry's.

Professor Grubbly-Plank led them across the grounds toward Hagrid's hut and the edge of the forest. Harry sent a wistful look in the direction of the Quidditch Pitch; Gryffindor did not have practice until that afternoon, so it was really Malfoy who was most likely to miss the entirety of his team's practise, but Harry could not help but feel like he would end up missing all of his too just the same.

Malfoy slowed a bit as they reached the hut, coming even with Harry, and he even opened his mouth like he was about to say something snide about Hagrid still being gone. A moment later, however, he shut his mouth without having said anything.

"What?" Harry demanded. If he was going to say something, he'd rather he just come out and say it. At least then he would have a concrete reason to be annoyed with Malfoy, rather than just being annoyed by his general existence.

Malfoy shrugged, smirking at him. "Just wondering what's been taking that oaf so long to return. He's been a rather huge disappointment this year, hasn't he? As if he isn't always."

Harry scowled at him, but said nothing. It would do no good to go picking a row with Malfoy before they had even really started their detention. And while he hated that Malfoy obviously knew more about what had happened to his friend than he did, he was starting to think he might have a very good idea of what Hagrid had been up to after all.

Professor Grubbly-Plank stopped at the edge of the forest and turned to face them.

"Right, I'm only here to make sure you too don't get into any trouble," she said, handing each of them a bag. "Won't be doing anything to help you out otherwise, and I'll be giving you your space. If you get in any trouble, send up red sparks and I'll come find you. Got all that? Right, off you go, then."

Malfoy stared at her like she had gone mad. For all his bravado and the rush he'd been in to get out here, he wasn't in any hurry to actually go into the forest now. Harry rolled his eyes, hitched his bag over his shoulder, and marched off into the shade of the trees.

"C'mon, Malfoy, you're the one with the list. I'll make sure nothing attacks you, all right?"

Malfoy grumbled a bit, but Harry soon heard his footsteps crunching through the bramble behind him.

"If we get killed in here—"

"We won't get killed," Harry said, rolling his eyes again. Then a moment later, he added, "As long as you don't go anywhere I say not to."

"And why should I trust anything you say about this place?" Malfoy remarked, although he did make an effort to catch up. "You already tried to kill me once this week. How do I know you won't try again?"

Harry felt his blood go cold, but he managed to keep his voice even as he responded, "All I did was throw a few hexes, you git. And you'll listen, because I do know where everything deadly is."

"Oh, very reassuring, Potter."

"If you'd rather run off on your own, go ahead."

Malfoy sneered at him, but he did not even make a move to leave the path. Harry smirked a bit. When all was said and done, Malfoy was more afraid of what could be out there in the trees than he was afraid of or hated Harry, and so they both knew that he would be staying right there with him the whole time.

After a few minutes of walking along the path, the forest around them had darkened significantly, and Harry felt they were officially in the part that was usually out-of-bounds. He stopped and adjusted his bag again.

"Right, so what are we supposed to be looking for?"

Malfoy came to a stop next to him and pulled out the piece of parchment Professor McGonagall had given him. He seemed to relax very slightly as he looked over the list, his eyes moving in a way Harry was familiar with from watching Hermione try to memorize something very quickly. Harry bit back a grin; he was sure neither Malfoy nor Hermione would appreciate being told they were in any way alike.

"Most of this is fairly simple," Malfoy said after a moment. His voice had regained its usual drawl, which had been absent since the moment he had learned where they would be spending their detention. "Even you should know what most of these look like; we've used them enough times."

He reached the bottom of the parchment and his eyes narrowed slightly. "The most difficult to obtain will be the unicorn tail hair," he said, handing the list over to Harry. "Unicorns often shed or have hair pulled out in bushes and bramble, but they could have been anywhere in the forest when that happened. Of course, Professor Snape is correct in that it would be far easier—and cheaper—to obtain it ourselves out here."

Harry looked over the list as Malfoy rambled. He did recognize most of the names from their various Potions classes, but he found that he could not imagine what an awful lot of them might look like in the wild. His gaze, however, had stopped on a completely different ingredient, one that he was sure would be just as difficult to obtain as unicorn tail hair and was undoubtedly on this list for the sole purpose of making him uncomfortable.

"Runespoor eggs," Harry muttered, making a face.

"Should be easy enough for you," Malfoy said. His voice had taken on the same quiet quality it had on Monday night.

Harry frowned at him, but he hadn't been keen on sharing then, so why would he be now? "Yeah, I'll just march up to a nest and say, ‘excuse me, but we need a few of your eggs so we can smash them up and use them in a potion.' Should go over well."

It was probably a trick of the light, but he could have sworn he saw Malfoy's lips twitch like he was trying not to smirk.

"Well, we can worry about that later, I suppose," Malfoy said, as if putting it off was causing him the deepest agony. "Keep an eye out for unicorn hair as we go; we'll probably find it while we're looking for something else."

Malfoy gave him a look saying it was time to start moving again. Harry stayed where he was, frowning down at the list. He did not particularly want to admit that he actually didn't have a very good idea what all they were looking for, especially not to Malfoy, who was sure to use that knowledge against him in the future. However, it would definitely take longer if Malfoy ended up being the only one looking out for ingredients.

"Let's go, Potter," Malfoy said shortly, though, as Harry noticed, he was in no hurry to get moving on his own.

"Hang on a minute, would you?" Harry bit back. He could probably just collect the ingredients that he did know and hope that Malfoy would be able to find the rest well enough on his own. They might end up with loads more of those particular plants, but Snape couldn't complain about having extra.

"What is your problem?" Malfoy demanded. A moment later, his gaze flicked between Harry and the parchment he was still holding, and his lips curled back in a sneer. "Potter, please tell me you do know what most of those look like."

Harry hesitated, but that was enough for Malfoy. His sneer increased tenfold and he snatched the parchment away again.

"You've been taking this class for four years and you can't tell the ingredients apart by now?"

"I know some of them," Harry said indignantly.

Malfoy snorted and pulled out his wand. Harry immediately drew his own. Malfoy glanced at it and rolled his eyes.

"I'm not going to jinx you just because you're stupid."

"Funny, that's never stopped you before," Harry said, but he did lower his wand.

"Careful, Potter, I am still a prefect," Malfoy said softly. He lit his wand with a murmured spell and started on down the path, this time without waiting for Harry to get moving himself.

Harry stared at him for a moment before he hurried to catch up. "Where are you going?"

Malfoy gave him a look over his shoulder. "To complete our detention."

"Without me?" Harry said, raising his eyebrows.

Malfoy shrugged and looked away again, his voice airy and condescending at once. "I don't care what you do. You'll obviously be useless in helping with this."

Harry scowled at him and grabbed at the parchment. "I told you, I know some of them."

Malfoy scowled right back and held the list out of his reach. "Get out of it, Potter."

"Look, we're both out here, they're obviously expecting us both to collect them—"

"Yes, and I'm sure they expected you to know what you were doing instead of being the blundering idiot you usually are—"

"Would you just stop for a minute?" Harry demanded.

Malfoy walked a few more steps, but he finally sighed and turned around, giving Harry a look of deepest loathing.

"What?"

"How about we come up with a compromise?" Harry said, though he could not believe he was saying it. He did not want to work together with Malfoy, and he was sure the feeling was mutual, although he had a sneaking suspicion that this was exactly why Professor McGonagall and Snape had agreed to this particular detention.

"Like what?" Malfoy said. He also looked sceptical, but his wand hand was trembling slightly. It must have taken an enormous effort for him to actually try to walk off on his own. Harry thought he might actually agree just to keep Harry at his side where he'd be able to protect him.

"I'll find the plants I know for sure, and I'll make sure nothing attacks you," Harry said, ticking things off on his fingers as he said them. "And I'll try to get the Runespoor eggs. You can find everything else, and I'll try to pick up on what things look like."

"That's your idea of compromise?" Malfoy said, wrinkling his nose.

"It's better than you having to do everything, isn't it?"

Malfoy stared at him for a long moment. Then he sniffed and raised his wand again. "Very well. Get over here and tell what you think you'll recognize."

Together, the two of them went over the list again and Harry pointed out what plants he was positive he could recognize and even a couple he was less sure of but still sure enough. Malfoy used a charm to turn the ink of each one red, so that he would know not to waste his own time looking for them. When they were done, the red words were still greatly outnumbered by the black ones, and Harry was sure Malfoy sent him more than one look of disgust.

"Can we get going now?" Malfoy said once they were done. "I'd like to be done with this before lunch."

Harry snorted slightly, because he doubted they would finish any time before the afternoon, but he gestured for Malfoy to follow him and started on down the path again. "If we stay on the path, we should be fine."

"Not all of this might be on the path," Malfoy said.

"Lucky for you I know where the Acromantula colony is, then, isn't it?"

"Acromantula colony?" Malfoy froze for a moment, and when he caught up with Harry again, he was sticking a bit closer to him. "You're lying. There's nothing like that in here."

"You'd be surprised what's in here," Harry said with a shrug.

"They wouldn't allow anything like that near a school," Malfoy said, but he voice was wavering again and Harry had to fight back a smirk.

"Maybe that's why it's the Forbidden Forest, Malfoy."

"You're lying, Potter."

Harry laughed and shrugged again. He had been absolutely right; no matter how irritating Malfoy could be, this detention was worth it to make him so nervous.

The slowly made their way deeper and deeper into the forest, stopping every so often to pick a bunch of some plant or another or to collect a few small black beetles or another slug. The forest steadily became thicker and harder to pass through, and as the trees began to be grouped closer together, the world around them became as dark as dusk. It wasn't long before Harry was forced to light the end of his wand as well so he would have enough light to see by.

As they went, they continued to bicker every now and then, usually when Malfoy pointed out another plant Harry did not recognize right away and then proceeded to deride him for that. However, Harry found that when Malfoy did not have his friends around to impress, he was considerably more tolerable. There were still moments when Harry dearly wanted to hex him, and he still hated even being in Malfoy's presence. But they had similar senses of humour when all was said and done, and Harry found himself almost enjoying trading witty remarks back and forth.

But after almost two hours, they had only found about half the items on Snape's list and Harry had to make the suggestion.

"Malfoy, I think we need to go off the path."

Malfoy immediately flinched, something Harry would have found funny an hour ago. Then he tried to pretend he hadn't done it, which Harry definitely still found funny now.

"I hardly think that's necessary—"

"We aren't finding anything new anymore," Harry pointed out, crossing his arms. "And we haven't found half of what's on that list."

"I doubt Professor Snape would have put it on this list if we couldn't find it along the path," Malfoy said, but he definitely didn't sound sure of that. No doubt he was remembering that Grubbly-Plank had been asked to keep an eye on them, and she was still some distance back down the path, close enough to be of use if they needed help but far enough away to give them privacy.

"I don't think Runespoors tend to keep their nests along the path," Harry said, though truthfully he had no idea if there even were Runespoors in the forest. He wouldn't doubt it, though, as there were and awful lot of creatures in here that had once been Hagrid's and Harry would not put it past him to have tried getting a Runespoor once.

"I'm not leaving the path, Potter," Malfoy sneered.

Harry shrugged and stepped off to the right, heading into the dense underbrush that rarely saw travellers. He was going off the path, whether Malfoy liked it or not.

Malfoy twitched and immediately started following him, as Harry thought he might.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Harry paused and looked back at him, forcing back a grin. "I'm going to find more Potions ingredients. You can stay on the path if you want."

Malfoy hesitated, but he kept on marching through the brush after Harry. "And you know where you're going, do you? Only it wouldn't be the first time you got us lost out here."

Harry rolled his eyes. "We won't get lost. And I'm pretty sure the Acromantulas are the other way, so we shouldn't run into them either."

"There are not Acromantulas in here..." Malfoy muttered, but they had already had this argument and he didn't seem to mind sticking as close to Harry as possible just in case.

Harry soon regretted his decision to turn from the path. While the path had been covered in roots and bramble, it had still been discernable as a path and it hadn't been too difficult to navigate. The rest of the forest, however, was nigh impassable. Here, the trees were thick and had little room between them through which to move, and the many branches and bushes filled in much of that space. Their robes caught on just about everything, and more than once they had to struggle for several minutes to free themselves. Harry was soon covered in scrapes and scratches, and he knew he had a few new holes in his robes.

And the further they pressed into this wildness, the more Malfoy began to whine and complain. Harry forced himself to simply tune it out, but it was difficult when there were few other sounds to listen to instead. More than once, he had to remember McGonagall's warning of another week's worth of detentions to keep himself from just trying to Silence Malfoy. His Silencing Charms weren't perfect yet, but he was sure he had enough motivation at the moment to get one right.

They finally reached a small clearing and were able to take a break from wrestling with nature. He heard Malfoy slump against a tree, panting dramatically.

"I'm onto you," Malfoy said after a moment. "This just another plan to get me killed."

Harry threw his free hand in the air. "Would you get over yourself? I don't want to kill you!"

"Is that so."

Harry turned around. Malfoy had stopped his dramatics and was now staring at him with an odd expression on his face and a light in his eyes that Harry knew would never lead to good things.

"Have you figured it out yet?" Malfoy asked when Harry did not seem inclined to say anything.

Harry frowned at him. "Figured what out yet?"

"What you're playing at."

Harry's frown turned into a scowl. He did not want to talk about that, particularly not with Malfoy. "I wasn't playing at anything."

"Where did you learn to cast spells in Parseltongue, Potter?" Malfoy asked, and for the first time, his voice did not automatically sneer Harry's name. This was a Malfoy Harry had never seen, and it was beginning to unnerve him.

"None of your business," Harry said. He turned away and began scanning over the ground with his wand. It was always possible there would be something they were looking for in this small opening in the trees.

"You made it my business when you attacked me," Malfoy said, crossing his arms.

Harry shrugged and said nothing. Malfoy could try all he wanted, but he wouldn't be getting anything more out of Harry.

Or so Harry thought, until Malfoy said, "I heard you think you've been possessed."

Harry turned abruptly and pointed his wand at Malfoy. Malfoy only smirked, his eyes glittering maliciously. That had probably been exactly the reaction he had wanted, but Harry didn't care. That was exactly what he did not want to get spread around the school, and it seemed it had already spread as far as Slytherin.

"Where did you hear that?" Harry demanded.

"A little bird told me," Malfoy said with a casual shrug. He pushed himself away from the tree and began moving languidly toward Harry. He was reminded horribly of a large cat stalking its prey.

"The little bird lied," Harry said, standing his ground.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Hey, here's a question: why've you been so quiet about all this if that's what you really think? Usually you'd love a chance to—"

Harry paused and looked off to his left. He could have sworn he'd heard something shuffling around on the other side of the trees.

Malfoy apparently hadn't heard it, but he looked off in that direction as well, trying to not look worried. "Oh, very funny, Potter," he said when nothing else happened. "If you think you can scare me out of—"

"Shut up!" Harry hissed.

Malfoy opened his mouth again to protest. Before he could say anything, something cracked off to the left, something that sounded an awful lot like a branch snapping in two.

Malfoy grabbed his arm, staring wide-eyed at the darkness beyond the trees. "What the hell was that?"

Harry gestured for him to be quiet and took a step closer to where the noise had come from. Now that he was listening for it, he could hear the crunching of twigs and thicket as they were stepped on and a few more branches breaking, though none as big as the first, and something that sounded like breathing and maybe...growling...?

A sick feeling started forming in his stomach just as a very familiar shape loomed out of the darkness. The head of a giant dog poked through a gap in the trees, sniffing eagerly. A second one joined it a moment later on the other side of one of the trees.

"Fluffy..." Harry breathed. He had wondered what had happened to the giant, three-headed dog that had once guarded the Philosopher's Stone. Hagrid must have released it into the forest, where he would be able to visit it and it would be far enough from the school to hurt anyone.

"Fluffy?" croaked Malfoy, sounding half incredulous and half scared out of his wits.

The first head turned and stared right at him. The growling deepened and Malfoy gripped his arm even harder.

"Hagrid named him," Harry murmured. He took a step backward; the second head had turned to see what the first was looking at and he thought he could now see the third in the darkness as well.

"That brainless oaf—"

"Shut up!" Harry hissed again. He took another step back. Malfoy quickly did too, so he would still be behind him. "We need to get out of here."

"I thought you could handle everything out here," Malfoy muttered accusingly.

"I didn't say I can't handle him, I just don't have what I need to do it," Harry said. He did not have any sort of instrument and he doubted either of them could just conjure one, and while he thought that Fluffy was probably not immune to Stunning, he would probably need to be hit with more than one spell. "Unless you know the Sunning Spell?"

Malfoy jerked like he'd just been insulted. "Of course I do, you dolt."

Harry eyed him incredulously, but he nodded and raised his wand. Now all three heads were visible and Fluffy was shuffling around, trying to find a way to get through to them. "All right. If we both cast it together, it might take him down."

"Might?" Malfoy repeated, but he raised his wand as well.

"More than likely," Harry said, which wasn't much better than "might" but it was much better than "well I've never tried Stunning him before."

Malfoy sneered at him. "Right. One the count of three, then?"

"Yeah. One, two, three—Stupefy!"

Twin jets of light shot straight at the giant dog and struck him in the chest. Fluffy staggered back, but he didn't fall over. Instead, he shook himself, looking a bit dazed that someone had actually attacked him, and then started barking and growling more than ever and ran right at the trees that protected them.

"Oh, great plan, Potter!" Malfoy yelled over the noise.

"Right, new plan," Harry said, grabbing his sleeve. "Run!"

Harry turned and dashed into the trees opposite the giant dog, dragging Malfoy along with him. 

It was no easier than it had been before to move through the undergrowth, but they could hear Fluffy thrashing behind them and that was more than enough motivation to get through it. Malfoy was cursing at him again, but Harry did not care and did not bother listening. It was his job to make sure they didn't die out here, and that was what he was intent on doing.

Harry had them pause once to use the Four-Point Spell to make sure they were headed back in the direction of the castle. Malfoy had them stop again to grab one of the plants they hadn't yet found. Neither of them felt like stopping for long, because they could still hear Fluffy rampaging through the forest behind them.

But finally, they stumbled upon one of the few paths in the forest and Harry came to a stop. He could no longer hear Fluffy following them. The cerberus must have decided that they weren't worth the effort to catch and let them go.

"How the hell," Malfoy said, panting heavily beside him, "do you know that thing's name?"

Harry could not explain why he found this so funny—perhaps the relief and adrenaline that came from outrunning a giant vicious monster was making him giddy—but he started laughing. And once he started, he found he couldn't stop.

Malfoy stared at him incredulously, sure that this was this finally proof that Harry had lost his mind. But after a moment, his lips twitched and he started laughing too.

The two of them stood there laughing together in the dappled light of the forest until Harry had a stitch in his side and Malfoy sounded as though he was having trouble breathing again.

"Seriously, Potter," Malfoy said once he'd finally gotten himself under control. "I know Hagrid doesn't just keep that thing leashed behind his shack."

"No, I met him in the school, actually." Harry almost started laughing again at the horrified look on Malfoy's face and he had to look away to keep himself under control. "C'mon, let's find where this meets up with the main path. I'll tell you while we're walking."

"They did not keep that thing in the school," Malfoy scoffed as he caught up with Harry.

Harry almost grinned at him—then he remembered who exactly he was talking to and he settled for a smirk of his own. "They did. Remember in first year when that one corridor was off limits? He was in there, guarding the Philosopher's Stone."

Malfoy gaped at him. "What Philosopher's Stone? Wait..." He trailed off, his eyes growing distant as he thought back to that year. He suddenly scowled at Harry and demanded, "This doesn't have anything to do with how you got all those points at the end of the year, does it?"

This time, Harry did grin—of course, Malfoy would still be holding a grudge about that—and he began regaling the tale of what had happened that night in and under the forbidden corridor, Voldemort and all. And he took an immense amount of pleasure saying Voldemort's name as often as the story would allow, just to see Malfoy flinch horribly every time.

The trail wound its way back in the general direction of the castle, though Harry noticed that it was headed considerably more north than west where the castle was. Since they had been rather far south-east of the original path, however, he thought it should work out all right in the end. He would have suggested that they just bushwhack back to the castle, but he'd remembered in a flash of guilt that Professor Grubbly-Plank was still out here with them and she would have no idea where they'd gone.

The story of Harry's adventure beneath the school in his first year carried them quite a distance, even when Malfoy stopped every now and then to collect one of the ingredients they were supposed to be looking for out here. But just as he was reaching the end, Malfoy stopped and pointed his wand at the trees.

Harry stopped too so he could listen. He could definitely hear something moving around in the bushes, but this time, it did not sound nearly so big as Fluffy had and he also thought it sounded like it was hooves breaking through the tiny branches.

A moment after he had decided that yes, it was definitely the sound of hooves, a centaur stepped out onto the path in front of them.

Malfoy took a step back. Harry, however, smiled and kept walking forward. If it had been any other centaur, he would have been encouraging Malfoy to start walking back in the other direction, but this was a centaur he recognized from his last trip into the forest with Malfoy, one with white-blonde hair and strikingly blue eyes and a much friendlier disposition toward humans than most.

"Hello, Firenze," he said, holding out a hand.

Firenze bowed his head and took Harry's hand for a brief moment. "Harry Potter." His eyes flicked over Harry's shoulder to where Malfoy still had his wand trained on him. "And Draco Malfoy."

Malfoy gaped at him. Harry stepped back and casually reached out to push the tip of his wand back toward the ground. "It's good to see you again."

"I wish I could say the same," Firenze said. He took a couple restless steps and glanced back over his shoulder into the trees from which he'd come. "The other centaurs have not appreciated your presence here. I have come to warn you that if you do not leave before nightfall, you may come under attack."

Now it was Harry's turn to stare at him. Next to him, Malfoy grabbed his sleeve again.

"What? Why?" Harry asked. "We haven't done anything. I mean, we upset Fluffy, I guess. But we're here for a detention, we can't leave."

Firenze regarded him, and then Malfoy, calmly for a good long moment. Then he said, "It is because you have been associating with vampires."

Harry felt the world fall out around him. He heard Malfoy yell, "What?!" as if from the end of a long tunnel. He could hardly see Firenze any longer through his shock.

It could not be over so easily. What had he done wrong? How could Firenze—and all the other centaurs it seemed—possibly know who he had been communicated with? Did it show, somehow, that he was friends with a vampire, did he have to worry about someone else figuring it out just by looking at him?

And then, of course, Firenze had had to say it in front of Malfoy, who had vampire friends of his own who were currently trying to wheedle their way into Voldemort's army. Firenze had just put all of them in extreme danger if Malfoy decided to write his father and mention this.

"Yeah, we didn't want to keep that a secret or anything," Harry said scathingly at last. He easily could have meant himself and his friends with that "we," but he also could have meant himself and Malfoy, something which Malfoy caught onto rather quickly. Malfoy jerked next to him and stared at him in horror.

Firenze cocked his head slightly, regarding him curiously. "It is written in the stars," he said, as if that explained everything.

"Oh, great," Harry said, throwing up his free hand; Malfoy was still clinging to his other arm. "What else is up there, what I'm having for breakfast tomorrow?"

"What did he mean, you're associating with vampires?" Malfoy demanded in a low voice. Harry ignored him.

"The skies do not deal in anything nearly so trivial," Firenze said, giving him a somewhat disappointed look.

"But us talking to vampires, that's up there," Harry said, deliberately including Malfoy this time to get him to shut up.

Firenze nodded slowly once and turned his gaze toward the heavens. "What we have seen over the years indicates that we are in a brief calm between two wars. This second war will be taking shape soon, and your involvement will be essential. As will that of the vampires," he added with a look of distaste.

"Malfoy too?" Harry said, glancing over at him. Malfoy was such a coward that he could not imagine him being essential to any sort of war (and by the look on his face, nor could he), but Firenze had singled him out too and he had not been surprised to find him here with Harry.

Firenze turned his head to stare at Malfoy again with an unsettlingly steady gaze. "This meeting was foretold in the heavens. You are both essential, as essential as the place and the time."

Malfoy stared back less then steadily, and his voice shook when he finally spoke. "We both are, huh? And I suppose it doesn't say what we're each supposed to do that's so important?"

Firenze merely stared at him silently. Then he looked back at Harry and said, "It is important that you leave before nightfall, Harry Potter. The other centaurs will not tolerate your presence much longer."

And then he turned to leave, his tail flicking impatiently behind him. Malfoy immediately took a couple steps forward.

"Hey, wait! You're not just leaving us with that, are you?"

Firenze stopped and looked over his shoulder at him. "I have delivered my message, Draco Malfoy. That is all I came to say."

"How about a few details on this war that's coming up?" Malfoy demanded. "And what's this meeting got to do with anything? You hardly told us anything we didn't already know."

Firenze slowly backed up and turned back around. He fixed Malfoy with an even stare, which Harry thought Malfoy would for sure cower under—but to his surprise, Malfoy stared right back, his arms crossed and legs apart in an aggressive stance.

"There is darkness ahead," Firenze said finally, unnervingly calm about it. "Many lives will be lost. However, there may also be hope in the future. The meaning of what is to come is still unclear and even we centaurs have interpreted the heavens wrongly in the past. What is clear is that the world will be thrown into chaos. How we come out on the other side is something we must discover for ourselves."

He moved as if to turn away again. This time Harry stepped forward and reached a hand out. "Wait."

Firenze looked at him expectantly, as if he had been waiting for this.

Harry tried not to let it unnerve him. He was uneasy enough saying this with Malfoy standing right next to him, but Malfoy already knew about the vampires, so what harm could the rest of this be, really?

"It's awful, how wizards have treated you and other magical creatures. Especially some wizards," Harry said, thinking of a certain toad-like witch back in the castle. "It isn't fair to anyone, but it especially isn't fair to you. I know the centaurs chose not to involve themselves in our politics, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't listen to you when we're making decisions about you. And other races..." Harry clenched his fist, thinking of everything he'd read so far about the Ministry's policies. "Other races are supposed to have a voice, and we don't listen to them either.

"I'm going to change that. You and the other centaurs might not like vampires, but I don't only want to help them. I want to help everyone who might want it. They were just the ones who reached out to me first."

Fore a long time, Firenze said nothing. He continued to stare at Harry with his clear blue gaze. Then he dipped his head and, while he never did seem to actually smile, his expression now came close.

"It is foretold that we will meet again, Harry Potter," he said quietly. "I look forward to it."

This time, when Firenze began to walk away, neither of them tried to stop him. Harry had nothing left to say, and Malfoy was busy staring at him again. Harry wished he would stop but he knew that wasn't going to happen any time soon.

"C'mon," Harry said, starting off in the same direction in which Firenze had disappeared.

Malfoy grabbed his arm again and held him back. Harry sighed and turned to face him; he might as well get this over with while they were still in the privacy of the forest.

"You've been communicating with vampires?" Malfoy asked. Harry could not interpret the look on his face except that it was angrier than he'd expected.

"Yes," he said simply.

"Who?"

"None of your business," Harry said. Here, again, was a subject that he was not going to discuss with Malfoy of all people. It was bad enough that he knew Harry was speaking with any vampires at all. Harry was not going to endanger them further if he could help it.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Is it the vampire I was with in Hogsmeade?"

"You met with a vampire in Hogsmeade?" Harry said as innocently as possible. He especially did not want Malfoy to know Christopher was friendly with him. Christopher's family would be in the most danger if Voldemort started to suspect some of his vampire allies were friendly with Harry Potter.

Malfoy sneered at him. "Don't play stupid, Potter, I saw you and your friends spying on us."

Harry hesitated for a moment, but there was something in Malfoy's demeanour that made him actually answer properly this time. Maybe it was that, under the anger and condescension, he actually looked a bit worried.

"I was more spying on him," Harry admitted finally. "I didn't know he was meeting you."

"So you do know him."

"Yes," Harry said. He hesitated again before adding quietly, "I know a lot of them."

Malfoy let go of his arm. He was very quickly starting to look sick.

"Do they know about this?" Malfoy demanded after a moment, gesturing angrily in the direction of the castle. Harry could only assume he meant Ron and Hermione—not that it really mattered since he hadn't told anyone at all—and he shook his head.

"They know a vampire met me at the beginning of the summer," Harry said, "because the Ministry sent Aurors to investigate. And they know that it wasn't him. I haven't told them anything else, though, no."

"No?" Malfoy repeated, and his eyes had suddenly gained a mischievous gleam.

Harry felt panic and fury rise up at once, and in two giant strides, he had Malfoy back up against a tree with his wand jabbing hard into the blond's chest.

"If you tell anyone," Harry hissed, "so help me, Malfoy, I'll hex you until you're unrecognisable. You remember what that's like, don't you?"

"You'll be expelled," Malfoy sneered, but his eyes had gone wide with shock and trepidation, and from the way his voice wavered, Harry was sure he remembered what had happened on the train home last year all too well.

"You think I care?" Harry said with a bark of laughter. "They can do whatever they like to me." He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "But what do you think's going to happen if it gets back to Voldemort that any of them have been talking with me?"

Malfoy's face had gone very blank. Harry could not tell what he might be thinking. He was sure, however, that this was something Malfoy had already considered, or he wouldn't have been so worried to begin with.

"I don't care if anyone knows for my own sake," Harry murmured. "What can they do to me? Forbid me from talking to any of them? Spy on me? They're already doing that, and they don't know any more than they already did." He leaned in even closer, and his voice was think with rage as he continued, "But if you do anything to endanger them, they'll have to throw me in Azkaban when I'm though with you. So go on and tell who you like, but the only people you'll be hurting is yourself and your family."

Malfoy's eyes widened very slightly—he had obviously not expected Harry to know that Christopher was family. Then he stood up straight and stared back at Harry as seriously as Harry had ever seen him be, with maybe a touch of indignation thrown in.

"I would never do anything to put my family in danger," Malfoy stated, his eyes daring Harry to contradict him.

Harry stood back and lowered his wand. He felt like he might actually be going mad for it, but he believed him. He really didn't think Malfoy would do anything that would put the Arkwrights in danger.

"Good," he said lamely. "So this'll be our little secret, then."

Malfoy nodded, looking a bit reluctant about actually agreeing to that but agreeing all the same.

Harry let out a deep breath. The panic he had been feeling since Firenze had opened his mouth was not gone just yet, but at least he felt like he wouldn't have to walk on eggshells from now on. 

But more than that, he felt as though something fundamental had changed between him and Malfoy. He hated that Malfoy knew about this, but he no longer felt like he hated Malfoy himself exactly. Of course, he would not get over four years of mutual hatred over the course of five minutes, but Malfoy's presence was overall more tolerable than it had been before.

Malfoy looked as though he might have come to the same conclusion, and when he jerked his head and spoke, it was much less scathing than Harry expected.

"Shall we get going then? You heard the centaur; we can't stay in here much longer."

"Yeah, we should get moving."

They walked in somewhat awkward silence for some time, only stopping when they had to collect another ingredient. Harry glanced over at Malfoy every now and then, but the other boy was lost in thought and hardly seemed to know where he was going much less care what Harry was doing. Harry wondered what he was thinking about, as there had been plenty between what Firenze had said and their conversation against the tree, but he did not ask. Malfoy was probably thinking about all of it. He knew that he was.

Before long, they reached a fork where their path met up with the main one. It was here that Malfoy finally stopped and stared at him. Harry shifted uncomfortably; it was a look completely without malice or sarcasm and it was not one Harry was used to seeing on Malfoy's face.

"What you said to that centaur," Malfoy started cautiously, "did you mean all that?"

Harry, too, was cautious when he answered; he was not sure whether Malfoy approved or disapproved of his desires. He thought he was far more likely to disapprove, since it meant elevating other races to the same level as wizards. "Yeah, I did."

Malfoy nodded once. "A world thrown into chaos indeed," he murmured, more to himself than anything else. Then he looked up at Harry and sneered again, but this sneer was not meant for him. "When we get back to the school, we'll have to go back to how things were. I can't bring attention to my father by acting out around Umbridge."

Harry nodded as well, secretly savouring the fact that Malfoy really didn't like Umbridge after all. He had said so in Hogsmeade, of course, but then he'd gone back to being beastly along with her, so that Harry wondered if maybe he'd only said it to appeal to Christopher.

"And I'll still be trying to get people to listen about Voldemort," Harry said. If they were going to be trading warnings, he might as well get this one out of the way.

When he had recovered from his wince, Malfoy looked at him oddly, almost smiling. "I'm sure you will."

And before Harry could wonder why he seemed happy about that, Malfoy raised his wand and shot red sparks into the air to let Professor Grubbly-Plank know where they were and that he felt it was time they leave.

"How did it go?" Hermione asked when Harry sat next to her at dinner. Ron did not seem to be back yet from Quidditch practice.

"It went okay," Harry said. That was really all he could think of to describe everything that had happened. Between actually getting along with Malfoy long enough to compromise, to running into Fluffy, to laughing about it afterward, to Firenze's warnings, the end result was that the day certainly could have been worse.

Hermione eyed him closely, obviously looking for evidence of a fight. "And nothing happened?"

Harry glanced up at the Slytherin table. Malfoy was in the middle of telling some story, probably about running from Fluffy if his gestures were anything to go by. As if noticing that Harry was looking at him, he glanced over and smirked, both gestures fitting seamlessly into his story.

"Nothing much," Harry said with a shrug, going back to dishing food onto his plate.

Hermione's eyes followed Harry's and she frowned slightly when they landed on Malfoy, but he had gone back to his story and looked every bit as obnoxious as he always had.

"What did you have to do?" she asked after a moment, as Ron trudged into the Great Hall and sat in the seat across from them. Hermione had gone back to her usual matter-of-fact tone of voice; apparently she had decided that indeed nothing much had happened and they didn't have to worry about Harry getting yet another detention.

"We had to find some potion ingredients in the Forbidden Forest," Harry said as Ron loaded up his plate. He deliberately did not ask how practise had gone, and Ron seemed grateful for it. "I think Malfoy must have gone to Snape after all, because McGonagall said it was his idea."

Ron sent a bewildered look up at the staff table. "And he didn't just let Malfoy off?"

Harry shrugged; at the moment, he was feeling somewhat glad that he hadn't. 

"Maybe they were hoping you might figure out that you can last a few hours without trying to hex each other," Hermione said thoughtfully.

Ron looked incredulous. Harry, however, thought the idea might have merit.

"Maybe...We did have to work together to get anything done. Malfoy's the one who knew what we were looking for, and I'm the one who knows anything about what's in the forest. Speaking of..." He suddenly grinned and leaned forward so he could lower his voice. "Did you ever wonder what happened to Fluffy?"

Chapter Text

He was sitting in a high backed chair in a dark, curtained room, lit only by a single branch of candles at his right, though they were, of course, charmed to give out somewhat more light than usual. A book lay open on his lap, but he was no longer reading it. He had become lost in thought, as he often did these days, his gaze passing over the same few paragraphs without taking any of it in.

His thoughts circled around the same two subjects they had since he had been reborn, with no real hope of him figuring out either one any time soon. That alone was a frustrating enough thought to drive him back to them, but he had been unsuccessful in his attempts at obtaining one and in his research pertaining the other.

And so he was trapped in a cycle of becoming so frustrated that he would try to think about anything else, and then becoming so frustrated that he had not solved them that he would consider these two problems until he had.

His long fingers trailed over a diagram in the book. It should have been simplicity itself to discover the solution to this problem, and yet, it eluded him.

A soft knock roused him from his stupor. He let his gaze pass over the doorway, ignoring the flinch of the man who stood there.

"Yes, Lucius?"

"My lord," Lucius murmured, bowing deeply. "My Lord, if you would forgive the intrusion...you have a guest."

"A guest?" Harry repeated, quite as perplexed as Lucius himself seemed to be. "Who?"

"A vampire, My Lord."

His eyes narrowed slightly, but not in anger. It could not be one of Lucius's own family, nor those like them, for they were free to come and go as the pleased, as were all his loyal followers. He thought perhaps it was one whom he had been seeking for many months; he had, at least, recently begun to sound marginally interested in what he might stand to gain.

"You may show him in," he said, banishing the book back to his quarters with a wave of his hand.

Lucius bowed again, then turned and bowed far less deeply to a man on the other side of the door, gesturing him into the room.

The man who walked through the door radiated darkness. His dark hair and robes contrasted sharply with skin pale as moonlight, and all around him was an aura of shadow nearly visible to one so entrenched in similar magicks as himself. The man's magic stood poised around him, complacent for the time being but ready to be called up in his defence at any time.

"My Lord," the vampire murmured with a very slight bow. He did not speak the title with the reverence he had come to expect from his followers, and he did not cower at all in his presence. It was both admirable and infuriating.

Harry glanced up at the doorway before the vampire. "Leave us, Lucius."

Lucius bowed for a fourth time and backed out into the hallway. The door closed gently behind him.

"You have a considerable amount of nerve, to call on me without a whisper of forewarning," he said mildly, looking back down at his guest.

The creature did not smile, but he had the impression of a smirk on his lips. "An oversight I was unable to avoid, I'm afraid. You have my deepest apologies."

He narrowed his eyes at the vampire, and this time it was because he was not pleased. "Why are you here? I was under the impression you, like many of your kind, had no interest in assisting me and fighting for my cause."

"I thought it was time we moved past tersely written letters," the vampire Sanguini said with the slightest shrug imaginable. "The only way to truly know a man is to meet him in person."

"Then you have not reconsidered joining me?" Harry said, feeling somewhat disappointed. He knew that this particular vampire was very well respected among his kind—his current allies had been keen enough to share such information. If Sanguini joined him, a fair number of the rest of his kind would surely follow.

"I am always considering it," Sanguini murmured. "But I have not decided to join you, no."

"Then you are wasting my time," Harry said with a sneer, and he raised his wand.

Sanguini only stared back at him calmly, as if he did not realize that he was bringing upon himself the wrath of the powerful wizard to walk the earth. "Perhaps," he said quietly, "but only if you do not allow me a question or two."

Harry stared at the man incredulously. "You dare—"

"I dare," Sanguini said, crossing his arms and looking thoroughly unimpressed. "And if you desire my assistance, you will answer them."

It was shock and shock alone that stayed his hand. He could not believe...what insolence...to speak to a wizard such as he in this manner...

"I would like to know," Sanguini murmured, his eyes flashing red in his amusement, or perhaps as warning, "what you have to offer my people that I would not be able to find elsewhere. And I would like to know what our standing will be among your followers. I will not submit to anyone who chooses to see me and mine as less than we are."

"I have told you this already," Harry snarled. His wand itched to be used on this impudent intruder. What did he think their many letters had been about?

"I wish to hear it from your own lips," Sanguini said. "It would be foolish of me to believe everything offered to me in writing."

That could not be all. The vampire did not have to come here himself for something so simple. He suspected there was far more to it...perhaps the creature had a method of divining his true intentions from his speech in a way he could not from paper and ink. But he was well practiced in the art of deception and he had many years experience in shielding his mind from others.

"You would, of course, be in equal standing with my other followers," he said quietly as he slowly got to his feet. He had become too restless with irritation to remain seated, and he would appear to be more fearsome besides. He began to pace, slowly, in front of his chair. "You would have the same opportunities to rise among their ranks, to succeed or fail with the same rewards or consequences, to be given the same chance earn your place among my most trusted."

A lie, of course. He could not imagine a time when he would allow a vampire into his Inner Circle. But he would put forth the appearance of allowing them the opportunity to try.

Sanguini's expression was indiscernible. He could not tell whether the creature believed him or not, whether the offer was good enough for him. It was infuriating. He could always glean the surface thoughts of those around him with the slightest glance, and he did not appreciate suddenly being left in the dark.

"A fine offer," Sanguini said after a moment. And he said no more, only waiting patiently for him to go on.

Harry bit back a curse and continued, "As for what else I have to offer you...Lord Voldemort is generous and will always reward those who have chosen to aid him. We will dismantle the laws that the Ministry has put forth to force you into being everything but what you are. Magic such as yours should not be tamed or fettered. And you will, naturally, have an unlimited supply of food, in the form of those who fight against us."

There were some laws that would have to remain in place, of course, and perhaps even be intensified. The vampires could not continue mingling with Muggles as they often did. He had no compunctions against them killing and drinking the blood of Muggles—there was little else Muggles were good for—but the turning of and mating with Muggles would be put to an end.

"Only if we choose to aid you," Sanguini said.

Harry sneered at him. "Of course."

Sanguini said nothing else but now, at least, he could tell that the man was thinking it over. He tried not to feel impatient as he waited. He could demand an answer if the creature took too long.

After a moment, Sanguini cocked his head slightly to the left and regarded him with a look of disappointment. "The problem, my Lord, is that what you have chosen to offer us is nothing we could not find somewhere else."

He laughed and sneered at the vampire. "You lie. Who could possibly want to offer such freedoms to you?"

Sanguini's eyes narrowed slightly, but that was the only bit of emotion he showed. "That hardly matters. All that matters is that we have received a better offer elsewhere." And then he turned on his heel as if he thought the conversation was over and it was time to leave.

The curse passed his lips in a hiss of rage, a jet of light that would cause this insolent creature the most pain imaginable.

Darkness writhed around the vampire and swallowed the spell before it could come close to touching him.

Sanguini turned slowly, an infuriatingly patient but disappointed look on his face, one that reminded him disgustingly of Dumbledore the very first time they had ever met.

"There are two nights in the year when you have no hope of touching me, Voldemort," he said quietly. The disappointment shown through his voice even more than his face, and Harry bristled with rage. "I chose to meet you on one of them as a precaution, and I see I was not wrong. The spirits of the dead always guard most fiercely those who are close to them. You, who run from death, should not forget that so quickly."

Harry seethed and flung another curse, this one nonverbal, in an attempt to relieve his anger. Again, the curse stopped short, consumed by the magic around the vampire, which he began to suspect was not all his own but only borrowed on this night when the dead walked the earth.

Sanguini lifted his hands in a gesture of apology. "I have enjoyed our correspondence. I do hope you'll come up with a better offer with which to court me," he said, and then he strode out of the room.

Harry woke with a scream of pain that ripped itself from his throat. He flailed in his sheets, desperately trying to grab his head, but only tangling himself up in them. The more he flailed, the more trapped he became, and the more trapped he became, the more he flailed to get free, to find some way to relieve the pain—

"Harry!" someone shouted from very close, too close, and then they were grabbing him, trying to hold him down. "Harry! Calm down a minute, would you!"

Harry opened his eyes. Ron was leaning over him, his face pale and frightened in the darkness. He was the one trying to pin Harry's shoulders to the bed.

"Is he all right?" asked a terrified voice from nearby.

Harry shut his eyes again. It hurt to keep them open. His head felt like it might split in two.

"I'm fine," he said shakily. He moved to sit up on his elbows and immediately regretted it; it only made him feel nauseous along with the pounding in his head. "I'm all right..."

"Maybe we should get someone..."

"I'm fine, Neville," he said, a bit more firmly this time. He did not feel fine, not at all, but he definitely did not want to get anyone else involved in this. He was going to have enough trouble explaining to the people already in the room.

He must have made a face to this effect, because Ron straightened and said, "Let's just all get back to bed, all right? Probably just a bad dream, you know...Could happen to anyone..."

He heard the others grumble a bit, and Neville especially sounded as though he would have liked to do something to help, but he also heard a bit of shuffling as they returned to their beds.

Once it sounded like everyone else had stopped moving, Ron wrenched his hangings shut and sat on the edge of Harry's bed, helping him carefully sit up.

"Are you all right? What happened?"

Harry cradled his head in his hands; it helped somewhat with the headache, but his voice was still shaky and hoarse when he spoke. "It was...I saw Voldemort...I was Voldemort...he was...he was talking to someone, trying to get them to join him..."

There was a lump in his throat he had to speak around, and he realized that he'd been crying at some point. He was glad the position of his hands was hiding his eyes and that fact from Ron.

"Did you say," Ron murmured, sounding terrified, "that you were You-Know-Who...?"

Harry felt sicker than ever. He ground his hands against his forehead. "Whatever he was offering wasn't good enough...he was so angry...he really wanted this guy to join him..."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" Ron said, but he did not sound like he felt much better than Harry did. "Listen, it was probably just a bad dream—"

"No!" Harry said furiously, glaring at him from between his fingers. "It was real, I was there. It was like the visions I was having last year..."

His scar throbbed again. Harry let out a faint moan and pressed his hands harder against it.

"Are you sure you don't want to get anyone...?" Ron asked, but Harry was shaking his head before the last words were out of his mouth. He quickly stopped, though, because it only made him feel like he might actually be ill.

Ron was quiet for a long time. Harry thought he might know what he was thinking, and as soon as he heard Ron take in a breath to speak, he had his own mouth open. "I don't have to tell anyone about this. They already know anyway."

By "they" he meant Dumbledore, though it could have included Sirius too, who indeed knew that he would occasionally have visions of Voldemort to go along with the searing pain in his forehead. He had never actually seen through Voldemort's eyes before, but the act of seeing what he was doing itself wasn't new. He felt no inclination to tell them something they already knew.

He thought there might be something else behind his reluctance as well. The vision had been jumbled and confused, more a collection of emotions and actions than images, unlike those he had had last year, and so he had been unable to tell who Voldemort's guest was exactly. But there had been something familiar and something very painful about him, whoever he was, and Harry thought that he might be the reason he had been crying, though he could not say why. He did know that he did not want to tell anyone, and especially Dumbledore, about his being there.

"I reckon Dumbledore'd want to know about this, Harry," Ron said, but he did not sound as though he was going to argue the point. He was quiet for another moment, then he shifted and reluctantly stood up. "You going to be okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be all right," Harry muttered. He carefully moved so he was laying down again, this time facing away from Ron. He was sure Ron would press the issue if he noticed the tear tracks on his face.

Ron hovered by his bed for another moment, but when it became clear that Harry was not interested in saying anything more, he slipped out of the hangings and shuffled back to his own bed.

Harry bit his lip and buried his face in his pillow as his scar began burning again, more fiercely than ever. If Voldemort kept this up, he would never get back to sleep. His dreams had started out with the stupid corridor he kept seeing almost every night; why did it have to morph into this?

"Are you sure you don't remember any more than that, Harry?" Hermione asked the next day.

Harry shook his head. "I told you, it wasn't like the others I've had."

He and Ron had told Hermione what had happened as soon as they'd had a private enough moment, which happened to be in the middle of Charms. Charms class was also so full of noise and movement that it was easy to have a conversation without anyone listening in, and today was no exception. They had moved on from Silencing Charms to Loudening and Quieting Spells, which operated on similar principles but were more delicate and refined. The room was full of noise from ravens and bullfrogs whose caws and croaks had suddenly been amplified to echo throughout the room or quieted to nothing more than a whisper.

"Sonorus!" Hermione intoned, waving her wand at the raven in front of her. "Well, it's good that he wasn't able to get another ally," she said to Harry and Ron, who were just barely able to hear her over the sudden racket her raven was making.

"Yeah. It's just too bad Harry couldn't tell who it was. Maybe we'd have liked to have him instead," Ron said. He still looked a bit nervous about this particular subject, but he had at least stopped giving Harry any furtive glances since breakfast.

Harry shrugged awkwardly and pointed his wand at Hermione's raven. It, combined with this subject, was beginning to give him another headache. "I would've rather not seen anything at all, honestly.Quietus!"

The raven stared at him and let out an especially loud cry.

"I wonder why you did, though," Hermione said quietly, frowning thoughtfully at nothing. "I mean, you've never had any of your other visions from...well, from that perspective, have you?"

Harry shook his head again. He did not want to think on it particularly hard, either. He had a feeling he would only start feeling sick again.

"I still reckon you ought to go to Dumbledore," Ron muttered. He jabbed his wand toward the bullfrog on the desk in front of him. "Sonorus!"

"I told you, he already knows," Harry said shortly as Ron's bullfrog only stared at him and did not make a sound.

"Yes, but Harry, he really ought to know if you're seeing things from...well, from that perspective," Hermione said, sounding rather worried, though her attention was on Ron and his efforts to make his bullfrog make some sort of noise. "He would want you to come to him with this, even if you think he knows already..."

"Yeah, and I reckon he'd want to know there's someone out their You-Know-Who's interested in, who isn't interested in him," Ron agreed. He was now poking the frog with his wand. "C'mon, you were making plenty of noise before..."

"Well, don't poke it, Ron," Hermione said exasperatedly.

"What else am I supposed to do, I can't even tell if it worked or not..."

He jabbed his wand especially hard toward the frog. It jumped out of the way and let out a reproachful croak that was not amplified at all but did sound about an octave higher than usual.

Hermione sighed and waved her wand at it. "Finite. There, now you can try again. In any case," she said, turning to Harry now, "after what happened with Malfoy, don't you think it's time you talked to someone about this?"

Harry tried very hard to keep any emotion of his face. He was not sure what expression he might have had otherwise. "We don't know they're related," he said quietly.

"Yes, but we don't know they're not," Hermione said, frowning back at him. "Wouldn't it be easiest for Dumbledore to be the one to figure that out?"

Ron's frog suddenly let out a deafening croak. Ron himself looked rather bewildered, as he had no longer been trying to make it louder.

"All I'm saying is, he already knows I've been seeing things and feeling things," Harry said, trying very hard not to think about the fact that he hadn't ever had a vision from Voldemort's perspective before. "And I reckon he's got his own ways of finding out what he's up to and who he's meeting. That's supposed to be Snape's job, isn't it? So he'll probably know about this even if I don't tell him."

"Harry..."

Harry shook his head, jabbing his wand furiously at his own bullfrog. "Drop it, Hermione, all right? He obviously didn't care about the thing with Malfoy. Why would he care about this?"

"Oh, Harry, I really don't think that's true..." But Professor Flitwick was moving toward them to check on their progress, and she trailed off before he could get close enough to hear what they were saying. 

It was just as well, Harry thought as he jabbed his wand a little too hard and his spell ended up reducing his frog's croak to the barest whisper. He was getting rather tired of being advised to go to Dumbledore. It had been two weeks since his duel with Malfoy, and Dumbledore had not once looked at him in all that time. Harry was loosing faith that he ever would again.

Besides, he had more pressing things to worry about. Voldemort had decided to throw a tantrum at an extremely inopportune time. Their match with Slytherin was the next day, and he needed to keep his mind on that rather than the Dark Lord's mysterious visitors.

As it turned out, keeping a level head and his thoughts on the match were exactly what he'd needed to do. Harry wondered later what the outcome might have been if he'd allowed himself not to.

The day of the match dawned bright and cold. It was an excellent day for Quidditch—overcast, so they would never be flying into the sun, but clear and calm otherwise, so they would not have to be playing this match in a storm. It had been looking more and more likely they might have had to, as October had wound down and more days then not had come with rain and wind, so it was a lucky break that they would have such fine conditions for the match.

Harry had tried pointing this out to Ron, but he was so nervous in the face of his first Quidditch match that he had a hard time appreciating this fact in the middle of trying not to be sick.

It was not long before Harry was feeling rather ill himself. The match was a nightmare. The Slytherins had come up with a repulsive song designed to keep Ron as off balance as possible, but Harry had to reluctantly admit that even without them singing it, Ron was so nervous that he wouldn't have preformed much better. Harry thought it was a blessing that he managed to catch the Snitch rather quickly.

Then two things had happened at once: Crabbe had sent a Bludger flying into his back in revenge for winning the match, and Malfoy and Montague together had begin insulting the lot of them, though they had most viciously gone after Ron and his family. Perhaps if Harry had felt like he could move, he would have attacked them or tried to hex them, but the Bludger had done its job in taking him down for a good minute. In fact, he rather thought it might have broken a rib or two.

Fred and George, on the other hand, were not so easily thwarted. It had taken all three Chasers to keep Fred from rushing Malfoy and Montague, but that left no one to stop George (Ron had left the pitch as soon as they had touched the ground, so at least he was spared further insult). George was on top of Montague in half a second, attacking him which such ferocity that he had to be knocked back with a spell from Madam Hooch's wand before he would stop.

It did not feel like they had won the match at all after that. It felt rather like they had lost it spectacularly when they found out later that Fred and George had been banned from playing Quidditch for life. McGonagall would have been quite happy to have only given George a week of detentions, but Umbridge had intervened with a brand new Educational Decree which allowed her to override other teacher's disciplinary actions and substitute her own.

It was beastly and unfair, not only that she had done it but that she had gone so far as to include Fred in the punishment as well, and Harry wondered what might have happened if he'd been able to take out his fury on Malfoy or Montague too.

Lucky, they were given a reprieve from feeling miserable, as that night was the night Hagrid had come back. Harry, Ron, and Hermione snuck down to his hut to greet him and to find out why he had been gone so long.

Hagrid was not a pretty sight. He looked as though he had been beaten up several times, and one side of his face was so swollen and bloody that he had to keep it covered with a slab of dragon meat. To their frustration, however, he would not say what had happened to cause it.

They were, however, able to wheedle him into telling them where he had been during the summer (although he still refused to explain why he had been gone so long when his travel partner had returned to her school months before). As Harry had begun to suspect, Dumbledore had sent him as an emissary to the giants, much as Voldemort had done with a few of his followers. In fact, Hagrid and Madam Maxime had nearly run into them, and they had been unlucky enough to witness the Death Eaters managing to court the giants when they themselves had not been able to.

It was just another bit of depressing news to round off an already miserable day, but Harry couldn't help but wonder what Voldemort had offered the giants. He had not read an awful lot on what sorts of regulations there were on the giants—though he thought this might have been because there had never been many giants in Britain to begin with—but Hagrid's description of how they had been living repulsed him. He did not particularly want giants roaming about, free to demolish what and kill whomever they wanted, but it was not fair to force them to live in such a limited space where all they could do was kill each other and slowly wipe themselves out. 

He regretted that Voldemort was the one who had been able to get their aid, but he found it was less because it was Voldemort and more because it meant their own offer obviously hadn't been good enough and it should have been. They were supposed to be better than Voldemort; they should have been able to give the giants a much better offer.

Then he remembered all that he had read in the last month and how their side had been the ones to issue all these laws and regulations in the first place, and he regretted it even more.

They were forced to cut their reunion short by a sudden appearance of Professor Umbridge at Hagrid's front door. She had come, like them, to find out where Hagrid had been and why he had been gone so long, though he was considerably shorter and more tight-lipped with her than he had been with them. Their brief exchange of words did not inspire a lot of confidence in any of them, and Harry had a sinking feeling that when Hagrid had his first class on Tuesday, she would be there to inspect it and make them all miserable.

It was with a certain trepidation that Harry, Ron, and Hermione trudged across the grounds toward Hagrid's hut on Tuesday. Hermione had visited him for hours on Sunday, trying to convince him to go with something safe for their lesson, so that Umbridge would have no reason but her own prejudices to give him a bad review, but she had reported back that she had been rather unsuccessful. Hagrid simply did not understand that Umbridge would look for any reason, no matter how small, to sack him. He only insisted that no one in their right mind would rather study knarls than chimeras and left it at that.

They expected to find Umbridge waiting for them all to arrive so she could begin her scrutiny. When they arrived, however, she was nowhere in sight. Instead, Hagrid stood alone at the edge of the forest with half a dead cow heaved over his shoulder. He did not present an encouraging sight; the mottled purple bruising on his face had become tinged with sickly yellowish-green, and several of the cuts looked as though they were still bleeding. Harry could not understand why he had not simply gone to Madam Pomfrey; his giant blood could not have possibly made it so difficult for her to heal him that they might as well not even try.

"We're workin' in here today!" Hagrid called happily to the approaching students, jerking his head back toward the dark trees behind him. "Bit more sheltered! Anyway, they prefer the dark..."

Harry immediately felt twice as apprehensive as before, and he shot Malfoy a furtive glance, which Malfoy returned just as nervously. Malfoy did not look quite as nervous as Harry thought he might have if they had not already ventured into the forest once this year, but Harry could tell they were thinking the same thing. The centaurs had not wanted them in the forest, and they would probably not take kindly to them venturing inside again, even if they were with Hagrid.

But there was no way to alert Hagrid of this, either in the middle of class or without having to answer some very awkward questions, so they would just have to hope that the centaurs would not choose to attack them while they were with Hagrid and a dozen or so other students.

"Ready?" Hagrid said happily, looking around at the class. Harry felt a pang of regret; Hagrid had not been lying when he'd said he'd been looking forward to this lesson. "Right, well, I've bin savin' a trip inter the forest fer yer fifth year. Thought we'd go an' see these creatures in their natural habitat. Now, what we're studin' today is pretty rare, I reckon I'm the on'y person in Britain who's managed ter train ‘em—"

"And you're sure they're trained are you?" said Malfoy, sounding considerably more nervous than he had looked a moment ago. Harry wondered if he was remembering that Fluffy had once been Hagrid's too and suppressed a grin. "Only it wouldn't be the first time you'd brought wild stuff to class, would it?"

Most of the class nodded or murmured in agreement, the Gryffindors looking a bit reluctant but agreeing all the same.

"'Course they're trained," Hagrid said, scowling at him.

"So what happened to your face, then?" Malfoy demanded.

"Would you shut it?" Harry hissed at him, wishing he was close enough to hit him in some capacity. Malfoy only looked back at him defiantly; their half-truce did not extend to anyone but Harry himself, as far as he was concerned.

"Mind yer own business," Hagrid said angrily. "Now if yeh've finished askin' stupid questions, follow me!"

He turned and strode into the forest, hoisting the dead cow up a bit higher on his shoulder. The rest of the class looked even more apprehensive about following him now and gave each other furtive looks to see who would be brave enough to go first. Harry let out an irritated sigh and marched off into the forest after him, with Ron and Hermione close behind him. He glanced back when he heard others start to follow as well and smirked a little when he saw that Malfoy was leading the rest of the group, obviously keen to stay as near to Harry and safety as possible.

They walked for about ten minutes before they reached a small clearing, around which the trees were so tightly packed together that they blocked out enough sun for it to be as dark as twilight and there was no snow on the ground at all. Hagrid deposited his half a cow in the middle of the trees and stepped back to face his students, most of whom were creeping toward him tree by tree, as if they thought spending too much time in the space between would encourage something to attack them.

"Gather roun', gather roun'," Hagrid said, giving them an encouraging gesture. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stopped at a comfortable distance from him, and Malfoy stepped up beside them, nervous but determined to keep close as close to Harry as he could without making it look as though they were friends.

"Now, they'll be attracted by the smell o' the meat," Hagrid said as the rest of the class finally settled, "but I'm goin' ter give ‘em a call anyway, ‘cause they'll like ter know it's me..."

He turned back around, threw his head back to shake his hair out of his face, and gave a horrible, shrieking cry that echoed through the trees. The class shifted nervously, most of them looking even more terrified by this than they had by just walking into the forest. Malfoy's hand was flexing at his side, as if he would like nothing more than to grab onto Harry sleeve again.

Hagrid gave the call again. Another minute passed, while the students looked about nervously for whatever was supposed to be coming. Then, as Hagrid leaned his head back a third time, Harry nudged Ron and pointed into the black space between two trees opposite them.

A pair of blank, white, shining eyes was staring at them from out of the darkness. A moment later, it was followed by a reptilian head, and then a skeletal body with huge, leathery wings as the odd-looking horse stepped through the trees into the clearing. It stared at the class for another long moment, its tail swishing behind it, then it leaned down and began peeling strips of flesh from the cow with its teeth.

Harry could have laughed with relief. At last, here was the confirmation he'd needed that these odd horses were real and he had not been imagining things; Hagrid knew about them too. He turned to Ron to say so, but Ron was still looking around in apprehension, and before Harry could say anything, he whispered, "Why doesn't Hagrid call again?"

Harry looked around, but it seemed that most of the class was still in the same state of confusion as Ron. In fact, he thought only two other people could see it; Neville, whose eyes were following the tail as it flicked back and forth, and a stringy Slytherin boy, who was watching it eat with a look of great distaste.

"Oh, an' here comes another one!" Hagrid said proudly, as a second horse stepped out of the trees and joined the first in their feast. "Now...put yer hands up, who can see ‘em?"

Harry raised his hand immediately, glad that he would finally be learning the truth behind these mysterious horses. Hagrid nodded at him.

"Yeah...yeah, I knew you'd be able ter, Harry," he said solemnly. "An' you too, Neville, eh?" An'—"

"Excuse me," Malfoy said, sounding as though he would dearly like to be sneering at Hagrid but not quite able to, "but what are we supposed to be seeing?"

Harry frowned at him. Malfoy obviously couldn't see them—he was still looking in completely the wrong direction—but he almost sounded as though he already knew why.

Hagrid's answer was to point at the dead cow. The rest of the class stared at it for a moment, then a few of them made startled sounds and Parvati even shrieked. Harry could not blame her; bits of flesh being stripped away and disappearing into nothing was surely an unnerving sight.

"What's doing it?" Parvati demanded, looking terrified as she retreated behind the nearest tree. "What's eating it?"

"Thestrals," Hagrid said proudly, and Hermione gave a soft "oh!" of comprehension next to him. "Hogwarts has got a whole heard of ‘em in here. Now, who knows—?"

"But they're really, really unlucky!" Parvati interrupted. "They're supposed to bring all sorts of bad luck, Professor Trelawny told me—"

"Professor Trelawney wouldn't know real bad luck if it kicked her in the face," Malfoy sneered at her. Then he immediately look alarmed that he had inadvertently defended Hagrid and sneered at him too. "But they are supposed to be rather dangerous."

"Naw, they aren' dangerous," Hagrid said, waving his hand. "I mean, they can look after themselves all righ', but most anythin'll bite yeh if yeh bait it, won' it? And they aren' unlucky either, tha's just a bunch o' superstition, they're dead clever an' useful. ‘Course this lot don' get a lot o' work, it's mainly jus' pullin' the school carriages unless Dumbledore's takin' a long journey an' don' want ter Apparate—an' here's another couple, look—"

Two more horses came out of the trees, this time walking through the students to get to the small clearing. One brushed past Parvati and she squealed again. "I think I felt something! I think it's near me!"

"Don' worry, it won' hurt yeh," Hagrid said patiently. "Righ', now, who can tell me why some o' you can see ‘em and some others can't?"

Malfoy crossed his arms and looked sourly off into the trees, looking dearly like he would have liked to answer this if it did not happen to be Hagrid's class. Hermione was the only other person who seemed to have any idea and she raised her hand.

"The only people who can see thestrals," she said when Hagrid gestured for her to go on, "are people who have seen death."

"Tha's exactly righ'," Hagrid said solemnly. "Ten points ter Gryffindor. Now, thestrals—"

"Hem, hem."

Harry tensed and looked around. Professor Umbridge was standing not too far behind him, wearing a green tweed cloak and hat that made her look more like a toad than ever, with her clipboard clutched in her stubby fingers.

Hagrid had not seemed to notice her. He seemed to be under the impression that the thestral nearest him had made the sound and was now looking it over in concern.

"Hem, hem," Umbridge said again, and this time Hagrid looked up and saw her.

"Oh, hello!" he said cheerfully.

"You received the note I sent to your cabin this morning?" said Umbridge. "Telling you that I would be inspecting your lesson?"

She was speaking with the same loud voice she had used when she had confronted him the other night, the one that sounded as though she thought she were speaking to someone rather slow. Harry clenched his fists and tried to focus on something else, like the thestral that stood perhaps a meter from Malfoy and was eyeing him with interest. He had every reason to feel hostile toward Umbridge at the moment, but he could not afford to lose his temper with her again.

"Oh yeah," Hagrid said brightly. "Glad yeh found the place all righ'! Well, as you can see—or, I dunno—can you? We're doin' thestrals today—"

"I'm sorry?" Umbridge said loudly, cupping her hand around her ear. "What did you say?"

Of course, Umbridge was doing a very good job of making it very hard for Harry not to lose his temper again. He had a vastly different understanding of her feelings on part-humans now, and he knew that could be her only reason for treating Hagrid this way.

"Er—thestrals!" Hargrid said loudly, looking immensely confused. "Big—er—winged horses, yeh know!"

He waved his arms hopefully. Umbridge raised an eyebrow at him and set to work scrawling her quill across her clipboard, muttering loud enough for everyone to hear as she wrote, "Has... to... resort... to... crude... sign... language..."

"Well, anyway," Hagrid said, turning back to the class and looking slightly flustered. "Erm...what was I sayin'?"

"Appears... to... have... poor... short... term... memory..." Umbridge muttered, scribbling away.

By this time, Harry was shaking with rage, and he was not the only one; Hermione had turned scarlet with anger. Most of the Slytherins, on the other hand, were grinning amongst themselves...all except Malfoy, who was frowning at him and did not seem to care what Umbridge said other than the effect it had on Harry.

"Oh, yeah," Hagrid said, giving the clipboard an uneasy glance but continuing on valiantly, "I was gonna tell yeh how come we got a herd. Yeah, so, we started off with a male an' five females. This one," he said, patting the first thestral to appear, "name o' Tenebrus, he's my special favorite, firs' one born here in the forest—"

"Are you aware," said Umbridge loudly, interrupting him, "that the Ministry of Magic has classified thestrals as ‘dangerous'?"

Hagrid chuckled, waving his hand again. "We went o'er this already. They migh' take a bite outta you if yeh really annoy them—"

"Shows... signs... of... pleasure... at... idea... of... violence..." muttered Umbridge, scribbling away at her clipboard again.

"No—come on!" Hagrid exclaimed, looking a bit distraught now. "I mean, a dog'll bite if yeh bait it, won' it—but trestrals have jus' got a bad reputation because o' the death thing—people used ter think they were bad omens, didn' they? Jus didn' understand, did they?"

Umbridge ignored him as she finished writing her last note, then she looked up at Hagrid and said very loudly and slowly, "Please continue teaching as usual. I am going to walk"—she mimed walking with her fingers—"among the students"—she pointed around at individual members of the class—"and ask them questions." She pointed at her mouth to indicated talking.

Hagrid looked bewildered as to why she thought he could not understand normal English. Harry, on the other hand, had had enough.

"He can understand you just fine, you know, he's not stupid!" he snarled before he realized he was doing it. Next to him, Ron gave a small moan and Hermione hissed, "Harry, please, no!" but he did not care. He had not believed he could hate anyone so very much, and he felt that if he did not say something, he might explode with rage.

The rest of the class fell quiet, holding their collective breaths. Half of them had experienced one or two of these bursts of rage before and they were now waiting apprehensively to see what the result would be this time. The others had only heard about them, and most of them were trying not to look too gleeful.

Umbridge turned to him slowly. "Another week of detentions, I think," she murmured, carefully jotting that down as well. "And if you criticize my methods again, Mr. Potter, I assure you, the punishment will be far worse."

"Hey, now, that ain' righ'!" Hagrid said angrily, but Harry was not going to give him a chance to dig his own hole. He interrupted him before he could say anything more.

"Your methods don't have to include treating someone like they have no idea what you're saying," he said, his voice shaking with fury.

It was quiet, far too quiet, after that proclamation. Not even the wind rose up to rustle the leaves in the trees. Harry felt Hermione grab his sleeve, and he could feel Malfoy's stare burning a hole in his head. He ignored them both.

Umbridge closed her eyes for a brief moment. When she opened them again, she did not look at him, but rather back down at her clipboard, where she wrote as she said quietly, "And suspension from the Gryffindor Quidditch team for the rest of the year."

Harry stared at her in shock. She couldn't...this wasn't even related...

Umbridge smiled faintly and looked back over at Hagrid. "Well, Hagrid, I think questioning your students won't be necessary after all. You will receive"—she mimed taking something from the air in front of her, speaking again in that loud, slow voice that made Harry bristle—"the results of your inspection"—she pointed to her clipboard—"in ten days time." She tucked her clipboard under her arm and held up ten stubby fingers.

Then, smiling wide and looking more like a toad than ever, she turned on her heel and bustled off back toward the castle, leaving behind a rather shell-shocked Hagrid and his equally horrified class.

Harry did not speak to anyone for the rest of the class, nor did he even really pay attention to anything else that was said. When Hagrid finally dismissed them (sooner than he might have had their class not been interrupted so horribly), Harry spun on his heel at once and stalked off into the forest, leaving Ron and Hermione racing to catch up.

He shouldn't have done it. He did not know what had possessed him to say anything in the first place. And now he had another week of cutting open his hand and he was essentially banned from playing Quidditch for the rest of the year...

He tried very hard not to think about how certain people where going to react to that. If Angelina didn't yell at him again, he would be lucky. And McGonagall had just stopped giving him disappointed looks in class for his last detention.

When Ron and Hermione caught up with him, Hermione had her mouth open, but one look from Harry made her snap it shut again. He did not need another lecture about how stupid that had been when he was already giving one to himself.

They were just leaving the cover of the forest when someone grabbed his arm. He spun around, snarling—until he saw it was Malfoy. Then he just gave him a rather nasty glare and tried to shake him off so he could go back to fuming in peace.

Malfoy allowed him to turn back around, but he did not let go of Harry sleeve. Harry was starting to wonder if maybe someone had placed some sort of attraction charm on it. Why else would people—especially Malfoy—keep grabbing at it?

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Ron snarled at him when it was clear he wasn't going anywhere. "Come to gloat, have you?"

Malfoy ignored him and leaned in close to Harry's ear. "That was stupid," he murmured.

He was using the same serious voice he had used when they had discussed Harry's Parseltongue spell and when he had declared he would never do anything to hurt his family. It made Harry stop and actually pay attention to him, and the look of anger on his face shocked Harry enough to put his own rage aside for a moment. What could have bothered him so much? Surely he was happy that Harry was suspended from the Quidditch team?

"I know that," Harry said, but he couldn't quite keep his confusion out of his voice. He heard Ron and Hermione stop behind him when they finally realized he was no longer with them, but he ignored them.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes and his fist clenched around the cloth it was still holding. "You can't keep losing your temper with her!" he whispered urgently. "All you're doing is bringing attention to yourself."

The phrasing brought back something Malfoy had said at the end of their detention, that he could not afford to have Umbridge pay too much attention to him. Harry had thought at the time it was because of his father, but he could not imagine why he would be bringing it up now in relation to Harry if that were the case.

However, Umbridge did have a grudge against part-humans...and Harry thought he knew what had upset Malfoy so much about this.

"I know," he said again as carefully pried his sleeve out of Malfoy's grip. "And I'm trying. But you know how I feel about this, I couldn't just keep quiet."

"You have to, Potter," Malfoy growled. "You know what she is, who she reports to. You know that promise you made me? Well, that works the other way round, too. So you'd better get your temper under control when you're around her."

And with that, he pushed past Harry and stomped off toward the castle. He had hardly taken tend steps before he paused and turned around, eyeing Harry with a haughty look more like what he'd come to expect on Malfoy's face.

"Oh, and Potter," he said, still sounding furious with him no matter what he looked like, "ten points from Gyffindor for being an idiot."

The three of them stared as Malfoy turned on his heel and continued on his way back up to the castle, and as he met up with his Slytherin friends on the way—he must have told them to go ahead while he stayed behind for a moment.

Ron shook his head, looking baffled. "What was that about?"

Harry shrugged and started walking, only to have to stop again when Hermione stepped in front of him.

"What was that about, Harry?" she asked, frowning at him. "Why was he so upset you had another row with Umbridge?"

Harry almost winced. He could practically see the gears whirring in Hermione's head as she worked on connecting the dots. He didn't think she would, as she was missing vital information that he had no interest in sharing with her, but if anyone was going to figure anything out, it would be her.

"It's nothing," he said, silently praying she wouldn't press him on this. "He's probably just angry he lost his Quidditch rival."

Hermione crossed her arms. "What did he mean by a promise? What would you promise Malfoy?"

Harry shook his head, almost glaring back at her. "That's between me and him, Hermione. Sorry."

He started walking again. This time, Ron caught his arm and stared at him incredulously.

"Wait, you're keeping secrets from us...with Malfoy?"

Harry tugged his arm free and gave Ron the best apologetic look he could manage. It probably didn't come off well. He was tired and angry and he did not want to talk about this anymore.

"I'm sorry, Ron. If I had my way, he wouldn't know about it either." Harry glared off toward the school, where Malfoy was heading to his next class with his friends. "But we sort of came to an agreement during our detention. He won't be telling any of his friends either."

"You can't possibly think Malfoy's trustworthy, of all people, Harry," Ron said weakly. "How do you know he hasn't told his whole House about whatever this is already?"

"Look, you can stop emphasizing his name like that, it won't change anything." Harry would not let himself be intimidated by this, even though he hated that Ron was staring at him like he'd suddenly revealed himself to be Voldemort the whole time. "I know he hasn't. He doesn't have anything to gain by telling anyone."

"And you don't either?" Hermione questioned, eying him suspiciously. "Is that why he'll trust you with whatever this is?"

Harry should have known she'd pick up on that. "I can't say anything else, you guys. I'm sorry. You know I wouldn't keep anything from you if it wasn't really important."

Neither of them looked very convinced by this, but he did at least think that they would stop asking about it for now, though he thought that might be more because Hermione had checked her watch and looked alarmed when she saw that they were going to be late for Herbology if they didn't start moving right away. Harry had a feeling one or both of them would try bringing this up again later, and he was not looking forward to it.

The rest of the week crawled by as if time itself thought Harry should come to regret his last burst of temper.

And regret it he did. If it wasn't Angelina's disbelief and anger so deep that she was no longer talking to him, it was McGonagall's equal amount of disbelief and disappointment and the thirty more points she had taken from Gryffindor for his actions. Or it was the fact that even though McGonagall had appealed to the Headmaster (although, as she had made a point in telling Harry, he did not really deserve to have this punishment revoked), he could do no more than she in getting Harry back on their Quidditch team. Or it was the disappointed and disgusted faces of the rest of his House, most of whom were no longer speaking to him either.

Or it was the nervous glances Ron and Hermione kept giving him, often accompanied by equally nervous glances in Malfoy's direction.

Harry was no stranger to being ignored and even reviled—it had happened to him more than once in his school career—but by the time Friday came, Harry was eagerly looking forward to the weekend, when he would not have to spend any more time with his housemates than he had to. He could shut himself up in the library as long as he wanted, only coming out for food, and he was seriously considering going to the kitchens for that rather than having to endure his Housemates' disgusted glances in the Great Hall.

Then there were the hours he spent in Umbridge's study for his detentions, carving the same few words into his hand over and over. Umbridge had not directed him to write anything new—perhaps she did not was to ruin the words already shining there from their previous sessions—and he hand had stopped healing again only an hour into his first detention. He had become quite adept at ignoring the pain—and at ignoring Umbridge herself—but that did not mean he wasn't fuming every time he wrote those five little words. They were even more insulting now that he was writing them for defending Hagrid.

It was not a lie that Hagrid was not stupid. It was not a lie that Umbridge was a vile woman who constantly overstepped her bounds and he was going to do something about her if it was the last thing he ever did.

But he endured the detentions in silence, saying nothing more than "Good evening" when he arrived just after dinner and "Good night" when he was released around midnight. He would not give Umbridge the satisfaction of knowing just how miserable she had helped make his life in the last week.

When he arrived for his last detention on Friday night, it was with the firm resolve that this would be the last one. Malfoy was right; he could not afford to continue to lose his temper with this woman, not when she both opposed the Order and any efforts to make the Ministry recognize part-humans as another other than animals. He would have to find another way to oppose her that would not draw attention to himself. Besides, taking his anger out on her was no longer satisfying.

"Good evening," he muttered, but he did not wait for a response before walking over to his desk and sitting down. She did not give one anyway. She hardly even glanced up when he came in, although he knew she would have noticed if he had not.

A piece of parchment and the dreaded black quill were already sitting on the desk. Harry immediately started writing; he had no desire to give her a reason to give him another detention, no matter how silly it might be.

I must not tell lies.

The cuts on his hand, still scabbed over and raw from the night before, broke open immediately and began bleeding anew. Harry determinedly ignored it. He had quite a bit of practice in that by now.

I must not tell lies.

After about an hour, there was a small puddle of blood under his hand where he rested in on the parchment. This was hardly the first time that had happened either, and since Umbridge had never made a fuss about it before, Harry ignored that too.

I must not tell lies.

Another hour, and the world outside Umbridge's office window had become a deep, dark blue. Harry's scar was beginning to itch. Harry allowed himself the smallest possible pause to silently groan about his luck. Of course Voldemort would choose tonight to throw another fit of some kind.

I must not tell lies.

The next time Harry checked his watch, it was nearly ten o'clock. His hand was numb with pain and coated with blood. A good portion of the bottom of his parchment was stained red. His scar had not stopped itching and trying to burn, though it had, at least, not gotten any worse, and he had not felt any emotions that did not seem to be his own yet.

I must not tell lies.

"That will be all, Mr. Potter," said Umbridge, finally, just as his watch read twelve midnight on the dot.

In the next moment, his scar flared with pain and he heard a rushing sound in his ears.

Harry did his best to ignore both as he stood and threw his bag over his shoulder. If he could only get out of her office...if did not matter if he had to stop just outside it, so long as he was not in front of Umbridge...

"Good night," he muttered as his scar suddenly flared so badly that he could not see for a moment. He used the last bit of will he possessed to remain upright as he stumbled to the door and wrenched it open. Then he was out and the door was closed behind him and it did not matter if Voldemort was feeling murderous or elated because he would not be collapsing in front of his next-worst enemy.

He staggered against the wall as his vision began to black out again and a rush of voices descended upon him.

"...Potter?"

Harry whipped his head around toward the voice and that was enough to knock him off balance. He felt himself falling toward the floor...

He was standing in the dark, curtained room again. Of course he was, this was his throne room, his plotting room, the room where he received his guests and gave orders to his followers. If he was not here, it was because he was asleep or did not desire to speak to anyone.

He stood behind his high-backed chair, his fingers resting lazily upon the sides. A man knelt before it in the pool of light the single branch of candles cast in the room, a man with hair nearly as pale as the moonlight and so long that it touched the floor while he knelt there.

"You are sure they will not be persuaded?" he asked in a soft but high-pitched voice. He was not angry or surprised, but he did feel somewhat disappointed.

"Rest assured, Mr Lord, I have not given up," Christopher murmured, keeping his eyes low. "But it will take time. My father was employed by the Ministry for many years and even now still feels loyalty to them. My brothers have no wish to go against him. But I am making progress. I only ask that you allow me more time."

"Of course, Christopher, I am not unreasonable," Harry said softly. "I understand that you are doing all you can to persuade them. However, in time we may simply have to accept that occasionally a family will only produce one member of worth and the rest must be pruned accordingly."

"Yes, My Lord," Christopher said, and he was pleased to note the man's voice did not shake as he thought he might. "I would not spend undue time on a fruitless quest."

"I know you would not," he said. "I have been most impressed with you."

He slowly stepped around the chair, letting his fingers trail across the back. Christopher only inclined his head further in acknowledgement of the compliment. Harry let a small smile touch his lips. Yes, he was becoming quite pleased with this one; it was a pity most others of his kind were not so intelligent.

"As a reward, I have chosen you to complete a special task for me," he said as he stopped just in front of the kneeling vampire.

"Whatever you desire, My Lord, it is my only wish to give it."

Harry smiled and knelt down himself, reaching out with one long finger to raise Christopher's chin. "I would like you to contact the goblins. They will listen to you as they would not a wizard. Tell them that the Lord Voldemort sympathizes with their grievances and desires to change them, if they would only give him their aid."

Christopher's eyes glittered with determination and what he was willing to believe might be gratitude. "Yes, My Lord. Thank you , My Lord."

"Potter! Potter!"

Harry's eyes shot open and he immediately regretted it. Pain spiked through his head like someone was hammering a nail into the front of it. He could hardly see through it, but at least he could see enough to tell that he was back in Hogwarts and probably lying on the floor.

And Malfoy was leaning over him.

Harry groaned and tried to sit up. He did not need this.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Malfoy said, but he didn't push him back down. Rather, he reached out to help him stand up. "You look like shit, Potter. You sure you're ready to be moving?"

"Shove off, Malfoy," was all he could mutter in response.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and kept on supporting him until he was able to lean over against the wall instead. "I think not. You obviously can't take care of yourself."

"I don't need you taking care of me either," Harry muttered. He used the wall to slowly push himself to his feet. He needed to get back to his dorm before someone—like Umbridge—wondered what he was still doing here this late and gave him another detention. The burning in his scar was already dying down. He should be able to walk soon.

"What happened?" Malfoy demanded, not bothering to dispute him. Their half-truce did not go that deep.

"Nothing."

"Bullshit. You were moaning and trying to claw your face off. I had to Silence and Body-Bind you to keep you from attracting attention." Malfoy crossed his arms, glaring at him like it was all Harry's fault he was being inconvenienced.

Harry winced and looked away. It was bad enough that these visions were giving him spitting headaches for hours afterward, and it would have been nice if he could stay quiet and still and not let everyone in the area know it was happening too.

Malfoy started tapping his foot. Harry glared at him. "What?"

"I'm waiting for you to answer my question," Malfoy said simply.

Harry groaned and turned away so he could start walking down the hall. "It wasn't anything. Just stress."

"Bullshit," Malfoy said again.

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"What happened?"

"Why do you care?" Harry demanded, finally getting fed up enough to turn on him. Perhaps some other time, he would have just walked away, but he was furious and tired and his hand had begun throbbing again and now that his headache had subsided slightly, his mind was racing with what he had seen. He needed to get back to his dormitory and he really did not need to deal with Malfoy right now.

"So something did happen," Malfoy said, smirking triumphantly.

Harry groaned and turned away again. "Get lost, Malfoy."

Malfoy caught up with him instead, sneering at him. "Not until—"

"I can't tell you!"

Malfoy stopped in his tracks, staring at him. Harry himself was a bit surprised by the exclamation. It was true, he could not tell Malfoy anything without putting everyone in danger, but he had not realized he felt so passionately about it.

"I can't tell you, Malfoy" he repeated, a bit more calmly. "I can't tell anyone. You'll just have to get over it."

This confession was probably all that kept Malfoy from protesting. Instead, he watched with eyes narrowed as Harry continued on down the hall, away from him and his pressing questions that secretly he increasingly wanted to actually answer.

Chapter Text

A book slammed down on the desk in front of him. "Wake up!"

Harry started violently, nearly falling out of his chair and knocking his glasses off his face. He hurried to retrieve them so he could find out what the commotion was about.

Malfoy was standing in front of him, his usual condescending look on his face. His hand was still on the book he had used to attack the table. Harry frowned at it. He was fairly certain it was a Potions book.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry asked warily. Malfoy was, yet again, choosing a public place to talk to him, though it was hard to decide whether it was more public than the last. Harry had gone through with his plan to spend the majority of the day in the library, catching up on homework and reading through books on law when he needed a break. He had woken up early after staying up late the night before, and so much homework had piled up over the course of the week that he was exhausted, exhausted enough that he'd started taking a nap in the middle of the library until Malfoy had appeared and woken him. Thankfully, the corner he had claimed for himself was fairly secluded, but he wasn't sure how loud Malfoy's yell had been either.

Malfoy looked him over for a moment, his gaze lingering near the table. "You ought to have that looked at."

Harry stared at him for a moment until he realized his hand was laying on the desk, the one that was bandaged as well as Hermione could manage. He hastily dropped it in his lap. "I'm fine."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Yes, that's why I had to keep you from clawing your eyes out last night."

"It's got nothing to do with that!" Harry hissed. He glanced around nervously, but they seemed to be alone for now.

Malfoy shrugged and pulled out the chair opposite to sit down. "All I'm saying is I'll bet Madam Pomfrey's beside herself with worry, seeing as you haven't said hello to her yet this year."

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, staring at him as he began pulling books and parchment out of his bag.

Malfoy gave him that same, stupid, condescending look again. "I'm here to help you with your homework."

"I don't need your help," Harry muttered, childishly tugging his half completed essays a little closer.

"Potter, I am not going to be acquaintances with someone who can barely scrape a pass in Potions," Malfoy said.

"I'm done with Potions."

"Is it your usual drivel? Because you'll be lucky to get a P with that."

Harry glared at him. Malfoy only raised his eyebrow again. Harry felt a strong urge to smack it off his face.

"I'm not going anywhere, so you might as well just accept my help," Malfoy drawled, leaning back in his chair. "I don't have to be here, you know. I do have better things to do."

"So go do them, no one's keeping you here," Harry said, rolling his eyes. If Malfoy really thought Harry would give in because he would be sorry he was being unconvinced in some way, he obviously didn't know Harry as well as he thought.

Malfoy only stared at him and did not move.

"Ugh, fine!" Harry said, throwing his hands in the air (Malfoy's eyes followed the bandaged one and he quickly hid it again). "Do what you want! But won't it look pretty suspicious for you to be helping me with anything?"

Malfoy sniffed and looked patiently offended that Harry would think he didn't already have a solution for that. "I'll tell them Professor Snape asked me to tutor you. No one who knows you would think you don't need it it. Professor Snape is willing to corroborate my story," he added before Harry could open his mouth to protest.

Harry frowned at him. What could Malfoy have told Snape to make him agree to that? Unless it was Snape's idea in the first place, but he rather doubted it. As angry as Snape might be whenever he had to pass back a paper without a passing grade, Harry had no doubt he felt a secret glee whenever it was one of Harry's. He certainly made no effort to encourage Harry to do better.

He did wonder what Snape was playing at, encouraging Malfoy to spend more time with him like this. Malfoy did not know Snape was supposedly not actually loyal to Voldemort, so he was no doubt under the impression that Snape might want him to spy on Harry (although that would mean he might have already told Snape about what had happened in the forest and outside Umbridge's office last night). But perhaps Snape wanted Harry to find a way to encourage Malfoy not to follow in his father's footsteps?

Harry did not think that a very likely outcome, nor a safe one, for anyone involved when Malfoy had his father and Christopher to worry about. He would have liked to think that Malfoy wasn't so awful that he'd want a brand on his arm, but that was only because he did not want to think of any of his classmates as future Death Eaters. Malfoy was already well on his way to becoming one.

And what if Snape really was loyal to Voldemort and he really did want Malfoy here as a spy? The truth of what happened when his scar burned was only known to a select few people, and he would not be surprised if Snape was one of them. He would surely be interested in what Harry had seen last night or Hallowe'en night. Voldemort would want to know if the Boy-Who-Lived was spying on his secret meetings through his own eyes.

"What did you say to him?" Harry asked, figuring he'd start with that first.

Malfoy did not answer, nor did he look like he was going to. What he did do was pull out his wand and point it toward the rest of the library with a spell he mumbled too quietly for Harry to hear. The ambient noise around them became slightly muffled, not enough that they wouldn't hear someone coming, but just enough to tell that a spell had been cast.

"What was that?" Harry asked as Malfoy put away his wand again.

"I want to talk to you, and I don't want anyone listening in," Malfoy said simply.

His demeanour had changed again. He no longer looked or sounded arrogant; he was back to being the serious Malfoy that Harry had met in the forest (which Harry was now beginning to suspect might be what he was really like when he wasn't sneering at everyone and making their lives difficult).

"Why aren't you like this all the time?" he wondered aloud before he could think about it.

Malfoy frowned at him. "Like what?"

"All...serious and not infuriating," Harry said, waving a hand. He really wasn't sure how to explain it.

The corner of Malfoy's mouth twitched. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Potter," he said airly.

"Never mind, I must have been imagining it," Harry said, rolling his eyes. Maybe it wasn't such a big difference after all. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Umbridge," Malfoy said immediately.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "This better not be a rehash of last time."

"I think you need it," Malfoy said. He grabbed at Harry's hand, which he had left lying on the table again. Harry hastily drew it back before he could.

"I won't lose my temper with her again, all right? It was stupid and dangerous and I'm the last person who needs Dolores Umbridge's undying attention. And I'm sorry I got suspended from the Quidditch team." Harry scowled and crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat so he was mirroring Malfoy. "That's what you want to hear, isn't it?"

"Maybe not all of that," Malfoy said. "I don't care if you're off the Quidditch team."

"Yeah, you do," Harry said. On this, at least, he was certain. "You can't beat me if I can't play."

Malfoy sniffed and stuck his nose in the air. "Not everything revolves around you, Potter. We wouldn't be playing again this year anyway."

"Yeah, but Slytherin beating Gryffindor for the Cup isn't as good if I'm not on the team, is it?"

"Like I said, not everything in the world revolves around you."

But Harry knew for sure that Malfoy was nearly as upset about this as he was, for all the reasons he had described, no matter what Malfoy said about it.

"Anyway," Malfoy said, ignoring Harry's smug look, "no, I don't want to hear any of that. What I want is to believe you mean any of it."

Harry felt his temper, always close to the surface these days, rise up again and try to rear it's ugly head. "Of course I mean it," he snapped. "Do you think I like having my hand cut open every night?"

"You might think you mean it," Malfoy sneered, glancing at his hand again, "but what happens the next time she says something stupid about Hagrid or Diggory or the Dark Lord? You can't even keep yourself under control with me. You act without thinking around her, and if you keep doing it—"

"I know!" Harry exclaimed as he shot to his feet. "I know, all right? And even if I didn't, I wouldn't need you to lecture me! I was already upset that day, and I was already worried about Hagrid—"

"Excuses," Malfoy interrupted. "Sit down, Potter."

Harry did not. He didn't need this. He could go find somewhere else out of the way to do his homework. Maybe even the Room of Requirement; he had already thought about checking it to see what help it might be in his research into wizard law.

Malfoy caught his wrist before he could go anywhere. "I'm not done talking to you."

"I'm done talking to you," Harry said, trying to tug his wrist free. "Let go."

"Potter..." Malfoy closed his eyes and screwed up his forehead like he was experiencing some sort of severe pain. "Please."

Harry sat down.

"I don't care what she's been doing to you or if she makes your life as miserable as possible," Malfoy said, letting go of Harry's wrist. "But do me a favour and remember why we're speaking amicably in the first place."

Harry almost snorted at his choice of words, but he had wondered if he was going to circle back around to this. It was among his own multitude of reasons why he had resolved not to lose his temper with Umbridge again. He did not personally care what she did to him either, to a point, but she could easily go on to make things miserable for people he cared about. And while she did not know about his connections outside the school, and likely never would, if he drew to much attention to himself, she would start digging.

"I know," he said again, meeting Malfoy's eyes with a fierce determination. "I know what she's done to them. I know what she could do. I won't be the one giving her a reason to do it."

Malfoy hummed sceptically, but he at least looking a bit less desperate than he had. "You might have already damned your friend with that stunt you pulled in his class."

Harry winced, looking away. "Yeah, I know. I wasn't thinking."

Malfoy snorted softly. "There's a surprise."

Harry's urge to slap him was back. He firmly ignored it.

"Look, d'you really think I'd do anything to put them in danger on purpose?" he said after a moment. "I'm the one who was threatening you over that."

"Whether it was on purpose or not wouldn't change anything," Malfoy pointed out.

"No, it wouldn't."

Malfoy watched him in silence for a good long minute. Harry stared back at him defiantly until he remembered that he really didn't care what Malfoy thought of him. He was maybe a bit tired of being lectured, but Malfoy wasn't even the only one doing that (though it was very weird to be receiving a lecture from Malfoy of all people).

Finally, Malfoy cocked his head arrogantly to the side and said, "Fine. I believe you."

"Well, thank you very much," Harry said sarcastically. "I definitely needed your approval."

"Don't get too used to it, Potter, I'm sure it will be the only time."

Harry shook his head and finally looked back down at what he had in front of him. He had been trying to take a break, actually, when he'd ended up dozing off. He'd slowly become used to the dry writing in most of the other books, but some of them were nearly impossible to get through, and it seemed he'd stumbled across another one. Maybe if he weren't so tired he'd be able to get through it, but right now, it would be the perfect cure for any insomnia he might have.

He sighed, shut the book, and set it aside.

Immediately, Malfoy reached out and picked it up. Harry glanced at him and went back to sorting through the essays he'd left beneath it while he read.

"Wizard Law of the British Isles, 1900 through 1950..." Malfoy read slowly. After a moment, he went on quietly, "What is this...?"

"Exactly what it says," Harry said distractedly. He could probably finish his Transfiguration essay before he felt it was time to go down to the kitchens for dinner. It was the farthest along.

"Why were you reading it? And if you tell me it's 'none of my business' one more time..." he added when Harry opened his mouth for an automatic reply of exactly that.

Harry eyed him thoughtfully for a moment. He did not particularly want anyone but Hermione to know what he was doing...but Malfoy was already in on the secret more than she was. And telling him would probably not make a difference; Malfoy might want to help his family, but he doubted he'd want to do anything for anyone else.

"I've been reading up on what sorts of laws we've passed on vampires. And other creatures too, but mostly them." Harry shrugged, going back to finding his quill again so he could get back to his essay. "I grew up in the Muggle world, so I don't know a lot of this stuff."

Malfoy carefully set the book back down. He remained silent as Harry found his quill and started reading back through his last couple of paragraphs so he could regain his train of thought. And he remained silent as Harry began writing.

Harry tried to ignore him. He could usually ignore it when people were staring at him while he did his homework; he had far too much practice at it than he would have liked. But he had never been very good at ignoring Malfoy, and after jotting down only two lines, he sighed and looked up again.

Malfoy was staring at him with the funny look he kept getting on his face lately. Harry set his quill down.

"What?" he asked. If it was because he hadn't given Malfoy a chance to begin tutoring him in Potions, well, he had told him he was already done with his Potions essay, abysmal though it might be.

Malfoy was silent for another moment, looking as though he was turning his words over in his mind. Then he said, "There was something else I wanted to talk to you about. I didn't know whether...though I thought you might have..."

Harry was torn between amusement that he was reminding him of Hermione again and irritation that he wouldn't just get to his point. He went with irritation, as that was a far more familiar thing to be feeling around Malfoy. "What?"

"What are you planning to do?" Malfoy asked, absently tapping his fingers on the law book.

Harry eyed him with confusion. "About what?"

"Them. These laws. All of it." Malfoy shrugged casually. The gesture didn't fit with the intense look in his eyes. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to change things," Harry said.

"Yes, so you said to that centaur in the forest nearly a month ago. I'm sure you've read more since then?"

Harry nodded slowly, unsure of where this might be going. "It hasn't made me change my mind, if that's what you're wondering."

Malfoy shook his head. "I didn't think it would." He regarded the book for a moment. "But that is really quite unspecific, Potter. How will you change things? What will you change? What are you planning?"

Harry looked at the book too, if only to stop looking at Malfoy. He wasn't really sure how to answer that. He'd been thinking about it, of course, but he hadn't come to any real conclusion.

"Why do you care?" Harry asked after a moment. He did not think Malfoy would turn around and tell anyone about it if Harry did let him in on his thoughts, but what if he did? What if he told his father or Snape? The thought that Malfoy was here as a spy had still not left him. And he still wasn't sure how Malfoy would feel about what he intended; if he didn't like it, he might tell someone out of spite.

And then he wondered why he was even seriously considering talking to Malfoy about this in the first place. It was Malfoy. That they hadn't moved to curses yet was a miracle. He didn't want to tell Malfoy what he thought he might want for dinner, much less this.

"Because, Potter," Malfoy said, leaning forward, "my family will be affected by this. Whatever you decide to do, it will affect us."

"And if I tell you and you don't like it, then what?" Harry asked, crossing his arms. "What's to stop you from telling anyone?"

"Well, I certainly won't be telling Dumbledore," Malfoy said, sneering the name. "Really, Potter, if you think the Dark Lord will care one way or another—"

"It's not him I'm worried about," Harry said quietly. His heart was beating very fast. They had never actually both spoken about Voldemort as if they both believed he had returned. "It's your father and the other people he's got in the Ministry."

He thought Malfoy would deny it. He expected Malfoy to deny it. Malfoy had no reason to act as though Harry were anything by crazy, accusing his father of being a Death Eater. He had been careful to deny it up until now, either directly or in such a way that he could claim denial where there really wasn't any.

And if he did not deny it, he expected Malfoy to demand how he knew Voldemort had people in the Ministry. He would surely be aware of that, even if he likely did not know who all they might be. Harry could himself claim that he was just making an educated guess, but they would both know better than that.

He did not expect Malfoy to smirk, not deny anything whatsoever, and say, "So, you'll be going through the Ministry, then? That might take a while."

It took Harry a moment to regain his balance. But if Malfoy was going to be this open with him, there was really no reason he couldn't return the favour. He had to admit, it was nice to be able to talk to someone who wasn't one of his friends who knew and acknowledged that Voldemort had returned, even if he was on the wrong side of things.

"I don't really know," Harry admitted at last. "The Ministry doesn't like me much, at least so long as Voldemort keeps quiet, and I don't really like them much either. And Voldemort's not going to want the Ministry doing anything to help vampires or other creatures, even once he shows he's back. He wants them miserable, so he'll look like their only choice."

He bit his lip, staring down at the parchment in front of him without really seeing it. Voldemort might want them to think he was their only choice, but one thing he did remember from his vision on Hallowe'en night was that he had been told outright that he was not. The vampires had another choice, and they knew it. It was, Harry thought, what had infuriated Voldemort so deeply that night. Even if he didn't care about the opinions of vampires (or anyone, really), he still did not like being told he wasn't good enough, that there was someone else out there doing things better than he was. 

Harry could only imagine that the vampire who had met with Voldemort had been referring to him, and that thought made him nervous. He had no idea what he was going to do. He only knew that he was going to do something. He did not know what the vampires might be expecting from him, if they already thought that highly of him.

Malfoy nodded once, a slow incline of his head. "But you're still considering going through them."

Harry shrugged awkwardly. "It feels like I should. It's what—it's what the Ministry's there for."

It's what Cedric was going to do, was what he had been about to say, but that was one secret he was going to keep to himself.

"That's going to take years, Potter," Malfoy said. "And that's if they decide they want to listen to you at all. Like you said, you didn't grow up in our world. You don't know how this works. No one's going to want to hear that vampires should have more rights. Or goblins, or werewolves, or whatever else you come up with."

"Do you?" Harry couldn't help asking.

Malfoy regarded him for a long moment. Then he said, "I think most of what's in those books is there for good reason."

Harry scowled at him. "Of course you do."

"Wizards are superior to other races, Potter," Malfoy sneered back at him. "That's the way it is."

"Says who?" Harry said. "Us? We can't just decide we're superior and that's that. They don't agree with that anyway. Besides," he added, leaning forward, "There's plenty of vampires who were wizards once. Like Christopher. Are you going to tell him that?"

Malfoy wrinkled his nose and stuck it in the air again. "Christopher knows it perfectly well. He used to be a pureblood, after all."

"I'll bet he doesn't think it anymore," Harry said.

"No, you just don't understand it. Of course, you wouldn't, you were raised by Muggles," Malfoy said.

"Yeah, I was," Harry said hotly, "and not that it matters, but we ought to treat them better too."

Malfoy sneered at him. "You sound like Dumbledore. I don't know why I thought you might be better than him."

Harry got to his feet. He did not know why he thought Malfoy might actually be reasonable about this; obviously he wasn't going to like anything Harry had to say.

"Look, you wanted to know what I'm planning, didn't you? Well, this is it." He jabbed a finger at the book on wizard law. "Everything has to go. We can't keep treating other races like they can't think for themselves, like we can just do what we want to them. We can't keep denying them freedoms or banning them from using their own magic. We shouldn't even be banning them from using wands if they want." He almost laughed at Malfoy scandalized look and continued on before he could interrupt. "Magic shouldn't be restricted like that. It's there for everyone, and everyone should be able to use it, if they can.

"And we can't keep acting out of fear. It's the same stupidity the Ministry's going through right now; they're too afraid of what it'll mean to have Voldemort back, so they're just going to run from accepting it's happened. All those stupid laws...they're there because wizards like you and them are afraid. You're afraid of not being better than everyone, or you're afraid they might hurt you. It'sstupid."

He paused to let Malfoy say something if he wanted, but he had become rather solemn and silent and did not look as though he was interested in saying a word just yet. Maybe he was just waiting for Harry to get everything out.

"Besides," Harry said when Malfoy remained silent. "It isn't fair to them. It isn't right. Maybe they're not wizards, but that doesn't mean they're not people. They're beings like we are; they ought to have the same rights. And it isn't fair to us either. If we'd just stop being afraid of them, think about what we could learn instead."

Harry suddenly felt rather awkward that he was standing now that his irritation had mostly drained away. He sat back down again.

"I haven't thought much about how to do it," Harry admitted when Malfoy still didn't make a move to say anything. "With everything that's been going on, I've barely even had time to read up on all this. But I know what I want to do. I want to scrap everything and start over. And I want the other magical beings to have a say in what laws there are when we start laying them down again. And centaurs and merpeople, I guess," he added thoughtfully, "since they're only classed as beasts because they wanted to be."

He finally wasn't sure what else to say and fell silent, feeling a bit awkward. He had not shared these thoughts with anyone so far, not even Sanguini, and Malfoy was one of the last people he thought would want to hear them. But they were out there now, and it didn't really matter what Malfoy thought because he was going to do it anyway.

Malfoy had not stopped staring at him since he'd finished, and that was beginning to make him nervous too. He had that same look on his face Harry was growing used to see there, one that Harry was beginning to think meant Malfoy had no idea what to think about what he had just said or done. That tended to be the only time he saw it, after all—after he had done something he might not have done the year before. He wasn't sure what he had said this time that was making Malfoy give him that look rather than one of disgust, though.

"I think," Malfoy finally said, slowly and sounding like he could hardly believe what he was saying, "that you'll have to come up with some other way than going through the Ministry. Even if you get the right marks and they hire you, you'll be kicked out as soon as you start suggesting any of that."

Harry let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and shook his head. "Yeah, I've thought of that."

"You really don't think magic should be restricted...?" Malfoy asked carefully.

Harry looked away, feeling even more awkward. "Not...most of it, I guess. Things like the Unforgivables should still be banned."

"I didn't know you thought that," Malfoy said quietly.

"Neither did I, really," Harry admitted with a small shrug. 

When had he started feeling that way? He thought it was while he'd been reading through law books over the last month and a half, and he'd come across the various restrictions other beings had on their magic. Most of them didn't abide by those restrictions, of course, and generally no one cared, but if a wizard was feeling particularly cranky one day, they were there for him to abuse.

He thought, though, that it might have actually been earlier than that. Perhaps during the summer, when he'd been tried by the full Wizengamot for protecting himself and his cousin from dementors. Or perhaps it had been last year, when Mr. Diggory had gotten so upset with Winky for being found in possession of wand. It might have been even earlier, when he'd been told that house-elves usually couldn't use their magic unless they were allowed to by their master. He had run into these sorts of unfair restrictions numerous times throughout the last four years and it really could have been any one of them.

What was certain was that he felt that way now. He was serious when he said it was stupid other races were not allowed to use wands. It was just one more thing he was sure had been put into place out of fear. And while there were definitely certain types of magic that were rightly banned, like the Unforgivables, he would have a hard time believing all of it was like that.

He looked back up at Malfoy. He had not stopped staring, and it was beginning to make Harry very uncomfortable, not the least because he had no idea what Malfoy might be thinking.

"So?" he said after a moment in an effort to get him to stop. "You wanted to know what I'm planning."

Malfoy inclined his head and the look on his face disappeared, wiped away by an arrogant one Harry was more familiar with. "And you answered. More than I expected of you, Potter. Maybe you're not so bad after all."

Harry scowled at him, but he didn't seem inclined to share with he thought about it, now that it was all out there. Harry couldn't see why he was being so tight-lipped now; he hadn't shied away from letting Harry know what he thought ten minutes ago.

"Although now I'm less convinced you'll hold your tongue around Umbridge," Malfoy said after a moment, smirking slightly.

Harry almost threw a book at him. "Don't go bringing that up again!"

Mafloy just smirked again, but at least he didn't say anything else.

Harry scowled at him again and turned back to the Transfiguration essay Malfoy had been rude enough to interrupt his working on. His gaze passed over his watch on the way and he nearly cursed. He'd been meaning to be down in the kitchens by this time. It wouldn't be long before Madam Pince came back here and forced them to leave for the night.

Without further ado, Harry began packing up his things. Malfoy looked somewhat startled about this.

"Where are you going?"

"Dinner," Harry muttered, shoving his books in his bag. "And then the common room, probably."

"Dinner was over ages ago," Malfoy pointed out snidely.

"I'm going to the kitchens," Harry said simply. He paused with his essays in hand and frowned up at Malfoy. "And I don't think you should come."

"I wasn't going to," Malfoy said, although he couldn't hide the intrigued glint in his eyes. Harry had a feeling he might follow anyway, just to find out why he was apparently not welcome.

He found that he didn't particularly care. If he did follow him to the kitchens and Dobby did not want him there, as Harry suspected he probably wouldn't, Dobby was free to do whatever he wanted to Malfoy and it would probably be a nasty, but well deserved, surprise for him.

Harry placed the last book in his bag and got up to leave. In an instant, Malfoy was on his feet as well, blocking his path, although he also threw up his hands in surrender before Harry could get angry at him.

"I just had one more thing to say, all right, Potter?"

Harry scowled, but he flung his bag over his shoulder and waited.

Malfoy lowered his hands and regarded him thoughtfully. "There are some things about magic you don't know, things that are instinctive to someone like me or...Weasley," he said, looking rather pained, "because of how you grew up. And I know some other magic we won't be taught here. It's not all Dark Arts, Potter, stop looking like someone died." He paused and crossed his arms. "...I might be willing to teach you some of it."

Harry stared at him, completely bewildered. "Are you taking the mickey?"

"I'm serious, Potter," Malfoy said, scowling at him. "You could use it."

"What brought this on?" Harry asked. He could not imagine any situation in which Draco Malfoy would willingly offer to teach him anything, and now he'd been presented with that reality twice in the same evening.

Malfoy waved a hand to say that didn't matter. "Potions and magic lessons. What do you think?"

Harry shook his head in wonder. "What do you want from me?" he asked, because there was no way Malfoy was offering this for free.

"I want you to actually make an effort to learn," Malfoy said, eying him critically. "And you'd better not end up in detention again. And I want to know who you've been talking to, and how you ended up talking to vampires in the first place."

"That's it?" Harry said, frowning at him. In fact, that was not a very small thing to ask at all, and he was sure Malfoy knew it or he wouldn't be asking. He did not want Malfoy to know who he'd been communicating with. It was enough that he knew he was friendly with his distant cousin.

Malfoy waved his hand again, though this time his voice was airy as he said, "We might be able to come up with a mutually beneficial agreement regarding homework as well."

Harry couldn't quite suppress a grin. "Not doing so well in a class, are you?"

"I'm quite sure I'm doing better in everything than you," Malfoy said, wrinkling his nose. "But I do have my weaker subjects, same as you."

"And we'll be meeting here?" Harry said, still grinning a bit. What could Malfoy be doing poorly at? He was betting on Transfiguration or Charms. "I can't see Madam Pince being too chuffed with us doing magic in the library."

"We can worry about that later," Malfoy said. "It's the Potions help you're in desperate need of."

He held out a hand to Harry. Harry had a sudden flashback to a much younger Malfoy doing the same thing on the train, all those years ago.

"Do we have a deal?" Malfoy asked. He'd gone back to being deadly serious, and Harry knew the familiarity had not been lost on him either.

And again, Harry did not take his hand right away. He stood there, staring at it and turning over what Malfoy had said in his mind. What he was asking for was both really not all that much and everything in the world. Harry was now fairly certain he wouldn't be turning around and telling anyone else what they discussed for the same reasons he, Harry, would be keeping silent: it would be impossible to explain one thing without explaining everything. But that didn't stop him from feeling nervous about it. He still did not trust Malfoy, and he especially didn't trust him now that he had finally acknowledged that he knew Voldemort was back.

But it was true that Harry could severely use help in Potions, and there was no one better to get that help from—other than perhaps Hermione, who had limited herself to only looking over their papers for drastic errors.

And he had to admit, he was curious what sorts of magical knowledge he would be willing to share. He didn't doubt that there was plenty Malfoy knew that he, Harry, had no clue about.

He reached out and grasped Malfoy's hand before he could change his mind. "Deal."

That had not at all gone the way he'd thought it might.

And he was thrilled.

Draco was careful to keep his face schooled into his usual mixture of arrogance and distain for his fellow students—not a difficult thing to do, as he generally felt that way most of the time—as he made his way out of the library after Potter. Not following him exactly, as they just happened to be headed in the same general direction, but he did make sure he kept Potter within sight regardless. And he would be happy to claim he was following Potter if anyone asked.

On the outside, he was perfectly composed—the proud heir of a Dark pureblood family who had just spent a gruelling hour in the company of his greatest enemy and come out on top.

On the inside, he was giddy and he dearly wished he could skip all the way back to the Slytherin dungeons.

The school year had started off fairly normal, with his father's warnings to stay on Dolores Umbridge's good side ringing in his ears whenever rumour spread that Potter had ticked her off again, and a healthy sense of superiority that came with the prefect badge on his chest, and with it, the deep desire to catch Potter with his toe across the line. He had revelled in the fact that he had been the one to get the badge, that he had beaten Potter this time. He had taken pleasure in tormenting Potter, which he rightly deserved for pretending like he was so perfect and invincible all the time.

But after a while, Potter had chosen to strike back. Draco had been so surprised that he had not even considered taking points or issuing a detention; here was a chance to knock Potter from his pedestal in a far more satisfying way.

Then Potter had spoken Parseltongue and done it for him, more spectacularly than Draco had ever dreamed.

And Draco found that he couldn't care less.

Potter had used a spell in Parseltongue. That was all it could have been; Draco remembered acutely his last encounter with that ancient ability, and then the spell had been flying toward him. And he vividly remembered the look on Potter's face in the moment: cold, calculating, murderous. He grudgingly admitted to himself that it was lucky Granger had been there; he himself had been far too stunned to react quickly enough to stop it.

It was Dark. Where could Saint Potter, pride of the Light and stupidly Gryffindor, have learned Dark magic like that?

He had taken it upon himself to find out during their detention, but Potter had been frustratingly evasive on the subject. That didn't mean he hadn't learned plenty of other things about Potter, however.

Potter was not so intolerable to be around as he had thought. Perhaps it was only when he was around his fellow Gryffindors that he became righteous and insufferable. Alone, he was actually not terrible. But more importantly...

Potter had been talking with vampires. A lot of vampires. And Potter had known the whole time that he had been too.

Potter's moment of cold rage in their duel was not a singular occurrence. There was a darkness lurking inside him, one that he held under a tight rein and did not seem to know was there.

Potter was planning a revolution, one that would horribly upset the Ministry and Dumbledore. He might not even know it, but Draco could see it in his eyes.

(Oh, and that he was going to be essential to the future of the Wizarding world. That was quite thrilling in its own right, of course, but it did not have to do with Potter.)

And best of all, Potter had told no one but himself. His pet Weasel and Mudblood didn't know. Dumbledore didn't know. Only he, Draco Malfoy, was in on the secret.

Draco knew that he should have told his father about everything, that Potter had been speaking with vampires and they could not trust any of them, even Christopher and his family. If the Arkwrights or any of the other vampires were spies, Draco knew he would have been rewarded beyond anything he could imagine by the Dark Lord, who had, of course, returned, as any fool should have known.

He also knew that the Dark Lord would have no mercy on anyone he suspected as a spy. So telling anyone had been out of the question, even before Potter had threatened him.

Instead, he decided that he would find out just what Potter was up to. He had not said anything more than he had felt he had to during their detention, and Draco wanted to know everything. He had never imagined that Saint Potter could be so Dark and secretive. It was fascinating. It was Slytherin. It attracted Draco like a month to a flame.

And that had lead to tonight. In truth, he really did become disgusted at the thought of spending any amount of time with someone who got such abysmal marks in Potions, and going to Potter with a demand that he be allowed to teach him was his own idea. Professor Snape had agreed to cover for him when Draco had told him the bare basics of what he would be doing, which had surprised him, but he could only assume that he was growing tired of Potter's failing marks as well. Maybe it had been because he was tired of their rivalry as well, which had also been, Draco suspected, his motivation behind their detention. It did not particularly matter to Draco; Professor Snape had agreed, and that was all he had wanted.

He had thought that he might get a repeat of Potter's short and empty promise to the centaur they had met in the forest. He had thought that perhaps Potter had made up the speech on the spot and had not thought more about it. It would have been disappointing, but it was all he had expected out of Potter.

But it seemed that Potter had made it his life's goal this year to continually surprised him.

He had been open with Potter because he knew that it would encourage Potter to be open with him, and he knew that neither of them would be sharing what they had learned with anyone else. The spell he had learned from Professor Snape ensured that no one would be able to listen in on their conversation, and that conversation itself had been full of enough secrets that no one would learn of it. Oh, Potter was free to tell his friends or Dumbledore that he was perfectly aware the Dark Lord had already returned, but he would have to explain how they knew, and Draco was sure they knew it already. And Draco could tell who he wanted, but it would put his family in danger, and besides, he no longer wanted to. This was his discovery and his secret.

So he had been open, and Potter had been open right back, and Draco had taken in everything. Potter had done an awful lot of research in a very short amount of time, with what must have been a deep and burning passion or he never would have gotten anywhere. He had practically glowed with that same passion as he told Draco exactly what he intended to do, though he had, disappointingly, not yet landed on exactly how it would have to be done.

(Draco did not necessarily agree with everything he had said, but Potter had failed to notice that he had said he only agreed with "most" of the laws on the books. He did not agree with those that were making his distant family suffer, even if they were vampires. And those, he was sure, were the first on Potter's list of what had to go.)

But more importantly was how he had spoken of magic. That magic should not be restricted, except in those cases where it truly did no good to anyone. That magic should be celebrated and all should be available to be learned by all who wished to learned it. It had been when his eyes shown with the most passion, and it had been then that Draco had decided to offer to teach him more than just Potions, knowing that he might whine and distrust him and makes excuses not to, but that he would never refuse.

And he had not. Draco had felt a thrill of satisfaction when Potter had grasped his hand, looking far more excited by the prospect of learning new magic than he probably knew. Book learning and subtle arts that did not require a wand had never been up Potter's alley, but put a wand in his hand and he became possessed by it.

Draco had grown up on stories of the Dark Lord and his rise to power, of his promises to the purebloods and what could have been if he had not gone to Potter's house that night. He, too, had felt that the Wizarding world could not continue on its current path, that they would have to forcibly grab the reins and steer everyone back to the right path, and that he was the only one who could do it. He, too, had felt that magic was a thing to be celebrated and not feared.

He wondered if Potter had any idea how much had had sounded like the Dark Lord he had grown up hearing about in bedtime stories when he had given his passionate speech tonight. 

Draco was not going to be the one to tell him. He would hate to see Potter falter now, when he was on the precipice of becoming something wonderful.

He reached the bottom of the grand marble stairs of the Entrance Hall just as Potter was disappearing into the doorway that lead to the Hufflepuff common room...and the kitchens, Draco supposed, since that was where he'd said he was headed. Potter paused for a fraction of a second to wave goodbye, a gesture so fleeting it could have been passed off as him moving to close the door. Draco did not bother to wave back—he wouldn't see it anyway—and he did not allow a smile to rise to his lips. He had done well so far; he was not going to allow himself to slip now.

He could see it clearly now—the chaos the centaur had spoken of, and the hope as well. Potter was no longer a known entity, where before he could be counted on to be a part of Dumbledore's side and oppose the Dark Lord's and the Ministry's. He had broken free and formed a fourth side—which would become the third once the Ministry finally took a stance (and Draco thought he might even shift back to one of the other two, once he figured out that he and Dark Lord shared many of the same goals)—and no one would see it coming when he descended upon them all in a whirlwind of anarchy.

No one except Draco. He was the only one in the centre of the board, who could see most of the pieces and where they might go. It was a thrilling thought. He could not wait to watch Dumbledore's precious plans come crashing down about his ears when Potter finally revealed he was playing by his own rules now.

It was easy enough to find time to meet with Malfoy when he would not be missed. Now that he could no longer play in matches, Angelina no longer required him to come to practices, although she had given him an immensely dirty look when she had said as such. He decided that this would be the best time to meet with Malfoy, as he obviously did not have practice then either, nor would Harry be scheduling a D.A. meeting during that time.

Harry had discussed this with him on Sunday, as he had chosen to interrupt his library time then as well, and Malfoy had agreed that there would probably be no better time.

Malfoy had been the one to come up with a better place to meet. He had found an empty classroom not far from the library and pointed it out to him that night before they had gone their separate ways. As it turned out, Harry was already quite familiar with this particular classroom, as the Mirror of Erised had once been housed within it, but he did not mention this to Malfoy. It was a good choice—it was out of the way, so it would be unlikely for anyone to walk in on them; it was about halfway between their respective dormitories; but most importantly, it was several floors away from both Umbridge's office and the DADA classroom, so they were quite unlikely to encounter her at any time.

Harry wondered why Malfoy was so determined to keep her from knowing anything about this, since, as he'd said, he could just tell her that Professor Snape had requested he give Harry extra lessons, but he had not been keen on answering, saying only that some of the magic he wanted to teach Harry wasn't thought of highly by the Ministry, even if it wasn't actually Dark Arts.

What was not so easy was hiding these meetings from Ron and Hermione.

It was not so much that he wanted to keep this secret from them—in fact, he thought it was a good thing he and Malfoy were no longer fighting and instead were almost getting along. And he thought Hermione, at least, would be glad to learn he was becoming a bit more serious with his Potions homework. But he was also fairly certain that neither of them would think he should be spending time in relative private with Malfoy, not after four years' animosity toward him and with his father's status as a Death Eater.

So Harry simply neglected to mention that he now had a Potions tutor, so he would not have to listen to them lecture him over something new.

However, it took very little time for Hermione to figure out something was up. She did not have Ron's excuse of being too busy with homework and Quidditch practice to notice that Harry was suddenly spending less time in the common room than had become usual. Harry used his own excuse of being behind on homework to avoid any questions, but he could tell she was getting restless.

It had not even been two weeks before Hermione finally managed to corner him.

"—of course, a direct relationship between the effects of a potion and the ingredients used to make it, not only through their nature, but also quantity and how they're prepared. A potion such as the Draught of Peace requires delicacy in preparation and finely chopped ingredients, because its effects are delicate. So you ought to be able to guess what might be needed to create a potion just from knowing the potion's effects, and visa versa."

"It'd sure be great if Professor Snape spent any time on any of that," Harry muttered as Malfoy took a breath. "He just throws the potion up on the board and says 'go'."

Malfoy frowned at him. "That's what the homework's there for. And Herbology, for that matter. You ought to know what effect most of those ingredients will produce already." He suddenly sneered and crossed his arms. "Just like you should have known what they look like."

"Yeah, yeah, and that's why you're here now," Harry said, letting his head drop to the table. Agreeing to let Malfoy tutor him had been a bad idea. He wasn't any better at this than Hermione. And at least Hermione didn't like to insult him every few minutes.

"I'm only here to drag you back in the right direction. I can't believe you haven't even just figured this—"

Malfoy stopped abruptly. Harry cautiously looked up. They were in the library again, as Malfoy had insisted they get Harry's Potions marks up to par before they start on any magic, and while he'd used his silencing spell again (which he had flat out refused to teach Harry) to create private space for them, it wouldn't stop anyone from just walking up to their table.

And it turned out the someone had. Hermione stood maybe an arms' length away with her arms crossed and eyes narrowed as she watched them.

Malfoy raised his wand and lowered the spell. "What do you want, Granger?"

Hermione spared him the smallest glance before turning to Harry. "Could I talk to you for a minute, Harry?"

Harry hesitated, but of course, he couldn't turn down a friend like that. He started to get out of his seat. Malfoy shot out a hand and grabbed his wrist. His wand was now pointed squarely at Hermione.

"Maybe you didn't notice," Malfoy said snidely, "but we're a bit busy, Granger."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, were you? I couldn't hear anything."

Malfoy's lips curled back and he started to open his mouth again, but Harry stood up before he could say anything else.

"It's just for a few minutes, all right?" he said, tugging his wrist free. "Besides, I could use a break." He nodded to Hermione and started following her out of the depths of the library before Malfoy could stop them again.

Hermione led him through the labyrinth of shelves to another isolated section of the library, one he suspected might be her usual corner because of the familiarity with which she made her way there. As soon as she felt they'd gone far enough to be alone, she turned around and eyed him with a look that didn't seemed angry, exactly, but Harry could not say what else it might be.

"I thought you were doing research on wizard law," she said after a moment. She did not sound angry, either, but she obviously wasn't pleased.

Harry wasn't sure what she was thinking right now, so he wasn't really sure how to respond. He decided that he might as well just act like he hadn't done anything wrong, since that was the truth.

"I was," he said. "I still am."

"Then what are you doing with Malfoy?" she asked urgently.

It was worry. And suspicion. That was what was in her face, and her voice, though she was trying to hide it. Harry felt a stab of regret; he could have told her about this. He could have told her about everything, and he had chosen not to.

And he was still going to choose not to.

"Snape asked him to get my Potions marks up," Harry said, rolling his eyes so she could see just how much he appreciated it.

If anything, that just made her look more sceptical. "He did?"

"Yeah. You know I've never been good at Potions, and it's only gotten worse this year."

Hermione's gaze flicked up over his shoulder where they had left Malfoy several shelves away. "Are you sure that's all it is? His father's a Death Eater...and he's never helped you with anything," she added, as that was definitely the part she was having the most trouble believing.

Harry frowned a bit at her. He was already perfectly aware of that; he didn't really need a reminder. "Yeah, I know. You don't really think I'd start chatting him up about the Order, do you?"

Hermione hesitated. "No, of course not," she said, but she still sounded extremely unsure.

Harry felt his temper try to rear its ugly head again. How could she think that he would endanger anyone like that? He wanted Voldemort vanquished more than anyone! He wasn't about to go spilling secrets to the son of a member of his inner circle and she should never have thought he might.

"But?" he said tightly, just barely managing not to yell it.

Hermione bit her lip, glancing over his shoulder again. "Well, it's just...you and Malfoy...you've both been acting...different since your detention. Especially with each other..."

Harry stared at her. Of course, she would notice if something had changed, she noticed everything, but he hadn't really thought they'd been acting any different in public. Other than maybe Malfoy's lecture after Care of Magical Creatures two weeks ago.

"And you've got a secret you've only let Malfoy in on, even though you both hate each other, and now you're starting to actually hang out with him..." Hermione bit her lip again, but she looked less worried and more determined now. "I'm just worried about you, Harry. What if he put a spell on you during your detention?"

Harry almost laughed. Oh, if only it were that simple. "Like what, an Imperious? Hermione, I can throw that off."

"I know that..." she said, trailing off uncertainly. She might know it, but it still didn't seem to put her at ease. Harry shifted impatiently. If they didn't hurry up and quell Hermione's doubts soon, Malfoy was going to be over here wondering what was taking them so long.

"Snape told him to get my marks up. That's all it is, Hermione, promise. He isn't any happier about it than I am. The other stuff..." Harry sighed and ran a hand through his unruly hair. Once he figured out for sure what he was going to do, then he could figure out if he could let Ron and Hermione in on most everything. But until then... "We found out a couple things about each other during detention. Things that it'd be dangerous to let anyone else know about, for a lot more people than just the two of us. It's dangerous enough that we both know about it. I really do want to tell you. Maybe I can in the future. But right now I can't. 

"And you know," he added with a wry smile, "there's some things you can't go through without...well, just not hating each other anymore, I guess, and running from Fluffy is definitely one of them. Kind of like fighting a mountain troll."

Hermione pursed her lips, trying not to smile at the memory because she obviously still wanted to be mad and worried about all this. "I supposed there are." She sighed and crossed her arms, not distracted for long from the rest of what Harry had said. "Harry...this doesn't have anything to do with the vampires, does it?"

Harry thought he should be proud of himself; he managed to not react to that in a way that would tell her that, yes, it had everything to do with that. Rather, he tried to look bewildered instead.

"The vampires?"

"Well, I only thought...since Malfoy was with one in Hogsmeade, and there was one in Surrey this summer...and you've been so adamant about looking into the laws about them..." Hermione slowly looked more and more unsure of herself as she went on.

Harry shook his head, grinning like he still had no idea what she was talking about. "It's got nothing to do with vampires, Hermione. But I really can't say any more than that."

Hermione still did not look completely at ease, but at least she no longer looked as suspicious as before. And when her gaze flicked up over his shoulder again, he could see it was mostly toward Malfoy now rather than both of them.

"Professor Snape really asked him to tutor you?" she said, sounding a bit amazed.

Harry laughed and grinned sheepishly. "Yeah. And I think it's helped already; I've been pretty keen on learning whatever it is he's trying to teach me so I can get away from him as soon as possible."

Hermione smiled and shook her head. "What happened to not hating him anymore?"

"I don't. I still don't like him, he's a git."

The two of them made their way back through the library, this time in a far more comfortable silence. Harry was sure that this would not be the last time Hermione came to him about this subject, but he somewhat hoped that he would have a little more to say the next time it came up. He really hated keeping secrets from his friends, but more than that, he hated feeling like anything he told them could spread to Dumbledore, and more than that, the feeling that he couldn't trust Dumbledore in the first place.

As Harry had suspected, they had taken long enough that Malfoy had gotten up to see what was taking so long—they met him on the way back to their table. He followed them silently as they walked through the last few sets of shelves; in fact, he didn't say a word until Hermione was on her way out of the library.

"What," he said, eying Harry with one stupid eyebrow raised, "was that about?"

Harry raised his own eyebrows and sat down. "She's just looking out for me. Making sure the evil Slytherin Death Eater's son doesn't so something to hurt her friend, you know."

Malfoy smirked as he sat down across from him and cast the silencing spell again. "Well, now, that's hardly necessary. You'll be doing that well enough on your own."

December arrived in a whirlwind of snow and a positive avalanche of extra work for the fifth years and prefects. Almost as soon as December first, Ron and Hermione found themselves being dragged into extra tasks, such as overseeing and helping with the sudden effort to decorate the castle or watching over younger students during break. Malfoy, too, informed Harry that they might have to limit their study sessions to once a week until the start of next term. Harry only told him that they had better make sure that once a week was every Monday night, when he would benefit most from extra Potions lessons.

December brought with it, too, a reply from Sanguini, and Harry finally made up his mind on what he wanted.

Christopher has already approached them with promises from the Dark Lord. They will listen to me as well, I am sure, but they will want to hear what you have to offer them or they will not take you seriously. What do you want me to tell them?

It was the most Sanguini had written in weeks, ever since Harry had suggested they start reaching out to the goblins. He wanted to know if they seemed sympathetic to Voldemort, as Lupin had suggested they might if he started promising them things, but more than that, he wanted to know what they would want from a wizard who approached them at all. If there was one race that would be sure to mistrust any wizard who claimed to want to help them, it would be the goblins.

Harry thought long and hard about what he should ask Sanguini to say. He would work to allow them to use all their magic, not only that which wizards thought would be useful to them. He would work to allow them to use wands if they wished.

He knew what he wanted to do for them. Many a goblin war throughout history had begun because the goblins wanted access to wands and wizards firmly denied them. He knew it would be a tempting offer, and one the Voldemort would never dream of laying out for them.

It was when he thought about how he would do it that he ran into a snag.

This was the question that had plagued him since Malfoy had brought it up. Before then, he had considered it in the back of his mind while he read, but Malfoy had brought his full attention to it; he had been the one to point out that Harry needed to be thinking about that just as much. It was all well and good to say what he wanted to do, what his dreams were for the future, but if he never stopped to consider the road that would take him there, he would never get anywhere at all.

His first thought, as he had told Malfoy, was to go through the Ministry. He would take the path Cedric was going to take: get the right marks in the right O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s and go into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Being Division. He would began changing the Ministry from the inside. He might not even need to get into the particular Department; if he followed his other ambition to become an Auror, he might have even more influence and more ability to change the way they treated Dark creatures in particular.

But the more he thought about this, the more holes he could find in that plan. It would take years—it would be two and half more years before he left Hogwarts, and then he doubted he'd be able to start dismantling inhumane laws right away; it might be several more years before he'd be able to get the support he'd need to be able to do that, assuming they didn't simply kick him out first. That would be a problem too; he didn't doubt that Malfoy was right and they would simply get rid of him if they didn't like what he was saying. He had very little faith in the Ministry nowadays, and even less in their tolerance for anything that might upset their happy little world.

There was the support he would need to start dismantling laws. He had finally come across a book that detailed how various laws had been passed in the first place. Under most circumstances it took a majority vote in the Wizengamot, unless the Minister had declared them to be at war, and even that required a vote to actually be affirmed. Repealing a law that had been passed either way required a super-majority to agree that it should go. Harry tried to imagine convincing a full two-thirds of the Wizengamot to allow vampires to hunt where they wished and almost laughed. It would be impossible. It would take a lifetime.

But what really made him abandon the whole idea was thinking about how the goblins would react if they were told that he was going to dismantle everything from inside the Ministry. If they believed it, they would surely scoff and turn their backs on him. It would be bad enough asking them to trust one wizard, but asking them to trust the entire wizarding establishment? If he was lucky, he would only turn them away from him, but it could easily then turn them toward Voldemort.

Going through the Ministry would not work. At least, it wouldn't work for him. Cedric might have been able to do it. He, Harry Potter, had neither the patience nor faith in the Ministry it would require.

He thought about reaching out to Dumbledore next. Even if Dumbledore had ignored him with increasing determination all year, he was still a respected figure in the Wizarding world, but more than that, he was the leader of the Order of the Phoenix. If there was anyone who would be interested in leading other magical races away from Voldemort, it would be Dumbledore.

Except that, if Harry was honest with himself, this was one problem that really had nothing to do with Voldemort. It was true that had no desire to see Voldemort leading armies of vampires and goblins wooed by false promises and imagined respect. But he didn't want to try to help them so that they would agree to help him again Voldemort. He wanted to help them for their own sake, and if they chose to stay out of the war, he might be disappointed, but he really wouldn't be able to blame them. This war had nothing to do with them.

And he found that he did not like the idea using a promise of freedom as a bargaining chip. Their side should choose to help the other races because it was the right thing to do; Voldemort was the one who lied and cheated and swindled to get what he wanted.

He didn't know if Dumbledore would think the same way. Dumbledore had always been opposed to the harsher restrictions on werewolves that had made it impossible for Lupin to get a job, even before Voldemort had returned. But...Harry couldn't help but wonder why he had only sent a emissary to the giants when he thought that Voldemort would be reaching out to them as well, as a preventative measure. It didn't sit right with him.

But what had really decided it for him was the book he had found that listed how various laws had been passed. It also listed what Winzengamot members had been present that day and who had voted for and against or had abstained from voting altogether. It was finding Dumbledore's name as vote for a law that banned vampires from Muggle areas that made Harry decide that he could not go to Dumbledore. It was not the only law he disagreed with that Dumbledore had voted for either.

Dumbledore, if he actually looked at him long enough to talk to him, would not understand what Harry wanted to do. Dumbledore was determined to keep the world as it was for the foreseeable future. Harry was determined that something needed to change.

He had a fleeting thought of writing to Voldemort himself, to get him to at least agree to be sincere about his promises to the various creatures he was courting. He dismissed it in about half a second. Even if he thought Voldemort would listen and agree, he dearly wanted the man dead and gone from the world once and for all, and he had not lost sight of that particular mission just yet.

It was upon considering what message to send the goblins that he decided once and for all what he was going to do. It was something he had considered fleetingly and then dismissed, because he was already involved in a war with Voldemort and adding more fighting on top of that made him uneasy. It would divide the Order and Ministry's attention, if they were stupid about it, while Voldemort would go on as he always had, only delighting in their inability to get along.

He could, of course, wait until after he'd defeated Voldemort, so he would only have one organized group to oppose him. The possibly was out there, and was probably what he should do. However, just because he wouldn't demand that his allies provide aid before he would consider helping them, it didn't mean he wouldn't like to have those allies behind him when he went after Voldemort.

It was something the goblins would be intimately familiar with, although it was rare that they teamed up with other magical races to try and achieve their goals. It was something that was an infinitely better promise than what Voldemort had given them or anyone else. He only offered the promise that their goals would be achieved; Harry would promise that he would be the only to do it.

His only hesitation was over whether the vampires would be interested, because in the end, this was really more about them than anyone else; they had been the ones to set him on this path. Lorcan had told him the first time they'd met that most vampires chose not to follow Voldemort because they didn't like mindless violence. Harry thought that this wouldn't be mindless at all, but it wasn't really up to him to decide that for everyone else.

In the end, it was so simple, putting those six little words to the parchment of the journal. It looked so innocent written down like that; so deceptively short and sweet and simple. His heart beat fast as he wrote, and his breathing quickened, and his hand shook slightly, and Firenze's words of two months ago swam to the surface of his mind: "What is clear is that the world will be thrown into chaos..."

And then it was written, and there was no going back. He never even considered it. Once he decided on something, he always ran into it headfirst.

He decided to copy those words onto a second piece of parchment, one that he could pass on to the only other person who would understand what they meant. This would be his chance to decide what he wanted for his own future. Perhaps Snape had been trying to encourage him toward the right side and perhaps he hadn't, but Harry was going to step back and let him decide where to go. It was the least he could do for pointing him in the right direction.

Harry made sure to walk out after Malfoy one night at dinner, so he could slip the parchment into his hand as he brushed past. Malfoy tensed and glanced at him, but Harry pretended not to notice as he walked on and started up the marble steps to the first floor. It was only when he reached the top that he allowed himself to look back around and see if Malfoy had even glanced at the note.

Malfoy stood at the bottom of the steps with the parchment unfurled just enough so only he could see what was written there. After a moment, he carefully rolled the parchment back up and clenched it in his fist. He had his head turned away so neither Harry nor anyone else could see what expression he was making.

Then he turned to look at Harry and smiled, and Harry couldn't help a grin from breaking out on his own face. Malfoy would be with him, then. He had one less person to worry about.

Malfoy's smile quickly turned to a smirk, as he bowed his head very slightly. Then he turned on his heel and continued on to the Slytherin dungeons, as calmly as he might have done any other day.

Harry followed his lead and went back on his merry way up to Gryffindor Tower. There were only a couple days left until the holidays, so he would not being meeting with Malfoy again until next term. By then, however, they might both have a good idea of how they wanted his lessons to progress. Harry was already thinking they were going to need to look up a few offensive spells to practice.

Chapter Text

Was this why Dumbledore would no longer look him in the face? Did he, too, believe that Harry was being possessed, that he would look into Harry's eyes one day and see slitted red looking back at him?

I'm not being possessed! Harry thought desperately, but he was believing it less and less every second. Hadn't this been exactly what they'd been afraid of weeks ago, when he had cast an unknown spell at Malfoy? He still did not know where that spell might have come from; he couldn't remember all the books he'd looked through last year.

He couldn't bring himself to look at the others around him as they rode the underground back to the station near Grimmauld Place. He had been the one to insist that it was nothing, that it had just been stress, that he must have found the spell in a book and forgotten about it until that moment. He had been the one to insist that it was not possession and now...

But it's not possession! Harry's thoughts screamed desperately.

A truly terrible thought occurred to him, a memory from earlier in the year bobbing to the forefront of his mind.

"What's he after apart from followers?"

"Stuff he can only get by stealth...like a weapon. Something he didn't have last time..."

It was him. He was the weapon. Perhaps it had been possession after all, but even if it was not...Harry could not shake the feeling that he had still had something to do with what had happened in October. The certainly of this settled in Harry's stomach like a lead weight. His scar only burned when Voldemort was involved, and it had definitely burned that night.

"Are you all right, Harry, dear?" whispered Mrs. Weasley, leaning across Ginny to talk to him as the train rattled out of a dark tunnel. "You don't look very well. Are you feeling sick?"

Harry shook his head, but he kept his gaze firmly on his shoes and the floor in front of him.

He did feel ill. And he felt very, very alone. He had no one to truly confide in. He did not want to see his friends' looks of horror and worry when they looked at him. He could not discuss this with anyone in the Order or they would know they had been listening in outside the hospital door. He had not told Malfoy or Sanguini about the visions, and he very well could not write to Malfoy anyway, even if he'd wanted to now.

The whirling of his thoughts hesitated. He had not told Sanguini yet, but there was no reason he couldn't. He'd only refrained before because he didn't really want to share outside the tiny circle of people with whom he'd had no other choice Sanguini wasn't really in that circle.

But now...now he desperately wanted another opinion. He wanted to know what someone on the outside would think. Someone who could form an opinion right there on the spot as he had only minimal knowledge of this before.

"Harry, dear, are you sure you're all right?" said Mrs. Weasley as they walked around the patch of unkempt grass in the middle of Grimmauld Place. "You look ever so pale...Are you sure you slept this morning? You go upstairs to bed right now, and you can have a couple hours' sleep before dinner, all right?"

Harry nodded silently, glad for this ready made excuse to be alone for a little while. He would need some time to collect his thoughts and write down everything from the beginning, starting with last summer, when the visions had first started, and ending with the event of early this morning. If he was going to tell Sanguini everything, it was going to be everything.

As soon as Mrs. Weasley opened the front door, Harry was making his way inside and across to the stairs, which he took two at a time in his hurry to get upstairs to his and Ron's bedroom.

As soon as he was inside, he shut the door and dashed over to his trunk. He had only begun to dig through his clothes when he was struck by another awful thought—the journal would not be in here. He had been keeping it practically under his pillow for months now. It would still be sitting there, on his bed in Gryffindor Tower, because he had not been planning to pack for the holiday until tonight.

It was not the end of the world that it would still be laying on his bed. He had charmed it within weeks of arriving back at school so only he could read what was inside, as a precaution.

But it did mean that it would not be here for him to write in now, when he desperately needed it.

The mirror, on the other hand, lay safely inside his invisibility cloak in a corner of his trunk. He had rarely bothered to pull it out while he was at Hogwarts, as it would look far less suspicious to be seen writing in a journal than talking silently into a mirror. He could still talk to Sanguini, but it would have to wait until everyone else was asleep.

He got to his feet in a fit of restlessness and began pacing. He did not want to wait until late into the night. He felt as though he might burst if he could not let everything out as soon as possible.

Everyone else thought Voldemort was possessing him. He thought that might be pretty likely too—even ignoring the event in October, he kept having these visions looking out through Voldemort's eyes, and last night he had been been the snake to attack Mr. Weasley...

Harry paused, staring at Phineas Nigellus' empty frame. It was true that in his latest vision, he had not been Voldemort at all, but rather a snake he strongly suspected had been Nagini. And he had no idea how he could have been looking out of the snake's eyes. But his other visions this year had both been from Voldemort's perspective, and he had not left the school during either of them. Malfoy had told him he'd had to curse him to keep him quiet and still, so he had had obviously not gone anywhere.

Last night, his vision had been far more real than the others...he had felt quite certain that he was the snake, that he had been there, wherever Mr. Weasley had been...but if he had not left the school during either of his other visions, what would have made this one different...?

But Dumbledore, and therefore the Order, did not know about at least one of those visions, and Harry had not been able to remember much about the one they might have heard about. They would only know about the event in October, where possession was a very real possibility. Coupled with this vision and how Harry had made it very clear that he had been the snake, of course they would think that's what it was.

Harry sank to the floor in the middle of the room, his sudden fit of restlessness gone as quick at it had come. He could not tell them about those visions. They could very well already know what had happened those two nights anyway, through Snape. But he could not tell them himself. He was an awful liar, and there were some very perceptive people in the Order. Even if he tried to pretend he did not know who Christopher was, he was sure to give something away.

He would just have to insist that Voldemort was not possessing him. Like had had been insisting since October. That was not what it was. That was not what was happening.

He glanced at his trunk, irritated, for no good reason, that Sanguini would be asleep right now. He would surely have some idea of what was really going on, and Harry trusted him to be willing to share.

"Thinking about running away, I suppose?"

Harry started and stared up at the empty picture frame, which was no longer empty. Phineas Nigellus had returned to it and now stood leaning against the frame, inspecting his silk gloves with a look of immense boredom.

Harry scowled at him. "Why would I?"

"Oh, I don't know, I've always found it to be quite a bit more intelligent to look out for your own neck when your life's been put in danger."

"It's not my life that's been in danger," Harry said, slowly getting to his feet. He did not really feel like staying here if he was just going to be heckled by Sirius's unpleasant great-great-grandfather.

Phineas gave him an amused glance. "Gryffindors. You never were able to see past the ends of your own noses."

Harry sneered at him and turned to leave. He had just reached the door and laid his hand on the doorknob when Phineas spoke up again.

"I have a message for you from Albus Dumbledore," he said lazily. "As it happens."

Harry spun around. "What is it?"

"Stay where you are."

Harry blinked at him, and when he did not continue, scowled again. "I haven't moved! What is it?"

"I have just given it to you, you dolt," Phineas said casually. "Dumbledore says, 'Stay where you are.'"

Harry stared at him. That could not possibly be it. After all these months and everything Harry had been through, Dumbledore could not possibly be telling him the same damned thing he had been silently telling Harry the whole time. 

"That's it?" he demanded incredulously.

"The entirety of it," Phineas said, looking bored again.

Harry felt his rage rise up in a flood and crash down upon him. Before he knew it, he was shouting. "That's it? Just stay there? That's all anyone would tell me after the dementors too! Never mind that you almost died, Harry, just stay put and let the adults sort it all out, only we won't tell you anything because your little brain might not understand!"

"You know," said Phineas Nigellus, even more loudly than Harry, "this precisely why I loathed being a teacher! Young people are so infernally convinced that they are absolutely right about everything. has it not occurred to you, my poor puffed-up popinjay, that there might be an excellent reason why the Headmaster of Hogwarts is not confiding every tiny detail of his plans to you? Have you never paused, while feeling hard-done-by, to note that following Dumbledore's orders has never yet led you to harm? No. No, like all young people you are quite sure that you alone feel and think, you alone recognize danger, you alone are the only one clever enough to realize what the Dark Lord may be planning..."

Harry had been prepared to sneer back that he didn't care about any of that, all he wanted was to know that Dumbledore still cared if he was in danger, but the last few words made all that die in his throat. "He is planning something to do with me, then...?"

"Did I say that?" Phineas said, looking over his fingers again. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have better things to do than to listen to adolescent agonizing...Good day to you..."

And he strolled out of his frame and out of sight.

Harry sank back down to the floor, leaning heavily back against the door. He didn't care about staying here—he had never been planning to leave—but he would have appreciated a bit of concern from the headmaster, who was apparently so very busy looking out for Harry's well-being that he could not spare a moment to check up on him himself. And he did not want to hear that Voldemort was planning anything, especially today, right now, during that particular burst of outrage.

He gave his trunk another frustrated glance. Now he was feeling rather desperate to speak to Sanguini. Maybe he would have something to say about Voldemort's supposed plans as well.

His eyes slipped closed on their own. He felt exhausted...he could hardly believe that less than twenty-four hours ago, he had been awkwardly kissing Cho Chang under the mistletoe and worrying about why she was crying the whole time...he felt his breathing begin to slow and tried to open his eyes again...but it was no use...he was so tired...

He was walking down a dark, deserted corridor toward a plain black door, past rough stone walls with torches and an open doorway onto a flight of stairs leading down into darkness on the left...

He reached the black door but could not open it...He stood gazing at it, desperate for entry...Something he wanted with all his heart lay beyond...a prize beyond his dreams...if only his scar would stop prickling...

WHAM!

"Harry! Sorry! I didn't mean—what're you doing behind the door?"

Harry groaned and fell forward, clutching the back of his head. Behind him, Ron's panicky voice babbled on.

"I mean, how was I supposed to...could've knocked, I guess...are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Ron," Harry muttered, rubbing at his head. It was interesting, feeling like his head would split open from the other side for once.

He heard Ron shift awkwardly. "Er...Mum says dinner's ready, but she'll save you something if you don't...want to come down just yet..."

Harry did not answer right away. He was still busy nursing his head. Did he want to go down, where he would surely be assaulted by nervous and worried looks from people who really ought to know better because as he had been saying the whole time, there was nothing wrong?

He carefully got to his feet and glanced at his trunk a third time. Then he sighed and turned to follow Ron out the door and down the stairs. It would probably be better than staying up here with only his thoughts and the sinking sun to keep him company.

Harry did not have a chance to talk to Sanguini that night. After dinner, Ron managed to talk him into a game of chess, which quickly turned into several games while Ginny sat by and gave purposefully poor advice to the both of them and the twins and Sirirus chatted in low voices in a corner. None of them brought up what they had overheard in the hospital, and while it felt very much like an elephant in the room, Harry was grateful he did not have to talk about just yet.

They did not head upstairs too bed until Harry was beginning to find it difficult to keep his eyes open. He yawned once, and Mrs. Weasley was ushering them up the stairs. Harry noticed as he entered their bedroom that Phineas had returned, probably to keep an eye on him, and was leaning boredly against his frame again. Harry scowled at him and made a grand show of pulling on his pyjamas so he could rescue the mirror from his trunk without anyone noticing. He would just have to hide under his covers as he spoke to Sanguini.

At least, that was the plan. The reality was that one moment, Ron was turning out the lights and Harry was slipping into bed, and the next, Ron was calling to him from the doorway that breakfast was almost ready.

Harry regretfully hid the mirror under his pillow as he left. He felt a little less panicked and restless now that he'd had a good night's sleep, but he still felt that it was about time Sanguini learned about this.

They spent most of the day doing some last minute cleaning and putting up Christmas decorations. Sirius, thrilled that he would have company other than Kreacher for the holiday, led this effort with unbridled enthusiasm; he could hardly be found staying in one place for much of the day and the house echoed with badly sung Christmas carols. Harry found his enthusiasm quite infectious, and he threw himself whole-heartedly into the distraction of decorating along with him.

Around six-o'clock, the doorbell rang and Hermione was hurriedly ushered in. Harry offered to help her carry her things upstairs to the room she shared with Ginny, only partially so she wouldn't immediately hear that apparently Dumbledore thought he was being possessed too.

"What happened to skiing in France?" he asked as they made their way up the stairs.

"Well, to tell the truth, skiing's not really my thing," she said, shaking the snow out of her hair. "So I've come for Christmas. But don't tell Ron that, I told him it's really good because he kept laughing so much."

They reached the first landing and turned into the room opposite the doors to the drawing room.

"Anyway," Hermione said, setting her bag down on the bed nearest the door, "Mum and Dad are a bit disappointed, but I've told them that everyone who's serious about the exams is staying at Hogwarts to study. They want me to do well, they'll understand."

They turned to leave again and nearly ran into Ron and Ginny, who had appeared at the top of the stairs with a large plate of sandwiches. Ron shifted a bit awkwardly, but Ginny determinedly walked over and ushered them both back into the room.

"Now Hermione's here, we really ought to talk, Harry, don't you think?" she said.

Harry scowled at her but obediently turned back around and sank to the floor next to Hermione's bed.

Once they were all inside and settled and the door was shut and the plate of sandwiches was placed on the floor in the middle of all of them, Ginny nodded to Hermione with a smile. "You first, Hermione."

Hermione looked a bit startled, but it passed quickly enough. "Well, I came on the Knight Bus. Dumbledore told me what happened first thing yesterday morning, but I had to wait for term to end officially before setting off. Umbridge is already livid that you lot disappeared right under nose, even though Dumbledore told her Mr. Weasley was in St. Mungo's, and he'd given you all permission to visit."

"Umbridge is always livid with everything I do," Harry said. "Sort of her natural state of mind by now."

Hermione smiled very slightly. "Honestly, I think she was just as upset with Dumbledore. So...what's happened here? Professor McGonagall let me know Mr. Weasley's going to be okay..."

Ron and Ginny glanced at each other, then at Harry. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had been hoping they would simply never have this conversation at all. He had managed to put it off for more than a day.

"Well, we went to visit Dad yesterday, once we found out he'd be okay..." Ron started hesitantly.

"Moody and Tonks came with us, you know, as a guard," Ginny continued, "and they had a moment alone with Mum and Dad, to talk about Order stuff."

"But you know Fred and George, they had the Ears handy, so we were able to listen in a bit. St. Mungo's doesn't make a habit of putting Imperturbable Charms on their doors..."

Ron trailed off, looking awkward. Ginny was staring at Harry with a slight frown on her face.

Harry decided he was going to say something before either of them could, so they would know right away how he felt about all this. He crossed his arms and glared at the far wall. "Dumbledore and the Order all think I'm being possessed too."

Hermione's mouth opened in a small "oh" and she glanced at Ron and Ginny with a significant look. Harry wished they would stop doing that, at least while he was around.

"Well, I'm sure they can't really think that," Hermione said carefully. "Not about this last vision anyway. Obviously, that wasn't the case this time—"

"It hasn't been the case any time!" Harry said viciously. "I'm not possessed, Hermione. I think I'd know if I was."

"Harry, what happened with Malfoy—" Ginny began, but she faltered when Harry suddenly shot to his feet.

"I told you, it was just stress," he said stiffly. "I'd been under a lot of it then, you remember."

Ginny scowl back at him and got to her feet as well. "Look, we're just trying to look out for you—"

"Well, I don't need it, all right?" Harry said, shaking slightly. "It's bad enough Dumbledore won't look at me and the Order all think Voldemort's in my head, I don't need you lot thinking it too. It's not...it's just the same connection I've always had to him. That's all it is. So drop it, would you?"

And with that, he wrenched the door open and stalked out of the room. He did not glance back as he stomped up the stairs to the second floor. He just wanted to be alone for now, especially if his friends were just going to agree with Moody.

He flopped down on his bed and scowled up at the ceiling. What he really would have liked was to be able to talk this over with Dumbledore, to find out what he really thought might be happening. Obviously it wasn't just the same old connection to Voldemort he'd always had, but how much of that was because he had a body now and how much was something else entirely? Why was he suddenly seeing through Voldemort's eyes, when before he had always been an outside observer? Did the event in October have anything to do with all this? But Dumbledore had not even looked at him or seemed willing to answer any questions when they had seen each other immediately after one of his visions, so why would he bother at any other time?

And if Dumbledore did ever actually look him in the eyes again...

Harry's insides squirmed uncomfortably. He had done exactly that two days ago, and Harry had felt an immense desire to bite him the way he had Mr. Weasley. But surely that was only because the vision was still fresh in his mind...

He shifted and felt the hardness of the mirror through the pillow behind his head. Tonight he would call Sanguini and talk to him. Maybe he couldn't have Dumbledore's opinion, but surely Sanguini would have some idea of what was going on, once he had all the facts.

He would have to wait until Ron was asleep, though, just in case.

He lay there staring up at the ceiling, turning over what he wanted to say in his mind, for what seemed like hours. Every so often, Phineas would make a small noise in his picture, but Harry determinedly ignored him. He had no interest in getting into another shouting match with the snooty ex-Headmaster, especially when neither of them had anywhere else to go.

Finally, the handle jiggled and Ron slowly stepped into the room. Harry turned onto his side so he was facing away from the door as much as possible. He did not want to talk to Ron just yet. He wanted to pretend for just a little longer that his friend would have come to his senses.

"Harry..." Ron said, trailing off weakly. Harry heard him quietly shut the door and lock it. Then he took in a deep breath and continued on in a slightly more confident tone of voice, "Hermione said she reckons you might be right, that possession's not really the right word for it and we probably shouldn't jump to conclusions just 'cause we don't know what's going on. So it's...it's still on the table, but we won't bring it up any more, all right?"

Harry hunched a bit closer to the wall in response. It was probably the best compromise he could hope for, but that didn't mean he wanted to talk to anyone until after he'd talked to Sanguini and had some sleep.

After a moment, Ron sighed slightly and shuffled off to his bed. Another minute and he was turning out the light and sliding into bed.

Harry waited until he'd heard Ron's snoring for a solid ten minutes. Then he carefully got up to quickly switch out into his pyjamas, and then he got into bed and pulled the covers up over his head and his pillow, so he could pull the mirror out in complete secrecy.

His heart was suddenly beating very fast. He curled up on his side and held the mirror out in front of him under the covers.

"Sanguini."

The surface of the mirror rippled, and in a moment, he was looking through his small window into Sanguini's cottage. The mirror on Sanguini's side looked to be laying on his desk; all Harry could see was the slatted golden wood of the ceiling.

But in a moment, a hand appeared to grab the mirror and move it so Harry could see his friend clearly. Sanguini smiled at him and bowed his head once in greeting. "Revolution, Harry?"

It took Harry a moment to figure out what he could be referring to. He felt like he had lived a lifetime since he had left that short note for Sanguini three days before the end of term. And then he took another moment to scrutinize Sanguini's appearance, to see if he could figure out how he felt about the idea. Sanguini looked thinner than the last time they had spoken like this and he had dark circles under his eyes, but his dark eyes were glittering with new life.

Harry grinned slightly. "That's the plan. But that wasn't what I wanted to talk to you about. Are you busy?"

Sanguini regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. Then he shook his head with a small smile. "I am never too busy for you. What is it?"

"I need to tell you something. I should have told you ages ago. And I need your opinion on it too."

Sanguini nodded once. "I'm listening."

Harry took a deep breath and began. He talked about his first vision, two summers ago when Voldemort had been hiding out with Wormtail in his dead father's manor. He talked about the one he'd had later that year, just before the Third Task, when Voldemort had received a letter from Barty Crouch Jr. detailing that he had killed his father and set their plan back on the right foot (although Harry had not known that was what the letter contained at the time). He mentioned all the times this year when his scar had burned and he'd felt an unfamiliar emotion along with it—the night before their ride back to school, during his first set of detentions with Umbridge, several weeks later after Quidditch practice. He brought up the moment during his duel with Malfoy again, though briefly, as he had already told Sanguini about that.

He faltered for a moment when he came to the first real vision he'd had this year, but he dutifully continued on and told Sanguini everything he could remember about it, which did not amount to much more than he had told Ron—that he had been Voldemort, had had met with a vampire, and that vampire had turned him down. He thought he saw Sanguini sit up a bit straighter while he spoke, but he said nothing and so Harry went on.

He paused for another moment to rub at his scar. It had started to itch and he finally couldn't ignore it.

He continued on to his vision of Christopher's meeting with Voldemort, admitting that he had known all along that Voldemort was reaching out to the goblins and that his request that Sanguini do the same for him was in reaction to that. Sanguini patiently waved it off and continued to listen attentively.

Harry finally reached the most recent vision, and it was this one that he had the most trouble describing. He'd had time to turn the others over in his head and make sense of them, and besides, no one he cared about had been seriously injured in them. But he managed to cover everything that had happened, including that he had been the snake. And he finished with the intense feeling of malice and hatred he had felt in Dumbledore's office when the headmaster had finally looked him in the eye. His scar had burned then too, or he might not have included it.

Just as it was starting to burn now. Harry breathed deeply and resolutely tried to ignore it. It might be nothing; it might only be that Voldemor's day had been particularly bad today.

Sanguini said nothing as Harry finally reached the end of his tale and fell silent. His expression was inscrutable and his eyes were gazed and distant as they stared into the mirror without really seeing it. Harry shifted a bit and rubbed at his forehead again.

"Has Dumbledore mentioned to you what he thinks about all this?" Sanguini said quietly, though his gaze was still unfocused.

"He hasn't said anything about it this year," Harry muttered. "He won't talk to me at all. Last year he said..." He paused to recall exactly what it had been Dumbledore had said after his dream in Divination; it was getting a bit difficult to focus with the pain in his forehead. "Last year is when he said we're connected, Voldemort and me, through my scar, because of the curse that failed. But I wasn't seeing anything from his perspective last year."

He hesitated again, but it looked as though Sanguini was not going to speak up, so he added quietly, "We overheard Moody talking the other day, though. He said Dumbledore's been waiting for something like this and...they think I've been possessed...that's what everyone thought in October too..."

Sanguini did not answer right away. Harry wished he would. He was having to screw up his eyes against the pain in his head now.

But after a moment, Sanguini shook his head and gave Harry a very faint, very apologetic smile. "I do not think you are being possessed. But I will have to consider this further, Harry, I'm sorry. I have never heard of anything like this before."

Harry felt a burst of relief. A moment later, a rush of wind and voices crashed down upon him, accompanied by a burst of searing pain in his scar. He heard himself cry out in frustration and Sanguini's cry of his name as though from the other end of a tunnel.

With his last bit of awareness, he shoved the mirror away, into the crack between his bed and the wall.

He was standing in the dark, curtained room. Before him stood six of his loyal servants; not the most loyal, of course, as they were all still imprisoned within the walls of Azkaban, but these six would do for what he had in mind.

"There will be no casualties," he was saying in a high and quiet voice. "And you may not cast my mark upon the sky. If I find that any of you has done so, you will soon be begging for death. This attack is meant to incite panic only, to remind the wizarding world that they are not so safe as they would like to believe, and I have no desire to announce my presence to the Ministry when they have been so sweetly ignoring my return."

"Yes, my lord," came the mumbled chorus from the wizards before him.

His lips curled into a smile and he sought out two of wizards in particular. "Lucius, Walden, you are clear in the tasks I have given you?"

"Yes, my lord," Lucius murmured with a bow as Macnair chimed in, "It is an honour, my lord."

He smiled again and lazily flicked his wand toward the door to remove the charms which held it closed. "Tomorrow at noon. Diagon Alley should be sufficiently busy at that time..."

Someone was shaking him...it only made the blinding pain in his head even worse...

"HARRY! HARRY!"

His eyes shot open. He was on the floor again, but this time Ron was the one leaning over him. Dark shapes were crowding into the room behind him.

"What's going on—"

"Sounds like someone's been murdered—"

Harry frantically tried to sit up, tried to get up and get moving—he had to tell someone—-they had to know—

Hands reached out to help him sit up. He grabbed one of them tightly, too tightly, and the owner hissed in pain.

"Ron..." he gasped out. His stomach was churning with nausea from the pain and elation that was not his own. "Ron...it's..."

"What is it?" Ron asked, and his face swam in front of Harry, white and panicked. "Has someone else been attacked?"

Harry shook his head frantically and clutched at Ron's hand even harder when this just made him dizzy and even more nauseous. "No...it's not that...I need to talk to the Order...Sirius, I need Sirius..."

"What's going on in here?" demanded a gruff voice from the doorway. The other people in the room hastily moved aside as Mad-Eye Moody limped his way over to them.

Harry felt relief crash over him and another uncomfortable swoop of glee in his stomach. Even if Moody did think he was being possessed, it was a member of the Order he needed right now, and Moody would be the most likely to take him seriously, if only because he was too paranoid to do otherwise.

"Mad-Eye..." he breathed, trying to get to his feet. "It's Voldemort, he's attacking Diagon Alley tomorrow..."

Moody jerked horribly, whether in shock or because of the name Harry couldn't tell. He grabbed Harry's arm and roughly dragged him to his feet himself.

"Another vision, was it, Potter?" Moody growled out, pinning Harry with a suspicious look with both eyes.

Harry nodded as firmly as he could. His headache was beginning to pass, but he still felt like he might be sick any minute. "He was meeting with his Death Eaters...he was giving them instructions..."

Moody went on scrutinizing him, but his magical eye was now spinning in all directions again. Harry thought he saw it slow down as it passed over the area around his bed, but he quickly had to look away; the rapid movements were only making him feel worse.

"I reckon you'd better come downstairs, Potter," Moody said after a moment. "We'll all have a listen to what you just saw."

The words had hardly left his mouth before he was gruffly steering Harry out of the room. Harry glanced back with an apologetic look as he left; now that he was thinking more clearly, he could see that Hermione and nearly the whole Weasley family was standing in the room, watching them leave with looks of various degrees of horror on their faces.

Moody led Harry down into the dimly lit kitchen, where Sirius, Lupin, and Mrs. Weasley were already sitting at the table, waiting for them. All three of them got to their feet as soon as they walked in, looking as though they were having a race to see who could be the fastest, and Sirius took a couple panicked steps toward him

"Are you all right, Harry? We heard screaming—Mad-Eye told us to wait here..."

"The boy's just fine, Black," Moody said, clapping a hand down on Harry's shoulder. "Just had another of his strolls through You-Know-Who's head, that's all."

Lupin jerked in panic this time, but Sirius was the one to cross the room and take him by the shoulders.

"Another vision, Harry?" he said, looking rather panicked himself. "How are you feeling? This can wait until morning if you're really—"

"No, it can't," Harry said firmly.

"Potter's right," Moody grunted, gesturing for Lupin and Mrs. Weasley to sit down again. "C'mon, let's all sit down and listen to what he's got to say."

Sirius nodded and wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders so he could lead him over to the table. He gave Harry's shoulder a comforting squeeze as he sat down next to Mrs. Weasley again and Harry sat beside him. Moody came to a stop across from them but did not sit down himself, choosing to remain standing behind the chair next to Lupin.

"All right, Potter," Moody said once everyone had settled. "Let's hear it."

Harry nodded, took in a deep breath, and began to tell them everything he had seen. He did not bother to say how he had seen and heard all this and no one asked, although Sirius's clenched Harry's arm painfully as he spoke. For all it might have felt otherwise, it took very little time at all to run through the entire vision, even while he tried to repeat Voldemort's words verbatim. In no time at all, he had reached the end and trailed off awkwardly.

The silence that followed was no less awkward. Harry chanced a glance up at the adults; they were all giving each other significant looks that he hated.

"Right then," Moody said, breaking the silence. "Molly, you know who to call. We'll need to prepare for this."

"Oh, yes, of course. Right you are, Alastor," Mrs. Weasley said, quickly get to her feet. "Harry, dear, why don't you go on back to bed now, see if you can't catch a few more hours sleep."

Harry stared at her in furious disbelief and stayed right where he was. "What? But I can help! I'm the one who knows what's going on!"

"Molly's right, Harry," Sirius said, clapping a hand on his shoulder as he, too, stood up. "Your help has been invaluable, no one's questioning that. But let us take it from here. You look like you could do with a bit more sleep."

Harry glared at him, feeling a bit betrayed, but he knew that they would allow nothing to happen while he was still down here. Either he left and he was shut out of the meeting, or he stayed and heard nothing anyway because there would be no meeting at all. He reluctantly got to his feet.

Lupin stood up at the same time and moved like he would come with them. In a second, Moody had a hand clamped on his arm.

"Hold it, Lupin, I've got something to discuss with you."

"C'mon, Harry, let's go back upstairs," Sirius said gently, and in a moment, he was steering Harry out of the room.

He waited until they were on the first floor to say anything else. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Harry said quietly. "I've still got a headache, but the worst of it's over."

"Well, nothing a bit of sleep won't cure, I'm sure," Sirius said with a bracing smile. Harry tried to smile back. It didn't work well.

They stopped when they reached the room Harry shared with Ron. Harry did not go in immediately. He was sure no one had left the room since he had been up here half and hour ago and they had only closed the door so that would not be immediately obvious.

"Well, Harry, I've got to go back down to the meeting," Sirius said, though he had a bitter note to his tone. It was probably because he was wondering what use it would be for him to be there, when he wouldn't be able to do anything. But he smiled a moment later and took Harry's shoulders in his hands. "If anything else happens...don't worry about all the secrecy, you come and tell us right away, all right?"

Harry nodded stiffly. He would have much preferred just being down there anyway.

Sirius gave him an apologetic smile and turned away so he could head back downstairs. Harry slowly turned the doorknob and slipped inside the room.

As he'd thought, the room was still full of people. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were sitting on Ron's bed while Fred and George had taken over the other. They shifted aside has Harry walked over and he sat down next to them.

"...Well?" Ron said after a moment.

Harry took a deep breath and launched into his second explanation of the night.

When Sirius re-entered the kitchen, it was to a flurry of commotion. It the short time it had taken him to take Harry back upstairs to bed, find a spare headache draught for him on a whim, and then warn the kids that they should all be back in their own beds before Molly had a chance to catch them later, Molly had managed to get most of their number into the kitchen. She had, worryingly, been unable to contact Dumbledore, and Kinglsey was on duty tonight, so he would have to be filled in once Remus took over for him in the morning. He would almost certainly be sent to Diagon Alley tomorrow, along with Tonks and Mad-Eye; three trained Aurors were the least of what they should send to stop this sudden attack on innocent civilians.

"But what could have made him decide to move now?" Molly was wondering aloud. "He can't have found another copy somewhere...?"

"I doubt he has, Molly," Remus said soothingly as Sirius sat next to him. "The Ministry should have the only copy, and we would have heard if he'd made a move to acquire it through other means."

"Maybe he's just got tired of waiting," Bill said with a shrug on Remus's other side.

"Yes, but Dumbledore was so certain he'd wait until—Oh, good, Severus, you've arrived..." And Molly rushed to greet the man who had just walked through the door, who was glowering, as he always was, at everything in sight.

"Excellent, let's get started then," Mad-Eye growled out over the din, and anyone who had still been standing hurried to find a seat. The room fell quiet as Molly finished filling Snape in on what had happened and she hurried back to her seat while Snape stalked over to one at the end of the table.

Once everyone was seated and had mostly stopped whispering to each other, Remus slowly stood and grimly looked over the table.

"Thank you, everyone, for coming on such short notice," he said, his voice quiet but firm and determined. Remus had always been that way; quiet and shy, nearly afraid of his own shadow at times, but with an inner strength that tended to surprise even those who had already known it was there. Sirius suspected it was a large part of why, ultimately, Dumbledore had made him a prefect, and why he had done so well as a teacher, and why, now, he tended to be the one to lead most Order meetings when Dumbledore wasn't present. It was easy to trust Remus and to want to differ to him.

"We've called you here tonight," Remus continued as he sat down again, "because Harry has had another vision. According to what he has seen, Voldemort will be sending Death Eaters to terrorize Diagon Alley, tomorrow at noon."

The whispering broke out immediately. Sirius heard the same question repeated over and over, along the whole table. The question they were all wondering, the question they had been wondering since Harry began his story. Why now? Why so suddenly like this?

Remus waited patiently for most of the whispers to die down. "That said, considering recent events, it might be better not to immediately jump to conclusions. Severus," he said, looking down the table, "have you been told anything about this?"

Snape was quiet for a good couple minutes, far longer than Sirius really had the patience for, as he mulled over what to say and how to say it, like always did just because he knew it would create suspense. Then finally, finally, he opened his mouth had said quietly, "I have not."

Sirius felt his stomach plummet like a stone and told himself firmly that there was no reason for that. Snape could easily be hiding something; he still wasn't one hundred percent assured of Snape's loyalty to the right people.

"However, I was aware that the Dark Lord met with a small group of his followers tonight," Snape continued, his eyes glittering toward Sirius. "That much of Potter's vision, at least, is true."

"But you weren't one of 'em," Mad-Eye growled out, sounding as suspicious of Snape as he always did. Moody, too, had never quite believed that Snape had actually changed sides, though most of them expected that out of him.

Snape regarded him calmly. "I was not. Did Potter say I was?"

Moody was staring at him with both eyes now, but after a moment, he grunted and his magical eye went back to spinning chaotically.

"I was not invited," Snape said after a moment, inclining his head toward Moody. "Nor were most of his Death Eaters. And while it is true that normally I would be, I believe I know the Dark Lord's reasoning behind his choice tonight."

He slowly got to his feet and began walking dramatically around the table. Sirius rolled his eyes. No matter how dangerous Snape liked to remind everyone his particular job was, he loved every minute of it and he loved lording it over everyone.

"Until recently," Snape said quietly, and like Remus, his voice had a way of carrying throughout the room and making everyone pay attention, "the Dark Lord had been unaware of the connection between Harry Potter and himself. Mr. Potter has been able to share his thoughts and emotions without his knowledge. However, the vision Potter had three days ago presented such an extreme intrusion into his mind that the Dark Lord has since become aware of it."

"So what, this whole thing could just be a trick?" Bill said, frowning.

Snape paused behind Remus's chair. Sirius didn't bother to crank his head around to look at him.

"I don't believe the Dark Lord would gather his followers without actually giving them a task to complete. The attack on Diagon Alley is likely a genuine plot. However, I do feel that the timing is suspicious. He may have allowed Potter to see what he saw as a test." 
Again, whispers broke out immediately. Sirius leaned back in his chair, feeling uneasy in spite of himself. It was easy to think of all the implications of that little statement.

If Voldemort knew that Harry was watching him, they might never be able to trust any of Harry's visions again. Snape would be able to corroborate some of them, undoubtedly, but he hadn't been able to do so tonight exactly. All he'd been able to confirm was that there had been a meeting at all, but the actual meeting could have been about anything.

If Harry's vision had been a test, if they sent anyone to Diagon Alley, it would only be confirmation that Harry had seen it. Even if Voldemort wasn't actually planning to attack anyone, he would undoubtedly send a few of his Death Eaters to see if any of the Order showed up. On the other hand, if they didn't send anyone, to prevent Voldemort from learning the truth, and he actually had told his Death Eaters to cause chaos, they would only be allowing people who knew nothing about any of this to be hurt.

Snape had arrived back at his seat again and was clutching the back of the chair as he watched the rest of the table come to the same conclusions.

"I believe the Dark Lord did not request my presence tonight as a precaution," Snape said quietly, "specifically so that Potter would be our only source of information about this raid, so there will be no question if the Order of the Phoenix hinders his Death Eaters tomorrow."

The table broke out in whispers again, though they were far more subdued this time and died out quickly. No one wanted to ask the question that was now on everyone's mind. None of them looked to Harry they way they did Dumbledore, but it was hard not to like him and especially hard to think about shutting him out of this war even more than was already necessary.

But finally, Remus took in a deep breath and spoke up. Sirius was glad he'd decided to be the one to say it. It would sound better coming from him than most anyone else.

"Then the question is how much we value Harry's connection to Voldemort and what secrets he might be able to provide us because of it." Remus glanced down the table at Snape, who was too much of a git to just sit back down again. "Severus, if we chose not to act on this information—"

"The Dark Lord would likely try again or choose some other method of testing him," Snape said as he finally sat back down in his seat. "He might even conclude that Potter is unaware of the connection and what happened three nights ago was merely coincidence. He does not doubt that there is a connection, and no matter what we decide, he will try to take advantage of it."

"I reckon we ought to keep a lookout on Diagon tomorrow," Moody growled from down the table. "You-Know-Who'll be in the boy's head no matter what we do. No point in risking a bunch of lives on the off-chance that Potter'll get lucky again."

"But surely it will only encourage him to...to abuse the connection if he knows for sure that we know about it?" Molly said, glancing down the table toward Snape. "If it doesn't seem like we do, wouldn't he eventually leave Harry alone?"

"I don't think it would be that easy, Molly," Remus said with a small, understanding smile. But then he too glanced down the table at Snape and asked what he thought and Sirius slumped back in his chair. It might be easier for Snape to figure out that he wasn't that great if everyone stopped treating him like he was. It wasn't that Sirius thought he was wrong, much as he hated to admit it, but he also thought that if they weren't going to trust Harry's visions, they shouldn't be trusting Snape either. Voldemort could be taking advantage of Snape just as much as he might Harry.

"I think, and the Headmaster agrees, that it would be extremely dangerous to allow Potter's connection to the Dark Lord to go unchecked any longer," Snape said quietly. "It is Dumbledore's hope that we will be able to close the connection on Potter's end, that in time, he will no longer have any insight into the Dark Lord's mind at all. Therefore, it makes little difference whether we provide him proof of our knowledge of it."

"Well, there you go," Moody said, although he was scowling about twice as much as usual for actually agreeing with something Snape had said. But then he stood up and limped his way to the other end of the table, and by the time he reached the end, he was grinning a bit viciously. "Right, then. Who'll be going to Diagon tomorrow?"

Lucius appeared, at the very stroke of noon, in the narrow space between Flourish & Blott's and Madam Malkin's. He had taken care to Disillusion himself before Apparating, so that when a couple witches passing by looked over to see what the sound had been, they had little hope of noticing him. It would be a different story if Mad-Eye Moody arrived, but they would have accomplished their goal in that case and he would have no need to stick around and let the ex-Auror engage him in a duel.

He waved once, slowly, as his gaze scanned over the shops on the other side of the street. He spotted a ripple of movement outside the ice cream parlour, invisible to any who did not know to look for it, and nodded once. Macnair had also arrived and was in position. All was ready.

Lucius could not help the small smile that rose to his lips as he lifted his wand. He had missed this.

Imperio!

An elderly witch who had been passing suddenly slowed to a stop and pulled out her wand. Within seconds, under his direction, she had begun firing curses into the crowd. Not far down the street, he saw a young wizard follow her lead. A few seconds more and the screaming had begun as the alley was thrown into a panic and wizards and witches pushed past each other in an effort to escape.

The plan had been exceedingly simple. Lucius and Macnair would throw Diagon Alley into a panic without actually involving themselves in it; the Dark Lord had made it quite clear that there should be absolutely zero signs of Death Eater involvement. Make it look as though this was a random event, and the Ministry would spin it suitably. Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and Avery were also here, but they were to stand aside completely unless it became clear that Lucius and Macnair needed backup.

Lucius sincerely doubted that would be necessary. They had their orders not to engage Dumbledore's minions when they came swooping in to the rescue. Much as Lucius ached to participate in a proper battle again, he would not dare to go against those orders. They would Apparate out if it became clear they had been spotted. There would be no battle today.

The attack and the possibility of battle were not what was important today. What was important was whether Dumbledore's follower appeared and how quickly. The more quickly the response, the more it would please the Dark Lord.

The Dark Lord had taken him aside before he had summoned the others who would go with him, and he had explained the true purpose of this raid. That he suspected his might have a connection to Harry Potter which allowed Potter to intrude on his thoughts and spy on his doings. That Potter would undoubtedly tell his Order friends if he saw that the Dark Lord was plotting an attack. That he dearly wanted the Order to arrive, and to arrive quickly, so he might be sure of it.

Lucius listened with the gravity and humble gratitude that was expected of him, but inside, his mind was spinning. He could see as easily as his lord the possibilities that would unfold in front of them if this were true. This connection to Potter could easily be a weakness, but the Dark Lord would not allow that. He would turn it into a strength. He would find a way to block Potter from his own thoughts and allow him to see only that which he wished for Potter to see, real or manufactured. He would find a way to discover Potter's secrets and perhaps spy on him like Potter had been unconsciously doing in return these past few months.

Because Lucius was quite sure it had been months. Draco had written him twice about Potter so far this year—once in October to gleefully inform him that Potter knew spells in Parseltongue, and once in November to mention that Potter was having funny turns again. His son did not, of course, realize what it meant, but now that Lucius had learned the truth from the Dark Lord, he could see exactly what might have been happening.

He had mentioned both events to the Dark Lord, of course. Interestingly, his Lord had immediately ordered him out of the room, so that he might have a moment alone to consider this information. Lucius had only been thankful he had not been punished for bringing him unpleasant news.

Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he turned to see Kingsley Shacklebolt making his way through the crowd toward the witch he had cursed, firing off spells meant to calm the crowd and the chaos as he went. Down the street, he could see a witch in Auror robes doing the same thing, though he didn't recognize her right away.

But more importantly, Mad-Eye Moody was hurrying through the crowd between them as quickly as his limp allowed him, doing his own part to contain the chaos. Lucius felt a vicious smile curl his lips. Finding two Aurors currently employed by the Ministry here in Diagon Alley was hardly surprising. Ex-Auror Moody, however, had no real business being here when he was generally too paranoid to leave his house.

And they had responded in less than two minutes. They might as well have been waiting for something to happen.

Lucius aimed his wand again and another witch and a wizard began firing off spells, this time directed toward the Aurors. The screams increased, chaos prevailed, and Moody suddenly had his hands full with an Imperiused wizard who, Lucius was pleased to see, was actually quite a good duelist. He took a moment to carefully imprint a desire to seek Lucius out later deep within the young man's mind; his Lord would be very pleased to have him in his service.

Two more wizards burst into the crowd to assist Moody, and Lucius had no trouble recognizing them as members of Dumbledore's Order; Elphias Doge and Dedalus Diggle had been members fourteen years ago as well.

He took a step back from the entrance of the small gap between building in which he stood. There was no need to remain any longer. They had the information the Dark Lord had so desired.

Which was just as well, because as soon as he moved, Mad-Eye's namesake had frozen, staring horribly at him, and Moody let out a satisfied growl and fired a spell off in his direction.

Lucius blocked it with ease, watching with satisfaction as it bounced off into the crowd. Then before Moody could wave his wand again, his gave the man a tiny bow and turned on his heel, disappearing into suffocating darkness.

Chapter Text

"How are you, Harry?" Sanguini asked as soon as Harry called him over the mirror the next night. It had, thankfully, not broken when Harry had shoved it to the floor, and it had only taken a minute of scrabbling under the bed to find it again.

Harry sighed and straightened his arms out, so the mirror was nearly pressed up against the wall under his covers. "Fine," he said, though he knew he didn't sound fine and he probably didn't look it either.

Sanguini frowned at him and leaned a bit closer to his own mirror. "Harry, it is really past time you recognized that it is impossible to lie to me."

Harry couldn't help but smile a bit. He'd learned that almost as soon as he'd first met the man, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to try on occasion anyway. Sanguini probably should have been more concerned if he started spilling all his secrets without a bit of prompting.

"I guess...I could be better," Harry admitted with a small shrug.

"Have you recovered from your ordeal the other night?" Sanguini asked quietly.

"Yeah..." Harry bit his lip and looked away. He wasn't sure what else to say about it. Even though Sanguini knew about his visions now, he felt awful for having one in the middle of talking with him, when they hadn't really spoken like this in weeks. And he wasn't sure if there was any point in mentioning what it had been about either, since the attack on Diagon Alley had come and gone, just as Voldemort had been planning.

Luckily, Sanguini seemed interested enough in it to ask softly, "It was another of your visions, wasn't it?"

Harry nodded and shifted again under his covers. "Yeah, I saw Voldemort planning that attack on Diagon Alley yesterday. You heard about that, right?"

Sanguini inclined his head once. "I was not aware that was Voldemort's doing."

"Yeah, well, he didn't really want anyone to know it was him. He's happy that the Ministry's ignoring him right now."

"He would be," Sanguini said with a slight sneer. But before Harry could wonder at this reaction, Sanguini shook his head and was instantly back to looking far more concerned than Harry had every really expected of him. "Does it always hurt you so much?"

Harry stared at him. Maybe it was because generally Ron and Hermione were there with him when he was having a vision or Voldemort was feeling a particularly strong emotion, and so they knew perfectly well that every time Harry's mind connected with Voldemort's it hurt quite a lot, but no one had ever actually asked him about it like this. Even Dumbledore and Sirius, who knew very well that his scar did hurt when Voldemort set it off, had never asked just how bad it was. Harry thought maybe Sirius had gotten a pretty good idea of it the other night, since he'd gone out of his way to find a potion to help him with the headache the vision had left behind, but he had not brought it up again.

"It's only that bad when it's a vision," Harry said after a moment. "It's always pretty bad, but usually I don't feel like screaming when it's just his emotions leaking through."

Sanguini only frowned and nodded again, looking as though he might be filing that away for future reference. After a moment, he closed his eyes and an expression Harry couldn't place crossed his features.

"I wish it did not," he murmured. He opened his eyes again and stared at Harry with eyes so piercing that Harry desperately wished he could look away and yet couldn't seem to. "I still need time to consider everything you have told me about this connection, but I will find a way to ensure it does not hurt you so much. That is unnecessary."

Harry blinked at him. "Why? I mean...I wish it didn't but...why?" Why did he care so much, that was what Harry really wondered, but he didn't feel comfortable asking that.

Sanguini's expression softened very slightly, so Harry no longer felt like he was staring into his soul, even from the other side of a mirror. "Because you do not deserve to experience pain like that."

Harry felt like there was more to it than that, but he had no idea what it could possibly be, so he couldn't ask about it. He wasn't going to try to stumble onto whatever it might be either; he was already feeling a bit awkward for reasons he couldn't really express, and he didn't feel like adding on to that.

"Er...listen, you wanted to talk about something else the other night, didn't you?" Harry said after a moment, determined to steer the conversation in a different direction for the moment. 

Sanguini gave him a look that said clearly that he knew exactly what Harry was doing and he wasn't going to get away with it for long, but he nodded and allowed the conversation to shift for the moment. "I did. The note you sent me last week."

"I meant what I wrote," Harry said, feeling a bit defensive. He was hoping the vampires would mostly want to go along with him, but he wasn't sure they would, and this would be the first test. If Sanguini thought it was a bad idea, than maybe it actually was one; he'd come to trust Sanguini's judgement quite a bit in the last few months, he realized suddenly.

"I know." Sanguini smiled, a smile that was almost a leer and showed off his teeth to great effect, his eyes glittering again much the way they had the other night before Harry had changed the subject on him. "I think it's an excellent idea."

Harry felt himself relax. "You do?"

"I do," Sanguini said. "I do not appreciate mindless violence. This, however..." His smile thinned out, somehow looking even more pleased and threatening at once. "This would hardly be mindless."

Harry frowned at him, but inwardly he was frowning more at himself. Shouldn't a statement like that have made him feel uneasy or even a bit betrayed? Logically, he knew that Sanguini and his fellow vampires' existence depended on some sort of violence, but they had never acted on it in front of him or really spoke to him about it at all, so he tended to forget about it at times. But rather than unease, he felt a small bubble of satisfaction and relief and even a bit of excitement. He was looking forward to helping his friends make a very striking point to his fellow wizards.

He was not quite sure how to feel about that.

"I wish we wouldn't have to resort to violence at all," Harry said after a moment, and that was true, he really would rather have found a way to do this without hurting anyone, "but I couldn't come up with another way. Unless you've thought of one?" he added hopefully.

Sanguini raised an eyebrow. "I would not have thought you would come to such a conclusion without being sure of it."

"I haven't!" Harry said indignantly. "But if you've got any better ideas, well, you know, I really would rather not hurt anyone."

"Truthfully, Harry, I have felt for some time now that taking more extreme action against the Ministry may be the only way to get them to listen," Sanguini murmured. "I was content to see how successful Cedric might be, because I trusted Cedric and that was the way that would work for him. However, what might have worked for him is not what might work for you. You are very different people."

Harry felt a bit smile rise to his lips. He had definitely come to that conclusion all on his own. He couldn't fault Cedric for wanting to do things the proper way, the way that was probably the most fair to everyone, wizards and vampires alike, but he had known all along, even if it had been unconsciously, that the proper way was not the way that would work for him. Since when had he ever gone about things the proper way? He was the one who always charged in headfirst and worried about he consequences of it later.

"I wasn't sure if it was something you'd want to do," Harry said after a moment. "You or any of the other vampires. I didn't want it to seem like I was ordering anyone around or like this was the only way I'd want to do things, so it should be the only way you should want to too. It's your freedoms at stake, so it's up to all of you to decide—"

"Harry," Sanguini said gently, cutting him off before he could ramble anymore. "I understand. Thank you for thinking about us. Very few of you actually do."

"Which is stupid," Harry pointed out.

Sanguini smiled indulgently. "Unfortunately, stupidity is a fact of life. We shall simply have to work around it." His smile mellowed out a moment later, into something that made Harry's inside squirm uncomfortably. "You should know, Harry, that I would follow you no matter what you decided to do. I might advise you against certain actions, but ultimately, I will do whatever I can to ensure your success in whatever you pursue."

Harry definitely could not keep his eyes on the mirror after a proclamation like that. He settled for staring at the wall behind it, desperately hoping he did not look as embarrassed as he felt. "You don't have to do that..."

"And that is precisely why I will," Sanguini said softly. Then he added wryly, because Harry was still refusing to look at him, "You might as well accept it, my feelings are not going to change."

"So if all I wanted to do from now on was listen to Dumbledore and find a way to defeat Voldemort, you'd still support me?" Harry said.

Sanguini let out a small snort of disbelief, but he said, "I would advise you against it. But yes, I would. Just as I would follow you if you chose to join Voldemort."

Now it was Harry's turn to laugh. "Yeah, right. Pretty sure you won't have to worry about that."

Sanguini smiled and said nothing. He didn't really have to. They both knew that idea was absurd.

"What about the others?" Harry asked. "You'll support me, but it won't be much of a revolution with just the two of us."

"I don't think that will be a problem," Sanguini said, leaning back in his seat. "Word has spread through most of our society that there is actually wizard willing to help us. One who is not just saying pretty words, but has actually been doing something. And of course, there are those whom you helped over the summer, who know that first hand, who can speak for you to the rest of them. And," he added with a small smirk of amusement, "brutality is in our nature, and most of us would dearly like to pay back the wizarding establishment for their gracious gifts throughout the years. No, I don't believe you will have any difficulty gathering support at all."

Harry nodded and curled up a bit more so his hands were resting on his knees. "I mostly thought it would appeal more to the goblins, but I'm glad they won't be the only ones."

"Hardly. In fact, I think the idea will have appeal to quite a number of races." He paused and suddenly made a slight face as though what he was about to say was extremely distasteful. "You might consider reaching out to the werewolves as well. I understand you are friends with one? And perhaps the merpeople and centaurs, though they're far more likely to simply keep to themselves."

"Well, I can't talk to the merpeople without Dumbledore," Harry said. "I don't know anyone else who knows mermish. And the centaurs won't want anything to do with the vampires. They were upset enough Malfoy and I have been talking to you. Firenze was nice enough to warn us about them—probably 'cause he likes me and Dumbledore—but he said they were ready to attack us just for walking into the forest—"

Sanuini narrowed his eyes slightly. "You did not tell me that part."

"Well, they didn't actually attack us, so I didn't think it was that important—"

"Regardless, they should not be threatening you simply for associating with us." He rolled his eyes, looking a bit disgusted. "It is the same self-righteous hypocrisy that made them reject the title of 'being' in the first place. As if they have been treated any more fairly by the Ministry for choosing the title wizards mentally assign them anyway..."

"Oh yeah, they didn't want to be in the same category as vampires, did they?" Harry said.

"More like they did not believe us worthy of the title of 'being' and have been silently protesting it ever since," Sanguini said with disgust. "Because creatures who are half animal are so much more worthy of it. No, perhaps you shouldn't try speaking to them after all. I'm sure they have better things to do with their time."

"Well, since they'll probably attack me if I tried, I probably won't," Harry said, even as he made a mental note to try and bring up the idea of revolution if he ever did come across a centaur again. "Maybe if you tried talking to them, though—"

"Centaurs and vampires have a long standing tradition of animosity that will not disappear with only a few pretty words," Sanguini said with a slight sneer. "Nor would any of us wish it to. Besides, it istheir problem if they cannot stand the thought of standing beside us even in legal terms. We can, of course, acknowledge that centaurs are self-aware enough to behave themselves if they wish."

"You didn't look happy about the idea of allying with werewolves either," Harry pointed out in an effort to change the subject.

"Werewolves and vampires also have a long standing tradition of animosity," Sanguini said shortly. "However, it is not quite so deeply ingrained. And as their laws most resemble ours, and they have, perhaps, more reason to hate the Ministry than most, many of them will probably jump at the chance to change things. Indeed, that is why following Voldemort is such an attractive idea for most of them." He tapped a finger to his lips. "I think you might have the most difficulty appealing to them, actually. A revolution is essentially Voldemort's promise to them, as it has not been to the rest of us."

"Well, like you said, I've got a friend who's a werewolf, so that should help, shouldn't it?" Harry said.

"It might. However, you will have to keep in mind that Voldemort also has friends among the werewolves. Have you spoken to this friend about your plans at all?"

Harry squirmed a bit uncomfortably. To tell the truth, he had barely even considered the idea. Lupin was a member of the Order and thought very highly of Dumbledore. Harry wasn't sure he should even mention the idea to him, much less try to convince him to help with it. He didn't trust Lupin's loyalty to the memory of and son of one of his old friends to surpass his loyalty to the reality of Dumbledore.

"I haven't had the chance yet," he said after a moment, though he was sure he let something slip into his voice that would betray his thoughts to his friend. "With all these visions I've been having. And he isn't always here."

Sanguini gave him a wry look, but his voice was calm again when he spoke. "Perhaps the next time you have a moment, you might at least see how receptive he would be to the idea."

"Yeah, I've been meaning to," Harry said. "Hermione too—she's the one who's been helping me research. And if I can convince her, Ron'll have an easier time hearing it from both of us—"

"You've never mentioned that you might like to bring your friends in on this," Sanguini said quietly. His expression had become inscrutable again, and Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"They are my friends," he said defensively. "I hate lying to them. And they're good people; they'd understand—"

"If you truly believed that," Sanguini interrupted, "wouldn't you have told them by now?"

Harry scowled at him, mostly because he was right and they both knew it and Harry hated that thought. He did hate lying to his friends and keeping secrets from them, but Ron had grown up in a household where he would have heard horror stories about not just vampires, but other magical creatures as well, and Hermione had reacted much the way Harry had hoped she wouldn't when he had admitted that he had actually spoken with the vampire who had visited Privet Drive in July. Harry doubted whether Hermione would even want to start something like a revolution for house elf rights, much less vampire rights, and Ron would think he was crazy for starting something that had nothing to do with Voldemort and might even distract the Order and the Ministry from fighting him.

They wouldn't understand. He didn't understand it himself. But they definitely wouldn't understand and he really had no idea what to do about it.

"I would never encourage you to lie to those you consider a friend, Harry," Sanguini murmured. "And you will have to say something to them eventually, if you are going to be starting a revolution. I think they just might notice something like that."

Harry snorted softly. "Yeah, that'll be pretty noticeable."

"However, I am glad to see you've excised caution about this," Sanguini said. He paused for a moment, looking as though only pride were keep him from doing something like biting his lip. "I would rather you not mention anything about this to them yet." 

Harry's lips twitched slightly. "What was that about not encouraging me to lie to them?"

"I did say 'yet'," Sanguini said with a faint smile of his own. "But for the time being, I think, if you do not trust them, it would still be rather dangerous for me and the others. So far, we have been able to remain under the radar of most everyone. I would rather that not change because of your friends."

"They wouldn't tell anyone if I asked them not to," Harry growled out.

Sanguini only regarded him calmly. "Were you not complaining to me only weeks ago that they informed the Headmaster of certain things you wished not to tell him, out of concern for you?"

"Yeah, and I trust them to keep quiet about this," Harry snapped, trying desperately to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that was agreeing wholeheartedly with what Sanguini was saying. He had to trust that Ron and Hermione wouldn't tell anyone anything he didn't want them to, just like he would do for them. and hadn't he told them that they could tell Dumbledore about the supposed possession if they wanted to, he just wouldn't be doing it? He wished they hadn't, but he hadn't exactly forbidden them from saying anything.

Sanguini closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, he looked slightly desperate. "Then I will ask that you do not speak to them about this yet," he said quietly, "except perhaps to learn how sympathetic they might be to the idea. And nothing more. I will only ask."

Harry nodded and looked away. If Sanguini was only asking, as he put it, then Harry could tell them if he really wanted to. He was giving him that option. But Harry really didn't want to tell him if he seemed so desperately against the idea. Sanguini might only be asking him—and Harry wasn't about to take it as a command anyway—but Harry wasn't going to deny him that request.

Not when he was already feeling a bit uneasy about whether he really could trust Ron and Hermione not to tell anyone about Sanguini and the other vampires he had made friends with.

"I won't tell them," he said finally. "Not if you don't want me to."

Sanguini inclined his head with a faintly relived smile. "Thank you, Harry. I realize it is difficult for you."

"And you wouldn't ask if it wasn't really important, I know." Harry sighed a dragged his fingers through his hair, careful not to adjust his covers too much. "I'll talk to Lupin. I'll see if I can just make it sound like I'm worried about the other werewolves joining Voldemort."

"That shouldn't be too difficult," Sanguini remarked.

"What about the goblins?" Harry asked, realizing that Sanguini had never actually said anything about them before they'd gotten off track. "Have you talked to them? What did they think?"

Sanguini's expression slackened again so that Harry had no idea what he might be thinking. After a moment, he said quietly, "I haven't spoken to them yet."

Harry frowned and tugged the mirror a bit closer. There was something about his tone of voice...it wasn't something he expected to hear with an admission that he hadn't completed a task yet. The few other times he'd heard that tone of voice was when he had something he wanted to say that he wasn't sure Harry would want to hear.

Fearing the worst, he asked quietly, "They haven't joined Voldemort...?"

Sanguini stared at him, and then shook his head with a faint smile. "No, they haven't joined Voldemort."

Feeling a bit relieved but bewildered now, Harry nodded and asked, "What is it, then?"

Sanguini stared at him silently for quite a long time. Harry had no idea what he could be thinking, but the longer he stayed quiet, the more nervous Harry began to feel. Could it be he didn't think reaching out to the goblins was a good idea either? Harry had never found anything in all the books he'd read this year to suggest that vampires and goblins had problems with each other too, but considering how secretive both races were, it could just be that it was something wizards never saw.

Sanguini finally shifted a bit, so he looked a bit thoughtful rather than the emotionless statue he had become for five minutes.

"I think you should approach them as someone other than Harry Potter, if you are serious about wanting their allegiance."

Harry blinked at him, trying to ignore the uncomfortable squirm of his stomach at the term 'allegiance'. That was not what he had expected. "What d'you mean?"

Sanguini tapped his finger against his lips. "Harry Potter is very well known for being in league with Dumbledore, particularly after these last few months in which the Ministry has been keen on painting you with the same brush. I know you've been looking into our laws; you might imagine why that is an uncomfortable idea for some of us."

Harry nodded slowly. He had an idea of where this might be going, and he wasn't sure he liked it.

"But more than that," Sanguini went on, "Harry Potter is very well known for being a wizard. Obviously, with a name like that, you could hardly be a goblin, but many werewolves and vampires have 'regular' sounding names, given that many of them are or were wizards or Muggles. If you were anyone else, your name would be of no consequence. However," he said with a faint smile, "you are not. The name Harry Potter is well known throughout magical Britain and beyond, and it is well known as being a wizard's name."

"So...you think I should use a different name with the goblins?" Harry said slowly. That was what it sounded like he might be getting at, and what he'd been worried about. He was positive he didn't like the sound of it.

Sanguini nodded once. "I don't think you should pretend to be something other than a wizard, when you are not. However, they will take more kindly to an unknown wizard or a wizard who seems as if he has something to hide than they will to the Boy Who Lived. And if they did learn you are Harry Potter, it would seem encouraging that you don't wish to be known as such, that you might have something to lose if your identity were well known."

Harry knew his unease had to be showing on his face by now. He didn't really care. "You know who else goes by a name that isn't his? Voldemort."

Sanguini gave him a long look. "So do I."

"That's different," Harry muttered, though he was a bit surprised. Thinking about it now, he supposed it was a bit unlikely for something like "Sanguini" to have always been his name, but he hadn't really thought about it before.

"There is nothing malicious in going by an alias, Harry," Sanguini said calmly. "I doubt whether you would need to for long, anyway."

"I shouldn't need to at all," Harry said, wishing he could grumpily cross his arms while he was lying on his side. "Wouldn't it sound better if someone like me actually cared what happens to them? I might as well use being famous for something helpful like this; it doesn't do me any good otherwise."

"No, it would not. You are still a wizard, Harry. And you are still very well known for being a...Light wizard and very close to Dumbledore. They will not appreciate either."

"I am a Light wizard," Harry said, frowning at him. "I wouldn't have been able to help you all otherwise."

Sanguini only smiled again. Harry was starting to hate that.

"There is one more reason you might at least consider it," Sanguini said softly. "If you approach them as Harry Potter, your name will be out there. People will hear about it. Particularly people connected to Dumbledore and Voldemort. Christopher would be forced to inform his master, in case he might learn through some other source. And I believe there is a Weasley who works for Gringotts, is there not?"

Harry scowled at him, but he knew he was right. If Bill heard his name suddenly being whispered throughout the goblins, he would bring it up with the Order at the very least. They would figure out very quickly that something was going on, especially since Harry had not been in Gringotts in more than a year and he hadn't been sending any letters lately either.

Harry was less concerned about Voldemort, because Voldemort would probably just assume (correctly) that it was a countermeasure to his own offers to the goblins. The Order, however, would know perfectly well that this was not something devised by Dumbledore. It would be bringing attention to himself and his secret friends, and that was exactly what Sanguini didn't want.

He still didn't like the idea. He didn't want to hide in the shadows, behind false names and Slytherin politics. He would have preferred to just walk into Gringotts and deliver the message himself, as himself.

He didn't like the idea of becoming more like Voldemort. Tom Riddle's words from three years ago still rang in his ears, more fiercely now than they had since then.

He would just have to remind himself that their similarities were only superficial. Tom Riddle would never have considered helping goblins and vampires without asking for anything in return. Harry's reason for choosing an alias, if he chose to, would be drastically different from Voldemort's reason.

"I'll have to think about it," Harry said finally. "And I'll have to find a name I like if I decide to do it. I've never thought about having to go by an alias before."

"Of course," Sanguini said, inclining his head again. "I only thought you should think about it. Although..." He frowned thoughtfully and tapped his lips again. "That does leave the question of how you would like me to proceed with the goblins until then."

Harry thought about this for a moment. Then he said, "Could you tell them that there is another wizard who wants to help them, other than Voldemort, but he isn't comfortable giving them his name yet? And mention that the 'help' is 'lead a revolution' for them. They were the ones who inspired that idea in the first place; they ought to know about that."

Sanguini regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. "I should be able to do that. They might not appreciate not being given a name right away, but that should make them more sympathetic to the idea, particularly when you do give them a name. It should intrigue them enough to hold off on giving Christopher any sort of answer, in any case."

Harry nodded, and with a sudden spark of inspiration, he added, "When you go talk to them, ask for a goblin named Griphook. Tell him that the unnamed wizard met him once long ago and hasn't forgotten him yet."

Sanguini's lips twitched slightly. "You do realize that might give you away completely."

Harry shrugged as best he could under the covers. "I doubt he remembers me at all. And we only met once; I bet he meets loads of wizards every day. He probably won't figure it out. As long as I don't say the same thing to him later, anyway."

"I will be sure to ask for him specifically," Sanguini said with a fierce smile. "That, if nothing else, should interest them."

Harry grinned a bit. "I thought it might."

Sanguini fell silent again for another good long minute. Harry waited patiently for what he had to say next; he looked as though he were mulling something over in his mind.

"I think," he said finally, slow and deliberate, "that you might be better served by getting another wand in the future as well. Not only because it would do you no good to appear as someone other than Harry Potter while holding Harry Potter's wand, but also..." He trailed off, looking thoughtfully into the distance, as if he was remembering something that had happened a long time ago. "You have had trouble using that wand against Voldemort in the past, haven't you?"

Harry stared at him. It wasn't that he disagreed; he couldn't imagine parting with his wand, but if he was going to fight Voldemort—really fight him and not just survive while he was around—it wasn't going to do him any good. But he was fairly certain he had never actually told Sanguini exactly what had happened that night in June.

"How do you know about that?" he demanded.

Sanguini did not answer immediately, and when he did, his voice was still slow and deliberate. "All magic leaves traces, traces which are unique to the being which cast it. Your wand and Voldemort's wand have traces of each other's magic, and their own magic seems quite similar besides. I've recently had the opportunity to examine his wand, you see," he added with a wry smirk. "And his magic."

Harry gaped at him. "You've been meeting with Voldemort?"

"I have met with him, on one occasion," Sanguini said quietly, and the look he gave Harry made him uncomfortable, though he couldn't quite understand what he was trying to say with it. "He is still trying to recruit me and many others. I have been corresponding regularly with him since August. Well, I say corresponding. In reality, it would be more truthful to say he sends me letters and I tell him exactly what I did not appreciate about them."

Harry shook his head as best he could against his pillow. It made sense, that he'd be talking to Voldemort if Voldemort was this desperate to have more than just a handful of allies among the vampires, but Harry hadn't even considered that it might be happening. He'd assumed Sanguini had sent him a politely worded "No" and left it at that.

"He is quite a child," Sanguini said, wrinkling his nose slightly. "He does not understand some of the simplest things about magic and the people around him."

Harry had to force back a laugh—he didn't want to get too loud, just in case. But it was kind of funny hearing someone call Voldemort a child. Harry wondered if Sanguini had even actually written in it one of his letters. Being able to experience Voldemort's outrage would be a vision worth having.

"Yeah, well, he is Voldemort," Harry said with a grin. "You haven't told him that to his face, have you? I'd have liked to see that."

"Not in so many words, no," Sanguini said. "Perhaps the next time we meet. Though I would prefer you to not see it, if it would cause you pain."

"It'd be worth it." 

Harry slowly let his grin fall away and he sighed after a moment. The connection between his wand and Voldemort's was one only a select few people knew about...although now it seemed that select group of people included Sanguini, whether he wanted it to or not.

"The cores in my wand and Voldemort's come from the same phoenix," Harry said after a moment. "So they won't work properly against each other, is what Dumbledore said last year. It's probably what saved my life last June..."

"However, I would think that is not particularly conducive to actually fighting with him," Sanguini said, looking a bit satisfied with getting an answer to that particular riddle. "For surviving an encounter, perhaps, but if you intend to actually fight him..."

"I'd need a different wand," Harry said with a nod. "Or he does. It's not a bad idea...although, you know, we're only supposed to have one wand."

Sanguini raised his eyebrows and smiled slyly. "Harry, you're going to be leading a revolution. I hardly think that matters."

Harry laughed a bit. "Yeah, might as well start rebelling somewhere. How am I supposed to get another wand, though? There isn't a wandmaker in Hogsmeade. And I can't just run off to Diagon Alley on my own while I'm here. Or at all, really."

"I'm sure we can come up with something," Sanguini said mildly. "There's plenty of time for that. I just thought you should start thinking about this idea."

Harry nodded. "I've thought about it a couple times before. Not seriously or anything but...I've thought about it."

Sanguini nodded as well and fell silent again. Harry watched him warily. He was slowly getting a look on his face that Harry was quickly beginning to associate with hearing something unpleasant in the future.

"There is a way you could acquire a wand in the very near future," Sanguini murmured, but he offered no further explanation, and Harry did not feel like asking over and over again. When Sanguini wanted to explain, he could. Harry wasn't going to stop him.

"I should warn you, Harry," Sanguini said after a moment, quietly thoughtful, "that it may not matter how you present yourself to the goblins, or anyone else, so long as you remain a wizard."

"You just said I shouldn't pretend to be something I'm not, though," Harry said, feeling a bit bewildered. Why was he bringing this up again? They'd figured out how he should approach the goblins for now. He'd figured they'd moved on from this topic because Sanguini didn't have anything else to say about it.

"That is true. I don't believe you should. That sort of deception would drive them from you."

Harry eyes him skeptically. "And keeping my name from them won't?"

Sanguini smiled faintly. "It's complicated, but in the end, it matters far less who you are then what. There isn't much difference between you and Voldemort to them. You're both wizards. That is a far less severe deception, and they will likely appreciate the sacrifice you would be making, enough to overlook it. It is not as though you will actually be lying to them."

"Yet," Harry said. Whatever name he was going to give them might not actually be his, after all.

Sanguini ignored this, going on, "But a wizard trying to pretend he is not one, to gain their trust? They would only be suspicious of that, and probably offended. No, you should not lie to the goblins about what you are. That does not mean they will appreciate what you are."

"Yeah, but that won't be changing any time soon," Harry said, feeling even more bewildered now. "So it doesn't really matter, does it? If they don't want to ally with a wizard, than that's on them. There's not much I can do about it."

Sanguini did not respond to that right away. He stared silently at Harry until Harry felt his skin start to crawl and a unfamiliar discomfort squirm in his gut. He couldn't say why it was making him so uncomfortable, other than he just didn't like being stared at for so long. He had no idea what Sanguini could be thinking, and his expression was mild and thoughtful, nothing that would make him so uncomfortable at any other time.

"Harry," he said finally, his voice soft and smooth, soothing away Harry's discomfort as if it had never been there. "You know that anything you would need to learn, I could teach you, or Byron, or any of the others who were once wizards."

Harry straightened his arms again, pushing the mirror away, and stared at him. "What?"

"We could teach you far more than you would ever learn at Hogwarts. There are aspects of magic and history and the culture of the magical world that they would never teach you. Things you would have known, if you hadn't been raised by those Muggles, and things only we can teach you..." 

"What are you talking about?" Harry said. His mouth had gone dry. He couldn't possibly be trying to say what Harry though he might be getting at, because that would be crazy and he couldn't possibly think Harry would want it anyway. He couldn't just leave Hogwarts.

"And we could protect you from Voldemort far more easily and more thoroughly than Dumbledore. He would never be able to find you so long as you were with us, and it would be easy enough to teach you how to shield your mind from his, and easy enough to block him out while you learned—"

"Sanguini!" Harry hissed, and Sanguini finally fell silent and actually looked at him. "What is this all about? You want me to...to what? Leave Hogwarts and my friends and come...live with you?"

Sanguini did not reply right away. And when he did, he only nodded and said softly, "Yes, I would."

Harry stared at him. "You can't be serious."

Sanguini closed his eyes briefly, but that was the only sign he gave that he felt this might not be going the way he'd been hoping. "Truthfully, Harry, I have wanted you to live with me or one of the others since the very first time we spoke. I know Lorcan was rather keen on the idea, although he is always so busy..."

Now Harry was gaping at him. "Why?" he managed to choke out.

"I saw into your mind that evening. I had to, to calm it enough for your nightmares to cease. I saw glimpses of how you were treated at that house, by those Muggles who are lucky to call you a relative." He shut his eyes again, his hands clenched in his lap. "It is disgusting, how they treated you. It is disgusting that Dumbledore left you in that situation. A magical child should never have been left in such a home."

"It wasn't that bad..." Harry said, but his voice sounded weak even to him. His mind was too busy reeling for him to put any effort into what he was saying. Obviously, Sanguini had reached into his mind that night—he'd figure that one out on his own, because what else could it have been—but to think he'd actually seen some of his memories in the process...Harry was not quite sure what to feel, but "violated" was quickly pushing its way to the top of the list.

But what was even more startling was the idea that Sanguini had wanted to get him out of there after only meeting him once, and for only a few minutes at that. He was somewhat used to the idea that certain people would rather he not spend his holidays with the Dursleys, namely the Weasleys and Sirius, but they had either known him for years or had enough reason to want him to live with them without even knowing about the Dursleys.

He hated the Dursleys, and he hated the way they treated him—although he was glad that it hadn't been any worse—and if he had the choice, he'd never go back there...but it was still very odd thinking that someone had wanted to get him out of there immediately. And it was true that once he'd started at Hogwarts, the Durselys had become marginally less horrible. He was no longer starved just for being him; now he was starved because they all were under Dudley's diet regimen.

Sanguini fixed him with a dark look. "It was bad enough. I cannot believe Dumbledore continues to send you there, year after year. I have no doubt that both you and your relatives would be happier to never see each other again."

"Yeah, but..." Harry shook his head, trying to think clearly again. "Let's say I didn't want to go back and I didn't already have a place to go instead...you're not talking about just during the summer, you're talking about...not going back to Hogwarts at all..."

He shook his head again, because that was all he could do to express his bewilderment. He couldn't just not go back to Hogwarts. Maybe if Sanguini had decided to bring this up in time to rescue him from Privet Drive for the summer, he'd consider it, but he couldn't even imagine not going back to Hogwarts. Hogwarts was the place he thought of as home more than any other.

Somehow, Sanguini immediately looked colder without visibly moving at all. "You have another place you could go rather then back to your relatives?"

"Er...yeah. I have a godfather. He's wanted me to live with him for a while, actually."

"But Dumbledore has not allowed it."

Harry shrugged awkwardly. "There's been a few reasons. It hasn't just been that."

Even if that really was the case, Sanguini did not look impressed. Harry was somewhat thankful he would probably not be meeting Dumbledore any time soon. He had a feeling neither of them would come out of that meeting whole.

"Anyway, I have to go back to Hogwarts," Harry said softly. "My friends are there; I can't just leave them. And our OWLs are coming up. And..." And he wasn't sure if he wanted to say anything else about it; this was already getting into intensely private territory. "And anyway, I can't live with you, you live right near the Weasleys and Mr. Diggory. If I disappeared, everyone would be looking for me. I'd never be able to leave the house."

And then he realized that he had never gotten an adequate answer for what had gotten them into this conversation in the first place and he frowned. "What does all this have to do with goblins anyway?"

Again Sanguini did not answer immediately. It was a moment before he said carefully, "There is a way you could approach the goblins as something other than a wizard and not be lying to them..."

Harry stared at him. He had a sudden urge to throw the mirror across the room. Sanguini couldn't possibly think he would agree to that. "No."

"You would have powers you can hardly dream of, " Sanguini said softly. "Most of the other races would look to you as they will not while you are a wizard. You could be with people who genuinely care about your well-being—"

"You think my friends don't care about that?" Harry snarled.

Sanguini raised an eyebrow. "I think they are among the few. And they clearly do not care enough to help you find a way to close your mind to Voldemort's, or to find a way to prevent it from hurting you."

Harry laughed, a harsh bark that sounded out of place. "Yeah, I'd like to see how far we'd get with that, seeing as I'm the only one this has ever happened to and all."

"Dumbledore could help you," Sanguini said with narrowed eyes. "He has obviously chosen not to."

If anything, the reminder that Dumbledore really wasn't doing anything to help him only made him more irritated. "And you think Turning me would help at all? You haven't helped me either. You don't know what's going on any more than he does—"

"You only told me the full extent of your connection two nights ago," Sanguini snapped. "Just before you collapsed inside another vision, which made you scream, I might add. Had you told me when you first asked me about the possibility of possession, I might have had an answer for you by now."

"Would that answer still be Turning me?" Harry demanded sourly.

Sanguini only stared at him silently, and that was all the answer he needed. Harry felt the urge to sit up, stand up, and actually yell at him. It only made him more frustrated that he cared enough about the stupid vampire that he felt more obligated to stay hidden under his covers and keep his voice low.

"Did you even think about what I might want?" he hissed. "That I'd want to stay at Hogwarts with my friends? That maybe I like being a wizard? I don't care about power, and we have a plan for dealing with the goblins. And becoming a vampire isn't going to shield me from Voldemort. If anything, I'd just be more vulnerable."

"We could protect you," Sanguini murmured. "We could protect you as we could not if you remained a wizard."

"Yeah, because you've done a great job protecting yourself from wizards already," Harry said bitterly.

"I have explained to you the reasons for that," Sanguini hissed. "There are many of us who have never been taken in by the Ministry. They do not dare attack us in our strongholds or when we are not alone."

"Great, so I'd just have to be shut away for the rest of my life," Harry muttered. "I couldn't possibly already know what that feels like."

"You would hardly have to be shut away," Sanguini said. "Not if you are serious about leading this rebellion."

"Of course I'm serious. I'm just not going to do it as a vampire." 

Sanguini closed his eyes, his expression back to being completely impassable. "Is this only because I wished for you to live with me? I suppose the suggestion was a bit insensitive..."

Harry was torn for a moment between angrily crossing his arms and keeping the mirror held out as far as possible. He compromised by crossing one hand in front of his chest. "It's got nothing to do with that." Then he paused and added thoughtfully, "Well, mostly it doesn't. It's the whole being a vampire deal. I'd have to drink blood" —he pointedly did not think about what else that act would entail— "and I wouldn't be able to go out during the day without risking dying any second, and I'd be stuck as a scrawny teenager forever..."

"There are ways around that," Sanguini murmured, his lips twitching a bit. "Around all of that."

"I don't care. I don't want it." Harry paused and nearly said what else was on his mind, but he quickly shook his head and kept his mouth shut. He could only imagine what Sanguini might do if he mentioned that he maybe his answer wouldn't always be "No."

All that mattered was his answer right now. He could worry about that aspect of the future later.

"The answer's no," Harry said, though his voice shook slightly. He only hoped Sanguini would think it was because of how angry he was.

Without another word, he slammed the mirror face down and slid it under his pillow. He was still not sure how to actually sever the connection between the mirrors, so he would just have to hope that Sanguini took the hint and didn't try to keep talking to him. He wasn't going to answer anyway.

He turned over onto his back and pushed his covers down to his neck so he could stare up at the ceiling. It might have been well into the early hours of the morning by now, but he hardly felt sleepily at all. He was too angry, and maybe a little hurt, and his thoughts were whirling around everything they had discussed over the course of the evening. He would have to come up with a new name, and find a way to get another wand, and he would have to prepare himself for negotiating with the goblins and maybe the werewolves. That was assuming Sanguini would still want to reach out to the goblins after Harry had almost yelled at him.

But as he watched the pre-dawn light slowly creep into the room, one thought kept popping up behind the others, constantly there now that the idea had been presented to him. 

What if he did become a vampire?

It was not until after Christmas that Harry found the chance to talk to Lupin alone. Even though Lupin was currently calling Grimmauld Place his primary residence, he spent quite a bit of time not actually there. And on top of that, Ron and Hermione were almost always close by, often accompanied by Ginny and the twins or Mrs. Weasley or Sirius. It was difficult to get time alone just for himself, much less to seek out and talk to Lupin.

But on the Saturday after Christmas, a week after his dream about the attack on Diagon Alley, Harry finally found Lupin sitting alone in the kitchen, intently reading over the Daily Prophet. Harry glanced around quickly to make sure they were actually alone—he knew Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were busy looking over homework upstairs and no one had seen the twins since breakfast, but Mrs. Weasley or Sirius or Kreacher could have been anywhere. After a moment, he was satisfied, and he quietly closed the door as he crept into the kitchen.

Lupin looked up when the door clicked shut. "Harry?"

"Can I talk to you for a minute, Professor?" Harry asked.

To his surprise, Lupin did not look surprised or concerned by this. In fact, for a split second, Harry thought he almost looked resigned. Then Lupin set the paper aside and gestured to the chair across from him. "Of course, Harry. Have a seat."

Harry tried not to eye him too suspiciously as he sat down, but that was not the reaction he had expected and it put him on edge. But when he looked up again, concern was plastered over Lupin's face and he allowed himself to breathe more easily. Maybe it was nothing after all.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Lupin asked once he'd settled. "You haven't had another vision, have you?"

Harry shook his head, feeling even more relieved. If that's what he thought, there was no reason to be uneasy about this at all. "It isn't that. I haven't seen anything since last week."

And he hadn't. When he had actually managed to fall asleep over the last week, all he saw was the dimly-lit corridor ending in a plain black door that would not open. It was actually becoming rather boring, especially as he had had this same dream countless times since summer, and he was growing very tired of waking up with his scar prickling. He thought, though, that it was related to how trapped he had been beginning to feel again, and so hopefully, this talk with Lupin should help encourage his mind to let it go.

"I wanted to talk to you about something else," Harry said. He took a deep breath and folded his hands on the table in front of him. "About...the werewolves."

This time, Lupin did blink in surprise. "The werewolves."

Harry nodded and frowned down at the table. "I know Voldemort's been trying to recruit some of the other magical races. He'll be going after werewolves too, won't he?"

Lupin only frowned a bit himself and regarded him silently.

"I just...wanted to know if he's had any luck," Harry said, giving Lupin a furtive glance. He knew very well that Lupin would probably not answer this for him, but he had to start this conversation somewhere, and this would be where anyone else would expect him to start it.

As he expected, Lupin sighed and shook his head and said softly, "You know I can't tell you that, Harry."

And while he might have been expecting it, that didn't make it any less irritating to hear. "You can't even just tell me yes or no?" he asked, sounding just as irritated as he felt. "Just one little word?"

Lupin shook his head again. "It's Order business. I know it's frustrating for you—if I were in your position, I'd be feeling pretty frustrated myself—but you're not old enough to be in the Order and we've given you all the information we can for now. I'm sorry."

Harry let out a breath in a rushed huff. "I've done enough to be in the Order. I've faced him myself four times!"

"I know, Harry, and that's very admirable..." Lupin paused as if he were looking for the best way to phrase the rest of what he wanted to say. "But you don't need to be the one facing him all the time. You're not alone in this war. You've faced him before; now it's our turn to continue the fight for a while."

Harry crossed his arms on the table and slumped his chin onto them, glaring up at his former teacher. He was quite glad at this point that he felt genuine irritation about this; it made it so he didn't have to try—and probably fail—to act like Lupin would be expecting. And it wasn't that he didn't appreciate that he didn't have to be the only one anymore, he just would have appreciated being kept in the loop. Sanguini could only discover so much through Christopher and whatever his other means were (which Harry wondered now if they might have been letters from the Dark Lord himself).

"All right, fine." He raised a hand to brush his fringe out of his face, and if he happened to rub his scar in the process, it must have been a coincidence. "But you know, it's pretty frustrating to be the one seeing what he's doing, and then I tell you lot, and you still usher me out of the room like a first year. Like I haven't just seen what you'll be talking about anyway."

For some reason, this made Lupin look more uncomfortable than he had so far, but he only shook his head again. "I know, Harry. You have every right to feel frustrated."

"But you still won't tell me anything."

"No." Lupin folded his hands on the table, eyeing him curiously. "This can't be all you wanted to talk to me about."

"No, it's not. It's related, though." Harry tilted his head a bit so he had a better view of Lupin while he was still slumped over the table. "If any of them did join Voldemort—I'm not asking if any have, okay, I'm just saying if they did—why? They can't really agree with him, can they? He'd never treat them like equals."

Lupin regarded him silently for a long moment. Then he said carefully, "Harry, I don't know how much I can tell you..."

Harry felt genuine irritation flare up again. "I'm not asking about what he's doing, or what you're doing. I just want to know why other werewolves would be desperate enough to follow him."

Lupin sighed, but at least he didn't shake his head or look as though he wasn't going to answer this time. "You've hit the nail on the head. Desperation. What Voldemort has to offer is very tempting when you can't find a job or a place to sleep, and you're too terrified of what you might do to friends and family if you remain near them. Most werewolves have stopped trying to fit into wizard society at all. They live among their own kind and steal what they need from the rest of us."

Harry sat up slowly, staring at him. He'd known it was bad, because it was bad for the vampires and their laws were similar, but hearing about it was much different than just imagining it. He had not quite thought that maybe the werewolves would be living on their own like a lot of other races; it should have been easier for them to blend in with other wizards.

"But they can't think he'd really do anything to help them," Harry said carefully. "He's Voldemort."

Lupin smiled thinly, a gesture which only made him look twice as tired. "Well, Harry, look at it from their perspective. On one side, there's the Ministry, in whom many of them trusted before becoming afflicted with this curse, but which is now the cause of a fair amount of their misery. The Ministry has done absolutely nothing to help them, everything to hurt them, and doesn't seem to care in the slightest that most of them are still wizards underneath it all. On the other hand, here is someone who is offering to help them, whom the Ministry has even been refusing to acknowledge."

He shook his head as he added, "I doubt many of them truly believe joining Voldemort is the answer. However, if the Ministry continues on as it has been these last couple years, he's going to look very promising."

"But there's Dumbledore, isn't there?" Harry said urgently. "He's always been keen on helping you out, when he can."

Lupin inclined his head once, but he smiled as he said, "I can't say any more on the subject, Harry."

Harry scowled at him, but he hadn't really expected an answer to that particular musing. Of course anything having to do with what Dumbledore might be doing would be top secret information. That was how it had been all year.

But it had opened up the train of thought that he had really wanted to get to, and maybe Lupin wouldn't be too terribly suspicious when he brought it up now. So he sighed and frowned moodily down at the table and said, "So what the werewolves really need is someone who's not the Ministry and not Voldemort. Someone who actually wants to help them. Who I guess is Dumbledore, isn't it? But Dumbledore's busy with fight Voldemort too..."

Lupin frowned at him but said nothing for now, clearly waiting to see where Harry might be going with this.

"What would the other werewolves be willing to do, to get some of those laws taken down? If they're willing to work for Voldemort, it must be something drastic..."

Lupin eyed him curiously for a moment. For another moment, he genuinely looked like he might answer. Then his eyes flicked up toward the ceiling, in the direction of the rooms upstairs, and he frowned and shook his head. "I think I've told you everything I should, Harry. I'm sorry."

Harry stared at him for a moment before he felt his frustration rise up again. He couldn't even tell him something like that? It had nothing to do with Voldemort or Dumbledore! Well, mostly it didn't.

"All right. Fine." Harry pushed his chair back with a loud screech across the floor. "I guess that's it then. Thanks."

"Harry, wait," Lupin said as Harry turned to leave. 

Harry did not turn back around, but he didn't take another step toward the door.

"I had something I've been meaning to talk to you about too, if you don't mind," Lupin said mildly.

Harry seriously thought about just walking out in a fit of anger. But he supposed Lupin had answered quite a bit more for him than he really had to, and he could maybe return the favor by at least listening to what he had to say. So after a moment, he flopped back in his seat again and nodded to Lupin.

Normally, Harry thought Lupin might have given him an encouraging or grateful smile for doing something he obviously didn't want to do. Now, however, Lupin was regarding him with a calm, serious expression that reminded him of when Lupin had still been teaching at Hogwarts. Harry tried no to feel too nervous before Lupin even spoke. He had no idea what he might want to talk about, so it could be nothing.

"Mad-Eye's been speaking with me," Lupin said mildly, and Harry felt his stomach drop like a stone, "about some interesting things he's been seeing in your room."

His breathing was not going to speed up; he wouldn't allow it, not now. "Like what?"

Lupin eyed him for a moment, as if waiting for him to say more than that, to volunteer the information they both already knew anyway. But when it was clear Harry was not going to be admitting anything on his own, he sighed and said, "Like the vials radiating Dark magic tucked in a corner of your trunk, and the mirror you've been talking to most nights."

Harry clenched his hands together in his lap, letting the discomfort ground him. He could get through this. If that was all they had seen...well, that was pretty damaging, but it wasn't the end. He would just have to be very careful about how he proceeded from here.

But before he could open his mouth to speak, Lupin said, "It won't do you any good to lie to me, Harry. I already know what's in those vials."

Harry blanched and stared at him. "You do?"

"You forget, my senses are more acute than most, particularly where they are involved." Lupin shook his head. "Vampires, Harry?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said shakily. It couldn't be over so easily. Firenze was one thing, but Lupin and Mad-Eye were in the Order. And of course Mad-Eye would have been able to see the vials; he could see everything. Harry remembered suddenly the moment just after his vision when Moody's eye had lingered on his trunk. He had probably seen them then, if he hadn't earlier. Harry wasn't sure where else he was supposed to keep the stupid things, but obviously his trunk had been a bad idea after all.

Lupin narrowed his eyes slightly. "The vials of blood in your trunk suggest otherwise."

Harry shook his head and stared wide-eyed down at the table. Even if he kept silent, Lupin already knew enough, and through him undoubtedly the whole Order did as well. They could easily prove that the vials were there, and the mirror too. But how could he say anything, when he'd just promised Sanguini the other night that he wouldn't tell anyone about any of this? They knew about it, sure, but it was different than if they heard about it directly from him.

Lupin sighed, a tired, frustrated sigh, and leaned across the table so he could speak to Harry even more privately. "Harry...I've known about this since you first arrived in August. Since we picked you up from your aunt and uncle's house, in fact. Vampires have an unmistakable stench of blood that clings to them and lingers behind anywhere they've been. I could smell that they'd been there, and I can smell the vials, though barely. I've known about this for months...and Mad-Eye only learned of it last week. Think about that, Harry."

Harry looked up at him slowly. Lupin actually looked a bit angry, but mostly he looked worried, almost panicked. That, along with what he'd just said, was more than enough to calm Harry's own panic with a flood of anger. Lupin was a werewolf—he should know perfectly well what it felt like to have people fear him for nothing more than being himself—and he was still acting with that own fear himself. But if it was true that he'd known about this for months and hadn't said anything about it to anyone—which Harry didn't have any proof of anyway—then he had no right to act so concerned for Harry's well being. If he was this worried, he could have done something about it.

Harry crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, fixing Lupin with a cold stare. "All right. What do you want to know? Sounds like you've figured everything out on you own already."

"How many?" Lupin asked quietly.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. I lost count."

Lupin closed his eyes as if praying for patience. "Harry, vampires are insanely dangerous! There are reasons they're watched and regulated by the Ministry. You can't just go around freeing anyone who asks, there's some real consequences to doing so. You've put an awful lot of people in danger—"

"Like who?" Harry demanded, his temper rising again. "I freed them months ago. Have you heard about an increase in vampire attacks since then?"

"That doesn't mean much. You don't know what they're like..."

"I know enough," Harry said, getting to his feet. "I know they don't deserve to be treated like animals. Just like werewolves," he added, giving Lupin a look that he hoped would express the full depths of his ire and disgust. Lupin wasn't any better off than a lot of the vampires. He should know better than this.

To his satisfaction, Lupin had nothing to say to that, although he still looked like he thought Harry was being insanely careless and he couldn't understand why.

"If you're so worried about this, why didn't you tell anyone back in August?" Harry asked after a moment. He wasn't sure he really believed that Lupin hadn't told anyone, but seeing as this was the first time anyone had approached him about it whom he hadn't already let in on the secret a bit himself, he did think it was pretty likely. Which meant that maybe, deep down, Lupin actually agreed with what he was doing, but if that was the case, he should have been making such a big deal out of this.

"I thought maybe Dumbledore already knew," Lupin said quietly, "and that he might have some reason for ignoring them. Why else would they have been allowed near you? I'm sure you've realized by now that Dumbledore has had quite an extensive system for monitoring you during the holidays, to make sure you're all right. And there are spells to make sure no one wishing you harm—no onemagical—could take a step onto your relative's property, so obviously none of them had been there intending to hurt you." Lupin made a slight face as he said this, as if he could not imagine why that might be the case.

"No, they weren't," Harry muttered as he shifted so his arms were crossed even tighter in front of his chest, but he was distracted by the rest of what Lupin had said.. Was it possible that Dumbledore had known about his nightly visitors the entire time? He had thought maybe he would have been, back before school started, but Dumbledore had never approached him about it, so he had begun to think that maybe he'd had no idea after all. But if he had known and it was just that he was perfectly okay with it...well, Harry supposed that was a bit encouraging.

"I thought that if Dumbledore was comfortable with it, then there should be no reason to worry," Lupin said. He shook his head and looked pleadingly up at Harry. "But I doubt even Dumbledore knew that you've been freeing them. What were you thinking, Harry?"

Harry slowly uncrossed his arms. He could feel himself starting to shake with rage again. "What was I thinking? Exactly what I've told you. They don't deserve to be treated like animals. What the Ministry's been doing...it's wrong. But more than that, it's just going to encourage races like the vampires and werewolves to join up with Voldemort, like you said. Now we've got a whole army of vampires who know there's something better than Voldemort out there, who won't want to join him just because of a few promises. Dumbledore should've been fighting for this all along. He sent an emissary to the giants, and he's got you for the werewolves and Bill for the goblins, but who else has he been reaching out to? There's more than just those races who Voldemort's going to want working for him."

Lupin stared at him for a moment. Then he said weakly, "Harry, you can't really think they'll want to help us defeat Voldemort. They're Dark creatures; it's in their nature to harm others."

"Like werewolves," Harry snarled out. He would keep bring up that point until Lupin accepted it. He and Sanguini might not like being compared to each other, but they were more alike than most other creatures and Harry was going to make sure that got through. "Oh, and giants. Funnily enough, Dumbledore seems to think they're both worth asking.

"Besides," Harry said before Lupin could say anything else," it doesn't matter if they're not helping us as long as they're not helping Voldemort either. Most vampires just stayed out of it last time around, didn't they? They'll probably do the same thing this time, now that they've got no reason to join Voldemort."

Lupin looked away, staring with glazed eyes at the pots hanging from the ceiling. Harry took a couple deep breathes and forced himself to calm down. He had not said so much about how he felt since he had made his declaration to Malfoy several weeks ago, or the one he had given Firenze before that. He had certainly not meant to say so much to someone in the Order, who could make his life just as difficult as Umbridge might if he felt he really ought to. It would be a great way to start the new year, having someone watching his every move while he was trying to plan and train for a revolution.

Lupin finally turned back to him, his forehead creased with lines of worry. Harry was relieved to see he no longer looked panicked or angry as well, and he let himself relax a bit more. He would like to be able to trust Lupin with this, more than he would most of his friends. Lupin was going to be more directly affected by his plans than most.

"Just...tell me you haven't met with any of them while you've been at school," Lupin said after a moment, his voice layered with worry, and Harry thought he understood. Worry for himself, that he might be leaving the school to meet with dangerous half-breeds while Umbridge was around, and worry for the other students, that there might be vampires so near to them without anyone aware of them. Harry thought that most of his outrage had been fuelled by concern, though a lot of it was probably misplaced.

He appreciated it, he really did, and he wished that he didn't have to lie now that he'd placed some of his trust in Lupin. At least it was only partially a lie; he was true that he hadn't actually met with any vampires himself over the school year.

"I haven't," he said quietly. "I promise, Professor. It was only while I was stuck at Privet Drive. I just haven't had anywhere else to put those vials since then. I don't want to just leave them lying around."

Lupin nodded once, actually looking as though he believed that, and Harry nearly sighed in relief. But then Lupin cocked his head a bit to the side and asked curiously, "Then who have you been talking to with that mirror?"

Harry nearly took a step backward. Had he really been that close to figuring out the truth all on his own? That was definitely something he was going to have to nip in the bud; he did not want anyone to know he was still communicating with the vampires. He didn't even want those people who already knew because of circumstances beyond his control to know what they knew.

Harry was struck with sudden inspiration and he blurted out the name before his silence would get too suspicious. "Draco Malfoy."

This was obviously not the answer Lupin had expected. "Malfoy? Not Lucius Malfoy's son?"

Harry nodded, trying to look somewhere between sheepish and defiant.

"I wasn't under the impression you and Mr. Malfoy were particularly...close," Lupin said, lingering on that last word as he decided just how he wanted to put it.

"We're not," Harry said with an awkward shrug. "Only he wanted to write me during the holiday and when I told him he couldn't, he gave me the mirror instead. Well...I guess I should say he's letting me borrow the mirror. I have to give it back once we're back at school," he said, rolling his eyes. It might have been a flat out lie, but it was something Harry could easily imagine Malfoy doing. He could just hear his whining, drawling voice now.

Lupin just looked a bit bemused. "I have to admit, Harry, it's a little difficult to imagine Malfoy wanting to stay in touch with you. Or visa versa."

"Believe me, I'm still getting used to it myself," Harry said with a sheepish grin.

"So what changed? I seem to remember your rivalry being somewhat legendary."

"We had to do a detention together," Harry said, finally moving to sit down again. "And we talked a few things out. And then Snape asked him to tutor me in Potions."

"Professor Snape, Harry," Lupin chided mildly, but he looked even more surprised than before. Harry knew it was a gamble, using that excuse with someone who could ask Snape directly and stood a good chance of getting an honest answer out of him. He would just have to hope that either Snape would lie for them or, if he did tell Lupin the truth, that Lupin would only find it encouraging that Malfoy had sought him out on his own.

"Right," Harry said. "So we've been making up a bit. I don't think I'll ever like him, but I don't hate him so much any more." Harry had another spark of inspiration and leaned forward a bit with a small smirk on his face. "I think he's just excited he's got a chance of being my friend after all. He's been bitter about it ever since I turned him down our first train ride to Hogwarts."

Lupin smiled slightly. "I had wondered what it was that made the two of you hate each other so much."

"Well, he was a git," Harry said, leaning back in his chair again. "He still is a git, just not as much of one lately. He's been better about insulting my friends. And...he's not the worst Potions teacher, I guess."

"I'm sure Severus will be pleased to hear that," Lupin said. Then he sighed and went on seriously, "Even so, I hope you'll keep in mind who his father is. Not that I think every child is like their parents, mind...but it's not unlikely that Lucius Malfoy asked his son to get close to you, to get a better idea of what you and Dumbledore are up to."

"Yeah, don't worry, I've been keeping it in mind," Harry said. "Bit hard to forget it, really."

Lupin smiled indulgently and relaxed a bit in his chair. "Well, I can't say I think it'd be a bad thing, making friends with Draco Malfoy. Maybe at the very least, he'll be encouraged not to join Voldemort like his father."

Harry nodded. "I think that's why Snape wanted him to work with me."

"That very well may be the case," Lupin said, with a look that told Harry he would be asking Snape as soon as he had the chance. He carefully folded his paper up into a small tube and slowly pushed his chair back from the table. "Well, I'll tell Mad-Eye it's nothing to worry about..."

"How did he know about the mirror?" Harry asked as he, too, got to his feet.

"He told me he first noticed it the night you had your vision of Voldemort's plans for Diagon Alley," Lupin said mildly. "He's been here twice since, while you've all been asleep, and he's seen you with it under your covers."

"Oh, right. I thought maybe that was it...that's when he noticed the vials too, isn't it?"

Lupin nodded. "You didn't happen to be speaking with Mr. Malfoy when you had that vision, did you?"

Harry winced and looked away. "I was, yeah. He doesn't know what was happening, though!" he added quickly. "No more than he already knows about it, anyway."

Lupin nodded again, but he looked considerably less concerned about this than Harry thought he should. He never had heard exactly what had happened last week in Diagon Alley, other than being reassured that they had put a stop to what Voldemort had had planned, or what the consensus had been on his visions and what to do with them. He had a feeling that maybe Lupin's lack of concern had to do with that, but of course, he'd never get a straight answer out of him if he asked about it.

"Er...Professor," Harry said as Lupin moved to head out of the kitchen. "Can all this...everything we've been talking about...just stay between us for now?"

Lupin frowned over at him, but he didn't look like he would immediately say no, like he did when any of them tried asking him about Order business. "Harry...I'll have to mention some of it to Mad-Eye, at the very least, so he'll know he's being overly paranoid again."

"I know, but...could you just say something like...you talked you me and you don't think I'm a threat, or something like that?" Harry said, cautiously hopeful. Lupin hadn't said anything about the vampires yet, so maybe he could be persuaded not to say anything now.

Lupin raised an eyebrow and looked him over with a bit of amusement. "You know, Harry, your asking like this only makes it seem like maybe I should say something."

"Ah, right..." Well, he supposed that was true. He could hear Malfoy's drawling voice again, scolding him for not being more subtle, and he politely told it to shut up. "Just forget I said anything then."

"That said," Lupin went on as if Harry had said nothing at all, "I don't feel you're a threat to anyone, except perhaps Voldemort, and if you would like me to keep it a secret, I will. From everyone but Dumbledore, who does deserve to know what you've been up to."

Harry let out a deep breath, but he supposed that was probably the best he could ask for. He didn't think anything would get Dumbledore to stop ignoring him at this point, not if two visions in less than a week hadn't done it, so he probably didn't have much to worry about, so long as Dumbledore didn't say anything either. "Well, like you said, he probably already knows anyway."

He did make a note to let Sanguini know about this development, alongside a note to let Malfoy know they had supposedly been talking all Christmas break, in case that ever came up. He was smart enough that he could probably figure it out on his own if it did ever come up, but it would look a lot better if he didn't have to figure it out and make something up to go along with it on the spot.

Lupin nodded and gestured for him to follow him to the door. "Now, let's head back upstairs, shall we? I expect Ron and Hermione have been wondering what's happened to you."

Chapter Text

No matter how much he had insisted to Sanguini that he had wanted to go back to Hogwarts and he couldn't just leave his friends, now that they were on the other side of Christmas and the start of term was coming nearer and nearer, Harry was beginning to find that there was very little he actually wanted to go back to. Returning to Hogwarts meant going back under Umbridge's oppressive rule and an ever increasing mountain of homework as their O.W.L.s drew ever more around the corner. With his suspension, he did not even have Quidditch to look forward to as a break every now and then, and Dumbledore was proving to be more distant than ever. If it had not been for the D.A. and his own pride—and the fact that Sirius was more entitled to his company—he might have reconsidered Sanguini's offer to live with him for a few months. Even his lessons with Malfoy did not present much encouragement; he could probably learn everything Malfoy had to teach him from a few of the vampires.

Then, hardly a week after Christmas, something happened to make Harry positively dread returning to school.

"Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley said, poking her head into his and Ron's bedroom, where they were engaged in a round of Exploding Snap with Hermione and Ginny, "could you go down to the drawing room? Professor Snape would like a word with you."

Harry froze and stared at her in horror. This proved to be a bad move, as seconds later, his cards exploded in his lap.

"Ouch! I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley, what did you say?" he asked, shaking his hand a bit, sure he must have misheard something. Snape couldn't possibly have asked to speak to him; he preferred to say as little to Harry as possible unless it was to insult him, a sentiment which Harry happily returned in kind.

"Professor Snape, dear. In the drawing room. He'd like a word."

Harry stared at her a bit more. Then he looked around at Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, whose expressions all mirrored exactly how horrified he was feeling. Then he looked back around at Mrs. Weasley.

"Snape?" he said in disbelief. "You're sure it's him?"

"Professor Snape, dear," Mrs. Weasley said reprovingly. "Of course it's him. Come along now, quickly, he says he can't stay long."

"What's he want with you?" said Ron, looking unnerved as Mrs. Weasley withdrew from the room.

"No idea," Harry said, racking his brains for what he could have possible done to encourage Snape to call on him at Grimmauld Place. He was quite sure his Potions marks had improved in the weeks leading up to Christmas, and there was no reason for him to care about anything else Harry had been up to. Maybe Malfoy had blabbed to him about something?

He pushed open the door to the drawing room a minute later to find that someone had either conjured or found three wing-backed armchairs and placed them near the fireplace, and that both Snape and Sirius were inside waiting for him, though neither of them had sat down. The two of them were standing near two of the chairs instead, glaring in opposite directions.

Harry carefully closed the door as he stepped inside and the soft click seemed to echo through the heavy silence of the room.

Snape looked around at him and gestured to the remaining chair, which sat between the other two.

"Sit down, Potter."

"You know," Sirius said loudly in the direction of the window, "I think I'd prefer it if you didn't give orders here, Snape. It's my house, you see."

Harry slowly walked over and sat down in the proffered chair. It was slightly closer to the one Sirius stood behind, but it was facing Snape's considerably more.

"I was supposed to see you alone, Potter," Snape said, the familiar sneer curling his lips, "but Black—"

"I'm his godfather," Sirius said, louder than ever.

"I am here on Dumbledore's orders," Snape said, whose voice, by contrast, was becoming more and more quietly waspish, "but by all means stay, Black, I know you like to feel...involved."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sirius demanded, stepping around his chair.

"Merely that I am sure you must feel—ah—frustrated by the fact that you can do nothing useful for the Order."

Sirius flushed an angry red. Snape's lip curled in triumph as he turned to Harry.

"The headmaster has sent me here for two reasons today, Potter. The first is to tell you that it is his wish for you to study Occlumency this term."

"Study what?" Harry said blankly.

Snape's sneer became even more pronounced.

"Occlumency, Potter. The magical defence of the mind against external penetration. An obscure branch of magic, but a highly useful one."

Harry felt his heart speed up very fast. Defence against external penetration? Did they really still think he was being possessed? He was about half a second away from marching into Dumbledore's office and setting him right on that himself.

"Why do I have to study Occlu—thing?" Harry asked, not quite able to keep the anger out of his voice.

Snape eyed him disdainfully. "We will be getting to that. Suffice to say, the headmaster thinks it is a good idea, and that is enough. You will receive private lessons twice a week, but you will not tell anybody what you are doing, least of all Dolores Umbridge. You understand?"

"Yes," said Harry, who had never had any intention of telling Umbridge anything. "Who's going to be teaching me?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I am."

Harry felt his stomach sink and contract and flip-flop all at once. Extra lessons with Snape? That was even worse than extra lessons with Malfoy. At least he could insult Malfoy as frequently as he was insulted himself. He thought he might prefer spending hours in Umbridge's office cutting his hand open over spending any extra time with Snape.

"Why can't Dumbledore teach Harry?" Sirius demanded. He had taken another couple steps closer to Snape and was standing at Harry's knee now. "Why you?"

"I suppose because it is a headmaster's privilege to delegate less enjoyable tasks," Snape said silkily. "I assure you, I did not beg for the job. Which brings us, incidentally, to the second reason I am here."

Snape interlaced his long fingers on top of the back of the chair he stood behind and turned to Harry again. Then he thought better of it and glanced back up at Sirius. "It might be best if you step outside now, Black. I would prefer there to be no distractions."

"You've got no right to order me about in my own house," Sirius snarled back. "I'll be staying right here with Harry."

Snape's mouth curled into it's usual sneer again. "How touching. However, as I am his teacher and we are now in a lesson, I am going to have to insist you leave."

Harry very nearly stood up. "Wait, what lesson? We're starting now?"

Snape's mouth was getting a workout, with all the curling his lips were doing, this time in a malicious smile. "The headmaster feels it would be pertinent to begin as soon as possible. I am here today to assess your current level, so I might know where I will have to begin with teaching you, and to give you an idea of what it will be like. As such," he said with a poisonous look back over at Sirius, "your godfather's presence here, as anywhere, is quite unnecessary."

Sirius jerked violently in Snape's direction. Harry shot to his feet and got between them before either of them had a chance to draw their wands. He wouldn't have begrudged Sirius at all if he decided to hex Snape, but he had a sneaking suspicion Snape was faster with his spellwork and would probably come out on top, and Harry didn't want to see that.

"Can't Sirius stay and watch? Sir?" he added quickly, hoping to appeal to Snape's better side.

Snape sneered at both of them, but then his eyes flicked about the room and while his expression only became more unpleasant, he did not immediately say no.

"He may remain," Snape said, as if every word was causing him a good deal of pain, "if he agrees to remain silent and not to interfere in any way, no matter how much danger it may seem you are in. I realize that is asking the impossible," he added, sneering at Sirius, "but I will not tolerate interruptions. I am exceedingly busy. I would prefer to get this over with as quickly as possible."

Sirius let out a bark of laughter. "You're mad if you think I'd agree to that, Snivellus. Dumbledore might think you've reformed, but I know better—"

"Oh, but why don't you tell him so?" Snape interrupted in a whisper. "Or are you afraid he might take the advice of a man who has been hiding inside his mother's house for six months very seriously?"

"Tell me, how is Lucius Malfoy these days? I expect he's delighted his lapdog's working at Hogwarts, isn't he?"

"Speaking of dogs," Snape said very softly, "did you know that Lucius Malfoy recognized you last time you risked a little jaunt outside? Clever idea, Black, getting yourself seen on a safe station platform...gave you a cast iron excuse not to leave your hidey-hole in the future, didn't it?"

Sirius snarled and drew his wand. 

"Sirius, no!" Harry hissed, shoving Sirius's wand back toward the floor and getting more firmly between them.

"Are you calling me a coward?" Sirius roared, trying to push Harry out of the way, but Harry wasn't going anywhere.

"Among other things," Snape said with a vicious leer as he pulled out his own wand.

"Harry—get—out—of—it—!" Sirius snarled, pushing Harry out of the way. Harry grabbed at his wand and very nearly pulled it out of his hand as he was pushed aside.

"Knock it off!" Harry exclaimed, getting in between them again. He took a chance by facing Sirius only this time, but so far Snape had only been reacting to Sirius's actions, so Harry felt confident enough that as long as he could keep Sirius from casting any spells, he wouldn't have any fired at his back.

"Get out of the way, Harry, he's had this coming for a long time," Sirius growled out, still trying to get a good line of aim at Snape while Harry kept trying to both grab his wand and shove it out of the way.

Not for the first time, Harry wished he could use magic outside of school. It would be so much simpler to just Disarm Sirius (and maybe Snape too) instead of trying to get him to put away his wand the Muggle way.

"Look, if Dumbledore thinks I need to learn whatever this Occlu—thing is, and Snape's the one teaching me, we're both going to have to suck it up and let him," Harry said, feeling very odd about being the voice of reason for once, especially where Snape was involved. "Dumbledore obviously doesn't care enough to teach me himself, so Snape's all we've got. Right?"

Sirius stared at him for a long moment. Then he slowly lowered his wand. "Of course Dumbledore cares about you, Harry."

Harry snorted softly. "He's got a funny way of showing it."

"Difficult though it may be for you to understand, the headmaster is under no obligation to do anything out of the ordinary for you, Potter," Snape said behind them, "nor must he show you any more attention than he would another student. That is why he has asked me to perform this particular task for him. Now, might I remind you both that we are rather short on time and I have no intention of staying here any longer than my schedule allows. Shall we begin, or will I be forced to hex you, Black? I assure you, nothing would give me more pleasure."

Harry shifted so he was more firmly in front of Sirius and gave him a pleading look. It wasn't that he wanted any extra lessons from Snape, and he would have been perfectly happy to let Snape walk out of here without having done anything at all, never to see him again except during class. However, if this was important enough for Dumbledore to have sent him here for an impromptu lesson outside school, then Harry thought he ought to at least find out what it was he was supposed to be learning. Not to mention that it was generally better to remain as far from Snape's bad side as possible, and going along with what he wanted—for a short time—was the best way to do that.

"He said you could stay," Harry said when it looked like Sirius was still thinking about trying to fling a spell or two.

Sirius continued to stare at him silently for a good long time. Harry could not tell what he might be thinking, though he prepared himself to get out of the way in case he raised his wand again.

Then Sirius growled softly and flung himself into the chair behind him. His wand remained in his hand as he moodily crossed his arms, but he only glared at Snape and said nothing.

"Have a seat, Potter," Snape said silkily behind him.

Harry carefully took his seat again. Snape stepped around his chair and sat down as well, though his wand remained in his hand.

"Now, Occlumency," Snape began as he leaned back in his chair. "As I said before, this is an obscure branch of magic which entails sealing the mind from external intrusion and influence."

"Why does Dumbledore think I need it? Sir?" Harry asked, though his attempt at politeness was probably blunted somewhat when he crossed his arms and leaned back in his own chair. He just didn't appreciate that it seemed that Dumbledore still thought he was being possessed.

Snape eyed him contemptuously for a moment, then said softly, "Surely even you could have worked that out by now, Potter? The Dark Lord is highly skilled in Legilimency—"

"And what's that?"

"It is the ability to extract feelings and memories from another person's mind—"

Harry sat up straight, staring at him in horror. "He can read minds?"

Snape's lip curled back in a sneer. "As usual, you have no sense of subtlety, Potter. You do not understand fine distinctions. It is one of the short-comings that makes you such a lamentable potion-maker."

"Funny, Malfoy's been telling me I do all right when I'm on my own," Harry said, determinedly ignoring the way Sirius jerked when he said that particular name. He could fill Sirius in on his changed relationship with Malfoy later.

"If that were the case, Mr. Malfoy would be spending his time in more worthwhile pursuits than attempting to teach you," Snape said. He paused for a moment before he continued, "Only Muggles talk of 'mind-reading'. The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by any invader. The mind is a complex, many-layered thing, Potter...or at least, most minds are," he said with a smirk. "It is true, however, that those who have mastered Legilimency are able, under certain conditions to delve into the minds of their victims and to interpret their findings correctly. The Dark Lord, for instance, almost always knows when somebody is lying to him. Only those skilled at Occlumency are able to shut down those feelings and memories that contradict the lie, and so utter falsehoods in his presence without detection."

It did not matter how complicated Snape tried to make it, Legilimency sounded an awful lot like mind-reading to Harry, and he did not like the sound of it at all. But it also did not answer the question of why he needed to learn how to block it out, although he could admit that it might be useful to know in the future.

"So he could know what we're thinking right now?"

"The Dark Lord is at a considerable distance, and we are within the walls of a building protected by the Fidelius Charm. Time and space matter in magic, Potter. Eye contact is often essential to Legilimency. Standing in the same room, even more so."

Harry make a quick mental note to never stare Snape in the eyes again, in that case. And still, none of this explained what they were doing here, although he felt like he was only missing the last piece that would allow him to figure out the answer on his own.

"Then why do I need to learn Occlumency?" he asked after a moment, adding a little too late, "Sir?"

Snape eyed Harry, carefully tracing his mouth with one long, thin finger. The gesture brought to mind another insufferable man with long black hair, and Harry fought back a grin. He had a feeling the two would either hate each other if they ever met, or they would conspire to make his life even more miserable than it already was.

"The usual rules do not seem to apply to you, Potter. The curse that failed to kill you seems to have forged a connection between you and the Dark Lord. The evidence suggests that when your mind is most relaxed and vulnerable—when you are asleep, for instance—you are sharing the Dark Lord's thoughts and emotions. The headmaster thinks it inadvisable for this to continue. Our lessons will be primarily concerned with closing off your mind from the Dark Lord's."

Harry slowly sat up straight again, staring at him. Here was the missing piece, dangling before him so close he could nearly grab it.

"But it's been useful, hasn't it?" Harry said slowly. "I don't like it much, but if I know what he's thinking, what he's doing...it's helped already, hasn't it? If I hadn't seen that snake attack Mr. Weasley, or his plan for attacking Diagon Alley..."

Snape continued staring at Harry, but his finger had stopped on the middle of his bottom lip. When he spoke again, it was slowly and deliberately and without a hint of the usual sarcasm and scorn that usually adorned his voice when he spoke to Harry.

"It appears that up until recently, the Dark Lord had been unaware of the connection between you and himself, and you were able to share his thoughts and feelings without his being any the wiser. However, the vision you had concerning Arthur Weasley represented such a powerful incursion into the Dark Lord's mind that became aware of your presence."

Harry's heart started beating very fast and he felt his mouth go dry. "What the other one? The one after that?"

"That," Snape said slowly, "was undoubtedly a test. The Dark Lord is now certain that you have been gaining access to his thoughts and experiences, but more importantly, he has deduced that the process will work in reverse. That is to say, he has realized that he is able to access your thoughts and feelings in return, and," he added carefully, "that he has already done so earlier in the year."

Harry thought that if he had been standing, his legs might have given out on him. As it was, he felt a bit shaky and sick. He had not even considered that their connection might work the other way.

"Now, wait a minute," Sirius said suddenly, leaning forward in his seat and scowling at Snape, "you haven't said anything about that in the meetings."

Snape immediately transformed back into the sneering man Harry hated and he gave Sirius a particularly vicious look. "That is because the headmaster feels that only a select few people need to know such details, a group which, I am not sorry to say, did not include you."

"What d'you mean, he already has?" Harry asked before Sirius could say anything else. He did not want them to devolve into petty bickering again, not when he was finally going to be getting some answers.

Snape gave Sirius one last sneer before turning back to Harry again. He leaned back in his chair and rested his elbows on the arms, touching his fingertips together in a tent beneath his chin.

"Tell me, Potter, what is your experience like when you share the Dark Lord's emotions?"

Harry stared at him, wondering why he didn't already seem to know, since he thought Dumbledore probably did, and then wondering what this had to do with his question anyway. But if it meant getting a few answers, and maybe helping Snape figure out the best way to teach him to stop all this, then he wasn't going to just not answer.

"My scar hurts, like someone's pressing a brand to it," Harry said, and he couldn't help but raise a hand to rub at his scar as he said it, even though he wasn't feeling any sort of pain at the moment. "It's not as bad as when I'm having nightmares, though. And I can just...feel what he's feeling, and sometimes I know why he's feeling it, but I'm feeling my own emotions too. There was a night when he was really happy, and I couldn't recognize it for what it was right away, because I had detention with Umbridge, so I was feeling pretty miserable myself."

Snape's head had slowly lowered as Harry spoke until his mouth was hidden away behind the tent of his fingers. It was difficult to tell what he was thinking or feeling when Harry had only the rest of his face to look at.

When it seemed Harry had finished, Snape nodded slowly but didn't lower his hands, choosing to speak through them instead. "The Dark Lord has reported a similar phenomenon, though without the warning flare of pain you have experienced, naturally. He, too, has felt emotions that were not his own that he did not identify as such until sometime after experiencing them, generally anger, as I believe that has been the emotion you have felt most strongly this year. As the Dark Lord is often quite...angry himself, he chose to ignore these brief moments and what they could mean, up until his recent discovery of your connection."

Harry thought back to all the times when he had felt particularly angry this year and nearly smiled. Voldemort couldn't have had a very pleasant experience over the last few months, if he'd been feeling all those times Harry had lost his temper.

But as he went over all the times he thought he might have been furious enough for Voldemort to feel it, he came to one that made him pale and sit up straight again. "Er...sir, what about...when I was dueling Malfoy and I..." 

He bit his lip and forcefully shook his head. There were some things he did not want to say in front of Sirius, even if he probably already knew about it, and more than that, there were some things he really did not want to consider. He was so sure that Voldemort had not been possessing him, but there was no denying that he had more than lost his temper that night, and his scar had flared with pain, and there was definitely a moment that he still could not remember, even after several months.

Snape regarded him silently over his fingers for a moment, then he slowly dropped his hands to his lap. "You are aware of what the headmaster believes may have happened that night, I'm sure."

Harry's hands clenched into fists at his side. "He thinks I've been possessed, doesn't he?"

"That is among his list of possibilities," Snape said slowly, as though he were once again testing each word to make sure it was the right one before he let it out. "However, I believe that, in light of what we have learned since the night of the eighteenth, we have a somewhat different theory of what may have occurred."

Harry felt his breath catch, but he told himself firmly that it was stupid to think that Snape might be on his side about anything. He still couldn't help but ask, "So...you don't think that's what it was? Sir?"

"I think that possession might be an extremely simple and mostly inaccurate term for what occurred that night," Snape said, though he sounded a bit reluctant to actually admit that. "It is...possible that in your moment of intense emotion, your mind connected to the Dark Lord's and he did act through you, but I do not believe it to have been a conscious decision to do so on his part. It may have only been an extraordinarily strong suggestion, not unlike the effects of the Imperious Curse, which took hold of you because of your unique connection to his mind."

"But he's still making me do things," Harry concluded, clenching his fists on his knees. Maybe it wasn't actually possession—and now that he had heard Snape's take on it, he was even more sure that it hadn't been—but that didn't mean this other theory sounded any better. Even if all that had happened was Voldemort's thoughts not just leaking through but actually affecting his own, it still might as well have been Voldemort in his head, making him do things.

And then there was what Snape had said before, which was the whole reason he was supposed to learn Occlumency in the first place. "And...if he's realized we have this connection...next time it actually might be possession..."

Sirius jerked a bit in his chair, but Snape only nodded, looking completely unconcerned. "It might. Which brings us back to Occlumency."

Snape languidly got to his feet and beckoned Harry to follow as he made his way between the chairs and out into the centre of the large room. As Harry got up, Sirius reached out and grabbed his hand; he gave it a brief squeeze accompanied by a bracing smile. Harry tried to smile back and managed something closer to a grimace before he turned away and reluctantly followed Snape into the open space. He came to a stop a couple feet from his chair and warily eyed the wand that was still held loosely in Snape's hand.

"Take out your wand, Potter," Snape instructed, and Harry gladly did so. "You may use your wand to attempt to disarm me, or defend yourself in any other way you can think of."

"What are you going to do?" Harry asked nervously as he raised his wand. Any other time, he would have enjoyed having an opportunity to hex Snape and not be immediately punished for it. Now, however, the fact that Snape was expecting him to feel a need to retaliate made him uneasy.

"I am about to attempt to break into your mind," Snape said quietly, raising his own wand. "We are going to see how well you resist. I have been told that you have already shown aptitude at resisting the Imperious Curse...You will find that similar powers are needed for this...Brace yourself now...Legilimens!"

Snape moved so quickly that Harry had no time to react, much less prepare himself for whatever was about to happen. A pressure like a wind bore down on his mind and carried him off into a stream of images, while Snape and the room around them faded away out of view.

He was five, sitting awkwardly in a corner of the festively decorated sitting room, watching Dudley open present after present with jealousy burning in his heart...He was standing before a glass window with a gigantic snake lounging behind it while he asked it whether it had liked Brazil and it pointed out that it had never been there...He was sitting on a stool with the Sorting Hat on his head, and it was telling him he would do well in Slytherin...He watched as a snake shot out of Draco Malfoy's wand and landed angrily before him, and Snape began to stride forward to take care of it...He watched through the front windows of Honeydukes as Malfoy and Christopher strolled down the street toward The Three Broomsticks...Sanguini was standing before him in a dark, curtained room—

No, whispered a panicked voice in Harry's head, get out, you can't see that, get out, GET OUT—

"Harry!"

A hand grabbed his shoulder and shook him violently just as he felt himself try to move and strike out at Snape—both actions together were enough to knock him off balance and send him tumbling to the ground. The hand stayed on his shoulder, and when the room stopped spinning, he looked over to find Sirius there, glaring furiously at Snape. Harry followed his gaze to find Snape carefully passing his wand over a deep gash in his arm.

"What the hell was that?" Sirius demanded, looking about a fraction of a second away from pulling his wand out again.

Snape ignored him, his attention focused only healing the slash on his arm. Only once the cut was sufficiently healed did he look up again, eying Harry with a calculating gaze. "Did you mean to produce a Severing Charm?"

"No," Harry muttered bitterly. He carefully pried Sirius's hand from his shoulder and gave it a squeeze of his own as he shakily stood up again.

"I thought not," Snape said, look as though he might like to mock Harry for it if he did not already had something else on his mind. "You allowed me to get in too far. You lost control."

"Did you see everything I saw?" Harry asked, though he had a feeling he already knew the answer and it made his stomach squirm nervously.

"Flashes of it," Snape said quietly. His eyes narrowed at Harry and his voice dropped dangerously low as he murmured, "How many dreams about the Dark Lord have you had, Potter?"

Sirius jerked next to him and he could feel his stare begin boring into the side of his head. Harry hardly even noticed; he was too busy staring at Snape while his stomach rose in his throat.

It had taken Snape's words to realize that the last flash of memory had not, in fact, been in his bedroom on Private Drive, which was what he had thought at first and had been the reason for his violent retaliation on Snape. No, that had been a memory of the very first vision he had experienced from Voldemort's point of view, the one he could not remember clearly afterward but had made him feel ill all the same. It did not make him feel any less ill thinking about it now.

Sanguini had mentioned that he had recently been near enough to Voldemort to inspect his wand, but Harry had not thought him to be that vampire. That vampire had said that he was always considering Voldemort's offer to join him, and Sanguini had never seemed anything but contemptuous toward the Dark Lord. Harry didn't think he was actually trying to play both sides, as he'd seemed fairly contemptuous to Voldemort's face too, but knowing that didn't make him any less uncomfortable.

If nothing else, he certainly had a good reason to call up Sanguini tonight.

But now that he knew for sure who had been visiting Voldemort in that particular dram, he had a serious dilemma. It was possible Dumbledore already knew about that vision—Ron had witnessed that one, and they had discussed it with Hermione, and either of them could have gone to Dumbledore out of concern—but then, if Dumbledore knew about it, he thought he would have shared that information with Snape, as Snape would be the one trying to prevent any more. That Snape was now asking how many visions he had actually had suggested that he had not known about this one. And this one, like his vision of Christopher, was one he was now desperate to keep as secret as possible.

Actually, he felt that he might have been slightly less panicked if Snape had seen his vision of Christopher instead. He liked and appreciated Christopher, but Sanguini meant considerably more to him, and besides, he was not associated with Voldemort in anyone's minds yet and Harry wanted to keep it that way.

But the fact remained that Snape had seen it and he would not be able to hide while Snape was digging around in his mind if he gave Snape a reason to go looking.

"Only that one and the two just before Christmas," Harry said finally, although he was careful not to meet Snape's eyes.

Snape looked as though he did not believe that in the slightest, but he didn't demand that Harry tell the truth; perhaps he, too, thought there would be little need for that when he could just lift the real answer out of Harry's mind.

"Well, for a first attempt, that was not as poor as it might have been," Snape said after a moment as he raised his wand again. "You managed to stop me eventually, though you wasted time and energy shouting. You must remain focused. Repel me with your brain and you will not need to resort to your wand."

"Maybe if you actually told him how, he'd have a better chance of—" Sirius growled out next to him, but with a flick of his wand, Snape Silenced him and cut off the rest of his angry rant.

"I warned you, Black, that I will not tolerate interruptions or distractions," Snape said, his eyes glittering dangerously. "I may not have the authority to order you out of a room in your own house, but I will gladly hex you to keep you still and silent, if you give me reason to."

Sirius barred his teeth and flashed Snape a rude gesture that would have made Mrs. Weasley hex his fingers off. Then he turned on his heel and stalked away, probably so he would not be tempted to curse Snape right back, since they were still in the middle of an impromptu lesson.

Harry glared at Snape, fighting back a temptation to cross his arms too. He would need his wand hand free so he could defend himself. "He's right, you know. Sir," he added quickly when Snape's eyes flashed dangerously. "You haven't told me how I'm supposed to stop you."

"It was unnecessary for the purposes of that first test," Snape said. "Now...I want you to close your eyes."

Harry shot him an extremely distrustful look before doing as he was told. If Sirius had not been in the room, he thought he might not have obeyed at all; he did not trust Snape enough to be in a room alone with him while Snape was armed and he had his eyes closed.

"Clear your mind, Potter," said Snape's cold voice. "Let go of all emotion."

Harry very nearly opened his eyes again just to give Snape another dirty look. Let go of his anger and fear? Snape might as well have asked him to go on living without breathing. Even if Snape wasn't in the same room as him, he didn't think he could have managed it.

"You're not doing it, Potter...You will need more discipline than this...Focus, now..."

Harry took a deep breath and tried very hard to think about nothing—especially not about how Snape was likely raising his wand again right at this moment—to remember absolutely nothing, to feel nothing except perhaps his breathing...

"On the count of three...one...two...three—Legilimens!"

A hundred dementors were drifting across the lake toward him...A tall, dark-haired boy twirled Harry's wand between his fingers and only smiled when Harry asked for it back...Cedric Diggory was laying on the ground, staring up at him with blank eyes...

"NOOOOOOO!"

He found himself on the floor again, kneeling with his hands grasping at his hair. His head was aching, pounding in time with the quickened beating of his heart, enough to make him feel ill all by itself.

"Get up!" Snape said sharply. "Get up! You are not trying, you are making no effort, you are allowing me access to memories you fear, handing me weapons!"

Harry slowly pushed himself to his feet. He was shaking horribly, and he felt as though he might be ill, and as though he needed to squint to see through the pounding in his head. He had not dreamt about the graveyard in months, not since Sanguini had first visited him, and since he had seen Sanguini's memories of Cedric, it had been easier to think about that night while he was awake. Now he felt as though he had just been there, except now he felt like he had just watched a good friend get killed before his eyes, rather than a friendly acquaintance.

"Harry?" Sirius murmured, grabbing his elbow to help him stay upright. He must have freed himself from Snape's spell and come back over to look out for him while Snape had been in his head.

Harry felt a burst of gratitude for Sirius in that moment, and not just because his legs felt like gelatine. "I'm all right."

"You can wait until you're back at school to do any more, if it's too much," Sirius said, sounding worried, if a bit reluctant to let Harry wait.

Harry shook his head, which only made him dizzy on top of everything else, and looked back up at Snape. "It's fine. I need to do this."

Snape was watching them with an odd look on his face, which was a bit paler than usual. When Harry met his eyes again, his lips curled in a more usual sneer.

"Yes, you do, and you are making no effort to succeed," he snapped. "I told you to clear your mind, empty it of all emotion!"

Harry bristled with anger and tugged his arm free of Sirius's grip, even though it made him waver on the spot. "Yeah? Well, I'm find that a bit difficult right now."

"Then you will find yourself easy prey for the Dark Lord," Snape snarled, raising his wand again. "It is your emotions which connect you most strongly to his mind. While you allow your emotions to flare unchecked and uncontrolled, while you wallow in sad memories and allow yourself to be provoked this easily, you will remain helpless before his powers!"

"I'm trying!" Harry snarled back. "D'you think I like the idea of Voldemort in my head—"

"Do not say the Dark Lord's name!" hissed Snape.

Harry blinked at him. He was used to that sort of reaction from most everyone else, but he had never thought of Snape as one of those people who would be afraid of a name.

"Professor Dumbledore says his name," Harry said quietly. Nor was he the only one, Harry mused, thinking of Lupin and Sirius and Sanguini.

"Dumbledore is an extremely powerful wizard," Snape muttered. "While he may feel secure enough to use the name...the rest of us..."

"Worried your old mate might find out and get upset?" Sirius leered, looking supremely satisfied by this particular conversation. Of course, this was one area where he was one up on Snape, so he probably thought he had a right to dig it in.

Snape snarled and flicked his wand at Sirius again. This time, however, Sirius had his own wand in his hand, and he lazily blocked the spell before it could hit him. With a grin, he sent one of his own flying, but Snape was ready for it; he twirled his wand in a complicated twisting motion and the jet of light turned in midair and went flying back at Sirius.

"Protego!" Harry said loudly, getting between them. The redirected spell bounced harmlessly away from them into the wall.

Both older wizards glared at him. Harry didn't particularly care. Was Snape really trying to lecture him on controlling his emotions when he couldn't even do it himself long enough to teach for an hour?

"Shouldn't we get back to the lesson, sir?" Harry asked tersely.

The look Snape gave him would have made him take a step back if he wasn't so angry himself. But after a moment, Snape nodded once and said in a voice deathly quiet, "Once more, Potter. Prepare yourself. Legilimens!"

A dark, hooded creature stood in the doorway of the train compartment, sucking all the warmth from the room with a low, rattling breath...He was running along a windowless passage with Mr. Weasley...They were drawing nearer to the plain black door at the end of the corridor...Harry thought they would go through it...but Mr. Weasley led him off down a set of steps to the left...

"I know! I KNOW!" Harry exclaimed and he abruptly started laughing with relief and delight. His scar seared painfully, but he only felt even more exalted and he ignored it.

He only laughed for a few moments, but that was enough. When he looked up from his potion on the floor (again), Snape was staring at him with an inscrutable look on his face. His wand was still raised. He must have lifted the spell before Harry had even attempted to fight back.

"What happened just then, Potter?" Snape asked, eying Harry intently.

Harry did not answer as he pushed himself to his feet again. He was still savouring his moment of stark realization and the welcome and long missed feeling of delight that had followed.

He had been dreaming about that windowless corridor for months without realizing it was a real place. Now that he had seen the memory again, he knew that he had been dreaming about the corridor down to the courtrooms and the Department of Mysteries the whole time. He had even realized it had been familiar when he had run down it with Mr. Weasley on the way to his hearing. And now that it was fresh and clear in his mind, he realized, too, that it was the same corridor where Mr. Weasley had been attacked by the giant snake.

He absently rubbed at his scar as he finally looked up and met Snape's eyes. "What's in the Department of Mysteries?"

"What did you say?" Snape asked quietly and Harry saw, with deep satisfaction, that he was unnerved.

"I said, what's in the Department of Mysteries, sir?"

"And why," said Snape slowly, "would you ask such a thing?"

"Because," Harry said, watch Snape closely for a reaction, "that corridor I've just seen—I've been dreaming about it for months—I've just recognized it—it leads to the Department of Mysteries...I think there's something Voldemort wants in there—"

"I have told you not to say the Dark Lord's name!" Snape hissed.

Harry glared at him. His scar seared white hot again, but he only rubbed at it a bit more and ignored it. Snape looked agitated, a far different sort of agitated than he had so far, and Harry knew that he possessed the answers he had sought for months. He was not going give something else his attention now.

But then Sirius stepped up beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He, too, looked unnerved, but he did not also look angry, like Snape, but rather extremely concerned.

"I think that's enough practise for one day. Don't you, Snape?" Sirius said, sounding a bit strained at having to be cordial to his mortal enemy, but forcing himself through it nonetheless.

To Harry's amazement, Snape nodded in agreement and lowered his wand. "I've done what I came for." He regarded Harry silently for a moment as he slipped his wand back into his sleeve, then said quietly, "There are many things in the Department of Mysteries, Potter, few of which you would understand and none of which concern you. Do I make myself plain?"

Harry frowned at him, but he was already treading on dangerous ground, so he only nodded in response. Maybe once Snape was gone, he could ask Sirius and actually get an answer.

"I will expect you in my office at six o'clock, the evening we resume classes," Snape said, making a serious effort to act as though nothing had happened in the last few minutes to make him lose his composure at all. "If anybody asks, you are taking Remedial Potions. Nobody who has seen you in my classes would deny you need them. In the meantime—"

"Hold on," Harry interrupted, a bit surprised by how alarmed he felt by this, "what about Malfoy? He's supposed to be teaching me extra Potions. What are we supposed to say, that you're both teaching me?"

Snape's mouth curled into another sneer and his eyes flashed dangerously, no doubt for being interrupted. "It makes little difference to me what excuse you decide to use. Mr. Malfoy could be meeting you for any number of reasons, and he is quite intelligent enough to come up with another one. However, as there is no other acceptable reason for you to be taking extra classes with me, I'm afraid I will have to take over for him."

He had a very good point, and it was one Harry had not missed, but that was not a conversation he was looking forward to having with Malfoy, not the least because he actually didn't mind learning Potions from Malfoy but Malfoy might not think he'd need two sets of extra lessons. He probably shouldn't tell Malfoy that he wasn't actually going to be taking Remedial Potions, after all.

"Now, as I was saying," Snape said, his eyes flashing dangerously, daring Harry to interrupt him again, "in the meantime, I expect you to practice. You are to rid your mind of all emotion every night before sleep—empty it, make it blank and calm. If you can find the time, do the same for several minutes each day; however, it is of vital importance that you practice each night before falling asleep. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Harry said, dreading the very idea. He doubted he would be able to calm his whirling emotions any easier while he was lying in bed; that was usually when he brooded the most.

Snape narrowed his eyes slightly, like he knew exactly what Harry was thing—which, Harry thought, he actually probably did. This Legilimency thing explained an awful lot about Snape's past actions, now that he thought about it.

"Be warned, Potter. I shall know if you have not practiced..." Snape said softly.

And with that word of warning, he turned and strode out of the room, he robes billowing dramatically behind him as they always did.

"Well," Sirius said, clapping his hand on Harry's shoulder just a little too heavily, "glad that's over with. Shall we go down and see how dinner's coming along?"

"Sirius," Harry said, looking up at him with a hopeful gaze, "what's in the Department of Mysteries?"

Sirius paled and he looked furtively away toward the door. "Harry..."

"You won't tell me either?" Harry said furiously. He'd thought that surely Sirius would let him on a secret or two.

Sirius sighed heavily, and while he looked like he did want to tell Harry something, he still shook his head. "Loathe as I am to admit it, Harry, I agree with Snivellus on this one. It's nothing you need to know about."

Harry angrily shrugged Sirius's hand off his shoulder. "That's all anyone will tell me. 'Oh, you don't need to know, Harry, it's not as if it's your life on the line—'"

Sirius smiled bitterly and squatted down in front of Harry, placing his hand back on Harry's shoulder, though his touch was light this time and would have been much easier to escape from if Harry had cared to. "I know it's frustrating for you. Trust me, I know better than anyone what it's like to feel left out of this fight. But if it was really something you needed to know, you'd know about it, all right? I'd tell you myself."

That couldn't be all it was. Sirius still looked as though it was his dearest wish to tell Harry something, anything, other than what he was saying right then. Something other than whether he thought Harry should know was keeping him from saying whatever it was. But Harry could also tell there would be no arguing with him, not if he was already forcing himself to keep quiet about whatever it was about Harry's question that had made both he and Snape balk.

It infuriated Harry, of course, like a lot of things did these days, but more than that, it made Harry intensely curious. Obviously there was something important in the Department of Mysteries, something Voldemort wanted very much, and he was going to find out what it was.

But not from Sirius, apparently.

"Yeah, all right," Harry muttered, crossing his arms.

Sirius gave him another weak smile and squeezed his shoulder as he stood up. "We won't be left out forever, Harry. We'll just have to be patient."

"Sanguini, what's in the Department of Mysteries?" Harry asked as soon as the mirror came to life that night.

Sanguini looked startled for a moment, probably at nearly being pounced on by this question, which then turned into quiet amusement. "What would make you think I would know such a thing?"

Harry shrugged awkwardly and tugged his covers more firmly over his head. "I don't really have anyone else to ask."

Harry knew better than to try to ask Snape again, and while he thought Sirius would be the most likely to eventually break down and tell him whatever it was that no one wanted to know, he had smoothly avoided the subject for the rest of the day after his Occlumency lesson. Lupin had been similarly tight-lipped as the both of them when Harry had managed to corner him after dinner. He doubted Mrs. Weasley would be any help at all, given that she had never wanted him to know as much as he did already, and he did not feel comfortable discussing his Occlumency lessons or his dreams with the twins and Ginny, so had had not bothered asking any of them. 

And while Ron and Hermione had offered some insight into why Snape and Sirius had both nearly panicked when he'd asked this question of them—that the wizards who worked in the Department of Mysteries, the Unspeakables, were immensely secretive and told no one what they got up to, and so it would be the perfect place to hide or develop the weapon Voldemort was searching for—neither of them knew any more than he did what could be in there.

Sanguini shook his head, an amused smile dancing across his lips. "I'm afraid I can't help you, Harry. I haven't the slightest idea what could be in that particular Department. It was named for a reason."

Harry let out his breath in a gusty sigh. He had thought that it might be a long shot, but Sanguini knew all sorts of things, so why not this too? Although now that Harry thought about it, whatever went on in the Department of Mysteries was probably included in the wizard magic that Sanguini didn't bother to look into much.

"All right," he said, finally relaxing a bit in his disappointment. "I figured it wouldn't hurt to ask, anyway. Maybe Malfoy's got some idea..."

"What spurred this sudden interest into the Department of Mysteries?" Sanguini asked.

"Oh, that has to do with the other thing I had to tell you. The corridor that leads to it—I've been dreaming about it for months, and there's something in there Voldemort really wants. I only realized it today, while Snape was digging through my head. He's going to be teaching me Occlumency this term; Dumbledore thinks it should keep Voldemort..." He trailed off, holding the mirror out a bit. Sanguini had nearly knocked over his chair in his rush to stand up, his friendly amusement switching to alarm so quickly Harry wondered if he'd hurt himself.

"...What is it?" he asked cautiously.

"Harry, you must learn to close your mind immediately!" Sanguini hissed in a low, urgent voice that Harry had only heard once, in his memory of meeting with Cedric before the Third Task. It took Harry a moment to realize it was shot through with fear, and he nearly sat upright with his own alarm.

"I'm going to try," Harry said quietly, staring at him. "But it might take a while, and I don't know how good I'll be at it."

"I will help you," Sanguini said impatiently. "I will ensure you succeed, against Severus Snape at very least. You must not allow him to search through your mind again."

"Not Voldemort?" Harry said, since that was the whole reason Snape would be digging through his brain in the first place.

Sanguini waved a hand impatiently. "Voldemort, yes, him as well, although I have my doubts as to how well Occlumency would be able to block him out of your mind. I have been prepared for the possibility that he might learn of our relationship since you told me of your connection to him."

"You don't think it'll work?" Harry asked. Then what was the point of trying to learn it?

"I have very little idea whether it will work or not," Sanguini said, starting to look a bit annoyed. "If Dumbledore is the one who thinks it might, than it very well might. However, Voldemort is an extremely talented Legilimens and a not untalented Occlumens, and he hasn't kept you out."

"Snape said he didn't know I was sharing his thoughts until a couple weeks ago," Harry said.

"With his level of skill, his mind should have been guarded from outside intrusion regardless of whether he was consciously aware of it." He let out an irritated sigh and shook his head. "But that is not the point. Voldemort is a known factor; we can plan around him. You cannot let anyone else into your head any more than is necessary. He will find things." Sanguini's eyes deepened in colour and his voice was a bit strained as he murmured, "He may have already found something."

Harry found himself begin to nod before he realized exactly why. But then he remembered the memory of one of his visions that Snape had called up in his attack—the memory of Sanguini meeting with Voldemort—and he realized why, exactly, Sanguini was nearly having a panic attack of his own.

It wasn't such a big deal that Snape had seen that particular memory. He had not made a big deal of it at the time, so he wasn't sure who knew about it and who didn't, but he thought someoneprobably did, since he had shared that one with Ron and Hermione. Snape could very well have been one of the few who already knew it was in there somewhere, even if it hadn't seemed like it. And that particular memory had only been a vision of Sanguini speaking to someone else, a meeting which Harry would not have been surprised to learn the Order also already knew about.

But that had hardly been the only time he had seen Sanguini, and every other time had been in person, along with all the other vampires he had met over the summer. In fact, Snape had already come dangerously close to seeing those memories. He had seen the other occasion in which Harry had been near a vampire in person.

"Dumbledore already knows about what happened during the summer," Harry said slowly, sure that could not be the only problem here. "Remember, I told you Lupin's known the whole time. And Mad-Eye knows. Snape probably does too; Dumbledore trusts him an awful lot."

"But they are not aware that our relationship has extended beyond the summer," Sanguini murmured, his eyes glinting dangerously in a way that reminded Harry uncomfortably of Snape, so soon after he had spent a fair amount of time talking to the man. "And imagine if a memory of that little note you sent me swam to the surface. I suspect Dumbledore would not like to learn his little lion is not so tame after all."

Harry smiled a bit, but it was strained and didn't last long. That, and any conversations he'd had about it, was definitely not something he wanted Snape to find. He didn't want Voldemort to find it either, but at least Voldemort stood a good chance of only being amused by it.

Dumbledore might have chosen to ignore him so far, but Harry doubted that would last long if he actually knew everything, even if he still didn't do anything directly and chose to act through others.

"Sanguini," Harry said carefully, "my first Occlumency lesson was a disaster..."

Sanguini smiled and waved his hand again. "I told you that I'll help you. I'm quite talented in the mental arts too, you know."

Harry smiled a bit. He hadn't quite forgotten that Sanguini had told him he had looked through his memories that first night (he was still a bit annoyed about that), and he had definitely not forgotten how Sanguini had rid him of his nightmares for several weeks either (which he was still quite thankful for).

"Now, as your visions most often come while you are asleep, I assume you were told to practice at night while you're in bed?" Sanguini said, and Harry nodded. "Then I would like you to close your eyes and relax."

Harry shifted so he was a bit more comfortable where he lay and happily closed his eyes. He had no problem letting down his guard around Sanguini, particularly when the man was not even in the room with him.

"I am going to guide you through making your mind blank and calm. I know it will probably be difficult for you," he said, sounding as though he might have been smirking as he said it, "but it is the first step to becoming a successful Occlumens. We will create an environment where, even if Voldemort enters your mind, he will find nothing there to use against you."

"Voldemort!" Harry exclaimed and his eyes flew open again; he had just remembered the other thing he had been meaning to bring up before Sanguini had distracted both of them. "It was you! You're the one who met him on Halloween."

Sanguini stared at him for a moment, plainly wondering why he was bringing this up now, but then he nodded once and said mildly, "I did say I had an opportunity to speak with him in person."

Harry shook his head and stared back at him. "You said you had someone else to follow, who'd show you something better than he could. You knew back then what I was going to do, even though I didn't yet..."

Sanguini's eyes glittered with amusement and leaned close to his own mirror. "Forgive me, Harry, but in some things, you are quite a predictable creature. Now, close your eyes and relax. Focus only on your breathing..."

Chapter Text

Harry stood in the dungeon corridor with the handful of his classmates who had also chosen to get here early and stared at the closed classroom room with trepidation. This class would be the first time he had seen Snape since their first Occlumency lesson two weeks ago, and also his first test as to whether he had made any progress at all in learning to block him out.

Sanguini had been true to his promise; every night for the rest of the holiday, when they both decided that it was about time for Harry to fall asleep, he had guided Harry through letting go of his emotions and clearing his mind. The first few days had been difficult and more than one of them had ended in Sanguini simply talking Harry to sleep rather than with any significant progress on Harry's part. After a week, however, Harry had found himself slipping into sleep without realizing he'd done it until he'd woken hours later, and generally far sooner than usual, without the whirl of his thoughts to keep him awake. He still didn't feel that he was actually ceasing to think about anything, because Sanguini had been telling him to focus his thoughts on his breathing so he was still thinking about something, but Sanguini had seemed pleased with his progress at least.

And he supposed it was true that he had slept more deeply and been more refreshed in the morning during the last week than he had in longer than he could remember. And while he had actually had a couple nightmares about the graveyard for the first time since the summer, he thought he probably should have expected it after Snape had pulled that memory back to the surface.

He was still having dreams about the corridor to the Department of Mysteries. Sanguini reassured him that those dreams would cease eventually, once he had progressed further with his training, but secretly, Harry no longer wanted them to stop. He wanted to know what could be in there that Voldemort was so interested in, and he wanted to be there when they were finally able to open the door.

Either way, Sanguini assured him that he thought Harry was making progress, even if Harry was sceptical. This class, however, would be the first real test, a taste of what might be to come that evening.

And that had been why he had chosen to leave Ron and Hermione to bicker among themselves and come to wait here outside the classroom. He needed a moment of peace and quiet to gather himself before this lesson, which he would never have gotten if he had stayed with them. Either they would be bickering too much, or there would be the various D.A. members who had been coming up to him all morning to ask when he thought the next lesson might be.

His eyes were closed for a moment, and that was all it took for someone step up beside him and grab his sleeve. He knew even before a voice hissed at him to follow that it was Malfoy and he allowed himself to be dragged by his sleeve back up the corridor a bit to a small alcove, far enough away from the other students to keep from being overheard.

"I thought we might meet in the classroom tonight, Potter," Malfoy said, without so much as a hello or polite question of how his holiday had been. "We can go back to working on Potions later in the week, or next week."

Harry found himself smiling a bit in spite of himself. It was actually a bit refreshing to speak with Malfoy again, as someone who knew his secrets but didn't care about his well being. And he just assumed that Harry would know what he was talking about and hadn't changed his mind about their meetings over the last few weeks, and that too was a nice change.

It was too bad he was going to have to disappoint him.

"We can't do anything tonight," Harry said, leaning back against the wall of the alcove.

Malfoy stared at him like he'd been slapped in the face, and then quickly recovered and demanded, "Why not?"

Harry sighed and gave him an apologetic look. "Because I have to take Remedial Potions. With Snape."

No, Harry amended to himself, now Malfoy looked like he'd just been slapped. And after a moment, a faintly hurt look started to appear in his eyes that made Harry feel a bit uncomfortable, and then an angry one that he was much more familiar with. 

"I thought we had a deal, Potter," Malfoy said in a low voice.

"We still have a deal," Harry said, glancing up and down the corridor to make sure no one would be listening in. "And you'd better stick to it, because he won't really be teaching me Potions, so you're still the only tutor I've got. I can't tell you any more than that," he added as Malfoy opened his mouth to wonder about this. "I shouldn't have even told you that much, but seeing as you are catching me up on Potions and I don't want you thinking I won't need it anymore..."

The bell rang. Harry moved to leave and join the queue forming outside the classroom door, but Malfoy caught his sleeve again.

"Tomorrow night, then," he said with a frown.

Harry nodded and tugged on his sleeve, to get it free and to get Malfoy to follow him back to the queue.

Ron and Hermione were waiting for him. Hermione raised her eyebrows at Malfoy and Ron fixed him with a furious glare. Malfoy ignored both of them as he walked past them to join his own friends. Harry decided to imitate him, offering only the briefest answers to his friends' questions and ignoring the glances he was getting from most of the other students as they started filing into the classroom. Ron and Hermione already knew he had a truce with Malfoy, and no one else really needed to know. They could come to their own conclusions, as they did with anything else he did, and it wouldn't make much difference to him.

Snape walked in as the class settled in their seats and the room fell silent as the door shut quietly behind him.

"Today you will begin brewing the Blood-Replenishing Potion," he said as he strode across the room to his desk. "While this potion does not always come up in your O.W.L.s, it is very like some that might, and you will be expected to show some understanding of what an unfamiliar potion might do from only the method and ingredients."

Harry couldn't help but glance across the room. Malfoy sent him a faint smirk and turned his attention back on Snape.

"This is a potion that must be completed in three parts," Snape continued, "to be finished in our lesson next Monday. It is also an extremely delicate potion, as many potions concerning the art of Healing tend to be. As such, you will be working in pairs"—he held up a piece of parchment and smirked before the class could get too excited—"which I will assign. Bulstrode and Brown..."

Predictably, Snape had paired the Gryffindors and Slytherins together, and quite a few of them seemed to be deliberately because of how explosive they could end up. Even more predictably, he had assigned Harry to work with Malfoy. While Harry was actually somewhat relieved by that, he did wonder if this whole thing might be Snape's way of apologizing to Malfoy for taking his student away. Then he decided that idea was ridiculous and he should just be thankful Snape had paired him with someone he knew he could work with.

Snape waved his wand to reveal the ingredients on the blackboard and set them to settle into their pairs and begin working. Harry bid goodbye and good luck to Ron and Hermione, threw his bag over his shoulder and made his way through the sudden commotion to where Malfoy was still sitting, dutifully copying down what was written on the board.

"Get the ingredients," Malfoy said without looking up. Harry dropped his bag by the empty chair next to him and rolled his eyes as he walked off to do as he was told. Maybe he would be able to work with Malfoy better than any of the other Slytherins, but he was still going to be infuriating to work with.

Malfoy waited until they were well along the path to completing this part of the potion before he chose to say anything to Harry other than instructions for how to prepare the ingredients. But when they had to let the solution stew for a few minutes, he finally turned away from their cauldron and looked at Harry.

Harry carefully finished cutting up the rest of his thistles before he returned the favour. While it was nice that Malfoy would finally be doing something, as tension had steadily been growing in the room the entire lesson and Harry had a feeling it was mostly because the other students were waiting for the inevitable explosion from their table, he thought he ought to also show Malfoy that he was taking this lesson seriously. And when he finally did look back at Malfoy, he thought he saw a hint of approval in his face.

"So what are you going to be doing with Professor Snape, if he's not teaching you Potions?" Malfoy asked, keeping his voice low enough that only Harry could hear him.

"I told you, I can't tell you that. You're not even supposed to know—"

"—he's not actually teaching you Potions, yes, so you said." Malfoy scowled at him, and then scowled back at Snape, who was currently in the back of the class with one eye on Crabbe and Dean's potion and one eye on them. "That's our excuse to meet publicly gone."

"He said you're smart enough to come up with another one," Harry said with a shrug. "I don't think he's too fussed, though, he didn't seem happy about you teaching me anyway."

Malfoy snorted softly. "All the same, he agreed to cover for us. He's been even less pleased with your marks, I'm sure." He gave a sigh like this whole thing was causing him some great agony and took a moment to look over their potion to make sure it was progressing as it should be. "He's right of course. I'll come up with some other excuse. Unless you've thought of one?"

Harry shrugged and tried not to smile. "Could be that now I'm helping you with Transfiguration."

Malfoy made a face. "I assure you, Potter, I have no need for any sort of help with Transfiguration and I'd rather no one thought I did. The thistles, please, it's nearly time to add them."

Malfoy said nothing else other than to direct Harry with the ingredients until class was nearly over. But once he had ladled their potion (which was nearly perfect, of course) into a flagon to mature over the next few days, Harry found Malfoy's attention back on his face again rather their his hands and how they handled the ingredients.

"The Hogsmeade trip's been posted, did you see it?" Malfoy asked after a long moment of silence.

Harry blinked at him. "No, I hadn't yet. When is it?"

"Next month. Valentine's Day." Malfoy wrinkled his nose very slightly to show what he thought of that. But then he leaned back in his seat a bit and asked, "I suppose that means I'm the first to ask if you had anything planned, then."

Harry thought it very unlikely anyone else would either, but that really only made him wonder why Malfoy was. "Yeah...you are. I wasn't really planning anything other than just going. If it's next month, there's still time for something to come up."

Malfoy shook his head a couple times, staring at him. "You didn't even hear what I said, did you?" But before Harry could even open his mouth to answer, he went on, "Well, good. I had a couple friends who wanted to meet us there, so would you mind spending some of it with me?"

Harry eyed him silently. He could understand the hidden meaning, but he doubted anyone trying to listen in (and he was sure someone was) would know what he meant.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Harry murmured, wondering what his friends' obsession with trying to meet him in Hogsmeade was. "No one's seen us together yet, and there's been a good reason for that."

"I'm not asking you to stroll around the village with me, Potter," Malfoy said with a faint smirk. "There's places to meet where no one will see us."

Harry chose to start putting his books and papers away instead of answering immediately. It didn't give him a lot of time, but it was just enough for him to think it over. It was also just enough time for the bell to ring, although Malfoy remained patiently in his seat, waiting for an answer, even as the students around them started getting up to leave.

"Yeah, all right," Harry said finally, standing up and throwing his bag over his shoulder. "D'you want to meet up there or...?"

"I'll let you know," Malfoy said with an infuriating smirk. "I'll see you tomorrow, Potter." And with that, he turned his attention to putting his own things away and ignored Harry completely.

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes or glare at him and turned to leave. He could trust Malfoy with delivering their potion to Snape's desk before he left, if only because he thought Malfoy might faint at the very idea of receiving no marks for a class.

He nearly ran into Ron, who had stopped by their table to wait for him. Harry almost winced at the look on Ron's face. He didn't think Ron would have overheard much of their conversation, but Ron had been so busy with other things that he hadn't noticed much of his new truce with Malfoy the way Hermione had, so he wouldn't have expected to hear any of it.

Ron opened his mouth to say something, glanced at Malfoy, and then shut it again with frustrated shake of his head. He only gestured for Harry to follow as he led the way out of the classroom and out into the corridor where Hermione was waiting for them so they could go up to lunch together.

"Are you really meeting Malfoy somewhere tomorrow?" Ron asked after several long moments of walking silently up the corridor.

"Yeah, I am," Harry said, raising his eyebrows. "So are you. Care of Magical Creatures."

Ron gave him a dark look; apparently he wasn't in the mood to appreciate Harry's wit. Hermione looked over at him but stayed silent. Well, she had already had her say on what she thought about his spending time with Malfoy, so maybe she thought it was Ron's turn.

"All right, fine, I'm meeting him because he's been giving me extra Potions lessons." Harry shrugged, using the motion to hike the strap of his bag a bit higher on his shoulder.

"Been giving...when've you been meeting him before now?" Ron asked, looking a bit horrified. And hurt. Harry fought back the guilt that threatened to rise up in his throat. Hermione could have told him if she'd cared to, and he'd made a point of trying to meet with Malfoy while Ron wasn't around anyway so he wouldn't be taking any time out of being with his best friend.

"It's been a couple months," Harry said as they stepped into the Entrance Hall. "Since I got suspended from Quidditch. We've been meeting while you were at practice."

Ron stared at him. Harry, who had gotten quite good at this sort of thing over the last few months, ignored it.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Ron demanded quietly.

Harry chanced a look over at him and felt a wash of relief. He looked considerably less angry about this than Harry had worried he might, and it looked like most of the anger was for being left out of the loop for so long. He did also look annoyingly worried, but Harry had expected that too.

"Because you hate him—for good reason, I know," he added hurriedly when Ron started looking offended, "and because I knew you'd be worried, and I've had enough of that in the past few months."

"Of course I'd be worried," Ron hissed as they stepped through the doors into the Great Hall. "His dad's a Death Eater!"

"And he's not," Harry said with a shrug. Yet, a little voice had to add on, but he shoved it away.

Ron just stared at him even more. Harry ignored it, again, as he slid into a seat at the Gryffindor table and set his bag under his chair.

"Look," Harry said as Ron sat next to him with his mouth open, ready to start ranting, "it's just extra Potions lessons. I need them, he offered, end of story. That's all it is. Ask Hermione; she's known about since before Christmas."

Ron gaped at him, and then rounded on Hermione as she settled into the seat across from them. Hermione gave Harry a cold look, but as he'd been hoping, she was quickly pulled into another round of bickering with Ron, during which they promptly forgot to be angry at him in the midst of being irritated with each other. Maybe it had been more of a Slytherin thing to do, to keep Ron from picking at him before he'd even started, but at least it let him eat his lunch in peace.

Well, mostly in peace. He still had those members of the D.A. who hadn't yet managed to catch him in the halls discreetly coming up to him to ask when the next meeting would be. Thankfully, most of them opted to wait until they were leaving the hall to go to their next class or until he was, so it didn't look too suspicious.

Still, he didn't enjoy telling them why it couldn't be that night while they were around all the other students in the school, where they could easily be overheard. He didn't really care if anyone knewMalfoy was giving him extra Potions lessons, other than it would seem a bit odd that they hadn't killed each other yet. Mentioning that Snape would be instead, however, only made it look like he was incredibly stupid.

As Zacharias Smith was happy to point out when he cornered Harry as they were leaving the Great Hall.

More uncomfortable, however, was then nearly running into Cho Chang, who had come after him, not to learn when the next meeting would be, but instead to solicit a date for the next Hogsmeade weekend. 

Their conversation was brief and extremely awkward and made Harry wish that she had come to find him after breakfast so he wouldn't have had to turn her down. He would have much preferred spending the day with Cho than Malfoy and whoever he was planning to bring into Hogsmeade. He made sure to let her know that he didn't have plans for the whole day, but having to tell her he already had plans at all was painful enough.

Harry's discomfort and apprehension only increased as the day went on, but by the time six o'clock rolled around, his dread at spending the next hour or so with Snape attacking his mind had drowned out any minor discomforts.

Harry left dinner early so he could take his time walking down to Snape's office and focus on putting his emotions away as best he could while he went. Even with Sanguini helping him, however, he'd never felt like he'd made very much progress in that area, and it was very different trying to do this with someone he trusted and trying to do this while he felt like he was walking to his execution.

When he reached the door, he paused outside to take one more moment to settle his thoughts. He would have been slightly more confident, he thought, if Snape had actually looked at him once during Potions, but he seemed to have avoided Harry's gaze deliberately just to make him nervous. Then he took a deep breath, knocked, and entered.

The room beyond was shadowed and lined with shelves, each covered in glass jars containing bits of various plants and animals suspended in unpleasantly coloured potions. In one corner stood the cupboard from which Hermione had stolen a couple necessary ingredients in their second year, which Snape had then blamed on Harry.

Harry didn't spend a lot of time looking around, however, because his attention was caught by a glowing basin sitting on the desk. He recognized it at once as the Pensieve that usually sat in Dumbledore office, and he wondered what it could possibly be doing here instead.

"Shut the door behind you, Potter."

Harry started and did as he was told with a shaking hand. His attention had been so fixed on the Pensieve that he hadn't even noticed Snape standing in the shadows behind it.

As Harry walked over to the desk, Snape turned his own attention back to the Pensieve. His wand was already out, but he didn't yet point it at Harry; instead, he placed the tip against his temple and carefully drew it away again, and with it, a silvery strand of the airy substance within the Pensieve. He flicked his wand down once and the silver strand drifted gracefully down into the Pensieve, where it swirled into the already glowing contents. Then without a word of explanation, he carefully picked up the Pensieve and carried it over to a shelf out of their way.

"Take out your wand, Potter," he said as he walked back over to stand behind the desk.

Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket and took a couple steps back, trying to steel himself again. It was even more difficult now that he was in the same room as Snape.

"So," Snape said, raising his wand, "have you practiced?"

"Yes," Harry said, trying to look as confident as possible. He had practiced; the question now was whether it was going to be good enough.

Snape eyed him for a moment, but he didn't seem to find whatever it was he'd been looking for (probably evidence that Harry had slacked off, like he'd undoubtedly expected him too), because his expression remained blank. Then he said softly, "On the count of three then, Potter. One—two—three—Legilimens!"

He was laying in his dark cupboard, dreading school the next day when the other kids would laughed at him for what Aunt Petunia had done to his hair...He was five, watching as Dudley rode about on a shiny new bright red bicycle, his heart bursting with jealousy...Harry clenched his fist and concentrated...He was scrambling up a tree while a dog circled it beneath him, barking and growling and snapping it's teeth...he knew it would rip him to shreds if he fell...

"Expelliarmus!

Snape's wand flew across the room, taking with it the stream of images from his childhood. Harry dropped to his knees a moment later, panting and shaking but feeling a burst of triumph in his heart.

That had not been as good as they'd been hoping for—Sanguini wanted Snape to stay out completely—but it had been better than last time.

Snape silently crossed the room to retrieve his wand. By the time he was back behind his desk, Harry had managed to get back to his feet. He didn't dare smile, in case Snape thought he had not done well and it only irritated him, but he did calmly meet Snape's eyes when they passed over his face.

"Well, Potter, it seems this might not be a complete waste of my time after all," Snape said, looking grudgingly surprised and even a bit irritated that Harry had not done what he'd expected. Harry just barely suppressed another smile. He was not going to give Snape the pleasure of thinking he was right about Harry being lazy and arrogant. It would be more fun to anger him this way.

"I have been practicing, sir," Harry said with a very small shrug he couldn't quite stop. "I don't want him in my head any more than anyone else does." Or you, he added silently.

Snape very nearly sneered at him, and his voice was back to being cold and annoyed when he spoke. "Don't get too full of yourself yet, Potter. It was an improvement, but the Dark Lord would still be able to rip through your mind without effort. Now, prepare yourself. One—two—three—Legilimens!"

He watched as the horrid orange sweater Aunt Petunia had been trying to force him into grew smaller and smaller until it would have barely fit a hand puppet...Uncle Vernon was nailing the mail slot shut and gloating about how it would stop him from getting any more letters...He watched in awe as the words he had just written sank into the pages of the dairy and new ones rose in their place, in a hand far too neat to be his...A huge cauldron stood on the ground before him, his arm ached and dripped with blood, and even as he prayed nothing would happen a pale shape began to emerge from within...

A sharp pain shot through his knees. He opened his eyes to find himself on the floor again, and he was panting twice as hard as he had been the last time, as though he had just run the length of the castle without stopping once to catch his breath.

And beyond him, he could hear a slow but steady drip of liquid to the floor.

He cautiously raised his head. Snape was passing the tip of his wand over another deep gash in his arm, and behind him, one of the numerous glass jars had shattered. Most of what it contained was now on the floor or splattered on the wall or the other containers around it, but a small bit of the potion inside remained to quietly drip to the floor.

"A Blasting Curse, Potter," Snape said as Harry shakily got to his feet. "If you would refrain from casting that again, I might reconsider giving you a detention."

Harry clenched his fists in anger and tried not to wince as his scar began prickling unpleasantly. Snape was the one who had said he could use whatever spell came to mind to defend himself!

"That," Snape said dryly, "was not an improvement. You allowed me to get in too far. Did I find some particularly unpleasant memories, for you to lose your concentration like that?"

Snape was looking a bit paler than usual himself, so Harry thought he knew well enough how unpleasant a few of those memories had been. Harry couldn't say why the memory of writing in Tom Riddle's diary had unnerved him so much, but he knew that was when his concentration had begun to slip.

"You must not allow yourself to be carried away by the emotions of the moment," Snape said quietly. "View each memory as though it belonged to somebody else, distance yourself from them. You will only ever be chained by your past, vulnerable to any who might use those memories as weapons against you, until you do."

Harry nodded stiffly, not trusting himself to say anything to that. It was easy enough for Snape to say something like that—he wasn't the one who was having his mind attacked over and over and having memories of Voldemort pop up constantly.

His scar seared again and he reached up without thinking to rub at it. It would be just his luck for Voldemort to start throwing a fit right now.

Snape hesitated at this movement from Harry, but only for long enough to get his own emotions under control. He said quietly, "Take a moment to clear your mind, and we will try again."

Harry took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. He knew it was stupid to get so riled up when he had something he desperately needed to protect...but thinking about that only made him angry at himself and worried about what could happen and did nothing to assuage his anger at Snape and irritation at Voldemort.

Snape didn't count down this time. He attacked without letting Harry know it was coming, probably as a demonstration that Harry had to be ready at any time, because his enemies wouldn't bother to warn him. It only would have ticked Harry off more, if he'd had the time to feel angry before he was buried beneath a barrage of memories.

He flinched as the cupboard door slammed shut behind him and the locks clicked into place; he shouldn't have spoken to Aunt Petunia that way, he knew, and now he was going to pay for it...Aunt Marge's fingers were beginning to swell up like small balloons right before his eyes, followed by the rest of her, while Harry only felt satisfied that she was getting what she deserved...The alleyway became dark and cold around them and suddenly Dudley's fist was in his face and he was on the ground scrabbling desperately for his wand...he had to save them both, even if Dudley was an enraging moron...Malfoy raised his arm and they pointed their wands in unison at the huge three-headed dog trying to plough through the trees to get at them—

"Stupefy!"

The memory faded and Harry found himself blinking at the floor again. His scar was prickling more than ever and he rubbed at it again as he stood up.

Snape lay unconscious on the ground behind the desk. Harry swallowed heavily as he stepped around the desk to get a clearer line of aim. He must have been so caught up in that last memory that he had thrown a Stunning Spell without realizing it.

"Rennervate," he murmured, then he hurriedly took a few steps back as Snape's eyes fluttered open. "I'm sorry. Sir. I didn't mean—"

"Silence," Snape hissed through clenched teeth, and Harry shut his mouth at once.

Snape pushed himself to his feet and fixed Harry with a burning gaze that Harry found it impossible to look away from. Even if he hadn't meant to cast a Stunner, the look in those eyes said he was still going to pay dearly for it.

"You are not trying hard enough," Snape hissed, his voice softer than ever and infinitely more terrifying that way. "You allow yourself to be controlled by your emotions again and again and in doing lose control of yourself. Clear your mind! Control your anger! Legilimens!"

He stood helpless while Lucius Malfoy escorted Dumbledore out of Hagrid's hut, followed by Fudge and Hagrid himself...Fudge had come to take Hagrid to Azkaban because he could do little else to stop the attacks...His scar seared white hot, slicing right through the top of his head...Maniacal laughter was ringing in his ears...he was happier than he had been in years...jubilant, ecstatic, triumphant...a wonderful thing had happened...

"Potter!"

Harry's eyes flew open, but the insane laughter continued on. He was on his back, and he'd lost his wand somewhere along the way to the floor, and Snape was standing over him with a face white as bone.

He realized abruptly that the laughter was coming out of his own mouth and it immediately died away. An eerie silence fell upon the classroom, as Snape continued to stare at him and Harry struggled to roll over and sit up.

"What has happened?" Snape asked as Harry managed to pull himself into a sitting position.

It was his tone of voice that made Harry look up, no matter how badly his head hurt or how ill he felt. It was quiet and urgent, without a hint of the anger Harry had expected after taking another foray into Voldemort's mind. He had never quite appreciated the fact that Snape was a double agent and a valuable member of the Order until now, but looking up at him, he suddenly felt as though this was someone he could actually trust if he needed to.

He wasn't quite sure what exactly made him feel that way, but it was what allowed him to speak.

"I dunno..." Harry murmured, shaking his head to see if that would get rid to the pain and nausea faster. "He's happy...really happy..."

Snape looked as though he was just barely constraining himself from saying something biting and sarcastic. Instead, he said nothing at all but waited patiently for Harry to continue.

Harry closed his eyes and allowed the words to come to him, as they had every other time he had experienced Voldemort's emotions so strikingly. "Something good's happened...Something he's been hoping for..." He shook his head again and looked back up at Snape as the last impression rose in his throat. "Something that's got nothing to do with me, for once."

Snape's white face turned the unpleasant shade of curdled milk. He shut his eyes for the briefest of moments and gracefully got to his feet again. Without bothering to offer to help Harry up from the floor, he walked back to the desk and set down his wand.

"That will be all for tonight, Potter," Snape said quietly, and his voice lacked any of it's earlier hostility. "You will return here at the same time on Wednesday, and we will continue our work then."

Harry shakily got to his feet but didn't move to leave just yet. Snape was a Death Eater...could he know what had happened to make Voldemort so happy...?

"Do you know what's happened? Sir?" Harry asked cautiously. He was treading on dangerous ground, overstaying his welcome like this, but if Snape knew something...

"I expect you will find out tomorrow," Snape said, and indeed, his tone had become icy again. "You are dismissed, Potter."

Harry spent one more long moment staring at him, wishing for a fleeting second that he was a Legilimens himself so he could simply pry the answer out of Snape's mind, but he didn't dare stay there any longer. He was already figuring out how he was going to tell Ron and Hermione about this by the time he'd reached the door and walked out.

~*~*~*~*~

"Well, there you are, Harry," Hermione said quietly as she laid the Daily Prophet out in front of the three of them. "That's why he was so happy last night."

Splashed across the front page of the paper were the sneering pictures of nine wizards and a witch, each with a small inscription underneath telling their name and what they had been imprisoned for. Over all of this was a bold headline which read:

Harry hissed under his breath and began to read. Of course their fool of a Minister would be blaming this whole thing on Sirius; it wasn't as if he hadn't been told quite clearly last year that Voldemort had returned and the dementors would soon be listening to another master than the Ministry. Harry was only surprised that it had taken Voldemort this long to release his loyal servants.

His scar prickled unpleasantly and with it came a bubbling feeling of amusement. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and shoved both the unfamiliar feeling and the pain away.

"He's blaming Sirius?" Ron whispered incredulously once he'd finished reading.

"Well, he can hardly pin it on who's really to blame, can't he?" Hermione said, though she looked no less disgusted by it. "Not when he's spent a good six months telling everyone Harry and Dumbledore are liars and just trying to stir up trouble."

Hermione tore open the paper and began to read the report inside. Harry, who had not been quite done with looking over the front of it, carefully tugged the outer layer free of her grasp and laid it back out on top of his breakfast.

He only recognized a handful of the names and even fewer of the faces of the wizards scowling up at him from their pictures. He spent a longer moment looking over the picture of Augustus Rookwood than the rest; his was a name he recognized from the memories he had seen in Dumbledore's Pensieve the previous year. He had been an Unspeakable and had given Voldemort information from within the most secret Department in the Ministry, until Voldemort had fallen and Karkaroff had traded his name for his own freedom. 

But his eyes were inevitably drawn to the picture of the witch and another name he recognized with a burst of hatred. Bellatrix Lestrange glared up at him through heavy lids and a disdainful smiled played across her lips, and while Azkaban had taken most of her beauty, Harry could still easily recognize the witch who had sat in the courtroom chair like a throne and proudly declared that she would be rewarded for her loyalty when the Dark Lord had returned.

Harry could not help but think that it was very likely she would be, along with the rest of them, and he quickly sought something else to dwell on before he thought too much about how.

He looked around the Great Hall, but most of the other students were chattering as happily as they usually did, about homework or Quidditch or the latest gossip. One or two faces here and there were as white as was sure his own had been as he'd read the article, but overall, there were very few of the other students who took the paper every day like Hermione.

His eyes sought Malfoy automatically, and he wasn't surprised to find the blond staring right back at him with a grim expression on his face. Even if he hadn't been one of the few to get the Daily Prophet, Harry thought he would have known about this. Bellatrix Lestrange was his aunt, after all, and his father would surely have known about this anyway, being a Death Eater.

Harry wasn't sure what, exactly, he was looking for, but he must have made some sort of expression, because after a moment Malfoy gave him a faintly exasperated smile and shook his head before turning back to his own breakfast as if nothing had happened at all.

The staff table was a different story. Nearly every face there looked white or grim or both. Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall had their heads together and were deep in conversation, while Professor Sprout was reading the front page of the paper over and over again as porridge dripped from her spoon into her lap. The only exceptions to this rule were Umbridge and Snape—Umbridge was shovelling her food down with a deep scowl, and every now and then she glared briefly toward Dumbledore and McGonagall, while Snape had his eyes fixed on Harry and an utterly blank look on his face.

Snape did not immediately look away when Harry stopped to stare at him. He only stared back for a long moment, and then with a very slight incline of his head, he turned away to politely listen in on Dumbledore and McGonagall's hushed conversation.

Harry allowed himself to get swept back into discussion about Broderick Bode's untimely demise after that. He wasn't sure what to make of Snape anymore, particularly after his briefly journey into Voldemort's mind right in front of him last night. He decided he could worry about it later, maybe even when he had his next Occlumency lesson.

~*~*~*~*~

"Catch, Potter."

Harry reached up automatically and snatched the small object before it had a chance to nail him in the forehead. Then he glared at Malfoy as he closed the classroom door. He didn't exactly appreciate having things thrown at him, especially when he was just entering a room.

Malfoy only smiled serenely back at him from where he was leaning casually against a desk and gestured at the thing now in Harry's hand. "Open it. I've been dying to know what it is."

Harry blinked at him and finally looked down at the object in his hand. It looked like it might be a small box inside the dark cloth wrapped around it and held in place with a dark green ribbon. If Malfoy hadn't said what he had, Harry might have, for one fleeting moment, thought it might actually be from him (but why would Malfoy want to give him a present anyway?), but then he remembered the last time he'd received a present wrapped in black cloth and a smile touched his lips.

"Where did you get this?" Harry asked, walking over to one of the desks to set his bag down.

"Christopher," Malfoy said, with a slight raise of his eyebrows that said he thought Harry should have thought of that on his own. "He said a friend gave it to him to give to me so I could give it to you. And I don't appreciate being treated like an owl, Potter, so open it before I'm forced to do it for you."

Harry rolled his eyes, but he was plenty curious himself to see what Sanguini had given him, so he undid the ribbon and unwrapped the cloth without another word. His eyes narrowed slightly at the velvety box that was left in his hand—there was really only one thing that could be in a box like this—and he lifted the lid to find exactly what he'd expected. Nestled inside was a silver ring engraved with so many runes that they formed a sort of elegant but shapeless pattern that would be impossible to read, and set with a plain black stone cut in the shape of a triangle. It was a handsome object, more like a signet ring that what he'd expected, but Harry still wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

"A friend, is it," Malfoy said, grinning at him.

"Come off it," Harry muttered. But he didn't sneer back at Malfoy for long; he'd just noticed that there was a piece of parchment folded up and stuffed into the lid, where it would just barely be able to fit while the box was closed. He carefully fished it out and unfolded it on the desk.

Harry—

I would have liked to give this to you in person, but as that was quite impossible, I shall have to hope it comes to you in due time.

This ring will allow me to Apparate to wherever you might be at any time, excepting within the confines of an area protected by the Fidelius Charm. This includes Hogwarts; in truth, it works more like a Portkey than Apparition, so it will be able to bring me through the wards. It will grow warm if I choose to appear by your side using that connection, so you will know I've arrived.

If you are ever in danger, please use it to call on me. It activates the same way as everything else I have given you.

Merry Christmas,
Sanguini

Harry carefully pried the ring out of it's box and turned it over in his fingers. He supposed that could be what the runes were for—ensuring Sanguini could Apparate anywhere he wanted—although he had never taken Ancient Runes or been interested in it and it was really only because of occasional glances at Hermione's homework that he knew they were runes at all.

He wondered if there wasn't something unspoken in the letter as well. If Harry was ever in danger, or if he changed his mind about staying at Hogwarts...

Or maybe it was purely because of his desire to see Harry remain safe, which was what had possessed him to make that offer in the first place. Sanguini had not brought up his offer again since Harry had angrily turned him down, so Harry thought that maybe there was nothing else to this after all.

He had no desire to see Sanguini get hurt in his place, but he had to admit, the idea that the vampire could now appear at his side almost anywhere filled him with a sense of security that he had rarely had the chance to feel in the past. He hadn't even considered calling on Sanguini while he was at Hogwarts; for one thing, he had no need when he had other ways to talk to the man, but also, he didn't want to risk hurting him if he couldn't Apparate through the wards. He had no idea if vampire Apparition was different enough from wizard Apparition, like house elf magic was, for it to actually work. But with this, he wouldn't need to worry.

Harry smiled and briefly clenched the ring in his fist before tucking it away again. He wouldn't be able to wear it on his finger without attracting attention, but he might be able to salvage a chain from the numerous vials in his trunk upstairs to he could hang it from his neck.

"That's quite a gift," Malfoy murmured suddenly from right next to him and Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. He had been so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed Malfoy walk over to read the brief letter himself. "So is that who you've been talking to, this Sanguini?"

Harry opened his mouth to say that it was none of his business, and then abruptly shut it again when Malfoy gave him a look that he usually only got when Harry was forgetting something obvious. Then he remembered that part of the deal he had agreed to, the part that had given him the most anxiety, was that he tell Malfoy how he'd become so interested in helping the vampires in the first place and which of them he'd been talking to.

Well, he supposed now was as good a time as any to keep that part of the bargain. Malfoy had been so kind as to ask just the right question for him to segue into it.

"Yeah, that's him," Harry said, tucking the ring in its box into one of his pockets. "He's the one I met first, who's been the reason for all of this. We've been writing each other all year. I could tell you about him, if you want, that was part of the deal, wasn't it?"

Malfoy smirked and walked over to one of the desk to sit down—straddling the chair backwards, Harry was amused to see. "Good to see you haven't forgotten. I'd like to hear about him, Potter. And then I can tell you what I've been doing."

Harry couldn't help bit feel a stir of curiosity, but he had offered first so he would just have to wait. He sat down in his own chair and stared down at the letter for a moment to decide where he wanted to start and what exactly he should say about certain things, such as his dreams or where he'd been living for half the summer. But it only took a moment, and then he nodded and began to speak.

He started at the beginning, when Sanguini had first appeared in his room and relieved him of his nightmares. He stumbled a bit as he mentioned that he'd been having nightmares about Cedric, but Malfoy said nothing and while he didn't look sympathetic, he didn't really seem surprised. The surprise came when Harry mentioned who had sent Sanguini to him in the first place.

"Diggory started this?" he said, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hair.

"Now you see why I get so angry when anyone insults him?" Harry said, and Malfoy said nothing, although Harry was sure he knew exactly the incident he was referring to.

He went on to tell about freeing Lorcan from Ministry control and how that had led to his constant stream of visitors, including the Arkwrights, though he made a point to mention that he hadn't actually spoken directly to any of them since then. He casually avoided mentioning that he had asked Sanguini to get him information on Voldemort, since Malfoy was still the son of a Death Eater, and besides, he could probably connect the dots well enough on his own. He glossed over the memories he had seen of Cedric, saying only that Cedric and Sanguini had been friends for a long time and he had been planning to go into the Ministry to help the vampires—which got a bit of a look from Malfoy, as he connected a few more dots, that he ignored.

And then on, as Sanguini gave him the tools to communicate without drawing attention, as he was relocated to a friend's house after the dementor incident, as he went on to use those tools he'd been given to talk to and coordinate with Sanguini all year. It was surprisingly easy to talk to Malfoy about all this once he'd started, even as he carefully chose what was too much information to give him and what wasn't (anything about the Order and his visions was definitely too much; Malfoy would just have to learn about all that from someone else). And it took less time to describe everything from July to their conversation before Christmas than he'd thought it would.

It was nice having someone in whom he could confide, someone who was in a similar position as he was, even if he did still have to be careful about what he said.

"By the way," Harry said as he got to his conversation with Sanguini over the mirror, which then reminded him of the one he had later with Lupin, which he wasn't going to say any more about than this short statement, "one of my friends noticed I was talking to someone with the mirror, so I told him it was you. We've supposedly been chatting all Christmas break, and it was your idea."

Malfoy looked a bit surprised and even a bit uncomfortable for some reason. "Any reason you picked me instead of one of your friends?"

Harry eyed him for a moment, but he didn't seem to be angry, so he shrugged and said, "The mirror's a pureblood heirloom. And I was with the friends I'd want to talk to with one already."

Malfoy nodded and crossed his arms, looking a bit thoughtful. "Well, it's not the worst excuse you could have used. At least you've told me so now I can back you up if I have to."

Harry nearly rolled his eyes again. "Yeah, funnily enough, I thought of that. Can I go on? I'm not done just yet."

Malfoy nodded and gestured dramatically for him to continue. It was a gesture that might have pissed Harry off months ago, but now he found he could appreciate Malfoy's humour a bit more.

Harry hesitated before he went on to decide just how much of their conversation he wanted to tell him about, but in the end he decided on nearly all of it, suggestion to Turn him and all. He didn't think it would hurt for Malfoy to know that Sanguini cared for him enough to make that suggestion nor that he had turned it down—in fact, that would probably only make him look better in Malfoy's eyes. And it wouldn't hurt to have a second opinion on whether it had been the right decision. Not that he thought it wasn't, and he still felt he would make the same one if asked again, but it was always good to have another perspective.

Malfoy, however, seemed far more interested in just about everything else he had said. "An alias isn't a bad idea..."

Harry shrugged awkwardly. He still wasn't thrilled by the idea, even if he could see why it was a good one. "Yeah, even though I've got no idea what it should be."

"Figuring that out should be easy enough, now we're back at school," Malfoy said with an absent wave of his hand. "There's bound to be ideas in the library." He hesitated, trying to look as though what he was about to say was causing him some deep pain to actually admit, but he wasn't quite able to keep the excitement out of his eyes. "I could help you, if you want. I've got more free time than you."

Harry eyed him sceptically, but he couldn't deny that it might be easier to find something he liked if he had help, nor that it was true Malfoy now had considerably more time to look than he did. "Yeah, all right. I think...I want a name that'll mean something, not just a random name from the Middle Ages. So we'll have to figure all that out too, while we're looking."

Malfoy sneered at him, but it was far less hostile than usual. "Well of course it should mean something. You'll want to make a statement with it. Don't worry, about it, Potter, my family is legendary for being excellent with names. You couldn't have a better person helping you with this."

"Really," Harry said, trying not to laugh. Of all the ridiculous things a family could be famous for...

Malfoy sneered again, but this one was softened by the fact that he seemed to be trying awfully hard not to smile. And then it was quickly replaced by a more serious expression that Harry was quickly growing used to seeing on his face, one that he was sure was the real Malfoy under all the posturing, which he probably only allowed his closest friends to see.

"The wand is more of a concern," he said, frowning thoughtfully at the floor. "You're sure you need another one? What's wrong with that one?"

"I told you, I can't go calling myself a different name while I'm waving around the same wand," Harry said. It was a weak excuse, but the connection between his wand and Voldemort's was one of those things that Malfoy had no reason to know about.

"I hardly think enough people will know what it looks like to be concerned about it," Malfoy said imperiously.

"Yeah, but the ones that do are the ones we especially don't want to know about all this," Harry retorted, thinking about Dumbledore and Voldemort. His friends could probably recognize his wand too, along with half the D.A., but he was much less concerned about them.

Malfoy hummed and looked infuriatingly condescending, but he didn't disagree. He only looked thoughtful in his stupidly condescending way for a moment before he finally nodded.

"It would be easier if you just waited until summer, you know," Malfoy said, leaning forward in his chair so his chin was resting on his crossed arms.

"I might need it before then," Harry said, though he didn't disagree. He didn't think going to Ollivander's would be a good idea, since Ollivander and Dumbledore had been in communication at least once, but it would be easiest to wait until he was already in Diagon Alley and not expected to be at school to try to sneak off and look elsewhere. There could very well be a wand shop in Knockturn Alley, stupid as it probably would be to wander down there again, and he was sure Sanguini would have an idea of where else to look.

However, past experience told him he would probably have a run in with Voldemort before his next trip to Diagon Alley, assuming the Order let him buy his own school things at all. It would probably be best if he got a new wand before that happened.

"Sanguini said he'd think about how to do that, though, so you don't need to worry about it," Harry said, although he marvelled a bit that he actually felt the need to say it. Who could have guessed that he would ever be pre-emptively turning down help from Malfoy? "Unless you've got any ideas? I doubt he'd turn them down."

"I might," Malfoy said, looking a bit thoughtful again. But that was all he said, and he only smiled when Harry asked him to elaborate.

"Anyway, Potter, your friend's got a point," Malfoy said suddenly, his eyes glinting a bit. "They probably would listen to you better if you weren't a wizard. The goblins especially, but I'm sure you've heard enough from Binns to guess that."

"It's only all he ever goes on about," Harry said with a bit of a grin. Then he sighed and leaned back in his seat, toying with the letter still in his hands. That wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting to hear from Malfoy. "So, you think I should've taken him up on it?"

Malfoy snorted and eyed him incredulously. "All I said was he has a point about magical creature-wizard relations. That doesn't mean you need to sink to their level. I like you better as a wizard, thanks."

Harry glared at him. "There's no levels, Malfoy. They're people like us."

"All the same, you're better off as a wizard, Potter." Malfoy shook his head, looking faintly disgusted. "And anyway, you'd be stuck like that forever," he said, gesturing at Harry. "A scrawny, bespectacled, fifteen-year-old git 'til the end of time, doomed to repeat fifth year over and over. Just what the world needs."

"It's so nice knowing you care about the world, Malfoy," Harry said with a thin smile, and with a muttered charm, Malfoy's chair tipped sidewise and dumped him onto the floor.

Malfoy stared at him with a look so started Harry started laughing. He kept on laughing even as Malfoy flicked his own wand and his chair tumbled over too.

However, what he'd said reminded Harry of something he been wondering since the end of term, and especially now that they were sitting here making plans for the future. He hadn't really been conscious of his wondering, but now that he'd voiced something similar aloud, he was suddenly burning with curiosity.

"Why are you helping me, anyway?" Harry asked as he stood up and brushed the dust from his robes.

Malfoy had just finished tipping his chair back onto his feet and he paused before straddling it again. "I thought we went over this months ago, Potter."

"Not the Potions lessons or keeping your mouth shut about the vampires," Harry said, shaking his head. He righted his chair and sat down, pinning Malfoy with a scrutinizing look. "You looked thrilled when I gave you that note before Christmas. And now you're offering to help me find an alias, and don't tell me you're not excited about it. I thought you'd want to follow in your father's footsteps, but you're helping me. Why?"

Malfoy stared back at him with a gaze Harry would have found uncomfortable if he wasn't already used to being on the receiving end of intense gazes from Malfoy. It was his silence Harry found more unnerving. It stretched on until Harry was sure he was not actually going to get an answer to his question.

And then Malfoy crossed his arms on the back of his chair and leaned back so he was nearly leaning against the desk behind him, and he said, "I still might. Follow my father, I mean. I'm not here with you because I've decided not to."

"You know we're on opposite sides of this war, right?" Harry said, eying him sceptically. "I'm still fighting Voldemort. You're going to have to pick a side eventually."

"You're not really with Dumbledore anymore, though," Malfoy said with a secret smile Harry was really beginning to hate. "Don't worry, Potter, if it the time comes to pick sides, I won't choose you over my family."

Harry didn't miss the inclusion of the word 'if' instead of 'when' and it just made him stare even more. He couldn't imagine why Malfoy might think it was an 'if'; of course he was going to have to pick sides eventually if he was going to be loyal to his family and therefore Voldemort. Harry might not agree entirely with Dumbledore anymore, and he already thought his allies wouldn't fight for him either, but he had a hard time imagining ever working with Voldemort instead.

Even if working with one of the two sides would make everything much easier, and Voldemort's would probably be more sympathetic toward his cause.

Harry shook his head and scowled at Malfoy. That wasn't a thought he really needed to have again.

"It's hard to explain," Malfoy said after a moment. "I don't really agree with everything you want to do. And I'd ditch you for my family in a heartbeat." He paused and frowned thoughtfully at the distant wall. "There's a few reasons, I guess. I've been thinking about what that centaur told us. That we're both essential—that I'm essential to whatever happens in the future. And that you haven't told any of your friends about all this, just me. Unless that's changed?"

Harry wordlessly shook his head and waited for him to go on.

Malfoy closed his eyes and took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever he was about to say. Harry thought maybe he should revise his idea that Malfoy was a complete coward. He didn't have a lot of courage, but it seemed he could summon some up when he really felt he needed to.

"I want to be important," Malfoy said finally, with a bit of a self-depreciating smile. "It sounds stupid just saying like that but...I really want to do something that will change the world. I want to be in the middle of everything, and I want my decisions to matter. I want my name to come up in History of Magic, and I want it to be because I was on the winning side and I helped us get there. I don't need to lead any armies," he said, waving his hand a bit. "Better to let the Gryffindors handle that. But generals aren't the only ones who get their names in history books."

He smiled suddenly, a smile without sarcasm that actually made him look like a decent person for once, and he fixed Harry with an intense gaze. "You're going to change the world, Potter. And I get to be right in the middle of it. That's why."

Harry shook his head, because that was all he could do after a declaration like that. It wasn't really something he understood, wanting to be in the spotlight. That was one of Ron's dreams too sometimes, and he didn't understand it with him either. He was pretty much always the centre of conversation, whether it was because he'd done something spectacularly stupid or heroic, or just because he was who he was, and he generally hated it. He thought he was finally getting used to it—and he knew that his revolution would draw even more attention to him, so he would need to get used to it—but that didn't mean it didn't get old after a while.

But he could believe that Malfoy was in this for the attention. That was usually his motivation—that or trying to best Harry at something or get him into trouble, which generally got him attention anyway. Harry thought that might have even been his motivation when he'd tried to become Harry's friend back in first year; Ron had often grumbled about being the best friend of Harry Potter, but he did end up in the middle of things more often than any of their dorm-mates, by virtue of always being at Harry's side.

"So even though you don't agree with me, you'll help me anyway because at least you'll get attention that way?" Harry gave him a cheeky grin. "You know, you could have done that before I decided to do all this. We've been fighting Voldemort for years." 
Malfoy wrinkled his nose a bit. "I agree even less with Dumbledore and his merry band of blood traitors. And I won't be helping you fight the Dark Lord. That's not all this is about, or you wouldn't be calling it a revolution."

"Yeah, but that'll be some of it," Harry said.

Malfoy smiled again and said quietly, "You should take a second look at what the Dark Lord's really offering, Potter."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "It doesn't really matter as long as he wants me dead, does it?"

"Oh yes, I suppose that would put a damper on any sort of relationship," Malfoy said. He shrugged and sighed dramatically. "I guess I'll just have to help you with everything that doesn't have to do with him, then."

"And if you do follow your father, and choose Voldemort's side on everything else, and he orders you to attack me? I can't change the world if I'm dead or kidnapped."

Malfoy frowned at him, apparently not liking the logic Harry was bringing into his dream. "That's awfully far off in the future to bother worrying about."

"You're going to have to worry about it sometime," Harry said, crossing his arms. He wasn't sure this was going to work if Malfoy was ready to ship him off to Voldemort the first time he was asked.

Malfoy let out a long, suffering sigh and stared up at the ceiling. "I'd at least look the other way while you escaped out the door I accidentally left unlocked. Or my aim could be off that day. I suppose."

Harry was really starting to hate that Malfoy could make him want to laugh without really trying. They'd been enemies for years now, it didn't feel right to laugh at his stupid humour. "Oh yeah, that's all very reassuring. Thanks, Malfoy. I can definitely count on you."

Malfoy just smirked. But he quickly turned serious again, and thoughtful. "If it ever comes to that, I'll figure something out. You'll be helping part of my family with all this, so I can't just abandon you completely."

Harry couldn't help a small smile from coming to his face. It was actually almost endearing how much Malfoy cared for his family, now matter who they were. It was probably the only genuinely likable thing about him, and in the end, he could respect Malfoy's desire to stick with his family, even if his family had made some bad decisions.

"Right. So, we'll still be having lessons here once a week, yeah?" Harry said after a moment.

Malfoy looked taken off guard by this sudden change in subject, but he recovered quickly and gave Harry a haughty look. "Of course, Potter. You'll be needing the extra magic lessons even more now. I thought we might even start meeting more often than that—"

"I can't," Harry said, and he did find himself regretting it. "I have to meet with Snape twice a week, probably, and you've got Quidditch practice, and I've got...other things. Maybe once in a while, but we can't bet on meeting twice every week."

"What other things?" Malfoy asked suspiciously.

Harry sighed and actually felt awful for bringing this up when he and Malfoy had been getting along so well—and then he told himself to stop being stupid because it really was none of Malfoy's business—but he couldn't use needing the homework time as an excuse because they generally did homework during most of these meetings anyway. "It's one of those things I really can't tell you about."

"You've got a lot of those," Malfoy said with a frown.

Harry shrugged. "Hazard of being me. You still know more than most people."

He said it in the hopes that it might appease Malfoy for now—and because it was true, but that was less important—and while Malfoy gave him a look like he knew exactly what he was doing, he let himself be appeased.

"Since we can't meet on Mondays anymore, maybe...Saturdays? We'll be able to use more of the day that way. And you'll have an extra day to revise your Potions homework," he added with a smirk.

"Saturdays are fine," Harry said, giving him a dirty look. "When you don't have Quidditch practice and I don't need them for something else."

"We can work around that," Malfoy said with an absent gesture. He checked his watch with a slight frown. "We've still got some time before curfew if you want to get started on that essay for Professor Snape. We can start your other lessons Saturday."

Harry shook his head, out of disbelief that he hadn't seen that coming than because he actually disagreed. "Yeah, all right."

His books and papers were halfway out of his bag when he remembered that there was something else he'd been meaning to bring up once they wouldn't be over heard. He carefully laid his things out on his desk and said casually, "Hey, you wouldn't happen to know what's in the Department of Mysteries, would you?"

Malfoy paused in his journey to sit at the desk next to him and gave him a funny look. "What could have possibly made you ask that?"

Harry shrugged. "I just wondered. I didn't grow up in the magical world, remember, I don't know a lot of this stuff."

Malfoy stared at him and didn't stop staring even as he dragged a desk close and sat down. "The only people who know what's in the Department of Mysteries, Potter, are the Unspeakables and anyone they've told, which, you might imagine, isn't an awful lot of people. I doubt even the Minister knows everything that happens in there. There's rumours about what might be in there, of course, but no one knows for sure."

Harry tried not to be disappointed—after all, he'd never really thought Malfoy would know—but he was so desperately curious that it was hard not to be. If only the door in his dreams would open, then maybe he'd get some answers.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Harry carefully avoided look at Malfoy and drew out a blank piece of parchment, moving on before Malfoy could ask him anymore about it. "So, the properties of ingredients commonly used in medical potions..."

It was only when he reached the Fat Lady's portrait later that night that he realized that Malfoy had never actually gone into what he'd been doing during the break. Harry scowled to himself and vowed to ask on Saturday instead.

Chapter Text

"So what were you up to during the holiday?" Potter asked as soon as Draco stepped into their classroom on Saturday. "You never said."

Draco frowned at him, both for getting there first (not that it had been difficult for him, as the Slytherin Quidditch practice that morning had run long) and for being so impatient that he couldn't even wait for Draco to sit down. And for the question itself, a bit. He hadn't actually been meaning to tell Potter much about his holiday. He'd only made the offer in the first place to encourage Potter to be open and honest, and then he had purposefully changed the topic before Potter realized he was the only one actually sharing anything.

Draco had a feeling that Potter was not going to let him get away with that again. He supposed it didn't actually matter either. It wasn't as if he'd been up to anything illicit. He would have had to bring some of it up himself eventually today anyway. It just felt very...odd to be discussing his holiday with Potter of all people.

"I spent some of it visiting my cousins," Draco said finally as he closed the door. "They're incredibly fond of Christmas in that house. Trees everywhere. I couldn't stay there, but I visited often enough. And I visited a few of my friends."

He walked over and took a seat on a desk a couple rows in front of where Potter was sitting. "And my father threw his annual Yule Ball. The Minister came, of course, and he was positively embarrassing by the end of it. I don't know why he continues to attend them. The man can hardly hold his liquor, and Father only invites him to keep up appearances and gather material to blackmail him with later."

Potter twisted his mouth like he wasn't sure if he should laugh or be offended. Draco went on before he had a chance to decide.

"And I spent some of it brushing up on what I wanted to teach you."

Potter frowned at him. "I thought you knew what you were doing."

"It's been years since I had to learn it, Potter," Draco said, "and it's not exactly something we pull out at parties. Of course I know what I'm doing, but I had to make sure I could teach it properly. It could be extremely dangerous for both of us if I didn't."

As he'd hoped, the mention of danger caught Potter's attention immediately. "What's so dangerous about it?" Potter asked while he shifted in his seat so he was sitting up straighter. Draco wondered if he even realized he was doing it.

But getting Potter to pay attention was the only reason he'd mentioned it. He wasn't planning on telling Potter he could easily destroy himself if he did something wrong, since that would almost guarantee that he would. Draco did not particularly relish the idea of having to deal with the fallout of accidentally killing the Boy-Who-Lived in the middle of Hogwarts.

"I'll tell you once you've mastered it," Draco said. "If you do exactly what I say, you shouldn't have any trouble."

Potter's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Perhaps he was wondering if Draco was about to start teaching him Dark Arts, no matter what he had said when they'd made their deal. But it seemed that Potter's desire to learn something forbidden and dangerous was stronger than his distrust of Draco, because eventually his head jerked in a stiff nod.

"Good. I'll need you to tell me a few things before we get started as well," Draco said as he shifted to get more comfortable with his legs folded up on the desk. "No doubt I could make some reasonable assumptions, but it would be safer for everyone not to."

"All right..." Potter said, staring at him like he thought Draco might suddenly burst into flame.

"I want you to tell me how you think about your magic."

Predictably, Potter blinked unintelligently at him...and then he reached a hand up to rub at his scar. Draco tried not to watch it too intently. He thought Potter's scar had been irritating him more than usual this week—but it had also seemed to be bothering him more often this year than it had last year. He did wonder sometimes what it was about an old scar that could be so irritating or cause Potter to fall over screaming in hallways.

"I don't know what you mean," Potter said, bringing Draco's attention back to the whole reason they were here. "How I think about my magic? It's...magic. How else am I supposed to think about it?"

Draco wagged a finger at him. "We'll be getting to that, but what I care about is where you're starting from. You must think more than that. I know you think more than that. You gave me that big speech about how magic shouldn't be restricted. Well, what about your magic? Just...think about it, and say whatever comes to mind."

Potter frowned at him and rubbed at his scar again, but then he sighed and closed his eyes to do as he was told.

"Well, it's magic," he said stupidly. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and scrunched his nose up in thought. "I'm always amazed by what it can do—what I can do, but especially the professors and other students like Hermione. Hermione can do everything, she's really talented—"

"Fascinating though I'm sure it is that a Mu—Muggleborn actually has a modicum of talent," Draco interrupted, "I don't care what you think about her magic. Just yours."

Potter scowled up at him, but Draco knew it would have been far more heated if he hadn't caught himself before he offended Potter's sensibilities.

"I guess...sometimes I feel like it doesn't want to do what I want it to right away. I mean, I know it's that way for most of us and I'm not expecting to pick up on everything right away, but then I'll look at someone like Hermione...or you," Potter added with a slight face, and Draco felt momentarily thrilled that Potter thought that of him at all, "and you pick up on spells and classwork so quickly and...I wonder why I can't do that. Why I have to coax my magic even more to get a worse result."

"Do you trust it to be there for you?" Draco asked. If Potter started out by assuming he wasn't going to do well and believing his magic wasn't going to work right away, then of course he wasn't going to catch on as quickly.

Potter, however, did not seem to have picked up on this, as he gave Draco a surly look. "'Course I do. I have to, don't I? When you're out there fighting for your life, you don't have much time to sit around and wonder if your spell's going to work right the first time. You just do it."

"I'm not counting that," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "I doubt you've tried anything for the very first time while facing the Dark Lord or whatever else has tried to kill you, have you? Obviously you'd trust spells you've practiced before."

"Then I don't know what you're getting at here," Potter grumbled, rubbing at his scar for a third time. "I trust it to work when I need it to."

He opened his mouth like he might say something else, but then shut his mouth again and looked away without saying anything.

Draco was not going to let him keep secrets that easily. "You should trust it all the time. What were you going to say?"

Potter scowled at him and shook his head. "I was just thinking about the Patronus...but there's more to it than just that. It's not important."

"I think I'll be the one deciding what's important or not," Draco said. He was sure he sounded as distracted as he felt. He hadn't forgotten that Potter could supposedly cast a Patronus—a full, corporeal Patronus—nor did he have any trouble believing it given what Potter had attacked him with during a Quidditch match in third year. But it didn't have quite as much of an impact hearing his father mention it as it did listening to Potter offhandedly mention it like he did it every day, right here in front of him in their private classroom where they would be studying magic.

Draco made a mental note to casually wonder aloud if Potter might be willing to teach someone that particular spell. No reason Draco had to be the only one teaching a bit of magic here.

Potter was eying him warily, but he hadn't said anything else. Draco leaned forward with his chin in his hand, tapping his finger on his cheek while he studied the problem.

He'd had quite a lot of time to think about this since he'd offered to give Potter lessons, and he'd thought this was the key. That Potter didn't perform as well in his classes as either he or Draco thought he ought to because he didn't fully believe in himself or his magic, no matter what he said. Because frankly—though he was never going to admit this to Potter—Draco thought Potter had the potential to do as well as he did. He constantly showed it in the stunts he seemed to pull every year, and Draco had seen it in their study sessions. He wasn't an idiot and he wasn't talentless, no matter what Professor Snape liked to say.

But he didn't do that well, and that was puzzling. And unfortunately, Draco didn't know quite enough about him to make any real guesses. His most solid guess was that it had something to do with the Muggles he lived with during the summer. Muggles would never have been able to adequately understand what Potter had gone through when he was small, when he was growing into his magic, and so Potter wouldn’t have understood either. His accidental magic would have frightened them, and that was hardly the appropriate environment to embrace what he could do.

Learning to calm and take control of one’s wandless magic was a skill that was essential to learn as soon as that magic began to present itself. Not only would that ensure the child wouldn’t accidentally hurt himself or the people around him when his childish emotions flared out of control, it also guaranteed a natural affinity with his own magic that would be difficult to learn once that wizard began using a wand.

It was why an awful lot of Mudbloods could never hope to reach the same heights as someone born into their world. They had no one around them that could teach them to live with their magic and that it wasn’t a frightening thing, and their magic suffered for it. There were always exceptions—even Draco had to grudgingly admit Granger was a talented witch—and of course, even proper magical training couldn’t make up for a lack of power or ability, though it did keep Gregory and Vincent’s stupidity from causing any real accidents. But the overall trend was unmistakable and a very well accepted theory within the right circles.

By this time, Draco had been quiet for several minutes, and Potter was beginning to look very impatient. But thankfully, it seemed he could count on Potter’s limited intelligence today. He finally seemed to decide that Draco was waiting for him to be the one to say something, and he let out a heavy breath and looked away.

“You wanted to know how I think about it...” Potter thought about this for a long moment, shifting uncomfortably in the seat. “Well, I know I can do really amazing things sometimes, like anyone else. Trust me, no one is happier than I am any time I produce a Patronus.

“But sometimes...sometimes it’ll get out of control and...well, when I was little, I was kind of afraid of it. Not at what it could do, because it always helped me out but”—he smiled bitterly and Draco leaned forward, intrigued in spite of himself—“my relatives really hate anything having to do with magic at all. They don’t even like hearing the word magic. So I was more afraid that I’d make something weird happen again and get punished for it than I was about what I made happen.”

“When was the last time you lost control of it?” Draco asked. He was somewhat surprised that Potter would still be so hung up about childhood bursts of temper, but it did fit with what he’d been assuming the problem was.

Potter gave him his own look of surprise. “When I was thirteen. I blew up my aunt.”

Ah. He had forgotten about that. But now that he thought about it, he did remember his father saying something about Harry Potter never getting what he deserved and how Fudge was soft on him.

Draco was still surprised it was so late, though. By then, Potter would have had two whole years of practice at controlling his magic, and his uncontrolled wandless magic should have died down after using a wand to channel it for that long, since he didn’t have any training in using it otherwise. Either Potter was secretly more powerful than he’d thought, or there was something else going on here.

Or both. There was no reason it couldn’t be both.

“When you say ‘blew up’...”

“She turned into a kind of human balloon,” Potter said with a look like he wasn’t sure if it was all right to find it funny. “She’s fine now. The Ministry sorted her out.”

Draco, on the other hand, had no problem smirking at the image that presented. “What did she do that made you go and do something like that?”

“Malfoy, I’m not telling you my life’s story just to learn a bit of magic.”

“You’re learning it right now,” Draco said, sniffing lightly. If Potter would just cooperate, this would be easier on both of them. “In any case, I need to know that kind of thing to teach you properly. Normally, your parents would be the ones teaching you, and they would already know, but seeing as you haven’t got any—”

“I blew up Aunt Marge because she insulted my parents,” Potter snapped. He was halfway out of his seat with his wand in his hand, and Draco very quickly waved his own hands in surrender. Potter sat back down after a few moments, but he went on scowling and his wand remained in his hand.

“She doesn’t know what really happened to them or what they were,” Potter said with a pointed glance at Draco. “My aunt and uncle have told everyone they died in a car crash. ‘Course Aunt Marge just thinks that’s a great excuse to insult them...she liked them as much as my relatives did...”

Draco tried very hard not to gape at him, and he was quite proud of himself for managing to keep his mouth shut. A car crash? He didn’t think much of the Potters himself, but even he thought that was insulting.

“Right, so she deserved that...and you don’t feel guilty about it...?” Draco asked, but Potter snorted and shook his head almost before he was done speaking. Well, he hadn’t really thought that would be the case, as Potter had never shown any particular guilt in attacking anyone else who offended him, but it was good to know for certain that he wasn’t completely hopeless. Still, that wasn’t quite what Draco was looking for, so he moved on. “What about the other times? There had to have been some. Everyone has bouts of accidental magic before we’re old enough for school.”

Potter gave him a very reluctant look—clearly, he still wasn’t fond of “telling his whole life’s story”, as he’d put it—but it didn’t stop him from answering this time.

“I set a python on my cousin once, at the zoo. A couple months before first year. I was talking to it—I didn’t know I was a Parselmouth then, I just thought it was a brilliant trick”—and like clockwork, Potter raised a hand to rub at his scar again—“and he noticed and shoved me out of the way. He always has to be the center of attention; he can’t stand it if I’ve got something he can’t have. So I made the glass disappear and it escaped. It didn’t really go after him, but everyone thought it would.”

“Sounds like he deserved it, too,” Draco said, trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, he did,” Potter agreed, and after a couple seconds of eying Draco, his mouth twitched like he might laugh too. Draco had the distinct impression that this was because Potter was laughing at him and not his cousin.

“What else?” Draco asked quickly, before Potter could actually start laughing. “That can’t have been the first time. Not when you were ten.”

Potter shook his head and gazed thoughtfully at the wall. “There was one time when Dudley and his stupid friends were chasing me, and I think I levitated myself up on top of a wall. And one time, my aunt was trying to force this horrid orange sweater on me, and I shank it so it wouldn’t fit. And one time—my aunt really hates my hair, she thinks it’s awful because it’s impossible to get it to lay flat—one time she cut it so short she nearly shaved my head, except for a bit at the front to hide my scar, and I grew it back overnight.”

Draco couldn’t help it this time; he started laughing at the absolutely absurd picture that made. “Well, no wonder your magic acted out against that.”

Potter scowled and rubbed his scar again. “Yeah, it was real funny, Malfoy.”

Draco smiled and went back to tapping his finger against his cheek. “Well, like you said, it doesn’t seem like you’re afraid of it, or guilty about lashing out at anyone—but of course, you wouldn’t be, not when you like to lash out at anyone who annoys you...”

Potter’s knuckles turned white with the force with which he was pressing them against his scar, and the look in his eyes likely would have cowed most of the younger students. Draco, however, was becoming used to being on the receiving end of that glare, and he pointedly ignored it. He’s only been musing aloud, and it wasn’t as if what he’d said was untrue.

It seemed as though his initial assessment may have been right. Perhaps it was merely inexperience and poor training at a young age after all. He doubted very much that Potter was subconsciously afraid of his magic in any way, and he wasn’t afraid of hurting anyone with it either. It was clear that even when he was upset, his magic didn’t automatically hurt anyone.

And as Draco had thought, it sounded as though these Muggles were exactly the sort who would have been frightened by his accidental magic. Potter was lucky that didn’t seem to have rubbed off on him...

Draco’s finger paused and he narrowed his eyes at Potter, turning his earlier words over in his head. That was an idea...one that Potter had volunteered himself. And not only his relatives, but perhaps the actions of the Ministry as well...though it seemed impossible for risk-taking, rule-breaking Harry Potter to be affected by that kind of thing so deeply...

“What?” Potter ground out once Draco had been staring at him for several minutes.

“What kinds of punishments?”

“What?” Potter said again, bewildered.

“You said you were afraid you might ‘make something weird happen’ and be punished for it,” Draco said. “What sort of punishments?”

Potter froze, his fist still firmly pressed against his forehead, and stared at him—apparently, he hadn’t thought Draco would be paying such close attention to his remarks.

Then he pursed his lips, tightened his grip on his wand, and said, “I’m not going to talk about that,” and Draco knew there would be no point in pursuing that line of questioning any further.

That was fine. Draco thought he had enough information to go on now. He probably hadn’t even needed Potter to tell him as much as he had. It really did sound like Potter just needed the proper training, and he wouldn’t need to worry about any Gryffindorish hang-ups in particular.

Draco laced his fingers together and stretched his arms out, first in front and then over his head. As he brought them back down he said, “Well, I appreciate how open you’ve been with me, Potter. That makes my job much easier. And if it makes you feel better, I almost threw my mother through a window when I was six because she wouldn't let me stay up as late as I wanted, and I levitated myself onto the roof more than once. The last time, my father said I would have to get myself down, and I was up there most of the day before my mother took pity on me."

Potte went on staring at him. For a brief second, Draco thought he saw...something behind his eyes, but he couldn't say what. But then Potter shook his head, his mouth twitching like he was trying not to grin, and Draco forgot about it.

"That's got to be the most spoiled thing I've ever heard you say. And that's including bullying your father into buying you a broom a year early."

Draco was momentarily surprised that Potter even remembered that conversation. Then he sniffed and said, "I don't want to hear that from someone who actually got a broom a year early."

Potter chuckled at that, though it was weak and half-hearted. Eventually he said, "No offense, Malfoy, but if you've got what you need, can we talk about something else now? I've got a lot of homework that's piled up over the last week--"

"What exactly was keeping you from doing it already?" Draco asked, curious about that, but even more curious about Potter's eagerness to move on to something else. They hadn't even gotten to any actual exercises yet.

"Snape and...other things. I don't have a lot of time to do much those nights."

Draco frowned at him. Potter had been very evasive about those "other things" on Tuesday, as well. Draco was burning with curiosity to know what these secret "other things" were, because it couldn't possibly be anything related to the vampires or Potter would tell him about it. Probably. But Potter seemed reluctant to even mention there were "other things" in the first place, so other than following him in secret some night, Draco doubted he would be getting any answers any time soon.

He also didn't see why his secret meetings with Snape and his secret "other things" would prevent him from completing most of his homework. Curfew was at nine, so Potter couldn't possibly be doing anything after that, which gave him a whole three hours to work on his homework before midnight. And that was assuming Potter had any interest in going to bed at a reasonable hour.

"We really should keep going..." Draco said slowly.

"If we keep going, I'm going to end up cursing you in Parseltongue again," Potter muttered.

Well, if he had been hoping that would discourage Draco at all, he was mistaken. Draco immediately leaned forward, eying him with interest. Potter's hand had yet to leave his scar since he'd started rubbing at it several minutes ago and his other hand was still clenched tightly around his wand. Clearly, that Parseltongue spell and this behavior had something to do with each other, but Draco could not imagine what. Perhaps what it did show, however, was that the first time hadn't been a fluke after all and Potter was hiding a darker secret than he'd guessed so far.

Draco did not, however, have any interest in actually letting Potter try to curse him again. He allowed himself a casual shrug and agree that they could move on to something else. He had actually come to appreciate having someone to do some of his homework with who could offer a new perspective on some subjects. Not that he needed Potter's help in any subject, despite what he liked to think, but Draco did appreciate it nonetheless.

He was not going to waste the opportunity to teach Potter something, however, and he didn't have all that much homework to do himself, so perhaps he would spend some time giving him a history lesson instead. There were quite a lot of stories of famous purebloods and their heroic or not-so-heroic deeds that he had heard growing up, and he doubted many of them would ever come up in History of Magic. Perhaps Potter could even find some inspiration for his name in them somewhere.

The biggest problem with picked a pseudonym, Harry decided, was that while he knew he wanted his name to mean something, he wasn't sure exactly what.

He knew he wanted it to be something unusual and obscure, while still sounding like a name. That didn't actually narrow it down a lot, because as he looked through books of Hogwarts alumni and pureblood family trees, he found that an awful lot of wizard families named their children things that, while they did still sound like names, were obviously inspired by something other than a beloved relative.

The Blacks, for instance, had a clear bias toward names of stars and constellations that went back generations. Not all of the Blacks were named this way, but the exceptions were rare enough that Harry thought he could count them on one hand. This resulted in perfectly fine, if still clearly wizard, names like Sirius and Cassiopeia, but also in names that made Harry feel very sorry for the wizards who had been saddled with them, such as Fornax and Scutum.

They did inspire him to pull out a star chart and write down a few of his own—

Polaris, Ophiuchus, Antares

—which weren't terrible and had meanings he could live with, but for the most part, they were not a great source of inspiration. And the more he thought about it, the less he thought he would want to associate himself with a family like the Blacks in any significant fashion. He loved Sirius, he really did, but Sirius was definitely an exception in that family.

Most other families weren't much better. Rather than star names, they might pick obscure or not so obscure plants, or various gems and minerals, or obscure mythological figures, or names which always started with the same letter, or names which only seemed to go together because they sounded pretentious. There were, of course, many families that didn't seem to have any sort theme at all, other than the occasional shared name between relatives, but more of those families also had names which weren't very unusual and wouldn't have been odd to hear in the Muggle world either.

So Harry abandoned that idea for a while.

He broke down and tried the same thing Voldemort had done to come up with his name, but Harry thought that Tom Riddle had been extremely lucky to have a name that actually yielded something that made sense and sounded appropriately menacing. When he tried it with his own name, even using the whole thing, he didn't come up with much of anything.

He very quickly scrapped that idea. A large part of him was very glad it hadn't worked out. It was one less thing he would have in common with Voldemort.

So he took to skimming through actual naming books and his history texts for anything that might sound decent, as he had done when he'd been looking for a name for Hedwig. At least with this method, he could also study for History of Magic, as skimming through family trees didn't leave a lot of time for studying anything. The problem with this was that he ran across a lot more names that didn't sound very unusual, and when he found one that wasn't half bad, it didn't mean anything he really cared for.

He still wasn't sure what he wanted his name to mean, but he knew very well what he didn't want when he found it.

"Now," Draco said, leaning back against a desk in the front of the classroom, "close your eyes, Potter. This'll be a lot easier if you aren't distracted by anything."

Potter shot him a dark look and rubbed his forehead in a gesture Draco was starting to think might only be a nervous gesture, but he didn't take as long to obey the command as Draco thought he might have. Maybe he actually trusted Draco enough to feel comfortable being alone with him with his eyes closed.

Draco wasn't sure he should feel quite so thrilled about that idea. This was still Harry Potter, sworn enemy of the Dark Lord and purebloods alike, after all. But it was still a nice feeling, and he let himself acknowledge that for a moment before tucking the feeling away.

"Magic is everywhere," Draco said, briefly closing his own eyes to more easily recall the lecture his mother had given him when he had first learned this. "It's in the air that we breathe and the land we live on, riding the wind through the stars and dancing on the waves of the sea. Our ancestors knew that, but most wizards nowadays have chosen to forget it. We can't really forget it, though. The other magical races haven't."

"Did you say," Potter said quietly, opening his eyes to stare at him, "'riding the wind'...?"

"Through the stars, yes, Potter, do keep up," Draco said, but he couldn't make it sound as scathingly sarcastic as he would have liked. The look on Potter's face was more startled than he would have expected. He'd expected something more like blank incomprehension. Draco didn't think Potter had come across much about the Ancient Ways in his research, but he wouldn't have thought that particular phrase would have meant anything otherwise.

"Why did you pick up on that particular phrase?"

Potter shook his head slowly, his eyes glazed over like they usually were when he was thinking especially hard. "It's the title of a book I found. I thought it might be about Quidditch when I picked it up."

"But it wasn't," Draco continued for him, and Potter nodded. "Was it about magic? Do you already know this stuff? We could just skip a few steps."

"I don't know, I haven't looked at it in months," Potter said with a slight frown. "I almost forgot I even had it." His hand rose in its predictable path to scratch at his scar. He had been doing that more and more often the last couple weeks. It seemed to bother him most often on Tuesdays and Thursdays, the days after his mysterious lessons with Snape.

"Maybe you should look at it again," Draco said. He hesitated, and then added, because he was intrigued in spite of himself, "You could bring it next time and we'll both look at it."

"I'll look at it first and if it looks like it has anything to do with this, I'll bring it, all right?" Potter said. And then before Draco could actually agree, he gave Draco a mild look and went on, "Speaking of, you were busy giving me a speech, weren't you?"

Draco scowled at him and for a moment, he seriously reconsidered teaching Potter anything at all. But he'd committed himself to this far too much already to back out now, and besides, he wanted to see what Potter might become once he had proper control over his magic and a good foundation in what the Ministry had long since designated as "Dark magic". He wanted to see what Dumbledore would do.

So he scowled and crossed his arms and said, "Yes, I was. Shut your eyes, Potter, and pay attention."

Potter sighed heavily and did as he was told, although he still had his fingers glued to his forehead. Draco toyed with the idea of casting a charm to keep them stuck there, whether Potter wanted them there or not.

"And relax," he said instead. "That's important. You have to be relaxed for this to work."

"For what to work? You haven't told me anything yet."

"Maybe if you weren't so impatient we'd have gotten to it already," Draco sneered back. "You're not a stupid Gryffindor in this classroom, Potter, you're my student. So relax. You can't do it holding your head like that."

Potter gritted his teeth and squared his shoulders, and Draco casually reached for his wand in case Potter decided to hex him. So far, they'd been doing rather well in that department, but Potter seemed to be more restless and irritable lately so maybe this would be the last straw.

But then he dropped his hand to his lap and took in a deep breath in a feeble attempt to actually follow Draco's directions. "All right, fine. Maybe it'll even help..."

Of course, Draco had no idea what Potter could be babbling about now, and he didn't really care. At least Potter had decided to be cooperative; that was all that really mattered right now.

"Right," Draco said, taking a deep breath himself to regain his train of thought. "Magic is everywhere, in everything we do. It's what definitively sets us apart from Muggles, more than culture or even blood. Well, it's in our blood, really. Even Mud—Muggleborns could learn the culture, if they really wanted and tried hard enough, and they could marry into a good family if that family lost their collective minds, but they wouldn't be anywhere without the magic. They aren't much better than Muggles, but they're still set apart—"

"Malfoy, if this is just a lecture on blood purity, I'm leaving," Potter said, and he was even halfway out of his seat before Draco could say anything else.

"All right, fine, I'll move on." Draco closed his eyes again for a moment, reminded himself that Potter was still a sentimental, half-blooded idiot at the core, and moved on. "And finally, it's us Not that it's in us, or that it's a tool we all have at our disposal. That's just what blood traitors say to feel better about themselves. We are magic. It's a part of us as much as the blood in our veins or the thoughts in our heads. It's a part of our souls. It isn't just a tool, it's you. And you are magic."

"...I've never heard that before," Potter murmured.

"Of course you haven't, Dumbledore's always been one of the biggest advocates for treating it like it's just a tool," Draco said. "Treating it like a tool, making it work for you instead of with you, acting like it's something you have to control and keep a tight rein on, and if you can't control it, you shouldn't use it...that's all they've ever promoted. But magic doesn't work like that. Magic is supposed to be wild. You're supposed to live with it and ask it to work with you. You don't have to tell it what to do. It's a part of you; it'll do what you want."

Potter frowned at him, a much more intelligent sort of frown that was his usual. It was accompanied by that stupid hand rising up to cover his scar.

"Is that why you don't like people like Mr. Weasley?" Potter asked. "Or the Muggleborns who go back to living in the Muggle world after school? Because they're trying to bring Muggle things into it and they're not just exclusively living with magic anymore?"

"Very good, Potter," Draco said with a thin smile. "I knew you weren't always an idiot. There are some purebloods, like the Weasleys, who think that we can mix with Muggles and their toys without a care and we'll be better off for it. Now, I'm not going to pretend we never use things that came from Muggles, but it's only after we've thoroughly made them our own. It's not the same. They want to pretend like we're not so different, we just have different tools at our disposal. That's a favorite line of Dumbledore's, and he's always been popular with them. But they're wrong. Maybe once, when Muggles and wizards shared a lot of the same beliefs, but that was a long time ago. It used to be that even Muggles could work with the natural magic of the world, although without magic of their own, they couldn't do much with it. But things changed. We're too different now."

"And then there's purebloods like you, who just want to kill them all off and punish Muggleborns for being born into the wrong family," Potter said with a challenging look.

Draco wrinkled his nose and crossed his arms. "You would have such a crude perspective on it. There are those of us who know that our culture, the way it was without Muggles tainting it, is the only way to really flourish. We don't want to kill off Muggles, we just want to isolate ourselves from them and their influences. And we'd like it if we could get back to teaching magic the right way. Muggleborns have to end up in our world eventually, I suppose, or they'll risk exposing everyone, and they should learn the right way too. We really ought to be sending tutors to Muggleborns' houses as soon as there's a hint of magic, so they can learn to live with it early, like we do.

"And then there's the purebloods who aren't idiots but pretend they are to appease the Ministry and Dumbledore's followers. A lot of half-bloods end up in that group too, if they were raised in our world. Most Muggleborns and half-bloods raised in the Muggle world follow after Dumbledore, because they don't know any better."

Potter frowned at him a moment, then down at his desk like he thought there should be something there that wasn't. "So where does Voldemort fit into all that?"

Draco was actually quite proud of himself. After so many of these little chats with Potter, he managed to control his flinch at hearing the Dark Lord's chosen name quite well. It wasn't that it terrified him, but he did think there was a very good reason why no one said it.

"I did say you should take a second look at what the Dark Lord's offering," Draco said quietly. He hesitated, but it wouldn't really make any difference saying it, so he conceded, "Well, I guess he is a bit more fanatical about the Muggleborn issue...but that wasn't how he started out."

Potter was right that it didn't really matter if he ever ended up agreeing with the Dark Lord or not as long as the Dark Lord wanted him dead, and Draco didn't really think he'd stray that far from Dumbledore's nonsense or his Gryffindor principles either, but Potter hadn't exactly been fed an unprejudiced view of what their side stood for. Perhaps, if he was given a better perspective, he'd stray far enough. He'd already been leaning that way on his own.

Potter said nothing for quite a long time. He didn't do much of anything either, other than to frown at his desk and rub at his scar. Whatever problem he had with it seemed to be bothering him more now that they were on this particular topic. Draco filed that away for future reference.

Then, finally, after Potter winced for no reason at all, he nodded and closed his eyes again. "Right. Let's move on then. You said this wasn't going to just be a lecture."

"You're the one who got us distracted," Draco muttered, but if Potter wanted to move on, then good. It would take him some time to accept that maybe the Dark Lord wasn't as bad as he'd always been told, and anyway, he'd almost bee done with his lecture when Potter had interrupted.

"As soon as out magic manifests for the first time, we're taught how to use it and work with it. The Ministry would have you believe that you can't control your accidental magic, that you have to learn how to squash it and not let it happen. That if it does blow up on you, because you got emotional, there wasn't anything you could do about it."

Draco allowed himself to smile as he thought about what Potter had told him about the incident with his aunt two years ago, and his own afternoons spent with his mother--and sometimes his father--learning what he needed to prevent something like that from ever happening with his own magic.

"That you need a wand to perform controlled magic at all, and that if you use a wand long enough, you'll only ever be able to use your magic with a wand."

Now Potter was staring at him again. Well, they weren't really at the point where he needed to have his eyes closed, so that was all right for now.

Then Potter opened his mouth and out came a burst of incomprehensible hissing and guttural noises. Draco's first instinct was to check whether he had his wand in his hand, in case this was going to be a repeat of the last time Potter had spoken Parseltongue. He had been concerned he might end up cursing Draco last lesson, after all. But his hands were empty, so Draco allowed he brief shiver that wanted to run down his spine. He wondered for a split second how many of the Dark Lord's followers had joined him just to hear him speak that language.

But they wouldn't get anywhere speaking two different languages, interesting as it was that Potter was randomly speaking it now. "Potter, I can't understand anything you're saying. I'm not a snake."

Potter blinked at him and touched his throat. "Sorry, I don't...I didn't realize I wasn't speaking English."

"Obviously," Draco said. "But now you are, so why don't you try again."

"I said, 'of course you need a wand'. That's what your wand is for, isn't it?"

Draco hesitated. This was something even his fellow purebloods rarely liked to talk about. It was safer that way. This wasn't exactly something that was sanctioned by the Ministry, and it would be very easy to be arrested for performing Dark magic if they heard about it. And he could easily imagine the disappointed looks his mother and especially his father would give him if they ever found out Draco had let Potter in on this little secret.

But the point of this was to teach Potter what his magic was actually capable of, including this, and it was also a fantastic opportunity to show off. Far be it from him to deny himself an opportunity to show off in front of Potter.

"That's what they want you to think," Draco said. He leaned down to rifle though his bag for a quill, then walked down the aisle to set it on the desk in front of Potter. Then he took a few steps backward, raised his arm out between then with his fingers spread, and closed his eyes.

He took his first breath, deep and through his nose, to center himself. He'd called on his magic this way once during the holidays to make sure he could still do it, just in case he needed to demonstrate, but it still wasn't something he did very often.

As he let his breath go, he felt his magic rise up in answer, in a wave of warmth and light. He smiled.

Second breath; he stood for a moment just enjoying the feel of his magic. It wasn't quite the same as when he performed spells with his wand, although he was sure that was still easier for him than most of his classmates. He had the proper training.

But of course, just reveling in his magic wouldn't demonstrate anything, so he concentrated on his hand and delighted in the feeling of his magic gathering there, waiting to be released.

A third breath, and as he let it out, he reached out with his magic to take hold of the feather and lift it up.

A sharp intake of breath from his companion told him definitively that he had been successful, and he opened his eyes again to smile at the quill floating six inches above the desk. Potter was staring at it like he thought it might burst into flames. Draco moved his hand back and forth a bit, and the quill moved with it, back and forth in front of Potter's nose. Then he let go and the quill dropped back onto the desk.

A wave of exhaustion over took him and he staggered, holding on to the desk. He was certainly still able to do that, but after so long exclusively using a wand, it was exhausting channeling his magic a different way.

Potter stared at the quill on the desk. Then he stared up at Draco with wide eyes. "I didn't know you could do that."

"We don't exactly advertise it," Draco said. He collected his quill again, by hand, and walked back to the bag to put it away. He wasn't about to let Potter mistakenly snatch it up; it was undoubtedly nicer and more expensive than any of his.

"And you're going to teach me how to do that?"

Draco flopped into a chair and crossed his arms over the back. The faint note of hope in Potter's voice nearly made him smile. "Maybe eventually. You won't learn it overnight, you know. And how fast you learn and what you can do will depend a lot on how powerful you are. I think we're about the same, and it didn't take me long. It is one of the simpler tricks."

"What else can you do?" Potter asked, gaping at him. Oh yes, it felt very nice to show off and have so much of Harry Potter's attention, blood traitor or no.

"I think I'll be keeping that to myself, if you don't mind," Draco said with a slight smirk. “I'm sure you'll figure it out on your own once you have the right tools. Theoretically, if you had enough power, you should be able to do almost anything you can do with a wand. I don't think anyone but the Dark Lord and Dumbledore are that powerful, though. Your wand's important, it's just not the only option."

Potter nodded, still looking a bit stunned. Well, Draco supposed, that was only natural. He'd just been told a good four and a half years of magical education had been a lie.

Then he shook his head and said with a laugh, "I think you've gone mad, but if you want to teach me something like that, I'm not going to say no."

"Maybe I have," Draco said, but he was hardly doing this for free, so he rather doubted it. "Now stop squirming in your seat. You have to be calm to be successful at any of this. And close your eyes."

This time, Potter did as he was told immediately, no questions asked, no dirty looks. It was a pity Draco hadn't thought of doing a demonstration earlier, if that was all it took to get Potter's full attention and cooperation.

"I'm going to teach you the basics," Draco said. "If you practice it regularly, you should notice a difference in classes long before we can start doing anything wandlessly. And we'll be able to get to that a lot faster if you practice too."

"You're giving me homework?"

"Yes, I am, and you'd better do it or this is all I'll be teaching you." But Draco knew he would. He didn't need Potter's jerky nod of agreement to know that. It had been a certainty from the moment he'd levitated that quill through will alone.

"Focus on your breathing. You need to be focused, you can't be thinking about what might be for dinner, and that's the easiest way to focus yourself. You don't have to be calm or empty, just focused on yourself and your breathing and how it feels to be you."

Potter chuckled, and it came out more breathy and more like a hiss than usual, but then he went still and quiet, far more still than Draco would have ever believed he could be. For a moment, Draco was too startled by just how well Potter was able to follow his directions to say anything else, but then he recovered himself and went on.

"You should become very aware of yourself—your breathing, your heartbeat, just how uncomfortable it's starting to get sitting in that chair. Focus on that, and then when you're ready, think about one of the times you lost control of your magic. The time you blew up your aunt would be a good one. Think about how you were feeling at the time, and how it felt to use your magic, or when you realized that's what you were doing. Make sure you stay focused on yourself, too."

It took a moment, a shorter moment that Draco expected, but then Potter let out a tiny gasp and hissed something in breathless Parseltongue.

"English, Potter," Draco said lazily, though he was eying Potter with more interest now. He wondered what it was about this subject that was making Potter slip into that other language like this.

"It's warm!" Potter murmured, though it still came out as mostly a hiss. A moment later, he kneaded his knuckles into his forehead.

Draco paid close attention to all of this, but he put it away to think about later. For the moment, he wanted to relish in the fact that Potter wasn't a complete idiot and he could actually learn something useful if he wanted, and that Draco had been the one to teach him and he wouldn't be forgetting that any time soon.

Even if it did become a bit difficult to enjoy it when it became clear that those two words had been the last of Potter's English for the rest of the day. It wasn't easy to figure out if he was picking up on anything else Draco had to show him when all that came out of his mouth after that was unintelligible hissing.

Ron was watching him now.

He'd been watching ever since their first day of classes, when Harry had managed to work so well with Malfoy in Potions and made arrangements to meet him sometime outside of class. It hadn't been much, then, just a calculating glance here or there, although it did get worse after first, their meeting that Tuesday evening, and then after Potions later in the week, when they had continued to work well together and produced on of the best Potions in the class (only Hermione and Parkinson's had been better).

But it had become blatant after Harry had excused himself to spend most of that Saturday afternoon and this past one in Malfoy's company. Ron had been at Quidditch practice for most of them, but that finally hadn't stopped him from noticing that Harry was absent for nearly the whole period of time between one meal and the next—or, in the case of this past Saturday, had avoided eating dinner in the Great Hall entirely, because he had lost the ability to speak English.

Now Ron was watching him, and watching Malfoy too, as if he could figure out what was really going on just by staring at them.

"I don't get it," he finally murmured at dinner on Thursday night. His eyes were fixed on Malfoy, who, for once, was sitting with his back to them, so they couldn't make out what expression might be on his face as he chatted with his fellow Slytherins.

Harry was busy reading over the list of possible names Malfoy had handed him at the end of Potions, charmed to look like Potions notes to anyone else. He pointedly did not look up, and he took the time to swallow his chicken and lick his fingers before he said anything.

"What?"

Ron turned toward Harry, and Harry glanced up. His eyes had a look Harry was familiar with from their various chess matches. It was a look he got when Harry made one of his few lucky and unexpected moves, and Ron was both taken aback and forced to figure out a new strategy, because Harry had just thrown his previous one out the window.

"He's Malfoy," Ron said, shaking his head. "He's still a slimy git. He still insults us—and Hagrid—and he's still always bullying the younger kids...or anyone not in Slytherin, really. I don't get it."

"What?" Harry repeated, doing his best to only look confused and not defensive. Malfoy had been better about all of that lately, at least while Harry was around to see it, but it was true that he hadn't stopped completely. There was no reason to feel like he should defend him.

"How you can stand him," Ron said. He looked back at Malfoy, and so did Harry. Now, Malfoy was leaning in very close to the boy next to him, who Harry thought was called Blaise Zabini, to whisper some secret in his ear. "Why you're acting like...you're friends with him."

Harry shrugged and turned his attention back to the list while he absently pushed the food on his plate around with his fork. No matter what Malfoy said about his family being famous for being good with names, Harry didn't like very many of the ones he'd come up with. There were a couple that were okay, though, and a couple that were already on his own list.

"We're not really friends, but I don't hate him anymore."

It was an uncomfortable admission to make to Ron, and even more uncomfortable to make when he knew their yearmates were eagerly listening in while trying to make it seem like they weren't, but there wasn't much else to say. And besides, he'd already admitted it to Hermione and Lupin.

"Obviously," Ron said, with the air of someone restraining himself from rolling his eyes. "You'd have to be blind not to see that now. But I don't get it. He's Malfoy. Did you forget everything he said at the beginning of the year? Or last year? Or every year?"

Harry sighed and put down his fork. He knew no one else would understand, because they didn't know what he did and he wasn't about to tell them, but he still felt oddly protective of Malfoy. Maybe because he knew now that Malfoy wasn't so bad when he wasn't talking about how superior he was to Muggleborns, that a lot of his unsavory actions were just a lot of posing.

"He's gotten better about all of that. He hasn't even said anything about Hagrid being on probation. And he's not so bad when he doesn't have anyone around to impress," Harry said, a little louder than before, so everyone listening in would clearly hear it too. "There's a lot worse than Malfoy out there now. It's stupid to go on fighting with him when we've got more important things to worry about. Especially when he hasn't been so bad lately."

Ron shook his head, but while Malfoy had been less obnoxious in class, he was probably still overly antagonistic if he ever saw Ron outside of class, like for prefect duties—because he had no reason to be friendly with Harry's friends, just Harry—so Harry wondered if Ron had really seen much proof of how he'd changed. Nearby, however, Neville had turned to stare at Malfoy's back with a look that was as thoughtful as it was doubtful.

"He is still a git," Harry said with another shrug. "But so's Smith, and it's stupid to hate him too."

"Well, Smith's on our side, isn't he?" Ron said. "Malfoy's family's all in with You-Know-Who, and so is he."

"Maybe he doesn't have to be, though," Harry said quietly, keeping his eyes fixed on Malfoy's back so he didn't have to look at Ron. He knew Malfoy would likely rather die than switch sides and betray his family, but it was the best excuse he could come up with for reaching out to him.

He could feel Ron staring at him again, and he wasn't the only one, but he went back to his food and the list of names without saying anything about it, which would convince them he was serious more than anything he could say.

"I hope you know what you're doing, mate," Ron muttered eventually. Harry knew he went right back to staring at Malfoy a moment later; he would try to see whatever it was Harry supposedly saw in Malfoy that allowed them to get along, and he probably wouldn't find it, but he'd try anyway for Harry's sake.

Chapter Text

They spent most of the next Saturday just talking and working on homework, which was a calculated decision on Draco's part. He wanted to avoid a repeat of what had happened last time as much as possible—at least, while he was actually spending time in Potter's presence. He didn't much care if Potter spent the rest of the evening only speaking Parseltongue and probably hiding from his friends because of it. And since it had seemed like raising his magic had been the catalyst, Draco decided they should put that off until the end or even next week.

Besides which, when he asked Potter if he'd actually been doing his homework, Potter had confessed that he had been learning something similar recently—from his vampire friend—so Draco thought it likely he was already getting plenty of practice.

So they spent the time trading stories. This time, Draco shied away from the pureblood history he had brought up before and began telling Potter children's stories instead. They were yet another thing that every wizard-raised child would know, and so they were another bit of their culture Potter should be aware of. Not to mention, they were usually filled with lessons any self respecting wizard should keep in mind as he went about his business.

Potter gave him a bemused look when he started on his first tale, but he listened attentively and only interrupted once or twice when something Draco said seemed too unbelievable. Draco just reminded him that it was a children's story, of course it was going to be outlandish, and went on as if Potter hadn't said anything at all.

Potter seemed to be most interested in 'The Tale of the Three Brothers", Draco noticed, as that was the one he had the most questions about and been the most interested in discussing after. He had even set his quill down and given Draco all of his attention, which he hadn't done with the first two. His eyes had a speculative glint as they talked about it, shot though with a bit of confusion that didn't seem to come from the story itself. Draco didn't ask about it, but he paid close attention nonetheless.

The other tale that caught Potter's attention was "The Warlock's Hairy Heart", which Draco had chosen to tell in its original state, because he was sure Potter would appreciate it more that way. His mother had always told him the original, even though his father had determinedly stuck to his own version, which cast the warlock in a much kinder light.

Potter did not interrupt at all during this particular tale, but his quill stopped moving and he spent those few minutes watching Draco attentively. Draco though he saw something stir behind his eyes while he listened, and once he was done, Potter reached up and rubbed at his scar in a gesture so familiar by now that Draco hardly gave it a second thought. He didn't comment on that story except to express pity for the warlock, but his eyes were dark as they turned back to his essay, and his face was set in an expression that probably meant he was turning the story over and over in his head.

To Draco's amusement, Potter seemed to decide that this was a good opportunity to share a few stories of his own, Muggle tales that he had grown up with (although he made a point to mention that he had only heard them or read them at school, that his relatives would never have allowed such stories of magic and wonder inside their home, particularly these ones). Draco wondered why Potter thought he would be interested in Muggle stories, but he listened to them politely and didn't interrupt nearly as much as Potter had.

The first tale Potter chose was about a family of princesses who sneaked away in the night to dance in an enchanted castle. Draco thought he might have picked this one purely because of the magic involved. The imagery of the groves of silver and gold trees and the castle were quite beautiful, and Draco noted with amusement that it involved an Invisibility Cloak. Even if it hadn't appealed to Potter when he was younger, Draco could see why it did now.

The other two, about a princess who was forced to live in the woods with seven small men and something called a "Cinderella", Draco thought Potter might have picked purely out of respect for Draco's sensibilities, because the magic presented in each was actually not very unrealistic. The apple was clearly coated in the Draught of Living Death, the queen was obviously quite skilled in disguising herself with magic, and it wouldn’t be unreasonable to Transfigure a pumpkin into a carriage or rags into a fine gown. In fact, he thought his father would be quite alarmed by just how accurate these depictions of magic in these Muggle stories were.

Then Draco turned the stories over in his head and wondered if, instead of choosing them for him, Potter had chosen them because he felt some affinity for the orphaned heroines. His tone of voice when describing their circumstances had been somewhat unnerving. Draco, however, was far more interested in the magic, so he tucked that observation away for another time.

It did lead to what was possibly the stupidest argument they had ever had. Potter had made the mistake of calling Cinderella's witch a "fairy godmother", which was, of course, both ludicrous and impossible. Fairies were tiny and had little other use than as Christmas decorations; they had neither the magic nor the intelligence of the woman in the tale. Obviously, she was just a witch with too much time on her hands and an appalling soft spot for Muggles.

But Potter stubbornly insisted that was what she was called. Draco just couldn't allow him to go on with that delusion forever, so for some reason he couldn't even figure out himself, he picked a row with Potter over what a character in a silly Muggle children's story should actually be called.

Then, just as he thought he might actually get Potter to agree the name was stupid, the classroom door swung open and Luna Lovegood walked in, looking as though she might have sleepwalked there, as was her usual.

They both stopped and stared at her as she drifted dreamily across the classroom.

"Er...Luna?" Potter said, first to break the silence. "Did you need something?"

Lovegood looked at them slowly, as if she was both surprised to see them and not surprised at all. "Oh, hello, Harry. And Draco too, hello."

Potter turned and stared at him, but Draco just sneered at him and then sneered at Lovegood for good measure. One or two balls she and her father had been extraordinarily lucky in even being invited to, and she acted like that made them friends.

"What do you want, Lovegood? We're busy."

"You weren't looking for us, were you?" Potter asked hastily after a quick scowl in Draco's direction. "I don't think we're done yet..."

"Oh no. I didn't know you were here, actually." Lovegood smiled serenely at them. "I just had a feeling something interesting was happening in this part of the castle." Her eyes flitted over the quill still in Potter's hand, and she nodded as though that answered the question of what. "What have you been learning?"

"Malfoy's been teaching me some kids' stories," Potter said before Draco could speak up. Draco hissed at him under his breath. Potter stared back at him defiantly, and Draco looked away again with an irritated sigh. He supposed it wouldn't matter if Loony Lovegood knew about this particular meeting, but that didn't mean he liked it.

"Oh! Like 'How the Crumple-Horned Snorkack Crumpled His Horn'?" Lovegood asked eagerly.

Draco winced, and he tried to respond before Potter, he really did. He was not in the mood to listen to any of Lovegood's ridiculous stories. But Potter gave her a bemused smile and shook his head and got there first.

"No, I think he missed that one."

"Potter..." Draco hissed again, but it was too late. Lovegood looked absolutely aghast that anyone could have possibly overlooked such an important tale, and she immediately sat down in front of Harry to begin telling it to him with an earnest enthusiasm that might have been admirable if only it weren't over such a foolish subject.

Draco sighed noisily and walked over to the door to close it again. Now that Lovegood was here, she would likely stay until it was time for them all to leave for dinner, and he could see that he wouldn't be able to kick her out without Potter following after. And anyway, it wouldn't do to leave the door open for someone else to just wander in. Draco tapped the lock with his wand for good measure before walking back over to his seat. He would have to remind Potter that they should keep the door locked, or the next person to walk in on them might not be so welcome.

It wasn’t easy, trying to find a new name in concert with his classes, the ever increasing pile of homework, his various extracurricular lessons, and worrying about when Umbridge might finally decide to fire Hagrid. Admittedly, it wasn’t all that much more than when he’d been doing most of his research into wizard law, but it was much less satisfying. After a couple hours reading through law and history books, he might have felt like his brain was leaking out of his ears, but at least he also felt like he’d learned something. After a couple hours of this, he generally felt like his time would have been better spent doing something else.

At least this time, he had some help. Malfoy’s list had not been very promising, but he appreciated that he had been true to his word and given him one. Sanguini had also sent him a list of possibilities, after Harry had confided in him that he was finding it difficult to find anything he liked. He didn’t particularly care for any of Sanguini’s suggestions either, though—except for maybe Eosphoros—or his suggestion that he look into creating his own from Latin or French or some other language he didn’t know. That was all well and good for someone like Sanguini, who had lived for several hundred years and had all that time to learn a few languages. It was not so useful for Harry, who knew very little of anything that wasn’t English and had no time to learn them.

A few of Sanguini’s suggestions were familiar enough to put him back on another track, however. He had already found that a few old families used mythological names, and he had marked that down as a possibility but had then been distracted by other ideas. Now, he turned back to mythology, as that seemed to be the most promising path.

The Hogwarts library actually had a surprising number of books either entirely or partially about world mythologies and beliefs. Well, maybe it was only surprising to him because he’d seen very little in the way of a belief system since coming to Hogwarts. And as he skimmed through a few books, it seemed that was because there wasn’t really much of a belief system among wizards—at least, not anymore. Once upon a time, long before wizards had separated themselves from Muggles completely, many of them had shared similar beliefs, although the wizards had more of a focus on magic, of course, while the Muggles focused more on beings who could have just been wizards themselves.

Reading through books on mythology, however, while considerably more interesting than any of his other extra research, took up quite a bit more time than just skimming through books of names for anything that sounded good. For the first time this year, he found himself checking out a stack of books to take back to Gryffindor Tower to read in what little spare time he had. Ron had given him his most incredulous look yet and muttered something about how he was turning into Hermione, but Harry was quite happy to ignore this. He finally felt like he was on the right track, and he was not going to let anyone spoil it.

Or so he'd thought, until he spent an afternoon sharing fairy tales with Malfoy, and then could not get them out of his head for days afterward.

The Thursday after Luna had walked in on his lesson with Malfoy, Harry ate dinner as quickly as possible and made his way to the Room of Requirement to spend some time there alone before anyone started showing up for the DA meeting. He made sure the room was ready for today's lesson, and then sat down and pulled out a book. He had been intending to spend his time perusing a book on mythology, and there was one in his bag, but it was a different book he pulled out now.

He could not say why the stories Malfoy had told him had affected him so much. The first couple had been interesting but unremarkable, and he had begun wondering what the point was. But the story about the warlock who locked away his heart had made him feel very unnerved for some reason, although his memory of it was somewhat fuzzy and clouded by pain. And when Malfoy had begun telling the tale of the three brothers who met with Death, and Harry had not been able to pay attention to anything else. He had discussed it at length with Malfoy at the time, and then gone to the library to check out The Tales of Beedle the Bard the next day to read it again.

It was this book that lay open in his lap as he skimmed over the now familiar words of the story. This version was slightly different than the one Malfoy had told him, but not in any way that mattered. All the basic elements were there: the meeting with Death, the unbeatable wand that led to the death of the first brother, the stone that brought back the dead that led to the death of the second brother, the cloak of invisibility that hid the third brother until it was time to pass on peacefully.

Harry's fingers trailed over the description of the stone. He found the other objects interesting too—a powerful wand would certainly make it easier to defeat Voldemort, and he had always appreciated his Invisibility Cloak—but it was the stone that he felt drawn to the most. A stone that could raise the dead...he could understand the second brother's desire to speak with a lost loved one very well.

A shadow fell over him, and Harry looked up to find Luna standing there, looking down at his book with intense interest.

"Hello, Luna," Harry said, feeling somewhat annoyed that he was no longer alone. "You're here early."

"You left dinner early, so I thought we might be starting earlier today," Luna said. She pointed excitedly down at the book in Harry's lap. "Are you researching the Hallows?"

"The what?" Harry said.

"The Hallows! The Deathly Hallows!" Luna sat down next to him and snatched the book out of his lap. She smiled as her eyes scanned quickly over the story. "That's very clever, Harry. The Hallows would be a wonderful thing to have in the fight against You-Know-Who."

Harry stared at her. She was not making a lot of sense, which was usual for Luna, but he wasn't sure how to react to it.

"I'm sorry, Luna, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

Now it was Luna's turn to look bewildered. She held the book up, open, in front of her face. "Then why are you reading this?"

"It's just one of the stories Malfoy told me on Saturday. I wanted to read it again..."

Luna lowered the book just enough to eye him over the top of it. He could not tell what she was thinking. Eventually, she hummed and flipped the book back around to continue reading it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the door open and Ron and Hermione came in. He ignored them, still staring at Luna. There was nothing in that story about anything called "Deathly Hallows", and yet, she had taken one glance at what he was reading and mentioned them. Whatever they were, they were the first thing she associated with that story. Could there be something else to that story, or maybe some other version of it? Luna believed in all sorts of odd and probably not real things, and there was no reason this should be any different...and yet. He couldn't help wondering.

"What are the Deathly Hallows?" he asked, giving in to his curiosity.

"These are," Luna said, holding the book up in front of her face again. "The items Death gave to the three brothers. The Elder Wand. The Resurrection Stone. The Cloak of Invisibility. Together, they're the Deathly Hallows."

As she listed the items, she drew a symbol in the air with her finger, but it wasn't one Harry was at all familiar with and he thought he would need to see it written down properly to remember it.

"Then I don't know what I'm supposed to be researching," said Harry, feeling very bewildered. "It's just a story."

"Everyone believes it's just a story," Luna said earnestly, "but it's not. They're real."

"What're you guys talking about?" Ron asked as he and Hermione sat down in front of them. Ron leaned around to get a better look at the cover of the book and then looked very confused. "The Tales of Beetle the Bard? What're you reading that for?"

Hermione, looking somewhat affronted that there was a book everyone else seemed to know that she didn't, reached out to tug the book from Luna's hand. Luna let go of it easily, still staring at Harry with eager, shining eyes.

Harry was staring back, trying not to feel too hopeful. He tried to remind himself that no matter how earnest Luna seemed, she believed lots of things that weren't true and was just as earnest about those. Malfoy had also not said anything about this or given any indication that he thought there was any truth to the story whatsoever when he had told it to him on Saturday.

"Are you sure about that?" Harry said after a moment, trying hard not to sound too sceptical. "I mean, if they were, don't you think more people would know about it? A stone that can bring back the dead...you'd think something like that would get covered in class. And the wand—"

"Oh, but there's lots of proof about the wand!" Luna interrupted eagerly. "It's gone by lots of names throughout history. The Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick—that was what Loxias named it when he took it from Barnabas Deverill and killed him. And Professor Binns has mentioned it too. The wand that Egbert the Egregious took from Emeric the Evil when he defeated him was made of elder, and it was supposed to be very powerful."

Harry glanced over at Hermione, who was far more likely to remember what had been covered in Binns' class than he was. Hermione was frowning slightly at Luna, but she went back to reading without contradicting her. Harry felt a twinge of hope and turned back to Luna.

"And the cloak...no reason that couldn't exist, right? We know Invisibility Cloaks definitely exist..."

"The cloak in the story would have to be centuries old, Harry," Ron said slowly. "No Invisibility Cloak would last that long. The charms would wear off, or it'd get damaged..."

He trailed off, suddenly looking very confused. Luna took the opportunity to shake her head and eagerly turn toward him.

"It's not just any Invisibility Cloak. You know, a cloak that's just charmed to be invisible, or one that's made of Demiguise hair that'll fade and turn opaque after a while. It's a real Cloak of Invisibility, that stays perfect forever and shields you from everything. Why else would Death have been unable to find the third brother for so long?"

Harry glanced at Ron, who was frowning right back at him. There was, in fact, a cloak that fit that description not far from here, sitting in Harry's trunk in Gryffindor Tower. One that was still perfect, even though it was old enough that his father had used it while he'd been here at Hogwarts and it had seen a fair amount of action in its time.

"Yes, but the stone, Luna," Hermione said suddenly. "The stone can't possibly exist." She shut the book and held it out; Harry took it back before Luna could.

"Why not? There's no proof that it doesn't."

"There's no magic that can raise the dead," Hermione said testily. "It's not possible."

"There's some that can imitate it, though," Harry said, thinking of the shades of his parents and Cedric that had appeared in the graveyard in June. That was more than he was comfortable saying in from of Luna, however. "And the girl in the story doesn't really come back all the way, does she? She's there, but she's still more like a ghost."

The door opened and Ernie and Hannah walked in, putting an end to their conversation. Harry did not wish to talk about whether some kids' story was actually real in front of more people than Ron and Hermione; enough of the school already thought he was mental without adding that onto it. He tucked the book away in his bag and tried to push all thoughts of the Hallows to the back of his mind until the end of the meeting.

It wasn't until they were walking back to Gryffindor Tower later that evening that he casually brought the subject up again, wondering aloud if there could have been any truth to what Luna had been saying.

"Oh, Harry, I really don't think so," Hermione said, sounding somewhat annoyed they were back on this topic. "You know what Luna is like. I'm sure she really believes in it, but how could anything like that be true? It's just a load of rubbish."

Harry looked at Ron, who shrugged. "It's just a story, It's one of those things you tell kids to teach them lessons. 'Don't go looking for trouble, don't pick fights, don't mess with stuff that's better left alone. And if you've got an unbeatable wand, don't boast about it cause it'll just get you killed.' That sort of thing."

Harry laughed, but he was quiet the rest of the way to the tower, and he excused himself to head up to bed as soon as they were inside. He still had quite a lot of homework, but he doubted he would be able to concentrate on it, and he had already finished what needed to be turned in tomorrow, at least.

When he reached his dorm, he pulled Beetle's book out of his bag, as well as the book on mythology he had intended to read instead. He set them on the bed and dropped his bag next to his trunk. Then he opened his trunk and pulled out the old cloak Dumbledore had passed on to him from his dad.

He sat on the bed for quite a while with the Cloak in his lap, just staring at it and letting the fabric slide through his fingers. He was not at all sure what to think about what Luna had told them. It was Luna, after all. But he wanted it to be true. The Cloak and the Elder Wand, it seemed, could be true. And wouldn't it be interesting if the cloak in his hands was the very one mentioned in the story, that could shield one even from Death? And if it was, then what of the other items? What of the Stone? Harry had to admit that while it was the most intriguing item of the three, it was also the one least likely to exist.

By the time Ron came up, however, the cloak was already back in his trunk and Harry was sitting in bed with the mythology book in his lap. Ron looked at him like he might say something, but in the end, he pulled on his pajamas and climbed into bed without saying anything at all.

Draco was quite certain that Potter had gone absolutely mad.

"It's just a children's story, Potter, what are you talking about?" Draco said when Potter tried to ask him if he'd ever heard anything about “The Tale of the Three Brothers” being based on anything real. "Why would you listen to anything that came out of Loony Lovegood's mouth?"

Potter frowned at him, the way he did any time Draco insulted his friends. Draco scowled right back. It had been obvious Potter had been taken by that particular story, but he would never have thought Potter would be so deluded as to think any part of it might be real. Between that and his random forays into Parseltongue, perhaps he would need to keep a closer eye on Potter in the future, just to make sure he wasn't actually mad.

"Anyway, Potter," Draco said before Potter could try to continue on that subject. "We're doing something different today. I want you to teach me something."

Luckily, this seemed to intrigue Potter enough for him to drop the silly Hallows subject. "You do? What?"

"The Patronus Charm."

It had taken Draco most of the month to steel himself to actually ask this. He rather liked their current arrangement, in which Potter came to owe him more and more and he owed Potter very little in return. This would not tip the scales in Potter's favor, but it would make them more even, not only because he would owe Potter somewhat for teaching him, but also because he actually had to ask for it. Still, Draco wasn't about to waste the opportunity of getting Potter to teach it to him now that they were on decent enough terms.

Potter looked quite surprised by the request, and he stared at Draco for a long time, thinking it over. More than once, his gaze flicked off toward the ceiling in the general direction of Gryffindor Tower, and he looked particularly uncertain. Draco crossed his arms and leaned back against a desk, trying not to seem to uncertain himself. It wouldn't do for Potter to know just how much he wanted to learn this particular spell.

"Yeah, all right," Potter said eventually, and Draco thought he could breathe normally again. "But you have to show me a spell too."

"Like what?" Draco asked, quite ready to teach Potter anything he might know.

Potter shrugged in a completely unhelpful way. Draco frowned at him for a moment, then stared at the wall while he thought over the various spells he had already considered teaching Potter.

"What about Serpensortia?"

Potter considered that for a moment. Then he nodded and got up out of his seat. "Okay. Help me get all these desks against the wall."

They made quick work of stacking the desks along either side of the classroom, leaving the middle open and with plenty of room to move around. Harry crossed to the door to make sure it was locked, and then told Draco to use the muffling charm he wouldn't share on the door and the walls for good measure. He was surprisingly comfortable stepping into the role of teacher, Draco noted as he walked around the room casting Muffliato and even adding a couple charms that would encourage anyone passing by to go somewhere else.

"Right," Potter started once they were standing across from each other in the middle of the classroom, "first of all, you should keep in mind that this is pretty advanced. Lupin told me a lot of adults can't even do it. So don't go expecting to get it on your first try, or even after a lot of tries."

Draco snorted lightly, somewhat doubtful he would have that much trouble with it, but he supposed he would keep that in mind. "All right."

"Two, learning it here in a classroom is a lot different than having to use it against actual dementors." He hesitated, but went on, "It took me three tries to fight off those dementors back in August. So even if you get it perfectly now, don't expect it to always be that easy."

Draco frowned at him. Of course, that was in line with what his father had said back in August, when he had mentioned he had run into Potter on his way out of a disciplinary hearing for casting the Patronus Charm in a Muggle area. Potter's excuse was that there had been dementors, even though there was no reason why dementors should have been there. Draco had never quite decided whether his father believed Potter's excuse or not.

But Potter certainly believed it. That just made him wonder all over again, what would dementors have even been doing there in the first place? He hadn't heard anything about the Dark Lord trying to do anything directly to Potter since June...of course, that didn't mean nothing had been happening, only that no one was going to say anything about to him or around him.

"I think that's to be expected, Potter," Draco said finally. "It's hard enough to concentrate with those things around even without trying to do magic."

Potter nodded stiffly. He, of course, seemed to find it much more difficult that the rest of them. If it had taken Potter, who had fainted more than once around them, only three tries to fight them off, then Draco thought he would certainly not do any worse than that.

"And their effect on you makes it even more difficult," Potter said. "The way Professor Lupin put it, dementors suck every good feeling and hope and happiness out of the air around them. The Patronus is made up of those feelings and the dementors can't hurt it, so it makes a good shield, but you also have to be thinking of something happy to conjure it. So when they're around, trying to suck every happy thing out of you..."

Potter shrugged, letting him come to his own conclusions about how difficult that would be. Draco nodded but said nothing, as it didn't seem Potter was quite done.

"Right, so like I said, to conjure a Patronus, you have to think of something happy. It can be a memory or just a happy thought, but the happier the better. You concentrate on it, whatever it is, and then—" Potter raised his wand and set his face in concentration. "Expecto Patronum!"

A bright silver shape burst from the end of Potter's wand, and Draco automatically darted out of the way of it, suddenly and very unpleasantly reminded of the silvery shape Potter had attacked him with back in third year. Then, it had seemed somewhat shapeless, but now he could see it took the form of an enormous stag with shining, majestic, horribly dangerous looking antlers.

The stag cantered to the end of the room and back, and then disappeared into silver mist next to Potter. Potter himself had hardly moved except to lower his wand; he stood with his shoulders square and his chin slightly raised and was absolutely humming with magic. It didn't seem to be manifesting itself outwardly yet, but it was clear their exercises had already had some effect. Or perhaps this was just what Potter was like when he used advanced magic. Either way, Draco was looking forward to seeing more of it.

"Happy thought, expecto patronum," Draco repeated.

Potter nodded, and suddenly the effect was ended, leaving only a somewhat awkward looking Potter in its wake. "Right. So...take a minute to think of something, and then you can try it."

For the first time, the authoritative tone he'd adopted faltered somewhat. Perhaps he'd realized that it was awkward talking to Draco like a teacher when it was only the two of them. He really was quite good at it, although Draco had never noticed that about him before.

He turned away from Potter to collect his thoughts. Something happy...no, something extremely happy—that would be the difficult part. Draco had plenty of happy memories and thoughts to choose from—he thought even how he was feeling right now might count—but only a few of them were exceptionally so. Flint telling him he would their new Seeker...watching the sunrise one morning with his mother while she told him about Hogwarts...his father telling him how proud he was of his marks, one of the few times he actually said it out loud...

Draco eventually settled on the first time he had been allowed fly on a real broom by himself, rather than a toy one or with his mother. He nodded to Potter, who stood back, and raised his wand, concentrating hard on the thrilling feeling of soaring high above the Manor grounds.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Silver mist burst out of his wand, but it did not coalesce into anything solid. It merely hovered there as an indistinct cloud in the air in front of him. It was also ridiculously draining to hold it there, much the way using his magic wandlessly had been. Draco waved his wand again to banish it and fought the urge to grab on to something to remain on his feet.

Potter was watching him with raised eyebrows. "That was pretty good for a first try."

Draco sniffed and stuck his chin in there air. "Of course it was. I'm a Malfoy. You didn't say it would be that tiring, though," he added, frowning at Potter.

Potter had the audacity to smirk at him. "Must have slipped my mind. Still, it's just the half-formed ones that do that. Once you're conjuring a real one, you shouldn't have that problem."

Buoyed by the thought that Potter seemed to have no doubt he'd master this, Draco raised his wand and tried again.

And he continued to try for the next half an hour, trying various memories and happy thoughts, until his legs felt like jelly from the effort of holding those half-formed Patronuses in place for any length of time. They did seem to be growing more solid and distinct the more he practiced, but eventually he had to take a break or risk falling over. Potter had the nerve to smirk at him again, and off-handedly lamented that neither of them had brought any chocolate.

Draco took this opportunity to hold up his end of the bargain and begin teaching Potter how to conjure snakes, so he would have something of his own to practice rather than watching Draco the whole time. Draco did not particularly mind having Potter watch him, but he did feel he might perform better with slightly less pressure.

"Now, it's a conjuring spell, which we're not supposed to learn until next year," Draco said, "but it's one of the easiest ones. If I could do it in second year, you can definitely do it now. The trick is you have to have a very good idea of what the animal you want to conjure looks like—"

Draco spent the next half hour or so guiding Potter through the finer details of conjuring snakes—the theory behind animal conjuration, what he needed to be concentrating on to make it work, how he could adjust the snake he conjured to be exactly the way he wanted it. Judging by Potter's expression for most of it, this was material that was somewhat over his head, and Draco thought he had a lot of nerve to joke, ever, that he could help Draco with Transfiguration.

Still, Potter dutifully set himself to working on the spell once Draco was done with his lesson, which meant it was time for Draco to work on producing a Patronus again. It was exhausting, but Draco was determined to get it by the end of the day, even if it meant staying here until curfew. For his part, after several failed attempts to conjure a snake, Potter made the surprisingly intelligent decision to take a few minutes to connect with his magic before trying again.

The two of them spent what felt like an hour not making very much progress at all in either of their attempts, until, finally—

"Expecto Patronum!"

The silvery mist that burst from Draco's wand this time was not indistinct, but rather landed on the floor in the shape of a sleek fox. Draco immediately collapsed to the ground and let out a rather undignified whoop of delight as he fell backward. Potter paused in the middle of waving his wand to watch Draco's fox Patronus dart excitedly about his head.

"Good job," Potter said, actually smiling a little. "That's loads faster than I did it."

"Well, of course. I am a Malfoy," he said again. Draco smiled back at him, a rather larger smile than he ever had around Potter, and reached up to touch the silver fox. It dissolved into mist beneath his fingers, but that was all right. If he could conjure it once, he could do it again. And he would, just to make sure he had the spell down for sure. In a minute. Once he stopped feeling like taking a nap until tomorrow afternoon.

"Now I want to see a snake out of you by the end of the day," Draco said after a minute. He tried to sound stern, or at least haughty, but he was too delighted by his success to accomplish either.

Potter rolled his eyes but raised his wand again to continue trying. "Yes, sir, Professor Malfoy, sir."

Harry was lost.

He wasn't quite sure how he had come to be lost—he was supposed to meet Malfoy in the classroom on the fourth floor, and he knew very well where that was and how to get there by now—but he was fairly certain he was. He was sure he was still in Hogwarts, but he didn't recognize this particular corridor or anything that decorated it. He wasn't exactly sure how he'd gotten here either; the staircase he'd taken should have led straight to the fourth floor.

There was a staircase at the end of the hall. He started walking. Maybe it would lead him somewhere familiar.

Halfway there, he passed by a tapestry that looked like the one of Barnabas the Barmy, except that one was on the seventh floor and he couldn't possibly still be up there. When he looked closer, it didn't resemble that tapestry at all. This one was covered in writhing snakes of all kinds and the scene on it seemed to be on a cliff overlooking the ocean.

He spent a while looking at it, and then moved on without looking back once he realized how much time had passed. He needed to keep going. Malfoy would throw a fit if he was late.

The staircase stretched away into darkness, only seeming to grow taller the longer he stood at the top trying to see down to the bottom. He descended the stairs two at a time and tried not to think about it. It would have a bottom. It had to have a bottom. Maybe the trick in getting there was just to go for it.

It did have a bottom. But when he saw that his feet had reached the next floor and he looked up, he found himself at the end of a very familiar corridor that he knew was not anywhere in Hogwarts. The single black door at the very end remained as closed as it had always been, and he didn't feel like this would be the time he managed to get it to open.

He was close...so very close...but it wouldn't yield to him just yet...it would take more planning...

He began walking down the corridor anyway, because there was still something about the door that called to him. He noticed along the way that the stairway that usually led off to the left was no longer there. There were only the floors and walls of this one stone hallway, and the sconces along the way to illuminate it, and the single black door at the end.

He stopped in front of the door and stared at it longingly. If only it would just open...but there wasn't even a handle tonight...

No handle...but maybe he could push it open, like the door that closed off Mrs. Figg's kitchen...

Harry smiled and reached out to touch the door, intending to give it a small push just to test it. If it remained firm, there would be no point in putting all his strength into trying to push it open.

His fingers brushed over the wood...

...and the door dissolved away into a dark abyss.

Harry hesitated for only a fraction of a second before stepping through. He had thought he would feel elated that the door had finally disappeared, but he only felt and overwhelming curiosity to see what was on the other side, to figure out why the darkness felt so familiar and inviting, like a part of him had just come home.

He stepped out onto a windswept moor, empty and dreary and grey. The ground was rocky and uneven, with small outcroppings scattered about like a giant had passed through and kicked up the earth with his boots. This place had reminded him of a scene in one of his books since he had first read it, and he had almost been thrilled to learn they would be coming back here this year so he could see it again.

He could just barely hear the sounds of the village behind him if he tried hard enough to listen and the wind chose to blow in the right direction. He didn't care to try. He would only hear the dull sounds of everyday life that he could have easily heard back in London and the gleeful squeals of the other children. They always thought these trips to be a lark and a half.

He was quite fond of them too, but for a very different reason.

He heard the first bit of hissing and jumbled speech that he had been hoping for and eagerly looked around. A small snake slithered toward him across the ground and he knelt down to properly say hello. The first time this had happened, he had been quite amazed—and thrilled—but now he was only amazed that his little friends would choose to risk their lives by crossing such open ground when he would have been quite happy to seek them out among the rocks instead.

Well, he supposed they didn't actually have anything to worry about. He would protect them if anything tried to attack them.

"Hello, friends," he murmured as the first snake reached his shoes and a second and a third appeared nearby. "I've been practicing a new trick. Would you like to see it?"

He doubted they were the same snakes every year, or that they would remember him enough to know what he meant even if they were, but they always hissed their assent to that question and he always showed them, as he would have done even if he were without an audience. These outings were always the perfect opportunity to practice his abilities. There was just something different about this wide-open, dreary place as opposed to his musty room in London, and he could rarely find the room or privacy in the city to practice bigger and flashier tricks.

He took a moment to pet each snake gathered at his feet and to hand out the dead mice he had brought along just for them. Then he stood up and closed his eyes. He felt his power rise up at once, an immense wave of wind and pressure and extended senses that always made him feel three times bigger than he really was. He always felt as though he could do anything, in that first moment. Perhaps he might even be able to fly one day with such power as this.

But first, he had to properly learn how to use it, and he hadn't quite perfected that yet.

That wasn't to say he couldn't use it well. He could command the animals some of the other children kept as pets with just a thought now. Only a year ago, it had been difficult to keep his control over one of them for any longer than a few seconds. Now he had more than enough control to hang stupid Billy Stubbs's rabbit from the rafters after the boy's slight against his parents.

A faint smile crossed his lips as he remembered Billy's face when he had seen his precious pet. He wouldn't be saying a word against his parents again any time soon.

He breathed and reached out with his extra senses. He had been practicing moving things without touching them lately, which he had always been able to do with ease but not necessarily finesse. It was the finesse he was most interested in now, as he lifted a ring of stones and set them to spinning in the air around him. Then another ring, which he set to spinning in the opposite direction. Then he began plucking stones from the two rings at random to hang them in the air in the patterns he saw in the night sky.

His power swooped happily around him, mirroring his own joy in performing such wonderful, impossible tasks. After a few minutes, he barely even had to concentrate on what he was doing; he had hardly considered the next place to set a stone before one had been set there, revolving slowly around a random axis. His power did always seem to enjoy being used, he thought, odd as that was to consider, and it generally became easier to call on and direct the longer he used it.

Until it reached its limit. He reached it a bit sooner than usual today, but then, he had been doing quite a bit more with it than usual. He finally began to feel exhausted, as though he had just run a race after a night of very little or no sleep, and he allowed his little satellites to drop back to the ground. All but one—a nicer, smoother stone than the rest—which he slipped into his pocket to play with later.

He supposed working with his power was like working with any other muscle; overworking it would do no good, but pushing it just slightly beyond its limits, while tiring and painful, would only make it stronger in the end. He was somewhat frustrated by how little he really had to do to push his power to that point, but he was sure that would change in time. He felt as though he had the power to do anything he like once he trained himself properly, and he fully intended to get there. Frustrating though it was at the moment, it would be worth it in the end...

"I'll visit again and talk to you properly tomorrow, okay?" he whispered to the snakes gathered about his feet. Then he thought about it for a moment and knelt down to allow one of them to wrap around his arm, to be a companion at least until he brought it back here tomorrow. He would enjoy having a companion for a little while, and he might even be able to sneak it into someone's bed if they annoyed him.

When Harry woke in the morning, he felt his magic dancing around him, toying with the edges of his sheets and curtains and the tips of his hair, and he couldn't remember a time when he'd felt more relaxed. It felt right to let his magic loose, to exist within it like this rather than it existing within him. It was extremely difficult to remember that he would have to get up or his friends would worry, and even more difficult to actually get out of bed. He wouldn't have minded falling back into a doze with his magic curling about him.

It was only when he did drag himself out of bed that he noticed his scar was prickling, although it was a bit different than when he woke up after dreaming about the corridor and the door. He did vaguely remember dreaming about the door again, and perhaps something about stones and snakes. That was probably only because he had been so obsessed with the Hallows over the last week and how long it had taken him to finally conjure a snake yesterday evening with Malfoy. He put it out of his mind.

It was too bad he wouldn't be meeting with Malfoy or Snape today, he thought as he made his way to the bathroom, his magic still dancing about him like a curling breeze. Malfoy had said not to expect it to manifest like this for some time, and he would be thrilled to see that Harry was a quicker learner than he'd assumed. As for Snape, he thought he might actually stand a chance of blocking the man out of his mind completely with his magic fluttering about like this.

He felt like he could do anything if he wanted it badly enough.

A delighted laugh rose in his throat, and he shrugged and let it out, uncaring whether it would only make Seamus more sure he was off his rocker or Ron to wonder what had happened to the real Harry Potter. He felt more happy and free than he had in months, and he didn't really care who knew it.