A/N: I want to apologise for the many 'spacing' problems I've had with this story. I know for a fact that it's not my space bar, and I edit things immediately before posting, so there really shouldn't be any problems. I guess it's complicated.(So Laura,there you go! I HAVE BEEN EDITING PROPERLY, AND IT'S NOT MY FAULT!)

Broomstick Bumper Sticker Disclaimer: If you can read this, back off! You're about to be hexed!

Chapter Thirty-three –

To Kill or Be Killed

"Occlumens!"

Snape collapsed to the floor as Harry's mind was thrown violently away.

Harry stood gazing blankly at the shivering form of his professor. He was watching a replay of the events the week before unfurling on the forest floor of professor Firenze's classroom. Snape gasped, and choked as if he were about to throw up. Somehow, he was able to hold down the bile, and he sat back on his heels, putting his arms around his stomach.

Harry could completely understand the feeling, since he'd just experienced the same things as Snape, and the bile had risen in his own throat as well.

It took him a second to realise that that the things he had just seen, were in fact Snape's memories from the night the Minister was captured and tortured, and not his own.

Snape had killed a man.

An innocent man.

A muggle.

Harry crouched down to his professor's level, staying a good distance away in case Snape actually found the energy to lash out at him. "Did you tell professor Dumbledore about this?" He asked quietly.

It took Snape a moment to grasp the meaning of the words. He looked both angry and completely distraught. He was unable at this moment, to retaliate in the way he wished. Harry could feel the pain wanting to lash out, to strike him down.

Indeed, Snape was unable to lie to Harry about anything either, and he knew it. "No."

"Then perhaps this may be the root of your recent illness?" Harry asked, feeling strangely as though he had something in common with Snape. Kill or be killed. It was a question of survival now.

Snape growled in return.

"Just so you realize," Harry continued, ignoring the potion's master's reaction, "the act of getting something off your chest is immensely satisfying and also very rewarding in its own way. I know you don't want anyone to know, but I urge you to tell Dumbledore. Let him see what you saw. Let him feel what you felt."

"You aren't going to tell him?" Snape asked, sounding as if he were in pain.

"I'm sorry for doing that. I know it was wrong, but I'm far too curious to leave something alone. I wanted to know for my own horrible selfish reasons. It's not something I should know, and I promise that I won't be telling anyone else."

Snape simply nodded, still not looking up from the dusty forest floor. He looked immensely defeated, and Harry had to catch himself, before the pity crept in. He didn't want to be a hypocrite.

"I'm going to forget what I saw." Harry said, "But only if you tell Dumbledore, and let him deal with the consequences. You shouldn't have to, since he was the one who asked you to be our spy. He was the one who put you into that position. He is the only one who can take responsibility."

Harry stood there, waiting and watching as Snape slowly gathered his wits about him.

"Try it on me." The statement burst from Harry's lips before he realized what he was saying.

"What?" Snape looked confused, and Harry decided no to reneg on the offer.

"Try it on me. Use legilimency. I have something to show you."

Seeing a rare chance, Snape took a deep breath, gathered his waning strength and raised his wand, pointing it at Harry. "Legilimens!"

A long stream of memories flew through Harry's head. They were all memories specifically chosen by Harry, since it seemed that Snape had no control over his power.

Harry showed him an image of Fudge, crying out in fear, begging for mercy.

He showed him Bellatrix, a blooming shadow of red behind vacant eyes and shuddering limbs.

He showed Percy, mouth open wide, screaming in agony with no sound escaping.

Much to his grief, he showed Sirius, flying through the air, a look of mortal terror and surprise in his eyes.

He showed Cedric Diggory, and his senseless death."Kill the spare."

He ended the stream of memory with a vague recollection of his mother's voice. "No, please… Not Harry! Please no, take me, kill me instead!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl… Stand aside now!"

A flash of green, and Harry felt Snape's concentration falter. He let the connection fall silent, saying the incantation in his head.

Snape just shivered once, letting his wand drop to the floor and putting his waxy face into his shuddering hands.

"Some people say that I haven't the strength to be a part of this." Harry explained. "Every time I see a dementor, images like these repeat themselves through my mind, and they become so intense that I black out. Without a doubt, I would do horrible things to make it so that no one else should suffer like that. Part of being noble requires a certain amount of sheer gut."

Snape nodded weakly, reluctantly understanding Harry's reasons for showing him the memories.

"After seeing what I have seen, can you deny that I have earned the right to be able to chose my allegiances for this war?"

Snape shook his head.

"And you have chosen yours based on your experiences." Harry explained simply. "You have a noble streak inside you somewhere professor. Your skills have made you a dangerous target. Don't let that fact interfere with the strength of your soul."

Harry could see that Snape hadn't even the energy to tell him to leave.

Harry walked out of the classroom, feeling both saddened, and relieved. He was amazed to think that even though he had been very underhanded in his methods, perhaps he had just struck some sort of compromise with one of his rivals.

0 0 0 0 0

The next day's potions class would show him how wrong he was, as Snape was more surly and negative to him than ever. Harry couldn't help but think that the potions master had hit an all time low with his quest for vengeance. Didn't he see that they were in the same boat? Didn't he see that the war was affecting them both? That they were both in danger of not only being killed, but of murdering?

"Potter! Longbottom! I said FOUR roots, not THREE, and I'd thank you to listen to my instructions! Ten points from Gryffindor!" Harry very nearly threw the fourth root that he'd been about to add at the professor, but managed to restrain himself when he reminded himself that the root would be no good to his potion if he threw it away.

Snape did look quite a bit relieved of his former gauntness, and his angry expression had a bit more power behind it than there had been before. Harry only had to assume that he had told Dumbledore about the incident with the muggle, and that Dumbledore had forgiven him in some way, or had found a way to relieve him of the terrible burden of guilt.

"Mr.Malfoy, just what do you think you're doing?! Vanish that vile concoction at once! I will not have my classroom smelling like a rotting kneazle carcass! Look at this! It's just pure mould! Five points from Slytherin!"

Harry had to whip his head around to get a good look at Malfoy. He'd never heard Snape take points off his own house before. It seemed absurd to hear the words coming out of the professor's mouth.

Snape rounded on him, once he had noticed his curious stare. "Potter, pay attention to your own cauldron before it explodes!"

Harry shrugged. At least there were no more points deducted. He'd already lost fifty for Gryffindor in this class alone. People had to wonder why every time Harry had a Potions class, the number of points Gryffindor held would always drop. It was pretty noticeable.

Harry took a quick look behind him, and observed Snape, who was bent over Malfoy's now empty cauldron, helping him reassemble all of the required ingredients to begin brewing all over again.

He had to do a double take.

Malfoy looked absolutely terrible.

Harry remembered that Malfoy had a hard time speaking to anyone or eating solid foods for a few weeks after his mastication charm attack on him just before Christmas. He'd looked bad then, but he was long over that. This was something much worse.

Malfoy was gaunt and pale, and looked quite a bit like the he'd been hit with a slug vomiting charm. He was sweating profusely and shaking uncontrollably. He didn't look at all well, and it seemed that Snape had only just realized this, and was trying to make him feel better by helping him out after his biting remarks.

Although Malfoy was quite obviously physically ill, it was only when Harry compared his appearance to that of Snape that something clicked. Although Snape's attention was back where it was supposed to be, he still had that same gaunt look of perpetual anguish that would perhaps never leave him completely. Malfoy looked the same.

Malfoy had done something wrong, and it was eating at him the same way Snape's concsience had, making him physically sick. Harry could clearly see the worry lines etched into Malfoy's face, which matched those of Snape. Harry wondered just what Malfoy had done that warranted this anguish. He mentally backtracked a little, when he reminded himself that Malfoy had never showed signs of guilt before.

Sincewhen did Draco Malfoyhave anything even remotely resemblinga conscience?

Snape turned his head a little to the side, and Harry quickly brought his gaze back to the cauldron in front of him. It was bubbling a little, and starting to turn a light mauve colour. Harry quickly threw in two hastily prepared turtle hearts, and the pale yellow colour returned to the liquid. It was a bit thicker than he'd intended, but it was too late to gripe about it.

He returned his attention to Snape and Malfoy, and something else caught his eye. Snape's hands were shaking as he tried to help Malfoy chop up a small pile of beetles.

Harry wondered if perhaps he might end up with the same physical control issues after he killed Voldemort. Would he throw up at the thought that he had killed someone? Would he feel that horrible sense of loss when the act was performed? How could he possibly live with himself if he released his anger with such a horrible unforgiveable curse?

He realised that Snape's reaction was probably going to be a little different than his own. Snape had killed an innocent. Harry would never need to do that, since the murder he was prophecized to commit or die trying, was not that of an innocent man.

If they were to compare emotional turmoil in the end, Snape had to be much stronger than Harry would have to be. Harry nearly kicked himself when he realised that his thoughts were actually turning respectful of Snape.

It was as he was busy analysing the guilty Malfoy and Snape, that Harry's cauldron finally exploded.

When Gryffindor lost another fifty points, Harry's only thought was that perhaps he should have chucked the root at Snape after all.

0 0 0 0 0

Harry trudged up the steps to Trelawney's classroom at eight that evening, silently ruing the day he had ever consented to giving the professor extra lessons. She hadn't really done anything in the way of advancing since she'd begun. Mostly because she just didn't agree with anything he said, and felt honour-bound to argue every point with him. She'd just never had much of a chance to see a person using these spells.

He knocked, and much to his surprise, professor Vector's voice yelled out to him.

"Come on in!"

He poked his head through the trapdoor.

"Come in, Mister Potter! There's no reason to be shy!" Professor Vector emphasized enthusiastically. She was sitting on one of the pouffes with a clipboard in one hand, and a quill in the other. Harry was horribly reminded of the dreaded professor Umbridge and her clipboard of doom, before he took a closer look, and realized that the two teachers looked and acted nothing alike. Professor Umbridge had been short and squat, with an awful scowling grin that reminded a person of a gigantic toad. Professor Vector was taller and slim, with a genuine overenthusiatic smile, and her long grey braid placed over her shoulder. It was just the appearance of the clipboard that sent Harry into spasms of stress.

Professor Trelawney was sitting at her desk, but rose when Harry entered the room and drew her wand.

"Welcome mister Potter." She said regally in a low voice, that sounded as if she should have been calling him 'professor Potter'. Harry felt distinctly awkward.

"Sybil tells me you've been giving her lessons!" professor Vector yelled, harshly countering the low even tones of professor Trelawney.

"Yes, I have." Harry nodded.

"How much free time do you have?! Could you teach me too?! I'd like to watch and take notes! You won't even notice I'm here!"

Harry sighed with doubtful exasperation. What was it with everyone wanting lessons from him? He'd already made it clear that he was teaching Trelawney for extra marks. She'd basically told him he had to make up for his disrespectful attitudes in her class. What would he be teaching Vector for?

"I've already got quite a full schedule, what with quidditch, and the DA, but if you'd like to observe…"

"The DA?" Trelawney cut in. "What's that?"

Harry's lips tightened into a thin line. After all the times he'd beaten the secrecy rule into his members heads, and he was the one to let it slip? What the heck was wrong with him today?

"It's nothing." He answered evasively. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"Is it that secret duelling club I've heard about?!" Vector cut in excitedly. "I didn't think it really existed!" She must have overheard someone talking about it in the staff room.

Harry couldn't see any way out. "Do you promise not to reveal this to anyone?" he looked into Vector's eyes, checking for the truth.

"Of course!" She was being honest.

"And you?" he asked Trelawney.

"I shan't say a word." She was also telling the truth, so he explained.

"The 'duelling club' that you've heard about is actually a Defense group called Dumbledore's Army."

"What a barbaric title." Trelawney frowned.

"It's so EXCITING!" Vector exploded.

"We meet sporadically in secret, and we work only on learning the things we need to survive if we are ever set upon by Death-Eaters."

"How noble!" Vector sighed dramatically.

"How pessimistic." Professor Trelawney squinched up her face in disgust.

Harry knew he really shouldn't explain more than that, but he should have known that Vector wouldn't leave it at that. "Could we observe this DA?" She asked, for the first time speaking in something of a normal tone.

"I'm afraid I couldn't let you-"

"–Of course you could!" she interrupted. "People like us need the practice!"

"But…" Harry paused, thinking carefully. It certainly would clear up his schedule if he could get Trelawney practising with the DA instead of having separate lessons. She was sure to improve when she saw the way the students were training. And having professor Vector there probably wouldn't make her feel like an outcast.

"Are you sure you want to be practising with a bunch of students?" he asked them both sceptically.

Trelawney sighed. "I was suspicious of many of the students when they showed that they were far more advanced than I'd expected. A few of my first years were even beginning to frighten me. Now I see why. Can you honestly say we're any better at this than they are?" Trelawney asked, sounding resigned.

"Well… Not really." Harry hoped his honesty wouldn't crush her.

Trelawney only looked resigned. "Then why should we worry about practising alongside others who are obviously good role models?"

Vector grinned. "Exactly my point!"

"It would be a little easier on my schedule if I could get you involved there, rather than extra lessons here." Harry admitted.

"RIGHT!" Vector shouted, as if that were the answer she needed. "When are the meetings?!"

0 0 0 0 0

Harry had an extensive consultation and training session that evening with his assistants in the DA. Most of them were surprised to hear that Harry had been tutoring Trelawney, since he hadn't really wanted to tell too many people about it. Ron and Hermione knew, but the rest of them made a few cracks about it. They all agreed that if nothing else, the teachers joining the DA could give everyone a good laugh.

The next DA meeting was scheduled for two days later, and it was with some trepidation that he led the two nervous-looking professors down the seventh floor hall and into the Room of Requirement.

He'd asked them to meet him, not in the room itself, since he didn't want to explain too much, but down in the Great Hall, so he could lead them there.

"What are they doing here!?" Mark shouted, looking alarmed that there were now teachers in the room.

"Hello everyone. Much to my astonishment, I'd like to welcome two new members to the DA." Harry said wryly. "For the next hour and a half, they are going to be observing and participating whenever they can. When they are in this room, don't think of them as teachers, but as more esteemed members of the DA."

"Are you the leader then?" Trelawney asked him, and laughter rolled about the room.

"As if it would be anyone else?!" Vector said, joining in.

Harry blushed. "Hermione, have you got any more coins?"

Hermione moved over to her bag, and pulled out two extra fake galleons, handing them to the teachers, and giving them a cursory explanation of how they worked.

"All right," Harry began, "Everyone pair off into fours, and play evasion for a minute while I explain secrecy rules and give the professors an idea of what they're in for."

People moved off, and began to shoot spells at each other, dodging the shots and looking altogether very daring.

Trelawney gasped at the sight.

Harry grinned. "You didn't believe me did you?"

She shook her head, and remained silent.

"All right." Harry cleared his throat. "We all work at different levels, but if there's something someone wants to know, we'll try and work on it together. Anything you see a more advanced student doing is free for questions to be asked. The group seems to function under the rule that information is for everyone, and you learn the best when you teach others. If you want to see how a certain spell is cast, just ask anyone. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Luna and Hannah are my official assistants, so if other people are uncertain when you ask, you can go to them. Be prepared to know a spell or a position well enough in order to show any beginner student. Any questions?"

"Are they all just going to keep hexing each other?" Trelawney asked, wincing at the sight.

"They're only trying to disarm each other. Just watch for a second, and you'll get the hang of it."

"It's a game!" Vector said enthusiastically after observing for another minute.

"It is for now." Harry admitted.

They watched evasion for a while longer, before professor Vector was nearly hopping from foot to foot in her eagerness to try.

In the end, they weren't too bad. Not as good as the advanced students, but they had a bit of advantage over the younger ones in that they had been alive for much longer. They both still had shoddy aim, but Vector had a pretty powerful punch to her disarming charms, and she was fun to try and hex, because she would shriek loudly every time a spell got even close to her.

Once he felt they'd spent enough time playing evasion, Harry took them through a body and wand warm up he'd seen in the Auror's handbook that they called the 'Wand Salute'. In it were fourty different sequential wand motions, and ten basic protection shields. Harry had already covered these with everyonethis year, but he had never thought of putting it together as a sort of dance sequence.

He'd showed the Wand Salute to his assistant teachers earlier, and now theywalked between the rows of students, adjusting grips, moving arms and feet, and explaining the specifics of certain shield charm pronunciations. Hermione had commented that the Salutewas a sort of Yoga, and until they explained it to him, Ron had thought she was insulting Harry. Harry had laughed then, but seeing it now being done by the whole group, Harry thought it was much more Karate-like than Yoga-like. The Wand Salute was a very mathematical and regimental movement, and Harry could even see the teachers sweating a bit after they'd only gone through the whole sequence twice.

The idea of the Wand Salute was to be able to move through the sequence without pausing, and without having to think about it. It was for mental balance as well as physical and magical control. Ifsomeonereached the end of the Wand Salute, and had done everything properly, then their aura would glow brightly for a couple of seconds. Harry had actually done it a few times, but no one had been nearby to let him know what his aura looked like, and the students today were just learning the sequence, so they hadn't hadany luckshowing theiraura at the end. Harry encouraged them to practice on their own, since having other people around made concentration more difficult at first.

Since no one was trying to attack anyone while they performed the Salute shield charms, professor Trelawney was a lot more agreeable to the motionsthan she'd ever been to any defensive maneuver before. She looked a lot more in control of herself when she was sure that it was only an exercise, and not an attack. Harry wondered why he'd never thought of something like this for her before. It was a start.

For the rest of the meeting, Harry had everyone move on to the simpler imaging charms, with which the attacker could make their opponents see double or sometimes triple if you put enough power into it.

The meeting ended with both professors having improved quite a bit, and Harry could see a bit more spark of enthusiasm in Trelawney's eyes even though they were still a little crossed in the end.

The other students were even a little inspired by having the professors there. It allowed them to believe that what they were learning today might indeed be something they could use later on in their lives.

It was much better than he ever could have hoped for.

0 0 0 0 0

"Professor McGonagall, might I borrow Potter, Weasley and Granger for a moment?" Professor Dumbledore stuck his head into their Wizarding Home class.

McGonagall pulled herself out from beneath the car she had conjured, and stood up to wipe the grease from her hands and wand onto her plaid smock.

She seemed to be having a lot more fun in their class ever since she had begun the section they were studying, which was 'simple mechanical repair'. It had become apparent in this class that professor McGonagall's alter ego was 'miss fix-it'. Mostly, she was just having fun poking her wand at malfunctioning muggle technology, and getting it to work the way it was supposed to without using a wrench or another tool. The results of her experiments were quite interesting sometimes. Ron was impressed that anyone could actually make muggle technology work, since his father had only ever had a knack for researching something to death, and then promptly breaking it when he went to try and fix it. Arthur Weasley had always been obsessed with Muggles and Muggle culture. Professor McGonagall was more obsessed with technology in general, and it so happened that she was good with her wand when it came to such things. She explained to them thatrepair was another offshoot of transfiguration, which made sense.

"Sure." McGonagall leaned over to help the three of them out from under the car, and they too, cleaned their oily hands and wands on their smocks.

As soon as they had left the class, Dumbledore placed Rowena Ravenclaw's book carefully back into Hermione's now clean hands.

"A very interesting read I assure you." He told them. "I'm sorry I didn't return it to you sooner, but there was quite a bit of history in there that I needed to use as a reference for a certain project I've been working on."

"Did you find out why some people can open it and some can't?" Ron asked, sounding hopeful.

"I did, but I will not be telling you."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "Why?" she asked, sounding slightly indignant.

"The book will tell you why you are able to read it. It seems that it is… different for everyone."

"But I can't even read the thing!" Hermione complained.

"Yes, that would be make sense."

Hermione growled.

"Miss Granger, if Mister Potter or Mister Weasley wish to tell you about this, it is their business. I will not interfere."

She didn't look happy as they returned to class, and kept eyeing the book angrily.

0 0 0 0 0

Later that evening, Harry, Ron and Neville sat up late in the otherwise empty Gryffindor dormitory. Seamus had taken Lavender up to the astronomy tower to 'look at the stars', and Dean was apparently down in the kitchens bleeding the house elves dry of all of their food after a long afternoon of studying. Hermione had stomped off in a huff when Ron told her they should probably check it out on their own first.

Rowena Ravenclaw's book sat between the three boys, and they stroked the first page open.

They each read the first page silently over Harry's shoulder, and when Harry was finished, he asked them if he could turn the page yet.

"Just a sec." Neville told him. "Okay go."

The next page turned, and they read on.

The story was well written, with intrigue and depth. Rowena Ravenclaw made everything personal and very emotional. She had a steady wit that was quite pleasant, but she didn't cut out any dark details of the storyline. Apparently this book was written not as a history of the school, as 'Hogwarts; A History' was, but as a tale of the personal lives of the four founders. It went into much more detail about family life and the political intrigue of the time than 'Hogwarts; A History' ever did.

They made it halfway through the book before they saw even a glimpse of what Dumbledore had been talking about.

They had come across a small watercolour self-portrait of Rowena Ravenclaw when she looked to be about twenty years old. She had long brown hair, which she kept in a braid that wrapped around and around her head, a smooth complexion, and red lips. She wore a blue robe, and a copper coloured shawl.

"She's a real looker, isn't she?" Ron commented.

"Why, I thank you!" The painting said, laughing, and Harry nearly dropped the book. For some reason he'd forgotten that wizarding paintings could move about and talk to people. Ron and Neville gave him odd glances.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"It is good to see new faces," she mumbled in old English, catching everyone's attention again. "Behove me to have made 't simpler to read. Perhaps then I might see more folk passing."

"So are you going to tell us the secret to this book?" Harry asked her. "Why it opens for us, and not for others?"

She eyed each one of them in turn, analysing their faces. "It's not my place." She told them sadly. "I have seen the one who is mine, and there are only few others. You shall have to keep reading."

"One who is yours?" Neville asked, confused. "Your what?"

She shook her head. "I keep my secrets young master." She indicated the edge of the spine, in an attempt to get them to keep going.

"Good book by the way." Ron told her.

"Well, aren't you dashing." She told him. "And don't ask me about anything that happened after this chapter. I know nothing of my own death, and I won't tell you anything more until you have read to the end."

So they kept reading.

They came across another picture some ten pages later. This one was of a tall thin man in green robes. His eyes were dark, and his hair was slick and black. He wore a scowl on his lips that said he had not wanted to be painted, but had stood for the portrait anyhow, likely under duress. Harry was horribly reminded of Snape.

It was Slytherin.

"Ah, I see there are more." He said to them smoothly.

"Are you going to tell us the secret of this book?" Ron asked, sounding as if he knew the painting would say no, but he had to ask.

"Nay." Slytherin said forcefully. "I would not if I could."

"Slimy git." Ron said, quickly reaching over to turn the page as Slytherin frowned at him.

There, on the next page stood Gryffindor.

He looked a lot like Slytherin actually. Black hair, although it was much less well groomed, and black eyes that looked as if they saw everything. He wore red robes that were trimmed in gold. Ron grinned as if he thought he had already come to the right place.

As soon as Gryffindor noticed the three people staring at him, he raised his sword to eye level pointing it at them.

"Who goes there?" He asked. "Be you friend or foe?"

"Er…" said Harry.

"Ah, yes!" He said, suddenly looking like he recognised Harry. "I'm the one you should ask."

"All right." Ron said, "What's the secret to the book?"

"No, no, not you." Gryffindor waved his hand at Ron. "You are to find out later. Get thee gone."

"Huh?" Ron looked blank. He'd obviously expected this to be it.

"I shall only tell the secret to these two. You are uninvited."

"Fine." Ron huffed, and pushed away from the bed. "See if I ask you anything ever again." He flopped down on his bed beside Harry's.

"So what's the secret?" Neville asked in a whisper, looking suspicious.

"You're related to me." Gryffindor whispered back proudly.

"What?" Harry gaped.

"You two have my blood running in your veins, and you are true Gryffindors. That's why you can read this book, and that's why I'm the one to tell you the secret."

Harry smiled broadly. He looked over at Neville. "Er… What does this mean for us?" he gestured between the two of them, and Gryffindor laughed. Ron scowled at them from his bed.

"Cousins!" Gryffindor said happily under his breath. "Not really close ones, but cousins nonetheless."

Harry suddenly felt an intense urge to cry.

He had more family.

Family that cared.

He turned his head a little, so Neville wouldn't see his distress, and regrouped quickly.

"You're related to my eldest." Gryffindor pointed to Harry. "My daughter. And you are born of my middle child, my eldest son." He pointed to Neville. "So you see that it is not a close relationship."

Harry shrugged. "It doesn't matter how close." He grinned at Neville.

"Not only that," Gryffindor continued. "I am also allowed to tell you all of the secrets of this castle. –Only the ones that I know, I am not privy to secrets the others might hold. It is up to you if you are to share this information," he told them, "but we would prefer if it was kept among family."

"Thank you." Harry gulped a lump out of his throat.

"Ron, you've got to read this!" Neville yelled.

"What? Are you going to tell me what he told you?" Ron asked acerbically.

Harry shook his head. "I understand why Dumbledore didn't want to tell us. It's different for everyone!" He laughed, and handed the open book to Ron. "She said that she'd seen the one who is hers already!"

Neville snapped his fingers and pointed to Harry in agreement. "Sharp, very sharp."

Ron seemed a little offput by the image of a smirking Gryffindor staring up at him, so he turned the page quickly.

Three pages later, sat an image of Helga Hufflepuff. She wore yellow robes, and had plucked daisies that were woven into her long strawberry blonde braid. She was a little plump, but not overly so.

"Hello." She blinked, batted her eyes as if just waking, and immediately Harry knew what she was going to tell Ron.

"Can you tell me the secret of this book?" Ron asked.

Harry grinned at Neville.

His cousin.

"I most certainly can, young man." She answered. "Do they know?" she asked him pointing to Harry and Neville, and Ron scowled.

"They say that they do, but they won't tell me."

"Well, you must understand that it was not their place to tell. That is my job. Besides which, I really enjoy the telling. I couldn't keep a secret like this if I tried. That is why Rowena put me last. Were I first, I might have given the secret to anyone passing." She grinned, and Ron couldn't help but grin back.

They had the same smiles.

"Okay, here you are. You are one of my blood, and as such you have been given the privilege of reading this book."

"One of what?"

"My blood. A long lost relative. Family."

Ron burst out laughing.

Helga Hufflepuff looked offended. "Why do you laugh?"

"Oh, it's nothing. I just had a thought about the size of my own family. I'm not sure that I want to know how big it officially is now." He blushed. "From what I've heard, yours was pretty big too."

She raised her eyebrow at him. "That is true, and I'm sure we're scattered liberally across Britain and the world by now. Although by the end of the war I had only nine children left. It was a shame and a curse that they had to war so much. It's very difficult to lose family, you know. Especially when they're your own children."

Ron blanched. "I'm not sure I want to know."

"Are you at war again?" She asked.

"Yes. Slytherin's heir has been in action for almost the past three years."

"Then Godric's heir will stop him." She said calmly.

"Er…" said Ron, going even whiter.

Harry nearly tripped over his own foot. "Does it have to be his heir?" he asked in a whisper.

"Well, when Godric died, it was said that the last of Salazar's line would be killed by Godric's heir to avenge his death. It's just a question right now if Salazar's line carries any further. If it doesn't, then Godric's heir will supposedly be the one to avenge him." She paused, and looked at Harry and Neville. "Why? Are either of you Godric's heir?"

"Er…" said Neville, and pointed to Harry as if he really didn't want to be doing it.

"Well, I guess I must be." Harry muttered, feeling kind of woozy. "Did his line of heritage pass through his eldest daughter, or did he give it to his first son?" he asked, looking tentatively at Neville.

"It would have been his daughter." Helga said politely. "Godric was quite enamored of his daughter, and as far as I know, he made her his heir to please both her and his wife."

"Harry!" Ron said. "This means you can do it!" Ron looked suddenly ecstatic. "Don't you see? If Gryffindor's heir is the one who will kill Voldemort, and you're the one prophecied to be capable, then doesn't it stand to reason that you'll do it?"

"Unless, I'm killed, then Neville gets both jobs. Killing Voldemort, and being Gryffindor's heir." Harry said wryly.

Neville suddenly looked terrified. "Nu-uh. No way. You'll be able to do it, and I'll have no part of it thanks very much."

Harry still wasn't satisfied.

"No, no." Helga interrupted their argument. "It wasn't a prophecy or anything that I'm telling you. It was simply a rumour. Anyhow, regarding our previous subject." She turned back to Ron "I'm here to also give you the details of our establishment."

"What?" Ron looked confused.

"I'll tell you the secrets of the school as they were in my time."

"This is better than the Marauders map!" Ron shouted with glee, his eyes widening like saucers.