Sorry about this taking so long, I had some rather unfortunate pc issues and lost the best part of a chapter. This one's a bit scrappy and disjointed since at this point in the book nothing's really happening, but hopefully this'll still be interesting. Reviews, as ever, are appreciated.
Vulpine had to admit, he was pleased to have his Firebolt back. It was just so…nice, knowing that if he wanted to go out and risk his life with high speed aerial manoeuvres he could do it in style. It wasn't so pleasant to be mobbed on his entry to the Gryffindor Tower, but one couldn't have everything.
"Where'd you get it, Harry?"
"Have you ridden it yet?"
"Can I just hold it, Harry?"
Vulpine suppressed the urge to reply 'Not until the third date, I'm not that kind of guy' to the last one. Harry Potter, right now, was…not meek, exactly, but not the kind of smartarse Vulpine was when he got the chance. He manfully ignored the inane babble, feeling quite proud of himself as he waited for the crowd to get bored and disperse. It took a good ten minutes, but Vulpine was barely feeling murderous by the time they left. Another thing to be proud of. Or disappointed by, maybe. Was he losing his edge? Hard to tell. Finally, he was left with only Ron nearby, and he headed across to where Hermione was sat. Her expression was oddly blank as she thoughtfully chewed the end of a quill- Vulpine swiped it from her before she could ruin it utterly.
"Nice to see that you're paying attention." He said dryly. She stared up at him, annoyed.
"Some of us have work to- oh! You got the Firebolt back."
"Very observant of-" Vulpine started to reply, but Ron butted in.
"See! It wasn't cursed!" he said, rather triumphantly. Vulpine repressed a sigh, and Hermione gave Ron a slightly hurt look.
"There might have been!" she protested, and Vulpine wondered if he should let the whole tired argument play out. Hermione shot him a glare, and he decided to lend her a hand.
"She is right, Ron. At least we know its fine, and I didn't miss any matches. I should just put it upstairs…"
"I'll do it!" Ron said eagerly. Vulpine eyed him briefly, then remembered what was about to happen and smiled.
"Why, thank you Ron. Here."
Vulpine handed over the broom and watched as Ron walked away to the dormitory, holding the Firebolt like it was crafted of exquisite glass. Smirking lightly, Vulpine seated himself next to Hermione.
"Why are you suddenly being so nice?" Hermione asked suspiciously. Vulpine let his smirk grow fractionally.
"I thought it was best not to let your arguments get out of hand while you have all this work. I'm hurt that you don't appreciate it."
Hermione narrowed her eyes.
"This work is easy now and you know it. What are you really up to?"
Vulpine let his expression morph to a full grin.
"Why ask, Hermione? Do you…smell a rat?"
He saw the look of horrified understanding dawn on her face. She went to rise, but he put a hand on her shoulder, grinning wickedly.
"Too late."
Vulpine, drifting gently in the night breeze, wondered idly if Hermione would ever speak to him again. She had been absolutely incandescent that he had allowed Ron to think that Scabbers had been eaten by Crookshanks- as though he could have done anything else- and even angrier that he hadn't gotten involved in the following argument, As usual, her use of logic had been a spectacular failure against Weasley, and now the Trio was down to one. Three ones, to be exact, but Vulpine was relatively certain things would get better. They had before, after all. Ron would cool down, Hermione would convince herself that it had been necessary and Vulpine would…well, do nothing to rock the boat. He could manage that. He tilted his head, sensing an approaching mind, and leaned back on his broom. He was hovering near the Astronomy Tower, and so had room to swivel backwards on the broom, swinging upside-down and held only by his crooked knees. It was risky and stupid, but the gasp of surprise was worth it.
"Are you trying to kill yourself?" hissed Greengrass. Vulpine grinned.
"Not today, Greengrass. That's an end-of-year thing." He replied, swinging upright and landing gently. She gave him an irritated look, and he smiled slightly in reply. Daphne wasn't that bad, really, just…lonely. She seemed cold to most people, but it was born of necessity. She wasn't a supporter of the Pureblood cause, with too much integrity to lie and save herself, in Slytherin. She seemed cold simply because she didn't really have any…friends. Vulpine felt sorry for her, actually, but was sensitive enough to her pride not to show it. As far as he showed they were casual acquaintances, and if she was always dead on time for these weekly meetings, he pretended not to notice.
"I heard that Weasley and Granger had something of an argument." Greengrass said quietly, leaning on the wall. Vulpine smiled.
"Is that a question?" he asked. Daphne didn't look at him.
"No. But I would like to know more." She admitted. Vulpine hummed softly.
"Well, you see, Ron's dear rat Scabbers has gone missing. And there was blood on the bedsheets. And several ginger hairs that look like they've come off Hermione's cat."
Greengrass was silent for a few minutes, then:
"Ah."
"Quite. Ron, of course, is now treating Hermione like an accessory to murder, even though he wasn't himself all that fond of Scabbers, and she's offended that he's accusing Crookshanks without much evidence. And I'm stuck in the middle."
"Sounds uncomfortable."
"That's one word for it." Vulpine agreed mildly. Daphne receded into silence, and Vulpine considered how he could mend Ron and Hermione's friendship. He might be better off waiting until Hagrid chastised them, except…was it really likely that Hermione would end up crying in Hagrid's hut again? She was considerably stronger now. Although, maybe it would still be possible…he would have to manipulate Weasley a bit, but that wouldn't really be hard.
"I heard that you and Malfoy had an altercation last week." Daphne said, turning pale blue eyes on him. Vulpine grinned.
"Is that what he called it?"
"What he actually said was that it was a cowardly ambush, but reading between the lines…he tried to duel you and lost. Right?"
"Spectacularly. It was quite amusing. I had hoped it would get him off my back, but I guess that hasn't happened?"
Daphne shook her head.
"He was talking about doing something at the Quidditch match. I don't know what. I think if you want to break him of his bad habits you'll need to try more."
"Well, if dogs can learn over time I'm sure Malfoy can. He must be at least as intelligent as a puppy. Not quite so adorable, though." Vulpine commented, and Greengrass laughed quietly.
"Not quite, no."
They both sank into silence. Vulpine copied Greengrass' pose, leaning on the chest high wall that separated the Astronomy Tower from a steep drop and wondering. Surely Greengrass hadn't warned him about Malfoy from the goodness of her heart? Then again…if Malfoy was humiliated in public- again- it might make him a little quieter. A little more retiring. And that would probably reduce the biggest tormentor Greengrass had by quite a step. Vulpine smiled. How very Slytherin of her.
The Quidditch match was much as Vulpine remembered. Fast. Frenetic. Exhilarating. And, once more, Malfoy tried to ruin it. Vulpine glanced at the pretend Dementors and laughed as he pulled his wand.
"Expecto patronum!"
A lot of people assumed that Patronuses physically harmed Dementors- something born of seeing larger Patronuses, like Vulpine's old stag or Neville's bear, charge the ethereal demons. It was actually the aura of bright, blinding light that hurt them. And it did as such to Malfoy and his helpers, the fox flaring into a blinding whiteness as it landed next to them. No permanent damage, but they went down in a confused heap quite hard. And Vulpine, of course, swiped the Snitch while everyone was distracted. A win all around. Sirius, of course, found it hilarious.
"Could you stop laughing like that?" Vulpine asked, annoyed. He was dicing with a rather sharp knife, and reattaching digits wasn't one of his skills. Sirius choked down the laughter that was distracting Vulpine and leaned back in his armchair.
"Why are you so grim?" he asked. Vulpine glanced at him.
"I'm trying not to remove any fingers, Padfoot." He deadpanned. Sirius tilted his head thoughtfully.
"Well, I suppose that makes sense. What are you cutting?"
Vulpine smiled, turning to Sirius and setting down the bloodstained knife.
"I'm glad you ask, Padfoot. This…is Basilisk heartstring."
Sirius looked disgusted at the slimy strip of meat.
"Yuck."
"For a man who's spent half a year eating rats and stealing from dustbins you're very squeamish, you know that?"
"I had to do it. Didn't mean I liked it. Besides, did you like eating rats?"
"A point well made. Anyway, I need to see if this will react with you in a manner similar to dragon heartstring, so put your finger on the icky fleshy strip."
Sirius whined a bit- Vulpine was reminded of a recalcitrant puppy and was half tempted to conjure a newspaper and swat the man on the nose with it- but eventually did as he was told.
"It's all slimy." Sirius griped. Vulpine ignored him, delicately pressing his laburnum wand to his godfather's fingers and silently casting a detection spell. Both fingers and fleshy strip glowed a silver-gold mix, and Vulpine smiled.
"Good. You can cringe away now." He said. Sirius immediately did so, and Vulpine waved his wand, causing the heartstring to dry to a narrow, preserved strip.
"Why couldn't you have done that before?" Sirius said, aggrieved. Vulpine kept smiling.
"Because it would have been less amusing. The good thing is that this will work. I can make you a fine wand without resorting black market organ smuggling."
"How do you know about…I don't want to know, actually."
"Wise decision." Vulpine replied. Sirius watched him with interest as Vulpine picked up the already carved cherry wood that would make the body of the wand, feeling a sudden need to talk about what he was doing.
"You see, personal wands are actually easier to make than general wands. They have to be made of the correct ingredients, of course, but that's it. The wands made by Ollivander have to be varied, and able to adapt to whomever they choose. They also adapt over the lifetime of the wizard, unlike personal wands which match perfectly whoever picks them up."
Vulpine paused for breath, carefully fitting the Basilisk heartstring into the wood.
"You see, over time general wands adapt and conform to the magic of their user, while personal wands do not. They are more flexible, but take a lot of time to reach full potential- years probably. Whereas if your magic changes notably a personal wand will become much less powerful, but if your magic remains steady they will be at peak power. This is particularly important for someone like me, whose magic is very different to what it was when I first picked up my holly wand."
Vulpine attached the wand handle, and carefully levitated the wand and applied a coat of varnish.
"It'll need another coat of varnish, and it'll take a week to dry. Once that's done, the moment you pick it up it'll adjust to you and be like you've owned it for years." He said, casting a spell that sealed the wand in a floating glassy sphere.
"Is that it? That was easy." Sirius said. Vulpine smiled slightly.
"You didn't see the extra spells that went into it. Besides, wandcrafting requires a certain amount of wandless magic during the crafting. It's a talent, really. Inborn."
Sirius still looked sceptical, so Vulpine raised an eyebrow at him.
"You can try your hand at making one if you like, Padfoot, but don't come crying to me when it explodes."
"Explodes?" Sirius asked sharply. Vulpine nodded.
"The magical ingredients have a certain resonance to them. Much of the wandless magic in the crafting involves making the resonances…attune, as such. Otherwise, when you try to channel magic through the wand it short-circuits and takes your hand off. It's why there are very few wand makers."
Sirius paled rapidly.
"I think I'll leave crafting to you, then."
"I thought you might."
Hermione wouldn't have said that Vulpine hated Crookshanks, but there was definitely animosity between the two of them. Bad blood, so to speak, ever since Vulpine had become an Animagus. Hermione had never investigated, deciding she might be better off not knowing. But she didn't really think Vulpine would hurt her cat, so it was a nasty surprise when he stalked into the Common Room with several scratches and a look of irritation marring his face and an angry Crookshanks held by the scruff of the neck.
"Will you control this bloody cat?" Vulpine hissed, thrusting Crookshanks at her and yanking something from the cat's mouth.
"Neville! Here. The cat had them." He continued brusquely, passing a scrap of paper to Neville.
"Oh! Uh, thanks Harry."
"No problem. Just try not to lose them again? Getting it off the cat was the hardest thing I've had to do since second year." Vulpine said, wincing as he gingerly felt the scores left on his face by cat claws. Hermione gave him a quizzical look, and he scowled and flopped down in the chair next to her.
"The passwords." He told her quietly. "Crookshanks was going to take them to Snuffles, but it's best that Snuffles doesn't even get a chance to get caught."
Hermione glanced at him thoughtfully.
"Aren't you going to try to contact Snuffles and get his name cleared sooner?" she asked. Vulpine shook his head slightly.
"At the end of the year should be fine. It'll let us grab Pettigrew at the same time and Buckbeak'll give us a way to save Snuffles if Fudge isn't feeling cooperative."
Hermione considered that.
"You don't trust anybody, do you?" she said, a little sadly. Vulpine raised an eyebrow.
"I trust people who are worthy of it. Besides, I like to have a way out that's as easy as possible. The last time I didn't ended up with me having broken bones and being captured by your lot in the resistance." He replied quietly, after a quick glance around to check that nobody was close enough to overhear him. Hermione grudgingly accepted that.
"What if Buckbeak isn't sentenced to death?" she asked. Vulpine snorted.
"You've read as much as I have. More, in fact. You know that the only time a dangerous creature has gotten off at these tribunals is when it's too dangerous to be approached or too rare to be killed. Buckbeak is neither."
Hermione scowled at that, but knew it was true. And with Lucius Malfoy and his money behind the prosecution, it was very unlikely that they could get Buckbeak free. Ah well. Breaking laws was an old thing for her now.
"You know, it all comes down to Lucius Malfoy. If he wasn't using his money and influence…"
"It's always Malfoy. He's more of a menace than Voldemort sometimes." Vulpine said dourly. Hermione didn't argue. Yes, Voldemort was more powerful magically, more directly threatening and possibly more intelligent, but Malfoy had influence, gold, charisma and cunning. There were plenty of reasons for why Malfoy had survived Vulpine's murder spree.
"Stop that." Vulpine said, sounding vaguely annoyed. His wand flicked briefly, in a motion she recognised as belonging to the Muffliato spell.
"Stop what?"
"Stop idolising Malfoy. If I'd wanted to kill him I would have. I just had more important things to do."
"More important than killing the Pureblood leader and causing a full blown civil war?"
"Yes. More important to me, anyway."
Vulpine sounded slightly distant, and she wondered what he had meant. It was true that he had become increasingly erratic in the months leading up to his capture, killing Death Eaters and Ministry workers with no apparent importance, but Hermione had never questioned it. They had all thought of it as an insane bloodlust manifesting itself, and not been inclined to investigate further. She waited, and Vulpine sighed and elaborated.
"I had some…personal business to take care of before I finished the job of creating anarchy in Britain. We all have our vices: revenge and rage are two of my favourites."
Hermione didn't press him for more answers, realising that he must be referring to the death of the girl he'd said he would have used the Resurrection Stone for. Whoever she was. Vulpine clearly didn't want to share, and Hermione respected him enough not to pry.
"You know, it's strange." Vulpine commented. Hermione raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"Strange?"
"Mm. Being back here. Just…different. For instance, if I remember correctly there's a Hogsmeade weekend next week, and the first time around you threatened to turn me in to Professor McGonagall if I went. Do you think you'd still do that now?"
Hermione considered the question. A small part of her suggested that she say yes, that it would be the right thing to do and that hadn't changed, but most of her mind realised how stupid it would have been. Even if Sirius had wanted to kill Harry he wouldn't have tried in the middle of Hogsmeade, and her friends were more important than telling tales. She looked at Vulpine to see him smiling crookedly.
"Perspective, Hermione. It's an important thing."
"Very philosophical. What brought that about?" she asked. Vulpine leaned back in his chair, tapping the fingers of both hands on the arms, The fingers moved in different rhythms, as though not quite in time with one another.
"Boredom." He eventually admitted. Hermione gave him a questioning look, and he kept talking.
"I never realised how much I'd miss being, well, me. Being Vulpine, the infamous assassin, rather than Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Murderer. Traitor. Criminal. They all fit me much better than hero. It's driving me mad. Attending classes. Waiting for something to happen. I'm already tired of it."
Hermione stayed quiet. Vulpine kept tapping, an irregular drumming. Hermione was beginning to suspect that it was some kind of tic.
"And Snape. Hanging around. Bastard. Always taking sneaky little prods at my mind, I can feel him. Should teach him a lesson." Vulpine mumbled, apparently having forgotten that she was here. Hermione gave him a worried glance. The way Vulpine had phrased it made her doubt that the lesson he had in mind was benign, and there was a strange glint in his narrowed eyes. The smile that suddenly graced his face didn't make her feel any better.
"Ah, Hermione. I'd forgotten that you were there. Sorry about that." He said easily, standing. Hermione put a hand on his arm.
"What are you going to do to Snape?" she asked tightly. Vulpine looked down at her, holding his smile.
"What? I'm going to do nothing to the good Professor. That you can prove, anyway." He responded, the last in an undertone that she barely heard as he swept out of the room.
The first Potions class after her talk with Vulpine, Hermione knew that something was badly wrong. Snape was sweeping around like usual, Neville was panicking, she was managing fine, but Vulpine seemed to be struggling with his potion. That was wrong. It was insane. Vulpine was better at Potions that she was, he shouldn't be struggling at all…and then, as they walked up to the desk with their bottled potions, Vulpine lagged behind. He was the last in the line, walking up with his potion even as the rest of the class was packing up. Snape looked at Vulpine with a cruel smirk as the time traveller placed his vial on the desk and turned away. There was a slight shift from Snape, and a smash as the vial hit the ground. Faint fumes began to wind into the air, and Hermione saw the brief smirk Vulpine showed and realised that it was a lure.
"Well, Potter," Snape sneered, "Isn't this a poor quality wibbly? Wibbly? Wibbly wibbly wibbly!"
The class stared in utterly shocked horror as their menacing Potions Professor's face contorted into shock and rage. Hermione bit her lip to hold back the laughter that wanted to bubble out as Vulpine looked up at Snape with an expression of utter innocence and, in a tone edged with malice, asked the question they all wanted to hear.
"What was that, Professor?"
"Wibbly! Wibbly wibbly wibbly wibbly!" snarled Snape, the seriousness diluted by the sheer ridiculousness of it all and his eyes bulging in rage. The Professor had gone deathly pale, dark red blotches of rage starting to mar his face and neck, and the class was starting to choke back laughter. Somehow, in a feat of willpower that Hermione reckoned must be equal to throwing off the Imperius Curse, Vulpine maintained his expression of innocence.
"I'm sorry Professor, I couldn't hear you." He said, his eyes gleaming. The muscles in Snape's neck bulged, and he pulled his wand in a sharp movement. The class, unsurprisingly, scattered towards the door, yet Vulpine kept smiling as the wand levelled.
"Wibbly!" Snape screamed. Hermione winced slightly as there was an echoing boom, and the Professor was launched backwards into a wall.
"Oh, is that the end of the lesson? I'll see you next time, Professor." Vulpine smirked, before strolling out of the door that the rest of the class had fled through just a short time before. Hermione ran after him, seeing him turn down a little used corridor and lean on a wall, his shoulders starting to shake. She let her own smile show as he started to cackle, sliding down the wall until her was resting against the floor and doubled over with insane laughter. She had to admit, it was quite funny, even if it was utter madness. Eventually Vulpine managed to stop laughing, heaving in breaths and wiping tears from his eyes.
"Did you see his face?" he asked, slowly standing with his grin still firmly in place. Hermione fought hard to retain her composure.
"Why are you baiting him?"
Vulpine tilted his head, still grinning.
"It amuses me. And it keeps me sharp. Think of it as a game, Hermione: every time I get him, I win. If he catches me, he wins. He's always so sure of his own superiority- I'll test it out."
Vulpine was at the evening meal in the Great Hall when his confrontation finally came. He'd been waiting for it with increasing excitement, the shivering in his bones that he'd missed so much. Maybe it wasn't quite the thrill of the hunt, but the anticipation of matching wits with Snape was close enough. He expected Snape to make a magnificent entrance, and the Professor did not disappoint. He swept in through the double entrance doors, cloak billowing around him, and his voice thundered through the Hall.
"Potter!"
Vulpine calmly laid down his knife and fork and adjusted his posture fractionally, so that his wand would be quick and easy to draw. He didn't think Snape would attack him, but he'd not take chances.
"Professor?" he said politely. Snape leered down at him in unmistakeable triumph, the entire hall watching in fascination. Vulpine idly wondered what exactly the other teachers thought they were doing. Was this supposed to be acceptable?
"I'll have you in detention for the rest of the year, Potter. I'll have you in detention all of next year. You've finally given me a reason to-"
"What reason?" Vulpine interrupted. From the corner of his eye, he saw Professor McGonagall walking towards the table and sighed mentally. Slow reactions. Snape looked momentarily dumbfounded at Vulpine, then started to rant again.
"That potion, Potter! Endangering the class! Endangering me! And-"
"I thought it was you who smashed the vial?" Vulpine absently corrected, wondering if he could push Snape into bursting a blood vessel. He hoped the man was more collected than this when spying on Voldemort. Much as he suspected, the Potions Professor started to purple, and the people sat near to Vulpine shifted away. A fine show of Gryffindor bravery right there.
"It was your potion, and-"
"What is this all about, Professor Snape?" asked the distinctly Scottish accent of McGonagall. Vulpine almost smiled. Finally doing her job, then. Snape didn't look at her, keeping his glare on Vulpine. Vulpine felt a slight prickle of a probing mind, and mentally swatted it. Snape suppressed his flinch, and Vulpine suppressed a smile.
"Potter's idiocy subjected me to a potion that could have had a serious effect." Snape snapped. McGonagall gave him a level look.
"Which effect?" she asked. Snape shifted uncomfortably, Vulpine let the faintest grin trace his face. Snape wouldn't say, surely? The man had a monstrous pride. True to his expectations, Snape said nothing, so McGonagall looked to Vulpine.
"Mr Potter? Could you tell me what happened?"
Her tone was frosty, as though she suspected him of something. It was quite unfair, really, but he hardly considered it worth a protest.
"Well, Professor, I was taking my potion up to Professor Snape and put it on the desk. I turned away, but then he knocked a vial off the desk and breathed in the fumes. I don't know why, but it made him only be able to say, um, 'wibbly'."
Vulpine pushed down a slightly psychotic giggle at the memory, remembering to act innocent in front of McGonagall. The Transfiguration teacher looked at Snape.
"Is that so, Severus? Well, I assume you have proof other than your word?" she said. Vulpine was actually surprised. He had thought he'd have to bring up the burden of proof. Snape reached into his robe, and Vulpine seized his chance. He couldn't get more than a sliver of access to Snape's thoughts, but he caught just enough to know that Snape was about to produce the smashed vial. Vulpine, his right hand beneath the table, gripped the end of his wand and cast a silent spell. Snape pulled out a broken vial with a triumphant flourish.
"There!" he said, thrusting it at McGonagall. Calmly, McGonagall took it and examined the label.
"Strange, Severus. This label says 'Gregory Goyle.'"
Vulpine added yet another memory to his mental Patronus file. The look on Snape's face was utterly priceless: he might have to steal Dumbledore's Pensieve just to show this to Padfoot. Inwardly, he was laughing like a lunatic. He might actually have to spend some time cackling just to recover from this.
"Potter-"
"Professor, I'm hurt that you thought it might be me who did that. My potion might not have been very good, but it wasn't that bad." Vulpine said. McGonagall shook her head.
"Severus, I would appreciate it if you had proof before accusing students. Now, perhaps we could cease interrupting the meal?" she said. Snape took a moment to calm himself, in an impressive display, and then nodded stiffly and walked away. Vulpine lowered his head slightly and grinned to himself. He'd have to sneak into Snape's office and change the potion vials as well. Another challenge to enjoy. Maybe life wasn't so boring after all. He smirked slightly, picking himself up and strolling out of the Great Hall, letting his feet guide him to the dungeons. No rest for the wicked.
"I hope Snape pulls himself together. I know that Hermione's warned him, but he still thought that I'd mess up a potion. He'll be no fun if he doesn't start taking me seriously." Vulpine said absently. Sirius barked out a laugh.
"Most people aren't so eager to do something so difficult."
Vulpine laughed himself.
"And yet it makes life worth living. You know that, Mr Padfoot. How many of your old pranks could have been pulled off more easily?"
"All of 'em. But why trade ease for less impressive results?"
"There you go." Vulpine murmured. He carefully leaned closer to the surface of the potion he was stirring, and nodded thoughtfully.
"Just needs to brew." He commented. Sirius glanced at him.
"What is it?"
"Amortentia, Sirius. "
"Amortentia…the love potion?"
"The very same. Notorious for smelling different to everybody. I wonder if what you smell from it is related to your personality?"
Sirius ignored Vulpine's musing.
"Why are you making the most powerful known love potion?" he asked in a slightly cautious tone. Vulpine glanced at him thoughtfully.
"Mainly…because it can be used as a cheap alternative to truth potions and is far easier to make and more legal. Actually, while pouring Veritaserum into someone is actually illegal, Amortentia, perversely, isn't. So…"
"Is it really that good as a truth potion substitute?" Sirius asked sceptically. Vulpine nodded.
"You have to make it so they fall in love with you, of course, but it's more like brainwashing than actual love. It's actually fairly disturbing, if you think about it. And sometimes they'll just tell you what you want to hear, but it has its uses."
"And yet still creepy to be carrying it around." Sirius dryly noted. Vulpine gave a brief grin.
"Not if it's not matched to anyone. It's like Polyjuice, it needs to be attuned with a hair or something. Speaking of which…I should make some."
Sirius tilted his head curiously.
"What happens if you give it to someone without attuning it to someone?"
"It happens to act as an alarmingly strong hallucinogen. Hmm…maybe I should try it on Snape…I wonder if he's paranoid enough to check all his drink. Speaking of paranoid…I need to brew some Wolfsbane. And maybe some Polyjuice."
"Where are you getting the ingredients?" Sirius asked. Vulpine shrugged.
"I had to break into Snape's office just before to change the potion vials around so there was a 'Harry Potter' one with an acceptable potion in. I decided to swipe some of the potions ingredient cupboard as well."
"You broke into…was it hard?"
"Not really. He should be more paranoid. He'll probably get more paranoid. It'll help him."
"You're a paragon of virtue and good intentions." deadpanned Sirius. Vulpine shrugged.
"I'm too nice, that's my problem." Vulpine replied dourly, glancing over at a corner of the Chamber currently surrounded by a shimmering silvery shield. While he wasn't much use at Runes, Sirius was actually more than capable, and between them they had managed to create what Hermione would probably refer to as a 'Dark Object containment area'. Vulpine and Sirius called it the Corner of Evil. Currently it held an enchanted necklace, a decidedly creepy hand holding a candle, a stack of things that Vulpine hadn't bothered to sort through and a locket holding a chunk of a Dark Lords soul. Vulpine was most interested in that last one, but he was resisting the urge to start experimenting. That would be unethical, even for him.
"You know, it's almost impressive." He mused, reaching through the shimmering barrier and removing the locket, now held in a glass ball which had an oddly pearlescent surface. They were taking no chances with a piece of Voldemort.
"What's impressive?" Sirius asked. Vulpine gazed at the locket.
"That Voldemort actually managed to create so many Horcruxes. It's a vile piece of magic, certainly, but it shows his will that he could force himself to make more. The process is…unpleasant."
"I take it you're speaking from experience?" Sirius said, tilting one eyebrow, his voice quite neutral. Vulpine nodded slowly.
"I'm not sure why I did it…it's…well. Have you ever experienced the Cruciatus Curse?"
Sirius nodded, and Vulpine continued.
"It's like that, but worse, if at all possible. Where the Cruciatus scrapes at you, the Horcrux ritual rips a gaping wound. It's over faster, but for the time it's being done…it is beyond agony."
Sirius stayed quiet, so Vulpine kept talking.
"Of course, I used the less objectionable ritual, the one that doesn't claim to confer immortality. I've no idea whether the one Voldemort used is less or more painful."
"What's the difference in the rituals?" Sirius asked. Vulpine tapped his chin.
"From what I recall…the second one also requires the sacrifice of a being which has immortality, to confer that upon you. I don't really know if it works, since Dark Lords willing to do something like that tend to end up being quite obvious and being killed. For instance…there's some evidence that the Ringwraiths of J.R.R. Tolkien were inspired by the sight of a Dark Lord who had somehow used a Dementor in his ritual and felt like interfering in World War One. I suspect Voldemort used a Basilisk…it's certainly long lived, and he began to look more and more snake-like over the years."
Sirius paused to take that in, while Vulpine contemplated the orb.
"Of course, it says a lot that he managed to damage his soul to the point where it spontaneously fractured. Although he was hit by the Killing Curse, which breaks the bond between body and soul…that must have been why his body was destroyed. The energy released by his soul splintering must have imploded him. The soul clearly grows more and more unstable as it is fractured more…although, Arithmancy does suggest that at certain points the soul would achieve stability in fragments…"
"The Killing Curse affects the soul?" Sirius asked. Vulpine nodded.
"How do you think it leaves no mark on the body? The Cruciatus is very similar, except it's more drawn out, slowly ripping the soul from the body. In theory, that would mean that prolonged exposure would…wait. The Longbottoms."
"Frank and Alice?"
"Yes. Those. They became unresponsive after…but then...oh. Oh."
"What?" Sirius asked, a little impatiently. Vulpine looked up at him.
"The Cruciatus is based upon the Horcrux ritual. The pain is caused by your soul being damaged: given time of course it heals, which is why the treatment for Cruciatus exposure is bedrest and a load of painkiller. However, if you were angry enough, and kept the curse on for long enough, in theory it might actually work like the Horcrux ritual."
"Work like…but then Frank and Alice are…"
Vulpine actually felt sick.
"They were tortured for long enough that their souls might actually have separated from their bodies. They might…they might still be conscious, just unable to interact with the world. A horrible fate." He said slowly. Sirius had gone pale.
"Is there anything we can do?"
Vulpine thought about it.
"Not sure. Maybe? I can try. I'm not surprised that no-one has realised, that kind of Dark Magic link would have to come from experience. But how could they…hmm. Maybe…if they have become their own pseudo- Horcruxes, the restoration ritual might work. But I'd need more research first, and I don't know where to get it."
Vulpine laughed bitterly.
"Immortality, Padfoot. It's a cruel joke. Take Voldemort, for instance. He was always so smug, thinking he couldn't be killed permanently. He never realised…even if I hadn't found his Horcruxes, I could have killed him anyway. Then all it would take was killing or turning his followers, and he would be left as nothing. Less than the meanest ghost, drifting the world in eternal torment. The dark side of Horcrux induced eternity. Nobody ever seems to consider that."