Author's Note:

As promised, a double update this week! Enjoy.
Also, Seymour Glass wins the prize I promised last week. Marcus Garlick's name was, in fact, a tribute to Magrat Garlick of the Discworld books. (Although he has a much more Ridcully personality, if that makes any sense to you!) Congrats, Seymour.
This chapter is dedicated to Michelle. Congrats on finishing your finals! Hooray for summer!
Enjoy,
Neoepiphany



Chapter Twenty
The Memoirs of Jacques de Malaise

"Harry!" Hermione squealed as she threw her arms around him. "You're okay!"

"Of course I am," Harry said. He still felt cold, and his hands and legs felt unusually clumsy. He didn't know what had happened exactly, but he didn't want to do it again. Not right away, anyway. "Let's go eat. I'm famished."

Hermione walked beside him, holding his elbow as if to support him. "You're white as a ghost," she whispered, as they walked down the corridor. "Neville came down shouting for help—I was scared to death. I tried to come up, but Ron wouldn't let me up the stairs."

"Ron said Neville thought I was dead," Harry said. "I was fine, though."

"You weren't," Ron said. "You looked dead. Really dead."

"You're shivering," Hermione said accusingly.

"I'll warm up in a minute. It was chilly in the dorm."

Hermione frowned. "Did you find anything out?"

Harry nodded gravely.

"We should go straight to Dumbledore," Hermione said briskly.

"We can't do that," Ron said. "He'll want to know how Harry found out."

Harry privately agreed. He wasn't eager to hear what Dumbledore—or McGonagall—would say if they found out he had broken his promise not to try possessing Voldemort again. "Where's Neville?" Harry asked.

"He went on ahead," Ron said. "I think he was a bit irritated, actually."

They walked into the Great Hall and took seats toward the very end of Gryffindor table. Neville, sitting about halfway down the table, surrounded by the quidditch team, gave them an appraising look, but said nothing. He silently went back to eating his meat pie.

Harry piled his plate as high as he could and began eating. He felt even hungrier than he felt tired, if that were possible.

"Are you going to tell us—" Ron began.

"Not here," Harry said. "After dinner."

They ate quickly (which was quite a feat for Harry, who took second and thirds of everything) and headed back to Gryffindor tower. They pulled a few chairs into a dark and cool corner of the common room, and settled down. Harry felt pleasantly full and very, very tired. He wanted nothing so much as to go back to bed and get some proper sleep, but he knew Ron and Hermione would never let him go until he'd told them what he'd seen. He motioned for them to lean forward, and told them about everything he'd overheard in the dingy white room.

"I'm sure the 'guest' was Snape," Harry finished. "And it sounds like he's alive—for now."

"Poor Snape," Hermione said from behind her fist, which she had clutched to her mouth.

Harry nodded. "I don't think it was very helpful, though," he said. "I mean what did we find out, really? I have no more idea of where Snape is than I had before."

"We know he's alive," Hermione said.

"Still not much help," Ron said. "Was there anything else?"

"Yes," Harry said, leaning in and dropping his voice even lower. "Voldemort sent Bellatrix Lestrange away because he wanted to check in on the spy in the Order. The next thing I knew I was in Grimmauld Place."

Hermione's eyes widened.

"Did you see who it was?" Ron asked.

"At first I thought the room was empty," Harry whispered. "But it wasn't. Mira was there. And Lupin came in a second later."

"Mira," Ron said, a gleam in his eye.

"What happened exactly?" Hermione whispered. Harry told them what he'd seen.

Hermione frowned. "So you think that when Voldemort wanted to look in on the spy, he was looking in on Mira?"

Harry nodded. "I'm sure of it. She was the only one in the room."

"But you weren't looking out from her mind, right? So Voldemort wasn't possessing her?"

"If there was somebody else in that room, surely either Mira or Lupin would have noticed," Ron said.

"Not necessarily," Hermione said.

"Why are you defending her, Hermione?" Ron asked.

"I'm not defending anyone," Hermione said indignantly. "It's just not exactly proof, is it?"

"McGonagall seemed awfully eager to convince me that it couldn't possibly be Mira," Harry said, remembering the conversation he'd had with McGonagall at their very first lesson together. "I don't know what's going on. It's like she has them in some kind of… I don't know, under some kind of trance."

"The way thay all just believed her, right off the bat. No one knows her, but everyone trusts her?" Ron shook his head. "There's something funny going on there, and if it's not magical, then I'll eat Pig."

Hermione nodded. "I agree. She's not a squib, whatever she says. But that doesn't necessarily mean she's the spy, does it?"

"What we need," Ron said, "is something that backs up what you said, Harry. Some kind of proof."

"If we could get into Grimmauld Place, we could look through her room," Hermione said, thoughtfully.

"Look through her room?" Ron raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that kind of personal?"

"Don't be silly, Ron," Hermione said. "It's in a good cause."

"But we can't get there, so it doesn't do us much good right now, though, does it?" Harry said. "And I didn't do anything to find Snape. I need to try again."

"No!" Hermione and Ron both shouted at once. A couple of first years sitting behind them yelped. Everyone in the common room turned to look at them.

"What are you looking at?" Ron snapped at the crowd. They turned back to their own conversations with a lot of whispering and giggles.

"What?" Harry whispered.

"No offense, Harry," Ron said, "but I don't think you can do another one."

"It's too dangerous," Hermione agreed. "You're white as a sheet as it is."

"I think I stayed away too long, that's all," Harry said. "It's no big deal."

"It is a big deal," Hermione insisted. "Harry—if you try it again, I think you might—you might—" The sentence went unfinished, but Harry knew what she meant by the way her lip trembled.

"Okay," he said quickly. "I didn't mean right now anyway."

"We'll just have to think of another way to help, that's all," Hermione said, relieved.

But over the next few days, they found precious little time to devote to Snape or the mysterious spy. Professor Garlick might be a much nicer Potions Master, but he assigned even more homework, and they spent almost every night pouring over books in the library, researching rare herbs and fungi. Add to that Charms, Herbology, and McGonagall's increased homework as she tried to give them a solid grounding in the theory of human transfiguration before they started practicing on each other, and the three of them barely had time for sleep. At least they didn't have to worry much about Care of Magical Creatures; there were more than enough people to help out with the demiguise.

One snowy afternoon, the three of them sat in a corner of the library, the table around them spread with books. Harry and Ron were working on their latest essay ("The Correct Use of Carniverous Mushroom Spores in Potionmaking"), while Hermione, who had already finished her essay, flipped through "Charmes, Spelles, and Enchantmentes."

"Did you say anything about biting toadstools?" Ron asked, raking a hand through his hair. "I can't decide if they're carniverous or not."

"Er," Harry said, "I was about to ask you the same thing."

"Hermione," Ron said, leaning back in his chair. But Hermione's seat was empty. "Where'd she go?" Ron asked, looking around.

"I don't see her," Harry said. "But she'll be back. She's left her bag."

They went back to their essays. "I've got nearly seven inches just on horklumps," Ron said. "Do you think that's too much?"

"How'd you get seven inches on horklumps? I barely got four!" Harry said, peering over at Ron's parchment.

"You can copy if you like," Ron said, pushing his essay across the debris of open books scattered across the table.

It was almost fifteen minutes before Hermione actually returned, clutching a small, blood-red volume. The words "The Life of de Malaise" were picked out on the front in shiny black letters.

"Where'd you go?" Harry asked.

"There was a reference to this book in 'Charmes, Spelles, and Enchantmentes,'" she explained, "so I went and looked it up."

"Hermione," Ron said, leaning his chair on its back two legs and giving her a look of disgust, "it's not even your homework."

"It's fascinating," Hermione said, flipping through the small volume.

Ron looked at her as though she were a particularly gruesome insect in a cage. He held his potions book in one hand as he teetered on the back legs of his chair. "This isn't half boring," he said. "And we've still got McGonagall's essay after this. We'll never get done at this rate. If only someone would let us have a look at hers," he said pointedly, "we might actually get some sleep tonight—"

Hermione's loud yelp startled them both. Ron's chair crashed onto the floor with a loud clatter. "Ow!" he said, rubbing the back of his head. "I was only joking, Hermione!" Madame Pince's disapproving hush made Ron flinch.

"Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness!" Hermione said. She was staring down at the little book with wide eyes.

"What?" said Ron and Harry together.

"You won't believe this—" Hermione said, staring down at the book, her eyes round as galleons.

"Believe what?" Ron snapped.

"Harry," Hermione murmured. "I think I know how the Death Eaters got into your Aunt and Uncle's house this summer!"

"What?" said Harry, jumping out of his chair. He darted around the table and stood beside Hermione.

"Look at this," she said, pushing the smaller book aside. "I was reading the section in 'Charmes, Spelles, and Enchantmentes' about protective blood charms, and I found this note here." She pointed to a paragraph at the bottom of the page.

"'The duration and strength of most protective charms can be extended by contact with the caster,'" it read. "'However, in circumstances when the caster is unavailable, contact with that person's blood-relatives can be equally beneficial. While most wizards agree such protection is nigh impossible to overcome—depending, of course, on the strength of the initial spell—the 15th century Auror, Jacques de Malaise, described the curious case of the dark wizard Bradfelt Pennyworth in his memoirs. According to de Malaise, Pennyworth claimed to have learned the secret of overcoming the charm in very particular circumstances. To date, no wizard has succeeded in duplicating Pennyworth's counter-charm, and most believe the story to be a fabrication.'"

"Now look at this," Hermione said, passing across the little book. A woodcut illustration on the left showed a sinister looking wizard in a jerkin and tights leaning over crying woman and holding a small bottle. She pointed to a passage on the opposite page.

"'I spente many a day questioning the blackguard, yet he spoke not a word, not even in his owne defense. On the third day, I fed him a draught of potion, which loosed his lips right well. The dog Pennyworth did confess to me that he did murder Apollonius Marthis by overcoming the Protective Charme in a moste curious way. Marthis was guarded by the spelle which his father had laid down upon him against Pennyworth, an' so long as Marthis stayed in the house of his father and sister, Pennyworth could not touch him there. Pennyworth did woo the daughter of Marthis' sister, the Lady Catherine the Gray. He did poisone her heart against her uncle, an' proposed to marry her when her uncle did leave the family home. An' Lady Catherine did agree to help Pennyworth to be rid of Marthis that they might wed.

'On the night of the new moon, he did say a spell and ask Lady Catherine to cut her hand and he did collecte the drops of purple blood in a glass vial. Wearing the vial over his heart, he did enter the house. Pennyworth said that so long as he carried the blood of Marthis' father near his heart, he could enter therein. But the charme could not be long fooled by the blood of the third generation, and Pennyworth had but moments to find and kill Marthis. The Lady Catherine did realize that she had been tricked, and did leave the home and ne'er return, but too late, for her uncle was dead.'"

Harry pushed the book away. He was no clearer on how the death eaters might have gotten into his house than before. "Wait," he said. "What does that mean? How could the death eaters have gotten into Privet Drive?"

Hermione tapped the woodcut of the man in the jerkin. "This man—Pennyworth—overcame a protective charm just the like one over you, Harry!" she said, breathlessly. "Look—Marthis's father had done something to protect him, and as long as he was in his father's house with his sister, he was safe, right?"

"Like me at Privet Drive," Harry nodded. "Because Aunt Petunia's there."

"Right. But he got past it by using some spell and wearing a glass vial of Marthis's niece's blood over his heart," she went on, "because the niece shared a bit of the father's blood too! She carried the charm."

"I don't follow you, Hermione," Ron said, squinting at the book.

"Harry," Hermione said eagerly, "was your cousin at home when the Death Eaters attacked?"

"No," Harry said, realization dawning. "No, he snuck out a little before. You think the Death Eaters convinced him to go along with the spell? No way—it would never work. Dudley hates magic—he especially hates wizards. He never would have gone along with it."

"And the other book said the de Whatsit fellow made the whole story up, anyway," Ron pointed out.

Hermione waved a hand dismissively. "It said no one else had been able to do it. I bet that spell that he said before Lady Catherine cut herself is the critical part, but de Malaise didn't write that part down, so nobody knows what it is. What if," she said, her eyes alight, "what if the Death Eaters found out what the spell was? And what if they went to Dudley and told him a way he could be rid of you once and for all, Harry? They didn't have to tell him they were wizards at first—I expect he would have been happy enough if they just gave him sweets."

Harry stared at the illustration in the book. There was a sudden swirling sensation in his stomach. The glass vial in the hands of the dark wizard looked horribly familiar. He had seen something just like it very recently. "I think we should go to Dumbledore, right now," he said quietly.

"Harry—"

"Right now!"

Hermione grabbed the book, and they ran out of the library, leaving their bags and other books scattered around the table. A crowd of first-year Hufflepuffs was just coming into the library, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione were moving too fast to slow down. "Excuse me," Ron said as they cut right through the middle of the group. The Hufflepuffs jumped out of the way, some of the girls shrieking. "Oh, really now!" Madame Pince shouted after them.

They rounded a bend in the corridor. "This way!" Harry said, hurrying up a staircase.

He saw Professor McGonagall before he ran into her, and stopped dead. Unfortunately, Ron, running behind him, crashed into him, knocking Harry forward. A stack of books spilled out of McGonagall's hands and cascaded noisily down the staircase. Hermione ground to a halt beside them, her face red, and tried to hide the book behind her back.

"Potter! Weasley!" McGonagall said. Her eyebrows crept closer together. "What do you think you're doing?"

"We were going to see Professor Dumbledore, Professor," Harry explained, breathless.

"Professor Dumbledore?" McGonagall said. "Whatever for?"

"We think," Harry said quickly, "that we may know how the Death Eaters got into my Aunt and Uncle's house this summer!"

"What?" McGonagall said. "What on earth—"

"Here, Professor," Hermione said, holding out the book, open to the woodcut. "I found this. We think the Death Eaters may have used the same spell as the dark wizard in this story."

McGonagall's eyes flipped over the page briefly. She took the book, looked at the front cover, and handed it back to Hermione. "The de Malaise story. Of course, we've already considered that," she said. Her voice was a bit softer, though. She flicked her wand so that the stack of books floated into a neat pile and hovered near her side. "I'm afraid there's no doubt that de Malaise made it all up. He was a third-rate auror, with only a few captured dark wizards to his credit. He wrote his memoirs in order to advance his reputation—there's very little in the book that isn't either an exaggeration or an outright lie."

"But Professor," Hermione insisted, "if the Death Eaters found out what spell Pennyworth said when he collected the blood—"

"I doubt very much that the blood was ever collected. It's widely believed that he convinced the poor man's niece to kill him through a combination of magic and trickery. The poor girl snapped out of it a moment too late. She died a few months later—some say it was a combination of guilt and grief that killed her, you know," McGonagall said thoughtfully. Her eyes flicked down the corridor for a moment before resting on the trio again.

"Professor," Harry said desperately, "we really need to talk to Dumbledore. There's something else."

"What else, Potter?" McGonagall said sharply.

Harry looked nervously at Ron. "I—I had another—er, vision," he said.

McGonagall's books fell to the floor again. "What? When?"

"Sunday," Harry said.

"Why didn't you come forward with this right away?" she demanded.

"It wasn't anything new, Professor," Harry cringed. "And, er, I thought—" McGonagall's stern look made his stomach flutter. "I thought—er—"

McGonagall frowned. "Come along then, you three. We're going to the Headmaster straight away." She turned on her heel and trudged down the hallway.

---------------------------------
Reviewer Responses:

(In reverse order!)

Seymour Glass: That's right! Congratulations. You win a fanart done to your specifications.

Wynjara: Yes, I'm evil like that. Dangling information right in front of you, only to snatch it away. Mwahahaha!

Prongs4: Thanks, I will.

Diana: I'm THRILLED to know I have a reader in Mexico! I love Mexico! Beautiful country, cool people, excellent food... I'm from Texas, so we're kind of neighbors in a way. Yeah!!! Welcome to the story. I'm very pleased you like it, and I hope you keep reading! Your review made my day.

Duj: (from Ch. 12) They were just being silly about the fudge bars, and Hermione knew it. I thought that was funny, actually. It's what I would've done with dodgy fudge bars, too.

Incrediblysexi: Thanks, mate.

Aschowin: Thanks! Welcome to the story!

Wiccan PussyKat: After this story ends, I'm thinking about writing a prequel that explains some things that happened elsewhere. Maybe if I do, I'll tell everyone what Ron said to Eva.

When I wrote the transporting scene, I was positive that I'd given too big of a hint as to the identity of the spy. Fortunately, no one seems to have really caught it. Good. I'd rather it be one of those things that gets you in retrospect. (I'll say nothing more on the matter.)

There might be more possessing later. And there might be some more lasting effects... mwahaha.

No promises about Snape. Sorry.

Kraeg001: Thank you, I will. :)

That's it lads and lasses! See you next chapter.