A/N: A shorter chapter this time.

Chapter 3: Detention

As was often the case, it seemed to Harry that the Professors who most detested his guts drew lots on which of them would serve his detentions. This time, it was Snape. He was the potions professor, and seemed to loath every single person with the surname 'Potter'.

Like an overgrown bat, he swept down the dark dungeon corridor to where Harry was waiting outside the potions classroom.

"Potter," he said with that familiar curl of the lip which always followed the name of Potter. "On time for once, I see."

Six years of putting up with Snape's barbs had taught Harry that it was best to simply try and ignore them. He might not have been especially good at following his own advice, but this time he managed to hold his tongue. He definitely didn't point out that it was Snape who was in fact late.

As Snape swept by him into the classroom, Harry trailed along behind. He knew the drill well enough by now. He'd likely be scrubbing cauldrons until his arms were about to fall off.

Indeed, in a big pile on one of the desks was a pile of dirty potions equipment which Snape had probably been saving up just for him. Cauldrons, vials, ladles and spurtles were piled up well over head-height.

"Well? Get to it!"

Harry pulled out his dragon-hide gloves, a lifesaver which Sirius had suggested to him after his first detention with Snape, and started scrubbing as he did his best to ignore the periodic suspicious glare from the potions Professor.

He was only five minutes into what looked like it could be a very late night indeed when there was a somewhat tentative knock at the door.

"Come." Snape didn't even look up as he spoke.

The door was pushed slowly open, and Iana Malfoy was revealed in the archway. There was a slight smirk on her face which evaporated instantly when she realised Harry was there too. "Potter?" she sputtered.

"Just so, Miss Malfoy," said Snape curtly. Sirius had once told Harry that Snape owed his position at Hogwarts to Lucius Malfoy, much like Rosier and Stump, and the result of that patronage was clear. Iana could do no wrong, so far as he was concerned. "You will be helping Mr. Potter in his current task."

"What?" Iana gave Snape a look of utter incredulity, as if he was suggesting she muck out a dragon. "You can't—"

Snape's eyes flashed, a sight which usually preceded a vicious put-down. It didn't come, however. Snape's lip curled. "On the contrary, Miss Malfoy. You will help Mr. Potter with his task of cleaning the class supplies. Perhaps with your help he will be able to perform the task to a tolerable level."

"My father—" Iana began.

"Has more important concerns than your adolescent whingings, as you are well aware," said Snape, sending her a significant look which Harry couldn't interpret.

"As only one of you have gloves," Snape continued, as if Iana's outburst hadn't even happened, "I would recommend that Mr. Potter continue with the cleaning, while you, Miss Malfoy, occupy yourself with drying and returning the items to their proper places."

"That's not fair—" Harry began only to be cut off.

"Any further argument will result in additional detentions."

Harry's mouth snapped shut, but Malfoy was clearly not used to that kind of treatment. "But—"

The look of irritation on Snape's face was one with which Harry was pretty familiar, but had never seen directed at Malfoy. "I believe I made myself clear?"

Had something happened between Snape and Malfoy? Some kind of falling out? What about Rosier? He was meant to have been one of Malfoy's men too. Unfortunately, he wondered about the answer to that question a little too long, and Snape turned his irritated gaze in Harry's direction.

"Get on with it."

With some small, but mostly inaudible grumbling, Malfoy came over to where Harry was scrubbing at a cauldron which someone had coated in a thick purple goop. She managed to make it a whole twenty seconds before succumbing to the need to goad Harry in some way.

"Hurry up, Potter," she said impatiently. "It's like watching Weasley trying to work out which end of his wand is which."

"Shut it, Malfoy."

"Merlin, don't you have any other comebacks?"

Harry glared. "I guess I just don't see the point of wasting them on you." He finished scrubbing the cauldron, and shoved it roughly into Malfoy's hands.

"At this rate we won't be done until Halloween," said Malfoy as she snatched the cauldron from him before giving it the most cursory drying.

"Well, you're welcome to actually help."

Snape's voice cut across their conversation before Iana could respond.

"This is a detention, not a house-witch gossip circle," he drawled, not looking up from whatever it was that he was so focused on. "As such, it will be completed in silence."

Silence was a charitable term for the constant huffing, scoffing, and muttered insults which passed between them after that point, but it was apparently good enough for Snape. Eventually, they reached the bottom of the seemingly endless pile of dirty potions equipment. Fortunately for Harry, that happened before he reached the end of his patience with the constant needling he was getting from Iana.

When Iana placed the last piece of equipment away, there was an awkward pause, as they both stood around, unsure of what to do next. Eventually, it was Iana who caved.

"Professor?" she said, prompting him to look up. "We're done."

If she was expecting some kind of acknowledgement from Snape, she was to be sorely disappointed. "Yet you are still here," he said, simply. "Curfew has already passed. Do not dilly dally."

As quickly as they could manage, both Harry and Iana packed up what few things they had brought with them, and scurried towards the door.

"Potter!" Snape called suddenly, when Harry was mere feet from freedom. "The Headmaster wished to see you once your detention was served. Do not keep him waiting."

"But, Professor, it's late and—"

"Had you completed the task more promptly, that would not be an issue. As it stands, you have wasted both my time, and the Headmaster's. I suggest you do not waste any more."

A long moment passed while Harry stared daggers at the man, but Snape was completely unconcerned. "Well? Do you wish to serve another detention?"

Harry waited until he was out of the classroom before he let his thoughts be known.

"Fucking wanker," he muttered.

He heard an inelegant snort behind him, and realised that Iana was still there. He turned, ready to defend against whatever verbal barbs were about to be levelled.

"You'd be the one to know," she said, grinning snidely.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Iana shrugged. "Didn't your father get that wanker's sloppy seconds?"

Never before had Harry felt such an intense and burning desire to lamp someone. He went to pull out his wand, though quite which curse he was going to use he wasn't sure. It was entirely possible he was just going to try and stab her with it. Iana was already reaching for her own wand, but they were both stopped in their tracks.

"What's going on here, then?" came a voice.

They both froze.

Out of the darkness, Professor Rosier materialised. He was a fairly average looking man. A little shorter than Harry, mousy brown hair, spare build, but the more noticeable features were his eyes. They were so dark as to be almost black, and Harry had never once seen an ounce of emotion in them.

That didn't stop Rosier's face from displaying a self-satisfied grin.

"An after dark dalliance?" he asked them, clearly enjoying himself even while those worryingly blank eyes looked right through them both. "Dear me, Miss Malfoy. Surely even you could do better than this?"

Perhaps Iana had a death wish, but she didn't back down an inch. "We're returning to our dorms after having detention with Professor Snape," she said tightly. "You can ask him."

"Are you indeed?" Rosier asked, as his wand, which Harry hadn't seen him pull, tapped his leg rhythmically. "It seems to me that you were having a bit of a tête-à-tête. What would your father think, I wonder?"

It was obvious that Iana was battling to keep her composure. While Harry would be quite happy to see her pick up another detention, he had zero desire to be caught in the crossfire.

"Sir, Professor Dumbledore asked to see me," he tried. "I should really get going."

Rosier's flat eyes alighted on Harry for the first time. For a moment, Harry felt like he was being inspected under a microscope. He certainly felt small. Rosier did not look convinced.

"You? A likely tale."

"It is gratifying to know that the members of our staff are so astute."

The feeling of relief when Dumbledore's voice issued from the darkness, closely followed by Dumbledore himself. He was dressed most curiously. Fluffy slippers complete with pompoms, a long robe in incredibly garish purple and yellow, topped off by a floppy sleeping hat.

It was not the kind of clothes most people would wear for wandering Hogwarts corridors at night, but then this was Albus Dumbledore. Everyone knew he was a little bit gone in the head.

Rosier scowled briefly before it was replaced by a mild look, and he turned to greet the Headmaster. "Well, now that we are all here, we can finally get to the bottom of this. I caught these two out after-hours," he said, flicking his wand in the direction of Harry and Iana.

"Indeed, it seems you did," said Dumbledore calmly. His bright blue eyes looked over the top of his half-moon spectacles and settled first on Harry, then on Iana. "I feared that they had perhaps become lost."

As Dumbledore's eyes landed on Rosier at last, Harry could almost feel a crackle in the air. The Headmaster was a tall man, but in that brief moment he seemed to grow at least a couple of feet. Rosier was clearly trying to match him, but it was barely even a competition. Finally, whatever unspoken battle the two had been waging came to its inevitable conclusion, and Rosier bowed his head.

"I shall leave any necessary discipline to you, Headmaster," he said. He then turned and beat a hasty retreat around a dark corridor as sleepy-eyed paintings followed his departure.

Dumbledore turned back to Harry and Iana, and he was once more his usual genial self. "Now, shall we make sure Miss Malfoy gets safely back to her dorms?"

Glowering, Iana said, with strained politeness, "It's okay, Professor. I can find my own way back."

"I do not doubt you can," said Dumbledore, nodding amiably. "But please, indulge an old man. It is only a short distance, after all."

Harry trailed behind as Iana and Dumbledore led the way. He knew roughly where the Slytherin common room was located, but he'd known better than to try and get in. His father had told him about the time he'd done so with his friends and it hadn't gone well for them, even if Sirius had looked inordinately proud of that particular adventure. Apparently, catching Snape out and turning his hair golden had been worth the curses.

"Though it may fall of deaf ears, I would caution you to be careful around some of your erstwhile allies," said Dumbledore to Iana. The content of his words belied the casual way in which he delivered them. "I have no doubt that Lucius has advised you of the importance of vigilance in these changeable times."

"Evan has been a friend of my father for years," said Iana as she cast a suspicious eye over the Headmaster. "You, however, have been an opponent of my father for just as long. Forgive me if I do not take your advice to heart. Professor."

"Alas, I fear that many things are changing, recently," said Dumbledore. "I do not expect you to take my unfounded concerns on faith. All I ask is that you do not meet with Professor Rosier alone. You still have many friends within Slytherin. Perhaps even a few in other houses" — his eyes lingered for a moment on Harry — "All I suggest is that you keep one of two of those fine young witches and wizards on hand. I find caution seldom causes harm, and yet a lack of it may cause much."

There was little doubt in Harry's mind that Iana would have simply laughed the advice off had it come from anyone other than the Headmaster.

Instead, she settled for a muttered "Whatever."

The rest of the journey to the Slytherin Common Room was conducted in silence. Perhaps it might have been awkward, but there was really nothing Harry was interested in saying to Iana, nor she, him. Dumbledore seemed to be quite happy keeping his thoughts to himself. In short order, they arrived at the corridor which Harry knew to contain the hidden entrance.

Dumbledore halted, and stopped Harry with an extended arm.

"Well, good night, Miss Malfoy," he said warmly. "I do hope my fears do not come to fruition, but I caution you to remember that even Slytherin himself had to work alongside those with whom he did not always agree in order to build his greatest legacy."

No reply was forthcoming, and a few seconds later Iana whispered her password to the wall part way down the corridor, and disappeared into the newly created opening.

With only Dumbledore and Harry remaining, the Headmaster turned to Harry. "You would do well to remember that piece of advice too," he said, his eyes twinkling with some kind of distant amusement.

"I'd really rather not have to work with Malfoy," said Harry as he made a face. What would everyone think if he started palling around with Iana of all people? Not to mention, she was still an absolute bitch, even if a few of the edges had apparently been filed off over the summer. "What were you talking about, anyway? What's wrong with Rosier?"

The mirth died in Dumbledore's eyes, and he sighed. "I fear it is a case of chickens coming home to roost. In this case, however, the chickens are not mine."

That made absolutely no sense to Harry, and it was probably obvious on his face as Dumbledore chuckled. "Perhaps Miss Malfoy is correct, and my fears are unfounded. I do not believe it is anything with which you need concern yourself, however. Rest assured that I and others are keeping a close eye on Professor Rosier."

Harry wasn't sure how to respond to that. "Okay."

"Now, it is getting very late indeed, and we have yet to discuss the matters which prompted me to ask for your time."

Whatever it was that Dumbledore wanted to discuss, it was clear he didn't want to do it out in the open, even if the night time corridors of Hogwarts were almost completely empty. He led Harry up a few staircases, and down a couple of corridors until they were standing before the Gargoyle that guarded the entrance to his office.

"Jelly Babies," said Dumbledore, and the Gargoyle jumped to the side immediately, revealing the spiral staircase beyond.

Harry had been sent to Dumbledore's office only a couple of times in all his years at Hogwarts. More usually it was his head of house, Professor McGonagall, who dealt with his indiscretions.

They climbed the stairs, and entered into Dumbledore's cluttered office. It was by no means small, but every available patch of wall was covered in portraits, most of whom were fast asleep, and every flat surface was occupied by some small esoteric magical instrument. In one corner, a magnificent red and orange bird dozed fitfully. Fawkes the phoenix: Dumbledore's longest companion.

Dumbledore took his seat, behind the large, ornate desk, and gestured towards the seat in front of him. Once Harry was seated, Dumbledore leaned forward, and fixed him with an intense look.

"First, I feel I should apologise for the manner in which I told you of the Prophecy."

Harry blinked. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but that hadn't been it. "It's, um, okay, sir?"

"It is a lamentable fact of old age that such days cease to be a cause for celebration," said Dumbledore, shaking his head.

Was that really the only reason Dumbledore wanted to see him? Perhaps his skepticism showed on his face, as the Headmaster chuckled.

"Ah, the impatience of youth," he said. "No doubt you are thinking fondly of your bed after a long evening of detention."

"I am pretty tired."

"Very well, then I shall attempt to keep this brief." The Headmaster steepled his hands in front of him. "I believe you and I will need to take a short trip in the coming days. I told you of the Prophecy, and the importance of keeping it from Voldemort, of course. What I did not tell you is that there is one place where it may yet be heard. I thought it safe, but I have recently discovered that agents interested in returning him to life have been taking more of an interest in the place where it is being kept."

Harry stayed silent, and Dumbledore continued.

"The Hall of Prophecy exists within the Department of Mysteries, and in it is kept a record of every True Prophecy ever uttered in Britain."

"What?" Harry jumped to his feet. "If they find it then—"

"Calm down, Harry," said Dumbledore soothingly. "There are protections on the Prophecies which ensure that only the subjects may remove them, or hear them. Only if Voldemort himself walked into the Ministry could your secret be uncovered."

That, at least, was unlikely while Voldemort had no body. "If they can't listen to it, then why are they trying to get to it?"

"A very astute question indeed. I must confess that I do not know, though I have my suspicions." Dumbledore leaned back and stroked his beard, looking thoughtful. "We must assume that they have some purpose, however. That is why I believe it would be wise for you and I to take a short trip to the Ministry one day soon so that we might remove it from the board, as it were."

Harry's response was immediate. "Okay. Do we go now?"

Chuckling, Dumbledore shook his head. "No, not this evening. I find myself sadly underdressed for such an event." His eyes sparkled with mirth. "In addition, I am also somewhat unwelcome within the halls of the Ministry, and I doubt my arrival would be able to pass unremarked."

It was no secret that Lucius Malfoy's influence had seen Dumbledore increasingly marginalised. Harry had even heard his parents talking about what might happen if he was actually ousted from Hogwarts. "When, then?"

"A week from now," said Dumbledore. "The Ministry will be holding a Gala to celebrate All Hallows' Eve, and I have managed to engineer it such that all of those who remain on duty will be more welcoming than they might otherwise be."

Despite the slight pang of excitement, Harry's first thought was that he'd have to miss the Halloween feast. Once again, it seemed Dumbledore was able to read his expression.

"Do not worry, the Ministry event does not commence until later, so you will be able to attend the feast. In fact, it would be best, I think, if we are seen to enjoy the festivities," he said, allaying Harry's concerns.

The more he thought about it, the more exciting it sounded. He was going to be sneaking into the Ministry with Albus Dumbledore, and breaking into one of the most secure parts of it. He'd only ever heard rumours about the Department of Mysteries, and the kinds of things the Unspeakables got up to. Rumours was about all anyone ever heard, unless they were Unspeakables themselves.

And he'd get to take a look.

"Okay," he said, nodding in what he hoped was a measured way. "So I guess I come up here after the feast?"

"I think we should aim to depart by around 9pm," said Dumbledore. "That way, if all goes as planned, we will have more than enough time to depart and return before curfew. It should also give you ample time to enjoy the evening."

Harry nodded his head rapidly.

"Wonderful!" Dumbledore clapped his hands together cheerfully. "Then I think it is time you returned to your dorms. You need not worry about Professor Rosier. It seems he has returned to his rooms for the evening." Quite how he knew Rosier's precise whereabouts, Harry did not know. Perhaps it had something to do with one of the spindly silver instruments.

"Thank you, Professor."

"Oh, and Harry," Dumbledore called just as Harry was about to let himself out. "Do consider what I said to young Miss Malfoy. It is only when we stand shoulder to shoulder with our friends that our greatest strengths can be revealed."

"Yes, Professor," said Harry, before ducking out of the door.

A/N: Still going...