The Prince-Who-Lived
Chapter Fifty-two
A few days later, Alan was beating Harry once more at a game of chess in Grimmauld place before the door was pulled open and Kingsley glanced around the room.
"Alan, can you come downstairs please?"
Alan blinked at him but complied, telling someone to take over for him. Naturally, everyone watched him go curiously. Harry and Neville followed, ignoring Kingsley's frown. He didn't stop them, though. While Molly had laid down the law and refused to allow Ron or Ginny to attend meetings, Neville, Harry and Alan had constant permission to do so, even though their parents preferred that they did not. None of them had heavily used the privilege, though, usually only when something was happening that involved them. They had been quite happy to have very few reasons. With Alan being summoned, however, Harry and Neville certainly would not stay behind. Neither did Alan mind.
In the kitchen, everyone was sitting awkwardly, either staring or studiously not looking when Alan came in and waited while Kingsley retook his seat, Harry and Neville waiting by the door, leaning against the frame on either side. James and Lily frowned lightly, as did Alice, but their expressions cleared. It was Dumbledore who solemnly held out a parchment letter. Alan didn't reach for it.
"It's a letter we received that concerned you, Alan." Dumbledore explained carefully. "It contains valuable information, information that tells us that there is dissension in the ranks. The writer is a Death Eater wishing to defect, and purposefully currying your favour. His offer …" Dumbledore glanced up at him significantly. "Look, and read."
Alan took the paper and flipped it open, scanning the messy writing. It held little more than Dumbledore had said. The writer came across as terrified, his writing shaky, messier than even bad writing could account for, and the tone of the writing, the word choice was frantic and obsequious. The offer, at the end, was nebulous but enough to interest him.
'I have something for you, a sign of good will. It's a cup the Dark Lord is trying to hide. He had to move it out of the Lestrange vault, and the security was loose. I will gladly hand it over for my safety and protection.'
The letter was signed P. Pettigrew. Alan couldn't think of who it was, but he did recognize the name. He glanced up. "Who is –"
"Unimportant, Alan." Dumbledore cut him off. A murmur ran through the room. Alan suspected he was keeping the identity secret on purpose, but … Oh. The name placed itself: Wormtail. With the Marauders in the room, there would be no such deal.
"Why is it so important, then?" Alan asked. "What are you thinking this might mean?"
"I believe the incentive he is offering is greater than he knows." Dumbledore rubbed the bridge of his nose. "How greatly do you trust Luna's divination skills?"
"With my life." Alan answered instantly. "At least with cards, I would. It's nebulous, naturally, but what you can gauge by it, it's very accurate."
"Would you ask her if she thinks that is worth the deal or not?" Dumbledore asked. He held out his hand and Alan skimmed over it once more before handing it back over. One fact stuck with him: the letter was addressed 'Alan Snape'. Alan didn't release the letter immediately when Dumbledore claimed it, looking up to meet his eyes.
"Why did you open this before giving it to me, if it was addressed to me?"
"I had to ensure there was no traps, Alan." Dumbledore responded. "And as it came through me before then, as a member of the Order –"
"I am no member of your Order." Alan flatly answered. "I appreciate you taking the care, and would not object. I already have several wards against unwanted owls, so he probably sent it to you when it got returned trying to come to me. However, I do not appreciate you presuming so without asking. Now," Alan quickly buried the resentment with practicality and gave Dumbledore a smile, "if something addressed to me comes through you first, by all means check it as thoroughly as you believe it requires. You may not touch anything that is coming directly to me."
"My apologies." Dumbledore nodded carefully. "It was presumptuous of me. I have never touched your direct mail. Thank you for understanding. Would you like me to hold onto this letter for you?"
Alan's mouth quirked into a smile. "If you want to. I'd just throw it away. Feel free to continue the correspondence as it benefits you. Luna's just upstairs, so I'll ask her right away. Would you like me to come back when I have her answer?"
"Certainly. We still have much to discuss. I trust none of you boys desire inclusion at this time?"
Harry and Neville both shook their heads, and followed as Alan slipped out. They waited until they were past the first landing to ask.
"What was that letter?"
"Exactly what Dumbledore said it was. And I'm sorry, but I don't think you'll be able to answer safely on who it was yet. I'll tell you with Luna, okay?"
Both Harry and Neville accepted it, and waited as Alan poked his head into the room.
"Smarty-pants!" Alan called. Luna, Hermione, and Melanie raised their heads at once. Everyone else looked up out of curiosity. Alan grinned and clarified it, "The crazy girl." Nanna snorted, but Luna happily stood and pranced over to Alan leaning her head up to meet him in a short kiss. Alan smiled, remembering, and quickly spoke to keep himself grounded. "I need you to do a short reading on something. Do you have your cards?"
"Always." Luna calmly answered. "Here or later?"
"Just upstairs, eh?"
"Why not your room?" Luna asked innocently.
Neville answered. "Because his head would explode from the blood rush."
Alan strongly suspected Neville had meant that double entendre in the meanest way. He knew Harry might have told him – if he hadn't, there had been easily enough evidence in how Alan and Luna had both behaved that he could guess.
It still wasn't very nice.
Alan was still blushing when he led Luna, Harry, and Neville to the library. Behind them, Alan was mildly surprised to notice a very stubborn looking entourage of Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. Their stubborn looks said more than anything how effective asking them to leave would be.
"Alright." Alan sighed. "Luna, Dumbledore got a letter that was addressed to me – Geoffrey gave me a ward that deflects owls without personal direction: those who don't know me personally or don't have legitimate business with me. The thing was actually experimental as far as I know, so anyways, apparently the person tried sending it to me through Dumbledore, and, as Dumbledore is a manipulative old codger with good reason, he opened it. He thought the part where the defector bargained a cup Voldemort had been guarding could be important. Luna, he's wondering what you might say."
"I say the cup is a lot like you, Alan." Luna murmured, but her face looked troubled.
Alan rolled his eyes and smiled down at her. "Okay, but does that make it important?"
"Um." Luna quickly fished her cards out of her pocket, sat down and began to shuffle them. "Who was the deserter?"
Alan glanced shortly at Harry and Neville. "P. Pettigrew."
Harry hissed, stiffening, and Neville growled, "Wormtail."
"Wormtail." Luna quickly laid down a card, then another and another. She looked them over and frowned again. "Very important." She answered curtly. "Very very important. Take it as it comes and treat it as you will." She tilted her head and regrouped the cards, shuffling them with a worried expression. "You can go tell Dumbledore now. I need a moment."
Alan blinked, but nodded and ushered the others out. He didn't argue with Luna when she asked things, particularly in regards to her divination. She was the one who knew how it worked after all, not him, and it wasn't unreasonable.
Taking the message to Dumbledore, the Headmaster immediately nodded and stood. "Very good, Alan. Do you have a moment? He is waiting for us."
Alan glanced around and then shrugged. "Sure." There was no reason not to, and getting out and doing something was welcome. With the letter addressed to him, it made sense Alan needed to go anyways.
"Severus," Dumbledore asked, "Please clear out the upper sitting room. We'll return to there. And send Green to the Potions lab three floors up. He knows what to expect."
Alan rolled his eyes at the completely bland orders, but he accepted the portkey when it was offered and swallowed past the tug and wave of motion. Landing in a dark alley, Alan snorted. Dumbledore glanced at him with a faint hint of a smile.
"Amused, Alan?"
"The décor could use some work." He drawled.
"Of course, it is to be expected." Dumbledore gravely answered. "There are only so many places safe for a man on the run."
"Or welcoming to a rat." Alan returned again. The door they opened was rickety and worn, but Dumbledore was unaffected, brushing aside the cobwebs and striding inside as though it were a grand ball. Alan followed, his right hand in his pocket on his wand, a smile still on his face even as he glanced around eagerly and took in all the various and impressive sights of destroyed timbers, broken glass and massive cobwebs and the spiders inhabiting them. Alan really hoped nothing fell on him – some of those spiders were larger than his hand. Ron would have had a heart attack. Finally, however, after walking up stairs that again made Alan wish there was something a little more substantial to the building, Dumbledore knocked shortly on the only relatively solid door.
Someone shuffled around behind it, and then hesitantly inched it open. Alan rolled his eyes. The place was in such a mess the only thing stopping the door from getting kicked open was the risk of bringing the whole building down. There was no longer even a doorknob. However, Dumbledore, the polite man that he was, had insisted on knocking. Alan just followed him into the room and turned cold eyes on the slumped and hand wringing form of Peter Pettigrew.
He was short, with his hair falling out, and the look of a man who lost a great deal of weight under stress, and had had that stress maintained. Peter Pettigrew was quite the shade of his former self, and he nervously stroked his silver hand, looking between it, his guests, and the room. Dumbledore managed a stern, grandfatherly look that Pettigrew flinched under, but he remained hopeful. Apparently the look was a good thing … Alan would have been immediately pissed off. Course that may have just been his current dislike of the man, the coward and a stupid one at that …
"Dumbledore, wha-what an honour. Please, please. You – you got my letter, I – I am so glad-"
"Save it." Alan snapped. "Why were you writing me, even if you sent it through Dumbledore?"
"I- I- Uh …"
Peter wrung his hands again, and immediately grabbed at his right pocket. Alan felt his lip curl. Stupid. He would have acted, but Dumbledore put his hand out and Alan refrained. He doubted Peter could stop him if things went badly and he had to force him to give up the cup. He didn't think that rat could outmanoeuvre a kneazle, so he let Dumbledore have his say. Peter looked thankfully at Dumbledore again and disregarded Alan. Stupid times two. Did he think Dumbledore controlled him?
"You said you wish to defect, Peter." Dumbledore's face turned sorrowful. "Why did you betray your friends to begin with?"
"We were losing!" Peter gasped out. "I had to, my life was at risk. I don't want to die; I'm not so Gryffindor, not so powerful. Please, Headmaster, I will do –a-anything! I –I have the cup, the cup Voldemort was hiding. Here!"
He thrust the item at Dumbledore, fortunately ignoring Alan's incredulous look at his lack of ability to bargain. Dumbledore carefully folded back the ragged bag and revealed a small, two-handled cup with an H crest. Something about it immediately made the hairs on Alan's neck prickle. The magic felt strangely familiar …
"This is an interesting artefact." Dumbledore murmured, refolding the bag down and holding it seemingly carelessly in one hand. Peter wrung his hands again and then returned to stroking the metal arm. "Why have you turned back now?"
Peter looked quickly at Alan, and then down. Alan smirked. He could guess why Peter was turning. He was scared shitless that Alan was winning.
"The … the tide turned again." Peter helplessly admitted, unable to lie he was so scared. "I don't, I can't … I'm expendable, useless. I don't want to die."
"Pathetic." Alan spat. A look from Dumbledore, and he softened his tone with an edge of mockery. "I suppose it's completely understandable, though." Another check, with a touch of legilimency, and Dumbledore conveyed his agreement. "But you gave us a very important item at grave personal risk." Alan remembered Luna's words, and enjoyed Peter's panicked look. Apparently he hadn't wanted that cup to be that kind of important. "You have my word, and Dumbledore's, that we will protect you from retribution that might come of your return to us or the theft of the cup. It's the least we can do." Alan had employed a small legilimency on Peter, and found the most curious memory leap to mind when Alan mentioned the cup's importance. Narcissa ordered him to check over the contents of what she'd inherited from Bellatrix, a simple visual inventory. She'd also told him how to move items without consequence so as to make a more thorough check. She'd listed several things that were most vital, some that had belonged to the Dark Lord and then sent him in. Terrified, panicked, he'd stolen the cup, which seemed the least important. The paper he'd referenced had been minorly hexed, but Alan couldn't pick it apart from there. He suspected Narcissa had implanted a minor subterfuge on the paper to ensure the cup's removal.
Gee, Alan would have to thank her. Later. Much later. He wondered if this had anything to do with that letter he'd seen Severus read about a month ago, a letter he'd dismissed as unimportant because the content had been so bland… Had he missed a code? He hadn't looked very thoroughly at the time…
The cup in hand, the promise made, Peter allowed Dumbledore to transport him as a rat – after Alan had grinned and threatened to eat him. Peter hadn't asked what Alan was and Alan hadn't offered. He imagined he was thinking up everything from a Grim, like Sirius, to a large Skrewt – not a kneazle. It was amusing to watch him shake and shiver.
They took a portkey back to Headquarters, and they arrived in the room Dumbledore had told Severus to prepare. As Dumbledore removed the rat from his pocket, he looked at Alan and nodded to the door.
"Please select a conscientious person who can watch him for the time while we finish off the horcrux? We don't need him lost."
"Of course." Alan chirped, leaving quickly. He knew exactly whom he would choose. Downstairs, Severus was pouting against the corner, apparently pissed off that Dumbledore had ordered him around and then out of the matter. Alan smiled at him – Severus frowned deeper.
"Dad, could you come with me for a moment? I have a job for you if you're interested. If not, I can find someone else." When Severus nodded and opened his mouth, Alan talked over him. "Come upstairs, please? To the sitting room?"
Severus scowled but followed, glancing over with a faint frown. When they were out of earshot, Alan continued. "We picked up both, and the cup was what he expected – it should be dealt with this evening." Alan made a mental note to ask what that was exactly. "As for the other, he has a promise of protection from retribution for his recent actions, however that doesn't cover a few past problems he might encounter, so please keep the Marauders out of the room? Oh, oops." Alan finished facetiously. "Forget I said that, would you?"
Alan could see Severus eyeing him suspiciously in his peripheral vision, but he didn't need to feed his father any more rope – not only would it be insulting, he might just decide to be contrary. It was an iffy matter of whether or not Severus would actually go through with that, but Alan was willing to take the chance. If it didn't happen now, there was a large chance of it happening later.
Dumbledore had already left the room, closing the door carefully and taking a moment to take in whom Alan had chosen. Dumbledore merely nodded and then beckoned Alan to follow him upstairs. As they walked, Alan quickly asked,
"Sir, what exactly was the cup?"
"The cup was a horcrux, Alan. Have you heard of those?" Alan shook his head. "They were Voldemort's insurance against death, and the reason he had the ability to come back. They are each a piece of his soul, broken by the worst crime against another human being – murder – and then sealed into an object. It ensured his life even in the most meagre of forms."
Alan swallowed hard. "That … is dark magic. That's not even necromancy – Louis would probably …" Well, he didn't want to think that. Louis could be creative with punishments. "You can destroy them, right? Ensure his death?"
"That is exactly what we will do. I have already found a few others – you destroyed one many years ago already, Alan."
"I did?"
"Tom Riddle's diary was a horcrux."
Alan swallowed again. "Sir, how can you … how can you split your soul like that? It's, it's vile. Why?"
Dumbledore sighed and paused at the door to the lab Green was preparing. "Immortality calls to many men, Alan. Some will do anything for it. Now, you don't need to be present for this, but if you so desire you can witness its destruction. I'm sure you're quite familiar with the precautions required."
"Hence Green." Alan finished, finding a smile again. Green would be loving this. "I thought so. I would greatly appreciate it, thank you."
Dumbledore nodded carefully and knocked on the lab door, waiting patiently as Green muttered inaudibly behind the wards and barriers. Finally, it slid open and Green's eyes lit up when he saw the bag Dumbledore had.
"You really did get one, did you?"
"Yes Master Quintelyuv." Alan snickered as Green flinched at the title. "You have the delightful chance to destroy this. I request the quickest method, please."
"Yeah, sure. I just want to watch. If I get another I might fiddle, but not with these. They're too important to keeping Alan safe to make the destruction iffy at all, so …" Green quickly emptied the bag into a large, thick glass bowl without touching the cup, putting the bag on the counter and incinerating it. Alan stepped well back and felt the fizzing of one of Green's protection spells leap up before his nose. Alan frowned, but accepted it; he'd made the mistake of stepping outside the boundary himself. He wouldn't be getting past that again. Dumbledore was still inside, but he only nodded slowly when he saw Alan stuck outside of it. Determined to ignore the inconvenience, Alan watched the process.
Green already had everything together. The horcrux was in the bowl, a journal with a quill hovering overtop was on the upper counter several feet away, and Green pulled a pitcher from further down the counter out, his hands inside his ever-present, highly durable gloves – he had about eight pairs in various colours, and at least half were always getting cleaned or repaired at a time as it took some time to make them wearable again after he was through with them, even if they were dragon-hide. This time, however, nothing exploded, flamed, erupted, or vaporized. The pitcher poured down basilisk venom – about a cup's worth – into and onto the cup. The metal smoked, snapped, and bubbled and a thin scream from somewhere outside the proper range of hearing occurred. Green immediately noted it, waited for the venom to stop bubbling and pulled out another phial, filling it with the used venom, and a small container took in the pieces of the cup. He was already talking to himself, repeating observations and findings.
Alan felt mildly disappointed. That had to be one of the most dull experiments he'd ever had with Green, scream included. However, that was a piece of Voldemort's soul now vanquished. It could have simply shined the cup, and it would have been significant.
He'd still expected more.
IIII
The next day, Peter was missing and Severus was entirely too pleased with himself. Mundungus eventually brought the report: Peter was found strangled to death in Knockturn Alley, sans his silver hand. Alan simply felt it was a good conclusion to the recent events. He was happy, the Marauders were happy, Harry was happy …
September first was welcomed with chaos and nerves. Harry was entirely too stressed out and where Nanna had taken to helping ease his nerves she was fussing and worrying and double-checking her own trunk. Harry hadn't been able to do anything but stare at his packed trunk, unable to think of what he needed to double-check. When someone spoke to him from his door, he jumped and blacked out momentarily.
When his vision cleared, he was sitting on his bed, his father holding his face between his hands.
"Harry, Harry, come around now. It's all right; it's just me, your dad. C'mon wake up son."
"I'm –I'm here." Harry panted, trying to think clearly. James smiled weakly and sat down on the bed beside him, his hands back in his lap and clenched tightly around each other. "I'm … sorry."
"Are you scared?"
Harry could only nod. James sighed.
"Harry, just trust your friends. They'll take care of you, and your teachers will know. If you need to leave a class, do so. You're close friends with both the Gryffindor and Slytherin prefects, and you know one of the Hufflepuffs as well. Ginny is fifth year prefect; I believe you said you knew the Slytherin male prefect as well." James laughed quietly. "Prefects aren't always a bad thing, Harry. They can easily help keep you safe."
Harry shrugged. "Sorry dad. I was just … Thanks. I guess I needed that. Um, I don't know if I have everything."
"If you need something, write us and we'll send it. I'm sure you have everything you need." James stood up and smiled at him. After a moment, he tilted his head, a serious expression on his face. "Harry, I do love you. I'm sorry I was so distant for last term, and it was at a terrible time as well. I didn't …"
Harry glanced up at him, unsure of how he would continue. James had stopped writing as soon as Harry made it clear he was friends with Alan – with a large group of Slytherins, actually – after Christmas last year. It had coincided with Neville falling apart, Regulus and the Department of Mysteries, and then culminated in his own torture. James had still been distant, but something seemed to have changed …
"I shouldn't have been so blind, Harry." James finished, stiffly. "Alan is a good boy, and a strong, valuable friend. I couldn't understand you, and it scared me that you were so different from me. I didn't seem to know my own son, but …" He smiled warmly. "I realized you're not so different after all. I do hope you'll still write on occasion?"
"Of course." Harry smiled back, feeling a little confused as to what he was referring to but more than happy to accept the turn around. He might be more than a little faint at the moment, but he was hearing clearly enough and while it still didn't make sense, it sounded genuine. James turned and quickly levitated the suitcase, leading the way downstairs. Harry followed, swallowing his nerves. School was not this frightening. Seriously. Right? After five years, and only now he was feeling like this? He might know why he was so scared, but still …
Well, either way it was inevitable. They got out the door on time despite his nerves, and as they were heading to the train, James stopped Harry and gave one last advice.
"I know Dumbledore wants this kept quiet, but I think you should be warned. There's a new Potions teacher, and it's not just Green. Your mother's and my old teacher, Horace Slughorn, will be teaching and likely he will also be talking to a lot of the students, particularly those with prominent parents such as you or Neville or Alan. There will be no issues if you refuse his invitations, or if you want to avoid him." Harry's face soured and James hurriedly continued, "He's not a bad man, he's just very … enthusiastic and elitist. He may forget about the current precautions he needs to have with you, so be careful. I don't want you hurt."
Harry nodded slowly, and smiled. "Thanks. Love you, dad, mum."
Lily was beaming at James, and Harry quickly slipped off and moved up to the train, hesitant to get on. The corridors were extremely small, and he didn't want to bump into someone. He was encountering reactions less and less, but they were still frightening and all the more painful for the inconsistency. Up the train, Blaise quickly leaned out the window and whistled. Harry looked up and made his way to the nearest door. Salvador and Neville were waiting to snag his trunk and lead the way inside. Once they were seated, Harry laughed softly.
"I didn't need an escort, you know."
"You wanted one, though, and it's for the best. We don't need to scare the poor little students. What if some first year bumped into you and was scarred for life?" Neville chuckled.
"Well, there is that. Don't you need to be in the prefect's compartment?"
"My stuff's up there, same as Blaise." Neville shrugged. "We'll head on up in a while. We're waiting for Alan to finish greeting Luna before we leave."
"Hermione already up there?"
Blaise answered when Neville hesitated. "Yeah, she's up there and studiously ignoring Padma." Blaise glanced aside and then continued, "She's also chatting up Anthony Goldstein."
Harry cursed mentally again. Oh, great. This was not going to be pretty. "I suppose that's fine." Harry offered neutrally. "Is everyone else here as well?"
"Lucille's up in the prefect's car already." Salvador shrugged. "I'm waiting here, if you don't mind."
"Not at all." Harry smiled. "I don't really care who all's in here so long as it's not too crowded."
Salvador nodded. "It'll likely be you, Alan, and me only for the time being, unless Luna didn't make prefect."
"She didn't." Alan answered, striding in. Luna was, predictably, on his arm and beaming, her wand stuck behind her ear. "And you two should probably get up there. The train should be heading out. No need to suffer a lecture, eh?"
"No need." Blaise agreed. He then took hold of Neville's shoulder and hauled him out, starting in on him immediately, "And I don't care if you're pouting, you're going whether you like it or not …"
Harry frowned after them as they left, but shook himself free from it. Neville brought the loss upon himself. The whistle sounded, and Harry took the empty seat across from Alan, Luna and Salvador. Luna was playing with the wand in her hands; Harry thought for a moment it looked different than the one she'd had before, but dismissed the thought. Harry finally looked back at Salvador.
"How is everything between you and Lucille?"
Surprisingly, Salvador smiled warmly. "It's actually very good. She'll be splitting from her family as soon as she has her NEWTs, so that will clear up a lot of her anxiety."
"Does it help to have the Hodges behind you?" Harry asked, curious.
Salvador blinked, then nodded. "What made you think that?"
"If she's from an old family, I've heard a lot of scary things about what might be done to keep the children in line. Sirius knows a lot of them." Harry watched Salvador's face flinch. A glance at Alan showed him to be curious and not scared, and Luna was toying with her wand, apparently not paying the slightest attention to the conversation. "Was there a curse Lucille ran into? She looked a bit sad at Blaise's house."
Salvador also glanced around the compartment before nodding shortly. "A curse. She can't get pregnant right now because of it – it just … aborts. As pissed off as she was at the risk … she hadn't wanted that. Her family refuses to lift it, but Jonas is positive about the Hodges' ability to break it. She'll be coming over there with me during Christmas, as her family refused to allow her out with anyone but a 'trusted' family over the summer."
"That seemed to be the case for several of you to get to Blaise's." Alan observed quietly. "Raina had the same problem."
"Raina is suffering." Luna observed shortly. "A trail of tears."
"Do you know anything more about it?" Alan lightly asked.
Luna however, turned dreamy again and simply answered, "No. It will be as it will be, by luck or love or guile."
Alan nodded sadly, and then grabbed Luna's hand. "Would you stop playing with your wand like that? You keep making me think you're going to hurt someone."
"It's not my old wand." Luna beamed. "It listens to me quite well. Have you ever heard of the Deathstick?"
Alan looked confused, Salvador sceptical.
Harry just laughed. "Luna, that's a child's tale."
"What tale is that?" Alan queried. "I've never heard it."
"The Deathly Hallows." Harry smirked. "It's about three brothers who meet Death after crossing a river. Each of them asks for a gift for their 'ingenuity' at foiling him with the rapids. One gets an unbeatable wand, the Elder wand or Deathstick. Another gets a resurrection stone, and the last asks for Death's Invisibility cloak."
Alan's eyebrows were raised. "Well. Impressive."
"The catch to the story is that the first brother gets murdered in his bed for the wand, and the second gets only a shade of the dead back." Salvador finished. "So when he tried to bring back his first love, he gets so depressed he kills himself. The last brother made the wisest choice and lived long and happy until his time came." He snorted. "You know, the usual."
Luna merely hummed and tucked the wand back behind her ear, a smile on her face. Harry wondered if she was taking refuge in audacity, and then shook his head. Where on earth would she have found the thing anyways? You had to kill someone to get that wand.
Either way, the trip went fairly quietly. After a few hours of quiet discussion and a bit of awkwardness, their door was pushed open and Lucille entered, beaming at Salvador, followed by a quiet Neville. Harry was curious, but didn't ask about his silence, instead waving him down beside him as Lucille happily sat herself on Salvador's lap.
"Did you check on Connor while you were out and about?" Harry asked. Neville's little brother was starting Hogwarts this year.
"Yeah, he's sitting with Melanie, Nanna and Dillan and two other first years, including Catrin." Neville smiled. "He's a little peeved at sitting with his sister, but the other girl he was sitting with was very interested when I poked my head in."
Harry snorted. "We get far too much publicity. Where's everyone else? I know it's impossible to sit together with how widespread we are but …"
"Ron's with Hannah, Susan, and Kevin," Harry felt a minor twinge but hastily brushed it away, "and Blaise and Ginny are sitting with Daphne, Tracey, and three first years as well. I think one of them was Lucille's little brother, and another was one of Stephanie's friend's little sister from what they said. The last introduced himself as Tyler Redgrave, but I don't know him."
"I do." Salvador nodded. "He's a Baker. Amos' godchild, but his parents got killed recently so he's an orphan along with his two siblings."
"Fair enough." Neville nodded. Salvador continued to think.
"Was the girl with your little brother black-haired?"
"Yeah." Neville answer. "Looked rather bossy, too."
"That's probably Sable Hodges." Salvador smiled. "Wonder why she's sitting with your siblings?"
Harry thought he had a guess. Jonas had probably mentioned them, and if he had made a point of befriending the older group, he'd have an estimate of their power. Magical strength was a matter of inheritance. With how strong Harry and Neville were, their siblings were just as likely to be significant, and 'potential allies'.
He still hadn't managed that talk. Harry pouted and determined to ask in his next letter home. Wasn't as good as face to face, but it took some doing to forget over an entire summer. Admittedly, his had been very busy –
A phantom memory of cool silver holding his wrist in a crushing grip made him quickly rub the sensation away. It didn't immediately leave, and he shuddered. Wormtail was dead. He wasn't going to be held down by him again for someone's sick entertainment, much less –
"How's the Quidditch going?" Harry asked, not caring he was interrupting someone. Salvador and Lucille looked confused for a moment, but Neville quickly understood, and Alan smiled weakly.
"What, you still not interested in Quodpot?" He teased.
"After having it blow up in my face during your ill-conceived mixture of the games?" Harry shot back. "I don't think so. I'll leave that kind of idiocy to Sirius."
Someone knocked on the compartment door and it was pulled open by a breathless third year girl. She glanced inside and panted, "I'm supposed to deliver these to Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter?" She asked carefully.
Harry and Neville exchanged looks, Neville's confused and Harry's suspicious. Harry gently accepted them and handed Neville his, quickly opening the velvet tie. Inside, the letter was succinct and to the point:
Mr. Potter,
I would be delighted if you would join me for a bit of lunch in Compartment C.
Sincerely,
Professor H. E. F. Slughorn
"Is yours the same?" Neville asked, leaning over to look. He tilted his own letter, and Harry glanced at it and nodded. "You plan on going?"
"Why not?" Harry asked. "You'll be there as well, and we can leave if we ever have to. I'm sure he'll understand."
"How are you so sure?"
"My dad warned me before I got on here. He's the new Potions teacher."
Neville blinked. "Then what's Snape teaching?"
Harry's look asked Neville blatantly, 'Are-you-stupid?' After a moment, during which Alan was snickering, Neville quietly went, "Oh," and blushed. "Right. Shall we go, then?"
Harry shrugged. "Why not?"
"Why didn't he send me a letter?" Alan asked carefully.
Harry paused, and glanced at Neville. "I think we possibly got the letters because of our parents. I'd be willing to bet you'll get an invite sometime while we're at school. These compartments do tend to be small, so he had to pick only certain people."
Alan nodded slowly. "Fair enough. See you, then?"
Harry nodded back, smiling cautiously, and following Neville through the corridors up to compartment C. While the corridors were quite packed with students, Neville easily manoeuvred himself so that the masses parted around him to leave Harry in a pocket of space. Harry maintained a short glare of his own that ensured anyone ruffled by it moved aside. It worked on most everyone, save for when they passed Pansy. She, entirely purposefully, ran into Harry after Neville moved her aside, having pretended to trip. Harry thought he might collapse, but after the shock passed, he felt nothing and pushed her off him and clean into the wall aside. Harry snarled.
"Just because you got told to be an ass, Pansy, doesn't mean you're going to get away with it!"
Neville glared back at her and added, "Get moving, Pansy, or have you forgotten I'm a prefect?"
"I tripped!" She snapped. "You can't punish me for that!"
"I know several people who can fake better than that, so don't try and fool me." Neville coldly informed her. "Get back to your own compartment. Next time you try that, I'll penalize you."
"A Gryffindor, abusing his status?" Pansy scoffed. "Remarkable."
Neville smiled coldly and waved Harry forward, ignoring her. Slughorn's compartment was just ahead, and when they knocked, the door was thrown open. The professor beamed at them, but it didn't stop his significant presence from sending a shiver down Harry's spine. He wasn't a particularly intimidating man – no, the presence was the bulk he had: he was quite fat. A mild comfort was that he was about the same height as Harry himself was, although Harry probably would have found his enormous moustache a bit disturbing on a normal day.
"Harry Potter! Delightful! And Neville Longbottom, both of you, welcome. Come in, sit down and join us!" He stepped back against the mostly empty seat on one side, and waved them to the other seat, where two boys were already seated. One shared Slughorn's seat, and Harry was surprised to recognize him: Blaise Zabini. In turn, Blaise had the same basic response, and immediately turned a sharp look on the boys seated on the other side.
When Slughorn moved to begin introductions, Blaise immediately spoke up. "Professor, I'm sure you read about Harry's misfortune earlier this summer. It'd be better if he sat over here with Neville and I. Sometimes he runs into trouble upon contact. Unless one of the other boys would rather move over here …"
One of the boys in question frowned at Blaise. "Why can't Neville or Harry alone just join you?"
"Because I don't trust someone else next to him." Neville and Blaise answered in synch, and Professor Slughorn laughed. Harry suspected neither wanted to point out that Slughorn took up far too much of one of the seats for Harry to be comfortable sharing with him and another.
"Such a wonderful set of friends, and most surprising. By all means, Neville, you may have my seat along with Harry. Only thing to be done for such brazen students. I presume you and Blaise are friends?"
The professor immediately sat beside the other two boys. Apparently seventh years, they were relatively squashed by the lack of space, as the one who had complained was built quite wide. Harry was more than grateful for the allowance – even with only three people on the seats, the appropriate number for the space, the proximity was still closer than he would have liked. However, as they were settled, Slughorn immediately addressed everyone again.
"Well then, I'm sure you two know Blaise Zabini as you so warmly welcomed each other, but these two you might have run into, Marcus Belby and Cormac McLaggen. No?"
Belby looked nervous in their presence, and McLaggen was frowning heavily between them and Blaise. Harry hadn't met either, although he was fairly sure he'd run into McLaggen before in the halls or the common room. He gave a polite nod, and then accepted the napkin Slughorn offered him with another polite smile. Slughorn was watching all three of them carefully, and then immediately pulled down a lunch tray.
"Well now, this is most pleasant," Slughorn cosily smiled. "A chance to get to know you all a bit better. I've packed my own lunch; the trolley, as I remember it, is heavy on liquorice wands, which do no good for an old man's digestion. Pheasant, Belby?"
Marcus Belby jumped as half a cold pheasant was thrust under his nose, hesitantly accepting it as Slughorn moved to pass around rolls.
"I was just telling young Marcus here that I had the pleasure of teaching his Uncle Damocles," Slughorn told Harry and Neville. "Outstanding wizard, outstanding, and his Order of Merlin most well-deserved. Do you see much of your uncle, Marcus?"
Belby immediately choked on the bite of pheasant he'd taken, and nearly turned purple before Slughorn caught him with a spell to clear his throat. Harry wondered if that had been purposeful or not, but doubted it. Slughorn didn't seem the type.
"Not … not much of him, no." Belby managed.
"Well, of course, I daresay he's busy," Slughorn continued, giving Belby a curious look. "I doubt he invented the Wolfsbane Potion without considerable hard work!"
"I suppose, …" Belby offered, watching Slughorn carefully. "He … he and my dad don't get on very well, you see, so I don't really know him well …"
Slughorn's smile turned cold and Harry immediately got a very good idea of what his intentions with the gathering were. Harry watched him turn and address McLaggen immediately.
"Now you, Cormac, I happen to know you see a lot of your uncle Tiberius, because he has a rather splendid picture of the two of you hunting nogtails in Norfolk, correct?"
McLaggen grinned. "Oh, yeah, that was fun, that was. We went with Bertie Higgs and Rufus Scrimgeour – this was before he was Minister, obviously –"
"Ah, you know Bertie and Rufus, too?" beamed Slughorn, now offering a small tray of pies; somehow, Belby was missed. "Now tell me, did he teach you much of his skills?"
While Harry might be willing to listen to Slughorn, he found McLaggen tiresome. Just because his uncle was quite quick with his charms and curses didn't mean Harry wanted to hear the rundown of it. Besides, Neville knew half of them already and the rest didn't sound very useful. Of course, his headache might have added to his impatience and distraction…
"Ahh, thank you." Slughorn finished. "And Blaise, I trust your mother is doing well? Her last husband expired rather suddenly two years ago, now?"
"Three." Blaise answered tiredly. "He really should have been more careful, but I suppose not everyone anticipates the sort of things that might be found in such an old house." Blaise quickly buffed his nails on his shirt and smiled meaninglessly at Slughorn.
"My word, you must have the most interesting house." Slughorn continued. "How old is it?"
"Nine centuries. It's been redone a few times, the last time the interior was completely remodelled was in the late eighteenth century."
Harry was certainly curious about that. Blaise's house had looked quite nice; comparable to the Potter home, which had last been redone at about the same time. The structure of Potter Manor wasn't quite so old, though – only four centuries. Neville also listened with interest.
Slughorn passed around another tray. Harry didn't even look before dismissing it – his headache was making his nauseous. He was seriously considering leaving, but didn't mind listening to a bit more about Blaise.
"I see. That was her seventh husband now? Your mother is indeed the catch – I remember teaching her in classes, none of the boys could pay much attention without a firm hand. She played them like a pro indeed. They got quite out of hand. How are you and your sisters?"
"My half-sisters are quite pleased with the arrangements, and my mother is most devastated that the men still cannot keep themselves in line." Blaise answered dully. Clearly the topic didn't matter to him.
"I'd say they cannot. I remember the duel several years ago –"
"Husband number four vs. number five." Blaise muttered, just loud enough for Harry and Neville to catch. Harry fought down a smile. Oh, that sounded like Blaise. Harry would feel sorry for the men if they weren't so stupid as to fall for it, much less leaving all their money to her.
"- Well, that was over in a jiffy and he won her regard only to fall several years later to poison berries out in the wilds."
"It was a grave loss for me." Blaise answered with a carefully sad tone. "Tinashe was my father."
"Such a pity." Slughorn finished. "At least you still have your mother, indeed?"
Blaise just nodded silently, and Slughorn gave him another smile before turning to Neville. "And you, Neville. I must say I was most pleasantly surprised to hear the rumours going around, such genius! They say, indeed. I took the liberty to glance at your records through the years, and my word. Severus has been much the taskmaster to you all, and your skill still shines through most delightfully. You have truly acquired your parents skill."
Neville's smile was cold; he hated being judged like that. Slughorn had certainly started out on the wrong foot with Neville, although it wasn't entirely surprising. "I am blessed to be so keen in my classes. I found the OWLs sadly disappointing. They weren't much of a challenge at all." Harry fought not to laugh as Slughorn beamed at Neville, and Belby and McLaggen frowned. The only reason Blaise wasn't frowning was because he was acting. Neville was also; a faint line on his brow indicated he was displeased and hiding it. He hadn't managed to work that small indication away. "I'm looking forward to your Potions class."
"Ah, I'm sorry to say I won't be teaching fifth year and above this year." Slughorn shook his head sadly. "I'm splitting with another Potions Master, Master Quintelyuv. He's taking a sabbatical from his normal work in Salem and accepting the chance to examine the work of another two Masters in Hogwarts, even though Severus will be taking the Defence class."
Neville didn't hide his shock. Harry was in agreement. Green, teaching? It didn't sound like him at all. Blaise glanced at both of them, and then finally gave in and asked.
"Why are you two so shocked? Do you know him?"
"Green taught Alan." Harry added.
"Green? Professor Slughorn said Master Quintelyuv …"
"Would you want that name hollered down the halls?" Neville drawled.
Blaise blinked and then shook his head. "You'll have to call him by his name in class, you know."
"I doubt it." Harry laughed. "He's not that formal."
"You know Master Quintelyuv?" Slughorn asked curiously. "When did you meet him?"
"He's shown up several times." Harry answered. "He's a good friend of Alan Prince, and when Alan got hurt by the basilisk in second year he came through to help save his life. I met him again at the Quidditch World Cup, and then once more this summer when I went to visit Salem. He … doesn't seem inclined to teaching students." Harry added. Actually, he was more concerned about Green being sane enough to keep a classroom safe, but Dumbledore must know what he was doing – and he doubted Amaranth would allow his brother to teach if he didn't think him capable.
"Such luck for you. I haven't met the man personally yet, but his work is most remarkable."
"And explosive." Neville muttered.
"What did you say?" Slughorn asked Neville, curious now. "Do you know him as well?"
"Not as much as Harry does, but I met him over the summer and I know he taught Alan." Neville answered.
"Alan Prince, hm? You both mentioned him several times. Another friend?"
"Alan Prince is Professor Snape's son." McLaggen shot. "He's a big power in Slytherin – half the house seems to answer to him. Potter buddied up to him through half of last year, along with his friends."
"Oh ho!" Slughorn beamed. "An interhouse friendship? Those are something remarkable. I don't remember such a wonderful tie happening very often at all. Harry, you must have some remarkable friends!"
Harry shrugged. "It's nothing. They're just my friends. Alan and Neville are my friends, but so are Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Susan Bones, and Hermione Granger."
"Much like your father, there." Slughorn beamed. "He had such the group of friends in school, and such skilled wizards, skilled indeed. And to marry Lily; why, she was the smartest witch in her year. You seem to be their child in every way. And the papers say you're already testing your mettle alongside your friends. My dear Ministry friends, why I've heard from so many of them, they all tell me they found the recovered images from last year most fascinating – you, yourself, fighting against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." Slughorn looked most interested in this fact. "Most remarkable."
"I wasn't there alone." Harry defended quickly. "And I'd had to – one of my friends got hurt by him, and he needed to be stopped." Neville snickered next to him, and Harry elbowed him firmly in the side. "You were there too, Neville!"
Neville's face fell for a moment, but he quickly picked himself up. "Well, yes, but I was sane and stuck to only taking down one of the Death Eaters. Unlike you, who decided to take a shot at the big Evil Dark Lord himself."
Harry sniffed delicately. "What, he was there, and I was looking for a fight. He offered."
Both Blaise and Neville dissolved into snickers, both at Harry's pompous tone and Slughorn and the boys gaping looks at the disrespect Harry had.
"That is remarkable news." Slughorn managed. "However, I don't believe anyone has a full measure on who was present, and what happened, either. Might I tempt you into sharing this remarkable experience of yours?"
"Possibly," Harry interjected before Neville or Blaise could tell him to shove it, "but sir, I'm sorry to beg off, but I have a headache. It's a remnant from my captivity this summer, and I'd really prefer to be off, and for my safety I'm going to have to kidnap Neville as well. You remember, I'm sure, the classic torture spell, making any contact hurt, and I really don't want to scar some first year just because the train rocked."
Slughorn nodded immediately. "By all means, I don't need to hold you here when you're in pain. I'll be seeing you plenty of times later this year – we have the entire year to talk and get to know each other. If you would feel more safe, I'm sure I can spare Blaise as well; such good friends, he wouldn't mind?"
"Not at all." Blaise answered with true pleasure. "Thank you again for inviting me."
"It was such a lovely lunch, with it so dark out you should all return to your compartments. Thank you, see you at the school."
Harry left quickly, Neville before him and Blaise behind. Harry sighed with relief and rubbed his forehead tiredly. Neville blinked at him.
"You really have a headache?"
"Yeah." Harry winced. "It's pretty bad, but I think its just stress. I didn't expect coming to school would make me so tense, but the crowds are just doing me in."
Blaise nodded understandingly. "Well, you've got a good group in Gryffindor, so just stick by them and you should be just fine."
"Thanks Blaise." Harry smiled honestly. Neville snorted.
"Yes, thank you for the confidence, Blaise."
A/N: *Makes strangling motions* Okay. So, my apologies, but it's late, and I don't have time to reread over this again today and correct my mistakes. Please forgive me, but it's 's damn fault for forgetting I was signed in once I'd finished the damn read-through. My sincere apologies.
And yes, it is still Thursday!
So, yes. Train. School. Students. Slughorn - and others! Conflict, terror, horrifying, and joy. I'm sure it'll be far more interesting when we actually get something happening. Kinda like that rat... *grins* Yes, enjoy. Thank you. Looking forward to next week. Are you?
Fire & Napalm
