Nullifier

by Aedalena

Harry Potter, the first nullifier since Salazar Slytherin, doesn't feeling like playing the hero. But when he goes back to the time of the Founders to learn from Slytherin himself, he finds himself in the middle of a war, trapped by enemies old and new.

10. Confessions

Author: Aedalena
Summary: Harry Potter is no pushover. He's no hero, and he is definitely no one's pawn. What he is is a nullifier, thankyouverymuch, and he'd like to be left alone. Unfortunately, when he starts caring again, this bitter, messed up wizard will have to play the one role he never wanted to have, that of a champion. But whose champion will he be? No one betrays Harry Potter and gets away with it. Not even Albus Dumbledore. Now Dumbledore needs to convince the man whose trust he lost long ago to save the world…and his greatest ally in that endeavour may be Salazar Slytherin?
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No profit is being made by the author of this fanfic.
Thanks to: Japonica, for kindly Brit-picking the previous chapters and this chapter.
This chapter: Long talks, confessions, self-doubt, dark magic, Death Eaters, suspicions, prophecies, the mechanics of nullifying, nosy professors, and much more, in no particular order. Did I mention long talks?

NULLIFIER
Chapter Nine: Confessions

"To shun one's cross is to make it heavier." --Henri Frederic Amiel

Compared to my tumultuous morning, the afternoon was rather anticlimactic. I finally showered, after several portraits had offered their unwelcome opinions regarding my dishevelled appearance. I thought myself a paragon of restraint and virtue for not blasting the lot of them into satisfyingly tiny pieces. Adelaide was delighted to see me again, but I barely spoke, brooding instead on the sorry state of my life. The mirror didn't seem to mind doing the brunt of the talking, fortunately. I shaved, and pulled half my hair back before changing robes again. The last set was stained from my garden adventure. I was hard on robes.

Then it was back to class, which wasn't nearly as fun now with the hostage exchange looming over my head. I couldn't even indulge in any harmless torture of unwitting students now that nullifying anything had become only marginally more pleasant than drinking acid.

But perhaps there was something to Remus' method of teaching. The Hufflepuff lesson went so well that I felt certain that the Ravenclaws would balance the scales with nightmarish disobedience. My luck held for once, however, and they listened attentively the whole class. No doubt uncertain which rumours to believe, unwilling to risk that I wasn't the villain I was painted to be. I supposed it didn't hurt that I held back some with the sarcastic insults.

I wondered what everyone would think of my teaching style once they compared notes: rotten to the Gryffindors, worse to the Slytherins, mild and pleasant to the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. They'd probably decide I was either shamelessly biased or a victim of demonic possession.

Well, whatever the reason for their good behaviour, I couldn't help feeling relief that I would have some kind of respite from the hostility of my Gryffindor and Slytherin classes. This way wasn't as fun, but the students produced rather decent potions overall so I couldn't complain. Instead of having every colour represented on my desk, the healing tonics were mostly varying shades of the desired indigo colour.

This time, I graded them the way I supposed Snape did, though without the skill experience brings: I eyeballed them, marking down for variances in colour, texture, and viscosity. I didn't have to yell once. I didn't have to nullify anything. It was boring, but for once, I was grateful for that. Even I needed a break from chaos every so often.

I finished the second lesson with an essay assignment on topical healing potions, which made me feel very professorly again. I doubted I would ever become used to it. There was something decidedly strange in the thought that this time, I would be the one making the marks in red ink instead of reading them. I might even need to consult a few books myself; I was a bit shaky on healing potions. Snape had blitzed through them, and most had to be brewed in a silver cauldron, so I hadn't made many with Remus either.

Remus. He could help me figure out this professor business, I thought wistfully. For the thousandth time that afternoon, I wished I could check the Chamber for him and Sirius. Unfortunately, Potions had tied up most of the day, and my morning had been...eventful. Which left tonight.

As I transferred the last of the grades into the gradebook, there was a light knock at the door. I finished the grade I was writing and looked up, expecting a student with a question. It was Salazar, looking grim. Well, grimmer than usual. I felt a flare of momentary panic. I can't do this, I thought. Then, irrationally: Why does this always happen to me after lessons? Is there a sign above the door? 'Harry hasn't met his unhappiness quota for the day; disturbing revelations or uncomfortable conversations welcome.'

I took a fortifying breath, steeling myself for what would probably be another draining encounter. In less than four days, the lies would end. Surely I could last until then.

"Good afternoon," I said, surprised at how unperturbed I sounded.

He just looked at me, his eyes intense with some emotion that I couldn't identify. "Why do you need protectors?" he asked bluntly.

Well, he certainly wasn't one to dance around an issue. I put my quill down and leaned back in my chair. "The same reason you do."

He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. "Morass still lives?"

"No." I couldn't withhold a sigh. "A different dark wizard."

He didn't sit down or frown, though I got the feeling he wanted to. "Another one. And why is this one after you?"

Because that cow Trelawney couldn't keep her bloody mouth shut. "I suppose I must have offended a vindictive deity in a previous life."

Slytherin's fist clenched by his side. "Without the flippancy."

Oh. He'd been my stalwart defender, but his conversation with Ravenclaw must have shaken his faith in me a little. I didn't say anything for a while, trying to decide how much I should tell Salazar, and what I needed to lie about. He must have seen something shifty or uncomfortable in my face, because his expression darkened, and he closed the distance between us until only the desk separated us.

"No lies," he said with a dangerous quiet.

I stared at him helplessly for a moment, wondering if my charade might not collapse about me before my four days were up. It's your web. You tangled it, you untangle it. Before it unravels about you.

"I'm under a prophecy," I said finally. "'Neither can live while the other survives.'" Salazar raised an eyebrow. "I know, now what the blazes is that supposed to mean? We're both alive, I think. I don't know what 'survive' is supposed to mean either."

"Perhaps if you recited the whole text?" he suggested, still watching me intently for any dishonesty.

"'Either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives,'" I intoned, omitting the unnecessary and potentially incriminating first half. "That help at all?"

Slytherin pondered that. I found that at one point I had picked up my quill again and was twirling it. I forced myself to stop fidgeting.

"Either must...for. An imperative, followed by an explanation. But the explanation makes no sense," he mused. "Warning or impetus? Does your enemy know the prophecy?"

It took me a second to realise that his last question was directed at me. I nodded, and started spelling the students' phials clean to give my nervous energy an outlet. Why I was so nervous, I had no idea. He was distracted now, right? "He has for about seven years now."

My pathetic—ah, let's not be too free with praise here—my non-existent Occlumency skills had not been nearly enough to keep Voldemort from snatching the prophecy from my mind once Dumbledore had grudgingly shared it with me. It was only afterwards that I'd realised it might be beneficial to my continued existence to learn as much as I could about the mind magics. A bit late, by then. Always a bit too late.

"Has he tried to kill you since then?"

"Hm." I paused in my wandwork to sift through my memories of encounters with him. I frowned, puzzled. "That's odd. He hasn't, really. I mean, I can recall at least two opportunities that he could have killed me but didn't."

Slytherin's eyes flashed with a silent "ah ha!" "He must be uncertain of the meaning as well."

"Oh, I see." I turned his statement over in my mind, looking for some insight in it. "Okay, no I don't. Why is that so important?"

"The structure of the sentence, as in most prophecies, is meant to confuse," he explained. "Focus on what it tells you. You can be killed only by your enemy, and your enemy can only be killed by you. At least, until the prophecy is fulfilled. That is clear enough. But then it spouts some cryptic nonsense about you being unable to live while he does."

I shrugged and scourgefied the last bottle. "So it's confusing. I didn't need you to tell me that. So what? That doesn't tell me anything I haven't already figured out myself."

Salazar ignored me, his focus internal as he thought. "Neither you nor your enemy understand it because you are thinking too hard about what it means when you should be asking why. Why is it there? Why add this second part? It should be enough to know that only you and he can kill one another."

"You called it an impetus. Or a warning."

"Yes," he agreed absently. "An impetus to impart a sense of urgency. Or a warning to give information necessary to defeat each other. What does the first half do on its own?"

I thought about it as I opened a drawer in the desk to put away the samples I had saved of the best potions. "All it tells me is that he's the only person who can kill me. I agree, the second part is pretty pointless."

"Not entirely. It would not have been included unless it had some meaning."

"There are just too many ways you can interpret it," I said, shaking my head. "You wouldn't know until afterwards just what it meant. It's maddening."

"That appears to be the defining characteristic of a prophecy."

"I don't know...I don't see how it would make sense for it to be an impetus. If the prophecy is going to be fulfilled no matter what, why should it matter when it happens? It shouldn't need any prodding. Unless the point of the second part is to ensure it's fulfilled?" I grimaced. "This is confusing."

"You have a point," he said after a moment. "Perhaps it is a warning."

"Let's assume it is. A warning for which of us? About what? What do you think?"

"'Neither can live...' It depends on whether 'live' is meant figuratively or literally. Or perhaps both. And on what you define as living." He tilted his head slightly in enquiry.

"Well, unless hell is actually a very painful and astonishingly convincing imitation of life with the luck dial permanently stuck on the 'cosmic joke' setting, I'm alive. In the physical sense." I paused, then met his eyes challengingly. "If you'll pardon the flippancy."

He grimaced slightly and muttered something under his breath that I didn't catch. "Ah, and your enemy?"

I had to think about that one. "I'm not really certain. He's been discorporate before. He has a new body now, but he used, I'm told by experts in the field, a rather unpredictable resurrection spell to get it, so I don't know what he qualifies as. I don't even know if he'll bleed if he's cut. No one's ever made it close enough with a knife to see. Not for a lack of trying, either."

Salazar tapped the desk with his fingers, once, twice. Then he shook his head. "Think on it. I know too little to be of much help to you, but perhaps something will happen to make clear the warning."

"Do you think so?" I asked, trying not to sound too doubtful.

"Inevitably."

"Well, don't you sound certain." I stared into the deep purple of the potion I was holding. I shook myself and set it down in the drawer. "Are prophecies really set in stone? I mean, if it says he's the only one who can kill me, does that really mean him and only him? Could anything else kill me? I've thought about it before: other attackers, stabbing, drowning...could I burn to death, I wonder? What would happen? Would it just...not work? Or would it burn me until I was at the threshold of death, but never past it?"

I suppose I must have looked overly speculative, because Salazar's voice sounded unusually harsh when he snapped, "No experimenting!"

"Look," I sighed, "maybe I'm a bit impulsive sometimes, but give me some credit. I'm not stupid."

"Agreed. You stepped directly into the path of a Termakhen Curse, which transcends stupidity," he said coldly. "What were you thinking, if so charitable a term may be applied to what was going on in your head at the time?"

"I was thinking that I wasn't about to let you blast my friends into tiny pieces! I have few enough as it is," I snapped, slamming a phial down with unnecessary force. Gritting my teeth, I put the next one down more gently. He had me on the defensive again. "How about we ask what you were thinking, throwing deadly curses round at suspected enemies? Suspected only due to your paranoia, because I vouched for them."

He glared. "We're not discussing my actions--"

"No? And why not?" I countered. "You could have stunned him. You didn't."

"I haven't survived this long by giving people second and third and fourth chances."

I slapped my palm on the desk; the phials rattled dangerously. "How about giving them one?"

"He had a Portkey. One that came from Morass at one point," Salazar replied calmly, as if this explained everything and I was being unreasonable.

That only made me madder. He was being so...so...blasé about it. 'Yes, I almost murdered two of your friends. I had my reasons. What are you so upset about, then?' I took a deep breath to calm myself. It was ridiculous how easily Salazar was able to provoke. me. One moment I would be wallowing in self-loathing, and the next...

I shelved the introspection for now. Olive branch, damn it. I could be calm and cool-headed and reasonable. "What's so bad about Portkeys? Why does bringing one into Hogwarts warrant a death sentence?"

I found myself on the receiving end of yet another incredulous look. I fought the urge to scowl or sigh. It wasn't my fault I didn't know the answers to what everyone here considered silly questions, and unfortunately, the only way I would ever learn is if I asked. The problem was, each time I asked, everyone revised their estimation of my intelligence, lowering it more with each question. Which started to get irritating after, oh, the twentieth time or so. At this rate, I'd be in the negatives by the end of the week. Assuming I made it that far.

"I've explained to you about Morass and his accident with the Timekey," Salazar said, accepting the peace offering. "It gave him strange abilities."

"Right," I said impatiently. "He can follow 'threads' of magic to different places and is able to sort of 'apparate' to them by travelling along those lines. I know that."

"I am not suggesting you don't. I'm attempting--if you will allow me--to explain. Hogwarts appears as a blank spot in the Portkey patchwork Morass traverses."

"Yes. That's why he can't just teleport in here, you said."

"Correct. However, if a person were to activate a Portkey within Hogwarts, a 'string' would be created between here and the destination--a trail that Morass could then trace. There would be one place in this school that he could locate and subsequently teleport to, rendering the castle's magical defences useless. We have many wards in place that detect objects enchanted as Portkeys. Your friend would not have made it past the gate, had Rowena missed the Timekey in her search."

"Oh," I said. Now that he explained it, his paranoia started to make sense. "But Remus wouldn't have--"

"You don't know that."

"I do," I insisted. "Remus and Sirius would never do anything to hurt me."

"Knowingly, perhaps."

"They--what do you mean?"

"You were unaware of the danger. They might be ignorant as well."

"If you would have just explained this to him, Remus would have voluntarily given you the Portkey," I said, my irritation resurfacing. "How can you hold people responsible for acting out of ignorance when it's your fault for not bothering to explain anything to them?"

"I suppose I should babble the weaknesses of this school to any stranger whom I have reason to distrust," Slytherin sneered.

"By that point, I think I'd already established that you could trust them!"

"Once they are administered Veritaserum, then I shall have reason to trust them. Marginally."

I felt the blood drain from my face. Veritaserum? I should have realised sooner, of course, but--it would be disastrous. Not only would it endanger all the secrets I had worked so hard to keep, it also endangered the lives of anyone associated with me, if Salazar discovered the truth. I stood abruptly and began transferring the cleaned phials to the supplies cupboard, to hide my sudden fear. I spoke with my back to Salazar.

"You can't. They're time travellers too. It would be dangerous."

"No," he said firmly. "The greater danger lies in letting close an enemy you have allowed to fool you."

I winced at his statement. Okay, this wasn't working. "You have them in the Chamber," I said softly to throw him off-balance, "don't you."

My statement did more than knock him off-balance, it bowled him over. A shocked silence followed, and when I turned around, I saw that Salazar's face had gone white as my own. "How do you know about the Chamber?"

That's where I killed your murderous basilisk with your cousin's sword to stop it from killing me first, in order to rescue my best friend's little sister from the preserved sixteen year old essence of my mortal enemy who had regained physical form by draining her spirit through a charmed diary. Merlin, you knew it was bad when the truth sounded crazy even in your head.

"How do you think?" I said instead, transferring another handful of bottles from my desk to the cupboard.

"No one else knows of it, save myself and your mother," he said distantly. "It was—It is—I never intended to complete it. Nor do I intend to need it. Though I have done many things I never intended."

I turned away again. Bugger. Now he assumed I knew about it from my non-existent mother. Another lie. I didn't even need to try! Just open my mouth, and let people's assumptions do the rest. I was so bloody tired of lying, false assumptions, dissembling. I gritted my teeth against a frustrated shout, but it did no good. The last bottle on my desk exploded in a shower of glittering fragments that miraculously missed both Salazar and me.

"Stop it," I whispered into the stillness that followed. "This isn't what you think it is. Don't you get it? We don't live in a fairy-tale. Life doesn't happen that way. It doesn't come full circle--sometimes loose ends stay loose ends...sometimes you don't get closure."

I thought of my dead, of goodbyes not uttered, of faces disappearing from the Great Hall, never seen again.

"What do you mean?" he asked quietly; he hadn't reacted to my outburst at all except for a tiny flinch when the potion phial shattered.

I came to my senses. This wasn't the time for confessions. Sirius and Remus were imprisoned, I was surrounded by Salazar's allies--his allies, not mine--and Morass still held Gryffindor's sister. I was sickened by my self-perpetuating lies, but it was only four days! I could last till then, had to.

What the hell was my conscience playing at? Why had it chosen to surface now, in this place where I had no obligations? Morass was not my problem, nor was Godric's sister. If I was responsible for anything, it was Voldemort's return.

You don't belong here. Simple, plain. So why did I feel the need to help these people I hardly knew? The very people who had locked me up, interrogated me, didn't trust me or trusted me all too much? Who made assumptions that hurt because sometimes I wished they were true as much as they did...

"I don't want to talk about it," I said flatly. "I don't want to talk about prophecies, either, or try and convince you that I'm anyone at all. Think what you want. Or don't."

"Not talking about it has never solved a problem," Salazar replied, spearing me with his discomfiting gaze.

"It's nothing you can help with," I said. In fact, he'd probably murder me. So actually, talking about my problem would indeed solve it, but only because I'd be dead, which was a bit too permanent a solution for my taste.

"Then you will continue to mope and snap at me?"

"Oh, that hurts," I said, burying the last of my regrets. "According to Godric, you aren't speaking to him or Ravenclaw. Either your idea of 'moping' differs drastically from mine, or that's the most ridiculous piece of hypocrisy I've heard today."

For once, Slytherin didn't have a clever reply. I silently awarded myself points for rendering him speechless. Without giving him a chance to recover, I changed the subject. "You still haven't taught me anything about nullifying. I assumed that was your reason for coming here."

He hesitated, and though both of us knew that nullifying had been the last thing on his mind when he'd entered, he nodded. "Clean that glass up, and we'll go to the training room."

The phial was beyond any reparo, so I vanished the glass fragments and followed Salazar after locking up the gradebook and then the room. I forwent placing nasty spells on the door this time, noting that they had either fired or been removed before my first class this afternoon. Professor Kessel's doing, most likely. I hoped.

We reached the white-walled room, and Salazar began lecturing on how to dampen my nullifying abilities—that is, lower my natural anti-magic defences enough to allow a hostile spell to break through. Then I tried it myself—and failed. And failed again and again. My Occlumency lessons with Snape had been more successful. Slytherin grew impatient, insisting that blocking their unique skill was always the first thing nullifiers mastered.

"Well, I'm not your typical nullifier, now am I?" I muttered after yet another humiliating failure. Of the many things I have been accused of, being "typical" is not one of them.

He had me try normal nullifying, testing my skill in that instead. I had no problems with nullifying his curses, though when the pressure on my temples grew too painful, he had me release the absorbed magical energy into the walls. Surprisingly, the beam of energy seemed to do no harm to the walls.

"The walls are enchanted to absorb the energy and apply it to the outer defences," Salazar explained, noting my bemusement.

He eased me back into blocking my nullifying, but his "candles to be extinguished" metaphor still wasn't working for me. Every time I saw a curse hurling through the air at me, the candles flared up again and I had only an instant to darken them again. Not nearly enough time.

After all, what kind of idiot actually wanted to let a hex land on him? Maybe that was my problem. Not that I couldn't do it, but that I couldn't convince myself that lowering my defences qualified as a survival skill.

"What if you are injured and a Healer needs to use a spell to stop blood loss? If you are unable to stop blocking his spells and potions, you could die," he explained when I voiced my doubts.

I thought about all the times Madam Pomfrey had successfully healed me, even in my seventh year, when my nullifying abilities were raging out of control. Maybe it was only curses I blocked—maybe it was instinctive, like ducking when someone's fist swings at your face.

"Try a benign spell instead of a hex," I suggested.

This time, it worked far better. And I suspected the only reason I hadn't managed to suppress my nullifying powers completely was because I was trying too hard. After a few more attempts, none of them an improvement over the first non-threatening spell, Salazar called an end to the lesson.

"Any more, and you will have a headache rivalling that of yesterday," he cautioned when I asked if I should continue trying on my own time. "Expelling the magic like I have instructed you to helps, but you will likely feel sore again tomorrow morning. And your head will hurt. I have more of the potion I gave you yesterday, in case the pain is too much."

As if reminded that they'd been quiet for too long, my muscles started aching again and my head throbbed dully. I resolved to raid Professor Kessel's stores for a muscle relaxant later. While we walked back to the dungeons, Salazar explained the basics of nullifying to me, which turned out to be not quite so basic after all.

There were two main kinds: active and passive. Passive was what we'd been practicing today—the body's natural reaction to being hit by a spell. Everyone's passive nullifying powers were different; it seemed that mine were particularly strong, yet discriminating. They knew, somehow, when to let a spell through. But compared to active nullifying, passive was relatively weak. If I were hit on all sides by stunners, my defensive nullifying wouldn't be enough to stop them all. That was where active nullifying came in.

Active nullifying came in two flavours. One involved consciously nullifying a spell (or potion, as I had demonstrated in my Gryffindor class) affecting the nullifier. In the case of potions, I focussed inwards and actively used my powers to stop the magic. With spells, I "caught" them in the palm of my hand.

Combining active with passive nullifying and nimble dodging was usually enough to protect me from harmful spells. It provided me with a distinct advantage, in fact. Unlike normal wizards, who had to cast a shield charm to block incoming curses, I could both block and cast at the same time.

The other kind of nullifying dealt with nullifying people, objects, or a certain area, like a room, of magic. Again, I'd used this kind of nullifying during my Gryffindor Potions class on the room, stripping everyone in there of magic. It was a bit more complicated, however. I could have nullified everything in the room, down to the students' self-inking quills, but I'd focussed on the students' potions implements. It was a testament to my lack of training that I had accidentally nullified the spells on the students as well.

Nullifying an entire area was the most draining method of nullification. It was far easier to do individual people or objects, which was also all that worked for the more powerful spells. If I were in a room full of people under the Imperius Curse and tried to nullify all of them at once, I would fail. Probably pass out, too. If instead, however, I went to each individual and nullified the curse, I'd likely be able to free them all.

Or I could use the counterspell. This was assuming that I had no wand or that there was no counterspell.

Direct nullification of people or objects was characterised by physical touch. A "laying of hands" type thing. Useful for when you didn't know the counterspell and a Finite Incantatem wasn't enough. Like Occlumency and Legilimency, nullifying wasn't significantly strengthened by having a wand. There was no "nullify" spell. It was wandless magic.

Actually, it wasn't entirely accurate to say that there were only two kinds of nullifying magic. There was a third—sort of the ugly stepchild of nullifying, in that it couldn't be considered a "type" really. It was more a by-product: the beam of white-hot explosive magic I produced with my hand to release the build-up of excess magic. Like alcohol, the body couldn't process the foreign magic very quickly, leaving you sort of drunk with power while it was in your system, and causing one hell of a hangover in the morning.

Releasing it in the form of a ray of magic was the magical equivalent of "purging" which, considering how often I did so, probably made me a bulimic. The best preventative measure, Salazar told me sternly, was to limit how much nullifying I did.

Then Salazar started to get into exceptions and variations that were-and-yet-weren't nullifying, all of which would probably have been infinitely more fascinating after supper and a full night's sleep: partial and multiple and selective nullification, reflective nullification, masking nullification, and blah-de-blah something-or-another, and then we were somehow at my chamber door. Before I knew it, I was in my bed.

But I need to talk to Remus and Sirius, I wanted to argue. I think I might have, because Salazar shook his head, but things were rather fuzzy at that point. Exhaustion overcame my protests, and I was asleep before Salazar was out the door.

---

I woke in time for supper, which was less a treat than a grim kind of accomplishment, because it was a tense affair. While it was encouraging to see that even in the Middle Ages the founders and professors wanted to maintain a sense of unity by eating with the students, it was a very loose kind of unity. Loose as in ready to break apart with the slightest nudge.

Morass' splendid little war had everyone picking sides, professor and student alike. Even the individual houses were divided, though the greatest estrangement was between the Gryffindors and Slytherins. Recalling the sabotage-minded Gryffindors from the gardens, my unease increased. What did Salazar think he was doing, encouraging his house's hatred of Muggleborns? Did he even realise how bad things had become? As it was, I could see the tension quite clearly in the strained smiles, open frowns, and furious glares being exchanged across the tables. Canned hostility: warning, contents under pressure.

Actually, it wasn't that different from home. My Hogwarts. Change a few names, and there you had it. I chewed my food slowly, though I wasn't paying much attention to what it was. I was too busy listening to the thinly disguised civilities being exchanged.

Apparently Salazar was speaking with Rowena again, because they took turns sniping at each other, neither content to let the other have the last word. Gryffindor poked at his supper with his dagger, seemingly lost in thought. But I knew what he was thinking about. I swallowed through a suddenly tighter throat. An image of the murdered Dursleys flashed in my mind, in painfully sharp detail. I could almost pick out the individual blood spatters on the grass and pavement. After a struggle, I managed to pull myself out of the past. Mentally, at least.

Professor Kessel jovially sipped at a tankard of beer while arguing magical theory with the Astronomy professor, Halcourt, waving a heavily bandaged hand when he became too enthusiastic about illustrating his point. Halcourt shot venomous looks at Salazar from time to time, which made me inexplicably nervous. Helga watched everyone anxiously, soothing hurts with a kind word or two when exchanges grew too heated.

As for me...this was the first time I had actually had the opportunity to sit down and eat in the Great Hall with everyone. I'd been imprisoned, unconscious, or too sick the previous nights. And mornings. Come to think of it, that was rather discouraging. And it didn't look like my lot would improve much over the next few days.

Anyway, this meant that the other professors spent the whole meal trying to assuage their curiosity with endless, frustratingly unanswerable questions. Sometimes the answers were embarrassing. Like when Professor Kessel asked me if I knew of any students who might have cursed the entrance to the Potions dungeon and I had to reply that, um, actually, that had been me. So sorry, I hoped his hand healed soon?

Burroughs, the short, stocky Magical Creatures professor, frowned his confusion at me as he speared a piece of meat with his knife. "There is something I don't understand, Evans. You're a nullifier."

He phrased it like a question. What did he want me to do? Wave my hand and extinguish every magical light in the hall? Tempting, except that the inevitable screaming afterwards would do things to the resulting headache that made me shudder just to contemplate. Since I was chewing, I spared him a sarcastic remark and nodded in reply.

"Then why did no one know of your existence before you came here? Nullifiers are such rare creatures that it should have been impossible for you to escape notice for so long."

Salazar paused mid-argument with Ravenclaw to glare at Burroughs. For the "rare creature" comment, I presumed, because I didn't much appreciate being referred to as a creature, either. His gaze flicked over to me briefly, but before I could try to read anything into that, he had returned his attention to Rowena and whatever they were arguing about.

I calmly finished chewing and swallowing like a well-mannered little "creature" before I answered. "I hid my abilities and figured out how to nullify on my own. Pure trial and error."

From the look on Burroughs' face and the founders' own reactions to that statement earlier, I gathered that this was not the done thing.

"But why--"

"Personal reasons," I said, interrupting with intentional curtness.

"I see. Then, if you'll pardon the question, why have you chosen to emerge from hiding now?" he asked, gesturing at me with his knife. Salazar glared at him again, but he took no notice.

"Because there is a madman loose, capturing every nullifier he can get his hands on and Hogwarts is the safest place to be?" I replied; Remus always complained that I really needed to learn some diplomacy. He was probably right. Oh well.

"Yes, yes, I'm aware of that, thank you." To his credit, the little man sounded only slightly offended. "But as far as Morass knew, you didn't exist. He had no reason to come after you. So...why?"

"Because there's a war going on, and my skills are needed."

As soon as I said it, I could feel the hypocrisy almost like a blow to my chest. I fumbled my knife, and it fell to the hard tabletop with a loud clang that I swear echoed through the whole hall. Hastily, I picked it up. I was now the object of quite a few puzzled stares, but that wasn't what bothered me.

I didn't like to think about wars and fighting, because then I had to think about why I wasn't doing anything myself, in my time period. And I could never really come up with a very good reason. Yes, Dumbledore had lied to me. Several times. Then betrayed my trust. But do I just condemn more Muggleborns and their families to death for that? Aurors, like Sirius and Tonks and even Ron before he retired from the wizarding world?

Maybe that was my reason to begin with, when I was so young and angry, but not anymore. I myself lied all the time now. I had let Salazar believe...

Guilt. That was one factor. I'd almost got Sirius killed during my fifth year. Fourth year, Cedric had died because of me. My parents. Luna. Even the bloody Dursleys. Others escaped with being merely tortured almost to insanity, like Ginny. Those were the lucky ones.

But how many more had died for my inaction? I didn't know exactly what I hoped to accomplish by running and hiding. Saving my own hide, for one thing. Saving my friends too by giving Voldemort no reason to attack them, perhaps, but they refused to cooperate--risking themselves daily, insisting that fighting is necessary, that sometimes sacrifice is needed to secure peace.

I was forced to ask myself some days, when the papers were full of death, a question I truly did not want to answer: could they be right?

Running certainly wasn't going to do much to preserve me, I had to admit Oh, it would buy me a few years, at least, until Voldemort controlled everything and I was left with nowhere else to hide. Voldemort had gained far more ground than I was usually willing to acknowledge to myself.

I had never asked to be their saviour, I thought defensively. But that rang childish and whinging in my head. It didn't change that fact that I was. It didn't take that responsibility away.

That's right, my "saving people" complex. Where had it gone? I could remember a time when I had thought, foolishly, idealistically, I could save everyone. When I realised that I couldn't, I somehow reached the conclusion that if I couldn't save them all, it wasn't worth it to try.

If Sirius and Remus, careful not to push but always slightly disapproving; Hermione, openly insistent that my helped was direly needed; and all those nameless, faceless Aurors who had begged for help, if they were right...then that meant I had wasted seven years and come no closer to defeating Voldemort than I had been at the Department of Mysteries.

Ten deaths a week on average, I thought wearily to myself. Ten per week times fifty-two weeks in a year times seven years...that made more than 3500 dead. Mostly Muggles, but still a significant number of wizards. I stared at all the chattering students. There couldn't be more than 600 students in here. More than five times that number, closer to six: that's how many had died.

I don't know what made this place and time so different, but somehow, looking at all these children brought it home more than anything else could ever have. The air in the hall suddenly felt too heavy. I rose to my feet, muttered an apology, and walked quickly out of the hall. Someone sharply told me to sit back down. I kept going, ignoring the order.

It wasn't until I was far away from all of those people that I was able to lean my back against a wall in a dark corridor, arm thrown across my forehead, and breathe freely. I closed my eyes. What was wrong with me? I hadn't felt this guilty, not ever, not on the worst nights when I doubted and questioned my actions. Somehow, I'd always been able to apply logic and reason to my decisions.

But logic and reason no longer seemed to make sense. Why did everything feel so wrong now? What was it about this place that made me look at myself—actually look, take my own measure?

Find it much less than I would have liked.

Merlin, I needed to talk to someone, distract myself, give my jumbled thoughts and emotions time to calm down. I instantly thought of the Chamber. Remus and Sirius. They always listened, never condemned. Maybe that was part of the problem.

"Is something wrong, Harry?"

I jumped at the voice, but when I opened my eyes, it was only Helga Hufflepuff. No danger.

"Nothing," I said automatically. "I'm fine."

"I wondered if perhaps Burroughs said something inappropriate to you," she ventured.

"No," I sighed. "He was quite polite. Far more than I was or would have been in his position."

She shook her head at me, a gentle smile on her face. She had...something that invited you to confide in her. Insight. A lurking sadness in the eyes that suggested she would understand.

"Tell me what's troubling you, Harry. I will speak of it to no one, no matter what Salazar threatens me with," she finished wryly.

I hesitated, crossing my arms. I needed to unburden myself and stop thinking that the problem would just go away or that I could leave it behind if I ran far and fast enough. Before I went completely mad. Finally, I slid down the wall until I was sat on the cold floor and nodded at her. Looking faintly surprised, she took a seat against the wall opposite me.

"Do you..." I began, stopping with a frown. How to explain without giving too much away? "Have you ever had people expect something of you, a rather difficult something you're uncertain you can do?"

She raised her eyebrows, and I knew what I would be thinking in her place: "Could we be more vague, please?"

"Perhaps you could give me an example," she said instead, ever the diplomat.

"Well, say that there's a wizard like Morass about, and he's killing people, lots of them. And he's never going to stop, not until he's dead. But he's bloody near impossible to kill, and you're the only one who can do it. And everyone keeps waiting for you to...go forth and fight, except you know that you couldn't possibly kill him, that he's too powerful and you're so inexperienced next to him and how could they ever expect...?"

"Breathe, Harry," she chided.

I did, but the words kept tumbling out, rushed and clumsy. "At first, everything's okay. You start out thwarting him in small ways, with little cost to yourself. But then people start dying or getting hurt. And then someone you trust betrays you and practically gives you to the enemy himself. And you realise you can't really trust any of them, that you're mostly a weapon to a lot of them. You wonder if you can even do it. You resent people for expecting it to be easy as waving your wand and shouting an incantation."

"Harry--"

I couldn't stop now, not if I wanted to. I wasn't even sure who I was talking to, myself or her. "So you stop trying: it's not worth it. You stop caring when people die: you don't know them. You run, hardly daring to glance behind you, afraid to see how close he is. Afraid to see the dead bodies left along the way. You know that there are more bodies piling up, and at any moment he'll catch you, but you keep hoping that maybe they're all wrong, maybe someone else will stop him..."

Merlin, I needed to shut up before she thought of another use for the nice, padded training room.

"Harry, I wish to help you. I can't do this unless I understand your situation fully," Helga said gently, as though afraid I would bolt away at the first sharp word.

"Look, you don't have to—I don't need to be handled, I just... And anyway, I can't tell you--" Then I pulled my lips back in an angry scowl. "Who am I trying to fool? Fine."

I delimited a small area around us and warded it against sound. "Okay. There's a dark wizard who's been trying to kill me ever since I was a baby. All because of a prophecy that says one of us must kill the other. He's killed fami—people I care about, friends... By all rights, I should be chasing after him for revenge, right? But I'm not."

"Why?"

"Why?" I repeated, scowling. "Do you think there's a simple answer? Do you think I haven't asked myself that over and over? Well, how about this: I don't know! I feel guilty. I don't think I can do it. I resent that everyone wants to depend on me. I'm afraid of failing more than I'm afraid of not trying. So now it's been years since I last tried."

She nodded slowly. "I see. But you are mistaken. It sounds to me that you're still locked in battle, but it has become one of will."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I would guess that at first, you told yourself that you would begin preparing eventually, that you merely required time to reflect." She watched me intently, as if waiting for an objection but knowing that it was only a formality. "Then, as time passed, you probably started asking yourself, why bother? You began to think that it was too late. You couldn't change your path. And with each day you continued doing nothing you slowly convinced yourself that this was true."

I gave a surprised nod. "How did you...?"

"Your enemy hasn't attacked you very often during these past few years, has he?"

"No, only a few times, but how did you--"

"Know?" she asked, a smile crinkling the faint lines by her eyes. "Because your enemy has realised what you have not. He doesn't need to expend any effort fighting you, because you have given up. The first day you told yourself that it was not your responsibility, he won a minor victory, one that has grown into almost complete victory over you. He does not seek to battle with you because he thinks he has already won."

"Well, thanks," I muttered, covering my eyes with one hand. "You're supposed to make me feel better, not depress me! If this is an attempt at comforting me, let me warn you before you try it again on some other poor sod: you're awful at it!"

"Well, I thought it comforting," she said.

"Saying that Voldemort has already won? Because I don't know about you, but being told that my worst enemy has already defeated me doesn't exactly overwhelm me with joy."

"Harry, I said that he thinks he has won. Have heart! The only person who has defeated you is you, and this Voldemort likely expects you to continue doing just that. Yet despite what you have conditioned yourself to think, your task is not insurmountable, and you still have the capability to change."

"Oh, change. Yes, let's consider my options: fight and die or run away and die a little bit later."

"Listen to yourself. Do you know what I hear? The voice of your enemy, speaking through you. As long as you let him, and let yourself doubt, you are correct: you will fail. Or die, if that is the equivalent of failure. And as for death...we all die, Harry," she said very bluntly.

"Yes, thank you, I've been made quite aware of that, I assure you. But excuse me if I'm in no hurry to do so."

"And when Voldemort controls everything? Once his power is consolidated he will finally come after you. And then you will be fighting alone."

I was silent. I'd asked for it, but that didn't make Hufflepuff's analysis any more palatable. What had I wanted? Agreement that I'd made the best choice I could?

"I think you know what you must do," she said, watching me. "Harry, I understand the temptation to remain here with those who love you, but once you've learnt what you can from Salazar, you must return."

It would be far easier to give into that temptation if people cared about me for who I really was, and not who they thought I was. Even knowing that it was false didn't make it much less attractive a prospect. Strange, how used to this place and its people I'd become after so short a time.

She interpreted my lack of answer as negation. "Would you condemn the future to darkness?"

"No." I crossed my arms, feeling oddly torn and wondering why it was so easy to agree with Hufflepuff. Maybe because Voldemort was so distant right now and he'd gone so long without attack me that the threat didn't seem entirely real. And part of it was probably this new sense of responsibility that had somehow crept up on me when I wasn't paying attention. I took a deep breath. "No, you're right. I have to at least try to help them. I just wish—but, well, what's the point?"

"Careful, Harry. Pessimism can be a shield, but shields don't let anyone in."

"Which is the function of a shield," I muttered. I shrugged at Hufflepuff. "Don't forget sarcasm and cynicism while you're psychoanalysing me. But you're looking at it the wrong way. It's not a weakness, or at least, I don't think so. You need humour, sometimes, because it's that or go mad. So what if it's dark humour? Whatever gets you through the day in one piece, I say."

"I would hope more than that 'gets you through the day,'" she said with a curious sadness in her eyes.

I considered that for a while. What made me get up in the morning? Morbid curiosity to see if Fate could think up something even worse for me? I hadn't been disappointed yet.

"Of course there's more than that," I said, forcing myself to be serious. I thought of Remus' excellent cooking and gentle advice, Sirius' crazy humour, and Hermione's dry anecdotes of disasters on the job. I sighed. If I kept that up, I'd make myself homesick on top of everything else. Evidently, my ties to the future remained strong.

I stood, swaying as a wave of dizziness passed over me. How long would it take before I could take a step without feeling like a strong wind could knock me over? Trying to cover my weakness, I offered Hufflepuff my hand and helped her to her feet. I almost fell down myself.

"Will you think about what I've said?" she asked me.

I didn't want to answer. It felt too much like commitment, which I avoided at all costs. But for some reason, I nodded. "Yes. I think I will."

Ugh, stupid. I would have smacked myself if I'd been certain it wouldn't knock me unconscious with pain. Blurting out my pathetic life's story, treating Hufflepuff like some wisewoman who had all the answers. And actually agreeing to—I stopped, mid rant. I hadn't really agreed to do much. Think about it. Think more responsibly. Think positive thoughts.

Acknowledge that I needed to do something about Voldemort. It felt odd to even think about it, after years spent doing my best to avoid any thought involving Voldemort or the war. But if I expected to defeat him and live, it was about time I started preparing.

Yet doubt began to niggle at this newfound—whatever. Determination? Sure, you decide to stop running and just like that you'll be able to kill him? Be realistic! He's still several times more powerful and three times your age, and you've wasted these last seven years playing at normality when you could have been training for the moment you face him. Seven years that he's been using to increase his power and control.

I'll defeat him because I'm too stubborn to die, I snarled at the nasty voice.

My inner dialogue—oh, bad, bad sign, but all wasn't lost until I started doing it aloud, right?—was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Hufflepuff and I turned towards the sound, and I removed my wards. A wizard rounded the corner, one of the sentries I'd stunned yesterday. His expression was strained, but some of the tension in it eased as his eyes lit upon Lady Hufflepuff. He hurried over to us.

"More wizards at the border between the school and the forest, milady," he reported, slightly out of breath. "Claim to know someone matching this bloke's description." He pointed at me. With his wand. Which erased any doubt that he might hold yesterday's stunning against me.

But—more? I didn't know if I should be exasperated or worried. "Who is it this time? Hermione? Tonks?"

"No. The witch said to tell you that your old friend 'Bella' was here. Does that mean anything to you?"

Everything constricted around me at the sound of her name. Bellatrix Lestrange. She had almost killed Sirius in my fifth year, when I led a disastrous mission to the Department of Mysteries to recover the prophecy. Nearly a year later, she killed Luna Lovegood, a Ravenclaw that I'd grown...fond of. And then tortured Ginny Weasley almost to the point of insanity just last Christmas. She sent me a pensieve containing what I can only assume was her memory of those three nightmarish days before the Order managed a successful rescue, but Ginny, tight-lipped, had refused to let me near it and reductoed it with grim concentration.

It was at her that I'd cast my first, and to this day, only, Unforgivable. Cruciatus. It had been feeble, uncertain, but I had managed to cause just a little pain. Righteous anger wasn't enough? Fine, I'd do better next time, I resolved. I spent an entire month after in the Hogwarts library researching the darkest and most painful curses I could find in the restricted section, just for her. Neither Dumbledore nor my friends ever came close to guessing how I'd used that month.

I didn't regret learning them, either. Voldemort was a cunning bastard who'd killed far too many, but Bellatrix tortured people. She liked to play until death came as a relief.

She was playing even now, taunting me with her close proximity because she knew the extent of my hatred, revelled in it. I suspected she didn't think I would be able to do anything, that my attempts at the Cruciatus would fall short like they had at the Ministry. She was wrong. I was older now. I was much, much better at hating. You want a playmate, Bellatrix? How about one who bites back?

"Harry?" Hufflepuff called, breaking through my daze.

"Yes?" I asked with an assumed calm, trying to control the trembling in my hands.

Her eyes were dark with worry. "Is something wrong?"

I studied her for a moment, and knew that I couldn't tell her. She'd try to stop me, even though she'd just told me to fight back against my enemies. And now I was planning to, so who was she to scruple over my methods? Why shouldn't I use every means at my disposal to hurt those who'd hurt me?

Because it's wrong? said something in me that sounded remarkably like Remus. I dismissed it angrily. Wrong was a fifteen year-old girl dying in agonising pain, her only crime associating with me. Wrong was Neville growing up with his parents interred in the psychiatric ward at St. Mungo's. Wrong was waiting in terrified trepidation for the message to come that Ginny had been rescued safely...or her body recovered. Fearing that at any moment, I would witness her torture myself should my connection to Voldemort pull me into his mind.

What I planned to do was take all those wrongs and visit them upon Bellatrix. Tenfold. With interest.

"Nothing's wrong." I smiled, or I thought I had, but both Lady Hufflepuff and the sentry flinched at my expression. I must have twitched the wrong facial muscles. "In fact, I'd like to see my dear friend Bella right now. Is she waiting outside?"

"Yes," the sentry said slowly, looking to Hufflepuff for direction. When she provided none, he turned to me. "They wait just past the gates, at the edge of the castle's wards. Shall I go apprise Lord Salazar of the situation?"

"No need," I said quickly. "I'll go now--"

"No," Hufflepuff interrupted. "You're a nullifier. Someone must go with you. Patrick, find Salazar." The sentry gave a slight bow and started down the corridor further into the school. "Harry, I will accompany you. For you to go alone would be far too dangerous."

"On the contrary," I said, pushing past her. "I'm able to defend myself better when I don't have to worry about...someone getting in the way."

"Getting in the way?" she echoed, trotting to keep up with me. "What do you mean?"

I stopped and whirled swiftly, so that she managed to stop herself just inches from me. "I mean that I haven't seen Bella is such a long time, and I'm very pleased to see her. I wouldn't want anyone to come between us when we exchange...greetings. And no, I will not wait."

She took a step back and her face hardened with determination. She called after the departing sentry. "Patrick! Go with Harry. I can find Salazar far more quickly than you." She took my hands in hers. "Harry, I will not stop you, but please go slowly. Salazar will know how to handle this. This could be a trap, some ploy to get you away from the castle's protection..."

"What, like when Remus and Sirius showed up?" I asked pointedly. "Even if it is, don't worry. I'm so used to traps, I wouldn't know where to begin handling a normal situation. Go. Find Salazar, then."

She nodded with visible relief—at my implied promise (why did no one ever realise that I never promised, I just insinuated?) or at the prospect of getting away from me, I couldn't tell—and hurried away. The sentry caught up to me in a few quick strides.

"If there's any sign that your 'friends' are not who they appear to be, you must make your way to the castle as swiftly as possible," he said. "They shouldn't be able to get past the barrier, but if somehow they do, I will hold them."

"If they can get through that, wouldn't my usefulness as a nullifier be moot at that point? Morass' forces would storm the castle, and I would be just another target."

"No one with ties to the Slytherin family will ever be 'just another target' to Morass," he answered grimly.

We were nearing the entrance to Hogwarts and I was running out of time, or else I would have asked what the sentry meant by that cryptic remark.

"Listen—Patrick, is it?" I said. "Before we get out there, you need to know a few things." I stopped and looked at him seriously. "One, I can handle this myself. Two, you will only get in the way. One and two add up to three, which I'm sorry to say is: Stupefy." I caught him as he collapsed, and as I manoeuvred him into the nearest room, I absently noted to myself that I needed to stop making a habit of stunning the people assigned to guard me.

Bellatrix stood still and silent as I walked up to the gates. I pushed through, and she watched me with a creepy smile that she probably thought would intimidate me.

It did, a little, as I wondered how many people had died beneath her wand, that smile the last thing they saw. But not nearly enough.

I didn't waste my breath on speech. I slashed my wand through the air in three quick, precise motions and the blood boiling curse flashed burgundy light as it left my wand and hurtled towards Bellatrix. Caught off guard, she barely managed to fling herself out of the spell's path. She fired a curse back at me with a careless laugh, like we were playing an amusing game.

The curse vanished halfway between her and me in a flash of pure white light that was blinding in the night, since all we had for lighting was torchlight along the gate. My headache flared, and I bit my lip against the pain. Once the spots in my vision abated somewhat, I stared at the patch of air that had absorbed her spell.

My thoughts raced. The castle's wards, of course! And like her spell, Bellatrix wouldn't be able to pass through the wards either, not unless one of the founders allowed her. Could I pass through to her? I had been able to go through the Hogsmeade passage without running into any invisible barriers. But I hadn't been conscious when I was brought back.

Now that I was thinking about it, where was the magic that defended Hogwarts? There had to be a shielding barrier between Bellatrix and me, but it was difficult to detect with my nullifying senses—Hogwarts was so infused with magic that it was like trying to identify a single voice in a raucous crowd. Well, just so long as it didn't try to stop my spells, I had no problem with it.

I met her eyes, keeping my fury cold so it wouldn't make me reckless. I advanced until the air turned thick about me, like molasses. Each move forward was a trial, and I finally retreated a few steps. Movement became natural again. Bellatrix watched me the whole while.

"Do come out here, away from those pesky little wards, and we'll have such fun. I'm curious how long you would hold out under the Cruciatus." She considered me. "Longer than many I have tested, I suspect. But no one lasts forever, the mind's construction sees to that. Enough pain, and it shuts down in defence. And once that is breached, it has one final defence—death."

"I was just waiting for you to say something clichéd like that," I said levelly. "How about it? Shall we go through the usual meandering talks of death and torture or could we get to the point for once?" She kept watching me, with that terrifying half-smile. "Why are you here," I gritted out finally, clenching my wand tightly and trying to swallow the anger again.

"Wrong question," she said, laughing. "You should be wondering how I'm here."

"Oh, I know the how. Ill planning on the part of your parents."

"My, such a witty boy," the witch cooed, wicked amusement glinting in her dark eyes. "Let me tell you, anyway. Or give you a hint."

I didn't answer, just stared at the empty space that separated us as effectively as a wall of fire. Oh well. I wouldn't have the satisfaction of strangling her myself, but there were spells to do that. My spells weren't the ones being blocked, after all. I toyed with the idea of trying the disembowelment curse. You had to consider the merits of long, drawn out suffering over days next to the utter surety of watching your enemy die in front of you.

"A little chameleon helped," she said, when I didn't answer.

Chameleon? Metamorphmagus. "Tonks," I whispered. Apprehension gripped me. "What about her?"

She didn't answer immediately, instead reaching for a medallion that hung from her neck. She turned it over in her hands, tracing something with her fingers. "Didn't you ever wonder how your favourite puppetmaster tied your protectors to you when the orb activated?"

I stared at the medallion. It was a simple black cord of leather, with a round, golden disc like a coin fastened to it. Taking note of my scrutiny, Bellatrix ripped the cord from her neck and held it out to me, advancing almost to the magical barrier with apparent ease. I idly wondered why, as I took a closer look at the medallion. There was writing on the golden disc that I couldn't quite make out. I stepped closer to it, until Bellatrix and I were almost within strangling distance.

My fingers itched to curse her into a pain-filled oblivion, but curiosity overruled it. I could now read the small writing. It said "Tonks," in Dumbledore's loopy hand. I was left breathless by a sudden fear. If she wasn't lying, she must have done something to Tonks in order to acquire the charmed medallion. I hadn't seen any similar medallions on Sirius and Remus, but that didn't necessarily mean that Bellatrix was lying. They could easily have covered them with their robes. In fact, knowing Remus, that was more than likely.

"What did you do to her?" I demanded, pointing my wand directly at her face.

"Don't fret. It wasn't anything...permanent," she replied. I wasn't comforted. She smiled slyly. "Come now, why so militant all of a sudden? If you remain neutral as you have in the past, my lord might decide to show mercy to your friends rather than the opposite."

I felt cold. Here it was, part of what I had hoped to accomplish with my inaction all these years: that Voldemort would leave my friends alone if I kept out of the war. It would really only be an extension of his policy so far: leaving me generally alone, except for a few half-hearted attempts at capture. Hufflepuff was right; he didn't want me to enter the war, because my interference would tax his resources. Here was my chance to spit in the face of Fate, deny the prophecy and refuse my role in it.

But here Bellatrix was, neutral though I had remained. Voldemort's promise was a lie. He would never let me rest if he thought I might be a threat. Bellatrix was probably here because my meeting with Dumbledore had worried him. I hadn't spoken to Dumbledore for almost five years.

He was...worried. Worried? The idea shocked me, because I had always assumed him to be invulnerable, that any attempt on my part to attack him would naturally fail. But if he truly feared my involvement, that meant he could be hurt.

And if he could be hurt, he could be killed. Prophecies can be doubted. Actions don't lie. I stared at Bellatrix, and an inexplicable amusement rose within me. I laughed at her, and the shock on her face was worth the pain the action caused my head and aching muscles. She was fanatically devoted to her master, and yet, in bringing me to this sudden realisation, she could very well be the instrument of his destruction.

I might not have challenged Voldemort when I returned to the future, I reflected, despite my talk with Lady Hufflepuff, because I hadn't believed myself capable of defeating him. My doubts would have eventually overcome any resolution I might have mustered. Maybe I would even have stayed here, left the future to Voldemort and have regretted it some dark nights when I couldn't sleep. He would have won.

But Voldemort had made the mistake of sending his most loyal Death Eater after me, revealing a dangerous truth: he could be harmed.

Bellatrix's momentary surprise turned into anger. "You refuse my lord's generous offer?"

"When we get back, Lestrange, you can personally deliver my reply to him: sod off."

"You dare!" she spat, drawing her wand so that it was nearly touching mine. "When we get back, I'll take every pleasure in eliminating every last person you hold dear. I will listen to their screams, and your name will be a curse on their lips as they die. Have taste of their pain...Crucio!"

The barrier swallowed the magic, and I heard a cry of pain. I had closed my eyes in anticipation of the blinding light, but she hadn't, and the light had temporarily blinded her. I smiled at her helplessness and didn't try to contain the fierce craving for her pain that rose within me.

"How...ineffective of you," I said with a mocking laugh. "Do I have to show you how it works? Crucio."

Her shrieks of rage became screams of throat-tearing agony that I listened to with both enjoyment and a muted horror that I could enjoy such a sound. My greatest tormenter writhed under the force of my own pain and anger, bottled up for far too long.

I kept the spell trained on her and felt like I could have maintained it forever with the endlessly replenishing well of hatred I had for her. It would be a poetic justice to see her suffer the fate of the Longbottoms. Then I thought what she'd said earlier about insanity being an escape from pain. I stared down at her writhing, curled up form, faintly surprised that my desire for revenge remained unsated.

Surely I could devise something more original and more painful than Cruciatus followed by insanity and death. I lifted the curse, battling a reluctance that made me uneasy. Bellatrix collapsed, a few limbs still twitching.

"So," she gasped, "ickle Harry Potter is all grown up and using Unforgivables now? It won't save you."

"Funny, because I always thought that a couple of Avada Kedavras would go a long way towards reducing my problems," I said, fighting the urge to apply the curse again.

She staggered to her feet like a drunkard, wiping blood from her mouth where she'd bit through her lip. Where were the others? I suddenly wondered. The sentry had mentioned friends, plural, but only Bellatrix had been in view when I arrived. Where had they been while I was cursing Bellatrix?

"What are you doing here?" I asked again.

"Making sure you don't delude yourself into thinking you could actually confront the Dark Lord," she answered with a sneer. "Dark magic won't help you, though you're welcome to try it. I'm sure that old Muggle-lover will be very distressed when he finds out what his precious 'Golden Boy' has been learning."

"I don't plan on telling Dumbledore," I said, fiddling with my wand a bit. Bellatrix followed its movements warily, I noted with intense satisfaction. "So unless you fancy stopping by Hogwarts for a chat over tea, he'll never know."

She laughed suddenly, seemingly recovered from the curse entirely; but then, I expected most Death Eaters would have built up varying degrees of resistance to it. "You're wasted on the Light, Potter. You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

"Very much," I said softly.

Her eyes narrowed, and she said, "We'll see what happens between the two of us next time, when you don't have a shield to cower behind."

"If there's a next time, Bellatrix, then I assure you that you won't be walking away from it."

"Brave little Gryffindor, are you?"

"No. Just a very determined one."

It was her turn to be discomfited. She didn't say anything though, and we studied one another for a minute, gauging weaknesses and cataloguing strengths. I sincerely planned for there to be no "next time" for me and her, but if there was, I would be prepared.

Was revenge worth the risk of her escaping? Maybe a quick death truly was the best solution. A single Avada Kedavra. Simple, elegant, final. One less worry, one less weakness. She wouldn't be expecting it, I thought with a sudden insight. She expected me to draw it out, which is what she'd do in my place. I was fast, and I knew it. The green light would already have engulfed her before she realised what it meant.

What would it be like to see that horrible light from the other end of the wand? I finally noticed that my wand was raised, and lowered it shakily. No. Not yet.

Logic. I could try Legilimency on Bellatrix to discover what Voldemort was planning, what she had done to Tonks. I already had eye-contact; I started probing cautiously at her mind.

It was a kaleidoscope of nightmarish images, jumbled and distorted. I could see the faces of her victims, hear their tortured screams; I shared her immense pleasure at the pain she wrought. Her obsession with Voldemort was present in all of them; she did these things both out of a twisted love for him and genuine enjoyment and belief that every death was deserved. I recalled how much satisfaction I had felt while holding her under the Cruciatus Curse, and nausea rose in me.

I forced myself to push away all emotion, to find the memory I needed.

Head bowed, before a tall, dark figure. "...we were unable to secure Black's or Lupin's link, master. Dumbledore presented the medallions to them personally. He sent one to my filthy blooded niece, however, by owl. I have hers."

I felt some of my fear ease—Tonks was all right.

Voldemort spoke, his voice cold like I often heard in nightmares. "Unacceptable. We need at least one more."

She looked up, her eyes shining. "Yes, my lord. I will not fail you."

"What is that old fool planning?" Voldemort mused, absently reaching a hand down to stroke Bellatrix's hair like most people would a pet dog. "You will find his purpose in going back. Do not try to kill him. You will fail. Leave as soon as you have taken the Orb. I will contact you. If what I fear is true, you shall indeed hear from me soon."

I pulled out of her mind, and felt like I was the one who had been violated instead of Bellatrix. Her eyes were unfocussed, and I glanced away with a shudder. She was insane. She was sick, perverted, sadistic, and one hundred per cent certifiably loony. I tried to separate my sense of self from the echo of hers that persisted in me. I really did not need to feel her obsessive devotion to Voldemort when I faced him.

I broke free of the last slimy tendrils of her memories and pondered the significance of Voldemort's last words to her. "If what I fear is true..." What did that mean? What did he fear? That I was indeed working with Dumbledore? But why would he know and not her? No, that didn't make any sense. Did it have something to do with the prophecy?

"Neither can live while the other survives..." I was in a different time period entirely. Was I technically living or surviving or whatever as far as the prophecy was concerned? And how would that impact Voldemort? I recalled Salazar surmising that Voldemort was uncertain of what that phrase meant.

Did he fear what would happen if I were to "die"?

"Legilimency, Potter?" Bellatrix slurred, still disoriented from my attack on her mind. "See anything you liked? I'd be happy to swap tales of torture."

A flash of mixed annoyance and anger called me from my musings. "Shut up."

"Wouldn't you like to see more?" She established eye contact again. "My lord taught me a trick or two for Legilimens foolish enough to practise their craft on me."

A force pulled me back into her mind, while something in me protested that this was impossible, shouldn't the magical barrier have blocked the magic...? I struggled against her grip on my mind, but the images of blood and nails and torn flesh shattered my concentration.

Haven't you ever wondered how the Weasley child fared under my tender ministrations? came her voice in my mind, lazy with feline amusement. I was generous enough to send you a pensieve, but I hear you destroyed it. Such a waste.

She dragged me, resisting all the way, to the night of Ginny Weasley's ambush and capture. I watched her proud defiance falter as more and more pain was heaped upon her and defiance became unbearable. Curses overlapped with curses, and she started screaming long before the torture ended. Throughout I could hear snatches of Bellatrix's cooing voice, and I caught Ginny mouthing my name a few times. My jaw clenched with each shriek and strangled sob.

At one point, I had given up fighting Bellatrix's grip on me, and watched helplessly. A part of me whispered that I deserved to see this, to see what my inaction had bought my friends. Nothing. Worse than nothing. Bellatrix eventually cut the scene short.

Had enough yet? She laughed cruelly. I've plenty more. Shall we dig some more, and stop when we spot someone you know? The Loony girl?

Her grip on me eased slightly, and I took the opportunity to buck against her control. I broke free, but not before catching a glimpse of a familiar face: Morass. I stopped at that memory, and listened while Bellatrix struggled to reassert control.

Bellatrix and a Death Eater I didn't recognise were walking with a tall figure in a thickly wooded area. They stopped as they reached a camp full of tents. I could see what I estimated to be approximately three dozen wizards milling about doing various tasks. The younger ones were cooking while others duelled. A few were handling a struggling dragon. The entire camp had a restless feel, like the wizards had been denied action too long and hungered for excitement.

"More and more curious," the cloaked figure said. "But why will you tell me nothing of the boy?"

He turned to face Bellatrix. Morass. I shivered, looking at him. It was approaching dusk, which made his parchment-pale skin and dark red-brown eyes stand out even more. They were cold, with a fanatical kind of madness in them. Insane and fully conscious of it, I thought.

"Why should I give information away freely?" she asked. "Offer me something of value and I will perhaps be more inclined to share what I know."

"Ah, no matter. Curiosity makes an excellent spice. Even so, it is inconceivable," he murmured, fingering something hanging at his neck. The shell contraption. I watched it with trepidation, recalling the utter helplessness it had induced in me. "To think that I hadn't failed at all, not entirely."

Bellatrix was dangerously close to regaining the upper hand in our mental struggle, and I reluctantly broke off from the memory. Focussing my will, I wrenched my mind free of hers, trying to guess just what exactly she had done. It wasn't Legilimency, because that would put her in my head. It was reverse Occlumency, in a way, in that instead of protecting her mind, she managed to seize mine and drag it into hers to display her disgusting memories. I threw up my Occlumency shields in case she tried again.

Bellatrix Lestrange pulled herself up to her full height and slowly but confidently stepped closer to me. I watched incredulously as she approached the barrier and pushed. The barrier distorted round her, stretching like bubble gum. It was a good deal hardier, fortunately, because she wasn't able to break through.

"It worked, just as he thought it would," she marvelled.

"Who? What did you do to the barrier?" I rasped, my throat dry from the mental strain of being in her mind.

"It's what you did to it." She awarded me with a smile that showed a lot of teeth. "Or rather, what your spells did to it."

I studied the barrier more carefully now. I could see that it wasn't just one spell, or even a dozen, but hundreds—some drawing strength from nature itself, others from the magical core of Hogwarts, and some that I couldn't trace. It was a complicated mesh of interconnected spells. And each and every spell glowed with a pure, blue-white light, except for a faded, greyish patch between Bellatrix and me. I realised with dismay that my Cruciatus had weakened this point in Hogwarts' defences in a way that no nullifying magic could.

Magic cast from the outside was absorbed by the spells, and actually reinforced the magic. My curse, however, had passed through freely, corrupting parts of the spell and weakening the overall defences of Hogwarts in the one small area, like a worn patch on a very large rug.

"Percuro," I murmured reluctantly.

Bellatrix, expecting another angry curse, perhaps, didn't dodge my healing spell. It galled me that I should be forced to heal my most hated enemy to preserve the integrity of the defences—assuming this would indeed help—even as it surprised me that I was actually putting duty above my own desires. I hadn't been doing much of that in these last few years.

Bellatrix's posture relaxed slightly as the healing spell soothed phantom pains she probably hadn't even noticed. She let out a cry of rage when the barrier grew slightly more taut forced her back with an elastic kind of recoil.

"Rule number one for taunting your enemies: make sure they can't make use of any information you divulge," I stated before adding, uncharitably, "idiot."

She opened her mouth to respond to my gibe, but stopped, her attention caught by something rapidly approaching. Dread made my stomach and heart trade places and I turned slowly to see Salazar Slytherin and Helga Hufflepuff all but running towards us. A thwarted fury came over Bellatrix's face before her lips relaxed into a too-sweet smile.

"I will bring your answer to my lord. I must admit, I hoped you would refuse. We had made certain...preparations in the event that you did. You think you have known war, Harry? This will make the last seven years look like a primer."

"I'll stop you," I said firmly.

"You make the assumption that you'll have returned by the time he knows. Yours is not the only Tempus Orb. But don't fret, you will be seeing me again, Harry. And then we shall see just how proficient at the Unforgivables you are."

With a mocking wave, she turned and strode away while I stood frozen, my every instinct screaming for me to curse her retreating back while reason pointed out that I had to think of the wards, I couldn't run the risk of weakening them still further. Then Bellatrix took the choice out of my hands and disapparated.

I was trembling with mixed frustration and anger when the two founders reached me.

"Harry," Hufflepuff gasped, panting to catch her breath. "We felt the wards falter. Who was that? What did she do?"

Salazar said nothing, his expression closed except for a momentary flash of relief when he verified that I was unharmed. He knelt beside the magical barrier while I stared at the spot where Bellatrix had stood.

"Bitch." Salazar looked at me sharply. "Sorry, I was answering Helga's question. That's who she was, and that's what she did. The rest..." I hesitated and then continued. "The rest was me."

Hufflepuff stepped through the wards without experiencing the resisting force I had and from the other side, reached out a hand and pressed the weakened spot on the wards, feeling the give. "You did this?"

Salazar glanced up from his study of the defences and nodded. "Yes, he must have. It is impossible to damage the barrier from the outside. What he did is of more concern to me."

"Guess," I said bitterly.

"I think I can." He closed his mouth against something he wanted to say and made an impatient gesture at Hufflepuff. "Do come back inside the wards, Helga. It would be too ironic for my tastes if Morass snatched you mere feet from the safety of the castle's barrier."

"What did you do, Harry?" Helga asked as she effortlessly passed back through the wards. "Salazar?"

"Inside." He stood. "There is little I can do to reinforce the spells here. Within a few days, they should mend on their own."

I followed them back into the castle, and though I knew I should be more worried about what would happen once I was alone with Salazar, my thoughts kept drifting back to my encounter with Bellatrix Lestrange. What did she mean, there was more than one Tempus Orb? I knew that, Dumbledore had said that the ministry had another one. But she had no access to that one, or she wouldn't have had to steal Tonks' medallion.

Unless she meant that she would acquire the second Orb in this present time? Had it been made yet? Since it seemed that she and the other Death Eater were allied with Morass now, maybe he was planning to make another one of his "Timekeys"? But Salazar had said they were a failure. And Morass himself in the memory had been under that impression too. So probably not.

It was also entirely possible that she'd said that just to drive me mad with confusion and worry. In which case, she was succeeding admirably.

Salazar murmured something to Hufflepuff as we entered the school and she shook her head, whispering something back. Ravenclaw met us when we reached the Great Hall.

"Salazar, Helga, I felt the wards--"

"It has been dealt with," Salazar interrupted.

Ravenclaw looked at me and frowned. "Is it something he--"

"Let me handle this, Rowena."

"I will not let you keep sweeping these things under the rug, Salazar, not when they risk the safety of nearly a thousand students!" Ravenclaw snapped, jerking her head in a pointed nod at me.

I was abruptly glad that it had been Salazar that Hufflepuff fetched rather than Ravenclaw.

"Rowena," Hufflepuff interjected, "let it be. The matter touches upon one of Salazar's areas of expertise."

"Helga, not you too!" Ravenclaw crossed her arms, tiny and defiant, as she glared at me. "I don't know what you did to convince Helga of your good intentions, but I assure you that I will not be persuaded."

"Not if the naked truth prostrated itself before her, begging for an audience," Salazar muttered very quietly.

Unready to commit suicide just yet, though this time period seemed determined to drive me to that point, I did not laugh. Or even let the smallest hint of a smile cross my face. But when I remembered Salazar's earlier argument with Rowena, all temptation vanished. Ravenclaw might not be very good at recognising the truth as far as my story was concerned, but she was quite capable at spotting untruth.

"I won't act on my fears yet," Ravenclaw told me. "I am willing to admit that I may be wrong, unlike some. But I will not dismiss my suspicions."

I nodded slowly. "Good."

She frowned as if uncertain that I was being serious. "Good?"

"A little suspicion is good," I said, shrugging.

Ravenclaw looked as me as though I was a student who, gently guided to the right answer, had given the wrong one nevertheless. "But shouldn't--"

"Another time, Rowena. Helga will no doubt be delighted to explain what happened." He gave a dismissive nod that earned an irritated frown from Ravenclaw and took me by the arm. His voice, when he spoke to me, was curt. "The training room. Now."

When we arrived, Salazar closed the door very gently. For a moment, he stood there, facing the door with an eerie stillness that made me nervous. Then he took a deep breath and turned around. His face betrayed no emotion.

"You are a fool."

I wished he hadn't chosen this room. There were no chairs, no furniture. The room was stark and white and didn't allow any illusion that this was a casual conversation. I couldn't sit, or look at anything to avoid Salazar's eyes, or fiddle with anything. Did they really put crazy people in rooms like this? If they weren't crazy to begin with, I was fairly certain that a few hours in the room would do the trick.

"I didn't know it would weaken the wards," I said in my defence, closing my eyes as I rubbed my temples to ease my unceasing headache. "How could I have? Morass didn't know either, or wasn't sure, if my suspicions about the reason for Bellatrix's visit are right."

"The woman?"

I nodded, swallowing words that would betray my terrible hatred of her.

"That isn't what I am referring to."

"What, then? Don't keep me in suspense." I opened my eyes, but Salazar's expression hadn't changed.

"You used two curses on her," he said calmly. "One I did not recognise, but it is impossible to hide the nature of magic from an experienced nullifier, and the wards could only have been weakened by one kind of magic. They were both dark spells, and one of them was sustained for a very long time to have caused so much damage."

I tried to estimate how long I had held the Cruciatus, but realised uneasily that I had no idea. I had been so caught in watching that I had lost all sense of time or anything other than Bellatrix's pain. But she'd more than deserved it, I thought angrily. I let my arms drop and folded them across my chest. "You don't know who she is, or what she's done--"

"I don't care," came the crisp reply. "Even if she murdered everyone you ever cared for—take revenge, surely, but not like this. Let it be clean and let it be quick. Death is justice, if her crime is great enough. Torture is not. It is answering one crime with greater one because you lessen the gap between who the criminal is and who you are. Would you be the greater criminal?"

His tone was even and his pitch never wavered, but somehow I could sense an undercurrent of passion in his words. "This sounds like something you've thought about before," I said.

"I have killed," he stated. "Is that what you wish to hear? I have tortured. I have hated, as you do, and sought revenge. There are those that hate me back for what I have done in the name of vengeance. Am I absolved because I was wronged first? Do those I have hurt in turn have a right to visit upon me the punishments I dealt out? Judge me as you have judged your Bellatrix. If one of them were to have me helpless under his wand, would he be right to do as he pleases?"

"It's not the same," I protested. "I doubt you ever tortured someone to death for the sole reason that you enjoy pain, or killed someone as a demonstration of power."

"Do you? Doubt?"

Something bleak shadowed his face then and his eyes were dark with memories. I felt my certainty waver. "What do you mean? You're saying that you've...?"

"Do you know what dark magic does?" He studied me and laughed a dead laugh that chilled the air. "No. You have known darkness, that much is apparent, and every soul casts a shadow. But you have had little experience with how magic can shape a wizard, how it can enhance faults and prey upon weaknesses."

I thought about the Cruciatus again, and how I hadn't wished to stop, and the siren call of Avada Kedavra. I didn't like the thought that some part of me revelled in the pain of others, but I had stopped--

Because I hadn't wanted to leave her unable to feel more pain. Because I knew that there were worse curses than the Unforgivables, waiting patiently in dusty books hidden at the backs of libraries for the right person to find them and want to learn them.

No, damn it! I refused to believe that wanting to hurt Bellatrix was wrong. Just because I had taken satisfaction in seeing a little bit of poetic justice in the world didn't mean that I was more likely to do the same thing to someone else who didn't deserve it. Maybe the spell had influenced me slightly—I knew there were reasons some curses were classified as "dark"—but I had stopped. I hadn't let it control me. Maybe other wizards weren't able to resist the temptation, but I had, and I certainly didn't feel like I was about to prance around the school merrily throwing painful or lethal curses at schoolchildren. My seventh year Gryffindor and Slytherin Potions students, perhaps, but I thought there might be some justification there.

I examined Salazar back. Here was one of history's great villains, the Muggle and Muggleborn-hater who'd inspired later wizards to commit murder again and again in his name. Why was he telling me this? In a few more years—or decades, I wasn't sure—he would plant his basilisk in the school and start his own war to purge the world of Muggleborns. He was a notorious dark wizard. His own father had disowned him for practising dark magic and he was lecturing me about them?

"You don't believe me or don't wish to," Salazar said when it seemed I wouldn't reply.

"You're telling me it's wrong, but you're done the same." And he would do the same in the future.

A part of his mask shattered, and when he spoke, it was with visible regret and anguish. "You do not understand. I am telling you that it's wrong because I have done the same. I have travelled down this path that has opened before you, and I know exactly where it leads and what you must sacrifice along the way. I speak from experience when I say that it is not worth it."

"What path?" I demanded. "It was two curses. On one person. I hate her, yes. I would do the same given another chance, yes. That doesn't mean anything!"

The rest of his calm fell away. "It does. It means something that you were willing to cast them at all! They are called 'dark' for a reason. Many dangerous spells can be used with good or ill intent, with only the caster's own will at work. Dark spells influence you, and it does not matter how strong you are or that you think you can overcome whatever temptations they offer. They erode the will, and given enough time, will amplify every bad quality you possess. The day will come when innocence and guilt, love and hate, mean nothing to you; you will only see a target for your frustrations."

"I don't plan to use them again, if that's what you're worrying about," I said. "Not unless I need to."

"Need. You never once 'needed' to use them on that woman. You wanted to. There is a difference."

"And what do you suggest I do next time, then?" I countered. "Ooze moral superiority at her? That'll do her in."

With only the slightest of hesitation, Salazar took a step towards me and put his hands on my shoulders. I could sense what this cost him, and managed not to jump at the unfamiliar, close contact. The white room fell away from me as I read the desperation in him, his unfathomable need for me to understand when I couldn't.

"Stun her. Or kill her. There are spells you can use that are not dark. Use a blade, if you are not comfortable using magic to kill. I assure you that if you use dark magic long enough, that discomfort will be one of the first moral compunctions lost."

I closed my eyes again and saw the castle's barrier, saw Bellatrix, felt my wand in my hand. Could I have just killed her? Stunned her? I didn't know, half didn't care as I stared at her long enough and the faces of her victims appeared before me in flashes. Someone was shaking me. My eyes flew open and I realised I my breath was coming in ragged gasps.

"I don't know if I can do that," I said as I met Salazar's gaze. "I hate her so much."

His lips pressed together tightly. "Then kill her. Death, you will find, can be a soothing balm. But no dark magic." I stared at him, and he shook me again lightly. "Swear it."

"I told you, I can't," I said with a misery I didn't fully understand.

He released me roughly. "I see," he said with a tone that suggested he didn't see at all.

"What is it going to be this time?" I found myself asking, belatedly wondering if I did have some sort of death wish. "To bed with no supper? Exile to my quarters?"

"No," he said grimly. "This is not some petty, childish offence."

Alarmed, I wondered if I should have lied and given him the oath he'd wanted. Though I wasn't sure that he would believe a direct lie.

"I will relocate your keepers to one of my father's strongholds for questioning," he said. "Because clearly they have done a poor job at protecting you. Where did you learn those spells? From them?"

My eyes widened in dismay. If Lord Slytherin used Veritaserum, and Remus and Sirius weren't warned...even if they didn't reveal my deception, I would have no idea where to find them.

"You can't," I said breathlessly. "They had nothing to do with it. I found those spells myself--"

An urgent banging at the door caught us both by surprise. "Salazar, are you in there?" The muffled voice was Hufflepuff's.

"Yes. What is it?"

"You must come. Your uncle and cousin Davin are here." I suddenly realised that more than the door was muffling Hufflepuff's words. Her voice was thick with unshed tears. "It's--oh! It's Marcus and Lavina, Salazar. They are dead."