A/N: Hello again, it's been a while. I'm neck deep in the fall semester so updates will be few and far between (not like I'm saying anything you haven't already gathered...) but I'm taking a well-deserved break from studying to do a little work on this story. Thanks for sticking with it, and reviewing, following, favoriting, and all that! Enough of my nonsense...let's get on with it...


Chapter XXX
Best Laid Plans
[Hogwarts | April 1995]


"Quit it Draco, I mean it!" Neville Longbottom's hauling a large sack full of herbs and plants up from the greenhouse. After spending the last three hours labeling and bundling them, he's bringing them to Professor Snape to be stored as potion ingredients. Part of the duties of the research assistant position he's taken up with Professor Sprout. Draco Malfoy, flanked as always by Crabbe and Goyle, are having a go at the bag, effectually undoing all the tedious work he'd just finished.

"You know, you should get yourself some friends, Longbottom. Because the fact that this is what you do with your spare time is pretty pathetic." Draco Malfoy drawls, raising a bunch of lavender up to his nose. "Mmmm smells lovely." He flings it at him. Crabbe and Goyle strike up their buffoonish laughter.

"You're out of your fucking mind." An angry, gravelly voice echoes around the corridor, accompanied by the clicking of heels.

"I can't." Another voice. Tired.

"Shhhh." Draco turns to Crabbe and Goyle, putting his finger to his lips. Neville's shoving plants back into the burlap sack.

"It's about him. He should know. If you don't talk to him, I will."

"You'll do no such thing. Victoria, I know this is something you can't understand, but…"

"Don't you dare tell me what I can and cannot understand." Victoria Spektor retorts, "You don't know a damn thing…" V Spektor and Albus Dumbledore turn the corner, and suddenly fall silent upon seeing the boys in the hall.

"And what do we have here?" Dumbledore congenially regards the boys, looking from Draco to Neville.

"We were just admiring Neville's plants." Draco says. "He's got names for them and everything." Crabbe and Goyle snicker. Neville blushes. Professor Spektor steps forward, kneels down, and helps Neville pick up the rest of the bundles. She pauses, the lavender bunch in her hand, brings it up to her nose, and inhales deeply.

"Keep it." Neville says, when goes to tuck it into the sack. By the time she regains full height, he's already halfway down the hall, legs working quickly away. V holds the bunch of lavender back under her nose, breathes in again, turns to Dumbledore, and smiles.

"Your office or mine?" says Spektor.

"Um. Professor?" Draco clears his throat. V looks at him blankly. "I, uh, was wondering, if you have a moment, if I could talk to you…about the assignment…"

"Assignment? Yes. Sorry, Albus this will only take a minute." V extends her hand for Draco to take. He hesitantly takes it, her skin cold as ice.

"Fine." Dumbledore says with a sigh. "Don't keep me waiting." V whisks Draco off down the corridor towards her office. They do not speak until the door is closed firmly behind them. She perches on the edge of her desk, allowing Draco to take the chair.

"You're afraid." She says. The boy's face crumbles before her, his pale eyes brimming with a shimmer of tears.

"I…well…yes and, I'm pretty sure you're not the person I should tell this to, but…" Yes, isn't it odd Draco's about to confide in Professor Spektor? But it's not a spur of the moment thing, not at all. He's been dying to talk to her, but there's never been a good moment. Odd, perhaps, considering who she is, but he's just got this feeling, this itch in the back of his skull, that he needs to talk to her about this. He needs her to be on his side. Or he needs to be on her side. Or however that works.

"Oh don't worry, I'm very good at keeping secrets." She grins a little too widely.

"I just…feel very pressured, by my father, by…" He gulps, "You-know-who…and I know I'm capable but I'm a kid and…while I may hate the Potter kid's guts, he is my classmate and all, and I… I dunno. I dunno what I'm trying to say."

"You're afraid." She pats him on the shoulder, lets her hand rest there, heavy and cold. "It's ok to be afraid. When I was your age, a little older actually, I was very afraid. And I had nobody to talk to about it." She removes her hand, reaches for the practically empty bottle of firewhisky beneath her desk, and unstoppers it, offering it to the boy with the shaky hands and parchment-white face. He takes it. He's been taught to always take what's offered to him.

"Really?" He takes a very small sip of the whiskey. It burns his throat, but he tries with all his might not to cough.

"You can talk to me. But you should also talk to your mother. She'll understand." V takes the bottle back and finishes it off. "Sometimes, when we're trying to survive, we align ourselves with the wrong people out of convenience. I wouldn't want you to do that."

"Wait, are you saying…" Draco starts. V places a finger to his lips.

"I think you know what I mean. Now, I have to see your headmaster. Wouldn't want to keep the great Albus Dumbledore waiting." The sarcasm in V's voice doesn't help Draco parse out the truth at all. But the whiskey's going to his eyes now, and he feels drowsy and much calmer. They part ways at the staircase, V ascending to the Headmaster's Office, Draco slumping down in to the dungeons, to begin a night of restless sleep and troubled dreams.


"See, I can keep promises." V Spektor barges through the door, only to find the Headmaster's Office empty except for the Fawkes, the phoenix perched by the window. The bird's eyes follow her as she strides across the room. She's never been in here alone before, and she takes full advantage of the situation by poking her nose into every cabinet and drawer, scanning the books on the bookshelves, and surveying the wide array of weird whirring instruments Dumbledore's displayed around the room. There's a calm in the air. The instruments tick contentedly. The afternoon light lays upon the carpet, the desk, the chairs, like a warm blanket casually discarded. Above her, the ceiling spirals up and up, and the eyes look down from portraits of headmasters past. She begins to pace. That's probably what Dumbledore does, she thinks. Pace around his study. How scholarly. How old-mannish. She puts her finger to her lip, ponders, paces, counts her steps. A memory barges it's way into her thinkspace, the one with her sitting across from Dippet after that fiasco with the cave. She remembers the Ministry official, Hardscrabble or something, who happened to show up just at the right moment, and brought her to the courtrooms down on Level 9. How he sat above her, barking questions at her, while she, strapped in a wooden chair with iron restraints, a harsh light beating down on her, squinted up at him, claiming innocence of course, that she never should have left her sister alone, but that's the worst she did. Just an ordinary irresponsible teenager, out for a walk with her boyfriend.

Fawkes ruffles his feathers.

They want to get into the Department of Mysteries. Badly. That's the deal. The Big Plan. She also wants to get into the Department of Mysteries, but for different reasons. Dumbledore absolutely would not want that to happen, on either front. This is going to be difficult. How to play both sides of the fence and balance straight down the middle… She takes a seat in Dumbledore's chair, sinking back, admiring the comfort, the luxury. Against her better judgement, she puts her feet up on his desk and reclines. So much for not keeping him waiting. She opens a drawer to her right and takes out a small tin, pops the lid, and places a lemon drop on her tongue.

Suddenly the door springs open and Severus Snape enters, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees V Spektor lounging behind the Headmaster's desk.

"What happened?" He says, breathless.

"Something happened?" V says, sucking on the lemon candy.
"You tell me. What the hell are you doing?" Snape remains in the doorway. V takes her feet down from the desk.

"Waiting for Dumbledore." She stands. "I've been here for almost an hour now."

"How'd you get in here?"

"Trade secret." V says, not meeting his eyes. She can't tell him how she's got a gift for entering locked spaces. "Calm down. What are you so anxious to see him about?"

"Potter. He's gone." Snape's face has bleached white. He stumbles forward, takes a seat. V returns to the headmaster's chair.

"Gone? Where would he go?" Spektor frowns. "You don't think…"

"I think he's been baited." Snape says. "It had been discussed…"

"Yes, but not yet." She says, anger seething beneath her calm tone. "We're not ready. Nothing's ready yet. I told him to wait…" Snape notices that V's clenching her fists. "Fucking bastard. Is this some kind of bloody test or what?"

"I…don't know what you're talking about…" Snape looks at her nervously, then away, up at the portraits, all peering down at them, listening in.

"Yeah. You're right. Potter was baited. And I'm fucking livid." She growls.

The door opens again, and this time it's Albus Dumbledore, looking unusually concerned as he sees his own office already occupied.

"Where the bloody hell have you been?" V Spektor barks, standing behind his desk, hands gripping the top, leaning over like a hawk poised to strike.

"Professor Spektor. I believe this is still my office, is it not?" Albus Dumbledore says, in his customary neutral manner, walking towards the desk. "Professor Snape. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"No. Don't." Spektor orders. Snape shuts up, looks at her with raised eyebrows. "I've been waiting here for over an hour now for you to stroll in. And what's more, Potter's gone, apparently. You lost Potter."

"Harry Potter? He's missing?" Dumbledore looks at Snape, who nods a confirmation. "Where? For how long?"

"I'm not sure. The Longbottom boy told me, when he stopped by with his delivery from the greenhouse. See, Potter was supposed to be spending detention with me this evening. I asked Longbottom if he'd seen him at dinner and he said he hadn't seen him all day."

"Wait. So there's the possibility that he's just cutting class, goofing off with his friends, whatever kids do…" Spektor says, looking at Snape now.

"No. Because Ron and Hermione haven't seen him either." Snape says.

"Ok. I'll notify the Order. Severus, you go to Grimmauld Place at once. Professor Spektor and I will be along shortly. We just have some business to discuss first." Dumbledore says. Snape nods and exits quickly, the whole way down the stairs trying to imagine what sort of business they could be discussing, trying to ignore the notion blossoming within that something truly awful is about to happen.

"My chair, please, Miss Spektor." Dumbledore says. She stands to one side, arms folded. "Sorry to keep you waiting. I see you've helped yourself to my lemon drops." He replaces the lid on the tin and tucks it back into his desk, briefly considering whether or not she's likely to have poisoned them. "I'm becoming a little…concerned…about our arrangement, Victoria."

"I'm not the one that alienated the boy we're trying to protect." She drawls. Dumbledore raises his eyebrows.

"Do have a seat."

"I'd prefer to stand."

"I sense you're angry with me." Dumbledore says. "Have I wronged you in some way?"

"No, sir." Manipulated, yes. Wronged, no…not really.

"Is there something you wish to tell me?"

"No, sir. But there's something you wish to tell me, isn't there?" She's staring at him. Anticipating it.

"Yes, there is something important that we haven't had a chance to discuss. Your parentage." Dumbledore peers at her over the rims of his half-moon glasses.

"Yes, it seems now's a perfect time to bring that up. Especially since you've known since December. God only knows how you found out…"

"I remembered a comment that Professor Slughorn had made one night a long time ago at a dinner party. Something about his best student, how she studied so hard her eyes literally bled. Only now did I just put the pieces together, and after a little research, I made quite an interesting discovery. But I wonder…why didn't you tell me?"

"Really? You wonder why I didn't tell you?" She laughs, a cold laugh, one that doesn't suit her. "So you know. Now what? Gonna send me back to Azkaban? Have me burned at the stake?"

"You weren't just one of Tom Riddle's first followers." Dumbledore says. "You said you suspected he had a crush on you. With this new information, I wonder if it was something more…"

"I'm afraid I don't follow…" V's face is blank, her tone unwavering.

"Previously I had come to the conclusion You-Know-Who was incapable of love, that is, of loving another person. But you…" he pauses, unsure of how to put this delicately, "are something else." Dumbledore is regarding her now as though she is a fierce creature, something wild and strange.

"I must say it was rather foolish of you to enter into such an arrangement with me with such little concrete information on who I actually am. You should've done your research a little sooner, Albus." She says, "But I'm not that surprised, really. I'm a poor, frail woman with no family, no friends, and a hefty criminal record. Naturally I fell at your feet, agreeing to help in exchange for my freedom. Naturally, you weren't concerned, as you expected to hold that over me. And so you have. Until now."

"You can't quit, Victoria. Because you're fired." Albus Dumbledore rises from his desk, his hand reaching inside the pocket of his robes for his wand. V draws her wand quick as a flash and immediately disarms him.

"I just don't think it's right, you know." She says, taking a step towards him. "Having someone like me teaching these students. They deserve better. I wouldn't want to put them in any danger." She picks up Albus' wand, studies it for a moment.

"I wouldn't do anything drastic if I were you, Victoria." Dumbledore says calmly.

"If you were me?" She walks behind him. "We've got all these wizards here, all these men, doing Great things." She gestures to the portraits surrounding them. "All these great men. Making discoveries. Winning battles. Recognized for their progress." She paces. "I remember when you defeated Gellert Grindelwald. It was in all the papers. On the lips of every witch and wizard for months afterward, years even. Still, I'm sure, you consider it one of your finest achievements."

"Gellert Grindelwald was a force of evil that had to be stopped." Albus says.

"He was your best friend." She adds.

"It was not a matter of friendship, it was a matter of protecting society as a whole, the wizarding world as we know it. What's best for everyone." Dumbledore lectures.

"For the greater good." V pauses beside the cabinet that conceals the pensive, along with Dumbledore's precious collection of memories.

"He Who Must Not Be Named is a threat, a danger to society. You know this, Victoria, you're a smart girl. Don't let him use you as he's used countless others." Dumbledore's voice quivers slightly. He sees her standing before him now—that slim frame, that cocked head, those lightless eyes—as she was as a student, a mere girl of seventeen. He never spoke to her. She always did well in his class, sat in the back, aced all the tests. Slipped in and out unnoticed. He remembers hearing some students gossip about her, nasty things, and automatically discounted them as false, never thinking to look further, to check on her, see if she was alright. She had Slughorn for that, he thought, her head of house. Did he fail her in some way? In a similar way that he suspects he failed Tom Riddle? And the two found each other. Of course. She's turned her back on him now, peering through the glass cabinet at the memories held in small glass bottles with ornate handwritten labels.

"One man. So many memories." She says, squinting to read the labels.

"They're not all mine. Some were given to me by others." Dumbledore says, cautiously approaching the cabinet, then coming to stand stilly by her side.

"Would you like one of mine?" She turns her face to him, her crimson lips parted slightly.

"I'd be honored." Albus says, taken aback. She plucks an empty vial from the cabinet and holds it delicately in her slender, bony fingers. Then, gracefully, she places Albus' wand to her temple and draws out a long silvery strand of light, a memory, and guides it into the vial, capturing it with the stopper. She hands it to Dumbledore.

"What is it?" Dumbledore asks.

"An answer." She says. "Consider it a parting gift. I'm sure we'll see each other again some day, Albus."

"I'm afraid you're not going anywhere, Victoria. You were released from Azkaban under the conditions that you remain under my guardianship. If you leave, I'll have no choice but to have you arrested."

"I'd like to see you try." V's walking away from him now, but not in the direction of the door. No, she's striding towards a mirror hanging on the wall to the left of his desk. Albus, clutching the memory in his hands, walks quickly after her. She pauses before the looking glass, regarding her reflection, the two wands in her hands, and tosses Albus' wand back to him. He catches it clumsily, almost dropping the vial. "Goodbye, Professor. I'll see you in hell." she says casually, casting a final glance over her shoulder before stepping into the mirror. Albus rushes up to it, stares at it, pokes it, removes it from the wall and checks the back. Ah, that's right, devils can travel through mirrors. He sets the mirror down on the floor, glass facing the stone wall. What other strange magic is she capable of? He looks down at the vial. He should have been more suspicious. Now it is clear, he can no longer afford to underestimate this girl, this woman, this magical creature. There is a darkness within her that is real and true and dangerous. He walks weakly to his desk, sits down, and heaves a big sigh. Upon the vial he applies a label, neatly tracing the letters of her name, a name, he shudders to think, may very well go down in history.