Wow, thanks so much for all of the amazing reviews for chapter 13! This chapter isn't anywhere near as long, unfortunately—it's more of an interlude. But it does have some fun parts…
Chapter 14
The next morning at breakfast, much to Harry's surprise, a gigantic flock of owls swarmed him as soon as he sat down. "What's all this about?" he said, not asking anyone in particular.
Hermione and Ginny, sitting across from him, shared a knowing look and then simultaneously burst into giggles. "I suppose you'll just have to open them and find out," Hermione said with a smirk worthy of a Slytherin.
Harry cautiously untied the letter from the closest owl's leg. The other owls, eager to be relieved of their burdens and on their way, fluttered closer and began hooting incessantly. Harry sighed. Hermione and Ginny's giggles grew louder.
"You could help, you know," Harry said, glaring.
"We could," Ginny answered. "But I don't think we will—busy eating breakfast and all that." She winked at Harry to show him she was just teasing, and she and Hermione each grabbed one owl out of the horde. They began helping to untie letters. When the last owl had finally flown away, there were forty-two envelopes in front of Harry. He took some kippers, bacon, and a piece of toast and began eating.
"Aren't you going to open your mail?" Parvati Patil asked from a few seats down.
"Nope," Harry said shortly. "Every time this has happened before, it's been bad news. And bad news can wait until I finish my breakfast."
This time, the knowing looks and giggles were shared among all the girls at the table, along with Dean, Ron, and Seamus.
"I'll just open one of them for you then, shall I mate?" Ron asked, chuckling a bit. Harry knew at that point that he was missing something obvious, but he shrugged and nodded.
Ron grabbed the closest envelope, a bright pink one. He opened it and pulled out a sheet of identically pink parchment.
"Dear Harry," he began reading in a ridiculous falsetto voice, "I wrote this poem for you:
Every time I see your face,
I feel a pause in time and space.
That hair, those lips, that nose, those eyes—"
(here Dean and Seamus wolf-whistled and cat-called)
"My stomach fills with butterflies.
If you'll be mine, oh Harry dear,"
(Ron stopped to flutter his eyelashes at Harry)
"You'll fill my heart with joy and cheer.
Dating me would be your gain—
I'm a Ravenclaw with more than brains. Love from—"(1)
He was cut off as Lavender slapped her hand over his mouth. "Ron-ald! Don't say her name! If she heard you reading that poem out loud, she must already be embarrassed enough!"
"She's not in the room!" Ron protested. "I looked before I started reading!"
"You did?" Lavender asked sceptically.
"Sure I did," Ron said, a little too quickly. "Hey Harry, want to hear another one?"
"Are they all like that?" he asked, still confused.
"Well, you'd have to open them to know for sure, but yeah, mate, I reckon they are," said Seamus.
"Why?" Harry asked, still puzzled. Everyone just laughed.
Then Harry figured it out. He smacked his head in his hand. "Today's Valentine's Day, isn't it?"
Everyone laughed harder, and then mockingly applauded him.
Harry grumbled. "Ha ha, very funny everyone," and gathered the rest of the envelopes together. He was planning on binning all of them, but he realized that it would be rude to do it here, where the people who sent them could see.
Later that day, Harry was alone in the Gryffindor common room, throwing all the Valentine cards into the fire. For a moment, especially considering what had almost happened the previous evening, Harry wondered if Tom might send him a valentine. Then he snorted at the stupidity of that thought. "Of course he isn't going to send me a valentine," Harry muttered aloud.
Unfortunately, unbeknownst to Harry, Hermione had been in her dormitory trying to sleep off the beginnings of a cold. She entered the common room just in time to hear Harry say it.
"What do you mean, Harry?" she asked, her eyes slightly gleaming. "Who won't send you a valentine?"
Harry jumped. "Huh?" was all he could think of to say. Maybe if he played innocent, Hermione would think she'd misheard him.
No such luck. "You just said 'Of course he isn't going to send me a valentine.' I know I'm being nosy, and you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but who were you talking about? Are you seeing somebody?"
Outright denial was not an option, so Harry temporized. "Er…sort of," he replied. "We're friends, and maybe something more, but I don't know how he really feels about me. He doesn't go to Hogwarts, and I don't want anyone to know about it." That should make Hermione assume Harry was talking about a muggle boy.
Hermione smiled at him. "I'm sorry for prying, Harry, and I won't say anything. I just want you to be happy."
Harry returned the smile. "And what about you? Are you hoping to get a card from anyone in particular today?"
She laughed. "I'm too busy studying for any of that. Besides, the boys here are all still too immature. I'd rather not go out with someone who thinks going to a Quidditch match is a romantic date."
Harry put on a look of confusion. "What do you mean? What could be more romantic than Quidditch?"
She didn't fall for it, and she smacked his arm. "I know you're not that dense, Harry. Come on, potions class starts in ten minutes. Professor Slughorn would probably forgive us for being late, but we're starting Veritaserum today, and I want to have plenty of time."
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The Death Eaters gathered with their Lord were currently listening to Peter Pettigrew's report, on the progress he had made in gathering information at the Ministry of Magic. Or rather, the progress he hadn't made, and his excuses therefore. His best method of spying was to use his rather inconspicuous Animagus form, and it generally worked quite well. But the ministry had recently taken to using anti-vermin charms in the offices of all the important personnel, keeping out all the rats—Pettigrew included. He hadn't been able to listen in on anyone but low-level secretaries and maintenance workers, and hadn't even attempted to use any of the other methods of clandestine observation that another agent would have considered. He'd been babbling excuses for the past five minutes, and the other Inner-Circle Death Eaters were beginning to wonder why their Lord hadn't stopped his inane prattling with a Crucio, or better yet, an Avada Kedavra.
Had they been told the reason, they never would have believed it.
The reason Lord Voldemort allowed the rat to continue speaking (and existing) was that he wasn't really paying attention. He knew Pettigrew would have nothing useful to report, and so he was ignoring the worthless idiot. His mind was occupied with the events of the previous evening.
Had he really come within an inch of kissing Potter? Why in Morgana's name would he have done that? Did he want to kiss Potter? And if he did want to kiss Potter, why had he stopped? Never before had he allowed anything to stop him from simply taking whatever he wanted. Guilt and regret were excuses the cowardly and the weak gave themselves for inaction. Lord Voldemort had never allowed himself to give in to those emotions before. The thought that he had fallen into such a pathetic trap infuriated him, and gave him new resolve. If he wanted Potter, he could damn well take Potter! The boy had been stupid enough to consume something known to be contaminated—he deserved whatever happened to him as a result.
So that meant that there was only one question left to ponder—did he want Potter? Then something else occurred to him. He knew, without question, that he wanted Potter as his ally. But Potter was under the influence of Erodition, and would never stop pursuing a romantic relationship. If he gave Potter the antidote, he lost all possibility of keeping the boy as his ally. He could ignore the romantic advances, but it would cause Potter a great deal of distress, and make him unable to concentrate. So—that meant he had to return the advances, or his plan would begin to fall apart.
But why settle for simply returning Potter's advances? He always preferred to take the lead, and this situation was no different. Finally, a bit of Pettigrew's babbling penetrated his reverie.
"And I did hear, my Lord, that Fudge has plans to take his wife out for a romantic dinner on Valentine's Day. Where they are going is top-secret, and nobody knew for sure, but there were some guesses—Le Chinois, or maybe…"
Bellatrix Lestrange's hand was twitching, obviously itching to go for her wand. "Bella," he said, interrupting the rat, and giving the witch a cool smile. "I see that you wish to punish this simpleton for wasting all of our time with his worthless ramblings."
Bellatrix nodded her head submissively and cautiously said, "Yes, my Lord. Forgive my presumption, I know that it is not my place."
Lord Voldemort's smile grew wider by a calculated amount. "You have my permission to do so."
Her wand flew into her hand, and almost before he had finished speaking, Pettigrew was on the ground, screaming and twitching in pain. He allowed his servants to appreciate the sounds of agony for a few moments, then drew his own wand, pointed it at the unfortunate man, and intoned, "Silencio." The Cruciatus curse was not removed; Pettigrew was simply left to suffer in silence. Perhaps he would be driven insane. Lord Voldemort did not care. A plot was forming in his mind. Pettigrew had one last service to do for his Lord. And then he would die, unlamented and forgotten.
"Lucius, your report," he ordered, and the meeting continued. No regard was given to the man still convulsing in silent agony.
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Harry sighed as he appeared in the Chamber. It turned out that Valentine's Day had not been over after the disaster at the breakfast table. He'd also been sent several singing cards, variants on Howlers that sang in the sender's voice, and would not be silenced until their message was delivered. Not that it really made a difference, but he rather thought that girls who couldn't sing would have enough sense to choose a different way to express their admiration. Maybe they just weren't aware of how terrible they sounded.
"Hey Salazar, are you here?" he called out. Salazar didn't answer, but another voice did.
"§Master has a message for you.§"
Harry looked around for the source of the voice, feeling slightly worried. It wasn't possible for anyone but himself, Salazar, and Tom to be in here, and the voice had been distinctly feminine.
"§Down here, stupid human,§" the voice said, sounding annoyed.
Harry looked down, and had to stop himself from jumping back or crying out in fear.
"§Nagini?§" he asked dumbly.
The snake at Harry's feet let out a hiss, and he knew that the sound was intended to convey pleasure. "§Master said you would not remember me. I knew better.§"
Harry blinked, and then let out a small chuckle. "§He should know by now not to underestimate me.§"
The snake let out several low hisses, which sounded suspiciously like a snake's version of a chuckle. Harry reached out, almost automatically, to stroke the smooth scales.
Nagini's head rose up to meet his hand, and they sat like that for a few moments in silence. Then Harry remembered that Tom wouldn't send his familiar to Hogwarts just so that Harry could pet her.
"§You said you had a message for me?§"
"§Yes, Master used the Missaticus spell on me.§"
"§Ah, just a moment then.§"
The Missaticus was another Parselspell, invented by and for the members of the Slytherin line when sending messages to family members. It allowed the sender to seal a written message inside another person. The messenger would not be capable of reading the message, nor giving it to anyone who was not a Parselmouth, as the spell was both cast and released in Parseltongue.
Harry drew his wand and spun it in a small figure-eight pattern while hissing "§Secretum Revelio.§" A rather long roll of parchment appeared next to Nagini. Harry's heart began pounding, wondering why Tom would send him a written message instead of simply waiting for that evening and communicating through their link. After the previous evening, Harry was incredibly nervous. What if Tom didn't want to see him anymore?
"§Aren't you going to read it?§" Nagini asked, poking her blunted nose into Harry's hand.
He bent over, hands trembling, and picked up the note. He was surprised to find a photograph enclosed within the rolled up parchment. He was even more surprised once he saw what the picture showed. It was Peter Pettigrew, quite obviously dead, with a lengthy note pinned to his shirt. His body was laying in the front yard of a home that Harry did not recognize, and it seemed to be early evening. Harry stared for a moment, and then turned to the note.
My dearest little serpent, the note began.
This afternoon, at precisely 5:03 pm, the newly deceased body of Peter Pettigrew was left on the front lawn of Ms. Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Before his sad demise, Mr. Pettigrew wrote out a rather lengthy suicide note, confessing to all of his most heinous crimes, and declaring that the guilt had become too much to live with. After finishing this task, he pinned the note to his own shirt, Apparated to Ms. Bones' home, and drank a small vial of an extremely deadly poison. He should be found this evening when Ms. Bones returns from work.
Of course, there will be suspicion that this is a hoax. However, further testing will reveal that it is the body of Peter Pettigrew, that the note is in Mr. Pettigrew's handwriting, and that it was Mr. Pettigrew who poured the vial down his own throat this very afternoon. A spell recently developed by the Department of Mysteries to show whether the Imperius curse has been used on a person within the past twenty-four hours will be used on Mr. Pettigrew, with negative results.
Eventually, Ms. Bones and her cohorts will be convinced that Mr. Pettigrew's body, and the suicide note attached thereto, are quite legitimate. Sirius Black, previously thought to be a mass murderer and a terrible traitor, will have his name cleared, and history shall remember him as the good and loyal man that he was.
Happy Valentine's Day, Harry.
The note wasn't signed, but of course it didn't need to be. Harry was struck entirely speechless, and didn't notice the tear making its way down his cheek. Too many emotions were running through his head. Of course, he was happy that the traitor who had caused the deaths of his parents would finally be brought to justice, and that Sirius' legacy would no longer be tainted. On the other hand, Sirius was dead and gone. What good would this do him now? Pettigrew's death had come too late. If only Harry had allowed Sirius and Remus to do as they wished that night two and a half years ago, when he had first learned the truth about his godfather and the traitor.
His thoughts were interrupted by Nagini's head once again prodding his hand. "§What did Master have to say?§"
"§He sent me a gift…a dead rat,§" Harry responded.
"§Master sent you a courting gift?§" Nagini asked, clearly quite shocked.
Harry was just as surprised. "§A courting gift?§"
"§When a snake wishes to take a mate, they present gifts to express their admiration, §" she said, sounding slightly indignant at Harry's ignorance.
Harry laughed. "§I don't think that's exactly what Tom had in mind.§"
"§Today is the day that humans present each other with courting gifts, yes?§"
"§Well, yes, but—but--§"
"§But what? Silly humans, always trying to make mating so complicated. I have to be going now. Master will worry if I don't return soon.§
And with those words, the snake was gone, slithering away faster than Harry would have believed possible. Harry, floating along in a strange mixture of confusion and elation, decided to return to the Gryffindor common room. By the time he arrived, the confusion had mostly worn off, leaving only the jubilation. He tried his best to keep it from showing on his face, but he must not have done too well, since Hermione pulled him aside and asked what had made Harry so happy. Harry leaned down to whisper in his best friend's ear: "He did send me a valentine after all." Hermione gave him a celebratory hug, and then they joined the larger group in the common room, chatting and playing games. Harry knew that he was too worked up to study, but he also knew that it was too early to go to sleep and meet up with Tom. So he joined his classmates in a game of hot potato—played with a ball charmed to squirt water in the face of the unlucky person holding it at the wrong time.
Just when Harry had finally managed to relax and forget about his troubles, he noticed the large grandfather clock in the side of the common room striking eleven o'clock. He couldn't keep himself from letting out a gasp. Hopefully, Tom hadn't already gone to sleep. He bade his housemates goodnight as quickly as he could while trying not to seem like he was rushing, and got into his own bed. Not forgetting to Silence and Seal his bed curtains, he sent a cautious probe across his link to Tom. Feeling an immediate acceptance, he then forced himself into sleep.
In the next instant, he was in Tom's study, and the loveseat that had become the usual furnishing was present, along with the table that Harry had tripped over on his first visit. A gentle fire crackled in the fireplace, and classical music played without any obvious source.
But Harry noticed none of these things. His eyes had immediately connected with Tom's. For a moment, neither man moved. Both looked at the other with the same question in their eyes. Then they both smiled softly. Harry almost looked down, but Tom's eyes held his, and would not let them go. Each knowing the question on the other one's mind, they both nodded. Then, in a moment that was both instantaneous and eternal, they reached for each other. Crimson and emerald gazes remaining interlocked, two pairs of lips inched closer and closer. Their eyes closed as their lips met.
Neither man had intended to give more than a small, gentle peck. But the instant their lips had met, control had fled. Two mouths opened as one, and two tongues collided, dancing together in a rhythm that seemed perfectly practiced. The kiss seemed to take on a life of its own. Having been refused for so long, it would not be denied its full expression.
When he moment had passed and time had resumed its normal progression, a smirking Tom was looking down at a blushing Harry. Without speaking, Tom took Harry's hand and led him over to their usual loveseat. The two men sat down, though Tom did not relinquish Harry's hand. Another moment passed in a slightly awkward silence.
"§Thank you,§" Harry hissed out in their language. "§I can't tell you how much it means to me.§"
Tom shrugged. "§He was no longer useful to me alive. I thought he should at least be useful to you in death.§" Tom wanted Harry to be grateful for the gesture, but not to take it as more than what it was.
"§Still, you didn't have to. I know it doesn't make any difference to you how Sirius is remembered, but it makes all the difference in the world to me. And this time, it's me who didn't get you anything…§" Harry's voice trailed off, and he looked down.
Tom's hand reached out, stroked Harry's cheek, and brought Harry's face back up. "§I can think of something you can give me, little serpent§" he said, in a slightly lower and more sibilant hiss. He pulled Harry in closer, silently asking permission, and, receiving it, he picked up where their last kiss had left off. Harry and Tom spent the rest of the evening alternately kissing, teasing each other, and discussing plans for Spring Break, when Harry would come to visit Tom in person.
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Over the next few weeks, Harry was determined to show Dumbledore that he was, in fact, trying to obtain the memory. So he suddenly became Professor Slughorn's shadow, showing up early to every class and staying after. He asked plenty of questions about the class material, always prefaced with something like, "the textbook didn't say, but I'm sure you know." He came to Slughorn's office to chat, and asked questions about all the famous people pictured on the walls; what they had been like when they were his students and how he had helped them begin their careers. He attended all the meetings of the Slug Club and allowed himself to be led around and introduced to all the famous or important people invited by the professor. He even gave Slughorn a box of crystallized pineapple.
Harry couldn't help but notice that his Potions professor became more and more nervous around him every day. The more naïve person that Harry might have been would have put this down to Slughorn knowing what Harry was after, and fearing being asked. This Harry knew quite well that that wasn't the case. Slughorn saw in him the same behaviour that he had seen in the young Tom Riddle. The eerie physical resemblance didn't help matters. Harry, determined to cause his professor at least as much discomfort as the professor caused him, also made a point of frequently smirking, raising a single eyebrow, and generally copying as many of Tom's mannerisms as he could think of. He was continuing to meet with Tom on a regular basis, generally every other night, and when he mentioned the situation with Slughorn, Tom suggested further ways for Harry to get into the professor's good graces, and of course ways to make the man even more nervous.
His Occlumency lessons also continued, and he made sure to show Dumbledore memories of his attempts to become closer to Professor Slughorn and attain the memory. Dumbledore made no further attempts to make Harry feel guilty, and so Harry assumed that the elderly Headmaster was convinced that he was, in fact, trying.
He was also continuing to visit the Chamber each day, studying Dark spells from the library, cleaning the birds' cage, and checking on the progress of the egg. Finally, one Friday evening, at the end of the first week of March, he came down to the Chamber. Salazar was there, and staring at the egg even more avidly than usual.
"Is something happening?" Harry asked excitedly.
"Yes, yes, the egg is hatching!" Salazar yelled.
Knowing that baby basilisks imprint on the first moving thing they see as their 'mother,' and knowing that the new hatchling was to be Salazar's pet, Harry stood back. From where he was, he could see that there were already several large cracks in the surface of the egg, and that something was obviously moving inside.
"Do you think it's all right to Vanish the toad now?" he asked Salazar. "I know it hasn't hatched yet, but I don't want the baby to have a hard time getting out."
"It should be," the spirit replied. "The egg is already open."
So Harry Vanished the conjured toad, and they continued waiting. After almost half an hour, the struggling creature finally won free. A piece of eggshell lifted, and a little head peaked through.
Much to Harry and Salazar's disappointment, that head was covered in downy yellow feathers.
Harry's heart fell at the look in Salazar's eyes. He knew the spirit had been extremely hopeful at the thought of having a new basilisk for company. "Hey, don't worry," he said, trying to sound cheerful. "We'll try again. We've got another egg here already, and I've got a plan for getting a real toad."
Salazar took a moment to compose himself, then responded. "You're right, Harry. We knew this might not work. We'll try again."
"And we'll keep trying until it works," Harry affirmed.
"What do you want to do with that?" Salazar asked, pointing to the newly hatched chick.
"Well," Harry began slowly. "There is one more curse that I need to learn."
Salazar of course knew what Harry was referring to. "Only if you are absolutely certain that you are ready," he replied somberly. "Once cast, it can never be taken back."
"If I didn't know and understand that, I wouldn't be able to cast it. 'One must understand what it truly is to end a life,' as you put it in one of your books. I probably know more about the ending of a life than most people ever learn."
"Yes, but you've never been on this end of it before, lion cub."
"Do you doubt that I can?" Harry asked, beginning to get angry.
"No. I only doubt that you truly wish to."
"I thought you of all people would have known that I am not such an innocent! Why is everyone so determined to see me as the Golden Boy?" Harry yelled. Without waiting for a response, he turned his wand on the newly born chick chirping innocently for its mother and yelled, "Avada Kedavra!" Green light burst forth from his wand and hit the baby bird. It fell over instantly, dead.
Salazar laughed approvingly. "Well done, Harry. Well done indeed."
Harry quickly realized something. "You were goading me into it, weren't you?"
"And if I was?"
"Then I thank you for doing your best to make sure I succeeded in my first attempt at that spell."
They both smiled. Harry yawned, and said, "It's getting late, so I guess I'd better be going now."
"Indeed, you don't want anyone to come looking for you. When will we begin our next attempt?"
Harry thought about it for a moment. "Spring holidays begin in one week, and I'm leaving the castle for once, so I'll be gone for two weeks. Would you be all right with watching the egg on your own? I'd be back before it was time for the egg to hatch."
Salazar chuckled. "As you so rightfully pointed out, the egg won't really be doing anything. I think I can handle it."
Harry laughed too. "Good. I'll put my plan into action soon, and we'll have a real toad down here no later than Thursday."
"I look forward to hearing all of the impressive details on Thursday evening, then."
Harry arched an eyebrow. "I thought boasting about one's evil plots was only done by idiot villains in movies, not true Slytherins?"
"Yes, but you're a Gryffindor. Besides, it's all right to boast—as long as it's only to your allies, and only after the plot is completed."
"Touche, my friend. Until Thursday, then." Harry bowed mockingly and vanished from the Chamber.
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Thursday afternoon, in the Gryffindor sixth year boy's dormitory, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and Dean Thomas were peacefully studying together for an upcoming Transfiguration examination. Harry was mostly just tutoring his roommates, but he didn't mind.
All of the sudden, Harry yelled, "Crookshanks, no!" and jumped to his feet, racing towards Neville's bed. All three of the other boys followed, seeing what Harry was looking at.
Unfortunately, it was too late. Harry dove onto Neville's bed just in time to see Crookshanks lick his lips and purr in contentment, having just finished swallowing Trevor, Neville's pet toad.
Neville, obviously fighting back tears, sat down next to the cat, as all three of the other boys tried to offer some little bit of consolation. After a while, Neville swallowed, and then said the last thing any of them would have expected.
"Don't tell Hermione, okay guys?"
"What?" Dean exclaimed.
"I said, don't tell Hermione. I know she'd feel absolutely terrible about it, and it's not her fault. That's what cats do. Trevor was awfully old anyway, and at least he didn't feel any pain. Maybe now I can get a cat like I always wanted. If anybody asks, just say he died of old age." With that, Neville closed the curtains around his bed, getting some privacy to mourn the loss of his pet. The other three boys gradually returned to their studying, with a couple of comments about how it was too bad. Harry felt his respect for the clumsy boy grow even higher. He resolved to buy Neville that pet cat he wanted, or better yet, a Kneazle kitten. It was his fault that Neville had lost Trevor, after all, even if no one but Harry and Salazar ever knew.
(1) I did write this poem myself--I know it's bad. It's supposed to be bad. In fact, I had a little bit of trouble making it bad enough. XD