Disclaimer: See chapter 1 (Spoiler, I own nothing in this story)
Walden Macnair would have preferred the cruciatus curse. Not welcomed it, by any means, but it was preferable to the Dark Lord bitter laughter echoing through the half empty chamber. The only death eaters present were those that were currently wanted by the Ministry for breaking out of Azkaban. Everyone else had their duties, working contacts or influencing the government to gain the favor of the Dark Lord. It's where he should be, but he had lost his arm, the one containing the dark mark.
The spells that bound him to his Master were still active, but the loss of his marked arm would mean the Ministry would have cause to look into his activities, and it would be easy to connect him to the attacks by several of the Dark Lord's allies, once they were looking. It would be a few days before his Master's other spies in the Ministry would know for sure. They might know sooner, but they would keep him isolated and useless for as long as possible so they could establish themselves as more valuable than he was. It is what he would have done.
The laughter, the continued laughing, added to the uncertainty Macnair felt. Torture was simple, straightforward, you endured pain and either died at the end or lived another day. The laughter though, was something else. He had faced raging monsters, howling for his blood, without pause, but this laughter made him want to curl into a ball and whimper. His report on the ghoul meeting and subsequent massacre by Darth Variace should have enraged his Master, but instead he chuckled, the foreign sound amplified in the shocked silence. It grew in volume and malice until Macnair couldn't stand it anymore, and right when he was about to crack and do something stupid, like draw his wand or speak out of turn, the laughter stopped. The silence was deafening.
"So the new player in our game, this Darth Variace, has chosen to come out of the shadows and fully into the light. Foolish of him, but who am I to ignore the gift he has given me. Macnair, though you failed me in bringing the ghoul clans to my cause, your failure has given me an opportunity much sooner than I anticipated. For that, the loss of your arm will suffice as your punishment. Now, your next task will be to bring the Arachnes to my side. Fail again, and you will lose all value to me." Voldemort's warning was heard perfectly by all, and Macnair gulped involuntarily. The Arachne spiderfolk were hard to find, and hated wizards with a fury reserved for scorned lovers. But he could not fail, so he bowed low and withdrew before his Master could change his mind and curse him.
"Ahh, Severus, join us. Lucius was just telling me of his interactions with Lord Black, and relaying to me what his son told him of the man. Your fellow teacher has made quite the splash since his arrival. Tell me, what do you know of him?"
"Nothing, Dumbledore. No probes, no inquiries, no subtle passes past the Department of Mysteries. It's like the death eaters stopped caring about the prophecy."
"I highly doubt that, Arthur. No, this can only mean that Voldemort has the prophecy from another source, or he has all the preparations he needs to move against the prophecy. Either possibility is dangerous."
"Any word of Lord Black and Hogwarts?"
"Your children are fine, I am able to assure you that. Though I might not be Headmaster currently, I still can monitor the wards remotely. They are safe and sound."
"Thank you. Molly is worried sick, what with Umbridge being in charge and all. How did things get so bad?"
"Voldemort's reach has grown, and while I do not think his followers expected him to return, their influence and networks have grown significantly since the end of the last war. Much more than I anticipated, I am sad to say. A plethora of gold changing hands in secret backroom deals does that, I'm afraid."
"If that is the case, Dumbledore, what can we do to stop him?"
"Do what we always have, fight against that which is wrong."
"Uhh, Madam Bones, you might want to look at this. There is a package addressed to you in the mailroom, and it triggered the biological wards."
Amelia Bones, current head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, sighed into her cup of tea. It was just one of those days. In order to trip those particular wards, human flesh would have to be present. A few drops of blood wouldn't do it, it would have to be a good sized chunk.
"Alright, I'm on my way down." Amelia answered before taking out the ministry manual on biological wards and human remains. She flipped through it until she got to the pertinent parts, reminding her what the spells were for body identification and contamination control. She knew an impressive number of spells as it was, but everyone needed a reminder once in a while for the more obscure ones that she didn't have to perform on a daily basis. After the refresher, she walked to the elevator and then to the mailroom. At least they had cleared the area of personnel, per protocol.
Inside were two of her Aurors in bubble-headed charms, her own being cast in the elevator. It was a plain brown box with muggle logo on the side, half a meter by a quarter meter. That excluded death eaters sending it, most likely. She ran through the standard spells in this situation, plus a few non-standard ones that she herself developed. Nothing threatening or overtly dangerous, a pleasant surprise. Carefully, she walked over to the box and opened it.
"Tonks, take a team of aurors, your choice, and bring me Macnair. I think I might have found his arm."
"Lord Alexander Black, I intend for you to start courting me when I come of age next year."
Annise Bluther's research project (after irreconcilable differences, Xander let her and her Hufflepuff partner do separate reports) got a long streak of ink on page 8 when Xander's hand twitched wildly at that statement coming out of the mouth of Daphne Greengrass. In the time it took his brain to figure out what was going on and what he should do next, Daphne had crossed from his office door to the chair opposite him and was staring at him with an expression of almost haughty expectation.
"Uhh, what?" was all Xander could muster.
"Shortly after my 17th birthday in September, I intend for you to officially start courting me. I will be of age, and there is a current contract between our families that can be fulfilled by our courtship and marriage. Seeing as you are no longer dating Miss Delacour, and are thus available, and we already have a working rapport, it is not outside the realm of possibility that our marriage would be amicable for both of us." Daphne's foot bounced slightly, her impatience at explaining the perfectly obvious evident.
"When we first met, what did I do?" Xander asked sharply, startling Daphne. She didn't expect his question nor his tone.
"Excuse me?" she replied, keeping her voice even.
"You heard me, and if you don't answer correctly you won't make it out of my office," Xander almost snarled. Daphne almost snorted before realizing his hand was underneath his desk,and probably held his wand pointed at her. From their training sessions, she knew that he could easily carry through with his threat.
"You fell on your face when Luna greeted you," Daphne answered, her voice still even, though she had to struggle to do so.
"Well, that means you are you, but drink this potion so I can know you aren't being influenced by anything," Xander handed over a blueish vial as he spoke. Curious, she glanced between the vial and her professor. "It'll counteract any mind influencing spells or potions that are on you, though it will not be pleasant if you have been dosed."
Sensing no deception in his answer, Daphne drank the lemon flavored potion. No sooner had she done so than Xander darted around the desk, handing her a waste bin as he did so. She took it, wondering why he had done so, and immediately began to throw up into it. Xander held her hair, already pulling out another vial as she finished.
"Here, this will help with the aftertaste," Xander informed. Daphne looked at it, hesitant at drinking something else Xander gave her. "Don't worry, both those potions were brewed by Professor Snape after my poisoning last year. This one is something like mouthwash."
Still doubtful, Daphne took a small sip, then gulped the rest down in one shot.
"Taste's like strawberries," she commented. "So what just happened?"
"You were acting very un-Slytherin, and you said you wanted to start dating. My mind jumped to someone influencing you, so I wanted to make sure."
"Am I so repugnant that your mind first jumps to love potions when dating me comes up?" Daphne pouted.
"Love potions affect people's behavior, and you were not acting yourself. No subtlety, no finesse. You could have been mind whammied to try to kill me when my guard was down. Plus, your vomiting proves that I was right," Xander sidestepped the original question. "Now, let's get this to the experts to see what you got hit with."
Xander carefully pours the green and yellow bile from the garbage pail into a large conjured erlenmeyer flask, corked it, and motioned Daphne to exit his office. He followed after raising his privacy wards, courtesy of his secret headmaster position. As they began walking to Madam Pomphrey, Xander started to quiz her.
"Do you remember eating or drinking anything different? Any change in flavor or taste to any of your food?"
"No, nothing out of the ordinary. I am careful about checking for poisons before eating at the Great Hall, and my other meals are with my trusted friends. I don't think Tracey would do that to me." Daphne answered with the logical certainty of a Slytherin or Ravenclaw, rather than the brashness of a Gryffindor or blind loyalty of a Hufflepuff.
"When did you first start thinking about us courting? That might help us narrow down when the poisoning happened."
"The day I first met you, of course. You are attractive, wealthy, and have a respectable standing in society. I would be a fool not to consider it. However, telling you was never part of any hypothetical plans I may or may not have had. That foolishness came to me . . . three days ago, I think?" Daphne remembered.
"So now you'll just need to figure out what was going on right before then," Xander postulated.
"Thank you Professor, I never would have figured that out on my own," Daphne sarcastically bit back.
"Well, glad I could give you that clue, then," Xander replied, just as sarcastically. The byplay did help relieve some of the tension Daphne was feeling over being poisoned by person or persons unknown.
Thankfully, they arrived at the nurse's office without running into anyone else, especially Umbridge. Of late, the toad had gotten more irritable and vindictive against any she perceived as a threat to her power, which was anyone not completely loyal to the ministry. She hadn't forgotten about her first meeting with Xander, and the humiliation associated with that, and Xander now had significantly less influence and money to help deter or deflect her inevitable retribution. That that retribution hadn't happened yet worried Xander.
"I suppose I should be surprised with you walking into my infirmary with a bottle of sickness, Professor Black, but I can't say that I am. What brings you and Miss Greengrass to me?" Madam Pomfrey asked tiredly. Xander could tell the nurse was having a rough day, but the beds were empty.
"Daphne here was acting out of character, so I gave her that potion you gave me. I'm going to need another one, by the way. She threw up, and from what I remember of when I was overdosed, you wanted to examine the vomit, so here it is. Anything else before I leave Miss Greengrass here to your tender ministrations?" Xander explained as quickly as possible. He didn't want to end up stunned and confined to a bed for the afternoon like the last time he dropped off puke.
"No dear, but let me get you a replacement potion. You'll stop by Severus' laboratory to tell him I need him to brew more of it before you head straight back to your office, otherwise you'll be staying here for an hour." Pomfrey threatened with a slight grin. Xander wasn't sure if it was a joking grin or a sadistic grin, with the nurse it could be either.
"I'll be good and deliver the message," Xander promised before nearly sprinting from the room. He had work that needed done, but he'd talk to his Hogwarts contacts to figure out what was going on with Daphne. Neither one of those activities he could do confined to a bed.
"Now dearie, lay down in the bed and tell me what happened while I examine you," the nurse motioned to the closest bed as she spoke. She performed several diagnostic spells while the girl spelled out what happened. At the end, Pomfrey frowned.
"That is unusual, I've never heard of a poison or potion that would have that particular set of symptoms. You will stay in the bed until I analyze the bottle, and don't even think about complaining or trying to sneak away, or I'll hold you for the rest of the weekend." The threat, or promise depending on how you looked at it, was convincing enough to keep Daphne in check.
"Can you at least let my friends know I'm in here?" Daphne asked carefully. Evidently, Madam Pomfrey didn't consider the request whining since she summoned a house elf to deliver the message before resuming her examination of the remains of Daphne's breakfast and stomach. It wasn't long before Tracey and Luna arrived, followed closely by Harry and Hermione. While her two girl friends slid into seats next to her bed, the three watched the two Gryffindors approach Madam Pomfrey, who had stopped her investigation into Daphne's stomach contents.
"Umm, Madam Pomfrey, I think something's wrong with Hermione," Harry started uncertainly. Now that they were focused on her, they could tell something was off with her. Her stance was slouched slightly, and her hair, usually slightly messy, was perfectly straight, like the time at the Yule Ball. Her clothes, as well, were a bit more . . . daring than they had come to expect. Nothing obvious, and any single thing wouldn't draw too much attention, but putting them all together led to a reasonable concern.
"I see, Mr. Potter. Could you be more specific?" The nurse asked even while she drew her wand to begin a preliminary examination.
"Honestly, Harry, I don't know what you are making a fuss about. I feel perfectly fine. There is no need to see Madam Pomfrey, now can we go?" Hermione's annoyance at this visit was obvious, but the nurse paid it no mind.
"Hermione, you're not fine. You stepped on a book in the common room. An open book, and you kept on walking." His uncertainty gave way to deep concern for his friend.
"Of course he noticed her treating books poorly instead of her clothes," Tracey whispered to Daphne, who allowed herself a smile and eye roll. Harry glanced in their direction before turning back to hear what Pomfrey was instructing, the girls wondering if he heard them enough to make out their words.
"Miss Granger, please take your usual bed, please. I'll be with you shortly." The two travelled to the third bed from the left, kitty corner to Daphne's. There was an uncomfortable silence as Pomfrey continued her examinations. The fact that Hermione wasn't nervously chattering away was another sign of something amiss.
"So, what are you in here for?" Harry asked awkwardly.
"I was poisoned a few days ago, and was acting out of character. Luckily, I am fine now, and am just waiting for Madam Pomfrey to clear me before I can leave." Daphne responded. Her answer would have been shorter, colder, and less informative with nearly anyone else, but training with Harry these last months had shown her that he was honorable, naive, and completely without any sort of ambition. Anything she said wouldn't be used against her later, either because Harry didn't know how to use it or wouldn't want to use it, and he wouldn't share it with those who could use it against her.
"Do you think whatever happened to you is happening to Hermione?" Harry asked loudly enough to include Pomfrey, who simply acknowledged hearing the question, but did not contribute to any answer. It was unusual for the nurse to be so tight lipped. The silence returned, just as uncomfortable as before. It only lasted a few minutes, though, before Professor Snape stormed in.
"You interrupted my brewing, Poppy. This had better be important," Severus drawled. Instead of answering, she picked up the several of the vials and notes she had been working on, and motioned for him to follow her through to her office. Silently, and ignoring the glances the girls were giving him, Harry snuck to the office door and slide an ear attached to a long string under the closed door. At least, he attempted to, but the ear kept bouncing back.
Frustrated, Harry returned to his chair before explaining. "Extendable Ears, one of the products by the Twins. Usually lets you conversations in other rooms, unless they're warded against intrusion." He began to wrap the ear up.
"Any chance I could purchase that one from you?" Daphne asked. "I'm not sure my Slytherin affiliation would increase the price from the Weasley's store, and I wouldn't want a record of my purchase where my enemies could find it."
"They wouldn't do that," Harry defended.
"Maybe, maybe not. I only know the Twins by reputation and by their public antics. You, I do know, and you'll keep a secret from everyone but Ron and Hermione, and you'll only charge me a fair price," Daphne countered.
"Alright, here. Have it." Harry tossed the ear to her bed. When she began to ask about cost, he interrupted her. "No cost, I got it for free from them anyways."
Severus Snape, Head of House Slytherin, slammed Madam Pomfrey's office door open, startling the five students. Without a word, he stormed out with vengeance written on his face. No one spoke for a few moments, too stunned at his sudden leaving.
"It's beginning. Time to batten down the hatches and stow the sails," Luna softly announced, sadness and disappointment evident. "Ready the colors."
"What are you talking about?" Tracey asked.
"There is going to be a civil war in Hogwarts."
Voldemort opened the message sent to him from one of his spies at Hogwarts. His plan was coming together, the poisonings went perfectly. Though he would eventually take credit for what would surely happen, his plan to acquire the prophecy would require another to take the blame.
Of all his goals, obtaining that blasted prophecy was the only one he has failed at completely. He needed the knowledge of that prophecy, he needed the power that knowledge provided. His time was short, so this plot had to work. He had seventeen contingencies ready. He will hear that prophecy.
Morgan le Fay sighed heavily, and prepared the Room of Requirement for her visitors. They meant well, they really did, but in this case they wouldn't be helping. They just didn't know it. As she finished transforming the room based on her needs, Xander and the four House Ghosts entered through the door. She knew her old friends hadn't told Xander about the purpose of the meeting, so his confused expression, so cute on one so young, was understandable.
She had chosen one of the Old Places of Power from her youth as the layout of the room. There was a large stone altar, stained red with the blood of countless sacrifices, and 13 stone seats surrounding it.
"You know, Xander, for generations, witches and wizards from the Order of Ngata used this altar to sacrifice sheep, goats, rabbits, virginities, and even enemies to the dragons and serpents they revered. Merlin was one of them, as was I. They say the first parseltongues were given the gift by the Dragons for their faithful offerings. Sadly, the muggles destroyed the site in 1736 to build a church in their town. Fifty-three buildings in that town were burned one week later. Some speculated the Order did it in retaliation, others say it was the dragons. No one knows for sure, or at least they aren't talking. After that, the Order went into hiding, and only rarely show their faces and always hiding their true motives." Her fingers traced the edge of the stone as she walked around the four foot tall altar. The ghosts had remained near the door, knowing that she knew what they wanted her to say, and that they wouldn't interfere unless she refused.
"OK. That doesn't help me understand why the ghosts have basically kidnapped me," Xander stated, the implied question hanging in the air.
"This was one of the most potent Place of Power in the British Isles, even greater than Hogwarts for many years. It's now forgotten by wizarding kind, only the echo remains, a wilting flower to the vast forest it once was. But I guess that's just me waxing poetic. In short, the Ghosts of the four Hogwarts houses brought you here because, in essence, you have killed me." She paused dramatically for a moment, before continuing an instant before Xander would have exploded in denial. She had timed it perfectly.
"I am a horcrux, one of my own making. The only thing that can break it, besides destroying Hogwarts, is a fulfillment of remorse. I actually reached my limit several decades ago, but in order to preserve my status as the Spirit of Hogwarts, I have been artificially increasing the balances so that I would need more regret. Every year, I seduced a student or teacher, and that allowed me to stay for one more year. It was selfish of me, not wanting to evaporate, so it worked. But you, you just wouldn't do it. You and your code, both the Scoobie code and your Jedi code, it has doomed me. Before the beginning of the next school year, there will be a Hogwarts Spirit no more."
Silence ruled the room, Xander processing Morgan's revelation, the ghosts standing sentinel, and Morgan idly tracing the etched patterns along the altar.
"Isn't there anything I can do, I'll sleep with you if that will keep you here," Xander conceded, but Morgan le Fay simply laughed her usual laugh, worthy of a symphony of bells.
"My dear child, once you know what is at stake, it is no longer a selfish act. No, I have lived as long as I can, and there is nothing you may do to stop my demise. Don't fret for me, my time truly is up. I have done enough."
"So who'll watch over the kids once you've gone?" Xander yelled in misplaced anger. "There'll be no one to guide them if there is no Spirit."
"There is one option, you can replace me as guardian of future generations. Probably not an attractive option, considering you will have to die to do so. But don't worry, I have months before I will fade, though if you do decide in favor, I'll need to use the summer to teach you what you must know. Hogwarts has more secrets than anyone, living or dead, knows. Take your time, live your life, and come to me when you have decided." Sadly, Morgan walked into the forest, and shortly her form disappeared from sight.
She teleported herself to the top of the tallest tower, where she sat, staring at her home, her refuge, her prison, her redemption. For almost a millennium, she resided within these grounds. She had her fun, prevented tragedy, saw horrors, and encountered perversions of justice. Rise and fall of monsters and heros. It was during the decade of Tom Riddle's education that her debt to her horcrux was coming to a close, and she was so worried about finding an alternative that she missed the signs of the psychopath. This time, it will be different. She had learned the folly of holding onto that which is untenable. She would go gladly into the unknown, just like her friend and teacher did. She'll follow Merlin, and as much as she'll miss Hogwarts, she won't postpone the journey.
Morgan straightened up, once again surveyed her domain, and returned to her duties. She had students to protect, and minds to mold, and though come the new school year she won't be able to help anymore, this, her final few months, she would be at her finest.
The vision cleared, the voice of the seer was silent. There was only one course of action to take. Blood must be spilt in Hogwarts.
Carefully, ever so gently, Voldemort probed the connection between Potter and himself. The constant pain almost made him stop, but he had lived with worse pain before. His years as a wraith had taught him to revel in the pain, to embrace it, to use it against his foes. He would have to be subtle, he didn't know what protections the old fool had placed on the boy's mind, and he didn't want to chance a psychic battle without first preparing several contingencies. He wasn't the only master legilimens living in England, and Dumbledore was extremely conniving.
There they were. Potter's surface thoughts. From his hidden spectral vantage point, he could see glimpses of thoughts, hazy due to the training the boy had already received from Snape, but the training was incomplete and rushed, enough to placate the former headmaster, but giving Voldemort the opportunity to sneak a peek. It was tempting to try to simply mind control the boy now, but caution was the wiser choice.
Girls he fancied, several of them in fact, but that was more likely lust than actual weakness he could exploit. Daydreams, nothing useful there. Memories of his time with his friends, nothing new there, he knew all of Harry's friends from his spies. Sirius Black's guardianship, now that had potential. The boy's childhood was similar to his own, no knowledge of magic, abuse for being different, skills that made him special. Seizing on that, he sent a pin sized prod into the thought of Sirius Black, before observing the whirlwind reaction to the mental prodding. A calculated risk, relatively impossible to recognize as an external attack unless Harry had secretly finished his training, but he was able to observe the boy's thoughts when Sirius was threatened. By the furious response, the boy cared for the immature man-child who had rotted away in Azkaban, enough to cloud his reason and rush into a trap.
Perfect.
After the defensive mindscape calmed down, another thought swirled past Voldemort, one of the Lord Alexander Black. Raised by muggles, the heir to possibly his greatest betrayal, and potentially the subject of the prophecy he was after, though not probable. The fools at the Ministry, perhaps at Dumbledore's urging, decided the prophecy was about the infant Potter, and they charmed the prophecy accordingly so only he or Potter could retrieve it. However, a true prophecy was a fickle and subtle mistress, and Lord Alexander could also be the one with the power to destroy all his hard work. He would have to make more contingencies to account for Lord Black, and quickly. His window to act was closing. Within three weeks, he would strike on all three fronts.
Slowly, as to leave no indication he was ever there, Lord Voldemort grinned. He was almost ready to reap his revenge on the Wizarding World, and the fools never suspected his true goals. Awakening from his trance, Lord Voldemort, the Most Feared Dark Lord of All, began to compose his orders to his minions, servants, spies, and fodder.