The Snake-who-lived

"Perfect weather for a Quidditch match!"

Oliver Wood, who probably would say the same thing about a hurricane, Harry Potter et la Chambre des Secrets, page 267

Chapter 18: Birds hide to die

Aunt Petunia was yelling at him again. He could not tell about what, simply that she was yelling. Standing behind her, his pudgy cousin was laughing, a melting ice cream cone in his hand, looking so tasty, so sweet… and so unreachable…

Aunt Marge strode through the front door like she owned the place, a huge dog nearly as tall as he was following her, glaring angrily at him with small, golden eyes…

Holding on the tree for dear life, wailing in fear as the furious dog snarled, teeth bared and droll dripping down its chin and into the freshly cut grass... yet his cousin still laughed… still stuffing his face with sweets that he knew he would never be allowed to touch…

His forehead was burning under his bandanna as his depression and anger grew. It was not physically painful, not exactly pleasant either. However, he felt like he was voluntarily twisting a jagged knife inside his heart. His wand was cold to the point of freezing his hands. Before him, the dark magic lexicon, grey-pages and politeness and all, was lying open.

A shapeless blob appeared.

Harry Potter took a deep breath:

"Imperio!"

The strangest feeling came over him… he felt like he had two bodies, as if his mind was split between the two. Yet he could only move one body if he concentrated. And the other felt cramped, as if his presence was pushing away the target's essence, or thoughts, to take its body and control it like a lifeless puppet.

'Probably what I'm doing, actually,' he reflected, idly rubbing the burning under his black bangs.

And on top of that, the familiar and exceptionally pleasant feeling of extreme power, of control, of freedom came over him.

"Jump."

A push came through the other half of his mind.

The blob jumped. It was definitely not an appealing sight.

Harry Potter smiled weakly as it vanished in a puff and his mind returned to normal. He had managed the spell correctly.

There were no nods of appreciations or said 'well done's from his teacher in this shifty, dangerous area of magic. However, the page he had been reading ten minutes ago turned slowly in a silent sign of approval. The book, when teaching, was very professional and colder than usual. Curious, Harry read the page, absorbed the information it held. It was a text. A long, detailed text on the history of the Imperius curse – the book had a tendency to force him through the theory after learning the practical. It was a rather unorthodox way of doing things, but who was Harry to ask for anything else?

The imperius curse is the only mind control spell in existence. By pushing aside the mind of the target, it allows one to take complete control of the target's actions and movements and make them do anything, even if it is something they would normally never do. The simpler the mind of the target, the easier it is for the caster to maintain his or her hold on the target. However, it is ill advised to try this curse on one with a complex mind – a wizened war veteran or one exceptionally intelligent – for they might prove resistant to its effect. Stubbornness can also be an efficient defensive trait against it.

Unfortunately, the spell's effectiveness is minimal in an interrogation situation, as it does not allow the caster to search through the target's mind, merely control the body. It cannot be used to ask for the truth, nor can it be used to learn new information. It is also impossible to force the target to do something its body cannot naturally handle.

The text was long, hard and cold, like the rest of the book. The following pages gave various examples of times when the curse had been used in the past: Quidditch game in 1643, taking control of a seeker to make him miss the snitch intentionally; French minister of magic elections of 1712, forcing voters to take for the same candidate; French minister of magic elections of 1722, forcing voters to take for another candidate to incriminate him; some Austrian Vampire slayer who used it to make his kills easier in 1782, the shadow wars of the 1940s, when Grindelwald brought the curse back to popularity by using it on a bunch of important muggles to start a great war; Voldemort's rise in the 1970s—

Somehow, Harry was not surprised to see the name present. The book, though it had admitted having spent the last fifty years stuck in the restricted section of the library, was very well informed on relatively recent events. How? Harry didn't know.

And he was not going to lie to himself by saying it did not worry him a bit. A book, especially one on the dark arts, should not have the means to look about and learn, no matter how strange that sounded.

Two pages later, Harry finally could stop reading. The book shifted back to its second page, where a message appeared:

That will be all for tonight.

Grateful, Harry nodded. He knew the book could 'see' it.

You have done very well, few have progressed at the speed you have.

He didn't know whether to be glad, proud or worried about being a fast learner in dark magic. He settled for hesitant gratefulness.

Thank you, he wrote back.

There was no response. For a few moments, Harry thought of asking the dark magic lexicon about the diary of Tom Riddle, but hesitated. The sun was starting to shine through the thin windows of the dormitory and peek through his curtains, indicating that his 'study time' was closing into an end. Besides, he had Quidditch practice soon.

After stuffing the book inside the silvery folds of his invisibility cloak, Harry got up and got dressed, noting that the rest of the boys were still asleep. Flint had, for once, booked the pitch early in the morning, "As soon as the sun decides to show its lazy arse", and told them all to be there "or else you'll help Bole and Derrick to practice their swing's power!". While Harry knew Flint's threats were not to be ignored, he also knew that his captain didn't want to incapacitate his seeker, not the day before the match against the Ravenclaws.

With all the action that had happened lately, Harry had almost forgotten about Quidditch. The match between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had been extremely quick and in favor of the Ravens, who were now Slytherin's best contenders for the cup. Winning the next match was important, for it would pretty much decide who would win. Harry had no intention of letting the match be his first defeat.

The first order of business was waking Draco up. Grinning mischievously, Harry turned to the top of his bed.

"Nemesis, go wake Draco up."

The five foot long constrictor snake shot Harry a dry look. "Whhy can't'chya do it hhhyourssself?"

"It's more fun that way," Harry replied, grinning. "Besides, I know you just love his face when you do it."

Nemesis let out a chuckle – the sound being very odd in Parseltongue – that could be easily referred to as sadistic. Agilely, the snake leaped from the top of Harry's bed like a spring, whirling his body around the poster of Draco's bed. And, slowly, Harry lost track of his pet, watching only its shadow slowly slide down the pole, hanging by its tail. Twice, his tongue flickered across the platinum-haired boy's nose, and—

"ARGHHHHH!!!"

"Whuzzat?" Came a voice in Crabbe's bed, while Goyle let out a thunderous groan and turned around on his bed, snuggling further in his blankets.

Draco almost ripped the curtains open, jumped out of his bed and landed unceremoniously on his butt between his and Harry's bed, while the black-haired boy laughed.

"Potter, I am going to kill that snake of yours!!"

"Jussst try, blondie." Nemesis replied, although nobody but Harry understood.

"You do that," Harry replied, "after Quidditch practice. Remember Flint?"

"Ah, right." Draco replied, yawning and rubbing the back of his head, messing up his usually flawless hair further while scratching his stomach through the thin cloth of his dark green night robe. "Gimme a minute."

"Two seconds." Harry replied, throwing him his broom and taking his own Nimbus 2000. "It's for your own good."

"Remind me why I joined the team already?"

~~~

[Extracted from Harry Potter's diary, 15/03/93]

Flint is crazy. I said it before, many times, actually, and I'll say it again: he's a few twigs short of a broomstick. Bad enough that he practically gives our beaters a license to kill us – excluding himself, of course – but he pushed the murder attempts until the bell rang to tell us we had five minutes to get to class; and were still in the air!

Fortunately, we started off with Snape. Although walking in the middle of his explaining how porcupine quills interact with aconite in a brew based on peeled Abyssinian Shrivelfig – something about blue smoke, sparks and, if the student has a family name starting with L, the instant destruction of the cauldron – we didn't get punished. If I had tried that stunt last year, I would have been skinned alive. I guess it's a good thing that thing with Quirrell happened, then… well, relatively, that is. It was almost worth being forever afflicted with a turban-phobia, whatever's the real word for that. If there is one.

The rest of the day passed quickly… well, except for History of Magic. I have no idea how Binns can remember all of that by heart – he can't really turn the pages to his notes, now, can he? – it's like he has no life. Well… as a matter of speaking, that is.

As for our Duel club, it's going along nicely. Blaise had us learn a wrist-locking spell that I found easy to cast. Except for Hermione, naturally, I was nearly the fastest of our group to learn it. Normally, that honor would be Xu's, but she's been having trouble lately with learning new spells. It's like her technique is so ingrained in her body that she has trouble changing it. Well, that's what I suppose. I'm no expert.

After that, that sadistic friend of mine had us cast the spell repeatedly and as quickly as we could on a freshly transfigured dummy of Lockhart – a target dummy, not a dummy Lockhart… although it could be a target dummy of a dummy Lockhart. Oh, back to the point.

Yes, I'm going somewhere.

~~~

"Dextera Mortis!" "Dextera Mortis!"

The six children had their wands pointed at various brightly-clad man-sized figures that had been rather fluffy pillows, themselves transfigured from the damaged, splintered wooden chairs that had been housed in the classroom. The figures had long, blonde hair, wore colors that would have made even a blind man cringe (somehow), large, goofy-looking grins – with two large, square canines protruding from the top like their namesake – and enormous, exaggerated hands, slowly rotating on their wrists.

"Dextera Mortis!" "Dextera Mortis!"

Curses were flying with loud detonations and flashes of dazzling orange bolts of light. Each time a target was hit, the hands would flash brightly in deepening colors, depending on the precision of the spell's aim. Aiming at the arms would bring the best results – a dark red color that reached into the blacks – while hitting the feet, as demonstrated by Emma when she exaggerated the wrist flick, gave no reaction at all.

"Dextera Mortis!" "Dextera Mortis!"

Harry's aim was flawless. If there was one thing he was good at, it was that, at least. His technique perhaps wasn't as refined as Blaise's or Hermione's, but he definitely had learned the first lesson in targeting: "Point the pointy end at what you want to hit", which he did very well.

"Dextera Mortis!" He screamed once again, sending yet another blast of orange light at the Lockhart-shaped dummy. Sternum hit, red light, medium effect. It had been exactly where he had aimed, however. He gave a look at Hermione, who shot the curse herself with minimum effort, accidentally missing and hitting the blackboard instead, causing a sizzle of smoke and leaving a small, unnoticeable black burn mark. The girl's bangs were wet from sweat, her aim sloppy and her technique more flaggy than usual. She was visibly exhausted.

 "Dextera Mortis!" "Dextera Mortis!"

Harry's arm was starting to tingle from magical fatigue; the curse was evidently very draining, most likely because of the small area of effect. However, he noticed he was nowhere as bad as the others – even Blaise was panting a bit, yet the only thing he felt was a cold numbness in his wand arm.

"Dexte—Oh, whatever." He heard Emma say, before she sat down on one of the cheap wooden chairs of the classroom, looking positively knackered. Hermione was next to give up, followed nearly immediately and surprisingly by Blaise, but not before Harry started to feel quite tired. Xu stopped soon afterwards, giving a tired sigh and nearly falling on top of McKinnon.

"What the hell…" Draco panted as he, too, gave up and sat down. "Aren't you even tired?"

Harry nodded. His wand arm felt like it had been lifting a heavy box for thirty minutes; just the light pressure of his wand felt like a ton. As for his other arm, and the rest of his body for that matter, it felt like lead. Yet he felt like he could still cast the spell a few more times.

"I am," He replied truthfully. "But not enough to give up…"

~~~

[Harry Potter's diary resumes:]

I couldn't cast many more after that, but I still ended up standing the longest. Hermione theorized I have more basic power than the rest of them, but shouldn't that mean that I should be extremely good at Dueling and everything else? I mean…

Oh, maybe it's my… forbidden studies. I doubt it though; my scar didn't heat up once, the whole time. And I didn't get that great feeling, either. Or maybe that's just because the spell I was casting wasn't dark magic?

March 14 1993

March 15 1993

I kinda forgot to write in this yesterday… not like I could, Flint pulled us out of the great hall with our breakfasts in our hands, and didn't let us go until we went to sleep. I'm still knackered and sore, but you should see the other seeker. He's still down for the count, from the rumors.

He gave us a long, long, long pep-talk about Slytherin honor – pardon me while I cough, we are not Gryffindors here – the importance of keeping the cup, if only for our pride, and a detailed threat telling us exactly what would happen to all of us if we lost.

He sure has a creative mind, I'll give him that.

Things got worse when we walked out; the wind was starting up and blowing strong already. The rest of the team – bar Draco, that is – didn't care, they were all bulky enough to resist the wind easily. Problem for me, I'm about as light as a feather. I mean, I kicked off the ground and I was nearly sent against the stands!

I didn't watch much of the match, actually. Just the commentary, said by Lee Jordan and watched over by the head of Gryffindor – so Jordan could pretty much say whatever he wanted, which he did. I actually stopped listening when he compared Draco to a top when he got caught in a windblast.

Oh yeah, I need to remember to cut my hair. I still haven't got around to it. Maybe I'll have Hermione do it – I'm sure she'd know a charm for that. And I trust her not to give me a bowlcut.

Oh, getting off subject here. Ok, so. Resume of what was happening; I was getting blown all over the field by that bloody wind – I'm pretty sure more than half the moving I did wasn't thanks to my broom – the other seeker was heavier than me, so he had less trouble,  and neither of us had seen the snitch. Heck, by then. I was almost sure the snitch had been blown out of the field.

The score was at 60-50 for the ravens – mostly because of the wind blowing toward our side – when I spotted the snitch for the first time. It was near the patch of sand on the Raven's side, on the other side of the field from where I was. The other seeker had a head start to it, too. Not that big, but I only caught him thanks to the fact that my broom is faster. By then, we were about ten feet above the ground.

Unfortunately, I ended up flying on top of the other seeker, and there just wasn't any way I could got to the side without losing some distance ahead.

I knew that the other seeker did not want the game to pause for a penalty shot – not that I did – and I knew of a certain rule in the game that said that a player cannot touch any part of the other player's anatomy. So, I put my leg straight in his path. If he touched me, it would have been considered Blatching and might have given Ravenclaw a penalty shot, but it was better than them catching the Snitch and winning.

Just as I thought he would, he went lower to avoid touching me. I could have just taken the lead and snatched the snitch, but by forehead heated up and… I dunno, at that moment, the snitch didn't really seem all that important. I just… don't really know why I did that, actually, but…

…I swerved down with him, and I didn't stop until he plowed into the grass. And Hooch didn't have time to blow her whistle before I caught the snitch, almost as an afterthought. The game ended 210-60 (Flint pulled his copyrighted "I-score-while-no-one-cares" technique again) for us, and the other seeker ended up taken to the hospital wing with a broken leg, arm and rib. I hadn't really realized we had been going that fast. He could have been more seriously hurt than that – I don't think madam Pomfrey can heal a broken neck.

The folks of Slytherin didn't care about doing that to the other seeker – actually, I lost count of the number of congratulations I got, he's not very popular, apparently – but I did.

So what if Draco didn't agree with me, so what if Blaise thought I was thick for thinking that… I normally don't do something violent like that for no reason. I could have just as easily taken the snitch without 'taking out the opposition' like I did. Instead, I deliberately forced the other seeker in a suicide dive. And I felt happy after. Glad I had done it.

I'm starting to scare myself.

~Harry Potter

[End of entry]

~~~

Harry sighed and put his quill back into his holder to make sure it did not stain anything. With one movement, he closed his diary, knowing the magical ink was already dry. He gave a louder sigh and looked outside of the window of the empty classroom, of which he was the only occupant. The sun was just about to set, bathing the room in a reddish hue that felt fitting for the occasion.

What exactly had pushed him to do that? The match had been the previous day, but until now, his housemate's celebrating had prevented him from really using that useful thing that was stuck in his skull. And now that he had the occasion, he was using it.

The maneuver he had used was downright cheating and unfair, which was overlooked simply because of the fact that his team was infamous for doing exactly that. He had given the Ravenclaw seeker no choice on how to avoid him – they had been too low for him to be able to barrel away, and swerving sideways would have caused him to touch Harry's leg with his head or shoulders, which would have halted the game.

But by the time Harry was on level with the snitch, he had been close enough to catch it without problem. That much he had written in his diary.

What he hadn't written, though, was the fact that he had felt… an urge, a compulsion; the undeniable need to see the other seeker crashing into the ground. It took only an instant, a single second… a mere, unnecessary push of half an inch down on his broom… the satisfying sound of broom hitting grass at thunderous speeds, the fainting sound of someone tumbling, a distinct cracking… the cold feeling of the snitch against the palm of his hand, an instant before Hooch's whistle rang to signal a penalty shot that would never take place…

…and a feeling of cold dread that took over his body as he looked behind him, where his Ravenclaw counterpart was sprawled across the grass, whimpering in pain, holding his arm bent at a strange angle, while the rest of his team flew down worriedly… those accusing glances in their eyes directed at him…

Harry shook his head, trying to shake off the surfacing feeling of guilt. He had done well – his team had won. That was the Slytherin motto, wasn't it? To win, no matter the means.

Then, there was the familiar "dark magic" heat from his scar. How was that connected? Had he accidentally reached into a spell? Perhaps he had been affected by one, which had controlled him to crash the other seeker…

…perhaps he should ask the only expert on dark magic he knew? Well… the only expert on dark magic he knew that wasn't out to kill him, that is…

He sighed. Well, it was no use to worry about that now – maybe later. Right now, all he could do about it was mull over the problem and look at every ugly part of it. And honestly, there wasn't all that much to look at.

"I must have slipped." He told himself. It was, after all, only half an inch… Perfectly reasonable to think it was an accident, right?

…right.

"Harry!!" Draco's voice broke in as the platinum-haired boy burst in the empty classroom, out of breath. "Our dorms… Somebody sneaked in and spilled your stuff everywhere!!"

Stuck by panic, Harry stood and quickly ran out, bee-lining for the common room, barely registering Draco following him and asking him to slow down.

The dorm was an absolute mess. Clothes he recognized as his had been thrown all over the floor and even on the other beds. His curtains were open, his bed sheets had been thrown off violently. His books had been thrown everywhere, Quidditch through the ages having landed, ironically enough, on top of Draco's bed poster while Harry found Wandering with Werewolves in the trash can.

"Oi, Potter!" Crabbe called. "You mind calming that bloody snake down?" He pointed at one of the sheets, which was wiggling violently and where loud hissing came in a voice only Harry could understand:

"GET SSAT SSSSING OFFFF ME AND I'LL SSSTOP ASSSKING, YA BRAIN-DAMAGED IMBESSSSILE!!!"

Chuckling, Harry pulled the sheet off, untangling the snake that fell in a tangled mass on the ground.

"Did you see who did it?" He asked his pet.

"Did what?" Nemesis asked, before looking around and letting out an odd impressed hiss-whistle that must have sounded very peculiar to non-parselmouths. Then again, it sounded weird to Harry's ears, too. "Sssomeone made a messss…"

"Tell me about it." Harry sighed, turning to Draco. "He didn't see a thing."

"Well, sssee, there'ss a sssock right offfer here, under that shhhirt…" Nemesis told him about the mess and was pointedly ignored.

"Rats." The other boy said, clicking his fingers. "I wanted to teach whoever did this a lesson on how to treat allies of the Malfoy clan."

"Did they take anything?" Crabbe asked, looking about.

"…and another book by the idiot here, besssidess those bokssserss…"

Harry quickly checked. His invisibility cloak was there, so was his broom. His two most expensive possessions were still there, so whoever had done this didn't have petty theft on their mind.

He could not, however, find Tom Riddle's Diary, and…

…the Dark Magic Lexicon was gone.

Harry's blood froze. His name was written on his trunk, so whoever had stole it knew who it belonged to. And while the Dark magic lexicon had the ability to change his cover, he sincerely doubted it could change what was inside its pages. He was about to check everywhere again when a hand fell on his shoulder.

"Are you looking for this?" Draco asked, showing him the same book had had been searching for. At his reassured face, Draco smirked and said, in a hush, "I still don't get why you still care about that stupid diary…"

Harry blinked in confusion. What was he talking about? Nevertheless, he picked up the dark magic lexicon and stuffed it back in his trunk, hidden under his invisibility cloak.

Then it clicked. The only stupid diary Draco knew of…

"I still think Riddle has something to do with what's going on." Harry replied smoothly, hiding his quickly resurfacing panic. That's right, the diary was gone!!

Draco smirked and shrugged nonchalantly. "So, is anything else missing?"

'Yes, the book you think you just handed me.' Harry replied mentally. "I don't think so… Maybe they stole a pair of socks…"

"Right, they walk in, incapacitate your snake – which is something I have to try, by the way – put this place upside-down to just walk out with a pair of socks, of all things."

"I'd like to sssee you try incapasssitating me!" Nemesis protested hotly, turning around the blonde threateningly.

"I was being sarcastic." Harry replied.

Draco smirked. "I know." He let out a gargantuan yawn then walked over to his bed, carefully avoiding stepping on the snake in his way. "Anyway, I'm knackered. If someone makes me drink anther Butterbeer for that Porskoff Ploy, I'm going to spew."

He almost sounded like he minded, but Harry deeply knew his friend was an incurable attention-seeker, and was deeply enjoying the fame his Quidditch position gave him.

Harry managed a genuine smile at that. "Just be careful to do it on your own stuff."

Draco slipped his curtains open, then pulled out one of Harry's shirts that had landed there. "With the way you clean your things? That might be a tad bit much to ask."

Catching the piece of clothing, Harry pulled his tongue at his friend, who chuckled and sealed his curtains behind him. After stuffing the shirt in his trunk, Harry laid back in his own bed, frowning. What on earth was going on? Who had stolen the diary? How had they known about it?

More questions… yet no answers.

Harry groaned. He felt a headache coming. And it had nothing to do with his scar, for once.

Author's notes:

Re-typed a bit of it, but I despise how this chapter turned out. I'll probably re-write it a while later. (When I'll have more experience and patience)

Note on Imperio: "It is also impossible to force the target to do something its body cannot naturally handle" What about Neville's backflips, in book 4?" (If you're asking that question, then you're just as nit-picky as I am, lol) Simple: his body can handle that, but his mind is too scared for him to do it normally. Human belief is critical in doing any physical activity. If your heart is not in it, you will undoubtedly fail.

A bit of a shortie by my standards. I don't like it, but I've hit a bit of a writer's block in the middle of this. I had to cut it short. Plus, things are starting to speed up. Putting too much information in one chapter would be bad and confusing ^_- (while stopping too short is irritating and nerve-wracking… my, my, what hard, precision work, this writing thing… ^_-)

ANSWERS TO THE EERIE, GLOWING RED EYES ON THE FLUFFY WHITE MAN-EATING RABBIT GNAWING ON THE LEG OF THE REVIEWERS:

(There you go, V, with a few enhancements ^_-)

VMorticia: True, true… actually, he's very talented for comic relief… doesn't help that I'm trying to get things dark around here… *sigh* Oh, and a little note: Next time you beta, put the changed words between stars or something. Spending five minutes to change "in" to "with" is a bit… er…

Ran Hoshiro: Glad u liked it ^_-. And yup, it sure did.

BF110C4: Actually, this was what I had planned. As I mentioned to someone else before, I was like: "Erm… I know I'm forgetting something important here… *Re-reads the book* ACK! VALENTINE!!" So, er…the Valentine thing is what breaks the mood, lol. Things were supposed to go steadily worst after Christmas. And about Blaise… that's a secret :P

Athenakitty: Whoa, down girl! All right, I'll reply every single one of your questions, in order: Yup. As always. Yup. D'uh. That's not a secret anymore. But that one in a secret. And that's a secret, too. ^_-

Simply Myself: Damn right he is ^_-. I did, yes, and you're right, it is ^_-

A.J.D'Angelo: Thanks

RaistlinofMetallica: Heh, thanks! I hope I'll keep up to those standards at the climax ^_-

Blackheart Syaoran: THIS Harry is observant. Gryff!Harry is about as observant as Mr Magoo.

PhoenixMan: Thx u 4 reviewng. ^_- And you're scaring me. Lol.

Meinien: You mean you actually had a holiday for Halloween? Lucky! We sure didn't. (Had half the day off, and the other half was parties, but hell… its still school T_T)

Kickedoutofthegoblet -Annie: *blink* I like your name, lol. I'll update as fast as I can… with my quality standards, that is…

Dragonsprincess: Hagrid, the heir of Slytherin? When I first read that in the books I was like: "…JK, wtf?" I mean, come'on. I'd hardly imagine the guy as heir of anything. Except maybe for the award of the tallest, burliest human (kinda) on earth… And that… is a secret :P

DanBlank20: Can't promise anything, sorry. Even I don't know how the couples will turn out. Romance won't be a strong point of this fic… at least, not Harry/anyone romances. Romance isn't my strong point at all. Rest assured, though, there will not be any Harry/HumanHosepipe (Cho) in this.