AN1: For the sake of convenience I'm changing around the order of Harry's first day of classes. Hope you don't mind.

AN2: I feel compelled, once again, to apologise for how very slow my updates have become. As usual there's a lot happening - I won't bore you with the details but I can assure you that it's as dramatic as usual - and it's really hard to actually pull together the motivation to write. Not to mention, I've built up a weird anxiety about writing as of late and I'm not quite sure how to fix it. Anyway, I'm really, really sorry, and I'll try to be better.

Chapter 20: A Can of Worms (or five)

"I have a rather brilliant proposition," Harry said loftily as he, Hermione, and Theo walked briskly down the hallway leading away from their History of Magic classroom, a ways behind the crowd of fifth years, "That the entirety of the Hogwarts population either drops or fails out of History of Magic -"

"Harry!" Hermione immediately scolded, "History of Magic is an immensely important subject -"

"Exactly, and nobody's learning it. Now hush and listen to my brilliant proposition."

"Fine," Hermione said sourly.

"I propose that whilst everyone either drops, skips, or fails out of History of Magic, we begin a school-wide history study club that covers important and relevant events in both magical and muggle history in an engaging and practical way."

Hermione blinked. "That's...brilliant."

Harry smiled. "Yes, I thought so too."

"Good luck getting people to actually come, though," Theo put in.

"I would also propose there be snacks."

Hermione nodded avidly, but Theo still looked skeptical. "I'm not sure even snacks would do the trick, mate."

"And possibly alcohol."

"Harry James Potter!"

"Just for the upper years!" Harry said hastily.

"It's still illegal for everyone under seventeen!"

"It would be for the greater good!"

"You can't blatantly break the law for the greater good!"

Harry looked at her confusedly. "We've done that plenty of times, Hermione."

Hermione's cheeks went bright red. "That's...different."

Theo snorted loudly and opened his mouth to comment - before he tripped over and fell flat on his face.

Hermione and Harry spun around at the sound of laughing, their surprised glances quickly turning into glares.

"Did you just -" Hermione began.

"The blood traitor deserves a lot worse, mudblood," an older Slytherin standing behind them said with a malicious glint in his eye.

Harry drew his wand with well-practiced swiftness, and a moment later Theo had risen to his feet, wand drawn as well.

Hermione's eyes darted over to them. "Harry!" she hissed.

Harry followed her eyes to where they pointed distinctly at the prefect's badge on his uniform. Left hand balling into his fist, he slowly lowered his wand before saying coldly, "Twenty points from Slytherin, Reeves."

"You can't -"

"I can, and I can assign detentions too, if I wish. I'm sure Professor Snape would love some help scrubbing cauldrons after the first years' first class today."

Reeves and Orson, the other Slytherin boy beside him, both tightened their grips on their wands.

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's three against one, Reeves."

Reeves quirked an eyebrow and barked out a laugh. "Excellent arithmetic, Potter. I can't believe everyone calls you a genius -"

Harry quickly flicked his wrist, and a moment later he was holding Orson's wand in his left hand. "Three against one."

Reeves grit his teeth, while Orson, outraged, took a threatening step forward. "Give that back, Potter!"

"Mmm, no, I think not."

"Harry!" Hermione hissed.

Harry shrugged with feigned nonchalance.

"Potter," Reeves said warningly.

"I'll give it back..." he relented, "Just not right now. I think we'd all be a lot safer if it remained three against one, for now."

Reeves glared at him, with Orson looking ready to burst at his side, before he spat out, "Fine."

Both boys gave him two very ugly scowls before reluctantly walking off.

"I'll see you later, in the Common Room," Harry called after them.

The two seventh year Slytherins froze in their steps - but only for a split second, before they disappeared around the corner.

Hermione spared an annoyed glare at Harry, before she turned to Theo, horrified. "Are you alright?"

Theo wiped a little bit of blood away from his slightly crooked nose. "I managed to break my fall - mostly."

"With your nose?" Harry asked.

"Shut up, Harry."

Harry frowned as he picked the rest of Theo's fallen books off the ground, before drawing his wand and muttering, "Episky. How did they know?"

Theo shrugged, prodding his now-healed nose with his index finger. "Reeves is my cousin. He must have found out that I no longer live with my father, and deduced the reason. He's not as stupid as he looks."

"But still rather stupid, if he thinks this isn't going to come back to bite him," Harry said darkly.

"Harry," Hermione said warningly.

"What?" Harry said innocently, "Haven't you ever heard of karma?"

Hermione rolled her eyes as she opened the door to their Defence classroom, where Professor Umbridge was already seated at the front of the room, behind the teacher's desk, wearing the same fluffy pink garb as the night before.

Their conversation died as they approached their desks, and Harry noticed that everyone was deathly silent as they entered, not really knowing what to expect from the new teacher, who had given them a very prominent - and puzzling - first introduction the night before. Harry, for one, was just pleased that everyone's attention was fixed on someone who was not him.

"Well, good morning," the woman said cheerfully once everyone had taken their seat - a comment that was followed by a few mumbled, "Good Morning"s.

But Professor Umbridge was not satisfied with that. "Tut, tut," she said with mock unhappiness, "That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply, 'Good morning, Professor Umbridge'. One more time, please. Good morning, class!"

"Good morning, Professor Umbridge," the students echoed obediently.

Meanwhile, Harry's stomach dropped - he had a bad feeling about this. Already their Defence against the Dark Arts class had evolved into a sad parody of a primary school classroom.

"There, now," Professor Umbridge crooned, "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."

Harry's stomach dropped even further - the bad feeling got worse.

Professor Umbridge then opened her handbag and drew her own very short wand, and tapped the blackboard, causing two lines to appear:

Defence Against the Dark Arts:

A Return to basic Principles

"Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?" the Professor began, "The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum -"

Here, Harry glanced at Theo, who muttered, "I see it now."

"- has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your OWL year. You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully, structured, theory-centred, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following please."

She once again tapped the blackboard, causing several lines depicting their course aims to appear, which were promptly copied down, after which the professor continued, "Has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

Enthusiasm already exhausted after copying down the course aims, the class's response was tepid, to say the least.

"I think we'll try that again," Professor Umbridge said sweetly, "When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply, 'Yes, Professor Umbridge', or 'No, Professor Umbridge'. So, has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge."

Harry very much wanted to say 'No, Professor Umbridge', just to see what the woman would do, but thought better of it, and joined in the droning of his fellow students.

Meanwhile, Professor Umbridge continued, "Good, I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners'. There will be no need to talk."

As Harry scanned the book - which he hadn't had the wherewithal to read thus far, due to the rather dull table of contents - he had to wonder what there would be to talk about, even if they were encouraged to do so.

Idly flipping through the pages, his mind drifted to what he'd read in his mother's notes the night before, when ample evidence of insomnia was gathered around 3 am. The next few pages he'd decrypted were again in journal-style, as she tried to hash out the main hypothesis she was going to experiment with. The only thing she seemed certain of was that she was going to interpret the theory of inverses in a specific way that necessitated that an inverse be considered the inverse of the mechanism of a spell, not its effect (which made sense to Harry, since the actual mechanics of a spell might be completely unrelated to that of a spell which could be considered an inverse to it effects-wise). Therefore, the inverse of the killing curse was definitely not a spell that would bring the dead back to life, or create life in some manner; rather, it would invert the mechanism of the killing curse.

Now, no one, as far as he knew, was certain of the exact mechanism of the killing curse, but his mother seemed determined to tackle that particular conundrum as well -

Harry winced, having just been elbowed in the ribs. Frowning, he turned to Theo, who inclined his head toward Hermione, who was sitting beside Ron Weasley with a closed textbook in front of her and her hand high in the air, a grim look on her face.

Most of the class was staring at her, at this point, though Professor Umbridge was (probably deliberately, given her slightly strained facial expression) ignoring her.

Harry was left to stare on, puzzled, for nearly two more minutes before Professor Umbridge finally lifted her eyes from whatever she was reading and turned to Hermione.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" she asked sweetly.

"Not about the chapter, no," Hermione answered curtly.

"Well, we're reading it just now," Professor Umbridge said through a strained smile, "If you have other queries, we can deal with them at the end of class."

"I've got a query about your course aims," Hermione said.

Professor Umbridge's eyebrow twitched. "And your name is…?"

"Hermione Granger."

Professor Umbridge's lips twitched slightly, and Harry indignantly observed a veiled expression of disdain. "Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully."

"Well, I don't," Hermione said plainly. "There's nothing up there about using defensive spells."

A murmur of agreement spread over the classroom.

Professor Umbridge laughed a little at that, and Hermione looked affronted. "Using defensive spells? Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

"We're not going to use magic!?" Ron Weasley interjected loudly from beside Hermione.

"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class Mr. …?"

"Weasley," Ron said sourly.

"Well Mr. Weasley, in answer to your question, no, we will not."

Hermione's hand was back in the air.

"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"

"Yes," Hermione, with frustration seeping into her voice. "Surely the whole point of Defence against the Dark Arts is to use defensive spells?"

Professor Umbridge smiled at her with the most artificial smile Harry had ever seen. "Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?"

"I don't need to be to see that -"

"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about spells in a secure, risk free way -"

"Nothing worthwhile is risk free," Hermione interjected, voice shaking a little, "Certainly not magic. And this is a magic school. We all came here to learn how to use magic, not how to read about it."

"Any muggle can do that," Harry could not help but mutter, perhaps a little too loudly.

"Silence, Mr. Potter," Professor Umbridge said with barely hidden nastiness.

Everyone seemed to notice her tone, however, and quieted completely.

Professor Umbridge turned to Hermione, then. "Ten points from Gryffindor for interrupting a teacher, Miss Granger."

Hermione's entire body tensed. "And do you have anything to say about -"

"Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!"

Hermione thrust her hand into the air.

"Yes?" Umbridge said with feigned sweetness.

"Professor," Hermione said tensely, "Do you not agree that our schooling should prepare us for the real world?"

"The purpose of school is to prepare you for your examinations, Miss Granger."

"So we're not supposed to -" Ron began.

"Your hand, Mr. Weasley!" the woman snapped, clearly starting to become irate.

Ron stuck his hand high in the air. "So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting out there?"

"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger. Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?"

"Perhaps Voldemort might," Hermione said coldly.

The entire room fell silent. Harry could do nothing but stare on in horror; at this point it was becoming clear why exactly Dolores Umbridge had been chosen for their professor this year, and Hermione had just fallen into the trap she had just set.

"Now, let me make a few things quite plain. You have been told that a certain dark wizard has returned from the dead and is at large once again. This is a lie."

That was why she was there - she was meant to run damage control where the two people perpetuating the 'lie' of Voldemort's return would be situated all year.

"According to the people who weren't there," Hermione said stiffly. "The people who have no right to decide whether it is the truth or a lie."

"The Ministry of Magic has every right to -"

"What, flout their ignorance? I suppose they do."

And Hermione was trying to prove a point, like the loyal, self-sacrificing Gryffindor she was.

"Detention, Miss Granger. Tomorrow evening."

Hermione sat up very straight at that, and Harry could tell that a part of her wanted to protest, while another part wanted to burst into tears, while another part wanted to just walk out. But she did none of those things.

"What time, professor?" she asked evenly.

"Wednesday, at seven o'clock p.m.," Umbridge said with a positively stunning smile. "Now, if you are quite done, we can all return to today's readings."

"I think we might have a bigger problem than History of Magic," Theo whispered beside him.

Harry grimaced.

Dear Mr. Black,

I would be most gratified if you would join me in my office this evening at seven o'clock.

Yours truly,
A.W.P.B. Dumbledore

"From Dumbledore?" Tracey asked in surprise as she peered over his shoulder.

Harry instinctively jerked the note out of her line of sight. "Yes," he bit out, mildly annoyed.

Meanwhile, Theo shoved her over and sat in between them. "MInd your own business, Davis."

"Mind your own business, Nott."

Theo just rolled his eyes and Harry sighed.

Tracey began to dish some pancakes out onto her plate, smearing compote all over them. "So, Theo, rumour has it that you no longer live with your father."

"Does it now?"

Tracey nodded. "Rumour also has it that your father was present at You-Know-Who's alleged -" here, she smirked at Harry, who huffed quietly "- resurrection, and that you, furious that he would put your best friend in mortal danger, disowned him in a bout of rage."

"I should have," Theo muttered darkly, before picking up the sandwich on his plate, rising to his feet, and heading for the door.

Harry watched him concernedly for a moment, before turning to Tracey.

"Tracey," he said with feigned lightness, "Could you do me a favour?"

The girl's smile wavered a little. "Possibly."

Harry nodded. "Let Theo be. This is hard enough for him without your prying."

Tracey had the decency to look at least a little guilty, before her expression cleared. "Rumour also has it that Reeves jinxed Theo in the halls yesterday. I haven't heard anything about it since," she added on pointedly.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "He wasn't in the Common Room last night." He cast his eyes down the table to where Reeves and Orson sat, chatting with some of the other seventh years. "No matter, though - he can't hide forever."

Tracey smirked. "No, he certainly can't."

"Besides," Harry said, drawing Orson's wand out of his pocket, "I have to give Orson back his wand."

Tracey's eyebrows rose. "And why do you have that?"

Harry shrugged. "A simple case of fixing the odds."

Tracey rolled her eyes. "Cryptic as ever. Honestly, why do people even like you? You're annoying as hell."

"Right back at you, Tracey."

The day flew by quickly - charms, transfiguration, and ancient runes usually did - and soon, Harry found himself standing in the doorway of the Headmaster's office, mind, as always, taking flight when he saw the multitude of books, paintings, gizmos, and gadgets populating the elderly man's office.

"Harry, why don't you take a seat," the man offered amiably, gesturing at the chair in front of his desk with his cursed hand.

As he did so, Harry could not help himself - his eyes flickered down at the grotesque, diseased flesh on the elderly professor's hand. He looked away quickly, but not quickly enough.

"I see you have noticed the outcome of my most recent mistake," the man said lightly, "A nasty bit of dark magic, I must say."

Harry nodded. "I apologize, sir - I didn't mean to stare."

"Oh, not at all, Harry. It's quite ghastly, isn't it?"

Harry deigned neither to agree nor disagree. "If I may ask, sir - have you located the countercurse yet?"

The headmaster smiled at that. "To the best of my knowledge, there is none - it's a rather brilliant piece of spell work, if I do say so myself, which is most unfortunate for me, seeing as I am now, for better or for worse, stuck with it."

"But...the curse is contained, isn't it?"

"Almost," the professor said, "Almost, but not quite. It is spreading, albeit slowly. I suspect I will be dead by the end of next summer."

Harry was certain his heart stopped, for a moment. Albus Dumbledore was going to die. The most powerful wizard alive. His 'most dangerous foe'. The greatest threat to his life. A man who might kill him if he knew the truth. A man who cared for him. A man he'd come to trust. A man he had, if he was honest with himself, begun to consider….a friend. He was dying. And he and Tom had nothing to do with it.

"Sir, I -"

"No need for condolences, Harry. After all, death is but the next great adventure. I'm rather looking forward to it, if I am being honest."

Harry nodded slowly, not really knowing what he could possibly say besides giving his sincere condolences.

"Now, I am sure you are wondering how I came across this nasty bit of dark magic."

"Sir, I wouldn't want to -"

"Not at all, Harry. You see, the tale, while not exactly thrilling, is an important one for you to hear. It is short, though it leads to two much longer discussions."

Harry frowned bemusedly.

"To cut straight to the point, I was cursed when I placed this on my finger."

Time seemed to grind to a halt when Harry saw what Professor Dumbledore placed in the middle of his desk; his heart stopped, the turning cogs of his mind shuddered to a halt, and his body froze in place. It was a golden ring, with a small black stone embedded into it, bearing the mark of the Deathly Hallows; it was Tom's ring - or rather, the fake they'd planted in the Gaunt shack over two years ago.

Someone had found it. Albus Dumbledore had found it.

Albus Dumbledore had found it and succumbed to the curse Tom had placed on it. It was them. Tom killed Albus Dumbledore. He finally did it; he finally defeated the only wizard he had ever feared. He was going to be positively thrilled.

Harry was jolted back into reality when Professor Dumbledore continued, "I found this in the former domicile of a pureblood family known as the Gaunts. They've all but died out now, but they left this curious artefact behind." He paused. "Do you know what this is, Harry?

"A cursed ring, sir?" Harry said confusedly, inwardly praising himself for how firmly his neutral mask was still in place.

"Oh, it's much more than that, Harry," the professor said jovially, "This is what is known as...a 'horcrux'."

It took everything in him not to break down and run or hide or cry or start hurling curses or beg for his life or something - instead, he just sat there with a completely blank look on his face, before he frowned and asked the obvious question. "I'm sorry, sir, I have no idea what that is."

"I should hope so, Harry," Professor Dumbledore said mildly, "I would be very worried if you did."

Harry's frown deepened. "So what is it, sir?"

"A horcrux is an object in which a witch or wizard has hidden a piece of their soul."

Harry's eyes widened. "A piece of their soul? The soul can be split into pieces?"

"It can," Professor Dumbledore said quietly, "Care to venture a guess how?"

Here, Harry had to be very careful. He couldn't afford to appear too knowledgeable, but he also couldn't give an answer obviously below his calibre. "I suppose you'd have to perform soul magic on your soul when it's at its most vulnerable."

"And when is that, Harry?"

"When...it's open to direct interference from the physical world?"

"Very good. And when might this happen?"

Harry was silent for a moment. "When you murder someone, in cold blood."

Professor Dumbledore looked at him appraisingly for a moment. "Exactly so. When another human being is at your mercy, and you elect to violate nature in such a cruel way, your soul is left open to attack from the physical world; the victim's soul will lash out and weaken the barrier between worlds. When this happens, usually the soul in question will merely fracture slightly, perhaps absorbing some left-over dark magic, but should one perform the correct ritual, one can attack this fracture further until the soul breaks in two."

Harry grimaced. "That sounds...incredibly painful."

"Indeed it does."

"Then sir, why would someone do such a thing?"

Professor Dumbledore was silent for a moment. "Desperation, Harry."

"...desperation?"

"A desperation to flee the inevitable, to become more, by becoming less."

Harry put a look of realization on his face. "A desperation to escape death."

"Just so."

The pair fell into silence, but after a minute Harry asked, "Why are you telling me this, sir?"

The professor considered him for a moment. "Because, Harry, this horcrux is not the only of its kind."

Again, Harry was again hard pressed not to panic, as Professor Dumbledore reached into his desk and produced Tom Riddle's diary, placing it beside the ring.

"I believe that this book which managed to possess several of my students was also a horcrux - a rather over-zealous one. Which, of course, begs the question, Harry - how did you manage to cleanse it? I think we can both easily deduce that casting anathema purgo on a horcrux - an object imbued the soul itself - would have meant your death, had you been foolish enough to attempt it. So I must, once again, ask for the truth, Harry."

Meanwhile, Harry's mind was whirring into overdrive. How could he possibly dig himself out of this hole? There were only a few ways to destroy horcruxes, and all of them involved very dark and destructive magic -

"The killing curse," he blurted out. "I...I used the killing curse."

The elderly professor was silent for a moment, leaving Harry's mind in a whirlwind. Was the man shocked? Angry? Disappointed? He didn't look any of those things. He looked….calm, as per usual.

"I see," he said eventually. "That is very impressive, Harry, very impressive indeed."

Harry's mouth fell open in genuine shock. "I-impressive, sir?"

"It is, Harry, very impressive. To cast the killing curse at the mere age of twelve is unheard of - I doubt even Voldemort himself had been able to do so."

Harry sighed shakily. "A-and...and...don't you have anything else to say, sir?"

The headmaster's eyebrows rose. "What would you like me to say, Harry? Would you like me to rebuke you? Would you like me to be angry with you? Would you like me to describe how disappointed I am in you?"

Harry opened his mouth, but found nothing to say.

"I doubt there is anything I can say to you that has not already crossed your mind; I doubt you are unaware of the path you are on that led you to accomplish such a feat, and nor are you ignorant of the consequences, I believe. I will, however, ask you a question."

"...sir?"

"Are you happy?"

Once again, Harry's mind ground to halt; not in panic, this time, though - it was in utter confusion.

"Am I….happy?"

The professor nodded. "Are you happy with this path that you are on? Do you gladly face the consequences? Are you happy with the person you are becoming?"

For a moment, there was silence.

"I...I don't know."

The words just slipped out. He was too busy to notice, too busy being shocked, angry, and a little bit horrified with himself. He had always asked himself plenty of questions - he had always kept his behaviour in check. Was he doing the right thing? Would his actions have undesirable consequences? How much of a risk was he taking? Was he hurting someone else? Was he making someone else happy?

But he had never - not once - asked himself this question. He had never paid attention to his own happiness. He'd never evaluated his self-image. Was he happy with his life? Was he happy with himself? Did he even like himself?

No. The answer was no. Why that was the case...well, that was a can of worms he was not keen on opening.

As though he read Harry's mind, Professor Dumbledore looked at him knowingly, saying quietly, "I believe you do, Harry."

Harry could feel himself shaking, his skin cold and clammy. But he was startled out of his dazed spiral into despair by Professor Dumbledore's voice.

"I once knew a boy very much like you, Harry - a boy that was good and true at heart but became swept away by the weight of his moral and personal responsibilities, lured into the deep by forbidden knowledge that was all too fascinating. He did what he believed was right and necessary - but he lacked the ability to truly acknowledge the consequences of his actions, both for him and those around him. Perhaps most tragically, though - he never emerged from what he became."

"...emerged, sir?"

Professor Dumbledore smiled, a little sadly. "Have you ever thought about the concept of personhood, Harry? That is, what it means to be a person."

"I can't say I have."

"Really," Professor Dumbledore said with some measure of wonder, "Even so, it must have occurred to you at some point that people change."

"Well, yes."

"They change for many different reasons, of course - sometimes we choose to change ourselves...but sometimes we change by necessity. Sometimes, the world needs us to be something other than what we are, and so we become that, in order to survive."

Harry was silent for a moment. "Yes, I think I know what you mean."

"Indeed. Someone might be inclined to wonder, then, how we can refer to 'people' as single entities, when they can change so arbitrarily."

Harry frowned. "Even when people change, though, don't they always hold on to something of themselves?"

Professor Dumbledore nodded. "Precisely. Even when forced to change into something contrary to our nature or ideals, a person can sometimes hang on to pieces of themselves which will for a time lie dormant - and then one day emerge all the stronger because of what they have endured in order to survive."

Harry nodded slowly. "So you mean, sir, that this person you knew...he became something contrary to his nature, and couldn't hold on to the aspects of himself that made him who he was?"

Professor Dumbledore's eyes drifted away. "He could not - or would not...one of the two. All I know is that by the time I realized what he had become, it was too late to save him."

They both sat in silence while one minute, and then two, ticked by.

Harry cleared his throat quietly. "You said, sir, that your story leads to two conversations."

The elderly professor started, although very subtly. "So it does, Harry. So it does. I suppose you have guessed who made these horcruxes?"

"Voldemort," Harry whispered.

"Just so."

"I don't see what there is to discuss then, sir. They've both been destroyed."

The professor looked at him shrewdly. "Do you really think Voldemort would have only two safeguards in place against his own death?"

Harry made sure to widen his eyes, despite how drained he felt. "You mean...there are more?"

"Indeed. At least a few, I believe."

"Then...in order to defeat Voldemort…"

"We must find the remainder."

"We?"

Professor Dumbledore smiled for the first time in what had seemed like forever. "Indeed. I shall no doubt require assistance at some point on this quest, and as this will likely prove a very cerebral activity, your assistance will by doubly useful. As they say, two heads are better than one - all the more when both of the heads are rather clever. After all...it is you who will be defeating Voldemort, one day."

"O-ok," Harry stuttered out, mind once again in a whirlwind.

The headmaster's smile increased in brilliance. "Most excellent. Please return to my office exactly one week from the time you arrived here, then, and we shall continue our second conversation."

Harry nodded dumbly.

Meanwhile, the professor's smile softened. "You may go now, Harry. Have yourself a lovely evening."

Harry nodded again, rising from his seat slowly. "I'll...try, sir. Thank you,"

"No, thank you Harry, for indulging an old man so patiently."

Harry smiled weakly. "Not at all, sir."

As Harry walked back to his Common Room, the air felt oppressively heavy around him. Gone was the whimsy he still felt when he traversed the halls of Hogwarts, replaced by an unshakable gloom, muddled with a threatening aura.

He'd never taken part in a more sobering conversation than the one he just shared with the Headmaster. Talking about...difficult feelings with Theo or even the end of the world with Hermione just couldn't measure up; even without the looming threat of the Headmaster's knowledge of horcruxes, his other comments were overwhelmingly abrasive. Who was he? Had he always been the person he was today? How much had he changed? Why did he change? Who was he? Did he know who he was? Did he really understand the consequences? Did he like who he was? Was he even ok with who he was? Who was he?

"Harry?"

Harry was pretty sure he jumped half a foot in the air at the sound of his own name, and looked up to see Hermione staring at him with wide eyes.

"Someone's distracted."

Harry nodded slowly. "If the someone in question is me, then that is certainly a true statement."

Hermione chuckled with...something resembling unease. "What….what are you doing out so late?"

"Existential angst," Harry muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing….um, I was speaking with Professor Dumbledore. What are you doing out so late?"

"O-oh, um -" she clasped her hands behind her back suddenly "- detention, remember?"

Harry nodded in understanding, before noticing the redness in his friend's eyes and her teeth chewing on her lip. "Hermione, are you ok?"

She tightened her posture. "Just tired."

His eyes narrowed, and he took a few steps toward her. "What's wrong?"

She wrung her hands behind her back, before wincing. "N-nothing."

"Show me your hands Hermione."

The girl grimaced, before slowly producing two hands and presenting them before Harry, the right one marred by bright red letters in Hermione's own handwriting.

'I must not tell lies.'

Existential angst immediately forgotten, a wave of icy water washed over Harry's skin as he took Hermione's hands in his.

"She did this?"

"Yes," Hermione whispered.

Harry gritted his teeth, feeling himself beginning to shake. "That...that vicious, depraved bitch -"

"Harry!" Hermione hissed, glancing around.

"Isn't that what she is, though?" he said furiously, beginning to pull away. "She will pay -"

"It's not that simple!" Hermione interjected quietly, grasping after Harry's hands and tugging on them. "Think about this rationally - if we report her, what's to stop the Ministry from sending someone even worse?"

"I think the Ministry will have far too big a scandal on their hands once this comes out -"

"No, it won't," Hermione said patiently, "It's demonstrable that she's a former Ministry employee and that the Ministry sent her because of Educational Decree twenty-two, but nothing more than that. We can't prove why the decree was put in place, and why she was chosen in particular - it could all just be pinned as a careless misjudgement by some poor, innocent bureaucrat. It will look bad for the Ministry, but it will hardly be damning."

Harry took a deep breath. "Yes...yes...you're right. We can't prove that Fudge sent her here for a reason - as I think we've both guessed he did - and the next person they send may be smarter, they may not leave tangible scars on their victims."

"Exactly."

Harry was silent for a moment. "Do you know someone with a camera?"

Hermione paused, before nodding.

"Take pictures of the wounds, and give them to me in the morning."

Hermione frowned. "What are you going to do with them?"

Harry's lips twitched. "Remember Miranda Thistlebaum?"

"...yes?"

"I think it's about time we became reacquainted."

Harry was feeling...odd, when he returned to his Common Room. All at once, he was filled with wonderment, terror, and fury...between his conversations with the Headmaster and Hermione, he was, well, verging on mentally...fractured, if he was being honest with himself. That's why, when he caught sight of Reeves, his stomach dropped while simultaneously leaping with glee.

Slowly, he began to saunter through the room, toward where Reeves, Orson, and Bole were playing cards in a corner, a pile of galleons beside each of them. Keeping his footsteps light, he didn't make a sound until he'd come up behind Reeves, when he smiled and said, "Hello Reeves - how are you on this fine evening?"

Immediately, the three gamblers froze, and Reeves slowly turned around.

A second passed, before the older boy sneered. "What do you want Potter?"

Harry smiled coldly. "I asked, how are you this fine evening?"

Before Reeves could answer, Harry continued, "Lucky, perhaps? Gambling is against school rules, you know. I suppose I should take points, but I feel like you need a more tangible lesson about breaking school rules."

And with that, Harry flicked his wrist, and Reeves was flung into the middle of the room. By now, all the occupants of the Common Room had quieted, and all eyes were trained on Reeves and Harry - but Harry didn't care. All he could think of was the blood running down Theo's face two days ago and the smug smirk on Reeves's lips. Those two images filled his entire brain, along with those two ugly words - 'mudblood', 'blood-traitor' - that Reeves had dared to utter in front of him.

Swiftly, he drew his wand and flicked it, before flourishing it just the right way to produce a bright purple flash of light that hit Reeves square in the forehead. With equal swiftness, he placed his wand back in his pocket and turned on his heel, making for his dorm room.

Predictably, he heard Reeves laugh, rising to his feet. "Your curse failed, Potter!"

Harry glanced over his shoulder, smirking. "It was the pursuant nightmare curse, Reeves - seven days' worth of it."

Gleefully, he watched Reeves pale, before quickly drawing his wand.

"Remove it, Potter."

"Mmm, no, I don't think so," Harry said lightly.

Reeves cast a couple of curses - both quite dark - which Harry managed to easily deflect without a wand, before disarming him.

Smiling at Reeves's outraged face, Harry tossed the wand - along with Orson's - over to a pallid-looking Bole.

"Make sure they don't do anything stupid with these."

Bole nodded slowly. "W-will do, Potter."

And with a brilliant smile, Harry swept out of the room, feeling much, much better.

Harry moaned quietly when he looked at his watch - it read 2 a.m., and, predictably, he was still far from falling asleep. He really, really wanted to fall asleep at a decent time that night. Groaning, he rolled over onto his side, wrenching his eyes shut - before blinking them open again, when he heard a voice, loud and clear, echoing through his mind.

Do not sleep yet, Harry - we have much to discuss.

Tom was back. Thank god.

And that's a wrap! Hopefully it was up to...someone's standards. As usual I don't like my work but I don't know if that means anything anymore.