AN: with the last chapter the number of followers of this story reached 2 000. My little sister Karamelllinchen decided it was finally time to not wait any longer for me sending her an email when a new chapter is posted. So she was the 2000th to follow :D
Thanks to all reviewers – those who review regularly, all who have done so once, and all who will do so in the future! You keep my muse going!
oooOOooo
Thoughts
Sunday had been quiet for Harry and his friends. They had spent much of the day in his new rooms, working on their mountain of homework. He had not noticed in the last years, but the fifth year was a hard one. They had to write more, longer, and more complicated essays than ever before.
But the new rooms came in rather handy. Up here they were out of the way of the others and their hostile looks. There were not many, but sadly there was one in every year. From the first-years up to seventh. Harry sighed and cast a simple charm at his History of Magic essay, copying it, before rolling the parchment into a neat scroll.
Maybe he should go to bed. It was late, and tomorrow was another day of lessons. He rolled his eyes. The fact that he had Defence and Potions made Mondays his most disliked day of the whole week. Even if his relationship with Professor Snape had improved over the summer. Thankfully he had dropped Divination. If he had to endure Trelawney on top of Umbridge, he would despair.
As the tired teenager got up from his desk to walk over to his bed – at least as comfortable as the one he had used the last four years – one of the Potter house-elves suddenly appeared in the middle of the room.
The little green being bowed and presented a sealed letter to the young wizard. "Young Master Henry, Master Lord Slytherin sends this letter to you."
Cautiously, Harry took the few steps to close the gap, getting his wand out from its holster. He remembered vividly the time that Dobby had tried to save his life. No need to take any chances, so he cast the series of detection spells he had learned over the summer. The letter came back clean, so Harry took it from the elf.
"Thank you. You can go back now?" The statement came out more like a question. While he waited for an answer, Harry walked over to the seating area, looking at the seal on the letter.
"Master Lord Slytherin says to wait for answer from young Master Henry," squeaked the elf.
Not able to say if he wanted to send a response before he had read the letter, Harry sat down on his bed and broke the seal, getting the letter out and opening the parchment. The letter was written in the squiggly lines of Parselscript.
Dear Henry,
I want to make sure that you learn of this from me and not someone not directly connected to the situation.
Dumbledore saw fit to inform the Order of the Phoenix of the fact that I created horcruxes. I'm not sure how many people now know, but what is the most concerning is the fact that he suspects you might be one too.
It seems he is planning to hunt them down and destroy them. One of them is back in my possession. I have started research on how to move the soul-piece out of you without causing you harm, and will keep you up to date as to how my search progresses.
If you ever feel unsafe in the school or threatened by one of the teachers, go to Severus, the Slytherin common room, or the Chamber of Secrets. You should be safe there.
Be assured that the research has priority at the moment.
I think we should find a way to communicate faster than owl-post. So you can alert me if you feel threatened, and I can tell you important information without the risk of it falling into the wrong hands. I'm open to suggestions.
In the hope that you like your new rooms
Marvolo
Flummoxed, Harry blinked, the letter held in both of his hands. The Headmaster knew that he was a horcrux? Was planning on destroying them? Marvolo had not written much, but what he had written was bad enough. And by what Harry knew of those objects, it could get dangerous for him if one of those now in the know decided to get rid of the soul-piece stuck in his head.
With a groan Harry let himself fall back on the bed. Just what he needed, another complication. As if his life was not complicated and dangerous enough already. Now he would have trouble not to look over his shoulder all the time. But maybe that was not so different from the situation before he had read the letter. After all, some of the other Gryffindors had tried to kill him.
He needed to write a short letter in response. Because one obvious solution to the danger he was in was to remove him from Hogwarts. Something he really did not want. His friends were here. This had been his first home. There was no chance he would be happier at another school, or homeschooled. No, he wanted to complete his education here, at Hogwarts.
So he needed to tell Marvolo that he would heed his advice, and felt safe enough now that he had his own rooms.
Fast communication… just as Harry sat back up to move over to his desk to start on the answer, the mirror started to buzz. Green eyes widened – a communication mirror! That was the answer! – and Harry scrambled to answer the call from Sirius.
"Uncle Sirius!" the teen exclaimed once he had the mirror in front of his face, the letter fallen to the floor all but forgotten.
Out of the mirror the serious face of Sirius Black looked up to his godson, eyes taking in the teen's appearance. "How are you, Harry? Room's good?"
Harry nodded, sobering as he realized that his godfather was worried about something. "I'm fine. No one's tried to kill me today. And the rooms are great!"
"I'm happy that you like your rooms. Listen, Prongslet…" the dark-haired wizard faltered, obviously unsure how to say what he wanted to talk about.
Harry settled down better into the pillows, giving the man time to find the words to tell him what was on his mind.
"Remus was at a meeting with the Order today, and Dumbledore had something to tell… I don't know how to do this…" he spoke haltingly and carded his hand through his hair, distressed and nervous.
Harry bent down and picked the letter up from the floor. Then he fixed his eyes on his godfather in the little mirror. "Don't fret, Sirius. I already know. Marvolo sent me a letter." He held the parchment so it was visible for the wizard through the communication device.
"You know?!" Sirius asked incredulous, "Are you sure? I can't believe that bastard would tell you… something like that!"
"He actually tells me quite a lot. More than the Headmaster ever did. That I'm one of those horcruxes… he told me of his suspicion and then tested if it was true. I got a letter just now... " Harry trailed off at the look on Sirius' face.
Sirius opened and closed his mouth several times without managing to say a word. He closed his grey eyes and took a deep breath. "What does he plan to do? As long as you're a… horcrux… you'll be in danger. Remus will keep the situation with the Order under supervision… but… well, it is dangerous."
"He wrote that he's started researching to find a way to move the piece. And I believe him. But I have no idea how long something like this will take." Deciding on a whim that Sirius was the best to ask about it, Harry changed the topic radically. "Sirius, do you know where to get another set of mirrors? Or how to make them? I could use a way of fast communication with Marvolo."
Disbelievingly Sirius shook his head. "It's really strange. I never would have thought that I would agree with or work together with the man who brought war… he is – was? – a monster. But at the moment I feel he is one of the few sane people… Am I dreaming?"
At that Harry started to laugh and could not stop until tears were streaming down his cheeks and he held his sides. The world must be ending, when Sirius started to work together with Lord Slytherin. Finally Harry started to speak again, a little out of breath. "Tell me about it! I feel like I've been dreaming since the day I was dragged to the Ministry to be adopted." He wiped the tears from his face and spotted the still patiently waiting elf. "So about the mirrors…"
Sirius waved a hand. "Tell him to ask me, I'll search for the notes we used to create this set. Be careful, Harry."
The mirror went blank and Harry walked over to his desk to scribble a short note to Marvolo. In as few words as possible he told about the communication mirrors and Sirius' offer to provide instructions on how to create a set, and about the reaction of his godfather to the information about horcruxes.
After the short note was finished, Harry handed it to the still waiting elf. With another bow the small green elf in a toga made from tea-towels accepted the missive and popped out of the room.
Yawning, Harry decided that now was the time to go to bed and sleep. The day tomorrow promised to be interesting. Soon Harry was snoring lightly in the dark room.
ooOoo
In London, Sirius set the mirror down and rubbed a hand over his eyes. What had happened to the world? Dumbledore, the man he had thought was the epitome of light, suggesting it might be necessary to kill a child. Kill Harry to make it possible for a – formerly? – insane madman to die properly.
And the madman in question seemingly helping to clear up missing persons cases from over a decade ago. Offering to lift a curse that would kill the Headmaster, which the old man got saddled with because he had meddled with something the man formerly known as Voldemort had wanted to protect.
It just didn't match.
Sighing in frustration, Sirius sat down at his desk to write a short note to Lord Slytherin. He needed to ask a few questions and pass on the information about the mirrors. As both their houses were located in London, an owl shouldn't take too long to deliver the letter to the intended recipient.
Maybe they could manage a meeting in a few days.
oooOOooo
Walking down to get a quick breakfast – porridge with assorted fruits and brown sugar – Marvolo thought back to the letter Henry had sent with the elf yesterday evening. In a way, it was funny how the information he had wanted to keep secret almost desperately, now was spreading so quickly.
Lord Black knew about the horcruxes, because a member of the Order of the Phoenix had told him about it. Maybe it was not so bad after all. He was another one dedicated to protecting the boy, and by lacking information he might not be able to do this to the best of his ability. Marvolo felt uncomfortable knowing that his secret to immortality was not so secret any longer. But considering what problems this approach had caused – sanity was a useful thing to possess – he might be better off undoing it.
Barty had placed a schedule for the day next to his bowl, together with a letter sealed with the Black crest. No surprise there. It only stood to reason that Lord Black would have more questions, and might want to discuss when the attempt to retrieve his brother's body would take place.
Marvolo sat down, placing the napkin on his lap, skimming over the schedule while taking the letter with the hand not holding the spoon. Seemed he had quite the packed day. The curse removal for the Headmaster to live and to further his reputation, a meeting with Xerxes regarding his school, a tea with the Malfoys and some selected guests, and then time for research in the evening.
Idly spooning his breakfast from the bowl into his mouth, Marvolo broke the seal with his other hand, unfolding the letter so he could read.
Lord Slytherin,
My godson informed me of his wish to have an easier and faster way of communication with his guardian. On my last visit to the school, I gave him one half of a pair of communication mirrors his father and I had used during our own time at Hogwarts. He asked me if it was possible to get him another pair. Enclosed with this letter are the notes and references we used back then to create the mirrors. I trust that you will be able to make them work for a set you and Harry might use.
Further, I would like to find a time when we could speak about different matters. Plans for the winter holidays and where Harry will be during that time, the revisions to the werewolf laws noted down for the October session of the Wizengamot, returning some of the Black possessions that were lent and not returned, etc.
Awaiting your reply with suggestions for a time to meet and talk,
Lord Black
That the only Black ever sorted into Gryffindor could write such a political letter was a surprise. It contained everything and was at the same time so delightfully vague that nothing could be proven, and someone not knowing what it was about would have trouble guessing the content. So Black wanted to ask questions about Henry and his status as a soul container, when Regulus' body would be returned to the family, and a possible political alliance regarding the werewolf laws. Not a bad start into the new week.
On his way out to the entrance hall and the cloak hanging in the small cloak room, Barty came into his line of view, carrying several letters, bowing with a greeting. "Good morning, my Lord. Some letters have just arrived. I hope you have found the schedule for today?"
Nodding his head, Marvolo took the letters to see if there was one that needed his immediate attention. "I'm on my way to Gringotts. I want you to make arrangements with Lord Black for a meeting sometime this week. Sooner would be preferable." While he talked to his secretary, Marvolo broke the seal on a letter from Dowager Longbottom. Skimming its contents, he added to his instructions. "And a meeting with the regent for House Potter. I will try to be back in time for lunch, but if there are complications I will apparate from the bank over to Xerxes' school directly."
Handing over the letters to his bowing assistant – what would a sixteen-year-old him think about the situation as it was now? – Marvolo took his cloak out of its place, slipped into it, and adjusted his robes before apparating to Diagon Alley. Time to work on the public image of a likeable, remorseful Lord Slytherin.
ooOoo
From the place dedicated to apparation near the white marble building of the bank, Marvolo easily spotted the group of three waiting for him. The mixture of a red-head, an old wizard in eye-wateringly-bright robes and a white beard, as well as a man with a peg leg was simply unique.
Once more checking the fall of his robes, Marvolo schooled his face into a polite smile and started on the short walk over to the others.
The Alley was not overly packed with people this early on a Monday morning, but those who were there threw him curious glances. The looks no longer were as hostile as during his first visit to Diagon right after he had adopted Henry. His work on his public reputation seemed to be doing what he wanted to achieve. And now was the time for the next act in this play.
"Good morning, Headmaster, Mr. Moody, Mr. Weasley," he greeted pleasantly. "As we are all here, let us go inside."
Marvolo registered the disapproving glare of the old auror and could only assume that the paranoid man didn't approve of his seemingly lacking security. But as both Crabbe and Goyle were already here, ready to act if he called them, it truly was only an apparent lack. His need to appear as the non-threatening young Lord Slytherin would not go well together with himself surrounded by bodyguards. Furthermore, it would not do for him to look like he had followers. Especially as he did have them.
"Splendid idea, Tom!" the old fool proclaimed with a much-too-bright smile and twinkling blue eyes. "It is most advantageous that we all have the time today to solve this little problem."
Marvolo reined in his first three angry responses to this casual use of his given name – which he still loathed – despite the fact they were not actually on a first-name basis.
He managed a polite – if frosty – smile as he started to walk, gesturing for the others to follow, and addressed the breach of protocol.
"I'm sure you are aware, Headmaster Dumbledore, that I am long since a grown man and one of the Lords of the Wizengamot. I would appreciate a more formal form of address." That the old man only started to chuckle at this forced Marvolo to recall some calming breathing exercises to keep his cool.
"I always have trouble remembering to call former students by anything other than their given-name. I will try to do better, Lord Slytherin." Inwardly sneering – Marvolo was proud he'd managed not to react violently at the condescending tone the old goat used for his name – he acknowledged this with a short nod as they crossed over the threshold.
He had been reluctant to actually remove the curse so soon, he had wanted to make the Headmaster suffer as long as he had suffered as a child, as Severus had suffered, as Henry had suffered, but now he was eager to get this over with. Blue-charmed eyes scanned the hall and headed for the first open teller he spotted.
"Lord Slytherin, you are here to use one of our rooms?" the fierce-looking Goblin asked as soon as Marvolo was near enough.
"That is in fact true," the young looking wizard answered, giving a small bow from his neck, his hair swinging slightly with the motion.
"Follow me!" ordered the small being, jumping down from his seat and striding into the back of the big room, aiming for the smaller rooms that were rented out for use in rituals and negotiations between business partners and those that wanted to be business partners.
They walked into one of the rooms, and Marvolo looked around to see if it the room was suitable for their purpose. There was a small round solid table in the middle, surrounded by a few chairs, the walls and floor were simple, unadorned stone, the light was provided by a few glowing crystals attached to the ceiling. Marvolo supposed it would do.
ooOoo
Bill was curious despite himself. They were here to get the man who once had been called a Dark Lord to remove a curse from the Headmaster, not to get Bill's need to know about the most unusual curse he had seen in all his time as a curse-breaker fulfilled.
But it was hard to remember that the man with the blue eyes, wavy brown hair, and impeccable manners was capable of doing the most evil thing on this world without even batting an eye. That this man had split his soul… of course Bill had heard about horcruxes during his apprenticeship, they had been mentioned, and he had learned how to recognize and destroy them. But to know that there actually was a person who had made several alive today… that was something different. A cold shiver ran down his spine as the suspicion that Harry might be a horcrux came to his mind. He vividly remembered the long conversation held in his mother's kitchen the last evening. Bill had promised to try to get a better feeling for the personality of the new Lord Slytherin during this appointment because of it. Because no one in his family was comfortable with the idea they might need to kill Harry.
Bill had mentioned that it was possible to merge a piece of a soul back into the main part if the one that made it felt true remorse about the murder used in the ritual. Now all the hopes of his parents were pinned to the idea that Lord Slytherin might take this route, and Harry would lead a happy life.
So he followed after the others into one of the smaller rooms rented to customers, and kept his eyes on Lord Slytherin and the man's behaviour. He seemed to be annoyed, but considering the Headmaster had no concept of personal boundaries – Bill did not mind being called by his given name, but Fleur had objected to this habit a few times already, and she had not met the man that often! – there might be a valid reason for the other wizard to be pissed off.
"Headmaster, if you would please sit down at the table," Lord Slytherin directed the Headmaster, moving another chair so he could sit down himself opposite the older wizard. "Before we start, I guess you insist on me taking a vow?"
The Headmaster nodded, smiling, and Alastor Moody growled something that probably should pass as a yes. Lord Slytherin nodded in acceptance and got a piece of parchment out of an inner pocket of his expensive-looking robes, presenting it to the three wizards and handing it to Moody as the man reached for it. "If you would check the wording."
And so the retired auror did, reading the few words more than once – he obviously did not trust the man who had written them down – before he gave the parchment back, gruffly conceding their usability. "That should do."
"Very well," Lord Slytherin said, placing the parchment on the table and getting out the infamous wand made from yew, taking it with both hands and holding it in front of his chest just where the heart should be. Then he started to speak, and Bill could not shake the feeling that he was speaking with genuine sincerity. "I swear to only cast magic at Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore today in this room with the intent to keep him alive and remove the curse he currently suffers from. So mote it be." A soft glow briefly surrounded the man, before he let go of his wand with one of his hands, resting the wand on the table.
"Please lay your hand on the table, Headmaster. I need to take a look. If I remember correctly, this curse was intended to kill in the first few minutes after making contact. I have to check in what way it might have warped in the time it now has been festering in your hand."
While the Headmaster complied with the polite request, Bill's curiosity got the better of him. "How did you combine the curses to become what they now are? I recognised the spells building the basis but could not come up with an explanation on how they were combined."
He got a slow blink in reaction to his question before the man visibly collected himself and started a slow explanation. "I always was interested in spell creation and general magical theory – that's why I started to travel after graduation. When you add the unfortunate paranoia I was cursed with into the mix, you get the determination to combine curses that don't want to be combined." He paused a moment to cast a few spells on the blackened hand, humming to himself as he contemplated the results. "How I finally managed to force the two to become one, you probably do not really wish to know. Or you do not want to admit you know the theory to follow my explanation."
Bill needed a moment to decipher what the man was talking about. When he finally did understand, a grin spread over his face. "No problem there. As a curse-breaker for Gringotts, I have a pass on knowing about what is classified as dark magic by the Ministry. How else are we supposed to know enough to break the curses we are paid to break?"
A contemplative look moved over Lord Slytherin's face, and then he nodded slowly. "That is almost reasonable. But I never shared this curse with anyone, and I have not documented it anywhere. So there should be no need after today for anyone to know specifics about it. If you truly are interested, though, we might be able to find a time to discuss this topic. Now I think we should concentrate on the matter at hand." He gave a small smirk in Bill's direction, "These rooms are paid for by the half hour."
Now Bill watched not only out of duty to keep the Headmaster safe, but out of interest in Lord Slytherin's knowledge of curses. It was logical that a Dark Lord would know much about the Dark Arts, and judging by what he had seen today, he no longer was sure that Dumbledore was right with his guesses. Even if the man had created several horcruxes, this did not contradict the story being told about Lord Marvolo Slytherin. It was possible that the man had met with an ancient curse subjecting him to severe paranoia. And as paranoia was not a wise counsellor, creating a horcrux as a failsafe against assumed would-be murderers following close behind could look like a good idea.
Bill had never read or heard anything about the effects of destroying a horcrux on the one who had created the object, nor did he know what creating more than one might do to a person. He would love to ask the man who had done both about his experiences. All the information the eldest Weasley son had seen had been several hundreds of years old, and those documents had been copies of even older sources. The opportunity to speak with someone with first-hand experience was really tempting. After all, not only the aspect of adventure had drawn him to his profession, the possibility to do something good – by breaking curses – and to learn, had been equally important.
In short order, Lord Slytherin cast a few complicated and lengthy spells until he finally declared, "It seems the curse did not change that much over the time it now has been affecting you. So the counter I devised should work without alterations." Bill registered a brief wistful look that was quickly hidden behind the polite and empty smile Lord Slytherin had sported the whole time. "I can't guarantee that it will be painless, but it should be done quickly. Are you ready, Headmaster?"
The head topped by long white hair bobbed in a short nod, and the young Lord started to chant a spell in a language that sounded like ancient Egyptian to Bill, pointing his wand at the blackened hand.
The effect was instantaneous.
A bright light surrounded the black hand, and warmth radiated out into the room. The old Headmaster's eyes got a tight look to them, and he pressed his lips together. Probably trying to suppress sounds of pain, or so Bill suspected.
When the glowing finally stopped, the hand looked normal once again, and Lord Slytherin placed his wand back into the sleeve of his robe. "You should let a healer check you over. I'm not sure what long-term, exposure to this curse might have done to you. But the curse itself is now gone." The man stood, giving a short nod to the Headmaster and clearly waiting for the man and his two companions to leave.
To Bill's regret – he wanted to ask so many questions! - the Headmaster was eager to leave and with barely a greeting almost fled the room. Alastor quickly followed, and Bill had no real choice but to hasten after the others.
Maybe he could stay behind under the pretence that he had to do something here for his job. Bill really wanted to speak to Lord Slytherin for a moment. No harm in trying to gather information, right?
ooOoo
Glad that this had gone down without a hitch, and sad about the fact he had not been able to learn more about what long-term effects this curse had on someone, or what Severus' attempts to halt its progress might have done, Marvolo waited a few moments before he left the room in search of a goblin that would present him with the bill he had to pay for the use of the room.
Just outside the room, he ran into the goblin he was searching for and William Weasley, waiting for him.
"That will be three galleons and four sickles, Lord Slytherin," stated the goblin holding open his – or her, Marvolo never had managed to learn how to tell them apart – hand. Counting the coins into the open palm, Marvolo paid the rent for the room.
Without further words of greeting, the goblin left, and the two wizards were standing as alone as was possible in the big hall.
"Why are you still here, Mr. Weasley?" Marvolo did not dare guess why the man had remained behind, without anyone as backup or witness either.
"I wanted to talk to you, Lord Slytherin," was the equally short and simple answer.
Marvolo gave the red-headed wizard a pointed look. That Weasley had waited to speak with him was obvious. The question was, what did he want to speak about? "What about?"
"For one, the curse you just removed from the Headmaster's hand. But other things as well. Much of the information available is a copy of a copy, and often not even a good one. And I really would like to further my knowledge to be able to do my work better. I might even get a promotion that way." The earnest gaze from the blue eyes was somewhat funny.
Had this really just happened? Did a Weasley – a family known to have fought valiantly against the Dark Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters – just ask to be instructed in the Dark Arts by a wizard known as dark? The one who had been said to have been Lord Voldemort?
A little bit wary – it could be some kind of trap – Marvolo slowly nodded. "I have a few hours' time this evening. How about you?" He wanted to ask what his parents would say if they knew, and if he truly wanted to know about the Dark Arts. But he refrained, this maybe was an opportunity to gain a new follower. Giving those he wanted as followers what they wished to have had always been a good way to accomplish his goals and gain numbers for his Death Eaters.
"When and where?" the red-head asked eagerly.
"Have you ever been to Griffin House?" Weasley shook his head. "Meeting at the Leaky Cauldron?" Marvolo quickly calculated when he would be finished with his list of tasks for the day. "Around seven pm?"
Weasley nodded. "Works for me." He nodded once again in greeting and strode off into the depths of the building, probably to his office or wherever he was working in the bank.
Marvolo quickly checked the time and noted with appreciation that he had enough time to go home and eat something before he needed to go to his next appointment.
oooOOooo
After he had gotten hardly any sleep, Kingsley had decided to go to work early. The news Headmaster Dumbledore had told them at the last Order meeting had simply left him unable to relax. A little mind-numbing parchment-shuffling hopefully would help him get to a point where he could find some sleep.
He was sorting some portkey applications as the door to the mess of tangled parchment was opened enthusiastically, and Dawlish walked into the chaos. A little irritated, Kingsley straightened his back and looked over into the grinning face of his fellow auror. What had the man so happy? With the news from yesterday - that it even was possible to do something as evil as splitting a soul! - he felt his resolve to work together with the man he suspected to be a Death Eater crumble.
"Shacklebolt, I hope you have brought your winter cloak. Here is our portkey to the island!" Triumphantly the other man held up a loop of rope such as they used for official portkeys issued to the auror force.
Kingsley frowned, that had gone rather quick. Considering that they wanted to keep their purpose as quiet as they could manage, he had calculated that it would be at least a week before they would get a portkey out to Azkaban. He just had to ask. "That was fast. How did you manage to get one on such short notice, Dawlish?"
"Once I told Malfoy and Nott about our idea, they made sure that someone was sent to check on the prison, now that the Dementors are not guarding it. It was easy enough to make sure we were the ones sent. So when do we want to go?"
Kingsley felt his metaphorical feathers bristle. This blatant use of connections to hasten a process and probably make some others wait for their portkeys, felt simply wrong. That two men he knew had been Death Eaters and probably still were, had been instrumental in this… well, there really was no place for childish pettiness in their search for the one who had sent Dementors after children.
The dark-skinned auror sighed, took a deep breath, and rolled his shoulders to get some of the tension out of them.
Dawlish furrowed his brow. "What's wrong, Kingsley? What happened? I feel like I walked into a cold-cupboard. Have I done something wrong?"
A wad of parchment fell down back to the ground and Kingsley rubbed his eyes. Why was he blaming Dawlish? He had suspected for a long time that the man was a Death Eater, why was he now less able to work with the man while they still had the same goal? There was someone out there who sent Dementors after children. Harry Potter and two other boys his age had escaped an attempt at their souls because the boy was able to cast a Patronus.
Even if Voldemort had split his soul – and the Headmaster had not presented any real evidence, only two objects and a story – what part had the man's minions in this?
"Rumours, Dawlish, nothing but rumours. They kept me from sleep the last night, and now I'm grumpy. Don't mind me. I brought my cloak, so when do we go?"
The look Dawlish gave him was sceptical, but in the spirit of mutually ignored alliances he let it slide, shrugging. "Whenever we want. It is a password-, not a time-activated portkey."
"Then we should go now, before I fall asleep on my feet," Kingsley decided, hiding a yawn behind one hand.
ooOoo
The weather out on the North Sea was pleasant. For September. It was cold and slightly windy, so if not for the water-repelling charms they had cast on their crimson auror robes, they would have been drenched to the bones in minutes by the spray.
To escape the biting wind, both bent over and hastened to enter the oppressive building towering over them. Why the portkey always had to deposit the incoming aurors outside the prison… well, it was because of security concerns, but it was inconvenient. Especially when the weather was bad. And it almost always was unpleasant.
They walked past the gate into the small corridor leading up to the office occupied by the one lone auror on duty. Normally no human was guarding the prison out of the few times a year there was an inspection. But as the Dementors were secluded, confined to the most remote edge of the island, the office was now manned around the clock.
In here it was warmer, as a small fire was burning happily in the stove standing in the middle of the room. Against one wall stood a simple cot, which was occupied at the moment.
Dawlish walked over and took the man's shoulder to shake him awake. "Simons! Wake up! We need your help!"
Kingsley grinned to himself, walking over to the stove to warm his hands. He always got cold hands when he was out in a storm. He watched, amused ,as Dawlish woke the auror on duty. This was a job he did not wish on his worst enemy.
A grumbling auror Simons walked over from his bed, and poured himself a cup of old coffee. "What do you two want here? I guess you're not intended to be my relief?"
"Indeed not, Simons. Sorry." Kingsley shrugged. "We need to check some of the records. There are records here, aren't there?"
"Sure, over there." Simons gestured with his coffee cup over to a rickety door, before he walked over to a chair and sat down.
With a glint of hope in their eyes, Dawlish and Kingsley looked at each other and took a few quick steps over to the room holding the records. As Kingsley got a good look at the filing cabinets, however, the hope was dimmed on the spot. It seemed it had been some time since anyone had had even a little bit of motivation to file the orders in a way conducive to finding them again.
"Wonderful!" Dawlish drawled sarcastically. "It seems we have exchanged one sorting job for another."
Sighing, Kingsley nodded in agreement. "At least we know that here we will find only records, papers, and orders that have something to do with the prison. No more portkey forms, orders for ink, and other useless drivel."
"Let's start to search. Maybe a summoning charm will work here?"
Conceding that it might work and certainly was worth trying, Kingsley got his wand out and cast the charm, concentrating on orders sending Dementors away from the prison. "Accio Dementor Marching Orders."
A surprisingly small stack of parchment came flying out of several different drawers, heading for Kingsley and falling down around him.
Grinning at each other – this was a much more manageable amount of paperwork – they started each on one side, and worked quickly through the orders. They knew when the attack had happened and where. All orders that did not match were quickly tossed aside.
While they worked, Kingsley thought about the ease with which he worked together with a man who was a Death Eater. Or most likely was. Who was he kidding, he was sure the man was a Death Eater, but he had no evidence at all. It was frustrating, to know that there were Death Eaters in the Ministry, but there was nothing he could do about it.
"Shacklebolt! I think I've found it!" Dawlish waved a parchment in front of his face, a grin making him look a few years younger.
Kingsley stood up from his crouch and walked over. Looking at the parchment in Dawlish's hand, brown eyes flitted over the filled-in information. The time and place of the order matched the time and place of the attack on Severus Snape and the three teenagers he had been escorting.
But… Kingsley furrowed his brow. "Jane Smith? Do you know a Jane Smith working anywhere in the Ministry?"
Dawlish shook his head. "No. I don't think that there is a Jane Smith anywhere." He thought a moment. "A forgery?"
"Probably. So the person sending Dementors after children is more intelligent than I had thought. Male? Or female, like the name suggests?"
Dawlish snorted, shaking his head. "Don't think we should assume anything. But at least we can now prove that the Dementors were indeed sent by someone in the Ministry. Maybe that will help Simons to get back home."
After this they quickly found a place for the other files, before they took their leave, promising Simons to send over a bottle of cider and news as soon as they heard about the effects their discovery would have.
After they had reported to Scrimgeour, Dawlish quickly vanished – probably to report to Voldemort, Kingsley guessed – and the dark-skinned auror sat down at his desk to write the report they had to hand in. After he finished with the paperwork – he really had developed an aversion to all the paperwork they had to do – he planned to go research ways to follow a forgery to the one who had made it. There just had to be a way to get this information.
oooOOooo
The first day of lessons after he had gotten his own room, Harry had the opportunity to observe a varying bunch of reactions. Hermione was happy for him and the quiet place to study they now had access to. Ron was mostly indifferent, happy that Harry felt safer but sad that his best mate no longer shared a room with him. Most of Gryffindor was either excited to know that there were rooms that never were used because there were so seldom any heirs to one of the Founders at the school. But a few made jokes about a scaredy cat sorted into the house of the brave.
Harry tried to ignore the muttering on his way down to breakfast and had the opportunity to work on his self-control as the other houses joined in on the gossiping as the day progressed. The camp of those thinking he was afraid and why had he been sorted into Gryffindor was the biggest. Ravenclaws mostly added explanations and speculations about a narrow decision of the Hat to the rumours, Hufflepuffs placed the emphasis on the fact that some Gryffindors obviously lacked in loyalty to one of their own, and Slytherins were almost silent on the matter.
That last reaction surprised Harry the most, and the whole way from History down to the dungeons and the Potions classroom, Ron speculated about a hidden agenda the slimy snakes had to have, because why else would they not chime in with the others?
Harry suspected the reaction had more to do with his status as an honorary member of the House due to the fact he was Heir Slytherin than with any hidden plots. And when he demanded that Ron explain what the dastardly plot was, he got no satisfying answer.
His red-headed best mate only glared at the Slytherins, who had found them and were trailing behind a few paces, obviously keeping an eye on them, as if he wanted to point out that there just had to be a reason for them to follow Harry as if they were puppies.
At the end of the Potions class, Professor Snape gave out the last essays as each student placed his or her phial of the potion they had to brew on the desk. When it was Harry's turn to hand in his sample of a Strengthening Solution, Severus Snape handed over his scroll and for once had no sour expression on his face. "It seems you have inherited your mother's talent in potions after all. Your work has improved in comparison to last year, Mr. Slytherin. Keep up the good work."
On the dreary Monday this comment – delivered in the normal dry tone the Potions Master was prone to use – was a light in the darkness, carrying Harry through a dismally boring defence lesson. There just had to be something they could do. Hermione constantly was muttering that they were in their OWL year and if the lessons continued in this way, they never would be able to pass the exams with acceptable marks.
And in the back of Harry's mind was still the question of whether to ask to be resorted or if he was better off staying where he was. Maybe he should just wait to see if his change in rooms would change anything and if the Aurors found anything. It was a plan that was easy enough, so maybe that was what he should do.
ooOoo
The Slytherins were watching the reactions of the school as well. Draco in particular was watching like a hawk at the way the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs reacted to the news.
It was oddly reminiscent of the behaviour of the whole school during their second year, when they had all called him the Heir of Slytherin, or last year, when he had been shunned as a cheat for smuggling himself into the tournament.
"Did you know that there are extra rooms for the heirs of the Founders?" Greg wanted to know as they sat at the Slytherin table during lunch, eating their vegetable soup with freshly baked bread.
"No," Draco answered, as Theo and Blaise had their mouths full at the moment, "but it seems reasonable."
It was breathtaking how fast the rumours had been spread. The whole of Hogwarts already knew about the extra room at the top of Gryffindor tower – the descriptions Draco had heard so far were so different that he was quite sure that no one had actually seen them yet – and the fact that Henry Slytherin had the opportunity to ask to be re-sorted. The blond suspected that one of the Aurors, or a teacher, had spoken about it where students were able to listen, starting the rumours that had run like wildfire through the school.
"Have you heard what the older years have said? How Po… Slytherin greeted his … father? He actually called him that!" Pansy was really excited about the fact, and Draco had to stop himself from rolling his eyes.
"Of course he did! After all, he is Harry's father," Nott snorted and took another piece of bread. "What else should he call him with the audience he had?"
"Audience? He's a Gryffindor! You don't really expect me to believe he would pay mind to something as political as the proper form of address in front of an audience?" Blaise asked incredulously. "Never!"
Theo shook his head, sending his hair flying. "You do underestimate him. I've spent quite some time with him this summer. He lives up to his new last name quite effortlessly, as far as I can see."
"You don't think he was sincere?" Daphne wanted to know, setting down her spoon, as she was finished with her meal.
Draco was not sure himself and resolved to stay silent. He still wanted to get closer to Slytherin, not only because his father would very much like him to be friends with the Dark Lord's son and heir, but because he liked the teen he was getting to know. He was different from most of the boys he had known growing up, but there was a bright mind under all that Gryffindor bravado. An interesting contradiction. That he could not actually tell if he had meant to call the Dark Lord "father" because he had been brainwashed in this short time with the man, or because he was so gullible that he had come to feel something for the murderer of his parents, or because he knew it was the political thing to do, only added to the fascination.
"That's the funny thing," Theo answered, as no one seemed to want to speak up. "He could have been, or he just said it to make the right impression. I feel like it would be equally likely."
As the food vanished from the table and all around them the other students gathered their belongings to make their way over to their next classes, the fifth-year Slytherins did the same.
"Who can keep a look-out for Slytherin until he has to be in DADA later?" Daphne asked – she was the unofficial coordinator to make sure one of them was near the Dark Lord's heir whenever they could manage – getting a short nod from Theo. "I have a free period as well. I'll ask him if he needs help with his runes homework."
They quickly split into different directions, Draco going up to the North Tower and Divination. He now wished he had opted for another class, as it was obvious it was not as easy as he had been led to believe. Putting up with the batty behaviour of the Professor put quite a strain on him. Better hurry, the way up to the incense-laden classroom was long and would take up all the time between lunch and the start of the afternoon lessons even if he did hurry.
oooOOooo
Late on Monday evening a short note made its round via owl to a small group of people. It read:
We start tonight! My contact told me tomorrow would be ideal for our outing, as the storm will cease during the night. We will meet at the place and time we agreed to.
And was not signed.
oooOOooo
Bill was the first to arrive at the Leaky Caldron, as he was a little early. He asked Tom, the owner of the pub, to give him a little nook with a good view of the room to wait in, and ordered a warm butterbeer. It would warm him up, as it was a slightly windy day, and did not have enough alcohol to have a negative impact on his senses and reaction times.
The red-headed wizard didn't have to wait long before the young-looking wizard he had come to meet made his way through the door from Diagon Alley, looking around the place and spotting the waiting Weasley almost immediately.
"Mr. Weasley, I hope you did not have long to wait," greeted the tired-looking Lord, stopping just short of the table Bill was sitting at.
"I was a little bit early, so no, I didn't wait long. Please sit down, Lord Slytherin," Bill answered, getting up for a proper greeting. Even if the man presumably was his enemy, the manners his mother had drilled into him through constant repetition kicked in.
After a short pause to think over the suggestion – or so Bill assumed by the look on the man's face – Lord Slytherin nodded and opened his cloak to get more comfortable, sliding into the bench so he had a wall at his back and his view was over the room.
Before they could start a conversation, Tom the owner came over, looking a smiling question to the addition at the table. "I would like two slices of apple-tart with cream."
"Of course! Only one moment. Do you wish something to drink as well?"
"No, thank you."
A few moments later there was a plate with apple tart on their table, and Lord Slytherin got out his wand to cast a few privacy wards around them. "I presume you would not want anyone to listen in to our conversation?" Bill was asked.
Bill nodded. He always preferred privacy for a conversation, and for this one it was almost a requirement. In fact, he felt a little uneasy, sitting here, with You-Know-Who – or at least the man who had been him – intending to ask the man questions about horcruxes and dark magic in general. Suddenly he no longer was sure that this had been such a bright idea.
The fact that the man now started to eat his tart as if he had all time in the world, helped Bill not one bit. A few minutes and one piece of tart later, Bill gathered all of the courage that had decided the hat to sort him into Gryffindor and started with his questions. "The Headmaster claimed you made a horcrux, Lord Slytherin. I was wondering where you might have learned about them. I only heard of them when my instructor told me about them, during my apprenticeship." He took a sip from his butterbeer and shortly contemplated whether he should tell the man of the one time he had witnessed the destruction of one.
Why not? Nothing ventured, nothing gained. "And I only ever encountered one, during my time in Egypt. And now the Headmaster tells such a story…" he trailed off, his eyes almost glued to the man sitting across from him.
Leisurely eating a bite from his tart, Lord Slytherin returned the gaze from blue eyes with a contemplative look of his own.
"If I ever did what Headmaster Dumbledore claims I did, would I be so foolish as to admit to it?" Lord Slytherin gave Bill a pointed look, setting his spoon down. "As for where I first heard of them... In my day at Hogwarts, there were a few books about them in the restricted section. As to why you have not seen them there… I would guess that Dumbledore removed them once he became Headmaster. He has always had a penchant for restricting access to information he deems dangerous." The man smiled sweetly before he asked a question of his own. "You encountered a horcrux in Egypt?"
Bill nodded, shuddering as he remembered. "Yes, it was in a sort of tomb, deep in the desert. It was secured and displayed next to a trap of sorts. The inscriptions and murals told a story about a wizard striving for immortality. He killed someone important to the Pharaoh. When he was apprehended, he was killed – or more likely his body was destroyed – his wraith captured in the trap, and he was condemned to an eternity imprisoned. Nameless. My superior decided we should destroy the horcrux and free what was left of the man to go on."
Bill felt a chill run down his spine, and judging by the look on the other's face, he was feeling something similar. It was a horrifying prospect: An eternity trapped as a bodiless spirit. If the stories were true, the man now sitting at a table in the Leaky Cauldron, eating apple tart, had experienced something quite similar.
"That is quite a… disconcerting story you are telling there. So Gringotts destroys horcruxes it encounters?"
Bill nodded, it was not a secret that such dangerous magic was always destroyed, even if it was not common knowledge. "The goblins are against such practices. And by all accounts, as vague as they are, there is not much to be done for… the creator of such things after a certain amount of time."
Taking the last sip from his butterbeer, Bill tried to come up with a question to truly get some answers. Up till now he had been the one giving out information, not what he wanted to achieve with this meeting.
"Even if you don't want to admit anything, I would guess you researched them?"
Lord Slytherin nodded to this, a small smirk on his lips. "As I've always been deeply interested in all kind of magic since I discovered the eclectic conglomeration of magics the Ministry categorises as Dark Magic." He made air-quotes and rolled his eyes, intriguing Bill with the easygoing and laid-back attitude the man was displaying. "There simply is no rhyme or reason to which magic is banned and which is not. Some things are banned because they are hard to control, others – like the Unforgivables – for the ease with which they can be cast, or what they do to the caster, some because they violated some morals or customs from a long time ago… It became my goal to get this tangled mess sorted out, regain legal access to those magics that had absolutely no reason to be banned."
The man sighed, taking another bite from his tart. "Sadly, the curse derailed me quite a bit. But what happened in the last years has given me a new chance to achieve my goals."
They danced around the topic Bill really wanted to talk about – horcruxes and the rare first-hand experience he now was sure the other man had – talking about the curse that had been removed from the Headmaster's hand this morning and others Bill had seen in Egypt, and what Lord Slytherin had studied on his travels.
They only left once Tom made rather unsubtle signs that he wanted to close his bar for the day.
oooOOooo
AN: Not sure what is causing this but every now and again reviews will not show up on the site, even when I get emails declaring that they were submitted. They make an appearance eventually, so I'm merely bewildered. If your review is taking time to show up it could be the site just keeping them hostage or something of the kind. Up until now I only once even thought about deleting a review because of the language used. As long as they stay constructive (and are not made by spam bots) I see no need to remove critique. Even if I do not understand some of it ;) (Please tell me why you think something should be different or does not make sense to you, do not just state you thing it is wrong. Explain! Demanding will get you nowhere but explanations will help me improve ;) )
Thanks to Jordre and Jake for helping to improve my spelling!
First published on the 11th of November 2016
Next chapter planned for 25th of November 2016