Disclaimer: JK Rowling and assorted publishers own Harry Potter.

This is a work of fanfiction: no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.


Chapter 10

It was dark - what little light there was came from the wall mounted torches and the open fire, casting flickering shadows on the floor. Nagini was curled up in front of the fire, presumably asleep.

Lucius Malfoy, on his knees and wracked with pain, suddenly fell forward, his hands slapping against the cold stone, "Thank you Master," he spluttered, "you are indeed merciful."

"I reward the faithful," the voice was thin, cold and rasping, yet fuller than it had been in the graveyard in the summer.

"Yes Master," agreed Malfoy, daring to look up from his prostrate position.

"I punish weakness. Weakness is failure. My servants do not fail me."

"No Master."

"Are we any closer?"

At this question, some of the Malfoy poise appeared to reinvigorate the Death Eater, and he pushed himself back up to a kneeling position. "Yes Master," the grovelling tone had completely evaporated, "in fact," he added, "we have found something that may address both objectives; the Boy and the Keys."

Sensing he should continue, Lucius asked, "Tell me, Master, have you heard of the Subsumatum Curse?"

"No," the still unseen voice confirmed, intrigued, yet betraying its distaste.

"Allow me to demonstrate," Malfoy offered, and there was an ugly smugness to the tone as he spoke.

"Very well," the voice agreed.

Malfoy turned to face someone out of sight, "Bring the captive here."

"At once," this new voice was unpleasantly familiar.

The shadows continued to flicker as Malfoy, still kneeling, waited before his Master for the captive to be brought in.

A cloaked figure returned, dragging a limp body with him. As he cast the wizard down against the stones, his hand sparkled silver in the half-light.

Malfoy got to his feet, and withdrew his wand, pointing it at the lifeless form, "Enervate!" he hissed.

"Where am I? What happened?" the revived captive reached for his wand, but his pocket was empty.

"Looking for this, Jonas?" asked Malfoy, mildly, holding a second wand in his left hand.

"Malfoy!" he spat, "you won't get away with this..." but his bravado failed as he turned to look at the figure seated in the chair, "...who? Who are you? No... no, but... but that's not possible!" he shrieked.

"He seems alert, Master," advised Malfoy, before training his wand back on the man he'd called Jonas, "Subsumatum!" he whispered the spell, a malevolant hiss.

The captive screamed in agony, clutching his hands to his face, the nails drawing blood as they gouged tracks down from his eyes.

"Finite Incantum," drawled Malfoy lazily, having let whatever curse he was using run its full course upon his victim. His poise had soon recovering from its earlier, shaken demeanour.

"Was this all you had to report?" the voice asked, a tone of warning evident.

If he was worried, however, Malfoy didn't show it, "No Master, watch," he invited, walking back to Jonas. "Enervate!" he repeated his earlier command.

Writhing in pain, Jonas looked in disbelief as Malfoy threw him his wand, and then turned his back on the prisoner as he walked calmly away. Jonas, sensing Malfoy's overconfidence, raised his wand, "Stupefy!" he commanded.

Malfoy kept walking, untroubled, until he'd reached the far side of the room, where he turned to face the prisoner once more.

"Dear me, Jonas," tutted Malfoy, sympathetically, "perhaps that particular incantation was a little advanced for someone in your condition. Why don't you try something simpler?" he sneered.

"Petrificus Totalus!" shrieked Jonas, panic and confusion rising in his voice.

"Oh dear, it's really not working, is it? Why not just try a simple 'Lumos'?" asked Malfoy with mock pity.

Jonas was now shaking in terror as he stammered out the word, "Lumos!" he commanded, his body betraying the sheer effort he was putting into willing the most elementary of all spells to work.

Malfoy turned to face the chair, "As you see, Master, the magical capabilities of the captive have been completely destroyed. What is less evident, however, is that those powers have been transferred to me." His voice changed pitch to one of pure hatred, "Crucio!"

Jonas' body wracked with pain once more, his agonised screams reverberating about the room.

"Excellent, Malfoy, you have served me well. And this will work with the Keys?"

"I believe so, Master, although that process is more ritualised. Nonetheless, I have found the documentation, and I believe it can be done."

"It had better be more than belief, Malfoy," warned the voice, "as..."

"Harry! Harry," Ron was shaking him vigorously - the dorm was still dark, and his scar was burning, "what happened?"

Harry looked up, rubbing his scar - his bed was completely wrecked, and Ron's face was as white as sheet, "Nightmare" he mumbled, still rubbing his scar.

Ron turned his head away from the bed, "He's alright," he reported, presumably to the other residents of the fifth-year boys' dormitory. "I think he is, anyway," he added, uncertainly.

"I woke you all up?" asked Harry, guiltily, to which Ron nodded, half apologetically. "I have to see Dumbledore!" Harry suddenly realised, sitting upright.

"Harry, it's 3.20 in the morning. Even Dumbledore's going to be asleep now. You can see him in the morning, before Charms."

"Oh," said Harry, realising that Ron was correct. Even though he'd made his way to Dumbledore's office at many odd times, the Headmaster had to sleep at some point, didn't he?

"You'll be alright, won't you?" asked Ron, concern fighting a losing battle against fatigue.

"Yeah," lied Harry, "go back to bed. You're right: I'll see Dumbledore in the morning. 'night."

"'night," said Ron, stifling another yawn. Harry heard him crawl back into his own bed, and shortly after, he heard the sounds of Ron's rhythmic snoring.

Harry lay awake, wondering who Jonas was. Wondering where Voldemort had been. Wondering why he'd stopped Sirius and Remus killing Wormtail back in the third year.

Wondering why 'just plain Harry' had chosen this precise moment to disappear.

Morning came slowly.


Puffy eyed and leaden footed, Harry made his way down to the breakfast table. "Morning Harry!" Parvati had called, cheerfully, before concern washed over her face, "Are you OK?"

The fifth-year boys at the table all glanced at each other.

"Bad dream," said Harry, by way of explanation, stabbing at his scrambled egg morosely.

"Pretty bad," confirmed Seamus, sombrely.

"How do you know?" asked Parvati, quizzically.

"We were awake," explained Dean, "sort of like a by-product of the frenzied screaming." Seeing Harry's expression, he quickly added, "We were worried about you, man," and Harry could see the concern was genuine, even if the presentation had been somewhat lacking in tact.

"I thought that your hair was supposed to wear off," said Harry, changing subject.

"Um, yeah," replied Seamus, shiftily.

Parvati leaned into Harry to whisper in his ear, "Seamus and Dean have been drinking Exploding Hair to keep the colour. Lavender told me."

Harry looked at Parvati, turned to Seamus and Dean, back at Parvati, Seamus and Dean again, before returning to his girlfriend, "No way!"

"Way," she confided in his ear, "they claim that they're doing it to wind Fred and George up that it won't wear off, but Seamus noticed that Lavender can't keep her hands off him now, and Dean... well Dean's Dean."

"Can't you two get a room, or something?" asked Ginny, rolling her eyes.


Harry approached the gargoyle warily, as though it were a combatant foe, "Chocolate frog?" he ventured.

Nothing happened.

"Jelly bean. Jelly beans?" Of course, he'd known it wouldn't be easy.

"Cockroach clusters. Sherbet Lemons. Aniseed Balls. Pear Drops. Sherbet Fountain."

The gargoyle moved to the side, and Harry made his way up the staircase to the Headmaster's Office, knocking gingerly on the door.

"Come in, Harry," called the voice. Harry vaguely wondered how Dumbledore knew it was him, and entered the Headmaster's office.

"Good morning, Harry" the headmaster's eyes suffused the room with a calming warmness that made Harry feel instantly at ease. He suspected the effect was intentional.

"Morning Professor," Harry replied, "hullo Fawkes." Fawkes was looking in a sorry state, presumably it wouldn't be too long before he moulted.

"I had a dream," Harry started, by way of introduction, gesturing to his scar.

"I must confess I was beginning to wonder whether Voldemort's resurrection had severed that particular link. It has been unusually quiet. What did you see?"

Harry attempted to explain what he had seen; Lucius Malfoy, Nagini, Wormtail, the man they'd called Jonas.

"Jonas. Tall, dark, curly hair? Well dressed?"

"I couldn't really see what he was wearing," he admitted, "but his hair was dark. I suppose he could have been tall," Harry felt guilty for not having paid more attention to Malfoy's victim.

"Renguard," said Dumbledore, softly.

"Sorry?" enquired Harry, not quite having caught the Headmaster's words.

"Renguard," he repeated, before clarifying, "Jonas Renguard. Used to be an Auror, but he gave up after Voldemort was presumed defeated. He had a Charms practice off Diagon Alley. Married a Muggle, which would explain why Lucius Malfoy went after him - always obsessing about keeping the bloodlines pure. And what happened to Renguard?"

"Malfoy woke him up to put this curse on him, and said that he'd transferred all Renguard's power into himself."

"Are you sure?" asked Dumbledore, displaying surprise for one of the first occasions Harry could remember.

"Well that's how Malfoy explained it; he then gave Renguard back his wand, and let him attack, but he couldn't even cast a Lumos."

"That doesn't necessarily prove anything, Harry," cautioned Dumbledore. "Malfoy might have given Renguard a fake wand, to impress Voldemort. And even if he'd discovered a way to drain someone's magic from them, I have never heard of anyone assimilating a combatant's powers into their own."

Harry was crestfallen, "But don't you believe me?" he asked. The thought of Dumbledore not trusting him was almost unbearable.

"On the contrary, Harry, I believe you have accurately reported the vision you experienced, but we must be cautious in its interpretation. Even though I strongly believe that your visions are direct observations of events, we have to consider that they may simply be dreams..."

"But..." Harry began to interrupt, but was silenced by the Headmaster raising his hand slightly.

"I said that I strongly believe that your visions are direct, Harry. But we must be cautious. These are dark times," he frowned. "We must also consider the possibility that Voldemort is aware of your connection to him, and that the whole event could have been stage-managed. Although to what purpose I cannot imagine.

"Finally, we must give consideration to the nature of this link. It seems that you can connect to Voldemort, albeit involuntarily. I wonder if he can connect to you?"

"So what do we do?" asked Harry, before being struck with an idea, "Couldn't we ask Snape if he's heard anything?"

"Professor Snape, Harry" the Headmaster chided, gently, "alas no. Severus is engaged upon a path of his own choosing, and neither you nor I can interfere in that. What you must understand is that Voldemort keeps his followers in line by revealing as little as he can of what his other supporters are doing. Or even who they are.

"Were we to burden Severus with knowledge he should not have, we might be exposing him to even greater risk than he is at present. And we would stand to lose far more from this than we might gain."

"Well what about the Curse? Subsumatum, I think it was, should we look that up?" asked Harry, feeling uncomfortable about the Headmaster's seeming passivity to the events of his vision.

"That would seem a logical course of action to pursue," agreed the Professor, "although I'm afraid I do not hold out much hope for you. I would strongly urge complete discretion in your studies, however.

"I would imagine, naturally, that you will be reporting everything I've said back to Mr Weasley and Miss Granger, but, and Harry, I cannot stress this enough, you must not let anybody else know about this new curse. Should word reach Lord Voldemort that we are trying to find the same curse that he has just seen demonstrated, he will know his security has been breached."

Harry nodded his understanding.

Professor Dumbledore wandered over to the bookcase, and retrieved a battered tome, entitled Summoning and Control. "This might prove a good starting point," he suggested, "I'll just mark the appropriate page," he added, laying a scrap piece of parchment at the start of a chapter.

As he closed the headmaster's door, and made his way towards Charms, he reflected that as the years went by, the Headmaster's abilities to lessen the burdens he felt appeared to diminish. In fact, he thought morosely, he possibly felt worse now than he had before he went in. He'd been so certain that Dumbledore would have recognised the curse, would have known what it was and how to deflect it.

To find that the Headmaster was as ignorant in the matter as Harry himself was disturbing, as though a central foundation at Hogwarts had suddenly disappeared.

Harry glanced at the book in his hand - he wondered which chapter Dumbledore had been keen that he read, and cracked the book open. It was then that he recognised the bookmark. Dumbledore had returned the Marauder's Map.


"Hey Harry, Parvati, isn't it? Padma's sister?"

"Hi Cho," greeted Harry, suddenly feeling uncomfortable - he and Parvati were headed towards Potions, hand in hand, which had seemed perfectly natural up until now.

Cho whispered something in Parvati's ear, giggling. Parvati whispered something back, and Cho laughed, "See you later," and disappeared down the corridor with her usual group of friends.

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me what that was about?" he queried.

"Oh," replied Parvati, airily, "she just wondered if I'd got my own back on you for the Champions' Ball."

"And you said you had," surmised Harry.

"Oh no, Harry, not remotely."

Harry glanced at her to check whether she was joking. Apparently not.

"Did anyone ever tell you that you look cute when you're nervous?" she teased.

"I'm not nervous," lied Harry.

"Whatever. Who are you sitting with?"

"It's my turn with Neville today," explained Harry, apologetically. Parvati had actually been pretty good company through Charms - Lavender had abandoned her to sit with Seamus. It was comforting to sit with someone who wasn't as naturally brilliant as Hermione, nor as stubborn as Ron.

"Do you guys have a rota or something?"

"Not exactly, we've never even spoken about it, and I've only ever thought about it just now, but we just seem to know to rotate with Neville - Seamus and Dean used to be inseparable, and then there was me, Ron and Hermione, and you and Lavender, of course, so it was always Neville left on his own."

"Oh! I'm sorry," apologised Parvati, "we never really thought about it. We don't really know him that well..."

"I don't think anyone does, actually," admitted Harry, "he has a lot on his mind..."


Time and tide wait for no man, and carefully arranged seating plans amount to nothing in the eyes of a Potions Master, "time to split up the Dream Team, I think," Snape announced, glaring at the Gryffindor half of the class. The Slytherins' smugness soon vanished, however: "Potter, Parkinson."

"You're putting me with Pansy?" asked Harry, incredulously.

"I'm sorry, Champion Potter, do we have a hearing difficulty? I do hope that you're not questioning my judgement of an appropriate potions partner..." his voice trailed off, the veiled threat implicit.

"As I was saying," continued Snape, "Zabini, Weasley. Patil, Bulstrode," Harry shot Parvati a commiserating glance, "Granger, Malfoy. Longbottom, Crabbe and Goyle will work together, under Ms Delacour's supervision." Harry suspected that none of that trio would be able to concentrate on the lesson with Fleur so close to hand.

"Well?" asked Snape, once the allocations had been read out, "change desks then."

Harry looked across at Pansy, who stared back, unmoving. Malfoy was reclining at his desk, completely sure that Hermione would be the one to move to him, which, with an exasperated sigh, she did. Harry realised that Pansy wasn't going to move, so he gathered up his things and went to join her desk, which was immediately to the left of Hermione and Draco.

"Right, now if we could all turn to page 172, and consider the Alemnas Draught..."


Pansy turned out to be quite the most uncommunicative potions partner Harry had ever met, and he'd struggled to elicit more than brief 'Yes', 'No' and 'OK' responses from her as they divided the preparation tasks. He wondered whether she'd been put out by his somewhat unflattering response to Snape's decision to pair them.

Harry chanced a glance at Hermione, who was having some kind of argument with Malfoy as to how exactly the Yarrow roots should be chopped.

"No, you're supposed to cut them at an angle," she was insisting.

"That's only for physical restoratives," Draco countered, "Flisch and Strum are quite clear on that - the correct orientation for a mental stimulant is laterally..."

"But that's only when they're being combined with Herbwheat..." Hermione stopped, suddenly aware that the entire room had gone quiet, as the class listened in on the two fabled enemies' bickering. Hermione flushed bright red, whilst Harry saw a flicker of embarrassment flicker across his face before the famed Malfoy mask slammed down.

Snape eyed the pair, levelly, before scanning the rest of the class, wordlessly communicating that they were to continue with their preparation.

"That was your fault," hissed Hermione.

Draco seemed unrepentant, "You're the one who doesn't know how to prepare Yarrow root."

"Well if you'd actually read Humsen, you'd know..."