Disclaimer: Me no own.
Warnings: You get picture, yes?
A/N: It's taken forever, but I've finally managed to squeeze the next chapter out. Finally, eh? Speaking of the continuity of the fic, though, there's something important I want to discuss with any reader of this fic, located in the ending author's note. It's really important to me that you read it before going on your merry way.
- Also: ack, writing Dumbledore is oddly difficult. Curse his whimsical non-serious-laid-back-yet-oddly-intelligent-manner-of-talking-and-acting-ness.
Chapter26: Salazar's Tome
Harry's mind was racing.
How? How could his ribs have gotten bruised? It was impossible, insane even, to think that his dream had physically marked him. And yet it had. His lungs felt slightly squeezed, his ribs were bruised, his arms ached, and his eyes still faintly stung.
Could he wait until the morning to confront the problem? What if it happened again? Could he really risk it?
Harry felt as if he wanted to kick himself.
He shoved his glasses on, grabbed the Marauder's Map, and flung on the invisibility cloak. He was beginning to think he had some sort of unconscious urge to get himself into as much trouble as he possibly could.
Quietly, he tip-toed out of the dorm and down the stairs. The common room was deserted. Harry tapped the map and whispered, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," and it sprang to life with splotches of ink.
"Lumos," he murmured, and wand light illuminated the quiet darkness under his cloak. "Show me Dumbledore." The pages of the map shuffled and settled on a small ink blot in Dumbledore's study, accompanied by Fawkes-blot.
Excellent.
Dumbledore was here. He could walk to the Headmaster's study, tell Dumbledore, and hopefully get a solution to his unusual problem. Harry reshuffled the pages back to Gryffindor Tower and clambered out of the portrait hole.
The halls were mercifully empty. He walked briskly, gripping his side as he cleared the corridor and descended the staircase. It whirled, veering across the room and bringing him to a lower floor. Harry glanced at the map and smiled with gratefulness; the switch had shortened his journey by several floors.
He stopped behind a corner and checked the map again. He was near Professor Hizaruki's office, just down the hall. He squinted at the map. The dot that should have been occupying Professor Hizaruki's study was absent.
"Show me Chuu Hizaruki," Harry murmured. The map quivered and did nothing more. Professor Hizaruki wasn't on campus. It was something odd, considering that only Dumbledore and, rarely, Snape left Hogwarts, and even then it was to attend to Order business. What was Professor Hizaruki doing?
You're a too-curious git, Harry mused.
He didn't have time to be snooping around Professor Hizaruki's room. The sole reason he was out in the corridors was to find Dumbledore, and nothing else. He tucked the cloak tighter around him and scurried down the corridor.
He was going to ignore his curiosity, tell it to bite its tongue and move on... or rather, that's exactly what he would have done if a pool of pale turquoise light wasn't streaming from under Professor Hizaruki's door and cascading along the walls of the corridor.
Stupid curiosity. Because really, it wasn't his fault. He could only do so much to resist his natural instincts. Harry crept closer to the door, keeping his footsteps muffled as he peeked into the crack left between the door and its frame.
Though the room was vacant, something was obviously in progress. His eyes roved in his sockets as he glanced about the room. Five lone candles formed a small circle in the middle of the room, their flames a flickering aquamarine in lieu of orange.
Above these, in the exact center of the room, hovered a gaping hole in the air. There was a circle of odd symbols marking its boundaries, rotating about it and pulsing with the pale turquoise light that had caught Harry's attention. He wanted to open the door, if only slightly, to see what was happening for himself.
Harry was still seriously contemplating the idea when there was a loud yelp. He glanced in time to see Professor Hizaruki fly from out of the circle, before it closed abruptly behind him. The candles went out as he thudded against the floor.
"Oh, damn," he muttered. "Incendio." Within moments, every candle in the room had been lit, and Harry was able to make out his appearance. He was covered from head to toe in soot, and the arms and hem of his robes were badly singed. He noticed this and ran a hand through his sooty blue hair, before waving his wand to magick the muck away.
Professor Hizaruki threw his singed cloak into an empty chair. His arms had been badly marked, and the fresh wounds were beginning to bleed profusely. He cursed and said "Episkey," so that the skin around the wounds began to knit itself back together. He Scourgified the remaining stains away and scoured his room for a fresh cloak.
Harry hadn't noticed it before, but Professor Hizaruki had clearly brought something back with him. Though the dirty cloak was draped over it, Harry could still make out its shape: it was a thick scroll. Harry swallowed. It was ridiculous to think so, but he was sure it was, almost positive... Harry blinked to clear his vision and took another glance, but his suspicions were reaffirmed.
The scroll was black.
Harry's mind reeled. Professor Hizaruki had been covered in soot. The scroll was just as black and scorched looking as the one he had seen in his dreams. They were the same. They had to be.
Harry backed away from the door as it creaked open and Professor Hizaruki stepped out, a fresh robe about him. He tucked the black scroll into his robe and paused with a backward glance. He lingered for a moment, as if suspicious that someone was there, but shrugged and walked away when nothing came into view. Harry let out a silent sigh of relief and followed at a distance.
He glanced down at the map. They had turned a corner and made for a staircase that led to a lower floor. Harry peered closer. They were heading straight to the dungeons. He clenched his teeth. They couldn't be heading to... no... of all places...
Professor Hizaruki stopped his trot at the door to Snape's room. He knocked thrice, and the door opened shortly afterwards. Snape's head peeped out from the crack and glared with blatant annoyance at Professor Hizaruki.
"What could you possibly want at this hour, Chuu?" he said. He flipped his black greasy hair out from his face. "I told you not to pester me unless–"
"We've got a problem," Professor Hizaruki said curtly, cutting Snape off. He pulled the black parchment out from underneath his robes and waved it under Snape's crooked nose. "And I don't appreciate you talkin' down to me Serverus, it hurts my–"
"Put that away!" Snape hissed. He glanced up and down the corridor, and, again, Harry felt as if he had been spotted. Snape grabbed Professor Hizaruki by the arm and pulled him inside the room. The door closed with a faint snap.
Harry crept closer to the door and rested his ear against it. He could hear them clearly. "Are you sure?" Snape said urgently.
"Positive," Professor Hizaruki responded. "They were there."
"In the Demon Archives of Makai?"
"Yeah," Professor Hizaruki responded.
"Have you told him yet?"
"Nah, came by here to wake you first. Figured we'd both go."
"How sentimental," Snape sighed; Harry could imagine the roll of his eyes. There was the flick of a wand, and the rustle of robes before Snape spoke again. "Come, we must tell Dumbledore."
Harry sprang from the door as Snape exited, his robe whirling behind him, with Professor Hizaruki following. He lingered for a moment, hoping to put some distance between them, before hurrying in their wake.
It was not long before they had reached the gargoyle that guarded the passage to Dumbledore's study. With a murmur of "Bawling banshee," the statue leapt aside and allowed the two (three) to pass. The golden staircase spiraled upward to the top, stopping only once it reached the mahogany door. Professor Hizaruki rapped the griffin knocker once, and Dumbledore's voice wafted to them pleasantly from the other side of the door.
"Come in," he said. Snape pushed the door brusquely and strode into the study, with Professor Hizaruki and Harry following behind him. Harry scooted off to an obscure corner of the room as both men headed for Dumbledore's desk, where the man sat relaxedly, his fingers intricately woven into each other.
"Serverus, Chuu," Dumbledore said airily, nodding at each man in turn. He was wearing dark blue night robes, adorned with tiny stars and crescent moons. "How nice to see the both of you at such an hour. I wasn't expecting visitors, but you're welcome nonetheless."
Professor Hizaruki grinned. "Ah, you're too kind, Dumbledore." He sat in one of the chairs facing the Headmaster's desk.
"We've come on an urgent matter," Snape said, magicking himself his own chair. "The Tome of Salazar–"
"They have it." Professor Hizaruki withdrew the black parchment from his robes once more and set it down upon Dumbledore's desk. The warlock stared at it as he mused, twirling a finger in the silver locks of his beard.
"Yes," Dumbledore said, "there is no doubt that this is an impeccable duplicate."
"So it's true then," Snape said. "The Dark Lord–"
"–has undoubtably already obtained the original? I think so." Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing.
"This does appear to be Slytherin's work." Dumbledore took the scroll and rolled it open. The black parchment cascaded off his desk and unfurled on the ground until it hit the door. "The Tome of Salazar," he said, "is said to chronicle every accomplishment and discovery that Salazar Slytherin had the fortune of making during his lifetime."
Dumbledore ran a finger along the sooty parchment. "No doubt the Chamber of Secrets has a mention in its grimy pages," he said thoughtfully. "This parchment is scarcely a decade old, rather than the ten centuries it should be." Dumbledore paused to think.
"Chuu," he said, looking up at the man, "I imagine you did not find this in the exact location aforementioned?"
"Well, no," Professor Hizaruki said, "I didn't."
"You did not?" Snape probed, his lip curling. "The Tome was not discovered in the Demon Archives?"
"No it was," Professor Hizaruki insisted. "It was just in the Well of Tartarus instead of bein' in the River Lethe is all." The last note of his sentence seemed to trail feebly.
"Did you observe anything suspicious?" Snape said.
"Besides the debris and hordes of demons on my tail yelling about how wizards need to stay the hell out of Hell? Nah."
"How progressive of you."
Professor Hizaruki grinned. "Yeah, well I woulda hoofed it out of there, but it felt like such a waste of time to go and come back empty handed. I grabbed one of the demons chasing me and 'enlightened' him on what would happen if he didn't tell me what I wanted to know."
"I imagine that you at least managed to retrieve some sort of valuable information," Snape sneered.
"Are you kidding?" Professor Hizaruki chortled. "He sang like a siren!" There was a soft rustle as he rummaged through his cloak, before producing a tiny clear flask, sealed with a stopper. He wiggled the bottle between his fingers, so that the silver mist-liquid within sloshed haphazardly.
"You extracted his memory?" Snape was gazing at the bottle with a look of interest.
"Well, really it sorta spilled out cause he was so eager to throw everything he knew at me," Professor Hizaruki said airily, "but I found what I needed and left the rest." He looked at Dumbledore, who gave him a satisfied smile before walking over to the black cabinet behind Fawkes perch.
Harry froze, his breath caught in his throat, as Dumbledore strode past him, without showing the slightest sign that he realized Harry was there. He slid the catch of the cabinet open and extracted his Pensieve, before placing it on his desk. Harry let out a quiet sigh of relief.
"Chuu," Dumbledore said, extending his hand, "the memories, please."
Professor Hizaruki tipped the bottle into Dumbledore's open hand, who, in turn, uncorked the stopper. He gazed at the contents for a moment, before placing his wand within and coaxing the silver strands into the basin. They fell lightly, as if they were simply fine threads of silvery cloth, before disappearing into the Pensieve.
Dumbledore took his wand and prodded the surface of the silver mass within; the surface rippled. Slowly, an image arose from the stone basin like a bubble rising in water. The image was somewhat solid, and yet somehow transparent.
The memory, quite unlike how Dumbledore had presented Professor Trelawney's prophecy, was displayed as a scaled down version of what would have normally been viewed with a full immersion. The outer edges were poofy and cloud-like. Harry squinted.
There was a creature, a hideous beast from what Harry could tell, perched against a rather grimy and sooty corpse molded into the shape of a table, which itself was stacked with books that were layered with years of soot and grime. The place was clearly hot, for Harry noticed that there was a red hue to the air, and objects rippled every so often.
The creature (and it occurred to Harry at that moment that the creature was a demon) picked at something lodged between his teeth before smearing it against his red hide. The blot simmered into the air, leaving only a faded stain in its wake.
It turned, glancing lazily from its resting place at the room at large. The place was littered with equally grotesque tables and shelves, all bursting and creaking under the weight of the manner tomes and books contained.
There was a roar-like yawn, and the demon strode toward the door on the opposite wall of the room, carved from rock. He wrenched the door open, revealing a stone-wrought staircase that spiraled downward into darkness; the red hue vanished, and it was clear from the dripping noises that water was nearby.
The demon left the door open behind him as he descended the structure, and after what felt like an eternity to Harry, came upon at the very bottom that was bolted closed with what looked like bones. He glanced down, and Harry saw the murky depths of what looked like a black river running under the stairs.
With a grunt of "I hate this job," the demon unbolted the door and entered into the new room. A faint trickling filled the air. It was much darker here, with one torch lining the wall, its flame flickering feebly. The demon grabbed the torch from its bracket, treading carefully about the room and lighting the remaining torches.
The chamber flared into view. It was circular, it walls built of stone, so that it seemed more like a dungeon than anything else Harry had ever seen. The source of the trickling became apparent as the demon turned back to the center of the room.
There was an altar in the center of the room, surrounded by what looked like a miniature trench, which was filled with the same black liquid Harry had observed outside the chamber. The black scroll lay innocently on the platform.
The demon trudged over, stopping before reaching the trench, and seemed to grunt in approval.
"Dunno why I check this thing," he griped, scratching his chin. "Nothing ever happens, no one wants this stupid–"
There was a loud bang and several squawks that traveled from the upper levels and down the staircase. The walls trembled slightly in the aftermath as the demon scurried to the door, only to be knocked aside as it flung open, allowing six Death Eaters to cross the threshold with several demons on their tails.
"Out of the way, you stupid beast!" one bellowed, raising his wand. Apparently, the demon either failed to understand or care what the Death Eater said, for he leapt, before being blasted aside with a Stunner Spell.
"Warned you, didn't I? Not very bright, these demons."
"Jugson, stop toying will you?" another Death Eater called, flashing his wand back and forth between three demons as they advanced upon him. "We've no time for games; we get the scroll and go!"
"Alright, Avery, alright!" The Death Eater named Jugson did not turn away from the battle as he responded, dodging a swipe of claws before repelling the demon with a jet of violet light. "Haesus," he said, turning to the Death Eater on his right, "get that damn scroll so we can leave already!"
At first, it looked as though Haesus were going to argue, for his cool blue eyes flooded with rage at the command, but the rage disappeared as he submitted. He turned from the fray and sprinted toward the altar.
"Accio scroll!" he bellowed.
The scroll did not budge. With what was clearly resentment, he strode forward into the trench of black water so that he sank in to his knee before swinging the other along after it. He sloshed toward the center of the pool, but paused halfway, a look of utmost confusion plastered upon his face.
"Haesus, you fool, the scroll, get the bloody scroll!" It was evident that Jugson was becoming unnerved by the number of demons swelling into the room. "We can't come back with out the damn thing!" Haesus blinked.
"Who're you?" he said hesitantly, "and why am I in this moat?"
If I have to say it one more time–!"
"Don't bother," the demon sneered, cutting Avery off coolly. "He has no idea who or what he is at the moment, and he'll stay that way till he dies. The moment you touch the River Lethe, it's bound to happen."
Another demon, his skin blue in color, grunted in agreement. "You mortals have no place here! Do you not understand? Enough of your kind have meddled in other worldly affairs," he snarled. "It is because of wizards and so called 'psychics' that this place exist! These text are forbidden, condemed to be hidden from the eyes of m–"
A burst of blue light struck the demon on his chest and blew him onto his back.
"Haesus," the female Death Eater shrieked, "just get the damn scroll!"
"Is that me?" Haesus whispered.
"Yes!"
Harry watched as the still clearly befuddled Haesus floundered toward the scroll and found his footing on the platform. He paused, looking uncertainly at the blackened scroll, before grasping it in his hands and lifting it from its placing.
It happened at once.
A red spark flashed onto the Death Eater's hand and fizzled into the air. Haesus let out a piercing shriek of pain, and threw the scroll away from him, so that it flew across the black water and upon the cold stone floor.
He looked at his fellow Death Eaters, and it could not have been plainer that he felt he had been betrayed. The expression remained upon his face as a black shadow roved from his fingertips and overtook his form within the blink of an eye, leaving him as solid as stone. Just as suddenly, his stony figure dissolved into fragments and sunk to the bottom of the moat, blackening the water further.
One of the Death Eaters had frozen, her expression unreadable under her skull-like mask. "He's dead," she said lamely. Shaking the shock from her, she scurried over and ripped a portion of her robes to envelop the scroll. "I've got it!"
"'Bout time!" a Death grated through clenched teeth as he struck a demon down with the Killing Curse. Harry recognized the voice at once as that of Antonin Dolohov. He cleared a path to the exit with a flick of his wand and scrambled through the doorway. The others hurried after him as the demons regrouped.
"Damn," Avery growled.
As they exited, it was quite clear that they were cornered on the staircase. The demons from the chamber were advancing slowly behind them as more surged forward from above, the River Lethe still swelling underneath them. It was a pincer movement.
"Just hand over the scroll," a demon snarled. "Either you hand it over now, or you all die." He was glaring at Avery, who looked as though both ideas were preposterously unacceptable.
"Right," he sneered. With a flash of his wand, a dark cloud exploded from underneath his feet and ascended upward, so that the memory was temporarily nothing more than a mass of smoke. As suddenly as the haze had appeared, it thinned, leaving nothing in its wake but the Tome of Slytherin lying upon the stairs, abandoned.
The demon looked disgruntled as he stepped forward to peer at the scroll.
"They got away," he sighed, "but at least we've got the scroll. Someone get me the Clamps so we can get this thing out of The Well." The crowd of demons dispersed as they fulfilled their orders. "And double the security of this vault. Those wizards might try for a second theft, and it'll be on all our heads."
The voice faded as the memory sank back into the Pensieve. Dumbledore said nothing as he took the basin and placed it back into its cabinet. He came back to his desk and took his seat upon the Headmaster's chair.
"I suppose," Snape said quietly, "this complicates things."
Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, Serverus, I'm afraid it does. At the very least, we can now be confident in what Voldemort is planning, though I must confess that this does not ease my discomfort." He slipped the duplicate scroll across the desk towards Snape. "It would be prudent to have you examine this scroll for oddities."
Nodding curtly, Snape took the scroll and stowed it into the depths of his robes.
"So what's our stand?" Professor Hizaruki said darkly.
"Two to none, I think," Dumbledore mused.
"He's one piece away?"
"According to what Serverus has told me, I think so."
"Yes," Snape said, "I'm fairly certain that's our placing. His displeasure subsided some time ago, but it is becoming clear that his agitation is increasing once again." He sighed. "The Dark Lord does not like for his plans to be stalled."
Dumbledore allowed himself a thin smile. "We should be thankful, then, that Voldemort is so arrogant to think that you will not cross him."
"I don't think so," said Snape quietly. "He has become distant as of late. I believe he is beginning to question my loyalty."
"It is imperative," Dumbledore said, his voice suddenly sharp, "that you give him no reason to doubt you. You are needed now more than ever; should he succeed–"
"I know, I know."
Dumbledore sighed, his face looking aged and full of fatigue. "I do not think I can express my gratitude, Serverus, Chuu."
Both men nodded in acknowledgment and rose. Dumbledore suddenly became intensely interested in his fingers as they made for the door, and did not look up until it had closed behind them.
"You can come out Harry."
Sheepishly, Harry pulled his cloak off and walked towards the Headmaster. Dumbledore pointed to the chair across from him, and Harry took his seat.
"Professor, how–?"
"You gasped, Harry," Dumbledore said, a small smile playing upon his face, "much too loudly, really."
Harry grinned. "Sorry, sir."
"Not at all, not at all," Dumbledore said nonchalantly, "though I do wish you had not heard so much."
"Um, Professor," Harry said hesitantly, "what is Snape–?"
"What Professor Snape does in the company of Lord Voldemort and on my orders is purely between himself and I, Harry." He had said it kindly, and Harry did not feel offended by the brush off. "So, I assume that you've something urgent to discuss with me?"
"Yes." Harry pushed the memory of the Pensieve out of his mind; it was quite clear Dumbledore wasn't going to discuss it with him anyway. "I had a dream... about a snake." Though Dumbledore failed to look at him directly, Harry could see that his eyes were focused and that he was listening attentively.
"A snake?" Dumbledore said, arching an eyebrow in interest.
"Well, it was more than a snake. I was dreaming about something else, first, stupid things, but then it... changed. It was like I was in my mind."
"Well, where are you normally, out of your mind?" The snide drawl came from the portrait on the far-side of the room.
"Phineas, please." The portrait let out a snicker.
"Of course, of course. He does make it too easy, I daresay."
"Continue, Harry." Dumbledore nodded as a sign for him to resume.
"Well, it was like a room that showed everything about me–memories, thoughts, feelings–and then these doors appeared that led the way into them–"
"Forgive me, Harry, but you ventured inside of all of them?"
"Well, no," Harry mumbled, feeling as though he were doing a terrible job of explaining the matter. "The doors had labels on them, like 'Love' or 'Anger'."
"Oh, quite, quite. So, I presume that you at least entered one?"
"Yeah, just one door. It was weird because it stood out from the others, and it didn't have a name I recognized. It said 'Exodus'," he added, seeing the unspoken question upon the Headmaster's face. "So I opened the door and heard lots of hissing, and then when I went through it put me on this road between two parts of a dead forest, and then I fell though the road."
He paused, expecting Dumbledore to throw him a questioning look, but he received an acknowledging murmur instead.
"It was dark, but I could hear the hissing and I saw this huge snake, and it wrapped around me and squeezed me, and started talking to me about how it wanted me–to eat me." Harry was suddenly aware of how absurd he sounded. "And it did, and then I woke up. But, there's was a bruise where it squeezed, and it wasn't there when I went to bed."
"You say that this dream left you physically wounded?"
"I s'pose, because it wasn't there before."
Dumbledore leaned back in the great plum-colored chair and twirled a finger absent-mindedly in the fine white threads that were his beard. Harry wondered, for a moment, if he had dozed off, for his eye-lids hovered faintly above the close. They sat in silence, Dumbledore twirling relaxedly and Harry watching confusedly.
"Prof–?"
Before the word had properly formed from Harry's lips, the wizard had risen from his seat in a flourish of star-strewn robes and made for the door. He spared a meaningful look back at Harry. "You don't want to be left behind, do you, Harry?"
With a sheepish grin, Harry rose, and the two strode out the door and down the golden spiraling stairs.
-
He hadn't been given any answers; the two had merely resorted to strolling the quiet halls in silence. He had expected, at the very least, some sort of detailed explanation as to why there was a gaping purple and black bruise pressed firmly into his ribs, or perhaps an answer as to why his lungs felt severally crushed and his breathing constricted. Most of all, he wanted to know just what, exactly, that stupid snake-thing had been.
Almost as if he had sensed these thoughts, Dumbledore nodded towards Harry and smiled. "I can imagine your confusion, Harry, but I must admit I'm deeply contemplating the matter myself. I can honestly–and shamefully, mind you–admit that I do not have an answer." Harry wanted to gape stupidly at the man and let his mouth hang open, but that would've made him look rather... stupid.
"But where are we going, then, sir?"
"To the Infirmary," came the blithe reply.
Harry blinked. He would not have chosen the Infirmary for dark dreams that physically scarred their victims–that seemed more like St. Mungo's forte.
Soon enough, however, they had arrived. Dumbledore rapped his knuckles lightly on the door, and within moments there was the sound of faint, shuffled foot-steps. The doors quaked a little as they opened; Madam Pomfrey's head peaked through the crack. No sooner had she spotted Harry had she flung the doors open with a sigh and marched deeper into the lodgings. With a flick of her wand, the drawn curtains of a bed in the corner of the ward sprang open.
"No, no, Poppy, not tonight," Dumbledore chuckled. "No one's staying, just a quick examination." He walked past the doors and gestured toward Harry as he fell into step behind him. "Harry, show her your mark." Complying, Harry raised his shirt so that the purple and black were put on display.
"Good heavens! What do you do at night, child?" Harry would have laughed at her remark, but she crouched to her knees and poked him with her wand; he felt a jolt of pain shoot along his side and winced. "Moderate contusion to the sixth and seventh costae," Madam Pomfrey murmured, "no hemorrhaging... You should be fine. It appears to be just a large bruise."
Harry lowered his shirt in relief and sighed a long, constricted, wheezing sigh. Madam Pomfrey cocked an eyebrow and flicked her wand. He felt a warm sensation flit through him and pass. "Your diaphragm's a bit compressed; you should lay off of it for the sake of your health." She turned to Dumbledore. "There's nothing else wrong with him, as far as I can see, Albus."
"Thank you, Poppy."
She nodded as she rose, brushed the dust from her knees, and made for her office. "Goodnight, Albus. And Potter," she called, as she walked away, "try to stay out of the Infirmary for more than a month!"
Dumbledore beamed at Harry and nodded toward the door. He felt confused as he followed his Headmaster back into the quiet halls. Madam Pomfrey had not told him anything of consequence, had not prescribed the reason for why there was a giant snake (for lack of a better work) thingy lurking in his head, and it appeared that Dumbledore would follow along the same lines.
"Professor, I'm still confused," he said.
"Yes, I'd imagine so."
"Well, there is a giant snake in my head," he muttered. He hadn't meant for it to come out sarcastic–or audible.
"Harry," Dumbledore said, the whimsical tone somewhat flattened, "I will not lie and say that this does not concern me, but I also refuse to trouble you with an old man's musings. I ask only that you trust me to handle the matter to the best of my ability." He turned his gaze to Harry, who squirmed slightly (or rather, he felt like he squirmed but thoroughly hoped he hadn't) under the questioning stare of the brilliant blue eyes. "Do you trust me, Harry?"
"Always, Professor." He didn't need to contemplate the thought, and scolded himself for questioning the man who had delivered him from Death's threshold time and time again–the nearest being only a few months ago.
Dumbledore seemed satisfied with the response and smiled. "A bit too quick of a response, perhaps?" he mused.
"No, I don't think so," Harry offered. "I stick by it, either way, though."
There was an awkward pause, marked only by the soft echoing of their feet upon the cold stone. Then–
"I think," Dumbledore mulled, "I've an interesting lesson plan suggestion for Professor Hizaruki. Do you think he'd mind, Harry?"
Harry blinked. He thought of the odd foreign man with the wild blue hair and wild toothy grin, laughing good-naturedly. "No, sir, I don't think he would."
"Ah, excellent then. It should be exciting enough for your classmates."
Their pace slowed as they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, who heaved softly in her slumber. Dumbledore tapped her portrait lightly, and her eyelids fluttered blearily. "In the dead of the night, Headmaster?" she yawned.
"Yes, I'm afraid so. Would you mind?"
"No, I suppose not," the Fat Lady replied, mouth masked by her hand as she muffled another drowsy sough.
"Bobble cogs."
The pair stepped back as the portrait swung forward to allow them entrance. "I will speak on the matter with Professor Snape, Harry, but until then I ask that you make use of whatever you remember from your Occlumency lessons. Can you do that?" Harry nodded. "Good," Dumbledore said cheerily. "Until our next meeting, then. I believe the house elves have a rather interesting mix of chocolate and onion tea awaiting me."
Without another word, he turned on the spot, silver beard sweeping through the air, and walked down the moonlit corridor, leaving Harry thoroughly confused where he stood.
-End Chapter-
A/N:
- "...scarcely a decade old, rather than the ten centuries it should be." According to HP-Lexicon, Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago. I simply decided to have Slytherin begin writing the Tome as he got on in his years.
- For those of us lacking in the Greek/Latin mythology department, Lethe is one of the many river's encompassing Hades, including Styx and other stuffs. Apparently, drinking from it causes forgetfulness, which makes sense considering that Lethe is related to the Greek word meaning "un-forgetfulness". Tartarus, from what I can recall, was the pit in Gaia (Earth) that Uranus (Sky) forced the Cyclopes and Hecatonchires (their sons) into because they were so hideous. Depending on your source or what version of the mythology you're reading, it can also be considered the equivalent to Hades.
-And also, what I thought was most important to discussizzle with you guys (yes, I know: that was lame :B).
...I'll just come right out and say it: because there aren't that many people reviewing the fic, and because the hit count is ultra low, I'm really not sure if anyone is actually reading the story anymore. Because of that, I'm think of discontinuing the fic. I'd love to finish it, but there really isn't a point if no one is reading, ya know?
If there are still any readers out there who are still interested in Black Dusk, lemme know. Koky, out.