"Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever. How cute."
There was a grunt to his left and a nervous sigh to his right and he adjusted just slightly to make sure the Cloak of Invisibility remained over himself and his companions.
"Is there a reason we're just sitting here? We already know-"
"Draco," Harry's voice was cold but amused, "relax and listen. The meeting is interesting, isn't it?"
There was a slight gulp next to him, but he ignored it and nuzzled a bit closer to the warmth caged on either side of him. It was a bit chilly in the hallway after all and they had to make sure they were nice and cozy in their nook of darkness, lest anyone emerge from the staff room before them.
"And what do you think, Ron?"
The boy jerked slightly before he cleared his throat, all eagerness and nervous energy, "It is important to listen in on this sort of stuff."
Draco snorted.
Ron shifted a bit uncomfortably.
If Harry had known he'd end up sharing the cramped space of his cloak with not one, but two of his friends, he might have decided to remain in the Slytherin dungeons, instead of crouched and cramping with two competitive energies buzzing at his side.
"Why is he here?"
Harry could imagine Draco's indignant pout, "he's to be one of our friends, of course, and he's worried."
"About the mud-erk, Muggleborn, yes but he can worry in his Common Room can't he?"
Harry gave a tilt of his head, but Ron spoke before he could formulate a response.
"If there's been another attack I'm worried that the staff doesn't care. I mean... " He shrugged, an act that raised and lowered his shoulder against Harry's own, "I don't want her to get hurt, is all. It could be her next."
There was an awkward sigh before Ron's voice came again, "S-so thank you for… for allowing me to be here, Harry, Malfoy."
Harry chuckled a bit, pleased that Ron had included Draco in the thanks, knowing that the boy had been very displeased when Harry had given him the details of their little… mission. Besides, it must have been horrible in the Common Room once the words had been discovered and Ron hadn't been in the dining hall when they'd discovered the newest act of maliciousness by the heir. Let no one think he wasn't a gracious lord.
Draco made a sound of indifference, but Harry could tell he was pleased either way, and soon they returned to silence to hear more of what was said beyond the space. The unwarded space.
A mistake, that.
"And the headcount? The Aurors have Dumbledore practically locked in his office. If we don't take care of this nobody else will."
"Just be glad there isn't another body," A familiar voice drawled-Snape, "I'm sure Dumbledore's heart wouldn't be able to take it."
"Mind yourself," accented and heavy, tired-McGonagall, no doubt, "give me your count."
Straight to business, that one, though she was probably done with the nonsense and the lack of progress.
"All my students were accounted for, and yours?"
"Every one," Flitwick responded.
"Same," Sprout sighed.
"And yet," Snape said, "I believe one of our students-of-interest was caught out and about during the scream?"
"Out and about," McGonagall mocked, and there was a sound then, the clicking of glass, "I suppose that Mr. Weasley was, in fact, out and about. With Mr. Potter, no less. So, if we're going to point fingers-"
Flitwick hissed, "Not this again. Not this again."
"I am only stating the facts the Aurors were concerned about," Snape defended, but his tone was more apathetic than pushing. "Mr. Potter being there or not aside since we all know it certainly couldn't have been him."
And the bulk of them barely knew about or paid much mind to the ring on his hand, what with the careful approach they'd taken to him all year.
"I just don't think the boy is capable," a new tone interrupted, suspiciously happy, "He's a Weasley after all, and his grades are-"
Another clink of glass while Ron stiffened and growled low in his throat beside him.
"Ah yes, well thank you for that genius observation, Gilderoy. What other statements would you like to add to this meeting?"
"W-well I, I don't mean to be… ah, rude-"
"The competence or lack of competence of a student is not currently up for discussion." Snape snapped, "We are not here to speculate. That is not our job. Our job is to protect-"
"And I am protecting, Severus. Just like in my book, The Haunted Horse-"
There's a choking sound then, like someone swallowed something wrong, before the voices start again, vicious… harsh. It's a bit surprising to hear it from McGonagall-
"Oh! Oh! Yes. One of your books. Heroes of all Heroes, or some such. And yet, here we are, with petrified students-"
"Minerva," Snape said, a false mocking gasp in his tone and a lack of care in the address, "we mustn't expect Lockhart to actually care about this little mystery. It's hardly as grand as any adventure in his books."
There's some sputtering behind the door and a cruel chuckle from Ron-and surprisingly, a happy little sound from Draco.
"The point of the matter is," Flitwick interjected, "that we have a student missing."
Now Harry shifted, hungry for information.
"And they're talking about closing Hogwarts down as soon as tomorrow."
He stood up so abruptly that the boys at his side were exposed and visible for several painful seconds. Draco swallowed a yelp and Ron nearly fell over in his crouch trying to stand so quickly, but he knew that they were both as invested as he was in hearing more and maybe, maybe, it was time to hand over his own information…
"Without even looking for her?" Sprout seemed horrified.
"You have a Weasley down there, not a Greengrass or a Bones. I'm not sure how much the powers-that-are care."
Beside him Ron had gone so terribly still. He trembled, his breath quickened, and Harry had to reach out a hand to grip the back of his neck harshly to keep him from stumbling from under the cloak in a blind rage.
What delicious anger that was, barely contained in his flexing body, held only in place by the suffocating curl of Harry's will… but it was so inconvenient.
So much so that he missed the end of whatever it was Snape was trying to say, but he certainly heard the outrage of the teachers before a literal snarl echoed in from beyond the door-
"Fix. It. Mister. Hero."
Silence. Dead and sudden. It was so thick and potent that even Harry held his breath and Ron came to himself, still held so completely in his grip. He had only ever heard one adult speak like that in his lifetime, one god command such instant quiet and he was surprised that she was able to emulate that sort of authority so completely.
On the other side of the door he heard a soft whimper and then a stuttered, "Y-you can't be serious?"
Magic pulsed like a heady perfume beyond the door, a taste of bestiality and the heavy weight of experience. She spoke again, though her tone was a little softer, exhausted but righteous.
"Go."
And the door began to open.
Harry was quick in releasing Ron and tightening the cloak around them. Almost instinctively they pressed back against the wall, breath held as Lockhart slipped from the staff room with drawn in shoulders and a forlorn expression. He shuffled awkwardly and quickly down the hall in the direction of what Harry assumed was his office and wordlessly Harry and his company began to follow. It seemed only logical that if the great hero and explorer was going out to hunt a monster that such information should go to him to assist in the task.
What he had not expected was a bit of a show.
"H-harry!" Lockhart crowed, his normal tone of false sincerity a bit shaken. But, maybe that was due to the fact he'd been caught with a fistful of files in his grip and an open half-packed suitcase on his desk. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
Draco carefully but quickly began to fold the cloak, well trained in handling it with all the delicacy of someone who might be flayed alive if they didn't. It gave Harry enough time to put all his attention upon the man, who continued to haphazardly throw things into his expanded trunk.
"What are you doing?" The words were stated with all the curiosity he could muster while his chest grew tight with the sign of… displeasure. Beside him he could feel Ron take a deep breath and hold it, the pieces of the puzzle already fitting together easily for him. After all, the room was half empty, divested of all Lockhart's personal effects.
He was running. Running from his responsibility of the student body, the order of the Deputy-Head, and the task he'd been given.
Ah, another incompetent power put in place to keep them weak, though he had long suspected such due to the mediocre and less than effective teaching of his class.
Slowly Lockhart stood straighter, no longer hunched and desperately trying to stuff his belongings into his trunk. For a long time, he merely stared at him, before with a wordless wave of his wand he pushed out his magic, flicking it toward the door and causing it to shut with a click of finality.
Immediately Draco and Ron drew their wands, a healthy dose of instinct for danger humming through them. As one they stepped forward, not blocking Harry's path of fire-a good idea, should he need to retaliate-but making sure that they became the first line of defense.
Lockhart chuckled slightly, amused by their placement no doubt, but his gaze was all for Harry, "Allow me to be honest?"
Harry nodded and gave a boyish shrug, "Aren't you always?"
To that Lockhart waved his wand, causing a few books to fly off the nearby shelves and park themselves neatly on the desk beside him. They were his books, all titles of his outlandish tales of daring.
All lies.
"I'm an ordinary fellow," he said, tone somewhat conspiratorial, "horribly ordinary. You see, these books of mine are a bit embellished."
"Oh?" Harry said, his gaze wide, keeping up the facade of the bewildered and curious.
"It's just that," he laughed then, a hand set to rub the back of his head, "I didn't do anything in them. Someone else did the hero work and, well, I charmed them to forget it. Memory manipulation is my affinity, brilliant at it but not much else. Still, it's much easier to become somebody, while riding on the back of a nobody, isn't it?"
His grin thereafter was a bit sly, a bit mean, "You're a Slytherin, aren't you Harry? I know you get it."
They were silent in return, Ron with a flushed face and a lip held between his teeth so tightly it bled and Draco with his face twisted into a patent sneer. It was Ron who broke the quiet first, screeching-
"They left my sister to you?! You?! And you're running? Instead of just saying-"
Lockhart cringed slightly, and Harry flicked his wrist to remove his wand from its holster while Ron continued to rant.
"Horrid, just horrid! Is it because she's a Weasley that you're choosing to run or would you have abandoned anyone? You haven't tried all year to find the culprit, have you? And poor Hagrid was snatched away on your word!"
Ah, of course. If Lockhart had claimed to find the true heir, then naturally the naive and foolish might believe him. Maybe that was why McGonagall had been so harsh. It was difficult to swallow the loss of staff for an issue that had never been solved.
"And… and you told them-" Here Ron had to pause to catch his breath, "-you told them to keep an eye on me, and I couldn't even piss alone! I'd been trying so hard to convince them it wasn't me and you kept throwing out hints and-"
Fury choked him. His shoulders shook. His gaze was beast-like, and had it not been for Draco's gasp and sudden yell of the disarming charm, he might have missed Lockhart's attempt to compromise them.
That did not sit well with Harry.
And he was incredibly grateful then, for the locked door and the silencing ward as Lockhart gave a yelp and his wand flew into Draco's waiting grasp.
Harry lifted his hands and gave a bit of a dry clap, "Good show, I suppose."
He let his tone dip, destroyed the falsified persona of the naive and betrayed boy to instead display the chilling curiosity beneath that, almost clinical with inspection, "You've stolen lives to feed your own. Admirable, in a way, to steal their accomplishments."
Ron gave a sharp gasp, but didn't move, didn't dare turn his gaze from Lockhart, even as Harry rocked back and forth on his heels and began to drip his essence, the magic that came to his call and curled possessively over his collection-and he took a private moment to watch Ron react, to notice how he shuddered, how he tried to repress a grin when he tasted Harry's power and intention.
But for Lockhart he allowed his magic to press forward, to make the man swallow with furrowed brows and grimace in a display of perfect teeth, "So… you do understand?"
"I understand that you're a bit of a coward-"
"-Now there's no need for-"
"-I prefer to steal lives in another manner. More of a blood and bone sort, instead of a memory sort."
Lockhart stepped around his desk, moving forward one slow step after the other, pale but still so very confident even as Harry leveled the pressure of his empty focus upon him.
"I took this role to find an adventure," he began.
"One is here," Harry said.
The sound of a snap seemed painfully loud in the space as Draco cracked Lockhart's wand over his knee, a move that had the professor whip his head toward him in surprise and fury-
A fury Ron still ebbed with as he lifted his wand to remind Lockhart that he was there and still very pissed.
"Is it that you cannot steal the credit for a mystery that hasn't been solved?" Harry tapped his chin. "I could help you solve it."
He turned his scowl from Draco to Harry, his voice strained with budding loathing, "Oh really? And how do you suspect to do that?"
"Well," Harry ignored his irritation, it was understandable, considering Draco was pocketing the broken halves of his wand and all, "It's a basilisk. That's what's doing it. Attacking the students. You... do you know what one is, don't you?"
For a moment Lockhart lost his ire and his gaze combed the room for a moment in thought, "A bloody basilisk? And how long has that been here?"
"A good question," Harry drawled, "but the better one is what do we do about it?"
"We?" Lockhart laughed bitterly, "We will be doing nothing together, boy. What with my lack of wand and all-"
"But that's where you're wrong," Harry chirped, suddenly chipper, "you have one more story to star in. A real one."
Here Ron lowered his head and swallowed nervously while Draco looked at them both with unveiled curiosity.
"My Lord?" He said, uncaring of Lockhart's sudden wild expression of budding disbelief as he said it.
Harry ignored his questioning expression and Lockhart's sputtering to instead place the brilliant green of his gaze upon Ron. Ron, who lifted his head slowly and allowed the haunted darkness of his blue eyes to clear into a whirlwind of determination. His wand, held tight in his fist, pointed toward the professor-
"You know what I want," Harry said, a bit of boyish mischief in his voice, "and friends, good friends, bond well over a bit of adventure."
Ron's grip trembled, he sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and Lockhart opened his mouth to speak-
Right before Harry flicked his wand and his mouth slammed shut, sealed as the flesh around his lips broke apart and twisted into strips that knitted themselves-painfully if Lockhart's screams were any indication-together in a patchwork pattern moistened with blood.
He fell to his knees, hands over his mouth, but Harry never wavered in his focus, in the attention Ron had earned from him. In the attention he hoped Ron intended to keep.
Draco muttered something unintelligible beside him, but he paid him no mind. Instead he watched his reacquired friend, saw the flicker of greed swim among the lighter blues. Saw that blue then darker and shift with admiration, curiosity, and desire for more. For power.
His hand steadied.
"Ronald Weasley, of the Fallen House of Weasley. It is still Ancient. Even if it is no longer Noble. So, I know, in the depths of that home, wherever it is, your mother and father keep a book."
For a moment Harry closed his eyes and relished in the beauty of the moment. He hummed to himself, drew fingertips across his belly in a tap tap tap motion of thought and when he reopened them he noticed that Ron's gaze had hardened.
Determined.
He understood.
"It is a book that I was obligated to read at the Malfoys. A book that all good wizarding families of standing, once or otherwise, have their sons and daughters at least glance over. It is a book of our most ancient magic, raw and potent and forbidden, of olde ways and lost tradition done away by those who mean to use us as tools to build their empires."
Ron closed his eyes and hissed, lips turned down in a hard frown.
"I know you have read this book, Ronald, but you have yet to honor it."
Lockhart's harsh breathing filled the silence Harry left behind, but he was stumbling to his feet and his magic was weakening. Soon the wards would break, the privacy of their space would end…
But not his corruption.
"And so, I must know, Ronald, if you are a tool used to build their empire, where your back is fit to be burdened and stepped upon, or a wizard ready for purpose and worth."
When Ron reopened his eyes, his hand was already going through the motion, even as Lockhart tried to lunge forward to stop the spell that was cast almost perfectly from Ron's wand. Harry made sure to give him a little help, after all, it was unfair to think that Ron's first try would be flawless, and it was the thought and the heady pulse of Ron's intent that mattered.
Harry could have practically purred when Ron said, without a single doubt in his tone, his excited- "Imperio."
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Once he had a taste of it, he hadn't been able to stop. The raw pure ability to control, to manipulate, to be one with their most ancient magics and darkest intents… It had driven something in him, an obsessive need to be perfect, to know every single bit of power that had been denied him so that when his Lord returned to him he would be of immediate use.
He could tell just by how vibrant Ron was that he felt the same, that the use of that forbidden spell had ignited his inner fire in a way mundane magics and charms would never be able to accomplish. Obsessive need swam thickly through his veins. The poison of dark magic, of potent magic, slithered throughout his core. That was the danger about dark magic, it felt… rather lovely to use, to feel the hum of reality's will bending to accomplish the near impossible in a way that connected one so much closer to godhood, to wilderness, to the ether and the screaming leylines that ran beneath their walking feet.
"Again," Ron garbled, and Draco sighed before them, his lumos steady as he lit up the way in the tunnels they had just entered, after following a trail of leaking water into the haunted bathroom, with a clever bit of Harry's snake-tongue.
"Again?" Harry repeated, lightheartedly, knowing that once this debacle was over Ron's summer would be filled with a new sort of exploration. "Draco, if you would?"
The Malfoy Heir grunted, "One more time, I'd like to get to bed at some point, my Lord."
And he was right, it was very late, wasn't it?
So, Harry twisted around on the balls of his feet and gave a wordless flick of his wand, freeing Lockhart from Ron's imperio with a metaphysical snap.
And immediately the man was screaming, his mouth freed from Harry's earlier spell, his lips in nasty tatters with crusted crimson patched upon his chin. Sweat-slick and bewildered, he stumbled and fell on his arse, but all to soon he was trying to scramble backwards and run.
With his tongue stuck out the corner of his mouth, Ron pointed his wand and whispered the spell again, shuddering when the magic burst from his body to strike the man. He slouched and collapsed onto the floor only to twitch as Ron narrowed his eyes in focus and pouted.
"Still not good enough... to maintain on my own." Ron croaked.
"We'll practice it, I promise." Harry said, sparing a bit of time to pat Ron on the shoulder even as Lockhart began to writhe like a worm, fighting against Ron's untrained bit of control magic. "I want to take over from here anyway."
He could hear the hissing nearby, the nondescript sounds and grunts that were almost words.
"What?" Ron blinked, magic drunk.
"I need you and Draco," Harry was quick to add, just in case the boy had a smug look behind him, "to stay here and watch the entrance to the tunnels. I need to speak with the Big Scary Snake. Best do that alone, where you two can't be harmed."
"But we won't be," Draco said, his expression a look of intense concern. Endearing, but not enough to move him, "We're purebloods-"
"And invaders." Harry interrupted. "But worry not, I will have a shield of meat and bone to protect me, if the snake should be unwilling to accommodate my presence…"
Draco looked entirely unconvinced and Harry could see doubt and a sense of duty infect his gaze as he approached. His invasion of Draco's personal space was noted but the boy hardly backed down from him, standing strong in his presence, "You are my Lord and your orders are begrudgingly noted, but I don't want you to get…"
He cast a nervous gaze to Ron and left the statement unanswered, but Harry knew and he understood what couldn't be said.
"You forget who I am, Draco." Harry whispered, only to lift a hand and tug playfully on one of his ears, "I am His, and truly, I am the heir, even if someone else is claiming to be such."
Draco dropped his gaze down to the twisted ring about his finger, the one that seemed so unremarkable until one focused long and hard upon it, before he stepped back, making room for Harry and the twitching meat-sack waddling over as Ron moved him with renewed focus and concentration.
"I am fond of him after all," Harry said, as he lifted his wand in preparation to take over the spell, "I won't be long. Watch over him, brother."
Draco brought a fist over his chest and pressed it against his collar, a wizard's salute, "Your interests are my interests, Harry. We'll make a decent wizard of him yet."
Harry smiled, something soft and kind and real before he flicked his wand and took control of the spell over Lockhart. Instantly his movements smoothed out and he looked more natural. He even gave a dazzling smile before he walked past Harry, uttering a-
"Are you ready for an adventure, Harry?" Through blood crusted lips.
To which Harry replied, "Absolutely, Professor Lockhart." in his boyishly innocent tone.
And as he walked away, he felt something odd swell in his chest, something… strong and unwavering and Draco said, to his back-
"Be safe, brother."
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
The entrance into what Harry assumed was the Chamber was massive in structure, a daunting carving of tangled snakes, eating each other-always eating, forever hungry-and embedded with sparkling gems and flickering lines of spider web light. Each snake pulsed with an otherworldliness that seemed animated in a haunting manner. It might have been the tendril like cracks in the stone, the source of the light that pierced the surrounding darkness with a kaleidoscope of colors. Or, it could have been the way those snakes watched him, with rolling jewel eyes that reflected his image back upon himself thousands upon thousands of times. Had he been a lesser boy, a more fearful boy, he might have turned away, burdened by that gaze and the sense of being watched and evaluated.
But, he was not a lesser boy, and his bravery-now trained and tapered-remained despite his house reassessment.
Still, he hesitated before the massive stonework, stare somewhat wide and trembling with a bubbling rolling emotion that struck him so completely he felt nearly destroyed by the rawness of it.
There it was again, the heavy thump thump thump of power, of presence, of eagerness mixed with a strange dab of terror. Of absolute joy, a budding excitement that set his own heart to running rampant and made his chest feel tight as he was so suddenly swept away in it. How hypnotic, how commanding, just that single taste of something more that reminded him so painfully of Himand himself and…
With a sharp wheezing breath Harry glanced to the man at his side, to the professor held under his sway and almost oblivious to the sweep of magic that called to him beyond the stone. How horrifically mundane he must be, even if he was held in the firm grasp of Harry's will. How terribly plain and horrid to be so ignorant of…
No, no, something was… wrong.
One breath, then another, and the longing that had infected his very essence began to recede, bringing to him startling clarity and a wall to push back the emotion that had reached him. It stirred up memories of the moment Creevey fell from the very sky above Gryffindor table. Where he had once felt this very same flavor lick across his flesh with fanatical reverence. He needed to know more and scarcely hesitated to flex his magic tentatively toward the space before him. He lifted a hand to brush against a hissing stone-snake and push against the presence that seemed to ooze from the walls and slip past the entrance, aware that such an action might pull him back into the whirlwind of feelings that dwelled there.
That fact, in and of itself, was enough to bode investigation.
"My Lord?" He whispered, throat tight and breath held, hoping that the magic beyond him would answer…
And it did, curious, weary, no longer drowning in whatever pleasure it had once indulged before. Now, whatever held that magic, was bewildered…
With an undercurrent of longing that matched his own.
He ignored the way the stone-snakes looked at him. He ignored the twitch of his flesh-puppet professor as he pressed against the wall and took a deep breath. He focused instead on his thoughts, on the way his skin itched, on the sudden harsh burn of his scar that made him dizzy with another influx of sudden understanding.
It was him and it wasn't him, beyond the stone.
It was Himand it wasn't Him, beyond the stone.
So, what was it? What was this thing that felt like power, and darkness, and intensity?
"Open," Harry hissed. He intended to find out.
He stepped back quickly as the structure began to rumble, as it shifted with a grace and flair that only magic could manage. The flesh-puppet groaned for a moment before he began to clap with false impress, prompted by Harry's orders to obey but act his normally pompous self.
"Good show, Harry! What a wonderful usage of such a normally dark magic!"
Harry didn't respond. It was useless. His playful performance at the expense of the man and for a construction of carefully crafted memories was worthless as the magic that had met him outside of the wall swept toward him with a sickening possessiveness. He clutched his chest, as if the act would ease the rapid thud of his heart or help him contain the smile that split his lips. He'd never felt something as… hungry as himself react in such a manner. Had never felt so totally swaddled with the intent to take and desperately hoard.
Whatever was in here was happy to feel him, to find him. It was as if Harry's soul had been fractured but was now able to… to join, to be complete. It was the part of him that was Him responding so powerfully, and it drove Harry forward with a sudden sense of urgency. Whatever was within this slick-walled space, was his now.
Monster of Slytherin be damned.
With a jolly hum Lockhart followed him, and as one unit they crept along the dark space that seemed to be illuminated only by the flickering lantern light around them, green flames that burst into existence as soon as Harry's presence swept past the old and rusted iron structures. Water surrounded them, glistening black and deep on either side of the long grand hall they traversed while several snake-like structures of stone slithered and twisted above, following him, always following him.
Or maybe, they reacted to the warm heavy presence of the heir ring upon his hand, which pulsed-alive and twisting-upon his finger.
"I'm home," he purred, enjoying the echoing tone of his voice as it bounced off what seemed like an endless stretch of hallway, "home to blood. Home to magic. Home, home, home-"
He could have burst out in song from the feeling of rightness that hummed in his blood, had it not been for the sudden illumination of the hallway end, which hosted a massive statue of the grand Lord himself and…
"Ginerva?"
Her body was still, not so much as a tic as he approached with caution and wand out. It wasn't that he hadn't expected her there, after all the heir had warned of such on the castle walls, but whatever had brought her there still had to be out and about, didn't it?
But there was a definite lack of presence, other than the persistent weight of magic that still pulled at his very core.
"Professor. The girl."
Lockhart moved immediately, the gleam of personality that had once been in his gaze now snuffed by the presence of a true order. He went to his knees and examined the girl, tilted her head this way and that and presumably made sure the girl was breathing and functional.
"Breathing," Lockhart said, "magic feels weak, but she is alive."
Harry gave a slow nod before the sound of oxfords on stone reached sensitive straining ears.
"Not for long though, I suspect. Yet, I'll be the first to admit that I'm very impressed with her ability to remain stable for so long. I was under the impression that she'd pass much faster but maybe the Weasley house does breed for power, if not for political stability."
His nostrils flared, his eyes widened, but his massive smile never lessened.
"I'm inclined to agree, actually," he practically purred as the owner of the voice stepped forward, magic beating warmly against his skin, welcomed against his own like an old friend. "A spot-on assessment, Hermione."
Her smile was brilliant, one that explained so very much even though, so little was said. She was a bit frazzled, her robes wrinkled, her hair wild. Her smile seemed strained but genuine, filled with the pleasure gained by his idle praise and presence. Her magic was a heated pulse. She was fire, burning and burning and burning as she stood with arms around a peculiar black faced notebook and wand tucked behind an ear. But it was her gaze that drew his attention. It was the way shadows swam there, twisting milky brown into violent storms of black for the left-
While her right eye was completely red, animalistic and glowing in the flickering lantern light, expressing a frenzied power that was barely contained in her flesh.
He knew, knew, that his own gaze must have reflected the same, wild green with flecks of fire to match the one red eye she held and the dark shadows that twisted through her brown. She was so… saturated with magic. How had she hidden this from him? This pulsing line that connected them? The power that felt like his Lord and her own?
"What have you been up to, Hermione?"
Because, it seemed rather important to find out.
"I've been…" She paused for a moment, brow furrowed, gaze distant. She slipped out of focus, fingertips stroking the binding of the book in her grasp, before she seemed to return to herself. "Working. For you. For us."
She licked her lips nervously before she stepped forward, the snake structures above them watching her movements, hissing, before she twisted her head to the left wall and snapped out a hissed—"Silence!"
That. That was interesting.
If she noticed his arched brow and surprised expression she said nothing, instead she looked at the girl, Ginerva, nose wrinkled, "This world is filthy…"
He held his breath.
"It's filled with the weak and licentious. They wander our halls, strutting like proud turkeys, ripe and fit to burst... "
She shook her head suddenly, violently, and he kept a careful cautious look as her expression twisted into something grotesque.
"Nothing is different. Nothing has changed. Here. There." She waved a hand in a wild flailing motion, exasperated, and Harry could see the bags that dwelled under those magic infused eyes, "They hated me there, the realm of the Muggles. They made fun of my magic, thought I was unwell, mad. Therapy, years and years, from age nine to eleven when that blasted letter came for me, to me…"
She swallowed and rolled her shoulders, collected herself, "And when I came here it was more of the same. Less therapy, of course. More oppression. More inconsideration. And I? I, the ever hopeful and insufferable swot. Untrained and ignorant."
She chuckled, "And then you, Harry. You, The Boy, abused by his own blood-the Headmaster was so upset about that, claimed you'd been enchanted by a pureblood lifestyle and all. Said you were suffering, and I…"
She trailed off, perhaps realized she was rambling before she tittered a bit, "I watched, for a time. Confused. They talked about you, the other lions, with varying degrees of disrespect and envy. They didn't really believe it, that Muggles could hurt you the way they did. Thought you were milking it a bit—you see, they felt very betrayed by you, for a time-but Ronald was… insistent. He claimed I would do nothing but sit, listen, and complain. That I'd given up on you."
She smiled something wicked, the gleam of red in her eye a twisting spiral of gained knowledge, of things she didn't yet understand, but would with time. "I never gave up on you, though. I just needed some time."
"The book," now she dropped her gaze to the black bound object in her grip, "was held by Ginerva. I'm not sure for how long. When we bumped into the hall and all her things spilled… Well, I was unable to get it back to her and I held onto it for a bit. But that…"
She closed her eyes, sighed deeply, and when she reopened them there was something else in that gaze too. Something feral, something that also screamed of magic… no, magick and wilde.
"That was after the ritual."
Harry stepped forward, allowed his magic to meet her own, explored it and found the pulsing piece that said Lord, the piece that seemed to be strangling the part that said Hermione, "Ritual?"
Her nostrils flared and she tilted her head, an act that seemed almost alien upon her, "Oh yes, there was a ritual. I was in the restricted section, you see, trying to find out more about the Chamber-"
While Hermione licked her lips, Harry looked back to the girl and Lockhart, one growing more and more pale, the other smiling dreamily.
"It was in a book about rightness, righteousness?" She tapped her chin for a moment, but soon continued, "A book about guidance, about giving someone the assistance to do what is right, governed by magic, ruled by…."
Another sigh as she frowned, as if she were listening to something Harry couldn't hear, and he figured she was, "Well, it was perfect, I thought. I could use some guidance. Everything was turning from worse to awful and I was so terribly scared. I thought that, with a little bit of guidance, I'd know how to... fix this." She made a motion between them, an indication about their strained friendship. "So, I did everything as I was supposed to. Potions and rituals are all about the perfect ingredients, but I think I made it too…"
There it was again, the glittering in the depths of her gaze, the otherness, "Potent."
"The ritual," Harry croaked, "what was it used for in the past?"
He had a good idea of it, of the darkness such a thing might have been heralded as.
"The blessing of children, for good fortune and the right choices. Pureblood godfathers gifting their godchildren their blood. So much blood."
She licked her lips, looked thoughtful, lost in memory, before she shrugged again, and this time Harry could see something else, bandages wrapped around her arms… hiding things he hadn't seen due to her long sleeves and overall reclusive behavior. It wasn't like he'd been in the library with her or-
Well, he'd have to ask Ron just how this happened under his nose.
"But I think I used too much blood," She frowned, "I thought that… well Malfoy is always saying how it's not thick enough. Strong enough. So I…" A sigh, "Well, it hardly matters now."
But it did, it really did. Such olde magic had often been used to give a young child an edge over a Muggleborn or halfblood whelp. It assisted in their acceleration, helped them make better decisions as governed by wilde magick… which was governed by immoral gods, dead, forgotten, and powerless to control it. The rules in place that once made a wizard blessing a safe and viable option had been destroyed, torn asunder as wizardkind forgot to pay their penance. That left only… only magicks. She was… she had become magic, wilde but not yet unhinged, but he wondered how much effort she was putting into maintaining her sanity, her form…
And whether he could devour some of her, all of her, keep-
His eyes were drawn to the book, his mind back on track, "Tell me, Hermione. The spell? The ritual?"
"After that, the… ritual, I didn't think anything had happened and… well the book, I had wondered what it was. I could feel it, hear it… humming, singing…"
Because, it was just as much magic as she had been, filled to the brim with secrets she hadn't yet realized.
"And Ginerva hadn't asked for it back so I suspected I'd use it and what a grand surprise it became. I thought it was a teaching aid at first, Harry, but it became so much more."
Her tone was strained, as if she were trying to cover up some sort of fanatical emotion. He understood it all too well, knew it because he too had been on his knees, begging for salvation and promised power for his obedience.
But what had Hermione chained herself to? Who? Who?!
He hissed, "what was it? Whose was it?"
"A Tom. Tom Marvolo Riddle." She swayed for a moment, "It's… it's His name, you know. He told me, He told me so so much."
"The Dark Lord's?"
"Yesss," She whispered, her snake tongue perfect, "It was us, you know. I wanted to… the cat, He did that one first with Ginerva, but we, we did so much more."
She bit her bottom lip before she spread her arms wide and began to approach his small group, the sleeves of her robe riding up just slightly to give sight to more bandages, so many, different colored and inscribed. Lockhart, instinctively, clutched the pale Ginerva-or maybe he was breaking through Harry's thrall, since the bulk of his attention was focused on the wild snapping of Hermione's magic and the grandness of her tale, "He taught me magic, real magic, and opened my eyes to the… the... "
There it was, a spike of terror, as if she were suddenly afraid of herself and what she'd done… but the shame never reached her face and soon even that eased out, soothed perhaps by… the magic that controlled her, possessed her.
"Did you like it? What I did to Justin? It was a shame, really, about Ronald being there when he was revealed but I tried to make sure that Creevey's exposure was… different, that all of Gryffindor could be involved for their wagging tongues. They'd been treating him so horridly lately…"
Harry quickly stepped around and over the body to meet her, to invade her personal space with his animated grin, "You did all that for me?"
Her eyes fluttered but she nodded, "Yes Harry."
He tried not to squeal with delight, with the fact that she had somehow bound herself so completely to him and somehow also to Him. "What else? Tell me, Hermione."
"He's in here… He's… with me."
Like how He was with him.
"He's always in my head, telling me things, helping me make the right choice and sometimes my magic just reacts, it does the thing I need to be done the most." Her voice was a bit low, thoughtful, "I am Him, I think. I am Tom, Tom-me."
And maybe that was the heavy magic that wrapped so tightly around her, mingled so well with the other magicks she'd called into herself unwittingly. She was a vassal, His vassal, and now-
Harry narrowed his eyes, grin suddenly vicious before he reached out a hand to wrap around her throat. She gasped as he squeezed just slightly, just enough to let her know where the power really was. Who he really was. She swallowed nervously but only stared at him in naked awe as his magic snaked around her, through her, and idly found the humming thread of power that suckled at Ginerva and fed her very life's essence into Hermione. Not the book, not the thing that he thought was controlling her.
No, the book was worthless now. Whatever magic, memories, or portion of his Lord's soul that had been within it was gone. It was now in Hermione, a part of her.
"What a greedy thing to do, Tom," Harry mumbled as Hermione squirmed a bit at being addressed, as the red gleam of her eye brightened for just a moment, "this mudblood is mine."
Hermione snarled, but otherwise did not attempt to escape his grasp, "I am His-"
"Tom," Harry said again, with a spirited shake of head, "how much of you…?"
"Enough," she hissed in snake-tongue, "enough that I cannot tell where either of us begin."
"Then you are aware what I am? Who I am? I am Heir, His and Slytherin's. I am power. His soul and mine. "
"We are the same," she said, a bit uncertain.
Harry rumbled, a deep chuckle laced with his indisputable dominance and self-crafted placement in the world he intended to serve at the Dark Lord's feet, "We are not-
I am King, I am Lord, I am Him and so much more."
Now he felt something else stir with her. Something older than Tom, something older than Him, something that seemed curious and mischievous and delighted. He reached out for that, wrapped himself around her otherness and felt her slouch in his grip. Submissive and yielding.
"I am the stronger portion, the greater soul-"
"Yes," she whispered weakly, "but-"
"I am the last-born piece, but I will be King of all pieces, except for our Master, the grand piece. Do you deny it? Do you deny me this, by magic? By the righteousness of the wilde?"
Now she sneered and growled, but it was too late. He felt her magic yield to him, forced by the very ritual that had damned her to be Tom's carriage, which was now his cage. She pouted, petulant, but he knew she was bemused, "You're so much more perceptive than you were, Harry. And… what do you mean, about soul pieces?"
He smiled now, a little softer and slowly released her throat to instead place his hand upon her shoulder. The shoulder of his friend who had always been too bossy and too smart for her own good. "I believe that Tom would give you a better education about it than I could."
But… before he could ask her more, ask her about the doorway she'd come in from and the inviting warmth of a crackling fire beyond that there was… something he needed to take care of.
"Ginerva, then."
"Irrelevant, but…" She struggled for a moment, "I don't want her to be hurt. Ronald cares for her, but to finalize what I've started, what we've started, I needed…"
"A soul exchange. Was it you, then, who killed the roosters?"
"The magic rode me much of that night. I knew I had to, Tom had mentioned as much—they would have hurt her, the basilisk, Harry-and I needed the blood and their life to assist with the unbinding of Tom's essence from the bound book-parchment to… flesh, but it wasn't enough. We… I'm so… hungry."
Yes, that made since. Carrying whatever it was that dwelled within her that felt too ancient to be commanded, and Tom, must have been exhausting for her magically. Her potential was explosive, but needed to be fed first. A life.
"Ginerva is a decent choice because she was owner of Tom's book first, is that it?"
"Her magic has been touched by our own. So, it's easier to pull from her, without spilling her blood. I didn't want to make a mess in Lord Slytherin's Chamber. I was… we were waiting for you, to present you your gifts. He knew something about you but wouldn't tell me. But I know now, I can feel it! Somehow, you and I are connected. By Him, through Him."
She huffed, a bit indignant and Harry tried not to laugh at the casual normalcy she expressed, even while she sunk into the depths of olde and dark magic.
"Once we have the life the merge will be complete. I will be me but I will also be Him… Tom." She bit her bottom lip, nervous and anxious. He could tell she hadn't yet come to terms with what she'd started and couldn't stop. He could see the urge for more, more power, more knowledge, churning strongly in her gaze but her old morals still held some sway.
He would change that since he intended to keep her.
"Dumbledore would… abandon you if he knew. You have dirty hands now, Hermione, but I'm glad you got dirty for me."
"Haven't I always been dirty?" She grumbled, bitterly, "A bit muddy and such for my birth?"
"Nope," Harry chirped with a flick of tongue at the end of his 'p', "I have some… ideas about that."
But he wouldn't tell her anything, not yet.
"You are magic and fire, you burn, you hunger."
She shivered and nodded.
"Then I will feed you…"
And she would obey.
She nodded, face flushed with reverence and relief, "Yes Harry, please! I'm… I'm tired of… I want to change, I want to be safe, to belong here, to be more than just my flesh. I have missed you. You are my first, my first real friend and I…"
She rubbed her hands against her lap, distracted, constantly shifting her gaze between Ginerva and the silent Lockhart like a starving creature, "I just don't feel complete when I'm not around you."
Yes, because she wasn't in theory, not with Tom's soul piece greedily suckling on her.
"Hermione, you know Professor Lockhart, don't you?"
The rapid change in subject must have been jarring because she jerked. "Y-yes?"
"He was a fraud the entire time. He stole memories from good witches and wizards and took their lives, their tales of bravery. We, Draco, Ron, and I, found out about this when he tried to run off! Can you imagine? Professor McGonagall gave him a job to do and he was packing up shop!"
Her eye twitched, "What?"
"Mhm," he made a motion with his hand for the man to come over and he fought, oh how he fought, suddenly afraid and frantic in his own head as Harry's will and magic forced his own to obey. "He even tried to attack us."
Now Hermione expressed a sense of malice, an emotion that seemed heightened by her current compromised state. He wasn't certain he had ever felt such potent negative passion from her, with her gaze entirely on Lockhart as her magic flexed and she reached for her wand. For a moment Harry just stood there, lips parted in excitement. He wondered what sort of magic she'd been doing. Had Tom had her down here in the Slytherin Lord's libraries? Had he forced her to practice and practice different spells until her entire being craved more and more and more? He remembered what it had felt like to do magic, real magic, for the first time. To practice his Imperius on a nearby pigeon and watch it dance to his every thought. It had been intoxicating, that amount of control…
And wasn't Hermione all about control?
Or maybe she was about feeling secure in a world that wanted to devour her, use her up until nothing was left, until only that mud remained. Maybe she was obsessed with doing more, with feeling alive and free in the same way he wanted to be. In the same way Ron wanted to be.
His poor little misfit possessions.
Even Neville wished for more, wished to be seen in a manner more befitting his station and his hidden power. And, Harry would not deny them that. The chance to be free while he carefully looped invisible chains about their slender throats.
"Hermione. Stop."
Her response was immediate. She swallowed a spell on the tip of her tongue and turned to face him, gaze trained and focused. She seemed only mildly peeved otherwise her concentration was entirely on him. On obeying him. On being a good friend.
Yes. Very nice.
"I have a better idea, for this one." With a motion of his hand the professor fell to his knees, head bowed, hands settled in prayer position over his lap. "I want the Weasley. A life debt is an interesting card to hold over the first female to be born of a fallen house in seven decades, don't you think?"
She nodded slowly. Harry suspected Tom had been teaching her a great deal of pureblood politics in order to have a better, less uncivilized, host.
But still, "H-harry. I must… I need-"
"-and I will provide." Harry firmly bobbed his head, before he went behind the kneeling Lockhart, fisted his hands among the luscious locks there and tugged his head back, so that beady frightened eyes were facing Hermione.
"W-what? What?!" The man screamed, consciousness no longer under the blanket of Harry's control even as his body remained so.
She shook her head then, as if the face of terror was repulsive, but Harry knew better. She was excited and no less eager than she'd been when Harry had first arrived. She couldn't convince herself otherwise when her magic was already latching onto the professor, tearing life and magic away from him as she funneled it back into Ginerva-a little corrupted, but, at least it was functional. He'd beat that pesky moral attitude out of her yet. After all, this was the right way to do this.
And she was nearly incapable of doing otherwise.
"Power. Do you want it?" Harry whispered, their moment intimate, Lockhart's screams silenced as his expression twisted up in grotesque pain.
Color was returning to Ginerva, her chest was heaving but she remained unconscious. Neither of them watched her, far too focused on one another, on the smothering weight of magic, on the idle way Harry reached out to her with his own and tugged, just a bit-
Yes, yes they could share, just a little. He'd have to learn how to do it properly, of course, but she was bound, submissive, almost like a familiar to him. Poor Tom, to have been the lesser soul shard.
"Yes," She said, but her two-toned eyes were upon Lockhart, on the way he writhed in Harry's grip, on his silent scream of agony. "Yes, yes, yes."
Then he would give it to her, and hope she didn't mind when it was his turn to take.
No, he knew she wouldn't.
They were friends after all.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
She was exhausted, or overwhelmed. He couldn't be sure.
They'd left Lockhart's corpse on the ground to cool, and he'd weaved a tale of bravery and might around Hermione's presence in the chamber.
Ginerva had been carried, lovingly, by her brother. He'd choked back a sob when Harry had presented the girl to him, alive and drowsy and magic drunk from Hermione's return of her life essence-
A return that had filled her core with a little bit of… darkness.
Draco had been bewildered, confused at Hermione's presence, but silent once she'd turned those dark-infused eyes upon him. Later, Draco would ask Harry what had happened and Harry, not willing to withhold secrets from his court, would tell him eagerly about Hermione's discovery of the book, her magic, and Tom.
"That's… that's why I'd felt like that. Like I was burning."
"She's fire and magic," Harry had answered helpfully. "I have plans."
"And I will help with them."
Even if she was a mudblood, it seemed.
They'd gone to McGonagall's office, Ron with tear streaks of gratitude and a fierce loyalty churning in his chest, Hermione tired and distant, but with a normal pair of honey-colored eyes and a healthy flush to her deep rich cocoa colored cheeks. Harry had told her his version of the story-
"It was awful, so scary! Lockhart said he needed to discredit the Headmaster. He told me he'd kidnapped Ginerva and put her in the Forbidden Forest and was going to use some sort of… of old magic to petrify her!"
Hermione hadn't been able to call the basilisk in the chamber for his viewing. She was too tired, to focused inside of her head, on the young Dark Lord's merging spirit with her own. But, she did at least manage to convey that the basilisk would not act without orders and that Creevey had been the last 'filthy wizard' she had sent the beast after.
"He forced me to follow him, but when I got there he also had Hermione too. He'd been controlling her with a dark book, some journal that had belonged to a Tom? Tom Riddle?"
McGonagall's eyes had widened just a bit at that.
"It felt… icky, like wrong magic-"
"-It hurt, at first, it hurt so much…" Hermione whispered, dreamily, and McGonagall looked more and more concerned by the second.
Harry tried to repress his urge to smile, "Yes, and she couldn't fight it, could you, Hermione?"
She sighed and shifted in the seat she'd been provided, "No, Harry."
"He was using her to lure people into his trap site," because he would not give away his Chamber, "then he'd do his funky magic there before putting the bodies in weird places. He said he was getting Hogwarts ready for… For He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"
The Professor looked enraged, "That's why he wouldn't help!" she whispered furiously.
Harry continued, "He had me trapped and I thought that he'd hurt Ginerva-a blood traitor's daughter, he'd called her-but then Hermione, she… she broke free, she saved us by hitting Lockhart with a stunner and we ran. Ron and Draco had noticed I was missing after I went to Lockhart's office, we're just so lucky they came looking for us and heard our screaming!"
She stood up abruptly, "The Forest? So, he must still be in the Forest!" If she had doubted his story, at all, she didn't show it. She seemed entirely to focused on finding Lockhart and… well.
"Yes, that's the last place we saw him."
"Good. Good," she grumbled, grabbing her wand and turning them all toward the door, "to the infirmary children, all of you-yes, especially you Ms. Granger. Did he hurt you? Your arms are-"
Harry thought Hermione's sudden sobbing was a spectacular and excellent detractor from the oddity of her arms.
He thought her garbled unnoticed whisper of "-anything, anything for Harry, of course I'd do this-" was even better.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
The Departure Feast at the Great Hall was filled with a mixture of news.
Yes, Professor Lockhart was a suspected loyalist of You-Know-Who.
No, they didn't know where he'd gone off to.
Yes, they were making the cure to revive the students from petrification.
Yes, Hagrid would be released from wherever he was being held and Dumbledore would resume his post as Headmaster.
Yes, Hermione Granger had rescued Harry Potter in the Forbidden Forest, along with Ginerva Weasley, from certain death.
Yes, that WOULD net Gryffindor two hundred and fifty points, and Harry a loathsome hundred for not abandoning the Gryffindor women to the dangers of the Forest.
All in all, it was a fine enough feast.
It was back on the train that he'd been ambushed about that information by the Circle with one new member, Ronald Weasley.
"They took them. Dumbledore suspects possession from the book, but he can't find the magic that made it… well, whatever it was. They want to watch her, but her parents are… were a suspected issue."
"His spells are coming up empty?'
"Very," Ron croaked, uncomfortable against the door of their compartment, as if he would be attacked by the Slytherins that glared at him from their various places on the surrounding couch and floor.
"Oh, sit down already," Neville grunted, a slouched lump on the floor in the space between Harry's legs. "You're making all of them nervous."
The compartment gave off various grumbles before Harry shook his head and smiled, "Goyle, Crabbe. Time for patrol."
The two on the couch across from him opened their mouths, as if to say otherwise, but soon snapped them shut and lumbered to the door to leave-but not without delivering some glares in Ron's direction.
"Oh, and actually listen this time. I need information, not for you two to stuff your mouths with treacle tarts. See how they feel about our heroine, would you?"
Beside him, Theo stiffened, almost set to burst with information, but Harry only waved Ron over and bid him to sit next to Pansy and Daphne.
"And Ginerva?"
Ron got a little comfortable before he began, "A bit… off."
That was to be suspected. He'd have to ask Tomione about that soon.
"But well," Ron's smile was soft, pleased, "Thank you so much Harry."
He nodded before he turned to the rest of the collective, "My friends, this is Ronald Weasley, the last son of the Ancient but Fallen House Weasley."
Blaise nodded from his place beside Draco, who looked up briefly from a Quiddich magazine before he closed it and set it aside.
"He's here because he wishes to be more than those who bore him. He wishes to bring honor and prosperity back to his house, which has lost their way. They worship the wrong sort of thought and we will all teach him the right sort."
"And," Blaise started, cautious but glaring, "how do we know he will not… take advantage of your kindness, my Lord?"
They were silent, expecting Ronald to react to the title but he only snarled, "I would never betray Harry. He saved my sister from the incompetence of an entire adult collective. He's going to save me. He's my best mate, he's my…"
He swallowed, harshly, but puffed out his chest and squared his shoulders, "He's my Lord."
Harry leaned back and hummed, pleased, "He took the first step already, didn't he Draco?"
Draco stared at Ron for a while, letting silence blanket them once more while the Circle looked on in varying degrees of discomfort. It was only when Draco leaned forward and extended a hand to Ron, that those around him began to slowly relax, some bewildered and others trusting. Draco was their prince, even if Harry was their king.
"Ronald Weasley, I am Draco Malfoy, of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy. I have two vassals and a seneschal in mind already, but I would consider taking on another to train in perfection for my Lord."
The way Draco pronounced his title, with such intensity and ownership, was heart-warming. Draco's other hand was upon his leg, clutching it with trembling fingers. He had no doubt that his first new friend, his brother in ambition, struggled to accept this new change.
But he would not be left behind, and Harry refused to be questioned.
"My Lord is looking for two vassals, proper knights to protect him and his wealth. His nobility, his prestige, his honor, and his pride… these are important aspects of his very being and power. He is willing to share that with you, with all of us, and we of House Slytherin will not allow any aspect of his works to interfere with that, even the… cherished ones."
Was that a little jealousy in his tone? Harry laughed softly and patted his hand.
"I will train you and… and Granger and Longbottom in the work of political servitude. You will help our Lord establish his goals and prepare for His coming."
Ron swallowed harshly.
"And in return, we will protect you, elevate you, befriend you. We are a brotherhood. We are power and gold. Selfish and greedy and fierce." Draco smiled crookedly, nothing kind in his expression, "We are dragons, we hoard, and we take and we use it all up until there isn't much left. Then we present that, with well-done flourish, to those who keep us fed."
A few eyes looked at Harry, filled with obsession.
"He is ours and it is our right to serve. We will serve. We will conquer. And, eventually…"
Draco took a shaky breath, before he nodded firmly, convinced of his own words, "We will kill."
"For him," Draco made a head motion toward Harry, "for us."
Ron reached out with a speed Harry didn't think he possessed. He was nervous, but determined, all but ablaze with his need to prove his worth and right to be there. He would no longer be swallowed by shallow accomplishments. He refused to remain the sheep, the tool, to be used and spat out. He would be more, and he would be greedy, all for a taste of Harry's loyalty. "I will obey. From now until my departure to the Summerlands."
So mote it be.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
"There was talk." Ron whispered, catching up with him right as Harry began to turn toward a sliver of blonde hair exiting the claimed Ravenclaw compartment.
"What is it?" Harry mumbled, a little disappointed that he'd missed conversing with the dreamy Ravenclaw. There was so much he needed to… discuss with her.
"Before I left Dumbledore's office, Mum 'n Dad were-"
"Why did he have you up there?" Harry tried not to snarl.
"My parents were there to see about Ginny. But he wanted to know what I'd done. How we were friends again-"
He twisted around and pushed into Ron's space. Chest to chest. He could practically feel Ron's heart hammering in his behind his rib cage, heard him gasp in fear and grow stiff as Harry's magic possessively and… threateningly wrapped around him.
"When were you going to tell me this?"
"W-when we were alone!"
"And if we weren't-"
"-I would have made a way, please, my Lord!"
Ron's hissed passion and obvious deference to him was… soothing, but not by much, "What did you tell him?"
"That it was your story to tell. That I was very happy we could get back together, but I had nothing more to say. I swear. I'd never-no, never not to him! Not to anyone!"
Such a fierce brave growl. Yes, that was enough to ease his ire.
"What did they say Ronald." He had a meeting to get to, he had plans to make with his Circle-
"Hermione will be made to stay at my home. I think they intend to do something to the Muggles. Make them agree, I heard him say. Hermione wasn't there to fight it."
Ron shook his head, "I'll watch over her, Harry. I still don't understand much of what was done-"
"-You have permission to ask her, of course. Let her know it is right to tell you. Yes, do watch over her Ron. She's going to need some… help."
He glanced at the group of waiting green and silver and smiled slightly, "Actually, I have several asks."
Ron grunted as Harry stepped away from him and slapped his shoulders, "This summer will be one of exploration. You will find your ancient book of lore and rule, you know the one, and you will read it to Hermione. You will both study while she is, no doubt, bedridden and watched for… possession. You will find a place-"
Harry blinked slowly then, before he gave a thoughtful sound, "Do you have any magical neighbors? Neighbors that might have better… magical wards? Wards that might hide a mistakenly done spell or two?"
"Not many, we are pretty far out," Ron started, but then he snapped his fingers, "Wait! Looney-erk, L-luna. Luna Lovegood. She's been there for years, plays with Ginny sometimes."
Perfect.
"You will go to Ms. Lovegood's house for playtime and such-"
"-I… I barely know-"
"-her, yes," Harry interrupted, "but she will know you."
Ron was wise not to question that and only nodded instead.
"There is a summer festival this year, at Malfoy Manor. A small affair, but important none the less, in celebration of my birthday. You will come. You will bring Ms. Granger and Ms. Lovegood. There will be other times of celebration for Ms. Weasley to attend."
Because, he wanted to know how off she actually was.
Ron bobbed his head like an eager soldier while Harry wrinkled his nose.
Then, with a sly grin, almost cruel if he was honest, he whispered, "Address me properly, Ronald."
Ron, with a deep breath, mirrored that look, "I will do as you ask, my Lord."
"Thanks, mate."
O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
"Before we part for the summer-"
"And by part, he means, before some of us see each other as soon as tomorrow."
Harry rolled his eyes, "Yes, thank you, Blaise."
The boy smiled broadly, "You're welcome, my Lord."
Goyle pouted, no doubt upset that Blaise got away with so much more than he could.
"So, before we part currently, I want you to think hard over what I've talked about all year," Harry looked to the Circle, his court, minus the understanding Longbottom who had been snatched up and hustled into the scowling hard-faced, but still happy to see him possession of his Grandmother. "We will bring about our era of prosperity. We will comb this world of filth and elevate those who wish for purpose."
Those around him nodded, but it was Pansy who tentatively said, "And… the Granger girl? The um…"
"Muggleborn? Yes, what about the Muggleborn. What about any of them? How can they be of use to us? Dead or otherwise?"
The group shuffled nervously but it was Theo who stepped forward, smile wide and eyes gleaming.
"You see, I've had an odd thought or two. A thought about propaganda and misinformation. A thought about patronizing an entire collective until everyone saw them as weak or otherwise useless. I thought about how one man could pander to an entire set of people while also making them incredibly vulnerable and hurting them greatly. And, then, I thought about how that can be used to control them."
He motioned to Theo, "What is a Muggleborn, really? A security risk? Yes. A magic thief? No. They are an unusual occurrence. Rare, for the most part those witches and wizards born from Muggles."
"Disgusting," Draco whispered, but his voice was droll and empty, lackluster. The boy was smart. Smart enough to realize that Harry was leading them somewhere, somewhere he had to hold Goyle and Crabbe's hand to get to.
"Theo."
"Yes, my Lord?"
"Did you do what I asked you to?"
"Of course, my Lord." Theo said, and then, without any further prompt, he looked at the ground and said, "Dumbledore is stealing lines from us."
Crabbe's gave a slow blink. Pansy sputtered.
It was Daphne who said, "What? Come again?"
"How did Merlin come into being? How did the Great Families, our Sacred, come into existence?"
They were all silent, drawn in by Theo's lecture.
Harry smirked.
"They didn't just pop up, of course. There had to be a beginning-"
"The Muggles? They're the beginning?" Goyle looked horrified.
"Not quite," Theo gently interrupted, "but they are important in this one instance."
Theo looked to Harry and Harry nodded. He had already erected a small silencing ward about them. Their feet hummed and tingled with magic.
"When witches and wizards were being hunted to death, slaughtered by the Muggles… when they renounced the Olde Gods and turned their backs on serving us, the higher beings, they were punished with disease and illness from a lack of protection we'd once provided. Our suffering, our cries of pain and confusion, as they drained our magic for their own wealth and greed then burned us after our use was over-"
Blaise was grinding his teeth, his hand balled in a fist, his anger nearly tangible. His magic was infectious, spreading along the line, making them tight-shouldered and furious.
Excellent. Yes. Yes.
"-reached the one Olde God who still remained. Our Lady, the goddess of magic and might, our patronage of wealth."
Draco closed his eyes and mumbled something in Latin, a small prayer.
"And She fought hard to give us our right to live and the might to grow. She gave us a gift. She gave us-"
Pansy swallowed hard, a bit pale, "Oh… Oh, Salazar."
"Yes," Theo looked ill, "I read through the olde scripture. Father even sent over some books on the Olde Ways and they point to a few things we no longer have. Blood ritual adoption, immediate Muggleborn vassalage… why did we stop doing these things? Why did we ever start? If they weren't…"
Now it was Blaise uttering his Latin prayer, flushed.
"Theo," Harry interrupted, "has discovered-and really, thank you Theo you are a gift to your line-that Muggleborns are quite possibly gifts from the Olde Goddess, in her attempts to give us power and rebirth. We do not know if She is listening, we are not allowed to publicly practice our sacrifices and give blessing to Her being. But if She slumbers then it is wilde magick's gift to us, as the Olde Goddess and other gods, have been said to revert to that state when they are forgotten."
He let that sink in as Goyle ran fingers through his hair.
"The Muggleborns are our most ancient lines reborn. They are magic and might and power, diluted and weakened from Dumbledore's coddling and our… oppression of them. We have spat in Her face and have turned away the most precious gift of our dying magicks. Some of them, like Creevey, might be a reborn from a weak line. Worthless and corrupted already from the Light. But others…"
Theo nodded, "Granger. We think that… Granger might be… No. We know she's a reborn line, they all are in some way. We know she's a Firstborn pureblood, given to us. Us, the purebloods who still respect and honor our Olde Ways. She belongs to US!" Theo spat, wild, "And Dumbledore has been treating her, and others like her, like coddled sheep while we basically spat on them! We have lost so much power and time. So many new lines to replace those we've lost. Who would have needed to marry their cousin, when we have the rebirth and rejuvenation of so much magical variety!? Her gift! Our Goddess! She would have prevented this destabilization of our magic, and the squibs, the poor squibs, they'd… they'd have magic if we had married our Firstborns! Our rich vibrant culture is degrading, taken over by an integration of Muggle shat!"
Theo panted, realized he was yelling-very unSlytherin-and bit his tongue, groaning at the pain.
Harry patted Theo, soothed his magic, "So, you see… That is why Granger can keep up with purebloods in all aspects. Why she seems so… competent and ready. She was… is eager to embrace wizardingkind but she wasn't properly educated. Dumbledore allowed her, allowed all three of us really, to be blind to what we were missing and doing. There are so many others out there that are no doubt the same. Dumbledore allows them to be bullied and demeaned due to their ignorance so that they turn to him. And then, he and his marry, breed, and grow in power while we wither away, infected by squibs and madness, and die. Hoisted by our own petard."
There was an increasing sense of unease all around, suddenly burdened by anger, Crabbe's anger to be exact-
"HOW COULD HE?!" Crabbe bellowed, "I've been… I've been-!"
"We've been calling them mudbloods! We're hurting ourselves! I don't want to marry cousin Gretel!" Goyle grew hunched and worried, he squeezed his hands together over and over again, his terror very real. "F-father said, father said that if we disrespect the olde magicks and the ways of our gods we'll turn into squibs! Into Muggles!"
Harry moved slowly, opened his arms and wasn't surprised when Goyle fled to them, holding him tightly in his massive embrace. "There there, Greg. We're going to fix it. Theo has so much research, verified and true. He's going to speak to his father and I'm going to speak to Lord Malfoy…"
While Harry rubbed soothing circles into Greg's back Pansy barked out, "D-daphne and I will speak to our fathers too, right?"
"Right, right," Daphne's voice shook, just a bit, "is it true? Is it really true? The Muggleborns are rebirthed lines from the Goddess? I mean, I always suspected how they came to exist but, we'd been told they stole magic from us. That… that was why we have squibs."
"We have squibs due to Her rage and, frankly shit genetics," Theo corrected. "Some of this reporting is ancient, to be honest, but that doesn't mean it shouldn't be widely available. Our ignorance is cultural and strategic."
"What do you mean, Theo?" Harry said, voice muffled from Goyle's shoulder.
"I mean that, well… Father said don't let the texts out of my sight. That the Ministry banned most of this. Didn't like what it said, maybe? Or… well, Father said Dumbledore started regulating a lot of Muggleborn specific things."
Of course, he had.
"Then we will make sure they are distributed. Legally or otherwise."
"Perhaps we should try to teach her? If... she wants," Daphne said.
Caught by the lure Harry pushed-gently, of course-Goyle away, glad to be released and able to breath. "Oh?"
"Well," Daphne shared a look with Pansy, "she might come to be in our Circle, like Ronald, right? Then it would be… best to teach her what she needs to know. If she's one of our powerful lines, brought back by Her grace, then she is first. First born. First to serve. She is owner and servant of her house, even if it has no power, that makes her a lady, and a lady is never without her sense of propriety."
Harry nodded, "If I put her in your presence…?"
"We will do the rest," Pansy crowed, crafty smile in place.
"Then let us work on this, our first true step toward a new world order, where we will take back our stolen lines and allow our houses to grow fat on the wealth of new vassals."
His Circle grinned, captured by their own faith, by the truths they'd been blind to, and eager to perform. They began to part ways with a few more farewells and a proper mission.
"Thank you, Theo." Harry said, as Draco turned to him, ready to escort them both to the waiting Narcissa nearby and the bouncing Dobby, whose behavior was… unbecoming but tolerated by the Malfoy Madam.
"No need," Theo said, "I love a good mystery and Granger has been one, even if she is… was also a thorn in my side."
"I have plans. Plans that will need a sharp mind. Plans that will need you in the future. Plans that will need Granger and Weasley both."
Draco turned away from them and pretended not to listen.
"Of course," Theo said slowly, cautiously, "I'd do anything that you asked."
"Soon they will be… bound, just as tightly as the rest of us. Do you believe that?"
"Yes." Theo said, without hesitation, "You have a way with words. With… people. With truths."
"And so do you." He let that statement linger between them for a moment, "The truth can make certain individuals very powerful."
A pause.
"I intend to make you very powerful, Theo."
His answering smile was soft, but the flicker of interest and pleasure was there. Right alongside his increased need to worship. "Thank you, my Lord."
"We are not ordinary children, and we will not grow into ordinary wizards."
"No. We won't."
"Get my information into the right hands, Theo. I want my lines back."
"And you will have them, my Lord."
Good.
end of second year
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