- CHAPTER NINETEEN -
The Most Unlikely Idea Yet

"I don't understand it," Hermione said, checking over her copies of the rhyming clues for the umpteenth time. "I was so sure..."

"Well, maybe you were right, Hermione," Ron interjected. He was back to taking part in conversations now, but his voice was still very flat and emotionless, as if he was not quite all there. "We know that somebody else is trying to solve the clues. Maybe they got there ahead of us, and hid the evidence the same way we did."

Hermione sighed. "What we really need is to be able to get inside the common rooms and do a proper search, testing for illusions this time."

"But how can we?" Harry wondered. "I mean, even if we used Polyjuice again, it would look really suspicious."

"We still don't have time for it, anyway. And we're almost certain to be caught if we try to creep in under the Invisibility Cloak..."

"Here's an idea," Ron said dully. "How about we go to Dumbledore, tell him what we know, and ask to be let into the Ravenclaw common room to look around?"

There was a long, rather gobsmacked pause, and then Hermione stood up. "Ron's right," she said forcefully, gathering up her scribbled notes. "We're thinking like children, and we can't afford to do that any more. This is important, and when we need help, we should ask for it, instead of wasting time trying to do it all by ourselves without anyone knowing."

Harry scraped his chair back. "You're right," he agreed heavily. "Come on. Let's go to Dumbledore."

Professor McGonagall was in the Headmaster's office when they went to see him; after exchanging a quick glance, they decided they might as well explain to her as well. She listened to their story with increasing incredulity, although Dumbledore seemed unsurprised.

"I think," McGonagall said, lips pursed together, when they had finished, "that we had better see these magical items of yours."

The Room of Requirement was once again displaying itself as a trophy cabinet when they went back to it. The Gryffindor shield reacted ecstatically to the presence of Professor McGonagall, the lion leaping out without prompting, and immediately rubbing around her feet like a domestic cat.

"It did that for Harry, as well," Hermione said. "It seems to like the rest of us, but it won't obey us in the same way."

"Indeed," said Professor Dumbledore, eyes twinkling as if he'd expected this.

"And this one belongs to Hufflepuff," Harry said, lifting the badger statue down. "He's... friendly, I think, but he knows we're not from his house. I suppose he'd like Professor Sprout much better."

"I suspect he would," Dumbledore agreed. Both the lion and the badger treated him like a long-lost brother, snuggling up to him in apparent heartfelt glee.

"They're linked to the Founders, aren't they?" Harry said. "They like you because you're the Headmaster, and the Gryffindor lion likes Professor McGonagall because she's Head of house Gryffindor..." He frowned. "But I don't understand why the shield reacts to me so strongly."

"For much the same reason that both you and your father managed to open Godric's private study, I suspect," Dumbledore said.

"What?" Harry raised his head, confused.

"Harry... do you remember what I said to you, when you pulled the sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat three years ago?"

"You said that only a true Gryffindor could have done it," he remembered.

"I did, and it is true. But not just a Gryffindor in name... a member of Godric's line, who embodied his ancestor's values."

That was enough to temporarily startle Ron out of his blankness. "You mean Harry's the heir of Gryffindor?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Not to my knowledge, although it's difficult to say. Godric had, I am told, a large number of children... and didn't keep track of them terribly well, even during his lifetime. No, the odds are very much against young Harry being the direct heir to the Gryffindor line - but, certainly, the Potters have a fair proportion of Gryffindor blood."

Harry considered that. "I thought that the wizarding families are all inter-related?"

"They are, to a great extent, but often by marriage only, and of course many wizards and witches along the line have married Muggles or magical folk from other countries. Godric's descendents were many, and there are still a good number of people in this country who carry some degree of Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff blood, but to my knowledge there are only a handful of individuals alive today who can claim more than one of the Founders as ancestors. And though you are not one of them, you do have a secondary connection of another sort."

"My link to Voldemort," Harry said grimly, touching his scar. He remembered the cryptic conversation he'd overheard in the hospital wing after his encounter with the Muscomens. "That was what you meant when you said I was doubly connected to what was going on?"

"Indeed." Dumbledore rubbed the Hufflepuff badger under its chin. "Hogwarts opens her secrets more readily to some than to others. I do not think it is quite coincidence that the first two items have revealed themselves to you."

"Does that mean you'll let us continue looking for the others?" Hermione butted in anxiously. He smiled.

"Quite how I would possibly stop you, Miss Granger, I couldn't imagine. But yes. Durand's original curse was designed to be solved by one person only. Though Bertram Adroganter is no longer with us for the enchantment to focus around, I believe it would likely be beneficial if the same person who solved the first clue be involved in the solving of the rest."

"Then we can look at the Ravenclaw common room?" Hermione pressed.

"The decision about that will be up to Professor Flitwick," Professor McGonagall said curtly, her lips a thin line as if she was not entirely sure of the wisdom of Dumbledore's suggestion. "This is really most irregular - I'm sure, Mr. Potter, you would be less than happy if we allowed Slytherin students to roam the Gryffindor common room just because they asked to - but given the special circumstances, perhaps he would be willing to allow you a quick examination of the area."

Professor Flitwick was not just willing, he was positively overenthusiastic. Harry suspected that the staff had been decidedly worried by their failure to find any more clues appearing since the one in the library, and were probably eager to feel like something useful was being done.

The Ravenclaws appeared confused to be chased out of the common room, but they obeyed their Head of House with a great deal less arguing and procrastination than the Gryffindors would probably have managed. Once they were all safely up in the dorms and there was no one left to see, the teachers let Harry, Ron and Hermione into the room.

The Ravenclaw common room was tastefully decorated in shades of blue and grey, and Harry wasn't surprised to see that it had many study tables and bookshelves. One of the walls, topped by a large house banner, was given over to photographs of Ravenclaw Prefects, Head Boys and Head Girls, and various certificates and awards that members of the house had won. Hermione seemed thoroughly enchanted.

"Well," said Professor McGonagall, folding her arms. "What next, Mr. Potter?" She had insisted on accompanying them, but Dumbledore had disappeared elsewhere, claiming that his presence would only excite undue interest.

"Hermione?" Harry asked.

She frowned thoughtfully for a moment. "I suppose the first thing to do is to check if the inscription is here but covered up by a charm. The same spell we used before ought to work."

"Exhibero veritas?" Harry checked, and Hermione nodded. Professor Flitwick bounced excitedly, looking rather impressed with their insight.

They worked in tandem, covering the room methodically. They didn't find anything - until Hermione lifted aside a long Ravenclaw banner with a spell, and Harry cast the revealing spell underneath it.

"Exhibero Veritas!"

Melting out of the stonework like ice-crystals forming, the words of another rhyming clue appeared. The teachers gasped, and Hermione stuck the banner to the wall, out of the way, with a quick "Adhaereosum!"

There was a pause while they all stopped to read.

An eagle eye will see you clear
When shadows dog your heels
Over a blue moon will appear
The path the hour reveals

When traced along the course it takes
The road meets a dead end
A study of mathematics makes
Two times your loyal friend

When six figures you come to meet
Abruptly turn about
The lady will reserve a seat
For those who have some clout

Professor Flitwick looked disturbed. "I may have hidden the first two clues discovered... but I certainly did not cover this one."

"Who could have done this?" McGonagall asked anxiously.

"Cast the spell?" Flitwick frowned. "Any bright child above perhaps third year, I'm afraid. Miss Granger, no doubt, could have easily managed it in her second. As for who could have entered the common room-"

"Anyone at all," said Harry grimly. "If they had Polyjuice, or an Invisibility Cloak, or could cast the Imperius Curse..."

"Or even if they just had a friend in Ravenclaw," Hermione said, shaking her head.

"We need to copy this down-" Harry began, scrabbling for a quill, but Professor Flitwick simply levitated half a dozen sheets of parchment from a stack in the corner, and waved his wand.

"Exscribere!"

The poem appeared on all the sheets of paper, in exactly the same script as it was written on the wall.

"Wow," said Harry admiringly. "I could have done with that one before the OWLs!"

"The use of copying charms for academic purposes is frowned upon, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said sternly. "You will never learn as effectively from copying as you will from taking your own notes."

"Yes, Professor," he said, rather wearily.

Hermione was already frowning over her own copy of the rhyme. "'Over a blue moon'?" she wondered. "That's a strange way to put it."

Harry nodded. "Wouldn't you normally say 'under'? Unless it's another bit of wordplay." He remembered that Ron had shown a surprising talent for disentangling some of the puns and anagrams in the earlier clues. "Hey, Ron-"

He paused, as he realised Ron wasn't paying them any attention, and hadn't been for some while. He was standing close to the wall of Ravenclaw triumphs, looking at the photographs. As the others all turned to look his way, he carefully unpinned one, and looked up.

"Professor Flitwick? Would it be okay if I took this?"

It was a picture of Penelope Clearwater - with Percy. The older Weasley boy was sitting rather bashfully reading a book in the corner of the picture, but kept sneaking little glances over the top of it whenever he thought the photo-Penelope wasn't looking. He looked much younger than Harry ever remembered him doing in life.

He felt rather sick, suddenly, and very very tired.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley," Professor Flitwick said softly. "You certainly may."

They replaced both the illusion and the banner, and left the common room rather quickly after that. None of them were able to feel very excited about their discovery any more.

Much later that night, when everyone else in their dorm was long asleep, Harry glimpsed a light through the hangings around Ron's bed, and heard him talking in a low voice to the photograph. Blinking hard against unshed tears, he pulled the covers over his head so the murmuring was inaudible, and willed himself into sleep.

When he finally succeeded, he dreamed of Sirius, telling him he was too late, if he didn't do something right now, he was going to be too late.

Ron was distracted and distant over the next few days. He was often late to class or missed meals entirely, and would go off walking by himself a lot. No one really knew what to say to him, including the teachers. Even Snape seemed disinclined to really rage at him, simply curtly ordering him into his chair when he arrived, with the contemptuous sneer that was Snape's version of restraint.

The following Wednesday, when Harry glimpsed Ron disappearing into the distance when he should be heading for Charms, he picked up his things and followed him.

This time, Ron's destination turned out to be the Owlery. There was no one else up there, and Harry hesitated in the doorway, wondering whether he should just leave again. Ron turned around and gave him a tight smile, seemingly not angry to know he'd been followed.

"Hi."

"Hey." Harry hovered awkwardly, and Ron quickly brushed a sleeve across his eyes.

"I'm sending an owl," he said, somewhat unnecessarily.

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to give that photograph to Penelope." He looked down at his bag, fumbling with the things inside it rather than look at Harry. "I mean, I was thinking. We've got-" He blinked fiercely. "We've got loads of photos of him at home, and I can- I can always ask mum to send me some anytime I want, and she hasn't- Penelope might not even have any-"

He broke off with a choked sound, and then covered his face with a hand and abruptly started to cry.

This was even more frightening than Hermione doing it, but Harry was almost grateful to have something where he had at least an idea of what to do. He crossed the Owlery and put his arms around his friend - rather awkwardly, because Ron was quite a bit taller than him, and seemed to be all ribs and elbows. Somehow they ended up sitting down amidst all the straw and feathers, Ron sobbing helplessly against his shoulder while Harry patted his back and looked up at the owls. Hedwig and Pig both flew down to hoot and flutter at the two boys, obviously aware that something was wrong though they couldn't comprehend what.

Eventually Ron managed to calm down a little, and scrubbed furiously at his eyes, breaths still hitching.

"You okay, Ron?" Harry asked softly. It was a stupid question, but Ron nodded shakily, and sat back. He too tilted his head back and looked up at the rows of owls.

"It's just..." he said, and shook his head. "I mean, you hear about- the war, and everything, and you know it's going on, but..." He breathed in, a great, shuddering gulp of air. "You never expect it to happen to anyone you know. And then when it does... you just never expect it could happen again..."

Harry nodded, and helped him stand up. "I know."

Ron turned to look at him, eyes still reddened, but full of determination. "This is it, isn't it? This is what we're doing this for. This is what we're all doing this for. Even people like Snape - he's a git, but he's our git. It's our job now. We have to stop Voldemort, because no one else is going to."

His voice didn't even wobble at the name.

"Yeah," said Harry thickly. "That's why we're doing this." He briefly laced his fingers through Ron's, and they shared a moment of silent understanding.

Then Ron hurriedly disentangled himself, and started brushing straw and owl feathers off his robes, embarrassed. "If you tell Hermione about any of this, I'll kill you," he warned, ears pink.

Harry raised his hands placatingly. "I promise," he said.

They finally made it to Charms almost half an hour late. Nobody said anything.

The next day, Hermione was rather delayed in arriving for Potions. Snape was considerably less reasonable about it, deducting ten points from Gryffindor and subjecting her to a diatribe that suggested that if she found attending lessons so unnecessary, perhaps she should apply to take her NEWT right now, to save him the onerous duty of teaching her.

"Bad luck," Harry said, with a sympathetic wince, as she slid into the seat beside him.

In the first year Hermione might have been close to tears after a berating like that, but right now, she just smiled. "It's quite a relief, actually," she whispered. Harry stared at her. "I can't cope with Snape being considerate," she explained. "It feels like the end of the world."

"Miss Granger! Clearly you have lost your memory and sense of direction as well as your time-keeping skills. Next to Zabini, and do not think that you will be given any extra time to complete your Desanguinating Draught to make up for your tardiness."

Harry gave her an eyeroll that he made sure Snape didn't see, and she gathered her things and moved away. Fortunately, now that they were usually working on solo potions, Snape generally preferred to keep him entirely by himself rather than inflict miserable desk-mates on him.

He found himself contemplating Snape while he sorted through the tray of garnet stones for one of exactly the right weight. Hermione was right, he supposed - Snape had been considerate towards Ron, or at least his version of it, which basically involved not going out of his way to be obscenely unreasonable. And yet he didn't have the common decency to offer even insincere condolences... Was it a flicker of actual genuine compassion that motivated him, or just knowing that McGonagall would come down like a ton of bricks if he pushed Ron too far during his bereavement?

Harry was strongly inclined to believe the latter, although he supposed he shouldn't let himself. He couldn't afford to be childish now, and he couldn't afford to forget that however unpleasant he might be, Snape was on their side. He might detest the man, but he had to learn to put up with him enough to work alongside him.

If only Snape didn't make it so bloody difficult.

"Potter! To the front. Kindly bring your Desanguinating Draught with you."

Harry gulped, swirled his potion once for good luck, and carried it up to the front of the class, wondering if he should have added a bit more marigold. Did it really qualify as 'golden red', or was it more of an amber?

Snape's dismissive sneer provided no clue as to whether the potion looked right. He turned and addressed the class. "As you should recall, but doubtless will not, the Desanguinating Draught is designed for use in medical situations where the patient is losing blood at a dangerous rate - for instance, if they have been hit by the Caedaeturnus Curse. Mr. Potter is about to demonstrate what happens when the draught is taken by a healthy-" Snape eyed him disparagingly, "-or at least non-bleeding - wizard. Hurry up, Potter."

Harry met Hermione's eyes in the crowd rather nervously. She looked anxious but forced a smile for him, so he assumed that whatever was about to happen might be unpleasant, but Snape at least wasn't trying to kill him.

He raised the draught to his lips- and almost dropped it as he felt a strange wriggling sensation against his finger. He looked down, and was alarmed to see that the ring he'd been wearing since Christmas had transformed itself back into its serpent form. "Not now!" he whispered urgently to it, and hastily switched hands, thrusting the one with the ring behind his back. Fortunately, everyone's attention was on Snape.

"...lethargy, weakness, and an unnatural pallor. Now, Potter. Unless you would prefer to test the draught under more... realistic... conditions?"

Harry blanched, and gulped the whole thing in one go. To his relief, he felt the snake ring solidify around his finger as he swallowed, turning back into an inconspicuous metal band.

The relief didn't last long. Abruptly, all the strength fled out of his body, and he collapsed to the floor. He could barely find the energy to raise his eyelids, and when he forced them open, he could see that the skin of the arm pressed against the flagstones in front of his face had turned pure white, blue veins stark against its surface. The pulse-beat rushing in his ears was frighteningly slow, and growing slower...

He was aware of voices shouting and of being shaken, but distantly, as if it was a memory of something that had happened long ago instead of immediate. Some kind of liquid was being forced into his mouth, but it simply dribbled out again - he couldn't even swallow.

A flare of red light enveloped him, and for a moment, he felt his heart thump strong and fast again. Then it faltered, and the momentary lease of strength flowed away from him.

So did everything else.