Chapter 26

"Professor Dumbledore wants to see you, sir," said the nervous-looking boy. Harry gave him an icy glare and the boy scampered from the library. Harry turned back to Daphne.

"Another time, Daphne," he said with a well-faked smile, getting to his feet. Anger boiled in his gut, but it would do no good to kill his spy before they were even his spy. It had been two days since the incident with Hermione, and he was starting to think that maybe - just maybe - she was smart enough not to report it. But that most likely was not the case. Hermione seemed to be obsessed with authority, even at the risk of her life.

The meeting might've had nothing to do with her, but what were the odds? Dumbledore had nothing to talk to him about - other than this, of course.

'What revenge would you suggest?' Harry asked as he scaled a staircase.

Loki hummed in thought. 'We can't do anything too overt; Dumbledore will suspect that it's us. Maybe we should mess with her head, like we did with Rita Skeeter?'

'Any other ideas?'

'Hire some muggles to kill her family,' Loki casually suggested. 'Pay them enough so that they'll make it look like a failed robbery, or something of the sort. If you do the latter, do it over Christmas break when she'll be there too. You'll need to hire some slightly more capable people, but a gun will beat a schoolgirl witch any day.'

'Or maybe do both,' Harry said. 'Give her nightmares about her parents dying for a few weeks, and then have them actually die.' He snorted in laughter. 'And then she'll think that she has epic seer abilities, and will set out to do good with them, all while we provide her with more visions.'

Loki cackled. 'Of course! And she'll go on a series of epic quests, guided by her mentor Dumbledore to use the powers of love and friendship that will eventually lead to her defeating us and avenging her parents!'

'I've detected a flaw in our otherwise perfect plan,' Harry said. 'You can't use the power of friendship if you don't have any friends.'

With a sad sigh, Loki said, 'I suppose that means that, in the end, she will fall before our might.'

'What a sad end that would be to our oh-so-unlovable hero… I guess we shouldn't do that.' Harry was now approaching Dumbledore's gargoyle. 'We must bide our time, and strike when she least expects it.' An idea suddenly struck him. 'I know! If fake my death, and then haunt her from beyond the grave!'

'We probably shouldn't put that much effort into our revenge - unless we get a bad punishment, of course.'

'I'll make sure we don't.' As Harry approached the gargoyle, it moved aside without any request. 'No one can resist my mountains of charismatic charm.'

As expected, Dumbledore sat behind his desk among mounds of books and unrecognisable objects. Harry made his way over and sat down without invitation.

"Please sit, Mr Potter," Dumbledore deadpanned. "I assume you know why you're here?" he said in an exact repetition of what he had said the previous two times Harry had been called into his office.

Harry smiled sweetly. "I'm not quite sure, Professor. As far as I'm aware, I haven't broken any rules - unless, of course, you once again intend to chastise me for defending myself."

Dumbledore's expression was unreadable, completely still and tranquil. "Do you believe breaking someone's wrist in response to a harmless attack is self-defense?"

Harry shrugged. "It was her hand, not her wrist. And it was not on purpose, otherwise I would not have healed her."

"Not on purpose?" Dumbledore asked, his tone incredulous. "How do you accidentally break someone's hand?"

"Oh, I don't know." Harry stroked his chin, his expression turning hostile. "Perhaps it's an instinct burned into my being as a result of spending my childhood with every person who ever tried to hit me having the intention of ending my life. Or perhaps it's induced by the paranoia that I have to have, lest one of the Voldemort supporters you insist upon teaching decides to attack me." Harry leaned forward, resting his elbow upon the desk. "It sounds to me, as though both of those problems are your fault, rather than mine."

Dumbledore remained calm, and Harry decided he was now more akin to a storm's eye than any other description. So he continued, "How many times have you failed, Dumbledore? First as a guardian, and now as a teacher." No discernable change occurred within Dumbledore, but the air seemed to charge with energy. "Something tells me this isn't the first time, either."

The air grew thicker with magic, a suffocating tension that was almost tangible to one of Harry's senses. Naturally, Harry decided that the best thing to do was to further provoke Dumbledore. "How many more will die before you realise just how much of what happens is your fault?" Harry cocked his head to the side. "I bet Lord Voldemort went to school here, and that you had a hand in making him what he became. Children have suffered because of you; children have died because of you."

A glass upon table suddenly shattered, sending fragments of glass flying across the room. Harry's hand shot up to cover his face and let out a cry of pain as blood leaked from between his fingers. He was instantly on his feet and a moment later, Dumbledore was too.

"What the hell?!" Harry yelled, his hand going to his wand.

"I'm so sorry-"

"Save it, old man," spat Harry. "If you can't control your magic, how the hell do you expect to control a school!"

With that, he stormed from the office, and Dumbledore made no move to stop him. Harry made his way down the corridor looking furious. It was only when he rounded the corner did he allow himself to relax and the thin cut across his cheek to heal. He hadn't been sure that would work, but it had, and would hopefully prevent Dumbledore from bothering him for a while further.

Dumbledore would probably isolate himself from the students, if what Harry had guessed about him was correct. He wouldn't want to endanger them, remaining under the notion that he might lose control and injure them, like he had done with Harry. That was provided that he didn't discover he hadn't been the one to break the glass, of course. He most likely would not; even a wizard adept as Dumbledore wouldn't find Harry's magical signature when they were looking for a human's.


"So," began Harry, "what do the Slytherins really think about me?"

Daphne's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I know Malfoy hates me, but he's a bit of an idiot, so I didn't think that many people would follow his opinions."

"Well, he's rather influential," Daphne said. "His father was one of those held under the Imperius by the Dark Lord, and was rather high up in his ranks. Naturally, Draco controls the children of those his father once ordered around. Crabbe and Goyle are the most obvious ones, but there are many others who follow him."

Harry frowned. "How many?"

With a shrug, Daphne said, "I can't give you specific numbers, but not many in the higher years, about half of our year, and quite a few of the lower years."

That was about what Harry had estimated. A lot of those people might've been faking alliance. While most Slytherins weren't actually very cunning, it didn't take much intelligence to suck up to someone rich and powerful.

Harry smiled. "And I suppose you're not one of his followers."

"No, as much as he'd like that." Daphne laughed. "In fact, he tried to ask me to the Yule Ball just the other day."

If that was anything but a suggestion to ask her, Harry had never heard one before. "Do you already have a date, then?"

For a moment, Daphne's lips twitched up into a smug smirk, but then it once again gone. "I'm afraid not. Why do you ask?"

Harry blushed - or pretended to, at least. "I-I was wondering if you wanted to go with me?" He had decided there was more benefit in going with her than there was if he went with Maria. At some point he had to make Daphne feel some genuine emotion for him, and the ball would an ideal opportunity for that. Going with Maria bore no good. He was already allied with her family, even if they were yet to know him as Harry Potter.

"Of course," said Daphne, once again concealing a smirk. She wasn't very good at and Harry was quite frankly befuddled as to how she had gained the reputation of being an "Ice Queen," with her emotions being so easily readable.

'An affinity for ice magic, perhaps?' Loki suggested, his tone jestful. 'Maybe that is why she seeks to manipulate you - to gain access to the mighty ice magic you used to slay the dragon!'

'Of course!' Harry exclaimed. 'She is obviously a filthy mudblood in disguise, trying to steal our magics!'

'Bloody mudbloods,' Loki growled.

'Muddy bloodmuds,' Harry echoed. 'Or maybe she never talks to anyone, so no one ever sees her emotions happen.' He paused, thinking up an other idea. 'Oh! I know! She married the Ice King! You know what that means, Loki; she's your stepmother!'

'Oh no.' Loki deadpanned. 'Now you should probably stop staring at her before she thinks you're too much of a weirdo!'

'Your wish is my command, Ice Prince,' Harry mocked.

He looked down at his wrist, silently weaving an illusion of a watch. "My apologies, Daphne," he said. "I have to go." He didn't, of course, but he didn't have the patience to play along with Daphne's crappy manipulation all day. That said, he did have another Greek-named girl who he wanted to speak to.


Hermione strode down the corridor, the most confident she had been in the past few days. She had decided to report Harry Potter just this morning. She wasn't going to let him bully everyone who got in his way, simply because he was the Boy-Who-Lived. He was no better than anyone else! If anything he was worse - a bully, a brute who thought violence would solve everything.

He had threatened to harm her if she told on him, but even if he was powerful, Dumbledore was far more so. He would protect her. He would-

Hermione was torn from her thoughts as someone crashed into her, sending the books in her arms to the floor. She turned and glared at them, but they didn't stop, continuing on their destructive path down the crowded corridor. She briefly contemplated yelling after them, but didn't. She had seen a Slytherin tie, and the last thing she needed right now was to bring the anger of the Slytherin house down upon them. She didn't recognise the boy anyway.

Bending down, she scooped her books into her bag and continued upon her journey. A dull sensation arose in the arm into which the boy had bumped. It felt...numb. Thinking nothing of it, she started walking once again. A few seconds later, she staggered, and was suddenly feeling rather lightheaded. She made in the direction of the hospital wing, but as vomit rose in her throat ducked into a bathroom.

She stood over a sink, breathing deeply as she waited to throw up. The sensation of lightheadedness increased, and a moment later, she collapsed backwards, the world fading to.

She found herself surrounded by nothing but black, so dark a shade the air was indistinguishable from the floor. And then lupine, green eyes shone out from the eternal darkness, and Hermione cringed back in fear.

"Hermione Granger," a voice spat, resounding through her ears and mind like thunder, even though it was barely above a whisper. "Child of two worlds. When you first came to the wizarding world, you were so excited, weren't you? You finally knew why you'd always been different - why everyone had always hated you. It was because of magic! Magic that you could do! So you came to Hogwarts with innocent eyes, a wide smile, and a longing to fit in - but you didn't."

Hermione attempted to back away, but found herself unable, immobilised by both terror and an unholy magic holding her still. "Here," the voice continued, "you are not only an outcast, but a mudblood - a citizen who barely qualifies as a citizen, hated more than house elfs, a thief of magic. So you curl back into your shell. You promised yourself it would be different, but then you're back to your old ways - helping people, and bossing around people who wanted you dead.

"The best part is that you know you are condemned to remain like this forever; you will die a lonely death, either at the hands of a creature of intelligence inferior to yours or old age." A booming cackle rocked Hermione's world. "There are a few correct things to do in this circumstance: change, or kill yourself. The first is too difficult for you, but the second will be so easy; all you have to do is turn your wand upon yourself and murmur two words. Surely the most competent witch of the generation knows the spell?

"Avada Kedavra!"

Green light exploded outwards and shattered the plane of darkness. A moment later it reformed into a blurry visage of white, which Hermione numbly recognised as the bathroom ceiling. Her dead arm now felt fine, and any prior illness was gone - provided you only counted physical, of course.

Perhaps that had been a dream? Hermione reached for her wand and found it absent. A glance around revealed it to be laying on the floor a few metres away. She moved to collect it, and paused in horror as she felt two words engraved upon the wood. Avada Kedavra.

A/N: Sorry about taking forever again. Anyway, tell me what you thought.