Harry Potter and the Vampire's Assistant

Chapter Nine
"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts"

Updated January 6, 2012

"Not bad, as dorm rooms go," Ron idly noted, upon seeing the Chamber of Secrets for the first time. "A little dusty, maybe…"

They were standing at the far end of the Chamber, the entrance just behind them. Even though it was dimly lit, Harry had no problem seeing the entire room clearly. There were great stone pillars along each side, all rising up to support a stone ceiling that dripped greenish slime in places. In fact, a greenish hue seemed to fill the Chamber.

At the far end an enormous statue of Salazar Slytherin stood silently regarding them, with its ancient, monkey-like face and long, thin beard that reached almost to the bottom of the statue's robes. "I think that's going to have to go, though," Ron said, pointing.

He was pointing at the gigantic corpse of the Basilisk, left to rot after Harry had dispatched it four years earlier. The long, serpentine body had decomposed almost to the bone. "I suppose we should be happy our sense of smell is gone," Harry said, mildly.

"Speak for yourself," Sanguini spoke through a handkerchief he had hastily pulled from a coat pocket. "I can still smell it! It reeks!"

Ron was curiously examining the remains of the Basilisk. "You killed this with Gryffindor's Sword, eh?" he said, looking into the toothy mouth of the dead beast. "Yeah — I can see the hole you made in its skull. And one of these fangs is broken off — that must be the one that punctured your arm, right? You would have died right then if Fawkes hadn't been here to save you."

"Right," Harry agreed. "Plus, I saved Ginny from the Tom Riddle from the diary and she, you, me and Gilderoy Lockhart returned back to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom with Fawkes' help." He said this for von Necros and Sanguini's benefit — Ron already knew the story, of course.

"I remember," Ron said. He suddenly grinned. "Hey, d'you remember Lockhart asking you if you lived here? Now you do!"

Harry snorted, remembering that day with some amusement and a measure of vindication. Lockhart had intended to erase their memories with Ron's wand, but it had been damaged at the beginning of the school year and it exploded when Lockhart tried to use it. The explosion had erased his memories, the same thing he had done to other witches and wizards who'd told him their tales of adventure and heroism. Lockhart had represented those stories as his own in numerous books about werewolves, hags, banshees, trolls, and (of course) vampires.

"Ah, the Chamber of Secrets! How interesting, how very interesting!" These words came from Professor Dumbledore, who was suddenly standing behind them, next to von Necros. "I have always wanted to see this, ever since Harry described it four years ago."

Harry looked at the professor with raised eyebrows. "Professor, did you come down through the drain in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?"

"Oh, no, Harry — I'm much too old for that sort of thing," Dumbledore told him. I had Amadeus here bring along a trinket of mine —" he held up the image of a miniature troll, a paperweight. "I enchanted this to Portkey back to my office after five minutes. It will continue to travel back and forth between here and there every five minutes, which will allow you, Mr. Weasley, and Sanguini an alternate exit route from the Chamber. From there you may exit my office through one of the windows, to visit the Forbidden Forest for sustenance for the two of you."

"Sounds like a pretty good deal," Ron allowed.

"For the time being," von Necros conceded. "You should be wary, however, of any other 'humans' you find in the Forbidden Forest — once the Coven learns that you are no longer at my castle, they will take steps to find you."

"What are you going to tell them?" Harry asked, curiously.

"That you and Mr. Weasley somehow escaped earlier this evening after I locked you in your casket room," von Necros said. "I will tell them that Sanguini aided you then fled with you — another reason for him to remain here.

"They will have little reason to believe you are here, given Albus' tendency to vigorously protect his students from harm," von Necros estimated. "But eventually they will run out of other places to look, and will send a team here to investigate."

"A team of what? Vampire-Aurors?" Ron quipped.

"Very nearly," von Necros said, in all seriousness. "Some vampire Masters have unique powers that will aid them in searching for you. If you manage to see them before they see you, I advise you to get back into the Chamber as soon as possible, then destroy the Portkey so they cannot use it to follow you. There is almost no chance they will be able to follow you the other way — they would have to know how to speak the Parseltongue words that open up the entrance."

"But Sanguini and I learned how," Ron protested.

"With Harry's help," Dumbledore said. "There are very few Parselmouths in the world — the only known ones other than Harry, the Gaunts, have all died."

"I suppose we'll be safe, then, at least for a while," Harry said. "The only thing left to do is to get our caskets down here so we can sleep."

"I have already taken care of that, Harry," Dumbledore said. The headmaster stepped forward while reaching into the folds of his right sleeve, withdrawing three small objects. Harry could see that they were miniature versions of his and Ron's caskets, along with a very small four-poster bed. Dumbledore set them carefully on the floor of the Chamber, about ten feet apart, then stepped back and waved his wand. The two caskets and bed enlarged to full size, forming a row in front of the statue of Salazar Slytherin.

"I added a small plaque to each casket," Dumbledore mentioned. "Monogrammed with each of your initials." Sure enough, Harry could see a small gold plaque on the lid of each casket; one read "HJP" and the other "RBW." "It should, of course, be obvious who will be sleeping in the bed," Dumbledore added, his eyes twinkling with merriment.

Dumbledore reached into his robes, pulling out a pocket watch. Consulting it for a moment, he then put it away, announcing, "I believe it's time to take my leave of you, for now. Amadeus, would you care to join me or do you prefer to stay here awhile?"

"I believe I will come with, Albus," the vampire declared. "I will leave my servant and our young protégés to prepare for their first day here. The paperweight in Dumbledore's hand glowed blue at that moment and von Necros reached out to touch it.

"Hold on a second —" Harry began to say, but the headmaster and von Necros suddenly disappeared in a whirl of colors and wind. "Dammit. I was going to get the professor to remove that Basilisk corpse."

"We'll have to do something with it," Sanguini complained, still looking nauseated by the stench of the rotting remains. Perhaps we can put in one of these side drains, away from the main floor.

Harry and Ron looked at one another. "I guess we'd better get started, then," Harry said. Ron shrugged in agreement, and the two of them picked up the corpse and tossed it in a drain tube well away from where they would be sleeping.

"Thank you," Sanguini said. "That's better."

"Now what?" Ron asked, looking for something to wipe his hands on. He finally settled on the stone floor itself.

Harry consulted his internal clock. "We have a few hours before sunrise. Why don't we look around the place, see what we can find out about it. We didn't have much chance to do that, last time we were down here."

Ron nodded agreeably. "Later," he said to Sanguini, who had sat down on his bed, still waving away the stench of the Basilisk's corpse. He and Harry disappeared back through the entrance of the Chamber.

Sanguini sighed, wondering what he had done for the Master to punish him so severely with the task of chaperoning these two young vampires.

=ooo=

At the same time Harry and Ron were exploring the Chamber of Secrets and its connecting pathways, another Hogwarts student was moving stealthily through the halls of the school, listening carefully for any sign of Filch or a early-morning prefect patrol, and on the lookout for Filch's mangy cat, Mrs. Norris, which could be just as bad as Filch himself, for the caretaker never seemed to be far behind when that damned animal showed up anywhere.

Draco Malfoy was alone this morning. During daytime hours he normally drafted Crabbe or Goyle into standing guard while he worked, but they would only be a hindrance at this time of night, sneaking through the corridors. And it was a long trip all the way up from the Slytherin common area to the seventh floor of Hogwarts, where he'd been working almost since the beginning of the school year. Time was running down — he had only a few months left to accomplish his two-fold mission. The primary goal was to find a way to bring Death Eaters into Hogwarts, to strike terror into the hearts of the students and staff here. The secondary goal, and Draco's personal rite of passage as a Death Eater, was to kill Professor Dumbledore.

Admittedly, it was not going well. His first attempt had failed when Katie Bell somehow managed to touch the cursed necklace as she was carrying it back from Hogsmeade to the school. The second attempt, a bottle of poisoned mead, had not ended up where it was intended. It had killed Ronald Weasley, who somehow ended up in Professor Slughorn's office the morning of his birthday and drank a toast with the Potions professor, and Harry Potter died as well, mysteriously, a few days later.

Harry Potter's death had not affected Draco much one way or the other. Potter had been a constant thorn in his side since the first day they'd set foot in this school, and his death, under mysterious circumstances, was something Draco felt isolated from, and at the same time protected by. Professor Slughorn had said that Potter hadn't drank any of the poisoned mead, but collapsed as they were trying to transfer Weasley from the professor's study.

Weasley's death was another matter.

Oh, no one could trace the poison back to him, Draco knew. He'd been very careful to avoid any kind of link between himself and the bottle of mead. But the bitter fact was, that type of behavior left things open to chance that he should have avoided. Katie Bell wouldn't have been cursed by the necklace except for the argument she had on the way back from Hogsmeade with her friend Leanne. Ronald Weasley wouldn't have died but for the fact that Slughorn never did what should have done with the mead and sent it to Dumbledore, for Christmas. And now, with Snape breathing down his neck trying to steal his glory, Draco had resolved that when the time came, he would deal with Dumbledore personally, as his master had instructed him to do.

Draco arrived at the seventh floor corridor containing the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, a rather mad wizard who for some unknowable reason attempted to teach trolls the ballet, which was immortalized in the image woven into its material. He began pacing back and forth in front of the wall opposite the tapestry, thinking to himself, as hard as he could, I need to enter the Room containing the Vanishing Cabinet. I need to enter the Room containing the Vanishing Cabinet. On his third pass, a door appeared in the wall, a large, polished oaken door with a brass handle. Draco grasped the doorknob and quickly let himself into the room.

Turning, he saw the huge, cathedral-sized room he'd been visiting since he'd tricked Dobby, his family's former house-elf, into revealing there was a room in the castle where you could find things you needed to find. And he'd definitely needed to find the Vanishing Cabinet.

The room itself was filled with light despite the fact that it was the middle of the night and the high windows along the walls were dark. There were towering walls of useless junk, things that must've been discarded over generations and generations of students, and some things that frankly made no sense to Malfoy. He was not to be distracted again, however, from his task. He walked down an alleyway seemingly guarded by a huge stuffed troll; a short walk later he stood before the Vanishing Cabinet, located conveniently near enough to the entrance that he could hear sounds coming from the corridor outside, if they were loud enough — a scale dropped on the floor, for example.

Malfoy stared resentfully at the Vanishing Cabinet. He'd been overjoyed at first to finally find it — it had been removed from the first floor after the Weasley twins shoved Edwin Montague into it last year. When Montague was finally found, he had told everyone in Slytherin the story, but only Draco figured out that the Vanishing Cabinets at Borgin and Burkes and the one at school could be used to transport people from the Knockturn Alley shop into Hogwarts.

If Draco could fix the Cabinet, that is. That was the rub, as it turned out. The thing was diabolically difficult to figure out; he'd been trying for months now and was closer to it now than then.

And it was vitally important that he figure it out. He'd been warned. His parents would die. He would die. And that would be the end of the House of Malfoy — a sticky end, because Draco Malfoy couldn't figure out how to fix a damned Vanishing Cabinet within the next three months!

That gnawed at Draco, that the punishment was so out of proportion to the severity of his failure! Dumbledore was well over a hundred years old; some said he was something like 150 years old! He couldn't be much longer for this world, especially since he'd been sporting a withered hand since the start of the school year. He was losing his magic, Draco decided — that had to be the answer! When the time came, he would be able to dispatch the old man once and for all.

He hoped.

=ooo=

Ginny sat down across from Hermione at breakfast Thursday morning. Hermione was already working on homework, Ginny surmised; she was writing furiously on several sheets of parchment in front of her.

"Morning," Ginny said, helping herself to some eggs and bacon. Hermione didn't appear to have heard her, but just as Ginny was about to repeat her greeting Hermione held up a finger, signaling for a moment of silence. She finished writing, then picked up the sheets of parchment, shuffled them into order, and handed them to Ginny.

"What's this?" Ginny asked. "You don't want me to check your work, do you?"

"Read it," Hermione urged. "Do you see any flaws?"

Ginny began reading the parchments.


Affirmative Arguments for Professor Horace E. F. Slughorn to Surrender his — Memories

Drafted 6 March 1997 by
Hermione Jean Granger

Professor Dumbledore needs the information

Prof. Dumbledore wouldn't have asked if it wasn't important.

It may help prevent You-Know-Who from taking over Wizarding Britain.

The lives of hundreds or thousands of witch and wizards could be saved.

It will honor Harry and Ron's memories.

They were trying to help Prof. Dumbledore as well.

Professor Slughorn is partly responsible for their deaths (this is an unfair statement but it may be effective).

It is the right thing to do.

Helping others is always right.


Ginny looked at the other sheets of parchment. They were earlier versions of the top sheet, with words crossed out and others added. Hermione had rewritten the previous drafts, removing the proofreading marks! It was impressive, but —

"Uh, right," she said doubtfully, handing the sheets back to Hermione. "Nicely done, but do you think it'll really work?"

Hermione was surprised by the question. "Of course it will work! Professor Slughorn is a very rational man, despite his predilection for favoritism among his Slug Club students."

"Yeah, but you said Harry told you that Slughorn altered this memory when he gave it to Dumbledore," Ginny pointed out. "He must be awfully ashamed of it to do that. I think you're going to have to push with more than just rational arguments."

"That's what argument number three is for," Hermione agreed. "I'll try to convince Professor Slughorn that he owes a debt to Harry and Ron. Not altogether fair, but it's important to obtain the true memory."

"Well, we'll see," Ginny muttered doubtfully. "I think you'll be lucky to get it."

"I hope so," Hermione nodded. "I think it's vitally important to —" she suddenly stopped talking, a very bemused expression on her face.

"What?" Ginny asked after several seconds. Hermione obviously had thought of something very important.

"Lucky," Hermione said softly, almost whispering. "There's a bottle of Felix Felicis up in Harry's trunk. I know how to get into Harry's trunk. I don't know how I know, but I know. The spell is Alohomora Voldemort."

Ginny flinched, but nodded. "It's a good idea," she said, her voice as low as Hermione's. "When are you going up to Harry's dorm room? Before Potions with Slughorn?"

"No, after dinner tonight," Hermione decided. "Before any of the sixth-year

Gryffindor boys get back to the common room. Maybe you can distract Neville long enough in the Great Hall for me?"

"Sure," Ginny agreed. "He's always eager to talk to me — mostly about Luna these days."

"Oh?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Something going on with those two?"

"Sort of," Ginny shrugged. "Luna makes offhand comments about Neville sometimes. But then, she makes offhand comments about Harry too — like she thinks he's still alive. Something about him drinking unicorn blood."

Hermione stared at her a moment. That sounded awfully familiar.

"Neville talks about it, too," Ginny went on, ignoring Hermione's stare. "I don't know if he's just going along with Luna, or trying to impress her, but he said he dreamed that Harry was up in their dorm room last night."

"A lot of people seemed to think Harry is still alive, for one reason or another," Hermione commented. "I suppose a lot of people miss him," she reasoned, but sounded doubtful that was the case.

"I wonder what Professor Slughorn would think of that?" Ginny smirked.

"I don't know," Hermione shook her head. "Maybe I should add that to my arguments list — it might be the one that makes Professor Slughorn hand over the memory of his.

"Maybe your arguments, along with Felix, will make Slughorn give up the memory."

"Anything is worth a try," Hermione muttered, grimly. "But I'll only take a bit of the potion; in case it doesn't work the first time, I can try, try again."

They both gathered up their book bags, each heading toward their first class of the day. But while Ginny eagerly looked forward to seeing how lucky Felix Felicis could make someone, Hermione almost dreaded the thought of using Harry's Cloak to steal the potion he'd won, back on the first day of Potions class. Had she stolen things before? She couldn't think of anything that really counted, but she didn't want to start with Harry's stuff, even if he was dead! There was really no choice here, however — even she could see what Ginny had seen, that her arguments alone weren't likely to convince the Potions Master he should give up that memory.

Felix it would have to be.

=ooo=

Just after dinner, Hermione entered the common room and walked directly to the staircase to the girls' dorm rooms, to put up her book bags. Her dorm room was empty, which allowed her to pull Harry's Invisibility Cloak out of the book bag she'd found it in and draped it over herself.

She crept back down to the common room, checking to see who was there. A group of first-years were clustered around a table, complaining en masse about one teacher or another and the unfairness of their tests. Other students of various years were scattered about the room; Hermione noted with relief that none of the Gryffindor boys in their year were in the room — if they had been she might have given up the attempt tonight. Hermione moved toward the boys' staircase and slowly walked up it, to Harry's room.

She stood in the doorway of the room, surveying it. All the beds were neatly made — the work of house-elves, no doubt, Hermione thought with a small grimace of sympathy and disgust; sympathy for the elves, even though they would have gasped in horror at the very thought that they were being exploited, and disgust for the teenaged boys who didn't even think about who made their beds every day.

She should get this over with quickly. She recognized Harry's trunk and moved toward it, pushing aside a bit of the Invisibility Cloak so she could point her wand at it and whisper "Alohomora Voldemort!" There was a clicking sound and she pushed open the top of the trunk, then looked down at its contents in horror.

Harry's trunk was a mess.

There was no way she was going to find the bottle of Felix Felicis, not in that jumble of books, clothes, and miscellaneous junk. She pointed her wand at the contents and said, "Accio Felix Felicis!"

Nothing happened. Hermione grimaced again — obviously the trunk was enchanted to keep people from drawing things out of it as she had just tried to do. She sighed and began rummaging through the trunk, wrinkling her nose at the smell of "teenage boy" that emanated from it.

Near the top were a few pairs of jeans and some T-shirts, along with a pair of trainers and some rolled up socks — Harry's usual non-school hours attire. More interesting items came to light as she dug deeper and deeper — a photo album, a Sneakoscope, a broom care kit (Hermione remembered giving it to him), his golden egg from the Tri-Wizard Tournament, a pair of Omnioculars from the Quidditch World Cup earlier that same year, and the miniature Hungarian Horntail that he'd drawn for his first task at the Tournament. Hermione smiled as she found the S.P.E.W. badge and notebook she'd given him. Several Weasley sweaters were jumbled together near the bottom of the trunk, along with many of his schoolbooks from the first five years at Hogwarts. Didn't he keep them handy in case he needed one for research, Hermione wondered, but then remembered — he'd just ask her.

She came across a pocketknife, its main blade melted away — a gift from Sirius Black, Harry's godfather. There was a coathanger (what was that for, she wondered), a furry brown wallet (probably from Hagrid, Hermione decided), a Wizarding chess set (for quick games with Ron?), a mini-Firebolt, a rather surreal portrait of Harry (at least she supposed so, it barely resembled him), a bunch of joke items from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and pieces of a broken mirror, which she barely escaped cutting herself on. But no bottle of Felix Felicis!

Hermione frowned in annoyance. It had to be in there! Well, she amended herself, Harry might have already used it up. But, she continued, wouldn't he have told me if he had? Maybe not he knew I was upset he'd won it using that book. Even so, he probably kept the bottle — it seems like he's got everything else in this trunk!

Hermione pulled out her wand again, checking for secret panels inside the trunk. But the trunk seemed to be just a trunk; or at least, an inexpensive one, unlike some trunks, which could have multiple compartments enlarged with an Undetectable Extension Charm, making them huge inside. She began going through the trunk again, this time feeling each item very carefully for any kind of lump or irregularity. There were old robes, his dress robes from fourth year, the T-shirts and jeans, the inside of his trainers; none of them gave up anything but teenage boy smell and bits of dirt. The pair of mismatched socks — nothing. An old pair of matched socks — Eureka! Hermione unwrapped the socks and the bottle of Felix Felicis tumbled into her hand. It was still sealed, Harry hadn't taken any of it yet! She would only need a small amount, perhaps enough for two or three hours so she could talk to Slughorn, get him to see reason. She unsealed the vial, estimated what about one-eighth of the bottle would be, and took a mouthful of the shimmering liquid.

Nothing happened for several seconds, but then, slowly but surely, Hermione felt an exhilarating sense of infinite opportunity spreading through her; she felt as though she could have done anything, anything at all… and getting the memory from Slughorn seemed suddenly not only possible, but easy.

"Hermione! W-what are you doing up here?"

Hermione spun around guiltily. In the doorway, Neville Longbottom was staring at her incredulously. "Oh hi, Neville," she said casually, folding the bottle back into the socks as she smiled at him. "I just needed to find something in Harry's trunk."

"What did you just drink?" Neville asked suspiciously. "It looked like that bottle he won at the start of Potions class. Are you — are you stealing from him?" Neville looked scandalized. "Hermione, he's only been dead a few days!"

"It's not what you think," she said quickly. "I need it to help finish a project Harry was working on — a job Professor Dumbledore gave him to do before he died."

"Oh." Neville looked impressed by that. "What is it?"

"I can't tell you right now," Hermione said apologetically. "It's kind of a secret. But you've been keeping some secrets about Harry yourself, haven't you?" she added, shrewdly.

"W-what do you m-mean?" Neville looked taken aback by her comment.

"You think he's still alive, don't you?" she asked, calmly.

Neville stared at her in fascinated horror. "Have you — have you been talking to Luna?" he finally croaked out.

"No," Hermione answered honestly. "But the walls have ears, you know," she added, to confuse him further. And then, because she was being honest, "I've dreamed about him as well, Neville."

Neville's expression changed again; he nodded with some kind of understanding. "Professor Dumbledore really had Harry doing something for him?"

"Yes," Hermione answered firmly. "He would have taken the Felix himself — I suggested it to him, but he died before he could. You have to keep this just between us, to honor his memory." That was a lie, of course, but it would make her presence here plausible, and something Neville wouldn't repeat to anyone, not even his dorm mates.

"Okay," Neville said.

"Go sit on your bed, Neville," she told him. "Close your eyes and count to ten, then open them."

As Neville walked toward his four-poster bed, Hermione closed Harry's trunk, pointed her wand at it and silently thought, Colloarcus Voldemort, to lock it again. When she glanced around at Neville, his eyes were shut. She bent down, grabbing the Cloak from the floor where she'd let it drop, and pulled it over herself, tiptoeing from the room as Neville finished counting to ten and opened his eyes, looking around and wondering where she had gone. Hermione hoped he hadn't noticed the Invisibility Cloak lying on the floor. With any luck, she thought ironically.

Ginny was supposed to go the see Slughorn with her, but Hermione felt things would go better if she were alone. She wasn't in the common room anyway, Hermione saw as she made for the portrait hole, wondering how she was going to get out of the common room —the Fat Lady's portrait swinging open by itself would arouse suspicion. At that moment, however, it swung open to reveal Ginny and Dean climbing in. Hermione tried to pass by them invisibly, under the Cloak, but she bumped Ginny as she passed her. She turned around, frowning, and said, "Don't push me, Dean," in an annoyed tone. "You keep doing that! I can get through on my own."

"I didn't bump you!" Dean retorted angrily, "Why do you…" the portrait swung close, and Hermione missed the rest of his reply. It wasn't important, anyway — she had a Potions professor to convince.

Hermione stuffed the Invisibility Cloak on her way to Slughorn's office. The professor's office was on the second floor, just beneath the hospital wing. Not a short walk from the Gryffindor common room, but not that far, either. Thus, not that long after stepping through the portrait hole, she found herself standing in front of Professor Slughorn's office door, softly knocking on it.

She could hear indistinct sounds beyond the door, as if someone were shuffling across the floor, muttering to themselves as the came… The door opened, and Professor Slughorn, dressed in a dark green velvet smoking jacket and floppy green slippers. "Ah, Miss Granger!" he boomed, though not using his daytime booming voice. "A most unexpected and pleasant surprise! What may I do for you, m'dear?"

"May I come in and talk to you for a few minutes, please?" Hermione asked, politely.

"Concerning?" Slughorn prompted, innocuously.

Hermione felt sure that if she informed the Potions Master of her intentions, he would slam the door in her face then and there. So she said, "Concerning how certain magic spells might be relevant to potion-making."

Slughorn smiled benignly. "Entrez s'il vous plait, Mademoiselle," he said, stepping aside to allow her in his office.

"Merci beaucoup, Professeur," Hermione smiled, allowing herself to follow his use of French. She loved speaking French! But it would probably not do, not for what he intended, here and now. She stepped inside his office, looking around interestedly. This is where whatever happened to Harry and Ron, happened. She wished she could talk to Slughorn about that as well, but it would distract from her mission, and would put the Potions professor on his guard, something that might lose the edge she felt right now.

"Now, m'dear," Slughorn continued, after shutting his office door and settling his bulk into his desk chair. "What is your question?"

The parchment page of arguments suddenly felt hollow to her; they weren't going to convince Slughorn to talk. Therefore Hermione discarded them for the ineffective meanderings that they were. She felt like improvising, anyway.

"It was something Harry and I were working on," Hermione began. Not exactly the truth, but she wanted to ally herself closely to Harry. "A very important project, one that had great ramifications for him personally. A project he thought you could help him with."

"Indeed," Slughorn looked both interested and apprehensive. Has he figured out why I'm here already? Hermione wondered. "I don't believe he ever spoke to me about such a project, Miss Granger."

He might be playing coy, Hermione thought.

"But he did speak highly of you, as you know," Slughorn went on. "You remind me somewhat of his mother — very intelligent, very inquisitive, the brightest witch in your year, just as she was. I am quite interested to hear of this project of yours and his."

Hermione nodded slowly. "This project may tie into his mother," she said. "Though only indirectly — we do not know for sure. It seems that you are the person best suited to answer my question, Professor, seeing as how you knew Harry's mother personally."

Slughorn smiled beneath his great walrus mustache. "I shall do my best to answer you, Miss Granger, seeing as how Lily Evans was one of my favorite students in my entire time here at Hogwarts."

"Have you ever heard how they died?" Hermione asked, following a hint from Felix.

Slughorn looked a bit frightened by the question. "N-no," he said, slowly. "H-how could I…?"

"Harry found out," Hermione told him. "He described it to me. It was quite horrible."

"I'm sure it must've been," Slughorn whispered, terror in his eyes. He did not want to hear this, yet he could not order her to stop telling him.

"Harry's father died first, did you know that?" Hermione went on, implacably.

"I — I didn't…"

"Then Voldemort went for his mum," Hermione continued. Slughorn shuddered at the mention of the Name, but could not tear his gaze from Hermione's face. "He told her she didn't have to die, that he'd only come for her son. She needn't have died, she could have run."

"Oh," Slughorn breathed, raggedly. "She needn't have… she could have…" His face seemed to crack with sadness and shame. "That's…awful…"

"Yes, it is," Hermione agreed, her voice not more than a whisper. "But Harry said she didn't move. His dad was already dead, but she didn't want him to take Harry, too. She tried to plead with him for Harry's life, but Voldemort just laughed at her."

"Enough!" Slughorn suddenly said, shaking his head violently and raising a hand before her. "I'm an old man, Miss Granger! I don't need to hear such awful things…I don't want to hear them…"

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir," Hermione said, though in truth she felt nothing but determination at this moment. "You liked Harry's mum, didn't you?"

Slughorn nodded. "I can't imagine anyone not liking her, once they'd met her. She was very brave, Lily was, and very funny… It was the most horrible thing when she, when she…"

"You would have helped her if you could have," Hermione suggested, softly.

Slughorn nodded convulsively. "I could have helped her," he muttered hoarsely. "Shown her how to hide from the Death Eaters, like I've been hiding for the past year…"

"You would have helped her," Hermione repeated. "But you won't help her son."

Slughorn turned frightened eyes on her once again. "What do you mean?" A sudden realization finally came into his eyes. "That memory —!"

"Yes, that memory," Hermione nodded. "The memory that Harry desperately needed, to help him and Dumbledore understand what Horcruxes are."

At her mention of the word "Horcruxes" Slughorn flinched violently. "D-don't say that word," he whispered. "It's not a fair request…if it could help you, of course…but no purpose can be served now…"

"Yes, it can," Hermione stated, her voice strong and clear. "Professor Dumbledore needs that information, he knows you tampered with your own memories, he knows they are still there, inside your head. He needs that memory."

Slughorn looked paler than ever. "My dear, you are asking a great deal…you are asking me to in fact aid you in finding and destroying Y-you-Know —"

"Don't you want to help get rid of the Dark wizard who killed Lily Evans?" Hermione pressed.

Slughorn looked flustered, conflicted. "Of course — of course I do! But —"

"But you're afraid he'll find out you helped me?" Hermione finished for him. Slughorn said nothing to her; his eyes showed the terror in his heart.

"Lily was brave, Professor," Hermione pointed out. "She stood up to Voldemort even though it cost her her life, to save Harry's. But she's gone now, just as Harry is. You cannot lose more than Harry has already lost, Professor," she concluded. "Be brave, like they were, like the man you want yourself to be."

Slughorn was breathing raggedly. At the moment he resembled an enormous, overgrown baby, frightened and confused, wanting its own mummy to bring him comfort and peace. "I'm — I'm not proud of that night, of what that memory showed," he whispered. "I may have done great damage to the Wizarding world that day…"

"You can cancel out whatever you did wrong by giving me that memory," Hermione said. "It would be brave and noble, like Lily and Harry were."

There was a long, long silence, but Felix Felicis told Hermione not to break it, to wait. Then, very slowly, Slughorn put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his wand. He put his other hand inside his cloak and took out a small, empty bottle. Still looking into her eyes, Slughorn touched the tip of his wand to his temple and withdrew it, so that a long, silver thread of memory came away too, clinging to the wand tip. Longer and longer the memory stretched until it broke and swung, silvery bright, from the wand. Slughorn lowered it into the bottle where it coiled, then spread, swirling like gas. He corked the bottle with a trembling hand and then passed it across the table to Hermione.

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said, quite sincerely, touched by his sacrifice in spite of the near-certainty of success Felix was instilling in her.

Slughorn nodded wearily. "Just — just don't think too badly of me, once you've seen it. He was quite a charming boy, I wish he was still around."

Hermione wasn't sure whether the professor was referring to Harry or to Tom Riddle. She knew who she preferred was still around.

"Now," Slughorn said, rising and walking to the door. "You may take your leave of me, Miss Granger. I wish — I wish to think on what I've just done…"

Hermione nodded and walked out of Slughorn's office without another word. Outside the office, she stared at the vial of Slughorn's memory thoughtfully. She should take this immediately to Professor Dumbledore's office. That was what he had asked her to do if she collected it.

But Felix Felicis was pulling her in another direction, and it had not steered her wrong yet. She slipped the vial carefully into her robes, drew out the Invisibility
Cloak, and began following where Felix was leading her.

=ooo=-

Albus Dumbledore looked up as the whirlwind of color and sound died away in his office, leaving two pale young men standing before him. It was a little after sunset, and the dying light in the west sky was dimming the colors of his office; it would soon be time for the lamps to light. "Good evening, gentlemen," he nodded to them. "I trust you had a pleasant rest today."

"It was…sufficient, sir," Harry replied. He could sense the urgency in Ron, standing beside him, but he didn't want to seem impatient to be out of Dumbledore's sight. "We thought we'd go out for a — bite." Ron chuckled.

"You will confine your dining to the Forest, I trust?" Dumbledore suggested quietly.

"Of course," both Harry and Ron said at the same time. Dumbledore nodded solemnly, keeping his inner thoughts still and quiet. Even Occlumency could not stop a vampire from reading your thoughts, but you must think those thoughts before they can do so. A perfect Occlumens could keep his thoughts so ordered as to present a false front to anyone reading their mind — nor merely no thought, which was suspicious in itself, but that they were thinking something entirely different. I do hope they will not overgorge themselves, the thought floated to the surface of Dumbledore's mind.

"Don't worry, sir," Ron smiled. "We'll just drink enough to not feel hungry." It was quite exhilarating, he thought, to be able to see inside the headmaster's mind rather than the other way around, after all these years!

Dumbledore nodded as if approving. "Off you go, then."

Harry nodded and stepped up on the windowsill that afforded the view of the Forbidden Forest. He stepped off, allowing himself to float down to the ground over seven stories below. It took only a few seconds; he fell at almost normal speed until the last dozen feet or so, then slowed to a halt just as he feet touched ground.

Harry looked back up, to the Headmaster's Tower, seeing Ron standing in the window now. Ron looked a bit apprehensive, though he'd already demonstrated his increased powers by reading Dumbledore's mind. Harry gestured impatiently for Ron to follow, and Ron nodded, then stepped off the windowsill.

But Ron did a strange thing; as Harry watched, bemused, Ron stepped not into empty air, but turned so that his foot fell on the wall of the tower. He then began walking down the tower toward Harry. It was an interesting and cool trick, and Harry wondered why he hadn't thought of it himself. Hmph, he was probably more into flying than Ron was, or maybe there was a bit of Fred and George's creativity in their younger brother.

It took nearly a minute for Ron to reach the base of the castle. About six feet from the ground, he rotated away from the wall, his feet settling on the ground. "That was brilliant," Harry said, dryly. "I thought you were anxious to test out your powers as well as get something to eat."

"Just thought I'd try something different," Ron grinned. "Shall we find something to eat, then?"

"Another deer?" Harry asked. "Or do you have something else in mind? A spider, maybe — a big, juicy one?"

Ron made a face. He was no longer scared of spiders — or scared of anything, really, except maybe the sun. "Gross," he said, sticking his tongue out. "They're not really full of blood, anyway. And they're too small."

"An acromantula, then?" Harry smiled, enjoying the game he was having with Ron.

Ron shook his head. "A centaur?"

Harry rolled his eyes. Ron wasn't playing the game too well. "We can't do centaurs — they're intelligent, like humans. We'd have to mesmerize it to take its blood, and if we kill it we're likely to become Dark. I'd rather avoid that option for now."

Ron pondered for a moment. Finally, "A unicorn, then. Its blood's quite tasty, and it's not considered a Being."

Harry frowned. "I don't think we can mesmerize it, anyway. Von Necros didn't even try to mesmerize it, he asked Luna to talk it into giving up its blood."

"How're we going to know unless we try?" Ron argued.

Harry crossed his arms, thinking. It would be interesting if they could convince a unicorn to give them blood — it had been very energizing, drinking that silvery-blue liquid, feeling power flowing into every part of him as it spread itself through his almost-dead tissues. How would it feel to him now that he was dead?

On the other hand, he had the foreboding feeling that it would be a Very Bad Thing to do.

But how were they going to know unless they tried?

"I suppose we can have a go," he sighed. Ron smiled toothily.

Finding unicorns in the Forbidden Forest, it turned out, was something easier said than done. They came across all sorts of normal animals — deer, bears, rabbits, squirrels, snakes, lizards, birds — even a tawny owl or two, but the elusive unicorn seemed able to avoid them; or at least Harry and Ron were beginning to feel that way, after an hour or so of searching.

Ron floated down from the tree he'd been in, searching for any sign of a unicorn. At least he had not tried to walk down the trunk, Harry thought. "This is getting ridiculous," Ron complained. "Did all the unicorns suddenly leave the Forest at the same time?"

"Possibly," Harry observed. "Maybe they heard we were coming and decided they didn't want to be a lower rung on the food chain."

Ron just stared balefully at him. "Okay, that's probably not the real answer," Harry admitted at last. "Maybe we're just being unlucky tonight."

Realization lit both of their eyes at the same moment, but Ron spoke first. "Too bad we can't get ahold of that bottle of Felix Felicis," he said, wistfully.

"It probably wouldn't work on us anyway, now," Harry muttered, but there was a wistfulness in his voice as well.

"Maybe not," Ron agreed. "But if we had Luna drink a bit of it, she might be able to find a unicorn and convince it to give her some of its blood."

"No," Harry said, firmly. They were not going to involve Luna, or Hermione, or anyone else in this insanity they had been drawn into. "Look, why don't I just call a deer?" he suggested. "After we eat, you can practice some of your new vampire abilities."

Ron put a hand over his middle. "I guess. I'm starting to feel really hungry."

Harry was, too. One of the things about being in good shape (for a vampire, that is) is that you needed blood to stay that way. After a while without blood, your hunger would subside a bit, but you'd start getting weaker and weaker. That was something they couldn't afford to let happen, even "protected" here at Hogwarts. Von Necros might call upon them at any time, to send them on a mission or perhaps just to prepare for it. Even Sanguini didn't know what they'd be doing—they'd asked him straight out. So the only thing they could do now was to keep themselves fed and keep learning the limits of their powers.

Harry flew straight up, into the tree Ron had just come down from, to check the forest nearby for deer of any kind. Even in the near total darkness of the deep forest he could see quite clearly for some distance. Ron had described being able to see much better in the dark than before — his power approached Harry's now. Harry scanned the area carefully, watching for any sign of a deer, listening for a heartbeat like the one he'd heard from the first deer they'd taken.

Then he saw the unicorn, and almost laughed out loud. Surely there must be some rule, a law, that said you would find something as soon as you stopped looking for it! The unicorn was over a hundred yards away but clearly visible in the dim moonlight that shown through the forest canopy. It was facing mostly toward them; approaching it would be difficult. Harry floated silently down to the ground next to Ron.

"Found a unicorn," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Ron heard him clearly, however; he nodded and stared in the direction Harry pointed.

"I see it," he said at last, his voice as quiet as Harry's. "What's the plan?"

Harry looked at him. "D'you want to see if you can mesmerize it?"

Ron looked a bit startled. "I've never mesmerized anything before!" he pointed out. "Much less a unicorn! What if I can't do it?"

"How are you going to know unless you try?" Harry said, deadpan.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Right, then," he muttered, and began moving toward the unicorn. Harry held back, following at a dozen paces' distance. Even through the leaf and twig-strewn ground, Ron was moving silently, stepping only on the March grass, still dormant from the winter. When he was twenty paces from the unicorn he stopped, trying to catch its eye.

The unicorn, however, seemed restless—it pawed the ground restlessly, its head bobbing up and down. Finally, however, it looked up into Ron's eyes and froze.

"That's it," Ron said softly, invitingly. "Nice unicorn…come to me…"

The unicorn moved slowly toward Ron, its eyes fixed on his. Harry watched intently, wondering if Ron had really mesmerized the animal. That would be quite interesting — they could take small amounts of unicorn blood, enough to keep their blood-thirst at bay while they fed on lesser animals most of the time.

Ron had lured the unicorn within ten feet of him, and was wondering how he was going to take its blood, when the unicorn's head came up sharply and it charged him.

Caught flat-footed in surprise, both Harry and Ron did nothing as the unicorn slammed its horn into Ron's chest, driving it through his heart. Ron gasped and collapsed, dropping to the ground. "NO!" Harry shouted, sprinting forward as the unicorn pulled its horn free, turned and galloped away. Harry bent over Ron, examining the wound.

It was like a stake through the heart, Harry saw. Ron wasn't breathing, but vampires didn't breathe anyway. He wasn't moving, though, and that was a bad sign. "Ron," he whispered, putting his hand over the hole in his chest.

This wasn't supposed to happen, Harry thought, streaks of reddish tears beginning to run down his cheeks. Sanguini had told them true vampires were proof against any metal except silver, wounds should heal almost instantly. But Ron wasn't healing! Harry would have to bring him back to the Chamber of Secrets, hoping that Sanguini could help him somehow, or contact von Necros.

A small swish and click reached his ears, but Harry paid it no heed, even as a small whooshing sound impinged on his ears, a sound that was coming closer. Was it the unicorn, returning to attack him? But Harry heard no sound of hooves on the ground.

An impact on his back made him lurch forward, and Harry caught himself before he fell forward onto Ron. A strange sensation made him look down, and his eyes widened as he beheld the tip of a crossbow bolt sticking out of his chest. The tip, he could tell, was silver; the bolt had just missed his heart.

And now he could hear footsteps moving toward him, large, heavy footsteps that seemed to vibrate the ground beneath him. Harry reached down, painfully pulling the bolt through his chest. He felt the wound begin to close, though not quickly—it had been made with silver, and silver inhibited vampiric healing.

The footsteps came closer, stopped. A presence loomed behind him, huge and threatening. "Awright, yer great bloody vamper, turn round — I want ter see yer murderin' face afore I put one in yer heart this time!"

Harry stood slowly, very wobbly, then turned and faced his attacker. "Hello, H-Hagrid," he said, feeling light-headed.

Hagrid's eyes practically bulged, as widened as they were at the sight of him. "Great thunderin' thestrals!" he exclaimed. "HARRY POTTER!"

"That's me," Harry said faintly, then collapsed to the ground beside Ron.