"Bloody..hell," wheezed Ron, doubling over as best he could with an armful of food. "What in the dickens was i>that/i> all about?"
"I dunno." Harry struggled to recover his breath, mentally noting that he had to be in better shape when Quidditch started up. "Did you drop anything?"
Ron shook his head carelessly, as if he didn't care to think about it at the moment.
"Why?"
Both boys turned, confused. Hermione was staring raptly at the marble staircase, her eyes glazed as they always were when she had a deep, insightful thought.
"Why...what?" ventured Harry when Hermione said no more.
"Why...did Snape do that?" said Hermione slowly, then wheeled around to face Ron and Harry, quite excited. "Don't you see? Harry, you remember, in Potions, your scar--"
"Shh-h-h!" said Harry vehemently. "Keep it down!"
Hermione looked sheepish. "Sorry."
"Come on." Harry led Ron and Hermione to the suit of armor in the shadow the staircase. After a bit of searching, he found a silver latch attached to the back of the empty knight. He let his sweets and food to the ground, removed his robes, and swept his loot into them, making a sack of sorts. With his hands free, Harry glanced over his shoulder and lifted the latch. The stone rumbled as the knight and the section of the wall it was attached to moved forward then slowly slid aside.
"Wicked," said Ron with a grin, following Harry's example with his food.
"It leads right up to our tower," explained Harry as he ushered them inside. Once inside the cool, dim passageway he found the latch in the corner and sealed them in.
"Uh...Harry?"
Harry turned. Ron was looking up and up and up at the narrow, rickety, spiraling staircase that seemed to reach up for miles. "Do we have to..."
"Oh, come on, don't tell me you're afraid of heights too," said Hermione pompously as she bunched up her robes and slung the make-shift bag over her shoulder. To prove her point, she walked briskly up the first few turns and called down. "Well, come on!" Her voice echoed quietly throughout the small chamber.
Harry refrained from making a comment about riding on hippogriffs and simply gave Ron a gentle nudge toward the stairs. Taking a breath the youngest Weasley boy began climbing the steps. "No trick stairs?"
"I don't know," said Harry, remembering to lie in time. "I've never been up it."
"Then how did you--"
"Anyway, listen!" Hermione was walking quickly up the stairs with no reserve at all, talking fast. Harry sprinted to catch up with her and after a moment so did Ron, his hand never leaving the railing. "Remember, you scar hurt in Potions, right, Harry?"
"Yes..." he agreed cautiously.
"And I saw Snape grab his wrist." A slight shudder racked Hermione's shoulders. "The Dark Mark."
The stairs were only wide enough for a single file line. Behind him, Harry heard Ron gulp. "You scar only hurts when...when You-Know-Who is around, right, Harry?" he said in a small voice.
"Or when he's feeling angry," said Harry quickly to allay Ron's fears, careful to leave the word 'murderous' out.
"Well, he must have been feeling vicious," announced Hermione darkly. She threw Harry a look of concern over her shoulder. "I thought you were going to scream or something."
I couldn't have even if I'd tried. They were halfway up now. Harry didn't say anything aloud; just nodded.
"So what're you saying?" demanded Ron.
"Snape!" said Hermione, exasperated. "You-Know-Who must have been calling his followers to him."
"Bet you he would have gone in the blink of an eye, too, if we hadn't been there," muttered Ron vindictively.
"No," said Harry, surprising himself with his strong reaction. Hermione stopped, and so did Ron. Harry felt both of their eyes on him.
"What?"
"He wouldn't have. Remember, he saved me in first year? And he betrayed Voldemort." Harry shrugged, trying to bluff. "Just pointing that out."
Hermione gave him a searching look before turning back around and resuming the climb. "Right. He didn't go. But that's not the point; the point is that Harrison--Rysk, Harrison, whatever--when she showed up just now, did you see that look on Snape's face? He looked as bad as you did, Harry."
"Your scar hurt too," said Ron suddenly. "I saw you."
Hermione started. "It did?"
Harry muttered an assent. "So what are you saying?" he pressed.
Hermione hesitated again in a way that unnerved Harry; his friend was impossibly clever. "I'm saying that Rysk caused Snape that second pain."
"Oh, come off it," scoffed Ron, but he sounded uncertain. "Rysk's not You-Know-Who."
"My scar hurts when it senses danger," said Harry quietly, a sudden, unpleasant thought striking him.
There was a silence as they continued to walk.
"Well, we know Rysk's dangerous," wavered Ron.
Neither Hermione nor Harry dignified that with a reply.
They had reached the top of the staircase. Harry squeezed past Hermione, pushed the picture open a crack, and peeked through. There wasn't a soul in sight. He opened the picture all the way, tossed his robe-bag through, then followed it. Hermione and Ron came after him, the latter forced to duck his head. Hermione shut the picture (a brown rabbit hopped through the grass) and together they wordlessly walked to the Fat Lady.
"Password?"
"Celery."
The common room wasn't as crowded as it usually was--no doubt many of the students were outside on the grounds--but to Harry it felt as though there were several too many. The earlier excitement of the day had worn off and, combined with lack of sleep, Hermione's words had made him more exhausted than ever.
"I'm going to bed," he murmured.
"What? It's only four...oh!" exclaimed Hermione guiltily, staring at the bags under Harry's eyes. "Yes, you have to. Go on..." She pushed Harry toward the boys' dormitory.
Harry staggered up the steps, his bag of sweets feeling like a two-ton elephant in his hands. Ron followed him, looking mildly concerned, and sat down across from Harry as he tumbled into bed, flinging an arm across his eyes. "God," groaned Harry.
"Rest up, mate," said Ron, rising and drawing the hangings. Harry closed his eyes, about to let blessed sleep claim him, when Ron said suddenly, "Harry?"
"Mm."
"Sorry, but what about Sirius's letter?"
"Oh." Harry tried to make himself sound alive. "Here." He forced himself to sit up, unknot his robes, and fish through the sweets to the correct pocket. His hand brushed against two pieces of parchment. He winced; he really should send Sirius a reply, but a trip down to the Owlery was out of the question, not if he wanted to survive the weekend. Pulling out the envelope he stuck it through the curtains. "You can read it with Hermione."
"Thanks." Ron took it from his fingers eagerly. "Did you reply yet?"
"Yeah," said Harry sleepily. "I said hi for you and Herm..."
Another silence. Maybe Ron had padded off..."Harry."
"Yes?" He allowed annoyance to creep into his voice now.
"What about the headache?" Ron's voice sounded apologetic, yet urgent.
"What?"
"Snape. Remember, he saw Rysk at the table the first day and started grabbing his head. He did it again today."
Harry's eyes opened and he stared up to the ceiling for a moment. It had never struck him before. "The headache..." he mouthed silently. "What about the headache..."
He fell asleep. If Ron said anything more, he didn't hear it.
****
Night had fallen over Hogwarts. The stars shone brightly in the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. It was a marvelous sight to behold, so many bright jewels in a fathomless sea of black, but it wasn't enough to hold the attention of the Hall's single occupant for long. Carmen Rysk lay on the edge of the Slytherin table, staring up at the night sky. Then she sat up and jumped to the floor and paced the length of the Hall for several minutes before stopping and studying the stars again.
This is how Professor McGonagall, hearing footsteps ringing out on the tiles, found the young witch in the middle of the Great Hall, her head tilted back and her figure absolutely still, hands clasped behind her back. McGonagall watched the new teacher silently for long minutes from the high, arched entrance before Rysk's voice said coldly, "Who's there?"
McGonagall knew she shouldn't have been surprised, but she was mildly impressed and startled nonetheless. Careful not to let this carry through to her voice, she walked into the Hall and stood beside Rysk. "What are you doing up so late?"
Rysk glanced at McGonagall. "Walking."
"I see," said the professor stiffly, trying to mask her automatic, baseless dislike of Rysk. Well, perhaps not baseless...
"Tell me," said Rysk at length, something of an amused sneer in her tone, "do you act this way to all former Slytherins, or is it just me?"
McGonagall pursed her lips and didn't answer.
"Can't give me a detention now. Sucks, huh?" Despite her words there was no real accusation in Rysk's voice. No one but McGonagall or Dumbledore could have recognized this absence of anger as a silent concession..
"You needn't be so abrasive," said McGonagall coolly. Rysk shrugged.
"I think I have a right to be, considering all those little details you and Dumbledore conveniently forgot."
McGonagall shot the younger woman a sharp look. "Knowing you, Rysk, we figured that you would find out on your own."
Rysk laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound.
McGonagall was relatively unfazed, but she was one of the few who wasn't by Rysk's overall presence. "Albus told me you know, then."
"I know as much as he told me," said Rysk, making no secret of the fact she didn't trust the Headmaster much farther than she could throw him.
"If Albus said he told you everything, he told you everything," snapped McGonagall.
"Oh, of course," replied the younger one, her icy voice dripping sarcasm.
McGonagall glared daggers at Rysk and bit out, "I trust you are having no problems with the students?"
"None at all," said Rysk coolly. "It's the teachers I have a problem with."
A look of resigned shock passed over McGonagall's face, as if a blow she had been bracing herself for had finally landed. She closed her eyes. "What happened?" Her voice was terse and tired at once.
Rysk reached back and undid her ponytail, letting a fine curtain of blonde hair that glinted silver under the starlight swing down to the middle of her back. The streaks of bright crimson caught torchlight and glowed like fresh blood on a sword. Ignoring McGonagall's disapproving frown she leaped backwards onto the Ravenclaw table. "He's trying to remember," she said quietly, grimly. "Whenever he sees me, he tries."
"We anticipated this," said the Transfiguration professor. "Just try to avoid him."
"Oh, I never thought of that."
McGonagall sighed. "Carmen, we never would have asked you to come over if we weren't desperate. But Remus couldn't stay, and, all things considered, when it comes to combat you're the best in the field." Rysk's eyes narrowed at the mention of the werewolf's name. "The fifth years need this training."
"You mean Harry Potter does."
A rueful smile twitched at McGonagall's lips. "There never was a way to fool you."
"No." She began tying her hair back again.
The two witches remained silent in each other's company for a long time.
"What are you thinking?" asked Rysk at length, watching McGonagall with piercing grey eyes.
"Just what would happen if he ever did manage to break the spell and remember," replied McGonagall with a touch of dryness.
"Which is?" prompted Rysk softly, coldly.
"It involves you trying to get out of the castle without having to kill anyone," said Minerva grimly.
Rysk tilted her head to one side; beneath the mirthless amusement was genuine respect for the other witch. "You know what I like about you, McGonagall?"
"I'm afraid to ask."
"You don't sugar-coat things."
