Vasi Extremi

by AijouSakura

He had needed more time. But time was not his to have, and so the plans had to be set in motion. Led by their child protegy, the children would fight and die. For he would dominate. The Boy Who Lived would Die. Vires Incommitatus Redone!

5. et promove, ad res novas et meliora

Preface: A thousand and seven apologies to anyone and everyone who had to wait for this. My life became suddenly, horribly busy for the last four months, to the point where I actually didn't have time to write for two months straight. Then I went to Quèbec, where I remain now, but I thought I owed it to at least some of you people to post a chapter, finally. It's barely been betad, so if there are mistakes anywhere, please let me know.

Expect the next chapter by the end of the summer. I will do my utmost best to make it happen, and anyone can hit me with whatever they want if I don't.

Besides that, reviews are always welcome.

And On, to New and Better Things

et promove, ad res novas et meliora

The Hospital Wing was a familiar place for Harry. He couldn't count the number of times he'd woken up there with a muggy head, and this was just another one of them. Light was streaming in through the windows behind him, and the room was silent. Perhaps if he got out of his bed quietly, he could be on his way without anyone noticing.

He sat up cautiously, and the world spun. Biting back a groan, Harry lowered himself back down to the mattress, wondering exactly what had happened. After a moment he prepared himself to try again, but a noise from out of sight made him stay where he was.

The sound of footsteps drew nearer, and a shadow fell across Harry's line of sight.

"Come, now," Madam Pomfrey chided. "You've been here for scarcely a month and you're already in to visit me? Don't think I've ever had anyone love me that much, to see me as often as you do." She paused. "Well, excepting one person, perhaps, but he was just a hopeless case, and doesn't bear mentioning. Broke his leg walking down a corridor!"

Harry snickered, and she gave him a hard look.

"But you're hardly one to laugh, Mister Potter. You took quite a nasty tumble on the field, they tell me. Don't know how you managed to survive, falling from the height you did, but whatever happened, you're still in pretty rough shape. And what on earth happened to your shoulder?" She looked at him critically.

"Bludger," Harry replied. Madam Pomfrey nodded.

"That explains it," she said. "Always said Quidditch was a dangerous sport. More than half of the injuries I get in here have something to do with that game, in one way or another. Now, you hold still for this, or I'll have to Bind you."

Harry nodded and watched as Madam Pomfrey waved her wand in an intricate pattern above him. A soft blue mist appeared, and gently settled over his body, as the myriad of aches and pains vanished, leaving him with only a headache and a knot of agony in his shoulder that seemed to be permanent. The witch stared at him for a moment, shook her head, and moved around to his left side. A silver tray bearing a variety of tools and potions followed her like an obedient puppy.

"Tell me if this hurts at all," she said in a cautionary tone, peering down at Harry. He nodded again, wincing inwardly. However, she simply muttered something under her breath and tapped his shoulder with her wand. A warm sensation infused his entire left side, and then faded. Harry rotated his shoulder gently.

"Anything?" Madam Pomfrey asked. Harry shook his head, and she smiled. "There usually isn't, but every now and then you find someone who doesn't react well to that spell. There are other ones to do the same job, of course, but that's the best, especially if you want to be up and about afterwards. No, stay down, Mister Potter. You'll have a smarting headache, if I'm not wrong, and if you get up too quickly you could find yourself face down on the floor."

Reaching behind her, she took a small bottle filled with a clear liquid from the silver tray. She tapped it with her wand, and a small quantity of the liquid floated up, hanging in the air. With another wave of her wand a goblet of pumpkin juice appeared, and she dropped the crystal drops into it.

"Drink up."

Harry took the goblet and drank the liquid inside. Whatever the addition had been, it did nothing to the taste, and he finished it quickly.

Madam Pomfrey stood over him, watching as he handed the goblet back to her. It vanished in a puff of smoke, and the matron nodded.

"I suppose that's all I can do for you," she said briskly. "Your shoulder will be tender for a while, so if you can keep from using it for the next two or three days, maybe I won't have to see you again. The rest will help your head, too."

Sighing, she shook her head and stepped away from the bed.

"If I had my way you wouldn't be out of here for at least the rest of the day, but the Headmaster said he needed to see the Upper School as soon as I could get you back on your feet, so I suppose there's nothing to be done." She fixed him a glare worthy of McGonagall at her worse. "Go easy on yourself, Mister Potter," she warned. "If I have to see you back here again I'll not be pleased. Now go on."

She seemed to be in no hurry to leave, and Harry felt awkward for a moment, until he realised he still had his Quidditch Robes on underneath the blankets. He sat up slowly, and found to his surprise that the world stayed firmly in place. His shoes were lined up neatly on one side of the bed, and he slipped into them.

"Thanks," he said to Madam Pomfrey, who nodded at him and waved her hand dismissively.

"Off with you, now," she said, and Harry complied.

The hospital wing was near the main hallways, and he immediately heard the sound of people talking quietly, laughing under their breath. He caught up with a group of Fifth-Year Hufflepuffs who were headed to the Great Hall and followed them in. At the end of the Gryffindor Table he found the rest of his House, and he rushed to sit down with them.

"What's going on?" he asked, looking at Hermione. She looked at him excitedly.

"I'm not exactly certain," she said in a hushed tone, "but I think something special is going to be happening soon. I overheard Professor McGonagall talking to Professor Flitwick as they were going up to the High Table, and she said something about it being almost unheard of, and he mentioned something about an excellent learning experience."

Ron rolled his eyes, toying with a napkin laid out for the next meal.

"I hope they hurry it up," he muttered. "I was in the middle of playing a game of chess against Adrian Gasber, you know, the Fourth-Year kid? He's really quite good, you know. But his pieces are new, and I think if we're gone for too long they might get it into their little pumice heads to help him out a bit, you know? Cheat? And my pieces wouldn't stand for it – it'd be a shame if they got smashed."

He shook his head sadly. Hermione laughed.

"Is that all?" she asked. "From the way you were looking on the way down, I thought it was something horrible." Ron glared at her. "Oh, don't worry. I'm sure the Headmaster won't keep up long – look, there he is now. This shouldn't take a moment, probably just a new curriculum announcement. Or do you suppose they found another replacement Divination teacher?"

Whatever else Hermione suspected never got said, because at that moment McGonagall and Dumbledore exchanged a look, and then the Deputy Headmistress tapped her wand against a glass. As the sound echoed through the hall, the quiet chatter fell silent.

Dumbledore rose.

"Is this the entire Upper School?" he asked quietly. There was a hurried murmur as people checked around, and a hand rose at the Hufflepuff table only to be lowered again quickly with an embarrassed squeak. Slytherin snickered.

"Good, good," Dumbledore continued. "I am terribly sorry to take you all from your weekends, believe me. However, something has come up that I feel must be addressed. To do so will take an awfully long time, I am afraid, so in the interest of timeliness I must ask you all to indulge me in a small experiment."

Neville tapped Harry on the shoulder.

"What kind of experiment?" he asked quickly. "You don't think he'll do anything dangerous, do you?"

Harry shook his head.

"This is Dumbledore," he replied with a laugh. "He wouldn't want to do anything serious to us."

"It wouldn't look very good on the school record," Hermione pointed out from across the table. "'Hogwarts Upper School Turned to Guinea Pigs, Parents in Horrid Tizzy.' Can't you just see the headline?"

Neville seemed to relax somewhat. The sound of glass echoed once more.

Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"If everyone would be so kind as to form a line beside me, facing that door there, I would be much obliged." He gestured with his wand to the small door behind the staff tables that Harry had gone through in his Fourth Year. What on earth was going on, he wondered.

Slowly students rose, and managed to arrange themselves in a relatively neat line that snaked its way around the tables almost from one end of the hall to the other. It passed the Gryffindor table somewhere near the middle, and so Harry, who was right in between Neville and Seamus, couldn't make out anything more than three feet in front of him.

The line made its stately way forwards, with students gathering once more around the tables once their turn had passed, watching the proceedings. Twice, the wooden door opened, and a student went through. The remainder of the time, things went quite quickly, until it was Hermione standing beside Dumbledore. Harry stepped out of the line slightly to watch.

"If you will give me your wand for a moment, please?" Dumbledore asked politely, and Hermione took her wand from her robes and gave it to him. Dumbledore placed it behind his back. "Thank you, Miss Granger. Now, unlock the door."

Hermione stared at him.

"Excuse me, sir?" she asked, confused. Dumbledore smiled at her.

"Just try, my dear. Unlock the door."

The look Hermione gave him clearly indicated that she didn't think anything would happen. However, she shrugged her shoulders and approached the door. Taking a deep breath, she placed one hand on the doorknob.

"Alohamora," she said. Nothing happened for a moment, and Hermione had just begun to turn away, when there was an audible 'click', and the door opened. Smiling warmly, Dumbledore passed her wand back to her, and sent her through the door with a wave of his hand.

He waited for a moment, and Harry heard the sound of the door locking once more. With a satisfied nod, the Headmaster beckoned Ron forwards. After taking his wand, he give the redhead the same instructions.

Ron grinned at him and touched the door, saying the spell quickly. Nothing happened. After a further two attempts, Dumbledore gave his wand back to him and indicated for him to move on.

"You should perhaps be relieved that you did not pass through," he said kindly as Ron moved on. "It was, all told, rather fortunate."

Ron nodded to him, and moved on.

"I'd stay and wait for you," he told Harry as he passed him, "but we both know what's going to happen. And anyways, if I don't get upstairs soon Adrian's chess pieces will be dust. I'll see you in the Common Room."

Harry nodded and watched him leave. Ahead of him, Neville seemed to be having no better luck than Ron had, and then took his wand back with a relieved sigh. When he walked away, Harry found himself face to face with Dumbledore.

"This is my fault, isn't it?" he asked. The Headmaster smiled kindly and shook his head.

"There is no blame here, Harry," he answered. "It was inevitable. Now, you don't have your wand with you, do you?"

Harry frowned, and realised suddenly that it was still with his regular robes, in the changing rooms by the Quidditch Pitch.

"No, sir," he answered. Dumbledore nodded.

"In that case, I believe you know what to do."

The memory of the alleyway still in the back of his mind, Harry gestured towards the door and whispered the spell. He could sense his wand, hundreds of yards away on the other side of the castle. There was a click, and the door opened. Dumbledore smiled at him and waved him through.

Harry blinked as the light became suddenly dim. Susan Bones, Lisa Turpin, and Hermione were seated on a bench, and off to one side he could see Lupin standing quietly.

"If you could lock the door again?" he asked.

Harry looked back at the door, gestured again, and cast a basic locking spell. The door closed and he heard an invisible bolt being drawn. At Lupin's satisfied nod, he went over to the benches and sat down.

He had scarcely done so when the door creaked open to reveal Seamus, looking as shocked as Harry thought a person could look. He took his wand with numb fingers and walked through the door with an amazed look on his face, handing his wand to Lupin to lock the door behind him before sitting down beside Harry.

"What in bloody hell just happened?" he asked. "I didn't know I could do that."

They sat in silence for a long time, and although the sound of footsteps was continuous past the doorway, and Dumbledore's quiet instructions continued to filter through, the door remained closed. Even Lupin was beginning to look tired when suddenly they all heard the click, and Harry and Seamus exchanged a look of disgust.

Grinning smugly, Malfoy locked the door behind him and made his way over to the farthest bench available. Minutes later, Blaise Zabini followed him in, sitting with him and looking disparagingly at the other students. Both began to look more and more disappointed when it seemed apparent that no other Slytherins would make it in. The next time the door opened, Terry Boot entered, giving Lisa a look of relief and pride. Hannah Abbot followed him some time later, grinning at Susan, who smiled back. The last person to make it through was a terrified and exhilarated-looking Ginny, who searched the room frantically for a moment before sitting herself beside Hermione, whispering under her breath.

Lupin looked at the group, murmuring something under his breath, and then nodded.

"That's about right," he said softly, and although they waited a few minutes longer, there was nothing on the other side.

The door opened once more, and Dumbledore stepped over the threshold, smiling. He adjusted his robes, and flicked a hand to the torches on the walls. The light they gave off brightened.

"Much better," Dumbledore commented. He looked at the collection of students gathered before him and his smile broadened. His gaze lingered on Ginny for a moment, and he nodded, and then spread his hands and addressed the group.

"I told you just a short while ago that there was an issue that needed to be addressed. As I am certain most of you already know, Harry had an ... incident, shall we say, on the Quidditch pitch. What you may or may not know, is that he saved his own life by performing a stunning example of wandless magic. The rest of you have done the same, just now, when you opened the door."

From the far side of the room, Blaise yawned delicately behind one hand. The Headmaster turned, looking at her critically, and she melted back against the stones, looking down at the floor.

"Wandless magic is a rare ability," Dumbledore continued. "Very few people in the world would be able to boast that skill – well, many could boast it, but very few would be telling the truth. It is an ability that indicates an unusually high amount of core magical ability."

"Does that mean we're more powerful?" Terry asked delicately. Dumbledore shook his head.

"No," he replied. "It means that you are Virini. The amount of core magic a wizard – or witch – has does not determine the number of spells he – or she – will be able to perform, or how successful she – or he – will be in life. With the right amount of training and dedication, one can master almost anything. However, very few have the strength to perform magic without an amplifier. A wand."

By Harry, Hermione looked like she was ready to burst. Dumbledore looked at her kindly, and then continued.

"This is a gift," he said. "And it is one that must be trained, lest it run away with you."

"But sir," Hermione pointed out, "We don't have time. We scarcely have time for classes as it is."

Dumbledore looked at her, and then over his shoulder to Lupin. He frowned, brows coming together as he thought. The fingers of one hand toyed with the cuff of his robe. Finally he smiled.

"You Gryffindors take History of Magic with the Hufflepuffs, do you not?" he asked. Hermione looked over at Hannah Abbot and nodded. "And at the same time, Ravenclaw and Slytherin have a study period, if my memory still serves me." He sighed. "Although I dislike having to do this, I think that at the present time, this takes priority over that class. Therefore, you will all meet me in the classroom opposite the statue of Elgar the Eldritch when you would normally report for that class. I shall speak with Professor Binns."

Malfoy rose to his feet.

"But, sir, that's not fair," he protested. "We lose a study period, and they get to miss History of Magic! That gives us twice the work."

Dumbledore looked surprised.

"Ravenclaw and Slytherin students may, of course, take a study period when your Houses normally take History of Magic. You thought I would be so unfair?" A snowy eyebrow rose, and Malfoy sat down again, looking embarrassed. Dumbledore turned to Ginny.

"And you, Miss Weasley. I fear I do not know your schedule, but if you would be so kind as to stop by and visit me in my office I am certain we can sort something out." She nodded. "And naturally, I will speak with Professor Binns about a way to make up what you will miss. All well and good. And now, I think I have taken up more than necessary of your Saturday, so please, do go and enjoy the remainder of this beautiful day. I will see you all on Monday."

"It's rather strange, isn't it?" Hermione said as they made their way back up to the Gryffindor Tower. "That there are two Virini from the other three Houses, and four from Gryffindor."

Harry looked at her.

"Two what?" he asked. She gave him an exasperated look.

"Virini. Witches and wizards who can practice wandless magic. Oh, for goodness sakes," she exclaimed, seeing the blank expression on his face. "It was mentioned in a chapter Professor McGonagall assigned us last year, and at least twice in Charms. Seamus, surely you remember?"

Seamus spread his hands helplessly. Hermione shook her head.

"You're all hopeless," she said with an air of finality.

"But, you do have a point. And, why is Ginny the only one not in Sixth Year?"

Hermione paused with one foot about to hit a stair and looked at Harry thoughtfully.

"You're right," she said. "You'd think there would be some Seventh Years, in one of the other houses. And perhaps some Fifth Years as well. It's strange that it's so clustered like that." She continued her movement, walking ahead of the rest, pausing occasionally to think. Ginny looked uncomfortable. "It's not like our parents are all the same age, or anything," she mused. "So it couldn't be anything like that."

"Yours are Muggles," Seamus added.

"Maybe there was something in the stars?" Ginny suggested. Harry saw Hermione catch the withering glare before it could be directed at the younger girl. "We could talk to Firenze later on, he might know something. Raavi," she added to the Fat Lady.

The woman in the portrait looked down at them. Smoothing her dress, she smiled down at them and the portrait swung open. Harry followed behind the other three as they climbed through the hole and into the common room, which appeared to be deserted.

It made sense, on a Saturday Afternoon, especially with the weather still pretending to be summer. The entire school seemed to be outside, and Harry remembered that there was an unofficial game of Strategy, the wizarding equivalent of Capture the Flag, scheduled for that afternoon. Everyone would be there, except for the ... what was Hermione's word ... Virini, who'd undoubtedly missed the placement of the targets when Dumbledore called the meeting.

That was fine, though. Harry thought he could use some time alone to contemplate things. The fact that he wasn't the only one to be able to do this was something unusual and strangely heartening. And the tendencies Hermione had noticed also bore reckoning.

A voice from behind startled him.

"Ginny. You got in? Brilliant, sis. Way to go." Ron got up from the armchair he had been sitting in, giving his sister a hug and a smile. It seemed slightly frayed.

Ginny returned it, and the hug as well, before clearing her throat awkwardly. Her expression was cautious.

"I think I'm going to head up to the dorms, and then see if I can catch the rest of the game," she said. "Anyone interested?"

Seamus looked at Ron, then at Harry and Hermione, Ginny, and back to Ron again. He cleared his throat.

"Sounds good," he said. "Give me a second to put on a different robe, and then I'll come with you."

Both left the common room quickly, and Harry got a sudden premonition that things would not progress smoothly from here.

Ron watched them leave. His hands clenched at his sides, and he spun to face Harry.

"Oh," he exclaimed. "This is bloody brilliant. Congratulations, mate. You too, 'Mione. I guess I'll just go sit off in a corner now, shall I, and play with my wand."

Hermione's hands flew up in front of her, as if she was trying to deflect Ron's words.

"No," she said quickly. "Ron, don't do this. Please don't be upset ... it's nothing."

Ron shook his head.

"Nothing," he repeated. "Of course, nothing. Not for you, is it. No, you've always been there, haven't you? You've always been there, with something to take credit for, no matter what. And now you're going to be an Animagus, you and Harry ... Seamus told me about that little project, but I'm not Advanced Magics material." He ran a hand through his hair, dishevelling it. "But that's not enough, is it. Nothing's ever enough, now you've got to go and become something else."

"We didn't choose it!" Hermione exclaimed. She looked over at Harry, who shook his head. Speaking now would only get him killed.

Ron laughed.

"Of course not," he said bitterly. "That's what makes it okay. You didn't choose to leave me behind. But here I am, anyways, sitting in your shadow again. Both of yours."

This time Harry felt like he had to do something. He took a step towards Ron.

"Don't get upset with Hermione," he said. Ron looked at him.

"Why not?" he demanded. "We all know you're going to shine. It's in your job description – Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived. Okay, so it pisses the hell out of me, but you've taken your share of knocks, I guess." Something in his voice indicated that this didn't mean he wasn't angry. "But I just don't get how this all works with you." He turned to face Hermione. "What've you done that's so monumentally different from me? Why do you deserve any of this?"

Hermione's face fell. She stood silent, hair falling forwards to curtain her face. Harry thought he saw her shoulders tense, and then she looked up with an impossibly bright smile on her face.

"Maybe I'll go and see what Ginny and Seamus are up to," she said cheerfully, as if absolutely nothing had happened. She turned to Harry. "I'll see you for dinner, all right?"

And with that she was gone.

Harry turned to look at Ron. The redhead looked as if he was caught somewhere between satisfaction and mortification. He held up a hand when he felt Harry's gaze.

"Don't say anything," he said in a voice dripping with resentment. "I don't want to hear it. Whatever you were going to say. I don't give a damn." He looked up. "My bloody sister!" he exclaimed, balling his hands. "Why is it never me?"

And then he, too, turned and stormed out of the room, leaving a very confused Harry standing in the middle of an empty Common Room feeling, for some odd reason, like it was up to him to sort it all out.

The Department of Mysteries was silent, now. The Aurors had long gone, pronouncing it safe enough, all things considered. Repairs had been made, doors locked, and now the silence was free to settle again over everything it could touch. A faint patina of dust already coated even the newest treasures, and the smell of mildew was insinuating itself once more into everything.

There were no windows in the Department of Mysteries. In some cases, items there were so sensitive that a beam of light could cause something to shatter, or set off an array of spells to destroy the building. A single drop of rain would be the undoing of several things. And sometimes, the secret of the objects was too great to risk accidental exposure.

So there was no wind. There was no movement of bodies to shift the position of the air, no accidental gusts that were the inevitable result of a sneeze, or a cough, or a sniff, or a breath. With the silence and the dust came a stillness that was as present as a person. Nothing moved.

Except in one room.

There, locked behind a door that still bore a flaming X charred into the wood, at the centre of a tiered pit, a ragged black curtain suspended in an ancient stone arch swayed slightly, as if moved by a slight wind. The area around the curtain, around the arch, was completely empty for a time, unremarkable except for the curtain.

And then a man appeared. He looked around the room with obvious distaste, before his eyes fell on the curtain. He moved quickly to the arch, walked around it, searching for something. When he couldn't seem to find it, he looked back to the shimmering black cloth, and nodded once. With one hand he drew his wand from his robes. With the other he pushed back the curtain and spoke three words.

The archway shimmered.

What was once a clear view through to the other side of the amphitheatre darkened, shifted, to reveal a pile of bodies. All were still, faces relaxed, as if they were sleeping. The man was under no such illusions. Death left its own mark on the bodies of those it claimed.

The variety was quite interesting, he noted briefly. He could see from the corner of his eye the pristine robes of a woman who could not have been born in the last century, if the style of her robes were any indication. A man still wearing an elaborate powdered wig lay with his head on her ample bosom. Pity neither of them could enjoy it.

And there, on the top of the pile, was the man he had come for. Arched backwards, face still wearing an expression of sleepy confusion, Sirius Black held his wand loosely in one hand, the other touching the corner of a small rectangular mirror. The man smiled and gestured with his wand. The body rose slowly, and the mirror dropped from numbed fingertips.

When the body was clear, the man let go of the curtain, and the world beyond shimmered away when the cloth fell back into place. Then, he was gone, and the room was empty again, save for the fluttering curtain.

Draco knew something was wrong the instant he found himself standing in the dark. The robes he was wearing didn't feel like his school robes, nor like anything his father had purchased for him. The material was fine, almost airy, in a way that would have been perfect if the entire scene hadn't screamed "get the fuck out of here before you're turned into buttered toast"! He pushed the disconcerting feeling out of his mind for the moment, and tried to make out any differentiation in the black.

Slowly, very slowly, a point of light appeared. It continued to expand at a halting pace, illuminating in bursts of stone and iron, until Draco could make out a figure, a profile silhouetted. As the darkness crept back into the corners, another, smaller figure appeared, facing the first. Draco saw long hair, a slender build, nothing he could recognise. Then the voices started to come.

"Really, they're both quite stupid," a young, female voice commented, and the smaller figure made an impatient gesture. "You'd think by now, after everything, they'd be more suspicious. Especially him."

The taller figure laughed, and suddenly there was no more doubt as to who it was. Draco would forget Voldemort's voice when he died, perhaps. If then. Certainly not before.

"Take the gifts you receive with gratitude, my child, but be wary of them. Although it unlikely that any would have the skill to act with such deceit, we must never count on the stupidity of our enemies." His voice turned bitter, and the girl nodded.

"Of course, my Lord," she said.

Draco glared at them. Her voice was familiar, curse it. Not enough to recognise, just enough to send off tingling sensations in his brain, that if he had paid closer attention to some little nobody in the halls he would know who he was now dealing with. He leaned in, trying to hear more, something that would place her.

"You believe that they do not suspect you, then?" the Dark Lord asked. The girl nodded.

"They've given no sign that they have, and I think that's all I can go on. There would be other ways, but with all the wards around the castle I don't want to risk anything more."

"Indeed. It would be something of an inconvenience to lose you to Dumbledore, and I would if you were caught. The chances of them suspecting you are minimal, and if they do, I suppose I can always kill you myself."

The silhouette of the girl started slightly, and then nodded.

"Of ... of course, my lord."

Merlin, Draco thought. Whatever the Dark Lord had done, he had her wrapped around his little finger. The way he had everyone. Draco shook his head.

And it was as if that motion was a trigger for everything. The spark of light brightened further, split into four sparks, that dashed to illuminate the four corners of what Draco now saw as a small, windowless stone room. Score three points for originality.

He blinked rapidly to adjust to the sudden increase in light, and when his vision cleared the girl was gone, and Wormtail was there.

Damn, he thought. There was absolutely no way things could go well.

And, true to form, the Dark Lord turned to face him directly, a cold smile creeping across his face like an alien worm. His eyes narrowed in some obscure pleasure, and Draco could hear him breathing deep breaths, as if he was trying to take in the world through his nostrils. Draco shuddered. Not something he wanted to think about.

"Young Malfoy," Lord Voldemort said in the hiss that seemed to be his voice. "I trust I have not kept you waiting for long?"

Draco frowned, realised he was frowning, and glared.

"What do you want from me?" he demanded. "I thought I'd made it clear I want nothing to do with you and your Death Eaters." Blast it all. Now was not the time to sound like a Malfoy. Not when talking to the man who controlled your father. Certainly not with the man who happened to be an all-powerful, slightly insane dark wizard with plans for global annihilation. But there was nothing to be done. Draco looked up and met his gaze.

The Dark Lord looked vaguely wounded. Draco was surprised that the earth didn't switch rotation around its axis. Voldemort was shaking his head sadly, one hand resting ostensibly over his heart.

"You wound me," he said. "I told you before that I would not force you to me. You are too powerful for me to keep with me, if you are not loyal, and I have neither the time nor inclination to keep you under the Imperius curse."

Draco blinked. He hadn't even thought of that as a possibility.

"Then..." he resisted the urge to act like he was talking to a stubborn, slightly unintelligent child.

The Dark Lord's hands clasped together, his face composing itself to a semblance of 'perfectly reasonable'.

"I have something to give you, Young Malfoy," he said. Draco took a step backwards.

"I don't want it," he said quickly, raising his hands in a futile effort to protect himself.

Voldemort chuckled, and all illusions dropped, leaving only the clear cold truth that the man was ruthless, blindingly intelligent, and unbelievably powerful.

"What makes you think I offer you a choice?" he asked, venom and honey dripping from his tone. "You will accept what I give you. There are no other options for you."

Draco shook his head.

"No," he said. This time, the Dark Lord laughed.

"No?" he mimicked. "Ah, Young Malfoy. You do not realise what is happening, do you? You think that when I say 'you have no choice', I mean that I will not allow you any other. There is truth in that, of course. I will not let my desires be thwarted by a boy who still does not know what he truly needs. But it goes beyond that." His eyes gleamed in the spelled light. "You were created to be a receptacle. A vessel, if you will, for my power."

He paused, watched with an indecipherable expression as Draco fought the immediate feelings that bubbled up, fought the expression that wanted to show itself on his face. He closed his eyes, slamming them all away. When he looked up, Voldemort was still watching.

"You see," he continued before Draco could speak, "I knew I could never have a child. It is the price of the power I sought."

The Dark Lord is impotent, Draco heard a tiny voice sing in the back of his head. Go away, he told it irritably, though the faint sound of humming still echoed in his mind.

"But a wizard can only do so much solus, and so I found Lucius. I thought then that he was perfect. Or, as perfect as one can be, still marred by the essence of humanity. He was brilliant, powerful, cold, beautiful. So beautiful. And I helped them, your parents. I taught them more than they could have ever known, and gave them the opportunity to test their knowledge. And they gave me you. My perfect Heir."

Voldemort stopped, suddenly, and his silence stifled the outburst that Draco could feel building. He froze as the Dark Lord examined him critically, reaching out with one finger as if to touch him from across the room. He shrugged slightly.

"Well, perhaps not perfect. For that you would have to be loyal. Fortunately, there is little with that requirement. You will become my Heir regardless of your feelings on the matter, because there is nothing else for you to do. If you accept that, it will be much easier for you."

Draco blinked twice, shook his head to clear it. When he looked up, he found himself staring straight into the eyes of the Dark Lord.

"There is always something else," he said, not quite knowing why or what it meant. It didn't really matter, though. He would struggle, he would fight with all he had, but that annoying singsong voice knew with deadly certainty that it would do him no good in the end.

Lord Voldemort smiled benignly, an unsettling image.

"If you choose to believe that, I cannot prevent you, my scion," he said. "It will not help you, but you may believe what you will. Petrificus totalus."

Draco stiffened as the familiar feeling swept through his body, as it effectively turned to stone. He could only pray that he maintained some semblance of dignity.

"I cannot have you fighting me," the Dark Lord commented, as if instructing. "Blood is a necessary and integral part of this spell, but used improperly it could prove to be the undoing of both of us. Now, time grows short, and I grow weary of your presence. Wormtail! Where is the blade?"

Pettigrew, who had been standing completely motionless behind Voldemort during the entire discourse, now hurried forwards. He snapped the fingers of his metal hand, and an intricate dagger appeared in it. He handed it to the Dark Lord with a bow, and then dashed back to his position of relative safety.

Nodding, Voldemort held out one skeletal hand. With the tip of the dagger he drew a line from the tip of his index finger across his palm to the opposite side of this wrist. The line glowed a bright red for a moment, and then a more natural colour as blood welled up. As the first drops formed, he turned his hand over, and they fell to spatter on the stone floor.

Softly, he began to speak, words that Draco could not understand, but sent a frisson of fear through him nonetheless. A pale white light began to form around the Dark Lord, clinging to his milky skin for a moment before expanding, reaching outwards. Draco felt a tingling sensation run though his body, and a moment later was blinded by an answering blaze of white. His vision adjusted quickly, and he saw that he and the Snake Lord stood now in a perfect circle of white, with Wormtail hovering anxiously at the outer edge.

Voldemort gestured with one hand. Something changed in the spell that kept Draco bound, and he saw his left arm rise. The blade of the knife was sharper than razor blades, and he didn't feel it when it cut through his skin, only the cold of the wind that followed. Blood pooled in his palm, more quickly than he would have expected, and then with another gesture his hand turned, and the blood joined the other crimson droplets in the ground.

The moment the last drop fell, the entire spell changed. The white light had felt warm, somehow, safe. When the blood stopped falling, the world froze. And then the droplets began to expand. They merged together into a solid puddle of liquid on the floor between the two wizards, began to glow, and their coppery tinge replaced the white.

In the distance, Pettigrew squeaked.

Directly opposite from Draco, Voldemort said four words, whispered under his breath. The crimson glow expanded thousand fold, turned into a searing red brilliance that burned into his eyes, through his skin, until all he could think of was pain.

At the back of his mind, next to the cheerful little voice that seemed to have died suddenly, a thin stream of music floated around his consciousness. Slowly, a violin part rose, blending with the cello as the red light continued to scorch him. Draco shut his eyes, and heard the Dark Lord laugh softly.

Don't open your eyes, he thought. Don't engage. If you can't see what's going on then it's not really happening. Just throw yourself into the music and let the sensations take over, because if you can't see them they're not real.

He didn't know how long it was until the scarlet behind his eyelids dimmed, turned to black, with an afterimage of green. Slowly he opened his eyes.

He was lying on the floor, in what he normally would have called an undignified heap, if he'd been in a condition to call it anything. He picked himself up gingerly, and became aware that although nothing hurt physically, he somehow felt like he'd been run over by the Knight Bus backwards. As he raised his eyes, he saw the figure of the Dark Lord before him.

"You are free to go, now, my scion," he said. "I have no further need for you, not now. But remember this night, remember my gift to you. You will not forget the power, do not forget the source."

And then he was gone, and Wormtail with him, and Draco was alone, surrounded by four impenetrable stone walls. He spun, trying to find a way to leave, and his eyes were caught by twin flashes of green. Potter stepped away from the wall, stood looking at him with an expression that Draco couldn't figure out, didn't want to. It was too close to pity.

Potter looked at him, with that horrible gaze, and then he nodded. He blinked once and then, like the Dark Lord had done, he vanished.

And Draco was alone.

The atmosphere in the classroom that day was different than any of the other classes. It seemed almost charged, everyone sitting at their desks with their spheres in front of them, staring intently at Dumbledore, who appeared to be having a nap. Draco, of course, made himself the exception, and was rather pointedly staring around the room at the others, wondering who had managed to come up with the correct transformation spell.

A rather sheepish-looking Gryffindor – Finnigan ... or was it Michaels – suddenly appeared in the doorway, threw himself into a nearby chair, and tried as best he could to look invisible. Draco sneered.

However, this appeared to be the cue the Headmaster had been waiting for, because he looked up from his desk, adjusted his spectacles, and cleared his throat.

"Mister Finnigan, everything is all right?"

Aha, so it was Finnigan. Although, Draco reminded himself, he didn't give a damn. Finnigan shook his head.

"No, sir," he said with an embarrassed grin, and Dumbledore nodded.

"In that case, I believe we can begin." His gaze moved to encompass the entire classroom, and Draco allowed himself to meet it for a moment before his lips curled up again. "You have all had one week to attempt to create a spell to transform your spheres. I expect many of you are discouraged, and rightfully so, by your lack of results. I wish to reassure you that in many cases, your task may already be completed." His eyes twinkled again and Draco almost winced. "You see, your orbs have all been placed in stasis."

On the Gryffindor side of the room, the Mudblood looked absolutely furious, and for once Draco was tempted to agree. Several of the Ravenclaws looked ready to explode, and Boot's hand was in the air at the same time as an astounded 'WHAT?' erupted from his mouth.

"You mean some of us are already done?" he asked. "We could have been done for the whole week, but instead we've had to worry?"

Dumbledore shrugged benignly.

"I have not the faintest idea which, if any, of you have completed the spell correctly. It is dependent upon the person who casts it, and would give me no indication. It could easily be that no one here has been able to cast it. Regardless, I will now alter the condition of the spheres to place them in subjective stasis."

The Mudblood's lips were moving again, thinking. Near him, Draco heard Blaise muttering behind her hand.

"Subjective ... subjective stasis. So ... it's only in stasis for ..."

Dumbledore shook his hand and his wand appeared in it. Drawing a circular shape in the air in front of him, he pronounced,

"Obscurus Alioqui."

For a moment nothing happened. Then, suddenly, Crabbe jumped up from beside him.

"I can see it!" he shouted gleefully, holding his plain, round, ordinary orb up for the world to see. "It looks just like a –"

"Idiot!" Draco grabbed him by the back of his robes and dragged him back to his chair. "Don't you think there's a reason Dumbledore made it so the rest of us can't see? You're not supposed to go shouting it to the world. For Mordred's sake, if you used even half the space in your head for thinking!"

"Thank you, mister Malfoy," Dumbledore said calmly. "You are correct. Your orb will appear unchanged to all who view it, save yourself. I will give you twenty minutes to perform whatever further spells are necessary."

The Ravenclaws all looked horribly pleased with themselves, Draco noticed. They examined their orbs with something akin to pride, and he wanted to hurt them. The Hufflepuffs all looked clueless, except for one girl with a long honey-coloured plait, who stared at her sphere with a certain quiet satisfaction. And as always the Gryffindors were as much of a consolation as they could ever be, as inferior beings. The Artist and Pansy's Friend both looked like they'd done something, but Potter, the Mudblood, and Finnigan still seemed completely clueless. The longer the better, Draco thought.

And then he turned his attentions to his own sphere, because it simply would not do to fall behind. Of course, it was all horrendously simple, really. The introduction of the Virinus aspect of things had made it all clear to him. After all, if he didn't need a wand, did he really need spells either? Taking deep breaths, Draco placed both hands on the orb and thought about himself.

It was slow, very slow, but he could tell almost immediately that something was happening. The magic didn't seem to want to come out – the lack of amplifier in the wand combined with the lack of focus in a spell made the entire process more difficult – but it happened, and gradually Draco began to see light appearing around his hands, surrounding the sphere, which began to waver slightly.

Finally, after too long, it was done. Draco took his hands away, and the shape didn't change. Goyle looked at him with a crestfallen expression.

"You couldn't do it?" he asked, sounding as if all of his illusions had been shattered in an instant. Draco resisted the impulse to cuff him soundly on the head. Or curse him.

"Of course I could, you thick-headed imbecile. Dumbledore's spell just means you can't see."

"But ... the light ..." Goyle didn't look convinced, but subsided.

The remainder of the time seemed to pass at an interminable crawl. Draco entertained himself for the most part by watching the blunders of the others, specifically in Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Honestly, he thought with disgust, what was the point of the latter house? They were inferior in every aspect of wizarding society – less magical, cowards to their very souls, and stupid idiots to boot. They were all right for manual labour, he supposed, with their never-give-up credo, but to put a Hufflepuff in any position of authority or responsibility was to beg for disaster. Only one other Hufflepuff seemed to have any idea what she had done, talking quietly to the braided one while the rest of her housemates looked on in helpless confusion.

A flash of light on the Gryffindor side made Draco jump, and Finnigan bolted so high he shook the table he was sitting behind. The Artist looked pleased, Finnigan glowered and began mumbling a string of something that Draco knew wasn't a spell. Something exploded. The Artist shrunk back. Finnigan's hair turned violently purple.

Which interrupted the lesson as Dumbledore tried to fix the idiot's mess while keeping a straight face. Several Slytherins tapped him on the shoulder, Blaise giving him a veiled look of lazy boredom and something else, Crabbe grunting and going on until the last possible moment, when he sat up broom-straight and wouldn't say another word.

Dumbledore returned to the head of the classroom, and Draco was disappointed to see that Finnigan's hair had regressed from vibrant purple to its normal, boring shade of brownish something that Draco didn't feel like contemplating. Potter still showed no signs of having done anything, although the Mudblood was looking insufferably smug, and Draco thought that perhaps he wouldn't get to see as many humiliating defeats as he might have liked.

Dumbledore tapped his fingers on his desk.

"I have given you as much time as I can," he said. "There are only two classes today, and I cannot permit this process to go on unsupervised, so I am afraid that those of you who have not completed the charm will be unable to continue today. This is not final, and anyone who has failed may speak with me at a later date. However, now we must continue."

He spun his wand once and drew an intricate pattern in the air in front of him. With a flick of his wrist Dumbledore sent the design forwards towards a clear area of the classroom. He spoke two words that Draco could not catch, and a swirling vortex of white appeared, hanging in mid air.

"Does anyone know what this is?"

Draco contained a snort as four hands rose across the room, only to lower slowly. Of course no one had any idea what it was. He raised his own hand.

Dumbledore looked surprised.

"Mister Malfoy?"

"It's a portal," Draco drawled. He watched with amusement as the entire Ravenclaw House sneered at him. "To a realm that was created to float slightly above ours, a test realm. Given parameters by the Ministry," he sneered, "and divided into several sectors."

The Mudblood looked furious. As did the Ravenclaws. A job well done, then. Dumbledore coughed softly.

"Indeed," he said. "That is correct. How did you come across this information?"

Draco smirked. The old man wouldn't push, he never did. And indeed, the thoughtful look had drifted across the Headmaster's face in a second and then he addressed the class.

"Mister Malfoy is indeed correct," he repeated. "The creation of this portal requires a series of spells given out by the ministry after extensive applications, and only in cases of great need.

"An Animagus testing ground," the Mudblood stated. Brilliant, Draco thought. Fifty points to Gryffindor for that astounding display of intelligence. Dumbledore, predictably, nodded.

"Now, the spell has been set up here," he gestured towards the vortex, "and is complete save for the applicant's contribution."

Almost everyone looked down towards their orb.

"Indeed." Dumbledore sounded pleased. "Now, when I call you up you will throw your orb into the portal. If your spell has been completed correctly, the vortex will open, and you will pass through." He gestured with one hand, and the milky, swirling surface of the vortex cleared to form what resembled a sheer pane of milky glass. Another gesture and it had returned to normal. "If your spell is in any way incorrect, the portal will not change and you will not be able to cross. Are there any questions?"

Draco quickly grabbed onto Goyle's arm and felt it tense.

"But," the mindless idiot blurted out, but Draco twisted his arm and he fell silent.

Dumbledore, looking around, seemed to have missed this. Or perhaps the old man had more sense than Draco had given him credit for. Either way, he beamed.

"None? All right, then. Before anyone does anything rash, I will explain briefly what will happen. As soon as you pass through the portal, you will find yourself in, as I said, an alternate reality. I do not know precisely how this will appear, because it changes depending on the circumstances. However, it will undoubtedly involve wilderness of some sort. You will not find yourselves in London. The purpose of the challenge is to find the portal that will take you out of this world. The shape of the testing ground is relatively rectangular, with you on one end and the portal on the other, so there is no danger of anyone getting stranded. There will be additional tests along the way, as well as things that will assist you. It is up to you how you deal with these. Now, let us begin with ... Ravenclaw. Mister Boot?"

No room for questions, Draco noticed with an amused smirk. There were certainly enough people looking confused, and he was glad that they would have to keep their stupidity to themselves.

A tall brunette got up and picked up his sphere, holding it strangely. Of course, Draco realised, it probably felt no more like an orb than his would. How strange. He approached the swirling vortex with some hesitation, then shrugged and tossed his orb gently into the centre.

There was a bright flash of light and the sound of a bird's cry, and the surface of the vortex curved out to form the shape of an animal before shimmering into the smooth plane the Headmaster had shown them. Draco frowned. Something wasn't right; for the life of him he couldn't remember the animal that had appeared. Cure the Ministry's restrictions. The knowledge of someone's Animagus shape was a valuable tool. Boot stepped through the portal and vanished.

A Gryffindor was selected next, Pansy's Friend, who giggled nervously and pranced towards the vortex with a supposedly cute tilt of her head. Her orb also produced the flare of light and she left the classroom through the portal. Blaise was the first Slytherin chosen, and did the house proud by not utterly humiliating herself. She stepped through the vortex with a toss of her hair, and Draco expected no less.

When the Headmaster selected a Hufflepuff, a small, pug-faced boy Draco had never seen before, he could almost sense the break in the pattern. He moved with the manner of all Hufflepuffs, tossing in his orb into the swirl of light with an attitude that indicated that he really did not expect to succeed. His expectations were met.

The swirling of the vortex stopped for a moment, and then the direction of the movement reversed as the entire class watched with interest. There was a flash of light and the boy's orb dropped from the centre of the vortex to crack on the stone floor of the classroom.

Dumbledore smiled.

"Reparo," he said, as the glass mended itself and flew into the boy's hands. "Do not worry, Mister Kyne. You will have another chance."

Remarkably few others had any difficulty; three additional Hufflepuffs and a horrified-looking Ravenclaw had their orbs returned before Draco heard his name called.

There was no question, of course. He moved with confidence, as he always did, and felt no surprise when the flash of light illuminated his animal before the portal appeared. He stepped through, confident of his success as he always was. In the real world, life was perfect for Malfoys.

The world turned white as he passed through the portal, and then black quite suddenly, and Draco felt himself suspended in nothingness. He wasn't sure if his eyes were open or not, if he had eyes at all, and time was something not to even be considered. Sighing, if he even had lungs, Draco waited.

He had no idea how long he'd been trapped in the unending darkness before shapes started to appear. Slowly, at first, like a dream, or vision beginning to come into focus, pieces of black seemed to become more, lighten into shapes of trees and a clearing, with other creatures forming a rough circle.

Harry was surprised. There were fewer here than he had expected, given the number of students in the class, but he supposed his optimism was bound to fall flat eventually, and here was as good a place as any. Directly across from him, a snake looked at him with the leisurely insolence he usually attributed to Malfoy. Near the serpent, a gorilla and a large bull looked at each other with looks of animal confusion. The gorilla was intelligent, Harry remembered, if belligerent and slow to learn. Interesting.

A quick look revealed a number of beasts that Harry could imagine as Gryffindors. A small, red fox looked at him and gave a small yip, tilting its head cheerfully in a way that screamed 'Seamus' as if he'd been wearing a sign. Several birds rested on the branches above his head, and a large, black wolf and a snow-leopard regarded each other with detached interest. Ravenclaws, Harry thought at first, and then wondered if the leopard wasn't Dean.

Shrugging mentally, he stopped this guessing game and looked around him. No one really seemed to have any idea what to do, but if Dumbledore had spoken the truth, which he seemed to always do, the portal was on the other end of this place, then there was only one thing to be done.

The Slytherins appeared to think of the same thing. The cobra, which had been coiling and uncoiling itself as if it were waiting for something, straightened in a lightning-quick movement and looked over towards the wolf and the leopard. It seemed to shake its head disdainfully, and then moved to the gorilla and bull, snapping at their heels, herding them out into the jungle.

As if this were some unspoken signal, the other animals began to move as well. The birds flew off, sending sheets of feathers and leaves raining down on the land-bound animals, who were already turning tail and departing in various directions. Harry wondered briefly about the logistics of this 'rectangular' plane. Would the barrier be something visible, like some wards were, or ...

There were better times to ponder. With almost everyone else gone already, save for a poor muskrat who appeared to be having difficulties walking, Harry decided that it was time to move. A low branch stuck out several feet in front of him, and without thinking he tensed his leg muscles and jumped.

It was surprisingly easy. His body, though large, seemed to be built to jump, and he landed with all four paws settled comfortably on the branch. He flicked his long black tail, feeling his entire balance shift ever so slightly. So that's what tails were for. If he stuck to the trees as much as he planned, it would undoubtedly come in useful.

The branches were easy to navigate through the network of branches, moving quickly and efficiently. His body seemed to know how to do everything necessary, moving without direction in a direction Harry hoped would take him towards the portal. He had no idea how time was affected in this world, but he had no desire to spend days trapped in an alternate dimension, regardless of how much the Ministry supervised it.

He wondered suddenly if his every move was being tracked, recorded somehow. The Ministry wanted to know each person's Animagus form; what better way to do it than to monitor the trials. But, that left him with an interesting confliction, because there were illegal Animagi. Which meant that either this system wasn't monitored, or there was another way to go about it.

Harry was dragged from his thoughts suddenly by a flash of light to his left. He turned quickly, just in time to see a movement in the leaves, before a piercing screech disturbed the silence of the forest. From the concealing foliage erupted a large, brightly coloured bird that reminded Harry vaguely of the ones Sirius used to send. He blocked the memory quickly, tensing as he watched the fowl.

The bird shrieked once more and flapped giant, vibrant wings. It shook itself, and then rose into the air, flying directly at Harry, who raised one paw to block it. The next thing he knew, something inside himself had taken control of the action, and the defensive motion had transformed itself into a full blow, claws outstretched. The bird seemed surprised.

She also seemed bloody irritated.

Harry rather immediately wished he hadn't done that, that he'd done something sensible, like run away. Now, rather than simply looking protective, the bird seemed like it wanted to kill him. It came at him again, wickedly hooked talons aimed directly at him, an aggressive look in her eye. Milliseconds before she reached him, Harry leapt off the branch to another limb he prayed was where he thought it was. His claws held firm.

The bird let out an annoyed screech and he could hear her flapping to regain altitude, trying to see where he had gone. Really, the entire thing reminded him vaguely of one of Dudley's video games. He moved backwards until he was near the trunk of the tree and took note of the branch system around him, then twitched his tail noisily and prayed that things in real life worked as well as they seemed to do on the television.

The ornate bird let out a noise somewhere between a shriek and a cackle, and then Harry could see her again, swooping in towards him. He tensed himself once more, crouching low and crossing the imaginary fingers in his mind. The creature continued its decent, gaining speed, and when Harry thought it was too late for her to correct her course he threw everything he had into a sideways leap to a branch just to his left.

The noise of the impact was somewhat disconcerting. For a moment, Harry worried that he had killed her. Then a wing moved, and he heard a somewhat plaintive noise coming from the bundle of feathers. Quickly, before she could add a headache to her list of grievances, he left.

Remus Lupin looked down at the stack of papers on his desk and shook his head. It was idiotic, really, some of the things he was forced to cover in his attempt to teach these students something about Muggles. And it was amazing how many students had elected to take the course, showing little or no interest in the subject. It had always had the reputation of being an easy course, a simple E with no effort required, but Remus hadn't thought that that would be enough of a lure for the Slytherins. Apparently he was wrong.

The essay he was reading at the moment was the pinnacle of stupidity. Really, the telephone as a medieval invention used to make the job of bards easier – it was complete and utter idiocy, and certainly not mentioned in any of the texts students were supposed to use as references. Dipping his quill in a small jar of bright blue ink, he wrote,

References are a useful tool, occasionally. Please use them, and resubmit this paper on Thursday.

Merlin, if he wasn't beginning to sound like Severus, Remus realised. Then again, he hadn't truly appreciated what the man went through, teaching Year after Year of students who hated his class. Perhaps there was more to it than met the eye.

Which brought something else to mind, something Remus would have rather ignored, but having been thought of, the issue would not leave him. In three day's time he would be accompanying Severus on his return to the Dark Lord. Voldemort. Together with Hestia, they would make the trek from the school grounds to the Circle, the fabled place where Fates only know what happens. Remus wondered if Severus even had the faintest idea, and then decided that he probably did.

Something about the whole thing made him profoundly uneasy, though. His role on that night would be to act as a guardian for Severus, with Hestia's assistance. That in itself was a mild cause of concern; it was no secret between them that the raven-haired witch did not trust him, nor did she like him. He wondered if she knew how much more he knew of her feelings, and thought that it was unlikely. For reasons that she probably didn't quite understand, the woman hated Remus, distrusted him, and at the root of both of those emotions, she feared him.

With reason, Remus knew. Hestia was a perceptive woman with a high intelligence, those skills combining to give her a clearer understanding than most people had. The general assumption was, and had always been, that Remus was weak. Knowing nothing else, the world looked at his lean frame, the shadows in his eyes, and assumed that he needed help. That he needed protecting. Those who knew his secret assumed that it only added to his burden, making him less capable than the rest of dealing with the horrors of life.

As Hestia almost understood, they could hardly be more wrong.

Granted, in his First year and even Second, things had been difficult. His not-quite matured body, coupled with the natural fear of a young student and the added terror of discovery had combined to create a very insecure young man, for a time.

But that time had passed, quite quickly. Remus had grown into himself, had become comfortable in his form. Despite his reservations, he had made friends quite quickly, and although he didn't completely trust any of them they helped him through the difficult stages of being a student. And with the confidence came strength.

It wasn't only the physical strength, a power that seemed to come more from the Wolf than from muscle. The hours of agony, the long struggles with the beast within him gave Remus mental fortitude as well. The realisation that there was nothing worse in the world than what lay within himself gave him surety. And the knowledge that he had the ability to rip the world to shreds took away his fear. It was hard to really be afraid of Lucius Malfoy with fangs and claws itching to burst free and attack.

The only thing that he ever really feared was himself. He was desperately afraid of what could happen if he relaxed his guard, unleashed any of the darker emotions lurking somewhere near his heart. It was for that reason that he remained quiet, stayed out of the way. The world tended to look over him, protect him and shield him without considering the alternatives, and Remus kept the gentle smile on his face, an impenetrable barrier against the darkness inside him.

Of course, some people had seen through it, or been shown what he was truly capable of. He wondered if Sirius remembered – would have remembered. He somehow doubted that Severus would ever forget. And Severus and Hestia had always been close, so perhaps there was a reason behind her animosity after all.

Which brought Remus back to the beginning again, and brought his unease to the surface. Severus was a brilliant man, without doubt, but not infallible. The Wolfsbane Potion was almost impossible to brew, and the slightest mistake in this case could lead to the Potion Master's death. Remus didn't like that responsibility, sitting cheerfully over his right shoulder.

Of course, they would be in more danger without him there, and that thought was somehow reassuring, in a roundabout sort of way. The Forbidden Forest was verboten for a reason, and Remus suspected that few people knew the true dangers of the place, but with him they would be safe. In his many years as a student, running in the Woods as part of the Marauders, he had established himself as the Alpha. Few creatures would cross a werewolf, even if he were alone and frightened. Remus was not. He had returned to the woods, reacquainted himself with the spirit of the forest, and it knew him once more. Nothing would cross their path. And if it did ...

That was what surprised people the most. The idea of poor Remus Lupin holding his own in the big bad world; not only holding his own, but fighting back, winning. Few people realised at all what truly was, and what that meant. Of those who did, most underestimated the reality of the situation. And this was his greatest advantage. He was a force that no one reckoned on,

Remus sighed. Perhaps not a silver lining, but a lightening of the gloom, at any rate. Nothing would go wrong, of course. The potion had never failed him, and it would not fail him when he needed it next.

Harry met the snow leopard again at the edge of the canyon. Which in itself presented a rather large problem; Harry had been minding his own business, quite happily enjoying the black-and-white scenery, when the trees had begun to thin rapidly, and then rather suddenly stopped altogether, leaving him standing on a branch, staring down into a rocky chasm. It didn't appear to be horribly deep, but the point was made somewhat moot by the rapidly- flowing river that began where the chasm ended.

Wonderful, Harry thought. He wondered if perhaps Dumbledore's rectangle wasn't slightly dimensionally-challenged; the canyon seemed to curve in a gentle arc, as if it were part of a giant circle, surrounding this strange world. It stretched as far as Harry could see in either direction, and there was nothing he could see that would make the descent any easier.

There were two things of note, however.

The first was the shadow that he could just see, standing at the edge of the forest about twenty metres to the left of him. As Harry's eyes adjusted, the shadow quickly resolved itself into the shape of a large, black-spotted white cat who seemed to be examining the canyon. The feline was utterly motionless except for the twitching of its tail, but Harry somehow sensed that it was aware of him, just as he had been aware of it.

The other, perhaps more important thing was the fact that the cats were not alone. The Slytherins had already reached the canyon. The cobra was once again coiled lazily, hissing in a way that made absolutely no sense to Harry, while the bull and the gorilla stomped and smashed at the edge of the chasm, sending small showers of rocks cascading down the canyon walls into the river. Slowly, boulder by boulder, they appeared to be ... creating a ramp?

Uh oh, Harry thought. His knowledge of physics wasn't outstanding, but something seemed wrong with the situation. The two animals were moving closer and closer to the edge, breaking off bits around them rather than moving backwards. Although it seemed to be efficient ...

Something moved below him. He looked down to see the leopard gazing sideways at him, tail lashing. Muscles moved in its face, shifting through the body, conveying a message as clearly as if the animal had spoken in English.

No ... that won't work out. Not the way they expect it to.

Harry blinked. What?

The animal below him looked at him again, that sideways gaze, as if it was confused, or patronising.

I said, it won't work. Agreeing with you. There was a pause. Are you a ... Hufflepuff?

Harry laughed, a strange sound coming from an animal, and shook his head. No, he thought. I'm ... not a Hufflepuff. The leopard wasn't Dean, he was sure. His friend wouldn't have asked that. And there was no reason for Harry to give more information away than he needed to.

Something struck him, suddenly. He looked down at the leopard, who seemed to once again be disinterested in him.

What did I just say? he thought, trying to send the idea as forcefully as he could. The leopard looked up at him.

That you weren't a Hufflepuff, he replied. There was a pause. Are you sure you're not a Hufflepuff?

Harry laughed again.

Yes, he replied, I'm sure. I just didn't know how this talking thing would work. I didn't know I would be able to talk to other animals.

The leopard looked amused.

I'm hardly 'another animal', panther. We're in the same family. Of course we can communicate – McGonagall can talk to Mrs. Norris, at any rate.

Harry blinked, biting back the urge to ask another question. He hadn't known about McGonagall ... not that the ability seemed very transferable. He wasn't exactly in the most panther-populated area. Panthers and leopards, it seemed.

A sudden noise below him drew his attention away from himself, to the three animals at the edge of the canyon. Harry suppressed a snort of amusement; his predictions seemed to have been right after all. The two beasts had continued their steady progress, knocking the rock away until they had formed a peninsula around themselves. Then the gorilla let go a mighty blow at the edge of the rock, and a thundering crack echoed in the still air.

Slowly, the smallest of cracks appeared in the rock. It sped through the ground, widening as it went, snaking across the peninsula as the gorilla and the bull watched with stupid fascination. Then, moments before the crevice reached the opposite side of the newly-created outcropping, both beasts seemed to realise what was going on. The bull reacted first, tossing its horns and trying to shove the gorilla out of the way, and then the entire piece of rock tumbled down into the canyon, the two brutes falling after it.

The snake moved marginally closer to the edge to watch the proceedings, and seemed to shake its head in disbelief before vanishing over the edge.

A slightly bored voice sounded beneath Harry, both in his mind and in his ears. I don't think we'll be able to take that route.

Harry surveyed the area below him and nodded to himself. No, he agreed. Tensing his muscles, he leapt down from his branch with a single, fluid motion, landing in the flat strip between forest and empty air. Moving slowly up to the edge of the canyon, Harry surveyed the steep incline.

His previous assessment had been correct, he decided; Harry had little desire to jump. He had the strong suspicion that any attempt to do so would be met with broken bones, and much ow-ing in the future, despite all of Dumbledore's reassurances.

Harry heard the leopard come out to stand near him.

Any suggestions? He asked hopefully. He could almost feel the other beast think for a moment before the voice answered, self-satisfied.

None at all.

Harry sighed and shrugged to himself. It was undoubtedly too much to hope for. Then I guess we'll just have to look around for something, won't we. Or we could just take the brutes' method of descent.

His comment was met with a long silence, laden with amusement and several other emotions that Harry couldn't place, but could feel radiating off the white, spotted cat. Then the shoulders moved in what seemed like acquiescence, and the head nodded.

We could, the leopard agreed magnanimously. Indeed, by all means, you can even go first.

Harry chuckled and shook his head. I don't think so, he replied. Let's start looking for a way down.

The fact that a partnership had sprung up seemed to go unnoticed by either party member until it was too late to do anything about the fact. For Harry it seemed only natural, more than natural in fact, to be working with the leopard. They were from slightly different geographic regions, perhaps, but the two of them were kin, and in the animal world that meant more than almost anything. The two creatures owed it to each other to assist one another whenever possible, and now was just such a time.

If the leopard had any other thoughts on the matter, it didn't voice them.

That was another thing that had Harry slightly baffled, he thought as he scoured the edge of the canyon for possible modes of descent. Initially, he had understood the leopard's intended messages by reading the minute, almost imperceptible variations in body language. However, he had also most definitely 'heard' the other animal reply when he had been looking away, and there had been almost no noise. Certainly not enough to convey a complex thought.

Perhaps he was overestimating the power of spoken language, or underestimating something else. It was obviously possible, and Harry was aware that he was distracted. The newest communication issues were not the foremost thing on his mind.

A low growl drew his attention away moments later to where the leopard stood, several hundred feet to his left.

I might have found something, the animal told him as he loped easily over to where it was standing. I'm not entirely certain if it will work or not, but it seems to be the best chance. Look – over there.

The tip of the leopard's tail flicked in the direction of a tree that stood two or three feet away from the edge of the canyon. The ground at its base seemed to be broken up, as if the expansion of the roots had fractured the rock structure, and the tree itself seemed not to be very healthy.

Will that be big enough to cross? Harry asked, studying it. The leopard offered a feline shrug.

I doubt it, it replied. But, it should be long enough to get us to that plateau down there, and from that point the jump to the bottom should be easy.

Harry scowled, as best a panther could.

There are a lot of 'should's in that sentence, he pointed out. The leopard glared at him.

Do you have any other suggestions? It demanded. Harry thought for a moment and then shook his head.

The leopard seemed to smirk good-naturedly. It lead Harry over until the two were standing directly beside the tree, facing the canyon, and then circled the large plant twice before coming to a halt.

I think ... it began in a tone that suggested a furrowed brow, I think that we just need to ... push, here. Hard.

Harry snorted.

Whoever you are, you're not very good at plans, he commented. He looked at the tree, and then put his shoulder against it, directing all of the power he could come up with into pushing.

Nothing happened.

Harry tried twice more, and then paused. Something was wrong, he decided, though he couldn't quite place it. Something decidedly out of place in the scenario – and then he realised that the leopard was standing several feet to one side, watching the proceedings with interest.

If you wanted to help me, you know, I wouldn't turn you down, Harry called over to it, and the leopard blinked in surprise before letting out a feline laugh and moving to stand beside him.

One, two, three? The leopard suggested, and on the third count they both applied their weight to the giant tree. Something shifted slightly, and Harry felt the ground beneath his feet move.

Again.

This time when they shoved the trunk forwards it groaned, and Harry and the leopard jumped out of the way as the tree began to make its slow descent.

The leopard sat down, nodding to itself.

And this is where we see if my theory is correct, it commented.

Harry suppressed the urge to swipe a paw at it, and watched instead as the tree toppled. The few branches still bearing leaves struck the ground with a resounding crack, sending a shower of dead leaves and branches flying everywhere, as well as a small and rather irritated group of nesting birds. The entire thing then began to slide, moving down into the canyon. The root end caught on bits of rock, dragging them with it, slowing the motion of the trunk until finally it caught on an outcropping of rock and stopped moving completely.

The entire thing hung suspended midway between the top and bottom of the canyon, several feet away from the edge on the top, and almost touching the small ledge that the leopard had spotted on the bottom.

The leopard looked smug, and then paused for a moment.

I suppose the question is; will it hold our weight, it wondered aloud. One way to find out.

Harry barely had time to register this before the other feline was moving, but instead of jumping, as Harry had feared, it simply ran towards a rather large chunk of rock that had been loosened by the passage of the tree, and threw its entire weight at it.

The rock slid forwards, reaching the edge of the canyon and toppling over. As it fell it smashed against the roots of the tree, which shook but scarcely moved. The leopard nodded to itself.

That should hold, it said over its shoulder to Harry, who had watched the entire thing with a feeling of slight shock. Well? Are you coming?

With that it vanished over the edge of the canyon.

Hestia awoke when her quill dropped from her fingers, the silver bead at the end of the plume hitting the lead covering of the inkwell with a musical chime. She jerked upright, pulling long strands of black hair away from her face and back into the leather thong that kept them under control. Looking down at her desk she saw that the tip of her quill had landed on the desk, not touching any of the scrolls she had been marking. A droplet of ink was slowly growing, developing into a small pool on the polished surface of the desk. A whispered word and a wave of her wand left the wood spotless once more, and Hestia was free to continue with her work.

Except that the last traces of her dream still clung to her mind, refusing to disperse as she wished them to. She remembered little of it: only the looming shapes of giant stones, moonlight filtered through the leaves, and a blood-chilling howl that was all too close. Her dream had been monochrome, she realised. She had dreamed as a wolf.

Which brought the upcoming events sharply to mind. Giving up on her work, abandoning it before she had really begun, Hestia set down her quill in its stand and gazed out the window at the darkening sky, thinking. If only there was some other way to do this, someway to put someone else in danger, instead of Severus. Not that the man would allow anyone else to take the place he felt was his. He would atone forever and still feel that he had not paid enough back, Hestia knew. He was like that, always had been, even before he'd had anything to atone for.

The man held a special place in her heart, one that she suspected he knew nothing about.

He was two years her senior, had already settled into his role when she arrived at Hogwarts, terrified and alone. Her parents had been Ravenclaws both, her Grandfathers Ravenclaw as well, Gran a Hufflepuff, and Damma in Gryffindor. Her family was not one of cunning, of deception, of stealth or practicality. When word came of the Sorting, they had congratulated her with words that she barely understood, and then left her alone while they contemplated the situation.

And Hestia had been shocked. She had felt betrayed, somehow, and uncertain as to this newly discovered portion of her identity. The other Slytherins welcomed her as one of them, but offered no outlet for her love of knowledge, her wilder streak, until she met Severus. He was Slytherin to the bone, naturally, but perhaps he was a bit more open than the rest. At the age of thirteen he had offered the eleven-year-old girl the chance to be herself.

Of course, he didn't know any of this. He probably had no idea why she continued to keep up her acquaintance with him, long after she could have dropped him. Her opinion of him always seemed to have puzzled him, and Hestia still enjoyed surprising him with obvious, if platonic, affection. She hoped to maintain the current easy friendship she had with him until ... well, until a point beyond reckoning.

And now he was going off, perhaps to his death.

Who did it help, she wondered. What end could possibly be reached? Albus would have his spy back, and the world of Good and Light would know once more what the Enemy was planning. But she had spies as well, good men and women who could not do as much individually, perhaps, but worked wonders as a team. Was it really necessary for Severus to risk his life again?

Hestia sighed and shook her head, fingers absently reaching out to toy with the silver bead on her quill. Of course it was. She had heard the Headmaster, heard Severus, even Remus, as much as she hated the man. She knew, when she really analysed the situation, that Severus was the only man who could give them a chance to know the truth, undiluted by anything other than pain and loathing.

She only wished that there was a way to ensure his safety. Placing Severus in the hands of an Animagus, even herself, and a werewolf was not comforting to her. She had hard the wolf tales, of course, knew the procession that Lupin should bring with him, but it did not ease her tension at all.

Hestia shivered. The rooms were getting cooler in the evenings, now, and her office was not in one of the better insulated areas. She had little enough time as it was, with only three days to prepare herself for what she was about to do, who she had to trust. Lupin might end up as the only key to Severus's survival. Hestia had to be sure that she would be able to let him do his job.

Reaching past her quill she picked up her wand from the desk and waved it once, whispering a spell. A small globe appeared over her left shoulder, casting off faint light and warmth. Settling her shoulders, Hestia put the unpleasant thoughts behind her and picked up her quill.

Sometimes, Severus wondered why he was still a teacher. The idiocy of these latest brats made him want to scream, and taking off points was fast becoming an addiction: the only thing that would see him through the day. This last year had brought with it a breed of imbeciles to rival even his current Sixth Years, if it was possible. And Dameneca Bohrn was the worst of the lot, the reason he was still standing in the Potions Lab, long after class had ended, trying to figure out how to fix the mess in front of him.

It had been a relatively simple potion to create, or it should have been; any halfwit was capable of mixing together three liquids and one solid ingredient. Severus rarely brought out the potion because of its utter simplicity. And yet, somehow a simple concoction meant to break up the components of ink had become a viscous syrup that clung to everything, turning any pure elemental parts into a strange metallic alloy. It shouldn't have been possible at all, much less with the limited range of ingredients possible.

And one factor hung over the entire incident, making matters infinitely worse. Bohrn was a Slytherin.

That little piece of shame kept at Severus with dogged perseverance as he tried spell after spell on the strange substance. Forbio did nothing, nor did evanesco or any of the other basic cleaning spells. A banishing charm did nothing, nor did the vanishing charm, and laxo cuncto, a rather complicated fourth-level reversal spell that was designed to undo anything in a given situation momentarily returned the desk to the tree it was once made of, the syrup slowly dripping down the trunk. Severus undid the damage with a disgusted wave of his wand and settled down to think.

There were very few members on staff that he trusted enough to look after his Potions classes. Many of the other staff members had someone trained to fill in for one or two emergency lessons but Severus had never seen the necessity, having taught every class for the past eight years. The idea of Severus Snape missing a class was almost unfathomable, but apparently even the unfathomable could come to pass, and now he didn't know what to do.

Vector was intelligent enough, he supposed. He even respected her, but that was part of the problem; the woman was burdened with enough classes as it was, Severus could hardly force his entire workload on her as well. Trelawney had little enough to do, but he would be damned if he would let her near any of his supplies.

He trusted Hestia. He more than trusted her, and he knew that she would be more than capable of dealing with anything that came up, but she too had a large number of classes, and she wouldn't be able to take the first of his classes. She would be with him.

Severus shook his head. He did not want to think about that. He had put it out of his mind for as long as possible, but he had to prepare a substitute for his classes, and that meant acknowledging that there would be a reason for his absence.

He didn't want to go. More than anything else he had ever feared, he feared returning to Lord Voldemort. What he hadn't acknowledged to anyone, what Albus might or might not have known, was the legitimate chance that the Dark Lord would look at him and kill him where he stood. It was unlikely, Severus knew, because Voldemort enjoyed watching suffering, and the Killing Curse was relatively painless, but the chances were greater than anyone was admitting. He might not return from the Circle.

And that was another factor. If it had been any other place, anywhere but Voldemort's Circle, he might have thought he stood a chance. But the stones that surrounded the gathering-place stood as a constant reminder to all of the Death Eaters: here stands the price of betrayal. For, all of the stones had been people, once. And they had betrayed the Dark Lord. Severus had never witnessed the transformation, but in some of the newer Stones an observer could still see the terror etched into the material.

And he could be next.

Still, at least the chances were that he would make it to the Circle alive. Hestia would watch his back, he knew. She was intelligent enough not to get herself caught, and might even be of some assistance in terms of direct protection. And then there was Lupin, and as much as Severus hated to admit it, even privately, he thought that Lupin might be the chief reason for his survival. Even as a man he was a force to be reckoned with, when he felt the need. As a Wolf, Severus thought few creatures would dare cross him, or survive their attempt. With Lupin on his side, perhaps there was a way.

Severus surveyed his classroom, put his wand away in his sleeve. There was one person, he realised, who he might be able to trust to do the job. Sinistra taught few enough classes in the daytime, and she was methodical. Her classes were planned out in advance, so the request would not hurt her preparation. She was also a reasonably good Potions worker, Severus remembered from his days as a student. His professor had adored her, so perhaps it would be all right in the end.

He turned right at the juncture in the hallways, away from the safety of his dungeons and towards the tea-filled nightmare of Albus's office. The Headmaster would inform Amaré of his request, and undoubtedly have advice to offer.

And perhaps, if he got lucky, he would run into Potter. The need to deduct points was building up inside of him, and he had been chided once this year about being unnecessarily harsh to the students.

Satisfied, Severus nodded to himself, and walked away.