A/N: Due to the fact that midterms are coming up this next week, updates might be a bit longer in coming. Maybe. On the other hand, the stress of the midterms might just make me write even more. Who knows. Thank you everyone who reviewed!
A/N: Ok, I had promised myself I wouldn't do this, but oh well. There's an OFC present, and she's introduced this chapter. Her name is Jasmine Montevay, distant cousin to the Snape family and she's the new DADA teacher. I had been toying with the idea of having Remus come back – but really, I've seen that in too many other stories, and besides, it just wouldn't happen in my storyline, with the current attitude so negative to anyone that even has a hint of being 'dark' right now. But, I promise, the OFC is not going to be a large part of the story – she's just sorta necessary at the moment.
Chapter 6: Many MeetingsHarry finally roused himself from his stupor some time later, blinking owlishly for a moment, feeling as though he had cotton shoved in his head. The world seemed hazy and distant – as though it were not quite real just yet, and he wasn't sure if he wanted reality to return at the moment. He looked around and noticed that he was still alone, thankfully, although when he listened there seemed to be a few more people in the library than when he had entered…an hour ago, he noticed when he checked the time. He unfolded his legs and stretched them out slowly – they were very unhappy with him. He scrubbed at his face, pushing his glasses up on top of his head, wiping away any – evidence that maybe, just perhaps, he'd been crying. Harry sighed and stretched, feeling several joints in his back give satisfying pops. He got to his feet, wincing a little, a pins-and-needles feeling was rushing through them. He stomped his feet a few times, trying to dispel the annoying tingling feeling. He grabbed his rucksack and headed out of the library, quietly slipping through the shelves nearest to the door. He never noticed the eyes that tracked his exit, nor the murmurs that sprang up in one particular corner in his wake.
*
Harry slipped into the DADA classroom well ahead of his Housemates. The new DADA instructor was a stern, elderly woman who looked like she would take no nonsense from anybody. She was sitting, back ramrod straight, behind her desk when he slipped in. She glanced at him, hazel eyes narrowing as she took in his split lip and pallid face. Then she noticed the ever-famous scar. Ah, Harry Potter. She thought back to the gossip in the teachers lounge, and was surprised that Potter was alone – the other teachers always spoken of him and his two friends as the Golden Trio or some such nonsense. She hid a disapproving frown. Well, if the boy thinks he's going to get special treatment here, he's going to be in for a shock. Jasmine Montevay would have no attitudes, temper tantrums or anything of the sort in her class, even if it was the blessed Boy-Who-Lived who threw them. Not that I've heard anything particularly bad about the boy – despite what cousin Severus says. The Montevay family had been cousins of the Snape family for ages, and every few generations or so they made sure to intermarry again to keep the connection. We'll just have to wait and see, I guess, she thought as she raked her eyes over the slight boy. Putting him from her thoughts, she turned back to the paper work in front of her. The fourth years that she had had before lunch looked promising, if undisciplined.
Harry noticed the somewhat cold stare that the new teacher, Montevay, wasn't it? Isn't that some old wizarding family Hermione had read about once? gave him. He glanced at her from out of the corner of his eye. She was thin, older, with a slightly long face and a too long nose. She wasn't ugly, but she wasn't knock out gorgeous either. Harry guessed her to be in her mid forty's, maybe younger. Harry shifted uncomfortably on the hard seats, trying to keep as quiet as possible so he wouldn't disturb her. A sound from the doorway alerted Harry to the fact that people had started coming in.
Harry kept his eyes to the front of the room, gazing at the changes Professor Montevay had made to it. The room looked almost – austere that year. There was very little clutter anywhere, and the windows were open to let in as much light as possible. The normally dreary looking room had changed into a modestly open place once it had been cleaned out a bit. Maybe the Headmaster finally found someone decent to teach DADA this year, Harry mused as he continued looking around the room, trying to keep his attention occupied as the seats around him filled up – all the seats but the one next to him.
"Bloody hell," Draco Malfoy's irritated voice could be heard. "Pansy, I told you to save me a seat!" Harry stifled a snicker at the whiny voice. He couldn't hear Pansy's reply in the slight noise of the room. He's almost late, Harry noted slowly. That's odd. Malfoy is rarely late to class, especially DADA, he frowned. A heavy weight thumped down next to Harry, which caused him to jump in surprise, head whipping around to stare at the smug expression of Draco Malfoy. "Hullo Potter," Malfoy grinned, showing his teeth in a parody of a smile. Harry snorted and rolled his eyes, turning away from the annoying blond.
"Malfoy," Harry said sourly. Great, this was all he needed. Malfoy sitting next to him in DADA, somebody up there sure wanted him dead. Despite of the conversation on the train, Harry had no idea as to whether or not the other boy had it in for him still – and Harry wasn't about to leave his back unguarded until his knew the other boy's intentions. It was simply just too dangerous.
"Run into a door post Potter?" Malfoy's irritating voice wouldn't leave him alone.
"What's it to you, Malfoy?" Harry answered defensively, scooting down in his seat. Draco watched the other boy carefully for a moment – noting the defensive posture, and the other boy's aversion to looking him in the eyes. He decided to poke deeper.
"Oh, just wondering how a beloved, well-looked-after, coddled brat like yourself could manage to split your lip is all. Where's the fan club now?" Draco taunted. Ah, that hit a nerve, Draco noted, watching as Harry's shoulders tensed and his hands curled into balls.
"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry hissed, still not turning to look at the blond. Draco was about to continue the prodding, when their newest DADA professor interrupted him.
"Mr. Malfoy, please be silent. I will not tolerate whispering in my class. If you have something to say, then please say it." Her voice was bored as she looked over the list of names in her hand, taking roll. Draco shut his mouth quickly. While technically a neutral family, the Montevay's were taking a bold stand in the war with Voldemort by sending one of their scions to teach at Hogwarts. The Montevay's had long been the Headmasters and teachers at several wizard universities, as well as having several famous aurors and curse-breakers in their family. But, over all, the family had long stayed neutral to the politics of the wizarding realm – happy and content to throw the occasional gala or ride on a hunt for dangerous magical beasts. They were, without a doubt, one of the odder pureblood families the wizarding realm had around.
"Now, children, as you know, my name is Professor Jasmine Montevay. I have gone over what your previous years have been like, and I must say, I am rather horrified at the lack of education that you have been given in regards to Defense Against the Dark Arts. I will do my best to remedy this, especially since you have your O.W.Ls this year. Now, take out your quill and ink and start taking notes – we have a lot to cover." She stood up gracefully from behind her desk and hid a smile at the flurry of activity that accompanied her words. Oh, how she loved well disciplined classes!
*
Harry shook his hand out after the bell chimed the end of DADA. His hand was covered in ink, and cramped too – he never remembered writing so fast in his life. His only consolation was that Malfoy had been writing just as quickly as he was – and just as messily. Ha, see, he's not perfect in everything, Harry thought to himself smugly. He jammed his quill and ink into this bag, while taking the time to roll his notes up carefully. He wasn't about to ruin all that work just because he was lazy. The parchment was almost dry and ready to be rolled up when Ron and Dean were passing his desk. Harry watched them suspiciously for a moment, but when it seemed as though they were only passing by, he let go of his withheld breath. Just as Harry's guard went down, though, a bottle of ink came sailing past his head, nearly hitting him – to land and shatter directly on his notes.
"Bloody hell!" Harry exclaimed, then clapped a hand over his mouth, looking up to see Professor Montevay standing right next to him. Oh shit, a little voice in his head chimed in. He removed his hand and smiled weakly up at her. "Er, oh dear?" he tried again. Professor Montevay just leveled him with a dark stare.
"Blast it all Potter! You've gotten ink onto my robes!" Draco's whiny voice put Harry's teeth on edge. Laughter from the doorway made Harry's head turn and he saw Dean and Ron standing in the doorway, snickering at him. Harry narrowed his eyes at his Housemates, but they only laughed harder, and left. Harry turned back to his irate teacher and forced himself to relax. The worst I'll get is detention. That can't be so bad, right?
"Mr. Potter, would you care to explain – this?" she gestured at the ruin of his notes. Harry looked at the blob of ink and parchment sadly – they had been good notes too.
"Er, my ink pot slipped?" He said. Draco turned and looked at Harry oddly, before getting up and huffing off, joining Pansy and Blaise at the door, muttering about clumsy fools and how they shouldn't be allowed anywhere near magic. Or ink. Or expensive robes or …. Professor Montevay's eyes narrowed as she tracked Malfoy's progress, be she didn't say anything. Then she turned back to Harry.
"It slipped, did it? And just how would your inkpot go from your bag to flying by your ear, Mr. Potter? Would you care to tell me the truth this time?" she said firmly. Harry stared up at the stern woman, mind whirling.
"Uh – it was probably just meant as a joke, you know? We're Gryffindors, and well, sometimes we play small pranks on each other. Just a kind of a welcome back to school kind of thing," he lied and tried to smile at her. He didn't think she believed him. Professor Montevay just stared at him sternly.
"Mr. Potter, I would greatly appreciate it if you informed your Housemates that I will tolerate no pranks in my room, between class or not. I firmly believe in discipline, and both the perpetrator and the victim will serve detentions should they be caught continuing such nonsense in my room, is that understood?" Harry nodded quickly. "Good, now, go on to your next class." Harry shot up out of his seat and ran for the Divination Tower. He'd been lucky, he realized that. Professor Montevay looked like the type of person you lived in fear of pissing off – a lot like Snape, Harry mused. I wonder if they're related. Harry thought back to his notes and suppressed a growl and he scurried up the ladder of the tower. He was going to have to beg someone to lend him theirs. Maybe one of the Ravenclaws would…
Harry's last two classes seemed to drag on for forever. Why, why, why did I want to take Ancient Runes again? Wasn't barely passing good enough you stupid prat? He let out a large sigh at the end of Ancient Runes, a headache firmly lodged between his eyes. All he wanted was some nice, quiet time alone where he wouldn't have to be on his guard every second. Divination had been rough – Trelawney had devised her own seating plan – and she had had Harry sitting right next to Ron, with Lavender on his other side. It had been a very uncomfortable to say the least. Harry had tried to talk to Ron, but he had ignored Harry, speaking only to Lavender or Dean, who was on the other side of the redhead. Ron's only words to Harry had come at the end of class, and they still hurt.
"Don't you get it, Harry Potter. We're not friends anymore. So quit trying to pull the oh-poor-me act. No one believes it, and further, no one cares. You've made your bed, now you get to lie in it," Ron had hissed as the class filed out of the tower. Harry had just sat there, staring into Ron's angry eyes, truly seeing the disgust and hate in them – all directed at him. Harry had only nodded shallowly, forcing himself to keep his face smooth and calm, cold and clear as water – don't let them see you hurting, then he had swept by Ron and rushed down the ladder, intent on finding his way to the Ancient Runes classroom as fast as he could, promising himself he could be hurt later – at the moment he had things to do and subjects to learn.
Now, later, when he sat once again in the far corner of the library, hidden away by stacks of books, he let himself feel hurt. He didn't cry – no, he'd had enough of crying. Babies cry. Cowards cry. And I can't be a coward – I have to be strong. He took several deep, stuttering breaths, forcing his emotions down deep, and locking them away. If he didn't let himself feel – then he wouldn't be hurt, simple as that. Right, simple as that. He let his head tip back and his body sag into the chair, arms dangling. He stayed that way for a few minutes, trying to consciously relax every part of his body. It didn't really work. With a sigh he sat up and grabbed his rucksack, opening it up and digging through it, searching for his textbooks. He found his DADA text, as well as his Ancient Runes, both with suspicious splatters of ink on them. Oh, Christ. He dug deeper and saw that he hadn't closed his inkbottle completely, and most of it had spilled in the bag. He snarled at himself – angry that he'd been so careless. He grabbed his wand and muttered a quick cleaning spell, getting rid of most of the mess. He then pulled out his notes from Ancient Runes and opened his textbook, intent on getting a head start on the class.
Two hours later found him quite burned out and ready to eat. He got up from his chair and yawned, noting absently that it was already dark outside. He checked the time and noted that it was six. Gah, two hours until detention with Snape. Yea! He gave a chuckle that held little amusement. With tired eyes and an empty stomach, he made his way to the Great Hall, careful to again slip through the stacks and avoid the other students in the library yet again. He didn't want them to know about his little hideaway in the corner – he liked it there. He didn't want anyone else to find it. My desk, mine! Harry did laugh at the little, possessed sounding voice in his head. God, I need food. I've gone loony.
Dinner was an – odd – affair. Harry avoided the crowded center and slipped into a spot at the very end of the table, near some second years that eyed him strangely, but then went back to their conversation. Harry was so caught up in eating he missed the person sitting down across from him. It took the person coughing a few times, as well as a well-placed kick, to get his attention. Harry yelp with food still in his mouth, causing it to spray a bit. Ginny Weasley sat opposite of him, a vaguely disgusted look on her face as bits of potatoes flew everywhere. Harry swallowed quickly, feeling the tips of his ears begin to burn.
"Well, if I hadn't have gotten over my crush on you this summer, I sure would have now. That was gross, Harry," she said dryly. Harry leveled her with a glare.
"Well, if you hadn't kicked me while I was chewing, the I wouldn't have spit everywhere," he snapped back. Ginny raised her eyebrows at him. Harry lowered his eyes, feeling a bit ashamed. Damn, but she makes it hard to be a cold, unfeeling person, Harry thought. Come on, Gin. Don't make me care, not yet. I don't know if I could handle it right now.
"Well, you were ignoring me, and my polite coughing was beginning to sound more like whooping cough, so I had to do something," she retorted. She fixed him with a look. "Harry – are you, are you ok?" There was something in her voice that begged him to talk to her, begged him to confide in her. But –
"I'm alright Gin. Just tired," he lied, forcing his hope back down, trying to contain it. Ginny was Ron's sister, and family always came first in the Weasley household. Harry wanted to confide in her, but he was scared of being burnt yet again by another Weasley. Ginny just looked at him steadily. Harry looked down at his plate and felt his appetite leave him. He looked up at the teacher's table and noticed that the Headmaster had finished eating and had already left. He checked the time and noticed that if he hurried, he would have enough time to have a talk with Dumbledore before his detention. Harry looked up at Ginny and noticed that she was frowning at him. He flashed he a strained smile.
"Gin, I gotta run. I'll talk to you tomorrow, ok?" Harry said and stood. Ginny said nothing, just watched him silently. She nodded once, slowly and watched him leave the Great Hall without looking back.
"Ginny, what the hell?! Mum told you to stay away from him!" Ron's angry voice boomed out from down the table just after Harry's form disappeared through the thick Hall doors. Ginny's head snapped around to stare at Ron's angry visage. She got up quickly and hurried down to the center of the table, slipping in between where he and Fred were holding court with the other older Gryffindor students.
"Really, Ron. You know Mum's over reacting, and so are you. I mean, really, think about – ow! Leggo Ron, that hurts!" she hissed at him, pulling at where Ron had clamped a hand around her upper arm. The other Gryffindors just ignored the scuffle between brother and sister. "Ron!" she whined, truly in pain now. He shook her arm, and she felt the muscles in her shoulder pull and strain. She looked into her brother's angry face and for once felt afraid of him. He leaned in close to her and she shrank away from him.
"Stay. Away. From. Him." Ron whispered harshly. Ginny stared at his face, so close to hers that she could count the freckles. She nodded hastily, not wanting to upset him further. She glanced over to George, to see if he would help her out, and saw that he too was staring at her angrily. What in the bloody blue blazes is going on here? She wondered to herself, shaken to the core. Satisfied that his little sister had gotten the message, Ron let go of her arm and turned back to the conversation he was having with Dean and Seamus. Ginny brought her arm in close to her side, rubbing at the spot where Ron had grabbed her, wincing a little. The rest of the House ignored the scene between brother and sister, content in letting Ron handle the situation. Ginny shakily reached for the pumpkin juice, but a hand beat her to it. Neville poured her juice for her, catching her eye. His normally happy face was shadowed with worry. Are you ok? His gaze seemed to ask. Ginny shrugged with her left shoulder, her right one beginning to ache fiercely. Neville's gaze softened and he nodded slightly to the door. She nodded and got up, as did Neville.
"Where do you think you're going?" Ron's sharp voice halted her. She turned around with a sharp retort on her lips, but clamped her mouth shut at the look of anger on Ron's face.
"The common room. I have homework to finish," she fibbed. Ron looked at her closely, then noticed Neville was standing as well.
"Nev, would you escort Ginny to the common room? I don't want her 'accidentally' running into him on the way," Ron ordered. Neville blinked at Ron's tone.
"Ron! How dare you!" Ginny's temper got the better of her, and the exclamation was out of her mouth before she could stop it. Ron's face reddened and he began to rise, but was held back by Fred and Dean.
"Ginny. Shut up. You know he's only doing this for your own good. You're so taken by that bastard you wouldn't see the Dark Mark on his arm even if he waved it in front of your face. Go with Neville, and trust me, Mum's going to hear about this," George's uncharacteristically angry tone shocked her.
"Are you out of your mind, George? You would rat me out to Mum, over this?" Ginny exclaimed, disbelief washing through her.
"Gin, you don't understand. It's for your own good. And I'll let informing Mum slide, just this once though – but listen good, little sis – Harry's dangerous. He's nearly gotten Ron and Hermione killed a number of times and now there's one boy dead because of him. You nearly died because of him. You just don't see it Ginny, because you fancy him. He needs to be taken away from here, locked up so You-Know-Who can't get him and left there, at least until the Light is ready to take down the Dark Lord. His scar-" George was about to carry on when Ginny interrupted him, shaking with anger.
"You don't know anything! How could you say that! How could you believe that! You're fools, all of you! Harry wouldn't hurt anyone, not intentionally – and you're making him out to be the next Dark Lord! Are you mad?!" she was yelling, screaming at them – her face hot and her eyes prickling with tears. Harry was like her brother – ever since the Chamber of Secrets her crush on him had mellowed and she had come to see him in a sisterly fashion, rather than a romantic one. The entirety of the Great Hall was focused on the Gryffindor table now, ears sharpening, tongues ready to wag.
Ron surged up out of his seat, his face an ugly shade of purple. "Why you little-" He began to get into her face. Ginny stood her ground, not giving an inch.
"Is there a reason why both of you are causing such an inappropriate scene in the middle of the Great Hall?" Snape thundered as he strode up from behind Ron, robes snapping, arms coming to cross over his chest, and eyes beginning to snap black fire. Minerva hurried to catch up to the taller man, a strict, angry frown etching deep lines around her mouth. They had seen Ginny get up, and heard her exclamation – probably the whole school had. Minerva's gaze fell on Neville, seeing as he had finally made his way around the table, and now stood behind Ginny, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. She tensed under the touch and Neville withdrew his hand, after patting her awkwardly a few times.
"I – er, Ginny and I were just having an argument. Sorry," Ron stuttered, not sounding a bit contrite as he lied to the taller man's face. Ron turned back to Ginny, eyes promising retribution if she didn't agree with him. Ginny gulped and nodded her head faintly, signaling her agreement with her brother, eyes never leaving his face.
"If you think - " Snape began to explode, the vein in his temple starting to throb in time with his heartbeat.
"Thank you, Mr. Weasley. Miss Weasley, Mr. Longbottom, please return to the common room, immediately. Thank you." Professor McGonagall interrupted Severus, who was beginning to turn six different shades of red at Minerva's audacity. Ginny and Neville looked at their head of House in hurt surprise – but Minerva only gave them a bare shake of the head, indicating they needed to leave. Ginny and Neville hustled out of the Great Hall amid whispers and rising speculation. Ron looked pleased, that was, until Professor McGonagall rounded onto him.
"Mr. Weasley. I am ashamed at you and your sister's behavior here tonight. I'm giving you this one warning – if something like this should happen again I will dock House points and both of you will have detentions with Filch, is that understood?" The professor placed her hands on her hips, pinning the boy with a stern glare. Ron paled.
"But Professor - !" Her glare went up a few notches and Ron shut up. "Yes, ma'am," he muttered sullenly.
"Good," she said grimly. She turned almost ran into the figure of Severus, who was towering above her. His eyebrows were drawn together in a harsh scowl.
"Really, Minerva-" he began, ready to berate her for not punishing him harder.
"It's my House, Severus," she cut him off. The Potions Master snarled at her.
"A fine job you're doing of keeping them in order," he spat. He whirled around and stalked out the door, robes snapping in the breeze behind him. Snickers followed in his wake, mostly from the Gryffindor House, who were more than happy to see Snape get told off by their head of house. The Slytherin table, however, watched the proceedings quietly, noting the remarks and the whispers that where beginning to fly from table to table.
_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_
Harry hurried on his way to the Headmaster's office. The halls were empty and echoing as he passed down them, his footfalls sounding lonely in the silence. He came up to the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office – and realized he didn't have the password.
"Er – chocolate frogs?" Nothing. "Bertie Botts Every Flavor Bean?" Stony eyes regarded him indifferently. Harry shifted from foot to foot impatiently. "Skittles?" Harry was beginning to become frustrated. "Snickers? Canary Creams? Ton tongue toffee? Tic tacs?" Still nothing. Harry made himself stop, close his eyes and take a deep breath, letting it out slowly, trying to reign in his temper. Just as he opened his eyes to try again, the gargoyle leaped out of the way, causing Harry to jump with surprise as well, and the revolving stairs were revealed. Harry eyed the gargoyle for a moment, then started up the stairs slowly, letting them carry him up as he stepped onto them fully, one hand holding on to the rail for balance. The stairs stopped at the threshold of he office, and Harry noted that the thick oak door was still closed. Harry advanced slowly and tried the latch, easing it open and entering the Headmaster's office slowly, mouth starting to go dry and all of his doubts starting to rush back into him.
The Headmaster's office was just as he remembered it – the pleasant clutter creating a warm, homey feel. Fawkes sat on his perch, looking sadly in need of a self-immolation. His feathers were ratty, with half of them missing, making the Phoenix look remarkably like a half-plucked chicken that one was getting ready to roast. The Headmaster himself sat behind his desk, half moon glasses shining in the light of his lamp. He had a sheaf of papers in front of him and he looked as though he were tired. Harry gulped, suddenly not so sure of himself anymore, and more than a little guilty at having interrupted what seemed to be something important.
"Ah, Mr. Potter, Harry. How are you?" Albus's voice held no irritation though, and he gestured for Harry to take a seat. Harry crossed over to the desk and gingerly sat in one of the plush chairs, sinking into its deep cushions. He clasped his hands in front of him, locking his fingers together so he couldn't fuss or fidget with them.
"I'm, ah, fine, sir." Harry smiled tightly at the Headmaster. Albus eyed him carefully, then picked up his wand. Harry started, nearly flinching when the Headmaster pointed his wand at him and murmured a spell. A tingling sensation spread over Harry's lip, and he realized with chagrin that he'd quite forgotten all about the split lip. "Er, thank you sir." Harry looked down at the fine wood grain of the desk, tracing it with his eyes, working his courage up.
"Think nothing of it, Harry. Are you sure you're fine?" the Headmaster's voice sounded truly concerned, and for a moment, Harry nearly told him about all of it, all of the problems with Ron and Hermione, and how everyone he'd known seemed to hate him now. He wanted to tell the older man – but Albus's tired eyes and faint worry lines around him mouth stopped Harry from saying anything. He has far too much to worry about, as it is, without me adding to his problems. I'll take care of the House myself, for as long as I can, Harry vowed.
"Yes, sir. Just a misunderstanding, that's all." Harry tried to lie as convincingly as he could, knowing that the Headmaster probably saw right through him. He swallowed with difficulty and decided to press his chance. "Sir? I wanted to propose an idea to you. I want to help the Order, sir, and I have an idea how. I got to thinking about my connection with Voldemort, you see and if the involuntary visions that I get are helpful to you – then wouldn't it make more sense to use the connection for your own advantage, ahead of time, rather than letting it come to me at random intervals?" Harry tried to sound as firm and as adult as he could; he didn't want Albus to dismiss his idea out of hand as some child's need to stay in the spotlight. "I'm not asking to become part of the Order, sir. Just for a chance to help." Albus's face was carefully neutral as he sat back, laying his quill down and regarding Harry evenly. His glasses worked as reflective shields with the light – they hid his eyes from Harry as he contemplated the idea. After a long moment, the Headmaster finally spoke.
"Harry, I know you mean well, but you're young, and I don't think you understand-" Dumbledore began. Harry's hands tightened, knuckles going white. He's going to put me off, Harry thought, disbelieving.
"Please," Harry interrupted him, ears burning with the thought of his audacity at interrupting the Headmaster himself. He could feel his ears burning at the surprised look and raised eyebrow of the Headmaster. "Sir, I have to do something. And I think I understand perfectly what I'm asking to do. I would rather have the ability to choose when I see the things that Voldemort does, rather than just letting them happen to me. And, besides, sometimes I can't remember everything from the dreams and visions. This way I may be able to remember more, be able to give you and the Order better details on the places that I see and the people who're there. I – there's a part of me that needs to help you sir, and this is the only way I know how," Harry evenly, trying not to rush his words. What he said was true – but not the whole truth. Harry wanted Voldemort caught and killed – and he wanted to help in every way that he could. The Dark Lord had taken everything from him now, and Harry wanted revenge. A calculating look entered the Headmaster's eyes as he looked over the slight boy in front of him. He's considering it. Oh thank God, he's considering it, Harry thought with relief.
"Harry, what you propose – while technically possible, it requires the use of the Dark Arts to achieve it. It would be quite a risk, you know. The potion and its – effects – are something I have long been contemplating. But all the research on the potion describes the process to be an intensely painful and potentially very dangerous. Would you be willing to take that risk?" Albus watched the boy intently. Harry thought it over. Pain – well, that was a part of life. Harry understood pain, and while he had a healthy dose of respect and fear of it, he understood that some things in life could only be achieved by experiencing it. As for the risk – other people took risks, Sirius played with his very life in helping the Order. As had Snape. Harry believed he had no right to think that his sacrifice would be any greater than theirs.
"Sir, the gains far out way the means in regards to using the potion. Yes, I'm scared, but I'm willing to take the risk, if it means that maybe I'll be able to supply you with the information you need to get a greater hold over Voldemort and his forces," Harry said firmly, squashing the tiny voice inside of him that was calling him six thousand different kinds of a fool. Albus eyed him for a moment.
"If, Harry, I allowed this – if mind you – we would have to conduct the sessions in absolute secrecy. The school is over run with wagging tongues, as you well know, so keeping this secret will be difficult. If the news that you were using the Dark Arts – in any fashion – got out to the public…" Dumbledore trailed off. He didn't need to say anymore. The wizarding world was going through a dark time – and like any society, they blamed the easiest scrape goats they could find. People who were even just rumored to have used the Dark Arts at one point in their lives were being brought in for 'questioning' by the aurors, and several people had already been sent to Azkaban for three-year terms for having Dark Arts paraphernalia in their homes. Harry shivered at the thought of being sent to Azkaban, feeling the blood drain out of his face at the memory of the Dementors. The wizarding world would tear me to pieces, Harry realized as he thought about it, and the hysteria that was currently sweeping the wizarding Britain off its' feet. It was a part of this same hysteria that had prompted the articles that had angered Harry the most. The articles were highly biased, and many had painted Harry as an insane, risk-taking child that held a death wish. Then there were the ones that made him out to seem as though he were in league with the Dark Lord – sighting the many times that Harry had gone up against Voldemort and yet, had never killed him. If they found out…oh, sure, they would look back in a few years and mourn their hastiness at locking me up, but right now – they would have me in Azkaban and kissed by a Dementor faster than anything. Harry shivered. But, think about it, Harry. Are you willing to see another friend – another student – hell, Sirius or Remus, die because of Voldemort? Are you willing to sit back and watch them risk their lives while you do nothing? Could you live with yourself if you did? Harry looked up at the Headmaster, a determined look in his eye.
"We'll just have to make sure no one finds out," Harry said firmly, straightening in his seat, his jaw set. A small, sad smile crossed Albus's face. He looks so much like his father, Albus thought sadly. So brave. But – sly, as well. From his mother's side, no doubt. James was never very good at subterfuge. Albus looked at the boy who was crossing over the verge of youth and into adulthood – at far too young of an age. Ah, but what else could we have done? We needed a figurehead, we needed a savior, and there he was. I'm sorry, Harry, but we did what was needed and never thought what it's cost to you would be. Albus shook himself out of his thoughts and hummed softly.
"Alright Harry. We'll try it. But-" he warned the teen, "should the connection be too strong – or too painful, we wont try it again." Harry's face too on a calculating look.
"We'll stop only if the connection is too strong. Magic can take care of the pain later," Harry bargained. Albus felt his eyebrows raise. The young man had certainly changed over the summer, Albus noted. He nodded cautiously.
"Alright then, Harry. I will have to bring in Madam Pomfrey – she's not a direct member of the Order, but she knows about it. You'll need her expertise, I'm sure. As for the potion itself – well, that's where we have a problem. The potion is extremely difficult to make – and there's only one person that I know of who can make it." Albus said quietly. Harry's face dawned with understanding.
"Professor Snape," Harry said dryly, "will be most curious about who it's for, I'm guessing." Albus chuckled.
"Yes, my dear boy. And more than likely worried." At Harry's enquiring look, Albus explained. "The Dark Mark. It's a deep enough connection with Voldemort to use with the potion. Severus's curiosity will be eating him alive – as will his paranoia." Harry looked at his Headmaster oddly.
"He would actually believe that you would do something like that to him?" Harry asked, aghast.
"Oh, Harry. Severus has lived with his paranoia for far too long. It was the price he had to pay, for the role he played," Albus said sadly, thinking of the many sacrifices and injuries that Severus had gone through for the Order, for him.
"How soon can he make it?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice neutral and calm. Albus's eyes twinkled at him, understandingly, Harry thought, as if he knows that a part of me is jumping up and down with joy at the thought of being thought adult enough to help. Harry hid a smile, then felt it fade rather quickly. Yes, a part of him was ecstatic that he could help – while another part of him gibbered in fear. What the hell are you doing? It seemed to ask him. Are you out of your bloody mind? Harry pushed the panicked voices aside and shut a mental lid on them. He'd made his choice and he would stick to it. He looked back up at the Headmaster who had been watching him the entire time.
"He'll have to wait until the weekend. It's a very complicated potion to brew, and it takes a good many hours of uninterrupted time to make. Severus won't have time, in between classes and looking after his house until Friday at the earliest. I'll send a note for it down to him tonight, though." Albus's eyes twinkled. Harry grinned at Albus's mischievous smile, then watched him sober. "I would rather that we conduct our sessions on the weekends, as well. I have a feeling that the potion will take a lot out of you – and I don't want you missing classes because of them, understood?" Albus said gravely. Harry nodded again, understanding the reasoning perfectly. "Now, I believe you have a detention to get to, Mr. Potter," Albus smiled at him. Harry grinned back
"Yes, sir. Thank you sir." He rose and made for the door. "Harry." The Headmaster stopped him just as he reached the stairs. Harry turned back and looked at the now standing teacher, back lit by the light from the fireplace.
"Harry, remember. If you ever need to talk to me – about anything – the password is Oreos." Harry nodded, smiling gratefully at the elderly man.
"Thank you, sir," he said softly. Albus nodded and made a shooing gesture. He was going to be late if he didn't hurry. Harry quickly stepped onto the stairs, and as he left, he heard the flames roar, and the Headmaster asking Madam Pomfrey to see him as soon as she could. He certainly gets the show on the road, doesn't he, Harry thought as he exited from the office, the gargoyle retaking its normal position in front of the door. Harry quickened his pace as he made his way to the dungeons – he didn't want to be late or else Snape would have his hide.
_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_
Harry slipped into the Potions classroom with a few minutes to spare. Professor Snape was already there, busy at his desk, writing furiously. Harry walked up quietly, unsure of what to do. Usually orders of what potion he was to make in a certain amount of time were immediately barked at him the second he stepped into the room. He looked the man over carefully – it was rare the Potions Master's attention was so completely distracted for long. The man was – skinny. Very skinny, although the robes hid it well, Harry noted. His hair wasn't as greasy anymore, it seemed, and the faint yellow tinge to his skin was gone. Harry wondered if the grease and the dye were all part and parcel of his role as a spy. The man was still intimidating as all hell, the new look didn't change that aspect of his personality any. Harry watched as Snape's face twisted up into a snarl as he corrected what seemed to be a quiz, only Snape would give a quiz on the first day back, Harry mentally snorted. He scuffed a shoe on the flagstones, the small sound enough to alert the professor to his presence. Snape glanced up, then did a double take when he saw Harry standing still in the middle of the classroom.
"Well, Potter. What are you standing there for? You're to redo the potion from class – correctly this time. Get to it," he snapped. Harry jumped and made for a table half way down the room, thinking it better to keep his distance from the angry man. "Mr. Potter. The front table if you please," damn. Foiled again. Harry turned reluctantly around and made his way to the front table. He sat down his bag and got busy setting up his cauldron. Once the water was on its way to boiling, Harry searched through his bag for his potions text. He opened his book to the correct page and read over the ingredient list. He glanced at the Potions Master, but the man was ignoring him, much to Harry's relief. He went over to the directions again and got up to get the ingredients. Harry tried to move as quietly as he could; the last thing he wanted was an angry Snape coming down on him – yet again.
"Mr. Potter, what are you doing?" who did I piss off? Harry wondered as the man's icy voice froze him in his tracks. Vishnu? Odin? He turned to the still seated teacher, who was glaring at him. The glare lost some of its' sting, though, when the man's hair was tucked behind his ears and a smear of ink marred his cheek. Harry had to look down at the ground to keep from laughing. Never, in all the detentions he ever served with Snape, had he seen the man so out of it, and so messy. Usually the teacher would just loom over Harry the whole time, criticizing his work constantly. "Well?" Snape's angry voice reminded Harry that the teacher had asked him a question.
"Getting the ingredients for the potion, sir," Harry answered, lifting his eyes to the man's desk, not looking at him – no, Harry couldn't do that just yet. He'd start laughing – and if he did that Snape would murder him. Snape narrowed his eyes at him and grunted.
"Very well. Hurry up." Harry nodded and quickly crossed over to the bins and cupboards where Snape kept the ingredients the students could use. Harry glanced over his shoulder at the potions teacher, noting how much younger he seemed when he was – messy. I guess Snape's human after all, Harry mused. I guess I win the bet. There had been a long standing bet in Gryffindor tower as to whether or not Snape was human or not. Most of the house had said no, and Harry had said yes. The thought of his House made a lance of hurt shoot through Harry's heart and he resolutely turned his thoughts away from them. Concentrate on the potion. Worry about the House later, a small voice whispered and Harry decided to follow its advice. He gathered the requisite ingredients and brought them back to his table, going over the directions once again before beginning to prepare his ingredients. He didn't want to make the same mistake twice. The scraping back of Snape's chair made Harry jump nearly a foot and he scowled fiercely at the daisy roots he was chopping. Quit it, you moron, he chided himself. It only amuses him. Harry gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the now looming Potions Master. Harry dumped the daisy roots into the boiling water and added the rat spleen. He skinned the shrivelfig and made as though to throw it into the pot – the directions said nothing as to how it was to be added into the potion – when Snape's dry tone stopped him.
"Mr. Potter. While I know the art of brewing potions is lost on you, you could try, at least, in my presence, to show it the respect it deserves," Snape stared at Harry darkly. Harry glanced at the man and nodded slowly, sliding the skinned shrivelfig into the potion rather than just throwing it in like he usually would. He sliced up the caterpillars and added them in, stirring slowly, twenty times, clockwise. After twenty stirs he paused and added in the last ingredient, the leech juice, and then went back to stirring – this time counterclockwise. As he stirred, he felt a question begin to nag at the back of his mind. He glanced at the Potions Master out of the corner of his eye, noting that the man didn't look quite as angry as he had before. Harry decided to risk it. The worst that can happen is that he gives me another detention, Harry thought philosophically.
"Sir?" Harry asked hesitantly, keeping his eyes on his potion. "Why does the order in which we combine the ingredients matter so much?" Harry didn't look at the Potions Master, tensing slightly, waiting for the explosion he was almost sure was to come.
"Mr. Potter. Have you paid any attention at all in the last four years you've been taking this blasted class? Yes, the order matters!" Snape thundered. Harry risked a glance and saw the Potions Master's arms were crossed and an angry scowl was on his face. Harry gulped, but stuck to his guns.
"Yes, I've paid attention. I've just never understood the why's behind the directions. To me there's no real difference between 'carefully insert the sliced caterpillars' and 'toss 'em in'. They're both ending up in the same place, so why should the delivery matter?" Harry tried to keep any hint of sullenness out of his voice. The last thing he needed to do was antagonize the man even more. After a long moment of silence, Harry finally glanced up at the Professor. Maybe I caused him to have an aneurysm, Harry thought, amused. But the Potions Master – far from being dead, was merely staring at Harry expressionlessly.
"A surprisingly intelligent question, Mr. Potter," Snape said after a minute. Harry shut his gaping mouth, turned back to his cauldron and concentrated on his potion, which caused Snape to snort in amusement. "Indeed. The answer to your question is a bit complicated. Potions making is a very intricate process, much like muggle chemistry. Each ingredient has its own properties that react differently to different situations." Snape glanced at Harry's potion, "Decent, Potter." Harry nearly dropped his stir in shock. Did he just – "But still, it's a shade off. What did you do wrong?" Snape questioned him, but this time there was no antagonism behind the words. Harry thought about it.
"Er, I dumped the daisies in instead of stirring them in?" he guessed. He truly had no idea what he'd done wrong. Snape grunted.
"That was a part of it. The daisies had to be evenly chopped, and yours weren't. But your largest mistake was in the slicing of the caterpillars – they were all at different thicknesses. They were all supposed to match – inconsistent thicknesses delay the combining of the properties, so they all don't combine at once, like they should. The differing sizes made the potion combine at a much slower rate, thus resulting in the off color and poor quality of the potion." Snape listed on his fingers, his voice warming. Harry looked at the professor, noticing for the first time his complete and total enjoyment for the subject that he taught. He became – animated – for the lack of a better word, in Harry's eyes. Yup, world's coming to an end. Snape's being nice to me AND I'm actually enjoying this. Freaking bizarre, Harry thought faintly. The older man studied Harry intently as he bottled a portion of his potion and then dumped the rest out, cleaning his cauldron quickly and efficiently. As he watched Harry, the man seemed to be mulling something over in his head. "Mr. Potter – you're done for tonight. During tomorrow's detention you will experiment with the same potion. I want you to combine the ingredients in different orders, while also noting how the potion changes when you add the ingredients in, using varying methods of mixing them. I expect you to make careful notes and at the end of the night you and I will discuss your findings. You may leave." Harry stuffed his cauldron into his pack and nodded to his teacher, then left the room, suppressing a groan. Great, just great. I get the balls to finally ask the greasy old git a question and he decides I'm going to become the next potions genius. Bloody hell. Harry risked a glance over his shoulder as he left the room, and saw the man was still watching him with a carefully blank expression. Harry hid a shiver and slipped out of the door, escaping into the chilly air of the upper hallways, walking briskly back to the common room.
After he had left, Snape retired back to his desk, still contemplating Potter. Oh very odd that the boy actually asked a decently intelligent question, he mused. A rush of wings interrupted his thoughts. A spotted owl swooped into his classroom and landed delicately on his desk, Albus's owl - he only uses Valiant for Order work, Severus noted. He took off the scroll that was wrapped around the owl's leg and opened it. He read the message a few times before he really believed what he was seeing. He scribbled a message off and gave it back to the bird, a pensive frown on his face. All thoughts of Potter were now pushed from his mind.
*
Harry stood outside of Gryffindor tower, not really wanting to go in. The Fat Lady was dozing in her chair, and even though it was late, Harry barely felt tired. He shifted from foot to foot, shivering slightly in the chill. The fall seemed colder this year to Harry. After another few moments of indecision he approached the portrait.
"Valor," he said quietly. The Fat Lady woke up with a snort and smiled at him sleepily. The painting opened silently, and Harry stepped through.
Due to the late hour there were only a few people up in the common room – but unfortunately it was Ron, Hermione and several other upper years. Harry glanced at them, ensconced by the fire, Ron having his arms wrapped around Hermione's studying frame and felt another twist of his heart. Seems like they finally got a clue, Harry mused as he looked at them. Around the duo sat Dean and Seamus, who were playing wizard's chess, Fred and George, who sat close together and were whispering over something in Fred's lap. Lavender was braiding Parvati's hair and Lee Jordan sat next to the twins, reading a book. Harry watched them quietly from the shadows, wishing he could be with them. He moved into the light of the common room, the small noise of his shoes on the floorboards alerting them to his presence. Almost as one, their eyes moved to him and Harry faltered under their heavy gaze.
"Hi," he said, at a loss at to what to say. No one said anything. Lavender was the first one to dismiss him, turning back to Parvati's hair with a sniff. Ron looked Harry over, a suspicious look coming over his face.
"Going to meet with your Death Eater friends Harry?" He taunted. Harry, on his way to the stairs, froze in his tracks, his back stiffening, hands curling up into balls. He turned around slowly and stalked up to Ron, who scrambled up out of the couch, dislodging Hermione, who landed on the floor with a squeak. Harry pushed up his left sleeve as he moved in front of Ron. The twins and all the other boys, save Seamus, stood up behind the younger Weasley.
"Look, look right here. Do you see anything? Do you see a Dark Mark? No, of course you bloody don't! Because I'm not a Death Eater, and never will be! Get a clue, Ron! I hate the bloody man! He killed my parents! He had Cedric killed! He put me under Crucio! How in the bloody blue blazes can you even, for a moment, have thought that I would voluntarily be anything like him? How, Ron, tell me how!" Harry yelled at the redhead, feeling tears pricking his eyes, but willing them away. Ron regarded him stonily.
"You-Know-Who didn't kill Cedric. You did," Ron spat. Harry felt the blood drain from his face and knew they all saw it. "It's all your fault he's dead, and all you care about is yourself. I can't believe I ever thought you were my friend," Ron spat at Harry's feet. Harry let his sleeve drop, his eyes helplessly glued to Ron's features. The boy he had thought he had known was nowhere in there – or maybe he never had been. Maybe I only saw what I wanted to see, a part of Harry's mind whispered. You wanted a friend, and he was the first one that offered anything resembling friendship. Harry backed up slowly, nearly tripping on the edge of the rug.
"I didn't kill Cedric," Harry whispered. "He wasn't supposed to die." Ron sneered at him.
"Right. And I wasn't supposed to be almost brained in my first bloody year here. Hermione wasn't supposed to be petrified. Ginny wasn't supposed to almost die in a Chamber that only you could open. There's all these things that were never supposed to happen around you, but they did. They did." Ron growled at him and Harry shook his head.
"But – I never wanted anyone to get hurt. Things just happened that way – they weren't planned," Harry snapped back, recovering some of his backbone.
"Sure they weren't," Ron spat. Harry felt his eyes widen.
"You – you don't think that all this time I've been after people, do you?" he asked incredulously.
"I dunno. You tell me," Ron crossed his arms in front of his chest. Harry started to laugh.
"Are – are you out of your mind?" Harry gasped in between laughs. No one else was laughing and Harry sobered, staring at them. "You are out of your minds," he said faintly. "I thought you all were Gryffindors – loyal and true," Harry snapped, heart twisting painfully, the lid on his emotions shattering.
"We are loyal – to those who deserve it. And true – you wouldn't know what that was if it bit you in the ass," Lee said. The rest of the Gryffindors nodded, save Seamus. Harry looked at the still seated boy in desperation.
"Seamus, tell me you don't believe this bullshit," Harry pleaded. All eyes turned to Seamus. The sandy haired boy frowned and blushed under all the focused attention.
"I – Harry –" he began, flustered. Harry watched with a small piece of hope growing in his chest.
"Don't try to guilt trip him into siding with you, Harry Potter," Hermione spoke up, crossing over and placing a hand on Seamus's shoulder. Seamus shook his head.
"He's not." Seamus's statement seemed to make everyone pause. "I don't know what to believe, but I know I sure as hell don't believe those articles." Seamus looked at Harry and gave him a half smile. Ron scowled.
"Seamus," he began warningly. Seamus's grin died down. His eyes flicked from Harry to Ron and back. Harry's grin faltered a bit. There was something, odd, in that flickering gaze; Harry's new suspicious nature started to rise.
"Shut it, Ron. It's not your place to decide for everyone what their opinion is supposed to be," Harry snapped coldly at the redhead, his eyes still on Seamus, surprising himself a little. Get me some more practice and I'll sound just like Draco bloody Malfoy. Joy.
"Oh, really?" Ron taunted, eyes narrowing at the black haired boy's slight frame. That drug Harry's eyes away from Seamus, who let out a sigh once he was free from the emerald gaze. Harry eyed Ron oddly.
"Did you just hear yourself?" he asked. Ron blinked at him. "You just all but said you had the right to tell people what their opinions were." Harry clarified. Ron's face would have been amusing in its confusion if the conversation and mood hadn't been so very not amusing.
"He did not! You just confused him!" Hermione said hotly, sticking up for her boyfriend. Harry snorted.
"Right. It's all my fault," he said dryly. Hermione shrugged.
"At least you finally admitted it," she said. Harry just stared at her for a moment.
"I was kidding," Harry said. Hermione shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest.
"I wasn't," she answered. Harry just shook his head, the whole argument becoming strangely surreal.
"I – you – what – that's it. I'm going to bed," he muttered, throwing his hands up into the air.
"Don't wake up the dorm tonight, will ya? Your screams are bloody annoying," Dean's voice taunted him as Harry turned away from them and headed up the stairs. Harry paused, his foot raised above a step and the continued up the stairs, amidst the laughter from the others in the common room. Bed. Bed. Bed. This'll all look – well, it'll still look pretty bloody awful in the morning, but at least then you'll have had some sleep. Harry got to his room and made out the bizarre jumble in front of his door. It seemed as though someone – or someone's – had jury-rigged a bizarre lock on his door, which included a chair, lots of rope and – a sock? Harry shook his head as he moved it all out of the way. He wasn't about to clean it up. Once he had his door free of debris, he opened it and crossed over to his desk, grabbing one of the books he'd bought in Flourish and Blotts that was on advanced protection and warding spells. He went over to the door and casted several of the spells – only getting two of them to stick. Hmm…I'll have to ask the Headmaster about those extra defense lessons too, Harry reminded himself. Maybe this weekend. Harry sighed and closed his door, locking it behind him and then casting several silencing charms around the whole room. He dropped his rucksack on the ground and eyed the other furniture in the room. With a mental shrug, he whipped out his wand again and transfigured the bed into a couch and the other wardrobe into a small table. He smiled to himself – now he had a proper couch to look out of the window by. He dropped onto his new furniture with a sigh, propping his legs up on the table, turning his eyes to the window. He sat there for a long time, slouched in his seat, hands folded across his stomach, just watching the star-filled sky.
_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_
The Slytherin common room was quiet with the sounds of studying students. Draco Malfoy sat at one of the tables near the fireplace, his back to the room. On either side of him were Blaise and Pansy. They were going over their DADA notes, with Draco occasionally making faces at the splatters of ink everywhere on his robes. Finally Pansy had had enough.
"Draco, for God's sake, your robes are black and so's the ink! Get over it! I swear, sometimes I think you're worse than me when it comes to your clothes," she said, exasperated. She flipped her shiny fall of hair over her shoulder and glared at the fussy boy. Draco shot her a glare that could have peeled paint, but he did stop fussing.
"Stuff it Pansy. It got on the trim, the green trim, and the black ink on the green trim is annoying," he sneered back at her. She rolled her eyes and picked a piece of link off of her own pristine robes. Blaise snorted with laughter, and covered his mouth, his sable hair falling into his eyes, hiding most of his face. "Oh, you're going to laugh at me too, huh?" Draco sighed and tugged on a piece of Blaise's hair.
"You could have cast a cleaning spell, you know," Blaise pointed out once he had control over himself. Draco shifted on the wooden chair, a disdainful look coming over his face.
"Malfoys don't learn cleaning spells," he said with an over-exaggerated sniff, turning his nose up haughtily. Pansy giggled, shaking her head at Draco's pretenses.
"Oh my God. And to think my parents wanted me to marry you. Someone curse me," she moaned. That sent Blaise into another fit of smothered laughter, which Draco joined, but only after sticking his tongue out at his childhood friend. They relaxed for a moment, the tension of the day leaking out of them.
It had been a – rather interesting day, to say the least, Draco mused. He glanced up at the mirror mounted on the wall and let his eyes scan over the common room. His eyes lighted upon a few third years that had reported in about Potter's where-abouts during lunch. It seemed as though the boy had taken to hiding in an odd corner of the library that no one used much. How odd that Potter would turn into a book worm, Draco thought idly. His eyes moved over to a cluster of fourth years who'd been following a group of older Gryffindors when they'd heard one of them mention something about Potter's scar – and how his screams had woken up the entire dorm the night before. Draco frowned, turning that information over in his head. Why the hell would Potter be screaming? And where was his roommate? Everyone knew that the Gryffindor fifth years had to share bedrooms – Slytherin's didn't, that was for sure. Draco turned to Blaise.
"Any luck with Longbottom?" he asked. Blaise shook his head, frowning, mood turning serious. His hazel eyes narrowed as he fixed his gaze on the wall in front of him.
"No, I can't get near him. He's always surrounded by the rest of the bloody Gryffindor tower. But I've been watching him – he slipped a note to Potter today during Potions – I think telling him what potion we were making. And Neville was watching him all through DADA as well. Dean and Ron were sitting near him – so he must have known about that little stunt they were going to pull on Potter. From what I've seen from today, I'd say the boy doesn't like whatever's going on in Gryffindor tower – but how far he's willing to go against his House is another question." Blaise shrugged, wiping his expression clean. Draco sighed and tapped a finger on his lips.
"The little to do between the Weasley siblings during dinner is what has me worried. Damn, I wish we had a fly on the wall in that bloody tower. It would make things so much easier," Draco sighed, pushing away his studying, slouching into his chair. They weren't in public so he was allowed to act as sloppily as he liked. Pansy shifted forward and leaned her head into her hands. "The way Weasley's been acting, plus the little explosion at dinner…" Draco trailed off, thinking. Blaise shook his head, fine-boned hands tucking his hair behind his ears.
"But he's a Weasley, Draco. And the Weasley's are as Gryffindor as they come. He can't be the mole – the whole moral code of the Gryffindors goes against that," Blaise pointed out.
"But he'd be the perfect mole then, wouldn't he?" Draco retorted. "A boy from a family no one suspects, is known to have spats with Potter regularly, and besides, everyone knows how jealous the Weasel is of Potter. It's a wonder the boy hasn't killed the Boy-Who-Lived before this." Draco flung his hand out in an expansive gesture. "His jealousy makes him easy to control, you see. All the Dark Lord would have to do is to promise some fame of Weasley's own and the fool boy would be begging for it, willing to do anything for a chance to show up the precious Boy-Who-Lived," he shrugged. "It's human nature." Pansy shook her head in opposition.
"No, he's too obvious. I'd bet my entire spring wardrobe on the fact that Weasley isn't the spy. It's someone else, though, someone central to that main group of upper year Gryffindors. Someone who everyone trusts, someone everyone doesn't dismiss out of hand. But they're not the figurehead. Weasley is the perfect cover for them too. He's obnoxious, loud, and now everyone knows about his falling out with Potter. No, it's someone deeper, but who?" Pansy lifted her head out of her hands and saw with surprise that her head of house was watching her proudly.
"Excellent Ms. Parkinson," Severus said warmly. He leaned into the wall near the fireplace, eyes roaming over the room. "Everyone in for the night?" he asked Draco. The blond nodded.
"Marcus and Vivian, two second years, said they thought they might have been followed for a bit, but they said they detoured through the maze and lost them," Draco said, referring to the intricate passages that surrounded the entrance to the Slytherin dorm. Severus raised his eyebrows, a worried expression coming onto his face.
"You did warn them against going anywhere alone, right?" the Professor asked. Draco snorted, looking offended.
"Of course I did," he scoffed. The Potions Master just gave him a look.
"Do you have the lists?" the older man changed the topic. Draco passed him a list of names. Severus tucked the scroll away quickly, making it seem as though they vanished into thin air, all by using slight-of-hand. Draco hid a smile – he remembered fondly when his godfather would do that for hours for him when he was little. Severus pushed off from the wall, then paused, looking down at Draco. "I'll need your help this Friday after classes. Come down to my private lab," he said. Draco's eyes lit up. He loved helping his godfather with potions.
"What are we making?" he asked, not bothering to hide his enthusiasm. Severus smiled softly at the boy's eagerness – he'd always maintained that it was his influence on the boy when he was younger that made him so good with potions. Then he sobered.
"The Vision Potion," he said quietly. He watched with satisfaction as the boy's eyes widened, with surprise and worry.
"What's the Vision Potion?" Pansy asked. She looked from student to teacher, noting their tense expressions, feeling a worm of worry slide down her back. Severus glanced over to her.
"It's a potion that enhances a connection between two individuals that has been created using magic," he said.
"Like the Dark Mark," Blaise said softly, eyes flitting to the Potion Master's left arm. Severus looked down at the sable haired boy.
"Exactly, Mr. Zabini."
"You don't think –" Draco began and Severus held up a hand, cutting the blond off. Draco shut his mouth, eyes worried as he watched his godfather's face. He'd read about the Vision Potion, and it was – nasty, from what he remembered. Very, very nasty.
"I have no idea what Albus wants the potion for. As for, that," Severus said awkwardly, "he's already said no." Draco let out a relieved breath. The pain and the potential madness that could stem from taking the potion was a risk he was happy Severus didn't have to take. Pansy looked at them and their tense frames.
"It's that bad?" she asked, surprised. Severus nodded, one hand rubbing his left forearm gently, eyes focused on the far wall.
"Yes, Ms. Parkinson. It is that bad."
End Chapter 6
A/N: woot! Another chapter down! OK, people, I do have a 5 page paper due on Friday. This long chapter'll have to hold you over till then. Thank you everyone for keeping those reviews coming. They really mean a lot to me, so thankyouthankyouthankyou!
Usagi Serenity Yui Cosmos: Thank you for your continued reviews! I really appreciate it =)
Arwen: Thank you for the review!
Minerva-Severus-Dumbledore: Thank you for another wonderful review!!! I'm glad your enjoying it =)
Psycadelicwildchild: ohhh, not gonna tell ; ) Thank you for the review!
Blackdragon: The order meeting will definitely be shown. Thank you yet again for another great review!
Pseudonym: LOL thank you again!! I'm glad your enjoying the fic!! Funny you should mention the other POV idea – the story will actually go into several other's pov (handwritten, this story's at about 60 pages…but considering I'm getting 7 typed pages for every 3 handwritten, it's gonna take a while /sigh) in later chapters. I haven't yet tried to write in Ron's pov – but there is at least on in Hermione's. And I'm sorry if I managed to delete one of your reviews – I'm horrible, absolutely horrible with computers.
Danu40k: As you see, Harry's not going to fess up entirely with Dumbledore – he's still got that damn noble streak in his character that just wont seem to come out, no matter how hard I try. Don't worry, it get's worse for him, and he's not gonna like it.
Fallen Dragon: will try!
Lady FoxFire: hehe, it's what I'd do too…but then, I'm a vindictive bitch, mostly. I dunno if I'll have a chapter that has Voldie in it, mostly ya'll learn about his doings via third person. Thanks for another review!!!!
SparkySparkles: Thank you for the wonderful review! I adore H/D too hehe =)
AriaThea: thank you!
Lain: Thank you so much! I really appreciate your review. I'm glad you're enjoying the story!
Fataloine-The Grinning God: Thank you so much for your review!! Ron's status as a living being will continue for a bit (he's still alive so far in the handwritten version of this story) but who knows? I really don't like him in this fic, but I'm thinking more along the lines of a lot of torture for the boy first, then maybe death – if I feel generous =)
Phoenix Tears: Thank you for the review!!
Athenakitty: ooh! More wonderful questions! Thank you again!~
Kristine Thorne: hehe thank you! Yeah, I don't like Ron much at all, can you tell? =)
Archangel1152: yes, rumors suck ass. Thank you for the review! I'm glad you're enjoying the story =)