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Old Friends and Emergencies

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It took all of his resolve not to fruitlessly call out his friend's name in protest to her fading strength. 'Hermione!' he was screaming inside his head, as he stared at her still body, frozen in panic, indecision. What did one do in this situation? What could he do? Why had they never been given classes on basic Healing Magic at school?

"Salazar," he croaked out, still looking at her prone form. Her skin was cold, as if she'd already died.

"Little one," he replied, becoming partially visible.

"What…" he rasped. "What do I do?"

Salazar looked at him for a long time, and for a moment Harry was sure that he was simply going to fade back into invisibility and leave him to watch his friend die, but he finally spoke.

"Raise the temperature around her very slowly," he commanded, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He twisted a coil of magic around her lifeless form, tying it off with a command to gradually increase the level of heat. That done, he turned to Salazar for confirmation.

"Use your magic to facilitate her breathing," the Founder continued, eyeing her with cold carelessness that sent a shiver down Harry's spine that had nothing to do with the chill.

Biting his lip, Harry closed his eyes and reached out with his magical senses. There was the soft glow of Salazar, and the still babbling people beyond him, but they were a softer glow, less bright than he expected.

He had a shock when he turned to Hermione. Instead of the strong golden glow of her magic that he had been expecting, there was only a faint illumination threading along her veins and bones. He could see her heart beating slowly, ever so slowly, and felt the strenuous inhalations. There weren't the flashes of thought he expected to find, but a dead space that seemed to surround her. Wincing involuntarily, he tentatively moved a thread of magic, sending fingers of it to take control of her breathing and help her heart. It took him a long moment to get her body to accept the changes, but something about her seemed to recognise his magic, and her own fell back into her bones to concentrate there. Without it having to struggle to keep her alive in the simplest sense, her magic could work on other parts of her body.

Opening his eyes once more, Harry breathed out in relief, the air before his lips misting in the cold of the room.

"Salazar," he murmured, still staring at Hermione. "Would you…would you check to see that all the others are okay?"

Salazar eyed him through sharp eyes before drifting away and out of sight. Using a twist of magic to create a chair, Harry sat down to watch colour return to Hermione's cheeks.

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Malfoys weren't stupid. They maintained a healthy state of traditionalism and cunning. The best way to stay in society's good graces was to remain with the old traditions. Things that were established traditions were inevitably respected, if not always agreed with.

The balance was to move with the changes, adapt to the times, adhere to the more steady of society's views as if they always had agreed with them. To process a flawless shift from what was steadily becoming despicable and identify and take on more respected ideas.

Malfoys were always on the winning side.

Draco tapped his quill thoughtfully on the wooden top of his desk. He was in the process of considering a dilemma.

The Malfoy family had stayed on the right side of the law and on the Dark side of magic since just after the times of the Founders. One thousand years of careful balancing of paths, ideas, morals. One thousand years of weighing one option and finding it more rewarding than the other. After the triumph of Sir Diagon, their family plied the current powers with good money to assure that the world saw them as avid light-siders, forced to work and fight for an evil and immoral man. The Dark Arts became unpleasant magic, and they carefully stowed away their associations with the subject, whilst influencing certain laws in their favour.

Above all, Malfoys were adaptable.

During the split caused by the Dark Magic users Romulus and Violet Grey in the middle years after the fall of the short-lived Dark Ruler Sandavoy, the Malfoy family judiciously aligned themselves with Muriel Grey, current matriarch of the main Grey family. Romulus and Violet were intelligent, powerful young people, but they had exhibited signs of weakness, signs of immaturity. They didn't bide their time and plan before they acted. A travelling oriental priest brought them down when he witnessed them indulging in Necromancy a year later.

Over time, it seemed to become clear that Light magic almost always triumphed, up until they entered the Darker Years, as they were known. With the rise of Grindelwald, the Malfoys saw their chance to emerge as a Dark family, as they had always been. Their French and German clans had joined to assist the Dark Lord, and they had been rewarded, up until a relatively unknown wizard named Albus Dumbledore had tackled and brought the man down.

The Malfoys had retreated, licking their wounds. Barely a decade later saw the rise of another Dark Lord, one who was cannier, more cunning, more powerful. One who surpassed Dumbledore in strength and ambition. Lord Voldemort, having seen the fall of Grindelwald, researched his time in power and learnt from his mistakes. He grew in reputation, but he remained wary of his former teacher who had brought down his predecessor. He carefully gathered followers, picking out those with particular traits, those who would be useful to him.

And then, the Malfoy family had suffered another defeat as Voldemort fell to the hand of a mere child. Their reputation had been difficult to repair, and a large dent was made in the family fortune as they plied the Ministry with cautious favours and promise of gold.

Now, the Malfoys were back in favour, both in the Dark world and the Wizarding world at large. Lucius was feared and respected in both, and Draco was treated with a similar caution from his peers.

And yet…Draco found that he had doubts. He had been raised to analyse each situation with care, and that was what he did now. He was no fool. He knew that the Dark Lord had burned his way into his mind the night of the marking, and no doubt he had not been pleased with what he had found there. Still, when Death Eaters began to give him advice, companionship, lessons even, he realised that his new master still thought him workable.

And because he was no fool, Draco agreed with him. He knew that his doubts weren't that deep set. He knew that he was laying his life on the line by even considering them. He knew that the Dark Lord searched his mind at each meeting, and cultivated a feeling of belonging in the fold. It was overwhelming, all this power, all this violence that was expected of him. But Voldemort was no fool either. Draco watched as the newest recruits were led in carefully, allowed to become accustomed to the nature of serving someone, treating Voldemort as a godlike father figure – the head of their true family. They were led into violence one step at a time, so that they wouldn't balk and flee like a frightened steed.

Absently, he rubbed his arm where the Dark Mark lay under his flesh like a penny dropped under water, shifting as if seen through ripples. He'd been branded like a common animal. Even Grindelwald hadn't done that to his followers – that had been part of his downfall. By branding them, the Dark Lord had created the perfect method of keeping them loyal. He had them under his power, and by marking them as his they got a far colder welcome from the other side, all because of one little tattoo.

Idly, he traced the coil of the snake as it ran through the skull. Owned, marked, possessed. His Occlumency barriers had been casually torn down as if they were no more than fences. He couldn't find a way to fix them again.

The Dark Mark had been branded on to his arm over the Soul Metal as if it wasn't even there. It had grown back now, silvery and smooth, soft splashes over his arms, a patch on his leg and dashed down one cheek. He could feel again, but it wasn't the same. It was as if he was feeling someone else's emotions, things that no longer made the same sense to him. He was ahead in his training because he could kill without feeling, but he was behind too because he couldn't take pleasure in it. Killing was just the ending of a life – the natural conclusion for that particular victim. Voldemort scared him because he didn't have an ending, because he couldn't die.

Pain flared as if hot wire had been pressed against his Mark. He hissed and clasped his arm before crossing to the wardrobe and fetching his robes and mask. He would have to be quick – the Dark Lord didn't like stragglers.

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Harry hissed and clutched his left arm in pain. There, just above the wrist where the Dark Mark lay. Eyes widening in surprise, he gradually tilted his arm, afraid of what he could find. He was almost relieved to see the unblemished stretch of skin, but the idea that he would feel the pain as if he were being summoned worried him. He could feel a tugging at the back of his mind, making him want to move, to follow and obey.

Shaking his head, he laid a hand against Hermione's cheek and was relieved to find that her skin was at a normal temperature. He had gradually eased away his magic until she breathed deeply and healthily of her own accord, and her pulse was steady. Sighing and standing, he created a small scrap of parchment and a quill, and wrote her a short note, promising that he would be back to visit during the day, and that she should talk to Ron. Concealing it from others' sight, he donned the Chameleon Skin and dropped the magic around her bed.

It took him only a moment to Fade back to the boy's dormitories, where Neville and Ron sat quietly conversing. It appeared that the others had already gone back to sleep after pulling more blankets over themselves.

"Hey," he greeted them softly, dropping the Chameleon Skin over his face.

"Woah," Ron breathed. "You're not using your Cloak, are you?"

Harry shook his head and sat heavily on the bed.

"Where's Hermione, Harry?" Neville asked quietly. Ron's eyes widened comically as he realised his friend had returned alone.

"She's…resting," Harry said hesitantly. "It looked like she'd been using a lot of magic for something, and because of that her magic supplies couldn't cope with the sudden drop in temperature. She…she might not have been so well…" he broke off. "She was barely breathing when I got there," he whispered, still feeling shell-shocked.

Ron made a choked sound in the back of his throat and became very pale.

"She'll be all right, won't she?" Ron forced out. Harry nodded.

"She'll be fine, but you need to make sure that she doesn't over tax herself like that anymore. Not with the chills going on."

"We'll take care of her," Neville assured him, and Harry spared him a small smile of thanks.

"Look guys, I know I said I'd talk to you now, but with Hermione still…resting…" he trailed off.

"S'okay," Ron said gruffly. Neville nodded.

"All I'll say now is that I have a plan to defeat Voldemort, and I'm going to need your help with it," Harry told them. "It's big, really big. Bigger than anything we've done before. But at the moment I still need to put some things into practice. I'll find you tomorrow and explain everything," he paused and smiled. "And you'll get to see Ginny."

"Where is she?" Ron growled out. "Where's my little sister?"

"Safe, Ron," Harry said, putting a steadying hand on his friend's shoulder. "She's still in the castle, in fact." Ron opened his mouth to speak, but Harry cut him off. "She's safe Ron. I swear it on my life."

The redhead frowned at him. "How…Merlin I'm such an idiot! How do we know it's you, not just someone Polyjuiced as you?"

Harry chuckled. "I promise. You were a real git last year when you thought I'd put my name in the Goblet, and I remember how Sirius mauled your leg when we found out who Scabbers really was, and how when we went swimming in the lake near the Burrow that you tripped and came up out of the water with a lily pad on your head, and Fred and George wouldn't stop making jokes about frogs all through the day."

Ron laughed awkwardly and shook his head. "Sorry Harry, but you know…"

"You had to check," Harry said sadly. Getting up, he looked between them both and smiled faintly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He Faded out, hearing the distant gasps of surprise before he landed near the entrance to Rowena's rooms.

I'm going to sleep for a bit, okay Salazar? He called out through the link, receiving a sense of disgust for his choice of rooms as a response. Smirking, he turned down the corridor towards the section of shadowy wall, beyond which lay the portrait.

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Harry yawned sleepily and took another sip of his coffee. The scent tangled pleasantly in his nostrils and he let a contented smile cross his face. Despite the shock of the previous night, he was feeling in good humour. He'd done a lot in the small amount of time he'd been out, and some of the more difficult tasks were out of the way.

However, there was the simple matter of the last portrait weighing on his mind. Besides the hints that it might be near the lake, he'd heard neither hide nor hair of it. He'd spoken with Rowena a little the previous night before he'd hit the hay, and she'd reaffirmed that Godric had indeed disappeared outside a lot, but she could give him little more than that.

Casting a smile at the tousled redhead stretched languidly out on the sofa opposite, he pushed his musings on Gryffindor to the back of his mind. First things were first, and he needed to clear up the issue of his friends first, not to mention their little club of supporters. A more Slytherin side of his brain assessed them in terms of people who could support and help. He was most acutely aware that he wasn't going to be winning the war with only Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Neville. He would need more than friends. He would need helpers, fighters and supporters, and not just school children either.

"I'll be back in a bit," he murmured to Ginny, who made a noise of agreement, still dozing on the sofa. Draining his cup, he stood and Faded into the Gryffindor common room.

Peering around the small groups of students buried under blankets and duvets in front of the fire, he surmised that none of the people he was looking for were there. Shrugging, he headed up the stairs to the boy's dorm, assiduously avoiding an exuberant Seamus who came barrelling down the stairs.

Emerging in the long room, he was relieved to find both Ron and Neville sitting on their beds and reading. Casting around the room with his magical senses, he frowned as he found a familiar touch of magic on his bed. Analysing it further, he discovered a simple recording charm interwoven with the magic protecting the bed from fire and destruction. Frowning deeply, he blocked off that part of the room and applied a wall of distracting magic over the door. As soon as people headed up that way, they would remember something pressing they had to do.

Much like those Muggle repelling charms around the Quidditch World Cup, Harry mused, before dropping the Chameleon Skin.

"Ron, Neville," he greeted, smiling slightly as the two boys started in surprise.

"Merlin Harry, don't do that do me!" Ron exclaimed, skidding backwards on his bed.

"I'll be back in a moment," he assured them, using his memory of the Girl's dorms to Fade back there.

He found it pretty much empty, but from the sound of it one of them was in the showers adjoining the place. Hermione sat on her bed too, deeply engrossed in a book, the note he had given her lying on the bedspread beside her.

"'Mione," he whispered, throwing up his magic to conceal them and dropping the Chameleon Skin. He was glad that he had, because she let out a loud yelp and promptly dropped the book she was holding in surprise.

"Harry," she said quietly, holding a hand to her heart. Harry frowned in concern.

"Are you all right?" he asked carefully. "You…hell, you worried all of us last night."

She looked at him, wide-eyed as he perched on the edge of her bed. He was glad to find that the room remained untapped by Dumbledore's magic or any unwanted spells. The idea that Dumbledore had heard all that went on in the dorm worried him. Sure, it meant that he'd learnt about Harry's dreams but…what about anything else he'd heard? Harry winced inwardly at the thought.

"Was it…really as bad as you said?" she said, voice slightly tremulous.

Harry raised his brows in surprise. "Hermione, I thought you were going to die on me. If it hadn't been for…" he quickly changed tactics before he mentioned Salazar. "What were you doing that your magic was so depleted?" he demanded.

She had the grace to look a little embarrassed. "I was working out this spell to alter the weather in a small area, but it took me a few tries to get it right…" she trailed off. "I guess it used up more of my magic than I thought it would."

"Weather?" he asked curiously.

She nodded. "Yes. I was trying to figure out the enchantments on the Great Hall, and then I started thinking about the stabilised weather over Diagon Alley. It's more difficult than you think," she added ruefully.

Harry chuckled. "I know how you can find out how the enchantments over the Great Hall work, but you have to follow me. Go down to the common room and I'll send Ron and Neville to meet you." He paused in thought. "I guess I should get Opa to meet us too. I'll find her, and meet you in the Great Hall. I'll just tap you on the shoulder or something."

Hermione frowned a little at him and nodded. Smirking at her, he pulled the Chameleon Skin over his head and Faded back to Ron. A few minutes later, he dredged his memories of the Slytherin common room up to use as a focus.

It was still as dark and mysterious as ever, but Harry could see little touches here and there that spoke of Salazar. He wondered vaguely how many little secret passageways there were in the Slytherin dorms, considering that Salazar appeared to have rather a penchant for their creation.

Most of the Slytherins he didn't recognise or know by name, but after scanning the crowd several times, he picked out a familiar generally unnoticed blonde head. Opa was sitting in a large armchair by the fire, almost out of sight. Indeed, it had taken Harry a phenomenal effort to even pick her out, as his eyes had passed her without registering her presence quite a few times.

Out of curiosity, he extended his magical senses to 'feel' for her, and was shocked as he discovered a liquid magic, similar to that of a ghosts but so fundamentally alive. He was even more surprised when her head snapped up and she looked warily around the room.

Crossing through the small groups of Slytherins scattered around, he stopped by her chair and cast a one-way silencing charm around them.

"It's me," he called out when she began to get alarmed. She relaxed almost imperceptibly, but frowned towards him.

"How can I be sure?" she asked sharply.

"When Ginny said that you didn't like Thestrals in the carriage here, you said no, rather abruptly if I remember correctly," Harry said with a smile. "Go to the Great Hall and meet the others, I need to show you something important."

Opa still looked disbelieving, so Harry added, "I know where Ginny is, okay? She misses you."

The blonde haired girl seemed to waver in indecision before reluctantly nodding her head. Dropping the charm, Harry Faded back to the Great Hall and approached his friends. Not for the first time, he was immensely glad that he had invested time in memorising Salazar's book on deception.

It took a good few minutes before Opa appeared warily in the doorway, disappearing from notice rather rapidly as she made her way towards them, so much so that Harry had trouble even remembering she was present, let alone following her with his eyes. His attention just slipped off her like water.

Feeling that she must be present by now, Harry tapped Hermione lightly on the shoulder and let out a stream of unheard curses as she froze comically, eyes going wide. He might love his friends dearly, but they desperately needed to work on being a little more discrete. Dragging his eyes up to the staff table, he saw both Dumbledore and Snape watching them intently.

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, he took Hermione's hand even as she motioned for them to follow her, and led the group out of the Hall. Once they were safely headed towards the labyrinth of the Dungeons, Harry sent out a mental plea to the castle to deter anyone following them. Finally, he laced his own magic in a concealing net around them. He really didn't want anyone other than them to find out about the Founder's rooms.

Ron and Hermione exchanged suspicious glances as they walked deeper into the Dungeons, before remembering their argument and looking abruptly away. They were nearing the entrance to the rooms when they ran into an unexpected visitor.

"Oh," said Luna softly, as they turned a corridor. "Hello. Hello Harry," she added.

Harry blinked. "You know I'm here?" he asked unbelievingly.

"You're standing there," she said with a vacant smile. "I was searching for my book on Whirring Cracklebees…have you seen it?"

Shaking his head in bemusement, he looked at the rather eccentric Ravenclaw. "Sorry Luna."

"Oh, that's all right. Adrian Pucey said that it was down here, but I think he might have been lying," she said. "I can see why they'd want to have it though. Cracklebees are fascinating, but the Whirring ones are really rare," she said earnestly.

Harry couldn't help but smile. "I might not be able to find your book, but I can still show you something interesting," he told her.

"Mmm…" she hummed, tugging her lower lip with her teeth. "It does look like you're going on an expedition."

Still smiling faintly, she ducked under his net of concealing magic and waited for him to continue on his way. Inwardly shrugging, he ignored the other's curious looks and made the final turn, emerging on the shadowed stretch of wall he hand become so familiar with.

"Walk up to the wall and say 'Umbra'," he murmured, and one by one the group nodded their assent. Harry waited as each of them looked cautiously around. Luna however, simply drifted up to the wall, spoke the password and was pulled into the shadows. Harry was fascinated to see it from the other side, because even with Ginny he'd always ended up going first. Neville was the next to go, then Opa, until only Ron and Hermione were left.

"Where's that Gryffindor bravery then?" he asked with a chuckle.

At his words, Ron's face hardened in resolution and he headed into the shadows closely followed by Hermione. Still chuckling inwardly, he dissipated his spells and walked up to the wall.

"Umbra," he whispered, and experienced the familiar velvety sensation of darkness pulling him in. Biting back the terror he always felt, he stumbled forwards into the tiny space, jostled a little by his friends. When Rowena saw him she winked, and murmured 'Candesco'.

The door swung gently open, and Harry couldn't restrain the delighted smile that crossed his face as he saw his friends' stunned expressions, nor the laugh that escaped him as Ginny came tumbling down the stairs to greet them.

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Notes: Sort of an in between chapter here – not much to say. Thanks for the reviews people, trying to get back into the swing of updating.