Harry Potter and the Vampire's Assistant

by JBean210

A vampire puts the bite on Harry, but it's for a good cause: he wants Harry to destroy Voldemort, even if it kills him. Ron and Hermione are also drawn into the adventure even as Harry tries to protect them.

2. Von Necros' Express

Harry Potter and the Vampire's Assistant

Chapter Two
"Von Necros' Express"

Updated September 30, 2011

"Sanguini told me he was a half-vampire," Harry said, skeptically. "But he appeared half-drunk on blood wine — I wasn't inclined to take anything he said seriously."

The stranger made a dismissive gesture. "It was unfortunate that Sanguini availed himself of too much blood wine, it tends to loosen his tongue more than is prudent."

"So you're saying that what he told me is true?" Harry pressed. "He's not a full vampire, and you are?"

The stranger nodded. "The distinction," he said, "is that half-vampires are still alive, though the Wizarding world thinks of them as undead." The stranger gestured toward himself. "I, on the other hand, have actually died, over 600 years ago." Harry just stared at him, incredulous.

"Pardon my rudeness," the stranger continued. "I should have introduced myself when we first met. I am Baron von Necros, from Transylvania."

"What did you want to talk to me about?" Harry asked, buying himself time as he tried to decide whether he could pull open the compartment door and escape before von Necros stopped him. The man's grip had been quite strong.

But von Necros must have read his intentions, somehow. "I locked the compartment door when I pulled you inside," he said, then spread his long, thin hands in a gesture of openness. "But I promise you, Harry, that I mean you no harm."

Harry sat back, wondering how long before someone came looking for him — Ron, Hermione, even Ginny, Luna or Neville. "You can say you mean me no harm," he pointed out. "But you're still keeping me here. And I have yet to see any indication that you are any more of a vampire than Sanguini," he added, to challenge him.

"That is a fair point," von Necros conceded. "I would like to show you something." One hand disappeared beneath his cloak; Harry tensed, watching him anxiously. Von Necros slowly brought out his hand; held gracefully in his fingers was a long, thin wand. "This was the wand I received from Ollivanders — oh, I attended Hogwarts, by the way — in the year 1461," he said, holding it up for Harry's inspection. "It is holly, 12 inches long, with a dragon heartstring core." Von Necros pointed it toward the compartment door and said, "Avis!" Nothing happened. Harry recognized it as a spell to conjure a flock of small, twittering birds, like the spell Hermione had used after their first Quidditch match, against Slytherin. Von Necros handed the wand to Harry. "I invite you to see if it works."

Harry hesitated, but took the wand from von Necros. It felt similar to his own holly wand, but was longer and a bit stiffer. He tried to remember one of the other spells Mr. Ollivander used to test their wands, back when he, Cedric Diggory, Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum were the four wizards of the Triwizard Tournament. He finally recalled one, held the wand out in front of himself, and said, "Orchideous!"

A bunch of flowers burst from the wand. Harry started to grab for them, but von Necros' hand moved so fast Harry didn't realize he'd caught them until his own hand closed on empty air.

"Interesting to see that it still works," von Necros murmured, examining the flowers momentarily before dropping them on the seat beside him.

"You were a wizard," Harry deduced. Von Necros nodded. "If vampires can be wizards, why doesn't the Ministry allow them to carry wands?"

"Because we cannot be wizards," von Necros explained. "When we are Made, we lose our wizarding powers: spellcasting, Animagus ability, even a Metamorphmagus can no longer change his appearance.

"There are benefits to being a vampire, however," von Necros continued. "Vampires are stronger and faster than humans, and sturdier and more resistant to damage, even magical damage." Von Necros pointed to his wand, still in Harry's hand. "Cast a Stunning spell at me," he invited.

Harry frowned. Getting hit with a Stunner was not pleasant — he knew from experience. Nonetheless, he raised the wand, pointing it at the vampire's chest at point blank range. "Are you sure?" he asked von Necros. "This will really hurt."

"You may fire when ready, Gridley," von Necros smiled.

Harry nodded, though he didn't know why von Necros had called him "Gridley." "Stupefy!" he cried, and there was a loud crack as the wand shot a red bolt of energy that impacted on the vampire's chest. The compartment actually seemed to shake a bit as the bolt pushed the thin, pale man against the back of his seat.

But rather than falling over unconscious, as Harry would have expected, von Necros merely smiled. "Didn't that hurt?" Harry asked, a bit awed by von Necros' seeming immunity to the spell.

"It stung a little," von Necros admitted. "But I sustained no damage. Would you care to try a Killing Curse on me?"

Harry flinched. "N-no," he said, offering the vampire his wand back. "I don't use Unforgiveable Curses."

Von Necros took the wand back, secreting it once again under his cloak. He gave Harry a reproachful look. "Harry, it is useless to lie to me. I know your thoughts — you have used the Cruciatus Curse on the witch Bellatrix Lestrange, who killed your godfather, Sirius Black, earlier this year at the Ministry of Magic."

"You can do Legilimency?" Harry was startled and embarrassed to have his deepest thoughts read so easily. "I thought you said you lost any wizarding powers you had when you became a vampire!"

"It is an ability some vampires possess," von Necros told him. "It is not Legilimency; as I told you, vampires lose all wizarding powers when we are Made. It is deeper than Legilimency, however, so I can know your thoughts, even those you believe shielded by Occlumency or magical wards such as the Fidelius Charm."

"I still haven't seen convincing proof that you're a vampire," Harry objected. "You might have a Shield Charm enchanting your clothing, and it's possible you learned about my duel with Lestrange, perhaps even from her," he added, making it clear that he still distrusted von Necros.

"All plausible explanations," von Necros conceded. "However, I must have your trust — it is important that you believe what I tell you about myself is true, if we are to work together for our mutual benefit."

"You want us to work together?" Harry asked. He pointed to the compartment door. "Unlock the door and allow me to leave, if I choose not to work with you."

Von Necros was silent for a moment; then, "Agreed," he said, and Harry heard the click of the compartment door unlocking. He stood and stepped over to the door, pushing it open a fraction. He turned back to von Necros.

"What is it you want us to work together on?" he asked.

"The death of Lord Voldemort," von Necros replied, his dark eyes boring into Harry.

Harry stood stock still for several seconds, taking in that statement. He pushed the compartment door closed and sat down again, facing von Necros. "What do you know of Voldemort?" he asked in a quiet, curious voice.

"He is your most implacable enemy," von Necros answered. "And a danger to everyone in Britain, including us vampires."

"What interest would vampires have in Voldemort?" Harry wanted to know.

The vampire sat back, steepling his fingers. "Much," he said, in a grave tone. "He has courted us — or rather, those he and the Wizarding world believes to be vampires, for several months now."

Harry nodded understanding. "Just like he did the giants, last year. And the dementors, and werewolves." He looked apprehensively at von Necros. "All of them have joined Voldemort. What — what do the vampires plan to do? Will you join Voldemort against the Wizarding community as well?"

"Our servants are in discussion with Voldemort's top Death Eaters now," von Necros replied. "But it is apparent that his ultimate goal is not to include vampires in a post-Voldemort rulership of the Wizarding community. While he preaches justice, or more precisely revenge, against the wizards who have repressed and domesticated vampires, his intentions seem to be the elimination of Muggle-born wizards, and enslavement of humans in the British Isles.

"As there are several vampires living in Britain at this time, a Voldemort takeover would prove to be detrimental to their well-being. The Grand Coven has ordered that we try to discover what Voldemort's goals are and how he intends to achieve them," von Necros explained.

"I've been studying Voldemort this year with my headmaster, Professor Dumbledore," Harry said, leaning forward to gaze intently at the vampire.

"And what have you learned thus far?" von Necros asked, interested.

"That he was born to a Muggle father and a witch, and that Professor Dumbledore brought him to Hogwarts when he was eleven, to begin his education," Harry said, recounting the Pensieve memories he had viewed with the headmaster. Von Necros looked contemplative as he listened to Harry's descriptions.

"Is that all you've learned?" he asked, when Harry finished.

"No, there are more memories for me to look at," Harry replied. "At least, I think there are…"

"There are," von Necros said. He sounded definite. "Voldemort has many secrets of his own."

"Such as?" Harry prompted, hoping to hear some of them.

But von Necros shook his head. "In due time, Harry, but not now. After you've heard about Horcruxes, perhaps. What I want to accomplish with this meeting is to gauge how serious you are about stopping Voldemort, and whether you are willing to work with us to do so."

Harry was disappointed at not getting any information on Voldemort, beyond a word he had never heard before — Horcruxes. However, that was secondary at the moment — he would continue his lessons with Dumbledore as they explored the memories the headmaster had collected.

As for von Necros… "I am serious about defeating Voldemort," he said, forcefully. "He killed my parents. But even more than that, he is a threat to everyone in Britain. He must be stopped before he brings about the downfall of the Wizarding world."

"Does it bother you, Harry," von Necros asked, staring deeply into Harry's eyes. "That you will also be saving vampires, werewolves and other creatures the Wizarding world wishes to keep marginalized and weak?"

"I — don't know," Harry said, honestly. "I…suppose…it depends on what their intentions are. Do vampires plan on continuing to prey on people after Voldemort is eliminated?"

"We do not 'prey' on people now, Harry," von Necros looked adamant about that statement. "I myself have not drunk unwilling human blood in years. Our intention is to remain hidden, even from the Wizarding world, after Voldemort is eliminated."

Von Necros leaned forward, watching Harry intently. "I now have a question for you, Harry Potter. It has been said that you are the 'Chosen One,' the one and only person capable of stopping Voldemort. Do you believe this is true?"

"The Daily Prophet thinks so," Harry hedged.

"No, I asked what you believe," the vampire said, shaking his head.

Harry was frankly tired of the whole 'Chosen One' thing. "I don't think so," he said flatly, waving his hand in dismissal. "But," he added, "that doesn't change the fact that I want Voldemort gone. He's hurt, killed people — people I knew, people I considered friends. Both he and —" Harry's voice caught for a moment. "— and those who follow him."

Von Necros nodded; Harry thought he caught a glimmer of sadness in the vampire's eyes. "Your godfather, Sirius, for example," he said quietly, in his deep voice.

Harry nodded, almost reluctantly. He had dealt with the loss of Sirius over the summer and had no desire to dredge it up once again. "We need not dwell on it," von Necros said quickly. "But I do want to know, Harry — are you willing to do whatever it takes to defeat him?"

After a moment, Harry nodded. "Nothing is as important as getting rid of Voldemort," he said, firmly. "I will do whatever it takes." He had already spent the past several months with Dumbledore, learning about Voldemort — Tom Riddle, as he'd once been known. Harry believed that Dumbledore was preparing him to fight Riddle, by giving him information that would eventually show them how to defeat the Dark Lord.

"Good," von Necros said, a tiny smile curving a corner of his mouth. "I will leave you now, Harry Potter, but I will be in touch with you in the future." He stood, his tall, pale form towering over Harry.

Harry looked at the compartment door, surprised. "You're not going to just walk out of here, are you?" He had no idea what other students would think if they saw someone like von Necros striding down the corridors of the train. "Won't you be affected by sunlight if you leave now?"

"That is true," von Necros admitted, staring into Harry's eyes. Those black eyes, so deep and penetrating, made Harry feel as if he were looking into infinity. "Listen to me, Harry," the vampire's voice said, commandingly. "You will remember nothing of this conversation until we speak again. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Harry felt a pressure inside his head, a pressure demanding that he agree to what the vampire was saying. Haltingly, he murmured, "I — I understand."

"You will go to sleep now," the mesmerizing voice continued. "You will awaken at the end of this journey, refreshed and eager to enjoy your holiday."

Harry nodded once again, then slowly rolled over on his side, pulling his legs up onto the bench. In a moment he was snoring peacefully, his conversation with the vampire forgotten.

=ooo=

"Harry! Oi! Harry!"

Harry awoke, finding himself lying on the compartment seat. He was a bit stiff but otherwise felt fine, rested and refreshed. "Oh, hi Ron," he said, looking at his best friend, who was leaning through the partially-open compartment door. "Are we there yet?"

"Yeah, we are!" Ron snapped, annoyed. "You an' I are the last ones on the train, Harry — everyone else is gone."

Harry sat up, looking at Ron. There was a half-remembered dream floating around the back of his mind, but it was so fuzzy he could make out none of its details. That hardly mattered, however — he felt wonderful right now, quite invigorated by his nap. There was a stiffness in his neck, probably from sleeping on the compartment bench. Harry rolled his neck, working the kinks out of it.

"What's up with the flowers?" Ron asked, pointing to the bouquet on the bench opposite Harry. Harry looked at it blankly, trying to remember.

"I dunno," he said. "I must've conjured them in my sleep, I guess." He looked around the compartment, in the overhead racks and at his feet. "Where's my stuff?" he asked, trying to recall where he'd put his things.

"Out here in the hallway," Ron said, pushing open the compartment door. Harry's rucksack and coat were there, beside the door. "What'd you do," he asked in a puzzled tone of voice. "Needed a kip so bad you just dropped them and went to sleep on the compartment bench, then?"

"I dunno," Harry said again. He barely remembered entering the compartment; the last thing he recalled was shouting at some third-years who tried to get in it ahead of him. But they'd run away, unable to get the door open, and Harry had tried it as well… but he didn't remember lying down.

"I looked for you after we were underway," Ron said, sullenly. "Romilda Vame said she offered you a seat with her and her friends, but you said no."

Harry stood up and stepped into the hallway with Ron, picking up his coat and rucksack. "Yeah," he said. "I wasn't —" he stopped, not wanting to say he wasn't sure Ron wanted to sit with him, or him with Ron, given their argument earlier that morning.

"Well, never mind," Ron said, his tone becoming more conciliatory. "We're here now — let's go find Mum and Dad. They owled me before we left the school and said they'd be here to pick us up."

Harry followed Ron off the train and onto Platform 9¾. It was nearly empty, most of the students had crossed through the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10, back to King's Cross Station. There, Harry saw many of the students meeting their parents or friends. He caught a glimpse of a brown-haired girl walking away between a man and a woman; he recognized her as Hermione Granger.

"I guess Hermione's going to stay with her parents this break?" he muttered, mostly to himself.

But Ron had heard. "Yeah," he said, sounding almost wistful. "But we'll have a great time at the Burrow without her, Harry, just you watch. Fleur's still there, you know."

Harry said nothing, knowing that Ron's interest in Fleur Delacour was due more to her being half-veela than any real interest on his part. She was Bill Weasley's fiancée, after all!

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were waiting for them near the edge of Platform 9. Mrs. Weasley waved excitedly at their approach, then grabbed Ron and hugged him tightly, kissing him on the cheek as Mr. Weasley shook Harry's hand in greeting. "Oh it's so good to see the two of you again!" she exclaimed, letting go of Ron and embracing Harry, giving him a kiss on the cheek that was so enthusiastic that it hurt his neck a bit. Harry endured it silently, however, knowing Mrs. Weasley's boundless affection for him.

When she released him, Harry looked around quickly. "Where's Ginny?" he asked, expecting to see her there as well.

"She went out to the car," Mr. Weasley explained. "I managed to borrow one from the Ministry, though Minister Scrimgeour wasn't too pleased by my request." Mr. Weasley looked apologetically at his wife. "Molly, dear, I'm afraid I'll have to return the vehicle to the Ministry as soon as we drop everyone off at home."

"Tsk!" Mrs. Weasley said, looking disgusted. "That man is so — so — well, I shouldn't say such things in front of the boys," she finally finished, grimly.

The day was overcast, but Harry nevertheless shielded his eyes as they stepped out of King's Cross station. It had been dark in the compartment and on the platform; he was surprised how bright it seemed outside. The Weasleys led the way out to the car park, where Harry and Ron found a large, black automobile, a British Rover saloon car that was similar to other Ministry cars the Ministry used. Ginny was sitting in the back seat, a blank expression on her face as they approached.

"Let's get your things put away," Mr. Weasley said, walking back to the boot. He opened it. As expected, the boot was much larger inside than was possible for a Muggle vehicle — it was enchanted by the Ministry to allow a lot of baggage to be transported. Harry and Ron threw their rucksacks inside, then climbed into the back seat with Ginny.

"Hullo," she said to Harry as he got in. The back seat, like the boot, was enchanted so that more people than normal could sit comfortably side by side. Harry nodded at her, not sure whether to smile or not. She looked at Ron but didn't say anything. After a moment Ron leaned back, looking over her head, and gave Harry a what's-with-her? expression. Harry shrugged fractionally. He was glad to see, though, that he and Ron were getting on better.

Mr. Weasley pulled the car to the exit of the car park, then paid the toll (after getting some surreptitious help from Harry with the Muggle money. "I never can keep 'pounds' and 'sense' straight in my head," he said ruefully, as Harry counted out the toll charge to him. They pulled out of the car park, then got on the A40, settling in for the long drive to Devon and Ottery St. Catchpole, the town the Burrow was closest to.

"It would certainly be nice if this car could fly," Mr. Weasley said, sounding wistful. "We could be home in short order if —"

"Arthur," Mrs. Weasley said warningly. "You're not getting another car to enchant! It's no use even thinking about it — you remember how much trouble that other car of yours caused us!"

Harry remembered that "other car" — a Ford Anglia that Mr. Weasley had taken apart, piece by piece, and enchanted so that it could fly. He'd also installed an Invisibility Booster, so no one could see the car as it rose into the air, to fly above the clouds.

Mr. Weasley sighed. "It would have gotten us home in ten minutes," he muttered, looking in the back seat. Harry saw Mr. Weasley wink at Ron, who grinned back at him. Even Ginny was smiling now, Harry noticed. He grinned too, even though ten minutes from the Burrow to King's Cross station was a stretch. The one time they had driven the car, at the beginning of their second year, it had taken as long to reach Hogwarts as the Hogwarts Express did; Harry wondered if it could have gone any faster.

"Enough, Arthur!" Mrs. Weasley snapped, and Mr. Weasley turned back to the road. She turned to look in the back seat, smiling as if she'd just commented favorably on his driving skills. "Now, who'd like to sing a song, to pass the time?" she asked. "What about 'Ninety-Nine Butterbeer Bottles?'" she suggested, and without waiting for agreement launched into the song.

Ninety-nine butterbeers hung on the wall,
Ninety-nine warm butterbeers,
You take one down
And pass it around,
Ninety-eight butterbeers hung on the wall!

Ginny began singing as well, and before long Harry, Ron and even Mr. Weasley had chimed in as well. On the thirteenth repeat of the song, just as dusk was settling around them, they finally pulled into the Burrow's front yard, stopping in front of the garage where Mr. Weasley had kept the Anglia. Mr. Weasley helped Harry, Ron and Ginny get their bags out of the boot, then kissed his wife and got back into the black Rover, pulling out into the country road that ran next to the Burrow. Ron and Harry watched as the car drove away, while Ginny and Mrs. Weasley headed into the house.

"It would have been fun if it could fly," Ron muttered, as Mr. Weasley drove out of sight around the curve of the road. Harry nodded agreement; he'd sometimes wished he could drive, like Mr. Weasley did and like Ron had done with the Anglia, those years ago. Still, he reflected, it was good enough for now that he could ride a broom, and that he had the best one on the market — the Firebolt.

Too bad he hadn't thought to bring it along, Harry suddenly realized. They might have had a chance to practice some Quidditch with Fred and George when they were here, for Christmas dinner. If Fleur and Ginny played, they could have a three-on-three game. And Ron and Ginny would get in some added flight time, something Ron could use more of.

"Come on in, boys," Mrs. Weasley called from the front door. "It's getting late, and I've made some soup to tide you over until tomorrow morning." Harry and Ron tramped into the house and back to the kitchen, where they, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley enjoyed bowls of soup and great slices of homemade bread and butter. Ginny was smiling and talkative now, telling her mother about her classes during the fall term and being Chaser on the Gryffindor team with Harry and Ron. She even recounted Ron's first outing as Keeper, where he could seem to do no wrong as he blocked score after score attempt by the Slytherin team. She did fail to mention the party afterward, however, when Ron and Lavender Brown began snogging.

After the late meal, the three of them tramped up the staircase to bed. Ginny stopped next to her room on the first floor, and Harry stopped with her. Ron was part way up the stairs to the second floor when he realized Harry was no longer behind him. He stopped, looking back down at them. "Coming, Harry?" he asked.

"In a minute," Harry nodded. "I'll just say goodnight to Ginny."

Ron shrugged and resumed climbing the stairs. Harry stared after him until Ron was out of sight, then looked at Ginny. "Thanks for not mentioning that, uh, thing with Ron and Lavender," he told her. "I'm not sure what your mum would think of that."

"Probably that he's a filthy hypocrite, like I do," snorted Ginny. "He was so scandalized when Dean and I began dating, and Michael Corner before him, but he sees nothing wrong with snogging Lavender up and down the corridors of Hogwarts."

"Uh, yeah," Harry said, uncomfortable with the thought of Ginny and Dean snogging.

Ginny must have sensed something. "You don't have a problem with it, do you, Harry?" she looked at him inquiringly.

"No, no," Harry demurred, though his words sounded hollow.

"Did you kiss Luna on your date?" she asked him bluntly.

Harry's eyes widened. "No," he shook his head. "She kissed me." Harry pointed to his cheek. "Right here."

Ginny smiled. "Luna's a nice girl," she told him. "I know she's not everyone's cup of tea, but —"

"She invited me over to visit during the break," Harry suddenly said, as though the words couldn't be held inside him a moment longer. Ginny raised an eyebrow but continued smiling.

"That's nice of her," she said. "She's told me a lot about her father and his work on the Quibbler. He did a great job printing your interview with Rita Skeeter last year."

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "Well, I better get to bed," he jerked his head toward the stairs. "Ron'll wonder where I am."

"Goodnight, Harry," Ginny said, and slipped into her room. Harry turned and trudged up the steps to Ron's room, located near the top of the house. Ron must've been tired, Harry noticed; he was already in bed and snoring. Harry sat on his camp bed, reaching into his rucksack and pulling out his pajama bottoms and an old, faded Weird Sister T-shirt he'd gotten a few Christmases ago. He quickly changed into them and laid down.

Sleep did not come easily to Harry that night. He'd slept too much on the Hogwarts Express, he decided. Something about the train ride still bothered him, however — something didn't feel right. How had he managed to sleep so long on that ride, he wondered. He tossed and turned on the camp bed, wincing when he felt a sharp pain in his neck. Had he stretched a muscle while sleeping in the compartment, he wondered. If only he could remember what he seemed to have forgotten. It was aggravating whenever he did that. Well, it would eventually come to him again, Harry decided. He did not know how long it took him to fall asleep.

=ooo=

"Baubles," said Ron confidently. It was several days after the New Year, and he, Harry and Ginny had just traveled by Floo from the Burrow to Hogwarts, a one-off connection to get students back to school safely and quickly.

The Fat Lady, who looked paler than usual, winced at his voice, then frowned at him. "No," she said, weakly.

Ron looked surprised. "What d'you mean, 'no'?" he asked.

"There's a new password," the Fat Lady informed him. "And please don't shout."

Ron looked at Harry and Ginny, who both shrugged. "But we've been away," he told the portrait. "How're we supposed to know —"

"Harry! Ginny!" a voice behind them called. It was Hermione, very pink-faced and looking as though she had just come in from outdoors. "I got back a couple of hours ago," she informed them. "I've just been down to visit Hagrid and — er, Witherwings," she said, breathlessly. "Did you have a good Christmas?"

Ron spoke first. "Yeah, it was pretty eventful, Rufus Scrimgeour showed up with —"

"I've got something for you," Hermione said to Harry, giving no indication she'd seen Ron nor heard what he'd said. "Oh, hang on — password," She turned to the Fat Lady. "Abstinence," she said.

The Fat Lady nodded feebly. "Precisely," she said, in a small voice. She swung forward, revealing the portrait hole.

"What's up with her," Harry asked Hermione, indicating the Fat Lady's portrait as they clambered through the hole.

The common room was packed. Evidently Harry, Ron and Ginny had been one of the last groups of Gryffindors to come through McGonagall's fireplace.

"Overindulgence, apparently," Hermione answered, with a roll of her eyes, leading the way into the packed room. "She and her friend Violet drank their way through all the wine in that picture of drunk monks, down by the Charms corridor. Anyway, let's see…" She felt around in a pocket for a moment, then handed Harry a small parchment scroll. Harry unrolled it, seeing Dumbledore's writing on it.

"Great," Harry grinned, reading that his next lesson with Dumbledore was scheduled for the following evening. "I've got loads to tell him," he said, sighing tiredly. The past few days had been so busy he'd been exhausted each evening by bedtime, but he'd hardly got any sleep any of the nights he was at the Burrow. "And to tell you," he added, looking at Hermione. "Let's sit down," he said, looking for a table.

At that moment there was a loud squeal of "Won-Won!" and Lavender hurtled out of nowhere, flinging herself into Ron's arms. Ginny snorted to herself, and several onlookers sniggered as Ron and Lavender spun around, kissing one another. Hermione laughed momentarily, then pointed toward a corner. "Well, there's a table over there. Coming with, Ginny?" she asked the youngest Weasley.

"No, thanks," Ginny replied. "I said I'd meet Dean." Harry noticed that she did not sound especially pleased. She waved, moving off to find Dean, and Harry and Hermione walked toward the table, leaving Ron and Lavender looking as though they were locked in a vertical wrestling match.

"How was your Christmas?" Harry asked, after they'd sat down. It felt good to sit, Harry thought; after rushing about this morning getting ready to return to Hogwarts, he felt done in already.

"Oh fine," Hermione shrugged. "It was nothing special." Her voice took on a sardonic tone. "How was it at Won-Won's?"

"I'll get to that in a minute," Harry replied, evasively. He started to ask if she could cut Ron some slack, but she stopped him with a fierce look that brooked no further argument.

"You had something else to tell me?" Hermione then asked, and Harry recounted what he had overheard during Malfoy and Snape's conversation, the night of Slughorn's party. After he'd finished, he noticed Hermione's expression. She looked quite skeptical. She was evidently going to pick holes in his story. "Don't you think—"

"— that Snape was pretending to offer help, to trick Malfoy into telling what he's up to?" Harry finished for her.

"Well, yes."

Harry's face twisted grudgingly. "Ron's dad and Lupin think so, too," he told her. "But you can't deny this proves Malfoy's plotting something, doesn't it?"

"I suppose not," she agreed, slowly.

"And that he's acting on Voldemort's orders, just like I said?" Harry continued, pressing his theory.

Hermione cocked her head. "Did either of them actually say Voldemort's name?" she asked, pointedly.

Harry sighed tiredly. He frowned, trying to remember. "I dunno, not sure… But Snape did say 'your master' — who else would that be?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know, either." She bit her lip, thinking intently. "Could he have meant Malfoy's father?"

Neither of them said anything. Hermione stared across the room, lost in thought. She didn't even seem to notice Lavender tickling Ron. Finally she asked, "How's Lupin doing?"

"Not very good," Harry told her. He told her what Lupin had told him, about his mission among the werewolves, trying to build support for the Order against Voldemort. "He mentioned a werewolf named Fenrir Greyback — ever heard of him?"

Hermione stared at him in surprise. "Yes, I have!" she said. "And so have you, Harry — remember?"

Harry was too tired to think clearly. "What, History of Magic?" he asked. "You know I never paid attention —"

"No, not then," Hermione interrupted. "We heard Malfoy threaten Borgin with him!" They had been in Fred and George's joke shop when she, Ron and Harry saw Malfoy skulking into Knockturn Alley. They'd followed him under the Invisibility Cloak, to Borgin and Burke's, where they'd listened to Malfoy question Borgin about something neither of them identified.

"Oh yeah!" Harry remembered now. "I forgot about that! Well, that proves Malfoy's a Death Eater, how else would he be in contact with Greyback and telling him what to do?"

"It's pretty suspicious," Hermione admitted, nearly whispering. "Unless…"

"Oh come on!" Harry said, in exasperation. "You can't get round this one!"

"It might have been an empty threat," Hermione pointed out.

Harry shook his head. "You're unbelievable, you know that? Well, we'll see who's right… Mind you, you'll be eating your words, just like the Ministry. Oh, that reminds me," he added. "I had a row with Rufus Scrimgeour, too…"

Harry and Hermione spent the rest of the evening abusing the Minister of Magic. Hermione, like Ron had said after Scrimgeour's visit, thought the Ministry had a great deal of nerve asking him for help after all the rubbish they had put him through the previous year.

Finally Hermione put a hand over her mouth, stifling a tremendous yawn. "Sorry, Harry," she said apologetically. "I really have to get some sleep." She stood. "Are you going up to your room, too?" she asked, looking around at the now-empty common room.

"In a bit," Harry said. He'd been tired all day, but as late as it was now he seemed to have caught a second wind, and was not sleepy at all. It had been this way for the past several days now, ever since he'd gone to the Burrow. "Get some rest," he told her. "I'll see you tomorrow morning at breakfast."

Hermione nodded at him. "Don't stay up too late," she cautioned. "The new term starts tomorrow," she reminded him, then departed up to the girls' dormitories. Harry sat at the table for some time, his mind roiling with unanswered questions about his inability to sleep at night and the tiredness he felt during the daytime. Eventually, though, quite without his conscious knowledge, his eyes closed and Harry dropped off to sleep.

The next morning he awoke in his dormitory bed, feeling tired. Harry sat up, looking at the other beds. All of them were empty, including Ron's. Harry quickly changed into his school robes and dragged himself down to the common room, to find a small crowd milling about the notice board. As Harry approached he saw the notice for Apparition Lessons. It was a twelve-week course and cost 12 Galleons. Harry took out a quill and signed his name at the bottom of the notice. He trudged tiredly down to the Great Hall, where he found Ron, Seamus and Neville talking excitedly about being able to vanish and reappear at will.

Harry sat down next to Ron, not feeling very hungry, and took a piece of toast off a plate, chewing on it listlessly. It tasted like cardboard to him.

Ron noticed this. "You've been off your feed a bit," he muttered to Harry. "Anything wrong, mate?"

"Just — not very hungry the past few days," Harry replied.

Ron grinned at him. "Fleur has that effect on me, too," he said, nudging Harry in the side, then pointed to his plateful of food. "But I got better. Don't worry, you will too."

Harry didn't say anything, though he doubted it was Fleur's presence at the Burrow that had affected his appetite. He spent the rest of the day practically sleepwalking through classes, as Ron talked up Harry's having Apparated, with — well, someone, Ron said, though he almost gave away it had been Dumbledore. Harry was still answering questions about it just before eight p.m. that evening, when he was due at Dumbledore's study.

With barely enough time to spare, Harry stood. "I've — er — gotta return a book to the Library," he said, "before Madam Pince has my bum in a sling." Quickly excused, as most students there had undergone Pince's verbal thrashings, Harry was able to make it to make it to the Headmaster's office just in time.

Dumbledore welcomed him into his study, gesturing for him to take a chair opposite him in front of the desk. The headmaster sat at his desk, the Pensieve between them, ready for the lesson. Once again Harry noticed Dumbledore's right hand; it was as blackened and burnt-looking as ever, and Harry wondered, as he had before, what had caused such an unusual injury.

He also wanted to talk about Snape and Malfoy, but before he could, Dumbledore asked about his meeting with Rufus Scrimgeour at the Burrow.

"He's not very happy with me," Harry muttered, unrepentantly.

Dumbledore sighed. "He is not happy with me either. But we must try not to sink beneath our anguish, Harry, and battle on."

Harry broke into a grin. Dumbledore's humor was as subtle as ever. "He wanted me to tell the Wizarding community that the Ministry is doing a wonderful job," he amplified.

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "Yes, just as Fudge wanted you to do, when he was about to lose his position," he reminded Harry. "He hoped to retain his position by seeking your support."

"After everything Fudge did to me last year, and to you?" Harry snarled angrily. "After Umbridge?" The back of his right hand itched, reminding him of the scars that still shone there. Scars that spelled out the words, "I must not tell lies." He had shown them to Scrimgeour at their meeting, shown the Minister of Magic what he thought after learning that Umbridge was still at the Ministry.

"I told Cornelius there was no chance of him meeting you, but the idea did not die when he left office. Shortly after Scrimgeour's appointment we met and he demanded I arrange a meeting with you. I refused, and some unfortunate words passed between us —"

Harry nodded quickly. "That was in the Daily Prophet!" he said, his tiredness beginning to evaporate. He was getting his second wind again.

Dumbledore nodded. "The Prophet occasionally reports the truth," he said, wryly. "If only accidentally. Yes, that is why we argued. Apparently Rufus found a way to corner you at last."

Harry nodded grimly. "He knew I was at the Burrow — I'll bet that's why he let Mr. Weasley borrow the Ministry car!"

"Undoubtedly," Dumbledore concurred.

"Scrimgeour accused me of being your man, through and through."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "How very rude of him," he said, mildly.

"I told him I was," Harry replied immediately.

Dumbledore was silent, and Harry had the horrible feeling that Dumbledore was near tears. He hastily stared down at his knees, not wanting to embarrass his headmaster. When Dumbledore next spoke, however, his voice was steady. "I am quite touched, Harry."

"He wanted to know where you go when you're not at Hogwarts," Harry said, not looking up.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Yes, he is very nosy about that." He sounded so normal that Harry looked up at him again. "He set Dawlish to tail me, which I found quite amusing, really. I have already been forced to jinx Dawlish once, last year; I did it again, with the greatest regret.

"Well, enough of that," Dumbledore said, suddenly brisk. "On to the matter at hand — I have two very important Pensieve memories for you to review, Harry —"

"Er — sir," Harry interrupted, as politely as he could manage. "There is something I want to discuss, first."

Dumbledore looked interested. "By all means, Harry, please continue."

"It's about Malfoy and Snape, sir."

"Professor Snape, Harry," Dumbledore reminded him.

"Yes sir." Harry went on to describe what he'd heard them discussing. Dumbledore listened impassively. He was silent for several seconds after Harry finished.

At last he spoke. "Thank you for telling me this, Harry, but I do not consider it of great importance. I suggest you put it out of your mind."

Harry stared at the headmaster incredulously. "Not important? Did you not understand —?"

"Harry," Dumbledore interrupted him in turn, his voice becoming sharp. "I understood everything you told me. I think you should consider the possibility that I understood more than you did, gifted as I am with extraordinary brainpower. Let me reassure you once more that you have not told me anything that causes me disquiet."

Inwardly, Harry was seething. He glared at Dumbledore, wondering if Hermione, Mr. Weasley and Lupin had been right, and Dumbledore already knew what was going on, or if he was worried by what Harry had just told him, but was pretending not to be? "So you still trust Snape?" he asked, in what he hoped was a polite, calm voice.

"My answer, as I was tolerant enough to tell you once already, has not changed," Dumbledore said, sounding anything but tolerant now.

"I should think not," a voice added snidely; Harry saw that Phineas Nigellus had only pretended to be asleep. Dumbledore gave no indication he'd heard the former headmaster's retort.

Harry slumped weakly, mutinous but unwilling to press his position any further. He leaned forward, letting his head rest against the palm of his hand.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Dumbledore sounded concerned.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied sullenly. "I'm just a bit tired." Which wasn't exactly true, now — he'd gotten his second wind while talking about Snape and Malfoy, and he was angry that the professor had refused to consider what he'd told him.

Dumbledore rose to his feet and walked around to where Harry was sitting. "Several of your teachers approached me at dinner, earlier," he said quietly. "They were concerned about your behavior in class. You seemed quite disinterested and listless — weary, even. Is there something you wish to tell me about?"

"I don't know if there's anything to tell," Harry answered. "I've just been — tired — the past few days."

"Should I send you down to Madam Pomfrey?" Dumbledore suggested. "She may be able to determine if there is anything wrong with you."

Harry shook his head. "I don't think that's necessary, sir," he demurred.

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "I understand," he said. "However," the headmaster continued. "Fortunately, I am the one that makes that decision, not you, and I do deem it necessary." He walked back around his desk, taking a piece of parchment and quill and writing on it. He folded the parchment and handed it to Harry. "Please go to the infirmary and give this note to Poppy. We will continue your lesson another time."

Harry got to his feet, annoyed by Dumbledore's overriding his wishes on the issue of his health. He nodded perfunctorily then turned on his heel and stalked out of the headmaster's study. Once in the corridor outside the entrance to Dumbledore's study, Harry tried to open the parchment, to see what he'd written. But the parchment refused to open for him. Disgruntled, Harry walked slowly to the infirmary, taking his time and mentally abusing the headmaster's insensitivity about his feelings and the cavalier way he dismissed Harry's concerns about Malfoy and Snape.

Reaching the infirmary, Harry strode inside, walking up to Madam Pomfrey's office and knocking on the door. It was several moments before she answered, in her dressing gown. "Yes, Potter, what is it?" she asked, looking both impatient and concerned. Wordlessly he handed her the scrap of parchment from Dumbledore.

Madam Pomfrey stared at it a moment before taking her wand out of her gown and tapping the parchment with it. She read what Dumbledore had scribbled on it, then looked up at Harry, suddenly brisk and businesslike.

"Let's have a look at you, then," she said, leading him to a nearby bed and having him sit down. Passing her wand over him several times, she got a faraway look in her eyes for a moment. Then she seemed to come back to the present, and hurried into her office, returning a minute later with a tray holding several bottles and spoons.

"We'll have you fixed up in a jiffy, dear," she said, measuring out a spoonful of liquid from one bottle. "Take this."

"What am I taking?" Harry asked, keeping his mouth as tightly closed as possible, to keep her from shoving the spoon in his mouth.

"It's a Blood Replenishing potion," Pomfrey said. "You're a trifle anemic."

Harry grudgingly opened his mouth and let her give him the potion. She picked up another bottle, measuring out another spoonful and holding it in front of Harry, who raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"This is a Calming Draught," she said, answering his unspoken question. "It will keep you from feeling nauseous from effects of the Replenishing Potion."

Harry remembered that when Mr. Weasley had been bitten by Voldemort's snake last year, he'd had to take liberal amounts of Blood-Replenishing Potion to combat the effects of the snake's venom, which kept his wounds flowing despite treatments by St. Mungo's Healers. He had never heard that Mr. Weasley had to take a Calming Draught. Nevertheless, he opened his mouth, accepting the spoonful of potion. After a few moments his head slumped onto his chest, and Harry felt extremely tired.

"Down you go, dear," Pomfrey said soothingly in his ear, rolling Harry onto his back and lifting his feet into the bed, then covering him with a blanket. "Sorry about this, but Dumbledore wants you to sleep the rest of the night." She looked up as the infirmary door opened again and Dumbledore himself slipped into the room.

"How is he?" the headmaster asked Pomfrey, quietly.

"Resting comfortably," the nurse answered, in an equally soft voice. "I gave him a dose of Sleeping Draught to put him out for a while, so I can perform some tests on him, to determine what's at the root of his tiredness and inability to sleep."

But Harry was not asleep, contrary to what the nurse and the headmaster believed. The Sleeping Draught had put his body to sleep, but not his mind. His breathing was slow and steady, just as if he were asleep, but his mind was still racing. In fact, he seemed more alert now than he had when awake — even with his eyes closed he could tell exactly where Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore were in the room.

"Good," the headmaster was saying. "Please let me know when you discover the cause of Mr. Potter's symptoms. I will be working in my study." Harry heard the professor's footsteps, quite clearly despite the fact he was wearing slippers instead of boots, his customary footwear during the day. The professor left the infirmary, and Harry listened to him padding away down the corridor. It seemed to take some time before they finally faded away.

"Well, let's see what going on with you, Mr. Potter," Harry heard Madam Pomfrey say, now quite close to him. He heard the sound of a wand being drawn from a robe's pocket, heard the swish of its motions above him.

"Hmm. Curious," Pomfrey muttered. "Quite curious." The swishing sounds continued. "Oh, my…" she muttered, and Harry heard rapid footsteps toward her office. Listening intently, he heard the sound of a quill being dipped in ink, the scratching of it against parchment. She was writing a note to Dumbledore, Harry surmised. What had she discovered about his condition?

The scratching suddenly stopped. Harry concentrated, trying to figure out what she was doing next. There was an almost inaudible sound of cloth against wood. What could that be? Harry wondered. He continued to listen, trying to figure out what she was doing next, when a hand suddenly slid beneath his back. Who was this, Harry wondered. He had heard no footsteps approaching him.

Fingers pressed softly on his chin, opening his mouth. He felt a glass vial pressed against his lips, and the sensation of liquid being poured into his mouth. A hand pushed his mouth closed, and fingers squeezed his nostrils shut. "Swallow," a familiar-sounding voice whispered near his ear. Harry did so, feeling the liquid sliding down his throat. Within a few seconds his eyes fluttered open once again, and Harry found a tall, pale figure hunched over him.

"Hello, Harry," von Necros smiled thinly, staring down at him with those deep, black, mesmerizing eyes. "We meet again — sooner than I expected, to be quite honest."