Enjoy! (If you even remember what happened last chapter. ;))
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Dumbledore and Rysk watched as the great eagle owl disappeared over the lake. The younger one narrowed her eyes against a wind that came over the water. "Are you sure that's safe?"
Dumbledore looked at her from the corner of his eye. "Nothing is safe anymore, Carmen." He sighed tiredly, sounding almost too fatigued to be worried. "Especially if your theory proves true."
Her lips thinned. "It will."
The Headmaster's mouth quirked. "Was your research so thorough? And you never bothered to notify me first. Remind me to advise Mr. Potter against using you as an intermediate." He held up a hand as she opened her mouth, instantly turning serious. "No, I believe you. I have not seen you so shaken in a long time."
"I haven't seen you run so fast for an owl in a long time," she returned.
Albus chuckled, but his eyes did not twinkle. "Fair enough."
Rysk let out a thin breath through her nose. Color was just returning to her face. "This is insane." Her gaze still lingered in the sky where the owl had last been seen as a grey speck. "The words of the Summoning were lost with Le Fey. Even Infinite Darkness didn't have anything on it, just that it's centered in Ireland. Which fits the bill," she finished darkly.
Dumbledore turned with a frown. "It is dangerous to turn those pages, Carmen. I would not have you spiral farther downwards."
"I'm fine." An icy, brittle smile that held a touch more black amusement than the Headmaster was comfortable with. "Someone has to do these things."
The Headmaster sighed deeply, looking again to the lake. "Tom Riddle is the most dire master of the Dark Arts since the days of Merlin. Do you honestly believe he needs the tomes of Morgana Le Fey? No, it was only a matter of time. He knows the Dementors, knows them as no witch or wizard can." His bright blue eyes had clouded slightly, lost in the centuries, and something grim and terrible had spread into his voice, dropping it to a near whisper. "He needs not the ancient texts. Nay, not Voldemort."
There was a silence. Dumbledore never saw Rysk's fingers linger over his shoulder, never knew that she snatched her hand back as though she'd been burnt. "Dumbledore," she said dryly, with the barest hint of gentleness. "Wrong Age."
The old wizard blinked, then shook his head and looked at Rysk. "I concede, Carmen, that I had hoped that there might be a way to reveal the truth to Severus. But that is not one of the true reasons I asked you to teach here. I had hoped for some semblance of reconciliation."
Rysk features hardened as she stepped past Dumbledore, closer to the lake. "There's nothing to reconcile." Another wind pushed at her robes, revealing her bold Muggle clothing. She glanced over her shoulder. "What are you playing at, Dumbledore? Why haven't you kicked me out of here yet?" The Headmaster remained silent, and Rysk went on. "Twice, I've done it twice, and I'm still teaching here. You act like you trust me. What are you playing at?"
"I do trust you, Carmen," he said quietly.
"You're insane."
"Many tell me so." His voice was mild. Rysk closed her eyes, making sure her face was turned away from Dumbledore. "But after all, you trust me." He raised his eyebrows as she shot him a cold, incredulous look over her shoulder. "You must, at least to some degree. Otherwise you would not still be here."
Professor 'Harrison' turned abruptly, her loose robes swirling in a grandiose manner to rival Snape's, and walked away without a word. Dumbledore watched her enter the castle with a sad smile, knowing he had won that round.
****
The O.W.L.s were Tuesday. For Harry, they couldn't have come at a worse time. He had walked to the library, but Ron and Hermione had gone. After numbly checking out a few books--that is, the ones that Hermione had missed--he had walked back to the common room, planning to lie down on his bed and stare at the ceiling for a couple hours.
But the bad day wasn't done with him yet. Ron fairly tacked him as he stepped through the Fat Lady. "Where the bloody hell were you?" he demanded, never minding the books that went flying from Harry's arms.
"Ron, shh," hissed Hermione, glancing uneasily at everyone's inquisitive stares. No one asked a question, though, it was doubtful even a game of Quidditch would have roused the Gryffindors from studying. (The first to fourth years were all up in their dorms, terrified of incurring a hysterical, cramming fifth year's wrath.) All noses were back in a book before Harry could blink.
"I went. You weren't there," he snapped, irritated, pulling away from Ron and stooping to pick up his books. When he straightened they were both still staring at him. "What's wrong?" he asked, noticing belatedly that his friends' faces were ashen. "Guys?" he said weakly, fearing the worst.
They told him everything that had happened in the library in low, terse voices--or at least, Hermione's voice was low--as they drew him into a far corner of the room. By the time they were finished Harry thought he was going to throw up. "Are...are you sure?" he asked, his voice as pale as his face. Ron nodded.
"She ran past us like the devil was after her." A pause. "Wait, she is the devil..."
"Harry?" Hermione was staring intently at him, and with an edge of impatience. Harry didn't miss the glance she threw at his books: even now, she wanted to study. "What in the name of...what is going on?" And she stamped her foot, much as she would have as a first year.
Harry spread his hands helplessly, feeling like a fool. He really was going to be sick. "There's...there was this letter, from...Snuffles...and...and I ran into Snape and it had to be gotten to Dumbledore so I gave it to her..."
"You WHAT?!"
Harry flinched at their voices, raised in unison. "Shh," he pleaded, glancing nervously over their shoulders. "It was important."
"What'd it say?" demanded Ron.
"I don't know! He just told me to get it to Dumbledore, and then there was this weird...sign, a cross and a triangle and a circle or something..." Harry moved his finger randomly about in the air, trying to draw the symbol without success. Hermione and Ron exchanged looks.
"Do you think that was the parchment she was looking at?" breathed Hermione.
"Must've been." Ron looked at him wide-eyed, half accusingly. "Harry, what do we do?"
"Nothing!" Harry pushed past both of them. His hands were clenched at his sides as he marched to his spilled books, gathered them, and sat himself down at an unoccupied chess table with an air of finality. "Nothing," he repeated, shaking Ron's hand off his shoulder. "I'm studying now, so that I can pass the O.W.L.s and then the world can go on screwing my life up!" An undeniable pressure that was not quite pain had been building through his entire body. When Ron tried to speak, he snapped much more sharply than he meant to: "Go away!"
And he was left alone. By now he was too numb and angry and tired for even smarting regret to have much impact. For a while Harry simply glared at an open book, not even sure if it was rightside up. Then at length he got up and fetched his notes. He studied as hard as Hermione ever had that night, and refused to think about anything else--was unable to think about anything else. No one talked to him, for which he was grateful. The Boy Who Lived felt that he might just snap if stretched one centimeter further.
****
"And who has the answer to number 76?"
It was a haggard, sleepless class that Snape addressed on Monday. There was an amazing lack of tension between the Slytherins and Gryffindors. Everyone, even Crabbe and Goyle, had hung onto Snape's every word as they went over the review. The Potions master swept through the rows, looking down his crooked nose at parchments. Harry tensed and kept his eyes glued to his desk when he felt Snape approach. Certain that the professor felt as uncomfortable as he, Harry was naturally shocked when he saw the black robes suddenly stop from the corner of his eye. He felt Snape hesitate. "Do you have the answer to number 76, Mr. Potter?" His voice was glacial.
A quick glance told Harry that he did indeed have the answer to number 76. He bit his lip and let a long silence reign before taking a shaky breath. "No, sir, I don't."
"I see," sneered Snape. "See me after class, Potter." He moved on. "The correct answer is--"
A sharp rap on the door. Before Snape made an acknowledgement it cracked ajar to reveal Dumbledore from the neck up. "Professor?" Harry's head snapped up out of instinct. Something in him was alarmed to realize that he was starting to recognize that grave sort of tone in the Headmaster's voice. "Forgive me, I realize the O.W.L.s are tomorrow, but there are some pressing matters that Mr. Weasley needs to be informed of."
Murmurs rippled throughout the class. Nothing ever happened to Ron. Harry looked over at his friend, but instead of the pleased if slightly embarrassed flush he had been expecting, Ron had gone as white as a sheet.
Snape nodded once, without a scowl. As Ron stood under the concerned eyes of Hermione, Dumbledore added, "And Mr. Potter as well, if possible."
"I'm afraid it's not, Headmaster."
Harry had already half-stood. He glanced back and forth between Snape and Dumbledore, uncertain. The older wizard seemed about to push the issue, when Harry shook his head very minutely and sat back down. Snape let out a quiet, thin breath that Harry barely heard. With an inscrutable expression in his blue eyes the Headmaster inclined his head. "Very well." Ron joined him on the other side of the door, and it closed.
"Granger!" rapped Snape suddenly. Hermione started, caught off guard, still staring at the door. "What color should a non-organic cooling agent turn when applied to an organic potion?"
Harry glared at Snape's back. Hermione, however, met the Potions master's eyes with a level gaze. "What kind of organic potion, Professor?"
Another hesitation on Snape's part. Maybe last month Harry would have smiled a nasty smile. "High Blood."
"Silver or iridescent. Sir."
Several sniggers came from both sides of the room. Snape turned away sharply without bothering to acknowledge Hermione's correct response, a vein in his temple throbbing. Harry noted with unease that he did not pick on another student for the duration of the class, a fact that did not bode well for him. When Snape finally dismissed them Harry remained sitting, staring fixedly at the edge of the table. He thought he heard Hermione murmur something as she went past. He didn't answer. When the door had closed behind the last student Harry looked up at the Potions master, sitting at his desk. There was very long silence that translated into strange humming lights behind Harry's eyes. At last he reached up and rubbed at them before asking one of the questions that had been gnawing at his mind. "Is it why?" His voice bounced gently off of the stone walls.
Some of the terseness in Snape's shoulders drained away; he seemed relieved that someone had spoken. Harry didn't know where he got that idea, though, as in the next instant the professor's lip curled. "Why what, Potter?"
"Why you...came back." He was too tired to be touched by the sneer.
Snape nodded, once, and folded his long, thin fingers together. Leaning forward, he fixed Harry with a black stare. "I said I wouldn't ask how you came by your information, Potter. But I do now."
The review packet started to blur in Harry's burning vision. He shook his head to clear it. "The Headmaster," he said mechanically. "I mean, his Pensieve," he added hastily, alarmed at the frightening, betrayed expression that passed over the Potions master's face. Snape relaxed, but only slightly.
"His Pensieve, Potter?" he asked with an arched eyebrow.
"Yes, sir."
Snape leaned back in his chair. "And so you are privy to Albus Dumbledore's private thoughts, as well." Harry said nothing. "Tell me, is there anything you haven't stuck your nose in?"
A smile tugged unbidden at Harry's lips. "I don't know, sir." For a while they sat in a silence that wasn't comfortable, but nor was it tense. At length Harry felt at ease enough to say what he needed to say, press for an answer, and be able to walk away with whatever he received. "I'm very sorry about it, Professor Snape. I really, really am."
"I don't want your pity, Potter." Snape spat the last two words like venom, straightening as though Harry had deliberately struck a raw nerve.
"Fine." Harry stood suddenly and walked to the front of the room, coming to a stop with his hands on Snape's desk. The Potions master watched him inscrutably, adding to Harry's discomfort: he had no idea what he intended to do. At last he bit his lip and extended his hand. "I think we got off to a bad start." He hoped Snape couldn't hear the waver in his voice. "So, hello. I'm Harry Potter."
The trace of bitterness in Snape's voice spoke volumes. "The Boy Who Lived."
"No. Just Harry Potter."
Snape stared at Harry. "You don't want to know me," he said in a soft, strange way. But when Harry didn't retract his hand, he clasped it.
****
"Good, Longbottom," said Rysk, lowering her wand after Neville had successfully countered the disarming hex, "Go on and sit down."
After Neville had returned to his seat, still shaking a bit, Professor 'Harrison' sat down behind her desk, then checked her watch. "That's all the reviewing for today." She leaned back and actually propped her feet up as she shuffled through some parchments. "After these tests--"
"Exams," hissed Hermione under her breath, annoyed.
"--you're going to be focusing on actually duelling each other." She paused, scanning a sheet, before going on, not even looking up. "In case any of you are getting any ideas, anyone that uses the wrong kind of curse gets to duel me." Her grey eyes snapped up suddenly to settle on Malfoy, who shifted a bit. Another minute passed in silence. Harry stared down at his parchment, scribbled with notes, and decided that he had better re-copy them if he wanted them to be legible. He found himself staring at the silver dragon on Rysk's shirt, the same one she had worn at the Welcoming Feast.
Hermione nudged him. "What did Snape do?" she whispered. Harry only shook his head. She got tired of waiting for his answer in short order and instead asked, "Where's Ron?" Harry shook his head again, this time out of worry. Ron had not been in his seat when Harry had walked in late with a pass from Snape. It made him almost wish he had gone with Dumbledore. Almost.
"Dismissed," said Rysk coolly, just before the bell on her desk sprang into the air and began ringing, accompanied by the cacophony of noise created by other similar things throughout the school. Harry quickly gathered his things and joined the surge of students toward the door, one hand on Hermione's shoulder so as not to lose her, but a suddenly grip on his own shoulder startled him into releasing her and spinning around. Harry looked up at Professor 'Harrison', and a split second later his scar began to burn.
"Ah!" He stumbled back from her, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. The pain subsided the moment her fingers left him, settling into an uneasy throb. Hermione turned in the doorway, fighting the current of students. "Harry?"
Rysk strode quickly to the door and closed it, murmuring a Locking Charm. Harry dropped his hand and looked up at her, uneasy. "What was that?" he demanded without thinking, as frightened as he was angry.
Professor 'Harrison' studied him for a moment, ignoring his question. She leaned back against the door in a languid manner, like a cat's. "What's up with Snape?" There was something in her casual drawl that put Harry on edge; beneath the pretense of indifference her eyes were studying him intensely.
"What do you mean?" he asked, then decided when she arched an eyebrow not to insult her intelligence. "Nothing." His voice was wary. "He was just...just picking on me again."
"I see." Rysk nodded at a desk. When Harry didn't move, "Go on, Potter. I'm not going to kill you."
Harry fought back a shudder as he slid into a seat and Rysk leaned back against one. "Next class will be coming soon, Professor," he said quietly.
"I don't have third years on Mondays," she replied with a thin smile.
"What do you want?"
She stared at him. "The Headmaster wanted me to talk to you, since he couldn't get to you during Potions." Harry's head snapped up. "About Black's letter."
"Yes?" he said eagerly. "You got it to him?"
"Of course." He didn't like the way she said that and instinctively touched his fingers to his scar. 'Harrison's' eyes followed the movement. "I touched a book, Potter, that most people shouldn't touch." Her explanation was abrupt and careless. "It taints you a bit. Very pages are permeated with traces of the Dark Arts." She held up her hand, and Harry could almost feel something negative surrounding her fingertips. "That's probably what set your alarm off." She nodded dryly at his forehead.
"What...what were you doing in that book?" said Harry, remembering full well the events in the library recounted by Ron and Hermione.
Rysk steepled her fingers, resting them on her stomach. "Black asked us to do some research. Do you remember him mentioning an 'Initiation'?"
"Yes," replied Harry slowly, drawing the word out.
"The Order wants to stop whatever Voldemort's forces are up to before they regroup. But they don't have resources like our library."
"Where did he ask that?" he interrupted. "I didn't see it."
"He Charmed the words to be invisible. That's what that mark was for; tells us that there's more to it."
"Oh."
Rysk's grey eyes misted slightly. She seemed troubled; but her voice only became colder. "I researched. And I found that the Initiation has several other variations in different languages. There was only one of those, though, that had to take place in Ireland. Which is where the Order was first monitoring Voldemort."
"Ireland?"
She smiled grimly. "The 'Initiation' is a variation of the translation of 'The Summoning'. The Summoning of the Forever Hollow." She repeated it in Latin, and Harry's flesh prickled horribly. A chill ran down his spine. "You know what that is, Potter?"
He shook his head.
"It's an old rite, created or discovered or maybe just used by Morgana Le Fey." Rysk's American accent had sharpened to the point of being harsh. "Thought lost forever in her book of Dark Arts. It was the way to summon the Dementors; to bring them under your command."
Harry blinked once, twice, then nearly fainted. His knuckles went white as his fingers curled around the edges of his desk. "What do you mean, thought lost?" he whispered. The very memory of the open, sucking, hungry mouth of a Dementor had already quickened his breathing, started his pulse fluttering. "No." His eyes were wide, horrified. "Oh, God. Azkaban. Percy."
****
It was nearly midnight before the face of Sirius Black, then later those of Arthur and Molly Weasley, vanished from the fireplace, and the office door closed behind four silent, pale redheads, ushered out by Professor 'Harrison', McGonagall turned instantly and glared at Dumbledore, her fatigue taking no toll on her ire. "Really, Albus, I understand that the Weasley children have a right to know...but did you have to tell them now? The day before the exams?"
"As I told you before," said Dumbledore calmly from behind his desk, "Ron, Ginny, and the twins will take the O.W.L.s at a later date. The greatest folly now would be to divide the Weasley family further, even by keeping secrets to protect the ears of the children."
"And what about Potter? He didn't need to know."
"It was a letter from his godfather, who he's constantly worried about. I can't see how sending Harry into fits of anxiety would have helped his exam day, either."
McGonagall shook her head, causing her crooked hat to bobble precariously. "Well, if this doesn't sent him into fits of anxiety, I don't know what will."
"Harry is a boy who does not handle ignorance well. I believe that he would rather have something to be concerned over than to dreadfully worried over something he can't understand."
Minerva pressed her lips together and staring disapprovingly at the Headmaster, but did not argue further. "Arthur and Molly are under protection, then?"
"Yes. We may even move them." Dumbledore sighed, running a hand over his beard. "This is a grave turn of events, Minerva." His voice sounded thin and tired. "A very grave turn."
For a while the only sound to be heard was the quiet snores of the portraits in the room. "What about Carmen?" asked McGonagall quietly, sinking down into a chair. Dumbledore was staring straight ahead, as if lost in another world. "Can she be trusted?"
"I know," replied the Headmaster slowly, "what you will say. The same you have been saying this entire year; the same you said sixteen years ago."
"And I'll continue to say it!" snapped McGonagall, rising from her seat. "I've no idea what makes you break every law and personal principal for this girl--"
"Woman, Minerva."
The Headmistress stopped abruptly. "I always see the girl when I look at her." She stared hard at Dumbledore. "I always see a sixteen-year-old murderer. Do you see that, when you talk to her? It chills me, Albus, it chills me to the bone."
A wan smile. "She would be much flattered, should she ever know it. There is not much in this world that can faze you."
"Reconsider, I urge you." The Headmaster looked up to find the other standing before his desk, leaning against it in much the same way Rysk had done several nights ago. "I do not trust her."
"She has never once acted against us."
"But the way she acts for us...she has already used every curse and every tactic that we fight against. She is a cancer. Albus." McGonagall peered down over her spectacles, trying to catch Dumbledore's eye. "Surely I needn't remind you of how all the great empires fell; how every dark witch and wizard became corrupt." She waited, but Dumbledore did not reply. "From the inside. The inside."
"I have not forgotten my history lessons." There was a frost on his voice and in his eyes when he finally met her gaze.
"Then use them, for Merlin's sake!"
He continued as if he had not heard her exclamation. "Lily and James are dead. They are dead because I failed them. I failed Peter Pettigrew as well, even if he found redemption in the end."
"You can't blame yourself for every bad apple that comes from Hogwarts," she snapped.
"No." Dumbledore's gaze was distant and his voice barely above a whisper. "But there is more I could have done. There must have been something I could have done. Something." He passed a hand over his face and went on in a more resolved way. "And I continue to fail Severus each day the truth is kept from him. But Carmen..."
"You think you can change her?" Only deep respect for Dumbledore kept the scorn out of McGonagall's words. "Albus, even when you found her, there was nothing you could have done for her. She had chosen her path, or it had been chosen for her, perhaps both. You need to let her go. She was never one of yours in the first place."
There was a long silence. "No," said Dumbledore finally, his head still bowed in thought. "No. You may not trust her, Minerva. But I do."
****
Dear Sirius,
I just found out. Is it true? What are we going to do? We have to do something! Ron wouldn't talk to anyone, not even Hermione. I thought he was going to kill himself or something, I really did. We can't let this happen. If the Dementors
If Percy
I'm sorry. I can't write, hand's shaking too much. This is a pointless letter. The O.W.L.s are tomorrow. I think I'm going to throw up. But I feel better because I know what's going on, at least. And I found out about Snape's parents. I mean everything. Did you know? You know, of course. I almost feel sorry for him. I do feel sorry for him. I almost told him that it wasn't his fault, with the curse and everything.
I have to go study now. And check on Ron. Write back, please. I'm afraid you aren't alive.
Love,
Harry
P.S. Say hello to Remus for me. And Mrs. Figg and everyone else...
Hedwig seemed to sense how Harry's fingers trembled as he tied the letter to her leg, because she flew like she had never flown before.
****
Harry,
Don't tell him! Don't tell him the truth, I beg you. It is not yours or mine to tell. He has forgotten, leave it that way. Does she know you know? Don't let her know! I'm afraid of what she might do. I know it's horrible, to make him think that he killed them, but if...he'll turn, Harry, he'll go back. Please. I'm willing to forgive how careless you were in sending your last letter if you just keep silent. Don't tell Snape the truth, and don't report Professor Harrison.
She did it to save my life. Snape had his wand to my heart. She had to do something to make him let go of me. Do you understand? I can't tell you how important this is. 'That curse' is what is keeping all of us alive.
Love,
Snuffles
Harry looked up from the parchment, scrawled with handwriting as shaky as his own had been. At first he had been confused at Sirius's words and desperation, until he had seen the last few lines. Then his blood had frozen. He didn't even feel the sharp nip Hedwig gave him on the ear. Now he was exceedingly grateful that he had waited until after all the exams were done before opening his godfather's letter.
The noise of conversation in the Great Hall turned into one terrible, thrumming silence. Harry's eyes pierced through the students eating their dinner; travelled along the length of the High Table. There was Snape. And as far away from him as possible was Carmen Rysk.
"Harry?"
He stared at Hermione, barely registering the concerned touch on his shoulder, unaware that his near-empty cup of pumpkin juice had dropped from his left hand.
"I think...someone used Obliviate on Professor Snape."
"He was placed under the Imperius Curse by Voldemort and forced to kill them."
Harry looked down again at the letter. ...it's horrible, to make him think that he killed them...don't report Professor Harrison.
At the High Table, Snape leaned forward to say something just as Rysk turned her head. Their eyes caught. Snape flinched; pulled back; touched his fingers to his brow.
He had not known everything. Now he did, and he wished he knew nothing.
"It was you." The words burned his dry throat. There was suddenly nothing in the Great Hall besides the cold face of Rysk. "It was you."
